CONNECTICUT RIVER. 37
Round scenes like these doth warm remembrance glide, Where emigration rolls its ceaseless tide On western wilds, which thronging hordes explore, Or ruder Erie's serpent-haunted shore, Or far Huron, by unshorn forests crowned, Or red Missouri's unfrequented bound, The exiled man, when midnight shades invade, Couched in his hut, or camping on the glade, Starts from his dream, to catch, in echoes clear, The boatman's song that charmed his boyish ear ; While the sad mother, 'mid her children's mirth, Paints with fond tears a parent's distant hearth, Or charms her rustic babes with tender tales Of thee, blest river, and thy velvet vales, Her native cot, where luscious berries swell, The village school, and sabbath's tuneful bell, And smiles to see the infant soul expand With proud devotion for that father-land.
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