34
ACROSTIC
REEN are thy vales, and softly swelling hills,Lovely thy glassy lakes and sparkling rills:
And oh! how fair thine ancient woods, which stand
Still calmly scorning Time's relentless hand,
Still firm in stately pride! while clear below,
Like mirrored dreams that o'er the fancy glow,
On yonder water's pure and waveless breast,
Undimmed their forms in bright delusion rest!
Grey are thy crumbling walls—yet still to me,
Home of my fathers! dear thy scenes shall he.
E.
March 9, 1833.
