A VISION' OF THE WESTERN WORLD 359
Where the palmetto lightly ploughs
With fan-like leaves the zephyr's breath,
And the dark cypress' moss-grown boughs Droop o'er the turbid wave beneath, —
There once I stood, when life was new.
And gazed upon the boundless tide ; The earth was wet with evening dew ;
My gun lay idly at my side.
Over the shades that round me fell
The moon her silvery mantle cast, And whippoorwill her tale 'gan tell
To the swift current sweeping past.
Then, lo ! advancing on the wave,
A wondrous vision met my sight ; All mute and tranquil as the grave.
It moved upon the waters bright.
A silvery mist the deep o'erspread,
And, down the river moving slow, A reverend and majestic head
Leaned on a hand as white as snow.
The countenance was mildly grave,
Like what the ancient sculptor wrought,
Who life to that pale marble gave ^s
Where glows old Tiber's face of thought.
Serene and godlike was the brow ;
In drizzly flume his locks descended ; His beard, which did his breast o'erflow.
In glittering icicles depended.
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