Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/146

And hollow murmur from thy troubled depths;
As fettered Samson, with his shaven locks
Crumbled the temple columns and o'erthrew
Philistia's mocking lords.
                                     Block after block
Of thick-ribb'd ice, disparted, and the shores
Piled high with rugged masses, told how strong
Thy struggle with the tyrant. Still in pain.
And wearily, thou wrought'st thy toilsome way,
Like one who hath a heavy work to do,
Ere he may take his rest.
                                     I scarce can think
Thou art the same, that now at liberty
And in the fulness of thy wealth dost mark
Thy course with benefactions.
                                                As we press
Upward, thy current, with its azure tint,
Mottled by silver clouds, and fringed with green,
In ripples, and in shadows multiform
Flows on in beauty. Now and then a raft
Of timber strongly bound, the sturdy growth,
Of our far northern hills, comes drifting down,
Shaping its lonely voyage; or the boat
That scorneth sail and oar, with flying wheel
Furroweth thy startled flood.
                                        The bending trees
Adjust their branches, by thy mirrored tide,
As won our Mother from the crystal eye
Of Eden's lake, the knowledge of her charms.