VALE OF WYOMING.
There's many a beauteous region of the earth,
Doth take its baptism from Castalia's fount,
And henceforth, to the ears of men, become
A charmed name. But in this new-found West
There hath been little pomp, or ornament
Bestow'd to herald Nature, where she works
With glorious skill.
And so, the traveller goes
To muse at Thessaly, or strike his lyre
Beside Geneva's lake, or raptured mount
Benlomond's cliff, pouring o'er other climes
The enthusiasm which his own might well inspire.
Yet go not forth, Son of the patriot West,
To give the ardor of thine earliest love
Unto an older world, till thou hast seen
June's cloudless sun o'er Wyoming go down,
And from her palace-gate, the queenly moon
Come slowly forth, wrapped in her silver veil,
So calm, so still, not as at Ajalon
To light the vengeance of the warrior's arm,
But lost in admiration of a scene
