Forward quick changing, changing still,
Again rose cliff, and wood, and hill,

Where mingling foliage seem'd to strive,
With dark-brown saplings, flay'd alive * ;
Down to the gulph beneath, where oft

The toiling wood-boy dragg'd aloft

His stubborn faggot from the brim,
And gaz'd, and tugg'd with sturdy limb;
And where the mind repose would seek,

A barren, storm-defying peak,

The Little DowARD lifted high

His rocky crown of royalty.

395

*The custom is here alluded to, of stripping the bark from oaks while growing, which gives an almost undescribable, though not the most agreeable, effect to the landscape.

D

Hush! not a whisper! Oars, be still!

Comes that soft sound from yonder hill?

Or is it close at hand, so near

It scarcely strikes the list'ning ear?

E'en so; for down the green bank fell,

An ice-cold stream from MARtin's Well,

Bright as young beauty's azure eye,

And pure as infant chastity,

Each limpid draught, suffus'd with dew,

The dipping glass's crystal hue;

And as it trembling reach'd the lip,

Delight sprung up at every sip.

Pure, temperate joys, and calm, were these ;

We tost upon no Indian seas;

No savage chiefs, of various hue,

Came jabbering in the bark canoe

407

Our strength to dare, our course to túrn;
Yet boats a South Sea chief would burn*,
Sculk'd in the alder shade. Each bore,
Devoid of keel, or sail, or oar,
An upright fisherman, whose eye,

With Bramin-like solemnity,

Survey'd the surface either way,
And cleav'd it like a fly at play;
And crossways bore a balanc'd pole,
To drive the salmon from his hole;

423

* In Cæsar's Commentaries, mention is made of boats of this description, formed of a raw hide, (from whence, perhaps, their name Coricle,) which were in use among the natives. How little they dreamed of the vastness of modern perfection, and of the naval conflicts of latter days!