Majestic stream! along thy banks,
In silent, stately, solemn ranks,
The forests stand, and seem with pride
To gaze upon thy mighty tide;
As when, in olden classic time,
Beneath a soft, blue Grecian clime,
Bent o'er the stage, in breathless awe,
Crowds thrilled and trembled, as they saw
Sweep by the pomp of human life,
The sounding flood of passion's strife,
And the great stream of history
Glide on before the musing.
There, row on row, the gazers rise;
Above, look down the arching skies;
O'er all those gathered multitudes
Such deep and voiceful silence broods,
Methinks one mighty heart I hear
Beat high with hope, or quake with fear;--
E'en so yon groves and forests seem
Spectators of this rushing stream.
In sweeping, circling ranks they rise,
Beneath the blue o'erarching skies;
They crowd around and forward lean,
As eager to behold the scene--
To see, proud river! sparkling wide,
The long procession of thy tide--
To stand and gaze, and feel with thee
All thy unuttered ecstasy.
It seems as if a heart did thrill
Within yon forests, deep and still,
So soft and ghost-like is the sound
That stirs their solitude profound.