Moonlight on the Hudson

I 'm not romantic, but, upon my word,
There are some moments when one can't help feeling
As if his heart's chords were so strongly stirr'd
By things around him, that 'tis vain concealing
A little music in his soul still lingers,
Whene'er its keys are touch'd by Nature's fingers:
And even here, upon this settee lying,
With many a sleepy traveller near me snoozing,
Thoughts warm and wild are through my bosom flying,
Like founts when first into the sunshine oozing:
For who can look on mountain, sky, and river,
Like these, and then be cold and calm as ever!
Bright Dian, who, Camilla-like, dost skim yon
Azure fields — thou who, once earthward bending,
Didst loose thy virgin zone to young Endymion
On dewy Latmos to his arms descending —
Thou whom the world of old on every shore,
Type of thy sex, Triformis, did adore:
Tell me — where'er thy silver bark be steering,
By bright Italian or soft Persian lands,
Or o'er those island-studded seas careering,
Whose pearl-charged waves dissolve on coral strands;
Teft if thou visitest, thou heavenly rover,
A lovelier stream than this the wide world over?
Doth Achelous or Araxes, flowing
Twin-born from Pindus, but b ne'er-meeting brothers —
Doth Tagus, o'er his golden pavement glowing,
Or cradle-freighted Ganges, the reproach of mothers,
The storied Rhine, or far-famed Guadalquiver —
Match they in beauty my own glorious river?
What though no cloister gray nor ivied column
Along these cliffs their sombre ruins rear!
What though no frowning tower nor temple solemn
Of despots tell and superstition here —
What though that mouldering fort's fast-crumbling walls
Did ne'er enclose a baron's banner'd halls —
Its sinking arches once gave back as proud
An echo to the war-blown clarion's peal —
As gallant hearts its battlements did crowd
As ever beat beneath a vest of steel,
When herald's trump on knighthood's haughtiest day
Call'd forth chivalric host to battle-fray:
For here amid these woods did he keep court,
Before whose mighty soul the common crowd
Of heroes, who alone for fame have fought,
Are like the patriarch's sheaves to Heaven's chosen bow'd —
He who his country's eagle taught to soar,
A nd fired those stars which shine o'er every shore.
And sights and sounds at which the world have wonder'd
Within these wild ravines have had their birth;
Young Freedom's cannon from these glens have thunder'd,
And sent their startling echoes o'er the earth;
And not a verdant glade nor mountain hoary
But treasures up within the glorious story.
And yet not rich in high-soul'd memories only,
Is every moon-kiss'd headland round me gleaming,
Each cavern'd glen and leafy valley lonely,
And silver torrent o'er the bald rock streaming:
But such soft fancies here may breathe around,
As make Vaucluse and Clarens hallow'd ground.
Where, tell me where, pale watcher of the night —
Thou that to love so oft has lent its soul,
Since the lorn Lesbian languish'd 'neath thy light,
Or fiery Romeo to his Juliet stole —
Where dost thou find a fitter place on earth
To nurse young love in hearts like theirs to birth?
O, loiter not upon that fairy shore,
To watch the lazy barks in distance glide,
When sunset brightens on their sails no more,
And stern-lights twinkle in the dusky tide —
Loiter not there, young heart, at that soft hour,
What time the bird of night proclaims love's power.
Even as I gaze upon my memory's track,
Bright as that coil of light along the deep,
A scene of early youth comes dream-like back,
Where two stand gazing from yon tide-wash' d steep —
A sanguine stripling, just toward manhood flushing,
A girl scarce yet in ripen'd beauty blushing.
The hour is his — and, while his hopes are soaring,
Doubts he that maiden will become his bride?
Can she resist that gush of wild adoring,
Fresh from a heart full-volumed as the tide?
Tremulous, but radiant is that peerless daughter
Of loveliness — as is the star-paved water!
The moist leaves glimmer as they glimmer'd then —
Alas! how oft have they been since renew'd!
How oft the whip-poor-will from yonder glen
Each year has whistled to her callow brood!
How oft have lovers by yon star's same beam
Dream'd here of bliss — and waken'd from their dream!
But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending,
Thy pearly car hangs o'er yon mountain's crest,
And Night, more nearly now each step attending,
As if to hide thy envied place of rest,
Closes at last thy very couch beside,
A matron curtaining a virgin bride.
Farewell! Though tears on every leaf are starting:
While through the shadowy boughs thy glances quiver,
As of the good when heavenward hence departing,
Shines thy last smile upon the placid river.
So — could I fling o'er glory's tide one ray —
Would I too steal from this dark world away.