O, pause not in the murky, old Dutch city, But, hasting onward with a renewed steam power, Bestow your hours upon the beauteous Mohawk; And here we grieve to lose our courteous knight, Just at the opening of so rich a page. How shall I praise thee, Mohawk? How portray The love, the joyousness, felt in thy presence? When each new step along the silvery tide Added new gems of beauty to our thought, And lapped the soul in an Elysium Of verdure and of grace, fed by thy sweetness. O, how gay Fancy smiled, and deemed it home! This is, thought she, the river of my garden; These are the graceful trees that form its bowers, And these the meads where I have sighed to roam. I now may fold my wearied wings in peace. JOURNEY TO TRENTON FALLS. I. TO MY FRIENDS AND COMPANIONS. If this faint reflex from those days so bright May aught of sympathy among you gain, I shall not think these verses penned in vain; Though they tell nothing of the fancies light, The kindly deeds, rich thoughts, and various grace With which you knew to make the hours so fair, That neither grief nor sickness could efface From memory's tablet what you printed there. Could I have breathed your spirit through these lines, They might have charms to win a critic's smile, Or the cold worldling of a sigh beguile. I could but from my being bring one tone; May it arouse the sweetness of your own. II. THE HIGHLANDS. I saw ye first, arrayed in mist and cloud; No cheerful lights softened your aspect bold; A sullen gray, or green, more grave and cold, The varied beauties of the scene enshroud. Yet not the less, O Hudson! calm and proud, Did I receive the impress of that hour Which showed thee to me, emblem of that power Of high resolve, to which even rocks have bowed; Thou wouldst not deign thy course to turn aside, And seek some smiling valley's welcome warm, But through the mountain's very heart, thy pride Has been, thy channel and thy banks to form. Not even the "bulwarks of the world" could bar The inland fount from joining ocean's war! III. CATSKILL.