How fair at distance shone yon silvery blue, O stately mountain-tops, charming the mind To dream of pleasures which she there may find, Where from the eagle's height she earth can view! Nor are those disappointments which ensue; For though, while eyeing what beneath us lay, Almost we shunned to think of yesterday, As wonderingly our looks its course pursue. Dwarfed to a point the joys of many hours, The river on whose bosom we were borne Seems but a thread, of pride and beauty shorn; Its banks, its shadowy groves, like beds of flowers, Wave their diminished heads;--yet would we sigh, Since all this loss shows us more near the sky? IV. VALLEY OF THE MOHAWK. Could I my words with gentlest grace imbue, Which the flute's breath, or harp's clear tones, can bless, I then might hope the feelings to express, And with new life the happy day endue, Thou gav'st, O vale, than Tempe's self more fair! With thy romantic stream and emerald isles, Touched by an April mood of tears and smiles Which stole on matron August unaware; The meads with all the spring's first freshness green, The trees with summer's thickest garlands crowned, And each so elegant, that fairy queen All day might wander ere she chose her round; No blemish on the sense of beauty broke, But the whole scene one ecstasy awoke. V. TRENTON FALLS, EARLY IN THE MORNING. The sun, impatient, o'er the lofty trees Struggles to illume as fair a sight as lies Beneath the light of his joy-loving eyes, Which all the forms of energy must please; A solemn shadow falls in pillared form, Made by yon ledge, which noontide scarcely shows, Upon the amber radiance, soft and warm, Where through the cleft the eager torrent flows. Would you the genius of the place enjoy, In all the charms contrast and color give? Your eye and taste you now may best employ, For this the hour when minor beauties live; Scan ye the details as the sun rides high, For with the morn these sparkling glories fly. VI. TRENTON FALLS, (AFTERNOON.) A calmer grace o'er these still hours presides; Now is the time to see the might of form; The heavy masses of the buttressed sides, The stately steps o'er which the waters storm; Where, 'neath the mill, the stream so gently glides, You feel the deep seclusion of the scene, And now begin to comprehend what mean The beauty and the power this chasm hides. From the green forest's depths the portent springs, But from those quiet shades bounding away, Lays bare its being to the light of day, Though on the rock's cold breast its love it flings. Yet can all sympathy such courage miss? Answer, ye trees! who bend the waves to kiss. VII.