Born of Adirondac tears, Nursed by storms of Katterskill, Yet a smiling face it wears, Rolls in tranquil silence still. Gliding first o'er sands of glass, Then 'midst grassy meads estray, Now it shoots the highland pass, Hurrying southward on its way. River, but the sea as well; Steady drift and changing tide; Here may float a cockle-shell, Or the ocean navies ride. 'T is the sea in landscape set; 'T is the sea, by limits bound; But it is the river yet, Flowing through enchanted ground. Countless wealth its currents bear, Wrought from forest, field, and mine; Giant steamships o'er it fare, Clouds of sails in sunlight shine. Through the darkness, as in light, Sail the constant fleets the same; While along the shores at night Furnace fires perpetual flame. In the bright October days, While I float upon the stream, Mellowed by transfiguring haze, All is like a fairy dream: Groves and gardens, towns and towers, Mountain tops and vales between, As the gods had builded bowers Scarce concealed and scarcely seen. Thine no borrowed glories! thine, Matchless river! are thy own! O'er thy scenes no false lights shine From the ages dead and gone. Round no castles' crumbling walls Troops of knightly spectres throng, And within no ruined halls Thrills the spectre maiden's song; Save when dusky phantoms glide, Still intent on savage rites, Or when he of Sunnyside Marshals his fantastic sprites: Then we seem again to hear War-whoops echoing 'midst the hills, And old Hendrick's lusty cheer As the wind his canvas fills. As Mohegan, ages old, Though for ever self-renewed, Through unbroken forests rolled All thy floods in solitude: But as Hudson, now and ever, Distant lands repeat thy name, And the world, O glorious river! Stands the guardian of thy fame. JAMES MANNING WINCHELL. PUBLIC LIBRARIES IN THE UNITED STATES.