Countless moons have since rolled in the long lapse of time-- Cultivation has softened those features sublime; The axe of the white man has lighten'd the shade, And dispell'd the deep gloom of the thicketed glade. But the stranger still gazes with wondering eye, On the rocks rudely torn, and groves mounted on high; Still loves on the cliff's dizzy borders to roam, Where the torrent leaps headlong embosom'd in foam. DRINK AND AWAY. BY THE REV. WILLIAM CROSWELL. [There is a beautiful rill in Barbary received into a large basin, which bears name signifying "Drink and Away," from the great danger of meeting with gues and assassins.--DR. SHAW.] Up! pilgrim and rover, Redouble thy haste! Nor rest thee till over Life's wearisome waste. Ere the wild forest ranger Thy footsteps betray To trouble and danger,-- Oh, drink and away! Here lurks the dark savage By night and by day, To rob and to ravage, Nor scruples to slay. He waits for the slaughter: The blood of his prey Shall stain the still water,-- Then drink and away! With toil though thou languish, The mandate obey, Spur on, though in anguish, There's death in delay! No blood-hound, want-wasted, Is fiercer than they:-- Pass by it untested-- Or drink and away! Though sore be the trial, Thy God is thy stay, Though deep the denial, Yield not in dismay, But, wrapt in high vision, Look on to the day When the fountains Elysian Thy thirst shall allay. There shalt thou for ever Enjoy thy repose Where life's gentle river Eternally flows, Yea, there shalt thou rest thee For ever and aye, With none to molest thee-- Then, drink and away. THE HUDSON. BY MARGARETTA V. FAUGERES, 1793. Through many a blooming wild and woodland green The Hudson's sleeping waters winding stray; Now 'mongst the hills its silvery waves are seen, And now through arching willows steal away: Now more majestic rolls the ample tide, Tall waving elms its clovery borders shade, And many a stately dome, in ancient pride, And hoary grandeur, there exalts its head. There trace the marks of culture's sunburnt hand, The honeyed buck-wheat's clustering blossoms view, Dripping rich odours, mark the beard-grain bland, The loaded orchard, and the flax field blue; The grassy hill, the quivering poplar grove, The copse of hazel, and the tufted bank, The long green valley where the white flocks rove, The jutting rock, o'erhung with ivy dank; The tall pines waving on the mountain's brow, Whose lofty spires catch day's last lingering beam; The bending willow weeping o'er the stream, The brook's soft gurglings, and the garden's glow.