A valley from the river shore withdrawn Was Albert’s home, two quiet woods between, Whose lofty verdure overlooked his lawn; And waters to their resting-place serene Came freshening, and reflecting all the scene: (A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves;) So sweet a spot of earth, you might (I ween) Have guessed some congregation of the elves, To sport by summer moons, had shaped it for themselves. II. Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse, Nor vistas opened by the wandering stream; Both were at evening Allegany views Through ridges burning in her western beam, Lake after lake interminably gleam: And past those settlers’ haunts the eye might roam Where earth’s unliving silence all would seem; Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome, Or buffalo remote lowed far from human home. III. But silent not that adverse eastern path, Which saw Aurora’s hills the horizon crown; There was the river heard, in bed of wrath (A precipice of foam from mountains brown), Like tumults heard from some far distant town; But softening in approach he left his gloom, And murmured pleasantly, and laid him down To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom, That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume. IV. It seemed as if those scenes sweet influence had On Gertrude’s soul, and kindness like their own Inspired those eyes affectionate and glad, That seemed to love whate’er they looked upon Whether with Hebe’s mirth her features shone, Or if a shade more pleasing them o’ercast, (As if for heavenly musing meant alone;) Yet so becomingly the expression past, That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last. V. Nor, guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home, With all its picturesque and balmy grace, And fields that were a luxury to roam, Lost on the soul that looked from such a face! Enthusiast of the woods! when years apace Had bound thy lovely waist with woman’s zone, The sunrise path, at morn, I see thee trace To hills with high magnolia overgrown, And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone. VI. The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth, That thus apostrophised its viewless scene: “Land of my father’s love, my mother’s birth! The home of kindred I have never seen! We know not other—oceans are between: Yet say! far friendly hearts, from whence we came, Of us does oft remembrance intervene? My mother sure—my sire a thought may claim;— But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name. VII. “And yet, loved England! when thy name I trace In many a pilgrim’s tale and poet’s song, How can I choose but wish for one embrace Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong My mother’s looks,—perhaps her likeness strong? Oh, parent! with what reverential awe, From features of thine own related throng, An image of thy face my soul could draw! And see thee once again whom I too shortly saw!” VIII.