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ling by St. Mary's Falls, Upon his loaded wain; He's measuring o'er the Pictured Rocks, With eager eyes of gain. I hear the mattock in the mine, The axe-stroke in the dell, The clamor from the Indian lodge, The Jesuit chapel bell! I see the swarthy trappers come From Mississippi's springs; And war-chiefs with their painted brows, And crests of eagle wings. Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe, The steamer smokes and raves; And city lots are staked for sale Above old Indian graves. I hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be; The first low wash of waves, where soon Shall roll a human sea. The rudiments of empire here Are plastic yet and warm; The chaos of a mighty world Is rounding into form! Each rude and jostling fragment soon Its fitting place shall find,-- The raw material of a State, Its muscle and its mind! And, westering still, the star which leads The New World in its train Has tipped with fire the icy spears Of many a mountain chain. The snowy cones of Oregon Are kindling on its way; And California's golden sands Gleam brighter in its ray! Then blessings on thy eagle quill, As, wandering far and wide, I thank thee for this twilight dream And Fancy's airy ride! Yet, welcomer than regal plumes, Which Western trappers find, Thy free and pleasant thoughts, chance sown, Like feathers on the wind. Thy symbol be the mountain-bird, Whose glistening quill I hold; Thy home the ample air of hope, And memory's sunset gold! In thee, let joy with duty join, And strength unite with love, The eagle's pinions folding round The warm heart of the dove! So, when in darkness sleeps the vale Where still the blind bird clings The sunshine of the upper sky Shall glitter on thy wings! 1849. APRIL. "The spring comes slowly up this way." Christabel. 'T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard; For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, On south-sloping brooksides should
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