I.

THE CASCADE VAUNTETH ITSELF.

Over my pebbly bed I flow: Till foaming--now splashing, Soon leaping--then dashing Into the chasm's bowl below, Where my pearl drops glittering, Rival the driven snow.

The chains of Winter I spurn! All Summer and Spring Through the grove I sing, Gladdening lily and fern, And the tired bird who kisses my cheek With a dainty touch of his thirsty beak.

And when from the mountain side The sunshines of May Charm the snows away-- The torrent's impulsive tide Mingles its turbid strength with mine, Marking the thicket with surging line.

Then as the grove I enter, The tree-tops shake, The granite beds quake, Into their very centre; Whilst the birds around on the soaking ground Hush their song at my thunder sound!

Man never with puny arm _My_ power shall curb, _My_ flow disturb! Ha! ha! for nature's charm: Powerful in the rock That human strength doth mock!

Long as stern Father Time Shall harvest future years-- Garnering joys and tears-- In every land and clime: So long shall I from the moss-clad steep, Bubble or vaunt in the foaming leap!