File:Poems of America (1882) (14782993965).jpg

Identifier: poemsofamerica00long (find matches)
Title: Poems of America
Year: 1882 (1880s)
Authors: Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 1807-1882, ed
Subjects: American poetry
Publisher: Boston, New York, Houghton, Mifflin and company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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ving tendrils strong; ! The trumpet-flowers smile witli ruddy hp;The mistletoe extends the boughs along, And wooes the graceful jay-birds hoarse but cheerful song. Edicard Reynolds. 144 POEMS OF PLACES. THE OHIO. . FLOW on, tlioii glorious river,Thy mountain-shores between,To where the Mexiques stormy wavesDash on savannas green.riow on, between the forestsThat bend above thy side.And neath the sky and stars, that lieMirrored within thy tide. High in the distant mountains Thy first small fountains gush, And down the steep, through the ravine, In shallow rills they rush; Till in the level valley. To which the hills descend, Converging from the summits, meet The thousand rills, and blend. And soon the narrow mountain stream, Oer which a child might leap. Holds on its course with a giants force, In a channel broad and deep. High up among the mountains. The fisher boy is seen, Alone and lounging in the shade. Along the margin green; And not a sound disturbs him, save A squirrel or a bird.
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PASO DEL MAE. 145 Or on the autumn leaves tlie noise Of dropping nuts is heard.But here the city crowds uponThe freedom of the wave,And many a happy village bankThy flowing waters lave.Upon thy tranquil bosom floatAn empires burdened keels.And every tributary streamAn empires wealth reveals. Flow on, thou mighty river ! High-road of nations, flow! And thou slialt flow, when all the woods Upon thy sides are low. Yes, thou shalt flow eternally, Though on thy peopled shore Tlie rising town and dawning state Should sink to rise no more. * * * Ephraim Teahody. Paso Del 3far, Cal THE FIGHT OF TASO DEL MAR. GUSTY and raw was the morning,A fog hung over the seas,And its gray skirts, rolling inland.Were torn by the mountain trees; 146 POEMS OF PLACES. No sound was heard but the dashing Of waves on the sandy bar.When Pablo of San Diego Rode down to the Paso del Mar. The pescador, out in his shallop. Gathering his harvest so wide,Sees the dim bulk of the headland Loom over the waste of the tide;

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