AT last a sound, like murmurs from the shore, Of far-off ocean when the storm is bound, Grows on his ear, and still increases more As he advances, till the woods resound, And seem to tremble with the constant roar Of many waters. Ay, the very ground Begins to shake, when 'neath the arching trees, Bright glimmering, and fast gliding down, he sees Broad rushing waters, -- to their dizzy steep Hither they come; thence, glimmering far as sight, Up 'twixt the groves can trace their coming sweep; Here, from the precipice all frothy white, Uttering an earthquake in their headlong leap, And flinging sunbows o'er their showery flight, And bursting wild, -- down, down, all foam they go To the dark gulf, and smoke and boil below. Thence, hurrying onward through the narrow bound Of banks precipitous, they murmuring go, Till by the jutting cliffs half wheeling round, They leave the view among the hills below. There paused our father, ravished with the sound Of the wild waters, and their rapid flow; And there, all lonely, joyed that he had found Thy Falls, Pawtucket, and where Seekonk wound. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN DE CO'N PONE'S HOT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A MOTHER'S LOVE by JAMES MONTGOMERY EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by MATTHEW PRIOR THE OLD BURYING-GROUND by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TRAVELLER BY NIGHT, SELECTION by JOANNA BAILLIE AN ODD CONCEIT by NICHOLAS BRETON THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: DEDICATION TO EDWARD, LORD ZOUCH by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |