From "Weehawken."
=349.= HISTORICAL REMINISCENCES.
Eve o'er our path is stealing fast:
Yon quivering splendors are the last
The sun will fling, to tremble o'er
The waves that kiss the opposing shore;
His latest glories fringe the height
Behind us, with their golden light.
* * * * *
Yet should the stranger ask what lore
Of by-gone days, this winding shore,
Yon cliffs, and fir-clad steeps, could tell
If vocal made by Fancy's spell,
The varying legend might rehearse
Fit themes for high romantic verse.
O'er yon rough heights and moss-clad sod
Oft hath the stalwart warrior trod;
Or peered with hunter's gaze, to mark
The progress of the glancing bark.
Spoils, strangely won on distant waves.
Have lurked in yon obstructed caves.
When the great strife for Freedom rose,
Here scouted oft her friends and foes,
Alternate, through the changeful war,
And beacon-fires flashed bright and far;
And here, when Freedom's strife was won,
Fell, in sad feud, her favored son;—
Her son,—the second of the band,
The Romans of the rescued land.
Where round yon capes the banks descend,
Long shall the pilgrim's footsteps bend;
There, mirthful hearts shall pause to sigh
There, tears shall dim the patriot's eye.
There last he stood. Before his sight
Flowed the fair river, free and bright;
The rising Mart, and isles and bay,
Before him in their glory lay,—
Scenes of his love and of his fame,—
The instant ere the death-shot came.
* * * * *