Echoes full oft the pealing thunder’s roar.
Thou hast dark trophies—the unhonored tomb
Of those now sought and wept on earth no more—
Full many a goodly form, the loved and brave,
Lies whelmed and still beneath thy sullen wave.
The world was young with thee;—this swelling flood
As proudly swelled, as purely met the sky,
When sound of life roused not the ancient wood,
Save the wild eagle’s scream, or panther’s cry.
Here on this verdant bank the savage stood,