To the right a mountain tow’reth,
To the left a valley low’reth.
Ah! beauteous Dart, thou art a home—
In thee a myriad fishes roam;
Some, ensnared, are flung on high,
Others revel ’til they die;
And come what may, there is no sorrow,
And no preparing for to-morrow.
Behold a sea of lofty trees—
See how they gently heed the breeze—