Loud and shrill is the eagle’s call
O’er the muttering wash of the angry tide!
But Storm King[306] nods to old Cro’ Nest,[307]
Where the pine-trees nod, and the hoarse crows call,
Though the Mohawk sleeps ’neath that rocky crest,[308]
While the leaves on his ruined castles fall.
To-day on the Hudson sailing by,
Under the shadow of Breakneck Hill,
We tell the legend, and heave a sigh,
Where Nekama’s memory lingers still.