In number they equal the days of the year;
And when summer comes no islands appear
More lovely in verdure and beauty than these,
With rich, fruitful fields, and beautiful trees—
So vocal with birds, warbling out their sweet lays,
As if they were chanting their Maker’s praise,
Could you then view the lake, dear children, the sight
Would fill your young hearts with the greatest delight.
Another famed spot is a narrow defile,
Where the mountain seems split for more than a mile,
And a picturesque landscape around you is spread,
With the White Mountains hanging just over your head.
This Notch is so wonderful, travellers agree,
It repays one to come a long distance to see;
Amid Alpine heights such views may abound,
But in our own country they seldom are found.
American Switzerland! Such is the name
We give to the Old Granite State for the fame
Of its islands and lakes, its cascades and fountains,
And the bold, lofty peaks of the snowy White Mountains.
SHUN THE SWEARER.
Run home, little boy!
Oh, do not stand there,
To hear that bad man
So wickedly swear.
What a sight
We descry
When the Falls
Meet our eye!