These cliffs have quivered at his loud command,
These waters blushed, where his deep shadow fell!
And at his bidding, 'mid these solitudes,
The ebb and flow of life have poured their waves,
Till Time, the hoary sexton of these woods,
Despairing, broods o'er the uncounted graves.
And warrior tribes have come from some far land,
And made these mountains echo with their cry—
And they have mouldered—and their mighty hand
Hath writ no record on the earth or sky!