Cochecton’s white tumultuous rift,
Now floats it on the ebon lap
Of the grim shadow’d Water Gap,
And now it’s tossing on the swells
Fierce dashing down the slope of Wells,
The rapids crash upon his ear,
The deep sounds roll more loud and near,
They fill his dream—he starts—he wakes!
The moonlight through the casement falls,
Ha! the wild sight that on him breaks,