And darkened by the wilderness around,
That soon its hollow roaring would be drowned,
By the deep murmur of the mighty crowd,
Amid thick domes, with tower and turret crowned;
The din of whirling cars, and clatter loud
Of mills by human art with iron lungs endowed:
Nor did they dream that, in communion grand,
Broad Erie’s wave, and Hudson’s mighty tide,
Within a channel shaped by mortal hand,
Ere half a century elapsed, would glide: