  Brave river in the mountains bred, And broadening on thy way, So stately that thy stretches seem The bosom of the bay! Thy growth is like the nation's life, Through which thy current flows— Already past the cataracts And widening to repose. Thy springs are at the Fairfax stone, Thy great arms northward course, They join and break the mountain bars With ever rallying force; But in thy nature is such peace, The beaten mountains yield, And lie their riven battlements Within thy silver shield. Through battle-fields thy runnels wind, In fame thy ferries shine; Thy ripples lave the ancient stones On Freedom's boundary line; Where every slave the border crossed, A living host repass'd, And of the sentries of thy fords, John Brown shall be the last! Yet, O Potomac! of thy peace Somewhat let faction feel, And Northern Pilgrims patient hear Of Mosby and MacNeill. The long trees bloom where Stuart cross'd, And weep where Ashby bled, And every echo in thy hills Seems Stonewall Jackson's tread. The love we bore in other days No difference can bar, And truce was kept at Vernon's grave However rolled the war. Like thee, oh river! human states By many a rapid rage, Before they reach the deeper tides And glass the perfect age. Brief is the span since Calvert's huts Were still the Indian's sport, And Braddock's columns stumbled on The borderer Cresap's fort, Till now the tinted hills grow fond Around yon marble height, Where Freedom calmly rules a realm That tires her eagle's flight. And still the wild deer sip thy springs, The wild duck haunt thy coves, And all the year the fisher fleets Bask o'er thine oyster groves; The strange new bass thy trout pursue. And where the herring spawn, The blue sky opens to let through Thine own majestic swan. Haste, Nature! Raze yon shiftless halls, Where pride penurious bides, The while the richness of the hills Runs off to choke the tides; Where every negro cabin stood A freeman's hearthside warm, And broad estates of bramble wood Expunge in many a farm! Fill and revive these fair arcades, O race to Freedom born! The tinkling herds that roam the glades, The barge's mellow horn, The lonesome sails that come and go Repeat the wish again: The ardent river yearns to know Not memories, but Men! |
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