  Four hundred miles of brawling through many a mountain pass, From the shadow of the Catskills to the rocks of Havre de Grace, The Susquehanna flashes by willowy isles of May And deluges of April to the splendors of the bay. It brings Otsego water and Juniata bright, Chenango's sunny current and dark Swatara's night, By booms of lumber winding and rafts of coal and ore, And gliding barges crossing the dams from shore to shore. It is an aisle of silver along the mountain nave, Where towers the Alleghany reflected in its wave, By many a mine of treasure and many a borough quaint, And many a home of hero and tomb of simple saint. The granite gates resign it to mingle with the bay, And softened bars of mountain stand glowing o'er the way; The wild game flock the offing; the great seine-barges go— From battery to windlass, and singing as they row. The negroes watch the lighthouse, the trains upon the bridge, The little fisher's village strewn o'er the grassy ridge, The cannoneers that, paddling in stealthy rafts of brush, With their decoys around them, the juicy ducks do flush. And oft by night, they whisper, a phantom architect Lurks round the Cape of Havre, of ruined intellect, Who had designed a city upon this eminence, To cover all the headland and rule the land from hence. And sometimes men belated the phantom builder find, Lost on the darkened water and drifting with the wind; Then by his will a vision starts sudden on the night— The city flashing splendor o'er all that barren height. Its dome of polished marble and tholus full of fire; The dying look of sunset just fading from the spire; The towers of its prisons, the spars and masts of fleets, And lines of lamps that clamber along the crowded streets. The ships of war at anchor in the indented ports, The thunder of the broadsides, the answer of the forts— These by his invocation arise and flame and thrill, Raised on his faith tenacious and strengthened by his will. My soul! there is a city, set like a diadem, Beyond a crystal river: the new Jerusalem. The architect was lowly and walked with fishermen; But only He can open the blessed sight again. |
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