251
GENERAL ST. CLAIR.
Neglected, and forgotten by his Country, poor and in obscurity, on one of the Allegany Mountains, in 1815, was still living the venerable Patriot.
DEEP in the western wild a mountain rose,
Its base was green, its summit white with snows,
Its shaggy cliffs were brown with endless shade,
While on its bosom humid vapours play'd,
And the soft sun-beams shunn'd it—half afraid.
Its cold, slow streams without a murmur crept,
Or bound in icy bands like pris'ners slept,
Save where the headlong cataract would dash
Across the strong roots of the mountain ash?
And sounding, rending, whirling in its course,
Pour on the distant vale its gather'd force.
And tho' a summer breeze would sometimes sigh
Among the trees whose branches sought the sky,
The ruffian winds with wild and jealous sway
Would drive the trembling stranger far away.
And here, thought I, might misery reside,
Sullen regret, or disappointed pride,
Or sick seclusion sigh o'er errors past,
