In silence would its fondness prove.
Enough, I know were mine thy pain
Thou wouldst have been the friend to me
That I have striven to be to thee.
But let us choose another theme;
Two days we now have traced this stream;
And though as deep its bed, and wide,
As when we first beheld its tide,
The mountains hang around our way
Repelling the broad light of day,
Beetling as if their craggy sides
Frowned vengeance on the foaming tides
Which sap with ceaseless flow their feet.
Escape is none for those who meet
Within this chasm the foe they fear.
If rightly we have judged, we near
That awful precipice whose crest
Groans with the weight of raging waves
Which plunging down with perilous haste
Are shattered in its yawning caves;
Where echo-waking cataracts come
Rushing with hoary crests of foam."
