"Far up in the dim mountain glade,Wrapped in the myst'ry of its shade,On a cold rock, a dewdrop fell,And slumbered in its stony shell,Till brewed within its rocky bed,There trickled out a silver thread,A little, shy, lost waterling,That marks the cradled mountain spring."
"Far up in the dim mountain glade,Wrapped in the myst'ry of its shade,On a cold rock, a dewdrop fell,And slumbered in its stony shell,Till brewed within its rocky bed,There trickled out a silver thread,A little, shy, lost waterling,That marks the cradled mountain spring."
"Far up in the dim mountain glade,Wrapped in the myst'ry of its shade,On a cold rock, a dewdrop fell,And slumbered in its stony shell,Till brewed within its rocky bed,There trickled out a silver thread,A little, shy, lost waterling,That marks the cradled mountain spring."
"Far up in the dim mountain glade,
Wrapped in the myst'ry of its shade,
On a cold rock, a dewdrop fell,
And slumbered in its stony shell,
Till brewed within its rocky bed,
There trickled out a silver thread,
A little, shy, lost waterling,
That marks the cradled mountain spring."
The Hendrick Spring is within a half-mile of Long Lake and upon the same summit, the latter discharging its waters northward into the St. Lawrence. The little stream from this source gathers force, and flows through a chain of brooks and ponds to the lovely Catlin Lake. High peaks environ them, and their swelling waters make much of the river on coming to the confluence with the northern branch of the Hudson at the outlet of Harris Lake. Here there blooms, all about, the splendid cardinal plant, its showy flower glowing like a flame.
The most elevated fountain head of the Hudson is upon the northern branch. Within the inmost recesses of the mountain wilderness, in a ravine between two of the highest peaks, the river has its spring nearest the sky, known as "The Tear of the Clouds," a lofty pool, adjacent to one of the noted Adirondack portages, the Indian Pass, at about forty-three hundred feet elevation above the sea. From this pool the water flows out through the Feldspar Brook into the Opalescent River, which does not go far before it tumbles down the picturesque cascade of the Hanging Spear, leaping fifty feet into a narrow abyss between perpendicular walls, and emerging among a mass of huge boulders. All these rocks, like the greater part of the Aganus-chion, or Black Mountains, as the Indians often called the Adirondacks, are composed largely of the labradorite or opalescent feldspar, which fills the stream-bed withbeautiful pebbles of blue or green or gold, many of them having all the colors. Thus glittering with the splendors of its rich coloring under the sunlight, the Opalescent River falls into Sandford Lake. A visitor to the Indian Pass says the explorers entered the rocky gorge between the steep slopes of Mount McIntyre and the cliffs of Wallface Mountain to the westward. Clambering high above the bottom of the canyon, they could see the famous Indian Pass between these mountains in all its wild grandeur. Before them rose a perpendicular cliff nearly twelve hundred feet from base to summit, its face being apparently as raw as if only just cleft. Above sloped Mount McIntyre, still more lofty than the cliff of Wallface, and in the gorge between lay piles of rocks, grand in dimensions and awful in aspect, as if hurled there by some terrible convulsion. Through these came the little stream going to the Hudson, bubbling along from its source close by a fountain of the Ausable. In spring freshets their waters commingle, part finding their way to the ocean at New York and part at Newfoundland.
Still another spring of clear cold water is a source of the Hudson, sending down the mountain side a vigorous rivulet, falling into the Opalescent. This fountain bubbles from a mass of loose rocks, some weighing a thousand tons apiece, about a hundred feet from the summit of the noble Mount Marcy, which the Indians called Tahawus, the "Sky-piercer."From these sources among the Adirondacks flows the most important river of New York, uniting the waters of myriads of lakes and springs to form the noble stream which is picturesque and attractive throughout the whole of its course of three hundred miles to the sea. The main branches of the upper Hudson unite almost under the shadow of Tahawus, and flowing a tortuous course, it receives the outlet of Schroon Lake, the largest in the Adirondacks, covering about twenty square miles, the junction-point being but a short distance west of Lake George. Then flowing southward and turning eastward, it emerges from the mountain wilderness, and in about a hundred miles reaches its great cataract at Glen's Falls. Sweeping around the grand bend below, and tumbling down Baker's Falls, past Fort Edward and the rapids of Fort Miller, it receives the largest tributary from the eastward, the Battenkill, a rapid shallow stream flowing from the Green Mountains of Vermont. Thence its course is southward, every mile from the wilderness to the sea being replete with historic and scenic attractions:
"Queen of all lovely rivers, lustrous queenOf flowing waters in our sweet new lands,Rippling through sunlight to the ocean sands,Within a smiling valley, and betweenRomantic shores of silvery summer green;Memorial of wild days and savage bands,Singing the patient deeds of patriot hands,Crooning of golden glorious years foreseen."
"Queen of all lovely rivers, lustrous queenOf flowing waters in our sweet new lands,Rippling through sunlight to the ocean sands,Within a smiling valley, and betweenRomantic shores of silvery summer green;Memorial of wild days and savage bands,Singing the patient deeds of patriot hands,Crooning of golden glorious years foreseen."
"Queen of all lovely rivers, lustrous queenOf flowing waters in our sweet new lands,Rippling through sunlight to the ocean sands,Within a smiling valley, and betweenRomantic shores of silvery summer green;Memorial of wild days and savage bands,Singing the patient deeds of patriot hands,Crooning of golden glorious years foreseen."
"Queen of all lovely rivers, lustrous queen
Of flowing waters in our sweet new lands,
Rippling through sunlight to the ocean sands,
Within a smiling valley, and between
Romantic shores of silvery summer green;
Memorial of wild days and savage bands,
Singing the patient deeds of patriot hands,
Crooning of golden glorious years foreseen."