WYOMING
On Susquehanna’s side, fair Wyoming!Although the wild flower on the ruined wall,And roofless homes a sad remembrance bringOf what thy gentle people did befall,Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all,That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.Sweet land! May I thy lost delights recall,And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,Whose Beauty was the love of Pennsylvania’s Shore.Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,The happy shepherd swains had nought to do,But feed their flocks on green declivitiesOr skim perchance thy lake with light canoe,From morn till Evening’s sweeter pastime grew,With Timbrel, when beneath the Forest Brown,Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew,And aye those sunny mountains half-way down,Would echo flagelet from some romantic town.Then, where of Indian Hills the daybreak takes,His leave, how might you the flamingo seeDisporting like a meteor on the lakes—And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:And every sound of life was full of glee,From merry Mock-bird’s song, or hum of men;While heark’ning, fearing nought their revelry,The wild deer arched his neck from glades and then,Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.Thomas Campbell.
On Susquehanna’s side, fair Wyoming!Although the wild flower on the ruined wall,And roofless homes a sad remembrance bringOf what thy gentle people did befall,Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all,That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.Sweet land! May I thy lost delights recall,And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,Whose Beauty was the love of Pennsylvania’s Shore.Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,The happy shepherd swains had nought to do,But feed their flocks on green declivitiesOr skim perchance thy lake with light canoe,From morn till Evening’s sweeter pastime grew,With Timbrel, when beneath the Forest Brown,Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew,And aye those sunny mountains half-way down,Would echo flagelet from some romantic town.Then, where of Indian Hills the daybreak takes,His leave, how might you the flamingo seeDisporting like a meteor on the lakes—And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:And every sound of life was full of glee,From merry Mock-bird’s song, or hum of men;While heark’ning, fearing nought their revelry,The wild deer arched his neck from glades and then,Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.Thomas Campbell.
On Susquehanna’s side, fair Wyoming!Although the wild flower on the ruined wall,And roofless homes a sad remembrance bringOf what thy gentle people did befall,Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all,That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.Sweet land! May I thy lost delights recall,And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,Whose Beauty was the love of Pennsylvania’s Shore.
On Susquehanna’s side, fair Wyoming!
Although the wild flower on the ruined wall,
And roofless homes a sad remembrance bring
Of what thy gentle people did befall,
Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all,
That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.
Sweet land! May I thy lost delights recall,
And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,
Whose Beauty was the love of Pennsylvania’s Shore.
Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,The happy shepherd swains had nought to do,But feed their flocks on green declivitiesOr skim perchance thy lake with light canoe,From morn till Evening’s sweeter pastime grew,With Timbrel, when beneath the Forest Brown,Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew,And aye those sunny mountains half-way down,Would echo flagelet from some romantic town.
Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,
The happy shepherd swains had nought to do,
But feed their flocks on green declivities
Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe,
From morn till Evening’s sweeter pastime grew,
With Timbrel, when beneath the Forest Brown,
Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew,
And aye those sunny mountains half-way down,
Would echo flagelet from some romantic town.
Then, where of Indian Hills the daybreak takes,His leave, how might you the flamingo seeDisporting like a meteor on the lakes—And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:And every sound of life was full of glee,From merry Mock-bird’s song, or hum of men;While heark’ning, fearing nought their revelry,The wild deer arched his neck from glades and then,Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.Thomas Campbell.
Then, where of Indian Hills the daybreak takes,
His leave, how might you the flamingo see
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes—
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:
And every sound of life was full of glee,
From merry Mock-bird’s song, or hum of men;
While heark’ning, fearing nought their revelry,
The wild deer arched his neck from glades and then,
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.
Thomas Campbell.