Of the rivers bright and golden,
Rolling onward to the sea,
In their beauty and their grandeur,
Thou the dearest art to me.
I have seen the Juniata
Sweep its verdant banks along;
Listened to the Rappahannock
In its rudest, wildest song;
I have watched the broad Ohio,
Swelling from a thousand streams,
And the quiet, meek Scioto,
Brighter than a poet's dreams;
Heard the roaring of Niagara,
Wonder of the western world;
Seen the towering, icy mountains
In its "hell of waters" hurled;
Stood beside the Susquehanna,
And the rolling Merrimack;
On the noble Mississippi
Marked the Indian s arrowy track;
By the beauteous Androscoggin
In a trance of glory stood,
Listening to a thousand echoes
From the deep, surrounding wood;
In Penobscot's verdant valley
Lingered with the savage wild,
Till I seemed to catch the spirit
Of untutored nature's child;
On the banks of sinuous Nonesuch
Lingered many a sunny day,
Till the evening shadows tore me
From my peaceful joys away;
Sailed upon the glorious Hudson,
Floated on old Congin's breast;
But such beauties never stirred me
As on Casco's bosom rest.
Golden river! well I love thee—
Heaven of childhood's happy day,
When upon thy sparkling waters
I was wont to leap and play.
Gone are schoolmates; cot and palace
Crumbled by the tooth of time;
But thou rollest in thy beauty,
Filling me with thoughts sublime
Generations come and linger
For a season and are gone,
But, unchanging and forever,
Gloriously thou rollest on.
