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Acadia.
33
Broke the deep spells of woodland solitude,
And banished nature with a hand too rude?
Oh no, together Art and Nature reign,
Smile on the mountain top and deck the plain;
Though Labor's hand full many a scene has cleared,
Of all that erst upon its face appeared;
Yet there are spots by Art still unprofaned
Where Nature reigns as ages since she reigned.
And banished nature with a hand too rude?
Oh no, together Art and Nature reign,
Smile on the mountain top and deck the plain;
Though Labor's hand full many a scene has cleared,
Of all that erst upon its face appeared;
Yet there are spots by Art still unprofaned
Where Nature reigns as ages since she reigned.
Such sweet Lochaber * Sydney's sylvan pride,
Lake of the woods, the forests gentle bride—
It is thy lot to be; Lifes bubbling stream
Must cease ere I forget the vivid dream
Of olden time, that tranced me as I stood,
Beneath the shadows of thine ancient wood.
Fresh is the vision, yes I see thee yet,
A sparkling Diamond in an Emerald set.
The morning's sun illumes thy placid wave
Where chaste Diana might her beauties lave,
Nor fear to be observed—so deep—profound
The lulling stillness that prevails around.
Winding, in graceful folds, 'twixt hills that rise
On either side, the fair Lochaber lies.
Now to the eye its glowing charms revealed,
Now, like a bashful Beauty, half concealed
Beneath the robe of spotless green she wears,
The rich profusion of a thousand years.
No axe profane has touched a single bough,
No sod has yet been broken by the plough;
Far down the ancient trees reflected lie
Stem, branch, and leaf, like fairy tracery
Lake of the woods, the forests gentle bride—
It is thy lot to be; Lifes bubbling stream
Must cease ere I forget the vivid dream
Of olden time, that tranced me as I stood,
Beneath the shadows of thine ancient wood.
Fresh is the vision, yes I see thee yet,
A sparkling Diamond in an Emerald set.
The morning's sun illumes thy placid wave
Where chaste Diana might her beauties lave,
Nor fear to be observed—so deep—profound
The lulling stillness that prevails around.
Winding, in graceful folds, 'twixt hills that rise
On either side, the fair Lochaber lies.
Now to the eye its glowing charms revealed,
Now, like a bashful Beauty, half concealed
Beneath the robe of spotless green she wears,
The rich profusion of a thousand years.
No axe profane has touched a single bough,
No sod has yet been broken by the plough;
Far down the ancient trees reflected lie
Stem, branch, and leaf, like fairy tracery