<h2><SPAN name="the_glen"></SPAN>The Glen</h2>
<p class="p2 poem">Here Nature's nice adjusted tool<br/>
Hath cut a chasm; and each pool<br/>
Reflects a narrow, rocky room<br/>
Where sun-born flowers seldom bloom,<br/>
But where the ledging, level shelves<br/>
Betray the dance hall of the elves.<br/></p>
<p class="poem p1">And overhead the tasseled trees<br/>
Frown from the wall, and with each breeze<br/>
Awake the solemn avenue,<br/>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</SPAN></span>
But hide from sight the upward view,<br/>
When with a hundred harps they sing<br/>
To Boreas their mighty king.<br/></p>
<p class="poem p1">Here Echo dwells in lonely mood,<br/>
And answers to the dying wood;<br/>
Unsuited to a varying rhyme<br/>
She hath no voice for tuneful Time<br/>
Content to speak as she hath heard<br/>
The lyric wind, the singing bird.<br/></p>
<p class="poem p1">Here these same falls awoke the glen<br/>
Long, long before the march of men;<br/>
Long, long before yon broken soil<br/>
Brought forth the fruit of human toil<br/>
And here these falls will dance and play<br/>
When feeling man has passed away.<br/></p>
<p class="poem p1">Sing little Falls; and echo Glen,<br/>
Till silent are the songs of men<br/>
And they that dwell upon the earth<br/>
Have disappeared as at thy birth<br/>
And senseless Rock—if think ye can,<br/>
Think ye—how short the life of man!<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><ANTIMG style="width: 150px; height: 59px;" alt="" src="images/illo_031.jpg" /><br/>
</p>
<SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</SPAN>
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