Classic Poem

I.

We rode, in genial mood, a friendly band,
Where climbed a winding path o'er many a steep,
And caught, from height to height, on either hand,
Visions of beauty in the valleys deep;
There gentle Hoosic holds his peaceful way,
With meadow banks of green, and trees o'erhung;
There are sweet pastures where the blithe lambs play
And sober herds repose; fields where is sung
The reaper's troll as o'er his arm is flung
The ripened grain that for the sheaf he binds:
There gleams the village spire, and deep among
Thick elms and maples hid, the eye yet finds
The classic halls whence, with each year, are sent
Men of high soul on noble ends intent.

II.

There lift the mountains their majestic forms,
Wearing their forest robes, a rich attire,
Unharmed by wasting time, or raging storms,
Serene when thunders on their brows expire.
So blend the lovely and the grand around,
Fix the pleased eye and charm the admiring soul;
Joy warms each heart, pure, tranquil and profound;
O'er each, blest impulses delicious roll;
We snatched each view, drank in each rural sound,
The brook's dull murmur and the wind's soft sigh;
And while 'mid scenes of beauty on we wound,
Each troubled thought seemed in the heart to die;
Peace filled each breast, and hope that friendship's chain
Might firmly bind till perfect love should reign.