The Banks of the Tennessee
By Rev. C.H.A. Bulkley.
- The wild duck is dipping his glossy wing,
- And cooling his heeated breast
- In the waters that backward his image fling,
- As he floats in his liquid rest;
- He skimmeth along in the wavelet's glow,
- With a fisher's quiet glee,
- Or seeketh his mate in the reeds that grow
- On the banks of the Tennessee
-
- The swallow flits by with his spear-like wing
- That pierceth the wave's smooth crest,
- And catching a drop in his bill to bring
- To the fledglings athirst in his nest;
- And like him the birds that reposed all night,
- 'Neath the curtains of every tree,
- And trilling their music in mating flight
- O'er the banks of the Tennessee.
-
- The lowing herds, driv'n bu summer's hot ray
- Descring the meadow's so green,
- Cool their lips in the tide where they stand midway,
- All heedless of noon's burning sheenl
- Their image invested in rich beauty glows,
- With the branches of bush and tree,
- And they sniff the soft breeze that in freshness blows
- O'er the banks of the Tennessee.
-
- The fisher-boy marks from the pebbly shore
- The ripples that circle his line,
- In fancy beholding a bountiful store
- Of fish in his basket shine
- He whissleth and singeth of thought is lack,
- And lists to his own melody,
- In many an echo that floweth back
- From the banks of the Tennessee.
-
- Away o'er the dimly-receding tide
- The precipice loftly shines,
- Like a monarch with garment and crown of pride,
- In the verdure of evergreen pines;
- At its deep rocky base, like tents that glow,
- With their banners in sun-light free,
- The wind-stirred water in stillness flow,
- By the banks of the Tennessee.
-
- The deep chasms reach from their cloudy heights,
- And circle that river's course,
- Like bulwarks created by hands of might,
- To shield it from hostile force;
- The rocky bars stretch like an iron chain,
- Where the currents so wildly flee,
- Till their musical rapids ring on a full strain,
- On the banks of the Tennessee.
-
- Oh! sweet are the fields that in verdure bright
- With their billows of grain oft gleam,
- And stretch far away in the rich sunlight,
- From the shores of that radiant stream;
- And sweet are the forests where branches breathe
- The winds from the flowering lea,
- As freshly and purely their chaplets they wreathe
- On the banks of the Tennessee
-
- Sweet, too, is the cot where my heart has its home
- With the loved on its life to beam,
- Amid the green woods where I revel and roam
- By the banks of that beautiful stream;
- Then while the blest billows of life still flow,
- Oh! There let my dwelling be,
- With loved ones still smiling in love's own glow
- On the banks of the Tennessee.
January 21, 1851. Fayetteville Observer 1(3): 1.