Sit by this roaring surge,
Thou whom scorn wasteth;
And let thy musings be
Where the Flood hasteth.
Mark, on its troubled breast,
Rolls the white billows' crest:
So deem his thoughts unrest,
Who of love tasteth.
Smile thou, O greatly wise;
And if fate sever
Bonds which the heart doth prize,
So was it ever.
Deep as the rolling seas,
Soft as the twilight breeze;
But of more truth than these,
Boast could love never.
Source: Table Rock Album and Sketches of the Falls and Scenery
Adjacent. Buffalo: Steam Press of Thomas and Lathrops, copyright by Jewett, Thomas
& Co.,1856c.1848
