I long'd for Andes all around, and Alps,
Hoar kings and priests of Nature, robed in snow,
Throned as for judgement in a solemn row,
With icy mitres on their granite scalps,
Dumb giants, frowning at the strife below--
I long'd for the Sublime! -- Thou art too fair,
Too fair, Niagara, to be sublime;
In calm slow strength thy mighty floods o'erflow
And stand a cliff of cataracts in the air--
Yet,-- all too beauteous Water-bride of Time,--
Veil'd in soft mists, and cinctur'd by the bow,
Thy pastoral charms may fascinate the sight,
But have not force to set my soul aglow,
Raptur'd by fear, and wonder, and delight.