The life and works of William Cullen Bryant
& quot; This will not suffer by comparison with Moore s translation of
the same.
& quot;JOHN AVERY, JR. & quot;
Mr. Bryant speaks of his residence at Williamstown as
having- been on the whole agreeable to him, but a poem which
he delivered before one of the literary societies of the college
conveys a somewhat different impression. It is a pretty se
vere satire upon the town, the college, and its authorities. He
does not forget to celebrate the natural beauty of the place :
& quot; Hemmed in with hills, whose heads aspire
Abrupt and rude, and hung with woods, & quot;
but he deprecates the climate, which infects it at one sea
son with & quot; a lengthened blaze of drought, & quot; and, at another,
drenches it with & quot; the tempest s copious floods & quot; :
& quot; A frozen desert now it lies,
And now a sea of mud, & quot;
from which mud, he continues, the most deleterious exhala
tions arise :
& quot; And hover o er the unconscious vale,
And sleep upon the mountain side. & quot;
And then he asks :
& quot;Why should I sing those reverend domes,
Where Science rests in grave repose ?
Ah me ! their terrors and their glooms
Only the wretched inmate knows.
See how the billow on the breast
Of ocean sinks to glassy rest.
And here the wild duck swims, and there
The crane goes journeying through the air.
The great sun pours a constant ray,
The shadowy clouds are chased away,
And all that toiling man has done
Looks bright beneath the glorious sun,
Young berries stud the olive bough,
The wine-cup wears a garland now,
The fruit-buds into blossoms start
And push the leafy shoots apart. & quot;