Ode Written On The Banks Of The Passumsick River Poem by Josias Lyndon Arnold

Passumsick, hail! Who glid’st along,
Unknown to melody and song,
Saving what sung the Indian bard,
E’er yet refinement sought thy shore,
While thy falls ceas’d to roar,
And with attention heard.
War he sung, and blood and fire!
While every forest trembled round,
E’en Echo’s self seemed anxious to retire,
And scarce gave back the frightful sound.

Thee I hail, as thou dost pass,
Reflecting in thy watery glass
Wide spreading elms, and basswoods high,
And pines that kiss the ambient sky.
Thy stream, which runs like fancy’s child
Irregular and sweetly wild,
Now through fertile meadows strays,
And pleas’d with beauties on each side,
Its downward course awhile delays,
And hardly seems to glide.

Now from a tall cliff thundering pours,
And foaming, laves the rocky shores,
Along thy banks new scenes appear,
Improv’d by each revolving year.
In wilds, where once the savage trod,
To sate with blood his angry god,
Humanity erects her throne,
And mild Religion seats her down.

Oft on thy margin thou hast seen
The Sachem and his tawney train
Roll the red eye in vengeful ire,
And lead the captive to the fire,
Behold the victim march along,
Undaunted, midst the yelling throng;
The vallies hear from him no cries,
Nor sighs his breast, nor weep his eyes;
But loud he chants the parting song,
And still unvanquish’d dies!

Now fairer scenes thy banks adorn;
Yellow wheat and waving corn
Bend in gratitude profound,
As yielding homage to the ground.
See the cottages of swains
Rising frequent o’er the plains;
There plenty, peace and joy reside,
And shut the door to envious pride;
There health her cheerful visage shows,
And nymphs look blooming as the rose.
Beneath a beech in yonder grove
Hear the voice of generous love.
No coquette there, with wily arts,
Tries to ensnare a score of hearts,
Nor feignedly indifferent turns,
And flies the man for whom she burns;
With falling eyes and modest shame
Sincere they tell their mutual flame,
And change the kisses, which impart
Joy and rapture to the heart.

Passumpsick, hail! who glid’st along,
The theme of many a future song;
Hadst thou a wish, that wish would be
Still on thy banks such scenes to see,
Where innocence and peace are found,
While vice and tumult vex the world around.

(N.B. - Nowadays, we spell the name of the river that flows through town without the “k.”)