Upon the heights of Sillery one day,
Led by the dryad of the fairy wood,
A daughter of the land, as bright and good
As spring's first daffodil, bade me survey
Wolfe's cove, the gleaming city with array
Of walls and pinnacles, each in a hood
Of sunset glory, while the shining flood
Swept through the mountains far and far away.
And then the nearer landscape she recalls,
The grove, the Grange, Belle Borne's romantic rill,
Which in a chain of silvery waterfalls
Ran down the cliff and vanished; but she still
Stands there to me. A memory will not fade —
Part of the glorious vision I surveyed.