Classic Poem

Here lay dark Pittsburgh, from whose site there broke
The manufacturer's black and sparkling smoke,
Where Industry and useful Science reign'd,
And man, by labour, all his wants sustain'd;
There, mid the howling forest dark and drear,
Rov'd the wild Indian, wilder than the deer,
King of the woods—who other blessings priz'd,
And arts and industry alike despis'd:
Hunting the trade, and war the sport he loved,
Free as the winds, the dauntless chieftain rov'd,
Taunting with bitter ire, the pale-fac'd slave,
Who toils for gold from cradle to the grave.
Extremes of habits, manners, time and space,
Brought close together, here stood face to face,
And gave at once a contrast to the view
That other lands and ages never knew;
Pass but the river, and that world where meet
Of bland society each courteous sweet,
Is left behind, for manners wild and rude,
And scenes of death, or deathlike solitude.

Sweet river of the West! a purer wave,
A fairer region never yet did lave!
Tranquil, and smooth, and clear, its current roves
Through flowery meadows, and long sylvan groves;
Winding in silence on its destin'd way,
Idly it lingers with a sweet delay,
And often turns, as if its course to find,
Back to the smiling scenes it left behind.
Sweet river of the West! though yet unsung
By native bard, thy native vales among—
Though yet no strains of native music pour,
To wake the sleeping echoes of thy shore,
Ere long some minstrel from thy banks shall spring,
And track thy wand'rings with a loftier wing,
In worthier strains thy various charms rehearse,
And in oblivion drown my weaker verse.

Yes! the bright day is dawning, when the West
No more shall crouch before old Europe's crest,
When men who claim thy birthright, Liberty,
Shall burst their leading-strings and dare be free,
Nor while they boast thy blessings, trembling stand,
Like dastard slaves before her, cap in hand,
Cherish her old absurdities as new,
And all her cast-off follies here renew;
Statesmen no more from thence their precepts draw,
And borrow both their reason and their law,
Like advertising quacks, right wond'rous sage,
With the same nostrums cure both youth and age,
And blundering up the lofty steeps of fame,
Break down the vigour of our youthful frame,
With stimulatives, fitted to revive
Some worn out profligate, scarce half alive;
When Mind at last shall break its rusty chain,
And here, our chosen monarch, freely reign.