We were both walkers,
and when I work'd in Brooklyn he several times came over, middle of
afternoons, and we took rambles miles long, till dark, out towards
Bedford or Flatbush, in company. On these occasions he gave me clear
accounts of scenes in Europe--the cities, looks, architecture, art,
especially Italy--where he had travel'd a good deal.
_June 14.--The Funeral_.--And so the good, stainless, noble old
citizen and poet lies in the closed coffin there--and this is his
funeral. A solemn, impressive, simple scene, to spirit and senses. The
remarkable gathering of gray heads, celebrities--the finely render'd
anthem, and other music--the church, dim even now at approaching noon,
in its light from the mellow-stain'd windows-the pronounc'd eulogy on
the bard who loved Nature so fondly, and sung so well her shows and
seasons--ending with these appropriate well-known lines:
I gazed upon the glorious sky,
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
'Twere pleasant that in flowery June,
When brooks send up a joyous tune,
And groves a cheerful sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich green mountain turf should break.
JAUNT UP THE HUDSON
_June 2Oth_.--On the "Mary Powell," enjoy'd everything beyond
precedent. The delicious tender summer day, just warm enough--the
constantly changing but ever beautiful panorama on both sides of the
river--(went up near a hundred miles)--the high straight walls of
the stony Palisades--beautiful Yonkers, and beautiful Irvington--the
never-ending hills, mostly in rounded lines, swathed with
verdure,--the distant turns, like great shoulders in blue veils--the
frequent gray and brown of the tall-rising rocks--the river itself,
now narrowing, now expanding--the white sails of the many sloops,
yachts, &c.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198