Poetry
... vottrL).. A L E G E N D--BY WM. C. BRYANT. UPoN a rock that, high and slicer, RBse irom the mouintalls's breast, A weary hunter of the deer Had sat him down to rest, And bared, to the soft sunmer air, His hot red browe and sweaty hair. All dim in haze the mountains lay, With dimmer vales between, And rivers glimmer'd on their way By forests, Faintly seen While ever rose a murmauring sound From ...