O'er the Mountains.

Some spirit wafts our mountain lay--
                    Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
To distant groves and glens away!
                    Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E'en so the tide of empire flows--
                    Ho! boys, hili ho!
Rejoicing as it westward goes!
                    Ho! boys, hili ho!
        To refresh our weary way
            Gush the crystal fountains,
        As a pilgrim band we stray
            Cheerly o'er the mountains.

The woodland rings with song and shout!
                    Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
As though a fairy hunt were out!
                    Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E'en so the voice of woman cheers--
                    Ho! boys, hili ho!
The hearts of hardy mountaineers!
                    Ho! boys, hili ho!
        Like the glow of northern skies
            Mirrored in the fountains,
        Beams the love-light of fond eyes,
            As we cross the mountains.

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

Bessy Bell.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Funeral Hymn.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

The Flag of our Union.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

When Other Friends.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Up the Hudson.

Song and Chorus.




Up the Hudson!--Fleetly gliding
    To our haunts among the trees!
Joy the gallant vessel guiding
    With a fresh and cheerful breeze!
Wives and dear ones yearn to meet us--
    (Hearts that love us to the core!)
And with fond expressions greet us
    As we near the welcome shore!


Chorus.


Ho! ye inland seas and islands!--
    (Echo follows where we go!)
Ho! ye headlands, hills, and highlands!
    Ho! ye Undercliffeans, ho!


Up the Hudson!--Rock and river,
    Grove and glen pronounce His praise,
Who, of every "Good the Giver,"
    Leads us through these pleasant ways!--
Care recedes like water-traces
    Of our bark, as on we glide,
Where the hand of nature graces<...

George Pope Morris

Western Refrain

    Droop not, brothers!
            As we go,
    O'er the mountains,
Under the boughs of mistletoe,
    Log huts we'll rear,
While herds of deer and buffalo
    Furnish the cheer.
File o'er the mountains--steady, boys
    For game afar
We have our rifles ready, boys!--
            Aha!
Throw care to the winds,
    Like chaff, boys!--ha!
And join in the laugh, boys!--
    Hah--hah--hah!

    Cheer up, brothers!
            As we go,
    O'er the mountains,
When we've wood and prairie-land,
    Won by our toil,
We'll reign like kings in fairy-land,
    Lords of the soil!
Then westward ho! in legions, boys--
    Fair Freedom's star
Points to her sunset regions, boys--
            Aha!
Throw care to the wind...

George Pope Morris

Where Hudson's Wave.

Where Hudson's wave o'er silvery sands
Winds through the hills afar,
Old Cronest like a monarch stands,
Crowned with a single star!
And there, amid the billowy swells
Of rock-ribbed, cloud-capped earth,
My fair and gentle Ida dwells,
A nymph of mountain-birth.

The snow-flake that the cliff receives,
The diamonds of the showers,
Spring's tender blossoms, buds, and leaves,
The sisterhood of flowers,
Morn's early beam, eve's balmy breeze,
Her purity define;
Yet Ida's dearer far than these
To this fond breast of mine.

My heart is on the hills.    The shades
Of night are on my brow;
Ye pleasant haunts and quiet glades,
My soul is with you now!
I bless the star-crowned highlands where
My Ida's footsteps roam:
O for a falcon'...

George Pope Morris

I'm With You Once Again.

I'm with you once again, my friends,
No more my footsteps roam;
Where it began my journey ends,
Amid the scenes of home.
No other clime has skies so blue,
Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet me here?

Since last with spirits, wild and free,
I pressed my native strand,
I've wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land.
I've seen fair realms of the earth
By rude commotion torn,
Which taught me how to prize the worth
Of that where I was born.

In other countries, when I heard
The language of my own,
How fondly each familiar word
Awoke an answering tone!
But when our woodland songs were sung
Upon a foreign mart,
The vows that faltered on the tongue
With rapture t...

George Pope Morris

The Croton Ode.

Written at the request of the corporation of the city of New York.




Gushing from this living fountain,
Music pours a falling strain,
As the goddess of the mountain
Comes with all her sparkling train.
From her grotto-springs advancing,
Glittering in her feathery spray,
Woodland fays beside her dancing,
She pursues her winding way.

Gently o'er the rippling water,
In her coral-shallop bright,
Glides the rock-king's dove-eyed daughter,
Decked in robes of virgin white.
Nymphs and naiads, sweetly smiling,
Urge her bark with pearly hand,
Merrily the sylph beguiling
From the nooks of fairy-land.

Swimming on the snow-curled billow,
See the river-spirits fair
Lay their cheeks, as on a pillow,
With the foam-beads in ...

George Pope Morris

Fragment of an Indian Poem.

    *        *        *        *        *        *

They come!--Be firm--in silence rally!
The long-knives our retreat have found!
Hark!--their tramp is in the valley,
And they hem the forest round!
The burdened boughs with pale scouts quiver,
The echoing hills tumultuous ring,
While across the eddying river
Their barks, like foaming war-steeds, spring!
The blood-hounds darken land and water;
They come--like buffaloes for slaughter!

See their glittering ranks advancing,
See upon the free winds dancing
Pennon proud and gaudy plume.
The strangers come in evil hour,
In pomp, and panoply, and power!
But, while upon our tribes they lower,
Think they our manly hearts will cower
To meet a warrior's doom?

Right they forget while strengt...

George Pope Morris