254 The Hudson River . . . in liquid light Does the wine our goblets gleam in, With hue as red as the rosy bed Which a bee would choose to dream in.

He sang of the Hudson in an exalted strain, in verse that may sound formal and, perhaps, a little pedantic to our modern ears ; but the fashions change in fifty or sixty years, and it is certain that he celebrated her beauties as only a lover could. At West Point, during his early life, Hoffman wrote a poem called Moonlight on the Hudson, from which a brief c|uotation may be admitted here :

What though no cloister grey nor ivied column Along these cliffs their sombre ruins rear? What though no frowning tower nor temple solemn Of despots tell and superstition here -- What though that mouldering fort's fast crumbling walls Did ne'er enclose a baron's bannered halls.

Its sinking arches once gave back as proud An echo to the war-blown clarion's peal, As gallant hearts its battlements did crowd, As ever beat beneath a vest of steel, When herald's trump on knighthood's haughtiest day Called forth chivalric host to battle fray.

For here amid these woods did he keep court, Before whose mighty soul the common crowd Of heroes, who alone for fame have fought. Are like the patriarch's sheaves to Heaven's chosen bowed- He who his country's eagle taught to soar, And fired those stars which shine o'er every shore.

Literary Associations of the Hudson 255