The purgatory pass'd — the stalactites
That fring'd the cliffs fell crashing to the earth;
With clamor shrill the wild geese skimm'd the heights,
In airy navies sailing to the north;
The bluebirds chirrup'd in the naked woods,
The water-willows donn'd their downy blooms,
The trim swamp-maple blush'd with ruddy buds,
The forest-ash hung out its sable plumes.
The shad-bush gleam'd a wreath of purest snow,
The white stars of the bloodroot peep'd from folds
Of rotting leaves, and in the meadows low
Shone saffron spots, the gay marsh-marigolds.
May made all green, and on the fifth of June
A sail appeared, with succor none too soon.