Betrays the old man's mountain home.
How sweet it was to gaze for miles
Upon the lakes' unnumbered isles,
Along whose shores a silver rim
Of dimpled light was seen to swim,
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And dance in circling wreaths of smiles!
On either shore a mountain frowned,
Old Belknap to the south, and clear
In sharp relief, because so near,
The well-known shape of Ossipee,
With many a village sleeping round,
Whose tall white steeples we could see
Above the lowland hill and tree.
Then farther on, where Wolfboro' waits
Beside the lake's most eastern gates,
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The Freshman Crew.
