So high that if it higher were,
We know the very slightest stir
Would cast it down all overflowed.
The mountains round in masses lay
Like huge leviathans asleep,
Advertisement
Adown whose sides the black of night
Crouched like a coward from the light
All hiding in its caverns deep;
Where yet one gleam, a beacon shone
Like lost star wandering from its way,
One light alone in you sweet vale
Which Osceola frowns upon,
Forever lovely Waterville,
Set in the green of many a hill,
Whose six cascades in ripples fall
Want to keep up with breaking news?
Subscribe to our email newsletter.
Read more in News
The Freshman Crew.
