卡特斯基尔河跳跃在绿荫之中，从木花攀附的悬崖上;整个夏天，他用山泉甜美的水花滋润着他的青翠的山坡;他摇动山坡上的树林，当它们淌着秋潮的雨水。但是，当十二月的寒风呼唤，在光秃秃的老森林里，他在清冷的星光下，建造一座他的激流倾泻而下的冰宫，有角楼，有拱门，有雕花，柱子蓝得像夏日的空气。在这寒冷无云的夜晚，那些华美的房间是为谁建造的呢?在如此可爱的形体和明亮的色彩中，难道没有精神和思想的运动吗?听听白发苍苍的樵夫是如何讲述这条狂野的小溪和它的岩石山谷的。一百年前的冬天，这里曾是一个充满梦幻的年轻人，漫步在这片广袤的树林里，当时黑豹在雪地上留下了清晰的足迹，寒风凛冽，吹动了铁杉又长又黑的树枝。他看起来太温柔，太漂亮了，不像一个在崎岖的山崖上长大的孩子;他的家在山谷的低洼处，国王的哈德逊河在那里蜿蜒至深处; But he wore the hunter's frock that day, And a slender gun on his shoulder lay. And here he paused, and against the trunk Of a tall gray linden leant, When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk From his path in the frosty firmament, And over the round dark edge of the hill A cold green light was quivering still. And the crescent moon, high over the green, From a sky of crimson shone, On that icy palace, whose towers were seen To sparkle as if with stars of their own; While the water fell with a hollow sound, 'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around. Is that a being of life, that moves Where the crystal battlements rise? A maiden watching the moon she loves, At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes? Was that a garment which seemed to gleam Betwixt the eye and the falling stream? 'Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er, In the midst of those glassy walls, Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor Of the rocky basin in which it falls. 'Tis only the torrent--but why that start? Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart? He thinks no more of his home afar, Where his sire and sister wait. He heeds no longer how star after star Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late. He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast. His thoughts are alone of those who dwell In the halls of frost and snow, Who pass where the crystal domes upswell From the alabaster floors below, Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray, And frost-gems scatter a silvery day. 'And oh that those glorious haunts were mine!' He speaks, and throughout the glen Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine, And take a ghastly likeness of men, As if the slain by the wintry storms Came forth to the air in their earthly forms. There pass the chasers of seal and whale, With their weapons quaint and grim, And bands of warriors in glittering mail, And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb. There are naked arms, with bow and spear, And furry gauntlets the carbine rear. There are mothers--and oh how sadly their eyes On their children's white brows rest! There are youthful lovers--the maiden lies, In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast; There are fair wan women with moonstruck air, The snow stars flecking their long loose hair. They eye him not as they pass along, But his hair stands up with dread, When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng, Till those icy turrets are over his head, And the torrent's roar as they enter seems Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams. The glittering threshold is scarcely passed, When there gathers and wraps him round A thick white twilight, sullen and vast, In which there is neither form nor sound; The phantoms, the glory, vanish all, With the dying voice of the waterfall. Slow passes the darkness of that trance, And the youth now faintly sees Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees, And walls where the skins of beasts are hung, And rifles glitter on antlers strung. On a couch of shaggy skins he lies; As he strives to raise his head, Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes, Come round him and smooth his furry bed And bid him rest, for the evening star Is scarcely set and the day is far. They had found at eve the dreaming one By the base of that icy steep, When over his stiffening limbs begun The deadly slumber of frost to creep, And they cherished the pale and breathless form, Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm.