whole scene suggested to me a Greek splendor, a Greek sweetness, and I
can believe that an Indian brave, accustomed to ramble in such paths,
and be bathed by such sunbeams, might be mistaken for Apollo, as Apollo
was for him by West. Two of the boldest bluffs are called the Deer's
Walk, (not because deer do _not_ walk there,) and the Eagle's Nest. The
latter I visited one glorious morning; it was that, of the fourth of
July, and certainly I think I had never felt so happy that I was born in
America. Wo to all country folks that never saw this spot, never swept
an enraptured gaze over the prospect that stretched beneath. I do
believe Rome and Florence are suburbs compared to this capital of
nature's art.

The bluff was decked with great bunches of a scarlet variety of the
milkweed, like cut coral, and all starred with a mysterious-looking dark
flower, whose cup rose lonely on a tall stem. This had, for two or
three days, disputed the ground with the lupine and phlox. My companions
disliked, I liked it.

Here I thought of, or rather saw, what the Greek expresses under the
form of Jove's darling, Ganymede, and the following stanzas took form.

GANYMEDE TO HIS EAGLE,

SUGGESTED BY A WORK OF THORWALDSEN'S.

Composed on the height called the Eagle's Nest, Oregon, Rock River,
July 4th, 1843.

Upon the rocky mountain stood the boy,
A goblet of pure water in his hand,