Not on Penobscot's wooded bank the spires <br />Of the sought City rose, nor yet beside <br />The winding Charles, nor where the daily tide <br />Of Naumkeag's haven rises and retires, <br />The vision tarried; but somewhere we knew <br />The beautiful gates must open to our quest, <br />Somewhere that marvellous City of the West <br />Would lift its towers and palace domes in view, <br />And, to! at last its mystery is made known-- <br />Its only dwellers maidens fair and young, <br />Its Princess such as England's Laureate sung; <br />And safe from capture, save by love alone, <br />It lends its beauty to the lake's green shore, <br />And Norumbega is a myth no more.<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/norumbega-hall/
