The Green Mountain Boys: A Historical Tale of the Early Settlement of Vermont
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | Daniel Pierce Thompson | ISBN: | 9781465618160 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Daniel Pierce Thompson |
| ISBN: | 9781465618160 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Those who have wandered along the banks of the Otter Creek, in search of the beautiful and picturesque, may have extended their rambles, perhaps, to lake Dunmore, which lies embosomed among the hills a few miles to the eastward of that quiet stream. If so, their taste for natural scenery has doubtless been amply gratified: for there is no spot in the whole range of the Green Mountains that combines more of the requisites for a perfect landscape than this romantic sheet of water and its surrounding shores. Of an oblong form, about four miles in length and one in breadth, this lake, or pond, as such bodies of water are more usually denominated among us, lies extended between the main ridge and a collateral eminence on the west, of a height but little more than sufficient to serve as a secure embankment to this noble reservoir of the hills. From the eastern shore the land rises abruptly into a lofty mountain, which, like some mighty giantess, sits enthroned in the mid heavens, her head turbaned with a wreath of white mist, and looking down with seeming fondness and care upon the bright daughter, that reflecting back her own rude image, lies quietly reposing in her lap, receiving the rich supply of a thousand pearly rills that come gushing to her opening lips. To the north and south, open long and beautiful vistas, extending along over the bright extremities of the lake, and terminating among the far off peaks of the Green Mountains; while from the western shore the land, after a gentle rise for a short distance, falls off rapidly toward the Otter, leaving the broad and extensive valley of that stream open to the vision, which now wanders unobstructed to the western borders of the lake Champlain, where the long chain of mountains, that rise immediately beyond, lies sleeping in the blue distance, and bounds the view of this magnificent scene. It was near sunset, on one of the last days of April, and in the same year and month which were marked by the opening scene of our great national drama, that four stout and hardy looking men, two of them of about the middle age, and two considerably younger, were seen occupying a large log canoe near the eastern shore of the lake just described, and engaged fishing for trout. Their success through the day in ensnaring `the pride of the pure waters,’ as the trout has been appropriately termed, had been ample, as was evinced by the large strings of this beautiful fish lying on the bottom of the boat beneath the feet of their respective captors. Now, however, as the rapidly lengthening shadows of the dark primeval forest, that thickly lined the shores, had nearly closed over the lake, the party began to manifest a disposition to relinquish the exciting labors of the day.
Those who have wandered along the banks of the Otter Creek, in search of the beautiful and picturesque, may have extended their rambles, perhaps, to lake Dunmore, which lies embosomed among the hills a few miles to the eastward of that quiet stream. If so, their taste for natural scenery has doubtless been amply gratified: for there is no spot in the whole range of the Green Mountains that combines more of the requisites for a perfect landscape than this romantic sheet of water and its surrounding shores. Of an oblong form, about four miles in length and one in breadth, this lake, or pond, as such bodies of water are more usually denominated among us, lies extended between the main ridge and a collateral eminence on the west, of a height but little more than sufficient to serve as a secure embankment to this noble reservoir of the hills. From the eastern shore the land rises abruptly into a lofty mountain, which, like some mighty giantess, sits enthroned in the mid heavens, her head turbaned with a wreath of white mist, and looking down with seeming fondness and care upon the bright daughter, that reflecting back her own rude image, lies quietly reposing in her lap, receiving the rich supply of a thousand pearly rills that come gushing to her opening lips. To the north and south, open long and beautiful vistas, extending along over the bright extremities of the lake, and terminating among the far off peaks of the Green Mountains; while from the western shore the land, after a gentle rise for a short distance, falls off rapidly toward the Otter, leaving the broad and extensive valley of that stream open to the vision, which now wanders unobstructed to the western borders of the lake Champlain, where the long chain of mountains, that rise immediately beyond, lies sleeping in the blue distance, and bounds the view of this magnificent scene. It was near sunset, on one of the last days of April, and in the same year and month which were marked by the opening scene of our great national drama, that four stout and hardy looking men, two of them of about the middle age, and two considerably younger, were seen occupying a large log canoe near the eastern shore of the lake just described, and engaged fishing for trout. Their success through the day in ensnaring `the pride of the pure waters,’ as the trout has been appropriately termed, had been ample, as was evinced by the large strings of this beautiful fish lying on the bottom of the boat beneath the feet of their respective captors. Now, however, as the rapidly lengthening shadows of the dark primeval forest, that thickly lined the shores, had nearly closed over the lake, the party began to manifest a disposition to relinquish the exciting labors of the day.
