 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
7.
Mount higher, mount higher!
With rock-girdled gyre
Behind each grey ridge
And pine-feathered ledge
A vale is suspended; mount higher, mount higher!
With rock-girdled gyre
Behind each grey ridge
And pine-feathered ledge
A vale is suspended; mount higher, mount higher!
From rock to rock leaping
The wild goats, they bound;
The resinous odours
Are wafted around;
The clouds, disentangled,
With blue gaps are spangled;
Green isles of the valley with sunshine are crowned.
The wild goats, they bound;
The resinous odours
Are wafted around;
194
With blue gaps are spangled;
Green isles of the valley with sunshine are crowned.
The birches new budded
Make pink the green copse;
From the briar and hazel
The golden rain drops;
As he climbs, the boughs shaking,
Nest-seeking, branch-breaking,
Beneath the white ash-boughs the shepherd-boy stops.
Make pink the green copse;
From the briar and hazel
The golden rain drops;
As he climbs, the boughs shaking,
Nest-seeking, branch-breaking,
Beneath the white ash-boughs the shepherd-boy stops.
How happy that shepherd!
How happy the lass!
How freshly beside them
The pure Zephyrs pass!
Sing, sing! From the soil
Springs bubble and boil,
And sun-smitten torrents fall soft on the grass.
How happy the lass!
How freshly beside them
The pure Zephyrs pass!
Sing, sing! From the soil
Springs bubble and boil,
And sun-smitten torrents fall soft on the grass.
Once more on every turf-clad stage
Peeps forth some household hermitage;
Once more from tracts serene and high
The young lambs bleat, the dams reply.
From echoing trunks I hear the dash
Of headlong stream or ‘Rans des Vaches.’
Lo! from thickets lightly springing,
An old church spire! around its base
Devotions ever upward winging,
That find in Heaven their resting-place!
Around it grey-haired votaries kneel,
Who look along it to the skies,
And babes with imitative zeal
Kissing their lip-worn rosaries.
Not soon the mountain Faith grows cold:
Yon hamlet is six centuries old!
Peeps forth some household hermitage;
Once more from tracts serene and high
The young lambs bleat, the dams reply.
From echoing trunks I hear the dash
Of headlong stream or ‘Rans des Vaches.’
Lo! from thickets lightly springing,
An old church spire! around its base
Devotions ever upward winging,
That find in Heaven their resting-place!
Around it grey-haired votaries kneel,
Who look along it to the skies,
And babes with imitative zeal
Kissing their lip-worn rosaries.
Not soon the mountain Faith grows cold:
Yon hamlet is six centuries old!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |