 | The Cup of Quietness |  |
41
Mid yonder pinnacles of ice, that hold
Communion with the silent hosts of heaven,
Where broods the eagle and where sleeps the levin,
Where first alights the day's young dream of gold,
There well the fountains, free and clear and cold,
Of music's mightiest flood, its pathway riven
By glacier-ploughs, till all its streams are driven
To where the runes of ocean are unrolled.
Communion with the silent hosts of heaven,
Where broods the eagle and where sleeps the levin,
Where first alights the day's young dream of gold,
There well the fountains, free and clear and cold,
Of music's mightiest flood, its pathway riven
By glacier-ploughs, till all its streams are driven
To where the runes of ocean are unrolled.
There is its power at large; the billows raise
The pæan which the sons of morning sang;
Deep in its bosom huge Behemoth plays,
The tempest tears its breast with granite fang;
Or, when the great tides slumber, placid bays
Reflect the snow-clad mountains whence it sprang.
The pæan which the sons of morning sang;
Deep in its bosom huge Behemoth plays,
The tempest tears its breast with granite fang;
Or, when the great tides slumber, placid bays
Reflect the snow-clad mountains whence it sprang.
| The Cup of Quietness | |