University of Virginia Library

An everlasting hill was torn
From its eternal base—and borne—
In gold and crimson vapours drest
To where—a people are at rest!

225

Slowly it came in its mountain wrath,
And the forests vanished before its path:
And the rude cliffs bowed—and the waters fled—
And the living were buried, while over their head
They heard the full march of their foe as he sped—
And the valley of life—was the tomb of the dead!