The legendary :: :: University of Virginia Library

In a low white-washed cottage, overrun
With mantling vines, and sheltered from the sun
By rows of maple trees, that gently moved
Their graceful limbs to the mild breeze they loved,
Oft have I lingered; idle, it might seem,
But that the mind was busy; and I deem
Those moments not mispent, when, silently,
The soul communes with Nature, and is free.
O'erlooking this low cottage, stately stood
The huge Ascutney. There, in thoughtful mood,
I loved to hold with her gigantic form
Deep converse; not articulate, but warm
With the heart's noiseless eloquence, and fit
The soul of Nature with man's soul to knit.
In various aspect, frowning on the day,
Or touched with morning twilight's silvery gray,
Or darkly mantled in the dusky night,
Or by the moonbeams bathed in showers of light—
In each, in all, a glory still was there,
A spirit of sublimity; but ne'er

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Had such a might of loveliness and power,
The mountain wrapt, as when, at midnight hour,
I saw the tempest gather round her head.
It was an hour of joy, yet tinged with dread.
As the deep thunder rolled from cloud to cloud,
From all her hidden caves she cried aloud;
Wood, cliff, and valley, with the echo rung;
From rock and crag, darting, with forked tongue,
The lightning glanced, a moment laying bare
Her naked brow, then, silence—darkness there!
And straight again the tumult, as if rocks
Had split, and headlong rolled.
But Nature mocks
At language. These are scenes I ne'er again
May look upon; yet precious thoughts remain
In memory's silent store; and in my heart
Still, mid all other claims, that mountain hath its part.