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OUR MOUNTAIN RANGE.
Thank Heav'n, we live in a mountain land!
Where a flight without wings is at our command,—
To play with the streams in their springing youth,
Let them swell in spate or dwindle in drouth;
Or to make o'er the clouds our Olympian seat,
Where the thunder is rolled beneath our feet,
Where storm and lightning,
And sunshine bright'ning,
Solemnly girdle our steep retreat!
Where a flight without wings is at our command,—
To play with the streams in their springing youth,
Let them swell in spate or dwindle in drouth;
Or to make o'er the clouds our Olympian seat,
Where the thunder is rolled beneath our feet,
Where storm and lightning,
And sunshine bright'ning,
Solemnly girdle our steep retreat!
Above, the king-eagle's realm we share,
Below, the haunts of the shy brown hare.
Upland farmstead, and shepherd's cot,
Wide view, with many a round lake-dot,—
Beechen valley, and bilberry dell,
And glen where the Echoes and Fairies dwell,
With heaps and bosses
Of plume-fern and mosses,
Scarlet rowan, and slight blue-bell.
Below, the haunts of the shy brown hare.
Upland farmstead, and shepherd's cot,
Wide view, with many a round lake-dot,—
Beechen valley, and bilberry dell,
And glen where the Echoes and Fairies dwell,
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Of plume-fern and mosses,
Scarlet rowan, and slight blue-bell.
The watch-towers of the Morn they rise,
And they treasure the last light of the skies,
Wear giant shadows from noontide clouds,
Or dimmer foldings of vapoury shrouds;
And at dusk the mounting stars appear
On their pinnacle crags, or the chill moon-sphere
Crowning only
Summits lonely,
'Mid black abysses and caves of fear.
And they treasure the last light of the skies,
Wear giant shadows from noontide clouds,
Or dimmer foldings of vapoury shrouds;
And at dusk the mounting stars appear
On their pinnacle crags, or the chill moon-sphere
Crowning only
Summits lonely,
'Mid black abysses and caves of fear.
Or the sun-parched heather, afire by night,
Traces with awful judgment-light
The outline black of our mightier dome
Than glows in the Easter-fires of Rome;
And leagues over valley and plain and bay
Beacons afar the flickering ray;
Bright o'erpowering
Embers cowering
Pale in the west, of the sunken day.
Traces with awful judgment-light
The outline black of our mightier dome
Than glows in the Easter-fires of Rome;
And leagues over valley and plain and bay
Beacons afar the flickering ray;
Bright o'erpowering
Embers cowering
Pale in the west, of the sunken day.
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When Winter, fierce slave, with mutter and frown
Brings the misty robes and the cold white crown,
And blares with the terrible trumpet gale,
And crashes the cymbals of the hail—
Stung into life by the savage strains
Muster the barbarous suzerains,
And redly horrent
Each shouting torrent
Rages down to the trembling plains.
Brings the misty robes and the cold white crown,
And blares with the terrible trumpet gale,
And crashes the cymbals of the hail—
Stung into life by the savage strains
Muster the barbarous suzerains,
And redly horrent
Each shouting torrent
Rages down to the trembling plains.
But when packed in the hollows the round clouds lie,
And the wild-geese flow changing down the sky
From the salt sea-fringe,—the softer rains
Run like young blood through the withered veins
That sweeping March left wasted and weak;
And the agèd mountain, so dim and bleak,
With sudden rally
By mound and valley
Laughs with green light to his baldest peak.
And the wild-geese flow changing down the sky
From the salt sea-fringe,—the softer rains
Run like young blood through the withered veins
That sweeping March left wasted and weak;
And the agèd mountain, so dim and bleak,
With sudden rally
By mound and valley
Laughs with green light to his baldest peak.
Not to the heaven of heavens they go,
Our cliffs, nor wear the eternal snow;
Yet we feel our kinship stablished well
To those by the great White Mount that dwell;
To the shepherds closed in Idalian glade;
To the Arabs resting in Libanus' shade;
To swartest livers
By unknown rivers
'Mong Hills of the Moon, like ghosts arrayed:
Our cliffs, nor wear the eternal snow;
Yet we feel our kinship stablished well
To those by the great White Mount that dwell;
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To the Arabs resting in Libanus' shade;
To swartest livers
By unknown rivers
'Mong Hills of the Moon, like ghosts arrayed:
When the wide and lonely morning breaks,
To stern explorers of condor-peaks;
When storm gathers red in the burthened air,
To the wanned in Etna's or Hecla's glare;
At eve-glow, to those who love from their vines
The chestnut surge of the Apennines;
At night, to Norwegians
In craggy regions
Grim with grey bristles of scattered pines.
To stern explorers of condor-peaks;
When storm gathers red in the burthened air,
To the wanned in Etna's or Hecla's glare;
At eve-glow, to those who love from their vines
The chestnut surge of the Apennines;
At night, to Norwegians
In craggy regions
Grim with grey bristles of scattered pines.
O broad, inorganic, mighty range
Of familiar Beings, for us no change
'Mid changing landscapes descends on you,
To the early memories ever true.
The mountain-child loves his home the best,
Years destroy not his rock-built nest;
Nor his pure emotion,
When over the ocean,
He prays to be laid on its mother-breast.
Of familiar Beings, for us no change
'Mid changing landscapes descends on you,
To the early memories ever true.
The mountain-child loves his home the best,
Years destroy not his rock-built nest;
Nor his pure emotion,
When over the ocean,
He prays to be laid on its mother-breast.
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Day with its waves of light and noise
Ebbs o'er the barrier: seem like toys
The objects our daily life fulfils,
To the Power flowing free on the ancient hills.
Soar higher, Thought! The time-sickness leavens
The mountains too, and the starry sevens:
Souls endeavour
To Him that ever
Is throned on the circle of the heavens.
Ebbs o'er the barrier: seem like toys
The objects our daily life fulfils,
To the Power flowing free on the ancient hills.
Soar higher, Thought! The time-sickness leavens
The mountains too, and the starry sevens:
Souls endeavour
To Him that ever
Is throned on the circle of the heavens.
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