Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/43

 While, rearing its colossal crest, In sullen grandeur, o'er the rest, One, like a pillar, vast and rude, Stood monarch of the solitude. Perchance by Roman conqueror's hand Th' enduring monument was plann'd; Or Odin's sons, in days gone by, Had shap'd its rough immensity, To rear, midst mountain, rock, and wood, A temple, meet for rites of blood. But they were gone, who might have told That secret of the times of old, And there, in silent scorn it frown'd, O'er all its vast coevals round. Darkly those giant masses lower'd, Countless and motionless they tower'd; No wild-flower o'er their summits hung, No fountain from their caverns sprung; Yet ever on the wanderer's ear Murmur'd a sound of waters near, With music deep of lulling falls, And louder gush, at intervals. Unknown its source—nor spring nor stream Caught the red sunset's lingering gleam, But ceaseless, from its hidden caves, Arose that mystic voice of waves. (1)