Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/188

156 And, borne on piers of mist, allied The shadowy with the sunlit side!

“So,” prayed we, “when our feet draw The river dark, with mortal fear,

“And the night cometh chill with dew, O Father! let Thy light break through!

“So let the hills of doubt divide, So bridge with faith the sunless tide!

“So let the eyes that fail on earth On Thy eternal hills look forth;

“And in Thy beckoning angels know The dear ones whom we loved below!”

more, O Mountains of the North, unveil
 * Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by!

And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail,
 * Uplift against the blue walls of the sky

Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave
 * Its golden net-work in your belting woods.
 * Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods.

And on your kingly brows at morn and eve
 * Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive

Haply the secret of your calm and strength,
 * Your unforgotten beauty interfuse
 * My common life, your glorious shapes and hues
 * And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come.
 * Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length

From the sea-level of my lowland home!

They rise before me! Last night's thunder-gust Roared not in vain: for where its lightnings thrust Their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem so near, Burned clean of mist, so starkly bold and clear, I almost pause the wind in the pines to hear. The loose rock's fall, the steps of browsing deer. The clouds that shattered on yon slide-worn walls
 * And splintered on the rocks their spears of rain

Have set in play a thousand waterfalls. Making the dusk and silence of the woods Glad with the laughter of the chasing floods, And luminous with blown spray and silver gleams, While, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streams
 * Sing to the freshened meadow-lands again.

So, let me hope, the battle-storm that beats
 * The land with hail and fire may pass away
 * With its spent thunders at the break of day.

Like last night's clouds, and leave, as it retreats,
 * A greener earth and fairer sky behind,
 * Blown crystal-clear by Freedom's Northern wind!

I would I were a painter, for the sake
 * Of a sweet picture, and of her who led,
 * A fitting guide, with reverential tread,

Into that mountain mystery. First a lake
 * Tinted with sunset ; next the wavy lines
 * Of far receding hills; and yet more far,
 * Monadnock lifting from his night of pines
 * His rosy forehead to the evening star.

Beside us, purple-zoned, Wachuset laid His head against the West, whose warm light made
 * His aureole; and o'er him, sharp and clear.

Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed,
 * A single level cloud-line, shone upon
 * By the fierce glances of the sunken sun.
 * Menaced the darkness with its golden spear!

So twilight deepened round us. Still and black The great woods climbed the mountain at our back;