Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/117

Rh Where I gaze,

And shall gaze,

When forests fall, and man is gone,

Over tribes and over times,

At the burning Lyre,

Nearing me,

With its stars of northern fire,

In many a thousand years?

'Ah! welcome, if thou bring

My secret in thy brain;

To mountain-top may Muse's wing

With good allowance strain.

Gentle pilgrim, if thou know

The gamut old of Pan,

And how the hills began,

The frank blessings of the hill

Fall on thee, as fall they will.

'Tis the law of bush and stone,

Each can only take his own.