Page:The Overland Monthly, volume 1, issue 1.djvu/36



Out of the heat and toil and dust of trades Into the shadow and forgetfulness That bless secluded streams and sheltering vales, A pilgrim whose blind steps led thitherward, Lit by the vestal beam of thought beyond The misty girdle of the hills of God, I journeyed lonely and alone I sought The valley of the Ages, and the place Of the wind-braided waters. In the track Of autumn solitudes I followed where The leaves were falling to the littered ground, And every leaf was finished to the fall. ‘ Once earlier had I trod the same retreat, Haunted of listless steps and careless eyes. Green was the mantle of the leafy hill, The streams were swollen to the spongy banks, The meadow was a lake, where swelling knolls Lifted their grassy islands to the sun. But autumn is the loveliest and the best. Happy the heart I bore into the vale Over the frosted hills, the meadow snow. My good horse cast the snow-seals from his hoofs, And broke the shining pavement of the snow, Till its fair glittering space was struck across With stained and dingy crescents. So we trailed Now through the clustering grove’s white cushioned boughs, And now the openings and anon between The tall unbending columns that impale The architectural forests. Here no lack Of the imploring cries that startle us— The jay-bird’s shrill alarm and many notes, Untraceable to any tongue whatever, Heaven-born and brief. Sometimes we faintly heard The small ground-squirrel’s whistle, sharp and clear. Nor lack of living token as we passed Upon the sheeted highlands ; on we sank Into the awful cafions, where the brook Hissed between icy fangs that cased the shore Slim, lank and pallid-blue. We there beheld The flowerlike track of the cayote near The fairy tracery where the squirrel skipped Graceful and shy, and farther on we saw The smooth divided hollows where the doe Dropped her light foot and lifted it away.