THE SPIRIT OF THE SUMMIT.
"That path no bird of prey knoweth, neither hath the falcon's eye seen it."—Job.
Where the desperate grass to the precipice cling's,
Where the smoke of the torrent will moisten thy wings,
Past the caves in the crags where the Hurricanes hide,
Daring Adventurer, fearlessly ride.
Onward and upward defying the clouds,
Eluding the lean hands they stretch from their shrouds,
Joyously pass on thy pinions of might,
Seeking the golden pavilions of Light.
Is it love so emboldens—the limitless blue
To voyage, companionless, eager to woo
The Goddess of Fire from her home in the sun,
Heedless of where the round Earth may have spun?
Vainly I dream it! Thou never canst rise
Half of the distance that Fantasy flies,
Glancing not back till from planets afar
Earth glimmers faintly, a vanishing star!
