O dismal shores, with many a barren cliff,
By boundless ocean!
Night and gloom are blent. . . .
BENEATH THE MOUNTAINS
Here I stand beneath the mountains gloom-oppressed,
And hushed to rest,
In whom a thousand years on high
And mutely eke a thousand years arose.
And birds, who to these shadows fly,
Resignedly and wistfully repose,
Like a grey trunk, like a deserted stone,
Its form into the heavens wildly flinging.
The mid-day sun has flown,
And like a wondrous lamp has sped away. . . .
Our ballad with its gold and cloud array
Somewhere with waning tones in timid wise is singing—
And mightily aglow,
Like to a Dream and a heart-beat into space doth flow.
The tepid gulls of lakes grow blue far down,
And ice and snow the highest summits crown,
