And yet, not here Spain's gay, adventurous host,
Dipped sword or planted cross;
The treasures guarded by this rock-bound coast,
Counted them gain nor loss.
The blue Columbia, sired by the eternal hills,
And wedded with the sea,
O'er golden sands, tithes from a thousand rills,
Rolled in lone majesty—
Through deep ravine, through burning, barren plain,
Through wild and rocky strait,
Through forests dark, and mountains rent in twain,
Toward the sunset gate,
While curious eyes, keen with the lust of gold,
Caught not the informing gleam,
These mighty breakers age on age have rolled
To meet this mighty stream.
Age after age these noble hills have kept,
The same majestic lines:
Age after age the horizon's edge been swept
By fringe of pointed pines.
Summers and Winters circling came and went,
Bringing no change of scene;
Unresting, and unhasting, and unspent,
Dwelt nature here serene.
70
