THE HUNTER'S VISION. UPON a rock that, high and sheer, Rose from the mountain's breast, weary hunter of the deer A Had sat him down to rest, And bared, to the soft summer air, All dim in haze the mountains lay, While ever rose a murmuring sound, He listened, till he seemed to hear The listener scarce might know. With such a tone, so sweet and mild, Thou weary huntsman, thus it said, THE HUNTER'S VISION. And those whom thou wouldst gladly see He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky, A shadowy region met his eye, As if the vapours of the air Had gathered into shapes so fair. Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers And fountains welled beneath the bowers, He saw the glittering streams, he heard And friends-the dead-in boyhood dear, A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride- Bounding, as was her wont, she came And stretched her hand and called his name Forward, with fixed and eager eyes, The hunter leaned in act to rise: 71 72 THE HUNTER'S VISION. Forward he leaned, and headlong down He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown, A frightful instant—and no more, The dream and life at once were o'er. CATTERSKILL FALLS. MIDST greens and shades the Catterskill leaps, From cliffs where the wood-flower clings; All summer he moistens his verdant steeps With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs; And he shakes the woods on the mountain side, When they drip with the rains of autumn tide. But when, in the forest bare and old, The blast of December calls, He builds, in the starlight clear and cold, For whom are those glorious chambers wrought, Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought 74 CATTERSKILL FALLS. 'Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood, A hundred winters ago, Had wandered over the mighty wood, When the panther's track was fresh on the snow, And keen were the winds that came to stir Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair, The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps; And here he paused, and against the trunk Of a tall gray linden leant, When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk And the crescent moon, high over the green, On that icy palace, whose towers were seen To sparkle as if with stars of their own; Is that a being of life, that moves Where the crystal battlements rise? |