Page:Poems Proctor.djvu/87

Nay, from their silent, crystal seat
 The White Hills scan the plain;
Nor Saco's leaping, lightsome feet,
Nor Amimonoosuc wild to greet
 The meadows and the main,
Nor snows nor thunders can atone
For splendor thou hast made thine own.

For thou hast joined the immortal band
 Of hills and streams and plains
Shrined in the songs of native land,—
Linked with the deeds of valor grand
 Told when the bright day wanes,—
Part of the nation's life art thou,
O mountain of the granite brow!

Not Pelion when the Argo rose,
 Grace of its goodliest trees;
Nor Norway hills when woodmen's blows
Their pines sent crashing through the snows
 That kings might rove the seas;
Nor heights that gave the Armada's line,
Thrilled with a joy so pure as thine.

Bold was the ship thy name that bore;
 Strength of the hills was hers;
Heart of the oaks thy pastures store,
The pines that hear the north wind roar,
 The dark and tapering firs;