326 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
That hope forlorn who would subdue
Must climb the ranks, for none break through.
And, lastly, nought thine eyes behold
Save blasted stocks that gird thee round,
A treeless waste, where breezes cold
Sweep o'er the bleached and shrubless ground.
Didst thou not deem that thriftless soil
But ill repaid thy weary toil ?
Yet, on the landscape looking round. What splendid prospect meets the eyes,
Where, steep and high and hoary-crowned, A thousand mountains round thee rise,
Each gazing o'er some neighbor's head,
In ranks on ranks unlimited !
And now 'tis but a dreary route, Rocky and wild and wasted all ;
And, clambering slow, thou'rt oft in doubt Or whether thou shalt stand or fall ;
Whilst clouds encompassing the way
Sometimes obscure the light of day, —
Sometimes are changed to silvery dew, When sunlight bursts their folds of gray,
Glances the grizzly spectres through. Or gilds their wings with glittering ray ;
Sometimes the storm-king, bellowing loud,
Shoots at thee from the darkest cloud.
Here thy last comraae turns about,
And downward gropes his drizzly way ;
Thou ploddest still, till with a shout Thy glad eyes pierce that veil of gray.
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