MONTE-VIDEO.
How fair upon the mountain's brow
To stand and mark the vales below,
Those beauteous vales that calmly sleep,
Secluded, peaceful, silent, deep;
The solemn forests' nodding crest,
The streams with fringing verdure drest,
The rural homes, remote from noise,
By distance dwindled into toys;
Or turning from this varied scene,
So mute, so lovely, so serene,
Scale the steep cliff, whose ample range
Gives to the eye a bolder change,
The cultured fields, which rivers lave,
Where branches bend and harvests wave,
The village roofs, obscurely seen,
The glittering spires that gem the green,
The pale blue line that meets the eye
Where mountains mingle with the sky,
The floating mist, in volumes rolled,
That hovers o'er their bosoms cold,
Woods, wilds and waters, scattered free
In Nature's tireless majesty.
