Poems (Blake)/At the Mountains

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

AT THE MOUNTAINS.

When first I saw the mountains fair
 Across the drowsy summer land
Weave shadows through the noontide air,
 Like some strong Fate with mystic hand,
I thought that here the soul might rest
 From longings vague of fancies grown,
And gather from that silent breast
 A deeper calm to fill its own.

But when a few short days had crept
 Across the distance dim and sweet,
The past with all its memories swept
 And left its message at my feet;
The dreams that lurk in future years,
 The hopes that rise, the fears that pall,
Life's thoughts and wiles, her smiles and tears,
 Came back, and magic tinted all.

For looking from my calm retreat
 All things grew bright as from above;
The noisy city's dusty street,
 That holds the little home I love;
The humble path my feet had known,
 The well-known faces round my way,
The little cares, now blessed grown,
 Looked fair as gifts from God to-day.

And so, I mused,—till life's short span
 Is lost beyond the days of time;
New chords will touch the heart of man,
 And seem to ring a sweeter chime;
But when their transient music dies,
 We turn to taste the purer bliss
Of home, and love, and human ties,
 Which make a heaven of worlds like this.