I stood upon the forehead gray
Of some lone mountain's dizzy peak.
A ruddy light was on the hill,
But shadows in the valley slept;
A white mist rested o'er the rill,
And shivering leaves with tear-drops wept.
The sun came up, and nature woke,
As from a deep and sweet repose;
From every bush soft music broke,
And blue wreaths from each chimney rose.
From the green vale that lay below.
Full many a carol met my ear;
The boy that drove the teeming cow.
And sung or whistled in his cheer;
The dog that by his master's side,
Made the lone copse with echoes ring:
The mill that whirling in the tide,
Seemed with a droning voice to sing;
The lowing herd, the bleating flock,
And many a far-off murmuring wheel:
Each sent its music up the rock,
And woke my bosom's echoing peal.


VII.

"And thus my early hours went o'er:
Each scene and sound but gave delight;
Or if I grieved, 'twas like the shower,
That comes in sunshine, brief and bright.