Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79.
Mount Kearsarge
By Edna Dean Proctor (18291923)
O
And mate thee with the sun!
Thy rosy clouds are valeward blown,
Thy stars that near at midnight shone
Gone heavenward one by one,
And half of earth, and half of air,
Thou risest vast, and gray, and bare,
Monadnock sinks to see,—
For all its trees and towering crest,
And clear Contoocook from its breast
Poured down for wood and lea,—
How statelier still, through frost and dew,
Thy granite cleaves the distant blue.
Franconia’s cliffs look down;
Home to their crags the eagles fly,
Deep in their caves the echoes die,
The sparkling waters frown,
And the Great Face that guards the glen
Pales with the pride of mortal men.
The White Hills scan the plain;
Nor Saco’s leaping, lightsome feet,
Nor Ammonoosuc wild to greet
The meadows and the main,
Nor snows nor thunders can atone
For splendor thou hast made thine own.
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!
Grace of its goodliest trees;
Nor Norway hills when woodman’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 as pure as thine.
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;
Nor Argonaut nor Viking knew
Sublimer daring than her crew.
Or mountains pierce the air,
Her fame shall shine on honor’s scroll;
Thy brow shall be the pilgrim’s goal
Uplifted broad and fair;
And, from thy skies, inspiring gales
O’er future seas shall sweep our sails.
And clothe thy oaks and pines;
Brooks laugh thy rifted rocks between;
Snows fall serenely o’er the scene
And veil thy lofty lines;
While crowned and peerless thou dost stand,
The monarch of our mountain-land.