Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79.
The Mountain Burial
By Lydia Huntley Sigourney (17911865)
W
Dread Mountain-Spirit, say!
That honored Son of Science
Who dared thy shrouded way?
O giant Firs! whose branches
In gloomy grandeur meet,
Did ye his steps imprison
Within your dark retreat?
That robe yourselves in black,
Have you his steps deluded
To wander from the track?
Make answer!—Have ye seen him?
For hearts with fear are bowed,
And torches like the wandering stars
Gleam out above the cloud.
Lo, on the yielding fern,
Are these his footprints o’er the ledge?
Will he no more return?
He cometh!—How?—Like marble,
Forth from its quarried bed,—
With dripping looks, and rigid brow,
The sculpture of the dead.
With sweetly pensive grace
The graceful Rhododendron leaned
To look upon his face,
While, mid the slippery gorges
Those blushing laurels stand,
Which, faithless, like the broken reed,
Betrayed his grasping hand.
No strata of the dales,
No stranger-plant, or noteless vine,
In Carolinian vales,
No shell upon her shore,
No ivy on her wall,
No wingéd bird, or reptile form,
But he could name them all.
Who loved her sacred lore,
With such a pillow of repose
As man ne’er had before,
A monument that biddeth
Old Egypt’s glory hide,
With all her kingly pyramids,
In all their mole-hill pride.
Each nerve and sinew strain,—
For what ye do from love this day
Ye ne’er shall do again;
From beetling crag to summit,
So ominous and steep,
They force their venturous way, where scarce
The chamois dares to leap.
Atlantic’s surging height,
Prelate and priest, with lifted hands
Invoked the God of Might,
And then that cloud-encircled cliff
Unlocked its granite breast,
And with a strong and close embrace
The manly form comprest:
Follower of Jesus, rest,
Serene, approachless, and sublime,—
Until the mountain crest
Shall redden with the fires of doom,
And Earth restore her dead!
Then joyful leave thy Pisgah tomb,
The promised land to tread.