| |
| WHERE close the curving mountains drew, | |
| To clasp the stream in their embrace, | |
| With every outline, shade and hue | |
| Reflected in its placid face, | |
| |
| The ploughman stops his team to watch | 5 |
| The train, as swift it thunders by; | |
| Some distant glimpse of life to catch, | |
| He strains his eager, wistful eye. | |
| |
| His waiting horses patient stand | |
| With wonder in their gentle eyes, | 10 |
| As through the tranquil mountain land | |
| The snorting engine onward flies. | |
| |
| The morning freshness is on him, | |
| Just wakened from his balmy dreams; | |
| The wayfarers, all soiled and dim, | 15 |
| Think longingly of mountain streams. | |
| |
| Oh, for the joyous mountain air, | |
| The long, delightful autumn day | |
| Among the hills!—the ploughman there | |
| Must have perpetual holiday! | 20 |
| |
| And he, as all day long he guides | |
| His steady plough with patient hand, | |
| Thinks of the train that onward glides | |
| Into some new enchanted land, | |
| |
| Where, day by day, no plodding round | 25 |
| Wearies the frame and dulls the mind, | |
| Where life thrills keen to sight and sound, | |
| With ploughs and furrows left behind! | |
| |
| Even so to each the untrod ways | |
| Of life are touched by Fancy’s glow, | 30 |
| That ever sheds its brightest rays | |
| Upon the paths we do not know! | |
| |
