Verse > Anthologies > Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. > Poems of Places > America
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed.  Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX.  1876–79.
New England: Kearsarge, the Mountain, N. H.
Mount Kearsarge
Edna Dean Proctor (1829–1923)
          Kearsarge, the mountain which gave its name to the ship that sank the Alabama, is a noble granite peak in Merrimack County, New Hampshire, rising alone, more than two thousand feet above the sea.

OH, lift thy head, thou mountain lone,
  And mate thee with the sun!
Thy rosy clouds are valeward blown,
Thy stars that near at midnight shone
  Gone heavenward one by one,        5
And half of earth, and half of air,
Thou risest vast, and gray, and bare,
And crowned with glory. Far southwest
  Monadnock sinks to see,—
For all its trees and towering crest,        10
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.
And high to north, from fainter sky,        15
  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        20
Pales with the pride of mortal men.
Nay, from their silent, crystal seat
  The White Hills scan the plain;
Nor Saco’s leaping, lightsome feet,
Nor Ammonoosuc wild to greet        25
  The meadows and the main,
Nor snows nor thunders can atone
For splendor thou hast made thine own.
For thou hast joined the immortal band
  Of hills and streams and plains,        30
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!        35
Not Pelion when the Argo rose,
  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;        40
Nor heights that gave the Armada’s line,
Thrilled with a joy as pure as thine.
Bold was the ship thy name that bore;
  Strength of the hills was hers;
Heart of the oaks thy pastures store,        45
The pines that hear the north-wind roar,
  The dark and tapering firs;
Nor Argonaut nor Viking knew
Sublimer daring than her crew.
And long as Freedom fires the soul        50
  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        55
O’er future seas shall sweep our sails.
Still summer keep thy pastures green,
  And clothe thy oaks and pines;
Brooks laugh thy rifted rocks between;
Snows fall serenely o’er the scene        60
  And veil thy lofty lines;
While crowned and peerless thou dost stand,
The monarch of our mountain-land.

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