Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE ALPS, by JAMES MONTGOMERY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The mountains of this glorious land Last Line: What my offence hath been. Alternate Author Name(s): The Common Lot Subject(s): Alps; Mountains; Hills; Downs (great Britain) | ||||||||
PART I. -- DAY. THE mountains of this glorious land Are conscious beings to mine eye, When at the break of day they stand Like giants looking through the sky, To hail the sun's unrisen car, That gilds their diadems of snow; While one by one, as star by star, Their peaks in ether glow. Their silent presence fills my soul, When to the horizontal ray, The many-tinctured vapors roll In evanescent wreaths away, And leave them naked on the scene, The emblems of eternity, The same as they have ever been, And shall forever be. Yet, through the valley while I range, Their cliffs, like images in dreams, Color and shape and station change; Here crags and caverns, woods and streams And seas of adamantine ice, With gardens, vineyards, fields embraced, Open a way to Paradise, Through all the splendid waste. The goats are hanging on the rocks, Wide through their pastures roam the herds; Peace on the uplands feeds her flocks, Till suddenly the king of birds Pouncing a lamb, they start for fear; He bears his bleating prize on high; The well-known plaint his nestlings hear, And raise a ravening cry. The sun in morning freshness shines; At noon behold his orb o'ercast; Hollow and dreary o'er the pines, Like distant ocean, moans the blast; The mountains darken at the sound, Put on their armor, and anon, In panoply of clouds wrapt round, Their forms from sight are gone. Hark! war in heaven! -- the battle-shout Of thunder rends the echoing air; Lo! war in heaven! -- thick-flashing out Through torrent-rains red lightnings glare, As though the Alps, with mortal ire, At once a thousand voices raised, And with a thousand swords of fire At once in conflict blazed. PART II. NIGHT COME, golden Evening, in the west Enthrone the storm-dispelling sun, And let the triple rainbow rest O'er all the mountain-tops: -- 'T is done; The deluge ceases; bold and bright The rainbow shoots from hill to hill; Down sinks the sun; on presses night; -- Mont Blanc is lovely still. There take thy stand, my spirit; -- spread The world of shadows at thy feet; And mark how calmly, overhead, The stars like saints in glory meet: While hid in solitude sublime, Methinks I muse on Nature's tomb, And hear the passing foot of Time Step through the gloom. All in a moment, crash on crash, From precipice to precipice, An avalanche's ruins dash Down to the nethermost abyss; Invisible, the ear alone Follows the uproar till it dies; Echo on echo, groan for groan, From deep to deep replies. Silence again the darkness seals, -- Darkness that may be felt; -- but soon The silver-clouded east reveals The midnight spectre of the moon; In half-eclipse she lifts her horn, Yet, o'er the host of heaven supreme, Brings the faint semblance of a morn With her awakening beam. Ha! at her touch these Alpine heights Unreal mockeries appear; With blacker shadows, ghastlier lights, Enlarging as she climbs the sphere; A crowd of apparitions pale! I hold my breath in chill suspense, -- They seem so exquisitely frail, -- Lest they should vanish hence. I breathe again, I freely breathe; Lake of Geneva! thee I trace, Like Dian's crescent far beneath, And beautiful as Dian's face. Pride of this land of liberty! All that thy waves reflect I love; Where heaven itself, brought down to thee, Looks fairer than above. Safe on thy banks again I stray, The trance of poesy is o'er, And I am here at dawn of day, Gazing on mountains as before; For all the strange mutations wrought Were magic feats of my own mind; Thus, in the fairy-land of thought, Whate'er I seek I find. Yet, O ye everlasting hills! Buildings of God not made with hands, Whose word performs whate'er he wills, Whose word, though ye shall perish, stands; Can there be eyes that look on you, Till tears of rapture make them dim, Nor in his works the Maker view, Then lose his works in him? By me, when I behold him not Or love him not when I behold, Be all I ever knew forgot; My pulse stand still, my heart grow cold; Transformed to ice, 'twixt earth and sky, On yonder cliff my form be seen, That all may ask, but none reply, What my offence hath been. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALIFORNIA SORROW: MOUNTAIN VIEW by MARY KINZIE CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOUNTAIN FASTNESS by HAYDEN CARRUTH GREEN MOUNTAIN IDYL by HAYDEN CARRUTH IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOU by HAYDEN CARRUTH A MOTHER'S LOVE by JAMES MONTGOMERY |
|