TO THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS by EFFIE WALLER SMITH

O Cumberland! O Cumberland!
My own, my native hills,
For you, my dear old Cumberland
With love my bosom thrills.

Your ridged and towering cliffs,
What a beauty, what a wonder!
Which have withstood for centuries
The lightning's flash and thunder.

Summer finds your craggy peaks
No caps of whiteness wearing,
From base to crest you greet the eye
With green majestic bearing.

In childhood's days upon your slopes
How oft my feet have wandered,
How oft o'er your sublimity
My childish mind has pondered.

With joy I've plucked the flowers that bloomed
Within your dells and dales;
With eagerness I've watched the streams
Plash through your wooded vales.

And I have seen within your vales
The timid cowering dove,
I've seen the eagle wing his flight
Your lofty heights above.

But not solely for your beauty,
Nor because my home is here,
Not for these alone, dear mountains
In my heart I love you dear.

For within your soil lies buried
'Neath the spruce pines and the flow'rs
The only love of my lost youth,
Of my childhood's happy hours.

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