On the jagg'd summit of a mountain range,
More azure than the blue sky, sternly stood--
Like Sathanas of old--a wanderer strange,
Drinking deep grief, as one who meets the flood
Of bitterness in some parched solitude;
Before him spread, in undulations vast,
A Prairie sea, all isled with rock and wood;
And young winds closed their wings above its breast,
As faint bees close their wings when Summer days have passed.