One day, when all the city street
Lay sultry in the summer heat,
I stood on Hoosac's rocky crest,
And drank a draught of joy and rest.
The bracing Berkshire breezes blew
Across the hills, and sweeping through
The grateful valleys, gently fanned
The sun-scorched brow of Greylock grand.
From off the cragged hills Taghkonic,
High o'er the river Housatonic,
An eagle in his strength was soaring,
The paltry earth beneath ignoring.
Swift did his wings his will obey;
Straight north by east he coursed his way;
Proudly he took his fearless flight,
Toward fair Monadnock's hazy height.
Then on this rugged mountain wall,
A deeper silence seemed to fall:
Over this road, though broad and wide,
No traveller was seen to ride.
Only in vision rumbled by
A creaking coach with driver high,
Who cracked his whip, and rang his cheers--
Echoes they were of other years.
A group of graves were clustered here;
The wind wailed o'er them wild and drear:--
Could souls rise higher to the Light
When soaring from this mountain height?
And as I mused, the twilight fell:
I heard a distant evening bell;
And in the valley far below,
I heard the home-bound cattle low.
Far down where winds the Deerfield stream,
I saw a light,--a sudden gleam,
As up the narrow river riding
The Western train came swiftly gliding.
Then full to Hoosac's height it came,
When, with a sudden flare of flame,
Boldly the barrier it defied
And plunged into the mountain side.
The train was lost to sound and sight,
But still I knew it kept its flight:
I marked its subterranean way;--
Below the little graveyard lay.
Ah! trav'ller, through this cavern deep,
Fast in thy thoughts or book asleep,
Dost know that high above thy head
There rest the ashes of the dead?
[Illustration]