The deep transparent sky is full
Of many thousand glittering lights,
Unnumbered stars that calmly rule
The dark dominions of the night;
The mild, sad moon has upward risen,
Out of the gray and boundless plain;
And all around the white snows glisten,
Where frost and ice and silence reign,
While ages roll away, and they unchanged remain.

These mountains, piercing the blue sky,
With their eternal cones of ice;
These torrents, dashing from on high,
O'er rock and crag and precipice,
Change not, but still remain as ever,
Unwasting, deathless and sublime,
And will remain, while lightnings quiver,
Or stars these hoary summits climb,
Or rolls the thunder-chariot of eternal Time.

It is not so with all. I change
And waste as with a living death,
Like one that has become a strange
Unwelcome guest, and lingereth
Among the memories of the past,
Where he is a forgotten name.
For time hath mighty power to blast
The hopes, the feelings, and the fame,
To make the passions swell, or their wild fierceness tame.

The swift wind whistles shrill and loud,
And cools my fever-heated brow;
Such was I once, as free, as proud,
And yet, alas! how altered now!
And while I gaze upon the plain,
These mountains, this eternal sky,
The scenes of boyhood come again,
And pass before the vacant eye,
Still wearing something of the shape I knew them by.

Yet why lament? For what are wrong,
False friends, cold hearts, sharp words, deceit,
And life already spun too long,
To one who walks with bleeding feet
The world's rough paths? All will but make
Death sweeter, when he comes at last.
Although the outraged heart may ache,
Its agony of pain is past,
And patience makes it firm, while life is ebbing fast.

Perhaps, when I have passed away,
Like the sad echo of a dream,
There may be some one found to say
A word that will like sorrow seem.
THAT I would have—one genuine tear,
One kindly and regretful thought,
Grant me but that; and even here,
In this lone, strange, unpeopled spot,
To breathe away this life of pain I murmur not.