[Illustration:
"Where the ceaseless erosions of measureless time,
Have chiseled the grotto and canon sublime."
BOX CANON, LOOKING INWARD, OURAY, COLORADO.]
* * * * *
Wherever I wander, my ears hear the sound
Of thy waters, which plunge with a turbulent bound
O'er the precipice, seething and laden with foam;
My ears hear their music wherever I roam;
Where the cataract's rhapsody, joyous and light,
Enchants in the morning and soothes in the night;
Where blend the loud thunders, sonorous and deep,
With the sobs of the rain as the black heavens weep;
Where the whispering zephyr, and murmuring breeze,
Unite with the soft, listless sigh of the trees;
And where to the fancy, the voices of air
Wail in tones of distress, or in shrieks of despair;
Where mourneth the night wind, with desolate breath,
In accents suggestive of sorrow and death;
As falls from the heavens, so fleecy and light,
The winter's immaculate mantle of white;
Wherever I wander, these sounds greet my ears,
And the silvery San Juan to my fancy appears.
FOOTNOTES:
[E] Pronounced San Wan. Spanish form of St. John.
As the Shifting Sands of the Desert.
As the shifting sands of the desert
Are born by the simoon's wrath,
And in wanton and fleet confusion,
Are strewn on its trackless path;
So our lives with resistless fury,
Insensibly and unknown,
With a restless vacillation
By the winds of fate are blown;
But an All-Wise Hand
May have changed the sand,
For a purpose of His own.
Pages:
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37