It was a wondrous realm beguiled 



Our youth amid its charms to roam ; 



O'er scenes more fair, serenely wild, 



Not often summer's glory smiled ; 



When flecks of cloud, ti-ansparent, bright, 



No alabaster half so white — 



Hung lightly in a luminous dome 



Of sapphire — seemed to float and sleep 



Far in the front of its blue steep ; 



And almost awful, none the less 



For its liquescent loveliness. 



Behind them sunk — just o'er the hill 



The deep abyss, profound and still — 



The so immediate Infinite ; 



That yet emerged the same, it seemed 



In hue divine and melting balm. 



In many a lake whose crystal calm 



Uncrisped, unwrinkled, scarcely gleamed ; 



