And up! up! up! the swirling mists are 



rolled, 



Till peaks prismatic gleam and rise 

 In sheen of purple, opal, red and gold. 

 Up ! up ! in ranks until they seem to comb 



the flying scud 



That swims upon the heaven of heavens ; 

 And shadowy peaks still higher yet appear, 

 And up and up and upward still, till lost in 



blue eternity. 



And still the mist is rolled away, 



And in the light of revelation there, 



Far down unspeakably far, 



A long thin winding shining line gray 



green, 



The river ancient as the earth 

 Whose aqua-fortis flood, God's graver was, 

 With which this gorge was cut. 

 Profounder than the gulfs between the 



stars it seemed, 

 And awful as the day of Judgment come. 



One moment there the sun refulgent shone ; 

 Then warning, "Thou hast seen enough 

 For all thy days remaining." 

 Far down the mist of mists is rolled again 

 A film, a veil, a curtain-like futurity, 

 The last, the nearest of the peak is hid, 

 And just an inch beyond your very foot 

 An awful brink abysmal." 



Just think what it did to him a 

 calliper scientist. 



In a place homely most homely 



