128 WILD LIFE IN NORTH CANARA. 



Bend o'er the summit as the whirling clouds 

 Now shroud, now show, the strife of rock and flood 

 In depths where peace and silence never came. 

 Tet the blue pigeon circles at mid height, 

 And in the sprays the darting swallow bathes. 



Grudge not the toil to track yon rugged stair, 

 Down where huge fragments strew the torrent's 



bed, 

 Then turn and face the fairest scene on earth. 



How goodly are thy robes, thou foam-clad queen, 

 With hues of heaven woven in thy skirt ; 

 Thy misty veil, how gracefully it falls ; 

 For ever falls, and yet unveils thee not ! 



What ails thee, fair stream, that thon art 



wrought 

 To fling thyself a snow-cloud on the winds. 

 Thy substance lost and all thy being changed ? 

 In countless flights thy silent heralds come. 

 Now errant shoot, now seem to hang in air. 

 Then quiver down the gloom of the abyss, 

 And die like meteors in November skies. 



Yonder moves one like hero to his doom, 

 Resolved, serene, not parting from the verge 



