  The mountain frowns black to the battling storm. He bristles his bayonet-pines to dare The flashing, charge of the wrathful air. But yet the sunlight, cheery and warm, Kindling the darkness, paling the glare, Tells that the fierce warring foe will deform The scene little longer, but, shorn of his sway, Breaking and dwindling, will vanish away. While, scattered like stars in the glancing glow, Lilies gleam out from the lake’s deep gloom; And trees rich chequer of shadow throw Where wild birds warble and wild flowers bloom, And waterfalls tinkle in foamy flow. Symbol of life in its shadow and sheen! Even when sorrow is shading the heart, Hope’s ray cheerily dances between, Telling the tempest will soon depart. Symbol of thee, with the lake of thy tears, Oh land, and thy mountain of strife and of sorrow! But bright through the battle-rack Hope appears, Smiling in promise of golden morrow. |
|
