'Mid tangled forest and o'er grass plains wide, By many a devious path and bridle-way, Through the short brightness of an Indian day, In middle winter 'twas my lot to ride, Skirting the round-topped, pine-clad mountain side, While far away upon the steely blue Horizon, half concealèd, half in view, Himalay's peaks upreared their snow-crowned pride, In utter purity and vast repose. I, ere the first faint flush of morning glowed Within her eastern chamber, took the road, And, slowly riding between day and night, I marked how, through the wan, imperfect light, Ghost-like and gray loomed the eternal snows.
So near they seemed, each crack and crevice small Like bas-relief work showed, while in the light Of ruddy morn, gray changed through pink to white. But soon the sun, up-climbing, flooded all The heavens, and then a thin and misty pall Of exhalations rose, and pale of hue And fainter ever those far summits grew, Until the day waned low, and shadows tall Sloped eastward. Then once more, in radiance clear, Of setting sunlight, beautiful as brief, Each peak and crag stood out in bold relief, Till, slowly, pink faded to ghostly gray. So through life's morning, noontide, evening, may Ideal hopes dawn, fade, and reappear.
Hurrah! for a ride in the morning gray, On the back of a bounding steed. What pleasure to list how the wild winds play; Hark! Hark! to their music,--away! away! Gallop away with speed. 'Neath the leaf and the cloud in spring-time's pride There is health in a morning's joyous ride.
And hurrah! for a ride in the sultry noon, When the summer has mounted high, 'Neath the shady wood in the glowing June, When the rivulet chanteth its lullaby tune To the breeze as it wanders by, Quietly down by the brooklet's side;-- Sweet is the summer's joyous ride.
And do you not love at evening's hour, By the light of the sinking sun, To wend your way o'er the widening moor, Where the silvery mists their mystery pour, While the stars come one by one? Over the heath by the mountain's side, Pensive and sweet is the evening's ride.
I tell thee, O stranger, that unto me The plunge of a fiery steed Is a noble thought,--to the brave and free It is music, and breath, and majesty,-- 'Tis the life of a noble deed; And the heart and the mind are in spirit allied In the charm of a morning's glorious ride.