THE HUNTER’S VISION

Upon a rock that, high and sheer,

Rose from the mountain’s breast,

A weary hunter of the deer

Had sat him down to rest,

And bared to the soft summer air

His hot red brow and sweaty hair.

All dim in haze the mountains lay,

With dimmer vales between;

And rivers glimmered on their way

By forests faintly seen;

While ever rose a murmuring sound

From brooks below and bees around.

He listened, till he seemed to hear

A strain, so soft and low,

That whether in the mind or ear

The listener scarce might know.

With such a tone, so sweet, so mild,

The watching mother lulls her child.

"Thou weary huntsman," thus it said,

"Thou faint with toil and heat,

The pleasant land of rest is spread

Before thy very feet,

And those whom thou wouldst gladly see

Are waiting there to welcome thee."

He looked, and ’twixt the earth and sky,

Amid the noontide haze,

A shadowy region met his eye,

And grew beneath his gaze,

As if the vapors of the air

Had gathered into shapes so fair.

Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers

Showed bright on rocky bank,

And fountains welled beneath the bowers,

Where deer and pheasant drank.

He saw the glittering streams, he heard

The rustling bough and twittering bird.

And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear

There lived and walked again,

And there was one who many a year

Within her grave had lain,

A fair young girl, the hamlet’s pride-

His heart was breaking when she died:

Bounding, as was her wont, she came

Right toward his resting-place,

And stretched her hand and called his name

With that sweet smiling face.

Forward with fixed and eager eyes,

The hunter leaned in act to rise:

Forward he leaned, and headlong down

Plunged from that craggy wall;

He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown,

An instant, in his fall;

A frightful instant- and no more,

The dream and life at once were o’er.