PILGRIMAGES TO SNOWDON AND SCAWFELL
By HENRY S. SALT
I send thee, love, this upland flower I found,
While wandering lonely with o’erclouded heart,
Hid in a grey recess of rocky ground
Among the misty mountains far apart;
And there I heard the wild wind’s luring sound,
Which whoso trusts, is healed of earthborn care,
And watched the lofty ridges loom around,
Yet yearned in vain their secret faith to share.
When lo the sudden sunlight, sparkling keen,
Poured full upon the vales the glorious day,
And bared the abiding mountain- tops serene,
And swept the shifting vapour-wreaths away:—
Then with the hills’ true heart my heart beat true,
Heavens opened, cloud-thoughts vanished, and I knew.
I. Pilgrims of the Mountain.
II. At the Shrine of Snowdon
III. At the Shrine of Scawfell
IV. Pleasures of the Heights
V. The Barren Hillside
VI. Wild Life on the Hills
VII. Slag-Heap or Sanctuary?
VIII. Human Sympathies