. The White hills; their legends, landscape, and poetry. eaks into human expression,—a piece of sculpture older than theSphynx,—an intimation of the human countenance, which is thecrown of all beauty, that was pushed out from the coarse strata ofNew England thousands of years before Adam. The marvel of this countenance, outlined so distinctly against thesky at an elevation of nearly fifteen hundred feet above the road, isgreatly increased by the fact that it is composed of three masses ofrock which are not in perpendicular line with each other. On thebrow of the mountain itself, standing on th
. The White hills; their legends, landscape, and poetry. eaks into human expression,—a piece of sculpture older than theSphynx,—an intimation of the human countenance, which is thecrown of all beauty, that was pushed out from the coarse strata ofNew England thousands of years before Adam. The marvel of this countenance, outlined so distinctly against thesky at an elevation of nearly fifteen hundred feet above the road, isgreatly increased by the fact that it is composed of three masses ofrock which are not in perpendicular line with each other. On thebrow of the mountain itself, standing on the visor of the helmet thatcovers the face, or directly underneath it on the shore of the littlelake, there is no intimation of any human features in the lawless THE PEMIGEWASSET VALLEY. Ill rocks. Remove but a few rods either way from the guide-board onthe road, where you are advised to look up, and the charm is dis-solved. Mrs. Browning has connected a law of historical and socialinsight with a passage and a fancy, that many of our readers will be. glad to associate with their visit to the spot where the granite Profileis revj^aled to them :— Every age,Through being beheld too close, is ill-discernedBj- those who have not lived past it. Well supposeMount Athos carved, as Persian Xerxes schemed,To some colossal statue of a man:The peasants, gathering brushwood in his ear,Had guessd as little of any human formUp there, as would a flock of browsing have, in fact, to travel ten miles offOr ere the giant image broke on human profile, nose and chin distinct,Month, muttering rhythms of silence up the sky, 112 THE WHITE HILLS. And fed at evening with the blood of su\k;Grand torso,—hand, that flung perpetuallyThe largesse of a silver river downTo all the country pastures. Tis even thusWith times we live in,—evermore too greatTo be apprehended near. One of Mr. Hawthornes admirable Twice-told Tales has wovena charming legend and moral about this mightj Pro
Size: 1763px × 1418px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksubjectwhitemo, bookyear1876
