. The White hills; their legends, landscape, and poetry. wound their coils fairly around them, and werecrumbhng them at leisure. The Hchens upon them look bleachedand feeble. These protruding portions of its anatomy indicate thatMount Washington has passed the meridian of his years. But thewaterfall gives the impression of graceful and perpetual youth. Downit comes, leaping, sliding, tripping, widening its pure tide, and thengathering its thin sheet to gush through a narrowing pass in therocks,—all the way thus, from under the sheer walls of TuckermansRavine, some miles above, till it reaches
. The White hills; their legends, landscape, and poetry. wound their coils fairly around them, and werecrumbhng them at leisure. The Hchens upon them look bleachedand feeble. These protruding portions of its anatomy indicate thatMount Washington has passed the meridian of his years. But thewaterfall gives the impression of graceful and perpetual youth. Downit comes, leaping, sliding, tripping, widening its pure tide, and thengathering its thin sheet to gush through a narrowing pass in therocks,—all the way thus, from under the sheer walls of TuckermansRavine, some miles above, till it reaches the curve opposite the pointwhere we stand, and winding around it, sweeps down the bendingstairway, shattenng its substance into exquisite crystal, but sending THE ANDROSCOGGIN VALLEY. 313 off enough water to the right side of its path to shp and trickle overthe lovely, dark green mosses that cling to the gray and purple rocksFor how many thousand years has it enUvened the mountaui sidethus with its flashes and its dance ? Perhaps long enough to have. fulfilled one of the great Platonic years,—long enough for the verywater which in one summer week has poured down its channels, to bereturned from the sea by the clouds, to the very same spot over themountain ridge, and to repeat their journey. 314 THE WHITE HILLS. But there is no suggestion of age in its curves and color, or in thesprighthness of its voice. Beautiful plunderer, it has made themountain more meagre, and has torn out thousands of tons frcra hisbulk, to find a more easj pathway down which it might move. Butit is not onlj undimmed youth, it is feminine grace and freshness andcharm which it expresses,— Laugh of the mountain! lyre of bird and treePomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn!The soul of April, unto whom are bornThe rose and jassamine, leaps wild in thee! The mountain has yielded without murmur to the humors of thestream ui choosing and channelling its path. The scene is the storytold in a mightier sculpt
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksubjectwhitemo, bookyear1876
