EZRA HURLBURT STAFFORD
(At Stampede Pass)
MILDLY through the mists of nightFloats a breath of flowers sweet,Warmly through the waning lightWafts a wind with perfumed feet,Down the gorge and mountain brook,With the sound of wings—Chinook!By no trail his spirits go,Through the mountain passes high,Where the moon is on the snowAnd the screaming eagles fly,Where the yawning canyon roarsWith memories of misty shores.On still prairies, mountain-locked,Frost lies white upon the grass,But where the witch of winter walked,Now the summer's masquers pass;And at May's refreshing breathTender flowers rose from death.And the breeze, that on the CoastWakened softly at the morn,Is on snowy prairies lostWhen the twilight pales forlorn;Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimesSummer's kiss in winter climes.
MILDLY through the mists of nightFloats a breath of flowers sweet,Warmly through the waning lightWafts a wind with perfumed feet,Down the gorge and mountain brook,With the sound of wings—Chinook!By no trail his spirits go,Through the mountain passes high,Where the moon is on the snowAnd the screaming eagles fly,Where the yawning canyon roarsWith memories of misty shores.On still prairies, mountain-locked,Frost lies white upon the grass,But where the witch of winter walked,Now the summer's masquers pass;And at May's refreshing breathTender flowers rose from death.And the breeze, that on the CoastWakened softly at the morn,Is on snowy prairies lostWhen the twilight pales forlorn;Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimesSummer's kiss in winter climes.
MILDLY through the mists of nightFloats a breath of flowers sweet,Warmly through the waning lightWafts a wind with perfumed feet,Down the gorge and mountain brook,With the sound of wings—Chinook!
MILDLY through the mists of night
Floats a breath of flowers sweet,
Warmly through the waning light
Wafts a wind with perfumed feet,
Down the gorge and mountain brook,
With the sound of wings—Chinook!
By no trail his spirits go,Through the mountain passes high,Where the moon is on the snowAnd the screaming eagles fly,Where the yawning canyon roarsWith memories of misty shores.
By no trail his spirits go,
Through the mountain passes high,
Where the moon is on the snow
And the screaming eagles fly,
Where the yawning canyon roars
With memories of misty shores.
On still prairies, mountain-locked,Frost lies white upon the grass,But where the witch of winter walked,Now the summer's masquers pass;And at May's refreshing breathTender flowers rose from death.
On still prairies, mountain-locked,
Frost lies white upon the grass,
But where the witch of winter walked,
Now the summer's masquers pass;
And at May's refreshing breath
Tender flowers rose from death.
And the breeze, that on the CoastWakened softly at the morn,Is on snowy prairies lostWhen the twilight pales forlorn;Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimesSummer's kiss in winter climes.
And the breeze, that on the Coast
Wakened softly at the morn,
Is on snowy prairies lost
When the twilight pales forlorn;
Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimes
Summer's kiss in winter climes.