Henceforth to all men evermore;
The lulling murmur of thy pines
Is audible on every shore.
From morn till noontide on we rode—
The day grew summery awhile;
The mountain vapors throbbed and glowed,
But soon they wore a pensive smile.
The sky, a magazine of hues,
Its amethystine glories rained;
That richer colors still diffuse,