The "fire-zoned orb" with beauteous light illumes
A distant mountain's irridescent rim;
And morning flits with swift, impetuous step
Adown the snow-clad slopes, benignant, free.
Below us lie the valleys, urns of gloom,
Concealing nature's precious treasure trove.
From thence a hundred peaks
Proclaim the royal conquest of the dawn;
All rosy-robed and golden-crowned they stand,
Their rich prismatic splendors softly limned