Red streams came down from hillsides crissed and crossed
With fallen firs; but on a sudden, lo!
A silver lakelet bound and barred
With sunset's clouds reflected far below.
These lakes so lonely were, so still and cool,
They burned as bright as burnished steel;
The shadowed pine branch in the pool
Was no less vivid than the real.
We crossed the great divide and saw
The sun-lit valleys far below us wind;
Before us opened cloudless sky; the raw,
Gray rain swept close behind.
We saw great glaciers grind themselves to foam;
We trod the moose's lofty home,
And heard, high on the yellow hills,
The wildcat clamor of his ills.
The way grew grimmer day by day,
The weeks to months stretched on and on;
And hunger kept, not far away,
A never failing watch at dawn.
We lost all reckoning of season and of time;
Sometimes it seemed the bitter breeze
Of icy March brought fog and rain,
And next November tempests shook the trees.
It was a wild and lonely ride.
Save the hid loon's mocking cry,
Or marmot on the mountain side,
The earth was silent as the sky.
All day through sunless forest aisles,
On cold dark moss our horses trod;
It was so lonely there for miles and miles,
The land seemed lost to God.
Our horses cut by rocks; by brambles torn,
Staggered onward, stiff and sore;
Or broken, bruised, and saddle-worn,
Fell in the sloughs to rise no more.
Yet still we rode right on and on,
And shook our clenched hands at the clouds,
Daring the winds of early dawn,
And the dread torrent roaring loud.