The Silvery San Juan.

Wherever I wander, my spirit still dwells, In the silvery San Juan^[E] with its streamlet and dells; Whose mountainous summits, so rugged and high, With their pinnacles pierce the ethereal sky; Where the daisy, the rose, and the sweet columbine Blend their colors with those of the sober hued pine; Where the ceaseless erosions of measureless time, Have chiseled the grotto and canon sublime; Have sculptured the cliff, and the stern mountain wall; Have formed the bold turret, impressive and tall; Have cut the deep gorge with its wonderful caves, Sepulchral and gloomy; whose vast architraves Support the stalactites, both pendant and white, Which with the stalagmites beneath them unite; Where nestles a valley, sequestered and grand, Worn out of the rock by the same tireless hand, Surrounded by mountains, majestic and gray, Which smile from their heights on the Town of Ouray.

Wherever I wander, my ears hear the sound Of thy waters, which plunge with a turbulent bound O'er the precipice, seething and laden with foam; My ears hear their music wherever I roam; Where the cataract's rhapsody, joyous and light, Enchants in the morning and soothes in the night; Where blend the loud thunders, sonorous and deep, With the sobs of the rain as the black heavens weep; Where the whispering zephyr, and murmuring breeze, Unite with the soft, listless sigh of the trees; And where to the fancy, the voices of air Wail in tones of distress, or in shrieks of despair; Where mourneth the night wind, with desolate breath, In accents suggestive of sorrow and death; As falls from the heavens, so fleecy and light, The winter's immaculate mantle of white; Wherever I wander, these sounds greet my ears, And the silvery San Juan to my fancy appears.