Again Among the Hills

Again among the hills! The shaggy hills! The clear arousing air comes like a call Of bugle notes across the pines, and thrills My heart as if a hero had just spoken. Again among the hills! The jubilant, unbroken, Long dreaming of the hills! Far off, Ascutney smiles as one at peace; And over all The golden sunlight pours, and fills The hollow of the earth, like a god’s joy. Again among the hills! The tranquil hills That took me as a boy And filled my spirit with the silences! O indolent, far-reaching hills that lie Secure in your own strength, and take your ease Like careless giants ’neath the summer sky⁠— What is it to you, O hills, That anxious men should take thought for the morrow? What has your might to do with thought or sorrow, Or cark and cumber of conflicting wills? Lone Pine, that thron’st thyself upon the height, Aloof and kingly, overlooking all, Yet uncompanioned, with the Day and Night For pageant and the winds for festival! I was thy minion once, and now renew Mine ancient fealty⁠— To that which shaped me still remaining true, And through allegiance only growing free. The rising of the wind among the pines, The runic wind, full of old legendries! It talks to the ancient trees Of sights and signs And strange earth-creatures strong to make or mar⁠— Such tales as when the firelight flickered out In the old days men heard and had no doubt. O wind, what is your spell? Borne on your cry, the ages slip away, And lo, I too am of that elder day; I crouch by the logs and hear With credent ear And simple marvel the far tales men tell. ... Night on the hills! And the ancient stars emerge. The silence of their mighty distances Compels the world to peace. Now sinks the surge Of life to a soft stir of mountain rills, And over the swarm and urge Of eager men sleep falls and darkling ease. Night on the hills! Dark mother-Night, draw near; Lay hands on us and whisper words of cheer So softly, oh, so softly! Now may we Be each as one that leaves his midnight task And throws his casement open; and the air Comes up across the lowlands from the sea And cools his temples, as a maid might ask With shy caress what speech would never dare; And he leans back to her demure desires, And as a dream sees far below The city with its lights aglow And blesses in his heart his brothers there; Then toward the eternal stars again aspires.