Emerald Lake, San Miguel County, Colorado.]

Reflections.

On the margin of a lakelet, In a rugged mountain clime, Where precipice and pinnacle Of countenance sublime, Cast their weird, austere reflections In the water's glistening sheen, I strolled in contemplative mood, Both pensive and serene.

As in a crystal mirror, In that lakelet's placid face, I saw the mountains upside down, With all their pristine grace; I saw each cliff and point of rocks, I saw the stately pine, Inverted in fantastic form Below the water line.

I paused in admiration; And with calm complacency I marveled at this photograph From nature's gallery; And as my eyes surveyed the scene With solemn grandeur fraught, This simile flashed through my mind As instantly as thought:

As the stern, majestic mountains, Without error or mistake, Were reflected in the bosom Of that cool, pellucid lake, So our every thought and action, Be it deed of hate or love, May be photographed in record In that gallery above.

Life's Mystery

I live, I move, I know not how, nor why, Float as a transient bubble on the air, As fades the eventide I, too, must die; I came, I know not whence; I journey, where?

The Fallen Tree.

I passed along a mountain road, Which led me through a wooded glen, Remote from dwelling or abode And ordinary haunts of men; And wearied from the dust and heat. Beneath a tree, I found a seat.

The tree, a tall majestic spruce, Which had, perhaps for centuries, Withstood, without a moment's truce, The wing-ed warfare of the breeze; A monarch of the solitude, Which well might grace the noblest wood.

Beneath its cool and welcome shade, Protected from the noontide rays, The birds amid its branches played And caroled forth their twittering praise; A squirrel perched upon a limb And chattered with loquacious vim.

E'er yet that selfsame week had sped, On my return, I sought its shade; But where it reared its form, instead; A fallen monarch I surveyed, Prostrate and broken on the ground, Nor longer cast its shade around.

Uprooted and disheveled, there The monarch of the forest lay; As if in desolate despair Its last resistance fell away, And overwhelmed, in evil hour Went down before the tempest's power.

Such are the final works of fate; The birds to other branches flew; And man, whatever his estate, Must face that same mutation, too! To-day, I stand erect and tall, The morrow--may record my fall.

There is an Air of Majesty.

There is an air of majesty, A bearing dignified and free, About the mountain peaks; Each crag of weather-beaten stone Presents a grandeur of its own To him who seeks.

There is a proud, defiant mein, Expressive, stern, and yet serene, About the precipice; Whose rugged form looks grimly down, And answers, with an austere frown The sunlight's kiss.

The mountain, with the snow bank crowned; The gorge, abysmal and profound; Impress with aspect grand: With unfeigned reverence I see In canon and declivity The All-Wise Hand.

Think Not that the Heart is Devoid of Emotion.

Think not that the heart is devoid of emotion, Because of a countenance rugged and stern, The bosom may hide the most fervent devotion, As shadowy forests hide floweret and fern; As the pearls which are down in the depths of the ocean, The heart may have treasures which few can discern.

Think not the heart barren, because no reflection Is flashed from the depths of its secret embrace; External appearance may baffle detection, And yet the heart beat with an ethical grace: The breast may be charged with the truest affection And never betray it by action or face.

"Where nature's chemistry distills, The fountain and the laughing rills."