To a Traveller

The mountains, and the lonely death at last Upon the lonely mountains: O strong friend! The wandering over, and the labour passed, Thou art indeed at rest: Earth gave thee of her best, That labour and this end.

Earth was thy mother, and her true son thou: Earth called thee to a knowledge of her ways, Upon the great hills, up the great streams: now Upon earth's kindly breast Thou art indeed at rest: Thou, and thine arduous days.

Fare thee well, O strong heart! The tranquil night Looks calmly on thee: and the sun pours down His glory over thee, O heart of might! Earth gives thee perfect rest: Earth, whom thy swift feet pressed: Earth, whom the vast stars crown.