Classic Poem

Beneath this frowning cliff, upon whose crest
The mountain eagle yearly builds her nest,
The Charcoal-Burner hath his modest hut,
With friendly door that is but seldom shut.

Here day by day the early-rising sun
Finds the grim worker with his task begun;
And curling up the mountains, coil on coil,
Floats pungent incense from his honest toil.