St. Lawrence and the Saguenay, The - Part 90
Slumbering at the base of two high rocks,
It looks like Patience at the feet of Death.
Or, fancy it some grave magician's box,
Which, opened, wafts a pestilential breath
Along the mountains, an invisible wreath
Of subtlest essence, permeating through
Their granite pores, sapping all life beneath,
And robbing their bald summits of the blue
And rich aerial tints, where the tall cedars grew.
It looks like Patience at the feet of Death.
Or, fancy it some grave magician's box,
Which, opened, wafts a pestilential breath
Along the mountains, an invisible wreath
Of subtlest essence, permeating through
Their granite pores, sapping all life beneath,
And robbing their bald summits of the blue
And rich aerial tints, where the tall cedars grew.
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