Page:Poems Cook.djvu/20

Mark him well! there's a daring mien
In Hubert Grey, that's rarely seen;
And suiting that mien is the life he leads,
Where the eagle soars, and the chamois feeds.

He loves to climb the steepest crag,
 Or plunge in the rapid stream;
He dares to look on the thunder-cloud,
 And laugh at the lightning's gleam.

The snow may drift, the rain may fall,
 But what does Hubert care,
As he playfully wrings with his hardy hand
 His drench'd and dripping hair?

He can tread through the forest, or over the rocks,
 In the darkest and dreariest night,
With as sure a step, and as gay a song,
 As he can in the noon-day's light.

The precipice, jutting in ether air,
 Has naught of terror for him;
He can pace the edge of the loftiest peak
 Without trembling of heart or limb.

He heeds not the blast of the winter storm,
 Howling on o'er the pine-cover'd steep;
In the day he will whistle to mimic its voice,
 In the night it lulls him to sleep.

And now he has brought, from his mountain home-
 (With feet and forehead bare),
A tiny boat, and lancewood bow,
The work of his own young hand, I trow,
 To please the Baron's heir.
And now, at the waterfall, side by side,
Stand the Herdsman's son and the Castle's pride!

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