Classic Poem

One day to Tupungato came a sound from far away,
Of waves or of battalions, rolling upwards to the height.
It rose from out the forests deep upon the swelling slopes
To mighty Tupungato, mountain of craters white.

Who from his veins pours waterfalls, whose peak is like a lance,
Submerged in dawnlight when the sun, with eye of blazing gold,
Looks from that giant balcony of heaven to explore
The moveless host of granite rocks, far stretching, manifold.

And Tupungato, turret of the winds, the home of storms,
White like a pillow vast whereon the age-long dreams repose
Of countless generations — he lifted up his voice,
And all the world around him heard; the sea, which darkly flows,

The forests where on stormy nights the wind wakes deep laments,
The green plains, wrinkled over with cattle where they spread.
In his great voice, unwonted for a thousand years to speak,
He called to Chimborazo: " Be on the watch! " he said.

Asleep was Chimborazo. Dead pride of conquered faiths,
The vanquished, lost religions, that hoary grandsire now
Was but a corpse, mute, motionless, a pillar of the sky,
Above a waste of ruin lifting a silent brow.

He let a hundred winters make white his shoulders broad,
And in his beard the condors nest, and rear their fledgings there.
In vain the stormy hurricane plucked with its wild, fierce hand
At the enormous cataract of his white-flowing hair.

The roots of oak trees pierced his sides; the sunsets and the dawns
Spread o'er his grim and savage pride their colors delicate.
That summit in the distance was terrible to see!
When a cloud nimbus veiled his rest, he seemed to meditate.

Perhaps the clouds that floated around him were his thoughts.
The tempests talked to him, the winds hurled at him insults deep,
And in her blooming purity the Dawn upon him smiled.
The giant kept the silence of disdain. He was asleep.

But when he heard the cry that stirred the mountains far and near,
He lifted from his eyes their veil of hoary lashes white;
He looked and saw the glaciers of the mighty mountain chain
All flushed and shining, gilded with an ecstasy of light;

The ocean calm, the cloudless day, just breaking, diamond clear;
The caravans of trees far off, outlined o'er vale and hill;
And yonder, almost at his feet, the great fire of the sun.
All things were swimming in its light, and all was hushed and still.

The frosty summits mingled the outlines of their backs
Like sheep that journey in a flock, upon a long march led.
The sky its cup inverted above the picture fair —
And to the stern, steep mountain the lofty mountain said:

" I hear a sudden tempest approaching through the vales;
It sweeps on, roaring. It would seem the sea is drawing nigh!
The trees are bending, dust-clouds vast rise from the troubled plains;
Black, shapeless masses surge along, a torrent wild and high. "

The other mountain answered and said, " It is the wind. "
Heavy with sleep, his brow he veiled among the clouds once more.
But Tupungato reared his head far upwards to behold
The cause of that broad galloping the mountain echoes bore.

Higher it came, all streaked with flame, that sparkled in the sun.
The mountain on his shoulder huge lifted the arching sky;
He saw, and spake: " 'Tis not the wind. He fancies that in vain! "
He said to Chimborazo, " 'Tis God who passes by!

" No, it is Freedom! Bronze and steel have crowned her brow with stars.
The flashes glitter keen and bright, far shining in the sun! "
Then Chimborazo raised his voice above the deep abyss,
And, with a crash of breaking rocks, replied, " The two are one! "