The river hemmed with leaning trees br Wound through its meadows green; br A low, blue line of mountains showed br The open pines between. br br One sharp, tall peak above them all br Clear into sunlight sprang br I saw the river of my dreams, br The mountains that I sang! br br No clue of memory led me on, br But well the ways I knew; br A feeling of familiar things br With every footstep grew. br br Not otherwise above its crag br Could lean the blasted pine; br Not otherwise the maple hold br Aloft its red ensign. br br So up the long and shorn foot-hills br The mountain road should creep; br So, green and low, the meadow fold br Its red-haired kine asleep. br br The river wound as it should wind; br Their place the mountains took; br The white torn fringes of their clouds br Wore no unwonted look. br br Yet ne'er before that river's rim br Was pressed by feet of mine, br Never before mine eyes had crossed br That broken mountain line. br br A presence, strange at once and known, br Walked with me as my guide; br The skirts of some forgotten life br Trailed noiseless at my side. br br Was it a dim-remembered dream? br Or glimpse through ions old? br The secret which the mountains kept br The river never told. br br But from the vision ere it passed br A tender hope I drew, br And, pleasant as a dawn of spring, br The thought within me grew, br br That love would temper every change, br And soften all surprise, br And, misty with the dreams of earth, br The hills of Heaven arise.