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A
Hymn of Empire and Other Poems
by
Frederick George Scott
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THE
LAURENTIANS
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THESE
mountains reign alone, they do not share
The transitory life of woods
and streams;
Wrapt in the deep solemnity
of dreams,
They drain the sunshine of the upper air.
Beneath their peaks, the huge clouds, here and there,
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Take
counsel of the wind, which all night screams
Through gray, burnt forests
where the moonlight beams
On hidden lakes, and rocks worn smooth and bare.
These mountains once, throned in some primal
sea,
Shook half the world with
thunder, and the sun
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Pierced
not the gloom that clung about their crest;
Now with sealed lips, toilers from toil set free,
Unvexed by fate, the part
they played being done,
They
watch and wait in venerable rest.
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