_I send thee, love, this upland flower I found, While wandering lonely with o’erclouded heart, Hid in a grey recess of rocky ground Among the misty mountains far apart; And there I heard the wild wind’s luring sound, Which whoso trusts, is healed of earthborn care, And watched the lofty ridges loom around, Yet yearned in vain their secret faith to share. When lo! the sudden sunlight, sparkling keen, Poured full upon the vales the glorious day, And bared the abiding mountain-tops serene, And swept the shifting vapour-wreaths away:-- Then with the hills’ true heart my heart beat true, Heavens opened, cloud-thoughts vanished, and I knew._ Books about British mountains are mostly of two kinds, …
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