Sinopsis

Next morning in the Park I took a stroll. A walk upon Mount Royal is a thing, Glorious at any time, but most of all At early morning in the opening spring, While yet the snow-wreaths to the rock-shelves cling, And little streamlets lash the steaming side; While on the air the April breezes fling An appetizing vigor far and wide, And make the steep ascent a pleasure and a pride. The path ascends by stately Ravenscrag, And past the monument which marks his rest, Over whose history strange traditions drag Their spectral robes—his memory's sole behest. Here for a moment halting, all imprest With other thoughts than find a ready tongue, I view the leopard slope, the bristling crest, The blue beyond, with cloud veils lightly hung, And glory in a dream of time when earth was young. I follow by the winding road until, By taking at the sweep the northern arm, I reach the summit. For the topmost hill The scenery reserves her chiefest charm; The upper sky is clear and light and warm; The southern peaks that far away I wist, Seem close upon me; round their lower form A shroud is wrapped; their tops, by sunlight kiss'd, High in mid-air appear and mighty in the mist....