One Summer Time, With Love Imbued, To Climb The Mount, Explore The Wood, Or Rove From Pole To Pole, Upon Monadnock'S Brow I Stood - A Lone, Adventurous Soul. Beyond The Bay State Border-Line A Sweeping Vista, Grand And Fine, Embraced The Berkshire Hills; Embosomed Hamlets, Clumps Of Pine, And Country Domiciles. Afar, Mount Tom, In Verdantique, And Holyoke, Twin Companion Peak, Appeared Gigantic Cones; The Burning Sunlight Scorched My Cheek, And Seemed To Melt The Stones. Beneath A Gnarled And Twisted Root I Loosed A Pebble With My Foot That Leaped The Precipice, And Like An Arrow Seemed To Shoot Adown The Deep Abyss. Beside The Base That Solstice Day A City Chap Who Chanced To Stray Was Shooting Somewhat, Too; Who, When The Nugget Sped That Way, His Firelock Quickly Drew. While Right And Left He Sought The Quail, Or The Timid Hare That Crossed His Trail, Rang Out A Wild "Ha! Ha!" That Might Have Turned The Visage Pale Of A Red-Skinned Chippewa. The Game Was His - For It Made Him Quail; He Flung His Gun And Fled The Vale, The Mountain-Dwellers Say, As Though Pursued By A Comet'S Tail - And Disappeared For Aye.