To a Traveller

The mountains, and the lonely death at last
Upon the lonely mountains: O strong friend!
The wandering over, and the labour passed,
    Thou art indeed at rest:
    Earth gave thee of her best,
    That labour and this end.

Earth was thy mother, and her true son thou:
Earth called thee to a knowledge of her ways,
Upon the great hills, up the great streams: now
    Upon earth's kindly breast
    Thou art indeed at rest:
    Thou, and thine arduous days.

Fare thee well, O strong heart! The tranquil night
Looks calmly on thee: and the sun pours down
His glory over thee, O heart of might!
    Earth gives thee perfect rest:
    Earth, whom thy swift feet pressed:
    Earth, whom the vast stars crown.