INTERLUDES IN HOLLAND

The heavenly hills of Holland,—

How wondrously they rise

Above the smooth green pastures

Into the azure skies!

With blue and purple hollows,

With peaks of dazzling snow,

Along the far horizon

The clouds are marching slow,

No mortal fool has trodden

The summits of that range,

Nor walked those mystic valleys

Whose colors ever change;

Yet we possess their beauty,

And visit them in dreams,

While the ruddy gold of sunset

From cliff and canyon gleams.

In days of cloudless weather

They melt into the light;

When fog and mist surround us

They're hidden from our sight;

But when returns a season

Clear shining after rain,

While the northwest wind is blowing,

We see the hills again.

The old Dutch painters loved them,

Their pictures show them clear,—

Old Hobbema and Ruysduel,

Van Goyen and Vermeer,

Above the level landscape,

Rich polders, long-armed mills,

Canals and ancient cities,—

Float Holland's heavenly hills.