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.