’T IS dawn;—the distant Andes’ rocky spires,
One after one, have caught the orient fires.
Where the dun condor shoots his upward flight,
His wings are touched with momentary light.
Meantime, beneath the mountains’ glittering heads,
A boundless ocean of gray vapor spreads,
That o’er the champaign, stretching far below,
Moves now, in clustered masses, rising slow,
Till all the living landscape is displayed
In various pomp of color, light, and shade,
Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain
Lessening in sunshine to the southern main.
The llama’s fleece fumes with ascending dew;
The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew;
And there, by the wild river’s devious side,
The tall flamingo, in its crimson pride,
Stalks on, in richest plumage bright arrayed,
With snowy neck superb, and legs of lengthening shade.