_A Story of the Caracas Valley_.

Of gorgeous clouds around them roll'd--
Their lofty heads all crown'd with gold;
And many a painted bird went by
Strange to my unaccustom'd eye--
Their plumage mimicking the sky.
O'er many a league, and many a mile--
Crag--pinnacle--and lone defile--
All Nature woke!--woke with a smile--
As tho' the morning's golden gleam
Had broken some enchanting dream,
But left its soft impression still,
On lofty peak and dancing rill.
With many a halt and many a call,
At last we saw the rugged wall,
And gaz'd upon the ruin'd gate
Which even then look'd desolate,
For that Posada so forlorn
Seem'd sad e'en on so gay a morn!
The heavy gate at length unbarr'd,
We rode within the busy yard,
Well scatter'd o'er with many a pack;
For on that wild, romantic track,
The long and heavy-laden trains
Toil seaward from the valley's plains.
And often on its silence swells
The distant tinkle of the bells,
While muleteers' shrill, angry cries