Lies a vale which my heart holds dear;

Where the zephyr blows from eternal snows

And tempers the atmosphere;

Where the torrent falls o'er the mountain walls,

As its thunderous echoes thrill,

Where the sparkling mist, by the rainbow kissed,

Decks the Valley of San Miguel[B].

Where the birds of spring, in their season sing,

Their spontaneous melodies;

Where the columbine and the stately pine

Stand quivering in the breeze;

Where the aspen tall hugs the trachyte wall,

And the wild rose bedecks the hill;

Where the willows weep, and their vigils keep,

On the banks of the San Miguel.

Where the mountains high, cleave the azure sky,

With their turrets so bleak and gray;

Where the morning light crowns the dizzy height,

At the break of the summer's day;

Where the crags look down with an austere frown,

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