Have sculptured the cliff, and the stern mountain wall;

Have formed the bold turret, impressive and tall;

Have cut the deep gorge with its wonderful caves,

Sepulchral and gloomy; whose vast architraves

Support the stalactites, both pendant and white,

Which with the stalagmites beneath them unite;

Where nestles a valley, sequestered and grand,

Worn out of the rock by the same tireless hand,

Surrounded by mountains, majestic and gray,

Which smile from their heights on the Town of Ouray.

"Where the ceaseless erosions of measureless time, Have chiseled the grotto and canon sublime." BOX CAÑON, LOOKING INWARD, OURAY, COLORADO.

 

Wherever I wander, my ears hear the sound

Of thy waters, which plunge with a turbulent bound

O'er the precipice, seething and laden with foam;

My ears hear their music wherever I roam;

Where the cataract's rhapsody, joyous and light,

Enchants in the morning and soothes in the night;

Where blend the loud thunders, sonorous and deep,

With the sobs of the rain as the black heavens weep;

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