It saw the eternal mountains rise with walls to the white clouds; but its work was done.
"The old hunter folded his tired hands and lay down by the precipice where he had worked away his life.

It was the sleeping time at last.
Below him over the valleys rolled the thick white mist.

Once it broke; and through the gap the dying eyes looked down on the trees and fields of their childhood.

From afar seemed borne to him the cry of his own wild birds, and he heard the noise of people singing as they danced.

And he thought he heard among them the voices of his old comrades; and he saw far off the sunlight shine on his early home.