# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1839/Village of Koghera

see Shimla
31
* VILLAGE OF KOGHERA & DEODAR FOREST.
* Artist: T. Allom - Engraved by: W. Floyd
VILLAGE OF KOGHERA.
NEAR THE CHOOR MOUNTAIN.
This Indian village is distinguished for the remarkable variety of beautiful shrubs and evergreens that are indigenous to its mountain vicinity, and for the noble trees called pinus deodora, which not infrequently attain a height of 180 feet. The base of the Choor mountain, which hangs over this sequestered spot, is carpeted with anemones, ranunculuses, violets, cowslip, and daisies, while the adjacent forest-scene is luxuriant in the highest degree. The rhododendron with its scarlet blossoms, is succeeded by oak, walnut, birch, elm and lastly pine. The higher parts of the mountain being snow-clad the greater portion of the year are destitute of verdure. When the snow has dissolved, juniper and currants make their appearance; at an elevation of eleven thousand feet above the sea, the noblest pine-trees in existence rear their heads; and, some thousand feet lower down, a species of bamboo.
She raised her palace of the snows  Upon the mighty hills, Whence, in the languid summer, flows  A thousand shining rills; And Nature said, This place I’ll take, My deepest solitude to make.
A thousand nameless years went by,  As silent as their birth; The clouds that wandered o’er the sky  Beheld no change on earth: With one unbroken chronicle, A thousand years left nought to tell.
The winds afar off heard the voice  Of man’s tumultuous life; The vultures hurried to rejoice  O’er its perpetual strife: With clanging wing and crimson beak, They gathered round, their dead to seek.
The days were loud with war and toil,  The nights with fear and care; The dragon’s teeth within the soil  Made tumult every where. And senates, met to talk of peace, Aided the turmoil to increase.
The stars went down amid the deep,  The sun rose up at morn; There was no quiet for their sleep,  The sounds of life were borne Far o’er the inhabitable main, Vexed for man’s warfare or man’s gain.
But here no tumult ever past,  The wild wind brought no sound, Saving the mighty music cast  By the dark pine-trees round; And Nature had one hour’s repose Amid the silence of the snows.
The foot of man these heights hath sought—  What will his coming bring? What hath his coming ever brought  The world where he is king? Cares, toils, the universal dower Both of his presence and his power
But yet those cares have high reward,  Those toils a noble scope; Each year that passes has unbarred  The gates of some great hope; Each height that man can gain brings near The shadow of a higher sphere.
Hope is a solemn creed and true,  And still keeps looking on; We only judge what man can do  By that which he has done. Hope’s shadow is upon it cast— The prophet’s mirror is the past.
Let none despair, and say, How vain  Man’s labour and man’s care! Each hour that passes must sustain  The spirit that would dare. For not on an unthankful soil Has man bestowed his time and toil.
Still are his blessings on increase,  If they be borne aright: Where there was war, there now is peace—  Where darkness, there is light; And science yieldeth, every hour, Those gifts to knowledge which are power.
My glorious country! thou whose feet  Are on the mountain’s height. So may thy onward progress meet  The morning’s mighty light; Still to thy great advance be given The steps that bring thee nearer heaven.