Just over-head, and the impetuous waves,

Nor broad nor deep, yet with a giant's strength Lashing him on. At last the water slept

In a dead lake-at the third step he took,

Unfathomable-and the roof, that long

Had threatened, suddenly descending, lay

Flat on the surface. Statue-like he stood,
His journey ended; when a ray divine

Shot thro' his soul. Breathing a prayer to Her
Whose ears are never shut, the Blessed Virgin,
He plunged, he swam-and in an instant rose,
The barrier past, in light, in sunshine! Thro'

A smiling valley, full of cottages,

Glittering the river ran; and on the bank

The Young were dancing ('twas a festival-day)

All in their best attire. There first he saw

His Madelaine. In the crowd she stood to hear,

When all drew round, inquiring; and her face,
Seen behind all, and, varying, as he spoke,
With hope, and fear, and generous sympathy,
Subdued him. From that very hour he loved.

The tale was long, but coming to a close, When his dark eyes flashed fire, and, stopping short, He listened and looked up. I looked up too;

And twice there came a hiss that thro' me thrilled!

"Twas heard no more. A Chamois on the cliff

Had roused his fellows with that cry of fear,

And all were gone.

But now the thread was broken;

Love and its joys had vanished from his mind;

And he recounted his hair-breadth escapes,

When with his friend, Hubert of Bionnay,

(His ancient carbine from his shoulder slung, His axe to hew a stair-case in the ice)

He tracked their footsteps. By a cloud surprised,

Upon a crag among the precipices,

Where the next step had hurled them fifty fathoms,

Oft had they stood, locked in each other's arms,

All the long night under a freezing sky,

Each guarding each the while from sleeping, falling.

Oh, 'twas a sport he loved dearer than life,

And only would with life itself relinquish!

“My sire, my grandsire died among these wilds. As for myself," he cried, and he held forth

His wallet in his hand, "this do I call

My winding-sheet-for I shall have no other!"

And he spoke truth. Within a little month He lay among these awful solitudes,

("Twas on a Glacier-half-way up to Heaven) Taking his final rest. Long did his wife,

Suckling her babe, her only one, look out

The way he went at parting, but he came not!
Long fear to close her eyes, lest in her sleep

(Such their belief) he should appear before her, Frozen and ghastly pale, or crushed and bleeding, To tell her where he lay, and supplicate

For the last rite! At length the dismal news

Came to her ears, and to her eyes his corse.

V.

Now the grey granite, starting thro' the snow,

Discovered many a variegated moss*

That to the pilgrim resting on his staff

Shadows out capes and islands; and ere long

Numberless flowers, such as disdain to live

In lower regions, and delighted drink

The clouds before they fall, flowers of all hues,

With their diminutive leaves covered the ground. "Twas then, that, turning by an ancient larch,

Shivered in two yet most majestical

* Lichen Geographicus.