University of Virginia Library

SCENE V

Midnight.
THE MATTERHORN.
Is the storm coming on? Do you hear it?

THE WEISSHORN.
It is roaring up from the south,
With the thunders piled on its back and the lightning spears in its mouth.
It is driving the winds before it, it is driving them swift and straight,
As the wolf drives the kid and the roebuck.

THE MATTERHORN.
Tell it I stand and wait.

THE WEISSHORN.
The trunks of the forest are creaking, the pine-tops waver and sway,
And the rotten boughs on the air are tossed as the torrent tosses the spray.
The veil of the snow is lifted, the folds of the mist are torn;—

THE MATTERHORN.
Tell the thunder to hasten and hurry, lest my scorn should die of its scorn.
Bid the torrents darken and deepen, bid the avalanche madden down;
For tempest and time have done their worst, and I still stand crowned with my crown.
Let the frail light passions of pigmy man, like levin, and wind, and rain,
With ephemeral fury rage and pass. I am motionless and remain.