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95
THE ALPINE CROSS.
Benighted once where Alpine storms
Have buried hosts of martial forms,
Halting with fear, benumbed with cold,
While swift the avalanches rolled,
Shouted our guide, with quivering breath,
“The path is lost!—to move is death!”
Have buried hosts of martial forms,
Halting with fear, benumbed with cold,
While swift the avalanches rolled,
Shouted our guide, with quivering breath,
“The path is lost!—to move is death!”
The savage snow-cliffs seemed to frown,
The howling winds came fiercer down:
Shrouded in such a dismal scene,
No mortal aid whereon to lean,
Think you what music 't was to hear,
“I see the Cross!—our way is clear!”
The howling winds came fiercer down:
Shrouded in such a dismal scene,
No mortal aid whereon to lean,
Think you what music 't was to hear,
“I see the Cross!—our way is clear!”
We looked, and there amid the snows,
A simple cross of wood uprose;
Firm in the tempest's awful wrath
It stood, to guide the traveller's path,
And point to where the valley lies,
Serene beneath the summer skies.
One dear companion of that night
Has passed away from mortal sight;
He reached his home to droop and fade,
And sleep within his native glade;
But as his fluttering hand I took,
Before he gave his farewell look,
He whispered from his bed of pain,
“The Alpine Cross I see again!”
Then, smiling, sank to endless rest
Upon his weeping mother's breast!
A simple cross of wood uprose;
Firm in the tempest's awful wrath
It stood, to guide the traveller's path,
And point to where the valley lies,
Serene beneath the summer skies.
96
Has passed away from mortal sight;
He reached his home to droop and fade,
And sleep within his native glade;
But as his fluttering hand I took,
Before he gave his farewell look,
He whispered from his bed of pain,
“The Alpine Cross I see again!”
Then, smiling, sank to endless rest
Upon his weeping mother's breast!
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