 | The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark |  |
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THE ALPS.
Proud monuments of God! sublime ye stand,
Among the wonders of his mighty hand:
With summits soaring in the upper sky,
Where the broad day looks down with burning eye;
Where gorgeous clouds in solemn pomp repose,
Flinging rich shadows on eternal snows:
Piles of triumphant dust, ye stand alone,
And hold in kingly state a peerless throne.
Among the wonders of his mighty hand:
With summits soaring in the upper sky,
Where the broad day looks down with burning eye;
Where gorgeous clouds in solemn pomp repose,
Flinging rich shadows on eternal snows:
Piles of triumphant dust, ye stand alone,
And hold in kingly state a peerless throne.
Like olden conquerors, on high ye rear
The regal ensign and the shining spear;
Round icy peaks the mists, in wreaths unrolled,
Float ever near, in purple or in gold:
And voiceful torrents, sternly rolling there,
Fill with wild music the unpillared air:
What garden, or what hall on earth beneath,
Thrills to such tones as o'er the mountains breathe?
The regal ensign and the shining spear;
Round icy peaks the mists, in wreaths unrolled,
Float ever near, in purple or in gold:
And voiceful torrents, sternly rolling there,
Fill with wild music the unpillared air:
What garden, or what hall on earth beneath,
Thrills to such tones as o'er the mountains breathe?
There, through long ages past, those summits shone,
When morning radiance on their state was thrown:
There, when the summer day's career was done,
Played the last glory of the sinking sun:
There, sprinkling beauty o'er the torrent's shade,
The chastened moon her glittering rainbow made:
And, blent with pictured stars her lustre lay,
Where to still vales the free streams leaped away.
When morning radiance on their state was thrown:
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Played the last glory of the sinking sun:
There, sprinkling beauty o'er the torrent's shade,
The chastened moon her glittering rainbow made:
And, blent with pictured stars her lustre lay,
Where to still vales the free streams leaped away.
Where are the thronging hosts of other days,
Whose banners floated o'er the Alpine ways?
Who through their high defiles to battle wound,
While deadly ordnance stirred the heights around?
Gone like a dream which melts at early morn,
When the lark's anthem through the sky is borne;
Gone like the hues that melt in ocean's spray,
And chill Oblivion murmurs—where are they?
Whose banners floated o'er the Alpine ways?
Who through their high defiles to battle wound,
While deadly ordnance stirred the heights around?
Gone like a dream which melts at early morn,
When the lark's anthem through the sky is borne;
Gone like the hues that melt in ocean's spray,
And chill Oblivion murmurs—where are they?
Yet “Alps on Alps” still rise—the lofty home
Of storms and eagles, where their pinions roam:
Still round their peaks the magic colors lie
Of morn or eve, imprinted on the sky;
And still, when kings and thrones shall fade and fall,
And empty crowns lie dim upon the pall;
Still shall their glaciers flash—their waters roar
Till nations fail, and kingdoms rise no more.
Of storms and eagles, where their pinions roam:
Still round their peaks the magic colors lie
Of morn or eve, imprinted on the sky;
And still, when kings and thrones shall fade and fall,
And empty crowns lie dim upon the pall;
Still shall their glaciers flash—their waters roar
Till nations fail, and kingdoms rise no more.
| The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark | |