 | Ode In Defence of the Matterhorn against the proposed Railway to its Summit |  |
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ODE In Defence of the Matterhorn against the proposed Railway to its Summit.
Thou noblest of the Atlantes who upbear
On silvered brows Europa's roof of stars,
Burst thine enduring bars!
Break forth in fire on those who would not spare
One yet unravished sanctuary of dream,
Snow-peak or glacier-stream!
On silvered brows Europa's roof of stars,
Burst thine enduring bars!
Break forth in fire on those who would not spare
One yet unravished sanctuary of dream,
Snow-peak or glacier-stream!
Or, half in slumber, heave thy snowy hood,
Thine icy-mantled shoulders lightly shake,
Too weary quite to wake!
Ev'n as thy sister, Altels, in rare mood
Of anger, from her slippery loins doth launch
Ruin and avalanche.
Thine icy-mantled shoulders lightly shake,
Too weary quite to wake!
Ev'n as thy sister, Altels, in rare mood
Of anger, from her slippery loins doth launch
Ruin and avalanche.
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Call yet again thine old defender, Death,
That jealous lover whose dark wing o'erbroods
Thy silver solitudes!
Aye, call the Earthquake! call the terrible breath
Of frost, the stealthy legions of the snows
To safeguard thy repose!
That jealous lover whose dark wing o'erbroods
Thy silver solitudes!
Aye, call the Earthquake! call the terrible breath
Of frost, the stealthy legions of the snows
To safeguard thy repose!
These who would bribe the angel at the gate
Of Eden, and for gold let in the lewd
Many-hoofed multitude:
Blind to Earth's glory, impious and ingrate:
Sons who make profit of their mother's shame:
Blots on the Switzer's name:
Of Eden, and for gold let in the lewd
Many-hoofed multitude:
Blind to Earth's glory, impious and ingrate:
Sons who make profit of their mother's shame:
Blots on the Switzer's name:
On thee, too, they have cast their covetous eyes.
Because thy name through all the world is known,
They plot against thy throne,
Seducing—like the snake in Paradise—
By promised blessing, and with evil skill
As good gifts proffering ill.
Because thy name through all the world is known,
They plot against thy throne,
Seducing—like the snake in Paradise—
By promised blessing, and with evil skill
As good gifts proffering ill.
3
They fear thee not: thy slumber is too deep.
Aye, though one motion of thy mighty head
Should lay a thousand dead,
They fear thee not. O, sleeper, wake from sleep!
The Philistines are on thee: up, and smite,
Like Etna in her might!
Aye, though one motion of thy mighty head
Should lay a thousand dead,
They fear thee not. O, sleeper, wake from sleep!
The Philistines are on thee: up, and smite,
Like Etna in her might!
Thou hearest not nor heedest; thou art dumb,
Stony, insensate; as a statue wrought
In marble by man's thought.
To thee what is it, though the sapper come
And urge his galleries to thy topmost towers?
The wrong, the wrath, are ours.
Stony, insensate; as a statue wrought
In marble by man's thought.
To thee what is it, though the sapper come
And urge his galleries to thy topmost towers?
The wrong, the wrath, are ours.
Have we not seen the Angel of the Day
Poise on thy pinnacles with feet of rose
To kiss thy blushing snows?
Or Thunder set his battles in array
Amid thy perilous fastnesses, and form,
Cloud upon cloud, the storm?
Poise on thy pinnacles with feet of rose
To kiss thy blushing snows?
Or Thunder set his battles in array
Amid thy perilous fastnesses, and form,
Cloud upon cloud, the storm?
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Have we not loved in thee a visible type
And bodied grandeur of the Eternal Power
That rules from star to flower?
And felt the soul within us here grow ripe
To worship Him, on Whom man may not look,
Through Nature's service-book?
And bodied grandeur of the Eternal Power
That rules from star to flower?
And felt the soul within us here grow ripe
To worship Him, on Whom man may not look,
Through Nature's service-book?
Have we not mounted to thy cloudy height,
As to the hill of Horeb, at the dawn,
By aspiration drawn
On happy pilgrimage, that needs no rite,
Nor victim slain, nor sanctimonious air,
Nor piatory prayer?
As to the hill of Horeb, at the dawn,
By aspiration drawn
On happy pilgrimage, that needs no rite,
Nor victim slain, nor sanctimonious air,
Nor piatory prayer?
Where is the angel who kept undefiled
That mountain-top in Canaan, when at morn
The ram caught in the thorn
Ransomed the anguished Abraham's only child?
Is his arm shortened, that he sheathes the sword,
And spares this impious horde?
That mountain-top in Canaan, when at morn
The ram caught in the thorn
Ransomed the anguished Abraham's only child?
Is his arm shortened, that he sheathes the sword,
And spares this impious horde?
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Or He, more dread, who spake from Sinai
To light heart, faint heart, hard heart, gathered there
'Neath the thick thunderous air:
“If one but touch the mountain, he shall die?”
(The gayest dancer round the calf of gold
Then kept his beast in fold.)
To light heart, faint heart, hard heart, gathered there
'Neath the thick thunderous air:
“If one but touch the mountain, he shall die?”
(The gayest dancer round the calf of gold
Then kept his beast in fold.)
No holier were the hills in Palestine,
But love was larger then, and eyes unsealed
To catch each glimpse revealed
Through Nature's veiling of the Unknown Divine:
The Will that moves, the Light that doth illume,
The glory and the doom.
But love was larger then, and eyes unsealed
To catch each glimpse revealed
Through Nature's veiling of the Unknown Divine:
The Will that moves, the Light that doth illume,
The glory and the doom.
Awake, fair Switzerland! Art thou not she
That in thy breast's own marble badest grave
The record of thy brave
Who for thine honour died, though not for thee,
That they in lion-likeness might endure
As thy strong mountains sure?
That in thy breast's own marble badest grave
The record of thy brave
Who for thine honour died, though not for thee,
That they in lion-likeness might endure
As thy strong mountains sure?
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What gold could buy of thee that guarded treasure?
What proffered bribe for injury atone
To that immortal stone?
Hast thou no wrath for these, who mine and measure
Thy nobler trust, God's altar of the morn,
The matchless Matterhorn?
What proffered bribe for injury atone
To that immortal stone?
Hast thou no wrath for these, who mine and measure
Thy nobler trust, God's altar of the morn,
The matchless Matterhorn?
| Ode In Defence of the Matterhorn against the proposed Railway to its Summit | |