Classic Poem

Shattered the hand that boldly, without fear,
On glaciers swung the ice-axe! He lies low,
Who tamed the high hills, on yon humble bier.

The train of mourners passes down with slow,
Sad chants from Saxa; while the priests recite:
" Lord, grant him Thine eternal peace to know."

" And may he dwell in everlasting light,"
The women make response: upon the breeze
Death's banner floats among the pines. Now quite

Distinct, now faintlier borne, their dirges seize
The listener's ear: now see we not, now see
The choir winding slowly through the trees.

Forth come they now unto the cemet'ry,
And set the bier down 'mid the crosses ere
The priest cries: " May the Lord have mercy on thee,

" Emil, thou king of all the mountains! Fair
And pure thy spirit was, and every day
To Mary's bosom duly rose thy prayer."

Mindful of fallen sons and those who may
Yet fall, the women, 'neath their black veils bowed
To earth, bewail brave lives thus cast away.

Lo, suddenly the mists, whose sombre shroud
Veiled great Mont Blanc, melt from his ample breast
And in the clear sky form deep banks of cloud,

Through a wide rent of which stands forth confessed
In cruel majesty, precipitous,
Cleaving the azure air with threat'ning crest,

The Giant's Tooth , sun-smitten, glorious.