This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1849 Excerpt: ...In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright Above, the spectral glaciers sjione, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! "Try not the pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide I" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! 140 ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1849 Excerpt: ...In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright Above, the spectral glaciers sjione, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! "Try not the pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide I" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! 140 EXCELSIOB. "O stay," the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answer'd with a sigh, Excelsior! "Beware the pine-tree's wither'd branch Beware the awful avalanche!" This was the peasant's last good-night; A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Utter'd the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, Excelsior! A traveler, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, Excelsior! There, in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star! Excelsior I THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 147 But on the hill the golden-rod, And the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook In autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, As falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, From upland glade and glen. And now, when comes the calm, mild day, As still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee From out (heir winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, Though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light The waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers Whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs t...
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