The Avalanche.
179
No faithful footstep here had worn a path,
To lay a last flow'r on a loved one's tomb;
A broken sledge, a bag of chesnuts, rice,
The white drift stain, and tell the awful tale.
Now the dread avalanche, Death's sudden bolt,
Had spent its rage, and in that hollow lay,
Its journey ended, and its mission done.
One night, a travelling-merchant with his sledge,
The blazing fire-side of the Hospice left,
To brave the terrors of a stormy night
Below that fatal mountain, grand "Mont Mort,"
To thread his lonely way o'er pathless drifts,
To wife and child in the valley safe below.
But death was hiding in that frozen gloom,
And while the traveller with his sledge toiled on,
Death met him, struck him, in that waste of snows,
And ere a smothered prayer its way could wing
To Him "whose chariot rides upon the storm,"
The wave of the avalanche had swamped life's barque,
And wrecked its victim on the unknown shore,
Wrapped in a winding-sheet of glittering ice.
The morning came—from pearly shadows stole
A rosy blush upon the snow-clad peaks,
The north wind's bitter requiem mournful sung,
And bore upon its breath the frosty flakes,
Whose glittering spangles kissed the traveller's grave;
To lay a last flow'r on a loved one's tomb;
A broken sledge, a bag of chesnuts, rice,
The white drift stain, and tell the awful tale.
Now the dread avalanche, Death's sudden bolt,
Had spent its rage, and in that hollow lay,
Its journey ended, and its mission done.
One night, a travelling-merchant with his sledge,
The blazing fire-side of the Hospice left,
To brave the terrors of a stormy night
Below that fatal mountain, grand "Mont Mort,"
To thread his lonely way o'er pathless drifts,
To wife and child in the valley safe below.
But death was hiding in that frozen gloom,
And while the traveller with his sledge toiled on,
Death met him, struck him, in that waste of snows,
And ere a smothered prayer its way could wing
To Him "whose chariot rides upon the storm,"
The wave of the avalanche had swamped life's barque,
And wrecked its victim on the unknown shore,
Wrapped in a winding-sheet of glittering ice.
The morning came—from pearly shadows stole
A rosy blush upon the snow-clad peaks,
The north wind's bitter requiem mournful sung,
And bore upon its breath the frosty flakes,
Whose glittering spangles kissed the traveller's grave;
