180
The Avalanche.
No tossed-up turf in impious hurry thrown
By sexton's spade, a new-made grave revealed—
Each faltering foot-print on the virgin snow,
And track of sledge long since had been wiped out.
Perchance some hungry wolf, or vulture keen,
Had stoop'd to track the buried victim's rest;
Naught else—not e'en St. Bernard's faithful dogs,
The mystery had traced, till seven white moons
Had flung their silver shields upon that grave—
To none but God was known the mystery
Of that wild fearful night below ¢ Mont Mort!"
By sexton's spade, a new-made grave revealed—
Each faltering foot-print on the virgin snow,
And track of sledge long since had been wiped out.
Perchance some hungry wolf, or vulture keen,
Had stoop'd to track the buried victim's rest;
Naught else—not e'en St. Bernard's faithful dogs,
The mystery had traced, till seven white moons
Had flung their silver shields upon that grave—
To none but God was known the mystery
Of that wild fearful night below ¢ Mont Mort!"
N.B. An avalanche had occurred in the February previous, and the travelling merchant, who had started from the Hospice with three other men, perished, and their bodies were not discovered until the following August.
Hospice of the Great St. Bernard, 1836.
