'T IS sunrise on Saint Bernard's snow, 'T is dawn within the vale below; And in Martigny's streets appear The mule and noisy muleteer; And tinklings fill the rosy air, Until the mountain pass seems there, Up whose steep pathway scarcely stirs The long, slow line of travellers; And in the shadowy town is heard The sound of many a foreign word. Old men are there, whose locks are white As yonder cloud which veils the height; And maidens, whose young cheeks are kissed By ringlets flashing bright or dark, Whose hearts are light as yonder mist That holds the music of the lark, -- And youths are there with jest and laugh, Each bearing his oft-branded staff To chronicle, when all is done, The dangerous heights his feet have won. So toils through life the pilgrim soul Mid rocky ways and valleys fair; At every base or glorious goal His staff receives the record there, -- The names that shall forever twine, And blossom like a fragrant vine, Or, like a serpent, round it cling Eternally to coil and sting. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OFFERING by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DADDY STRAIN by KAREN SWENSON THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 17. A LOVER'S PLEA by THOMAS CAMPION EPITAPH ON S.P., A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL by BEN JONSON THE JACOBITE ON TOWER HILL by GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY EYE-WITNESS by FREDERICK RIDGELY TORRENCE THE SISTER'S TRAGEDY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |