Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EIGER, MONCH, AND JUNGFRAU, by NATHANIEL LANGDON FROTHINGHAM Poet's Biography First Line: No more of cities, with their proud cathedrals Last Line: Rimmed as with sculptured silver, sweet chartreuse. Variant Title(s): The Chartreuse On The Lake Of Thun Subject(s): Alps; Mountains; Thun (lake), Switzerland; Hills; Downs (great Britain) | ||||||||
NO more of cities, with their proud cathedrals, And pomp and pleasures of their trampled ways. Of bounds of empire, and of nations' quarrels, I write no more. Upon "Louisa's Rest" Alone I sit. Its canopy of thatch Fends off the sun; while tender memories, That are not mine, seem floating vaguely round me. A sweeter picture looks from out the lake Than hangs within the famed Pinacothek Of Munich, or in Dresden's long-drawn halls. Before me rise the domes and pinnacles Of nature's temples to the God of nature, From his own hand; all shining stainless white, So as no art on earth could whiten them. No sound is there but of the lighting snow, And driving wind, and avalanche. No wing Of bird can scale those inaccessible heights, Or beat in that thin air. Man plants no footstep Upon those trackless wastes; claims no dominion O'er these wide bounds. Here his pretension stops. I gaze upon you with unsated eye, Ye changeless, ever changing on the sight! Far on the better hand, the Blumlis Alp Spreads its vast slopes, and closes up the scene On that side. Full in front, and on the left, Stand forth the wondrous Three, to me the peerless. Eastmost, the Eiger with his rigid share Furrows the sky. The Monk is next in place, Not all unfitly named. The cowl hangs down Over its ample brow. The folded snows Are sleeves and trailing garments. But the Maid! O crown of beauty! If the Savoyard Is called the king of mountains, surely thee All hearts pay homage to, and hail as queen. Say, is it fancy only, as, methinks, The Jungfrau wears the semblance of a woman? Or who will think I lower it, when I trace This gentlest likeness on so dread a height? A pale face, not too pale for beauty, shines, Framed round in shadows, near the mountain's top; The top itself a covering for the head, Slightly aslant set on, as best becomes it; The white plume floating down o'er miles of space. And now I go, looking my last upon you. I saw you through the haze from Rigi Culm; You rose in pride o'er tinkling Interlaken, And talked to me across the Wengern Alp. And this is past. My blessing be on those, Who in all time shall thus salute and leave you. I shall see other mountains; Wetterhorns, Schreckhorns; and Faulhorns, that men love to climb; Some sprinkled scantily with frost, and some Thick with eternal winter; others yet, Enormous saws of sharp and splintered crag, Which the soft snows refuse to cover up, With ruin at their feet, -- like lubber giants, That stone the traveller, and crush the village Of wretched dwellers in such wretched spots. Mont Blanc will tower o'er narrow Chamounix, And stretch to far Sallenche its breadths of glory. But you, ye matchless Three, I lose forever, Save in the memory of this scene and hour. Farewell thy leafy quiet, and thy lake Rimmed as with sculptured silver, sweet Chartreuse. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALIFORNIA SORROW: MOUNTAIN VIEW by MARY KINZIE CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOUNTAIN FASTNESS by HAYDEN CARRUTH GREEN MOUNTAIN IDYL by HAYDEN CARRUTH IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOU by HAYDEN CARRUTH HOSPENTHAL by NATHANIEL LANGDON FROTHINGHAM |
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