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The shades of
night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village
passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A
banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His
brow was sad; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion
from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In
happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam
warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try
not the Pass," the old man said;
"Dark lours the
tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and
wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his
bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered 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
Uttered the oft-repeated
prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in
his hands 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!
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