Excelsior
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 lowers the tempest overhead, |
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" |
And loud the 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 hand 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! |
Henry W. Longfellow. |