"O Switzerland, my country, 'tis to thee
I strike my harp in agony,—"
and in which the author describes the catastrophe, more graphically than grammatically, perhaps, as follows:—
"An everlasting hill was torn
From its primeval base, and borne,
In gold and crimson vapors dressed,
To where a people are at rest.
Slowly it came in its mountain wrath,
And the forests vanished before its path,
And the rude cliffs bowed, and the waters fled,