So beautiful, so bleak, so grim, so grand.
Your gleaming crags above my boyhood’s play,
Undimm’d as hope, rose o’er each rising day.
When now light hope has yielded place to care,
O’er steadfast work I see you steadfast there.
And when old age at last shall yearn for rest,
By your white peaks will each aspiring glance be blest.
How bright and broad with ever fresh surprise,
The scenes ye brought allured my youthful eyes!
Now, when rude hands those views of old assail,