“O, how slowly pass here,” sigh’d it,
“In the desert waste the hours!
“O these hours that seem quite endless,
“Like eternities hard frozen!
“Hapless snow! O had I only,
“‘Stead of on these mountain summits,
“Fallen into yonder valley,
“Yonder vale, where flow’rs are blooming,
“Then should I have softly melted,
“And become a brook, whilst fairest
“Village maidens in my waters
“Would have washed their smiling faces.
“Yes, perchance I should have floated
“To the ocean, there becoming
“Some fair pearl, and so be destin’d
“To adorn a monarch’s crown!”
When I heard this pretty language,
Said I: “Darling snow, I’m doubtful
“Whether such a brilliant future
“Would have met thee in the valley.
“Comfort take! But few amongst you
“Turn to pearls; thou wouldst have fallen
“Probably in some small puddle,
“And become a piece of dirt!”
Whilst I in this friendly fashion
With the snow held conversation,
Came a shot, and from above me
Fell to earth a tawny vulture.
’Twas a joke of friend Lascaro,
Sportsman’s joke; and yet his features
Still continued fix’d and solemn,
His gun-barrel only smoking.
He in silence tore a feather
From the bird’s tail, and then stuck it
On the top of his peak’d felt-hat,
And then hasten’d on as usual.
Wellnigh ghostly ’twas to see him,
As his shadow with the feather
On the white snow of the mountain,
Black and long, was onward moving.