For he fears no wrong,
From the weak or strong,
And the Squire can snore,
When the loud winds roar,
For he dreams no more of the Devil!
The HERMIT of MONT-BLANC.
High, on the Solitude of Alpine Hills,
O’er-topping the grand imag’ry of Nature,
Where one eternal winter seem’d to reign,
An Hermit’s threshold, carpetted with moss,