The grapes were gather’d in; the vintage feast
Was closed upon the hills, the reaper’s strain
Hush’d by the streams; the year was in its wane,
The night in its mid watch—it was a time
E’en mark’d and hallow’d unto slumber’s reign;
But thoughts were stirring, restless and sublime,
And o’er his white Alps moved the spirit of the clime.
III.
For there, where snows, in crowning glory spread,
High and unmark’d by mortal footstep lay;