“‘Jehovah! Jehovah! kracht’s im berstenden Eis;
Lavinendonner rollen’s die Kluft hinab:
Jehovah rauscht’s in den hellen Wipfeln,
Flüstert’s an rieselnden Silberbächen.’
“I think that expression, ‘Scheitel der Ewigkeit’ is ludicrous,” said Ruth.
“Coleridge always improved on his originals when he translated, but it looked rather odd for him to have discussed the elements of the scenery in the Alps when he had never been in Savoy. It looks as if he tried to throw dust in people’s eyes. But tell me, Ruth, which do you like best the Coleridge ‘Hymn’ or Shelley’s ‘Mont Blanc,’ which also claims to have been written in the Vale of Chamonix? First you read the lines you like best in Coleridge and then I will read a few passages from Shelley.”
Ruth took the volume of Coleridge and began. “I like the first twelve lines,” she said:—
“‘Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc!