The last pines stand on Montanvert,

Gazing on giant spires that grow

From the great frozen gulfs below.

How sheer they soared, how piercing rose

Above the mists, beyond the snows!

No thinnest veil of vapour hid

Each sharp and airy pyramid.

No breeze moaned there, nor cooing bird,

Deep down the torrent raved, unheard,

Only the cow-bells’ clang, subdued,