Your glory;—now is done
Your lonely age; your true life is begun:
Still through the night, from ledge to ledge
The avalanches fall,
Still rears its crag and breathless edge
Your præmemorial wall;
Yet may you swell our hymn to-day,
Your old reproach is taken away,—
Barren no more! Like her who bore
In her white age the lost hope of her prime,