[SEE ENGRAVING.]
The inspiration of thy smile,
Thou minstrel of the wayside song,
Yet lingers on thy face the while
I see thee climb the Alps along;
As if thy harp's unwearied lay
Sustained thee on thy rugged way.
There dwells within thy poet-eyes
The spirit of the ancient bards—
A soul in which no shadow lies—
A glance forever heavenwards;
As though the thoughts thy dreams unfurled
Hung, star-like, o'er a watching world.
Methinks the bard who saw at night,
Amid the glacier's snow and ice,
A youth ascend the spectral height,
Unfurling there "the strange device,"
Did, with a prophet's pen, foreshow
Thy form upon those mounts of snow.
And when the mists have valeward rolled,
Below thy pathway, hard and long,
Stern Death shall find thee, pale and cold,
Upon the highest peak of Song—
Still grasping, with a frozen hand,
The banner of that Alpine Land!
