EXCELSIOR. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; And from his lips escaped a groan, (6 Try not the Pass !" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide! " And loud that clarion voice replied Excelsior! "O stay," the maiden said, "and rest "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last Good-night, A voice replied, far up the height, At break of day, as heavenward A voice cried through the startled air A traveller, by the faithful hound, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device |