SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
Lightnings dazzle our eyes.
Roaring" torrents have breached
The track; the stream-bed descends 95
In the place where the wayfarer once
Planted his footstep—the spray
Boils o'er its borders ! aloft
The unseen snow-beds dislodge
Their hanging ruin ; alas, 100
Havoc is made in our train !
Friends, who set forth at our side,
Falter, are lost in the storm.
We, we only, are left !
With frowning foreheads, with lips 105
Sternly compressed, we strain on,
On—and at nightfall at last
Come to the end of our way,
To the lonely inn 'mid the rocks;
Where the gaunt and taciturn host no
Stands on the threshold, the wind
Shaking his thin white hairs-—
Holds his lantern to scan
Our storm-beat figures, and asks:
Whom in our party we bring?
Whom we have left in the snow?
Sadly we answer : We bring
Only ourselves! we lost
Sight of the rest in the storm.
Hardly ourselves we fought through,
Stripped, without friends, as we are.
Friends, companions, and train,
The avalanche swept from our side.
But thou wouldst not alone
Be saved, my father! alone 123
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