500 A MORNING ON ALP LUSGEIT. 



While to the right the mighty Fletschorn lifts 

 A beetling brow, and spreads abroad its snows. 

 Dom, Cervin — Weisshom of the dazzling crown— 

 Ye splendours of the Alps ! Can earth elsewhere 

 Bring forth a rival ? Not the Indian chain, 

 Though shouldered higher o'er the standard sea, 

 Can front the eye with more majestic forms. 



From one vast brain yon noble highway came ; 

 ' Let it be made,' he said, and it was done. 

 In one vast brain was born the motive power 

 Which swept whole armies over heights unsealed, 

 And poured them, living cataracts, on the South. 

 Or was it force of faith — faith warranted 

 By antecedent deeds, that nerved these hosts 

 And made Napoleon's name a thunderbolt ? 

 What is its value now ? This man was called 

 ' A mortal God ! ' Oh, shade before invoked, 

 You spoke of Might and Eight ; and many a shaft 

 Barbed with the sneer, 'He preaches force — brute 



force,' 

 Has rattled on your shield. But well you knew 

 Might, to be Might, must base itself on Right, 

 Or vanish evanescent as the deeds 

 Of France's Emperor. Keflect on this, 

 Ye temporary darlings of the crowd. 

 To-day ye may have peans in your ears ; 

 To-morrow ye lie rotten, if your work* 

 Lack that true core which gives to Right and Might 

 One meaning in the end. 



