THE SUPERGA. 183 



While far above the calm white snow-fields shone 



Without a shadow in the noonday sun. 



From every stain of life's contention free, 



The radiant floor of heaven they seemed to be ; 



By hands angelic swept and garnished, meet 



For the free tread of pure immortal feet. 



So overpowering was the sight, I knelt 



Awestruck upon the grassy sod, and felt 



As if I breathed the intoxicating air 



Of other worlds, raised high above the care 



And turmoil of the common earth ; each sense 



In ecstasy stretched to its utmost tense. 



How dark by contrast seemed the vaults beneath, 



Where, in the dreadful loneliness of death, 



Cut off from all that made their world, discrowned, 



Slept the great rulers of the realms around ; 



In all the splendour owning now no share, 



Their dust to dust returning unaware ! 



But not in vain does the spectator face 



This great apocalypse in such a place. 



His mind may reason with assurance just, 



Had man been meant to perish in the dust, 



His God a vision so surpassing fair, 



Would not have shown to mock his dark despair. 



These scenes of earth are but the counterparts 



Of nobler scenes, to which they lift our hearts. 



These hoary Alps, whose pomp the horizon fills, 



Are but the shadows of eternal hills. 



The glow of superadded beauty seen 



In every spot, by mortal vision keen, 



