  Alone, amid the wild secluded heights Where Winter holds his solitary sway, We wrestle with the fury of the storm, The savage sleet and passion-laden gale; A sleeping avalanche beneath our feet And ice-capped giants menacing the way. Behold, athwart the ebon brow of night The "fire-zoned orb" with beauteous light illumes A distant mountain's irridescent rim; And morning flits with swift, impetuous step Adown the snow-clad slopes, benignant, free. Below us lie the valleys, urns of gloom, Concealing nature's precious treasure trove. From thence a hundred peaks Proclaim the royal conquest of the dawn; All rosy-robed and golden-crowned they stand, Their rich prismatic splendors softly limned |
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