FRAGMENT 5.

‘ Twas at this season that Prince Athanase

Passed the white Alps — those eagle-baffling mountains

Slept in their shrouds of snow;— beside the ways

The waterfalls were voiceless — for their fountains

Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now,

Or by the curdling winds — like brazen wings

Which clanged along the mountain's marble brow —

Warped into adamantine fretwork, hung

And filled with frozen light the chasms below.

Vexed by the blast, the great pines groaned and swung

Under their load of —

Such as the eagle sees, when he dives down

From the gray deserts of wide air,

Athanase; and o'er his mien (? ) was thrown

The shadow of that scene, field after field,

Purple and dim and wide...