In honor of those who have passed us the torch of freedom:
Excelsior
The shades of
night were falling fast,
As through an
Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore,
'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the
strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad;
his eye beneath,
Flashed like a
falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver
clarion rung
The accents of that
unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he
saw the light
Of household fires
gleam warm and bright;
Above, the
spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips
escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the
Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers
the tempest overhead,
The roaring
torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that
clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh
stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head
upon this breast! "
A tear stood in
his bright blue eye,
But still he
answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the
pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful
avalanche!"
This was the
peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied,
far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day,
as heavenward
The pious monks of
Saint Bernard
Uttered the
oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried
through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveler, by the
faithful hound,
Half-buried in the
snow was found,
Still grasping in
his hand of ice
That banner with
the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the
twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but
beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky,
serene and far,
A voice fell like
a falling star,
Excelsior! *
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