TO S. J .

Once more, dear friend, with me recall
Our wanderings in the enchanted land:
The mountain path, the waterfall,
The glacier's chill, the lake's sweet strand.

Again from the green slopes of Bern,
With eyes by waiting eager grown,
In rapture we afar discern
The lifted Jungfrau's " great white throne. "

From Mürren's pastures zoned with snow
We watch the peaks, with quickened breath,
Flush in the evening's passionate glow,
Fade into pallor passing death.

From Wengern, through the lonely night,
We hear the avalanche's fall;
Or up the weary Sheideck's height
Follow the alp-horn's echoing call.

Eiger, and Monch, and Wetterhorn
Majestic cleave the sky anew;
And oh, what trembling lights are born
In Luzern's emerald, Leman's blue!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Names! yet what alchemy is yours
Out from the ashes of the past
To shape the picture which endures,
The colors which the soul holds fast!