Poems (Botta)/An Imitation
AN IMITATION.
As once I dreamed, methought I strayedWithin a snow-clad mountain’s shade;From whose far height the silence boreOne charméd word, “Excelsior!”
And, as upon my soul it fell,It bound me with a fearful spell;It shut the sweet vale from my sight,And called me up that dazzling height
I could not choose but heed its tone,And climb that dreary path alone;And now around me hung the gloom,Where the storm-spirit makes his home
Upon my head the tempests beat;Dark caverns opened at my feet;The thunders rolled, the lightnings flashedAnd fierce the swollen torrents dashed.
’Twas gained, that mountain’s stormy pass;But, chilled beside a mer de glace,My heavy heart in vain would soar,—The heart hears not “Excelsior!”
The heart’s home is the vale below,Where kind words greet, where fond eyes glow;It withers ’neath those frozen skies,Where the aspiring thought would rise.
Above me the eternal snowsIn the cold sunlight’s glare arose,And a dread Presence seemed to broodO’er the appalling solitude.
But now, on that unquiet dream,Did one of stateliest aspect beam;Whose brow thought’s kingly impress bore,Whose soul thrilled to “Excelsior!”
Though but one moment o’er my wayDid the bright form beside me stay;In that pale brow and speaking eye,Methought I saw my Destiny!
And as, far up the heaven-crowned height,Thou seem’dst to vanish from my sight; Thine image yet beside me stood,And filled the voiceless solitude.
No longer drear that mountain waste.For o’er its snows thy steps had passed;No longer dread, in upper air,That mountain’s crest, for thou wert there!