Classic Poem

It is but a plank which bestrides the crevasse,
'Twixt life and eternity hovers the scale,
The giants of Nature are holding the pass
And angrily threats of destruction exhale.
Through the horrid domain thou must stealthily creep
Lest the terrible avalanche wake from his sleep.

A bridge there hovers far over the edge
Of the gloomy depths beneath which cower;
No hand of mortal upreared that ledge,
That were beyond all mortal power.
The torrents may rage on it as they will
Early and late — it stands there still.

The yawning gate has a hideous mien
You might think it the gloomy realm of the dead,
Yet though it there smiles an enchanting scene.
As though fair Autumn the Spring had wed.
Ah! could I but quit life's trouble and pain,
For aye in that glorious land to remain!

Four torrents adown to the level are hurled,
From a source which intruders can never molest;
They roll to the uttermost ends of the world,
To the North, to the South, to the East, and the West;
And as in their fury they burst from the womb,
So they rush till lost in eternal gloom.

Two pinnacles leap into space through the blue,
Whose summits no mortal below can descry;
And there, in a veil of auriferous dew
Are the gambolling clouds, those fair maids of the sky
Alone their mysterious course they keep
Where no intruder from earth can peep.

And there in her dignity poses the Queen
On a throne which never shall dwindle away,
And her diamond crown with its silvery sheen
Sheds over her forehead a glorious ray.
The volatile sunbeams around her may thrill;
They can gild her, but warmth they can never instil.