Ev'n that wild deer, which loves the mountain side,
Springs the abyss, and dares the venturous path
We shrink to look upon, yet comes not here.
For perilous were the rocks, and the false ice
Were slippery as the friendships of this life—
When most we lean on them, most treach'rous then,
Smooth but deceiving; and the precipice
Yawns in its fearful darkness close beneath;
So close, that but a single step aside,
And human help were vanity indeed!
And o'er them lowers destruction, high in air,
Upon those jutting crags, whose rugged sides,
Riven in fragments, and like ruins pil'd,
Seem as that giants of those ancient days
When earthborn creatures braved th' Olympic Gods,
Those of whom fable tells, had torn away
Rocks from their solid base, and with strong arm,
Parted the mountains: there the avalanche hangs,
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