MONT BLANC, AT SUNSET.
HE monarch dies on couch of state,Pillowed in drifts of snow,
Tho' smiling faint in rosy flush,
On valley glooms below.
How fleeting,—transient is the spell,
The Benediction given,
And then the pall of night must hide
The snowy couch in heaven.
The Benediction given,
And then the pall of night must hide
The snowy couch in heaven.
Now falls the fixéd look of death,
A lurid light plays o'er
The monarch's face that faintly flushed,
But a brief spell before.
A lurid light plays o'er
The monarch's face that faintly flushed,
But a brief spell before.
E'en funeral pines retreat beneath—
Procession mournful, slow,
The night wind breathes her solemn dirge,
And dies in the vales below.
Procession mournful, slow,
The night wind breathes her solemn dirge,
And dies in the vales below.
