Canto Xvi

Shouldst thou see these mountain peaks From the distance thou wouldst think That with gold and purple they Flamed in splendour to the sun.

But at closer hand their pomp Vanishes. Earth's glories thus With their myriad light-effects Still beguile us artfully.

What to thee seemed blue and gold Is, alas, but idle snow, Idle snow which, lone and drear, Bores itself in solitude.

There upon the heights I heard How the hapless crackling snow Cried aloud its pallid grief To the cold and heartless wind:

"Ah," it sobbed, "how slow the hours Crawl within this awful waste! All these many endless hours, Like eternities of ice!

"Woe is me, poor snow! I would I had never seen these peaks-- Might I but in vales have fallen Where a myriad flowers bloom!

"To some little brook would I Then have melted, and some maid-- Fairest of the land! with smiles Would in me have laved her face.

"Yea, perchance, I might have fared To the sea and changed betimes To a pearl and gleamed at last In some royal coronet!"

When I heard this plaint, I spake: "Dearest Snow, indeed I doubt Whether such a brilliant fate Had been thine within the world.

"Comfort take. Few, few, indeed, Ever grow to pearls. No doubt Thou hadst fallen in the mire And become a clod of mud."

As in kindly wise I spoke Thus unto the joyless snow, Came a shot--and from the skies Plunged a hawk of brownish wing.

It was just a hunter's joke Of Lascaro's. But his face Was as ever stark and grim, And his rifle barrel smoked.

Silently he tore a plume From the hawk's erected tail, Stuck it in his pointed hat And resumed his silent way.

'Twas an eerie sight to see How his shadow black and thin With the nodding feather moved O'er the slopes of drifted snow.