FRAGMENT 5.

‘ Twas at this season that Prince Athanase Passed the white Alps — those eagle-baffling mountains Slept in their shrouds of snow;— beside the ways

The waterfalls were voiceless — for their fountains Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now, Or by the curdling winds — like brazen wings

Which clanged along the mountain's marble brow — Warped into adamantine fretwork, hung And filled with frozen light the chasms below.

Vexed by the blast, the great pines groaned and swung Under their load of — Such as the eagle sees, when he dives down From the gray deserts of wide air, Athanase; and o'er his mien (? ) was thrown

The shadow of that scene, field after field, Purple and dim and wide...