An Alpine Descent

Samuel Rogers (1763–1855)

MY mule refreshed, his bells

Jingled once more, the signal to depart,

And we set out in the gray light of dawn,

Descending rapidly,—by waterfalls

Fast frozen, and among huge blocks of ice

That in their long career had stopt midway;

At length, unchecked, unbidden, he stood still,

And all his bells were muffled. Then my guide,

Lowering his voice, addressed me:—“Through this chasm

On, and say nothing,—for a word, a breath,

Stirring the air, may loosen and bring down

A winter’s snow,—enough to overwhelm

The horse and foot that, night and day, defiled

Along this path to conquer at Marengo.”