OUR path is on the precipice! How far, far down those waters hiss That like an avalanche below Whirl on a stream of foamy snow!
2
Iʼve seen the Rhine when in his pride,
All unresisted, undefied, Rolled smoothly on his aged tide. Iʼve seen the Rhine with younger wave Oʼer every obstacle to rave. I see the Rhine in his native wild
Is still a mighty mountain‐child,— How rocked upon his tortuous bed! Came up, from the abyss of dread, The deafening roar with softened sound,— Murmuring up from the profound
Of distance dark, where light of day Pierced not the thick, damp, twilight grey, To the precipices sharp and sheer Whence the white foam looked up so clear. On looking oʼer the barrier
From that rock‐shelf, that hung so high ʼTwixt the far depth and the blue sky, Above, beside, around there stood The difficult crags in order rude Soaring to the thin, cold upper air,—
Looked forth unnaturally clear, Jagged with many a piny spear. And here and there a patch of snow Contrasted strangely with the glow Of the red, rough, mighty cliffs, and shed