His brow was sad; his eye beneath Flasbed like a falchion frorn its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! ,Try not the Pass!' the old man said; ,Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!' And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! ,0 stay/ the maiden said, ,and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!‘ A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered with a sigh, Excelsior! ,Beware the pine-tree's withered brauch! Beware the awful avalanche!' This was the peasant’s last Goodnight. A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, Excelsior! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the Strange device, Excelsior! There in the twilight cold and gray, Li feie ss, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice feil, like a falling star, Excelsior!