Now the grey granite, starting thro' the snow, Discovered many a variegated moss* That to the pilgrim resting on his staff Shadows out capes and islands; and ere long Lichen Geographicus. E Numberless flowers, such as disdain to live The clouds before they fall, flowers of all hues, With his long level branches, we observed Far down by the way-side-just where the rock Has bridged the gulf, a wondrous monument And seen as motionless! Nearer we drew; And lo, a woman young and delicate, Wrapt in a russet cloak from head to foot, Not soon to be forgotten. Rising up She was born A townsman of MARTIGNY, won her heart, The act was sudden; and, when far away, Her spirit had misgivings. Then, full oft, Was strong within her; and right on she went, Thy hospitable roof, MARGUERITE DE TOURS; |