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THE SHADES of night were falling fast
As through an Alpine village passed A youth who bore 'mid snow and ice
A banner with the strange device
Excelsior！
His brow was sad； his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from 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！
Oh， 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 branch！
Beware the awful avalanche！
This was the peasant's last Good-night
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
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