"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!" "O, 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 their 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, Lifeless but beautiful he lay; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star,-- "Excelsior!" H. W. Longfellow. CLXXXIII. A PSALM OF LIFE. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, "Life is but an empty dream!" For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us further than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting; And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!