_Guide._ This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, It leaps across the terrible chasm Yawning beneath us, black and deep, As if, in some convulsive spasm, the summits of the hills had cracked, and made a road for the cataract, That raves and rages down the steep! _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! _Guide._ Never any bridge but this Could stand across the wild abyss; All the rest, of wood or stone, By the Devil's hand were overthrown. He toppled crags from the precipice, And whatsoe'er was built by day In the night was swept away; None could stand but this alone. _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! _Guide._ I showed you in the valley a boulder Marked with the imprint of his shoulder; As he was bearing it up this way, A peasant, passing, cried, "Herr Jé!" And the Devil dropped it in his fright, And vanished suddenly out of sight! _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! _Guide._ Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, For pilgrims on their way to Rome, Built this at last, with a single arch, Under which, on its endless march, Runs the river, white with foam, Like a thread through the eye of a needle. And the Devil promised to let it stand, Under compact and condition That the first living thing which crossed Should be surrendered into his hand, And be beyond redemption lost. _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! perdition! _Guide._ At length, the bridge being all completed, The Abbot, standing at its head, Threw across it a loaf of bread, Which a hungry dog sprang after, And the rocks reechoed with peals of laughter To see the Devil thus defeated! (_They pass on_) _Lucifer_ (_under the bridge_) Ha! ha! defeated! For journeys and for crimes like this To let the bridge stand o'er the abyss! * * * * * THE ST. GOTHARD PASS. * * * * * _Prince Henry._ This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. _Elsie._ How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses Grow on these rocks. _Prince Henry._ Yet are they not forgotten; Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. _Elsie._ See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels! _Prince Henry._ Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels Bear thee across these chasms and precipices, Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone! _Elsie._ Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, Upon angelic shoulders! Even now I Seem uplifted by them, light as air! What sound is that? _Prince Henry_. The tumbling avalanches! _Elsie_ How awful, yet how beautiful!