Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
"What merest whim
Seems all this poor endeavor after Fame
To one who keeps within his steadfast aim
A love immortal, an Immortal too!
Look not so 'wildered, for these things are true
And never can be borne of atomics
That buzz about our slumbers like brain-flies
Leaving us fancy-sick. No, I am sure
My restless spirit never could endure
To brood so long upon one luxury.
Unless it did, though fearfully, espy
A HOPE BEYOND THE SHADOW OF A DREAM!"
Deep in the heart of the Caucasus mountains a wild storm was gathering.Drear shadows drooped and thickened above the Pass of Dariel,—thatterrific gorge which like a mere thread seems to hang between thetoppling frost-bound heights above and the black abysmal depthsbelow,—clouds, fringed ominously with lurid green and white, driftedheavily yet swiftly across the jagged peaks where, looming largely outof the mist, the snow-capped crest of Mount Kazbek rose coldly whiteagainst the darkness of the threatening sky. Night was approaching,though away to the west a road gash of crimson, a seeming wound in thebreast of heaven, showed where the sun had set an hour since. Now andagain the rising wind moaned sobbingly through the tall and spectralpines that, with knotted roots fast clenched in the reluctant earth,clung tenaciously to their stony vantageground; and mingling with itswailing murmur, there came a distant hoarse roaring as of tumblingtorrents, while at far-off intervals could be heard the sweeping thudof an avalanche slipping from point to point on its disastrous downwardway. Through the wreathing vapors the steep, bare sides of the nearmountains were pallidly visible, their icy pinnacles, like uplifteddaggers, piercing with sharp glitter the density of the low-hanginghaze, from which large drops of moisture began presently to ooze ratherthan fall. Gradually the wind increased, and soon with sudden fiercegusts shook the pine-trees into shuddering anxiety,—the red slit inthe sky closed, and a gleam of forked lightning leaped athwart thedriving darkness. An appalling crash of thunder followed almostinstantaneously, its deep boom vibrating in sullenly grand echoes onall sides of the Pass, and then—with a swirling, hissing rush ofrain—the unbound hurricane burst forth alive and furious. On, on!splitting huge boughs and flinging them aside like straws, swelling therivers into riotous floods that swept hither and thither, carrying withthem masses of rock and stone and tons of loosened snow—on, on! withpitiless force and destructive haste, the tempest rolled, thundered,and shrieked its way through Dariel. As the night darkened and theclamor of the conflicting elements grew more sustained and violent, asudden sweet sound floated softly through the turbulent air—the slow,measured tolling of a bell. To and fro, to and fro, the silvery chimeswung with mild distinctness—it was the vesper-bell ringing in theMonastery of Lars far up among the crags crowning the ravine. There thewind roared and blustered its loudest; it whirled round and round thequaint castellated building, battering the gates and moving their heavyiron hinges to a most dolorous g