Descriptive Sketches

Descriptive Sketches 1848

The benefits of walking

The sad fate of the Grande Chartreuse

1.

Were there, below, a spot of holy ground

Where from distress a refuge might be found,

And solitude prepare the soul for heaven;

Sure, nature's God that spot to man had given

Where falls the purple morning far and wide

In flakes of light upon the mountain side;

Where with loud voice the power of water shakes

The leafy wood, or sleeps in quiet lakes. 1.

9.

Yet not unrecompensed the man shall roam,

Who at the call of summer quits his home,

And plods through some wide realm o'er vale and height,

Though seeking only holiday delight;

At least, not owning to himself an aim

To which the sage would give a prouder name.

No gains too cheaply earned his fancy cloy,

Though every passing zephyr whispers joy;

Brisk toil, alternating with ready ease,

Feeds the clear current of his sympathies.

For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn;

And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourn!

Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head,

And dear the velvet green-sward to his tread:

Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming eye?

Upward he looks -- 'and calls it luxury:'

Kind Nature's charities his steps attend;

In every babbling brook he finds a friend;

While chastening thoughts of sweetest use, bestowed

By wisdom, moralise his pensive road.

30.

Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bower,

To his spare meal he calls the passing poor;

He views the sun uplift his golden fire,

Or sink, with heart alive like Memnon's lyre;

Blesses the moon that comes with kindly ray,

To light him shaken by his rugged way.

Back from his sight no bashful children steal;

He sits a brother at the cottage-meal;

His humble looks no shy restraint impart;

Around him plays at will the virgin heart.

While unsuspended wheels the village dance,

The maidens eye him with enquiring glance,

Much wondering by what fit of crazing care,

Or desperate love, bewildered, he came there. 2.

43.

A hope, that prudence could not then approve,

That clung to Nature with a truant's love,

O'er Gallia's wastes of corn my footsteps led;

Her files of road-elms, high above my head

In long-drawn vista, rustlng in the breeze;

Or where her pathways straggle as they please

By lonely farms and secret villages.

But lo! the Alps ascending white in air,

Toy with the sun and glitter from afar. 3.

And now, emerging from the forest's gloom,

I greet thee, Chartreuse, while I mourn thy doom.

Whither is fled that Power whose frown severe

Awed sober Reason till she crouched in fear?

That Silence, once in deathlike fetters bound,

Chains that were loosened only by the sound

Of holy rites chanted in measured round? 4.

The voice of blasphemy the fane alarms,

The cloister startles at the gleam of arms.

The thundering tube the aged angler hears,

Bent o'er the groaning flood that sweeps away his tears.

Cloud-piercing pine-trees nod their troubled heads,

Spires, rocks, and lawns a browner night o'erspreads;

Strong terror checks the female peasant's sighs,

And start the astonished shades at female eyes.

From Bruno's forest screams the affrighted jay,

And slow the insulted eagle wheels away.

A viewless flight of laughing Demons mock

The Cross, by angels planted on the aerial rock.

The 'parting Genius' sighs with hollow breath

Along the mystic streams of Life and Death².

Swelling the outcry dull, that long resounds

Portentous through her old woods' trackless bounds,

Vallombre, 'mid her falling fanes, deplores,

For ever broke, the sabbath of her bowers. 5.

Descriptive Sketches 1793

The benefits of walking

The sad fate of the Grande Chartreuse

1.

Were there, below, a spot of holy ground,

By Pain and her sad family unbound,

Sure, Nature's GOD that spot to man had giv'n,

Where murmuring rivers join the song of ev'n;

Where falls the purple morning far and wide

In flakes of light upon the mountainside;

Where summer Suns in ocean sink to rest,

Or moonlight Upland lifts her hoary breast;

Where Silence, on her night of wing, o'erbroods

Unfathom'd dells and undiscover'd woods;

Where rocks and groves the power of waters shakes

In cataracts, or sleeps in quiet lakes.

13.

But doubly pitying Nature loves to show'r

Soft on his wounded heart her healing pow'r,

Who plods o'er hills and vales his road forlorn,

Wooing her varying charms from eve to morn.

No sad vacuities his heart annoy,

Blows not a Zephyr but it whispers joy;

For him lost flowers their idle sweets exhale;

He tastes the meanest note that swells the gale;

For him sod-seats the cottage door adorn,

And peeps this far-off spire, his evening bourn!

Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head,

And dear the green-sward to his velvet tread;

Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming eye?

Upward he looks - and calls it luxury.

Kind Nature's charity his steps attend,

While chast'ning thoughts of sweetest use, bestow'd

By Wisdom, moralize his pensive road.

30.

Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bow'r,

To his spare meal he calls the passing poor;

He views the Sun uprear his golden fire,

Or sink, with heart alive like Memnon's lyre;

Blesses the Moon that comes with kindest ray

To light him shaken by his viewless way.

With bashful fear no cottage children steal

From him, a brother at the cottage meal,

His humble looks no shy restraint impart,

Around him plays at will the virgin heart.

While unsuspended wheels the village dance,

The maidens eye him with inquiring glance,

Much wondering what sad stroke of crazing Care

Or desperate Love could lead a wanderer there.

44.

Me, lur'd by hope her sorrows to remove,

A heart, that could not much itself approve,

O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led,

Her road elms rustling thin above my head,

Or through her truant pathway's native charms,

By- secret villages and lonely farms,

To where the Alps, ascending white in air,

Toy with the Sun and glitter from afar.

53.

Ev'n now I sigh at hoary Chartreuse' doom

Weeping beneath his chill of mountain gloom,

Where now is fled that Power whose frown severe

Tam'd 'sober Reason' till she crouch'd in fear?

That breath'd a death-like peace these woods around,

Broke only by th'unvaried torrent's sound,

Or prayer-bell by the dull cicada drown'd,

The cloister startles at the gleam of arms,

And Blasphemy the shuddering fane alarms;

Nod the cloud- piercing pines their troubl'd heads,

Spires, rocks, and lawns, a browner night o'erspreads.

Strong terror checks the female peasant's sighs,

And start th'astonish'd shades at female eyes.

The thundering tube the aged angler hears,

And swells the groaning torrent with his tears.

From Bruno's forest screams the frighted jay,

And slow th'insulted eagle wheels away.

The cross with hideous laughter Demons mock,

By angels planted on the aereal rock.

The 'parting Genius' sighs with hollow breath

Along the mystic streams of Life and Death,

Swelling the outcry dull, that long resounds

Portentous; thro' her old woods' trackless bounds,

Deepening her echoing torrents' awful peal

And bidding paler shades her form conceal,

Vallombre, 'mid her falling fanes, deplores,

For ever broke, the sabbath of her bow'rs.

79.

Around Lake Como

77.

More pleased, my foot the hidden margin roves

Of Como, bosomed deep in chestnut groves.

No meadows thrown between, the giddy steeps

Tower, bare or sylvan, from the narrow deeps.

-- To towns, whose shades of no rude noise complain,

From ringing team apart and grating wain --

To flat-roofed towns, that touch the water's bound,

Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound,

Or, from the bending rocks, obtrusive cling,

And o'er the whitened wave their shadows fling --

The pathway leads, as round the steeps it twines;

And Silence loves its purple roof of vines.

The loitering traveller hence, at evening, sees

From rock-hewn steps the sail between the trees;

Or marks, 'mid opening cliffs, fair dark-eyed maids

Tend the small harvest of their garden glades;

Or stops the solemn mountain-shades to view

Stretch o'er the pictured mirror broad and blue,

And track the yellow lights from steep to steep,

As up the opposing hills they slowly creep.

Aloft, here, half a village shines, arrayed

In golden light; half hides itself in shade:

While, from amid the darkened roofs, the spire,

Restlessly flashing, seems to mount like fire:

There, all unshaded, blazing forests throw

Rich golden verdure on the lake below.

Slow glides the sail along the illumined shore,

And steals into the shade the lazy oar;

105

Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs,

And amorous music on the water dies.

How blest, delicious scene! the eye that greets

Thy open beauties, or thy lone retreats;

Beholds, the unwearied sweep of wood that scales

Thy cliffs; the endless waters of thy vales;

Thy lowly cots that sprinkle all the shore,

Each with its houshold boat beside the door;

Thy torrents shooting from the clear-blue sky;

Thy towns that cleave, like swallow's nests on high;

That glimmer hoar in eve's last light, descried

Dim from the twilight water's shaggy side,

Whence lutes and voices down the enchanted woods

Steal, and compose the oar-forgotten floods;

Thy lake, that, streaked or dappled, blue or grey,

'Mid smoking woods gleams hid from morning's ray

Slow-travelling down the western hills, to enfold

Its green tinged margin in a blaze of gold;

Thy glittering steeples, whence the matin bell

Calls forth the woodman from his desert cell,

And quickens the blithe sound of oars that pass

Along the steaming lake, to early mass.

But now farewell to each and all -- adieu

To every charm, and last and chief, to you,

Ye lovely maidens that in noontide shade

Rest near your little plots of wheaten glade;

To all that binds the soul in powerless trance,

Lip-dewing song, and ringlet-tossing dance;

Where sparkling eyes and breaking smiles illume

The sylvan cabin's lute-enlivened gloom.

-- Alas! the very murmur of the streams

Breathes o'er the falling soul voluptuous dreams,

While Slavery, forcing the sunk mind to dwell

On joys that might disgrace the captive's cell,

Her shameless timbrel shakes on Como's marge,

And lures from bay to bay the vocal barge. 6.

140.

Around Lake Como

Fair dark-ey'd maids

80.

More pleas'd, my foot the hidden margin roves

Of Como bosom'd deep in chestnut groves.

No meadows thrown between, the giddy steeps

Tower, bare or silvan, from the narrow deeps.

To towns, whose shades of no rude sound complain,

To ringing team unknown and grating wain,

To flat-roof'd towns, that touch the water's bound,

Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound,

Or from the bending rocks obtrusive cling,

And o'er the whiten'd waves their shadows fling;

Wild round the steeps the little path-way twines,

And Silence loves its purple roof of vines.

The viewless lingerer hence, at evening, sees

From rock-hewn steps the sail between the trees;

Or marks, 'mid opening cliffs, fair dark-ey'd maids

Tend the small harvest of their garden glades,

Or, led by distant warbling notes, surveys,

With hollow ringing ears and darkening gaze,

Binding the charmed soul in powerless trance,

Lip-dewing Song and ringlet tossing Dance,

Where sparkling eyes and breaking smiles illume

The bosom'd cabin's lyre-enliven'd gloom;

Or stops the solemn mountain-shades to view

Stretch, o'er their pictur'd mirror, broad and blue,

Tracking the yellow sun from steep to steep,

As up th'opposing hills, with tortoise foot, they creep.

Here half a village shines, in gold array'd,

Bright as the moon, half hides itself in shade.

From the dark sylvan roofs the restless spire,

Inconstant glancing, mounts like springing fire,

There, all unshaded, blazing forests throw

Rich golden verdure on the waves below,

Slow glides the sail along th'illumined shore;

And steals into the shade the lazy oar.

113.

Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs,

And amorous music on the water dies,

Heedless how Pliny, musing here, survey'd

Old Roman boats and figures thro' the shade.

Pale passion , overpower'd, retires and woos

The thicket, where th'unlisten'd stock-dove coos.

How bless'd, delicious scene! the eye that greets

Thy open beauties, or thy lone retreats;

Th'unwearied sweep of wood and thy cliffs that scales,

The never ending waters of thy vales;

The cots, those dim religious groves embow'r,

Or, under rocks that from the water tow'r,

Insinuated, sprinkling all the shore,

Each with his household boat beside the door,

Whos flaccid sails in forms fantastic droop,

Brightn'ing the gloom where thick the forests stoop.

129

Thy torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,

Thy towns, like swallows' nests that cleave on high:

That glimmer hoar in eve's last light, descry'd

Dim from the twilight water's shaggy side,

Whence lutes and voices down th'encahnted woods,

Steal, and compose the oar-forgotten floods,

While Evening's solemn bird melodious weeps

Heard, by star-spotted bays, beneath the steeps.

Thy lake, mid smoking woods, that blue and grey

Gleams, streak'd or dappled hid from morning's ray

Slow travelling down the western hills, to fold

Its green-ting'd margin in a blaze of gold;

From thickly-glittering spires the matin-bell

Calling the woodman from his desert cell,

A summons to the sound of oars, that pass,

Spotting the steaming deeps, to early mass;

Slow swells the service o'er the water born,

While fill each pause the ringing woods of morn.

Farewel! those forms that, in thy noon-tide shade,

Rest, near their little plots of wheaten glade;

Those steadfast eyes, that beating breasts inspire

To throw the 'sultry ray' of young Desire;

Those lips whose tides of fragrance come, and go;

Accordant to the cheek's unquiet glow,

Those shadowy breasts in love's soft light array'd,

And rising, by the moon of passion sway'd.

Thy fragrant gales and lute-resounding streams,

Breathe o'er the failing soul voluptuous dreams;

While Slavery, forcing the sunk mind to dwell

On Joys that might disgrace the captive's cell,

Her shameless timbrel shakes along thy marge,

And winds between thine isles the vocal barge.

161

Forest Cottage Music

Locarno

The sad fate of the Grison Gypsy

Yet are thy softer arts with power indued

To soothe and cheer the poor man's solitude.

By silent cottage-doors, the peasant's home

Left vacant for the day, I loved to roam.

But once I pierced the mazes of the wood

In which a cabin undeserted stood;

There an old man an olden measure scanned

On a rude viol touched with withered hand.

As lambs or fawns in April clustering lie

Under a hoary oak's thin canopy,

Stretched at his feet, with stedfast upward eye,

His children's children listened to the sound;

- A Hermit with his family around! 7.

But let us hence; for fair Locarno smiles

Embowered in walnut slopes and citron isles:

Or seek at eve the banks of Tusa's stream,

Where, 'mid dim towers and woods, her waters gleam.

From the bright wave, in solemn gloom, retire

The dull-red steeps, and, darkening still, aspire

To where afar rich orange lustres glow

Round undistinguished clouds, and rocks, and snow:

Or, led where Via Mala's chasms confine

The indignant waters of the Rhine,

Hang o'er the abyss, whose else impervious gloom

His burning eyes with fearful light illume. 8.

The mind condemn'd, without reprieve, to go

O'er life's long deserts with its charge of woe,

With sad congratulation joins the train

Where beasts and men together o'er the plain

Move on - a mighty caravan of pain:

Hope, strength, and courage, social suffering brings,

Freshening the wilderness with shades and springs.

- There be those whose lot far otherwise is cast:

Sole human tenant of the piny waste,

176.

By choice or doom a gipsy wanders here,

A nursling babe her only comforter;

Lo, where she sits beneath yon shaggy rock,

A cowering shape half hid in curling smoke! 9.

When lightning among clouds and mountain-snows

Predominates, and darkness comes and goes,

And the fierce torrent, at the flashes broad

Starts, like a horse, beside the glaring road -

She seeks a covert from the battering shower

In the roofed bridge; the bridge in that dread hour,

Itself all trembling at the torrent's power.

186.

Nor is she more at ease on some still night,

When not a star supplies the comfort of its light;

Only the waning moon hangs dull and red

Avove a melancholy mountain's head,

Then sets. In total gloom the Vagrant sighs,

Stoops her sick head, and shuts her weary eyes;

Or on her fingers counts the distant clock,

Or, to the drowsy crow of midnight cock,

Listens, or quakes while from the forest's gulf

Howls near and nearer yet the famished wolf. 10.

195.

Forest Cottage Music

Locarno

The sad fate of the Grison Gypsy

162.

Yet arts are thine that rock th'unsleeping heart,

And smiles to Solitude and Want impart.

I lov'd, mid thy most desert woods astray,

With pensive step to measure my slow way,

By lonely, silent cottage-doors to roam,

The far-off peasant's day-deserted home,

Once did I pierce to where a cabin stood,

The redbreast peace had bury'd it in wood,

There, by the door a hoary-headed sire

Touch'd with his wither'd hand an aged lyre:

Beneath an old grey oak as violets lie,

Sterch'd at his feet with steadfast, upward eye,

His children's children join'd the holy sound,

A hermit - with his family around.

176.

Hence shall we seek where fair Locarno smiles

Embower'd in walnut slopes and citron isles,

Or charms that smile on Tusa's evening stream,

While mid dim towers and woods her waters gleam:

From the bright wave, in solemn gloom, retire

The dull-red steeps, and darkening still, aspire,

To where afar rich orange lustres glow,

Round undistinguish'd clouds, and rocks, and snow;

Or, led where Viamala's chasms confine

Th'indignant waters of the infant Rhine,

Bend o'er th'abyss? - the else impervious gloom

His burning eyes with fearful light illume.

188

The Grison gypsey here her tent has plac'd,

Sole human tenant of the piny waste;

Her tawny skin, dark eyes, and glossy locks,

Bend o'er the smoke that curls beneath the rocks.

The mind condemn'd , without reprieve, to go

O'er life's long deserts with its charge of woe,

With sad congratulation joins the train,

Where beasts and men together o'er the plain

Move on, - a mighty caravan of pain;

196

Hope, strength and courage, social suffering brings,

Freshening the waste of sand with shades and springs.

She solitary through the desert drear,

Spontaneous wanders, hand in hand with Fear,

A giant moan along the forest swells

Protracted, and the twilight storm foretells,

And ruining from the cliffs their deafening load

Tumbles, the wildering Thunder slips abroad;

On the high summits Darkness comes and goes,

Hiding their fiery clouds, their rocks, and snows;

The torrent, travers'd by the lustre broad,

Starts like a horse beside the flashing road;

In the roof'd bridge, at that despairing hour,

She seeks a shelter from the battering show'r.

220

Fierce comes the river down; the crashing wood

Gives way, and half its pines torment the flood;

Fearful, beneath, the Water-spirits call,

And the bridge vibrates, tottering to its fall.

Heavy, and dull, and cloudy is the night,

No star supplies the comfort of its light,

Glimmer the dim-lit Alps, dilated, round,

And one sole light shifts in the vale profound;

While, opposite, the waning moon hangs still,

And red, above her melancholy hill,

By the deep quiet gloom appall'd, she sighs,

Stoops her sick head, and shuts her weary eyes,

Breaking th'ascending roar of desert floods,

And insect buzz, that stuns the sultry woods,

She hears, upon the mountain forest's brow,

The death-dog, howling loud and long, below;

On viewless fingers counts the valley-clock,

Followed by drowsy crow of midnight cock.

Bursts from the troubl'd Larch's giant boughs

The pie, and chattering breaks the night's repose.

Low barks the fox; by Havoc rous'd the bear,

Quits, growling, the white bones that strew his hair;

The dry leaves stir as with the serpent's walk,

And far beneath, Banditti voices talk;

Behind her hill the Moon, all crimson, rides,

And his red eyes the slinking water hides;

Then all is hushed; the bushes rustle near,

And with strange tinglings sings her fainting ear.

Vex'd by the darkness, from the piny gulf,

Ascending, nearer howls the famish'd wolf,

While thro' the stillness scatters wild dismay,

Her babe's small cry that leads him to his prey.

242.

Vale of Urseren

Lake Uri

William Tell and other heroes

197.

From the green vale of Urseren smooth and wide

Descend we now, the maddened Reuss our guide;

By rocks that, shutting out the blessed day,

Cling tremblingly to rocks as loose as they;

By cells upon whose image, while he prays,

The kneeling peasant scarcely dares to gaze;

By many a votive death-cross planted near,

And watered duly with the pious tear,

That faded silent from the upward eye

Unmoved with each rude form of peril nigh;

Fixed on the anchor left by Him who saves

Alike in whelming snows, and roaring waves.

208.

But soon a peopled region on the sight

Opens - a little world of calm delight;

Where mists, suspended on the expiring gale,

Spread roof like o'er the deep secluded vale,

And beams of evening slipping in between,

Gently illuminate a sober scene: -

Here, on the brown wood-cottages they sleep,

There, over rock or sloping pasture creep.

On as we journey, in clear view displayed,

The still vale lengthens underneath its shade

Of low-hung vapour: on the freshened mead

The green light sparkles;- the dim bowers recede.

While the pastoral pipes and streams the landscape lull,

And bells of passing mules that tinkle dull,

In solemn shapes before the admiring eye

Dilated hang the misty pines on high,

Huge convent domes with pinnacles and towers,

225.

And antique castles seen through gleamy showers.

From such romantic dreams, my soul, awake!

To sterner pleasure, where, by Uri's lake

In Nature's pristine majesty outspread,

Winds neither road nor path for foot to tread:

The rocks rise naked as a wall, or stretch,

Far o'er the water, hung with groves of beech;

Aerial pines from loftier steeps ascend,

Nor stop but where creation seems to end.

Yet here and there, if 'mid the savage scene

Appears a scanty plot of smiling green,

Up from the lake a zigzag path will creep

To reach a small wood-hut hung boldly on the steep.

- Before those thesholds (never can they know

The face of traveller passing to and fro,)

No peasant leans upon his pole, to tell

For whom at morning tolled the funeral bell;

Their watch-dog ne'er his angry bark forgoes,

Touched by the beggar's moan of human woes;

The shady porch ne'er offered a cool seat

To pilgrims overcome by summer's heat.

Yet thither the world's business finds its way

At times, and tales unsought beguile the day,

And there are those fond thoughts which Solitude,

However stern, is powerless to exclude.

There doth the maiden watch her lover's sail

Approaching, and upbraid the tardy gale;

At midnight listens till his parting oar,

And its last echo, can be heard no more. 11.

254.

And what if ospreys, cormorants, herons cry,

Amid tempestuous vapours driving by,

Or hovering over wastes too bleak to rear

That common growth of earth, the foodful ear;

Where the green apple shrivels on the spray,

And pines the unripened pear in summer's kindliest ray;

Contentment shares the desolate domain

With Independence, child of high Disdain.

Exulting 'mid the winter of the skies,

Shy as the jealous chamois, Freedom flies,

And grasps by fits her sword, and often eyes;

And sometimes, as from rock to rock she bounds

The Patriot nymph starts at imagined sounds,

And, wildly pausing, oft she hangs aghast,

Whether some old Swiss air hath checked her haste

Or thrill of Spartan fife is caught between the blast. 12.

270.

Swoln with incessant rains from hour to hour,

All day the floods a deepening murmur pour:

The sky is veiled, and every cheerful sight:

Dark is the region as with coming night;

But what a sudden burst of overpowering light!

Triumphant on the bosom of the storm,

Glances the wheeling eagle's glorious form!

Eastward, in long perspective glittering, shine

The wood-crowned cliffs that o'er the lake recline;

Those lofty cliffs a hundred streams unfold,

At once to pillars turned that flame with gold:

Behind his sail the peasant shrinks, to shun

The west, that burns like one dilated sun,

A crucible of mighty compass, felt

By mountains, glowing till they seem to melt.

285.

But, lo! the boatman, overawed, before

The pictured fane of Tell suspends his oar;

Confused the Marathonian tale appears,

While his eyes sparkle with heroic tears.

And who, that walks where men of ancient days

Have wrought with godlike arm the deeds of praise,

Feels not the spirit of the place control,

Or rouse and agitate his labouring soul?

Say, who, by thinking on Canadian hills,

Or wild Aosta lulled by Alpine rills,

On Zutphen's plain; or on that highland dell,

Through which rough Garry cleaves his way, can tell

What high resolves exalt the tenderest thought

Of him whom passion rivets to the spot,

Where breathed the gale that caught Wolfe's happiest sigh,

And the last sunbeam fell on Bayard's eye;

Where bleeding Sidney from the cup retired,

And glad Dundee in 'faint huzzas' expired? 13.

302

Vale of Urseren

Lake Uri

William Tell and other heroes

243.

Now passing Urseren's open vale serene,

Her quiet streams, and hills of downy green,

Plunge with the Russ embrown'd by Terror's breath,

Where danger roofs the narrow walks of death;

By floods, that, thundering from their dizzy height,

Swell more gigantic on the steadfast sight;

Black drizzling craggs, that beaten by the din,

Vibrate, as if a voice complain'd within;

Bare steeps, where Desolation stalks,

Unsteadfast, by a blasted yew upstay'd;

252.

By cells whose image trembling as he prays,

Awe struck, the kneeling peasant scarce surveys;

Loose hanging rocks the Day's bless'd eye that hide,

And crosses rear'd to Death on every side,

Which with cold kiss Devotion planted near,

And, bending, water'd with the human tear,

Soon finding 'silent' from her upward eye,

Unmove'd with each rude form of Danger nigh,

Fix'd on the anchor left by him who saves

Alike in whelming snows and roaring waves.

On as we move, a softer prospect opes,

Calm huts and lawns between, and sylvan slopes.

While mists, suspended on th'expriing gale,

Moveless o'er-hang the deep secluded vale,

The beams of evening, slipping soft between,

Light up of tranquil joy a sober scene,

Winding its dark-green wood and emerald glade,

The still vale lengthens underneath the shade;

while in soft gloom the scattering bowers recede,

Green dewy lights adorn the freshen'd mead,

Where solitary forms illumin'd stray

Turning with quiet touch the valley's hay,

On the low brown wood huts delighted sleep

Along the brighten'd gloom reposing deep.

while pastoral pipes and streams the landscape lull,

And bells of passing mules that tinkle dull,

In solemn shapes before th'admiring eye

Dilated hang the misty pines on high,

Huge convent domes with pinnacles and tow'rs,

281.

And antique castles seen thro' drzzling show'rs.

From such romantic dreams my soul awake,

Lo! Fear looks silent down on Uri's lake

By whose unpathway'd margin still and dread

Was never heard the plodding peasant's tread.

Tower like a wall the naked rocks reach

Far o'er the secret water dark with beach

More high, to where creation seems to end,

Shade above shade the desert pines ascend,

And still, below, where mid the savage scene

Peeps out a little speck of smiling green,

There with his infants man undaunted creeps

And hangs his small wood hut upon the steeps,

A garden plot the desert air perfumes

'Mid the dark pines a little orchard blooms,

A zig-zag path from the domestic skiff

Threading the painful cragg surmounts the cliff.

Before those hermit doors that never know

The face of traveller passing to and fro,

No peasant leans upon his pole to tell

For whom at morning toll'd the funeral bell,

Their watchdog ne'er his angry bark forgoes,

Touch'd by the beggar's moan of human woes,

The grassy seat beneath their casement shade

The pilgrim's wistful eye hath never stay'd.

There did the iron Genius not disdain

The gentle power that haunts the myrtle plain,

There might the love-sick maiden sit, and chide,

Th'insuperable rocks and severing tide,

There watch at eve her lover's sun-gilt sail

Approaching, and upbraid the tardy gale,

There list at midnight till is heard no more,

Below, the echo of his parting oar,

There hand in fear, when growls the frozen stream,

To guide his dangerous tread the taper's gleam.

'Mid stormy vapours ever driving by

Where ospreys, cormorants, and herons cry,

Where hardly giv'n the hopeless waste to chear

Deny'd the bread of life the foodful ear,

Dwindles the pear on autumn's latest spray,

And apple sickens pale in summer's ray,

Ev'n here Consent has fix'd her smiling reign

With Independence, child of high Disdain.

324.

Exalting mid the winter of the skies,

Shy as the jealous chamois, Freedom flies,

And often grasps her sword, and often eyes,

Her crest a bough of Winter's bleakest pine,

Strange 'weeds' and alpine plants her helm entwine,

And wildly-pausing oft she hangs aghast,

While thrills the 'Spartan fife' between the blast.

'Tis storm; and hid in mist from hour to hour

All day the floods a deeper murmur pour,

And mournful sounds, as of a Spririt lost,

Pipe wild along the hollow-blustering coast,

'Till the Sun walking on his western field

Shakes from behind the clouds his flashing shield.

Triumphant on the bosom of the storm,

Glances the fire-clad eagle's wheeling form;

Eastward, in long perspective glittering, shine,

The wood-crown'd cliffs that o'er the lake recline;

Wide o'er the Alps a hundred streams unfold.

At once to pillars turned that flame with gold;

Behind his sail the peasant strives to shun

The west that burns like one dilated sun,

Where in a mighty crucible expiere

The mountains, glowing, hot, like coals of fire.

But, lo! the boatman, over-aw'd, before

The pictur'd fane of Tell suspends his oar;

Confused the Marathonian tale appears,

While burn in his full eyes the glorious tears.

And who but feels a power of strong controul,

Felt only there, oppress his labouring soul,

Who walks where honour'd men of ancient days

Have wrought with godlike arm the deeds of praise.

355.

Say, who, by thinking on Canadian hills,

Or Zutphen's plain; or where with soften'd gaze

The old grey stones the plaided chief surveys,

Can guess the high resolve, the cherish'd pain

Of him whom passion rivets to the plain,

Where breath'd the gale that caught Wolfe's happiest sigh,

And the last sun-beam fell on Bayard's eye,

Where bleeding Sydney from the cup retir'd,

And glad Dundee in 'faint huzza's' expir'd.

365

The Chamois Hunter

303

But now with other mind I stand alone,

Upon the summit of this naked cone,

And watch the fearless chamois-hunter chase

His prey, through tracts abrupt of desolate space,

Through vacant worlds where Nature never gave

A brook to murmur or a bough to wave,

Which unsubstantial Phantoms sacred keep;

Thro' worlds where Life, and Voice, and Motion sleep;

Where silent Hours their death-like sway extend,

Save when the avalanche breaks loose, to rend

Its way with uproar, till the ruin, drowned

In some dense wood or gulf of snow profound,

Mocks the dull ear of Time with deaf abortive sound.

- 'Tis his, while wandering on from height to height,

To see a planet's pomp and steady light

In the least star of scarce-appearing night;

While the pale moon moves near him, on the bound

Of ether, shining with diminished round,

And far and wide the icy summits blaze,

Rejoicing in the glory of her rays;

To him the day-star glitters small and bright,

Shorn of its beams, insufferably white,

And he can look beyond the sun, and view

Those fast-receding depths of sable blue

Flying till vision can no more pursue!

- At once bewildering mists around him close,

And cold and hunger are his least of woes;

The Demon of the snow, with angry roar

Descending, shuts for aye his prison door.

Soon with despair's whole weight his spirits sink;

Bread has he none, the snow must be his drink;

And, ere his eyes can close upon the day,

The eagle of the Alps o'ershades her prey. 1.

336.

The Chamois Hunter

His silent world

366.

But now with other soul I stand alone,

Sublime on this far-surveying cone,

And watch from pike to pike amid the sky,

Small as a bird the chamois-chaser fly.

'Tis his with fearless step at large to roam,

Thro' wastes, of Spririts wing'd the solemn home.,

Thro' vacant worlds where nature never gave

A brook to murmur or a bough to wave,

Which unsubstantial Phantoms sacred keep;

Thro' worlds where Life and Sound, and Motion sleep.

Where Silence still her death-like reign extends

Save when the startling cliff unfrequent rends

In the deep snow the mighty ruin drown'd,

Mocks the dull ear of Time with deaf abortive sound;

380

_To mark the planet's pomp and steady light

In the least star of scarce-appearing night

And neighbouring moon, that coasts the vast profound,

Wheel pale and silent her diminish'd round,

While far and wide the icy summits blaze,

Rejoicing in the glory of her rays;

The star of noon that glitters small and bright,

Shorn of his beams, insufferably white,

And flying fleet behind his orb to view

Th'interminable sea of sable blue.

390.

_Of cloudless suns no more ye frostbuilt spires

Refract in rainbow hues the restless fires!

Ye dewy mists the arid rocks o'er-spread

Whose slippery face derides his deathful tread!

_To wet the peak's impracticable sides

He opens of his feet the sanguine tides,

Weak and more weak the issuing current eyes

Lapp'd by the panting tongue of thirsty skies.

_At once bewildering mists around him close,

And cold and hunger are his least of woes;

The Demon of the snow with angry roar

Descending, shuts for aye his prison door.

Craz'd by the strength of hope at morn he eyes

As sent from heav'n the raven of the skies,

The with despair's whole weight his spirits sink,

No bread to feed him, and the snow his drink,

While ere his eyes can close upon the day,

The eagle of the Alps o'ershades his prey.

408.

_Meanwhile, his wife and child with cruel hope

All night the door at every moment ope:

Haply that child in fearful doubt may gaze,

Passing his father's bones in future days,

Start at the reliques of that very thigh

On which so oft he prattled when a boy.

414.

Unterwalden

The Pastoral Swiss

336

Now couch thyself where, heard with fear afar,

Thunders through echoing pines the headlong Aar;

Or, rather stay to taste the mild delights

Of pensive Unterwalden's pastoral heights.

- Is there who 'mid these awful wilds has seen

The native Genii walk the mountain green?

Or heard, while other worlds their charms reveal,

Soft music o'er the aërial summit steal?

While o'er the desert, answering every close,

Rich steam of sweetest perfume comes and goes.

- And sure there is a secret Power that reigns

Here, where no trace of man the spot profanes,

Nought but the chalets, flat and bare, on high

Suspended 'mid the quiet of the sky;

Or distant herds that pasturing upward creep,

And, not untended, climb the dangerous steep.

How still! no irreligious sound or sight

Rouses the soul from her severe delight.

An idle voice the sabbath region fills

Of Deep that calls to Deep across the hills,

And with that voice accords the soothing sound

Of drowsy bells, for ever tinkling round;

Faint wail of eagle melting into blue

Beneath the cliffs, and pine-woods' steady sugh;

The solitary heifer's deepened low;

Or rumbling, heard remote, of falling snow.

All motions, sounds, and voices, far and nigh,

Blend in a music of tranquillity;

Save when, a stranger seen below, the boy

Shouts from the echoing hills with savage joy. 2.

366.

When, from the sunny breast of open seas,

And bays with myrtle fringed, the southern breeze

Comes on to gladden April with the sight

Of green isles widening on each snow-clad height;

When shouts and lowing herds the valley fill,

And louder torrents stun the noon-tide hill,

The pastoral Swiss begin the cliffs to scale,

Leaving to silence the deserted vale;

And like the Patriarchs in their simple age

Move, as the verdure leads, from stage to stage;

High and more high in summer's heat they go,

And hear the rattling thunder far below;

Or steal beneath the mountains, half-deterred,

Where huge rocks tremble to the bellowing herd.

380.

One I behold who, 'cross the foaming flood,

Leaps with a bound of graceful hardihood;

Another high on that green ledge; - he gained

The tempting spot with every sinew strained;

And downward thence a knot of grass he throws,

Food for his beasts in time of winter snows.

- Far different life from what Tradition hoar

Transmits of happier lot in times of yore!

Then Summer lingered long, and honey flowed

From out the rocks, the wild bees' safe abode;

Continual waters welling cheered the waste,

And plants were wholesome, now of deadly taste:

Nor Winter yet his frozen stores had piled,

Usurping where the fairest herbage smiled:

Nor Hunger driven the herds from pastures bare,

To climb the treacherous cliffs for scanty fare.

Then the milk-thistle flourished through the land,

And forced the full-swoln udder to demand,

Thrice every day, the pail and welcome hand.

Thus does the father to his children tell

Of banished bliss, by fancy loved too well.

Alas that human guilt provoked the rod

Of angry Nature to avenge her God.

Still, Nature, ever just, to him imparts

Joys only given to uncorrupted hearts. 3.

405.

'Tis morn: with gold the verdant mountain glows;

More high, the snowy peaks with hues of rose.

Far-stretched beneath the many-tinted hills,

A mighty waste of mist the valley fills,

A solemn sea! whose billows wide around

Stand motionless, to awful silence bound:

Pines, on the coast, through mist their tops uprear,

That like to leaning masts of stranded ships appear.

A single chasm, a gulf of gloomy blue,

Gapes in the centre of the sea - and through

That dark mysterious gulf ascending, sound

Innumerable streams with roar profound.

Mount through the nearer vapours notes of birds,

And merry flageolet; the low of herds,

The bark of dogs, the heifer's tinkling bell,

Talk, laughter, and perchance a church-tower knell:

Think not, the peasant from aloft has gazed

And heard with heart unmoved, with soul unraised:

Nor is his spirit less enrapt, nor less

Alive to independent happiness,

Then, when he lies, out-stretched, at even-tide

Upon the fragrant mountain's purple side:

For as the pleasures of his simple day

Beyond his native valley seldom stray,

Nought round its darling precincts can he find

But brings some past enjoyment to his mind;

While Hope, reclining upon Pleasure's urn,

Binds her wild wreaths, and whispers his return. 4.

432.

Unterwalden

The pastoral Swiss

424.

Hence shall we turn where, heard with fear afar,

Thunders thro' echoing pines the head-long Aar?

Or rather stay to taste the mild delights

Of pensive Underwalden's pastoral heights?

_Is there who mid these awful wilds has seen

The native Genii walk the mountain green?

Or heard, while other worlds their charms reveal,

Soft music from th'aërial summit steal?

While o'er the desert, answering every close,

Rich steam of sweetest perfume comes and goes.

_And sure there is a secret power that reigns

Here, where no trace of man the spot profanes,

Nought but the herds that pasturing upward creep,

Hung dim-discover'd from the dangerous steep,

Or summer hamlet, flat and bare, on high

Suspended, mid the quiet of the sky.

How still! No irreligious sound or sight

Rouzes the soul from her severe delight.

An idle voice the sabbath region fills

Of Deep that calls to Deep across the hills

Broke only by the melancholy sound

Of drowsy bells for ever tinkling round;

Faint wail of eagle melting into blue

Beneath the cliffs and pine woods steady sugh;

The solitary heifer's deepen'd low;

Or rumbling heard remote of falling snow.

Save that the stranger seen below, the boy

Shouts from the echoing hills with savage joy.

441.

When warm from myrtle bays and tranquil seas,

Comes on, to whisper hope, the vernal breeze,

When hums the mountain bee in May's glad ear,

And emerald isles to spot the heights appear,

When shouts and lowing herds the valley fill,

And louder torrents stun the noon-tide hill,

When fragrant scents beneath th'enchanted tread

Spring up, his little all around him spread,

The pastoral Swiss begins the cliffs to scale

To silence leaving the deserted vale,

Up the green mountain tracking Summer's feet,

Each twilight earlier call'd the Sun to meet,

With earlier smile the ray of morn to view

Fall on his shifting hut that gleams mid smoking dew;

Bless'd with his herds, as in the patriarch's age,

The summer long to feed from stage to stage;

O'er azure pikes serene and still they go,

And hear the rattling thunder far below;

Or lost at eve in sudden mist the day

Attend, or dare with minute-steps their way;

Hang from the rocks that tremble o'er the steep,

And tempt the icy valley yawning deep,

O'er walk the chasmy torrent's foam-lit bed,

Rock'd on the dizzy larch's narrow tread,

Whence Danger leans, and pointing ghastly, joys

To mock the mind with "desperation's toys",

Or steal beneath loose mountains, half deterr'd,

That sigh and shudder to the lowing herd.

470.

_I see him, up the midway cliff he creeps

To where a scanty knot of verdure peeps,

Thence down the steep a pile of grass he throws

The fodder of his herds in winter snows.

Far different life to what tradition hoar

Transmits of days more bless'd in times of yore.

Then Summer length"n'd out his season bland,

And with rock-honey flow'd the happy land.

Continual fountains welling chear'd the waste,

And plants were wholesome, now of deadly taste.

Nor Winter yet his frozen strores had pil'd

Usurping where the fairest herbage smil'd;

Nor Hunger forc'd the herds from pastures bare

For scanty food the treacherous cliffs to dare.

Then the milk-thistle bade those herds demand

Three times a day the pail and welcome hand.

But human vices have provok'd the rod

Of angry Nature to avenge her God.

Thus does the father to his sons relate,

On the lone mountain top, their chang'd estate.

Still, Nature, ever just, to him imparts

Joys only given to uncorrupted hearts.

491.

_'Tis morn: with gold the verdant mountain glows,

More high, the snowy peaks with hues of rose.

Far stretch'd beneath the many tinted hills

A mighty waste of mist the valley fills,

A solemn sea! whose vales and mountains round

Stand motionless; to awful silence bound.

A gulf of gloomy blue, that opens wide

And bottomless, divides the midway tide.

Like leading masts of stranded ships appear

The pines that near the coast their summits rear;

Of cabins, woods, and lawns a pleasant shore

Bounds calm and clear the chaos still and hoar;

Loud thro' that midway gulf ascending, sound

Unnumber'd streams with hollow roar profound.

Mounts thro' the nearer mist the chaunt of birds,

And talking voices, and the low of herds,

The bark of dogs, the cows tinkling bell,

And wild-wood mountain lutes of saddest swell.

Think not, suspended from the cliff on high

He looks below with undelighted eye.

512.

_No vulgar joy is his, at even tide

Strech'd on the scented mountain's purple side.

For as the pleasures of his simple day

Beyond his native valley hardly stray;

Nought round its darling precincts can he find

But brings some past enjoyment to his mind,

While Hope that ceaseless leans on Pleasure's urn

Binds her wild wreathes, and whispers his return.

529

Nature's child

The pursuit of freedom

433

Once, Man entirely free, alone and wild,

Was blest as free - for he was Nature's child.

He, all superior but his God disdained,

Walked none restraining, and by none restrained:

Confessed no law but what his reason taught,

Did all he wished, and wished for what he ought.

As man in his primeval dower arrayed

The image of his glorious Sire displayed,

Even so, by faithful Nature guarded, here

The traces of primeval Man appear;

The simple dignity no forms debase;

The eye sublime, and surly lion-grace:

The slave of none, of beasts alone the lord,

His book he prizes, nor neglects his sword;

- Well taught by that to feel his rights, prepared

With this 'the blessings he enjoys to guard.'

459

And, as his native hills encircle ground

For many a marvellous victory renowned,

The work of Freedom daring to oppose,

With few in arms, innumerable foes,

When to those famous fields his steps are led,

An unknown power connects him with the dead:

For images of other worlds are there;

Awful the light, and holy is the air.

Fitfully, and in flashes, through his soul,

Like sun-lit tempests, troubled transports roll;

His bosom heaves, his Spirit towers amain,

Beyond the senses and their little reign.

460

And oft, when that dread vision hath past by,

He holds with God himself communion high,

There where the peal of swelling torrents fills

The sky-roofed temple of the eternal hills;

Or, when upon the mountain's silent brow

Reclined, he sees, above him and below,

Bright stars of ice and azure fields of snow;

While needle peaks of granite shooting bare

Tremble in ever-varying tints of air.

And when a gathering weight of shadows brown

Falls on the valleys as the sun goes down;

And Pikes, of darkness named and fear and storms,

Uplift in quiet their illumined forms,

In sea-like reach of prospect round him spread,

Tinged like an angel's smile all rosy red -

Awe in his breast with holiest love unites,

And the near heavens impart their own delights.

478

When downward to his winter hut he goes

Dear and more dear the lessening circle grows;

That hut which on the hills so oft employs

His thoughts, the central point of all his joys.

And as a swallow, at the hour of rest,

Peeps often ere she darts into her nest,

So to the homestead, where the grandsire tends

A little prattling child, he oft descends,

To glance a look upon the well-matched pair;

Till storm and driving ice blockade him there.

There, safely guarded by the woods behind,

He hears the chiding of the baffled wind,

Hears Winter calling all his terrors round,

And, blest within himself, he shrinks not from the sound.

492

Through Nature's vale his homely pleasures glide,

Unstained by envy, discontent, and pride;

The bound of all his vanity, to deck,

With one bright bell, a favourite heifer's neck;

Well pleased upon some simple annual feast,

Remembered half the year and hoped the rest,

If dairy-produce, from his inner hoard,

Of thrice ten summers dignify the board.

499.

- Alas! in every clime a flying ray

Is all we have to cheer our wintry way;

And here the unwilling mind may more than trace

The general sorrows of the human race:

The churlish gales of penury, that blow

Cold as the north-wind o'er a waste of snow,

To them the gentle groups of bliss deny

That on the noon-day bank of leisure lie.

Yet more; - compelled by Powers which only deign

That solitary man disturb their reign,

Powers that support an unremitting strife

With all the tender charities of life,

Full oft the father, when his sons have grown

To manhood, seems their title to disown;

And from his nest amid the storms of heaven

Drives, eagle-like, those sons as he was driven;

With stern composure watches to the plain -

And never, eagle-like, beholds again!

517

When long familiar joys are all resigned,

Why does their sad remembrance haunt the mind?

Lo where through flat Batavia's willowy groves,

Or by the lazy Seine, the exile roves;

O'er the curled waters Alpine measures swell,

And search the affections to their inmost cell;

Sweet poison spreads along the listener's veins,

Turning past pleasures into mortal pains;

Poison, which not a frame of steel can brave,

Bows his young head with sorrow to the grave.

Nature's child

The pursuit of Freedom

529

Once Man entirely free, alone and wild,

Was bless'd as free - for he was Nature's child.

He all superior but his God disdain'd,

Walk'd none restraining, and by none restrain'd,

Confess'd no law but what his reason taught,

Did all he wish'd but what he ought.

As Man in his premaeval dower array'd

The image of his glorious sire display'd,

Ev'n so, by vestal Nature guarded, here

The traces of primaeval Man appear.

The native dignity no forms debase,

The eye sublime, and surly lion-grace.

The slave of none, of beasts alone the lord,

He marches with his flute, his book, and sword,

Well taught by that to feel his rights, prepar'd

With this "blessings he enjoys to guard."

536.

And as on glorious ground he draws his breath,

Where Freedom oft, with Victory and Death,

Hath seen in grim array amid their Storms

Mix'd with auxiliar Rocks, three hundred Forms,

While twice ten thousand corselets at the view

Dropp'd loud at once, Oppression shriek'd, and flew.

Oft as those sainted Rocks before him spread,

An unknown power connects him with the dead.

For images of other worlds are there,

Awful the light, and holy is the air.

Uncertain thro' his fierce uncultur'd soul

Like lighted tempests troubled transports roll;

To viewless realms his Spirit towers amain,

Beyond the senses and their little reign.

549.

And oft, when pass'd that solemn vision by,

He holds with God himself communion high,

When the dread peal of swelling torrents fills

The sky-roof'd temple of th'eternal hills,

And savage nature humbly joins the rite,

While flash her upward eyes severe delight.

Or gazing from the mountain's silent brow

Bright stars of ice and azure worlds of snow,

Where needle peaks of granite shooting bare

Tremble in ever-varying tints of air,

Great joy by horror tam'd dilates his heart,

And the near heav'ns their own delights impart.

562.

_When the Sun bids the gorgeous scene farewell,

Alps overlooking Alps their state upswell;

Huge Pikes of darkness nam'd, of Fear and Storms

Lift, all serene, their still, illumin'd forms,

In sea-like reach of prospect round him spread,

Ting'd like an angel's smile all rosy red.

568.

When downward to his winter hut he goes,

Dear and more dear the lessening circle grows,

That hut which from the hills his eyes employs

So oft, the central point of all his joys.

And as a swift by tender care oppress'd

Peeps often ere she dart into her nest,

So to th'untrodden floor, where round him looks

His father helpless as the babe he rocks,

Oft he descends to nurse the brother pair,

Till storm and driving ice blockade him there;

There hears, protected by the woods behind,

Secure, the chiding of the baffled wind,

Hears Winter, calling all his Terrors round,

Rush down the living rocks with whirlwind sound.

Thro' Nature's vale his homely pleasures glide

Unstaine'd by envy, discontent, and pride,

The bound of all his vanity to deck

With one bright bell a favourite heifer's neck;

Content upon some simple annual feast,

Remember'd half the year, and hop'd the rest,

If dairy produce, from his inner hoard,

Of thrice ten summer consecrate the board.

590.

_Alas! in every clime a flying ray

Is all we have to chear our wintry way,

Condemn'd, in mists and tempests ever rife,

To pant slow up the endless Alp of life.

"Here," cried a swain, whose venerable head

Bloom'd with the snow-drops of the Man's narrow bed,

"Last night, while by his dying fire, as clos'd

"The day, in luxury my limbs repos'd,

"Here Penury oft from misery's mount will guide

"Ev'n to the summer door his icy tide,

""And here the avalanche of Death destroy

"The little cottage of domestic Joy.

"But, ah! th'unwilling mind may more than trace

"The general sorrows of the human race:

"The churlish gales, that unremitting blow

"Cold from necessity's continual snow,

"To us the gentle groups of bliss deny

"That on the noon-day bank of leisure lie.

"Yet more; the tyrant Genius, still at strife

"With all the tender Charities of life,

"When close and closer they begin to strain,

"No fond hand left to staunch th'unclosing vein,

"Tearing their bleeding ties leaves Age to groan

"On his wet bed, abandon'd and alone.

"For ever, fast as they of strength become

"To pay the filial debt, for food to roam,

The father, forc'd by Powers that only deign

"That solitary Man disturb their reign

"From his bare nest amid the storms of heaven

"Drives, eagle-like, his sons as he was driven,

"His last dread pleasure! watches to the plain _

"And never, eagle-like, beholds again."

621.

When the poor heart has all the joys resign'd,

Why does their sad remembrance cleave behind?

Lo! by the lazy Seine the exile roves,

Or where thick sails illume Batavia's groves;

Soft o'er the waters mournful measures swell,

Unlocking bleeding Thought's "memorial cell",

At once upon his heart Despair has set

Her seal, the mortal tear his cheek has wet;

Strong poison not a form of steel can brave

Bows his young hairs with sorrow to the grave.

631.

Einsiedlen

527

Gay lark of hope thy song resume!

Ye flattering eastern lights, once more the hills illume!

Fresh gales and dews of life's delicious morn,

And thou, lost fragrance of the heart, return!

Alas! the little joy to man allowed,

Fades like the lustre of an evening cloud;

Or like the beauty in a flower installed,

Whose season was, and cannot be recalled.

Yet, when opprest by sickness, grief, or care,

And taught that pain is pleasure's natural heir,

We still confide in more than we can know;

Death would be else the favourite friend of woe.

539

'Mid savage rocks, and seas of snow that shine,

Between interminable tracts of pine,

Within a temple stands an awful shrine,

By an uncertain light revealed, that falls

On the mute Image and the troubled walls.

Oh! give not me that eye of hard disdain

That views, undimmed, Ensiedlen's wretched fane.

While ghastly faces through the gloom appear,

Abortive joy, and hope that works in fear;

While prayer contends with silenced agony,

Surely in other thoughts contempt may die.

If the sad grave of human ignorance bear

One flower of hope - oh, pass and leave it there!

552

The tall sun, pausing on an Alpine spire,

Flings o'er the wilderness a stream of fire:

Now meet we other pilgrims ere the day

Close on the remnant of their weary way;

While they are drawing toward the sacred floor

Where, so they fondly think, the worm shall gnaw no more.

How gaily murmur and how sweetly taste

The fountains reared for them amid the waste!

Their thirst they slake;- they wash their toil-worn feet,

And some with tears of joy each other greet.

Yes, I must see you when ye first behold

Those holy turrets tipped with evening gold,

In that glad moment will for you a sigh

Be heaved, of charitable sympathy;

In that glad moment when your hands are prest

In mute devotion on the thankful breast!

Einsiedlen

632.

Gay lark of hope thy silent song resume!

Fair smiling lights the purpled hills illume!

Soft gales and dews of life's delicious morn,

And thou, lost fragrance of the heart return!

Soon flies the little joy to man allow'd,

And tears before him travel like a cloud.

For come Diseases on, and Penury's rage,

Labour, and Pain, and Grief, and joyless Age,

And Conscience dogging close his bleeding way

Cries out, and leads her Spectres to their prey,

'Till Hope-deserted, long in vain his breath

Implores the dreadful untried sleep of Death.

644.

_Mid savage rocks and seas of snow that shine

Between interminable tracts of pine,

Round a lone fane the human Genii mourn,

Where fierce the rays of woe collected burn.

_From viewless lamps a ghastly dimness falls,

And ebbs uncertain on the troubled walls,

Dim dreadful faces thro' the gloom appear,

Abortive Joy, and Hope that works in fear,

While strives a secret Power to hush the crowd,

Pain's wild rebellious burst proclaims her rights aloud.

653.

Oh give me not that eye of hard disdain

That views undimm'd Einsiedlen's wretched fane.

Mid muttering prayers all sounds of torment meet,

Dire clap of hands, distracted chafe of feet,

While loud and dull ascends the weeping cry,

Surely in other thoughts contempt may die.

If the sad grave of human ignorance bear

One flower of hope - Oh pass and leave it there.

662.

_The tall Sun, tiptoe on an Alpine spire,

Flings o'er the desert blood-red streams of fire.

At such an hour there are who love to stray,

And meet the gladdening pilgrims on their way.

666.

_Now with joy's tearful kiss each other greet,

Nor longer naked be your way-worn feet,

For ye have reach'd at last that happy shore,

Where the charm'd worm of pain shall gnaw no more.

How gayly murmur and how sweetly taste

The fountains rear'd for you amid the waste!

Yes I will see you when ye first behold

Those turrets tipp'd by hope with morning gold,

And watch, while on your brows the cross ye make,

Round your pale eyes a wintry lustre wake.

_Without one hope her written griefs to blot,

Save in the land where all things are forgot,

My heart, alive to transports long unknown,

Half wishes your delusion were its own.

679.

568

Last, let us turn to Chamouny that shields

With rocks and gloomy woods her fertile fields:

Five streams of ice amid her cots descend,

And with wild flowers and blooming orchards blend; -

A scene more fair than what the Grecian feigns

Of purple lights and ever-vernal plains;

Here all the seasons revel hand in hand:

'Mid lawns and shades by breezy rivulets fanned

They sport beneath that mountain's matchless height

That holds no commerce with the summer night.

From age to age, throughout his lonely bounds

The crash of ruin fitfully resounds;

Appalling havoc! but serene his brow,

Where daylight lingers on perpetual snow;

Glitter the stars, and all is black below.

What marvel then if many a Wanderer sigh,

While roars the sullen Arve in anger by,

That not for thy reward, unrivall'd Vale!

Waves the ripe harvest in the autumnal gale;

That thou, the slave of slaves, art doomed to pine

And droop, while no Italian arts are thine,

To soothe or cheer, to soften or refine.

590

Hail Freedom! whether it was mine to stray,

With shrill winds whistling round my lonely way,

On the bleak sides of Cumbria's heath-clad moors,

Or where dark sea-weed lashes Scotland's shores:

To scent the sweets of Piedmont's breathing rose,

And orange gale that o'er Lugano blows;

Still have I found, where Tyranny prevails,

That virtue languishes and pleasure fails,

While the remotest hamlets blessings share

In thy loved presence known, and only there;

Heart-blessings - outward treasures too which the eye

Of the sun peeping through the clouds can spy,

And every passing breeze will testify.

There, to the porch, belike with jasmine bound

Or woodbine wreaths, a smoother path is wound;

The housewife there a brighter garden sees,

Where hum on busier wings her happy bees;

On infant cheeks there fresher roses blow;

And grey-haired men look up with livelier brow, -

To greet the traveller needing food and rest,

Housed for the night, or but a half-hour's guest.

611

And oh, fair France! though now the traveller sees

Thy three-striped banner fluctuate on the breeze;

Though martial songs have banished songs of love,

And nightingales desert the village grove,

Scared by the fife and rumbling drum's alarms,

And the short thunder, and the flash of arms;

That cease not till night falls, when far and nigh,

Sole sound, the Sourt prolongs his mournful cry!

- Yet, hast thou found that Freedom spreads her power

Beyond the cottage-hearth, the cottage-door:

All nature smiles, and owns beneath her eyes

Her fields peculiar, and peculiar skies.

Yes, as I roamed where Loiret's waters glide

Through rustling aspens heard from side to side,

When from October clouds a mlder light

Fell where the blue flood rippled into white;

Methought from every cot the watchful bird

Crowed with ear-piercing poser till then unheard;

Each clacking mll, that broke the murmuring streams,

Rocked the charmed thought in more delightful dreams;

Chasing those pleasant dreams, the falling leaf

Awoke a fainter sense of moral grief;

The measured echo of the distant flail

Wound in more welcome cadence down the vale;

With more majestic course the water rolled,

And ripening foliage shone with richer gold.

- But foes are gathering - Liberty must raise

Red on the hills her beacon's far-seen blaze;

Must bid the tocsin ring from tower to tower!-

Nearer and nearer comes the trying hour!

Rejoice, brave Land, though pride's perverted ire

Rouse hell's own aid, and wrap thy fields in fire:

Lo, from the flames a great and glorious birth;

As if a new-made heaven were hailing a new earth!

- All cannot be: the promise is too fair

For creatures doomed to breathe terrestrial air:

Yet not for this will sober reason frown

Upon that promise, not the hope disown;

She knows that only from high aims ensue

Rich guerdons, and to them alone are due.

651

Great God! by whom the strifes of men are weighed

In an impartial balance, give thine aid

To the just cause; and, oh! do thou preside

Over the mighty stream now spreading wide:

So shall its waters, from the heavens supplied

In copious showers, from earth by wholesome springs,

Brood o'er the long-parched lands with Nile-like springs,

And grant that every sceptred child of clay

Who cries presumptuous, 'Here the flood shall stay,'

May in its progress see thy guidling hand,

And cease the acknowledged prupose to withstand;

Or, swept in anger from the insulted shore,

Sink with his servile bands, to rise no more!

664

To-night, my Friend, within this humble cot

Be scorn and fear and hope alike forgot

In timely sleep, and when, at break of day,

On the tall peaks the glistening sunbeams play,

With a light heart our course we may renew,

The first whose footsteps print the mountain dew.

670

680.

Last let us turn to where Chamouny shields,

Bosom'd in gloomy woods, her golden fields,

Five streams of ice amid her cots descend,

And with wild flowers and blooming orchards blend,

A scene more fair than what the Grecian feigns

Of purple lights and ever vernal plains.

Here lawns and shades by breezy rivulets fann'd,

Here all the Seasons revel hand in hand.

687.

_Red stream the cottage lights; the landscape fades,

Erroneous wavering mid the twilight shades.

Alone ascends that mountain nam'd of white,

That dallies with the Sun the summer night.

Six thousand years amid his lonely bounds

The voice of Ruin, day and night, resounds.

Where Horror-led his sea of ice assails,

Havoc and Chaos blast a thousand vales,

In waves, like two enormous serpents, wind

And drag their length of deluge train behind.

Between the pine's enormous boughs descry'd

Serene the towers, in deepest purple dy'd;

Glad day-light laughs upon his top of snow,

Glitter the stars above, and all is black below.

702.

At such an hour I heav'd the human sigh,

When roar'd the sullen Arve in anger by,

That not for thee, delicious vale! unfold

Thy reddening orchards, and thy fields of gold;

That thou, the slave of slaves, art doom'd to pine,

While no Italian arts their charms combine

To teach the skirt of thy dark cloud to shine;

For thy poor babes that, hurrying from the door,

With pale-blue hands, and eyes that fix'd implore,

Dead muttering lips, and hair of hungry white,

Besiege the traveller whom they half affright.

723.

_Yes, were it mine, the cottage meal to share

Forc'd from my native mountains bleak and bare;

O'er Anet's hopeless seas of marsh to stray,

Her shrill winds roaring round my lonely way;

To scent the sweets of Piedmont's breathing rose,

And orange gale that o'er Lugano blows;

In wide range of many a weary round,

Still have my pilgrim feet unfailing found,

As despot courts their blaze of gems display,

Ev'n by the secret cottage far away

The lilly of domestic joy decay;

While Freedom's farthest hamlets blessings share,

Found still beneath her smile, and only there.

The casement shade more luscious woodbine binds,

And to the door a neater pathway winds,

At early morn the careful housewife, led

To cull her dinner from it's garden bed,

Of weedless herbs a healtheir prospect sees,

While hum with busier joy her happy bees;

In brighter rows her table wealth aspires,

And laugh with merrier blaze her evening fires;

Her infant's cheeks with fresher roses glow,

And wilder graces sport around their brow;

By clearer taper lit a cleanlier board

Receives at supper hour her tempting hoard;

The chamber hearth with fresher boughs is spread,

And whiter is the hospitable bed.

740.

_And thou! fair favoured region! which my soul

Shall love, 'till Life has broke her golden bowl,

Till Death's cold touch her cistern-wheel assail,

And vain regret and vain desire shall fail;

Tho' now, where erst the grey-clad peasant stray'd,

To break the quiet of the village shade

Gleam war's discordant habits thro' the trees,

And the red banner mock the sullen breeze;

Tho' now no more thy maids their voices suit

To the low-warbled breath of twilight lute,

And heard, the pausing village hum between,

No solemn songstress lull the fading green,

Scared by the fife, and rumbling drum's alarms,

And the short thunder, and the flash of arms;

While, as Night bids the startling uproar die,

Sole sound, the sourd renews his mournful cry:

756.

_Yet, hast thou found that Freedom spreads her pow'r

Beyond the cottage hearth, the cottage door:

All nature smiles; and owns beneath her eyes

Her fields peculiar, and peculiar skies.

Yes, as I roam'd where Loiret's waters glide

Thro' rustling aspins heard from side to side,

When from october clouds a milder light

Fell, where the blue flood rippled into white,

Methought from every cot the watchful bird

Crowed with ear-piercing power 'till then unheard;

Each clacking mill, that broke the murmuring streams,

Rock'd the charm'd thought in more delightful dreams;

Chasing those long long dreams the falling leaf

Awoke a fainter pang of moral grief;

The measured echo of the distant flail

Winded in sweeter cadence down the vale;

A more majestic tide the water roll'd,

And glowed the sun-gilt groves in richer gold.

774.

_Tho' Liberty shall soon, indignant, raise

Red on his hills his beacon's comet blaze;

Bid from on high his lonely cannon sound,

And on ten thousand hearths his shout rebound;

His larum-bell from village-tow'r to tow'r

Swing on th'astounded ear its dull undying roar:

Yet, yet rejoice, tho' Pride's perverted ire

Rouze Hell's own aid, and wrap thy hills in fire.

Lo! from th'innocuous flames, a lovely birth!

With its own Virtues springs another earth:

Nature, as in her prime, her virgin reign

Begins, and Love and Truth compose her train:

With pulseless hand, and fix'd unwearied gaze,

Unbreathing Justice her still beam surveys:

No more, along thy vales and viny groves,

Whole hamlets disappearing as he moves,

With cheeks o'er spread by smiles of baleful glow,

On his pale horse shall fell consumption go.

792.

Oh give, great God, to Freedom's waves to ride

Sublime o'er Conquest, Avarice and Pride,

To break, the vales of Death with Famine scow'rs,

And dark Oppression builds her thick-ribb'd tow'rs;

Where Machination her fell sould resigns,

Fled panting to the centre of her mines;

Where Persecution decks with ghastly smiles

Her bed, his mountains mad Ambition piles;

Where Discord stalks dilating, every hour,

And crouching fearful at the feet of Pow'r,

Like Lightnings eager for th'almighty word,

Look up for sign of havoc, Fire and Sword;

804.

_Give them, beneath their breast while Gladness springs,

To brood the nations o'er with Nile-like wings;

And grant that every sceptered child of clay,

Who cries, presumptuous, "here their tides shall stay,"

Swept in their anger from th'affrighted shore,

With all his creatures sink - to rise no more.

To night, my friend, within this humble cot

Be the dead load of mortal ills forgot,

Renewing, when the rosy summits glow

At morn, our various journey, sad and slow.