In the least star of scarce-appearing | And with that voice accords the soothing night; While the pale moon moves near him, on the bound Of ether, shining with diminished round, To him the day-star glitters small and bright, Shorn of its beams, insufferably white, And cold and hunger are his least of woes; sink; Bread has he none, the snow must be his drink; the And, ere his eyes can close upon day, The eagle of the Alps o'ershades her prey. Now couch thyself where, herad with fear afar, Thunders through echoing pines the headlong 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 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 sound A single chasm, a gulf of gloomy blue, Gapes in the center of the sea-and through That dark mysterious gulf ascending, sound Innumerable streams with roar profound. Mount through the nearer vapors notes of birds, And merry flageolet; the low of herds, The bark of dogs, the heifer's tinkling bell, Talk, laughter, and perchance a churchtower 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 tide Upon the fragrant mountain's purple side: For as the pleasures of his simple day Beyond his native valley seldom stray, He all superior but his God disdained, Walked none restraining, and by none reConfessed no law but what his reason taught. strained: Did all he wished, and wished but what he ought, As man in his primeval dower arrayed With this "the blessings he enjoys to guard." 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; His bosom heaves, his spirit towers amain, 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 SDOW; Through Nature's vale his homely pleas- Unstained by envy, discontent, and pride; Well pleased upon some simple annual feast, Remembered half the year and hoped the rest, If dairy-produce, from his inner hoard, The general sorrows of the human race: As Schreck-Horn, the pike of terror; Wetter-Horn, the pike of storms, &c., &c. 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 plainAnd never, eagle-like, beholds again! 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. 'Mid savage rocks, and seas of snow that 'Mid lawns and shades by breezy rivulets shine, Between interminable tracts of pine, While ghastly faces through the gloom ap fanned, They sport beneath that mountain's matchless height That holds no commerce with the summer night. From age to age, throughout his lonely The crash of ruin fitfully resounds; What marvel then if many a Wanderer While roars the sullen Arve in anger by, That thou, the slave of slaves, are doomed And droop, while no Italian arts are thine, Hail Freedom! whether it was mine to With shrill winds whistling round my loneOn the bleak sides of Cumbria's heath-clad ly way, 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 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, Rocked the charmed thought in more delightful dreams; Chasing those pleasant dreams, the falling leaf Awoke a fainter sense of moral grief; 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 per verted ire Rouse hell's own aid, and wrap thy fields in fire: * An insect so called, which emits a short, melancholy cry, heard at the close of the summer evenings, on the banks of the Loire. 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 Nilelike wings! And grant that every sceptred child of clay Who cries presumptuous, "Here the flood shall stay," May in its progress see thy guiding hand, And cease the acknowledged purpose to withstand; Or, swept in anger from the insulted shore, Sink with his servile bands, to rise no more! Tonight, my Friend, within this humble cot Be scorn and fear and hope alike forgot With a light heart our course we may renew, VII. LINES Left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree, which stands near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part of the shore, commanding a beautiful prospect. NAY, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yewtree stands Far from all human dwelling: what if here No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb? |