Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I

Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought:

And thus from day to day my little boat
Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably.

Blessings be with them-and eternal praise,
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares-
The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays !
Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs,
Then gladly would I end my mortal days.

LXXVI

GLEN-ALMAIN;

OR, THE NARROW GLEN

In this still place, remote from men,
Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN;
In this still place, where murmurs on
But one meek streamlet, only one:
He sang of battles, and the breath
Of stormy war, and violent death;
And should, methinks, when all was past,
Have rightfully been laid at last

Where rocks were rudely heaped, and rent

As by a spirit turbulent;

Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, And everything unreconciled;

In some complaining, dim retreat,

For fear and melancholy meet;

But this is calm; there cannot be
A more entire tranquillity.

Does then the Bard sleep here indeed?
Or is it but a groundless creed ?
What matters it ?—I blame them not
Whose Fancy in this lonely Spot

Was moved; and in such way expressed

Their notion of its perfect rest.
A convent, even a hermit's cell,

Would break the silence of this Dell:

It is not quiet, is not ease;

But something deeper far than these:
The separation that is here
Is of the grave; and of austere
Yet happy feelings of the dead:
And, therefore, was it rightly said
That Ossian, last of all his race!
Lies buried in this lonely place.

LXXVII

MEMORIAL

NEAR THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE OF THUN:

'DEM

ANDENKEN

MEINES FREUNDES

ALOYS REDING

MDCCCXVIII.

Aloys Reding, it will be remembered, was Captain-General of the Swiss forces, which, with a courage and perseverance worthy of the cause, opposed the flagitious and too successful attempt of Buonaparte to subjugate their country.

AROUND a wild and woody hill

A gravelled pathway treading,

We reached a votive Stone that bears

The name of Aloys Reding.

Well judged the Friend who placed it there

For silence and protection;

And haply with a finer care

Of dutiful affection.

The Sun regards it from the West;
And, while in summer glory
He sets, his sinking yields a type
Of that pathetic story:

And oft he tempts the patriot Swiss
Amid the grove to linger ;

Till all is dim, save this bright Stone
Touched by his golden finger.

LXXVIII

INCIDENT AT BRUGÈS

IN Brugès town is many a street
Whence busy life hath fled;
Where, without hurry, noiseless feet
The grass-grown pavement tread.
There heard we, halting in the shade
Flung from a Convent-tower,

A harp that tuneful prelude made
To a voice of thrilling power.

The measure, simple truth to tell,
Was fit for some gay throng;
Though from the same grim turret fell

The shadow and the song.

When silent were both voice and chords,
The strain seemed doubly dear,

Yet sad as sweet,-for English words
Had fallen upon the ear.

It was a breezy hour of eve;

And pinnacle and spire

Quivered and seemed almost to heave,
Clothed with innocuous fire;

But, where we stood, the setting sun
Showed little of his state;

And, if the glory reached the Nun,
'Twas through an iron grate.

Not always is the heart unwise,
Nor pity idly born,

If even a passing Stranger sighs
For them who do not mourn.
Sad is thy doom, self-solaced dove,
Captive, whoe'er thou be!
Oh what is beauty, what is love,
And opening life to thee?

Such feeling pressed upon my soul,
A feeling sanctified

By one soft trickling tear that stole
From the Maiden at my side;
Less tribute could she pay than this,
Borne gaily o'er the sea,

Fresh from the beauty and the bliss
Of English liberty?