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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?

VI.

BETWEEN NAMUR AND LIEGE.

WHAT lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose?
Is this the stream, whose cities, heights, and plains,
War's favourite playground, are with crimson stains
Familiar, as the Morn with pearly dews?
The Morn, that now, along the silver MEUSE,
Spreading her peaceful ensigns, calls the swains
To tend their silent boats and ringing wains,
Or strip the bough whose mellow fruit bestrews
The ripening corn beneath it. As mine eyes
Turn from the fortified and threatening hill,
How sweet the prospect of yon watery glade,
With its grey rocks clustering in pensive shade
That, shaped like old monastic turrets, rise
From the smooth meadow-ground, serene and still!

VII.

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.

Was it to disenchant, and to undo,

That we approached the Seat of Charlemaine?
To sweep from many an old romantic strain
That faith which no devotion may renew!
Why does this puny Church present to view
Her feeble columns? and that scanty chair!
This sword that one of our weak times might wear!
Objects of false pretence, or meanly true!

If from a traveller's fortune I might claim

A palpable memorial of that day,

Then would I seek the Pyrenean Breach
That ROLAND clove with huge two-handed sway,
And to the enormous labour left his name,
Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.

V.

AFTER VISITING THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

A WINGED Goddess--clothed in vesture wrought
Of rainbow colours; One whose port was bold,
Whose overburthened hand could scarcely hold
The glittering crowns and garlands which
brought-

Hovered in air above the far-famed Spot.
She vanished; leaving prospect blank and cold
Of wind-swept corn that wide around us rolled
In dreary billows, wood, and meagre cot,
And monuments that soon must disappear :
Yet a dread local recompence we found;
While glory seemed betrayed, while patriot-zeal
Sank in our hearts, we felt as men should feel
With such vast hoards of hidden carnage near,
And horror breathing from the silent ground!

it

VIII.

IN THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE.

O FOR the help of Angels to complete
This Temple-Angels governed by a plan
Thus far pursued (how gloriously!) by Man,
Studious that He might not disdain the seat
Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat
Hath failed; and now, ye Powers! whose gorgeous
wings

And splendid aspect yon emblazonings
But faintly picture, 'twere an office meet
For you, on these unfinished shafts to try
The midnight virtues of your harmony:—
This vast design might tempt you to repeat
Strains that call forth upon empyreal ground
Immortal Fabrics, rising to the sound
Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!

IX.

IN A CARRIAGE, UPON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE.

AMID this dance of objects sadness steals

O'er the defrauded heart-while sweeping by,
As in a fit of Thespian jollity,

XI.

THE SOURCE OF THE DANUBE.

NOT, like his great Compeers, indignantly
Doth DANUBE spring to life! The wandering
Stream

Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Earth reels: (Who loves the Cross, yet to the Crescent's gleam Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels

The venerable pageantry of Time,

Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime,
And what the Dell unwillingly reveals

Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied
Near the bright River's edge. Yet why repine?
To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze-
Such sweet way-faring-of life's spring the pride,
Her summer's faithful joy-that still is mine,
And in fit measure cheers autumnal days.

Unfolds a willing breast) with infant glee
Slips from his prison walls: and Fancy, free
To follow in his track of silver light,

Mounts on rapt wing, and with a moment's flight
Hath reached the encincture of that gloomy sea
Whose waves the Orphean lyre forbad to meet
In conflict; whose rough winds forgot their jars
To waft the heroic progeny of Greece;

When the first Ship sailed for the Golden Fleece-
ARGO exalted for that daring feat

To fix in heaven her shape distinct with stars.

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XII.

ON APPROACHING THE STAUB-BACH, LAUTERBRUNNEN.
UTTERED by whom, or how inspired-designed
For what strange service, does this concert reach
Our ears, and near the dwellings of mankind!
Mid fields familiarized to human speech ?—
No Mermaids warble-to allay the wind
Driving some vessel toward a dangerous beach-
More thrilling melodies; Witch answering Witch,
To chant a love-spell, never intertwined
Notes shrill and wild with art more musical:
Alas! that from the lips of abject Want

Or Idleness in tatters mendicant

The strain should flow-free Fancy to enthral,
And with regret and useless pity haunt
This bold, this bright, this sky-born, WATERFALL+!

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Is more benignant than the dewy eve—
Beauty, and life, and motions as of joy:
Nor doubt but HE to whom yon Pine-trees nod
Their heads in sign of worship, Nature's God,
These humbler adorations will receive.

XIV.

MEMORIAL,

NEAR THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE OF THUN.

'DEM

ANDENKEN

MEINES FREUNDES

ALOYS REDING
MDCCCXVIII.

Aloys Reding, it will be remembered, was CaptainGeneral 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.

XV.

COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE CATHOLIC CANTONS.

DOOMED as we are our native dust
To wet with many a bitter shower,
It ill befits us to disdain

The altar, to deride the fane,

Where simple Sufferers bend, in trust
To win a happier hour.

I love, where spreads the village lawn,
Upon some knee-worn cell to gaze:
Hail to the firm unmoving cross,
Aloft, where pines their branches toss !
And to the chapel far withdrawn,
That lurks by lonely ways!

Where'er we roam-along the brink
Of Rhine--or by the sweeping Po,
Through Alpine vale, or champain wide,
Whate'er we look on, at our side

Be Charity!-to bid us think,
And feel, if we would know.

XVI.

AFTER-THOUGHT.

OH Life! without thy chequered scene
Of right and wrong, of weal and woe,
Success and failure, could a ground
For magnanimity be found;
For faith, 'mid ruined hopes, serene?
Or whence could virtue flow?

Pain entered through a ghastly breach—–
Nor while sin lasts must effort cease;
Heaven upon earth's an empty boast;
But, for the bowers of Eden lost,
Mercy has placed within our reach
A portion of God's peace.

XVII.

SCENE ON THE LAKE OF BRIENTZ. "WHAT know we of the Blest above But that they sing and that they love?" Yet, if they ever did inspire A mortal hymn, or shaped the choir, Now, where those harvest Damsels float Homeward in their rugged Boat, (While all the ruffling winds are fled— Each slumbering on some mountain's head) Now, surely, hath that gracious aid Been felt, that influence is displayed. Pupils of Heaven, in order stand The rustic Maidens, every hand Upon a Sister's shoulder laid,To chant, as glides the boat along, A simple, but a touching, song; To chant, as Angels do above, The melodies of Peace in love!

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XX.

EFFUSION,

IN PRESENCE OF THE PAINTED TOWER OF TELL,

AT ALTORF.

This Tower stands upon the spot where grew the Linden Tree against which his Son is said to have been placed, when the Father's archery was put to proof under circumstances so famous in Swiss Story.

WHAT though the Italian pencil wrought not here,
Nor such fine skill as did the meed bestow
On Marathonian valour, yet the tear
Springs forth in presence of this gaudy show,
While narrow cares their limits overflow.
Thrice happy, burghers, peasants, warriors old,
Infants in arms, and ye, that as ye go
Home-ward or school-ward, ape what ye behold;
Heroes before your time, in frolic fancy bold !

And when that calm Spectatress from on high Looks down-the bright and solitary Moon, Who never gazes but to beautify;

And snow-fed torrents, which the blaze of noon Roused into fury, murmur a soft tune

That fosters peace, and gentleness recals;

Then might the passing Monk receive a boon
Of saintly pleasure from these pictured walls,
While, on the warlike groups, the mellowing lustre
falls.

How blest the souls who when their trials come
Yield not to terror or despondency,

But face like that sweet Boy their mortal doom,
Whose head the ruddy apple tops, while he
Expectant stands beneath the linden tree :
He quakes not like the timid forest game,
But smiles-the hesitating shaft to free;
Assured that Heaven its justice will proclaim,
And to his Father give its own unerring aim.

XXI.

THE TOWN OF SCHWYTZ.

By antique Fancy trimmed-though lowly, bred
To dignity-in thee, O SCHWYTZ! are seen
The genuine features of the golden mean;
Equality by Prudence governèd,

Or jealous Nature ruling in her stead ;
And, therefore, art thou blest with peace, serene
As that of the sweet fields and meadows green
In unambitious compass round thee spread.
Majestic BERNE, high on her guardian steep,
Holding a central station of command,
Might well be styled this noble body's HEAD;
Thou, lodged 'mid mountainous entrenchments deep,
Its HEART; and ever may the heroic Land
Thy name, O SCHWYTZ, in happy freedom keep*!

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Are moved, for me upon this Mountain named
Of God himself from dread pre-eminence—
Aspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed,
Yield to the Music's touching influence;
And joys of distant home my heart enchain.

XXIII.

FORT FUENTES.

The Ruins of Fort Fuentes form the crest of a rocky eminence that rises from the plain at the head of the lake of Como, commanding views up the Valteline, and toward the town of Chiavenna. The prospect in the latter direction is characterised by melancholy sublimity. We rejoiced at being favoured with a distinct view of those Alpine heights; not, as we had expected from the breaking up of the storm, steeped in celestial glory, yet in communion with clouds floating or stationary-scatterings from heaven. The Ruin is interesting both in mass and in detail. An Inscription, upon elaborately-sculptured marble lying on the ground, records that the Fort had been erected by Count Fuentes in the year 1600, during the reign of Philip the Third; and the Chapel, about twenty years after, by one of his Descendants. Marble pillars of gateways are yet standing, and a considerable part of the Chapel walls: a smooth green turf has taken place of the pavement, and we could see no trace of altar or image; but everywhere something to remind one of former splendour, and of devastation and tumult. In our ascent we had passed abundance of wild vines intermingled with bushes: near the ruins were some ill tended, but growing willingly; and rock, turf, and fragments of the pile, are alike covered or adorned with a variety of flowers, among which the rose-coloured pink was growing in great beauty. While descending, we discovered on the ground, apart from the path, and at a considerable distance from the ruined Chapel, a statue of a Child in pure white marble, uninjured by the explosion that had driven it so far down the hill. "How little," we exclaimed, "are these things valued here! Could we but transport this pretty Image to our own garden!"-Yet it seemed it would have been a pity any one should remove it from its couch in the wilderness, which may be its own for hundreds of years-Extract from Journal.

DREAD hour! when, upheaved by war's sulphurous blast,

This sweet-visaged Cherub of Parian stone
So far from the holy enclosure was cast,
To couch in this thicket of brambles alone,

To rest where the lizard may bask in the palm

Of his half-open hand pure from blemish or speck; And the green, gilded snake, without troubling the calm

Of the beautiful countenance, twine round his neck;

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