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.

Nor, like his great Compeers, indignantly
Doth DANUBE spring to life! The wandering
Stream

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.

XII.

X.

HYMN,

FOR THE BOATMEN, AS THEY APPROACH THE RAPIDS UNDER THE CASTLE OF HEIDELBERG.

JESU! bless our slender Boat,

By the current swept along; Loud its threatenings-let them not Drown the music of a song Breathed thy mercy to implore, Where these troubled waters roar !

Saviour, for our warning, seen

Bleeding on that precious Rood; If, while through the meadows green Gently wound the peaceful flood, We forgot Thee, do not Thou Disregard thy Suppliants now!

Hither, like yon ancient Tower

Watching o'er the River's bed, Fling the shadow of thy power,

Else we sleep among the dead; Thou who trod'st the billowy sea, Shield us in our jeopardy!

Guide our Bark among the waves; Through the rocks our passage smooth; Where the whirlpool frets and raves

Let thy love its anger soothe: All our hope is placed in Thee; Miserere Domine * !

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+!

XIII.

THE FALL OF THE AAR-HANDEC.

FROM the fierce aspect of this River, throwing
His giant body o'er the steep rock's brink,
Back in astonishment and fear we shrink:
But, gradually a calmer look bestowing,
Flowers we espy beside the torrent growing;
Flowers that peep forth from many a cleft and
chink,

And, from the whirlwind of his anger, drink

Hues ever fresh, in rocky fortress blowing : They suck-from breath that, threatening to destroy,

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 fledEach 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!

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 noo
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 governed,

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 * !

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;

Where haply (kind service to Piety due!)

When winter the grove of its mantle bereaves, Some bird (like our own honoured redbreast) may

strew

The desolate Slumberer with moss and with leaves.

FUENTES once harboured the good and the brave, Nor to her was the dance of soft pleasure unknown; Her banners for festal enjoyment did wave

While the thrill of her fifes thro' the mountains was blown:

Now gads the wild vine o'er the pathless ascent ;— O silence of Nature, how deep is thy sway, When the whirlwind of human destruction is spent, Our tumults appeased, and our strifes passed away!

XXIV.

THE CHURCH OF SAN SALVADOR, SEEN FROM THE LAKE OF LUGANO.

This Church was almost destroyed by lightning a few years ago, but the altar and the image of the Patron Saint were untouched. The Mount, upon the summit of which the Church is built, stands amid the intricacies of the Lake of Lugano; and is, from a hundred points of view, its principal ornament, rising to the height of 2000 feet, and, on one side, nearly perpendicular. The ascent is toilsome; but the traveller who performs it will be amply rewarded. Splendid fertility, rich woods and dazzling waters, seclusion and confinement of view contrasted with sea-like extent of plain fading into the sky; and this again, in an opposite quarter, with an horizon of the loftiest and boldest Alps-unite in composing a prospect more diversified by magnificence, beauty, and sublimity, than perhaps any other point in Europe, of so inconsiderable an elevation, commands.

THOU Sacred Pile! whose turrets rise
From yon steep mountain's loftiest stage,
Guarded by lone San Salvador;
Sink (if thou must) as heretofore,

To sulphurous bolts a sacrifice,
But ne'er to human rage!

On Horeb's top, on Sinai, deigned
To rest the universal Lord:
Why leap the fountains from their cells
Where everlasting Bounty dwells?——
That, while the Creature is sustained,
His God may be adored.

Cliffs, fountains, rivers, seasons, times-
Let all remind the soul of heaven;
Our slack devotion needs them all ;
And Faith-so oft of sense the thrall,

Now that the farewell tear is dried,
Heaven prosper thee, be hope thy guide!
Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;
The wages of thy travel, joy!
Whether for London bound-to trill
Thy mountain notes with simple skill;
Or on thy head to poise a show
Of Images in seemly row;
The graceful form of milk-white Steed,
Or Bird that soared with Ganymede;
Or through our hamlets thou wilt bear
The sightless Milton, with his hair
Around his placid temples curled ;
And Shakspeare at his side—a freight,
If clay could think and mind were weight,
For him who bore the world!
Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;
The wages of thy travel, joy!

*Arnold Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach, broke an Austrian phalanx in this manner. The event is one of the most famous in the annals of Swiss heroism; and pictures and prints of it are frequent throughout the country.