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;
Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs,
And amorous music on the water dies.

that greets

How blest, delicious scene! the eye 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 household boat beside the door; Thy torrent shooting from the clear-blue sky; Thy towns, that cleave, like swallows' 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 gray, '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 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 on Como's marge, And lures from bay to bay the vocal barge.

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 a 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 steadfast upward eye,

His children's children listened to the sound;
A Hermit with his family around!

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 infant Rhine,
Hang o'er the abyss, whose else impervious gloom
His burning eyes with fearful light illume.

The mind condemned, 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 whose lot far otherwise is cast:

Sole human tenant of the piny waste,

By choice or doom a gypsy wanders here,

*The river along whose banks you descend in crossing the Alps by the Simplon Pass.

A nursling babe her only comforter;
Lo, where she sits beneath yon shaggy rock,
A cowering shape half hid in curling smoke!

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.

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
Above 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.

From the green vale of Urseren smooth and wide Descend we now, the maddened Reuss our guide;

* Most of the bridges among the Alps are of wood, and covered: these bridges have a heavy appearance, and rather injure the effect of the scenery in some places.

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 sayes
Alike in whelming snows, and roaring waves.

But soon a peopled region on the sight Opens, a little world of calm delight; Where mists, suspended on the expiring gale, Spread rooflike 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 vapor: on the freshened mead The green light sparkles ;- the dim bowers recede.

*The Catholic religion prevails here: these cells are, as is well known, very common in the Catholic countries, planted, like the Roman tombs, along the road-side.

† Crosses, commemorative of the deaths of travellers by the fall of snow, and other accidents, are very common along this dreadful road.

The houses in the more retired Swiss valleys are all built of wood.