The cypress waves her sombre plume
More cheerily; and town and tower,
The vineyard and the olive-bower,
Their lustre reassume!

O Ye, who guard and grace my home
While in far-distant lands we roam,

What countenance hath this Day put on for
While we looked round with favored eyes,

Did sullen mists hide lake and skies

And mountains from your view?

Or was it given you to behold

Like vision, pensive though not cold,

you ?

From the smooth breast of gay Winandermere?

Saw ye the soft yet awful veil

Spread over Grasmere's lovely dale,

Helvellyn's brow severe ?

I ask in vain, — and know far less

If sickness, sorrow,

or distress

Have spared my Dwelling to this hour;
Sad blindness! but ordained to prove

Our faith in Heaven's unfailing love
And all-controlling power.

XXVIII.

THE THREE COTTAGE GIRLS.

I.

yet free

How blest the Maid whose heart
From Love's uneasy sovereignty -
Beats with a fancy running high,
Her simple cares to magnify;
Whom Labor, never urged to toil,
Hath cherished on a healthful soil;

Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf;

Whose heaviest sin it is to look

Askance upon her pretty Self
Reflected in some crystal brook;
Whom grief hath spared,

who sheds no tear

But in sweet pity; and can hear
Another's praise from

envy clear.

II.

Such, (but, O lavish Nature! why
That dark, unfathomable eye,
Where lurks a Spirit that replies
To stillest mood of softest skies,
Yet hints at peace to be o'erthrown,
Another's first, and then her own?)
Such, haply, yon ITALIAN Maid,
Our Lady's laggard Votaress,
Halting beneath the chestnut shade

To accomplish there her loveliness:

Nice aid maternal fingers lend;

A Sister serves with slacker hand;

Then, glittering like a star, she joins the festal band.

III.

How blest (if truth may entertain

Coy fancy with a bolder strain)

The HELVETIAN Girl,

who daily braves,

In her light skiff, the tossing waves,

And quits the bosom of the deep
Only to climb the rugged steep!

-Say whence that modulated shout!
From Wood-nymph of Diana's throng?
Or does the greeting to a rout
Of giddy Bacchanals belong?
Jubilant outcry! rock and glade
Resounded, but the voice obeyed
The breath of an Helvetian Maid.

IV.

Her beauty dazzles the thick wood;
Her courage animates the flood;

Her steps the elastic greensward meets,
Returning unreluctant sweets;

The mountains (as ye heard) rejoice

Aloud, saluted by her voice!

Blithe Paragon of Alpine grace,

Be as thou art,

for through thy veins

The blood of Heroes runs its race!

And nobly wilt thou brook the chains
That, for the virtuous, Life prepares;
The fetters which the Matron wears;

The patriot Mother's weight of anxious cares!

V.

*"Sweet HIGHLAND Girl! a very shower
Of beauty was thy earthly dower,"
When thou didst flit before mine eyes,
Gay Vision under sullen skies,

While Hope and Love around thee played,
Near the rough falls of Inversneyd!

Have they, who nursed the blossom, seen

No breach of promise in the fruit?
Was joy, in following joy, as keen

As grief can be in grief's pursuit ?

When youth had flown, did hope still bless
Thy goings, or the cheerfulness

Of innocence survive to mitigate distress?

VI.

But from our course why turn, to tread
A way with shadows overspread;
Where what we gladliest would believe
Is feared as what may most deceive?
Bright Spirit, not with amaranth crowned,
But heath-bells from thy native ground,
Time cannot thin thy flowing hair,

* See address to a Highland Girl, p. 13.

Nor take one ray of light from thee;
For in my Fancy thou dost share

The gift of immortality;

And there shall bloom, with thee allied,

The Votaress by Lugano's side,

And that intrepid Nymph on Uri's steep descried!

XXIX.

THE COLUMN INTENDED BY BUONAPARTE FOR A TRIUMPHAL EDIFICE IN MILAN, NOW LYING BY THE WAY-SIDE IN THE SIMPLON PASS.

AMBITION, — following down this far-famed slope
Her Pioneer, the snow-dissolving Sun,
While clarions prate of kingdoms to be won,
Perchance, in future ages, here may stop;
Taught to mistrust her flattering horoscope
By admonition from this prostrate Stone!
Memento uninscribed of Pride o'erthrown;
Vanity's hieroglyphic; a choice trope

In Fortune's rhetoric. Daughter of the Rock,
Rest where thy course was stayed by Power Divine!
The Soul transported sees, from hint of thine,
Crimes which the great Avenger's hand provoke,
Hears combats whistling o'er the ensanguined heath:
What groans! what shrieks! what quietness in death!