To act the God among external things,
To bind, on apt suggestion, or unbind;
And marvel not that antique Faith inclined
To crowd the world with metamorphosis,
Vouchsafed in pity or in wrath assigned;
Such insolent temptations wouldst thou miss,
Avoid these sights; nor brood o'er Fable's dark
abyss!

XXXIII.

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

The lamented Youth whose untimely death gave occasion to these elegiac verses was Frederick William Goddard, from Boston in North America. He was in his twentieth year, and had resided for some time with a clergyman in the neighbourhood of Geneva for the completion of his education. Accompanied by a fellow-pupil, a native of Scotland, he had just set out on a Swiss tour when it was his misfortune to fall in with a friend of mine who was hastening to join our party. The travellers, after spending a day together on the road from Berne and at Soleure, took leave of each other at night, the young men having intended to proceed directly to Zurich. But early in the morning my friend found his new acquaintances, who were informed of the object of his journey, and the friends he was in pursuit of, equipped to accompany him. We met at Lucerne the succeeding evening, and Mr G. and his fellowstudent became in consequence our travelling companions for a couple of days. We ascended the Righi together; and, after contemplating the sunrise from that noble mountain, we separated at an hour and on a spot well suited to the parting of those who were to meet no more. Our party descended through the valley of our Lady of the Snow, and our late companions, to Art. We had hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva; but on the third succeeding day (on the 21st of August) Mr Goddard perished, being overset in a boat while crossing the lake of Zurich. His companion saved himself by swimming, and was hospitably received in the mansion of a Swiss gentleman (M. Keller) situated on the eastern coast of the lake. The corpse of poor Goddard was cast ashore on the estate of the same gentleman, who generously per formed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the living. He caused a handsome mural monument to be erected in the church of Küsnacht, which records the premature fate of the young American, and on the shores too of the lake the traveller may read an inscription pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the waves. LULLED by the sound of pastoral bells, Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go, From the dread summit of the Queen* Of mountains, through a deep ravine, Where, in her holy chapel, dwells "Our Lady of the Snow."

The sky was blue, the air was mild;

Free were the streams and green the bowers; As if, to rough assaults unknown,

The genial spot had ever shown

* Mount Righi-Regina Montium.

A countenance that as sweetly smiled-
The face of summer hours.

And we were gay, our hearts at ease;
With pleasure dancing through the frame
We journeyed; all we knew of care-
Our path that straggled here and there;
Of trouble-but the fluttering breeze;
Of Winter-but a name.

If foresight could have rent the veil
Of three short days-but hush-no more!
Calm is the grave, and calmer none
Than that to which thy cares are gone,
Thou Victim of the stormy gale;
Asleep on ZURICH'S shore!

Oh GODDARD! what art thou?-a name-
A sunbeam followed by a shade!
Nor more, for aught that time supplies,
The great, the experienced, and the wise;
Too much from this frail earth we claim,
And therefore are betrayed.

We met, while festive mirth ran wild,
Where, from a deep lake's mighty urn,
Forth slips, like an enfranchised slave,
A sea-green river, proud to lave,
With current swift and undefiled,
The towers of old LUCERNE.
We parted upon solemn ground
Far-lifted towards the unfading sky:
But all our thoughts were then of Earth,
That gives to common pleasures birth;
And nothing in our hearts we found
That prompted even a sigh.

Fetch, sympathising Powers of air,
Fetch, ye that post o'er seas and lands,
Herbs moistened by Virginian dew,
A most untimely grave to strew,
Whose turf may never know the care
Of kindred human hands!
Beloved by every gentle Muse
He left his Transatlantic home:
Europe, a realised romance,
Had opened on his eager glance;
What present bliss!-what golden views!
What stores for years to come!
Though lodged within no vigorous frame
His soul her daily tasks renewed,
Blithe as the lark on sun-gilt wings
High poised-or as the wren that sings
In shady places, to proclaim
Her modest gratitude.

Not vain is sadly-uttered praise;
The words of truth's memorial vow
Are sweet as morning fragrance shed
From flowers mid GOLDAU's ruins bred;
As evening's fondly-lingering rays,
On RIGHI'S silent brow.

Lamented Youth! to thy cold clay
Fit obsequies the Stranger paid;
And piety shall guard the Stone

Which hath not left the spot unknown

Where the wild waves resigned their prey

And that which marks thy bed.

And, when thy Mother weeps for Thee,

Lost Youth! a solitary Mother;

This tribute from a casual Friend
A not unwelcome aid may lend.

To feed the tender luxury,
The rising pang to smother.

XXXIV.
SKY-PROSPECT-FROM THE PLAIN OF FRANCE.

Lo! in the burning west, the craggy nape
Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon,
The Ark, her melancholy voyage done!
Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion's shape;
There, combats a huge crocodile-agape
A golden spear to swallow! and that brown
Tnd massy grove, so near yon blazing town,
Stirs and recedes-destruction to escape!
Yet all is harmless-as the Elysian shades
Where Spirits dwell in undisturbed repose-
Silently disappears, or quickly fades:
Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows
That for oblivion take their daily birth
From all the fuming vanities of Earth!

ON BEING STRANDED NEAR THE HARBOUR OF
BOULOGNE.

WHY cast ye back upon the Gallic shore,
Ye furious waves! a patriotic Son

Of England-who in hope her coast had won,
His project crowned, his pleasant travel o'er?
Well-let him pace this noted beach once more,
That gave the Roman his triumphal shells;
That saw the Corsican his cap and bells
Haughtily shake, a dreaming Conqueror !-
Enough my Country's cliffs I can behold,
And proudly think, beside the chafing sea,
Of checked ambition, tyranny controlled,
And folly cursed with endless memory:
These local recollections ne'er can cloy;
Such ground I from my very heart enjoy!

Ocean's o'erpowering murmurs have set free Thy sense from pressure of life's common din; As the dread Voice that speaks from out the sea Of God's eternal Word the Voice of Time Doth deaden, shocks of tumult, shrieks of crime, The shouts of folly, and the groans of sin."

DESULTORY STANZAS,

UPON RECEIVING THE PRECEDING SHEETS FROM
THE PRESS.

Is then the final page before me spread
Nor further outlet left to mind or heart?
Presumptuous Book! too forward to be read,
How can I give thee licence to depart?
One tribute more: unbidden feelings start
Forth from their coverts; slighted objects rise;
My spirit is the scene of such wild art
As on Parnassus rules, when lightning flies,
Visibly leading on the thunder's harmonies.
All that I saw returns upon my view,
All that I heard comes back upon my ear,
All that I felt this moment doth renew;
And where the foot with no unmanly fear
Recoiled-and wings alone could travel-there
I move at ease; and meet contending themes
That press upon me, crossing the career
Of recollections vivid as the dreams

Of midnight,-cities, plains, forests, and mighty

Fancy hath flung for me an airy bridge
Across thy long deep Valley, furious Rhone!
Arch that here rests upon the granite ridge
Of Monte Rosa-there on frailer stone
Of secondary birth, the Jung-frau's cone;
And, from that arch, down-looking on the Vale
The aspect I behold of every zone;
A sea of foliage, tossing with the gale,
Blithe Autumn's purple crown, and Winter's
icy mail!

Far as ST MAURICE, from yon eastern FORKS,*
Down the main avenue my sight can range:
And all its branchy vales, and all that lurks
Within them, church, and town, and hut, and

grange,

For my enjoyment meet in vision strange;
Snows, torrents;-to the region's utmost bound,
Life, Death, in amicable interchange;-
But list! the avalanche-the hush profound
That follows-yet more awful than that awful
sound!

Is not the chamois suited to his place?
The eagle worthy of her ancestry?
-Let Empires fall; but ne'er shall Ye disgrace
Your noble birthright, ye that occupy,
Your council-seats beneath the open sky,

At the head of the Vallais.

In simple democratic majesty ;

Soft breezes fanning your rough brows-the
might
And purity of nature spread before your sight!
From this appropriate Court, renowned
LUCERNE

Calls me to pace her honoured Bridge-that

Just at the point of issue, where it fears The form and motion of a stream to take;

old,

His acts, his wrongs, his final sacrifice;
Lessons for every heart, a Bible for all eyes.
Our pride misleads, our timid likings kill.
-Long may these homely Works devised of
These simple efforts of Helvetian skill,
Aid, with congenial influence, to uphold
The State,--the Country's destiny to mould;
Turning, for them who pass, the common dust
Of servile opportunity to gold;

Filling the soul with sentiments august-
The beautiful, the brave, the holy, and the
just!

No more; Time halts not in his noiseless

march

snake.

Volumes of sound, from the Cathedral rolled,
This long-roofed Vista penetrate-but see,
One after one, its tablets, that unfold
The whole design of Scripture history;
From the first tasting of the fatal Tree,

Till the bright Star appeared in eastern skies,

Earth stretched below, heaven in our neigh

bourhood.

Go forth, my little Book! pursue thy way; Go forth, and please the gentle and the good; Nor be a whisper stifled, if it say

That treasures, yet unto iched, may grace some future Lay.

Struggling for liberty, while undismayed
The shepherd struggles with them. Onward
thence

And downward by the skirt of Greenside fell,
And by Glenridding-screes, and low Glencoign,
Places forsaken now, though loving still
The muses, as they loved them in the days
Of the old minstrels and the border bards.-
But here am I fast bound; and let it pass,
The simple rapture;-who that travels far
To feed his mind with watchful eyes could share
Or wish to share it ?-One there surely was,
"The Wizard of the North," with anxious hope
Brought to this genial climate, when disease
Preyed upon body and mind-yet not the less
Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words
That spake of bards and minstrels; and his
spirit

Had flown with mine to old Helvellyn's brow
Where once together, in his day of strength,
We stood rejoicing, as if earth were free
From sorrow, like the sky above our heads.
Years followed years, and when, upon the eve
Of his last going from Tweed-side, thought
turned,

Or by another's sympathy was led,

To this bright land, Hope was for him no friend,
Knowledge no help; Imagination shaped
No promise. Still, in more than ear-deep seats,
Survives for me, and cannot but survive
The tone of voice which wedded borrowed
words

To sadness not their own, when, with faint

smile

Forced by intent to take from speech its edge,
He said, "When I am there, although 'tis fair,
"Twill be another Yarrow." Prophecy
More than fulfilled, as gay Campania's shores
Soon witnessed, and the city of seven hills,
Her sparkling fountains, and her mouldering
tombs ;
And more than all, that Eminence which showed
Her splendours, seen, not felt, the while he stood
A few short steps (painful they were) apart
From Tasso's Convent-haven, and retired grave.
Peace to their Spirits! why should Poesy
Yield to the lure of vain regret, and hover
In gloom on wings with confidence outspread
To move in sunshine!-Utter thanks, my Soul!
Tempered with awe, and sweetened by com-
passion

For them who in the shades of sorrow dwell
That I-so near the term to human life
Appointed by man's common heritage,
Frail as the frailest, one withal (if that
Deserve a thought) but little known to fame-
Am free to rove where Nature's loveliest looks,
Art's noblest relics, history's rich bequests,
Failed to reanimate and but feebly cheered
The whole world's Darling-free to rove at will
O'er high and low, and if requiring rest,
Rest from enjoyment only.
Thanks poured forth
For what thus far hath blessed my wanderings,
thanks

Fervent but humble as the lips can breathe
Where gladness seems a duty--let me guard
Those seeds of expectation which the fruit
Already gathered in this favoured Land
Enfolds within its core. The faith be mine,

That He who guides and governs all, approves When gratitude, though disciplined to look Beyond these transient spheres, doth wear a

crown

Of earthly hope put on with trembling hand: Nor is least pleased, we trust, when golden beams,

Reflected through the mists of age, from hours
Of innocent delight, remote or recent,
Shoot but a little way-'tis all they can-
Into the doubtful future. Who would keep
Power must resolve to cleave to it through
life,

Else it deserts him, surely as he lives.
Saints would not grieve nor guardian angels
frown.

If one-while tossed, as was my lot to be,
In a frail bark urged by two slender oars
Over waves rough and deep, that, when they
broke,

Dashed their white foam against the palace

walls

and Old,

From century on to century, must have known
The emotion-nay, more fitly were it said-
The blest tranquillity that sunk so deep
Into my spirit, when I paced, enclosed
In Pisa's Campo Santo, the smooth floor
Of its Arcades paved with sepulchral slabs,
And through each window's open fret-work
looked

O'er the blank Area of sacred earth
Fetched from Mount Calvary, or haply delved
In precincts nearer to the Saviour's tomb,
By hands of men, humble as brave, who fought
For its deliverance-a capacious field
That to descendants of the dead it holds
And to all living mute memento breathes,