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!

THE ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, 1820.

HIGH on her speculative tower Stood Science, waiting for the hour When Sol was destined to endure That darkening of his radiant face Which Superstition strove to chase, | Erewhile, with rites impure.

Afloat beneath Italian skies,
Through regions fair as Paradise
We gaily pass'd, till Nature wrought
A silent and unlook'd-for change,
That check'd the desultory range
Of joy and sprightly thought.

Where'er was dipp'd the toiling oar,
The waves danced round us as before,
As lightly, though of alter'd hue,
'Mid recent coolness, such as falls
At noontide from umbrageous walls
That screen the morning dew.

No vapour stretch'd its wings; no cloud Cast far or near a murky shroud;

The sky an azure field display'd;
'Twas sunlight sheath'd and gently
charm'd,

Of all its sparkling rays disarm'd,
And as in slumber laid; -

Or something night and day between, Like moonshine,-but the hue was green; Still moonshine, without shadow, spread On jutting rock, and curvèd shore, Where gazed the peasant from his door, And on the mountain's head.

It tinged the Julian steeps, -it lay,
Lugano! on thy ample bay;
The solemnizing veil was drawn
O'er villas, terraces, and towers;
To Albogasio's olive bowers,
Porlezza's verdant lawn.

But Fancy with the speed of fire
Hath past to Milan's loftiest spire,
And there alights 'mid that aërial host
Of Figures human and divine,4

4 The Statues ranged round the spire and along the roof of the Cathedral of Milan, have been found fault with by persons whose exclusive taste is unfortunate for themselves. It is true that the same expense and labour, judiciously directed to purposes more strictly architectural, might have much heightened the general

"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 play'd,
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?

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

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

The Youth whose death gavo 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 Soleure, took leave of each other at night, the young men having intended to proceed directly to Zurich. We ascended the Righi together; and separated at an hour and on a spot well suited to the parting of those who were to meet no more. We had hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva; but on the third succeeding day (the 21st of Aug. ust) Mr. Goddard perished, being overset in a boat while crossing the lake of Zurich.

LULL'D by the sound of pastoral bells,
Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go,
From the dread summit of the Queen
Of mountains,8 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 bow.
As if, to rough assaults unknown, [ers;
The genial spot had ever shown
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 journey'd; 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!

O GODDARD! what art thou ?-a name,-
A sunbeam follow'd by a shade!
Nor more, for aught that time supplies,
The great, th' experienced, and the wise:
Too much from this frail Earth we claim,
And therefore are betray'd.

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.

| Not vain is sadly-utter'd praise;
The words of truth's memorial vow
Are sweet as morning fragrance shed
From flowers 'mid GOLDAU'S ruins red;
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 resign'd their prey
And that which marks thy bed.10

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."

9 Goldau is one of the villages deso lated by the fall of part of the mountain Rossberg.

10 The corpse of poor Goddard was cast ashore on the estate of a Swiss gentleman, Mr. Keller, who performed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the liv ing. He had a handsome mural monument erected in the church of Küsnacht, recording the death of the young American, and also set an inscription on the shore of the lake, pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the

waves.

11 The persuasion here expressed was not groundless. The first human consolation that the afflicted Mother felt was derived from this tribute to her son's memory; a fact which the author learned, at his own residence, from her Daughter, who visited Europe some years afterwards.

ADDRESS TO THE SCHOLARS OF THE
VILLAGE SCHOOL OF

I COME, ye little noisy Crew,
Not long your pastime to prevent;
I heard the blessing which to you
Our common Friend and Father sent.
I kiss'd his cheek before he died;
And, when his breath was fled,
1 raised, while kneeling by his side,
His hand:- it dropp'd like lead.

Your hands, dear Little-ones, do all
That can be done, will never fall
Like his till they are dead.
By night or day blow foul or fair,
Ne'er will the best of all your train
Play with the locks of his white hair,
Or stand between his knees again.

Here did he sit confined for hours; But he could see the woods and plains, Could hear the wind and mark the shower

panes.

Now stretch'd beneath his grass-green

He rests a prisoner of the ground.

He loved the breathing air,

He loved the Sun, but if it rise

Or set, to him where now he lies,
Brings not a moment's care.
Alas! what idle words; but take
The Dirge which, for our Master's sake
And yours, love prompted me to make.
The rhymes so homely in attire
With learned ears may ill agree,
But chanted by your Orphan Quire
Will make a touching melody.

O true of heart, of spirit gay!
Thy faults, where not already gone
From memory, prolong their stay
For charity's sweet sake alone.

Such solace find we for our loss;
And what beyond this thought we crave
Comes in the promise from the Cross,
Shining upon thy happy grave.1

THE Sheep-boy whistled loud, and, lo!
That instant, startled by the shock,
The Buzzard mounted from the rock
Deliberate and slow:

Lord of the air, he took his flight;
O, could he on that woful night
Have lent his wing, my Brother dear,
For one poor moment's space to Thee,
And all who struggled with the Sea,
When safety was so near!

Thus in the weakness of my heart
I spoke, (but let that pang be still,)
When rising from the rock at will,
I saw the Bird depart.

And let me calmly bless the Power
That meets me in this unknown Flower,
Affecting type of him I mourn!
With calmness suffer and believe,
And grieve, and know that I must grieve,
Not cheerless, though forlorn.

Here did we stop; and here look'd round
While each into himself descends,2
For that last thought of parting Friends
That is not to be found.

1 The subject of this piece is the same as of The Two April Mornings and The Funtain. Sec pages 146 and 147.

2 The point is two or three yards be.

But benefits, his gift, we trace,

Express'd in every eye we meet

Round this dear Vale, his native place.

road by which a horse may pass to Paterdale; a ridge of Helvellyn on the left and the summit of Fairfield on the right Author's Notes, 1843.