Yet not unrecompensed the man shall roam,

Wno at the call of summer quits his home,

That thundering tube the aged angler hears,
And swells the groaning torrent with his tears; .

At least, not owning to himself an aim

To which the Sage would give a prouder name.
No gains too cheaply earned his fancy cloy,
Though every passing zephyr whispers joy;
Brisk tl, alternating with ready ease,
Feeds the clear current of his sympathies.
For him sod seats the cottage door adorn;
And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourn!
Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head,
And dear the velvet green-sward to his tread:
Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming eye?
Upward he looks-"and calls it luxury;"
Kind Nature's charities his steps attend;
In every babbling brook he finds a friend;

While chastening thoughts of sweetest use, bestowed
By Wisdom, moralize his pensive road.

Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bower,
To his spare meal he calls the passing poor;
He views the Sun uplift his golden fire,
Or sink, with heart alive like Memnon's lyre ;*
Blesses the Moon that comes with kindly ray,
To light him shaken by his rugged way;
With bashful fear no cottage children steal
From him, a brother at the cottage meal;
His humble looks no shy restraint impart,
Around him plays at will the virgin heart.
While unsuspended wheels the village dance,
The maidens eye him with enquiring glance,
Much wondering what sad stroke of crazing Care
Or desperate Love could lead a Wanderer there.

Me, lured by hope its sorrows to remove, A heart that could not much itself approve O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led, Her road elms rustling high above my head, Or through her truant pathways' native charms, By secret villages and lonely farms, To where the Alps ascending white in air, Toy with the sun, and glitter from afar.

Even now, emerging from the forest's gloom, I heave a sigh at hoary Chartreuse' doom. Where now is fled that Power whose frown severe Tamed "sober Reason" till she crouched in fear? The cloister startles at the gleam of arms, And Blasphemy the shuddering fane alarms; Nod the cloud-piercing pines their troubled heads; Spires, rocks, and lawns, a browner night o'erspreads; Strong terror checks the female peasant's sighs, And start the astonished shades at female eyes.

*The lyre of Memnon is reported to have emitted melancholy or cheerful tones, as it was touched by the sun's evening or morning rays.

And slow the insulted eagle wheels away.

The cross, by angels on the aërial rock
Plantedt, a flight of laughing demons mock.
The "parting Genius" sighs with hollow breath
Along the mystic streams of Life and Death.‡
Swelling the outcry dull, that long resounds
Portentous through her old woods' trackless bounds
Vallombre, 'mid her falling fanes, deplores,
For ever broke, the sabbath of her bowers.

More pleased, my foot the hidden margin roves
Of Como, bosomed deep in chestnut groves.
No meadows thrown between, the giddy steeps
Tower, bare or sylvan, from the narrow deeps.
-To towns, whose shades of no rude sound complau
To ringing team unknown and grating wain,
To flat-roofed towns, that touch the water's bound,
Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound,

Or, from the bending rocks, obtrusive cling,
And o'er the whitened wave their shadows fling,
The pathway leads, as round the steeps it twines,
And Silence loves its purple roof of vines;
The viewless lingerer hence, at evening, sees
From rock-hewn steps the sai. between the trees;
Or marks, 'mid opening cliffs, fair dark-eyed maids
Tend the small harvest of their garden glades,
Or stops the solemn mountain-shades to view
Stretch, o'er the pictured mirror, broad and blue,
Tracking the yellow sun from steep to steep,

As up the opposing hills with tortoise foot they creep.
Here, half a village shines, in gold arrayed,
Bright as the moon; 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 waves 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.

How blessed, delicious scene! the eye that greets Thy open beauties, or thy lone retreats; The unwearied sweep of wood thy cliff that scales; The never-ending waters of thy vales; The cots, those dim religious groves embower, Or, under rocks that from the water tower, Insinuated, sprinkling all the shore; Each with his household boat beside the door,

+ Alluding to crosses seen on the tops of the spiry rocks of Chartreuse, which have every appearance of being inacces sible.

1 Names of Rivers at the Chartreuse.

Name of one of the valleys of the Chartreuse

Whose flaccid sails in forms fantastic droop,
Being the gloom where thick the forests stoop;
-Tay torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,
Thy t-was, that cleave like swallows' nests, on high;
Thermer hoar in eve's last light, descried
Dama the twilight water's shaggy side,
Wnce lutes and voices down the enchanted woods

and compose the oar-forgotten floods;
-Tay lake, 'mid smoking woods, that blue and gray
Gear, streaked or dappled, hid from morning's ray,
Sarelling down the western hills, to fold

green-tinged margin in a blaze of gold;
Frackiy-glittering spires, the matin bell
Cng the woodman from his desert cell,
A mins to the sound of oars that pass,
Stag the steaming deeps, to early mass;
Sw swells the service, o'er the water borne,
We fil each pause the ringing woods of morn.
Farewell those forms that in thy noon-tide shade
Rest near their little plots of wheaten glade;
The charms that bind the soul in powerless trance,
Lodewing song, and ringlet-tossing dance.
Where sparkling eyes and breaking smiles illume
Tryvan cabin's lute-enlivened gloom.
-Aas! the very murmur of the streams
Brettes o'er the failing soul voluptuous dreams,
Wit Savery, forcing the sunk mind to dwell
Ứ 3 ys that might disgrace the captive's cell,
Her sanseless timbrel shakes on Como's marge,
And winds, from bay to bay, the vocal barge.

Yet ars are thine that soothe the unquiet heart,
Axles to Solitude and Want impart.
1ed by silent cottage-doors to roam,
The peasant's day-deserted home;
A unce I pierced the mazes of a wood,
where, far from public haunt, a cabin stood;
There by the door a hoary-headed Sire
Tarted with his withered hand an ancient lyre;
Bath sa old gray oak, as violets lie,
Sretched at his feet with steadfast, upward eye,
Hdren's children joined the holy sound;
-A Hermit with his family around!

But let us hence, for fair Locarno smiles
Entered in walnut slopes and citron isles;

k at eve the banks of Tusa's stream,

We, 'mad dim towers and woods, her waters gleam;
Fr the bright wave, in solemn gloom, retire
The call-red steeps, and, darkening still, aspire
There afar rich orange lustres glow
Rond undistinguished clouds, and rocks, and snow;
Or, led where Via Mala's chasms confine
The migrant waters of the infant Rhine,

Feng o'er the abyss: the else impervious gloom
Is barang eyes with fearful light illume.

*The over along whose banks you descend in crossing the A gə by the Simplon pass.

The Grison gipsy here her tent hath placed, Sole human tenant of the piny waste; Her tawny skin, dark eyes, and glossy locks, Bend o'er the smoke that curls beneath the rocks. -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 waste of sand with shades and springs
She, solitary, through the desert drear
Spontaneous wanders, hand in hand with Fear.

A giant moan along the forest swells Protracted, and the twilight storm foretells, And ruining from the cliffs, their deafening load Tumbles, the wildering Thunder slips abroad; On the high summits Darkness comes and goes, Hiding their fiery clouds, their rocks, and snows; The torrent, traversed by the lustre broad, Starts, like a horse beside the flashing road; In the roofed bridge,† at that terrific hour, She seeks a shelter from the battering shower. -Fierce comes the river down; the crashing wood Gives way, and half its pines torment the flood; Fearful, beneath, the Water-spirits call, And the bridge vibrates, tottering to its fall.

- Heavy, and dull, and cloudy is the night
No star supplies the comfort of its light,
A single taper in the vale profound
Shifts, while the Alps dilated glimmer round;
And, opposite, the waning Moon hangs still
And red, above her melancholy hill.

By the deep quiet gloom appalled, she sighs,
Stoops her sick head, and shuts her weary eyes.
She hears, upon the mountain forest's brow,
The death-dog, howling loud and long below;
On viewless fingers counts the valley-clock,
Followed by drowsy crow of midnight cock.
The dry leaves stir as with a serpent's walk,
And, far beneath, Banditti voices talk;
Behind her hill, the Moon, all crimson, rides,
And his red eyes the slinking water hides.
-Vexed by the darkness, from the piny gulf
Ascending, nearer howls the famished wolf,
While through the stillness scatters wild dismay
Her babe's small cry, that leads him to his prey.

Now, passing Urseren's open vale serene,
Her quiet streams, and hills of downy green,

+ Most of the bridges among the Alps are of wood, and co. vered; these bridges have a heavy appearance, and rather injure the effect of the scenery in some places.

"Red came the river down, and loud and oft
The angry Spirit of the water shrieked."
HOME'S Douglas.

Then Summer lengthened out his season bland,
And with rock-honey flowed the happy land.
Continual fountains welling cheered the waste,
And plants were wholesome, now of deadly taste.
Nor Winter yet his frozen stores had piled,
Usurping where the fairest herbage smiled:
Nor Hunger forced the herds from pastures bare
For scanty food the treacherous cliffs to dare.
Then the milk-thistle bade those herds demand
Three times a day the pail and welcome hand.
But human vices have provoked the rod
Of angry Nature to avenge her God.
Thus does the father to his sons relate,

On the lone mountain-top, their changed estate.
Still, Nature, ever just, to him imparts
Joys only given to uncorrupted hearts.

'Tis morn with gold the verdant mountain glows;
More high, the snowy peaks with hues of rose.
Far-stretched beneath the many-tinted hills,
A mighty waste of mist the valley fills,

A solemn sea! whose vales and mountains round
Stand motionless, to awful silence bound:
A gulf of gloomy blue, that opens wide
And bottomless, divides the midway tide:
Like leaning masts of stranded ships appear
The pines that near the coast their summits rear;
Of cabins, woods, and lawns, a pleasant shore
Bounds calm and clear the chaos still and hoar;
Loud through that midway gulf ascending, sound
Unnumbered streams with hollow roar profound:
Mount through the nearer mist the chant of birds,
And talking voices, and the low of herds,
The bark of dogs, the drowsy tinkling bell,
And wild-wood mountain lutes of saddest swell.
Think not, suspended from the cliff on high,
He looks below with undelighted eye.
-No vulgar joy is his, at even-tide
Stretched on the scented mountain's purple side:
For as the pleasures of his simple day
Beyond his native valley seldom stray,
Nought round its darling precincts can he find
But brings some past enjoyment to his mind,
While Hope, that ceaseless leans on Pleasure's urn,
Binds her wild wreaths, and whispers his return.

The slave of none, of beasts alone the lord
His book he prizes, nor neglects the sword;
Well taught by that to feel his rights, prepared
With this "the blessings he enjoys to guard."

And, as his native hills encircle ground
For many a wondrous victory renowned,
The work of Freedom daring to oppose,
With few in arms*, innumerable foes,
When to those glorious fields his steps are led,
An unknown power connects him with the dead:
For images of other worlds are there;
Awful the light, and holy is the air.
Uncertain through his fierce uncultured soul,
Like lighted tempests, troubled transports roll;
To viewless realms his Spirit towers amain.
Beyond the senses and their little reign.

And oft, when passed that solemn vision by,
He holds with God himself communion high,
Where the dread peal of swelling torrents fills
The sky-roofed temple of the eternal hills;
Or, when upon the mountain's silent brow
Reclined, he sees, above him and below,
Bright stars of ice and azure fields of snow;
While needle peaks of granite shooting bare
Tremble in ever-varying tints of air:

- Great joy, by horror tamed, dilates his heart,
And the near heavens their own delights impart.
-When the Sun bids the gorgeous scene farewell,
Alps overlooking Alps their state upswell;
Huge Pikes of Darkness named, of Fear and Stormst
Lift, all serene, their still, illumined forms,
In sea-like reach of prospect round him spread,
Tinged like an angel's smile all rosy red.

When downward to his winter hut he goes,
Dear and more dear the lessening circle grows;
That hut which from the hills his eye employs
So oft, the central point of all his joys.
And as a Swift, by tender cares opprest,
Peeps often ere she dart into her nest,
So to the untrodden floor, where round him look
His father, helpless as the babe he rocks,
Oft he descends to nurse the brother pair,
Till storm and driving ice blockade him there.
There, safely guarded by the woods behind,
He hears the chiding of the baffled wind,

Alluding to several battles which the Swiss in very small numbers have gained over their oppressors, the house of Aus tria; and, in particular, to one fought at Næffels, near Glarus, where three hundred and thirty men defeated an army of between fifteen and twenty thousand Austrians. Scattered over the valley are to be found eleven stones, with this inscription. 1388, the year the battle was fought, marking out, as I was told upon the spot, the several places where the Austrians attemp ing to make a stand were repulsed anew.

+ As Schreck-Horn, the pike of terror; Wetter-Horn, the pik of storms, &c &c.