Where haply (kind service to Piety due!)
When winter the grove of its mantle bereaves, Some bird (like our own honoured redbreast) may
The desolate Slumberer with moss and with leaves.
FUENTES once harboured the good and the brave, Nor to her was the dance of soft pleasure unknown; Her banners for festal enjoyment did wave
While the thrill of her fifes thro' the mountains was blown:
New gads the wild vine o'er the pathless ascent ;- 0 silence of Nature, how deep is thy sway, When the whirlwind of human destruction is spent, Our tumults appeased, and our strifes passed away!
THE CHURCH OF SAN SALVADOR, SEEN FROM THE LAKE OF LUGANO.
The Church was almost destroyed by lightning a few years ar but the altar and the image of the Patron Saint e untouched. The Mount, upon the summit of which the Church is built, stands amid the intricacies of the Lake of Lugano; and is, from a hundred points draw, its principal ornament, rising to the height of feet, and, on one side, nearly perpendicular. The acent is toilsome; but the traveller who performs it be amply rewarded. Splendid fertility, rich woods and dazzling waters, seclusion and confinement of view evstrasted with sea-like extent of plain fading into the ky, and this again, in an opposite quarter, with an briam of the loftiest and boldest Alps-unite in composing a prospect more diversified by magnificence, beauty, and sublimity, than perhaps any other point Earupe, of so inconsiderable an elevation, commands.
Taoc sacred Pile ! whose turrets rise From you steep mountain's loftiest stage, arded by lone San Salvador; Frat (if thou must) as heretofore, To sulphurous bolts a sacrifice, But ne'er to human rage!
On Horeb's top, on Sinai, deigned To rest the universal Lord: Why leap the fountains from their cells Where everlasting Bounty dwells?— That, while the Creature is sustained, Ha God may be adored.
Cafe, fountains, rivers, seasons, times- Let all remind the soul of heaven; Our shark devotion needs them all; And Faith-so oft of sense the thrall,
Now that the farewell tear is dried, Heaven prosper thee, be hope thy guide! Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy; The wages of thy travel, joy! Whether for London bound-to trill Thy mountain notes with simple skill; Or on thy head to poise a show Of Images in seemly row;
The graceful form of milk-white Steed, Or Bird that soared with Ganymede; Or through our hamlets thou wilt bear The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled; And Shakspeare at his side-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world! Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy; The wages of thy travel, joy!
*Arnold Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach, broke an Austrian phalanx in this manner. The event is one of the most famous in the annals of Swiss heroism; and pictures and prints of it are frequent throughout the country.
But thou, perhaps, (alert as free Though serving sage philosophy) Wilt ramble over hill and dale, A Vender of the well-wrought Scale, Whose sentient tube instructs to time A purpose to a fickle clime: Whether thou choose this useful part, Or minister to finer art,
Though robbed of many a cherished dream, And crossed by many a shattered scheme, What stirring wonders wilt thou see In the proud Isle of liberty!
Yet will the Wanderer sometimes pine With thoughts which no delights can chase, Recal a Sister's last embrace, His Mother's neck entwine; Nor shall forget the Maiden coy
That would have loved the bright-haired Boy!
My Song, encouraged by the grace That beams from his ingenuous face, For this Adventurer scruples not To prophesy a golden lot; Due recompence, and safe return TO COMO's steeps-his happy bourne ! Where he, aloft in garden glade, Shall tend, with his own dark-eyed Maid, The towering maize, and prop the twig That ill supports the luscious fig; Or feed his eye in paths sun-proof With purple of the trellis-roof, That through the jealous leaves escapes From Cadenabbia's pendent grapes. -Oh might he tempt that Goatherd-child To share his wanderings! him whose look Even yet my heart can scarcely brook, So touchingly he smiled-
As with a rapture caught from heaven-- For unasked alms in pity given.
WITH nodding plumes, and lightly drest Like foresters in leaf-green vest, The Helvetian Mountaineers, on ground For Tell's dread archery renowned, Before the target stood-to claim The guerdon of the steadiest aim. Loud was the rifle-gun's report- A startling thunder quick and short!
But Truth inspired the Bards of old When of an iron age they told, Which to unequal laws gave birth, And drove Astræa from the earth. -A gentle Boy (perchance with blood As noble as the best endued, But seemingly a Thing despised; Even by the sun and air unprized; For not a tinge or flowery streak Appeared upon his tender cheek) Heart-deaf to those rebounding notes, Apart, beside his silent goats, Sate watching in a forest shed, Pale, ragged, with bare feet and head; Mute as the snow upon the hill, And, as the saint he prays to, still. Ah, what avails heroic deed! What liberty? if no defence Be won for feeble Innocence.
Father of all! though wilful Manhood read His punishment in soul-distress,
Grant to the morn of life its natural blessedness!
THE LAST SUPPER, BY LEONARDO DA VINCI, IN THE REFECTORY OF THE CONVENT OF MARIA DELLA GRAZIA-MILAN •.
THO' searching damps and many an envious flaw Have marred this Work; the calm ethereal grace, The love deep-seated in the Saviour's face, The mercy, goodness, have not failed to awe The Elements; as they do melt and thaw The heart of the Beholder-and erase (At least for one rapt moment) every trace Of disobedience to the primal law. The annunciation of the dreadful truth Made to the Twelve, survives: lip, forehead, cheek,
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