FROM the Pier's head, musing, and with increase Of wonder, I have watched this sea-side Town, Under the white cliff's battlemented crown, Hushed to a depth of more than Sabbath peace : The streets and quays are thronged, but why disown Their natural utterance? whence this strange release
From social noise,-silence elsewhere unknown?-
A Spirit whispered, "Let all wonder cease;
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."
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 license 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
Where Mortal never breathed, I dare to sit
Among the interior Alps, gigantic crew,
Who triumphed o'er diluvian power! - and yet
What are they but a wreck and residue,
Whose only business is to perish? — true
To which sad course, these wrinkled Sons of Time
Labor their proper greatness to subdue;
Speaking of death alone, beneath a clime
Where life and rapture flow in plenitude sublime.
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
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,
On Sarnen's Mount, † there judge of fit and right, In simple democratic majesty ;
Soft breezes fanning your rough brows,
the might And purity of nature spread before your sight!
* At the head of the Vallais. See Note. † See Note.
From this appropriate Court, renowned LUCERNE Calls me to pace her honored Bridge,* - that
The Patriot's heart with pictures rude and stern,
An uncouth Chronicle of glorious years.
Like portraiture, from loftier source, endears
That work of kindred frame, which spans the lake
Just at the point of issue, where it fears
The form and motion of a stream to take;
Where it begins to stir, yet voiceless as a 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,
Announcing, ONE was born mankind to free;
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 old,
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,
Nor turns, nor winds, as doth the liquid flood;
Life slips from underneath us, like that arch
Of airy workmanship whereon we stood,
Earth stretched below, heaven in our neighborhood.
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 untouched, may grace some future Lay.
|