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For the same service, by mysterious ties;
Numbers exceeding credible account
Of number, pure and silent Votaries
Issuing or issued from a wintry fount;
The impenetrable heart of that exalted Mount!
They, too, who send so far a holy gleam
While they the Church engird with motion slow,
A product of that awful Mountain seem,
Poured from his vaults of everlastint; snow;
Not virgin-lilies marshalled in bright row,
Not swans descending with the stealthy tide,
A livelier sisterly resemblance show
Than the fair Forms, that in long order glide,
Bear to the glacier band—those Shapes aloft descried!
Trembling, I look upon the secret springs
Of that licentious craving in the mind
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!
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 fellowpupil, 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 fellow-student became in consequence our travelling companions for a couple of days. we ascended the Rigbi 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 (\lr Keller) situated on the eastern coast of the lake. The corpse of poor G. was cast ashore on the estate of the same gentleman, who generously performed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the living. He caused a bandsome mural monument to be erected in the church of Aasnacht, 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,
once a month. In the Valley of Engelberg we had the good fortune to be present at the Grand Festival of the Virgin—but the Procession on that day, though consisting of upwards of ooo Persons, assembled from all the branches of the sequestered valley, was much less striking (notwithstanding the sublimity of the surrounding scenery); it wanted both the simplicity of the other and the accompaniment of the Glacier-columns, whose sisterly resemblance to the not tag Figures gave it a most beautiful and solemn peculiarity.
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
A countenance that sweetly smiled,
The face of summer-hours.
And we were gay, our hearts at case;
With pleasure dancing through the frame
We journeyed; all we knew of care—
Our path that straggled here and there, o
Of trouble—but the fluttering breeze,
Of Winter—but a maine.
—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 Zuaich's shore!
Oh Gonn ARD ! 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 Lucer N.E.
We parted upon solemn ground
Far-lifted towrds 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 sod to strew,
That lacks the ornamental care
Of kindred human hands!
Beloved by every gentle Muse
He left his Trans-atlantic home :
Europe, a realized romance,
blad 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
ligh poised—or as the wren that sings
In shady places, to proclaim
Her modest gratitude.
* Mount Right—Regina Moutina.
* on- of the villages desolated by the fall of part of the Mountain Rossberg.
* Near the Town of Boulogne, and overhanging the Beach, are the remains of a Tower which lear, the name of aligula, who here terminated his western Expedition, of which these sea-shells were the lasted spoils. And at no great distance from these Ruins, Bonaparte, standing upon a mound of earth, harangued his - Aras of Łngland... reminding them of the exploits of Corsar, and pointing towards the white cliffs upon which their standards were offeat. He recommended also a subscription to be raised among the Soldiery to erect on that Ground, in memory of the Foundation of ale - Legion of Honour, - a column-whitl, was not completed at the time we were there.
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!
AFTER LANDING. the VALLEY of Dover.—Nov. 1820.
Where be the noisy followers of the game
Which Faction breeds? the turmoil where? that past
Through Europe, echoing from the Newsman's blast,
And filled our hearts with grief for England's shame.
Peace greets us;—rambling on without an aim
We mark majestic herds of Cattle free
To ruminate"—couched on the grassy lea,
And hear far-off the mellow horn proclaim
The Season's harmless pastime. Ruder sound
Stirs not; enrapt I gaze with strange delight,
While consciousnesses, not to be disowned,
Isere only serve a feeling to invite
That lifts the Spirit to a calmer height,
And makes the rural stillness more profound.
Upon RFCEIVING The PRECEDING SHEETS FROM the prless.
Is then the final page before me spread,
Nor further outlet left to mind or heart?
Presumptuous Books 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 momeut 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
Labour their proper greatness to subdue;
Speaking of death alone, beneath a cline
Where lise and rapture flow in plenitude sublime.
* This is a most grateful sight for an Englishman returning to his native land. Every where one misses, in the cultivated grounds abroad, the animating and soothing accompaniment of animals ranging and selecting their own food at will.
Fancy hath flung for me an airy bridge
Across thy long deep Valley, furious Ithone!
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 Wale
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 lists 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,
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!
From this appropriate Court, renowned Lucer NE
Calls me to pace her honoured Bridge” that cheers
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 sec,
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;
Ilis acts, his wrongs, his final sacrifice;
Lessons for every heart, a lible for all eyes.
Les Fouaches, the point at which the two chains of mountains part, that enclose the Valais, which terminutes at St M oval ce.
* Sarnen, one of the two Capitals of the Canton of Underwalden ; the spot here alluded to is close to the town, and is called the Lanlenberg, from the Tyrant of that name, whose chateau formerly stood there. On the 1st of January, 1308, the treat day which the confederated IIeroes had chosen for the deliverance of their Country, all the Castles of the Governors were taken by force or strataGem; and the Tyrants themselves conducted, with their creatures, to the frontiers, after having witnessed the destruction of their Strong-holds. From that time the Landenberg has been the place where the Legislators of this division of the Canton assemble. The site, which is well described by Ebel, is one of the most beautiful in Switzerland.
* The Bridges of Lucerne are roofed, and open at the sides, so that the Passenger has, at the same time, the benefit of shade, and a view of the magnificent Country. The Pictures are attached to the rafters: those from Scripture History on the Cathedral-bridge, annount, according to my notes, to 240. Subjects from the Old Testament face the l'assenger as he goes towards the Cathedral, and
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 neighbourhood.
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
Kerp for the Young the impassioned smile
Shed from thy countenance, as I see thee stand
Iligh on a chalky cliff of Britain's Isle,
A slender Volume grasping in thy hand—
(Perchance the pages that relate
The various turns of Crusoe's fate)
Ah, spare the exulting smile,
And drop thy pointing singer bright
As the first flash of beacon-light;
But neither veil thy head in shadows dim,
Nor turn thy face away
From One who, in the evening of his day,
To thee would offer no presumptuous hymn."
Bold Spirit ! who art free to rove
Among the starry courts of Jove,
And oft in splendour dost appear
Embodied to poetic eyes,
While traversing this nether sphere,
Where Mortals call thee ENTER paise.
Daughter of Ilope! her favourite Child,
Whom she to young Ambition bore,
When Hunter's arrow first defiled
The Grove, and stained the turf with gore;
Thee winged Fancy took, and nursed
On broad Euphrates' palmy shore,
Or where the mightier Waters burst
From caves of Indian mountains hoar!
She wrapped thee in a panther's skin;
And thou, whose earliest thoughts held dear
Allurements that were edged with fear,
(The food that pleased thee best, to win)
From rocky fortress in mid air
The flame-eyed Eagle oft wouldst scare
With infant shout, -as often sweep,
Paired with the Ostrich, o'er the plain;