PASSAGE OF MOUNT ST. GOTHARD.
YE plains, where three-fold harvests press the ground,
Ye climes, where genial gales incessant swell,
Where art and nature shed profusely round
Their rival wonders-Italy, farewell.
Still may thy year in fullest splendor shine!
Its icy darts in vain may winter throw;
To thee a parent, sister, I cousign,
And wing'd with health, I woo thy gales to blow. Yet pleas'd, Helvetia's rugged brows I see,
And thro' their craggy steeps delighted roam; Pleas'd with a people, honest, brave, and free. Whilst every step conducts me nearer home.
I wander where Tesino madly flows,
From cliff to cliff in foaming eddies tost;
On the rude mountain's barren breast he rose,
In Po's broad wave now hurries to be lost.
His shores, neat huts and verdant pastures fill,
And hills, where woods of pine the storms defy,
While, scorning vegetation, higher still,
Rise the bare rocks coeval with the sky.
Upon his banks a favour'd spot I found,
Where shade and beauty tempted to repose:
Within a grove, by mountains circled round,
By rocks o'erhung, my rustic seat I chose.
Advancing thence, by gentle pace and slow,
Unconscious of the way my footsteps prest,
Sudden, supported by the hills below,
St. Gothard's summit rose above the rest.
'Midst towering cliffs and tracks of endless cold, Th' industrious path pervades the rugged stone, And seems-Helvetia, let thy toils be told
A granite girdle o'er the mountain thrown.
No haunt of man the weary traveller greets,
No vegetation smiles upon the moor,
Save where the flow'ret breaths uncultur'd sweets, Save where the patient Monk receives the poor.
Yet let not these rude paths be coldly trac'd,
Let not these wilds with listless steps be trod,
Here fragrance scorns not to perfume the waste,
Here charity uplifts the mind to God.
His humble board the holy man prepares,
And simple food and wholesome lore bestows,
Extols the treasures that his mountain bears,
And paints the perils of impending snows.
For while bleak winter numbs with chilling hand,
Where frequent crosses mark the traveller's fate,
In slow procession moves the merchant band,
And silent bends where tottering ruins wait.
Yet 'midst those ridges, 'midst that drifted snow,
Can nature deign her wonders to display;
Here Adularia shines with vivid glow,
And gems of chrystal sparkle to the day.
Here too, the hoary mountain's brow, to grace,
Five silver lakes, in tranquil state are seen;
While from their waters, many a stream we trace,
That 'scap'd from bondage, roll the rocks between.
Here flows the Reuss to seek her wedded love,
And, with the Rhine, Germanic climes explore;
Her stream I mark'd, and saw her wildly move
Down the bleak mountain, thro' the craggy shore.
My weary footsteps hop'd for rest in vain,
For steep on steep in rude confusion rose;
At length I paus'd above a fertile plain
That promis'd shelter and foretold repose.
Fair runs the streamlet o'er the pasture green,
Its margin gay, with flocks and cattle spread;
Embowering trees the peaceful village screen,
And guard from snow each dwelling's jutting shed.
Sweet vale! whose bosom wastes and cliffs surround,
Let me awhile thy friendly shelter share!
Emblem of life! where some bright hours are found
Amidst the darkest, dreariest years of care.
Delv'd thro' the rock, the secret passage bends,
And beauteous horror strikes the dazzled sight;
Beneath the pendant bridge the stream descends,
Calm, till it tumbles o'er the frowning height.
We view the fearful pass; we wind along
The path that marks the terrors of our way; 'Midst beetling rocks, and hanging woods among, The torrent pours, and breathes its glittering spray.
Weary at length serener scenes we hail,
More cultur'd groves o'ershade the grassy meads,
The neat, tho' wooden, hamlets deck the vale,
And Altorf's spires recall heroic deeds.
But tho' no more amidst those scenes I roam,
My fancy long each image shall retain-
The flock returning to its welcome home,
And the wild carol of the cow-herd's strain.
Lucernia's lake its glassy surface shews,
Whilst nature's varied beauties deck its side;
Here rocks and woods its narrow waves inclose,
And there its spreading bosom opens wide.
And hail the chapel! hail the platform wild!
Where Tell directed the avenging dart,
With well-strung arm, that first preserved his child,
Then wing'd the arrow to the tyrant's heart,
Across the lake, and deep embower'd in wood,
Behold another hallow'd chapel stands,
Where three Swiss beroes lawless force withstood,
And stamp'd the freedom of their native land,
Then liberty requir'd no rites uncouth,
No blood demanded, and no slaves enchain'd;
Her rule was gentle and her voice was truth,
By social order form'd, by laws restrain'd.
We quit the lake-and cultivation's toil,
With nature's charms combin'd, adorns the way,
And well-earn'd wealth improves the ready soil,
And simple manners still maintain their sway.
Farewell, Helvetia! from whose lofty breast
Proud Alps arise, and copious rivers flow;
Where source of streams, eternal glaciers rest,
And peaceful science gilds the plains below.
Oft on thy rocks the wond'ring eyes shall gaze,
Thy vallies oft the raptur'd bosom seek;
There nature's hand her boldest work displays,
Here, bliss domestic beams on every cheek.
A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE,
Written on re-visiting it.
AT the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,
I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood,
On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower,
Where the home of my forefathers stood.
All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode,
And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree;
And travell'd by few is the grass-cover'd road,
Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode
To his hills that encircle the sea.
Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk,
By the dial-stone aged and green,
One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk,
To mark where a garden had been.
Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,
All wild in the silence of nature it drew
From each wandering sun-beam, a lonely embrace; For the night-weed and thorn overshadow'd the place
Where the flower of my forefathers grew.
Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all
That remains in this desolate heart!
The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall,
But patience shall never depart!
Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright,
In the days of delusion, by fancy combin'd
With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight,
Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,
And leave but a desart behind.
Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns,
When the faint and the feeble deplore;
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems
A thousand wild waves on the shore!
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,
May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate! Yea! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain, Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again ;— To bear is to conquer our fate.
SWEET Autumn! how thy melancholy grace
Steals on my heart, as thro' these shades I wind!
Sooth'd by thy breathing sigh, I fondly trace
Each lonely image of the pensive mind!
Lov'd scenes, lov'd friends,-long lost, around me rise,
And wake the melting thought, the tender tear!
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