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Adventurous, careless of to-morrow's fare, A stir unusual and accompanied
Press on—though but a rill entering the Sea, With many a tuning of rude instruments,
Entering and lost! Our task would never end. And many a laugh that argued coming pleasure,

Mine host's fair daughter for the nuptial rite,
Day glimmer'd and I went, a gentle breeze And nuptial feast attiring—there I slept,
Rnflling the Leman Lake. Wave after wave, And in my dreams wander'd once more, well-pleased.
If such they might be call’d, dash'd as in sport, But now a charm was on the rocks, and woods,
Not anger, with the pebbles on the beach

And waters; for, methought, I was with those Making wild music, and far westward caught I had at morn, at even, wish'd for there. The sun-beam-where, alone and as entranced, Counting the hours, the fisher in his skiff

Lay with his circular and dotted line,

Fishing in silence. When the heart is light
With hope, all pleases, nothing comes amiss;

Night was again descending, when my mule, And soon a passage-boat swept gaily by,

That all day long had climb'd among the clouds, Laden with peasant-girls and fruits and flowers, Higher and higher still, as by a stair And many a chanticleer and partlet caged Let down from Heaven itself, transporting me, For Vevay's market-place-a motley group Stopp'd, to the joy of both, at that low door Seen through the silvery haze. But soon 't was gone. So near the summit of the Great St. Bernard; The shifting sail flapp'd idly for an instant, That door which ever on its hinges moved Then bore them off.

To them that knock’d, and nightly sends abroad I am not one of those

Ministering Spirits. Lying on the watch, So dead to all things in this visible world,

Two dogs of grave demeanor welcomed me, (5) So wondrously profound—as to move on

All meekness, gentleness, though large of limb; In the sweet light of heaven, like him of old (3)

And a lay-brother of the Hospital, (His name is justly in the Calendar)

Who, as we toil'd below, had heard by fits
Who throngh the day pursued this pleasant path The distant echoes gaining on his ear,
That winds beside the mirror of all beauty, (4) Came and held fast my stirrup in his hand,
And, when at eve his fellow-pilgrims sate, While I alighted.
Discoursing of the lake, ask'd where it was.

Long could I have stood,
They marvell'd, as they might; and so must all, With a religious awe contemplating
Seeing what now I saw ; for now 't was day That House, the highest in the Ancient World,
And the bright Sun was in the firmament,

And placed there for the noblest purposes. A thousand shadows of a thousand hues

"T was a rude pile of simplest masonry, Chequering the clear expanse. Awhile his orb With narrow windows and vast buttresses, Ilung o'er thy trackless fields of snow, Mont Blanc, Built to endure the shocks of Time and Chance; Thy seas of ice and ice-built promontories, Yet showing many a rent, as well it might, That change their shapes for ever as in sport; Warr’d on for ever by the elements, Then travellid onward, and went down behind And in an evil day, nor long ago, The pine-clad heights of Jura, lighting up By violent men—when on the mountain-top The woodman's casement, and perchance his axe The French and Austrian banners met in conflict. Borrie horeward through the forest in his hand; And, in some deep and melancholy glen,

On the same rock beside it stood the church, That dungeon-fortress never to be named,

Reft of its cross, not of its sanctity; Where, like a lion taken in the toils,

The vesper-bell, for 't was the vesper-hour, Toussaint breathed out his brave and generous spirit. Duly proclaiming through the wilderness, Ah, little did He think, who sent him there,

· All ye who hear, whatever be your work, That he himself, then greatest among men, Stop for an instant-move your lips in prayer.!" Should in like manner be so soon convey'd And, just beneath it, in that dreary dale, Acrow the ocean—to a rock so small

If dale it might be call’d, so near to Heaven, Amid the countless multitude of waves,

A little lake, where never fish leap'd up,
That ships have gone and sought it, and return'd, Lay like a spot of ink amid the snow;
Saying it was not!

A star, the only one in that small sky,
Still along the shore,

On its dead surface glimmering. 'Twas a scene Among the trees I went for many a mile,

Resembling nothing I had left behind, Where damsels sit and weave their fishing-nets, As though all worldly ties were now dissolved ;Singing some national song by the way-side. And to incline the mind still more to thought, But now 't was dusk, and journeying by the Rhone, To thought and sadness, on the easiern shore That there came down, a torrent from the Alps, Under a beetling cliff stood half in shadow I enter'd where a key unlocks a kingdom,' A lonely chapel destined for the dead, The mountains closing, and the road, the river For such as, having wander'd from their way, Filing the narrow pass. There, till a ray

Had perish'd miserably Side by side, Glunced through my lattice, and the household-stir Within they lie, a mournful company Warn'd me to rise, to rise and to depart,

All in their shrouds, no earth to cover them;

Their features full of life, yet motionless
I St. Maurice.

In the broad day, nor soon to suffer change,

Though the barr'd windows, barr'd against the wolf, Which, where it comes, makes Summer; and in Are always open!

thought, But the Bise blew cold ; (6) Oft am I sitting on the bench beneath And, bidden to a sparo but cheerful meal,

Their garden-plot, where all that vegetates
I sate among the holy brotherhood

Is but some scanty lettuce, to observe
At their long board. The fare indeed was such Those from the South ascending, every step
As is prescribed on days of abstinence,

As though it were their last- and instantly
But might have pleased a nicer taste than mine; Restored, renew'd, advancing as with songs,
And through the floor came up, an ancient matron Soon as they see, turning a lofty crag.
Serving unseen below; while from the roof That plain, that modest structure, promising
(The roof, the floor, the walls of native fir), Bread to the hungry, (9) to the weary rest.
A lamp hung flickering, such as loves to fling
Its partial light on Apostolic heads,

And sheds a grace on all. Theirs Time as yet

THE DESCENT. Had changed not. Some were almost in the prime;

My mule refreshd-and, let the truth be told, Nor was a brow o'ercast. Seen as I saw them,

He was not of that vile, that scurvy race, Ranged round their ample hearth-stone in an hour

From sire to son lovers of controversy, Of rest, they were as gay, as free from guile,

But patient, diligent, and sure of foot, As children; answering, and at once, to all

Shunning the loose stone on the precipice, The gentler impulses, to pleasure, mirth;

Snorting suspicion while with sight, smell, touch, Mingling, at intervals, with rational talk

Examining the wet and spongy moss, Music; and gathering news from them that came,

And on his haunches sitting to slide down As of some other world. But when the storm

The steep, the smooth--my mule refresh'd, luis bells Rose, and the snow rolld on in ocean-billows,

Gingled once more, the signal to depart,
When on his face the experienced traveller fell,

And we set out in the grey light of dawn,
Sheltering his lips and nostrils with his hands,
Then all was changed; and, sallying with their pack Fast-frozen, and among huge blocks of ice

Descending rapidly—by waterfalls
Into that blank of nature, they became

That in their long career had stopt mid-way, Unearthly beings. “Anselm, higher up,

At length, uncheck’d, unbidden, he stood still; Just where it drifts, a dog howls loud and long,

And all his bells were muffled. Then my Guide, And now, as guided by a voice from Heaven,

Lowering his voice, address'd me: “Through this Digs with his feet. That noble vehemence

Chasm Whose can it be, but his who never err'd ?

On and say nothing—for a word, a breath, Let us to work! there is no time to lose !

Stirring the air, may loosen and bring down But who descends Mont Velan? "Tis La Croix.

A winter's snow-enough to overwhelm Away, away! if not, alas, too late.

The horse and foot that, night and day, defiled Homeward he drags an old man and a boy,

Along this path to conquer at Marengo. Faltering and falling, and but half awaken'd,

Well I remember how I met them here, Asking to sleep again.” Such their discourse.

As the light died away, and how Napoleon, Oft has a venerable roof received me;

Wrapt in his cloak--I could not be deceivedSt. Bruno's once' (7)—where, when the winds were How far 't was to St. Remi. Where the rock

Rein'd in his horse, and ask'd me, as I pass'd, hushid, Nor from the cataract the voice came up,

Juts forward, and the road, crumbling away, You might have heard the mole work underground, "T was there ; and down along the brink he led

Narrows almost to nothing at its base,
So great the stillness of that place; none seen,
Save when from rock to rock a hermit cross'd

To Victory Dessaix, who turn’d the scale, (10)

Leaving his life-blood in that famous field By some rude bridge or one at midnight tolla

(When the clouds break, we may discern the spot To matins, and white habits, issuing forth,

In the blue haze), sleeps, as you saw at dawn,
Glided along those aisles interminable,

Just as you enter'd, in the Hospital-church."
All, all observant of the sacred law
Of Silence. Nor is that sequester'd spot,

So saying, for awbile he held his peace,
Once called Sweet Waters,” now “The Shady But soon, the danger pass’d, launch'd forth again.

Awe-struck beneath that dreadful Canopy ;
Vale." 2
To me unknown ; that house so rich of old,

So courteous, (8) and by two, that pass'd that way,"
Amply requited with immortal verse,

The Poet's payment.

JORASSE was in his three-and-twentieth year; But, among them all, Graceful and active as a stag just roused ; None can with this compare, the dangerous seat Gentle withal, and pleasant in his speech, Of generous, active Virtue. Wha! though Frost Yet seldom seen to smile. He had grown up Reign everlastingly, and ice and snow

Among the Hunters of the Higher Alps ; Thaw not, but gather—there is that within, Had caught their starts and fits of thoughtfulness,

Their haggard looks, and strange soliloquies, 1 The Grande Chartreuse.

Said to arise by those who dwell below, 2 Vallombrosa, formerly called Acqua Bella.

From frequent dealings with the Mountain-Spirits. 3 Ariosto and Milton.

But other ways had taught him bolter things;

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And now he number'd, marching by my side, All in their best attire. There first he saw
The Savans, Princes, who with him had cross'd His Madelaine. In the crowd she stood to hear,
The frozen tract, with him familiarly

When all drew round, inquiring; and her face,
Through the rough day and rougher night conversed Seen behind all, and, varying, as he spoke,
In many a chalêt round the Peak of Terror,' With hope, and fear, and generous sympathy,
Round Tacul, Tour, Well-horn and Rosenlau, Subdued him. From that very hour he loved.
And Her, whose throne is inaccessible, ?
Who sits, withdrawn, in virgin-majesty,

The tale was long, but coming to a close, Nor oft unveils. Anon an Avalanche

When his dark eyes flash'd fire, and, stopping short, Roll'd its long thunder; and a sudden crash, He listen'd and look'd up. I look'd up 100; Sharp and metallic, to the startled ear

And twice there came a hiss that through me thrillid! Told that far-down a continent of Ice

"T was heard no more. A Chamois on the cliff Ilad burst in twain. But he had now begun; Had roused his fellows with that cry of fear, And with what transport he recall’d the hour

And all were gone. When to deserve, to win his blooming bride,

But now the thread was broken;
Madelaine of Annecy, to his feet he bound Love and its joys had vanish'd from his mind;
The iron crampons, and, ascending, trod

And he recounted his hair-breadth escapes
The Upper realms of Frost; then, by a cord When with his friend, Hubert of Bionnay,
Lel half-way down, enter'd a Grot star-bright, (His ancient carbine from his shoulder slung,
And gather'd from above, below, around, (11) His axe to hew a stair-case in the ice)
The pointed crystals!

He track'd their footsteps. By a cloud surprised,
Once, nor long before (12) Upon a crag among the precipices,
(Thus did his tongue run on, fast as his feet, Where the next step had hurl'd them fifty fathoms,
And with an eloquence that Nature gives

Oft had they stood, lock'd in each other's arms, To all her children-breaking off by starts All the long night under a freezing sky, Into the harsh and rude, oft as the Mule

Each guarding each the while from sleeping, falling. Drew his displeasure) once, nor long before, Oh, 't was a sport he loved dearer than life, Alone at day-break on the Mettenberg,

And only would with life itself relinquish! He slipp'd, he fell; and, through a fearful cleft My sire, my grandsire died among these wilds. Gluding from ledge to ledge, from deep to deeper, As for myself,” he cried, and he held forth Went w the Under-world! Long-while he lay His wallet in his band, “this do I call Upon his rugged bed—then waked like one My winding-sheet-for I shall have no other!” Wishing to sleep again and sleep for ever! For, looking round, he saw or thought he saw

And he spoke truth. Within a little month innumerable branches of a Cavern,

He lay among these awful solitudes, Winding beneath a solid crust of ice;

('T was on a glacier-half-way up to Heaven) With here and there a rent that show'd the stars ! Taking his final rest. Long did his wife, What then, alas, was left him but to die?

Suckling her babe, her only one, look out What else in those immeasurable chambers, The way he went at parting, but he came not! Strewn with the bones of miserable men,

Long fear to close her eyes, lest in her sleep Lost like himself! Yet must he wander on, (Such their belief) he should appear before her, Till cold and hunger set his spirit free!

Frozen and ghastly pale, or crush'd and bleeding, And, rising, he began his dreary round;

To tell her where he lay, and supplicate
When hark, the noise as of some mighty River For the last rite! At length the dismal news
Working its way to light! Back he withdrew, Came to her ears, and to her eyes his corse.
But soon return'd, and, fearless froin despair,
Dash'd down the disinal Channel; and all day,

If day could be where utter darkness was,

Travell d incessantly, the craggy roof
Juxt aver-head, and the impetuous waves,

Now the grey granite, starting through the snow,
Vor broad nor deep, yet with a giant's strength Discover'd many a variegated moss'
Lashing him on. At last the water slept

That to the pilgrim resting on his staff In a dead lake at the third step he took,

Shadows out capes and islands; and ere long l'nfathomable and the roof, that long

Numberless flowers, such as disdain to live Had threaten'd, suddenly descending, lay

In lower regions, and delighted drink Flat on the surface. Statue-like he stood, The clouds before they fall, flowers of all hues, Hos journey ended; when a ray divine

With their diminutive leaves coverd the ground. Shot through his soul. Breathing a prayer to Her 'T was then, that, turning by an ancient larch, Whose eurs are never shut, the Blessed Virgin,

Shiver'd in two, yet most majestical
He plunged, he swam-and in an instant rose, With its long level branches, we observed
The barrier past, in light, in sunshine! Through

A human figure sitting on a stone
A smiling valley, full of collages,

Far down by the way-side--just where the rock Glittering the river ran ; and on the bank

Is riven asunder, and the Evil One The young were dancing ('t was a festival-day) Has bridged the gulf, a wondrous monument (13)

1 The Schrokhom

"The Jungfrau.

I Lichen Geographicus

Built in one night, from which the flood beneath, The level plain I travell’d silently,
Raging along, all foam, is seen not heard,

Nearing them more and more, day after day,
And seen as motionless!

My wandering thoughts my only company, Nearer we drew, And they before me still, oft as I look'd, And 't was a woman young and delicate,

A strange delight, mingled with fear, came o'er me, Wrapt in a russet cloak from head to foot,

A wonder as at things I had not heard of!
Her eyes cast down, her cheek upon her hand, Oft as I look'd, I felt as though it were
In deepest thought. Young as she was, she wore For the first time!
The matron-cap; and from her shape we judged,

Great was the tumult there,
As well we might, that it would not be long Deafening the din, when in barbaric pomp
Ere she became a mother. Pale she look'd, The Carihaginian on his march to Rome
Yet cheerful; though, methought, once, if not twice, Entered their fastnesses. Trampling the shows,
She wiped away a tear that would be coming : The war-horse reared ; and the tower'd elephant
And in those moments her small hat of straw, Upturn'd his trunk into the murky sky,
Worn on one side, and garnish'd with a riband Then tumbled headlong, swallow'd up and lost,
Glittering with gold, but ill conceal'd a face He and his rider.
Not soon to be forgotten. Rising up

Now the scene is changed ; On our approach, she journey'd slowly on; And o'er Mont Cenis, o'er the Simplon winds And my companion, long before we met,

A path of pleasure. Like a silver zone Knew, and ran down to groet her.

Flung about carelessly, it shines afar,

She was born Catching the eye in many a broken link, (Such was her artless tale, told with fresh tears) In many a turn and traverse as it glides; In Val d'Aosta ; and an Alpine stream,

And oft above and oft below appears, Leaping from crag to crag in its short course Seen o'er the wall by him who journeys up, To join the Dora, turn'd her father's mill.

As though it were another, not the same, There did she blossom till a Valaisan,

Leading along he knows not whence or whither. A townsman of Martigny, won her heart,

Yet through its fairy course, go where it will,
Much to the old man's grief. Long he held out, The torrent stops it not, the rugged rock
Unwilling to resign her; and at length,

Opens and lets it in; and on it runs,
When the third summer came, they stole a match Winning its easy way from clime to clime
And Ned. The act was sudden; and when far Through glens lock'd up before.
Away, her spirit had misgivings. Then

Not such my path! She pictured to herself that aged face

Mine but for those, who, like Jean Jacques, delight(14) Sickly and wan, in sorrow, not in anger;

In dizziness, gazing and shuddering on And, when at last she heard his hour was near, Till fascination comes and the brain turns ! Went forth unseen, and, burden'd as she was, Mine, though I judge but from my ague-fits Cross'd the high Alps on foot to ask forgiveness, Over the Drance, just where the Abbot fell, (15) And hold him to her heart before he died.

The same as Hannibal's.
Her task was done. She had fulfill'd her wish,

But now 't is past,
And now was on her way, rejoicing, weeping. That turbulent Chaos; and the promised land
A frame like hers had suffer’d; but her love Lies at my feet in all its loveliness!
Was strong within her; and right on she went, To him who starts up from a terrible dream,
Fearing no ill. May all good Angels guard her! And lo the sun is shining, and the lark
And should I once again, as once I may,

Singing aloud for joy, to him is not
Visit Martigny, I will not forget

Such sudden ravishment as now I feel
Thy hospitable roof, Marguerite de Tours; At the first glimpses of fair Italy.
Thy sign the silver swan.' Heaven prosper Thee!


Who first beholds those everlasting clouds, I LOVE to sail along the Larian Lake
Seed-time and harvest, morning, noon and night, Under the shore—though not to visit Pliny,
Still where they were, stedfast, immovable ; To catch himn musing in his plane-tree walk,
Who first beholds the Alps—that mighty chain Or fishing, as he might be, from his window:
Of Mountains, stretching on from east to west, And, to deal plainly, (may his Shade forgive me!)
So massive, yet so shadowy, so ethereal,

Could I recall the ages past, and play As to belong rather to Heaven than Earth

The fool with Time, I should perhaps reserve But instantly receives into his soul

My leisure for Catullus on his Lake, A sense, a feeling that he loses not,

Though to fare worse, or Virgil at his farm A something that informs him 't is a moment A little further on the way to Mantua. Whence he may date henceforward and for ever? But such things cannot be. So I sit still,

And let the boat man shift his little snil, To me they seem'd the barriers of a World, His sail so forked and so swallow-like, Saying, Thus far, no farther! and as o'er

Well-pleased with all that comes. The morning air

Plays on my cheek low gently, flinging round
1 La Cygne.
A silvery gleam, and ww the purple mists

Rise like a curtain ; now the sun looks out, And reading, in the eyes that sparkled round,
Filling, o'erflowing with his glorious light The thousand love-adventures written there.
This noble amphitheatre of mountains ;
And now appear as on a phosphor-sea

Can I forget—no, never, such a scene
Numberless barks, from Milan, from Pavia; So full of witchery! Night linger'd still,
Some sailing up, some down, and some at anchor, When, with a dying breeze, I left Bellaggio;
Lading, unlading at that small port-town

But the strain follow'd me; and still I saw
Under the promontory—its tall tower

Thy smile, Angelica; and still I heard
And long flat roofs, just such as Poussin drew, Thy voice-once and again bidding adieu.
Caught by a sun-beam slanting through a cloud;
A quay-like scene, glittering and full of life,

And doubled by reflection.
What delight,

After so long a sojourn in the wild,

THE song was one that I had heard before,
To hear once more the sounds of cheerful labor ! But where I knew not. It inclined to sadness;
-But in a clime like this where are they not? And, turning round from the delicious fare
Along the shores, among the hills 't is now My landlord's little daughter, Barbara,
The heyday of the Vintage ; all abroad,

Had from her apron just rollid out before me,
But most the young and of the gentler sex, Figs and rock-melons at the door I saw
Busy in gathering; all among the vines,

Two boys of lively aspect. Peasant-like
Some on the ladder, and some underneath, They were, and poorly clad, but not unskill’d;
Filling their baskets of green wicker-work, With their small voices and an old guitar
While many a canzonet and frolic laugh

Winning their mazy progress to my heart Come through the leaves ; the vines in light festoons In that, the only universal language. From tree to tree, the trees in avenues,

But soon they changed the measure, entering on And every avenue a cover'd walk,

A pleasant dialogue of sweet and sour, Hung with black clusters. T is enough to make A war of words, and waged with looks and gestures, The sad man merry, the benevolent one

Between Trappanti and his ancient dame,
Melt into tears—so general is the joy!

Mona Lucilia. To and fro it went;
While up and down the cliffs, over the lake, While many a titter on the stairs was heard,
Wains oxen-drawn, and pannier'd mules are seen, And Barbara's among them.
Laden with grapes, and dropping rosy wine.

When 't was done,

Their dark eyes flash'd no longer, yet, methought, Here I received from thee, Filippo Mori,

In many a glance as from the soul, express'd One of those courtesies so sweet, so rare !

More than enough to serve them. Far or near, When, 19 I mambled through thy vineyard-ground

Few let them pass unnoticed ; and there was not On the hill-side, thou sent'st thy little son,

A mother round about for many a league, Charged with a bunch almost as big as he, But could repeat their story. Twins they were, To press it on the stranger.

And orphans, as I learnt, cast on the world ;
May thy vats

Their parents lost in the old ferry-boat
O'erflow, and he, thy willing gift-bearer,

That, three years since, last Martinmas, went down Live to become ere-long himself a giver; Crossing the rough Penacus.' And in due time, when thou art full of honor,

May they live The staff of thine old age !

Blameless and happy-rich they cannot be,

In a strange land Like him who, in the days of Minstrelsy, (18) Such things, however trifling, reach the heart, Came in a beggar's weeds to Petrarch's door, And through the heart the head, clearing away

Crying without, “Give me a lay to sing !" The narrow notions that grow up at home,

And soon in silk (such then the power of song) And in their place grafting Good-Will 10 All.

Return'd to thank him; or like him, wayworn At least I found it so ; nor less at eve,

And lost, who, by the foaming Adige When, bidden as an English traveller

Descending from the Tyrol, as night fell, (T wes by a little boat that gave me chase Knock'd at a city-gate near the hill-foot, With oar and sail, as homeward-bound I cross'd

The gate that bore so long, sculptured in stone, The bay of Tramezzine), right readily

An eagle on a ladder, and at once
I turo'd my prow and follow'd, landing soon Found welcome-nightly in the banner'd hall
Where steps of purest marble met the wave; Tuning his harp to tales of Chivalry
Where, through the trellises and corridors,

Before the great Mastino, (19) and his guests,
Soft music came as from Armida's palace,

The three-and-twenty, by some adverse fortune, Breathing enchantment o'er the woods, the waters; By war or treason or domestic malice, And through a bright pavilion, bright as day,

Reft of their kingly crowns, reft of their all, Forms such as hers were flitting, lost among

And living on his bounty. Such as of old in sober pomp swept by,

But who now
Such as adorn the triumphs and the feasts

Enters the chamber, flourishing a scroll
Printed by Cagliari; (16) where the world danced In his right hand, his left at every step
Under the starry sky, while I look'd on,
Adinuring, listening, quafting gramolata, (17)

I Lago di Garda

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