ろ Then might the passing Monk receive a boon How blest the souls who when their trials come But face like that sweet Boy their mortal doom, XXI. THE TOWN OF SCHWYTZ. By antique Fancy trimmed-though lowly, bred Equality by Prudence governed, Or jealous Nature ruling in her stead ; And, therefore, art thou blest with peace, serene As that of the sweet fields and meadows green In unambitious compass round thee spread. Holding a central station of command, Are moved, for me-upon this Mountain named | Aspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed, XXIII. FORT FUENTES. The Ruins of Fort Fuentes form the crest of a rocky eminence that rises from the plain at the head of the lake of Como, commanding views up the Valteline, and toward the town of Chiavenna. The prospect in the latter direction is characterised by melancholy sublimity. We rejoiced at being favoured with a distinct view of those Alpine heights; not, as we had expected from the breaking up of the storm, steeped in celestial glory, yet in communion with clouds floating or stationary-scatterings from heaven. The Ruin is interesting both in mass and in detail. An Inscription, upon elaborately-sculptured marble lying on the ground, records that the Fort had been erected by Count Fuentes in the year 1600, during the reign of Philip the Third; and the Chapel, about twenty years after, by one of his Descendants. Marble pillars of gateways are yet standing, and a considerable part of the Chapel walls: a smooth green turf has taken place of the pavement, and we could see no trace of altar or image; but everywhere something to remind one of former splendour, and of devastation and tumult. In our ascent we had passed abundance of wild vines intermingled with bushes: near the ruins were some ill tended, but growing willingly; and rock, turf, and fragments of the pile, are alike covered or adorned with a variety of flowers, among which the rose-coloured pink was growing in great beauty. While descending, we discovered on the ground, apart from the path, and at a considerable distance from the ruined Chapel, a statue of a Child in pure white marble, uninjured by the explosion that had driven it so far down the hill. "How little," we exclaimed, "are these things valued here! Could we but transport this pretty Image to our own garden!"-Yet it seemed it would have been a pity any one should remove it from its couch in the wilderness, which may be its own for hundreds of years-Extract from Journal. DREAD hour ! when, upheaved by war's sulphurous blast, This sweet-visaged Cherub of Parian stone To rest where the lizard may bask in the palm Of his half-open hand pure from blemish or speck; And the green, gilded snake, without troubling the calm Of the beautiful countenance, twine round his neck; Where haply (kind service to Piety due!) When winter the grove of its mantle bereaves, Some bird (like our own honoured redbreast) may strew 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: Now gads the wild vine o'er the pathless ascent ;— O silence of Nature, how deep is thy sway, When the whirlwind of human destruction is spent, Our tumults appeased, and our strifes passed away! XXIV. THE CHURCH OF SAN SALVADOR, SEEN FROM THE LAKE OF LUGANO. This Church was almost destroyed by lightning a few years ago, but the altar and the image of the Patron Saint were 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 of view, its principal ornament, rising to the height of 2000 feet, and, on one side, nearly perpendicular. The ascent is toilsome; but the traveller who performs it will be amply rewarded. Splendid fertility, rich woods and dazzling waters, seclusion and confinement of view contrasted with sea-like extent of plain fading into the sky; and this again, in an opposite quarter, with an horizon of the loftiest and boldest Alps-unite in composing a prospect more diversified by magnificence, beauty, and sublimity, than perhaps any other point in Europe, of so inconsiderable an elevation, commands. THOU Sacred Pile! whose turrets rise To sulphurous bolts a sacrifice, On Horeb's top, on Sinai, deigned Cliffs, fountains, rivers, seasons, times- Now that the farewell tear is dried, The graceful form of milk-white Steed, *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. II. But thou, perhaps, (alert as free Though robbed of many a cherished dream, Yet will the Wanderer sometimes pine Nor shall forget the Maiden coy That would have loved the bright-haired Boy! My Song, encouraged by the grace Shall tend, with his own dark-eyed Maid, As with a rapture caught from heaven- But, flying through the heights around, On their Descendants shedding grace- II. But Truth inspired the Bards of old Pale, ragged, with bare feet and head; Father of all! though wilful Manhood read Grant to the morn of life its natural blessedness! XXVI. THE LAST SUPPER, BY LEONARDO DA VINCI, IN THE THO' searching damps and many an envious flaw The annunciation of the dreadful truth * See Note. |