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Even so, by vestal Nature guarded, here
The traces of primeval Man appear;
The native dignity no forms debase,
The eye sublime, and surly lion-grace.
The slave of none, of beasts alone the lord,
He marches with his flute, his book, and sword;
Well taught by that to feel his rights, prepared
With this « the blessings he enjoys to guard.>>

And, as his native hills encircle ground For many a wondrous victory renown'd, The work of Freedom daring to oppose, With few in arms, innumerable foes, When to those glorious fields his steps are led, An unknown power connects him with the dead. For images of other worlds are there; Awful the light, and holy is the air. Uncertain through his fierce uncultured soul Like lighted tempests troubled transports roll; To viewless realms his Spirit towers amain, Beyond the senses and their little reign.

And oft, when pass'd that solemn vision by,
He holds with God himself communion high,
Where the dread peal of swelling torrents fills
The sky-roofd temple of the eternal hills;
Or, when upon the mountain's silent brow
Reclined, he sees, above him and below,
Bright stars of ice and azure fields of snow;
While needle peaks of granite shooting bare
Tremble in ever-varying tints of air:

-Great joy, by horror tamed, dilates his heart,
And the near heavens their own delights impart.
-When the Sun bids the gorgeous scene farewell,
Alps overlooking Alps their state up-swell;
Huge Pikes of Darkness named, of Fear and Storms, 2
Lift, all serene, their still, illumined forms,
In sea-like reach of prospect round him spread,
Tinged like an angel's smile all rosy red.

When downward to his winter hut he goes,
Dear and more dear the lessening circle grows;
That but which from the hills his eyes employs
So oft, the central point of all his joys.
And as a swift, by tender cares opprest,
Peeps often ere she dart into her nest,

So to the untrodden floor, where round him looks
His father, helpless as the babe he rocks,
Oft he descends to nurse the brother pair,
Till storm and driving ice blockade him there.
There, safely guarded by the woods behind,
He hears the chiding of the baffled wind,
Hears Winter, calling all his Terrors round,
Rush down the living rocks with whirlwind sound.
Through Nature's vale his homely pleasures glide
Unstain'd by envy, discontent, and pride.

* Alloding to several battles which the Swiss in very small numbera bave gained over their oppressors, the bouse of Austria; and in

particular, to one fought at Nieffels near Glarus, where three bundred and thirty men defeated an army of between fifteen and twenty thousand Anstrians. Scattered over the valley are to be found eleven stones, with this inscription, 1388, the year the battle was fought, marking out, as I was told upon the spot, the several places where the Austrians attempting to make a stand were repulsed

knew.

As Schreck-Horn, the pike of terror; Wetter-Horn, the pike of

storms, etc. etc.

The bound of all his vanity, to deck,
With one bright bell, a favourite Heifer's neck;
Well-pleased upon some simple annual feast,
Remember'd half the year and hoped the rest,
If dairy produce from his inner hoard

Of thrice ten summers consecrate the board.
-Alas! in every clime a flying ray

Is all we have to cheer our wintry way.

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Here,» cried a thoughtful Swain, upon whose head The « blossoms of the grave» were thinly spread, Last night, while by his dying fire, as closed The day, in luxury my limbs reposed,

« Here Penury oft from Misery's mount will guide Even to the summer door his icy tide,

And here the avalanche of Death destroy

The little cottage of domestic joy.

But, ah! the unwilling mind may more than trace
The general sorrows of the human race:
The churlish gales, that unremitting blow
Cold from necessity's continual snow,
To us the gentle groups of bliss deny
That on the noon-day bank of leisure lie.

Yet more;-compell'd by Powers which only deign
That solitary man disturb their reign,
Powers that support a never-ceasing strife
With all the tender charities of life,
The father, as his sons of strength become
To pay the filial debt, for food to roam,
From his bare nest amid the storms of heaven
Drives, eagle-like, those sons as he was driven;
His last dread pleasure watches to the plain--
And never, eagle-like, beholds again!»

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Gay lark of hope, thy silent song resume!
Fair smiling lights the purpled hills illume!
Soft gales and dews of life's delicious morn,
And thou, lost fragrance of the heart, return!
Soon flies the little joy to man allow'd,
And grief before him travels like a cloud:
For come Diseases on, and Penury's rage,
Labour, and Care, and Pain, and dismal Age,
Till, Hope-deserted, long in vain his breath
Implores the dreadful untried sleep of Death.
-Mid savage rocks, and seas of snow that shine
Between interminable tracts of pine,

A Temple stands; which holds an awful shrine,
By an uncertain light reveal'd, that falls
On the mute Image and the troubled walls:
Palc, dreadful faces round the Shrine appear,
Abortive Joy, and Hope that works in fear;
While strives a secret Power to hush the crowd,
Pain's wild rebellious burst proclaims her rights aloud.

The effect of the famous air called in French Ranz des Vaches upon the Swiss troops.

Oh! give not me that eye of hard disdain
That views undimm'd Ensiedlen's wretched fane1.
Mid muttering prayers all sounds of torment meet,
Dire clap of hands, distracted chafe of feet;
While, loud and dull, ascends the weeping cry,
Surely in other thoughts contempt may die.
If the sad grave of human ignorance bear
One flower of hope-Oh, pass and leave it there.
-The tall Sun, tiptoe on an Alpine spire,
Flings o'er the wilderness a stream of fire;
Now let us meet the Pilgrims ere the day
Close on the remnant of their weary way;
While they are drawing toward the sacred floor
Where the charm'd worm of pain shall gnaw no more.
How gaily murmur and how sweetly taste

The fountains 2 rear'd for them amid the waste!
There some with tearful kiss each other greet,
And some,
with reverence, wash their toil-worn feet.
Yes, I will see you when ye first behold
Those holy turrets tipp'd with evening gold,
In that glad moment when the hands are prest
In mute devotion on the thankful breast.

Last let us turn to where Chamoùny 3 shields
With rocks and gloomy woods her fertile fields;
Five streams of ice amid her cots descend,

And with wild flowers and blooming orchards blend.
A scene more fair than what the Grecian feigns
Of purple lights and ever-vernal plains;
Here lawns and shades by breezy rivulets fann'd,
Here all the Seasons revel hand in hand.
-Red stream the cottage-lights; the landscape fades,
Erroneous wavering mid the twilight shades.
Alone ascends that Hill of matchless height, 4
That holds no commerce with the summer Night.
From age to age, amid his lonely bounds
The crash of ruin fitfully resounds;
Mysterious havoc! but serene his brow,
Where daylight lingers mid perpetual snow;
Glitter the stars above, and all is black below.

At such an hour I heaved a pensive sigh, When roar'd the sullen Arve in anger by, That not for thy reward, delicious Vale! Waves the ripe harvest in the autumnal gale;

That thou, the slave of slaves, art doom'd to pine; Hard lot!-for no Italian arts are thine,

To soothe or cheer, to soften or refine.

Beloved Freedom! were it mine to stray, With shrill winds roaring round my lonely way, O'er the bleak sides of Cumbria's heath-clad moors, Or where dank sea-weed lashes Scotland's shores; To scent the sweets of Piedmont's breathing rose, And orange gale that o'er Lugano blows; In the wide range of many a varied round, Fleet as my passage was, I still have found

This shrine is resorted to, from a hope of relief, by multitudes, from every corner of the Catholic world, labouring under mental or bodily afflictions.

Rude fountains built and covered with sheds for the accommodation of the Pilgrims, in their ascent of the mountain.

> This word is pronounced upon the spot Chamouny: I have taken

the liberty of changing the accent.

That where despotic courts their gems display,
The lilies of domestic joy decay,

While the remotest hamlets blessings share

In thy dear presence known, and only there!
The casement's shed more luscious woodbine binds,
And to the door a neater pathway winds;
At early morn, the careful housewife, led
To cull her dinner from its garden bed,
Of weedless herbs a healthier prospect sees,
While hum with busier joy her happy bees;
In brighter rows her table wealth aspires,
And laugh with merrier blaze her evening fires;
Her infants' cheeks with fresher roses glow,
And wilder graces sport around their brow;
By clearer taper lit, a cleanlier board
Receives at supper hour her tempting hoard;
The chamber hearth with fresher boughs is spread,
And whiter is the hospitable bed.

And oh! fair France! though now along the shade Where erst at will the grey-clad peasant stray'd, Gleam war's discordant vestments through the trees, And the red banner fluctuates in the breeze; Though martial songs have banish'd songs of love, And nightingales forsake the village grove, Scared by the fife and rumbling drum's alarms, And the short thunder, and the flash of arms; While, as Night bids the startling uproar die, Sole sound, the Sourd renews his mournful cry! -Yet, hast thou found that Freedom spreads her power Beyond the cottage hearth, the cottage door : All nature smiles, and owns beneath her eyes Her fields peculiar, and peculiar skies. Yes, as I roam'd where Loiret's waters glide Through rustling aspens heard from side to side, When from October clouds a milder light Fell, where the blue flood rippled into white, Methought from every cot the watchful bird Crow'd with ear-piercing power till then unheard; Each clacking mill, that broke the murmuring streams, Rock'd the charm'd thought in more delightful dreams; Chasing those long, long dreams, the falling leaf Awoke a fainter pang of moral grief;

The measured echo of the distant flail

Wound in more welcome cadence down the vale;
A more majestic tide the water roll'd,
And glow'd the sun-gilt groves in richer gold.
-Though Liberty shall soon, indignant, raise
Red on the hills his beacon's comet blaze;
Bid from on high his lonely cannon sound,
And on ten thousand hearths his shout rebound;
His larum-bell from village-tower to tower
Swing on the astounded car its dull undying roar;
Yet, yet rejoice, though Pride's perverted ire
Rouse Hell's own aid, and wrap thy hills in fire!
Lo! from the innocuous flames, a lovely birth,
With its own Virtues springs another earth:
Nature, as in her prime, her virgin reign
Begins, and Love and Truth compose her train;
While, with a pulseless hand, and steadfast gaze,
Unbreathing Justice her still beam surveys.

An insect so called, which emits a short, melancholy cry, heard at the close of the summer evenings, on the banks of the Loire. The duties upon many parts of the French rivers were so exor

It is only from the higher part of the valley of Chamouny that bitant, that the poorer people, deprived of the benefit of water car Mont Blanc is visible.

riage. were obliged to transport their goods by land.

Oh give, great God, to Freedom's waves to ride
Sublime o'er Conquest, Avarice, and Pride,
To sweep where Pleasure decks her guilty bowers,
And dark Oppression builds her thick-ribb'd towers
-Give them, beneath their breast while gladness springs,
To brood the nations o'er with Nile-like wings;
And grant that every sceptred Child of clay,
Who cries, presumptuous, « here their tides shall stay,»
Swept in their anger from the affrighted shore,
With all his creatures sink-to rise no more!

To-night, my friend, within this humble cot
Be the dead load of mortal ills forgot
In timely sleep; and, when at break of day,
On the tall peaks the glistening sunbeams play,
With lighter heart our course we may renew,
The first whose footsteps print the mountain dew.

THE FEMALE VAGRANT.

My Father was a good and pious man,
An honest man by honest parents bred,
And I believe that, soon as I began
To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed,
And in his hearing there my prayers I said:
And afterwards, by my good father taught,
I read, and loved the books in which I read;
For books in every neighbouring house I sought,
And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought.

Can I forget what charms did once adorn

My garden, stored with pease, and mint, and thyme,
And rose, and lily, for the sabbath morn?
The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime;
The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time;

My hen's rich nest through long grass scarce espied;
The cowslip-gathering in June's dewy pride;
The swans, that, when I sought the water-side,

Till then, he hoped his bones might there be laid,
Close by my mother in their native bowers;
Bidding me trust in God, he stood and pray'd,-
I could not pray:-through tears that fell in showers,
Glimmer'd our dear-loved home, alas! no longer ours!

There was a youth whom I had loved so long,
That when I loved him not I cannot say.
Mid the green mountains many a thoughtless song
We two had sung, like gladsome birds in May.
When we began to tire of childish play,
We seem'd still more and more to prize each other;
We talk'd of marriage and our marriage day;
And I in truth did love him like a brother,
For never could I hope to meet with such another.

Two years were pass'd since to a distant town
Ile had repair'd to ply the artist's trade.
What tears of bitter grief till then unknown!
What tender vows our last sad kiss delay'd!
To him we turn'd:-we had no other aid.
Like one revived, upon his neck I wept,
And her whom he had loved in joy, he said,
He well could love in grief: his faith he kept;
And in a quiet home once more my father slept.

We lived in peace and comfort; and were blest
With daily bread, by constant toil supplied.
Three lovely infants lay upon my breast;
And often viewing their sweet smiles, I sigh'd,
And knew not why. My happy Father died
When sad distress reduced the children's meal:
Thrice happy! that for him the grave did hide
The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel,
And tears that flow'd for ills which patience could not
heal.

'Twas a hard change, an evil time was come;
We had no hope, and no relief could gain.

From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride? But soon, with proud parade, the noisy drum

The staff I yet remember which upbore
The bending body of my active Sire;
His seat beneath the honey'd sycamore
Where the bees humm'd, and chair by winter fire;
When market-morning came, the neat attire
With which, though bent on haste, myself I deck'd;
My watchful dog, whose starts of furious ire,
When stranger pass'd, so often I have check'd;

The red-breast known for years, which at my casement
peck'd.

The suns of twenty summers danced along,-
Ah! little mark'd how fast they roll'd away:
But, through severe mischance, and cruel wrong,
My father's substance fell into decay;
We toil'd and struggled-hoping for a day
When fortune should put on a kinder look;
But vain were wishes — efforts vain as they :
He from his old hereditary nook

Must part, the summons came,-our final leave we
Look.

It was indeed a miserable hour

When from the last hill-top, my sire survey'd,
Peering above the trees, the steeple tower

That on his marriage day sweet music made!

Beat round, to sweep the streets of want and pain.
My husband's arms now only served to strain
Me and his children hungering in his view:
In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain:
To join those miserable men he flew ;

And now to the sea-coast, with numbers more, we drew.

There long were we neglected, and we bore
Much sorrow, ere the fleet its anchor weigh'd;
Green fields before us, and our native shore,
We breathed a pestilential air, that made
Ravage for which no knell was heard.
We pray'd
For our departure; wish'd and wish'd -nor knew
'Mid that long sickness, and those hopes delay'd,
That happier days we never more must view:
The parting signal stream'd, at last the land withdrew.

But the calm summer season now was past.
On as we drove, the equinoctial deep
Ran mountains-high before the howling blast;
And many perish'd in the whirlwind's sweep.
We gazed with terror on their gloomy sleep,
Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue,
Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap,
That we the
of the waves should rue:
mercy
We reach'd the western world, a poor, devoted crew.

5

The pains and plagues that on our heads came down,
Disease and famine, agony and fear,

In wood or wilderness, in camp or town,
It would thy brain unsettle even to hear.
All perish'd—all, in one remorseless year,
Husband and Children! one by one, by sword
And ravenous plague, all perish'd: every tear
Dried up, despairing, desolate, on board

A British ship I waked, as from a trance restored.

Peaceful as some immeasurable plain
By the first beams of dawning light imprest,

In the calm sunshine slept the glittering main.
The very ocean hath its hour of rest.

I too forgot the heavings of my breast.
Oh
me, how quiet sky and ocean were!
As quiet all within me. I was blest!

And look'd, and look'd along the silent air,
Until it seem'd to bring a joy to my despair.

Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps,

And groans, that rage of racking famine spoke!
The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps!
The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke!
The shriek that from the distant battle broke!
The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid host
Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke
To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish toss'd,
Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!

Some mighty gulf of separation past,

I seem'd transported to another world:

A thought resign'd with pain, when from the mast
The impatient mariner the sail unfurl'd,
And, whistling, call'd the wind that hardly curl'd
The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home
And from all hope I was for ever hurl'd.
For me-farthest from earthly port to roam

With blindness link'd, did on my vitals fall,
And after many interruptions short

Of hideous sense, I sank, nor step could crawl;
Unsought for was the help that did my life recall.

Borne to an hospital, I lay with brain
Drowsy and weak, and shatter'd memory;

I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain
Of many things which never troubled me;
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee;
Of looks where common kindness had no part;
Of service done with careless cruelty,

Fretting the fever round the languid heart;

And groans, which, as they said, might make a dead

man start.

These things just served to stir the torpid sense,
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.
With strength did memory return; and, thence
Dismiss'd, again on open day I gazed,

At houses, men, and common light, amazed.
The lanes I sought, and, as the sun retired,
Came where beneath the trees a faggot blazed;
The Travellers saw me weep, my fate inquired,
And gave me food, -and rest, more welcome, more
desired.

They with their pannier'd Asses semblance made
Of Potters wandering on from door to door:
But life of happier sort to me pourtray'd,
And other joys my fancy to allure;
The bag-pipe, dinning on the midnight moor,
In barn uplighted; and companions boon
Well met from far with revelry secure,
Among the forest glades, when jocund June
Roll'd fast along the sky his warm and genial moon.

But ill they suited me-those journeys dark
O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch!

Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might To charm the surly House-dog's faithful bark,

come.

And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong)
That I, at last, a resting-place had found;
«Here will I dwell,» said I, « my whole life long,
Roaming the illimitable waters round:
Here will I live:-of every friend disown'd
And end my days upon the ocean flood.»—
To break my dream the vessel reach'd its bound:
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food.

By grief enfeebled, was I turn'd adrift,
Helpless as sailor cast on desert rock;
Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
Nor dared my hand at any door to knock.
I lay where, with his drowsy Mates, the Cock
From the cross timber of an out-house hung:
Dismally toll'd, that night, the city clock!
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
Nor to the beggar's language could I frame my tongue.

So pass'd another day, and so the third;
Then did I try in vain the crowd's resort.
-In deep despair, by frightful wishes stirr'd,
Near the sea-side I reach'd a ruin'd Fort:

There, pains which nature could no more support,

Or hang on tip-toe at the lifted latch.
The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match,
The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill,
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill:
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding

still.

What could I do, unaided and unblest?

My Father! gone was every friend of thine:
And kindred of dead husband are at best
Small help; and, after marriage such as mine,
With little kindness would to me incline.
Ill was I then for toil or service fit:

With tears whose course no effort could confine,

By the road-side forgetful would I sit

Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit.

I led a wandering life among the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
I lived upon what casual bounty yields,
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The ground I for my bed have often used:
But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth

Is, that I have my inner self abused,
Forgone the home delight of constant truth,

And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.

Have I. She ceased, and weeping turn'd away;As if because her tale was at an end

Three years thus wandering, often have I view'd,
In tears, the sun towards that country tend
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
And now across this moor my steps I bend-
Oh! tell me whither-for no earthly friend

She wept;-because she had no more to say

Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.

Poems founded on the Affections.

THE BROTHERS. '

« THESE Tourists, Heaven preserve us! needs must live
A profitable life: some glance along,
Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
And they were butterflies to wheel about
Long as the summer lasted : some, as wise,
Perch'd on the forehead of a jutting crag,
Pencil in hand and book upon the knee,
Will look and scribble, scribble on and look,
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.
But, for that moping Son of Idleness,
Why can he tarry yonder?—In our church-yard
Is neither epitaph nor monument,

Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread
And a few natural graves.» To Jane, his wife,
Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale.
It was a July evening; and he sate
Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves
Of his old cottage,-as it chanced, that day,
Employ'd in winter's work. Upon the stone
His Wife sate near him, teasing matted wool,
While, from the twin cards tooth'd with glittering wire,
He fed the spindle of his youngest Child,
Who turn'd her large round wheel in the open air
With back and forward steps. Towards the field
In which the Parish Chapel stood alone,
Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall,
While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent
Many a long look of wonder: and at last,
Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white ridge
Or carded wool which the old man had piled
He laid his implements with gentle care,
Each in the other lock'd; and, down the path
That from his cottage to the church-yard led,
He took his way, impatient to accost

The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering there.

T was one well known to him in former days,
A Shepherd-lad;-who ere his sixteenth year
Bad left that calling, tempted to entrust
His expectations to the fickle winds
And perilous waters,-with the mariners
A fellow-mariner,-and so had fared

Through twenty seasons; but he had been rear'd
Among the mountains, and he in his heart
Was half a Shepherd on the stormy seas.
Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard
The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds

This Poem was intended to conclude a series of pastorals, the some of which was laid among the mountains of Cumberland and Westmoreland. I mention this to apologise for the abruptness with which the poem begins.

Of caves and trees :-and, when the regular wind
Between the tropics fill'd the steady sail,

And blew with the same breath through days and weeks,
Lengthening invisibly its weary line

Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours
Of tiresome indolence, would often hang
Over the vessel's side, and Gaze and gaze;

And, while the broad green wave and sparkling foam
Flash'd round him images and hues that wrought
In union with the employment of his heart,
He, thus by feverish passion overcome,
Even with the organs of his bodily eye,
Below him, in the bosom of the deep,

Saw mountains,-saw the forms of sheep that grazed
On verdant hills-with dwellings among trees,
And shepherds clad in the same country grey
Which he himself had worn.'

And now at last
From perils manifold, with some small wealth
Acquired by traffic mid the Indian Isles,

To his paternal home he is return'd,
With a determined purpose to resume

The life he had lived there; both for the sake
Of
Which to an only brother he has borne
many darling pleasures, and the love

In all his hardships, since that happy time
When, whether it blew foul or fair, they two
Were brother Shepherds on their native hills.
-They were the last of all their race: and now,
When Leonard had approach'd his home, his heart
Fail'd in him; and, not venturing to inquire
Tidings of one whom he so dearly loved,
Towards the church-yard he had turn'd aside;
That, as he knew in what particular spot
His family were laid, he thence might learn
If still his Brother lived, or to the file
Another grave was added.-He had found
Another grave,-uear which a full half-hour
He had remain'd; but, as he gazed, there grew
Such a confusion in his memory,

That he began to doubt; and he had hopes
That he had seen this heap of turf before,-
That it was not another grave; but one
He had forgotten. He had lost his path,
As up the vale, that afternoon, he walk'd
Through fields which once had been well known to him:
And oh what joy the recollection now
Sent to his heart! He lifted up his eyes,

And, looking round, imagined that he saw
Strange alteration wrought on every side
Among the woods and fields, and that the rocks,
And everlasting hills themselves were changed.

This description of the Calenture is sketched from an imperfect recollection of an admirable one in prose, by Mr Gilbert, author of The Hurricane.

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