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And haply with a finer care
The Sun regards it from the West;
He sets, his sinking yields a type
And oft he tempts the patriot Swiss
Touched by his golden finger.
COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE
Doomed as we are our native dust
To wet with many a bitter shower,
It ill befits us to disdain
The altar, to deride the fane,
Where simple Sufferers bend, in trust 5
To win a happier hour.
I love, where spreads the village lawn,
Upon some knee-worn cell to gaze:
Hail to the firm unmoving cross,
Aloft, where pines their branches toss! 10
And to the chapel far withdrawn,
That lurks by lonely ways!
Where'er we roam—along the brink
Oh Life! without thy chequered scene
Pain entered through a ghastly breach—
SCENE ON THE LAKE OF BEIENTZ.
"What know we of the Blest above
But that they sing and that they love?"
Yet, if they ever did inspire
A mortal hymn, or shaped the choir,
Now, where those harvest Damsels float 5
Homeward in their rugged Boat,
(While all the ruffling winds are fled—
Each slumbering on some mountain's head),
Now, surely, hath that gracious aid
Been felt, that influence is displayed. 10
Pupils of Heaven, in order stand
The rustic Maidens, every hand
Upon a Sister's shoulder laid,—
To chant, as glides the boat along,
A simple, but a touching, song; 15
To chant, as Angels do above,
ENGELBERG, THE HILL OP ANGELS.1
Fob gentlest uses, oft-times Nature takes
Clouds do not name those Visitants; they were
Sung from that heavenly ground in middle air,
My ears did listen, 'twas enough to gaze;
OUR LADY OF THE SNOW.
Meek Virgin Mother, more benign
1 See Note.
Of thy own mountain,1 set to keep
These crowded offerings as they hang
To Thee, in this aerial cleft,
As to a common centre, tend
All sufferers that no more rely 15
On mortal succour—all who sigh
And pine, of human hope hereft,
Nor wish for earthly friend.
And hence, 0 Virgin Mother mild!
Though plenteous flowers around thee blow, 20
Not only from the dreary strife
Of Winter, but the storms of life,
Thee have thy Votaries aptly styled,
Our Lady Op The Snow.
Even for the Man who stops not here, 25
But down the irriguous valley hies,
Thy very name, O Lady! flings,
O'er blooming fields and gushing springs
A tender sense of shadowy fear,
And chastening sympathies! 30
1 Mount Righi.
Nor falls that intermingling shade
To summer-gladsomeness unkind:
It chastens only to requite
With gleams of fresher, purer, light;
While, o'er the flower-enamelled glade, 35
More sweetly breathes the wind.
But on!—a tempting downward way,
A verdant path before us lies;
Clear shines the glorious sun above;
Then give free course to joy and love, 40
Deeming "the evil of the day
Sufficient for the wise."
IN PEESENCE OF THE PAINTED TOWER OF TELL, AT ALTORF.
This Tower stands upon the spot where grew the Linden Tree against which his Son is said to have been placed, when the Father's archery was put to proof under circumstances so famous in Swiss Story.
What though the Italian pencil wrought not
here, Nor such fine skill as did the meed bestow On Marathonian valour, yet the tear Springs forth in presence of this gaudy show, While narrow cares their limits overflow. 5 Thrice happy, burghers, peasants, warriors old, Infants in arms, and ye, that as ye go Home-ward or school-ward, ape what ye
behold; Heroes before your time, in frolic fancy bold!