And when that calm Spectatress from on high Looks down-the bright and solitary Moon, 11 Who never gazes but to beautify; And snow-fed torrents, which the blaze of noon Roused into fury, murmur a soft tune That fosters peace, and gentleness recalls; 15 Then might the passing Monk receive a boon Of saintly pleasure from these pictured walls, While on the warlike groups the mellowing lustre falls. 20 How blest the souls who when their trials come 25 XXI. THE TOWN OF SCHWYTZ. By antique Fancy trimmed-though lowly, bred To dignity-in thee, O SCHWYTZ! are seen 5 Or jealous Nature ruling in her stead; Might well be styled this noble body's HEAD; Thou, lodged 'mid mountainous entrenchments deep, Its HEART; and ever may the heroic Land TOP OF THE PASS OF ST. GOTHARD. I LISTEN-but no faculty of mine Which, heard in foreign lands, the Swiss affect 5 Remembering, and green Alpine pastures decked With vernal flowers. Yet may we not reject 1 Nearly 500 years (says Ebel, speaking of the French Invasion) had elapsed, when, for the first time, foreign soldiers were seen upon the frontiers of this small Canton, to impose upon it the laws of their governors. The rest of a rocky & the head of Uwun the Valtemavenna. The >-enaracterised meed at being those Alpine Trata the breaking sta glory, yet in Stationary interesting DESCIUTION, upon the ground, erected by Count AINA TELC of Philip Twenty years Marble pillars considerable SUNG, ITE:n turf has an we could see no ***"'Where something uninjured DREAD hour! when, upheaved by war's sulphurous blast, This sweet-visaged Cherub of Parian stone So far from the holy enclosure was cast, To couch in this thicket of brambles alone, To rest where the lizard may bask in the palm Of his half-open hand pure from blemish or speck; 6 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 15 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! 20 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 stationaryscatterings 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. 66 |