Page images

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.

How blest the souls who when their trials come
Yield not to terror or despondency, 20

But face like that sweet Boy their mortal doom,
Whose head the ruddy apple tops, while he
Expectant stands beneath the linden tree:
He quakes not like the timid forest game,
But smiles—the hesitating shaft to free; 25
Assured that Heaven its justice will proclaim,
And to his Father give its own unerring aim.



By antique Fancy trimmed—though lowly,

bred To dignity—in thee, O Schwytz! are seen The genuine features of the golden mean; Equality by Prudence governed, Or jealous Nature ruling in her stead; 5

And, therefore, art thou blest with peace, serene As that of the sweet fields and meadows green In unambitious compass round thee spread. Majestic Berne, high on her guardian steep, Holding, a central station of command, vx Might well be styled this noble body's Head; Thou, lodged 'mid mountainous entrenchments

deep, Its Heart; and ever may the heroic Land Thy name, 0 Schwytz, in happy freedom keep!'



I Listen—but no faculty of mine
Avails those modulations to detect,
Which, heard in foreign lands, the Swiss affect
With tenderest passion; leaving him to pine
(So fame reports) and die,—his sweet-breathed

kine 5

Remembering, and green Alpine pastures

decked With vernal flowers. Yet may we not reject The tale as fabulous.—Here while I recline, Mindful how others by this simple Strain Are moved, for me—upon this Mountain named Of God himself from dread pre-eminence— 11 Aspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed, Yield to the Music's touching influence; And joys of distant home my heart enchain.

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 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 detai1. 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 hil1. "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.

Dbead 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 u

The desolate Slumberer with moss and with


Ftjentes 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! 10




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 tne height of 2,000 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

From yon steep mountain's loftiest stage,

Guarded by lone San Salvador;

Sink (if thou must) as heretofore,

To sulphurous bolts a sacrifice, 5

But ne'er to human rage!

On Horeb's top, on Sinai, deigned

To rest the universal Lord:

Why leap the fountains from their cells

Where everlasting Bounty dwells ?— 10

That, while the Creature is sustained,

His God may be adored.

Cliffs, fountains, rivers, seasons, times—

Let all remind the soul of heaven;

Our slack devotion needs them all; tj

« PreviousContinue »