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And Faith—so oft of sense the thrall,
While she, by aid of Nature, climbs—
May hope to be forgiven.

Glory, and patriotic Love,

And all the Pomps of this frail "spot 20

Which men call Earth," have yearned to seek,

Associate with the simply meek,

Religion in the sainted grove,

And in the hallowed grot.

Thither, in time of adverse shocks, 25

Of fainting hopes and backward wills,

Did mighty Tell repair of old—

A Hero cast in Nature's mould,

Deliverer of the stedfast rocks

And of the ancient hills! 30

He, too, of battle-martyrs chief!

Who, to recall his daunted peers,

For victory shaped an open space,

By gathering with a wide embrace,

Into his single breast, a sheaf 35

Of fatal Austrian spears.1




Now that the farewell tear is dried,
Heaven prosper thee, be hope thy guide!

1 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.

Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;

The wages of thy travel, joy!

Whether for London bound—to trill 5

Thy mountain notes with simple skill;

Or on thy head to poise a show

Of Images in seemly row;

The graceful form of milk-white Steed,

Or Bird that soared with Ganymede; 10

Or through our hamlets thou wilt bear

The sightless Milton, with his hair

Around his placid temples curled;

And Shakspeare at his side—a freight,

If clay could think and mind were weight, 15

For him who bore the world!

Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;

The wages of thy travel, joy!

11. But thou, perhaps, (alert as free Though serving sage philosophy), 20

Wilt ramble over hill and dale,
A Vender of the well-wrought Scale,
Whose sentient tube instructs to time
A purpose to a fickle clime:
Whether thou choose this useful part, as

Or minister to finer art,
Though robbed of many a cherished dream,
And crossed by many a shattered scheme,
What stirring wonders wilt thou see
In the proud Isle of liberty! 30

Yet will the Wanderer sometimes pine
With thoughts which no delights can chase,
Recall a Sister's last embrace,
His Mother's neck entwine;
Nor shall forget the Maiden coy 35

That would have loved the bright-haired Boy!


My Song, encouraged by the grace

That beams from his ingenuous face,

For this Adventurer scruples not

To prophesy a golden lot; 40

Due recompense, and safe return

To Como's steeps—his happy bourne!

Where he, aloft in garden glade,

Shall tend, with his own dark-eyed Maid,

The towering maize, and prop the twig 45

That ill supports the luscious fig;

Or feed his eye in paths sun-proof

With purple of the trellis-roof,

That through the jealous leaves escapes

From Cadenabbia's pendent grapes. 50

—Oh might he tempt that Goatherd-child

To share his wanderings! him whose look

Even yet my heart can scarcely brook,

So touchingly he smiled—

As with a rapture caught from heaven— 55

For unasked alms in pity given.


With nodding plumes, and lightly drest
Like foresters in leaf-green vest,
The Helvetian Mountaineers, on ground
For Tell's dread archery renowned, 60

Before the target stood—to claim
The guerdon of the steadiest aim.
Loud was the rifle-gun's report—
A startling thunder quick and short!
But, flying through the heights around, 65
Echo prolonged a tell-tale sound
Of hearts and hands alike " prepared

The treasures they enjoy to guard!"

And if there be a favoured hour

When Heroes are allowed to quit 70

The tomb, and on the clouds to sit

With tutelary power,

On their Descendants shedding grace—

This was the hour, and that the place.

n. But Truth inspired the Bards of old 75

When of an iron age they told,
Which to unequal laws gave birth,
And drove Astrsea from the earth.
—A gentle Boy (perchance with blood
As noble as the best endued, 80

But seemingly a Thing despised;
Even by the sun and air unprized;
For not a tinge or flowery streak
Appeared upon his tender cheek)
Heart-deaf to those rebounding notes, 85

Apart, beside his silent goats,
Sate watching in a forest shed,
Pale, ragged, with bare feet and head;
Mute as the snow upon the hill,
And, as the saint he prays to, stil1. 90

Ah, what avails heroic deed?
What liberty? if no defence
Be won for feeble Innocence.
Father of all! though wilful Manhood read
His punishment in soul-distress, 95

Grant to the morn of life its natural blessedness!



Tho' searching damps and many an envious flaw
Have marred this Work; the calm ethereal grace,
The love deep-seated in the Saviour's face,
The mercy, goodness, have not failed to awe
The Elements; as they do melt and thaw 5
The heart of the Beholder—and erase
(At least for one rapt moment) every trace
Of disobedience to the primal law.
The annunciation of the dreadful truth
Made to the Twelve survives: lip, forehead,
cheek, 10

And hand reposing on the board in ruth
Of what it utters, while the unguilty seek
Unquestionable meanings—still bespeak
A labour worthy of eternal youth!



High on her speculative tower

Stood Science waiting for the hour

When Sol was destined to endure

That darkening of his radiant face

Which Superstition strove to chase, 5

Erewhile, with rites impure.

Afloat beneath Italian skies,
Through regions fair as Paradise
We gaily passed,—till Nature wrought
A silent and unlooked-for change, 10

That checked the desultory range
Of joy and sprightly thought.
1 See Note.

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