Then might the passing Monk receive a boon Of saintly pleasure from these pictured walls, While, on the warlike groups, the mellowing lustre
How blest the souls who when their trials come Yield not to terror or despondency,
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; 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 ; 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, 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, O SCHWYTZ, in happy freedom keep * !
Are moved, for me-upon this Mountain named Of God himself from dread pre-eminence— Aspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed, Yield to the Music's touching influence; And joys of distant home my heart enchain.
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 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
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; 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
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!
THE CHURCH OF SAN SALVADOR, SEEN FROM THE LAKE OF LUGANO.
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 the height of 2000 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,
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?— 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; And Faith-so oft of sense the thrall,
Now that the farewell tear is dried, Heaven prosper thee, be hope thy guide! Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy; The wages of thy travel, joy! Whether for London bound-to trill 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; 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, For him who bore the world! Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy; The wages of thy travel, joy!
*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.
But thou, perhaps, (alert as free Though serving sage philosophy) 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, 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!
Yet will the Wanderer sometimes pine With thoughts which no delights can chase, Recal a Sister's last embrace, His Mother's neck entwine; Nor shall forget the Maiden coy
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; Due recompence, 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 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. -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- 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, 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 Truth inspired the Bards of old When of an iron age they told, Which to unequal laws gave birth, And drove Astræa from the earth. -A gentle Boy (perchance with blood As noble as the best endued, 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, 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, still. 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,
Grant to the morn of life its natural blessedness!
THE LAST SUPPER, BY LEONARDO DA VINCI, IN THE REFECTORY OF THE CONVENT OF MARIA DELLA GRAZIA MILAN *.
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 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,
I ask in vain-and know far less If sickness, sorrow, or distress Have spared my Dwelling to this hour; Sad blindness! but ordained to prove Our faith in Heaven's unfailing love And all-controlling power.
How blest the Maid whose heart-yet free From Love's uneasy sovereignty— Beats with a fancy running high, Her simple cares to magnify; Whom Labour, never urged to toil, Hath cherished on a healthful soil;
Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf; Whose heaviest sin it is to look Askance upon her pretty Self Reflected in some crystal brook;
Whom grief hath spared-who sheds no tear But in sweet pity; and can hear Another's praise from envy clear.
Such (but O lavish Nature! why That dark unfathomable eye, Where lurks a Spirit that replies To stillest mood of softest skies, Yet hints at peace to be o'erthrown, Another's first, and then her own?) Such, haply, yon ITALIAN Maid, Our Lady's laggard Votaress, Halting beneath the chestnut shade To accomplish there her loveliness: Nice aid maternal fingers lend; A Sister serves with slacker hand; Then, glittering like a star, she joins the festal band.
How blest (if truth may entertain
Coy fancy with a bolder strain)
The HELVETIAN Girl-who daily braves, In her light skiff, the tossing waves, And quits the bosom of the deep Only to climb the rugged steep! -Say whence that modulated shout! From Wood-nymph of Diana's throng? Or does the greeting to a rout Of giddy Bacchanals belong? Jubilant outcry! rock and glade Resounded-but the voice obeyed The breath of an Helvetian Maid.
Her beauty dazzles the thick wood; Her courage animates the flood; Her steps the elastic green-sward meets Returning unreluctant sweets; The mountains (as ye heard) rejoice Aloud, saluted by her voice! Blithe Paragon of Alpine grace,
Be as thou art for through thy veins The blood of Heroes runs its race! And nobly wilt thou brook the chains That, for the virtuous, Life prepares; The fetters which the Matron wears; The patriot Mother's weight of anxious cares!
* 'Sweet HIGHLAND Girl! a very shower
Of beauty was thy earthly dower,' When thou didst flit before mine eyes,
Gay Vision under sullen skies,
While Hope and Love around thee played,
Near the rough falls of Inversneyd! Have they, who nursed the blossom, seen No breach of promise in the fruit? Was joy, in following joy, as keen As grief can be in grief's pursuit? When youth had flown did hope still bless Thy goings or the cheerfulness Of innocence survive to mitigate distress?
But from our course why turn-to tread A way with shadows overspread; Where what we gladliest would believe Is feared as what may most deceive? Bright Spirit, not with amaranth crowned But heath-bells from thy native ground. Time cannot thin thy flowing hair, Nor take one ray of light from Thee; For in my Fancy thou dost share The gift of immortality;
And there shall bloom, with Thee allied,
The Votaress by Lugano's side;
And that intrepid Nymph, on Uri's steep, descried!
THE COLUMN INTENDED BY BUONAPARTE FOR A TRI- UMPHAL EDIFICE IN MILAN, NOW LYING BY THE WAY-SIDE IN THE SIMPLON PASS.
AMBITION following down this far-famed slope Her Pioneer, the snow-dissolving Sun, While clarions prate of kingdoms to be won- Perchance, in future ages, here may stop;
* See address to a Highland Girl, p. 221.
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