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The Sun regards it from the West:
And, while in summer glory

He sets, his sinking yields a type

Of that pathetic story:

And oft he tempts the patriot Swiss

Amid the grove to linger;

Till all is dim, save this bright Stone
Touched by his golden finger.

XV.

COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE CATHOLIC CANTONS.

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
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 !
And to the chapel far withdrawn,
That lurks by lonely ways!

Where'er we roam, along the brink

Of Rhine, or by the sweeping Po,
Through Alpine vale, or champaigne wide,

Whate'er we look on, at our side

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O LIFE! without thy checkered scene
Of right and wrong, of weal and woe,
Success and failure, could a ground
For magnanimity be found;

For faith, 'mid ruined hopes, serene?
Or whence could virtue flow?

Pain entered through a ghastly breach,
Nor while sin lasts must effort.cease;
Heaven upon earth's an empty boast;
But, for the bowers of Eden lost,
Mercy has placed within our reach
A portion of God's peace.

XVII.

SCENE ON THE LAKE OF BRIENTZ.

"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
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.
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;
To chant, as Angels do above,
The melodies of Peace in love!

--

XVIII.

ENGELBERG, THE HILL OF ANGELS.*

FOR gentlest uses, ofttimes Nature takes The work of Fancy from her willing hands;

* See Note.

And such a beautiful creation makes

As renders needless spells and magic wands,
And for the boldest tale belief commands.
When first mine eyes beheld that famous Hill,
The sacred ENGELBERG, celestial Bands,
With intermingling motions soft and still,
Hung round its top, on wings that changed their
hues at will.

Clouds do not name those Visitants; they were
The very Angels whose authentic lays,

Sung from that heavenly ground in middle air,
Made known the spot where piety should raise
A holy Structure to the Almighty's praise.
Resplendent Apparition! if in vain

My ears did listen, 't was enough to gaze;
And watch the slow departure of the train,
Whose skirts the glowing Mountain thirsted to
detain.

XIX.

OUR LADY OF THE SNOW.

MEEK Virgin Mother, more benign
Than fairest Star, upon the height
Of thy own mountain* set to keep

*Mount Righi.

Lone vigils through the hour of sleep,
What eye can look upon thy shrine
Untroubled at the sight?

These crowded offerings, as they hang
In sight of misery relieved,

Even these, without intent of theirs,
Report of comfortless despairs,

Of many a deep and cureless pang,
And confidence deceived.

To thee, in this aerial cleft,
As to a common centre, tend
All sufferers that no more rely
On mortal succor, all who sigh

And pine, of human hope bereft,
Nor wish for earthly friend.

And hence, O Virgin Mother mild!
Though plenteous flowers around thee blow,
Not only from the dreary strife.

Of Winter, but the storms of life,
Thee have thy Votaries aptly styled,
OUR LADY OF THE SNOW.

Even for the Man who stops not here,
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 !

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