431

66 Stay, stay your sacrilegious hands!”—The voice Was Nature's, uttered from her Alpine throne ; I heard it then and seem to hear it now"Your impious work forbear, perish what may, Let this one temple last, be this one spot Of earth devoted to eternity!

435 *

She ceased to speak, but while St. Bruno's pines
Waved their dark tops, not silent as they waved,
And while below, along their several beds,
Murmured the sister streams of Life and Death, †
Thus by conflicting passions pressed, my heart
Responded; "Honour to the patriot's zeal!
Glory and hope to new-born Liberty!
Hail to the mighty projects of the time!
Discerning sword that Justice wields, do thou
Go forth and prosper; and, ye purging fires,
Up to the loftiest towers of Pride ascend,
Fanned by the breath of angry Providence.
But oh! if Past and Future be the wings,
On whose support harmoniously conjoined
Moves the great spirit of human knowledge, spare
These courts of mystery, where a step advanced
Between the portals of the shadowy rocks
Leaves far behind life's treacherous vanities,
For penitential tears and trembling hopes
Exchanged-to equalise in God's pure sight
Monarch and peasant: be the house redeemed
With its unworldly votaries, for the sake
Of conquest over sense, hourly achieved
Through faith and meditative reason, resting
Upon the word of heaven-imparted truth,
Calmly triumphant; and for humbler claim
Of that imaginative impulse sent

From these majestic floods, yon shining cliffs,
The untransmuted shapes of many worlds,

* The forest of St. Bruno, near the Chartreuse.--ED.

440

445

449

455

460

"Names of rivers at the Chartreuse."-W. W. 1793. They are called in Descriptive Sketches, vol. i. p. 41, "the mystic streams of Life and Death." -ED.

Cerulean ether's pure inhabitants,
These forests unapproachable by death,
That shall endure as long as man endures,
To think, to hope, to worship, and to feel,
To struggle, to be lost within himself
In trepidation, from the blank abyss
To look with bodily eyes, and be consoled."
Not seldom since that moment have I wished
That thou, O Friend! the trouble or the calm
Hadst shared, when, from profane regards apart,
In sympathetic reverence we trod

The floors of those dim cloisters, till that hour,
From their foundation, strangers to the presence
Of unrestricted and unthinking man.

Abroad, how cheeringly the sunshine lay

Upon the open lawns! Vallombre's groves

Entering,* we fed the soul with darkness; thence
Issued, and with uplifted eyes beheld,

In different quarters of the bending sky,
The cross of Jesus stand erect, as if
Hands of angelic powers had fixed it there,†
Memorial reverenced by a thousand storms;
Yet then, from the undiscriminating sweep
And rage of one State-whirlwind, insecure.

'Tis not my present purpose to retrace
That variegated journey step by step.
A march it was of military speed,‡
And Earth did change her images and forms
Before us, fast as clouds are changed in heaven.
Day after day, up early and down late,
From hill to vale we dropped, from vale to hill
Mounted from province on to province swept,
Keen hunters in a chase of fourteen weeks,

*

"Name of one of the vallies of the Chartreuse."-W. W. 1793. Alluding to crosses seen on the tops of the spiry rocks of the Chartreuse, which have every appearance of being inaccessible."-W. W. 1793. It extended from July 13 to September 29. See the detailed Itinerary, vol. i. p. 332, and Wordsworth's letter to his sister, from Keswill, describing the tour.-ED.

Eager as birds of prey, or as a ship

Upon the stretch, when winds are blowing fair :
Sweet coverts did we cross of pastoral life,
Enticing valleys, greeted them and left

500

Too soon, while yet the very flash and gleam
Of salutation were not passed away.

*

Oh! sorrow for the youth who could have seen
Unchastened, unsubdued, unawed, unraised
To patriarchal dignity of mind,

And pure simplicity of wish and will,

Those sanctified abodes of peaceful man,

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510

Pleased (though to hardship born, and compassed round
With danger, varying as the seasons change),
Pleased with his daily task, or, if not pleased,
Contented, from the moment that the dawn
(Ah! surely not without attendant gleams
Of soul-illumination) calls him forth

To industry, by glistenings flung on rocks,
Whose evening shadows lead him to repose.†

Well might a stranger look with bounding heart

Down on a green recess, ‡ the first I saw

Of those deep haunts, an aboriginal vale,
Quiet and lorded over and possessed

By naked huts, wood-built, and sown like tents
Or Indian cabins over the fresh lawns

And by the river side.

That very day,

From a bare ridge § we also first beheld

515

520

* See the account of "Urseren's open vale serene," and the paragraph which follows it in Descriptive Sketches, vol. i. pp. 50, 51.-ED.

See the account of these "abodes of peaceful man," in Descriptive Sketches, 11. 208-253.-ED.

Probably the valley between Martigny and the Col de Balme.-ED. § Wordsworth and Jones crossed from Martigny to Chamouni on the 11th of August. The "bare ridge," from which they first "beheld unveiled the summit of Mont Blanc," and were disenchanted, was doubtless the Col de Balme. The first view of the great mountain is not impressive as seen from that point, or indeed from any of the possible routes to Chamouni from the Rhone valley, until the village is almost reached. The best approach is from Sallanches by St. Gervais.-ED.

Unveiled the summit of Mont Blanc, and grieved 525
To have a soulless image on the eye
That had usurped upon a living thought
That never more could be.

The wondrous Vale

Of Chamouny stretched far below, and soon
With its dumb cataracts and streams of ice,
A motionless array of mighty waves,
Five rivers broad and vast,* made rich amends,
And reconciled us to realities;

There small birds warble from the leafy trees,
The eagle soars high in the element,
There doth the reaper bind the yellow sheaf,
The maiden spread the haycock in the sun,
While Winter like a well-tamed lion walks,
Descending from the mountain to make sport
Among the cottages by beds of flowers.

Whate'er in this wide circuit we beheld,
Or heard, was fitted to our unripe state
Of intellect and heart. With such a book
Before our eyes, we could not choose but read
Lessons of genuine brotherhood, the plain

530

535

540

545

And universal reason of mankind,

The truths of young and old. Nor, side by side
Pacing, two social pilgrims, or alone

Each with his humour, could we fail to abound
In dreams and fictions, pensively composed:
Dejection taken up for pleasure's sake,
And gilded sympathies, the willow wreath,
And sober posies of funereal flowers,
Gathered among those solitudes sublime
From formal gardens of the lady Sorrow,
Did sweeten many a meditative hour.

Yet still in me with those soft luxuries

550

555

* Compare Coleridge's Hymn before sun-rise in the Vale of Chamouni, and Shelley's Mont Blanc, with Wordsworth's description of the Alps, here in The Prelude, in Descriptive Sketches, and in the Memorials of a Tour on the Continent.-ED

Mixed something of stern mood, an under-thirst
Of vigour seldom utterly allayed.

560

And from that source how different a sadness
Would issue, let one incident make known.
When from the Vallais we had turned, and clomb
Along the Simplon's steep and rugged road,*
Following a band of muleteers, we reached
A halting-place, where all together took
Their noon-tide meal. Hastily rose our guide,
Leaving us at the board; awhile we lingered,
Then paced the beaten downward way that led
Right to a rough stream's edge, and there broke off;
The only track now visible was one

That from the torrent's further brink held forth
Conspicuous invitation to ascend

A lofty mountain. After brief delay

Crossing the unbridged stream, that road we took,
And clomb with eagerness, till anxious fears
Intruded, for we failed to overtake

Our comrades gone before. By fortunate chance,
While every moment added doubt to doubt,

A peasant met us, from whose mouth we learned
That to the spot which had perplexed us first
We must descend, and there should find the road,
Which in the stony channel of the stream
Lay a few steps, and then along its banks;
And, that our future course, all plain to sight,

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570

575

580

Was downwards, with the current of that stream. 585
Loth to believe what we so grieved to hear,

For still we had hopes that pointed to the clouds,
We questioned him again, and yet again;
But every word that from the peasant's lips
Came in reply, translated by our feelings,
Ended in this, that we had crossed the Alps.

Imagination-here the Power so called

* August 17, 1790.-ED.

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VOL. III

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