Happiness (if she had been to be found on Earth) amongst the
Charms of Nature - Pleasures of the pedestrian Traveller ·
Author crosses France to the Alps - Present State of the
Grande Chartreuse
Same
Lake of Como Time, Sunset
Scene, Twilight - Same Scene, Morning, its voluptuous
Character; Old Man and Forest Cottage Music ·
Tusa Via Mala and Grison Gipsy. Sckellenen-thal -
Lake of Uri. Stormy Sunset - Chapel of William Tell-
Force of Local Emotion Chamois-chaser View of the
higher Alps-Manner of Life of a Swiss Mountaineer, in-
terspersed with Views of the higher Alps- Golden Age of the
Alps - Life and Views continued — Ranz des Vaches, famous
Swiss Air Abbey of Einsiedlen and its Pilgrims Valley
of Chamouny - Mont Blanc — Slavery of Savoy — Influence
of Liberty on Cottage Happiness-France
WERE there, below, a spot of holy ground
Where from distress a refuge might be found,
And solitude prepare the soul for heaven;
Sure, Nature's God that spot to man had given,
Where falls the purple morning far and wide
In flakes of light upon the mountain side;
Where with loud voice the power of waters shakes
The leafy wood, or sleeps in quiet lakes
Yet not unrecompensed the man shall roam, Who at the call of summer quits his home, And plods through some far realm o'er vale and height, Though seeking only holiday delight;
At least, not owning to himself an aim
To which the Sage would give a prouder name.
No gains too cheaply earn'd his fancy cloy,
Though every passing zephyr whispers joy;
Brisk toil, alternating with ready ease,
Feeds the clear current of his sympathies.
For him sod seats the cottage door adorn;
And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourne !
Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head,
And dear the velvet green-sward to his tread :
Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming eye?
Upward he looks—" and calls it luxury;"
Kind Nature's charities his steps attend;
In every babbling brook he finds a friend;
While chast'ning thoughts of sweetest use, bestow'd
By Wisdom, moralise his pensive road.
Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bower,
To his spare meal he calls the passing poor;
He views the Sun uplift his golden fire,
Or sink, with heart alive like *Memnon's lyre;
Blesses the Moon that comes with kindly ray,
To light him shaken by his rugged way ;
With bashful fear no cottage children steal
From him, a brother at the cottage meal;
His humble looks no shy restraint impart,
Around him plays at will the virgin heart.
While unsuspended wheels the village dance,
The maidens eye him with enquiring glance,
Much wondering what sad stroke of crazing Care
Or desperate Love could lead a Wanderer there.
Me, lured by hope her sorrows to remove,
A heart that could not much herself approve,
O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led,
Her road elms rustling high above my head,
The lyre of Memnon is reported to have emitted melancholy or cheerful tones, as it was touched by the sun's evening or morning rays.
Or through her truant pathways' native charms,
By secret villages and lonely farms,
To where the Alps ascending white in air,
Toy with the sun, and glitter from afar.
Even now, emerging from the forest's gloom,
I heave a sigh at hoary Chartreuse' doom.
Where now is fled that Power whose frown severe
Tamed "sober Reason" till she crouch'd in fear?
The cloister startles at the gleam of arms,
And Blasphemy the shuddering fane alarms;
Nod the cloud-piercing pines their troubled heads;
Spires, rocks, and lawns, a browner night o'erspreads;
Strong terror checks the female peasant's sighs,
And start the astonish'd shades at female eyes.
That thundering tube the aged angler hears,
And swells the groaning torrent with his tears;
From Bruno's forest screams the affrighted jay,
And slow the insulted eagle wheels away.
The cross, with hideous laughter, Demons mock,
By angels planted on the aërial rock.
* Alluding to crosses seen on the tops of the spiry rocks of Chartreuse, which have every appearance of being inaccessible.
The "parting Genius" sighs with hollow breath
Along the mystic streams of Life and Death.
Swelling the outcry dull, that long resounds.
Portentous through her old woods' trackless bounds,
+ Vallombre, 'mid her falling fanes, deplores,
For ever broke, the sabbath of her bowers.
More pleased, my foot the hidden margin roves Of Como, bosom'd deep in chesnut groves. No meadows thrown between, the giddy steeps Tower, bare or sylvan, from the narrow deeps.
To towns, whose shades of no rude sound complain, To ringing team unknown and grating wain,
To flat-roof'd towns, that touch the water's bound,
Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound,
Or, from the bending rocks, obtrusive cling,
And o'er the whiten'd wave their shadows fling:
The pathway leads, as round the steeps it twines,
And Silence loves its purple roof of vines;
The viewless lingerer hence, at evening, sees
From rock-hewn steps the sail between the trees;
* Names of Rivers at the Chartreuse.
Name of one of the valleys of the Chartreuse.
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