Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

If Helvetia has seen you amid her wild scenes,

Feel the pleasure that knows no alloy ;
And her hills and dark forests, her rocks and ravines,

Have transported your senses with joy :

Then hasten with me to those scenes once again,

We will clamber together the steep; We will tread the rude path, and look down on the glen,

Where the torrent rolls rapid and deep.

The bright sunbeams are glancing amid the high trees,

And the forest has lost half its gloom; O how sweet is the breath of the fresh mountain-breeze,

And the sight of the valley in bloom!

Now winds the rough road o'er the rude one-arch'd bridge,

Where the torrent rolls foaming below ;
And St. Bernard far towering above the high ridge,

Lifts his hoary old summit of snow.

Can the wand'rer advance without feelings of dread,

Mid the scenes that now crowd on his sight; While the menacing cliffs bend and frown o'er his head,

And the cataract pours on his right :

Where the pines of the forest are stanted and sere,

And the ragged road seldom is traced ; Where the rocks are all barren, the mountain all drear,

And the valley all desert and waste :

Where no music is beard but the shrill Alpine blast,

And the roar of the cataract's fall,
And the howl of the wolf for his savage repast,

And the echo that answers to all ?

In a desert like this well might Piety's hand

Plant aloft the bright Sign of our faith;
For the Cross shall yet hallow this desolate land,

And yet cheer the worn wanderer's path.

But the snows gather round, and the sun has long ceas'd

To enliven the comfortless day;
And the mist on the mountain's high top is increas'd

And half-choked is the torrent's rough way.

See! the avalanche has fallen--it lies far and wide ;

And how frightful the ruin it made,
For it swept down in thunder the forest's high pride,

And the rock-crag how prostrate it laid !

And it roll'd on relentless, and buried the cot,

Which had shelter'd the poor mountaineer i

Nor has left to kind Pity a trace of the spot,

Where the snow might dissolve with her tear.

But the pine trees it shiver'd lie low in its wreck,

And the crags it brought down in its fall; Attempted in vain the wild torrent to check,

For it foam'd and broke over them all.

It is past; but the scene is more frightful and drear :

Not a pine rises over the snow,
Not a point of the gray granite rock can appear

Not a floweret can flourish below.

And the traveller advances with caution and dread,

In his dubious and desolate way; For who knows but the avalanche may burst o'er his head,

Or the snow-cover'd gulf may betray?

Yet more steep is the mountain, more rude is the blast,

More keen, more benumbing the air; Vegetation long since feebly bourgeon'd her last,

And around-all is death and despair.

Ev'n frozen and hush'd is the torrent's loud foam,

And the cascade is dashing no more';
The wild chamois alone will here venture to roam,

And the glacier yet dare to explore.

Every track is long lost of the steep barrow way,

And how dreadful, how thrilling to think,
That the traveller unknowing might fatally stray,

Where the snow hides the precipice' brink!

And his senses are numb'd by the chill mountain air,

And a stupor invites to repose :
But resist, weary pilgrim! 'tis death lays the snare,

And would sink thee a grave in the snows.

Yet advance for a while, and the danger is past,

For St. Bernard's bleak summit is nigh, Where, tho' beats the dread tempest, and roars the rude blast

His white front looks unhurt to the sky.

The high summit is gain'd, and fair Charity's hand,

Has invited the wanderer in :-
Who would hope she could dwell in this desolate land,

Where no creature, no comfort is seen?

But the mountain's high summit no longer is drear,

By Religion and Charity blest; Hospitality ventures to smile even here,

Aud to soothe the worn traveller to rest.

fires

THE ALPS.

Iu solitude and loveliness. Its sound,

As with an angel-voice of peace profound BYRON.

Whispers to heaven: and see-the sultry Above me are the Alps, The palaces of nature, whose vast walls, Of day more faintly yon deep crags surHave pinnacled in clouds their snowy

round; scalps,

Slowly even now each western beam And throned eternity, in icy halls

retires, Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls Fades, lightens o'er the wave, and with a The avalanche--the thunderbolt of snow !

smile expires. All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show

Night, utter night succeeds.-Above

below How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below.

All deepens slowly in one blackening

gloom ; Dark are the heavens, as is the front of

W0,

Dark as the mountain-prospects,-as the THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.

tomb.

Even as I slow descend, a fearful doom ROGERS.

Weighs beavy on my heart, the bird of The sun-beams streak the azure skies,

night

Screams from her straw-built nest as from And line with light the mountain's brow;

the womb With bounds and horns the hunters rise, And chase the roebuck through the snow.

Of infant death, and wheels her drowsy

flight, From rock to rock, with giant-bound,

Amid the pine-clad rocks with wonder and High on their iron poles they pass ;

affright. Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound,

The note of wo is hushed; peace reigns Rend from above a frozen mass.

around

In utter solitude; the night breeze dies The goats wind slow their wonted way,

Faint on the mountain-ash leaves that Up craggy steeps and ridges rude ;

surround Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,

Snowdon's dark peaks- But hark ! again From desert cave or hanging wood.

the cries

Of the scared owl, loud bymning to the And while the torrent thanders loud,

skies And as the echoing cliffs reply,

Her tale of desolation! Fearfully The huts peep o'er the morning cloud,

Night lengthens out the note;—the echo Perch'd like an eagle's nest on high.

flies From rock to rock; now whispering

shrilly byNow in the distance softened, lingering

mournfully. SNOWDON, IN A NIGHT STORM.

Heaven smiles on earth again-the glimANON

mering star 'Tis eve! The sun's last rays are glim- Pours in mild lustre down his full-orbed mering still

light; On Snowdon's crested summit, and around And see his mistress in her burnished car His granite rocks flows the deep bosomed Beams on the view !-At the refulgent rill

sight

The clouds sail by in homage, and the Dim flashes the blue lightning ;-eddying night

by Welcomes her as a friend ;-the heavenly Leaps the swollen torrent; o'er the catatrain

ract raves Of satellites attend her in her fight With brutal force, and headlong flings its From pole to pole; while a full-chorused billowy waves.

strain Of beaven's own music swells and dies again. The night breeze sails athwart the sky

the thunder Brightly she moves on in her loveliness! Has waked him from his sleep-the spirit The fair-haired regent of the sky !--Her hears smiles

The Demon's call, and rudely rends Soothe the stern horrors of the scene, and

asunder bless

The bonds of rest : upon the cloud he rears Nature's calm slumber; o'er yon splin

His deathless might, and wrathfully careers tered piles

Round the black rocks,-dashes in venOf beetling crays, how sweetly she be

geance down guiles

Their craggy summits,—damps the toil of Gloom of its frown; and, see! the glit.

years tering rill

With one rude whirlwind—and, more Heaves conscious of her presence, and

ruthless grown, reviles,

Heaves up the ocean-waves his giant-strength With murmuring voice, yon proudly

to crown. frowning hill, That scorns meek Dian's gaze, and mocks

And now he sinks in softness, and anor her gentle will.

Rolls on the ear with desolating peal;-

Again the voice is silent.--Is it gune,
A sound rolls by of horror !-on the wind The darksome horrors of the night to seal !
Rides the dark-bosomed Demon of the

Forth
peeps

the

moon; her watery beams storm ;

reveal Whirlwinds with meteor-splendor, crowd The death that has been busy bere;-again behind,

The clouds sail round, as anxious to conAnd heaven peals out the trumpet of alarm.

ceal Hark! from yon murky cloud with light- The sight of desolation, but in vainning warm,

She walks in beauty forth, with all her A voice of death proceeds !—The Majesty

starry train. Of Heaven displays around its harrowing

form Hark! God in all his power is riding by! Heard ye his chariot-wheels sweep echoing thro' the sky?

DARTMOOR.

CARRINGTON. He speaks ! scared nature trembles at the sound;

DARTMOOR rears Earth, air, sky, ocean, dictate a reply; In the dim distance his cloud-cover'd head, The mountain-rock tolls out the voice With granite-girdle sweeping nearly round profound,

The varied map, until he plants his foot And woodland echo multiplies the cry :- Sublimely in the loud Atlantic wave. Clashed with the night-owl's scream, along the sky

But who that climbs the brow sublime, Rolls the live thunder; thro' the forest and thence caves,

Surveys the dread immensity of sea,

Wild-heaving often here, and seldom lull’d
To deep tranquillity, e'en by the hush
Of Summer, feels not pleasure, wonder, awe
Alternate, as in breeze, or gale, or storm,
He gazes on its bosom! On the waste
Of waters, rolling from the birth of Time,
The great and fathomless Ocean, swathing

round,
As with a girdle, this stupendous Earth,
The eye would dwell for ever! Every shore

The wave of ocean visits. On it roams
Through the bright burning zone where ar-

dent gales
Cool their scorch'd pinions in it. Indian

airs
From bowers of bliss, waft o'er its smiling

• face
Perfumes of Paradise, and round the poles,
Startling the eternal solitudes of snow,
The restless wanderer howls !

WINDS.

TO THE WINDS.

CLARE.

HAIL, gentle Winds! I love your murmuring sound;

The willows charm me, wavering to and fro;
And oft I stretch me on the daisied ground,

To see you crimp the wrinkled flood below:
Delighted more as brisker gusts succeed

And give the landscape round a sweeter grace,
Sweeping in shaded waves the ripening mead,

Puffing their rifled fragrance in my face.
Painters of Nature! ye are doubly dear

Her children dearly love your whispering charms :
Ah, ye have murmur'd sweet to many an ear

That now lies dormant in Death's icy arms,
Aud at this moment many a weed ye wave,
That hides the bard in the forgotten grave.

BARTON.

Ye viewless Minstrels of the sky !
I marvel not in times gone by

That ye were deified :
For, even in this later day,
To me oft has your power, or play,

Unearthly thoughts supplied.

Graceful your play! when, round the

bower
Where Beauty culls Spring's loveliest flower,

To wreathe her dark locks there,
Your gentlest whispers lightly breathe
The leaves between, flit round that wreatha,

And stir her silken hair.

Awful your power! when by your might,
You heave the wild waves, crested white,

Like mountains in your wrath !
Ploughing between them valleys deep,
Which, to the seaman rous'd from sleep,

Yawn like Death's op'niny path!

Still, thoughts like these are but of earth,
And you can give far loftier birth :-

Ye come !--we know not whence !
Ye go !--can mortals trace your flight ?
All imperceptible to sight;

Though audible to sense.

« ForrigeFortsæt »