Trembling, I look upon the secret springs Of that licentious craving in the mind To act the God among external things, To bind, on apt suggestion, or unbind; And marvel not that antique Faith inclined To crowd the world with metamorphosis, Vouchsafed in pity or in wrath assigned; Such insolent temptations wouldst thou miss, Avoid these sights; nor brood o'er Fable's dark abyss !
The lamented Youth whose untimely death gave occa sion to these elegiao verses, was Frederick William Goddard, from Boston in North America. He was in his twentieth year, and had resided for some time with a clergyman in the neighbourhood of Geneva for the completion of his education. Accompanied by a fellow-pupil, a native of Scotland, he had just set out on a Swiss tour when it was his misfortune to fall in with a friend of mine who was hastening to join our party. The travellers, after spending a day together on the road from Berne and at Soleure, took leave of each other at night, the young men having intended to proceed directly to Zurich. But early in the morning my friend found his new acquaintances, who were informed of the object of his journey, and the friends he was in puruit of, equipped to accompany him. We met at Lucerne the succeeding evening, and Mr. G. and his fellow-student became in consequence our travelling companions for a couple of days. We ascended the Righi together; and, after contemplating the sunrise from that noble mountain, we separated at an hour and on a spot well suited to the parting of those who were to meet no more. Our party descended through the valley of our Lady of the Snow, and our late companions, to Art. We had hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva; but on the third succeeding day (on the 21st of August) Mr. Goddard perished, being overset in a boat while crossing the lake of Zurich. His companion saved himself by swimming, and was hospitably received in the mansion of a Swiss gentleman (M. Keller) situated on the eastern coast of the lake. The corpse of poor Goddard was cast ashore on the estate of the same gentleman, who generously performed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the living. He caused a handsome mural monument to be erected in the church of Küsnacht, which records the premature fate of the young American, and on the shores too of the lake the traveller may read an inscription pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the waves.
LULLED by the sound of pastoral bells, Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go, From the dread summit of the Queen Of mountains, through a deep ravine, Where, in her holy chapel, dwells "Our Lady of the Snow.'
* Mount Righi-Regina Montium.
Though lodged within no vigorous frame,
His soul her daily tasks renewed,
Blithe as the lark on sun-gilt wings
High poised-or as the wren that sings In shady places, to proclaim Her modest gratitude.
Not vain is sadly-uttered praise;
The words of truth's memorial vow Are sweet as morning fragrance shed From flowers mid GOLDAU's ruins bred; As evening's fondly-lingering rays, On RIGHI's silent brow.
Lamented Youth! to thy cold clay Fit obsequies the Stranger paid; And piety shall guard the Stone Which hath not left the spot unknown Where the wild waves resigned their prey- And that which marks thy bed.
And, when thy Mother weeps for Thee, Lost Youth! a solitary Mother; This tribute from a casual Friend A not unwelcome aid may lend, To feed the tender luxury, The rising pang to smother *.
SKY-PROSPECT FROM THE PLAIN OF FRANCE
Lo! in the burning west, the craggy nape Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon, The Ark, her melancholy voyage done! Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion's shape; There, combats a huge crocodile-agape A golden spear to swallow! and that brown And massy grove, so near yon blazing town, Stirs and recedes-destruction to escape! Yet all is harmless as the Elysian shades Where Spirits dwell in undisturbed repose- Silently disappears, or quickly fades: Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of Earth!
*The persuasion here expressed was not groundless. The first human consolation that the afflicted Mother felt, was derived from this tribute to her son's memory, a fact which the author learned, at his own residence, from her Daughter, who visited Europe some years afterwards.Goldau is one of the villages desolated by the fall of part of the Mountain Rossberg.
WHY cast ye back upon the Gallic shore Ye furious waves! a patriotic Son
Of England-who in hope her coast had won, His project crowned, his pleasant travel o'er? Well-let him pace this noted beach once more, That gave the Roman his triumphal shells; That saw the Corsican his cap and bells Haughtily shake, a dreaming Conqueror !— Enough: my Country's cliffs I can behold, And proudly think, beside the chafing sea, Of checked ambition, tyranny controlled, And folly cursed with endless memory: These local recollections ne'er can cloy; Such ground I from my very heart enjoy!
AFTER LANDING THE VALLEY OF DOVER. Nov. 1820.
WHERE be the noisy followers of the game [passed Which faction breeds; the turmoil where? that Through Europe, echoing from the newsman's blast, And filled our hearts with grief for England's shame. Peace greets us;-rambling on without an aim We mark majestic herds of cattle, free To ruminate, couched on the grassy lea; And hear far-off the mellow horn proclaim The Season's harmless pastime. Ruder sound Stirs not; enrapt I gaze with strange delight, While consciousnesses, not to be disowned, Here only serve a feeling to invite That lifts the spirit to a calmer height, And makes this rural stillness more profound.
FROM the Pier's head, musing, and with increase Of wonder, I have watched this sea-side Town, Under the white cliff's battlemented crown, Hushed to a depth of more than Sabbath peace: The streets and quays are thronged, but why disown Their natural utterance: whence this strange release
From social noise-silence elsewhere unknown?- A Spirit whispered, "Let all wonder cease; Ocean's o'erpowering murmurs have set free Thy sense from pressure of life's common din; As the dread Voice that speaks from out the sca Of God's eternal Word, the Voice of Time Doth deaden, shocks of tumult, shrieks of crime, The shouts of folly, and the groans of sin."
UPON RECEIVING THE PRECEDING SHEETS FROM THE PRESS.
Is then the final page before me spread, Nor further outlet left to mind or heart? Presumptuous Book! too forward to be read, How can I give thee licence to depart? One tribute more: unbidden feelings start Forth from their coverts; slighted objects rise; My spirit is the scene of such wild art As on Parnassus rules, when lightning flies, Visibly leading on the thunder's harmonies.
All that I saw returns upon my view, All that I heard comes back upon my ear, All that I felt this moment doth renew; And where the foot with no unmanly fear Recoiled-and wings alone could travel-there I move at ease; and meet contending themes That press upon me, crossing the career Of recollections vivid as the dreams [streams. Of midnight, cities, plains, forests, and mighty
Where Mortal never breathed I dare to sit Among the interior Alps, gigantic crew, Who triumphed o'er diluvian power !—and yet What are they but a wreck and residue, Whose only business is to perish!—true To which sad course, these wrinkled Sons of Time Labour their proper greatness to subdue; Speaking of death alone, beneath a clime Where life and rapture flow in plenitude sublime.
Fancy hath flung for me an airy bridge Across thy long deep Valley, furious Rhone! Arch that here rests upon the granite ridge Of Monte Rosa-there on frailer stone Of secondary birth, the Jung-frau's cone; And, from that arch, down-looking on the Vale The aspect I behold of every zone;
A sea of foliage, tossing with the gale, Blithe Autumn's purple crown, and Winter's icy mail!
Far as ST. MAURICE, from yon eastern FORKS*, Down the main avenue my sight can range: And all its branchy vales, and all that lurks Within them, church, and town, and hut, and grange, For my enjoyment meet in vision strange; Snows, torrents;-to the region's utmost bound, Life, Death, in amicable interchange ;—
At the head of the Vallais. See Note.
THE Tour of which the following Poems are very inadequate remembrances was shortened by report, too well founded, of the prevalence of Cholera at Naples. To make some amends for what was reluctantly left unseen in the South of Italy, we visited the Tuscan Sanctuaries among the Apennines, and the principal Italian Lakes among the Alps. Neither of those lakes, nor of Venice, is there any notice in these Poems, chiefly because I have touched upan them elsewhere. See, in particular, "Descriptive Sketches," "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent in 1820 " and s Sonnet upon the extinction of the Venetian Republic.
MUSINGS NEAR AQUAPENDENTE.
YE Apennines! with all your fertile vales Deeply embosomed, and your winding shores Of either sea, an Islander by birth, A Mountaineer by habit, would resound Your praise, in meet accordance with your claims Bestowed by Nature, or from man's great deeds Inherited :-presumptuous thought!—it fled Like vapour, like a towering cloud, dissolved. Not, therefore, shall my mind give way to sadness;— Yon snow-white torrent-fall, plumb down it drops Yet ever hangs or seems to hang in air, Lulling the leisure of that high perched town, AQUAPENDENTE, in her lofty site
Its neighbour and its namesake-town, and flood Forth flashing out of its own gloomy chasm Bright sunbeams-the fresh verdure of this lawn Strewn with grey rocks, and on the horizon's verge, O'er intervenient waste, through glimmering haze, Unquestionably kenned, that cone-shaped hill With fractured summit, no indifferent sight To travellers, from such comforts as are thine, Bleak Radicofani! escaped with joy- These are before me; and the varied scene May well suffice, till noon-tide's sultry heat
Relax, to fix and satisfy the mind
Passive yet pleased. What! with this Broom in
Close at my side! She bids me fly to greet
Her sisters, soon like her to be attired With golden blossoms opening at the feet Of my own Fairfield. The glad greeting given, Given with a voice and by a look returned Of old companionship, Time counts not minutes Ere, from accustomed paths, familiar fields, The local Genius hurries me aloft, Transported over that cloud-wooing hill, Seat Sandal, a fond suitor of the clouds, With dream-like smoothness, to Helvellyn's top, There to alight upon crisp moss and range, Obtaining ampler boon, at every step, Of visual sovereignty-hills multitudinous, (Not Apennine can boast of fairer) hills Pride of two nations, wood and lake and plains, And prospect right below of deep coves shaped By skeleton arms, that, from the mountain's trunk Extended, clasp the winds, with mutual moan Struggling for liberty, while undismayed The shepherd struggles with them. Onward thence And downward by the skirt of Greenside fell, And by Glenridding-screes, and low Glencoign, Places forsaken now, though loving still The muses, as they loved them in the days
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