Where'er was dipped the toiling oar,
The waves danced round us as before,
As lightly, though of altered hue,
'Mid recent coolness, such as falls
At noontide from umbrageous walls
That screen the morning dew.

Νο

vapor

stretched its wings; no cloud Cast far or near a murky shroud;

The sky an azure field displayed;

'T was sunlight sheathed and gently charmed Of all its sparkling rays disarmed,

And as in slumber laid,

Or something night and day between,
Like moonshine, but the hue was green;
Still moonshine, without shadow, spread
On jutting rock, and curvèd shore,
Where gazed the peasant from his door
And on the mountain's head.

It tinged the Julian steeps, it lay,
Lugano on thy ample bay;
The solemnizing veil was drawn
O'er villas, terraces, and towers;
To Albogasio's olive bowers,
Porlezza's verdant lawn.

But Fancy with the speed of fire
Hath passed to Milan's loftiest spire,

And there alights 'mid that aerial host

Of figures human and divine,*
White as the snows of Apennine

Indúrated by frost.

Awe-stricken she beholds the array

That guards the Temple night and day;

Angels she sees, that might from heaven have flown And Virgin-saints, who not in vain

Have striven by purity to gain

The beatific crown,

Sees long-drawn files, concentric rings
Each narrowing above each ;-the wings,
The uplifted palms, the silent marble lips,
The starry zone of sovereign height,†
All steeped in this portentous light!
All suffering dim eclipse!

Thus after Man had fallen, (if aught
These perishable spheres have wrought
May with that issue be compared,)
Throngs of celestial visages,

Darkening like water in the breeze,

A holy sadness shared.

Lo! while I speak, the laboring Sun
His glad deliverance has begun:

* See Note.

+ Above the highest circle of figures is a zone of metallic star

The cypress waves her sombre plume
More cheerily; and town and tower,
The vineyard and the olive-bower
Their lustre reassume '

O Ye, who guard and grace my home
While in far-distant lands we roam,

What countenance hath this Day put on for you? While we looked round with favored eyes,

Did sullen mists hide lake and skies

And mountains from your view?

Or was it given you to behold

Like vision, pensive though not cold,
From the smooth breast of gay Winandermere?

Saw

ye the soft yet awful veil

Spread over Grasmere's lovely dale,
Helvellyn's brow severe?

I ask in vain, — and know far less

If sickness, sorrow, or distress

Have spared my Dwelling to this hour;

Sad blindness! but ordained to prove
Our faith in Heaven's unfailing love
And all-controlling power.

XXVIII.

THE THREE COTTAGE GIRLS.

I.

How blest the Maid whose heart — yet free
From Love's uneasy sovereignty-

Beats with a fancy running high,
Her simple cares to magnify;
Whom Labor, never urged to toil,

Hath cherished on a healthful soil;

Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf;

Whose heaviest sin it is to look

Askance upon her pretty Self

Reflected in some crystal brook ;

Whom grief hath spared, — who sheds no tear

But in sweet pity; and can hear

Another's praise from envy clear.

II.

Such, (but, O lavish Nature! why
That dark, unfathomable eye,
Where lurks a Spirit that replies
To stillest mood of softest skies,
Yet hints at peace to be o'erthrown,
Another's first, and then her own?)
Such, haply, yon ITALIAN Maid,
Our Lady's laggard Votaress,
Halting beneath the chestnut shade

To accomplish there her loveliness:
Nice aid maternal fingers lend;

A Sister serves with slacker hand,

Then, glittering like a star, she joins the festal band

III.

How blest (if truth may entertain

Coy fancy with a bolder strain)

The HELVETIAN Girl,

who daily braves,

In her light skiff, the tossing waves,
And quits the bosom of the deep
Only to climb the rugged steep!
-Say whence that modulated shout!
From Wood-nymph of Diana's throng?
Or does the greeting to a rout
Of giddy Bacchanals belong?
Jubilant outcry! rock and glade
Resounded, but the voice obeyed

The breath of an Helvetian Maid.

IV.

Her beauty dazzles the thick wood;
Her courage animates the flood;

Her steps the elastic greensward meets,
Returning unreluctant sweets;

The mountains (as ye heard) rejoice

Aloud, saluted by her voice!

Blithe Paragon of Alpine grace,

Be as thou art,

for through thy veins

The blood of Heroes runs its race!