While the pale moon moves near him, on the bound

Of ether, shining with diminished round,
And far and wide the icy summits blaze,
Rejoicing in the glory of her rays:

To him the day-star glitters small and bright,

Shorn of its beams, insufferably white,
And he can look beyond the sun, and view
Those fast-receding depths of sable blue
Flying till vision can no more pursue!
-At once bewildering mists around him
close,

And cold and hunger are his least of woes;
The Demon of the snow, with angry roar
Descending, shuts for aye his prison door.
Soon with despair's whole weight his spirits

sink;

Bread has he none, the snow must be his drink;

the

And, ere his eyes can close upon day, The eagle of the Alps o'ershades her prey.

Now couch thyself where, herad with fear afar, Thunders through echoing pines the headlong Aar;

Or rather stay to taste the mild delights

Of pensive Underwalden's pastoral heights. -Is there who 'mid these awful wilds has

seen

The native Genii walk the mountain green? Or heard, while other worlds their charms reveal,

Soft music o'er the aërial summit steal? While o'er the desert, answering every close,

Rich steam of sweetest perfume comes and goes.

-And sure there is a secret Power that reigns

Here, where no trace of man the spot profanes,

Nought but the chalets, flat and bare, on high

Suspended 'mid the quiet of the sky;

Or distant herds that pasturing upward creep,

And, not untended, climb the dangerous steep.

How still! no irreligious sound or sight
Rouses the soul from her severe delight.
An idle voice, the sabbath region fills
Of Deep that calls to Deep across the hills,

sound

A single chasm, a gulf of gloomy blue, Gapes in the center of the sea-and through That dark mysterious gulf ascending, sound

Innumerable streams with roar profound. Mount through the nearer vapors notes of birds,

And merry flageolet; the low of herds, The bark of dogs, the heifer's tinkling bell,

Talk, laughter, and perchance a churchtower knell :

Think not, the peasant from aloft has gazed

And heard with heart unmoved, with soul unraised;

Nor is his spirit less enrapt, nor less
Alive to independent happiness,
Then, when he lies, out-stretched, at even-

tide

Upon the fragrant mountain's purple side: For as the pleasures of his simple day Beyond his native valley seldom stray,

He all superior but his God disdained, Walked none restraining, and by none reConfessed no law but what his reason taught.

strained:

Did all he wished, and wished but what he ought,

As man in his primeval dower arrayed
The image of his glorious Sire displayed,
Even so, by faithful Nature guarded, here
The traces of primeval Man appear;
The eye sublime, and surly lion-grace:
The simple dignity no forms debase;
His book he prizes, nor neglects his sword;
The slave of none, of beasts alone the lord,
Well taught by that to feel his rights,
prepared

With this "the blessings he enjoys to guard."

And, as his native hills encircle ground For many a marvellous victory renowned, The work of Freedom daring to oppose, With few in arms innumerable foes, When to those famous fields his steps are led,

An unknown power connects him with the dead:

For images of other worlds are there;
Awful the light, and holy is the air.
Fitfully, and in flashes, through his soul,
Like sun-lit tempests, troubled transports
roll;

His bosom heaves, his spirit towers amain,
Beyond the senses and their little reign.

And oft, when that dread vision hath past by,

He holds with God himself communion high,

There where the peal of swelling torrents fills

The sky-roofed temple of the eternal hills; Or, when upon the mountain's silent brow Reclined, he sees, above him and below, Bright stars of ice and azure fields of

SDOW;

Through Nature's vale his homely pleas-
ures glide,

Unstained by envy, discontent, and pride;
The bound of all his vanity, to deck,
With one bright bell, a favorite heifer's
neck;

Well pleased upon some simple annual feast,

Remembered half the year and hoped the rest,

If dairy-produce, from his inner hoard,
Of thrice ten summers dignify the board.
-Alas! in every clime a flying ray
Is all we have to cheer our wintry way;
And here the unwilling mind may more
than trace

The general sorrows of the human race:

As Schreck-Horn, the pike of terror; Wetter-Horn, the pike of storms, &c., &c.

The churlish gales of penury, that blow Cold as the north wind o'er a waste of snow,

To them the gentle groups of bliss deny That on the noon-day bank of leisure lie. Yet more;-compelled by Powers which only deign

That solitary man disturb their reign, Powers that support an unremitting strife With all the tender charities of life,

Full oft the father, when his sons have grown To manhood, seems their title to disown; And from his nest amid the storms of heaven

Drives, eagle-like, those sons as he was driven; With stern

composure watches to the

plainAnd never, eagle-like, beholds again!

When long familiar joys are all resigned, Why does their sad remembrance haunt the mind?

Lo! where through flat Batavia's willowy groves,

Or by the lazy Seine, the exile roves; O'er the curled waters Alpine measures swell,

And search the affections to their inmost cell;

Sweet poison spreads along the listener's veins,

Turning past pleasures into mortal pains; Poison, which not a frame of steel can brave,

Bows his young head with sorrow to the grave.

Her fields peculiar, and peculiar skies. Yes, as I roamed where Loiret's waters glide

Through rustling aspens heard from side to side,

When from October clouds a milder light Fell where the blue flood rippled into white; Methought from every cot the watchful bird Crowed with ear-piercing power till then unheard;

Each clacking mill, that broke the murmuring streams,

Rocked the charmed thought in more delightful dreams;

Chasing those pleasant dreams, the falling leaf

Awoke a fainter sense of moral grief;
The measured echo of the distant flail
Wound in more welcome cadence down the

vale;

With more majestic course the water rolled, And ripening foliage shone with richer gold. -But foes are gathering - Liberty must raise,

Red on the hills her beacon's far-seen blaze; Must bid the tocsin ring from tower to tower!

Nearer and nearer comes the trying hour! Rejoice, brave Land, though pride's per

verted ire

Rouse hell's own aid, and wrap thy fields in fire:

* An insect so called, which emits a short, melancholy cry, heard at the close of the summer evenings, on the banks of the Loire.

are weighed

In an impartial balance, give thine aid To the just cause; and oh, ! do thou preside

Over the mighty stream now spreading wide: So shall its waters, from the heavens supplied

In copious showers, from earth by wholesome springs,

Brood o'er the long-parched lands with Nilelike wings!

And grant that every sceptred child of clay Who cries presumptuous, "Here the flood shall stay,"

May in its progress see thy guiding hand, And cease the acknowledged purpose to withstand;

Or, swept in anger from the insulted shore, Sink with his servile bands, to rise no more!

Tonight, my Friend, within this humble

cot

Be scorn and fear and hope alike forgot
In timely sleep; and when, at break of day,
On the tall peaks the glistening sunbeams
play,

With a light heart our course we may renew,
The first whose footsteps print the moun-
tain dew.
1791, 1792.

VII.

LINES

Left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree, which stands near the lake of Esthwaite, on a desolate part of the shore, commanding a beautiful prospect.

NAY, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yewtree stands

Far from all human dwelling: what if here No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb?