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Nor, like his great compeers, indignantly
Doth DANUBE spring to life! The wandering Stream
(Who loves the Cross, yet to the Crescent's gleam
Unfolds a willing breast) with infant glee

Slips from his prison walls: and Fancy, free
To follow in his track of silver light,
Mounts on rapt wing, and with a moment's flight
Hath reached the encincture of that gloomy sea
Whose waves the Orphean lyre forbad to meet
In conflict; whose rough winds forgot their jars
To waft the heroic progeny of Greece;
When the first Ship sailed for the Golden Fleece —
ARGO- exalted for that daring feat

To fix in heaven her shape distinct with stars.






Aloys Reding, it will be remembered, was Captain-General of the Swiss forces, which, with a courage and perseverance worthy of the cause, opposed the flagitious and too successful attempt of Buonaparte to subjugate their country.

AROUND a wild and woody hill
A gravelled pathway treading,

We reached a votive Stone that bears
The name of Aloys Reding.

Well judged the Friend who placed it there

For silence and protection;

And haply with a finer care

Of dutiful affection.

The Sun regards it from the West; And, while in summer glory

He sets, his sinking yields a type Of that pathetic story:

* Before this quarter of the Black Forest was inhabited, the source of the Danube might have suggested some of those sublime images which Armstrong has so finely described; at present, the contrast is most striking. The spring appears in a capacious stone basin in front of a Ducal palace, with a pleasure-ground opposite; then passing under the pavement, takes the form of a little, clear, bright, black, vigorous rill, barely wide enough to tempt the agility of a child five years old to leap over it,-and entering the garden, it joins, after a course of a few hundred yards, a stream much more considerable than itself. The copiousness of the spring at Doneschingen must have procured for it the honour of being named the Source of the Danube.

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And Idleness in tatters mendicant

The strain should flow-free fancy to enthral,
And with regret and useless pity haunt
This bold, this pure, this sky-born WATERFALL !*


THE FALL OF THE AAR-HANDEC. FROM the fierce aspect of this River throwing His giant body o'er the steep rock's brink, Back in astonishment and fear we shrink: But, gradually a calmer look bestowing, Flowers we espy beside the torrent growing; Flowers that peep forth from many a cleft and chink, And, from the whirlwind of his anger, drink Hues ever fresh, in rocky fortress blowing: They suck, from breath that threatening to destroy, Is more benignant than the dewy eve, Beauty, and life, and motions as of joy: Nor doubt but HE to whom yon Pine-trees nod Their heads in sign of worship, Nature's God, These humbler adorations will receive.


"WHAT know we of the blest above
But that they sing and that they love?"
Yet, if they ever did inspire

A mortal hymn, or shaped the choir,
Now, where those harvest Damsels float
Homeward in their rugged Boat,
(While all the ruffling winds are fled,
Each slumbering on some mountain's head,)
Now, surely, hath that gracious aid
Been felt, that influence is displayed.
Pupils of Heaven, in order stand
The rustic Maidens, every hand

"The Staub-bach" is a narrow Stream, which, after a long course on the heights, comes to the sharp edge of a somewhat overhanging precipice, overleaps it with a bound, and, after a fall of 930 feet, forms again a rivulet. The vocal powers of these musical Beggars may seem to be exaggerated; but this wild and savage air was utterly unlike any sounds I had ever heard; the notes reached me from a distance, and on what occasion they were sung I could not guess, only they seemed to belong, in some way or other, to the Waterfall—and reminded me of religious services chanted to Streams and Fountains in Pagan times. Mr. Southey has thus accurately characterised the peculiarity of this music: "While we were at the Waterfall, some half-score peasants, chiefly women and girls, assembled just out of reach of the Spring, and set up, surely the wildest chorus that ever was heard by human ears, — a song not of articulate sounds, but in which the voice was used as a mere instrument of music, more flexible than any which art could produce, -sweet, powerful, and thrilling beyond description" See Notes to " A Tale of Paraguay." 2 L

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By antique Fancy trimmed though lowly, bred

To dignity in thee, O SCHWYTZ! are seen
The genuine features of the golden mean;
Equality by Prudence governed,

Or jealous Nature ruling in her stead;
And, therefore, art thou blest with peace, serene
As that of the sweet fields and meadows green
In unambitious compass round thee spread.
Majestic BERNE, high on her guardian steep,
Holding a central station of command,
Might well be styled this noble BODY'S HEAD;
Thou, lodged 'mid mountainous entrenchments deep,
Its HEART; and ever may the heroic Land
Thy name, O SCHWYTZ, in happy freedom keep!*



but no faculty of mine
Avails those modulations to detect,
Which, heard in foreign lands, the Swiss affect
With tenderest passion; leaving him to pine
(So fame reports) and die; his sweet-breathed kine
Remembering, and green Alpine pastures decked
With vernal flowers. Yet may we not reject
The tale as fabulous. Here while I recline
Mindful how others love this simple Strain,
Even here, upon this glorious Mountain (named
Of God himself from dread pre-eminence)
Aspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed,
Yield to the Music's touching influence,
And joys of distant home my heart enchain.

* Nearly 500 years (says Ebel, speaking of the French Invasion.) had elapsed, when, for the first time, foreign soldiers were seen upon the frontiers of this small Canton, to impose upon : the laws of their governors.



This Church was almost destroyed by lightning a few years ago, but the Altar and the Image of the Patron Saint were untouched. The Mount, upon the summit of which the Church is built, stands amid the intricacies of the Lake of Lugano; and is, from a hundred points of view, its principal ornament, rising to the height of 2000 feet, and, on one side, nearly perpendicular. The ascent is toilsome; but the traveller who performs it will be amply rewarded. Splendid fertility, rich woods and dazzling waters, soclusion and confinement of view contrasted with sealike extent of plain fading into the sky; and this again, in an opposite quarter, with an horizon of the loftiest and boldest Alps -unite in composing a prospect more diversified by magnificence, beauty, and sublimity, than perhaps any other point in Europe, of so inconsiderable an elevation, commands.

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For victory shaped an open space,
By gathering with a wide embrace,
Into his single heart, a sheaf
Of fatal Austrian spears.*



The Ruins of Fort Fuentes form the crest of a rocky emi nence that rises from the plain at the bead of the Lake of Como, commanding views up the Valteline, and toward the town of Chiavenna. The prospect in the latter direction is characterised by melancholy sublimity. We rejoiced at being favoured with a distinct view of those Alpine heights; not, as we had ex pected from the breaking up of the storm, steeped in celestial glory, yet in communion with clouds floating or stationaryscatterings from heaven. The Ruin is interesting both in mass and in detail. An Inscription, upon elaborately-sculptured marble lying on the ground, records that the Fort had been erected by Count Fuentes in the year 1600, during the reign of Philip the Third; and the Chapel, about twenty years after, by one of his Descendants. Marble pillars of gateways are yet standing, and a considerable part of the Chapel walls: a smooth green turf bas taken place of the pavement, and we could see no trace of altar or image; but everywhere something to remind one of former splendour, and of devastation and tumult. In our ascent we had passed abundance of wild vines intermingled with bushes near the ruins were some ill-tended, but growing willingly and rock, turf, and fragments of the pile, are alike coverea or adorned with a variety of flowers, among which the rose-coloured pink was growing in great beauty. While descending, we discovered on the ground, apart from the path, and at a considerable distance from the ruined Chapel, a statue of a Child in pure white marble, uninjured by the explosion that had driven it so far down the hill. How little," we exclaimed, "are these things valued here! Could we but transport this pretty Image to our own garden!"-Yet it seemed it would have been a pity any one should remove it from its couch in the wilderness, which may be its own for hundreds of years.


Extract from Journal.

DREAD hour! when, upheaved by war's sulphurous blast,

This sweet-visaged Cherub of Parian stone So far from the holy enclosure was cast,

To couch in this thicket of brambles alone;

To rest where the lizard may bask in the palm
Of his half-open hand pure from blemish or speck,
And the green, gilded snake, without troubling the


Of the beautiful countenance, twine round his neck.

Where haply (kind service to Piety due!)

When winter the grove of its mantle bereaves, Some Bird (like our own honoured Redbreast) may


The desolate Slumberer with moss and with leaves.

*Arnold Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach, broke an Austrian phalanx in this manner. The event is one of the most famous in the annals of Swiss heroism; and pictures and prints of it are frequent throughout the country

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Now that the farewell tear is dried,
Heaven prosper thee, be hope thy guide!
Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;
The wages of thy travel, joy!
Whether for London bound to trill
Thy mountain notes with simple skill;
Or on thy head to poise a show
Of Images in seemly row;

The graceful form of milk-white steed,
Or Bird that soared with Ganymede;
Or through our hamlets thou wilt bear
The sightless Milton, with his hair
Around his placid temples curled;
And Shakspeare at his side-a freight,
If clay could think and mind were weight,
For him who bore the world!
Hope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;
The wages of thy travel, joy!


But thou, perhaps, (alert and free
Though serving sage philosophy)
Wilt ramble over hill and dale,
A Vender of the well-wrought Scale
Whose sentient tube instructs to time
A purpose to a fickle clime:

Whether thou choose this useful part,
Or minister to finer art,
Though robbed of many a cherished dream,
And crossed by many a shattered scheme,
What stirring wonders wilt thou see
In the proud Isle of Liberty!
Yet will the Wanderer sometimes pine
With thoughts which no delights can chase,

Recall a Sister's last embrace,

His Mother's neck entwine;

Nor shall forget the Maiden coy
That would have loved the bright-haired Boy!


My Song, encouraged by the grace That beams from his ingenuous face, For this Adventurer scruples not

To prophesy a golden lot;

Due recompense, and safe return
To Coмo's steeps-his happy bourne!
Where he, aloft in garden glade,
Shall tend, with his own dark-eyed Maid,
The towering maize, and prop the twig
That ill supports the luscious fig;
Or feed his eye in paths sun-proof
With purple of the trellis-roof,
That through the jealous leaves escapes
From Cadenabbia's pendent grapes.

- Oh might he tempt that Goatherd-child
To share his wanderings! him whose look
Even yet my heart can scarcely brook,
So touchingly he smiled,

As with a rapture caught from heaven,
For unasked alms in pity given.


WITH nodding plumes, and lightly drest
Like Foresters in leaf-green vest,
The Helvetian Mountaineers, on ground
For Tell's dread archery renowned,
Before the target stood to claim
The guerdon of the steadiest aim.
Loud was the rifle-gun's report,
A startling thunder quick and short!
But, flying through the heights around
Echo prolonged a tell-tale sound
Of hearts and hands alike "prepared
The treasures they enjoy to guard!"
And, if there be a favoured hour
When Heroes are allowed to quit
The Tomb, and on the clouds to sit
With tutelary power,

On their Descendants shedding grace,
This was the hour, and that the place

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