MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON
THE CONTINENT.
FISHWOMEN AT CALAIS.
'TIS said, fantastic ocean doth enfold
The likeness of whate'er on land is seen; But, if the Nereid sisters and their queen, Above whose heads the tide so long hath rolled, The dames resemble whom we here behold, How terrible beneath the opening waves To sink, and meet them in their fretted caves, Withered, grotesque-immeasurably old, And shrill and fierce in accent! Fear it not; For they earth's fairest daughters do excel; Pure undecaying beauty is their lot; Their voices into liquid music swell, Thrilling each pearly cleft and sparry grotThe undisturbed abodes where sea-nymphs dwell!
BRUGES I saw attired with golden light,
Streamed from the West, as with a robe of power:
'Tis passed away; and now the sunless hour,
That slowly introducing peaceful night
Best suits with fallen grandeur, to my sight
Offers the beauty, the magnificence,
And sober graces, left her for defence
Against the injuries of time, the spite
Of fortune, and the desolating storms
of future war. Advance not-spare to hide,
O gentle power of darkness! these mild hues;
Obscure not yet these silent avenues
Of stateliest architecture, where the forms
Of nun-like females with soft motion glide!
The spirit of antiquity-enshrined
In sumptuous buildings, vocal in sweet song,
In picture speaking with heroic tongue,
And with devout solemnities entwined-
Strikes to the seat of grace within the mind:
Hence forms that glide with swanlike ease along;
Hence motions, even amid the vulgar throng,
To an harmonious decency confined;
As if the streets were consecrated ground,
The city one vast temple-dedicate
To mutual respect in thought and deed;
To leisure, to forbearances sedate;
To social cares from jarring passions freed;
A nobler peace than that in deserts found!
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.
A WINGED goddess, clothed in vesture wrought
Of rainbow colours; one whose port was bold,
Whose overburthened hand could scarcely hold
The glittering crowns and garlands which it brought,
Hovered in air above the far-famed spot.
She vanished--leaving prospect blank and cold
Of wind-swept corn that wide around us rolled
In dreary billows, wood, and meagre cot,
And monuments that soon must disappear!
Yet a dread local recompense we found;
While glory seemed betrayed, while patriot zeal
Sank in our hearts, we felt as men should feel
With such vast hoards of hidden carnage near,
And horror breathing from the silent ground!
WHAT lovelier home could gentle fancy choose?
Is this the stream, whose cities, heights and plains,
War's favourite playground, are with crimson stains
Familiar, as the morn with pearly dews?
The morn, that now, along the silver Meuse,
Spreading her peaceful ensigns, calls the swains
To tend their silent boats and ringing wains,
Or strip the bough whose mellow fruit bestrews
The ripening corn beneath it. As mine eyes
Turn from the fortified and threatening hill,
How sweet the prospect of yon watery glade,
With its gray rocks clustering in pensive shade,
That, shaped like old monastic turrets, rise
From the smooth meadow ground, serene and still!
AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.
Was it to disenchant, and to undo,
That we approached the seat of Charlemagne?
To sweep from many an old romantic strain
That faith which no devotion may renew?
Why does this puny church present to view
Its feeble columns? and that scanty chair?
This sword that one of our weak times might wear;
Objects of false pretence, or meanly true!
If from a traveller's fortune I might claim
A palpable memorial of that day,
Then would I seek the Pyrenean breach
Which Roland clove with huge two-handed sway,
And to the enormous labour left his name,
Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.
THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE.
Oн for the help of angels to complete
This temple-angels governed by a plan
How gloriously pursued by daring man,
Studious that he might not disdain the seat
Who dwells in heaven! But that inspiring heat
Hath failed; and now, ye powers! whose gorgeous wings
And splendid aspect yon emblazonings
But faintly picture, 'twere an office meet
For you, on these unfinished shafts to try
The midnight virtues of your harmony:
This vast design might tempt you to repeat
Strains that call forth upon empyreal ground
Immortal fabrics-rising to the sound
Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!
IN A CARRIAGE, UPON THE BANKS OF
THE RHINE.
AMID this dance of objects sadness steals
O'er the defrauded heart-while sweeping by,
As in a fit of Thespian jollity,
Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green earth reels;
Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels
The venerable pageantry of time,
Each beetling rampart-and each tower sublime,
And what the dell unwillingly reveals
Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied
Near the bright river's edge. Yet why repine?
Pedestrian liberty shall yet be mine
To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze:
Freedom which youth with copious hand supplied,
May in fit measure bless my later days.
AS THEY APPROACH THE RAPIDS, HEIDELBERG.
JESU! bless our slender boat,
By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenings-let them not
Drown the music of a song,
Breathed thy mercy to implore,
Where these troubled waters roar !
Saviour, in thy image, seen
Bleeding on that precious rood;
If, while through the meadows green
Gently wound the peaceful flood,
We forgot thee, do not thou
Disregard thy suppliants now!
Hither, like yon ancient tower
Watching o'er the river's bed,
Fling the shadow of thy power,
Else we sleep among the dead;
Thou who trod'st the billowy sea,
Shield us in our jeopardy!
Guide our bark among the waves;
Through the rocks our passage smooth;
Where the whirlpool frets and raves
Let thy love its anger soothe:
All our hope is placed in thee;
Miserere Domine!
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