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But when that calm spectatress from on high Looks down-the bright and solitary moon, Who never gazes but to beautify; And snow-fed torrents, which the blaze of noon Roused into fury, murmur a soft tune That fosters peace, and gentleness recalls; Then might the passing monk receive a boon Of saintly pleasure from these pictured walls, While, on the warlike groups, the mellowing lustre falls. How blest the souls who when their trials come Yield not to terror or despondency, But face like that sweet boy their mortal doom, Whose head the ruddy apple tops, while he Expectant stands beneath the linden tree, Not quaking like the timid forest game; He smiles—the hesitating shaft to free, Assured that Heaven its justice will proclaim, And to his father give its own unerring aim.
SCHWYTZ. 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 governèd, Or jealous Nature ruling in her stead; And, therefore, art thou blessed 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!
THE “RANZ DES VACHES." I LISTEN—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-eminenceAspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed, Yield to the music's touching influence, And joys of distant home my heart enchain.
THE ITALIAN ITINERANT, AND THE
If clay could think and mind were weight,
That through the jealous leaves escapes
PART SECOND WITH nodding plumes, and lightly dressed 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 telltale 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. But truth inspired the bards of old When of an iron age they told, Which to unequal laws gave birth, That drove Astræa from the earth. A gentle boy (perchance with blood As noble as the best endued,
But seemingly a thing despised,
THE LAST SUPPER, BY LEONARDO
THOUGH searching damps and many an envious flaw