Obrázky na stránke

With little taste for lábor,

And weáry soon of rest,
It seemed álways in a púzzle

Which of the two was best.

So after a while's lábor

It would sit down and say: “This lábor is a killing thing,

I'll work no more today.”

Then after a while's sitting

'Twould fóld its arms and cry: "Donothing 's such a weáriness

I'd almost rather die."

As fóx or magpie clever,

And full of guile and art, Its chiefest study ever

Was hów to hide its heart;

And seldom through its features

Could you its thoughts discern, Or whát its feelings towards you

From words or manner learn.

Fierce, únrelenting, cruel,

Bloodshed was its delight;
To give pain, its chief pleasure

From morning until night;

All kinds of beasts, birds, fishes,

"Twould fall upon and kill, And not even its own like spare,

Its húngry maw to fill;

· And when it could no more eat

But was stuffed up to the throat,
'Twould húnt them down for pástime,

And on their anguish gloat.

Of ímitative manners,

And a baboon in shape,
Some naturalists will have it,

It was a kind of ape;

But I would not believe it

Though depósed to upon oath
Such cálumnies to crédit

Wise men were ever loath;

And all the ancient récords

Unánimous declare
It was God's own legítimate

Likeness and son and heir,

That for some seventy years should

Live wickedly, then die
And túrn into an angel

And flý up to the sky;

And there in the blue éther

With God for ever dwell,
Oft wondering how it cảme there

When 't should have been in hell.

Begun at Arco in the Italian TYROL, Aug. 24, 1854; finished while walking from CAMPIGLIO across the VAL DI Non and over the PALLADE to SPONDINI at the foot of the ORTELER, Aug. 29 to Sept. 2, 1854.


It happened as one summer day I walked
From Küssnacht round the Righi's foot to Schwyz,
Ånd had behind me left Tell’s Hollow Way
And the green, sloping banks of Zug's clear lake,
That looking up I saw a gap in the clouds
And ásking what had made it, was informed
'Twas left there by the fall of Rossberg mountain
Whose rúins strewed the valley at my feet.
Doubting, as usual, and incredulous,
Again I looked up, at and through the gap,
And sáw beyond it in the clear, blue ether
The figure of a man with open shirtneck,
Seáted and writing something upon papers
Which ever and anon down through the gap
He scattered to the ground. One near me fallen
I picked up, curious, and began to read;
But being no lover of non sequiturs
And Beggings of the Argument and mean
And vúlgar thoughts dressed up in melodrame,

* Mountains have fallen Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters, Damming the rivers with a sudden dash Which crushed the waters into mist, and made Their fountains find another channel thus, Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rosenberg.


And not being over patient of bad English,
And holding still that sápere is the basis
Of all good writing whether prose or verse,
I soon grew weary and threw down the paper,
And on my way to Schwyz sped and no more
Thought of the gap in the clouds or of the writer.
Walking from KÜSSNACHT to LUCERNE, Sept. 21, 1854.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

When to visit you I gó
Knock knock knock! door 's answered slów:
Máster Místress not at home;
Dón't know whén back they will come;
Cáll again at síx, seven, eight;
Álmost súre they'll stáy out láte."

When to visit me you come
Ánd by chance find me at home
Í must sít and wait on you
Máybe a good hoúr or twó;
Lét my búsiness press or not
There I am, nailed to the spot,

And my wife and children too,
Paying compliments to yoú.

Tó my inn door when I come
Í enquíre not whó 's at home,
Walk in straight, hang up my hát,
Órder this and order that,
Right before the fire sit down,
Cáll the waiter loút and lówn
If I múst five minutes wait
Ere the chóp smokes on my plate.

Hím that first invented inns
Gód forgive him áll his síns;
When he comes to Páradise gate,
Early lét it bé or láte,
Good Saint Péter, open straight;
'Twére a sháme to máke him wait
Whóse house doór stood open stíll;
Í 'll go bail he 'll páy his bill.

În mine inn I 'll take mine ease,
În mine inn do what I please,
În mine inn I 'll have my fling,
Laugh and dánce and pláy and sing
Till the júgs and glasses ring,

Ánd not envy queen or king.
Walking from RANKACH over the FREIERSBERG to OPPENAU in the BLACK
FOREST (BADEN), Octob, 11, 1854.

« PredošláPokračovať »