To act the God among external things, To bind, on apt suggestion, or unbind; And marvel not that antique Faith inclined To crowd the world with metamorphosis, Vouchsafed in pity or in wrath assigned; Such insolent temptations wouldst thou miss, Avoid these sights; nor brood o'er Fable's dark abyss!
The lamented Youth whose untimely death gave occasion to these elegiac verses was Frederick William Goddard, from Boston in North America. He was in his twentieth year, and had resided for some time with a clergyman in the neighbourhood of Geneva for the completion of his education. Accompanied by a fellow-pupil, a native of Scotland, he had just set out on a Swiss tour when it was his misfortune to fall in with a friend of mine who was hastening to join our party. The travellers, after spending a day together on the road from Berne and at Soleure, took leave of each other at night, the young men having intended to proceed directly to Zurich. But early in the morning my friend found his new acquaintances, who were informed of the object of his journey, and the friends he was in pursuit of, equipped to accompany him. We met at Lucerne the succeeding evening, and Mr G. and his fellowstudent became in consequence our travelling companions for a couple of days. We ascended the Righi together; and, after contemplating the sunrise from that noble mountain, we separated at an hour and on a spot well suited to the parting of those who were to meet no more. Our party descended through the valley of our Lady of the Snow, and our late companions, to Art. We had hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva; but on the third succeeding day (on the 21st of August) Mr Goddard perished, being overset in a boat while crossing the lake of Zurich. His companion saved himself by swimming, and was hospitably received in the mansion of a Swiss gentleman (M. Keller) situated on the eastern coast of the lake. The corpse of poor Goddard was cast ashore on the estate of the same gentleman, who generously per formed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the living. He caused a handsome mural monument to be erected in the church of Küsnacht, which records the premature fate of the young American, and on the shores too of the lake the traveller may read an inscription pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the waves. LULLED by the sound of pastoral bells, Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go, From the dread summit of the Queen* Of mountains, through a deep ravine, Where, in her holy chapel, dwells "Our Lady of the Snow."
The sky was blue, the air was mild;
Free were the streams and green the bowers; As if, to rough assaults unknown,
The genial spot had ever shown
* Mount Righi-Regina Montium.
A countenance that as sweetly smiled- The face of summer hours.
And we were gay, our hearts at ease; With pleasure dancing through the frame We journeyed; all we knew of care- Our path that straggled here and there; Of trouble-but the fluttering breeze; Of Winter-but a name.
If foresight could have rent the veil Of three short days-but hush-no more! Calm is the grave, and calmer none Than that to which thy cares are gone, Thou Victim of the stormy gale; Asleep on ZURICH'S shore!
Oh GODDARD! what art thou?-a name- A sunbeam followed by a shade! Nor more, for aught that time supplies, The great, the experienced, and the wise; Too much from this frail earth we claim, And therefore are betrayed.
We met, while festive mirth ran wild, Where, from a deep lake's mighty urn, Forth slips, like an enfranchised slave, A sea-green river, proud to lave, With current swift and undefiled, The towers of old LUCERNE. We parted upon solemn ground Far-lifted towards the unfading sky: But all our thoughts were then of Earth, That gives to common pleasures birth; And nothing in our hearts we found That prompted even a sigh.
Fetch, sympathising Powers of air, Fetch, ye that post o'er seas and lands, Herbs moistened by Virginian dew, A most untimely grave to strew, Whose turf may never know the care Of kindred human hands! Beloved by every gentle Muse He left his Transatlantic home: Europe, a realised romance, Had opened on his eager glance; What present bliss!-what golden views! What stores for years to come! Though lodged within no vigorous frame His soul her daily tasks renewed, Blithe as the lark on sun-gilt wings High poised-or as the wren that sings In shady places, to proclaim Her modest gratitude.
Not vain is sadly-uttered praise; The words of truth's memorial vow Are sweet as morning fragrance shed From flowers mid GOLDAU's ruins bred; As evening's fondly-lingering rays, On RIGHI'S silent brow.
Lamented Youth! to thy cold clay Fit obsequies the Stranger paid; And piety shall guard the Stone
Which hath not left the spot unknown
Where the wild waves resigned their prey
And that which marks thy bed.
And, when thy Mother weeps for Thee,
Lost Youth! a solitary Mother;
This tribute from a casual Friend A not unwelcome aid may lend.
To feed the tender luxury, The rising pang to smother.
XXXIV. SKY-PROSPECT-FROM THE PLAIN OF FRANCE.
Lo! in the burning west, the craggy nape Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon, The Ark, her melancholy voyage done! Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion's shape; There, combats a huge crocodile-agape A golden spear to swallow! and that brown Tnd massy grove, so near yon blazing town, Stirs and recedes-destruction to escape! Yet all is harmless-as the Elysian shades Where Spirits dwell in undisturbed repose- Silently disappears, or quickly fades: Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of Earth!
ON BEING STRANDED NEAR THE HARBOUR OF BOULOGNE.
WHY cast ye back upon the Gallic shore, Ye furious waves! a patriotic Son
Of England-who in hope her coast had won, His project crowned, his pleasant travel o'er? Well-let him pace this noted beach once more, That gave the Roman his triumphal shells; That saw the Corsican his cap and bells Haughtily shake, a dreaming Conqueror !- Enough my Country's cliffs I can behold, And proudly think, beside the chafing sea, Of checked ambition, tyranny controlled, And folly cursed with endless memory: These local recollections ne'er can cloy; Such ground I from my very heart enjoy!
Ocean's o'erpowering murmurs have set free Thy sense from pressure of life's common din; As the dread Voice that speaks from out the sea Of God's eternal Word the Voice of Time Doth deaden, shocks of tumult, shrieks of crime, The shouts of folly, and the groans of sin."
DESULTORY STANZAS,
UPON RECEIVING THE PRECEDING SHEETS FROM THE PRESS.
Is then the final page before me spread Nor further outlet left to mind or heart? Presumptuous Book! too forward to be read, How can I give thee licence to depart? One tribute more: unbidden feelings start Forth from their coverts; slighted objects rise; My spirit is the scene of such wild art As on Parnassus rules, when lightning flies, Visibly leading on the thunder's harmonies. All that I saw returns upon my view, All that I heard comes back upon my ear, All that I felt this moment doth renew; And where the foot with no unmanly fear Recoiled-and wings alone could travel-there I move at ease; and meet contending themes That press upon me, crossing the career Of recollections vivid as the dreams
Of midnight,-cities, plains, forests, and mighty
Fancy hath flung for me an airy bridge Across thy long deep Valley, furious Rhone! Arch that here rests upon the granite ridge Of Monte Rosa-there on frailer stone Of secondary birth, the Jung-frau's cone; And, from that arch, down-looking on the Vale The aspect I behold of every zone; A sea of foliage, tossing with the gale, Blithe Autumn's purple crown, and Winter's icy mail!
Far as ST MAURICE, from yon eastern FORKS,* Down the main avenue my sight can range: And all its branchy vales, and all that lurks Within them, church, and town, and hut, and
For my enjoyment meet in vision strange; Snows, torrents;-to the region's utmost bound, Life, Death, in amicable interchange;- But list! the avalanche-the hush profound That follows-yet more awful than that awful sound!
Is not the chamois suited to his place? The eagle worthy of her ancestry? -Let Empires fall; but ne'er shall Ye disgrace Your noble birthright, ye that occupy, Your council-seats beneath the open sky,
At the head of the Vallais.
On Sarnen's Mount, there judge of fit and Announcing, ONE was born mankind to free; right.
In simple democratic majesty ;
Soft breezes fanning your rough brows-the might And purity of nature spread before your sight! From this appropriate Court, renowned LUCERNE
Calls me to pace her honoured Bridge-that
Just at the point of issue, where it fears The form and motion of a stream to take;
His acts, his wrongs, his final sacrifice; Lessons for every heart, a Bible for all eyes. Our pride misleads, our timid likings kill. -Long may these homely Works devised of These simple efforts of Helvetian skill, Aid, with congenial influence, to uphold The State,--the Country's destiny to mould; Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold;
Filling the soul with sentiments august- The beautiful, the brave, the holy, and the just!
No more; Time halts not in his noiseless
Nor turns, nor winds, as doth the liquid flood; Life slips from underneath us, like that arch
Where it begins to stir, yet voiceless as a Of airy workmanship whereon we stood,
Volumes of sound, from the Cathedral rolled, This long-roofed Vista penetrate-but see, One after one, its tablets, that unfold The whole design of Scripture history; From the first tasting of the fatal Tree,
Till the bright Star appeared in eastern skies,
Earth stretched below, heaven in our neigh
Go forth, my little Book! pursue thy way; Go forth, and please the gentle and the good; Nor be a whisper stifled, if it say
That treasures, yet unto iched, may grace some future Lay.
THE Tour of which the following Poems are very inadequate remembrances was shortened by report, too well founded, of the prevalence of Cholera at Naples. To make some amends for what was reluctantly left unseen in the South of Italy, we visited the Tuscan Sanctuaries among the Apennines, and the principal Italian Lakes among the Alps. Neither of those lakes, nor of Venice, is there any notice in these Poems, chiefly because I have touched upon them elsewhere. See, in particular, "Descriptive Sketches," "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent in 1820," and a Sonnet upon the extinction of the Venetian Republic.
MUSINGS NEAR AQUAPENDENT.
YE Apennines! with all your fertile vales Deeply embosomed, and your winding shores Of either sea, an Islander by birth,
A Mountaineer by habit, would resound Your praise, in meet accordance with your claims
Bestowed by Nature, or from man's great deeds
Inherited :-presumptuous thought!-it fled Like vapour, like a towering cloud, dissolved. Not, therefore, shall my mind give way to sadness;-
Yon snow-white torrent-fall, plumb down it drops
Yet ever hangs or seems to hang in air, Lulling the leisure of that high perched town, AQUAPENDENTE, in her lofty site
Its neighbour and its namesake-town, and flood
Forth flashing out of its own gloomy chasm Bright sunbeams-the fresh verdure of this
Struggling for liberty, while undismayed The shepherd struggles with them. Onward thence
And downward by the skirt of Greenside fell, And by Glenridding-screes, and low Glencoign, Places forsaken now, though loving still The muses, as they loved them in the days Of the old minstrels and the border bards.- But here am I fast bound; and let it pass, The simple rapture;-who that travels far To feed his mind with watchful eyes could share Or wish to share it ?-One there surely was, "The Wizard of the North," with anxious hope Brought to this genial climate, when disease Preyed upon body and mind-yet not the less Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words That spake of bards and minstrels; and his spirit
Had flown with mine to old Helvellyn's brow Where once together, in his day of strength, We stood rejoicing, as if earth were free From sorrow, like the sky above our heads. Years followed years, and when, upon the eve Of his last going from Tweed-side, thought turned,
Or by another's sympathy was led,
To this bright land, Hope was for him no friend, Knowledge no help; Imagination shaped No promise. Still, in more than ear-deep seats, Survives for me, and cannot but survive The tone of voice which wedded borrowed words
To sadness not their own, when, with faint
Forced by intent to take from speech its edge, He said, "When I am there, although 'tis fair, "Twill be another Yarrow." Prophecy More than fulfilled, as gay Campania's shores Soon witnessed, and the city of seven hills, Her sparkling fountains, and her mouldering tombs ; And more than all, that Eminence which showed Her splendours, seen, not felt, the while he stood A few short steps (painful they were) apart From Tasso's Convent-haven, and retired grave. Peace to their Spirits! why should Poesy Yield to the lure of vain regret, and hover In gloom on wings with confidence outspread To move in sunshine!-Utter thanks, my Soul! Tempered with awe, and sweetened by com- passion
For them who in the shades of sorrow dwell That I-so near the term to human life Appointed by man's common heritage, Frail as the frailest, one withal (if that Deserve a thought) but little known to fame- Am free to rove where Nature's loveliest looks, Art's noblest relics, history's rich bequests, Failed to reanimate and but feebly cheered The whole world's Darling-free to rove at will O'er high and low, and if requiring rest, Rest from enjoyment only. Thanks poured forth For what thus far hath blessed my wanderings, thanks
Fervent but humble as the lips can breathe Where gladness seems a duty--let me guard Those seeds of expectation which the fruit Already gathered in this favoured Land Enfolds within its core. The faith be mine,
That He who guides and governs all, approves When gratitude, though disciplined to look Beyond these transient spheres, doth wear a
Of earthly hope put on with trembling hand: Nor is least pleased, we trust, when golden beams,
Reflected through the mists of age, from hours Of innocent delight, remote or recent, Shoot but a little way-'tis all they can- Into the doubtful future. Who would keep Power must resolve to cleave to it through life,
Else it deserts him, surely as he lives. Saints would not grieve nor guardian angels frown.
If one-while tossed, as was my lot to be, In a frail bark urged by two slender oars Over waves rough and deep, that, when they broke,
Dashed their white foam against the palace
From century on to century, must have known The emotion-nay, more fitly were it said- The blest tranquillity that sunk so deep Into my spirit, when I paced, enclosed In Pisa's Campo Santo, the smooth floor Of its Arcades paved with sepulchral slabs, And through each window's open fret-work looked
O'er the blank Area of sacred earth Fetched from Mount Calvary, or haply delved In precincts nearer to the Saviour's tomb, By hands of men, humble as brave, who fought For its deliverance-a capacious field That to descendants of the dead it holds And to all living mute memento breathes,
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