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Ah! whether as now the mild Summer-sea flowing,
Scarce wrinkles the sands as it murmurs on shore,
Or fierce wintry-whirlwinds impetuously blowing
Bid high maddening surges resistlessly roar;

That Power, which can put the wide waters in motion,
Then bid the vast billows repose at His word;
Fills the mind with deep reverence, while Earth, Air, and Ocean,
Alike of the Universe speak Him the Lord.

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Lone Nature feels that she may freely While the proud Pyrenees lay wrapt in breathe ;

night; And round 11s and beneath,

Brilliant thy crest above the billows wild Are heard her sacred tones; the fitful sweep Arose; and first the infant sunbeam smil'd Of winds across the steep,

Warm on thy splendid bosom; still iby form Through withered bents---romantic note and Climbs like the warring Titan in the storm; clear,

And snows that hill and lowly valley drown, Meet for a hermit's ear,

Exalt the splendour of thy glittering crown;

Nobly it swells like foam upon the main, The wheeling kite's wild, solitary cry, The brightest pearl of all the splendid chain: And, scarcely heard so high,

A tumulus to some proud chieftain rais'd The dashing waters, when the air is still, By warring demi-gods, the summit glaz'd From many a torrent rill,

With ice and frosted silver; when the gale That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell, Strips from its ivory breast the misty veil, Track'd by the blue mist well :

It seems all bright in renovated bloom, Such sounds as make deep silence in the A sculptur'd Venus, springing from the tomb; heart,

The mammoth of the mountains ! proudest For thought to do her part.

Amidst a snowy feet; surviving ark,
Above a deep and roaring deluge pild!
Nature's pantheon! temple of the wild!
In clouds serene, 'midst rocking earth secure;

Cold as the vestal's bosom, and as pare.

Drest in his silver robes the monarch towers,
And glitters in the moonbeams; mellow

showers Sire of the stormy Alps! majestic power! Of light descending on his glist’ning crest, On whom the battling winds tremendous Fall sweet as dew upon the lily's breast; shower

A nurse, whose paps those mighty floods The fury of the heavens--hail, snow, and supply,

That else would see their stony channels dry; And lightning pours its arrowy fires in vain! A barrier plac'd by heaven, a pathless mound, Cold at thy feet, like sparkles on the wave, To guard sweet Italy's enchanted ground, The thunderbolt falls harmless; from the And fence ber gardens from the spoiler's grave

hands, Of Chaos first thy temples rose to light, And all the northern clime's ferocious bands.



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Have ye climb'd the bigh mountain, and trod the deep snow?

Have ye wander'd with joy o'er the plain?
Or look'd down on the foam of the waters below,

With delight softly mingled with pain?

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If Helvetia has seen you amid her wild scenes,

Feel the pleasure that knows no alloy;
And her hills and dark forests, her rocks and ravines,

Have transported your senses with joy :-

Then hasten with me to those scenes once again,

We will clamber together the steep; We will tread the rude path, and look down on the glen,

Where the torrent rolls rapid and deep.

The bright sunbeams are glancing amid the high trees,

And the forest has lost half its gloom; O how sweet is the breath of the fresh mountain-breeze,

And the sight of the valley in bloom !

Now winds the rough road o'er the rude one-arch'd bridge,

Where the torrent rolls foaming below ;
And St. Bernard far towering above the bigh ridge,

Lifts bis hoary old summit of snow.

Can the wand'rer advance without feelings of dread,

Mid the scenes that now crowd on his sight; While the menacing cliffs bend and frown o'er his head,

And the cataract pours on his right:

Where the pines of the forest are stunted and sere,

And the rugged road seldom is traced ; Where the rocks are all barren, the mountain all drear,

And the valley all desert and waste :

Where no music is heard but the shrill Alpine blast,

And the roar of the cataracts fall,
And the howl of the wolf for his savage repast,

And the echo that answers to all ?

In a desert like this well might Piety's hand

Plant aloft the bright Sign of our faith;
For the Cross shall yet hallow this desolate land,

And yet cheer the worn wanderer's path.

But the shows gather round, and the sun has long ceas'd

To enliven the comfortless day;
And the mist on the mountain's high top is increas'd

And half-choked is the torrent's rough way.

See! the avalanche has fallen-it lies far and wide ;

And how frightful the ruin it made,-
For it swept down in thunder the forest's high pride,

And the rock-crag how prostrate it laid !

And it rollid on relentless, and buried the cot,

Which had shelter'd the poor mountaineer ;

Nor has left to kind Pity a trace of the spot,

Where the snow might dissolve with her tear.

But the pine trees it shiver'd lie low in its wreck,

And the crags it brought down in its fall; Attempted in vain the wild torrent to check,

For it foam'd and broke over them all.

It is past; but the scene is more frightful and drear : ,

Not a pine rises over the snow,
Not a point of the gray granite rock can appear

Not a floweret can flourish below.

And the traveller advances with caution and dread,

In his dubious and desolate way; For who knows but the avalanche may burst o'er his head,

Or the snow-cover'd gulf may betray?

Yet more sleep is the mountain, more rude is the blast,

More keen, more benumbing the air; Vegetation long since feebly bourgeon'd her last,

And around—all is death and despair.

Ev'n frozen and hush'd is the torrent's loud foam,

And the cascade is dashing no more';
The wild chamois alone will here venture to roam,

And the glacier yet dare to explore.

Every track is long lost of the steep Narrow way,

And how dreadful, how thrilling to think,
That the traveller unknowing might fatally stray,

Where the snow hides the precipice' brink !

And his senses are numb’d by the chill mountain air,

And a stupor invites to repose :
But resist, weary pilgrim! 'tis death lays the snare,

And would sink thee a grave in the snows.

Yet advance for a while, and the danger is past,

For St. Bernard's bleak summit is nigh, Where, tho' beats the dread tempest, and roars the rude blast

His white front looks unhurt to the sky.

The high summit is gain'd, and fair Charity's hand,

Has invited the wanderer in :-
Who would hope she could dwell in this desolate land,

Where no creature, no comfort is seen?

But the mountain's high summit no longer is drear,

By Religion and Charity blest; Hospitality ventures to smile even here,

And to soothe the worn traveller to rest.


Iu solitude and loveliness. Its sound,

As with an angel-voice of peace profound BYRON.

Whispers to heaven: and see-the sultry Above me are the Alps, fires The palaces of nature, whose vast walls, Of day more faintly yon deep crags surHave pinnacled in clouds their snowy round; scalps,

Slowly even now each western beam And throned eternity, in icy halls

retires, Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls Fades, lightens o'er the wave, and with a The avalanche--the thunderbolt of snow !

smile expires. All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show

Night, utter night succeeds.-Above

below How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below.

All deepens slowly in one blackening

gloom ; Dark are the heavens, as is the front of


Dark as the mountain-prospects,-as the THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.


Even as I slow descend, a fearful doom ROGERS.

Weighs heavy on my heart, the bird of The sun-beams streak the azure skies,


Screams from her straw-built nest as from And line with light the mountain's brow;

the womb With hounds and horns the hunters rise, And chase the roebuck through the snow.

Of infant death, and wheels her drowsy

flight, From rock to rock, with giant-bound,

Amid the pine-clad rocks with wonder and High on their iron poles they pass ;

affright. Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound,

The note of wo is hushed; peace reigns Rend from above a frozen mass.


In utter solitude; the night breeze dies The goats wind slow their wonted way,

Faint on the mountain-ash leaves that Up craggy steeps and ridges rude ;

surround Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,

Snowdon's dark peaks-But hark! again From desert cave or hanging wood.

the cries

Of the scared owl, loud hymning to the And while the torrent thanders loud,

skies And as the echoing cliffs reply,

Her tale of desolation! Fearfully The huts peep o'er the morning cloud,

Night lengthens out the note;—the echo Perch'd like an eagle's nest on high.

flies From rock to rock; now whispering

shrilly byNow in the distance softened, lingering


Heaven smiles on earth again-the glimANON.

mering star 'Tis eve! The sun's last rays are glim- Pours in mild lustre down his full-orbed mering still

light; On Snowdon's crested summit, and around And see his mistress in her burnished car His granite rocks flows the deep bosomed Beams on the view !-At the refulgent rill


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