Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide Unblest of God and man!-Till time shall Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend. We hardly think that our readers would be greatly obliged to us for more extracts of this kind, so we refer them to the volume itself. Some of the miscellaneous verses seem better than any thing in the "Scenes of Infancy; and there is considerable sweetness and delicacy in the Ode to Scottish Music. TO IANTHE. Again, sweet syren! breathe again The Celtic warrior's parted shade: The scenes of former life return; Immur'd in mortal forms to mourn. Or if, as ancient sages ween, Can mingle with the mortal throng; "Tis when from heart to heart we roll The deep-ton'd music of the soul, That warbles in our Scottish song. I hear, I hear, with awful dread, 'Now break,' she cries, 'ye fairy charms!' As round she sails with fond alarms, 'Now break, and set my true love free!' Lord Barnard is to greenwood gone, Where fair Gil Morrice sits alone, And careless combs his yellow hair. Ah! mourn the youth, untimely slain! The meanest of Lord Barnard's train The hunter's mangled head must bear. Or, change these notes of deep despair For love's more soothing tender air; Sing how, beneath the greenwood tree, For any knight the fair could see. As slow she rais'd her languid eye. Fair was her cheek's carnation glow, Like evening's dewy star her eye; Her graceful bosom heav'd the sigh. Remember'd like a morning dream, Along the banks of Teviot's stream. And charm'd away mine infant tears: That in the wild the traveller hears. To visit Syria's date-crown'd shore, SKETCHES OF SCENERY IN SAVOY, SWITZERLAND, AND THE ALPS. Lake of Geneva. (Continued from Vol. IV. page 582.) "IF the borders of this lake are not so beautiful as those of the Italian lakes, they are, upon the whole, much more deeply interesting; both from the unrivalled grandeur that is combined and contrasted with their beauty, and from the rich and inexhaustible world of associations that is con nected with and dependent upon them. "You will not expect, my dear C-, that I shall be able to write you any very sober, plodding, prose descriptions from such a place as this, surrounded and glorified as it is by all that is bright and beautiful, as well în imagination as reality; and the powers that it derives from these two distinct sources so bound and blended together, as to make it almost impossible that one who is open to the influence of both, should be able to give its due share to either. While I stand in the presence of these two powers, I find I can do little else but admire and exclaim; and now that I am sitting at my writing-table thinking of them and of you, I'm afraid I shall be able to do little more. "Here dwelt that mysterious being who was made up of all kinds of contradictions-that living paradox, Rousseau. A man who was formed for friendship, and yet never had or could have a friend;-whose soul was the very birth-place and cradle of love, and yet who never loved any thing but a shadow or a dream;-whose spirit could never taste of true happiness but when it was pouring itself forth into the bosom of another, and yet never once found a kindred or confident, till it was forced at last to make one of all the world collectively: the very worst it could have chosen; and this, too, at a time when the very best it could have found would have come too late-the purest, the sincerest, and most eloquent worshipper of nature, and of God, and yet at times-(I shrink from confessing it, and yet I must confess it)-at times the meanest and most paltry of mankind. Here he used to wander and meditate and dream. Here, at least, he was pure and peaceful, if not happy. And here it is that I delight to think of and watch and accompany him. The moment he sets his foot within the walls of a city I am obliged to quit him; for then his spirits sink, his heart shrinks inward to an obscure corner of his breast, his earthly blood begins to ferment, and poor, pitiful, bodily self steps forth, and with its soiled and misty mantle, covers and conceals all things; or so totally changes their forms and colours and sounds, that his eyes and ears can no longer do their office for him; and thus blind VOL. V. and helpless and miserable, he either lies at the mercy of those who have no mercy, or, in despair, plunges into the throng, and becomes as mean and as wicked as the rest. It must have been a most painful and affecting spectacle to have seen Rousseau when his course of life brought him in contact with the great world; for of all men that ever lived he was the least fitted to associate with it, and yet had the least power to leave it. He was "infirm of purpose," and had none of that proud strength of will which has enabled a celebrated countryman of of ours to contemn and trample on, and then quit, with a lofty disdain, a society of beings in whose passions and pursuits he found himself unable to feel a sympathy, or to take a share. However we may doubt the justice of this disdain, or call in question his right to entertain it, we cannot but acknowledge that there is something grand in the unhesitating expression of it. If we do not admire, we cannot despise, still less pity it. But Rousseau-the poor, frail, feeble, Rousseau,-struggling in the toils and yet totally unable to burst them-must have been, with all his faults, an object of the truest and deepest commiseration. There he lay-fettered and imprisoned-groaning beneath his bondage, without patience to bear or strength to break it-and every struggle fastening the chains still more closely about him-till at length the iron entered into his heart and brain, and corroding there, drove him to destraction-for such was undoubtedly his condition at last. "Here, however, in the presence of this beautiful water-floating upon its bosom, or climbing the mountains that line its shores-here he was wise and good, and (I must think it) happy. "I took little notice of Geneva, the birth-place of Rousseau; for we were not staying there, but at Secheron, about a mile from it. I did not even inquire for the house in which he was born; for there are no very pleasant associations connected with his earli est youth. But the left bank of the lake from Geneva seems, as it were, to belong to him, and to the imaginary beings with which he has every where peopled it. And fortunately they are imaginary ones, so that we do not see them, or even fancy that B we see them, which might disturb our peculiar associations. But we feel that their influences are about us wherever we go. Their free and happy voices, such as they were while they are yet gay and innocent,-seem blending with the song of the birds, or flitting by us on the perfumed breezes that inhabit these delightful shores. But even these sounds are less sweet and touching then when sorrow has tempered them into sadness. Then we hear them uttering their patient but never-ceasing murmurs in every little wave that ripples to the shore; or they come floating to us along the waters, as we watch their unheaving bosom sleeping beneath the moonlight. When joy is glittering in their eyes, they seem to gaze upon us from the stars above; for symbols of the same eyes weeping, we turn to the reflection of the same stars in the lake below. “It is chiefly in visiting such scenes as these that we are made to feel, in its fullest and deepest import, the miraculous power of genius. Here are three imaginary beings, inhabitants of a little town at the foot of the Alps a youth and two maidens, without name or fortune with no pretensions to distinguish them from the rest of the world but their simplicity and the strength of their affections-who meet with no events to mark one day of their life from another, but a walk in a chesnut grove, a water party, or a kiss-yet to those who, while they were young, have read the history of these beings in the language in which it was written, and supposing them to thoroughly understand that language, they occupy a larger and dearer space in their mind and memory, than all the true history of all the real kings and conquerors that ever lived. The atmosphere of passion that genius has cast around them, has glorified them into more than living and breathing forms, has sanctified the imaginary marks of their footsteps, and, what was more difficult than all, has, by and through them, added a thousand beauties to scenes that were before almost unrivalled. "Would you believe, my dear C-, that there are persons-and among those, too, who are reckoned the wise ones of the earth,-who would feel the greatest contempt for all this, and for the feelings which dictate it? "Yesterday was a perfectly calm clear day, and I went on the lake for the first time. I merely passed across to the opposite bank; but notwithstanding the scenery that I was on all sides surrounded by, the feeling that occupied me the whole time arose from the sound of the oars dipping into the lake, and the dripping of the waterdrops from their edges in the intervals between each stroke. Not to waste words in multiplying comparisons, you know I have heard nearly all Mozart's best music; much of it over and over again-which indeed is the only way to appreciate it properly. But of all the sounds that ever fell upon my ear, the one I have just alluded to was beyond comparison the most deliciousbreathing the most pure spirit of tranquil happiness. Not joy, but happiness: for no two things can be more different from each other. The characterising spirit of the one is changethat of the other is repetition. The murmur of the stock-dove is happisong of the nightingale is joy-the ness.-In a few days I may perhaps endeavour to give you some general idea of the scenery connected with this beautiful lake.' "The lake of Geneva is of an irre gular oblong form, and is completely embosomed in the Alps, which rise almost immediately from its banks at all parts except the eastern extremity. Here the mountains seem to have divided of themselves, and formed a chasm for the purpose of admitting the Rhone to pass through; which it does at this particular point, and then, forms the lake: for perhaps you are spreading itself out in all directions, not aware that the lake of Geneva is nothing more than an accumulation of the waters of this river within an imthe surrounding mountains. mense basin or reservoir formed by The Rhone is said to run through the lake; but this is not a correct mode of expression. There is no current at all, or a scarcely perceptible one, even in the centre of the lake. The Rhone, indeed, is perpetually rushing in at one extremity; and this of course causes a perpetual overflow and rushing out of water at the other extremity, which stream very properly takes the name of the Rhone; but it is no more or no less the Rhone than the lake itself is. From any elevated point in the neighbourhood, the vista formed by this chasm in the mountains is extremely beautiful. The eye wanders over the lovely valley of the Rhone, dwelling alternately upon the hills that bound it on either side; and at length loses itself among the distant mountains of the Valais. We will take the southern side of this chasm as the point of commencement and reference. Nearly the whole southern border of the lake, beginning at this point, is bounded by the mountains of Savoy, which rise almost immediately from the water's edge, and immediately behind them arise the snow Alps of Savoy," Alps on Alps," erecting themselves higher and higher behind each other, and stretching out interminably into the distance, and from almost every point of view presenting the most splendid, powerful, and impressive sight that can be of fered to the eye, and, through it, to the mind of man. The effect is heightened, and rendered absolutely satisfying and complete, by the perpetual presence of the great lord and master of them all, Mont Blanc, who seems to stand aloof in his unapproachable grandeur, and to watch over his subject-mountains with a look of fixed serenity, arising from a feeling of conscious and undisputed power. As we approach towards the western extremity of the lake, the mountains recede farther from the shore, and leave a space of rising ground, which is covered by the most beautiful cultivation, with here and there a village or a mansion interspersed, which admirably harmonize with the surrounding scenery, and prepare the eye to receive and welcome the crowd of objects connected with active life which now present themselves. Geneva occupies that part of the shore which forms the whole of the western extremity of the lake, and rises, in the manner of an amphitheatre, immediately from the water's edge. Through the centre of the town runs the overflow of water caused by the perpetual influx of the Rhone at the other extremity. It takes the form of a strong river; and the water at this part is of a deep blue colour, and as clear as crystal, which is not the case at its entrance. Indeed I believe the Rhone is quite turbid during the whole course of its progress, till it reaches this delightful resting-place. Here, however, it seems to become renovated and purified, and sets out again on its new pilgrimage, with increased power and with added beauty. "We now arrive at the northern side of the lake. About half a mile from Geneva is Secheron, a charming little village, with a capital and extensive hotel, at which it is the fashion to stop, rather than at Geneva. Here M. de Jean will do you the favour (for it is a favour) to find room for you, provided your equipage makes a certain figure and appearance—and, in fact, during the whole of the summer and autumn he is compelled to make this distinction; for from the situa tion and conveniences of his house, it would always be full in the travelling season, if it were three or four times as large. But if he does find room for you, his accommodotion is excellent, and his charges not at all extravagant. "From Geneva, after passing Secheron, Nyon, Morges, &c. along a gradually ascending road the whole way, we arrive at Lausanne, which is situated on an eminence about half a mile from the shore. Here begins the classical ground, and continues to the eastern extremity of the lake: Lausanne, Veray, Clarens, Chillon, and Villeneure. If I were writing to any one but yourself, my dear C—, I should hardly dare trust myself to think of these places in connexion with the associations that spring up at every step of them. Associations, too, that have lately been so splendidly multiplied by the Third Canto, incomparably the finest of all Byron's works. But with you I need not endeavour to control my thoughts. In such scenes as these, they can only be of any value when they are left to themselves; and in writing them to you, it is delightful for me to feel, that the more pleasure the presence of here and there, so as to give a most sublime but indescribable view into the white and glittering distance as far as the eye can reach. "I saw the house where Gibbon lived, and the terrace and little summer-house where he used to write, and like him better than I did before for having the taste to choose such a retirement, and the power to be happy in it; which he undoubtedly was, more than during any of the other more busy and brilliant periods of his life. The terrace has a fine view of the lake and the opposite mountains, but its situation is not to be compared with many others in the town and neighbourhood. them has given to me, the more the repetition of them will give to you. Indeed I can never write without restraint, and so I never write at all, but to the very few of whom I am certain that this will be true. How apt one is, and how natural it is that one should be apt to indulge in little cgotisms, that are not only forgiven but welcomed by a friend (properly so called), for the very same reason, and in the very same proportion, that they are (to say the least) insipid to every one else. In thinking of these places, you will have patience to let me share your thoughts with Rousseau and Byron, and even with Nature herself-but who else shall I find that would? Perhaps, indeed- -or why should I say perhaps?" I'm sure, that you will now anticipate the pleasure of visiting these scenes even with more earnestness than you used to do; just as I, though I cannot imagine a greater delight than it has been to see them as 1 have done, should, I am certain, have felt it doubled if you had been with me. * * # "You know one of my objects in taking the opportunity I had of coming here now, was to determine on which part of this neighbourhood I should hereafter choose for the purpose of" "I have at once fixed on Lausanne :-not the town itself, but its immediate vicinity. No thing can be finer than the site of Lausanne. It is built on an eminence, and from different parts commands a view of all the scenery that is in any way connected with the lake of Geneva, which includes every possible variety of sublimity and beauty. Behind rises the lofty and regular chain of the Jura mountains-to the right and left lie the lovely hills of the Pays de Vaud, beautified in a thousand ways by towns, villages, countryhouses, vineyards, meadows, chesnutgroves, and forests-in front the lake stretches itself from Geneva on the one hand, to Villeneure on the other, with the beautiful opening at the eastern extremity, giving an exquisite view into the valley of the Rhone and the mountains of the Valais-and on the opposite side of the lake, almost perpendicularly from the water's edge, rise the majestic Alps of Savoy; not forming a regular chain, as the Jura mountains do behind, but broken into every conceivable form, and opening "On leaving Lausanne we descend to Vevai, which is followed by Cla◄ rens, Chillon, and Villeneure. And here I must have done with descriptions-for even while I was among these scenes I could not bring myself to look at them with a view-hunter's eye, beautiful as they are:-and now that I have left them, my recollec tions are so blended with the fancies and imaginations that I had previously clustered round them, and that were multiplied and rendered tenfold more vivid when I did see them, that I can give you very little real infor mation about them. Indeed if I could I think you would be better without it. It is much better that you should make them just what you wish them to be, till you do see them; and when you do, I'll answer for them, that the fairy-work they will destroy, will be replaced by a still more lovely reality.It was here, on the borders of this lake, between Vevai and Villeneure, that the genius of Rousseu luxuriated in all its beauty and in all its power. In his earliest youth he learned to appreciate these scenes; and for ever afterwards, wherever his perverse fortune might cast him, here and here only could his spirit find a resting place and a home. plans of future and possible good-for he lived in the future and the possible-were centered in this spot; and yet, sincere and simple as they were, they could never be realized. very ideal of his hopes and wishes was confined to a cottage and an orchard on the borders of this lake, with a kind companion to talk to, and a little boat to row himself about in. That part of his life over which he All his The |