When gentle Spirits urged a sportive chace, Brushing with lucid wands the water's face; While music, stealing round the glimmering deeps, Charmed the tall circle of th' enchanted steeps. -The lights are vanished from the watry plains: No wreck of all the pageantry remains. Unheeded Night has overcome the vales: On the dark earth the baffled vision fails; The latest lingerer of the forest train, The lone black fir, forsakes the faded plain; Last evening sight, the cottage smoke no more, Lost in the thickened darkness, glimmers hoar; And, towering from the sullen dark-brown mere, Like a black wall, the mountain steeps appear. -Now o'er the soothed accordant heart we feel A sympathetic twilight slowly steal, And ever, as we fondly muse, we find The soft gloom deepening on the tranquil mind. Still the cold cheek its shuddering tear retains. The bird, who ceased, with fading light, to thread Silent the hedge or steaming rivulet's bed, From his grey re-appearing tower shall soon See, o'er the eastern hill, where Darkness broods Above the gloomy valley flings her light, Far to the western slopes with hamlets white; Thus Hope, first pouring from her blessed horn Her dawn, far lovelier than the Moon's own morn; "Till higher mounted, strives in vain to cheer The weary hills, impervious, blackening near; -Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while On darling spots remote her tempting smile. How fair it's lawns and sheltering woods appear! How sweet it's streamlet murmurs in mine ear!) Where we, my friend, to happy days shall rise, 'Till our small share of hardly-paining sighs (For sighs will ever trouble human breath) Creep hushed into the tranquil breast of Death. III. EXTRACTS FROM DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES TAKEN DURING A PEDESTRIAN TOUR IN THE ALPS. (Published in 1793.) PLEASURES OF THE PEDESTRIAN. No sad vacuities his heart annoy ; Blows not a Zephyr but it whispers joy; He tastes the meanest note that swells the gale; And dear the green-sward to his velvet tread; In every babbling brook he finds a friend, To his spare meal he calls the passing poor; He views the Sun uplift his golden fire, Or sink, with heart alive like * Memnon's lyre; I SIGH at hoary Chartreuse' doom. Where now is fled that Power whose frown severe Tamed" sober Reason" till she crouched in fear? That breathed a death-like peace these woods around ; The cloister startles at the gleam of arms, And Blasphemy the shuddering fane alarms; * The lyre of Memnon is reported to have emitted melancholy or cheerful tones, as it was touched by the sun's evening or morning rays. |