Sunbows o'erarching waterfalls, with prone
Rapidity like lightnings flashing down,
Shine forth, as fancy o'er the mighty streams
Of eloquence oft throws her lovely beams.
Châlets that garland-wise wild plants inwreath
Above look down on castles grey beneath.
Small as is human pride the time-worn tower
Seems among scenes that laugh at human power.
Vast rocks of similar form that round it press
There mock the feudal ruin's littleness.

What a mere toy is chivalry's pomp among
Glories to nature's empire that belong!

GENEVA, August 1837.

THE TRAVELLER.

"Voir, c'est avoir! Allons courir.

Vie errante

Est chose enivrante.

Voir c'est avoir! Allons courir ;

Car tout voir, c'est tout conquérir."

BERANGER. Les Bohémiens.

BRIGHTEN the terraced walks of Nice
With golden fruit, her lemon groves
Mentone boasts, and there increase
Plants that the sun of Afric loves.

Magnificent the Corniche road:

Here, rock-built cities, there, the ocean;

And giant cliffs, their aspect proud

We cannot view without emotion.

Ascending there hill after hill,

We joyful reach each winding turn; Burst on our sight new prospects, still For others we impatient burn:

They open-Heavens! excelling those
We matchless deem'd when lately seen;
Changeful, save ocean in repose
Embracing all, as Love serene;

Great Nature's wonders :-yet to roam,
While some delight, how others hate!
They cannot tear themselves from home,
Or daily view of household gate *.

The traveller, his wanderings past,
Returns to his desired bed + ;

Where in his dying hour at last
He pangless hopes to lay his head.

Where'er he roves, in father-land

He wishes that his bones may rest: And almost fears, if foreign hand Should close his eyes, to die unblest.

*"Ton œil ne peut se détacher,

Philosophe

De mince étoffe ;

Ton œil ne peut se détacher

Du vieux coq de ton vieux clocher."-BERANGER.

"O quid solutis est beatius curis

Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino

Labore fessi venimus larem ad nostrum,

Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto?"-CATULLUS.

Though heavenward points the pyramid
Of Cestius, Christian ashes near,
To him the yews that mourn amid
Ancestral graves as truth are dear.

He deems, perchance, there's sense of union In dust conjoin'd with dust revered,

As, by analogy, communion

Of souls in blissful orbs insphered.

Yet he delights at early morn

To turn of Nature's book a leaf;
See fragments from the mountain torn,
And ruin'd fort of feudal chief.

And then tow'rds evening in the vast
Horizon view a sun-bright town;
And gain it, ere night-shadows fast
Deepening the landscape rich imbrown.

And then to hear the Tuscan song
In very language of Boccace

Firenze's wooded hills among,

Where peasant-girls have native grace.

He loves on Como's lake to sail,

Near isles in beauty that surpass Calypso's, when the western gale Breathes o'er the heaven-reflecting glass.