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Where wild goats leap from crag to
crag on high,
Turn we to lake-o'ershadowing mountains nigh,
Or jagged or columnar, what a mass !
Frown others, lengthening in their liquid glass.
Towering o'er the magnificent array
Of clouds that stream along their sides mid--way,
Aerial steeps far spread their grandeur, zoned
By forests of luxuriant growth, pine-crowned.
"Tis thus on genius mighty, though untaught,
That Heaven bestows exhaustless wealth of thought.
Peaks, that the spirit of light seems to subdue
Into crystalline shapes of purple hue,
Sky-pointing peaks, on which, at distance kenn'd,
Stars seem like gods sublunar to descend,
Are types of noble souls, that even on earth
Look upward; gifts celestial show their worth;
Though firm, with light of charity yet graced,
They are above the storms of passion placed.
Far, far around, the Heaven-raised barriers, grand
As thoughts of freedom, guard Tell's native land;
Valleys of loveliest aspect they inclose,
Like Strength protecting Beauty in repose.
Glassed is the brow of Freedom in the clear
Lake,-in the cataract her voice ye hear.
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
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!
"Voir, c'est avoir! Allons courir.
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
And almost fears, if foreign hand
Should close his eyes, to die unblest.
*"Ton œil ne peut se détacher,
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.