loud.
For come Diseases on, and Penury's rage,
Labour, and Pain, and Grief, and joyless Age,
And Conscience dogging close his bleeding way 640
Cries out, and leads her Spectres to their prey,
'Till Hope-deserted, long in vain his breath
Implores the dreadful untried sleep of Death.
--Mid savage rocks and seas of snow that shine
Between interminable tracts of pine, 645
Round a lone fane the human Genii mourn,
Where fierce the rays of woe collected burn.
--From viewless lamps a ghastly dimness falls,
And ebbs uncertain on the troubled walls,
Dim dreadful faces thro' the gloom appear, 650
Abortive Joy, and Hope that works in fear,
While strives a secret Power to hush the crowd,
Pain's wild rebellious burst proclaims her rights aloud.
Oh give not me that eye of hard disdain
That views undimm'd Einsiedlen's [Bb] wretched fane. 655
Mid muttering prayers all sounds of torment meet,
Dire clap of hands, distracted chafe of feet,
While loud and dull ascends the weeping cry,
Surely in other thoughts contempt may die.
If the sad grave of human ignorance bear 660
One flower of hope--Oh pass and leave it there.

--The tall Sun, tiptoe on an Alpine spire,
Flings o'er the desert blood-red streams of fire.
At such an hour there are who love to stray,
And meet the gladdening pilgrims on their way. 665
--Now with joy's tearful kiss each other greet,
Nor longer naked be your way-worn feet,
For ye have reach'd at last that happy shore,
Where the charm'd worm of pain shall gnaw no more.
How gayly murmur and how sweetly taste 670
The [Cc] fountains rear'd for you amid the waste!
Yes I will see you when ye first behold
Those turrets tipp'd by hope with morning gold,
And watch, while on your brows the cross ye make,
Round your pale eyes a wintry lustre wake. 675
--Without one hope her written griefs to blot,
Save in the land where all things are forgot,
My heart, alive to transports long unknown,
Half wishes your delusion were it's own.

Last let us turn to where Chamouny [Dd] shields, 680
Bosom'd in gloomy woods, her golden fields,
Five streams of ice amid her cots descend,
And with wild flowers and blooming orchards blend,
A scene more fair than what the Grecian feig