Who now, with eyes that swim in tenderness, 191
Those scenes to every virtue dear shall bless!
What pleasure now can the rich landscape yield,
The sparkling cataract, the pendent field,
'Mid hoar declivities, the sunny tower
Peering o'er beeches that its roof embower,
And cottage tops with light smoke trailing slow
O'er the gray vapours looming far below!
Who shall ascend proud Pilate's[189] height, and mark
The motley clouds sail o'er the champagne dark, 200
Now breaking in fantastic forms, and now
Dappling the distant promontory's brow?
Then when the sun, that lights the scene, rides high,
And far away the scattered volumes fly,
Look up to the great God that rules the world,
By whom proud empires from their seats are hurled,
And feel a glow of holy gratitude,
That here, 'mid hollow glens and mountains rude,
Far from Ambition's march and Discord's yell,
Content with Love and Happiness should dwell. 210
Who now along those banks shall, listening, stray
When evening lights each inlet west away,
And hear the solitary boatman's oar
Dip duly as he nears the shaded shore;
Or catch the whispers of the waterfall
That through the ivied clefts swell musical?
These scenes, these sounds, could many a joy impart,
With sadness mixed. The wandering youth, whose heart
Was sick with many sorrows, resting here
At such an hour, forgot his starting tear; 220
He felt a pensive calm, sweeter than sleep,
Steal gently o'er his aching breast; the deep
And clear repose of the unruffled lake 223
His spirit seemed, unconscious, to partake;
And still the water, as it whispered near,
Or high woods, as they rustled, soothed his ear,
Like the remembrance of a melody
Heard in his infant, happy years gone by.
Now in his distant country, when, with tears,
The tale of ruffian violence he hears; 230
Hears that the spot which smiled with lovely gleam,
Like some sweet image of a tender dream,
Upon his morning path, is drenched with gore,
Its harmless tenants weltering on the shore;
He will exclaim, whilst from his breast he draws
A deep, deep sigh, Avenge, O God, their cause!
Who would not sigh for Switzerland! What heart
That ever bore in human woes a part;
That eve