Yet more, the depths have more! thy waves have roll'd Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play! Man yields them to decay! Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! They hear not now the booming waters roar, Give back the true and brave! Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom But all is not thine own! 'Tis pleasant to wander along on the sand Beneath the high cliff that is hollowed in caves; When the fisher has put off his boat from the land, And the prawn-catcher wades thro' the short rippling waves. While fast run before us the sandling and plover, And here on a rock which the tide will soon cover, Bright gleam the white sails in the slant rays of even, How various the shades of marine vegetation, Thrown here the rough flints and the pebbles among, While Flora herself unreluctantly mingles Her garlands with those that the Nereids have worn, For the yellow-horned poppy springs up on the shingles, But now to retire from the rock we have warning, And slowly the tide of the evening returning, Ah! whether as now the mild Summer-sea flowing, That Power, which can put the wide waters in motion, Then bid the vast billows repose at His word; Fills the mind with deep reverence, while Earth, Air, and Ocean, Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe; And round us and beneath, Are heard her sacred tones; the fitful sweep Of winds across the steep, Through withered bents-romantic note and clear, Meet for a hermit's ear, The wheeling kite's wild, solitary cry, The dashing waters, when the air is still, While the proud Pyrenees lay wrapt in night; Brilliant thy crest above the billows wild Arose; and first the infant sunbeam smil'd Warm on thy splendid bosom; still thy form Climbs like the warring Titan in the storm; And snows that hill and lowly valley drown, Exalt the splendour of thy glittering crown; Nobly it swells like foam upon the main, The brightest pearl of all the splendid chain: A tumulus to some proud chieftain rais'd By warring demi-gods, the summit glaz'd With ice and frosted silver; when the gale That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell, Strips from its ivory breast the misty veil, Track'd by the blue mist well: It seems all bright in renovated bloom, Such sounds as make deep silence in the A sculptur'd Venus, springing from the tomb; heart, For thought to do her part. MONT BLANC. ANON. SIRE of the stormy Alps! majestic power! On whom the battling winds tremendous shower The fury of the heavens-hail, snow, and rain; And lightning pours its arrowy fires in vain! Cold at thy feet, like sparkles on the wave, The thunderbolt falls harmless; from the grave Of Chaos first thy temples rose to light, The mammoth of the mountains! proudest bark Amidst a snowy fleet; surviving ark, Above a deep and roaring deluge pil'd! Nature's pantheon! temple of the wild! In clouds serene, 'midst rocking earth secure; Cold as the vestal's bosom, and as pure. Drest in his silver robes the monarch towers, And glitters in the moonbeams; mellow showers Of light descending on his glist'ning crest, Fall sweet as dew upon the lily's breast; A nurse, whose paps those mighty floods supply, That else would see their stony channels dry; A barrier plac'd by heaven, a pathless mound, To guard sweet Italy's enchanted ground, And fence her gardens from the spoiler's hands, And all the northern clime's ferocious bands. THE ASCENT OF THE GREAT ST. BERNARD. HUSENBETH. HAVE ye dwelt in the land of the brave and the free? Have ye lov'd the steep rock and the torrent to see, Or to view the rough Alpine chasseur ? Have ye climb'd the high mountain, and trod the deep snow? Or look'd down on the foam of the waters below, With delight softly mingled with pain? |