Resembling nothing I had left behind,

As if all worldly ties were now dissolved; -
And, to incline the mind still more to thought,
To thought and sadness, on the eastern shore
Under a beetling cliff stood half in gloom
A lonely chapel destined for the dead,
For such as, having wandered from their way,
Had perished miserably. Side by side,
Within they lie, a mournful company,

All in their shrouds, no earth to cover them;
Their features full of life, yet motionless
In the broad day, nor soon to suffer change,
Though the barred windows, barred against the wolf,
Are always open! - But the North blew cold;
And, bidden to a spare but cheerful meal,

I sate among the holy brotherhood

At their long board.

The fare indeed was such

As is prescribed on days of abstinence,

Theirs Time as yet

But might have pleased a nicer taste than mine;
And through the floor came up, an ancient crone
Serving unseen below; while from the roof
(The roof, the floor, the walls, of native fir)
A lamp hung flickering, such as loves to fling
Its partial light on apostolic heads,
And sheds a grace on all.
Had changed not. Some were almost in the prime;
Nor was a brow o'ercast. Seen as they sate,
Ranged round their ample hearth-stone in an hour
Of rest, they were as gay, as free from guile,
As children; answering, and at once, to all
The gentler impulses, to pleasure, mirth ;
Mingling, at intervals, with rational talk

Music; and gathering news from them that came,
As of some other world. But when the storm
Rose, and the snow rolled on in ocean-waves,
When on his face the experienced traveller fell,
Sheltering his lips and nostrils with his hands,
Then all was changed; and, sallying with their pack
Into that blank of nature, they became
Unearthly beings. "Anselm, higher up,

Just where it drifts, a dog howls loud and long,
And now, as guided by a voice from Heaven,
Digs with his feet. That noble vehemence,
Whose can it be, but his who never erred ? 13
A man lies underneath! Let us to work!
But who descends MONT VELAN? 'Tis La Croix.
Away, away! if not, alas! too late.

Homeward he drags an old man and a boy,
Faltering and falling, and but half awaked,
Asking to sleep again." Such their discourse.
Oft has a venerable roof received me;

St. BRUNO'S once-where, when the winds were hushed,
Nor from the cataract the voice came up,

You might have heard the mole work underground,
So great the stillness there; none seen throughout,
Save when from rock to rock a hermit crossed
By some rude bridge or one at midnight tolled
To matins, and white habits, issuing forth,
Glided along those aisles interminable,15
All, all observant of the sacred law

Of Silence. Nor is that sequestered spot,

Once called "Sweet Waters," now "The Shady Vale,'
To me unknown; that house so rich of old,
So courteous," and, by two that passed that way,18

Amply requited with immortal verse,

The poet's payment. But, among them all,
None can with this compare, the dangerous seat
Of generous, active Virtue. What though Frost
Reign everlastingly, and ice and snow

Thaw not, but gather there is that within,

Which, where it comes, makes Summer; and, in thought,
Oft am I sitting on the bench beneath

Their garden-plot, where all that vegetates
Is but some scanty lettuce, to observe
Those from the south ascending, every step
As though it were their last,—and instantly
Restored, renewed, advancing as with songs,
Soon as they see, turning a lofty crag,
That plain, that modest structure, promising
Bread to the hungry, to the weary rest.

My mule refreshed

THE DESCENT.

and, let the truth be told,

He was nor dull nor contradictory, 19

But patient, diligent, and sure of foot,

Shunning the loose stone on the precipice,

Snorting suspicion while with sight, smell, touch,
Trying, detecting, where the surface smiled;
And with deliberate courage sliding down,
Where in his sledge the Laplander had turned
With looks aghast my mule refreshed, his bells.
Jingled once more, the signal to depart,
And we set out in the gray light of dawn,
Descending rapidly — by waterfalls

Fast-frozen, and among huge blocks of ice
That in their long career had stopped mid-way.
At length, unchecked, unbidden, he stood still;
And all his bells were muffled. Then my guide,
Lowering his voice, addressed me: "Through this gap
On and say nothing lest a word, a breath
Bring down a winter's snow- enough to whelm
The armed files that, night and day, were seen
Winding from cliff to cliff in loose array
To conquer at MARENGO. Though long since,
Well I remember how I met them here,
As the sun set far down, purpling the west;
And how NAPOLEON, he himself, no less,
Wrapt in his cloak, I could not be deceived,-
Reined in his horse, and asked me, as I passed,
How far 't was to St. Remi. Where the rock
Juts forward, and the road, crumbling away,
Narrows almost to nothing at the base,

'T was there; and down along the brink he led
To victory! DESAIX, who turned the scale,
Leaving his life-blood in that famous field

(When the clouds break, we may discern the spot
In the blue haze), sleeps, as you saw at dawn,
Just where we entered, in the Hospital-church."
So saying, for a while he held his peace,
Awe-struck beneath that dreadful canopy;

But soon, the danger passed, launched forth again.

JORASSE was in his three-and-twentieth year;
Graceful and active as a stag just roused;
Gentle withal, and pleasant in his speech,
Yet seldom seen to smile. He had grown up
Among the hunters of the Higher Alps;

Had caught their starts and fits of thoughtfulness,
Their haggard looks, and strange soliloquies,
Arising (so say they that dwell below)

From frequent dealings with the Mountain-Spirits.
But other ways had taught him better things;
And now he numbered, marching by my side,
The great, the learnéd, that with him had crossed
The frozen tract- with him familiarly

Through the rough day and rougher night conversed
In many a chalêt round the Peak of Terror,"
Round Tacul, Tour, Well-horn, and Rosenlau,
And her whose throne is inaccessible, 22
Who sits, withdrawn in virgin majesty,
Nor oft unveils. Anon an Avalanche
Rolled its long thunder; and a sudden crash,
Sharp and metallic, to the startled ear
Told that far-down a continent of ice
Had burst in twain. But he had now begun;
And with what transport he recalled the hour
When, to deserve, to win his blooming bride,
Madelaine of Annecy, to his feet he bound
The iron crampons, and, ascending, trod
The upper realms of frost; then, by a cord
Let half-way down, entered a grot star-bright,
And gathered from above, below, around,

23