THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK. THE Sun-beams streak the azure skies, And line with light the mountain's brow: With hounds and horns the hunters rise, And chase the roebuck thro' the snow. From rock to rock, with giant-bound, The goats wind slow their wonted way, And while the torrent thunders loud, WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 1786. WHILE thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs, And my step falters on the faithless floor, Shades of departed joys around me rise, With many a face that smiles on me no more; With many a voice that thrills of transport gave, Now silent as the grass that tufts their grave! ΤΟ Go-you may call it madness, folly; Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES, COMMONLY CALLED THE TORSO. AND dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone, What tho' the Spirits of the North, that swept * In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II., it was long the favourite study of those great men to whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci. Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an ancient epigram on the Gnidian Venus. Analecta Vet. Poetarum, III. 200. |