[THE First Part of this Poem was published in 1822. A few years la Second Part was added. It was revised throughout and further addition made from time to time; and in its Author's opinion the first complete 1 was that of 1834.-EDITOR.]

PREFACE.

IN this Poem the Author has endeavoured to describe his Journ through a beautiful country; and it may not perhaps be uninterestin to those who have learnt to live in Past Times as well as Present, a whose minds are familiar with the Events and the People that ha rendered Italy so illustrious; for, wherever he came, he could not b remember; nor is he conscious of having slept over any ground th has been "dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue."

Much of it was originally published as it was written on the sp He has since, on a second visit, revised it throughout, and added ma stories from the old Chroniclers, and many Notes illustrative of manners, customs, and superstitions there.

Thy gates, GENEVA, Swinging heavily,
Thy gates so slow to open, swift to shut;
As on that Sabbath-eve when He arrived,1
Whose name is now thy glory, now by thee,
Such virtue dwells in those small syllables,
Inscribed to consecrate the narrow street,

His birth-place, when, but one short step too late,
In his despair, as though the die were cast,

He flung him down to weep, and wept till dawn;
Then rose to go, a wanderer through the world.

'Tis not a tale that every hour brings with it.
Yet at a City-gate, from time to time,
Much may be learnt; nor, London, least at thine,
Thy hive the busiest, greatest of them all,
Gathering, enlarging still. Let us stand by,
And note who passes. Here comes one, a Youth,
Glowing with pride, the pride of conscious power,
A CHATTERTON-in thought admired, caressed,
And crowned like PETRARCH in the Capitol ;
Ere long to die, to fall by his own hand,
And fester with the vilest. Here come two,
Less feverish, less exalted-soon to part,
A GARRICK and a JOHNSON: Wealth and Fame
Awaiting one, even at the gate; Neglect
And Want the other. But what multitudes,
Urged by the love of change, and, like myself,
Adventurous, careless of to-morrow's fare,
Press on though but a rill entering the sea,
Entering and lost! Our task would never end.
Day glimmered and I went, a gentle breeze
Ruffling the LEMAN Lake. Wave after wave,

J. J. ROUSSEAU. "J'arrive essoufflé, tout en nage; le cœur me de loin les soldats à leur poste; j'accours, je crie d'une voix étouffée. tard."-Les Confessions, 1. i.

bat; je vois Il étoit trop

ee,

dawn;

-orld.

at thine,

Youth, Dower,

-If.

nd.

ur me bat; je vois

uffée. Il étoit trop

1 BERNARD, Abbot of Clairvaux. "To admire or despise St. Bernard ought," says Gibbon, "the reader, like myself, should have before the wind his library that incomparable landscape."