MEILLERIE. THESE grey majestic cliffs that tower to heaven, Or woodman's axe, or steers-man's song beneath, Or shout of goat-herd boy above them all, Who loves not? And who blesses not the light, As now thy once-luxurious bowers, RIPAILLE ; * * The retreat of AMADEUS, the first Duke of Savoy. Voltaire thus addresses it from his windows: 'Ripaille, je te vois. O bizarre Amédée,' &c. The seven towers are now no longer a land-mark to the voyager. VEVEY, so long an exiled Patriot's home; Or CHILLON's dungeon-floors beneath the wave, * LUDLOW. + He has given us a very natural account of his feelings at the conclusion of his long labour there: "It was on the night of the 27th of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau or covered walk of acacias, which commands the lake and the mountains. The sky was serene, the moon was shining on the waters, and I will not dissemble my joy. But, when I reflected that I had taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable companion," &c. There must always be something melancholy in the moment of separation, as all have more or less experienced; none more perhaps than Cowper:-" And now," says he, "I have only to regret that my pleasant work is ended. To the illustrious Greek I owe the smooth and easy flight of many thousand hours. He has been my companion at home and abroad, in the study, in the garden, and in the field; and no measure of success, let my labours succeed as they may, will ever compensate to me the loss of the innocent luxury that I have enjoyed, as a Translator of Homer." The burial-place of NECKER. Here would I dwell, forgetting and forgot; 6 And say, half-dreaming, Here ST. PREUX has stood!' Then turn and gaze on CLARENs. Yet there is, Within an eagle's flight and less, a scene Holy delight, lifting our thoughts to God That in the desert sowed the seeds of life, *The Lake of the Four Cantons. Who would not land in each, and tread the ground; Land where TELL leaped ashore; and climb to drink Of the three hallowed fountains? He that does, Comes back the better; and relates at home That he was met and greeted by a race Such as he read of in his boyish days; Led, when he chased the Persians to their ships. There in the sun-shine, 'mid their native snows, Each cliff and head-land and green promontory The fisher on thy beach, THERMOPYLÆ, There to burn on as in a sanctuary, Bright and unsullied lives the' ethereal flame; And 'mid those scenes unchanged, unchangeable, Why should it ever die? |