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tolérance remplaçant la farouche inquisition; j'y vois,

Note 87, page 34, col. 1. un jour de fête, Péruviens, Mexicains, Américains

the slayer slain. libres, François s'embrassant comme des frères, et bén- Cortes, Pizarro." Almost all," says Las Casas, issant le régne de la liberté, qui doit amener partout" have perished. The innocent blood, which they had une harmonie universelle.—Mais les mines, les es- shed, cried aloud for vengeance; the sighs, the lears claves, que deviendront-ils ? Les mines se serieront, of so many victims went up before God.” les esclaves seront les frères de leurs maîtres.

Note 88, page 34, col. 1.

'Mid gems and gold, unenvied and unblest. There is a prophetic stanza, written a century ago

L'Espagne a fait comme ce roi insensé qui demanda by Bp. Berkeley, which I must quote, though I shall suffer by the comparison.

que tout ce qu'il toucheroit se convertit en or, et qui

fut obligé de revenir aux dieux pour les prier de finir
Westward the course of empire takes its way. sa misère.—MONTESQUIEU.
The four first acts already past,

Note 89, page 34, col. 2.
A fifth shall close the drama with the day.
Time's noblest otwps...
is the last.

Where on his altar-tomb, etc.

An interpolation.
Note 86, page 34, col. 1.

Note 90, page 34, col. 2.
The spoiler spoil'd of all.

Though in the western world His grave. Cortes. “A peine put-il obtenir audience de Charles- An anachronism. The body of Columbus was not Quint; un jour il fendit la presse qui entourait la yet removed from Seville. coche de l'empereur, et monta sur l'étrier de la por- It is almost unnecessary to point out another, in tière. Charles demanda quel étoit cet homme: “C'est,'|ihe Ninth Canto. The telescope was not then in use ; répondit Cortez, celui qui vous a donné plus d'états though described long before with great accuracy by que vos pères ne vous ont laissé de villes.'"-VOLTAIRE. Roger Bacon.

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With folded arms and listless look to snuff
The morning air, or the caged sky-lark sung,

From his green sod up-springing—but in vain, A FEW copies of this Poem were printed off in the His tuneful bill o'erflowing with a song autumn of the year before last, while the Author was Old in the days of Homer, and his wings abroad. It is now corrected, and republished with With transport quivering, on my way I went, some additions.

Thy gates, Geneva, swinging heavily, Whatever may be its success, it has led him in Thy gates so slow to open, swift to shut; many an after-dream through a beautiful country: As on that Sabbath-eve when he arrived,' (1) and may not perhaps be uninteresting to those who Whose name is now thy glory, now by thee have learnt to live in past times as well as present, Inscribed to consecrate (such virtue dwells and whose minds are familiar with the events and In those small syllables) the narrow street, the people that have rendered lialy so illustrious. His birth-place—when, but one short step too late,

The stories, taken from the old Chroniclers, are He sale him down and wept-wept till the morning; (2) given without exaggeration ; and are, he believes, as 'Then rose to go-a wanderer through the world. true to the original text as any of the Plays that may 'T is not a tale that every hour brings with it. be said to form our popular history.

Yet at a City-gate, from time to time,
May 181, 1823.

Much might be learnt; and most of all at thino
London—thy hive the busiest, greatest, still

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, caress'd,

And crown'd like Petrarch in the Capitol ;

Ere long to die-- to fall by his own hand,

And fester with the vilest. Here come two,
Day glimmer'd in the east, and the white Moon

Less feverish, less exalted—soon to part, Hung like a vapor in the cloudless sky,

A Garrick and a Johnson ; Wealth and Fame Yet visible, when on my way I went,

Awaiting one--even at the gate, Neglect Glau to be gonema pilgrim from the north,

And Want the other. But what multitudes,
Now more and more attracted as I drew

Urged by the love of change, and, like myself,
Nearer and nearer. Ere the artisan,
Prowsy, half-clad, had from his window leant,

1 Rousseau.

Adventurous, careless of to-morrow's fare,

A stir unusual and accompanied Press on—though but a rill entering the Sea, With many a tuning of rude instruments, Entering and lost! Our task would never end. And many a laugh that argued coming pleasure,

Mine host's fair daughter for the nuptial rite, Day glimmer'd and I went, a gentle breeze And nuptial feast attiring—there I slept, Ruftling the Leman Lake. Wave after wave, And in my dreams wander'd once more, well-pleased If such they might be call’d, dash'd as in sport, But now a charm was on the rocks, and woods, Not anger, with the pebbles on the beach

And waters; for, methought, I was with those Making wild music, and far westward caught I had at morn, at even, wish'd for there. The sun-beam-where, alone and as entranced, Counting the hours, the fisher in his skiff

Lay with his circular and dotted line,

Fishing in silence. When the heart is light
With hope, all pleases, nothing coraes amiss ;

NiGit was again descending, when my mule, And soon a passage-boat swept gaily by,

That all day long had climb'd among the clouds, Laden with peasant-girls and fruits and flowers, Higher and higher still, as by a stair And many a chanticleer and partlet caged

Let down from Heaven itself, transporting me, For Vevay's market-place-a motley group Stopp'd, to the joy of both, at that low door Seen through the silvery haze. But soon 't was gone. So near the summit of the Great St. Bernard ; The shifting sail Napp'd idly for an instant,

That door which ever on its hinges moved Then bore them off.

To them that knock’d, and nightly sends abroad I am not one of those

Ministering Spirits. Lying on the watch, So dead to all things in this visible world,

Two dogs of grave demeanor welcomed me, (5) So wondrously profound as to move on

All meekness, genileness, though large of limb; In the sweet light of heaven, like him of old (3)

And a lay-brother of the Hospital, (His name is justly in the Calendar)

Who, as we toil'd below, had heard by fits
Who through the day pursued this pleasant path The distant echoes gaining on his ear,
That winds beside the mirror of all beauty, (4) Came and held fast my stirrup in his hand,
And, when at eve his fellow-pilgrims sale, While I alighted.
Discoursing of the lake, ask'd where it was.

Long could I have stood,
They marvell’d, as they might; and so must all, With a religious awe contemplating
Seeing what now I saw; for now 't was day, That House, the highest in the Ancient World,
And the bright Sun was in the firmament,

And placed there for the noblest purposes. A thousand shadows of a thousand hues

"T was a rude pile of simplest masonry, Chequering the clear expanse. Awhile his orb With narrow windows and vast buttresses, Hung o'er thy trackless fields of snow, Mont Blanc, Built to endure the shocks of Time and Chance, Thy seas of ice and ice-built promontories, Yet showing many a rent, as well it might, That change their shapes for ever as in sport; Warr'd on for ever by the elements, Then travellid onward, and went down behind And in an evil day, nor long ago, The pine-clad heights of Jura, lighting up

By violent men—when on the mountain-top The woodman's casement, and perchance his axe The French and Austrian banners met in conflict. Borne homeward through the forest in his hand; And, in some deep and melancholy glen,

On the same rock beside it stood the church, That dungeon-fortress never to be named, Reft of its cross, not of its sanctity; Where, like a lion taken in the toils,

The vesper-bell, for 't was the vesper-hour, Toussaint breathed out his brave and generous spirit. Duly proclaiming through the wilderness, Ah, little did He think, who sent him there, "All ye who hear, whatever be your work, That he himself, then greatest among men, Stop for an instant-move your lips in prayer!" Should in like manner be so soon convey'd And, just beneath it, in that dreary dale, Across the ocean—to a rock so small

If dale it might be call’d, so near to Heaven, Amid the countless multitude of waves,

A little lake, where never fish leap'd up,
That ships have gone and sought it, and return'd, Lay like a spot of ink amid the snow;
Saying it was not!

A star, the only one in that small sky,
Still along the shore,

On its dead surface glimmering. 'T was a scene Among the trees I went for many a mile,

Resembling nothing I had left behind, Where darnsels sit and weave their fishing-nets, As though all worldly ties were now dissolved ;Singing some national song by the way-side. And to incline the mind still more to thought, But now 't was dusk, and journeying by the Rhone, To thought and sadness, on the eastern shore That there came down, a torrent from the Alps, Under a beetling cliff stood half in shadow I enter'd where a key unlocks a kingdom,' A lonely chapel destined for the dead, The mountains closing, and the road, the river For such as, having wander'd from their way, Filling the narrow pass. There, till a ray Had perish'd miserably Side by side, Glanced through my lattice, and the household-stir Within they lie, a mournful company Warn'd me to rise, to rise and to depart,

All in their shrouds, no earth to cover them;

Their features full of life, yet motionless 1 St. Maurice.

In the broad day, nor soon to suffer change,

Though the barr'd windows, barr'd against the wolf, Which, where it comes, makes Summer; and in
Are always open!

But the Bise blew cold; (6) Oft am I sitting on the bench beneath
And, bidden 10 a spare but cheerful meal, Their garden-plot, where all that vegetales
I sate among the holy brotherhood

Is but some scanty lettuce, to observe
At their long board. The fare indeed was such Those from the South ascending, every step
As is prescribed on days of abstinence,

As though it were their last--and instantly
But might have pleased a nicer taste than mine; Restored, renew'd, advancing as with songs,
And through the floor came up, an ancient matron Soon as they see, turning a lofty crag,
Serving unseen below; while from the roof That plain, that modest structure, promising
(The roof, the floor, the walls of native fir), Bread to the hungry, (9) to the weary rest.
A lamp hung flickering, such as loves to fling

Its partial light on Apostolic heads,
And sheds a grace on all. Theirs Time as yet

Had changed not. Some were almost in the prime ;

My mule refresh'd--and, let the truth be told, Nor was a brow o'ercast. Seen as I saw them,

He was not of that vile, that scurvy race, Ranged round their ample hearth-stone in an hour

From sire to son lovers of controversy, Of rest, they were as gay, as free from guile,

But patient, diligent, and sure of foot, As children; answering, and at once, to all

Shunning the loose stone on the precipice, The gentler im to pleasure, mirth;

Snorting suspicion while with sight, smell, touch, Mingling, at intervals, with rational talk

Examining the wet and spongy moss, Music; and gathering news from them that came,

And on his haunches sitting to slide down As of some other world. But when the storm

The steep, the smooth—my mule refresh'd, his bels Rose, and the snow rollid on in ocean-billows,

Gingled once more, the signal to depart,
When on his face the experienced traveller fell,

And we set out in the grey light of dawn,
Sheltering his lips and nostrils with his hands,
Then all was changed ; and, sallying with their pack Fast-frozen, and among huge blocks of ice

Descending rapidly-by waterfalls
Into that blank of nature, they became

That in their long career had stopt mid-way, Unearthly beings. “ Anselm, higher up,

At length, uncheck'd, unbidden, he stood still; Just where it drifts, a dog howls loud and long,

And all his bells were muffled. Then my Guide, And now, as guided by a voice from Heaven,

Lowering his voice, address'd me: “Through this Digs with his feet. That noble vehemence

Chasm Whose can it be, but his who never err'd ?

On and say nothing—for a word, a breath, Let us to work! there is no time to lose !

Stirring the air, may loosen and bring down But who descends Mont Velan? "Tis La Croix.

A winter's snow-enough to overwhelm Away, away! if not, alas, too late.

The horse and foot that, night and day, defiled Homeward he drags an old man and a boy,

Along this path to conquer at Marengo. Faltering and falling, and hut half awaken'd,

Well I remember how I met them here, Asking to sleep again.” Such their discourse.

As the light died away, and how Napoleon, Oft has a venerable roof received me;

Wrapt in his cloak-I could not be deceived

Rein'd in his horse, and ask'd me, as I pass’d, St. Bruno's once'(7)—where, when the winds were How far 't was to St. Remi. Where the rock hush'd,

Juts forward, and the road, crumbling away, Nor from the cataract the voice came up, You might have heard the mole work underground, "T was there; and down along the brink he led

Narrows almost to nothing at its base, So great the stillness of that place; none seen,

To Victory Dessaix, who turn'd the scale, (10) Save when from rock to rock a hermit cross'd

Leaving his life-blood in that famous field By some rude bridge-or one at midnight toll'd

(When the clouds break, we may discern the spot To matins, and white habits, issuing forth,

In the blue haze), sleeps, as you saw at dawn, Glided along those aisles interminable,

Just as you enter'd, in the Hospital-church.” All, all observant of the sacred law

So saying, for awhile he held his peace, Of Silence. Nor is that sequester'd spot,

Awe-struck beneath that dreadful Canopy ;
Once called Sweet Waters," now The Shady But soon, the danger pass’d, launch'd forth again

Vale," ?
To me unknown; that house so rich of old,

So courteous, (8) and by two, that pass'd that way,:
Amply requited with immortal verse,

The Poet's payment.

JORASSE was in his three-and-twentieth year;
But, among them all,

Graceful and active as a stag just roused;
None can with this compare, the dangerous seat Gentle withal, and pleasant in his speech,
Of generous, active Virtue. What though Frost Yet seldom seen to smile. He had grown up
Reign everlastingly, and ice and snow

Among the Hunters of the Higher Alps ;
Thaw not, but gather—there is that within, Had caught their starts and fits of thoughtfulness,

Their haggard looks, and strange soliloquies, 1 The Grande Chartreuse.

Said to arise by those who dwell below, 2 Vallombrosa, formerly called Acqua Bella.

From frequent dealings with the Mountain-Spirits. 3 A:iosto and Milton.

But other ways had taught him better things;

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And now he number' l, marching by my side, All in their best attire. There first he saw
The Savans, Princes, who with him had cross'd His Madelaine. In the crowd she stood to hear,
The frozen fract, with him familiarly

When all drew round, inquiring; and her face,
Through the rough day and rougher night conversed Seen behind all, and, varying, as he spoke,
In many a chalêt round the Peak of Terror,' With hope, and fear, and generous sympathy,
Round Tacul, Tour, Well-horn and Rosenlau, Subdued him. From that very hour he loved.
And Her, whose throne is inaccessible, 2
Who sils, withdrawn, in virgin-majesty,

The tale was long, but coming to a close, Nor oft unveils. Anon an Avalanche

When his dark eyes flash'd fire, and, stopping short, Rolld its long thunder; and a sudden crash, He listen'd and look'd up. I look'd up 100; Sharp and metallic, to the startled ear

And twice there came a hiss that through me thrillid Told that far-down a continent of Ice

"T was heard no more. A Chamois on the cliff Had burst in twain. But he had now begun, Had roused his fellows with that cry of fear, And with what transport he recall'd the hour And all were gone. When to deserve, to win his blooming bride,

But now the thread was broken.
Madelaine of Annecy, to his feet he bound Love and its joys had vanish'd from his mind;
The iron crampons, and, ascending, trod

And he recounied his hair-breadth escapes
The Upper realms of Frost; then, by a cord When with his friend, Hubert of Bionnay,
Let half-way down, enter'd a Grot star-bright, (His ancient carbine from his shoulder slung,
And gather'd from above, below, around, (11) His axe to hew a stair-case in the ice)
The pointed crystals!

He track'd their footsteps. By a cloud surprised,
Once, nor long before (12) Upon a crag among the precipices,
(Thus did his tongue run on, fast as his feet, Where the next step had hurl’d them fifty fathoms,
And with an eloquence that Nature gives

Oft had they stood, lock'd in each other's arms, To all her children-breaking off by starts All the long night under a freezing sky, Into the harsh and rude, oft as the Mule

Each guarding each the while from sleeping, falling Drew his displeasure) once, nor long before, Oh, 't was a sport he loved dearer than life, Alone at day-break on the Mettenberg,

And only would with life itself relinquish! He slipp'd, he fell; and, through a fearful cleft My sire, my grandsire died among these wilds. Gliding from ledge to ledge, from deep to deeper, As for myself," he cried, and he held forth Went to the Under-world! Long-while he lay His wallet in his hand, “this do I call Upon his rugged bed—then waked like one My winding-sheet-for I shall have no other!" Wishing to sleep again and sleep for ever! for, looking round, he saw or thought he saw

And he spoke truth. Within a little month Innumerable branches of a Cavern,

He lay among these awful solitudes, Winding beneath a solid crust of ice;

|('T was on a glacier-half-way up to Heaven) With here and there a rent that show'd the stars ! Taking his final rest. Long did his wife, What then, alas, was left him but to die?

Suckling her babe, her only one, look out What else in those immeasurable chambers, The way he went at parting, but he came not! Strewn with the bones of miserable men,

Long fear to close her eyes, lest in her sleep Lost like himself? Yet must he wander on, (Such their belief) he should appear before her, Till cold and hunger set his spirit free!

Frozen and ghastly pale, or crush'd and bleeding, And, rising, he began his dreary round;

To tell her where he lay, and supplicate
When hark, the noise as of some mighty River For the last rite! At length the dismal news
Working its way to light! Back he withdrew, Came to her ears, and to her eyes his corse
Bat soon return'd, and, fearless from despair,
Dash'd down the dismal Channel ; and all day,

If day could be where utter darkness was,

Travelld incessantly, the craggy roof
Just over-head, and the impetuous waves,

Now the grey granite, starting through the snow, Nor broad nor deep, yet with a giant's strength

Discover'd many a variegated moss!
Lashing him on. At last the water slept

That to the pilgrim resting on his staff
In a dead lake at the third step he took, Shadows out capes and islands; and ere long
Unfathomableand the roof, that long

Numberless flowers, such as disdain to live
Had threaten'd, suddenly descending, lay

In lower regions, and delighted drink Flat on the surface. Statue-like he stood,

The clouds before they fall, flowers of all hues, His journey ended; when a ray divine

With their diminutive leaves cover'd the ground Shot through his soul. Breathing a prayer to Her "T was then, that, turning by an ancient larch, Whose ears are never shut, the Blessed Virgin, Shiver'd in two, yet most majestical He plunged, he swam—and in an instant rose, With its long level branches, we observed The barrier past, in light, in sunshine! Through

A human figure sitting on a stone A smiling valley, full of cottages,

Far down by the way-side—just where the rock Glittering the river ran; and on the bank

Is riven asunder, and the Evil One The young were dancing ('t was a festival-day) Has bridged the gulf, a wondrous monument (13)

1 The Schrekhorn.

The Jurg-frau.

1 Lichen Geographicus.

Built in one night, from which the flood beneath, The level plain I travelled silently,
Raging along, all foam, is seen not heard,

Nearing them more and more, day after day,
And seen as motionless!

My wandering thoughts my only company, Nearer we drew, And they before me still, oft as I look’d, And 't was a woman young and delicate,

A strange delight, mingled with fear, came o'er ne, Wrapt in a russet cloak from head to foot,

A wonder as at things I had not heard of!
Her eyes cast down, her cheek upon her hand Oft as I look'd, I felt as though it were
In deepest thought. Young as she was, she wore For the first time!
The matron-cap; and from her shape we judged,

Great was the tumult there,
As well we might, that it would not be long Deafening the din, when in barbaric pomp
Ere she became a mother. Pale she look'd, The Carthaginian on his march to Rome
Yet cheerful; though, methought, once, if not twice, Entered their fastnesses. Trumpling the snows,
She wiped away a tear that would be coming : The war-horse reared ; and the tower'd elephant
And in those moments her small bat of straw, Upturn'd his trunk into the murky sky,
Worn on one side, and garnish'd with a riband Then tumbled headlong, swallow'd up and lost,
Glittering with gold, but ill conceal'd a face He and his rider.
Not soon to be forgotten. Rising up

Now the scene is changed; On our approach, she journey'd slowly on;

And o'er Mont Cenis, o'er the Simplon winds And my companion, long before we met,

A path of pleasure. Like a silver zone Knew, and ran down to greet her.

Flung about carelessly, it shines afar,

She was born Catching the eye in many a broken link, (Such was her artless tale, told with fresh tears) In many a turn and traverse as it glides ; In Val d'Aosta ; and an Alpine stream,

And oft above and oft below appears, Leaping from crag to crag in its short course Seen o'er the wall by him who journeys up, To join the Dora, turn'd her father's mill.

As though it were another, not the same, There did she blossom till a Valaisan,

Leading along he knows not whence or whither A townsman of Martigny, won her heart,

Yet through its fairy course, go where it will,
Much to the old man's grief. Long he held out, The torrent stops it not, the rugged rock
Unwilling to resign her; and at length,

Opens and lets it in ; and on it runs,
When the third summer came, they stole a match Winning its easy way from clime to clime
And fled. The act was sudden; and when far Through glens lock'd up before.
Away, her spirit had misgivings. Then

Not such my path! She pictured to herself that aged face

Mine but for those, who, like Jean Jacques, delight(14) Sickly and wan, in sorrow, not in anger;

In dizziness, gazing and shuddering on And, when at last she heard his hour was near, Till fascination comes and the brain turns ! Went forth unseen, and, burden d as she was, Mine, though I judge but froin my ague-fits Cross'd the high Alps on foot to ask forgiveness, Over the Drance, just where the Abbot fell, (15) And hold him to her heart before he died.

The same as Hannibal's. Her task was done. She had fulfilld her wish,

But now 't is past, And now was on her way, rejoicing, weeping. That turbulent Chaos ; and the promised land A frame like hers had suffer'd; but her love Lies at my feet in all its loveliness! Was strong within her; and right on she went, To him who starts up from a terrible dream, Fearing no ill. May all good Angels guard her! And lo the sun is shining, and the lark And should I once again, as once I may,

Singing aloud for joy, to him is not Visit Martigny, I will not forget

Such sudden ravishment as now I feel Thy hospitable roof, Marguerite de Tours;

At the first glimpses of fair Italy.
Thy sign the silver swan.' Heaven prosper Thee!


Who first beholds those everlasting clouds,

I LOVE to sail along the Larian Lake Seed-time and harvest, morning, noon and night, Under the shore—though not to visit Pliny, Still where they were, stedfast, immovable ; To catch hin musing in his plane-tree walk, Who first beholds the Alps-that mighty chain Or fishing, as he might be, from his window: Of Mountains, stretching on from east to west, And, to deal plainly, (may his Shade forgive me !) So massive, yet so shadowy, so ethereal,

Could I recall the ages past, and play As to belong rather to Heaven than Earth

The fool with Time, I should perhaps reserve But instantly receives into his soul

My leisure for Catullus on his Lake, A sense, a feeling that he loses not,

Though to fare worse, or Virgil at his farm A something that informs him 't is a moment A little further on the way to Mantua. Whence he may date henceforward and for ever? But such things cannot be. So I sit still,

And let the boatman shift his little sail, To me they seem'd the barriers of a World, His sail so forked and so swallow-like, Saying, Thus far, no farther! and as o'er

Well-pleased with all that comes. The morning air

Plays on my cheek how gently, flinging round 1 La Cygne. A silvery gleam: and now the purple misis

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