Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXVIII. The Column Intended By Buonaparte For A Triumphal Edifice In Milan, Now Lying By The Way-Side In The Simplon Pass


          AMBITION--following down this far-famed slope
          Her Pioneer, the snow-dissolving Sun,
          While clarions prate of kingdoms to be won--
          Perchance, in future ages, here may stop;
          Taught to mistrust her flattering horoscope
          By admonition from this prostrate Stone!
          Memento uninscribed of Pride o'erthrown;
          Vanity's hieroglyphic; a choice trope
          In Fortune's rhetoric. Daughter of the Rock,
          Rest where thy course was stayed by Power divine!           10
          The Soul transported sees, from hint of thine,
          Crimes which the great Avenger's hand provoke,
          Hears combats whistling o'er the ensanguined heath:
          What groans! what shrieks! what quietness in death.

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXIX. Stanzas
Composed In The Simplon Pass


          VALLOMBROSA! I longed in thy shadiest wood
          To slumber, reclined on the moss-covered floor,
          To listen to ANIO'S precipitous flood,
          When the stillness of evening hath deepened its roar;
          To range through the Temples of PAESTUM, to muse
          In POMPEII preserved by her burial in earth;
          On pictures to gaze where they drank in their hues;
          And murmur sweet songs on the ground of their birth.

          The beauty of Florence, the grandeur of Rome,
          Could I leave them unseen, and not yield to regret?         10
          With a hope (and no more) for a season to come,
          Which ne'er may discharge the magnificent debt?
          Thou fortunate Region! whose Greatness inurned
          Awoke to new life from its ashes and dust;
          Twice-glorified fields! if in sadness I turned
          From your infinite marvels, the sadness was just.

          Now, risen ere the light-footed Chamois retires
          From dew-sprinkled grass to heights guarded with snow,
          Toward the mists that hang over the land of my Sires,
          From the climate of myrtles contented I go.                 20
          My thoughts become bright like yon edging of Pines
          On the steep's lofty verge: how it blackened the air!
          But, touched from behind by the Sun, it now shines
          With threads that seem part of his own silver hair.

          Though the toil of the way with dear Friends we divide,
          Though by the same zephyr our temples be fanned
          As we rest in the cool orange-bower side by side,
          A yearning survives which few hearts shall withstand:
          Each step hath its value while homeward we move;--
          O joy when the girdle of England appears!                   30
          What moment in life is so conscious of love,
          Of love in the heart made more happy by tears?

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXX. Echo, Upon The Gemmi


          WHAT beast of chase hath broken from the cover?
          Stern GEMMI listens to as full a cry,
          As multitudinous a harmony
          Of sounds as rang the heights of Latmos over,
          When, from the soft couch of her sleeping Lover,
          Up-starting, Cynthia skimmed the mountain dew
          In keen pursuit--and gave, where'er she flew,
          Impetuous motion to the Stars above her.
          A solitary Wolf-dog, ranging on
          Through the bleak concave, wakes this wondrous chime        10
          Of aery voices locked in unison,--
          Faint--far-off--near--deep--solemn and sublime!--
          So, from the body of one guilty deed,
          A thousand ghostly fears, and haunting thoughts, proceed!

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXXI. Processions
Suggested On A Sabbath Morning In The Vale Of Chamouny


          TO appease the Gods; or public thanks to yield;
          Or to solicit knowledge of events,
          Which in her breast Futurity concealed;
          And that the past might have its true intents
          Feelingly told by living monuments--
          Mankind of yore were prompted to devise
          Rites such as yet Persepolis presents
          Graven on her cankered walls, solemnities
          That moved in long array before admiring eyes.

          The Hebrews thus, carrying in joyful state                  10
          Thick boughs of palm, and willows from the brook,
          Marched round the altar--to commemorate
          How, when their course they through the desert took,
          Guided by signs which ne'er the sky forsook,
          They lodged in leafy tents and cabins low;
          Green boughs were borne, while, for the blast that shook
          Down to the earth the walls of Jericho,
          Shouts rise, and storms of sound from lifted trumpets blow!

          And thus, in order, 'mid the sacred grove
          Fed in the Libyan waste by gushing wells,                   20
          The priests and damsels of Ammonian Jove
          Provoked responses with shrill canticles;
          While, in a ship begirt with silver bells,
          They round his altar bore the horned God,
          Old Cham, the solar Deity, who dwells
          Aloft, yet in a tilting vessel rode,
          When universal sea the mountains overflowed.

          Why speak of Roman Pomps? the haughty claims
          Of Chiefs triumphant after ruthless wars;
          The feast of Neptune--and the Cereal Games,                 30
          With images, and crowns, and empty cars;
          The dancing Salii--on the shields of Mars
          Smiting with fury; and a deeper dread
          Scattered on all sides by the hideous jars
          Of Corybantian cymbals, while the head
          Of Cybele was seen, sublimely turreted!

          At length a Spirit more subdued and soft
          Appeared--to govern Christian pageantries:
          The Cross, in calm procession, borne aloft
          Moved to the chant of sober litanies.                       40
          Even such, this day, came wafted on the breeze
          From a long train--in hooded vestments fair
          Enwrapt--and winding, between Alpine trees
          Spiry and dark, around their House of prayer,
          Below the icy bed of bright ARGENTIERE.

          Still in the vivid freshness of a dream,
          The pageant haunts me as it met our eyes!
          Still, with those white-robed Shapes--a living Stream,
          The glacier Pillars join in solemn guise
          For the same service, by mysterious ties;                   50
          Numbers exceeding credible account
          Of number, pure and silent Votaries
          Issuing or issued from a wintry fount;
          The impenetrable heart of that exalted Mount!

          They, too, who send so far a holy gleam
          While they the Church engird with motion slow,
          A product of that awful Mountain seem,
          Poured from his vaults of everlasting snow;
          Not virgin lilies marshalled in bright row,
          Not swans descending with the stealthy tide,                60
          A livelier sisterly resemblance show
          Than the fair Forms, that in long order glide,
          Bear to the glacier band--those Shapes aloft descried.
          Trembling, I look upon the secret springs
          Of that licentious craving in the mind
          To act the God among external things,
          To bind, on apt suggestion, or unbind;
          And marvel not that antique Faith inclined
          To crowd the world with metamorphosis,
          Vouchsafed in pity or in wrath assigned;                    70
          Such insolent temptations wouldst thou miss,
          Avoid these sights; nor brood o'er Fable's dark abyss!

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXXII. Elegiac Stanzas


          Lulled by the sound of pastoral bells,
          Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go,
          From the dread summit of the Queen
          Of mountains, through a deep ravine,
          Where, in her holy chapel, dwells
          "Our Lady of the Snow."

          The sky was blue, the air was mild;
          Free were the streams and green the bowers;
          As if, to rough assaults unknown,
          The genial spot had 'ever' shown                            10
          A countenance that as sweetly smiled--
          The face of summer-hours.

          And we were gay, our hearts at ease;
          With pleasure dancing through the frame
          We journeyed; all we knew of care--
          Our path that straggled here and there;
          Of trouble--but the fluttering breeze;
          Of Winter--but a name.

          If foresight could have rent the veil
          Of three short days--but hush--no more!                     20
          Calm is the grave, and calmer none
          Than that to which thy cares are gone,
          Thou Victim of the stormy gale;
          Asleep on ZURICH'S shore!

          O GODDARD! what art thou?--a name--
          A sunbeam followed by a shade!
          Nor more, for aught that time supplies,
          The great, the experienced, and the wise:
          Too much from this frail earth we claim,
          And therefore are betrayed.                                 30

          We met, while festive mirth ran wild,
          Where, from a deep lake's mighty urn,
          Forth slips, like an enfranchised slave,
          A sea-green river, proud to lave,
          With current swift and undefiled,
          The towers of old LUCERNE.

          We parted upon solemn ground
          Far-lifted towards the unfading sky;
          But all our thoughts were 'then' of Earth,
          That gives to common pleasures birth;                       40
          And nothing in our hearts we found
          That prompted even a sigh.

          Fetch, sympathising Powers of air,
          Fetch, ye that post o'er seas and lands,
          Herbs, moistened by Virginian dew,
          A most untimely grave to strew,
          Whose turf may never know the care
          Of 'kindred' human hands!

          Beloved by every gentle Muse
          He left his Transatlantic home:                             50
          Europe, a realised romance,
          Had opened on his eager glance;
          What present bliss!--what golden views!
          What stores for years to come!

          Though lodged within no vigorous frame,
          His soul her daily tasks renewed,
          Blithe as the lark on sun-gilt wings
          High poised--or as the wren that sings
          In shady places, to proclaim
          Her modest gratitude.                                       60

          Not vain is sadly-uttered praise;
          The words of truth's memorial vow
          Are sweet as morning fragrance shed
          From flowers 'mid GOLDAU'S ruins bred;
          As evening's fondly-lingering rays,
          On RIGHI'S silent brow.

          Lamented Youth! to thy cold clay
          Fit obsequies the Stranger paid;
          And piety shall guard the Stone
          Which hath not left the spot unknown                        70
          Where the wild waves resigned their prey--
          And 'that' which marks thy bed.

          And, when thy Mother weeps for Thee,
          Lost Youth! a solitary Mother;
          This tribute from a casual Friend
          A not unwelcome aid may lend,
          To feed the tender luxury,
          The rising pang to smother

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXXIII. Sky-Prospect--From The Plain Of France


          LO! in the burning west, the craggy nape
          Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon,
          The Ark, her melancholy voyage done!
          Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion's shape;
          There, combats a huge crocodile--agape
          A golden spear to swallow! and that brown
          And massy grove, so near yon blazing town,
          Stirs and recedes--destruction to escape!
          Yet all is harmless--as the Elysian shades
          Where Spirits dwell in undisturbed repose--                 10
          Silently disappears, or quickly fades:
          Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows
          That for oblivion take their daily birth
          From all the fuming vanities of Earth!

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXXIV. On Being Stranded Near The Harbour Of Boulogne


          WHY cast ye back upon the Gallic shore,
          Ye furious waves! a patriotic Son
          Of England--who in hope her coast had won,
          His project crowned, his pleasant travel o'er?
          Well--let him pace this noted beach once more,
          That gave the Roman his triumphal shells;
          That saw the Corsican his cap and bells
          Haughtily shake, a dreaming Conqueror!--
          Enough: my Country's cliffs I can behold,
          And proudly think, beside the chafing sea,                  10
          Of checked ambition, tyranny controlled,
          And folly cursed with endless memory:
          These local recollections ne'er can cloy;
          Such ground I from my very heart enjoy!

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXXV. After Landing--The Valley Of Dover
Nov. 1820


          WHERE be the noisy followers of the game
          Which faction breeds; the turmoil where? that passed
          Through Europe, echoing from the newsman's blast,
          And filled our hearts with grief for England's shame.
          Peace greets us;--rambling on without an aim
          We mark majestic herds of cattle, free
          To ruminate, couched on the grassy lea;
          And hear far-off the mellow horn proclaim
          The Season's harmless pastime. Ruder sound
          Stirs not; enrapt I gaze with strange delight,              10
          While consciousnesses, not to be disowned,
          Here only serve a feeling to invite
          That lifts the spirit to a calmer height,
          And makes this rural stillness more profound.

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXXVI. At Dover


          FROM the Pier's head, musing, and with increase
          Of wonder, I have watched this sea-side Town,
          Under the white cliff's battlemented crown,
          Hushed to a depth of more than Sabbath peace:
          The streets and quays are thronged, but why disown
          Their natural utterance: whence this strange release
          From social noise--silence elsewhere unknown?--
          A Spirit whispered, "Let all wonder cease;
          Ocean's o'erpowering murmurs have set free
          Thy sense from pressure of life's common din;               10
          As the dread Voice that speaks from out the sea
          Of God's eternal Word, the Voice of Time
          Doth deaden, shocks of tumult, shrieks of crime,
          The shouts of folly, and the groans of sin."

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820
XXXVII. Desultory Stanzas
Upon Receiving The Preceding Sheets From The Press


          IS then the final page before me spread,
          Nor further outlet left to mind or heart?
          Presumptuous Book! too forward to be read,
          How can I give thee licence to depart?
          One tribute more: unbidden feelings start
          Forth from their coverts; slighted objects rise;
          My spirit is the scene of such wild art
          As on Parnassus rules, when lightning flies,
          Visibly leading on the thunder's harmonies.

          All that I saw returns upon my view,                        10
          All that I heard comes back upon my ear,
          All that I felt this moment doth renew;
          And where the foot with no unmanly fear
          Recoiled--and wings alone could travel--there
          I move at ease; and meet contending themes
          That press upon me, crossing the career
          Of recollections vivid as the dreams
          Of midnight,--cities, plains, forests, and mighty streams.

          Where Mortal never breathed I dare to sit
          Among the interior Alps, gigantic crew,                     20
          Who triumphed o'er diluvian power!--and yet
          What are they but a wreck and residue,
          Whose only business is to perish?--true
          To which sad course, these wrinkled Sons of Time
          Labour their proper greatness to subdue;
          Speaking of death alone, beneath a clime
          Where life and rapture flow in plenitude sublime.

          Fancy hath flung for me an airy bridge
          Across thy long deep Valley, furious Rhone!
          Arch that 'here' rests upon the granite ridge               30
          Of Monte Rosa--'there' on frailer stone
          Of secondary birth, the Jung-frau's cone;
          And, from that arch, down-looking on the Vale
          The aspect I behold of every zone;
          A sea of foliage, tossing with the gale,
          Blithe Autumn's purple crown, and Winter's icy mail!

          Far as ST. MAURICE, from yon eastern FORKS,
          Down the main avenue my sight can range:
          And all its branchy vales, and all that lurks
          Within them, church, and town, and hut, and grange,         40
          For my enjoyment meet in vision strange;
          Snows, torrents;--to the region's utmost bound,
          Life, Death, in amicable interchange;--
          But list! the avalanche--the hush profound
          That follows--yet more awful than that awful sound!

          Is not the chamois suited to his place?
          The eagle worthy of her ancestry?
          --Let Empires fall; but ne'er shall Ye disgrace
          Your noble birthright, ye that occupy
          Your council-seats beneath the open sky,                    50
          On Sarnen's Mount, there judge of fit and right,
          In simple democratic majesty;
          Soft breezes fanning your rough brows--the might
          And purity of nature spread before your sight!

          From this appropriate Court, renowned LUCERNE
          Calls me to pace her honoured Bridge--that cheers
          The Patriot's heart with pictures rude and stern,
          An uncouth Chronicle of glorious years.
          Like portraiture, from loftier source, endears
          That work of kindred frame, which spans the lake            60
          Just at the point of issue, where it fears
          The form and motion of a stream to take;
          Where it begins to stir, 'yet' voiceless as a snake.

          Volumes of sound, from the Cathedral rolled,
          This long-roofed Vista penetrate--but see,
          One after one, its tablets, that unfold
          The whole design of Scripture history;
          From the first tasting of the fatal Tree,
          Till the bright Star appeared in eastern skies,
          Announcing, ONE was born mankind to free;                   70
          His acts, his wrongs, his final sacrifice;
          Lessons for every heart, a Bible for all eyes.

          'Our' pride misleads, our timid likings kill.
          --Long may these homely Works devised of old,
          These simple efforts of Helvetian skill,
          Aid, with congenial influence, to uphold
          The State,--the Country's destiny to mould;
          Turning, for them who pass, the common dust
          Of servile opportunity to gold;
          Filling the soul with sentiments august--                   80
          The beautiful, the brave, the holy, and the just!

          No more; Time halts not in his noiseless march--
          Nor turns, nor winds, as doth the liquid flood;
          Life slips from underneath us, like that arch
          Of airy workmanship whereon we stood,
          Earth stretched below, heaven in our neighbourhood.
          Go forth, my little Book! pursue thy way;
          Go forth, and please the gentle and the good;
          Nor be a whisper stifled, if it say
          That treasures, yet untouched, may grace some future Lay.   90