And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu ! There can be no farewell to scenes like thine; Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine! The brilliant, fair, and soft, the glories of old days. The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen, The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, Still springing o'er thy banks, though empires near them fall. But these recede. Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche the thunderbolt of snow! All that expands the spirit yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below. Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face, The mirror, where the stars and mountains view The stillness of their aspect in each trace Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue. There is too much of man here, to look through, With a fit mind, the might which I behold; But soon in me shall loneliness renew Thoughts hid, but not less cherished than of old, E'er mingling with the herd had penned me in their fold. * * * * * * Clear, plăcid Leman! thy contrasted lake With the wide world I've dwelt in is a thing, Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction; once I loved * Torn ocean's roar; but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. It is the hush of night; and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darkened Jura, whose capped heights appear He is an evening reveler, who makes But that is fancy; for the star-light dews All silently their tears of love distil, Weeping themselves away till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven, If, in your bright leaves, we would read the fate Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you; for In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. All heaven and earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep: All heaven and earth are still: From the high host All is concentred in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being, and a sense Of That which is of all Creator and Defence. The sky is changed! and such a change! O Night, Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue; And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud! And this is in the night: Most glorious night! a phosphoric sea And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 't is black and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. the far roll Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye, - like those within the human breast? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? * The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away, with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb, And glowing into day: we may resume The march of our existence: and thus I, Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room And food for meditation, nor pass by Much that may give us pause, if pondered fittingly. LESSON CLXIII. The Fat Actor and the Rustic. NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. CARDINAL WOLSEY was a man Of an unbounded stomach, Shakspeare says, Meaning in metaphor), forever puffing, ་ To swell beyond his size and span; But had he seen a player in our days He would have owned that Wolsey's bulk ideal This actor's belt surrounds, Which is, moreover, all alive and real. This player, when the peace enabled shoals To visit every clime between the poles, Must not, in this proceeding, be mistaken; In this most laudable employ He found himself at Lille one afternoon, And, that he might the breeze enjoy, And catch a peep at the ascending moon, Out of the town he took a stroll, With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces, When we are pleasantly employed time flies :— Until the moon began to shine; On which he gazed a while, and then. |