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(From The Sorrow of Switzerland)
SHORES of Lucerne! where many a winding bay | |
| Shone beauteous to the morn’s returning ray; | |
| Where rosy tints upon the blue lake shone, | |
| And touched the rock with colors not their own; | |
| Who now, with eyes that swim in tenderness, | 5 |
| Those scenes to every virtue dear shall bless! | |
| What pleasure now can the rich landscape yield, | |
| The sparkling cataract, the pendent field, | |
| Mid hoar declivities, the sunny tower | |
| Peering o’er beeches that its roof embower, | 10 |
| And cottage tops with light smoke trailing slow | |
| O’er the gray vapors looming far below! | |
| Who shall ascend proud Pilate’s height, and mark | |
| The motley clouds sail o’er the champaign dark, | |
| Now breaking in fantastic forms, and now | 15 |
| Dappling the distant promontory’s brow? | |
| Then when the sun, that lights the scene, rides high, | |
| And far away the scattered volumes fly, | |
| Look up to the great God that rules the world, | |
| By whom proud empires from their seats are hurled, | 20 |
| And feel a glow of holy gratitude, | |
| That here, mid hollow glens and mountains rude, | |
| Far from Ambition’s march and Discord’s yell, | |
| Content with Love and Happiness should dwell. | |
| Who now along those banks shall, listening, stray, | 25 |
| When evening lights each inlet west away, | |
| And hear the solitary boatman’s oar | |
| Dip duly as he nears the shaded shore; | |
| Or catch the whispers of the waterfall | |
| That through the ivied clefts swell musical? | 30 |
| These scenes, these sounds, could many a joy impart, | |
| With sadness mixed. The wandering youth, whose heart | |
| Was sick with many sorrows, resting here | |
| At such an hour, forgot his starting tear; | |
| He felt a pensive calm, sweeter than sleep, | 35 |
| Steal gently o’er his aching breast; the deep | |
| And clear repose of the unruffled lake | |
| His spirit seemed, unconscious, to partake; | |
| And still the water, as it whispered near, | |
| Or high woods, as they rustled, soothed his ear, | 40 |
| Like the remembrance of a melody | |
| Heard in his infant, happy years gone by. | |
| Now in his distant country, when, with tears, | |
| The tale of ruffian violence he hears; | |
| Hears that the spot which smiled with lovely gleam, | 45 |
| Like some sweet image of a tender dream, | |
| Upon his morning path, is drenched with gore, | |
| Its harmless tenants weltering on the shore; | |
| He will exclaim, whilst from his breast he draws | |
| A deep, deep sigh, “Avenge, O God, their cause!” | 50 |
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