University of Virginia Library

[I.]

Romantic Switzerland! thy scenes are traced
With characters of strange wild loveliness,
Beauty and desolation, side by side;
Here lofty rocks uprise, where nature seems
To dwell alone in silent majesty;
Rob'd by the snow, her stately palace fram'd
Of the white hills; towering in all their pride,
The frost's gigantic mounds are lost in clouds,
Like to vast castles rear'd in middle air.
The ice has sculptur'd too strange imagery—
Obelisks, columns, spires, fantastic piles;
Some like the polish'd marble, others clear
As the rock crystal, others sparkling with
The hues that melt along the sunborn bow.
And winter frowns upon the throne, which he
Has been whole ages raising, and beneath,
The gloomy vallies, like his footstool lie,
Where summer never comes—where never spring
Wreathes the young flowers round her golden hair.
The sun looks forth in beauty, but in vain,
Those dark vales never know the light of noon:
But there they hide them in their sullenness,
As the pale spirit of desolation chose
Them for his lonely haunt. No trace hath been
Of living thing upon those untrack'd snows;
Nought hath pass'd o'er them but the printless wind;
Ev'n that wild deer, which loves the mountain side,
Springs the abyss, and dares the venturous path
We shrink to look upon, yet comes not here.
For perilous were the rocks, and the false ice
Were slippery as the friendships of this life—
When most we lean on them, most treach'rous then,
Smooth but deceiving; and the precipice
Yawns in its fearful darkness close beneath;
So close, that but a single step aside,
And human help were vanity indeed!
And o'er them lowers destruction, high in air,
Upon those jutting crags, whose rugged sides,
Riven in fragments, and like ruins pil'd,
Seem as that giants of those ancient days
When earth born creatures braved th' Olympic Gods,
Those of whom fable tells, had torn away
Rocks from their solid base, and with strong arm,
Parted the mountains: there the avalanche hangs,
Mighty, but tremulous; just a light breath
Will loosen it from off it's airy throne;
Then down it hurls in wrath, like to the sound
Of thunder amid storms, or as the voice
Of rushing waters—death in its career.
The lurking tempests hold their gathering place
Within these caves, waiting the angry winds
Which are to bear their terrors thro' the skies.
But 'mid these scenes of wintry gloom, are some
Fair relics of the spring time blossoms, like
The sunny smiles of May, as if some breeze,
Just wander'd from delightful Italy,
Had brought the blessings of its birth-place here.
And lovely are the vallies which extend
Beneath the mountains; oh! how sweet it is
To gaze around when summer sunset sheds
Its splendor in the west; when the bright clouds,
Warm with the hues of eve, gleam o'er the sky,
As 'twere some heavenly spirit veil'd his form
In bursts of glory from a mortal eye.
When glowing in the ray, the glacier's shine,
With all the opal's varied colouring,
And every tint that tulip beds disclose,
Gilds the rich pageantry of parting day;
The golden arches, rich with purple gems,
Pillars of light, and crimson colonnades,
Like the gay palaces of fairy land
Which flit upon the thought, when the young eye
Dwells in rapt wonder on the enchanted tale.
Beneath are sun-bright vales and silver lakes,
The blue waves mantled with reflected red,
The sky's bright image on the stream imprest;
Green vineyards wreathing round the steep hill's side,
And groups of cheerful peasantry reclin'd
By their white dwellings, round whose lowly thatch
The light laburnum waves her yellow hair;
And rising on the gale, is heard the sound
Of rustic music, of that cherish'd song
The Switzer loves; whose every note is fraught
With thoughts of love, youth, home, and happiness.