University of Virginia Library

I.

Wonder of earth! sublimest 'midst sublime!
August MONT BLANC! who shall thy praises sing?
What harp, though strung like that of Israel's king,
To sooth or rouse the soul with numbers sweet,
What song, though breathing all the pow'rs of rhyme,
To celebrate thy glory shall be meet?
Yet shall Olympus' praise be sung
In potent verse? Shall Ida's name
Dazzle with immortal fame?
Shall horrid Ætna's majesty be rung
With sounds as lofty as his murd'rous flame,
And greatest thou the works of GOD among,
Shall not thy wonders wake one lyre,
Round thy triumphant head no bays be hung,
Nor thy superior theme superior lays inspire?

II.

Shall I trust the thoughts that rise
And struggle in my panting breast,
Tinted with a thousand dyes,
Image quick on image prest?
Shall they dare, my trembling lays,
Lift their notes in feeble praise,
To sing a theme might well inspire
An Homer's force, a Pindar's fire?
Avaunt! avaunt! each coward fear;
I feel the swelling raptures roll
In surging tides upon my soul;
Celestial promptings strike my ear!
Reach then, reach my sounding lyre;
My panting soul is all on fire:
Swift the silver strings accord;
My eager hand,
Thy skill command;
A mighty strain be pour'd!
O! for a strain so potent to impart
The great sensations struggling in my heart!
Let but the high enthusiasms roll
Warm from my hand, as active in my soul;
Let the loud thunders of my voice declare
The vivid lightning's flashing there!
Then strong shall be the flood of rhyme,
And all be full, and all sublime.
Seize! seize! the glowing images that pass
Like transient shadows o'er the mimic glass!
Let not their fervors faint and die!
It is the hour of extacy.
All, all the Muse upon me breaks!
I hear, I know her voice, and thus she speaks:—

III.

See with what grandeur to the skies
The monarch Mountain lifts his brow;
While crowding round the vale below,
His vassal Alps in tow'ring order rise;
And, watchful of his regal nod,
His mighty pleasure seem to wait,
As 'twere the mandate of a God!
Sublime in his imperial state,
From 'midst the splendors of his throne,
He looks with sovereign favour down,
Smiles their prompt service to approve,
Awaits their homage, and accepts their love.
Then binding round his regal brows
The glories of his cloudy crown,
Fleece upon fleece together roll'd,
And fold within refulgent fold,
Like a celestial turban, bright
With purple, gold, and lustrous light,
He communes with the source of day,
As king with king; nor terror knows,
Lest the pure silver of his massive snows
Shou'd melt beneath the servent solar ray.

IV.

But hush! for slum'bring in his secret bed,
His cloudy curtains drawn about his head,
The glories of his face he hides,
While, thronging round his lofty sides,
The mingled vapours wanton play;
Now fringe each rock with feathers bright,
Now dark descend, now mounting light,
Drink brilliance from the fount of Day.
Cease your sport! the monarch wakes,
His temples, like a giant, shakes;
And lo! the clouds on either side
From round his ample front divide,
Roll back their hosts, and clustring stand,
Obedient to his high command:
Again his snowy honours play,
Resplendent in the eye of day;
Again, with majesty serene,
He lifts his head above the scene;
And wood and mountain, hill and vale,
In common concert, lift their voice
To bid his great uprising hail!
And in his guardian eye rejoice.

V.

Ah! whence the change; great ruler! why
That gloomy front, that threat'ning eye?
What our offence?—Be still, be still,
Nor question, bold, his sov'reign will.
Stand, stand aloof! do ye not dread
The storms that gather round his head?
His rising wrath do ye not fear?
Hark! the hollow blasts I hear
Murmur sullen round his brow:
Louder and louder yet they grow,
The rush of Tempest strikes my ear!
The clouds their gloomy squadrons roll,
Their fierce contention daunts the soul,
And furious winds, in silence, wait
The issue of the dire debate.
Did ye not hear the eagle's wail?
He dares not rest upon his rock,
But plunges headlong to the vale,
Scar'd at the elemental shock;
There, nestled close, he trembling lies,
Mournful stoops his haughty crest,
Hangs his dread beak upon his breast,
And droops his daring wing, and shuts his piercing eyes.

VI.

Fly! fly! the tempest howls aloud!
Around the angry mountain's head
The universal horrors spread,
And wrap all nature in an awful shroud.
It bursts! See raging from on high
How thunderbolts he launches round!
How! dreadful to the shrinking eye
The fires run swiftly o'er the ground!
While vassal mountains, proud to bear
Part in the elemental war,
Rise dark, and on their haughty heads
Shake to the winds the lofty shades
Of many forests; scowling stand,
In battled ranks, on either hand;
With uproar wild, new thunders roll,
New lightnings dart from pole to pole,
Howl from their cliffs, and, indistinct, deform,
Swell with new terrors thro' the veiling storm.

VII.

Heaven! what a crash!—The pealing sound
Of thunders in the louder roar is drown'd!
Ah! 'tis the shock of Avalanches hurl'd
In swift destruction to the nether world.
Spare us! mighty mountain, spare!
Appalling horrors freeze our souls!
Vain, alas! the humble prayer;
The widely wasting mischief rolls,
Bellowing in its furious course:
The winged vengeance who shall stay?
See, with what resistless force,
Rushing down the mountain's side,
The stately woods it sweeps away,
(For centuries their grace and pride)
And pastures, shepherds, flocks, a countless host!
Crush'd, torn, o'erwhelm'd, are in one ruin lost!
While still, by breaks, fierce glares of angry light,
In partial view,
The desolation shew,
And, dread! illume the depth of deeper gloom than night!

VIII.

So once, round Sinai's sacred brow,
Thick clouds their awful cov'ring spread,
To screen weak man's imperfect sight
From heav'n's intolerable light,
And veil the great Creator's head:
Yet still, by fits, a baleful beam
Wou'd through surrounding darkness gleam,
And now the rush of winds was heard,
And now devouring fires appear'd,
And bickering sparks, and ruddy flame,
Bursting with thunders thro' the smoke,
Which, as they burn'd from pole to pole,
The Godhead's waken'd vengeance spoke,
Harrow'd rebellious Israel's soul,
And shew'd the Almighty arm from whence they came.

IX.

Touch a sweet, a chearful strain,
The strain of rising joy and peace;
Hope, at last, revives again,
All the mountain horrors cease.
See the vast, the varied mound
Of tributary Alps around,
In shadowy majesty arise
Dimly thro' their misty shrouds;
In gather'd troops the fleeting clouds
Shew a glimpse of clearer skies:
Round their king's triumphant brow
No longer midnight darkness lours,
While his ample chest below,
Shining through the crystal show'rs,
Like a vast Behemoth, again
He heaves above the wat'ry plain:
Now the sun-beams, glancing bright
Thro' scatt'ring mists, with partial light
Gild the rocks, the hills, the woods;
Now thro' the verdant vale he plays
With gladd'ning warmth, now darts his rays
With brilliance on the headlong floods.
Whence those splendors? On the sight
Why breaks that dazzling flood of light?
A thousand tow'rs of stately mould,
A thousand obelisks arise,
Tinted with azure, purple, gold,
And pour their glories on the eyes.
What means that bright tempestuous tide
Which tow'rs behind with giant waves,
And swelling with enormous pride,
The cloud-capt rocks and summits laves?
Yet check'd by some all-powerful hand,
While rushing to destruction round,
In iron fetters seems to stand
Irrevocably bound!
Thy Glaciers these, O mighty king!
And hallow'd be their monstrous birth,
Since from their frozen bosoms spring
The rivers that refresh the earth,
And the rich tide of various commerce pour
To many a near, and many a distant shore.

X.

All nature from her dire dismay
Rises to life and light once more,
While, glittering to the lamp of day,
New glories from the mountain pour,
As high he lifts his regal brows,
Array'd in all their pomp of snows.
About his cliffs, on either hand,
As tokens of his vengeance past,
See the bright clouds, his weapons, hung,
Or folded round his ample waist,
Or light dispers'd his snows among.
Creatures of his supreme command,
See them in shining phalanx stand
On every subject mountain's height,
Gather in gorgeous clusters here,
In sep'rate fleeces there appear,
Wreathing the rocks with garlands bright,
Rich with warm tints of varying light.
Yet, midst their painted shews, and specious rest,
Hiding dark storms within their hollow breast,
And ready at their Ruler's word to wear,
As now, the smiles of peace, so then, the frowns of war.

XI.

So when the sons of Israel fled,
Conducted by their Maker's hand,
In cloudy state above their head
He issued out his high command,
Or in a pillar of bright flame by night,
Cheer'd their dejected souls, and charm'd their wond'ring sight.
In bold contempt of Israel's God,
Egypt pursues the chosen class,
When, lo! obedient to his nod,
The sea divides to let them pass,
The foaming waves on either side,
With baffled rage and vanquish'd pride,
Roll'd backward in a mighty mass;
But swift upon her host of foes
Rush'd back the roaring tide:
While from the night of clouds between,
Th' avenging GOD is thund'ring seen,
Till o'er their haughty heads the whelming billows close.
Then calm'd his wrath, a new celestial ray
The fainting sons of Israel cheers,
Confirms their hopes, dispels their fears,
Illumes their path, and leads them on their way;
Yet warns them 'midst its splendor to revere
The Godhead, and his wakened vengeance fear.

XII.

Heard ye not the rushing sound
Of mighty wings? Exulting cries,
From yonder dell, did ye not hear?
See! spurning haughtily the ground,
Disdainful of his former fear,
The royal bird, of matchless force,
Shoots upward to his native skies.
While round the cliffs his wheeling course
Sublime he bends, the Chamois flies,
With wild affright, o'er wastes of snow,
And as he darts from rock to rock,
Far swifter than the bounding roe,
Seems to behold the ardent eyes
And rending talons of his dreadful foe,
And feel the surging wings' resistless shock
Plunge him, at once, deep to the gulph below.
But careless of his wonted prey,
Th' ambitious bird now soars his way
To seek the burning lamp of day;
Till, spent with toil, his pinions rest
Upon the shining cask of snows
That clads the mountain's regal brows:
Nor scornest thou th' imperial crest,
For is it not thy chosen bird,
Thy Læmyr Geyer, thy eagle strong,
To all the feather'd race preferr'd,
That fail, or nest, thy crags among?
And is there one like him can dare
Such prowess in the fields of air?
Son of thy lordly Alps, and them alone,
And proud of his exalted birth,
He scorns the humbler realms of earth,
Nor bears a rival near his rocky throne.
Triumphant on thy head he stands,
The volume of his wings expands,
That glitter like the burnish'd gold,
And swells his chest, and stretches bold
His wreathed neck, and turns on high
The orbit of his radiant eye
To drink new fires from the fount of light,
On whose intolerable blaze,
With raptur'd stedfastness to gaze,
Harmless endures alone his daring sight.

XIII.

Hail! scenes august, and ever new,
Which still the eager eyes pursue
With awe and rapture: Gently hail!
Ye milder graces of the vale,
That wanton 'midst the mighty mound
Of Glaciers, rocks, and mountains round.
Hail! ye majestic domes, all hail!
Whose triple honours stately rise,
And with your dazzling snows assail
The pure empyreal of the skies;
Not things of earth, or earthly mould,
Ye seem, as from the clouds among,
About your granite columns hung,
Ye burst; and, tinted warm with gold,
Pour'd from the brilliant gates of morn,
The heavenly cope, sublimely spread
In azure state above your head
Contrast, irradiate, and adorn!
Hail! matchless pyramids, that stand
Aloft amidst the realms of air;
And from your cloud-capt heights deride
The pigmy piles of Egypt's land,
Her swarthy monarch's work and pride:
The leaders ye whose guardian care
Extends o'er every humbler band
Of mountains round. The lordly Dru,
From his broad base here tow'rs on high,
And there the aching eyes pursue
The loftier Charmos to the sky;
With wonder, o'er his dusky head
See mounds of ice their lustre shed,
And slender pinnacles among
His solid ribs so lightly hung
That every summer breeze that wakes
Their delicate position shakes;
Yet wint'ry winds, and beating rain,
And all the tempest's furious shock,
Age after age, have striv'n in vain
To rend them from their parent rock.
Needle of South, a pilot thou
More chearful 'midst the wilds of snow;
For still thy Argus' eye is seen
Wide open to the blue serene;
Nor shall a Mercury be found,
Through heaven's immeasurable round,
Or Morpheus, who has power to close
Thy watchful eyelids in repose.
With haughtier mien and broader chest,
Great Jorasse frowns above the rest,
And seems to view with high disdain
His fellows in the vassal chain.
A mighty bulwark tow'rs between,
To close the vast tremendous scene;
From whence unnumber'd spires arise
With Gothic grandeur to the skies,
Of heav'nly masonry, that far
Surpass what human skill can dare;
And laugh to scorn the narrow rules
Of all the geometric schools.
High o'er the rest, with conscious state,
The Giant's Tow'r appears elate,
Who, in his peerless fortress, stores
The monarch's thunderbolt, and pours,
Prompt to fulfil
His sov'reign will,
The giddy whirlwind from his brow,
To desolate the world below.
But vain the hope, the labour vain,
To count the tributary host
Of mountains, that surround thy plain
Oh! Chamouny; in transport lost
The eye pursues their glorious chain,
Here dark with shade, there bright with snows,
Here bleak and bare, with barren brows,
And there, with fruitful graces hung,
And flocks and herds their fields among,
Their verdant fields, whose velvet pours,
From its enamell'd lap, the stores
Of many a soft and rich perfume;
Brush'd by the viewless pinions light,
Of zephyrs, in their wanton flight,
From the inimitable bloom
Of flow'rs, which far less vivid glow,
Less fragrant, in the vales below.

XIV.

When night assumes her awful reign,
And solemn shades obscure the plain,
How graceful then thy domes arise,
Imperial mountain! to the skies,
And their eternal vigils keep
Over the silent realms of sleep!
All hush'd about thy throne sublime,
Save the soft-treading foot of time,
Beneath whose endless pressure, fall
The noblest cities' tow'ry pride,
The hills, the mountains, rocks, and all
That art or nature e'er supplied;
And, all, but thee; for still thy state
Defies the tyrant's envious hate,
And still thy regal pomp appears
Unblemish'd by the weight of years;
Since change and fickle chance are seen
Heaping new honours on thy snows,
And countless ages sit serene,
Amidst the splendor of thy brows.
She breaks! How sweet her trembling light
Silvers the sable stole of night?
Oh! Luna, let thy fairest face
The mountain's gloomy grandeur grace!
Ride onwards, while from either side
Thy bright'ning path the clouds divide,
And pausing full upon his brow,
Suffuse thy lustre o'er his snow!
Gild the dark fleeces curling hung,
About his breast, his domes among,
And beam o'er all his rocks below!
His rocks sublime, whose varied gold
Has borne on high, for years untold,
The massy silver of his pond'rous throne,
And stood unmov'd, and still shall stand,
Through many a wreck of many a land,
Marking a thousand scenes to mortal eyes unknown.

XV.

Aloft, beneath thy shelt'ring brow,
Shelt'ring from the beams of day,
Which vainly on his horrors play,
And 'midst the deluge of his snow
Stern Winter sits, with surly pride,
Upon his high and rugged throne,
Which frozen pillars firm support.
Bitter blasts, from ev'ry side,
Howl around his gloomy court,
And his relentless empire own:
Driving fleet and cutting airs
Stiffen in his grizzly hairs,
Which, like the comet's angry beam,
O'er the wild waste portentous stream:
Fierce in his red and haggard eye,
Rude Violence, destructive Rage,
And tyrant Cruelty, appear;
While in his frowning forehead lie
At once the furrows deep of age,
And thirst of havock, spoil, and war.
Above, below, and all around,
Glares a dread, a dreary scene,
In icy chains eternal bound,
With horrid gulphs that yawn between,
A fearful depth! While, far and near,
The marks of ruin vast appear;
Marks of his direful controul,
And suited to delight his soul.
An icy robe the giant wears;
The tempest arms his feebler hand;
His right, an iron sceptre bears,
Emblem of his austere command,
With which, resistless in his force.
He urges the tremendous course
Of mighty Glaciers, to assail
The blooming graces of the vale,
With summer sporting, blythe, beneath,
And deck'd with many a fragrant wreath.
Nor cou'd the light and lovely band
Long his obdurate pow'r withstand,
Did not the monarch mountain's will
Bid his devouring wrath be still;
And from the terrors of his throne
Dispatch, in pealing thunders, down
Mandates he must not disobey:
Saying, “Thus far thy rage has way,
“But let it not, presumptuous, dare
“Invade, with undistinguish'd war,
“What I protect, and what I doom
“The victim of thy icy tomb,
“And subject to thy ruthless sway!”
Banning, yet aw'd at thy command,
He, howling, stays his savage hand,
And views around him, with despair,
Fresh flow'rs of summer, 'broider, fair,
The thinner drapery of his snow;
While fruitful autumn's floating gold,
His frozen mantle's utmost fold,
Borders with deep and gorgeous fringe below.

XVI.

What foot shall sully with its tread
The spotless honours of thy head?
What sacrilegious eye prophane
The awful secrets of thy reign?
Yet pardon! if presumptuous thought,
With fear and admiration fraught,
That o'er the subtil mercury play,
Shooting their airy globes from far,
More brilliant than the morning star,
And swifter than the solar ray.
But, vain! my fault'ring hand essays,
Though but to name the countless stores
Of sparkling gems, and precious ores,
Which beggar the faint breath of praise,
And deep in thy capacious breast
Their several treasures form, and shine
Each in its rich and native mine,
From mortal's pride and avarice at rest:
Yet sparing to their greedy hand
Sufficient to corrupt their heart;
And measuring out, to many a distant land,
Through mazy ducts, unknown to human art,
An earnest of the tides that flow
At their sublime, but hidden source;
While myriads taste the rills that stream
From realm to realm, nor ever dream
Whence the seducing mischiefs grow,
Nor backward learn to trace the lab'rinth of their course.

XVII.

Whence burst those torrents on my ear?
Whence the new wonders that appear?
O! give me strength to bear the sight!
Soften the too severe delight!
Lest my oppress'd, my fainting soul,
Too weak its feelings to controul,
Sink underneath the scene sublime!
Thy triumphs these, all pow'rful time,
Whose wearing steps' incessant tread
Have scoop'd out each miraculous bed
Of mighty waters! How they pour
From countless channels! How their roar
Confounds the sense! To seek the day,
Flashing, and foaming on their way,
How various tides in conflict join,
Then, with united force, combine,
The Glaciers frozen ribs to wear
With ceaseless, as unnat'ral war;
For due to them their liquid birth,
Destin'd to fertilize the earth!
How their boiling rage exhales
On every side the misty veils,
Which, whirling swift their humid volumes, rise
As they would force a passage to the skies,
But, blended with the watry stores
The inexhausted Glacier pours
From all his roofs, descend again, and flow,
To mingle with their parent floods below.
Wond'rous these! More wond'rous far
The frozen grots, the icy caves,
Their surging sea tumultuous laves;
Nor sparkling gem, nor beamy spar,
Can with the various hues compare,
Nor match the lustres that combine
To grace their vaults, and live, and shine,
From age to age, though melting still
In many a pure translucent rill,
Which, by the monarch still supplied,
Still pay their tribute to the tide
That roars beneath! With tow'ring state,
Fast bound in icy chains by fate,
A thousand figures known to earth,
And like in substance as in birth,
Rise bold, and beauteous to the sight.
Here spring the azure columns bright,
Thy sacred solitudes assail,
And turns, with trembling hand, aside,
A little turns, the solemn veil
By mighty Nature form'd, to hide
The mysteries high of many a birth,
That make the wonder or the pride
Of weak, short-sighted man, on earth.
Oh! what visions, fair as new,
Break on my enchanted view!
How describe, or where begin
To paint the various glorious scene!
Art, in vain thy mimic pow'r
Palaces like these would raise!
Thine—the pageants of an hour,
These—the work of elder days,
Which hoary ages, in their flight,
With all that's noble, beauteous, bright,
Have lov'd to deck! Thy outward face,
Though rich with many a varied grace,
With many a soft and splendid hue,
And many a scene sublime and high,
Vainly, oh Nature! to the view,
Would offer marvels that might vie
With those which in the bosom lie
Of thy great delegate on earth!
Here, various spars of brilliant birth,
Immeasurable caves adorn
With garlands gay, and colours bright,
Blending a thousand tints of light;
And there, more radiant than the morn,
The rubies blush, the diamonds blaze,
And mingle their resplendent rays
With the mild sapphire's azure flame;
While carbuncles, profusely spread,
In precious fret-work o'er the head,
With ruddy fires, refulgent, play,
And pour down floods of light, that shame
The paler splendors of the day.
The shadowy tribe of opals here,
With ever-changing clouds appear,
Which catch, by turns, and graceful show,
Each tint that colours Iris' bow;
And there the golden topaz plays
Through the high roofs with sunny rays.
The lovely emerald's verdant pride
Its lustre darts, on every side,
Through many a sumptuous gallery's flight;
And crystal cupolas are hung
On pillars beaming with the sardine bright,
With amethysts inwreath'd among,
Glowing with all their hues of purple light.
Its bleeding veins the jasper pours
Through grots, whose crystallizing stores
Impearl their crimson; agates here,
With lapis lazulis appear,
And all the marble's motley host,
In rare mosaics! that might scorn
Whatever ancient Rome could boast,
Or what doth modern Rome adorn.
In halls of state, on either side,
With rival wealth, and rival pride,
The monarch gold displays his mines,
And virgin silver radiant shines,
Illumin'd by the phosphor's light,
Which hangs around with magic art,
Unnumber'd lamps; or flames apart
Through long arcades, with many a meteor bright,
There pyramids of lustre warm,
Or fabrics fair, whose changeful form
And changeful tints in contrast vie,
To dazzle and enchant the eye.
But who the thousand thousand forms shall tell,
That deck the caverns, as by magic spell,
And different far from all the moulds
The outward world to vision holds,
With colours brighter than the morn,
The Glaciers' countless vaults adorn!
Yet, rapt by potent Fancy, to my eyes,
Their complicated glories rise;
Through all their halls I swift am borne,
See, at a glance, each copious urn,
Catch all their pomps, and all their grace,
And to their fire, Mont Blanc, their several wonders trace.

XVIII.

Great Monarch! who thy years shall tell?
Or who was present at the birth
Of thy majestic mother, Earth?
Who saw her when she blazing fell,
Swift and refulgent, from the sun,
Ten thousand, thousand, fathoms down!
Then shoot oblique her flaming sphere
Through the immensity of space,
And, sparkling, run her glorious race
O'er æther's bright empyreal way,
Round her great sire, the source of day?
With her first revolving year
T' eternity, producing time,
And teaching 'gainst his stated prime,
His infant steps, assur'd to tread
Where the gay moments sportive led,
In fair, but undistinguish'd throng,
The young and timid hours along.
Who saw thee lift, sublime, thy head,
Bare and rugged then thy brows,
Uncover'd by their helm of snows,
Above the world's yet burning sphere;
And o'er the vast, the mingled mound,
Of giant rocks and mountains round,
With proud preeminence appear?
Then nature to thy pow'rful hand,
Well knowing its resistless force,
Trusted her seasons' various course,
And bow'd the storms to thy command;
Bidding thy triple throne preside
O'er every subject mountain's pride,
And from her sea, whose azure wave
Doth Italy and Afric lave,
To ocean, whose rough billows roar
'Gainst Britain's free and glorious shore,
Govern the nations, and pour down,
From many a source, unthought of or unknown,
Fierce tempests, or refreshing rain,
To ravage, or revive the plain;
Directing all the winds that blow,
And wise, dispensing good or ill,
According to thy sov'reign will
To bless or curse the sons of men below.

XIX.

Behold thy great vicegerent there,
Thy horn of terror, lift on high
His dreadful points, with threatning air,
And pierce the azure vault of sky.
Monstrous mounds of ice and snow
Cover all his rocks below,
And desolate and frozen plains,
To Barrenness eternal prey,
Where with deep silence, horror reigns,
Between his summits stretch away
In endless waste! The eagle's cry
Through the dread scene is heard alone,
Or avalanches, from on high,
With sweeping ruin thund'ring down.
This way, and that, a pond'rous chain
Of rocks and mountains form his reign,
And frowning round on every side,
Their glaciers tow'r, with monstrous pride.
Lo! bursting from their endless source,
Four potent rivers bend their course
Through different realms to different shores.
The angry Tessin rages down
From rock to rock; the nobler Rhone
A prouder current rapid pours;
While here the Rhine, and there the Po,
With more majestic volume flow,
Swoll'n by a thousand tributary stores.
Aloft the haughty Schreck-Horn stands,
And all o'erlooks, and all commands:
Inferior to thy state alone,
And next in honour to thy throne,
The potent regions of the North,
Imperial mountain! by thy hand
Were trusted to his guardian care:
Which, yet more liberal, dealt forth
A fairer lot to his command;
And is there one on earth more fair
Than to protect the fruitful plains,
Where Liberty with Science reigns?
Or up the steep climbs side by side
With rosy Health? Or roams along,
With jocund heart, and pastoral song,
From grove to grove, and brow to brow,
Or over summits white with snow,
Her herds, her flocks, her fields among,
Devoid of envy, fear, or pride;
Guarding within a troubled mind,
No secret thoughts, no cares confin'd,
Which guilt or falshood seek to hide?
Be this, Helvetia, still thy boast!
Nor may the blessings e'er be lost,
Which virtue, join'd to valour, won!
Still may thy wisdom turn aside
Corruption's foul and fatal tide,
And teach the nations round, a lesson all thy own!

XX.

Would'st thou, exalted mountain! tell
The scenes foregone in times of old,
What a tale couldst thou unfold!
Before our great forefather fell
Thou wert: Upon thy glorious head,
Doubtless, the Angels, downward sped,
With glitt'ring wings and shining vest,
To visit paradise, and guard
The blissful spot with heav'nly ward,
In radiant troops were wont to rest.
And there celestial strains were heard,
And heav'n in jubilee appear'd,
What time the great Creator's nod,
Bade man his own resemblance shine,
And full upon his face divine
Stamp'd the bright image of the God!
Alas! how chang'd that spotless brow!
By guilt and shame how sullied now!
Yet, what it was, and shall become
Through the dread medium of the tomb,
Didst thou not lift thy head and see,
The morn that heaven's high minstrelsy
Hail'd with their harps the birth sublime
Of Him, who, ere the rounds of time
Th' Almighty will'd mankind should save,
From worse than death, beyond the grave?
And by his merits and his sufferings raise
Their grov'ling hopes, and lift their wond'ring eyes
To glories far eclipsing Paradise,
And far surpassing all the notes of praise!
At that tremendous, matchless hour,
When GOD Incarnate died to free
Mankind from endless misery,
How did thy Avalanches pour
Destruction round, and wild dismay!
How fierce thy rapid lightnings play!
How deep thy awful thunders roll
From land to land, from pole to pole!
How were thy rocks asunder torn,
And through the air their fragments borne!
And how thy glaciers to and fro,
Didst thou, like a tempestuous sea,
Convulse in fearful agony,
And rend their monstrous ribs, and show
Hell trembling in the abyss below!
How through thyself with horror shake,
And to thy deep foundations quake,
Earth shrinking from her solid sphere,
And sharing in thy sacred fear!
Before the waters in an heap
Were gather'd up, and fill'd the deep,
Thou wert:—And ere from Nature's face,
They rush'd to their appointed place,
With regal state thy lofty head
Transcended their tumultuous bed;
And, fearless, brav'd their raging pride,
And all their mining art defied.
Nay; when, more terrible, the Main
Rose, boiling, from his gulphs again,
Proud of his Maker's dread command
To overwhelm the guilty land,
And meet the torrents pour'd on high
From every window of the sky,
Still, o'er the wreck of nature round,
In universal deluge drown'd,
Thy throne its gloomy splendor rear'd,
And with unshaken state appear'd:
While, breaking earth's dark shroud between,
Th' exterminating angel's form,
With baleful beauty bright, was seen,
Commanding on thy domes the storm.
And when, once more, earth's changing sphere
In conflagration shall appear,
And Nature and her works expire
In one tremendous flood of fire,
Thou, haply, shalt survive the general doom,
Rise like the Phœnix from thy flaming tomb,
And be the wonder of a world to come!