Even now she decks for me a distant scene, (For dark and broad the gulf of time between,) Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray, (Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way; But now the clear bright Moon her zenith gains, And, rimy without speck, extend the plains: The deepest cleft the mountain's front displays Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays; From the dark-blue faint silvery threads divide The hills, while gleams below the azure tide; The scene is wakened, yet its peace unbroke By the slow wreaths of quiet charcoal smoke, That o'er the ruins of the fallen wood Steal down the hill, and spread along the flood. The song of mountain streams, unheard by day, Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way. All air is like the sleeping water, still, List'ning the aerial music of the hill, Broke only by the slow clock tolling deep, Or shout that wakes the ferryman from sleep, The echoed hoof approaching the far shore, Soon followed by his hollow parting oar; Sound of closed gate, across the water borne, Hurrying the feeding hare through rustling corn The tremulous sob of the complaining owl; And at long intervals the mill-dog's howl; The distant forge's swinging thump profound; Or yell, in the deep woods, of lonely hound. As lovely visions by thy side As now, fair river!-come to me. O glide, fair stream! for ever so, Thy quiet soul on all bestowing, Till all our minds for ever flow As thy deep waters now are flowing. Vain thought!-Yet be as now thou art, How bright, how solemn, how serene ! Such as did once the Poet bless, Who, murmuring here a later ditty, Could find no refuge from distress Now let us, as we float along, For him suspend the dashing oar; And pray that never child of song May know that Poet's sorrows more. How calm! how still! the only sound, The dripping of the oar suspended! -The evening darkness gathers round By virtue's holiest Powers attended. DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES ; TAKEN DURING A PEDESTRIAN TOUR AMONG THE ALIS, No sad vacuities his heart annoy ;- For him lost flowers their idle sweets exhale ; For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn, And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourn! Host of his welcome inn, the noontide bower, While unsuspended wheels the village dance, I sigh at hoary Chartreuse' doom; Where now is fled that Power whose frown severe Tamed "sober Reason" till she crouched in fear? That breathed a death-like peace around these woods. The cloister startles at the gleam of arms, Nod the cloud-piercing pines their troubled heads; More pleased, my foot the hidden margin roves To towns, whose shades of no rude sound complain, To ringing team unknown and grating wain To flat-roofed towns, that touch the water's bound, Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound, |