Oh ! that one friendly cloud would rise,
To mitigate these burning skies!
Or that in some sequester'd bay
Floating upon the wave I lay;
While o'er my head the branches play'd
Of some vast oak, a sun-proof shade!
And gentle showers fell pattering round;
Beneath the leaves I'd bless the sound.
My mind relax'd, my body too
Thaws and " resolves itself into a dew! "
While yet I'm visible I'll run
From I TALY'S inclement sun;
For Summer scorches hill and vale,
Dries up the streams, and taints the gale.
Not till yon beaming orb declines,
Thridding the last autumnal Signs,
And in the thirsty river-bed
The clouds of stifling dust are laid,
Yon barrier-Alps to reascend,
And tow'rds the imperial City bend.
As through the glittering peaks I go
Reviv'd I tread the bracing snow;
Each little patch of pasture green,
Each eddying gust, tho' biting keen;
The very mists that curling rise
And blend the mountains with the skies,
My pulses calm, my strength restore,
And bid me breathe and move once more,
Ne'er to lament, in prose or rhyme,
The rigours of our northern clime.
What though, now gentle, now severe,
From point to point the breezes veer,
And many a cloud the heavens obscure:
From pestilence, from plague secure,
Still nerv'd to enjoy, and broad awake,
Our lot, so scorn'd, content we take,
Nor envy those their heat and light
Who sleep at noon as well as night.
'Twas thus the rude epistle ran
Which on the A RNO I began:
Now happy at your favorite B ÉX
And cool , far other feelings sway.
Here grateful Memory fain would praise
Fair I TALY in living lays:
But this demands a loftier strain,
And I must seek her vales again;
Again peruse her storied walls
In solemn temples, sumptuous halls,
Where all the rival arts conspire
To charm, to touch, and to inspire.
Ah! hapless land where prince and priest
And stranger-tyrants ( " last not least " )
Thy rights deny, thy arms deride,
And, in the fulness of their pride,
Or jealous of thy former fame,
Would rob thee of thy very name.
Oh! when will the avenger rise?
Touch'd by his country's stifled cries,
(Not loud, but such as those can hear
To whom their country still is dear)
And, gathering round him host on host,
From the Alps to far C ALABRIA'S coast,
Lay, by one bold resistless blow,
Never to rise, the oppressor low?
The Usurper fled, behold once more
Freedom thy arts and arms restore!
But, ere that hour of bliss return,
Thy humbled, scatter'd Sons must earn,
Must bravely earn their liberty;
First be victorious, then be free!
That blessing must their courage nerve,
Which to desire is to deserve:
Old feuds they must forget, forgive,
And as ONE mighty people live;
Then shall the world allow their claim
To more than ev'n their ancient fame.
Not yet! — still holds the vile intrigue,
Self-nam'd, in fraud, T HE H OLY L EAGUE !
No bigot-folly, but far worse,
Of heav'n the mockery, earth the curse:
For though the scepter'd Robbers scorn
Each his confederate, yet " they've sworn "
They " have an oath in heav'n " and must
(Good men!) be impious and unjust.
Once, by the grateful world confest,
Here was a refuge for the opprest.
But now, in vain the Patriot flies
From his lov'd home, and native skies;
In vain of broken faith complains,
Dragg'd back to death, or, worse, to chains.
Great as thou art, my country, thou
Canst scarce protect the stranger now!
In secret fetter'd to their cause
The Despots dictate ev'n thy laws.
But, thanks to heav'n! there is a Land
Above their influence, or command,
Virtuous their maxims to despise,
And strong their violence to chastise.
Haste! weigh the anchor, spread the sail
Wide to the welcome eastern gale:
Still, still the setting sun pursue;
Driv'n from the old world seek the new:
There fear no more the Exile knows,
But from his hunters finds repose
His own, his country's wrongs proclaims,
And safe, the baffled tyrant shames.
Yet blame not this just people still,
It is their weakness, not their will,
That yields consent to those that hate,
And fain would crush each unking'd state.
O'er-look this blemish, and once more
The wonders of this land explore:
Beheld with rapture, left with pain,
Yet felt more deeply seen again,
Than when at first, with hurried pace,
Surpris'd, subdued, these scenes we trace.
To loftier heights the hills aspire;
In deeper gloom the glens retire;
With sweeter sounds the waters flow,
More brightly their reflections glow.
For who can, self-possest, behold
The visions these wild vales unfold?
The mountains of eternal snow?
The abyss of rifted ice below?
The bridge that springs from rock to rock,
And trembles to the torrent's shock?
The fearful pass, whose cliffs between
A line of sky is scarcely seen?
The liquid crystal of the rill
That gushes from the rocky hill?
The inland sea, now calm in sleep,
Now, waken'd, an o'erwhelming deep?
Here first, long since, at your request,
I came, and found delight and rest;
And now with joy my o'er-travell'd feet,
Return to this belov'd Retreat:
Where, on the loud, tumultuous R HONE
From dawn to dark I muse alone;
Or listen to the vesper-bell
Echoing through many a craggy dell:
Or, as the soft green lawn I tread,
While chestnuts flower above my head,
The far-off L EMAN L AKE descry,
Fair mirror of the changeful sky!
Now silvery-smooth, now sparkling gold:
Or, o'er the humbler Alps, behold
Those glowing Peaks that long detain
The sun's last rays, tho' dark the Plain,
Then, pale and wan in the cold night-air,
Look like the ghosts of what they were:
Or mark with awe the mouldering towers,
That tell of long-departed hours;
Or cliffs that guard the little gate;
Frail barrier between State and State!
More charm'd from hour to hour — and yet
With far more pleasure than regret,
Homeward at length my steps I turn;
My eyes for other objects yearn;
The fire-side circle, small and dear,
Narrowing, ah narrowing every year!
The chosen, or the neighbour-friend,
The servant pleas'd and proud to attend;
The well-known door, and even the bed,
On which, so oft reclined, my head
Sweet rest has found, or vainly sought
Through the long night of troubled thought.
How slowly, eager to arrive,
I think the dull postilions drive!
The leagues seem longer, and the pave
Is surely grown more rough and heavy.
Yet haply 'tis in vain I haste,
Doom'd, as before, whole days to waste
Pacing till night on Calais-pier,
Invoking winds that will not hear;
While not a packet dares to sail,
Aw'd by the equinoctial gale;
Still looking o'er to that white shore
Where I so long to tread once more.
E'en now in thought I spring to land,
And grasp o'erjoy'd a brother's hand.
To mitigate these burning skies!
Or that in some sequester'd bay
Floating upon the wave I lay;
While o'er my head the branches play'd
Of some vast oak, a sun-proof shade!
And gentle showers fell pattering round;
Beneath the leaves I'd bless the sound.
My mind relax'd, my body too
Thaws and " resolves itself into a dew! "
While yet I'm visible I'll run
From I TALY'S inclement sun;
For Summer scorches hill and vale,
Dries up the streams, and taints the gale.
Not till yon beaming orb declines,
Thridding the last autumnal Signs,
And in the thirsty river-bed
The clouds of stifling dust are laid,
Yon barrier-Alps to reascend,
And tow'rds the imperial City bend.
As through the glittering peaks I go
Reviv'd I tread the bracing snow;
Each little patch of pasture green,
Each eddying gust, tho' biting keen;
The very mists that curling rise
And blend the mountains with the skies,
My pulses calm, my strength restore,
And bid me breathe and move once more,
Ne'er to lament, in prose or rhyme,
The rigours of our northern clime.
What though, now gentle, now severe,
From point to point the breezes veer,
And many a cloud the heavens obscure:
From pestilence, from plague secure,
Still nerv'd to enjoy, and broad awake,
Our lot, so scorn'd, content we take,
Nor envy those their heat and light
Who sleep at noon as well as night.
'Twas thus the rude epistle ran
Which on the A RNO I began:
Now happy at your favorite B ÉX
And cool , far other feelings sway.
Here grateful Memory fain would praise
Fair I TALY in living lays:
But this demands a loftier strain,
And I must seek her vales again;
Again peruse her storied walls
In solemn temples, sumptuous halls,
Where all the rival arts conspire
To charm, to touch, and to inspire.
Ah! hapless land where prince and priest
And stranger-tyrants ( " last not least " )
Thy rights deny, thy arms deride,
And, in the fulness of their pride,
Or jealous of thy former fame,
Would rob thee of thy very name.
Oh! when will the avenger rise?
Touch'd by his country's stifled cries,
(Not loud, but such as those can hear
To whom their country still is dear)
And, gathering round him host on host,
From the Alps to far C ALABRIA'S coast,
Lay, by one bold resistless blow,
Never to rise, the oppressor low?
The Usurper fled, behold once more
Freedom thy arts and arms restore!
But, ere that hour of bliss return,
Thy humbled, scatter'd Sons must earn,
Must bravely earn their liberty;
First be victorious, then be free!
That blessing must their courage nerve,
Which to desire is to deserve:
Old feuds they must forget, forgive,
And as ONE mighty people live;
Then shall the world allow their claim
To more than ev'n their ancient fame.
Not yet! — still holds the vile intrigue,
Self-nam'd, in fraud, T HE H OLY L EAGUE !
No bigot-folly, but far worse,
Of heav'n the mockery, earth the curse:
For though the scepter'd Robbers scorn
Each his confederate, yet " they've sworn "
They " have an oath in heav'n " and must
(Good men!) be impious and unjust.
Once, by the grateful world confest,
Here was a refuge for the opprest.
But now, in vain the Patriot flies
From his lov'd home, and native skies;
In vain of broken faith complains,
Dragg'd back to death, or, worse, to chains.
Great as thou art, my country, thou
Canst scarce protect the stranger now!
In secret fetter'd to their cause
The Despots dictate ev'n thy laws.
But, thanks to heav'n! there is a Land
Above their influence, or command,
Virtuous their maxims to despise,
And strong their violence to chastise.
Haste! weigh the anchor, spread the sail
Wide to the welcome eastern gale:
Still, still the setting sun pursue;
Driv'n from the old world seek the new:
There fear no more the Exile knows,
But from his hunters finds repose
His own, his country's wrongs proclaims,
And safe, the baffled tyrant shames.
Yet blame not this just people still,
It is their weakness, not their will,
That yields consent to those that hate,
And fain would crush each unking'd state.
O'er-look this blemish, and once more
The wonders of this land explore:
Beheld with rapture, left with pain,
Yet felt more deeply seen again,
Than when at first, with hurried pace,
Surpris'd, subdued, these scenes we trace.
To loftier heights the hills aspire;
In deeper gloom the glens retire;
With sweeter sounds the waters flow,
More brightly their reflections glow.
For who can, self-possest, behold
The visions these wild vales unfold?
The mountains of eternal snow?
The abyss of rifted ice below?
The bridge that springs from rock to rock,
And trembles to the torrent's shock?
The fearful pass, whose cliffs between
A line of sky is scarcely seen?
The liquid crystal of the rill
That gushes from the rocky hill?
The inland sea, now calm in sleep,
Now, waken'd, an o'erwhelming deep?
Here first, long since, at your request,
I came, and found delight and rest;
And now with joy my o'er-travell'd feet,
Return to this belov'd Retreat:
Where, on the loud, tumultuous R HONE
From dawn to dark I muse alone;
Or listen to the vesper-bell
Echoing through many a craggy dell:
Or, as the soft green lawn I tread,
While chestnuts flower above my head,
The far-off L EMAN L AKE descry,
Fair mirror of the changeful sky!
Now silvery-smooth, now sparkling gold:
Or, o'er the humbler Alps, behold
Those glowing Peaks that long detain
The sun's last rays, tho' dark the Plain,
Then, pale and wan in the cold night-air,
Look like the ghosts of what they were:
Or mark with awe the mouldering towers,
That tell of long-departed hours;
Or cliffs that guard the little gate;
Frail barrier between State and State!
More charm'd from hour to hour — and yet
With far more pleasure than regret,
Homeward at length my steps I turn;
My eyes for other objects yearn;
The fire-side circle, small and dear,
Narrowing, ah narrowing every year!
The chosen, or the neighbour-friend,
The servant pleas'd and proud to attend;
The well-known door, and even the bed,
On which, so oft reclined, my head
Sweet rest has found, or vainly sought
Through the long night of troubled thought.
How slowly, eager to arrive,
I think the dull postilions drive!
The leagues seem longer, and the pave
Is surely grown more rough and heavy.
Yet haply 'tis in vain I haste,
Doom'd, as before, whole days to waste
Pacing till night on Calais-pier,
Invoking winds that will not hear;
While not a packet dares to sail,
Aw'd by the equinoctial gale;
Still looking o'er to that white shore
Where I so long to tread once more.
E'en now in thought I spring to land,
And grasp o'erjoy'd a brother's hand.