Save where the flow'ret breathes uncultur'd sweets, Yet let not these rude paths be coldly trac❜d, His humble board the holy man prepares, And paints the perils of impending snows. For whilst bleak Winter numbs with chilling hand, Yet 'midst those ridges, 'midst that drifted snow, And gems of crystal sparkle to the day. Here too, the hoary mountain's brow to grace, Five silver lakes, in tranquil state are seen; While from their waters, many a stream we trace, That, 'scap'd from bondage, roll the rocks between. Here flows the Reuss to seek her wedded love, And with the Rhine, Germanic climes explore; Her stream I mark'd, and saw her wildly move Down the bleak mountain, thro' the craggy shore. My weary footsteps hop'd for rest in vain, Fair runs the streamlet o'er the pasture green, Sweet vale! whose bosom wastes and cliffs surround, Emblem of life! where some bright hours are found, Delv'd thro' the rock, the secret passage bends, We view the fearful pass-we wind along The path that marks the terrors of our way— 'Midst beetling rocks, and hanging woods among, The torrent pours, and throws its glittering spray. Weary at length, serener scenes we hail, More cultur'd groves o'ershade the grassy meads, The neat tho' wooden hamlets deck the vale, And Altorf's spires recal heroic deeds. But tho' no more amidst those scenes I roam, Lucernia's lake its glassy surface shews, Whilst Nature's varied beauties deck its side; Here rocks and woods its narrow waves inclose, And there its spreading bosom opens wide. And hail the chapel! hail the platform wild! With well strung arm, that first preserv'd his child, Across the lake, and deep embower'd in wood, Where three Swiss heroes lawless force withstood, Their liberty requir'd no rites uncouth, No blood demanded, and no slaves enchain'd; We quit the lake-and cultivation's toil With Nature's charms combin'd, adorns the way; And well earn'd wealth improves the ready soil, And simple manners still maintain their sway. Farewell Helvetia! from whose lofty breast Proud Alps arise, and copious rivers flow; Oft on thy rocks the wond'ring eye shall gaze, Hope of my Life! dear children of my heart! To you still pants each pleasure to impart, And more, oh transport! reach its home and you. You, who the sweets of rural life have known, But I, who ne'er was blest by fortune's hand, |