And on thy happy shore a Temple still,
Of small and delicate proportion, keeps,
Upon a mild declivity of hill,

memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps
Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps
The finny darter with the glittering scales,
Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ;

While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails
Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales.


Pass not unblest the Genius of the place!
If through the air a zephyr more serene
Win to the brow, 'tis his; and if ye traco
Along his margin a more eloquent green,
If on the heart the freshness of the sceno
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust
Of weary life a moment lave it clean
With Nature's baptism, — 'tis to him ye

must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust.


The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ;
The fall of waters ! rapid as the light
The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; :
The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss,
And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat
Of their great agony, wrung out from this

Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror se,


And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again
Returns in an unceusing shower, which round,
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain,
Is an eternal April to the ground,
Making it all one emerald :- how profound
The gulf! and how the giant element
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound,

Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and ren,
With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful ven,


To the broad column which rolls on, and shows
More like the fountain of an infant sea
Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes
Of a new world, than only thus to be
Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly,
With many windings, through the vale :- Look back!
Lo! where it comes like an eternity,
As if to sweep down all things in its track,
Charming the eye with dread, - a matchless cataract, (")


Horribly beautiful! but on the verge,
From side to side, beneath the glittering morn,
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, (*)
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn
By the distracted waters, bears seiene
Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn :

Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene,
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.

(1) I saw the “ Cascata del marmore” of Terni twice, at different periods; once from the summit of the precipice, and again from the valley below. The lower view is far to be preserred, if the iraveller has time for one only ; but in any point of view, either from above or below, it is worth all the cascades and torrents of Switzerland put together : the Staubach, Reichenbach, Pisse Vache, fall of Arpenaz, &c. are rills in comparative appearance. Of the fall of Schaffhausen I cannot speak, not yet having seen it.

(2) of the time, place, and qualities of this kind of iris the reader may have sern a short account in a note to Manfred. The fall looks so much like " the hell of walers” that Addison thought the descent alluded to by the gulf in which Alecto plunged into the infernal regions. It is singular enough that iwo of the finest (ascades in Europe should be artificial--this of the Velino, and the one at Tivoli: The traveller is strongly recommended to trace the Velino, at least as logh as the little lake called Pie' di Lup. The Reatine territory, was the Italian Temple, * and the ancient naturalist, arnong other beautiful varieties, remarked the daily rainbows of the lake Velinus.f A scholar of great name has devoted a treatise to this district alone. I

*" Reatini me ad sua Tempo duxerunt.” Cicer. epixi ad Attic, vv. lib. iv.

t" In eodem lacu nullo non dio apparere arcus.” Plin. Hist. Nat. lib. i1. capku.

f All Manut. do Reatina Urbe Agroque, ap. Sallengre, Thesaur. tom. i. p. 778


Once more upon the woody A ponnine,
The infant Alps, which — had I not before
Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine
Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar
The thundering lauwine - might be worshipp'd more ; (')
But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear
Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar

Glaciers of bleak Mount-Blanc both far and near,
And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear,


Th’ Acroceraunian mountains of old name :
And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly
Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame.
For still they soard unutterably high :
I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye ;
Athos, Olympus, Ætna, Atlas, made
These hills seem things of lesser dignity,

All, save the lone Soracte's heights display'd
Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid


For our remernbrance, and from out the plain
Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break,
And on the curl hangs pausing : not in vain
May he, who will, his recollections rake
And quote in classic raptures, and awake
The hills with Latian echoes; I abhorr'd
Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake,

The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by word (*)
In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record


(1) In the greater part of Switzerland the avalanches are known by the name of lauwine.

(2) These stanzas may probably remind the reader of Ensign Northerton's ree marks ; “ Den Homo," &c. but the reasons for our dislike are not exactly the same. I wish to express that we become tired of the task before we can coinprehend the beauty: that we learn by rote before we can get by heart; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the power of campositions which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason we never can be aware of tho fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeare, (“ To be, or not to be," for instance,) from the habit of having them hamınered into us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of mind, but of memory: so that when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts of the Continent, young persons are iaught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their maturity. I certainly do not speak on this point from any pique or aversion towards the place of my education. 'I was not a slow, though an idle boy; and I


Aught that recalls the daily drug which turn'd
My sickening memory; and, though Time hath taught
My mind to meditate what then it learn'd,
Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought
By the impatience of my early thought,
That, with the freshness wearing out before
My mind could relish what it might have sought,

If free to choose, I cannot now restore
Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor.


Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so,
Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse
To understand, not feel thy lyric flow,
To comprehend, but never love thy verse,
Although no deeper Moralist rehearse
Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art,
Nor livelier Satirist the conscience pierce,

Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart,
Yet fare thee well upon Soracte's ridge we part.

Oh Rome! my country ! city of the soul !
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and suflerance ? Come and see

hear the owl, and plod your way.
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye!

Whose agonies are evils of a day-
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.

believe no one could, or can be, more attached to Harrow than I have always been, and with reason ;-a part

of the time passed there was the happiest of my life ; and my preceptor (the Kev. Dr. Joseph Drury) was the best and worthiest friend I ever puissessod, whose warnings I havo romembered but too well, though ton late, when I have erred, -and whose counsels I have but followed when I have done well or wisely: If ever this imperfect record of my feelings towards him should reach his eyes, let it remind him or one who never thinks of him but with gralilude and veneration of one who would more gladly boast of having been his pupil, by more closely following his injunctions he could reflect any honour upon his instructor.


The Niobe of nations ! there she stands
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe,
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; (")
The very sepu!chres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wildernesss ?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire,
Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ;
She saw her glories star by star expire,
And up the steep barbarian monarch's ride,
Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : -
Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void,

O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say, " here was, or is,” where all is doubly night?


The double night of ages, and of her,
Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap
All round us ; we but feel our way to err :
The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map,
And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap;
But Rome is as the desert, where we steer
Stumbling o'er recollections; now we clap
Our hands, and cry

“ Eureka!” it is clear When but some false mirage of ruin rises neur.


Alas! the lofty city! and alas !
The trebly hundred triumphs ! (") and the day
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away!

Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay,
: And Livy's pictured page !- but these shall be

Her resurrection ; all beside - decay.

Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free! ..(1).For a comment on this and the two following, stanzas, the reader may consult Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold.

(2) Orosius gives three hundred and twenty for the number of triumphs. He is followed by Panvinius; and Paavinius by Mr. Gibbon and the modern writers.

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