ARGUMENT.

Happiness (if she had been to be found on Earth) amongst the
Charms of Nature-Pleasures of the pedestrian Traveller —
Author crosses France to the Alps - Present State of the
Grande Chartreuse — Lake of Como-Time, Sunset · - Same
Scene, Twilight-Same Scene, Morning, its Voluptuous
Character; Old Man and Forest Cottage Music-
Tusa -

River

Via Mala and Grison Gypsey. Sckellenen-thal

Lake of Uri. Stormy Sunset· ·Chapel of William TellForce of Local Emotion· ·Chamois-chaser- View of the higher Alps-Manner of Life of a Swiss Mountaineer interspersed with views of the higher Alps - Golden Age of the Alps-Life and Views continued — Ranz des Vaches famous Swiss Air- Abbey of Einsiedlen and its Pilgrims — Valley of Chamouny - Mont Blanc- ·Slavery of Savoy - Influence

of Liberty on Cottage Happiness — France · Wish for the extirpation of Slavery - Conclusion.

DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES.

WERE there, below, a spot of holy ground,
By Pain and her sad family unfound,

Sure, Nature's God that spot to man had given,
Where murmuring rivers join the song of even;
Where falls the purple morning far and wide
In flakes of light upon the mountain side;
Where the resounding power of water shakes
The leafy wood, or sleeps in quiet lakes.

And not unrecompensed the man shall roam,
Who, to converse with Nature, quits his home,
And plods o'er hills and vales his way forlorn,
Wooing her various charms from eve to morn.
No sad vacuities his heart annoy,

Breathes not a zephyr but it whispers joy;

For him the loneliest flowers their sweets exhale;

He marks "the meanest note that swells the *gale;" For him sod seats the cottage-door adorn,

And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourne !

* Gray.

Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head,
And dear the velvet green-sward to his tread;
Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming eye?
Upward he looks—" and calls it luxury;"
Kind Nature's charities his steps attend;
In every babbling brook he finds a friend;
Whilst chast'ning thoughts of sweetest use, bestowed
By Wisdom, moralize his pensive road.

Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bower,
To his spare meal he calls the passing poor;
He views the Sun uplift his golden fire,
Or sink, with heart alive like *Memnon's lyre;
Blesses the Moon that comes with kindly ray,
To light him shaken by his rugged way;
With bashful fear no cottage children steal
From him, a brother at the cottage meal;
His humble looks no shy restraint impart,
Around him plays at will the virgin heart.
While unsuspended wheels the village dance,
The maidens eye him with enquiring glance,

The lyre of Memnon is reported to have emitted melancholy or cheerful tones, as it was touched by the sun's evening or morning rays.

Much wondering what sad stroke of crazing Care
Or desperate Love could lead a Wanderer there.

Me, lured by hope her sorrows to remove,
A heart that could not much itself approve,
O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led,
Her road elms rustling high above my head,
Or through her truant pathway's native charms,
By secret villages and lonely farms,

To where the Alps ascending white in air,
Toy with the sun, and glitter from afar.
Even now, emerging from the forest's gloom,

I heave a 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 silence wide around,
Broke only by the unvaried torrent's sound,
Or prayer-bell by the dull cicada drown'd.
The cloister startles at the gleam of arms,
And Blasphemy the shuddering fane alarms;
Nod the cloud-piercing pines their troubled heads;
Spires, rocks, and lawns, a browner night o'er-
spreads.

Strong terror checks the female peasant's sighs,
And start the astonish'd shades at female eyes.