CHAINS may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee, TELL, of the iron heart! they could not tame; For thou wert of the mountains; they proclaim The everlasting creed of liberty.
That creed is written on the untrampled snow,
Thundered by torrents which no power can hold,
Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold, And breathed by winds that through the free heaven blow. Thou, while thy prison walls were dark around
Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught,
And to thy brief captivity was brought
A vision of thy Switzerland unbound.
The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened thee For the great work to set thy country free.
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT A HAMLET NEAR THE FOOT OF MONT BLANO
NOT from the sands or cloven rocks, Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow; Nor earth within its bosom, locks
Thy dark unfathomed wells below. Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream Begins to move and murmur first Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam, Or rain-storms on the glacier burst
Born where the thunder and the blast, And morning's earliest light are born, Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast, By these low homes, as if in scorn: Yet humbler springs yield purer waves; And brighter, glassier streams than thine, Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,
With heaven's own beam and image shine.
Yet stay! for here are flowers and trees; Warm rays on cottage roofs are here, And laugh of girls, and hum of bees-
Here linger till thy waves are clear.
Thou heedest not-thou hastest on;
From steep to steep thy torrent falls, Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,
It rests beneath Geneva's walls.
Rush on-but were there one with me That loved me, I would light my hearth Here, where with God's own majesty
Are touched the features of the earth. By these old peaks, white, high, and vast, Still rising as the tempests beat, Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,
Among the blossoms at their feet.
INSCRIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD.
STRANGER, if thou hast learned a truth which needs No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof Of green and stirring branches is alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit; while below
The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam That waked them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment; as they bend
INSCRIPTION TO A WOOD.
To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.
Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy Existence, than the winged plunderer
That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves, And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots, With all their earth upon them, twisting high, Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice In its own being. Softly tread the marge, Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee, Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.
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