Yet hast thou charms to Mind more justly dear,
Than Memory gleans by Rome's funereal bier.
The great, the lofty, of that elder day,
When patriot valour bore a mighty sway;
The heroes blazoned on imperial walls,
Whose gallant deeds a fickle state recals ;-
These to their country's worth few gifts supplied;
To conquest, valour, more than worth allied:
These left no beacons, when they sank to rest,
To light the darkness of a generous breast:
Their hopes, their fears, to earth-born glories tend,
Their country's champion, not their country's friend!
But thou, Geneva! when the prostrate world
Her blood-stained banner indolently furled,
And stooped to priestly craft, an awful prey,
And basely flung the ark of God away;
Thou, thou, Geneva, gave thy CALVIN'S name
To conflicts worthy of a nation's fame.
He hew'd the shackles of usurped controul,
And gave to freedom the immortal soul;
Felt for the world a brother's ardent zeal,
And nobly toiled its gangrened wounds to heal!
With kindred spirits worked the giant plan,
To tear from priestly grasp the rights of man,
To pour a living radiance round his grave
And all his hopes with outstretched arms to save!
* The Author offers no opinion here in reference to Calvin's theological tenets, but simply in reference to his moral courage and Christian energy as a Reformer.
Such thoughts, Geneva, yields thy mountain strand,
The once famed Goshen of each bleeding land!
Oh that the streaming light thy Calvin shed
Athwart the caverns of the mental dead,
Might yet avail thy erring course to guide,
Ere Passion dashes on the rock of Pride!
Ere darker judgments o'er thy churches roll,
Thy temples left, but gone the light and soul !
Yet are there those who mourn thy fallen state
From ancient splendour, and from high debate;
Who long again thy manly port to see,
And catch once more thy chaunt of liberty;
Who burn to view thy lifted banner shine,
Inscribed with truths celestial and divine!
And thou, associate on this lovely shore,
Whose name, unhonoured, asks for love the more,
Thy cordial accents and thy generous aim
A friend would sanction, though a nation blame!
Oh! long as memory sheds her placid light
O'er Leman's waves and Jura's snow-clad height
Oft shall I turn thy hallowed warmth to trace,
Thy zeal to hide me in my God's embrace;
Oft shall I hear, on holy morn, thy voice
By Zion's strains, invite me to rejoice!
Though Albion's cliffs once more extend their arms,
To hearts unexiled opening all their charms,
Though patriot fondness now my steps reclaim,
In distant realms, still constant, and the same,
Yet shall Affection brighten oft her eye,
And wish thy form, remembered Friend, were nigh! A quicker pulse the glowing thought attest,
And fair Geneva's visions soothe the breast!
WE felt no gale, we heard no deafening roar;
The waves in whispers curled upon the shore;
In softness all was dressed.
'Twas such a mild and gently witching hour,
As steals from sorrow half its cruel power,
And cheats the heart to rest.
The bark scarce kissed the pure
In all her gallant pride and streamers gay,
While summer sun-beams smiled.
Fair Albion's rocky cliffs, at distance seen,
Wakened within a thousand thoughts serene,
And many a rapture wild!
We stood upon the bright and crowded deck,
And loved that fair horizon speck,
And watch'd its clearer view:
'Mid bounding hopes, the heart, exulting, swelled, By many a lofty motive urged, impelled,
In brighter climes, where vines and olives grow, Where Arno's waves in tranquil murmurs flow, And graceful mountains rise;
In classic realms, where Rome's proud turrets swell,
And mouldering columns monumental tell,
To sadly gazing eyes,
The tale of glory past ;-in wilder scene,
Where Savoy's sultry suns may intervene,
Nor stain the' eternal snow;
Where Alpine rocks their massy forms display,
And lift the spirit on its heavenward way,
Till all be lost below:
Amidst such rich and glowing climes of Art,
Or realms where Nature's accents to the heart
Address a loftier tone,
Long had we wandered; and full oft the time
Had felt the impress of a joy sublime,
To tamer lands unknown.
But, verdant Albion! now thy tame and wave-worn strand, Beneath a colder sky, by fewer zephyrs fanned,
Yields to the exiled soul
An image dearer than those brilliant forms,
Those vine-clad vales, those mountain storms,
Where avalanches roll.
Oh! tell the keen and hallowed thrills of heart
Remembered scenes of infancy impart,
When life is on the wane;
When parent dust the cold dark tomb inurns,
And unforgetting tenderness returns,
But hears no voice again!
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