ELEGIAC STANZAS.

The lamented youth whose untimely death gave occasion to these elegiac verses, was Frederick William Goddard, from Boston in North America. He was in his twentieth year, and had resided for some time with a clergyman in the neighbourhood of Geneva for the completion of his education. Accompanied by a fellow-pupil, a native of Scotland, he had just set out on a Swiss tour when it was his misfortune to fall in with a friend of mine who was hastening to join our party. The travellers, after spending a day together on the road from Berne and at Soleure, took leave of each other at night, the young man having intended to proceed directly to Zurich. But early in the morning my friend found his new acquaintances, who were informed of the object of his journey, and the friends he was in pursuit of, equipped to accompany him. We met at Lucerne the succeeding evening, and Mr. G. and his fellow-student became in consequence our travelling companions for a couple of days. We ascended the Righi together; and, after contemplating the sunrise from that noble mountain, we separated at an hour and on a spot weli suited to the parting of those who were to meet no more. Our party descended through the valley of our Lady of the Snow, and our late companions, to Art. We had hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva: but on the third succeeding day (on the 21st of August) Mr. Goddard perished, being overset in a boat while crossing the lake of Zurich. His companion saved himself by swimming, and was hospitably received in the mansion of a Swiss gentleman (Mr Keller) situated on the eastern coast of the lake. The corpse of poor G was cast ashore on the estate of the said gentleman, who generously performed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the living. He caused the handsome mural monument to be erected in the church at Küsnacht, which records the premature fate of the young American, and on the shores too of the lake the tra

veller may read an inscription pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the waves. LULLED by the sound of pastoral bells, Rude nature's pilgrims did we go, From the dread summit of the Queen* Of mountains through a deep ravine, Where, in her holy chapel, dwells "Our Lady of the Snow."

The sky was blue, the air was mild;
Free were the streams and green
bowers :

As if, to rough assaults unknown,
The genial spot had ever shown

A countenance that sweetly smiled→→→
The face of summer-hours.

Mount Righi-Regina Montium.

And we were gay, our hearts at ease;
With pleasure dancing through the frame
We journeyed; all we knew of care-
Our path that straggled here and there,
Of trouble-but the fluttering breeze,
Of winter-but a name.

If foresight could have rent the veil
Of three short days-but hush-no more!
Calm is the grave, and calmer none
Than that to which thy cares are gone,
Thou victim of the stormy gale,
Asleep on Zurich's shore!

O Goddard! what art thou?—a name—
A sunbeam followed by a shade!
No more, for aught that time supplies,
The great, the experienced, and the wise;
Too much from this frail earth we claim,
And therefore are betrayed.

We met, while festive mirth ran wild,
Where, from a deep lake's mighty urn,
Forth slips, like an enfranchised slave,
A sea-green river, proud to lave,
With current swift and undefiled,
The towers of old Lucerne.

We parted upon solemn ground
Far lifted towards the unfading sky;
But all our thoughts were then of earth
That gives to common pleasures birth;
And nothing in our hearts we found
That prompted even a sigh.

Fetch, sympathising powers of air,
Fetch, ye that post o'er seas and lands,
Herbs moistened by Virginian dew,
A most untimely sod to strew,
That lacks the ornamental care
Of kindred human hands!

Beloved by every gentle muse
He left his Transatlantic home:
Europe, a realized romance,
Had opened on his eager glance;
What present bliss!-what golden views!
What stores for years to come i

Not vain is sadly-uttered praise; The words of truth's memorial vow

Are sweet as morning fragrance shed
From flowers 'mid Goldau's* ruins bred;
As evening's fondly-lingering rays,
On Righi's silent brow.

Lamented youth! to thy cold clay
Fit obsequies the stranger paid;
And piety shall guard that stone
Which hath not left the spot unknown
Where the wild waves resigned their prey,
And that which marks thy bed.

And, when thy mother weeps for thee,
Lost youth! a solitary mother;
This tribute from a casual friend
A not unwelcome aid may lend,
To feed the tender luxury,
The rising pang to smother.

SKY-PROSPECT. FROM THE PLAIN OF
FRANCE.

Lo! in the burning west, the craggy nape
Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon,
The ark, her melancholy voyage done!
Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion's shape;
There-combats a huge crocodile-agape
A golden spear to swallow! and that brown
And massy grove, so near yon blazing town,
Stirs and recedes-destruction to escape!
Yet all is harmless as the Elysian shades
Where spirits dwell in undisturbed repose,
Silently disappears, or quickly fades ;-
Meek nature's evening comment on the
shows

That for oblivion take their daily birth,
From all the fuming vanities of earth!

DESULTORY STANZAS,

WHY cast ye back upon the Gallic shore, Ye furious waves! a patriotic son

* One of the villages desolated by the fall of part of the mountain Rossberg.

+ Near the town of Boulogne, and overhanging the beach, are the remains of a tower which bears the name of Caligula, who here terminated his western expedition, of which these sea-shells were the boasted spoils. And at no great distance from these ruins, Bonaparte, standing upon a mound of earth, harangued his " army of England," reminded them of the exploits of Cæsar, and pointed towards the white cliffs upon which their standards were to float. ecommended also a subscription to be raised among the soldiery to erect on that ground, in memory of the foundation of the "Legion of

He re

FROM THE PRESS.

From this appropriate court, renowned Lucerne [cheers Calls me to pace her honoured bridge that The patriot's heart with pictures rude and stern,

An uncouth chronicle of glorious years. Like portraiture, from loftier source, endears

That work of kindred frame, which spans the lake

Just at the point of issue, where it fears The form and motion of a stream to take; Where it begins to stir, yet voiceless as a snake.

Volumes of sound, from the cathedral rolled, This long-roofed vista penetrate-but see,

+ Sarnen, one of the two capitals of the Canton of Underwalden; the spot here alluded to is close to the town, and is called the Landenberg, from the tyrant of that name, whose chateau formerly stood there. On the 1st of January, 1308, the great day which the confederated country, all the castles of the governors were heroes had chosen for the deliverance of their taken by force or stratagem: and the tyrants themselves conducted, with their creatures, to the frontiers, after having witnessed the destruc Landenberg has been the place where the legis tion of their strongholds. From that time the lators of this division of the Canton assemble. The site, which is well described by Ebel, is one of the most beautiful in Switzerland.

The bridges of Lucerne are roofed, and open at the sides, so that the passenger has, at the same time the benefit of shade, and a view of the magnificent country. The pictures are history on the cathedral-bridge, amount, accor attached to the rafters: those from Scripture ding to my notes to 240. Subjects from the Old Testament face the passenger as he goes towards the cathedral, and those from the New as he returns. The pictures on these bridges, as well as those in most other parts of Switzerland, are not to be spoken of as works of art; but they are instruments admirably answering the purpose for which they were designed.

No more;-time halts not in his noiseless [flood; Nor turns, nor winds, as doth the liquid Life slips from underneath us, like that arch Of airy workmanship whereon we stood, Earth stretched below, heaven in our neighbourhood.

Go forth, my little book! pursue thy way; Go forth, and please the gentle and the good;

Nor be a whisper stifled, if it say

Bold spirit! who art free to rove Among the starry courts of Jove, And oft in splendour dost appear Embodied to poetic eyes,

While traversing this nether sphere,
Where mortals call thee Enterprise.
Daughter of Hope! her favourite child,
Whom she to young Ambition bore,
When hunter's arrow first defiled
The grove, and stained the turf with gore;
Thee winged Fancy took, and nursed
On broad Euphrates' palmy shore,
Or where the mightier waters burst
From caves of Indian mountains hoar !

She wrapped thee in a panther's skin;
Allurements that were edged with fear,
And thou, whose earliest thoughts held dear
(The food that pleased thee best, to win)
From rocky fortress in mid air
The flame-eyed eagle oft wouldst scare
With infant shout,-as often sweep,
Paired with the ostrich, o'er the plain;
And, tired with sport, wouldst sink asleep
Upon the couchant lion's mane!
With rolling years thy strength increased;
And, far beyond thy native East,
To thee, by varying titles known,
As variously thy power was shown,
Did incense-bearing altars rise,
Which caught the blaze of sacrifice,
From suppliants panting for the skies!

What though this ancient earth be trod
No more by step of demi-god,

TO ENTERPRISE.*

KEEP for the young the impassioned smile Shed from thy countenance, as I see thee stand

High on a chalky cliff of Britain's Isle,
A slender volume grasping in thy hand--
(Perchance the pages that relate
The various turns of Crusoe's fate).
Ah! spare the exulting smile,
And drop thy pointing finger bright
As the first flash of beacon-light;
But neither veil thy head in shadows dim,
Nor turn thy face away

From one who, in the evening of his day,
To thee would offer no presumptuous hymn!

*This poem having risen out of the "Italian Itinerant," etc., (page 197), it is here annexed.

As thou from clime to clime didst lead,
Yet still, the bosom beating high,
And the hushed farewell of an eye
Where no procrastinating gaze
A last infirmity betrays,

O Prove that thy heaven-descended sway
Shall ne'er submit to cold decay.
By thy divinity impelled,

The stripling seeks the tented field;
The aspiring virgin kneels ; and, pale
With awe, receives the hallowed veil,
A soft and tender heroine
Vowed to severer discipline;
Inflamed by thee, the blooming boy
Makes of the whistling shrouds a toy,
And of the ocean's dismal breast
A playground and a couch of rest;
Thou to his dangers dost enchain,
'Mid the blank world of snow and ice,
The chamois-chaser, awed in vain
By chasm or dizzy precipice;
And hast thou not with triumph seen
How soaring mortals glide serene

From cloud to cloud, and brave the light
With bolder than Icarian flight?
Or, in their bells of crystal dive
Where winds and waters cease to strive,
For no unholy visitings,

Among the monsters of the deep,
And all the sad and precious things
Which there in ghastly silence sleep;
Within our fearless reach are placed
The secrets of the burning waste,-
Egyptian tombs unlock their dead,
Nile trembles at his fountain head;
Thou speak'st-and lo! the polar seas
Unbosom their last mysteries.
But oh what transports, what sublime
reward,
[prepare
Won from the world of mind, dost thou
For philosophic sage--or high-souled bard
Who, for thy service trained in lonely
woods,
[air,
Hath fed on pageants floating through the
Or calentured in depth of limpid floods;
Nor grieves-though doomed, through
silent night, to bear

The domination of his glorious themes,
Or struggle in the net-work of thy dreams!

If there be movements in the patriot's soul,
From source still deeper, and of higher
worth,
[control,
'Tis thine the quickening impulse to
And in due season send the mandate forth;
Thy call an abject nation can restore,
When but a single mind resolves to crouch

no more.

Dread minister of wrath!

Who to their destined punishment dost urge [hardened heart! The Pharaohs of the earth, the men of Not unassisted by the flattering stars, Thou strew'st temptation o'er the path When they in pomp depart,

With trampling horses and refulgent cars-
Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge;
Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown
strands;

Or stifled under weight of desert sands-
An army now, and now a living hill
Heaving with convulsive throes,—

It quivers and is still;

Or to forget their madness and their woes, Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows!

Back flows the willing current of my song:
If to provoke such doom the impious dare,
Why should it daunt a blameless prayer?
Bold goddess! range our youth among;
Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat
In hearts no longer young;

Still may a veteran few have pride
In thoughts whose sternness makes them
sweet;

In fixed resolves by reason justified;
That to their object cleave like sleet
Whitening a pine-tree's northern side,
While fields are naked far and wide.

But, if such homage thou disdain
As doth with mellowing years agree,
One rarely absent from thy train
More humble favours may obtain
For thy contented votary.
She, who incites the frolic lambs
In presence of their heedless dams,
And to the solitary fawn
Vouchsafes her lessons-bounteous nymph
That wakes the breeze-the sparkling lymph
Doth hurry to the lawn;
She, who inspires that strain of joyance holy
Which the sweet bird, misnamed the
melancholy
[for me;

Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead
And vernal mornings opening bright
With views of undefined delight,
And cheerful songs, and suns that shine
On busy days, with thankful nights, be
mine.

But thou, O goddess! in thy favourite isle
(Freedom's impregnable redoubt,
The wide earth's store-house fenced about
With breakers roaring to the gales
That stretch a thousand thousand sails)
Quicken the slothful, and exalt the vile!
Thy impulse is thy life of fame;
Glad hope would almost cease to be
If torn from thy society;

And love, when worthiest of the name,
Is proud to walk the earth with thee !