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 neighborhood 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 hasten ing 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 men 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 fellowstudent became in conséquence our travelling companions for a couple of days. We ascended the Right together, and, after contemplating the sunrise from that noble mountain, we separated at an hour and on a spot well 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

bowers;

green

As if, to rough assaults unknown,
The genial spot had ever shown
A countenance that as sweetly smiled-
The face of summer hours.

And we were gay, our hearts at ease;
We journeyed; all we knew of care-
With pleasure dancing through the frame
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!

the

Oh GODDARD! what art thou?-a name—
A sunbeam followed by a shade!
Nor 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.

Mount Righi-Regina Montium.

We parted upon solemn ground
Far-litted 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, sympathizing Powers of air,
Fetch, ye that post o'er seas and lands,
Herbs moistened by Virginian dew,
A most untimely grave to strew,
Whose turf may never know the 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!

Though lodged within no vigorous frame
His soul her daily tasks renewed,
Blithe as the lark on sun gilt wings
High poised or as the wren that sings
In shady places, to procla
Her modest gratitude.

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 the Stone
Which hath not left the spot unknown
Where the wild waves resigned their
And that which marks thy bed.

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!

XXXV.

ON BEING STRANDED NEAR THE HARBOR
OF BOULOGNE.

WHY cast ye back upon the Gallic shore,
Ye furious waves! a patriotic Son
Of England-who in hope her coast had

won,

His project crowned, his pleasant travel o'er?

Well-let him pace this noted beach once

more, That the Roman his triumphal shells; gave That saw the Corsican his cap and bells Haughtily shake, a dreaming Conqueror !-Enough my Country's cliffs I can behold, And proudly think, beside the chafing sea, Of checked ambition, tyranny controlled, And folly cursed with endless memory: These local recollections ne'er can cloy; Such ground from my very heart enjoy!

XXXVI.

man's blast,

1

And filled our hearts with grief for Eng. land's shame

Peace greets us ;-rambling on without an aim

We mark majestic herds of cattle, free
To ruminate, couched on the grassy lea;
And hear far-off the mellow horn proclaim
The Season's harmless pastime. Ruder

sound

Lo! in the burning west, the craggy nape
Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon,
The Ark, her melancholy voyage done!
Yon rampant cloud mimics lion's shape;
There, combats a huge crocodile→agape

While consciousnesses, not to be disowned, Here only serve a feeling to invite

That lifts the spirit to a calmer height, And makes this rural stillness more profound.

and grange,

For my enjoyment meet in vision strange; Snows, torrents;-to the region's utmost bound,

But list! the avalanche-the hush profound
Life, Death, in amicable interchange;-
That follows-yet more awful than that
awful sound!

Is not the chamois suited to his place?
The eagle worthy of her ancestry?
-Let Empires fall; but ne'er shall Ye dis-
grace

Your noble birthright, ye that occupy
Your council-seats beneath the open sky,
On Sarnen's Mount, there judge of fit and
right.

In simple democratic majesty.
Soft breezes fanning your rough brows-the
might

And purity of nature spread before your sight!

At the head of the Vallas.

cheered,

In whose experience trusting, day by day Treasures I gained with zeal that neither feared

The toils nor felt the crosses of the way,
RYDAL MOUNT, Feb. 14th, 1842,

Were but the Gift a meet Return to thee For kindnesses that never ceased to flow, And prompt self-sacrifice to which I owe Far more than any heart but mine can know.

W. WORDSWORTH.