Why does this puny Church present to view
Her feeble columns? and that scanty chair!
This sword that one of our weak times might wear!
Objects of false pretence, or meanly true!
If from a traveller’s fortune I might claim
A palpable memorial of that day, 10
Then would I seek the Pyrenean Breach
That ROLAND clove with huge two-handed sway,
And to the enormous labour left his name,
Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, VII
IN THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE
O FOR the help of Angels to complete
This Temple—Angels governed by a plan
Thus far pursued (how gloriously!) by Man,
Studious that HE might not disdain the seat
Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat
Hath failed; and now, ye Powers! whose gorgeous wings
And splendid aspect yon emblazonings
But faintly picture, ‘twere an office meet
For you, on these unfinished shafts to try
The midnight virtues of your harmony:— 10
This vast design might tempt you to repeat
Strains that call forth upon empyreal ground
Immortal Fabrics, rising to the sound
Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, VIII
IN A CARRIAGE, UPON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE
AMID this dance of objects sadness steals
O’er the defrauded heart—while sweeping by,
As in a fit of Thespian jollity,
Beneath her vine-leaf crown the green Earth reels:
Backward, in rapid evanescence, wheels
The venerable pageantry of Time,
Each beetling rampart, and each tower sublime,
And what the Dell unwillingly reveals
Of lurking cloistral arch, through trees espied
Near the bright River’s edge. Yet why repine? 10
To muse, to creep, to halt at will, to gaze—
Such sweet wayfaring—of life’s spring the pride,
Her summer’s faithful joy—’that’ still is mine,
And in fit measure cheers autumnal days.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, IX
HYMN FOR THE BOATMEN, AS THEY APPROACH THE RAPIDS UNDER THE CASTLE OF HEIDELBERG
JESU! bless our slender Boat,
By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenings—let them not
Drown the music of a song
Breathed thy mercy to implore,
Where these troubled waters roar!
Saviour, for our warning, seen
Bleeding on that precious Rood;
If, while through the meadows green
Gently wound the peaceful flood, 10
We forgot Thee, do not Thou
Disregard thy Suppliants now!
Hither, like yon ancient Tower
Watching o’er the River’s bed,
Fling the shadow of thy power,
Else we sleep among the dead;
Thou who trod’st the billowy sea,
Shield us in our jeopardy!
Guide our Bark among the waves;
Through the rocks our passage smooth; 20
Where the whirlpool frets and raves
Let thy love its anger soothe:
All our hope is placed in Thee;
‘Miserere Domine!’
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, X
THE SOURCE OF THE DANUBE
NOT, like his great Compeers, indignantly
Doth DANUBE spring to life! The wandering Stream
(Who loves the Cross, yet to the Crescent’s gleam
Unfolds a willing breast) with infant glee
Slips from his prison walls: and Fancy, free
To follow in his track of silver light,
Mounts on rapt wing, and with a moment’s flight
Hath reached the encincture of that gloomy sea
Whose waves the Orphean lyre forbade to meet
In conflict; whose rough winds forgot their jars 10
To waft the heroic progeny of Greece;
When the first Ship sailed for the Golden Fleece—
ARGO—exalted for that daring feat
To fix in heaven her shape distinct with stars.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XI
ON APPROACHING THE STAUB-BACH, LAUTERBRUNNEN
UTTERED by whom, or how inspired—designed
For what strange service, does this concert reach
Our ears, and near the dwellings of mankind!
‘Mid fields familiarized to human speech?—
No Mermaid’s warble—to allay the wind
Driving some vessel toward a dangerous beach—
More thrilling melodies; Witch answering Witch,
To chant a love-spell, never intertwined
Notes shrill and wild with art more musical:
Alas! that from the lips of abject Want 10
Or Idleness in tatters mendicant
The strain should flow—free Fancy to enthral,
And with regret and useless pity haunt
This bold, this bright, this sky-born, WATERFALL!
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XII
THE FALL OF THE AAR—HANDEC
FROM the fierce aspect of this River, throwing
His giant body o’er the steep rock’s brink,
Back in astonishment and fear we shrink:
But, gradually a calmer look bestowing,
Flowers we espy beside the torrent growing;
Flowers that peep forth from many a cleft and chink,
And, from the whirlwind of his anger, drink
Hues ever fresh, in rocky fortress blowing:
They suck—from breath that, threatening to destroy,
Is more benignant than the dewy eve— 10
Beauty, and life, and motions as of joy:
Nor doubt but HE to whom yon Pine-trees nod
Their heads in sign of worship, Nature’s God,
These humbler adorations will receive.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XIII
MEMORIAL NEAR THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE OF THUN
“DEM
ANDENKEN
MEINES FREUNDES
ALOYS REDING
MDCCCXVIII.”
AROUND a wild and woody hill
A gravelled pathway treading,
We reached a votive Stone that bears
The name of Aloys Reding.
Well judged the Friend who placed it there
For silence and protection;
And haply with a finer care
Of dutiful affection.
The Sun regards it from the West;
And, while in summer glory 10
He sets, his sinking yields a type
Of that pathetic story:
And oft he tempts the patriot Swiss
Amid the grove to linger;
Till all is dim, save this bright Stone
Touched by his golden finger.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XIV
COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE CATHOLIC CANTONS
DOOMED as we are our native dust
To wet with many a bitter shower,
It ill befits us to disdain
The altar, to deride the fane,
Where simple Sufferers bend, in trust
To win a happier hour.
I love, where spreads the village lawn,
Upon some knee-worn cell to gaze:
Hail to the firm unmoving cross,
Aloft, where pines their branches toss! 10
And to the chapel far withdrawn,
That lurks by lonely ways!
Where’er we roam—along the brink
Of Rhine—or by the sweeping Po,
&n
bsp; Through Alpine vale, or champain wide,
Whate’er we look on, at our side
Be Charity!—to bid us think,
And feel, if we would know.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XV
AFTER-THOUGHT
O LIFE! without thy chequered scene
Of right and wrong, of weal and woe,
Success and failure, could a ground
For magnanimity be found;
For faith, ‘mid ruined hopes, serene?
Or whence could virtue flow?
Pain entered through a ghastly breach—
Nor while sin lasts must effort cease;
Heaven upon earth’s an empty boast;
But, for the bowers of Eden lost, 10
Mercy has placed within our reach
A portion of God’s peace.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XVI
SCENE ON THE LAKE OF BRIENTZ
“WHAT know we of the Blest above
But that they sing and that they love?”
Yet, if they ever did inspire
A mortal hymn, or shaped the choir,
Now, where those harvest Damsels float
Homeward in their rugged Boat,
(While all the ruffling winds are fled—
Each slumbering on some mountain’s head)
Now, surely, hath that gracious aid
Been felt, that influence is displayed. 10
Pupils of Heaven, in order stand
The rustic Maidens, every hand
Upon a Sister’s shoulder laid,—
To chant, as glides the boat along,
A simple, but a touching, song;
To chant, as Angels do above,
The melodies of Peace in love!
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XVII
ENGELBERG, THE HILL OF ANGELS
FOR gentlest uses, oft-times Nature takes
The work of Fancy from her willing hands;
And such a beautiful creation makes
As renders needless spells and magic wands,
And for the boldest tale belief commands.
When first mine eyes beheld that famous Hill,
The sacred ENGELBERG, celestial Bands,
With intermingling motions soft and still,
Hung round its top, on wings that changed their hues at will.
Clouds do not name those Visitants; they were 10
The very Angels whose authentic lays,
Sung from that heavenly ground in middle air,
Made known the spot where piety should raise
A holy Structure to the Almighty’s praise.
Resplendent Apparition! if in vain
My ears did listen, ‘twas enough to gaze;
And watch the slow departure of the train,
Whose skirts the glowing Mountain thirsted to detain.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XVIII
OUR LADY OF THE SNOW
MEEK Virgin Mother, more benign
Than fairest Star, upon the height
Of thy own mountain, set to keep
Lone vigils through the hours of sleep,
What eye can look upon thy shrine
Untroubled at the sight?
These crowded offerings as they hang
In sign of misery relieved,
Even these, without intent of theirs,
Report of comfortless despairs, 10
Of many a deep and cureless pang
And confidence deceived.
To Thee, in this aerial cleft,
As to a common centre, tend
All sufferers that no more rely
On mortal succour—all who sigh
And pine, of human hope bereft,
Nor wish for earthly friend.
And hence, O Virgin Mother mild!
Though plenteous flowers around thee blow, 20
Not only from the dreary strife
Of Winter, but the storms of life,
Thee have thy Votaries aptly styled,
OUR LADY OF THE SNOW.
Even for the Man who stops not here,
But down the irriguous valley hies,
Thy very name, O Lady! flings,
O’er blooming fields and gushing springs,
A tender sense of shadowy fear,
And chastening sympathies! 30
Nor falls that intermingling shade
To summer-gladsomeness unkind:
It chastens only to requite
With gleams of fresher, purer, light;
While, o’er the flower-enamelled glade,
More sweetly breathes the wind.
But on!—a tempting downward way,
A verdant path before us lies;
Clear shines the glorious sun above;
Then give free course to joy and love, 40
Deeming the evil of the day
Sufficient for the wise.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XIX
EFFUSION IN PRESENCE OF THE PAINTED TOWER OF TELL, AT ALTORF
WHAT though the Italian pencil wrought not here,
Nor such fine skill as did the meed bestow
On Marathonian valour, yet the tear
Springs forth in presence of this gaudy show,
While narrow cares their limits overflow.
Thrice happy, burghers, peasants, warriors old,
Infants in arms, and ye, that as ye go
Homeward or schoolward, ape what ye behold!
Heroes before your time, in frolic fancy bold!
And when that calm Spectatress from on high 10
Looks down—the bright and solitary Moon,
Who never gazes but to beautify;
And snow-fed torrents, which the blaze of noon
Roused into fury, murmur a soft tune
That fosters peace, and gentleness recalls;
‘Then’ might the passing Monk receive a boon
Of saintly pleasure from these pictured walls,
While, on the warlike groups, the mellowing lustre falls.
How blest the souls who when their trials come
Yield not to terror or despondency, 20
But face like that sweet Boy their mortal doom,
Whose head the ruddy apple tops, while he
Expectant stands beneath the linden tree:
He quakes not like the timid forest game,
But smiles—the hesitating shaft to free;
Assured that Heaven its justice will proclaim,
And to his Father give its own unerring aim.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XX
THE TOWN OF SCHWYTZ
BY antique Fancy trimmed—though lowly, bred
To dignity—in thee, O SCHWYTZ! are seen
The genuine features of the golden mean;
Equality by Prudence governed,
Or jealous Nature ruling in her stead;
And, therefore, art thou blest with peace, serene
As that of the sweet fields and meadows green
In unambitious compass round thee spread.
Majestic BERNE, high on her guardian steep,
Holding a central station of command, 10
Might well be styled this noble body’s HEAD;
Thou, lodged ‘mid mountainous entrenchments deep,
Its HEART; and ever may the heroic Land
Thy name, O SCHWYTZ, in happy freedom keep!
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XXI
ON HEARING THE “RANZ DES VACHES” ON THE TOP OF THE PASS OF ST. GOTHARD
I LISTEN—but no faculty of mine
Avails those modulations to detect,
Which, heard in foreign lands, the Swiss affect
With tenderest passion; leaving him to pine
(So fame reports) and die,—his sweet-breathed kine
Remembering, and green Alpine pastures decked
With vernal flowers. Yet may we not reject
The ta
le as fabulous.—Here while I recline,
Mindful how others by this simple Strain
Are moved, for me—upou this Mountain named 10
Of God himself from dread pre-eminence—
Aspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed,
Yield to the Music’s touching influence;
And joys of distant home my heart enchain.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XXII
FORT FUENTES
DREAD hour! when, upheaved by war’s sulphurous blast,
This sweet-visaged Cherub of Parian stone
So far from the holy enclosure was cast,
To couch in this thicket of brambles alone,
To rest where the lizard may bask in the palm
Of his half-open hand pure from blemish or speck;
And the green, gilded snake, without troubling the calm
Of the beautiful countenance, twine round his neck;
Where haply (kind service to Piety due!)
When winter the grove of its mantle bereaves, 10
Some bird (like our own honoured redbreast) may strew
The desolate Slumberer with moss and with leaves.
FUENTES once harboured the good and the brave,
Nor to her was the dance of soft pleasure unknown;
Her banners for festal enjoyment did wave
While the thrill of her fifes thro’ the mountains was blown:
Now gads the wild vine o’er the pathless ascent;—
O silence of Nature, how deep is thy sway,
When the whirlwind of human destruction is spent,
Our tumults appeased, and our strifes passed away! 20
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820, XXIII
THE CHURCH OF SAN SALVADOR SEEN FROM THE LAKE OF LUGANO
THOU sacred Pile! whose turrets rise
From yon steep mountain’s loftiest stage,
Guarded by lone San Salvador;
Sink (if thou must) as heretofore,
To sulphurous bolts a sacrifice,
But ne’er to human rage!
On Horeb’s top, on Sinai, deigned
To rest the universal Lord:
Why leap the fountains from their cells
Where everlasting Bounty dwells?—10
That, while the Creature is sustained,
His God may be adored.
Cliffs, fountains, rivers, seasons, times—
Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth Page 265