'Tis pleasant to wander along on the sand

Beneath the high cliff that is hollowed in caves;

When the fisher has put off his boat from the land,

And the prawn-catcher wades thro' the short rippling waves.

While fast run before us the sandling and plover,
Intent on the crabs and the sand-eels to feed,
And here on a rock which the tide will soon cover,
We'll find us a seat that is tapestried with weed.

Bright gleam the white sails in the slant rays of even,
And stud as with silver the broad level main,
While glowing clouds float on the fair face of Heaven,
And the mirror-like water reflects them again.

How various the shades of marine vegetation,

Thrown here the rough flints and the pebbles among,
The feather'd conferva of deepest carnation,
The dark purple slake and the olive sea-thong.

While Flora herself unreluctantly mingles

Her garlands with those that the Nereids have worn,

For the yellow-horned poppy springs up on the shingles,

And convolvulas rival the rays of the morn.

But now to retire from the rock we have warning,
Already the water encircles our seat,

And slowly the tide of the evening returning,

The moonbeams reflect in the waves at our feet.

Ah! whether as now the mild Summer-sea flowing,
Scarce wrinkles the sands as it murmurs on shore,
Or fierce wintry-whirlwinds impetuously blowing
Bid high maddening surges resistlessly roar;

That Power, which can put the wide waters in motion,

Then bid the vast billows repose at His word;

Fills the mind with deep reverence, while Earth, Air, and Ocean,
Alike of the Universe speak Him the Lord.

Are heard her sacred tones; the fitful sweep Arose; and first the infant sunbeam smil'd

Of winds across the steep,
Through withered bents-romantic note and

clear,

Meet for a bermit's ear,

The wheeling kite's wild, solitary cry,
And, scarcely heard so high,

The dashing waters, when the air is still,
From many a torrent rill,

Warm on thy splendid bosom; still thy form
Climbs like the warring Titan in the storm;
And snows that hill and lowly valley drown,
Exalt the splendour of thy glittering crown;
Nobly it swells like foam upon the main,
The brightest pearl of all the splendid chain:
A tumulus to some proud chieftain rais'd
By warring demi-gods, the summit glaz'd
With ice and frosted silver; when the gale

That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell, Strips from its ivory breast the misty veil, Track'd by the blue mist well:

Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart,

For thought to do her part.

MONT BLANC.

ANON.

SIRE of the stormy Alps! majestic power! On whom the battling winds tremendous shower

The fury of the heavens-hail, snow, and

rain;

And lightning pours its arrowy fires in vain!
Cold at thy feet, like sparkles on the wave,
The thunderbolt falls harmless; from the
grave

Of Chaos first thy temples rose to light,

It seems all bright in renovated bloom,
A sculptur'd Venus, springing from the tomb;
The mammoth of the mountains! proudest
bark

Amidst a snowy fleet; surviving ark,
Above a deep and roaring deluge pil'd!
Nature's pantheon! temple of the wild!
In clouds serene, 'midst rocking earth secure;
Cold as the vestal's bosom, and as pure.
Drest in his silver robes the monarch towers,
And glitters in the moonbeams; mellow
showers

Of light descending on his glist'ning crest,
Fall sweet as dew upon the lily's breast;
A nurse, whose paps those mighty floods
supply,

That else would see their stony channels dry;
A barrier plac'd by heaven, a pathless mound,
To guard sweet Italy's enchanted ground,
And fence her gardens from the spoiler's
hands,

And all the northern clime's ferocious bands

THE ASCENT OF THE GREAT ST. BERNARD.

HUSENBETH.

HAVE ye dwelt in the land of the brave and the free?
Have ye liv'd in the keen mountain air?

Have ye lov'd the steep rock and the torrent to see,

Or to view the rough Alpine chasseur ?

Have ye climb'd the high mountain, and trod the deep snow?

Have ye wander'd with joy o'er the plain?

Or look'd down on the foam of the waters below,

With delight softly mingled with pain?