Poetry Catalog

I With nodding plumes, and lightly drestLike foresters in leaf-green vest,The Helvetian Mountaineers, on groundFor Tell's dread archery renowned,Before the target stood, to claimThe guerdon of the steadiest aim.Loud was the rifle-gun's reportA startling thunder quick and short!But, flying through the heights around,Echo prolonged a tell-tale soundOf hearts and hands alike … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XXIV. – The Italian Itinerant And The Swiss Goatherd. – Part II, By: William Wordsworth

I Now that the farewell tear is dried,Heaven prosper thee, be hope thy guideHope be thy guide, adventurous Boy;The wages of thy travel, joy!Whether for London bound, to trillThy mountain notes with simple skill;Or on thy head to poise a showOf Images in seemly row;The graceful form of milk-white Steed,Or Bird that soared with Ganymede;Or through our hamlets thou wilt bearThe … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XXIV. – The Italian Itinerant And The Swiss Goatherd. – Part I, By: William Wordsworth

Seen From The Lake Of Lugano Thou sacred Pile! whose turrets riseFrom 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, deignedTo rest the universal Lord:Why leap the fountains from their cellsWhere everlasting Bounty dwells?That, while the … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XXIII. – The Church Of San Salvador, By: William Wordsworth

Dread hour! when, upheaved by war's sulphurous blast,This sweet-visaged Cherub of Parian stoneSo far from the holy enclosure was cast,To couch in this thicket of brambles alone, To rest where the lizard may bask in the palmOf his half-open hand pure from blemish or speck;And the green, gilded snake, without troubling the calmOf the beautiful countenance, twine round his … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XXII. – Fort Fuentes, By: William Wordsworth

I listen, but no faculty of mineAvails those modulations to detect,Which, heard in foreign lands, the Swiss affectWith tenderest passion; leaving him to pine(So fame reports) and die, his sweet-breathed kineRemembering, and green Alpine pastures deckedWith vernal flowers. Yet may we not rejectThe tale as fabulous. Here while I recline,Mindful how others by this simple StrainAre … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XXI. – On Hearing The “Ranz Des Vaches” On The Top Of The Pass Of St. Gothard, By: William Wordsworth