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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

By antique Fancy trimmed, though lowly, bredTo dignity in thee, O Schwytz! are seenThe genuine features of the golden mean;Equality by Prudence governed,Or jealous Nature ruling in her stead;And, therefore, art thou blest with peace, sereneAs that of the sweet fields and meadows greenIn unambitious compass round thee spread.Majestic Berne, high on her guardian steep,Holding a … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XX. – The Town Of Schwytz, By: William Wordsworth

Meek Virgin Mother, more benignThan fairest Star, upon the heightOf thy own mountain, set to keepLone vigils through the hours of sleep,What eye can look upon thy shrineUntroubled at the sight? These crowded offerings as they hangIn sign of misery relieved,Even these, without intent of theirs,Report of comfortless despairs,Of many a deep and cureless pangAnd confidence … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XVIII. – Our Lady Of The Snow, By: William Wordsworth

For gentlest uses, oft-times Nature takesThe work of Fancy from her willing hands;And such a beautiful creation makesAs 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 … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XVII. – Engelberg, The Hill Of Angels, By: William Wordsworth

"What know we of the Blest aboveBut that they sing and that they love?"Yet, if they ever did inspireA mortal hymn, or shaped the choir,Now, where those harvest Damsels floatHomeward in their rugged Boat,(While all the ruffling winds are fledEach slumbering on some mountain's head)Now, surely, hath that gracious aidBeen felt, that influence is displayed.Pupils of Heaven, in … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 – XVI. – Scene On The Lake Of Brientz, By: William Wordsworth