His last dread pleasure! watches ...

When the poor heart has all its joys resigned,
Why does their sad remembrance cleave behind?

Soft o'er the waters mournful measures swell,
Unlocking tender thought's "memorial cell";
Past pleasures are transformed to mortal pains
And poison spreads along the listener's veins.

While poison ...

Fair smiling lights the purpled hills illume!

Soft ..

Soon flies the little joy to man allowed,
And grief before him travels like a cloud:

For come Diseases on, and Penury's rage,
Labour, and Care, and Pain, and dismal Age,
Till, Hope-deserted, long in vain his breath
Implores the dreadful untried sleep of Death.

A Temple stands; which holds an awful shrine,

Pale, dreadful faces round the Shrine appear,

While strives a secret Power to hush the crowd,
Pain's wild rebellious burst proclaims her rights aloud

Mid muttering prayers all sounds of torment meet,
Dire clap of hands, distracted chafe of feet;
While loud and dull ascends the weeping cry,
Surely in other thoughts contempt may die.

—The tall Sun, tiptoe ...

At such an hour there are who love to stray,
And meet the advancing Pilgrims ere the day

Now let us meet the Pilgrims ere the day
Close on the remnant of their weary way;

For ye are drawing tow'rd that sacred floor,
Where the charmed worm of pain shall gnaw no more.

While they are drawing toward the sacred floor

... for you ...

—Now with a tearful kiss each other greet,
Nor longer naked be your toil-worn feet,

There some with tearful kiss each other greet,
And some, with reverence, wash their toil-worn feet.

Yes I will see you when you first behold

... ye ...

... the hands ...

Last let us turn to where Chamouny shields,

Bosomed in gloomy woods, ...

Here lawns and shades by breezy rivulets fann'd,
Here all the Seasons revel hand in hand.

—Red stream the cottage-lights; the landscape fades,
Erroneous wavering mid the twilight shades.

Alone ascends that Mountain named of white,

Alone ascends that Hill of matchless height,

... amid ...

Mysterious ...

... 'mid ...

At such an hour I heaved a pensive sigh,
When roared the sullen Arve in anger by,

... delicious ...

Hard lot!—for no Italian arts are thine
To cheat, or chear, to soften, or refine.

To soothe or cheer, ...

Beloved Freedom! were it mine to stray,
With shrill winds roaring ...

O'er ...

... o'er Lugano blows;
In the wide ranges of many a varied round,
Fleet as my passage was, I still have found
That where proud courts their blaze of gems display,
The lilies of domestic joy decay,

That where despotic courts their gems display,

In thy dear ...

The casement's shed more luscious woodbine binds,
And to the door a neater pathway winds;

At early morn, the careful housewife, led
To cull her dinner from its garden bed,
Of weedless herbs a healthier prospect sees,
While hum with busier joy her happy bees;
In brighter rows her table wealth aspires,
And laugh with merrier blaze her evening fires;

Her infants' cheeks with fresher roses glow,
And wilder graces sport around their brow;

By clearer taper lit, a cleanlier board
Receives at supper hour her tempting hoard;
The chamber hearth with fresher boughs is spread,
And whiter is the hospitable bed.

And oh, fair France! though now along the shade
Where erst at will the grey-clad peasant strayed,
Gleam war's discordant garments through the trees,
And the red banner mocks the froward breeze;

... discordant vestments through the trees,
And the red banner fluctuates in the breeze;

... though in the rural shade
Where at his will, so late, the grey-clad peasant strayed,
Now, clothed in war's discordant garb, he sees
The three-striped banner fluctuate on the breeze;

Though now no more thy maids their voices suit
To the low-warbled breath of twilight lute,
And, heard the pausing village hum between,
No solemn songstress lull the fading green,

Though martial songs have banish'd songs of love,
And nightingales forsake the village grove,

While, as Night bids the startling uproar die,
Sole sound, the Sourd renews his mournful cry!

Chasing those long long dreams, ...

... fainter pang ...

A more majestic tide^vi the water roll'd,
And glowed the sun-gilt groves in richer gold.

—Though Liberty shall soon, indignant, raise
Red on the hills his beacon's comet blaze;
Bid from on high his lonely cannon sound,
And on ten thousand hearths his shout rebound;
His larum-bell from village-tower to tower
Swing on the astounded ear its dull undying roar;

Yet, yet rejoice, though Pride's perverted ire
Rouze Hell's own aid, and wrap thy hills on fire!
Lo! from the innocuous flames, a lovely birth,
With its own Virtues springs another earth:

Nature, as in her prime, her virgin reign
Begins, and Love and Truth compose her train;
While, with a pulseless hand, and stedfast gaze,
Unbreathing Justice her still beam surveys.