Hence shall we seek where fair Locarno smiles
  Embower’d in walnut slopes and citron isles,
  Or charms that smile on Tusa’s evening stream,
  While mid dim towers and woods her [I] waters gleam;
  From the bright wave, in solemn gloom, retire 180
  The dull-red steeps, and darkening still, aspire,
  To where afar rich orange lustres glow
  Round undistinguish’d clouds, and rocks, and snow;
  Or, led where Viamala’s chasms confine
  Th’ indignant waters of the infant Rhine, 185
  Bend o’er th’ abyss?—­the else impervious gloom
  His burning eyes with fearful light illume. 
  The Grison gypsey here her tent has plac’d,
  Sole human tenant of the piny waste;
  Her tawny skin, dark eyes, and glossy locks, 190
  Bend o’er the smoke that curls beneath the rocks.

 —­The mind condemn’d, without reprieve, to go
  O’er life’s long deserts with it’s charge of woe,
  With sad congratulation joins the train,
  Where beasts and men together o’er the plain 195
  Move on,—­a mighty caravan of pain;
  Hope, strength, and courage, social suffering brings,
  Freshening the waste of sand with shades and springs.

 —­She solitary through the desert drear
  Spontaneous wanders, hand in hand with Fear. 200

  A giant moan along the forest swells
  Protracted, and the twilight storm foretells,
  And, ruining from the cliffs their deafening load
  Tumbles, the wildering Thunder slips abroad;
  On the high summits Darkness comes and goes, 205
  Hiding their fiery clouds, their rocks, and snows;
  The torrent, travers’d by the lustre broad,
  Starts like a horse beside the flashing road;
  In the roof’d [J] bridge, at that despairing hour,
  She seeks a shelter from the battering show’r. 210
 —­Fierce comes the river down; the crashing wood
  Gives way, and half it’s pines torment the flood;
  [K] Fearful, beneath, the Water-spirits call,
  And the bridge vibrates, tottering to its fall.

 —­Heavy, and dull, and cloudy is the night, 215
  No star supplies the comfort of it’s light,
  Glimmer the dim-lit Alps, dilated, round,
  And one sole light shifts in the vale profound;
  While, opposite, the waning moon hangs still,
  And red, above her melancholy hill. 220
  By the deep quiet gloom appall’d, she sighs,
  Stoops her sick head, and shuts her weary eyes. 
 —­Breaking th’ ascending roar of desert floods,
  And insect buzz, that stuns the sultry woods,
  She hears, upon the mountain forest’s brow, 225
  The death-dog, howling loud and long, below;
  On viewless fingers counts the valley-clock,
  Followed by drowsy crow of midnight cock.