—­Bursts from the troubl’d Larch’s giant boughs
  The pie, and chattering breaks the night’s repose. 230
  Low barks the fox; by Havoc rouz’d the bear,
  Quits, growling, the white bones that strew his lair;
  The dry leaves stir as with the serpent’s walk,
  And, far beneath, Banditti voices talk;
  Behind her hill the Moon, all crimson, rides, 235
  And his red eyes the slinking Water hides;
  Then all is hush’d; the bushes rustle near,
  And with strange tinglings sings her fainting ear. 
 —­Vex’d by the darkness, from the piny gulf
  Ascending, nearer howls the famish’d wolf, 240
  While thro’ the stillness scatters wild dismay,
  Her babe’s small cry, that leads him to his prey.

  Now, passing Urseren’s open vale serene,
  Her quiet streams, and hills of downy green,
  Plunge with the Russ embrown’d by Terror’s breath, 245
  Where danger roofs the narrow walks of death;
  By floods, that, thundering from their dizzy height,
  Swell more gigantic on the stedfast sight;
  Black drizzling craggs, that beaten by the din,
  Vibrate, as if a voice complain’d within; 250
  Bare steeps, where Desolation stalks, afraid,
  Unstedfast, by a blasted yew upstay’d;
  By [L] cells whose image, trembling as he prays,
  Awe-struck, the kneeling peasant scarce surveys;
  Loose-hanging rocks the Day’s bless’d eye that hide, 255
  And [M] crosses rear’d to Death on every side,
  Which with cold kiss Devotion planted near,
  And, bending, water’d with the human tear,
  Soon fading “silent” from her upward eye,
  Unmov’d with each rude form of Danger nigh, 260
  Fix’d on the anchor left by him who saves
  Alike in whelming snows and roaring waves.

  On as we move, a softer prospect opes,
  Calm huts, and lawns between, and sylvan slopes. 
  While mists, suspended on th’ expiring gale, 265
  Moveless o’er-hang the deep secluded vale,
  The beams of evening, slipping soft between,
  Light up of tranquil joy a sober scene;
  Winding it’s dark-green wood and emerald glade,
  The still vale lengthens underneath the shade; 270
  While in soft gloom the scattering bowers recede,
  Green dewy lights adorn the freshen’d mead,
  Where solitary forms illumin’d stray
  Turning with quiet touch the valley’s hay,
  On the low [N] brown wood-huts delighted sleep 275
  Along the brighten’d gloom reposing deep. 
  While pastoral pipes and streams the landscape lull,
  And bells of passing mules that tinkle dull,
  In solemn shapes before th’ admiring eye
  Dilated hang the misty pines on high, 280
  Huge convent domes with pinnacles and tow’rs,
  And antique castles seen tho’ drizzling show’rs.