sides
  He opens of his feet the sanguine tides, 395
  Weak and more weak the issuing current eyes
  Lapp’d by the panting tongue of thirsty skies. [R]
 —­At once bewildering mists around him close,
  And cold and hunger are his least of woes;
  The Demon of the snow with angry roar 400
  Descending, shuts for aye his prison door. 
  Craz’d by the strength of hope at morn he eyes
  As sent from heav’n the raven of the skies,
  Then with despair’s whole weight his spirits sink,
  No bread to feed him, and the snow his drink, 405
  While ere his eyes can close upon the day,
  The eagle of the Alps o’ershades his prey. 
 —­Meanwhile his wife and child with cruel hope
  All night the door at every moment ope;
  Haply that child in fearful doubt may gaze, 410
  Passing his father’s bones in future days,
  Start at the reliques of that very thigh,
  On which so oft he prattled when a boy.

  Hence shall we turn where, heard with fear afar,
  Thunders thro’ echoing pines the headlong Aar? 415
  Or rather stay to taste the mild delights
  Of pensive [S] Underwalden’s pastoral heights?

 —­Is there who mid these awful wilds has seen
  The native Genii walk the mountain green? 
  Or heard, while other worlds their charms reveal, 420
  Soft music from th’ aereal summit steal? 
  While o’er the desert, answering every close,
  Rich steam of sweetest perfume comes and goes. 
 —­And sure there is a secret Power that reigns
  Here, where no trace of man the spot profanes, 425
  Nought but the herds that pasturing upward creep,
  Hung dim-discover’d from the dangerous steep,
  [T] Or summer hamlet, flat and bare, on high
  Suspended, mid the quiet of the sky.

  How still! no irreligious sound or sight 430
  Rouzes the soul from her severe delight. 
  An idle voice the sabbath region fills
  Of Deep that calls to Deep across the hills,
  Broke only by the melancholy sound
  Of drowsy bells for ever tinkling round; 435
  Faint wail of eagle melting into blue
  Beneath the cliffs, and pine-woods steady sugh; [U]
  The solitary heifer’s deepen’d low;
  Or rumbling heard remote of falling snow. 
  Save that, the stranger seen below, the boy 440
  Shouts from the echoing hills with savage joy.

  When warm from myrtle bays and tranquil seas,
  Comes on, to whisper hope, the [V] vernal breeze,
  When hums the mountain bee in May’s glad ear,
  And emerald isles to spot the heights appear, 445
  When shouts and lowing herds the valley fill,
  And louder torrents stun the noon-tide hill,
  When fragrant scents beneath th’