Though the barr'd windows, barr'd against the wolf, At their long board. The fare indeed was such But might have pleas'd a nicer taste than mine; And sheds a grace on all. Theirs time as yet Music; and gathering news from them that came, The monks are of the order of St. Augustine. They are all young men, who enter upon this devoted service at eighteen, and few remain, if they survive, the term of their vow, fifteen years; the severity of the winter impairing their health, so that they are obliged to retire to a more genial climate. 2 These tourmentes, as they are called, are of frequent occurrence, and almost every year are attended with loss of life. They consist of a kind of whirlwind, which is either accompanied by a fall of snow, or fills the air with that recently falling, while the flakes are still dry, and tosses them in the air like dust. In an instant, the atmosphere is obscured with snow, and earth, sky, mountain, landmark, every thing, is obliterated from the view of the unfortunate traveller. Sometimes these gusts sweep the rock, in some places, bare of snow, heaping it up in others, perhaps, to a height of 20 feet across the path, so that at every step the wayfarer fears to fall Rose, and the snow roll'd on in ocean-waves, Homeward he drags an old man and a boy, St. Bruno's once 3 where, when the winds were hush'd, Nor from the cataract the voice came up, You might have heard the mole work underground, So great the stillness of that place; none seen, Save when from rock to rock a hermit cross'd - By some rude bridge or one at midnight toll'd On the St. Gothard, into an abyss, or to sink into the snow. large parties of men and animals have been overwhelmed by these snow wreaths, which sometimes attain a height of 40 or 50 feet. The guides can generally foresee the occurrence of these tourmentes by the appearance of the sky and other weather signs. Alluding to Barri, a dog of great renown in his day. His skin is stuffed, and preserved in the Museum of Berne. The highest peak of the mountain. 3 The Grande Chartreuse, near Grenoble. St. Bruno retired to this spot in 1084, and from a neighbouring village, Cartuse or Chartreuse, the order derived its name. Of Silence. Nor is that sequester'd spot, Vale1," "The Shady To me unknown; that house so rich of old, The poet's payment. But, among them all, Thaw not, but gather—there is that within, Which, where it comes, makes summer; and, in thought, Oft am I sitting on the bench beneath Their garden-plot, where all that vegetates Those from the south ascending, ev'ry step ROGERS. 1 The Benedictine Abbey of Vallombrosa, formerly called Acqua Bella, near Florence. It was founded about the middle of the 11th century, and was visited by Ariosto and Milton. The latter was there at the fall of the leaf, and describes it in the 4th book of Paradise Lost. 2 Even in summer the ice does not always melt in the lake on the summit, and some years (as in 1816), not a week has passed without snow falling. It always freezes early in the morning, even in the height of summer, and the hospice is rarely four months clear from deep snow. Around the building, it averages 7 or 8 feet, and the drifts sometimes rest against it, and accumulate as high as 40 feet. The severest cold recorded was 29° below zero of Fahrenheit, the greatest summer heat 68°. I WOULD not be THE ASPEN LEAF. A leaf on yonder aspen tree! So feebly fram'd, so lightly hung, By the wing of an insect stirr'd and swung ; Brighten'd and dimm'd like a varying glass, A leaf on yonder aspen tree. It is not because the autumn sere Would change my merry guise and cheer,- Might life be an endless summer's day, I would not be, I would not be, Yet weakness and change perchance are thine, Than befal the leaves of yonder tree! What if they flutter? their life is a dance; Or toy with the sunbeam? they live in his glance; In to thyself, to thine own hidden shrine. What there dost thou worship? what deem'st thou divine? Thy hopes,-are they steadfast, and holy, and high? Are they built on a rock? are they rais'd to the sky? Thy deep secret yearnings, oh! whither point they? To the triumphs of earth, to the toys of a day?— Thy friendships and feelings,-doth impulse pre vail, To make them, and mar them, as wind swells the sail? Thy life's ruling passion-thy being's first aimWhat are they? and yield they contentment or shame? Spirit, proud spirit, ponder thy state, If thine the leaf's lightness, not thine the leaf's fate, Thou must live-live for ever-in glory or gloom, MISS JEWSBURY. A THANKFUL HEART. A THOUSAND blessings, Lord, to us thou dost impart: We ask one blessing more, O Lord-a thankful heart. TRENCH. |