There, dress'd in each sublimer grace Geneva's happy scene I trace; Her lake, from whose broad bosom thrown Rushes the loud impetuous Rhone, And bears his waves with mazy sweep In rapid torrents to the deep— Oh for a Muse less weak of wing, High on yon Alpine steeps to spring, And tell in verse what they disclose As well as you have told in prose; How wrapt in snows and icy showers, Eternal winter, horrid lowers Upon the mountain's awful brow, While purple summer blooms below; How icy structures rear their forms Pale products of ten thousand storms; Where the full sun-beam powerless falls On crystal arches, columns, walls, Yet paints the proud fantastic height With all the various hues of light. Why is no poet call'd to birth In such a favour'd spot of earth? How high his vent'rous Muse might rise, And proudly scorn to ask supplies From the Parnassian hill, the fire Of verse, @3Mont Blanc@1 might well inspire. O SWITZERLAND! how oft these eyes Desire to view thy mountains rise; How fancy loves thy steeps to climb, So wild, so solemn, so sublime; And o'er thy happy vales to roam, Where freedom rears her humble home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY ON MR. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE by WILLIAM BASSE PLEAD FOR ME by EMILY JANE BRONTE A FRAGMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SACRIFICE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON SONNET: 9 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |