(OF SAINT GOTHARD) I LISTEN, -- but no faculty of mine Avails those modulations to detect, Which, heard in foreign lands, the Swiss affect With tenderest passion; leaving him to pine (So fame reports) and die, -- his sweet-breathed kine Remembering, and green Alpine pastures decked With vernal flowers. Yet may we not reject The tale as fabulous. -- Here while I recline, Mindful how others by this simple strain Are moved, for me, -- upon this mountain named Of God himself from dread pre-eminence, -- Aspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed, Yield to the music's touching influence; And joys of distant home my heart enchain. |