Stranger! whose eyes a look of pity shew, Say, will you listen to a tale of woe? A tale in no unwonted horrors drest; But sweet is pity to an agéd breast. This voice did falter with old age before; 5 Sad recollections make it falter more. Beside the torrent and beneath a wood, High in these Alps my summer cottage stood; One daughter still remain'd to cheer my way, The evening-star of life's declining day: 10 Duly she hied to fill her milking-pail, Ere shout of herdsmen rang from cliff or vale; When she return'd, before the summer shiel, On the fresh grass she spread the dairy meal; Just as the snowy peaks began to lose 15 In glittering silver lights their rosy hues. Singing in woods or bounding o'er the lawn, No blither creature hail'd the early dawn; And if I spoke of hearts by pain oppress'd. When every friend is gone to them that rest; 20 Or of old men that leave, when they expire, Daughters, that should have perish'd with their sire-- Leave them to toil all day through paths unknown, And house at night behind some sheltering stone; Impatient of the thought, with lively cheer 25 She broke half-closed the tasteless tale severe. _She_ play'd with fancies of a gayer hue, Enamour'd of the scenes her _wishes_ drew; And oft she prattled with an eager tongue Of promised joys that would not loiter long, 30 Till with her tearless eyes so bright and fair, She seem'd to see them realis'd in air! In fancy oft, within some sunny dell, Where never wolf should howl or tempest yell, She built a little home of joy and rest, 35 And fill'd it with the friends whom she lov'd best: She named the inmates of her fancied cot, And gave to each his own peculiar lot; Which with our little herd abroad should roam, And which should tend the dairy's toil at home, 40 And now the hour approach'd which should restore Her lover from the wars, to part no more. Her whole frame fluttered with uneasy joy; I long'd myself to clasp the valiant boy; And though I strove to calm _her_ eager mood, 45 It was my own sole thought in solitude. I told it to the Saints amid my hymns-- For O! you know not, on an old man's limbs How thrillingly the pleasant sun-beams play, That shine upon his daughter's wedding-day. 50 I hoped, that those fierce tempests, soon to rave Unheard, unfelt, around _my_ mountain grave, Not undelightfully would break _her_ rest, While she lay pillow'd on her lover's breast; Or join'd his pious prayer for pilgrims driven 55 Out to the mercy of the winds of heaven. Yes! now the hour approach'd that should restore Her lover from the wars to part no more.