On as we move, a softer prospect opes, Calm huts, and lawns between, and sylvan slopes. While mists, suspended on th' expiring gale, 265 Moveless o'er-hang the deep secluded vale, The beams of evening, slipping soft between, Light up of tranquil joy a sober scene; Winding it's dark-green wood and emerald glade, The still vale lengthens underneath the shade; 270 While in soft gloom the scattering bowers recede, Green dewy lights adorn the freshen'd mead, Where solitary forms illumin'd stray Turning with quiet touch the valley's hay, On the low [N] brown wood-huts delighted sleep 275 Along the brighten'd gloom reposing deep. While pastoral pipes and streams the landscape lull, And bells of passing mules that tinkle dull, In solemn shapes before th' admiring eye Dilated hang the misty pines on high, 280 Huge convent domes with pinnacles and tow'rs, And antique castles seen tho' drizzling show'rs. From such romantic dreams my sould awake, Lo! Fear looks silent down on Uri's lake, By whose unpathway'd margin still and dread 285 Was never heard the plodding peasant's tread. Tower like a wall the naked rocks, or reach Far o'er the secret water dark with beech, More high, to where creation seems to end, Shade above shade the desert pines ascend, 290 And still, below, where mid the savage scene Peeps out a little speck of smilgin green, There with his infants man undaunted creeps And hangs his small wood-hut upon the steeps. A garden-plot the desert air perfumes, 295 Mid the dark pines a little orchard blooms, A zig-zag path from the domestic skiff Threading the painful cragg surmounts the cliff. --Before those hermit doors, that never know The face of traveller passing to and fro, 300 No peasant leans upon his pole, to tell For whom at morning toll'd the funeral bell, Their watch-dog ne'er his angry bark forgoes, Touch'd by the beggar's moan of human woes, The grass seat beneath their casement shade 305 The pilgrim's wistful eye hath never stay'd. --There, did the iron Genius not disdain The gentle Power that haunts the myrtle plain, There might the love-sick maiden sit, and chide Th' insuperable rocks and severing tide, 310 There watch at eve her lover's sun-gilt sail Approaching, and upbraid the tardy gale, There list at midnight till is heard no more, Below, the echo of his parting oar, There hang in fear, when growls the frozen stream, 315 To guide his dangerous tread the taper's gleam.