At such an hour I heav'd the human sigh, When roar'd the sullen Arve in anger by, That not for thee, delicious vale! unfold Thy reddening orchards, and thy fields of gold; 705 That thou, the [Ff] slave of slaves, art doom'd to pine, While no Italian arts their charms combine To teach the skirt of thy dark cloud to shine; For thy poor babes that, hurrying from the door, With pale-blue hands, and eyes that fix'd implore, 710 Dead muttering lips, and hair of hungry white, Besiege the traveller whom they half affright. --Yes, were it mine, the cottage meal to share Forc'd from my native mountains bleak and bare; O'er [Gg] Anet's hopeless seas of marsh to stray, 715 Her shrill winds roaring round my lonely way; To scent the sweets of Piedmont's breathing rose, And orange gale that o'er Lugano blows; In the wide range of many a weary round, Still have my pilgrim feet unfailing found, 720 As despot courts their blaze of gems display, Ev'n by the secret cottage far away The lilly of domestic joy decay; While Freedom's farthest hamlets blessings share, Found still beneath her smile, and only there. 725 The casement shade more luscious woodbine binds, And to the door a neater pathway winds, At early morn the careful housewife, led To cull her dinner from it's garden bed, Of weedless herbs a healthier prospect sees, 730 While hum with busier joy her happy bees; In brighter rows her table wealth aspires, And laugh with merrier blaze her evening fires; Her infant's cheeks with fresher roses glow, And wilder graces sport around their brow; 735 By clearer taper lit a cleanlier board Receives at supper hour her tempting hoard; The chamber hearth with fresher boughs is spread, And whiter is the hospitable bed.