But soon a peopled region on the sight Opens--a little world of calm delight; [53] Where mists, suspended on the expiring gale, 210 Spread roof like o'er the deep secluded vale, [54] And beams of evening slipping in between, Gently illuminate a sober scene:--[55] Here, on the brown wood-cottages [R] they sleep, [56] There, over rock or sloping pasture creep. [57] 215 On as we journey, in clear view displayed, The still vale lengthens underneath its shade Of low-hung vapour: on the freshened mead The green light sparkles;--the dim bowers recede. [58] While pastoral pipes and streams the landscape lull, 220 And bells of passing mules that tinkle dull, In solemn shapes before the admiring eye Dilated hang the misty pines on high, Huge convent domes with pinnacles and towers, And antique castles seen through gleamy [59] showers. 225 From such romantic dreams, my soul, awake! To sterner pleasure, where, by Uri's lake In Nature's pristine majesty outspread, Winds neither road nor path for foot to tread: [60] The rocks rise naked as a wall, or stretch, 230 Far o'er the water, hung with groves of beech; [61] Aerial pines from loftier steeps ascend, Nor stop but where creation seems to end. [62] Yet here and there, if 'mid the savage scene Appears a scanty plot of smiling green, 235 Up from the lake a zigzag path will creep To reach a small wood-hut hung boldly on the steep. [63] --Before those thresholds (never can they know [64] The face of traveller passing to and fro,) No peasant leans upon his pole, to tell 240 For whom at morning tolled the funeral bell; Their watch-dog ne'er his angry bark foregoes, Touched by the beggar's moan of human woes; The shady porch ne'er offered a cool seat To pilgrims overcome by summer's heat. [65] 245 Yet thither the world's business finds its way At times, and tales unsought beguile the day, And _there_ are those fond thoughts which Solitude, [66] However stern, is powerless to exclude. [67] There doth the maiden watch her lover's sail 250 Approaching, and upbraid the tardy gale; At midnight listens till his parting oar, And its last echo, can be heard no more. [68]