[Footnote IJ: The Julian Alps, also known as the Carnic Alps, bound the plains of Venetia, and curve round from Mount Terglu to the Dalmatian range, and the neighbourhood of Trieste.--ED.] [Footnote IK: Six miles from Menaggio, on Lake Lugano.--ED.] [Footnote IL: Compare _Musings near Aquapendente_ (April 1837), l. 62. This stanza was first included in the 1832 edition of the poems.--ED.] XXVII THE THREE COTTAGE GIRLS I How blest the Maid whose heart--yet free From Love's uneasy sovereignty-- Beats with a fancy running high, Her simple cares to magnify; Whom Labour, never urged to toil, 5 Hath cherished on a healthful soil; Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf; Whose heaviest sin it is to look Askance upon her pretty Self Reflected in some crystal brook; 10 Whom grief hath spared--who sheds no tear But in sweet pity; and can hear Another's praise from envy clear. II Such (but O lavish Nature! why That dark unfathomable eye, 15 Where lurks a Spirit that replies To stillest mood of softest skies, Yet hints at peace to be o'erthrown, Another's first, and then her own?) Such, haply, yon ITALIAN Maid, 20 Our Lady's laggard Votaress, Halting beneath the chestnut shade To accomplish there her loveliness: Nice aid maternal fingers lend; A Sister serves with slacker hand; 25 Then, glittering like a star, she joins the festal band. III How blest (if truth may entertain Coy fancy with a bolder strain) The HELVETIAN Girl--who daily braves, In her light skiff, the tossing waves, 30 And quits the bosom of the deep Only to climb the rugged steep! --Say whence that modulated shout! From Wood-nymph of Diana's throng? Or does the greeting to a rout 35 Of giddy Bacchanals belong? Jubilant outcry! rock and glade Resounded--but the voice obeyed The breath of an Helvetian Maid. IV Her beauty dazzles the thick wood; 40 Her courage animates the flood; Her steps[536] the elastic green-sward meets Returning unreluctant sweets; The mountains (as ye heard) rejoice Aloud, saluted by her voice! 45 Blithe Paragon of Alpine grace, Be as thou art--for through thy veins The blood of Heroes runs its race! And nobly wilt thou brook the chains That, for the virtuous, Life prepares; 50 The fetters which the Matron wears; The patriot Mother's weight of anxious cares! V