Trembling, I look upon the secret springs Of that licentious craving in the mind 65 To act the God among external things, To bind, on apt suggestion, or unbind;[558] And marvel not that antique Faith inclined To crowd the world with metamorphosis, Vouchsafed in pity or in wrath assigned; 70 Such insolent temptations wouldst thou miss, Avoid these sights; nor brood o'er Fable's dark abyss! _Still, with those white-robed Shapes--a living Stream, The glacier Pillars join in solemn guise._ This Procession is a part of the sacramental service performed once a month. In the valley of Engelberg we had the good fortune to be present at the _Grand Festival_ of the Virgin--but the Procession on that day, though consisting of upwards of 1000 persons, assembled from all branches of the sequestered valley, was much less striking (notwithstanding the sublimity of the surrounding scenery): it wanted both the simplicity of the other and the accompaniment of the Glacier-columns, whose sisterly resemblance to the _moving_ Figures gave it a most beautiful and solemn peculiarity.--W. W. 1837. * * * * * "Sunday, Sept. 17. Chamouny.--... As we passed one of the little clustering villages in the Vale of Chamouny, standing at the foot of one of the five glaciers (the Argentière I believe), its pretty white Church at that moment was encircled by a most interesting procession--bare-headed men first carried the symbols or banners, who were followed by a train of females: two and two winding round the building; white garments thrown over their heads and covering their shoulders, like so many nuns; but in that romantic place, the situation of the Church, and the costume so peculiar, it was quite impossible not to connect the moving belt of white pyramids with the snowy ones immediately above them. We were afterwards told by a young priest, as we passed along the green meadows of Orsina, whither he was going to do duty, and with whom D. fell into conversation, that it was sacrament day, and that the ceremony we had seen occurs once a month in all the valleys, and that those pure vestments do not belong to the Church, but to the Individuals who wear them. Our genial companion told D. that he lived upon the Trient, in a village high above its banks, and where, had he been at home, he would have been glad to have received us as his guests...." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.) * * * * *