The corpse of poor Goddard was cast ashore on the estate of the same gentleman, who generously performed all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead as well as to the living. He caused a handsome mural monument to be erected in the church of Küsnacht, which records the premature fate of the young American, and on the shores too of the lake the traveller may read an inscription pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the waves.[559] LULLED by the sound of pastoral bells, Rude Nature's Pilgrims did we go, From the dread summit of the Queen[JE] Of mountains, through a deep ravine, Where, in her holy chapel, dwells 5 "Our Lady of the Snow." The sky was blue, the air was mild; Free were the streams and green the bowers; As if, to rough assaults unknown, The genial spot had _ever_ shown 10 A countenance that as sweetly smiled--[560] The face of summer-hours. And we were gay, our hearts at ease; With pleasure dancing through the frame We journeyed; all we knew of care--[561] 15 Our path that straggled here and there; Of trouble--but the fluttering breeze; Of Winter--but a name. If foresight could have rent the veil Of three short days--but hush--no more! 20 Calm is the grave, and calmer none Than that to which thy cares are gone, Thou Victim of the stormy gale; Asleep on ZURICH'S shore! Oh GODDARD! what art thou?--a name-- 25 A sunbeam followed by a shade! Nor more, for aught that time supplies, The great, the experienced, and the wise: Too much from this frail earth we claim, And therefore are betrayed. 30 We met, while festive mirth ran wild, Where, from a deep lake's mighty urn, Forth slips, like an enfranchised slave, A sea-green river, proud to lave, With current swift and undefiled, 35 The towers of old LUCERNE. We parted upon solemn ground Far-lifted towards the unfading sky; But all our thoughts were _then_ of Earth, That gives to common pleasures birth; 40 And nothing in our hearts we found That prompted even a sigh. Fetch, sympathising Powers of air, Fetch, ye that post o'er seas and lands, Herbs moistened by Virginian dew, 45 A most untimely grave to strew, Whose turf may never know the care[562] Of _kindred_ human hands! Beloved by every gentle Muse He left his Transatlantic home: 50 Europe, a realised romance, Had opened on his eager glance; What present bliss!--what golden views! What stores for years to come!