The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; Tennyson. SONG OF THE ALPINE GUIDE. N Zurich's spires, with rosy light, ON The mountains smile at morn and eve, And Zurich's waters, blue and bright, The glories of those hills receive. And there my sister trims her sail, That like a wayward swallow flies; But I would rather meet the gale That fans the eagle in the skies. She sings in Zurich's chapel choir, But let me hear the mountain rills, On Zurich's side my mother sits, To that belovèd voice I list And view that father's toil and pride; My spirit climbs the mountain side. And I would ever hear the stir And turmoil of the singing winds, Then, since the vale delights me not, And it hath been my joy and lot To scale these Alpine crags of snow· Let me in death lie down with them, T. B. Read. CLE LAKE LEMAN. 'LEAR, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction; once I loved Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. It is the hush of night, and all between There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, THE STORM IN THE ALPS. HE sky is changed!—and such a change! Oh And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, And this is in the night :- Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. Lord Byron. DREAMING OR WAKING? OME say that gleams of a remoter world SOM Visit the soul in sleep, that death is slumber, In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep Its circles? for the very spirit fails, Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep Mont Blanc appears, — still, snowy, and serene Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps, Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone, None can reply — all seems eternal now. The wilderness has a mysterious tongue Shelley. MONT BLANC. ONT BLANC is the monarch of mountains; On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow, |