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Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 63, No. 390, April, 1848

Volume 63 — TWO SONNETS.

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BY GEORGE HUNTLY GORDON.

MONT BLANC.

AN IMAGINARY SONNET, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, WHILE COMPOSING HIS SWISS STORY, ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN.

[When Captain Sherwill and Dr Edmund Clark ascended to the summit of Mont Blanc, they were much surprised to observe the greater apparent distance and feebler splendour of the moon and stars. “The cloudless canopy of heaven was of a very dark blue, but with a slight reddishness in the tinge, so as rather to resemble a beautiful deep violet than indigo.... The vault of heaven appeared prodigiously high and distant. After two days’ march upward, the blue expanse seemed to have receded from us much faster than we had climbed towards it.... Perhaps there are few phenomena (adds Dr Clark,) so calculated to take an impressive hold of the imagination.”]

When bold Emprise, by thrilling hopes and fears

Alternate sway’d, hath each dread peril pass’d,

And Mont Blanc’s snow-bound summit reach’d at last;

Remoter shine th’ eternal starry spheres,

More distant walks the moon ‘mid darkest blue,

Heaven’s cloudless dome dilates, and higher seems;

And way-worn pilgrim sees, with wond’ring view,

Each star decline, and pale its wonted beams!

So, when Ambition hath from life’s low vale

Our footsteps lured, when, danger’s path defied,

We’ve gain’d at length, with fortune’s fav’ring gale,

The “promised land,”—the pinnacle of pride,—

The phantom Bliss thus mocks our cheated eyes,

For, as we mount, the dear delusion flies!

TO ——.

Meekness, Sincerity, and Candour, seem

Enshrined in that sweet smile, and calm, clear brow;

Nor less within thy blue eye’s witching beam,

Affection warm, and Sympathy with wo;

Goodness and Grace ineffable illume

Thy mien:—when Music melts thy thrilling tone,

How could my heart its magic pow’r disown?

Thy siren strains oft snatch me from the gloom,

The dream-like forms, the anguish, and turmoil,

That haunt the Past. Alas! too soon again—

As on yon stormy strand the seas recoil,

Some weed sweeps back into its wave-worn den[15]—

Wild Mem’ry’s spells resume their wonted might,

And sternly shroud me from thy world of light!

425

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