Page:Elegiac Sonnets 1.pdf/103

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78

PEASANT OF THE ALPS.

    There dwells the mistress of his heart,
    And Love, who teaches every art,
Has bid him dress the spot with fondest care;
When borrowing from the vale its fertile soil,
He climbs the precipice with patient toil,
To plant her favourite flowrets there.

    With native shrubs, a hardy race,
    There the green myrtle finds a place,
And roses there the dewy leaves decline;
While from the crags abrupt, and tangled steeps,
With bloom and fruit the Alpine-berry peeps,
And, blushing, mingles with the vine.

    His garden's simple produce stored,
    Prepared for him by hands adored,
Is all the little luxury he knows:
And by the same dear hands are softly spread,
The chamois' velvet spoil that forms the bed,
Where in her arms he finds repose.