Page:1819 Edinburgh Annual Register.pdf/5

 And o'er his white Alps mov’d the Spirit of the Clime.

To lay her withering hand on God's bright works e'en there.

And hollow sounds that wake to Guilt’s dull stealthy tread.

–And woe to him who breaks the Sabbath of its rest!

The soil which rears those hearts, and draws its charter thence!