Of most divine creations--Here to stray
With _one_ most cherished, and in loving eyes
Read a sweet comment on the wonders round--
Would this indeed be bliss? would not the soul
Be lost in its own depths? and the full heart
Languish with sense of beauty unexprest,
And faint beneath its own excess of life?

_Saturday._--Quitted Geneva, and slept at St. Maurice. I was ill
during the last few days of our stay, and therefore left Geneva with
the less regret. I suffer now so constantly, that a day tolerably free
from pain seems a blessing for which I can scarce be sufficiently
thankful. Such was yesterday.

Our road lay along the south bank of the lake, through Evian, Thonon,
St. Gingough: and on the opposite shores we had in view successively,
Lausanne, Vevai, Clarens, and Chillon. A rain storm pursued, or almost
surrounded us the whole morning; but we had the good fortune to escape
it. We travelled faster than it could pursue, and it seemed to retire
before us as we approached. The effect was surprisingly beautiful; for
while the two extremities of the lake were discoloured and enveloped
in gloom, that part opposite to us was as blue and transparent as
heaven itself, and almost as bright. Over Vevai, as we viewed it from
La Meillerie, rested one end of a glorious rainbow: the other
extremity appeared to touch the bosom of the lake, and shone vividly
against the dark mountains above Chillon. La Meillerie--Vevai! what
magic in those names! and O what a power has genius to hallow with its
lovely creations, scenes already so lavishly adorned by Nature! it was
not, however, of St. Preux I thought, as I passed under the rock of
the Meillerie. Ah! how much of happiness, of enjoyment, have I lost,
in being forced to struggle against my feelings, instead of abandoning
myself to them! but surely I have done right. Let me repeat it again
and again to myself, and let that thought, if possible, strengthen and
console me.

_Monday._--I have resolved to attempt no description of scenery; but
my pen is fascinated. I _must_ note a few of the objects which struck
me to-day and yesterday, that I may at will combine them hereafter to
my mind's eye, and recall the glorious pictures I beheld, as we
travelled through the Vallais to Brig: the swollen and turbid (no
longer "blue and arrowy") Rhone, rushing and roaring along; the
gigantic mountains in all their endless variety of fantastic forms,
which enclosed us roun