On Hearing the "Ranz Des Vaches" on the Top of the Pass of St. Gothard

I listen--but no faculty of mine
Avails those modulations to detect,
Which, heard in foreign lands, the Swiss affect
With tenderest passion; leaving him to pine
(So fame reports) and die,--his sweet-breath'd kine
Remembering, and green Alpine pastures decked
With vernal flowers. Yet may we not reject
The tale as fabulous.--Here while I recline,
Mindful how others by this simple Strain
Are moved, for me--upon this Mountain named
Of God himself from dread pre-eminence--
Aspiring thoughts, by memory reclaimed,
Yield to the Music's touching influence;
And joys of distant home my heart enchain.