Our Lady Of The Snow

Meek Virgin Mother, more benign Than fairest Star, upon the height Of thy own mountain,[HT] set to keep Lone vigils through the hours of sleep, What eye can look upon thy shrine Untroubled at the sight?

These crowded offerings as they hang In sign of misery relieved, Even these, without intent of theirs, Report of comfortless despairs, Of many a deep and cureless pang And confidence deceived.

To Thee, in this aërial cleft, As to a common centre, tend All sufferers that no more rely On mortal succour--all who sigh And pine, of human hope bereft, Nor wish for earthly friend.

And hence, O Virgin Mother mild! Though plenteous flowers around thee blow,[HU] Not only from the dreary strife Of Winter, but the storms of life, Thee have thy Votaries aptly styled, OUR LADY OF THE SNOW.

Even for the Man who stops not here, But down the irriguous valley hies, Thy very name, O Lady! flings, O'er blooming fields and gushing springs A tender sense of shadowy fear, And chastening sympathies!

Nor falls that intermingling shade To summer-gladsomeness unkind: It chastens only to requite With gleams of fresher, purer, light; While, o'er the flower-enamelled glade, More sweetly breathes the wind.

But on!--a tempting downward way, A verdant path before us lies; Clear shines the glorious sun above; Then give free course to joy and love, Deeming the evil of the day Sufficient for the wise.

"August, Saturday 19th. Top of the Rigi.--... Eastern sky rich with golden streaks, clouds floating around in all directions below us: then driving eastwards, we expecting momently to be enveloped in the condensing mist, but the breezes again and again took it away, through the channel between the Rigi and the opposite mountains. At length the bright sun just showed itself, lighted up the tips of the Alps with a rosy splendour, silvered the edges of, and gave angels' wings to the neighbouring clouds for a moment, then shrouded himself up, and the glory faded away.... A tall cross is finely placed upon the top of this hill.... Set forward on our descent from this remarkable place. Pleasant green mountain track led us soon to the Parish Church of Rigiberg, dedicated to 'Our Lady of the Snow.' It was crammed with pictures of the Virgin and Child, in various situations, setting forth her miraculous powers, and how they had been exercised: small convent of Capuchins close by: easy and beautiful road down for some time; high Crosses with pictures all the way; Chapels with frightful figures, enough to terrify the Religious on their way to 'Our Lady of the Snow': met several peasants before we reached the foot of the hill; Houses for them to rest on their way: beautiful steep thin waterfalls; lofty wooded and pine-clad crags accompanied us all the way on our descent...." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Saturday, 19th August. Top of Rigi.--With hearts not less joyous than those of the young men with whom we had just parted, we began our journey. How delicious was the descent over the velvet turf, towards the Chapel of Our Lady of the Snow! seen below within a narrow steep glen. The air still fresh and cool, we gradually find ourselves enclosed by the declivities of the glen, those rugged steeps are hung with pine trees, narrow cataracts come down the clefts in unbroken white lines--or over the facings of rock, in drops and stages. Side by side with the central rivulet, we go on still descending, though with far slower pace, and come to the Village of Rigi, and our Lady's Chapel cradled in the slip of the dell, and, at this tranquil time, lulled by the voices of the streams. The interior of the Chapel is hung with hundreds of offerings--staffs, crutches, etc. etc., and pictures representing marvellous escapes, with written records of vows performed--and dangers averted through the gracious protection of Our Lady of the Snow. Near the Chapel is a small religious House, where a few Monks reside, probably in attendance upon the chapel, which continues to draw together numerous worshippers from the distant Vales on days of penitence or of festival." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)--ED.

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