'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot,

Peopling it with affections; but he found

It was the scene which Passion must allot

To the Mind's purified beings; 'twas the ground

Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound,[342]

And hallowed it with loveliness: 'tis lone,

And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound,

And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone

Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have reared a throne.