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LXXXIII.

But this will not endure, nor be endured! Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. They might have used it better, but, allured. By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt On one another; pity ceased to melt

With her once natural charities. But they, Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt, They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day; What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey?

LXXXIV.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear That which disfigures it; and they who war With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd,

bear

Silence, but not submission in his lair

Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour Which shall atone for years; none need despair: It came, it cometh, and will come, the power To punish or forgive in one we shall be slower.

LXXXV.

Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction; once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved.

LXXXVI.

It is the hush of night, and all between

Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep; and drawing near,

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,

Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more;

LXXXVII.

He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil. Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.

LXXXVIII.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires, 'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,

Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create

In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.

LXXXIX.

All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep,

But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep:All heaven and earth are still: From the high host Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, All is concenter'd in a life intense,

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being, and a sense Of that which is of all creator and defence.

XC.

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
In solitude, where we are least alone;
A truth, which through our being then doth melt
And purifies from self: it is a tone,

The soul and source of music, which makes known
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm,
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,

Binding all things with beauty;-'t would disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm.

XCI.

Not vainly did the early Persian make
His altar the high places and the peak
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains 20), and thus take
A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek

The spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'r!

XCII.

The sky is changed! and such a change! Oh night 21),

And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,

From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now had found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!

XCIII.

And this is in the night: Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be As sharer in thy fierce and far delight, A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 'tis black, - and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.

XCIV.

Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way

between

Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, That they can meet no more, though brokenhearted;

Tho' in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,

Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed:

Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters,

to wage.

XCV.

war within themselves

Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft

his way,

The mightiest of the storms hath t'aen his stand: For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunder- bolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around: of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd

His lightnings. - as if he did understand, That in such gaps as desolation work'd, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd.

XCVI.

Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless, - if I rest. But where of ye, oh tempests! is the goal? Are ye like those within the human breast? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?

XCVII.

Could I embody and unbosom now

That which is most within me, could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak,

All that I would have songht, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak;

But as it is, I live and die unheard,

With a most voiceless thought, sheating it as a sword.

XCVIII.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn.
With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom,
Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn,
And living as if earth contain❜d no tomb,
And glowing into day: we may resume
The march of our existence: and thus I,
Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room
And food for meditation, nor pass by

Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly.

XCIX.

Clarens! sweet Clarens, birth-place of deep Love! Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought;

Thy trees take root in love; the snows above The very Glaciers have his colours caught, And sunset into rose- hues sees them wrought 22) By rays which sleep there lovingly, the rocks, The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who songht

In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then mocks.

C.

Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne To which the steps are mountains; where the god Is a pervading life and light, - so shown Not on those summits solely, nor alone In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, His soft and summer breath, whose tender power Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour.

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