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CLXXIII.

Lu, Nemi! (") navell’d in the woody hills
So far, that the uprooting wind which tears
The oak from his foundation, and which spills
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears
Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares
The oval mirror of thy glassy lake;
And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears
A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake,
All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake.

CLXXIV.
And noar Albano's scarce divided waves
Shine from a sister valley ; and afar
The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves
The Latian coast where sprang the Epic war,
· Arms and the Man," whose re-ascending star
Rose o'er an empire : - but beneath thy right
Tully reposed from Rome; - and where yon bar

Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight
The Sabine farm was tillid, the weary bard's delight. (*)

CLXXV.

But I forget. — My Pilgrim's shrine is won,
And he and I must part, so let it be,
His task and mine alike are nearly done ;
Yet once more let us look upon the sea;
The midland ocean breaks on him and me,
And from the Alban Mount we now behold
Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we

Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold
Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd

1 CLXXVI.

Upon the blue Symplegades : long years -
Long, though not very many, since have done
Their work on both ; some suffering and some tears
Have left us nearly where we had begun :
Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run,
We have had our reward - and it is here ;
That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun,
And

reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear As if there were no man to trouble what is clear.

(!) The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of Egeria, and, from the shades which embosomed the temple of Diana, has preserved to this day its distinctive appellation of The Grove. Nemi is but an evening's ride from the comfortablo inn of Albano.

(2) See“ Historical Notes," at the end of this Canto, No. XXXI.

CLXXVII.
Oh! that the Desert were my dwelling-place,
With one fair Spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,
And, hating no one, love but only her!
Ye Elements !-- in whose ennobling stir
I feel myself exalted — Can ye not
Accord me such a being? Do I err

In deeming such inhabit many a spot ?
Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot.

CLXXVIII.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar :
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal.

CLXXIX.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin - his control
Stops with the shore ; - upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

CLXXX. . His steps are not upon thy paths, - thy fields Are not a spoil for him, thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies

His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay.

CLXXXI.

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

CLXXXII.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee -
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant.since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou,
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play –

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow -
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

CLXXXIII.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time,
Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storin,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving; - boundless, endless, and sublime -
The image of Eternity -- the throne
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomloss, alone.

CLXXXIV.

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy
I wanton'd, with thy breakers - they to me
Wero a delight; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror 'twas a pleasing fear,
For I was as it were a child of thee,

And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane as I do here.

CLXXXV. My task is done — my song

hath ceased — my

theme Has died into an echo; it is fit The spell should break of this protracted dream. The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit My midnight lamp -- and what is writ, is writ, Would it were worthier ! but I am not now That which I have been and

my

visions flit Less palpably before me - and the glow Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.

CLXXXVI.
Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been
A sound which makes us linger; — yet — farewell !
Yel who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene
Which is his last, if in your memories dwell
A thought which once was his, if on ye swell
A single recollection, not in vain
He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell ;

Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain,
If such there were - with you, the moral of his strain !

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