LXXX. His life was one long war with self-sought foes, 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. LXXXI. For then he was inspired, and from him came, Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, Roused up to too much wrath, which follows o'ergrown fears? LXXXII. They made themselves a fearful monument! The wreck of old opinions-things which grew, Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refi l'd, As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd. 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 ? With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear 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, 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, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more: LXXXVII. He is an evening reveller, who makes LXXXVIII. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a L star. LXXXIX. All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, Of that which is of all Creator and defence. XC. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt The soul and source of music, which makes known 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, 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, 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 hath 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! XCIV. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed:- Of years all winters,-war within themselves to wage. |