His life was one long war with self-sought foes, Or friends by him self-banish'd; for his mind Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind,
'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. But he was phrenzied,-wherefore, who may know ? Since cause might be which skill could never find; But he was phrenzied by disease or woe,
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. LXXXI.
For then he was inspired, and from him came, As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore, Those oracles which set the world in flame, Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more: Did he not this for France? which lay before Bowed to the inborn tyranny of years? Broken and trembling, to the yoke she bore. Till by the voice of him and his compeers,
Roused up to too much wrath which follows o'ergrown
They made themselves a fearful monument! The wreck of old opinions-things which grew Breathed from the birth of time: the veil they rent: And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. But good with ill they also overthrew, Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild Upon the same foundation, and renew
Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refill'd, As heretofore because ambition was self-will'd.
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?
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 wide 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 beeu so mov'd. LXXXVI.
It is the hush of night, and all between
Thy margin and the mountain dusk, yet clear, Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darkened 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,
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! Ifin your bright leaves we could read the fate Of man 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
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 beaven and earth are still: From the high host Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, All is concentered 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 ;-'twould 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 prayer!
Thesky 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 hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night :-Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A 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 shake with its mountains-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so iutervene,
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted; Though 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,-war within themselves to wage. XCV.
Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand:
For here, not one, but many make their play, And fling their thunder-bolts from haud to hand, Flashing and cast around: of all the band
The brightest through these parted hills bath 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.
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, passion, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, 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, sheathing it as a sword. XCVIII.
The morn is up again, the dewy morn,
With breath all incense, and with check 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 pondered fittingly.
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 sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought (22) By rays which sleep there lovingly; the rocks, The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, [mocks. Which stir and stiug the soul with hope that woos, then
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