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 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 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 And food for meditation, nor pass by Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly.

find room

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 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,

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.

CI.

All things are here of him; from the black pines,
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines
Which slope his green path downward to the shore,
Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore,
Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood,

The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar,
But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood,

Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude,

CII.

A populous solitude of bees and birds,

And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things,

Who worship him with notes more sweet than words, And innocently open their glad wings,

Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs, And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.

CIII.

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, And make his heart a spirit; he who knows

That tender mystery, will love the more,

For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes,
And the world's waste, have driven him far from those,
For 'tis his nature to advance or die;

He stands not still, but or decays, or grows
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie

With the immortal lights, in its eternity!

CIV.

"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,
And hallow'd 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 rear'd a throne.

CV.

Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes (23) Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name; Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, A path to perpetuity of fame :

[flame

They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim,
Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the
Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while

On man and man's research could deign do more than

smile.