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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage - Canto the Third

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage - Canto the Third

1Is thy face like thy mothers, my fair child!
2ADA! sole daughter of my house and heart?
3When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled,
4And then we parted,--not as now we part,
5But with a hope.--
6Awaking with a start,
7The waters heave around me; and on high
8The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
9Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by,
10When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

11Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
12And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
13That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar!
14Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead!
15Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed,
16And the rent canvass fluttering strew the gale,
17Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
18Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail
19Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.

20In my youth's summer I did sing of One,
21The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind;
22Again I seize the theme, then but begun,
23And bear it with me, as the rushing wind
24Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find
25The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears,
26Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind,
27O'er which all heavily the journeying years
28Plod the last sands of life,--where not a flower appears.

29Since my young days of passion--joy, or pain--
30Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string--
31And both may jar: it may be, that in vain
32I would essay as I have sung to sing:
33Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling;
34So that it wean me from the weary dream
35Of selfish grief or gladness--so it fling
36Forgetfulness around me--it shall seem
37To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.

38He, who grown aged in this world of woe,
39In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,
40So that no wonder waits him--nor below
41Can Love or Sorrow, Fame, Ambition, Strife,
42Cut to his heart again with the keen knife
43Of silent, sharp endurance--he can tell
44Why Thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife
45With airy images, and shapes which dwell
46Still unimpaired, though old, in the Soul's haunted cell.

47'Tis to create, and in creating live A being more intense that we endow
48With form our fancy, gaining as we give
49The life we image, even as I do now--
50What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou,
51Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth,
52Invisible but gazing, as I glow--
53Mixed with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,
54And feeling still with thee in my crushed feelings' dearth.

55Yet must I think less wildly:--I have thought
56Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
57In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought,
58A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame:
59And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
60My springs of life were poisoned. 'Tis too late:
61Yet am I changed; though still enough the same
62In strength to bear what Time can not abate,
63And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.

64Something too much of this:--but now 'tis past,
65And the spell closes with its silent seal--
66Long absent HAROLD re-appears at last;
67He of the breast which fain no more would feel,
68Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal;
69Yet Time, who changes all, had altered him
70In soul and aspect as in age: years steal
71Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb;
72And Life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

73His had been quaffed too quickly, and he found
74The dregs were wormwood; but he filled again,
75And from a purer fount, on holier ground,
76And deemed its spring perpetual--but in vain!
77Still round him clung invisibly a chain
78Which galled for ever, fettering though unseen,
79And heavy though it clanked not; worn with pain,
80Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,
81Entering with every step he took through many a scene.

82Secure in guarded coldness, he had mixed
83Again in fancied safety with his kind,
84And deemed his spirit now so firmly fixed
85And sheathed with an invulnerable mind,
86That, if no joy, no sorrow lurked behind;
87And he, as one, might 'midst the many stand
88Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find
89Fit speculation--such as in strange land
90He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's hand.

91But who can view the ripened rose, nor seek
92To wear it? who can curiously behold
93The smoothness and the sheen of Beauty's cheek,
94Nor feel the heart can never all grow old?
95Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold
96The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb?
97Harold, once more within the vortex, rolled
98On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,
99Yet with a nobler aim than in his Youth's fond prime.

100But soon he knew himself the most unfit
101Of men to herd with Man, with whom he held
102Little in common; untaught to submit
103His thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled
104In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompelled,
105He would not yield dominion of his mind
106To Spirits against whom his own rebelled,
107Proud though in desolation--which could find
108A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.

109Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;
110Where rolled the ocean, thereon was his home;
111Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
112He had the passion and the power to roam;
113The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,
114Were unto him companionship; they spake
115A mutual language, clearer than the tome
116Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake
117For Nature's pages glassed by sunbeams on the lake.

118Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars,
119Till he had peopled them with beings bright
120As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born jars,
121And human frailties, were forgotten quite:
122Could he have kept his spirit to that flight
123He had been happy; but this clay will sink
124Its spark immortal, envying it the light
125To which it mounts, as if to break the link
126That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink.

127But in Man's dwellings he became a thing
128Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome,
129Drooped as a wild-born falcon with clipt wing,
130To whom the boundless air alone were home:
131Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,
132As eagerly the barred-up bird will beat
133His breast and beak against his wiry dome
134Till the blood tinge his plumage--so the heat
135Of his impeded Soul would through his bosom eat.

136Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, With nought of
137Hope left--but with less of gloom;
138The very knowledge that he lived in vain,
139That all was over on this side the tomb,
140Had made Despair a smilingness assume,
141Which, though 'twere wild,--as on the plundered wreck
142When mariners would madly meet their doom
143With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,--
144Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.

145Stop!--for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!
146An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
147Is the spot marked with no colossal bust?
148Nor column trophied for triumphal show?
149None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so.--
150As the ground was before, thus let it be;--
151How that red rain hath made the harvest grow!
152And is this all the world has gained by thee,
153Thou first and last of Fields! king-making Victory?

154And Harold stands upon this place of skulls,
155The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo!
156How in an hour the Power which gave annuls
157Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too!--
158In "pride of place" here last the Eagle flew,
159Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain,
160Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through;
161 Ambition's life and labours all were vain--
162 He wears the shattered links of the World's broken chain.

163Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit
164And foam in fetters;--but is Earth more free?
165Did nations combat to make One submit?
166Or league to teach all Kings true Sovereignty?
167What! shall reviving Thraldom again be
168The patched-up Idol of enlightened days?
169Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we
170Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze
171And servile knees to Thrones? No! prove before ye praise!

172If not, o'er one fallen Despot boast no more!
173In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with hot tears
174For Europe's flowers long rooted up before
175The trampler of her vineyards; in vain, years
176Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears,
177Have all been borne, and broken by the accord
178Of roused-up millions: all that most endears
179Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a Sword,
180Such as Harmodius drew on Athens' tyrant Lord.

181There was a sound of revelry by night,
182And Belgium's Capital had gathered then
183 Her Beauty and her Chivalry--and bright
184The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
185A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
186Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
187Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
188And all went merry as a marriage bell;
189But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

190Did ye not hear it?--No--'twas but the Wind,
191Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
192On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
193No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
194To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet--
195But hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more,
196As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
197And nearer--clearer--deadlier than before!
198Arm! Arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar!

199Within a windowed niche of that high hall
200Sate Brunswick's fated Chieftain; he did hear
201That sound the first amidst the festival,
202And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
203And when they smiled because he deemed it near,
204His heart more truly knew that peal too well
205Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,
206And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell;
207He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

208Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro--
209And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
210And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
211Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness--
212And there were sudden partings, such as press
213The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
214Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess
215If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
216Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

217And there was mounting in hot haste--the steed,
218The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
219Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
220And swiftly forming in the ranks of war--
221And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
222And near, the beat of the alarming drum
223Roused up the soldier ere the Morning Star;
224While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,
225Or whispering, with white lips--"The foe! They come! they come!"

226And wild and high the "Cameron's Gathering" rose!
227The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
228Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes;--
229How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
230Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
231Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
232With the fierce native daring which instils
233The stirring memory of a thousand years,
234And Evan's--Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!

235And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
236Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass--
237Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
238Over the unreturning brave,--alas!
239Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
240Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
241In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
242Of living Valour, rolling on the foe
243And burning with high Hope, shall moulder cold and low.

244Last noon beheld them full of lusty life;--
245Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay;
246The Midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
247The Morn the marshalling in arms,--the Day
248Battle's magnificently-stern array!
249The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
250The earth is covered thick with other clay
251Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,
252Rider and horse,--friend,--foe,--in one red burial blent!

253Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than mine;
254Yet one I would select from that proud throng,
255Partly because they blend me with his line,
256And partly that I did his Sire some wrong,
257And partly that bright names will hallow song;
258And his was of the bravest, and when showered
259The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along,
260Even where the thickest of War's tempest lowered,
261They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard!

262There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee,
263And mine were nothing, had I such to give;
264But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree,
265Which living waves where thou didst cease to live,
266And saw around me the wide field revive
267With fruits and fertile promise, and the
268 Spring Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,
269With all her reckless birds upon the wing,
270I turned from all she brought to those she could not bring.

271I turned to thee, to thousands, of whom each
272And one as all a ghastly gap did make
273In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach
274Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake;
275The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake
276Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Fame
277May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake
278The fever of vain longing, and the name
279So honoured but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim.

280They mourn, but smile at length--and, smiling, mourn:
281The tree will wither long before it fall;
282The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn;
283The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall
284In massy hoariness; the ruined wall
285Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone;
286The bars survive the captive they enthral;
287The day drags through though storms keep out the sun;
288And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on:

289Even as a broken Mirror, which the glass
290In every fragment multiplies--and makes
291A thousand images of one that was,
292The same--and still the more, the more it breaks;
293And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
294Living in shattered guise; and still, and cold,
295And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
296Yet withers on till all without is old,
297Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.

298There is a very life in our despair,
299Vitality of poison,--a quick root
300Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were
301As nothing did we die; but Life will suit
302Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,
303Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
304All ashes to the taste: Did man compute
305Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er
306Such hours 'gainst years of life,--say, would he name threescore?

307The Psalmist numbered out the years of man:
308They are enough; and if thy tale be true,
309Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span,
310More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo!
311Millions of tongues record thee, and anew
312Their children's lips shall echo them, and say--
313"Here, where the sword united nations drew,
314Our countrymen were warring on that day!"
315And this is much--and all--which will not pass away.

316There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men,
317Whose Spirit, antithetically mixed,
318One moment of the mightiest, and again
319On little objects with like firmness fixed;
320Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt,
321Thy throne had still been thine, or never been;
322For Daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st
323Even now to re-assume the imperial mien,
324And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene!

325Conqueror and Captive of the Earth art thou!
326 She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name
327Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now
328That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame,
329Who wooed thee once, thy Vassal, and became
330The flatterer of thy fierceness--till thou wert
331A God unto thyself; nor less the same
332To the astounded kingdoms all inert,
333Who deemed thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert.

334Oh, more or less than man--in high or low--
335Battling with nations, flying from the field;
336Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now
337More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;
338An Empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,
339But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,
340However deeply in men's spirits skilled,
341Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of War,
342Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest Star.

343Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning tide
344With that untaught innate philosophy,
345Which, be it Wisdom, Coldness, or deep Pride,
346Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.
347When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,
348To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled
349With a sedate and all-enduring eye;--
350When Fortune fled her spoiled and favourite child,
351He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled.

352Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them
353Ambition steeled thee on too far to show
354That just habitual scorn, which could contemn
355Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so
356To wear it ever on thy lip and brow,
357And spurn the instruments thou wert to use
358Till they were turned unto thine overthrow:
359'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose;
360So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose.

361If, like a tower upon a headlong rock,
362Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone,
363Such scorn of man had helped to brave the shock;
364But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy throne,
365Their admiration thy best weapon shone;
366The part of Philip's son was thine, not then
367(Unless aside thy Purple had been thrown)
368Like stern Diogenes to mock at men--
369For sceptred Cynics Earth were far too wide a den.

370But Quiet to quick bosoms is a Hell,
371And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire
372And motion of the Soul which will not dwell
373In its own narrow being, but aspire
374Beyond the fitting medium of desire;
375And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,
376Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
377Of aught but rest; a fever at the core,
378Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.

379This makes the madmen who have made men mad
380By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings,
381Founders of sects and systems, to whom add
382Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things
383Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs,
384And are themselves the fools to those they fool;
385Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings
386Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school
387Which would unteach Mankind the lust to shine or rule:

388Their breath is agitation, and their life
389A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last,
390And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife,
391That should their days, surviving perils past,
392Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast
393With sorrow and supineness, and so die;
394Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste
395With its own flickering, or a sword laid by,
396Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

397He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find
398The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;
399He who surpasses or subdues mankind,
400Must look down on the hate of those below.
401Though high above the Sun of Glory glow,
402And far beneath the Earth and Ocean spread,
403Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
404Contending tempests on his naked head,
405And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.

406Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be
407Within its own creation, or in thine,
408 Maternal Nature! for who teems like thee,
409Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine?
410There Harold gazes on a work divine,
411A blending of all beauties; streams and dells,
412Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine,
413And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells
414From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.

415And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind,
416Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd,
417All tenantless, save to the crannying Wind,
418Or holding dark communion with the Cloud
419There was a day when they were young and proud;
420Banners on high, and battles passed below;
421But they who fought are in a bloody shroud,
422And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,
423And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.

424Beneath these battlements, within those walls,
425Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state
426Each robber chief upheld his arméd halls,
427Doing his evil will, nor less elate
428Than mightier heroes of a longer date.
429What want these outlaws conquerors should have
430But History's purchased page to call them great?
431A wider space--an ornamented grave?
432Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave.

433In their baronial feuds and single fields,
434What deeds of prowess unrecorded died!
435And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields,
436With emblems well devised by amorous pride,
437Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide;
438But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on
439Keen contest and destruction near allied,
440And many a tower for some fair mischief won,
441Saw the discoloured Rhine beneath its ruin run.

442But Thou, exulting and abounding river!
443Making thy waves a blessing as they flow
444Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever
445Could man but leave thy bright creation so,
446Nor its fair promise from the surface mow
447With the sharp scythe of conflict, then to see
448Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know
449Earth paved like Heaven--and to seem such to me,
450Even now what wants thy stream?--that it should Lethe be.

451A thousand battles have assailed thy banks,
452But these and half their fame have passed away,
453And Slaughter heaped on high his weltering ranks:
454Their very graves are gone, and what are they?
455Thy tide washed down the blood of yesterday,
456And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream
457Glassed, with its dancing light, the sunny ray;
458But o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream
459Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem.

460Thus Harold inly said, and passed along,
461Yet not insensible to all which here
462Awoke the jocund birds to early song
463In glens which might have made even exile dear:
464Though on his brow were graven lines austere,
465And tranquil sternness, which had ta'en the place
466Of feelings fierier far but less severe--
467Joy was not always absent from his face,
468But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient trace.

469Nor was all Love shut from him, though his days
470Of Passion had consumed themselves to dust.
471It is in vain that we would coldly gaze
472On such as smile upon us; the heart must
473Leap kindly back to kindness, though Disgust
474Hath weaned it from all worldlings: thus he felt,
475For there was soft Remembrance, and sweet Trust
476In one fond breast, to which his own would melt,
477And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

478And he had learned to love,--I know not why,
479For this in such as him seems strange of mood,
480The helpless looks of blooming Infancy,
481Even in its earliest nurture; what subdued,
482To change like this, a mind so far imbued
483With scorn of man, it little boots to know;
484But thus it was; and though in solitude
485Small power the nipped affections have to grow,
486In him this glowed when all beside had ceased to glow.

487And there was one soft breast, as hath been said,
488Which unto his was bound by stronger ties
489Than the church links withal; and--though unwed,
490That love was pure--and, far above disguise,
491Had stood the test of mortal enmities
492Still undivided, and cemented more
493By peril, dreaded most in female eyes;
494But this was firm, and from a foreign shore
495Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour!

496The castled Crag of Drachenfels
497Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
498Whose breast of waters broadly swells
499Between the banks which bear the vine,
500And hills all rich with blossomed trees,
501And fields which promise corn and wine,
502And scattered cities crowning these,
503Whose far white walls along them shine,
504Have strewed a scene, which I should see
505With double joy wert thou with me.

506And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,
507And hands which offer early flowers,
508Walk smiling o'er this Paradise;
509Above, the frequent feudal towers
510Through green leaves lift their walls of gray;
511And many a rock which steeply lowers,
512And noble arch in proud decay,
513Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;
514But one thing want these banks of Rhine,--
515Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!

516I send the lilies given to me--
517Though long before thy hand they touch,
518I know that they must withered be,
519But yet reject them not as such;
520For I have cherished them as dear,
521Because they yet may meet thine eye,
522And guide thy soul to mine even here,
523When thou behold'st them drooping nigh,
524And know'st them gathered by the Rhine,
525And offered from my heart to thine!

526The river nobly foams and flows--
527The charm of this enchanted ground,
528And all its thousand turns disclose
529Some fresher beauty varying round:
530The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
531Through life to dwell delighted here;
532Nor could on earth a spot be found
533To Nature and to me so dear--
534Could thy dear eyes in following mine
535Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!

536By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground,
537There is a small and simple Pyramid,
538Crowning the summit of the verdant mound;
539Beneath its base are Heroes' ashes hid--
540Our enemy's--but let not that forbid
541Honour to Marceau! o'er whose early tomb
542Tears, big tears, gushed from the rough soldier's lid,
543Lamenting and yet envying such a doom,
544Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume.

545Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career,--
546His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes;
547And fitly may the stranger lingering here
548Pray for his gallant Spirit's bright repose;--
549For he was Freedom's Champion, one of those,
550The few in number, who had not o'erstept
551The charter to chastise which she bestows
552On such as wield her weapons; he had kept
553The whiteness of his soul--and thus men o'er him wept.

554Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall
555Black with the miner's blast, upon her height
556Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball
557Rebounding idly on her strength did light:--
558A Tower of Victory! from whence the flight
559Of baffled foes was watched along the plain:
560But Peace destroyed what War could never blight,
561And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain--
562On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain.

563Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted
564The stranger fain would linger on his way!
565Thine is a scene alike where souls united
566Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray;
567And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey
568On self-condemning bosoms, it were here,
569Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay,
570Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere,
571Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year.

572Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu!
573There can be no farewell to scene like thine;
574The mind is coloured by thy every hue;
575And if reluctantly the eyes resign
576Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine!
577'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise;
578More mighty spots may rise--more glaring shine,
579But none unite in one attaching maze
580The brilliant, fair, and soft,--the glories of old days,

581The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom
582Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen,
583The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom,
584The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between,--
585The wild rocks shaped, as they had turrets been,
586In mockery of man's art; and these withal
587A race of faces happy as the scene,
588Whose fertile bounties here extend to all,
589Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near them fall.

590But these recede. Above me are the Alps,
591The Palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
592Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,
593And throned Eternity in icy halls
594Of cold Sublimity, where forms and falls
595The Avalanche--the thunderbolt of snow!
596All that expands the spirit, yet appals,
597Gather around these summits, as to show
598How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.

599But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan,
600There is a spot should not be passed in vain,--
601Morat! the proud, the patriot field! where man
602May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain,
603Nor blush for those who conquered on that plain;
604Here Burgundy bequeathed his tombless host,
605A bony heap, through ages to remain,
606Themselves their monument; --the Stygian coast
607Unsepulchred they roamed, and shrieked each
608wandering ghost.

609While Waterloo with Cannæ's carnage vies,
610Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand;
611They were true Glory's stainless victories,
612Won by the unambitious heart and hand
613Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band,
614All unbought champions in no princely cause
615Of vice-entailed Corruption; they no land
616Doomed to bewail the blasphemy of laws
617Making Kings' rights divine, by some Draconic clause.

618By a lone wall a lonelier column rears
619A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days;
620'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years,
621And looks as with the wild-bewildered gaze
622Of one to stone converted by amaze,
623Yet still with consciousness; and there it stands
624Making a marvel that it not decays,
625When the coeval pride of human hands,
626Levelled Aventicum, hath strewed her subject lands.

627And there--oh! sweet and sacred be the name!--
628Julia--the daughter--the devoted--gave
629Her youth to Heaven; her heart, beneath a claim
630Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave.
631Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crave
632The life she lived in--but the Judge was just--
633And then she died on him she could not save.
634Their tomb was simple, and without a bust,
635And held within their urn one mind--one heart--one dust.

636But these are deeds which should not pass away,
637And names that must not wither, though the Earth
638Forgets her empires with a just decay,
639The enslavers and the enslaved--their death and birth;
640The high, the mountain-majesty of Worth
641Should be--and shall, survivor of its woe,
642And from its immortality, look forth
643In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow,
644Imperishably pure beyond all things below.

645Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face,
646The mirror where the stars and mountains view
647The stillness of their aspect in each trace
648Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue:
649There is too much of Man here, to look through
650With a fit mind the might which I behold;
651But soon in me shall Loneliness renew
652Thoughts hid, but not less cherished than of old,
653Ere mingling with the herd had penned me in their fold.

654To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind:
655All are not fit with them to stir and toil,
656Nor is it discontent to keep the mind
657Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil
658In the hot throng, where we become the spoil
659Of our infection, till too late and long
660We may deplore and struggle with the coil,
661In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong
662Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong.

663There, in a moment, we may plunge our years
664In fatal penitence, and in the blight
665Of our own Soul turn all our blood to tears,
666And colour things to come with hues of Night;
667The race of life becomes a hopeless flight
668To those that walk in darkness: on the sea
669The boldest steer but where their ports invite--
670But there are wanderers o'er Eternity
671Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall be.

672Is it not better, then, to be alone,
673And love Earth only for its earthly sake?
674By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,
675Or the pure bosom of its nursing Lake,
676Which feeds it as a mother who doth make
677A fair but froward infant her own care,
678Kissing its cries away as these awake;--
679Is it not better thus our lives to wear,
680Than join the crushing crowd, doomed to inflict or bear?

681I live not in myself, but I become
682Portion of that around me; and to me
683High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
684Of human cities torture: I can see
685Nothing to loathe in Nature, save to be
686A link reluctant in a fleshly chain,
687Classed among creatures, when the soul can flee,
688And with the sky--the peak--the heaving plain
689Of Ocean, or the stars, mingle--and not in vain.

690And thus I am absorbed, and this is life:--
691I look upon the peopled desert past,
692As on a place of agony and strife,
693Where, for some sin, to Sorrow I was cast,
694To act and suffer, but remount at last
695With a fresh pinion; which I feel to spring,
696Though young, yet waxing vigorous as the Blast
697Which it would cope with, on delighted wing,
698Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling.

699And when, at length, the mind shall be all free
700From what it hates in this degraded form,
701Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be
702Existent happier in the fly and worm,--
703When Elements to Elements conform,
704And dust is as it should be, shall I not
705Feel all I see less dazzling but more warm?
706The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot?
707Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot?

708Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part
709Of me and of my Soul, as I of them?
710Is not the love of these deep in my heart
711With a pure passion? should I not contemn
712All objects, if compared with these? and stem
713A tide of suffering, rather than forego
714Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm
715Of those whose eyes are only turned below,
716Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow?

717But this is not my theme; and I return
718To that which is immediate, and require
719Those who find contemplation in the urn,
720To look on One, whose dust was once all fire,--
721A native of the land where I respire
722The clear air for a while--a passing guest,
723Where he became a being,--whose desire
724Was to be glorious; 'twas a foolish quest,
725The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest.

726Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,
727The apostle of Affliction, he who threw
728Enchantment over Passion, and from Woe
729Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew
730The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew
731How to make Madness beautiful, and cast
732O'er erring deeds and thoughts, a heavenly hue
733Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past
734The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.

735His love was Passion's essence--as a tree
736On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame
737Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be
738Thus, and enamoured, were in him the same.
739But his was not the love of living dame,
740Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams,
741But of ideal Beauty, which became
742In him existence, and o'erflowing teems
743Along his burning page, distempered though it seems.

744This breathed itself to life in Julie, this
745Invested her with all that's wild and sweet;
746This hallowed, too, the memorable kiss
747Which every morn his fevered lip would greet,
748From hers, who but with friendship his would meet;
749But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast
750Flashed the thrilled Spirit's love-devouring heat;
751In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest
752Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest.

753His life was one long war with self-sought foes,
754Or friends by him self-banished; for his mind
755Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose,
756For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind,
757'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind.
758But he was phrensied, wherefore, who may know?
759Since cause might be which Skill could never find;
760But he was phrensied by disease or woe,
761To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show.

762For then he was inspired, and from him came,
763As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore,
764Those oracles which set the world in flame,
765Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more:
766Did he not this for France? which lay before
767Bowed to the inborn tyranny of years?
768Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore,
769Till by the voice of him and his compeers,
770Roused up to too much wrath which follows o'ergrown fears?

771They made themselves a fearful monument!
772The wreck of old opinions--things which grew,
773Breathed from the birth of Time: the veil they rent,
774And what behind it lay, all earth shall view.
775But good with ill they also overthrew,
776Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild
777Upon the same foundation, and renew
778Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refilled,
779As heretofore, because Ambition was self-willed.

780But this will not endure, nor be endured!
781Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt.
782They might have used it better, but, allured
783By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt
784On one another; Pity ceased to melt
785With her once natural charities. But they,
786Who in Oppression's darkness caved had dwelt,
787They were not eagles, nourished with the day;
788What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey?

789What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
790The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear
791That which disfigures it; and they who war
792With their own hopes, and have been vanquished, bear
793Silence, but not submission: in his lair
794Fixed Passion holds his breath, until the hour
795Which shall atone for years; none need despair:
796It came--it cometh--and will come,--the power
797To punish or forgive--in one we shall be slower.

798Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake,
799With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing
800Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake
801Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring.
802This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing
803To waft me from distraction; once I loved
804Torn Ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring
805Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved,
806That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved.

807It is the hush of night, and all between
808Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear,
809Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen,
810Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear
811Precipitously steep; and drawing near,
812There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,
813Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear
814Drops the light drip of the suspended oar,
815Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more.

816He is an evening reveller, who makes
817His life an infancy, and sings his fill;
818At intervals, some bird from out the brakes
819Starts into voice a moment, then is still.
820There seems a floating whisper on the hill,
821But that is fancy--for the Starlight dews
822All silently their tears of Love instil,
823Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
824Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.

825Ye Stars! which are the poetry of Heaven!
826If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
827Of men and empires,--'tis to be forgiven,
828That in our aspirations to be great,
829Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
830And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
831A Beauty and a Mystery, and create
832In us such love and reverence from afar,
833That Fortune,--Fame,--Power,--Life, have named themselves a Star.

834All Heaven and Earth are still--though not in sleep,
835But breathless, as we grow when feeling most;
836And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep:--
837All Heaven and Earth are still: From the high host
838Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast,
839All is concentered in a life intense,
840Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
841But hath a part of Being, and a sense
842Of that which is of all Creator and Defence.

843Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
844In solitude, where we are least alone;
845A truth, which through our being then doth melt,
846And purifies from self: it is a tone,
847The soul and source of Music, which makes known
848Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm
849Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,
850Binding all things with beauty;--'twould disarm
851The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm.

852Not vainly did the early Persian make
853His altar the high places, and the peak
854Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, --and thus take
855A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek
856The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak
857Upreared of human hands. Come, and compare
858Columns and idol-dwellings--Goth or Greek--
859With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air--
860Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer!

861The sky is changed!--and such a change! Oh Night,
862And Storm, and Darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
863Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
864Of a dark eye in Woman! Far along,
865From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
866Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
867But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
868And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
869Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!

870And this is in the Night:--Most glorious Night!
871Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be
872A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,--
873A portion of the tempest and of thee!
874How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
875And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
876And now again 'tis black,--and now, the glee
877Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth,
878As if they did rejoice o'er a young Earthquake's birth.

879Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
880Heights which appear as lovers who have parted
881In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,
882That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted:
883Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,
884Love was the very root of the fond rage
885Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed:--
886Itself expired, but leaving them an age
887Of years all winters,--war within themselves to wage:

888Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way,
889The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand:
890For here, not one, but many, make their play,
891And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand,
892Flashing and cast around: of all the band,
893The brightest through these parted hills hath forked
894 His lightnings,--as if he did understand,
895That in such gaps as Desolation worked,
896There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked.

897Sky--Mountains--River--Winds--Lake--Lightnings! ye!
898With night, and clouds, and thunder--and a Soul
899To make these felt and feeling, well may be
900Things that have made me watchful; the far roll
901Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless,--if I rest.
902But where of ye, O Tempests! is the goal?
903Are ye like those within the human breast?
904Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?