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LXXXIV.. 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, To punish or forgive - in one we shall be slower.
LXXXV. Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, 10 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 been so moved.
LXXXVI. It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darken'd 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;
LXXXVIII. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o’erlaep their mortal state, And claim a kindred with
for A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named them
LXXXIX. 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 heaven and earth are still: From the high host, Of stars, to the lullid 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 Crcator and defence.
xo. 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 be substantial power to harm.
CXI. 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 anwall'd temple, there to seek The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, Úprear'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!
XCII. The sky is changed ! and such a change! Oh
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
XCIII. 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 phosporic sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee Of the toud hills shakes with its mountain. mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.