And the meteor on the grave, And the wisp on the morass; When the falling stars are shooting, In the shadow of the hill, With a power and with a sign. Though thy slumber may be deep, Yet thy spirit shall not sleep; There are shades which will not vanish, There are thoughts thou canst not banish; By a power to thee unknown, Thou canst never be alone; Thou art wrapt as with a shroud, Thou art gather'd in a cloud; And forever shalt thou dwell Though thou seest me not pass by, And a magic voice and verse Hath begirt thee with a snare; And to thee shall Night deny And the Day shall have a sun, Which shall make thee wish it done. Man. THE spirits I have raised abandon me The spells which I have studied baffle me- I lean no more on super-human aid; The future, till the past be gulf'd in darkness, My mother Earth! And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye. And thou, the bright eye of the universe, That openest over all, and unto all Art a delight- thou shin'st not on my heart. And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge And my brain reels - and yet my foot is firm: Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, [An eagle passes. Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, How glorious in its action and itself! But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half dust, half deity, alike unfit To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, And men are - - what they name not to themselves, [The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard. The natural music of the mountain reed For here the patriarchal days are not A pastoral fable- pipes in the liberal air, Mixt with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd; A living voice, a breathing harmony, Enter from below a CHAMOIS HUNTER. Chamois Hunter. Even so This way the chamois leapt : her nimble feet Man. (not perceiving the other). To be thus Gray-hair'd with anguish, like these blasted pines, Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless, A blighted trunk upon a cursèd root, Which but supplies a feeling to decay And to be thus, eternally but thus, Having been otherwise! Now furrow'd o'er Which I outlive! - Ye toppling crags of ice! Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass, C. Hun. The mists begin to rise up from the valley; I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance To lose at once his way and life together. Man. The mists boil up around the glaciers; clouds Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury, Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell, Whose every wave breaks on a living shore, Heap'd with the damn'd like pebbles. — I am giddy. C. Hun. I must approach him cautiously; if near, A sudden step will startle him, and he Seems tottering already. Man. Mountains have fallen, Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters; Which crush'd the waters into mist, and made Their fountains find another channel — thus, |