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XCIII. Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild;
Let such approach this consecrated land, Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, And pass in peace along the magic waste; Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled,
But spare its relics- let no busy hand And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields; Deface the scenes, already how defaced! There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, Not for such purpose were these altars placed; The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air; Revere the remnants nations once revered : Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds,
So may our country's name be undisgraced, Still in his beam Mendeli’s marbles glare;
So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd, Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. By every honest joy of love and life endear'd!
XCIV. Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground;
For thee, who thus in too protracted song No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould,
Hath soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around,
Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng And all the Muse's tales seem truly told,
Of louder minstrels in these later days; Till the sense aches with gazing to behold
To such resign the strife for fading bays, The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon :Ill may such contest now the spirit move Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise ;
Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone: Since cold each kinder heart that might approve. Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Mara- And none are left to please, when none are left to | thon.
XCV. The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same;
Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one! Unchanged in all except its foreign lord
Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me, Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame
Who did for me what none beside have done, The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde
Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,
What is my being? thou hast ceased to be! As on the morn to distant Glory dear,
Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, When Marathon became a magic word ; 39
Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see: Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear
Would they had never been, or were to come! The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's ca- Would he had ne'er returned, to find fresh cause to reer.
XCVI. The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow;
Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved ! The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear;
How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past, Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below,
And clings to thoughts now better far removed ! Death in the front, Destruction in the rear! Such was the scene-what now remaineth here?
But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. [hast. What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground,
All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death! thou Recording freedom's smile, and Asia's tear?
The parent, friend, and now the more than friend; The rifled urn, the violated mound,
Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns |
s! And grief with grief continuing still to blend,
Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend.
Then must I plunge again into the crowd,
And follow all that Peace disdains to seek ? Hail the bright clime of battle and of song;
Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore;
To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak; Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young!
Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, Which sages venerate, and bards adore,
To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ; As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. Smiles form the channel of a future tear,
Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. XCII.
XCVIII. The parted bosom clings to wonted home, If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth; What is the worst of woes that wait on age ? He that is lonely, hither let him roam,
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow ? And gaze complacent on congenial earth.
To view each loved one blotted from life's page, Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth. And be alone on earth, as I am now. But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide,
Before the Chastener hnmbly let me bow And scarce regret the region of his birth,
O’er hearts divided, and o'er hopes destroy'd; When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, I Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow, Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd, died.
Aud with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd.
A being more intense, that we endow
With form or fancy, gaining as we give
What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou, "Afin que cette application, vous forgât de penser à autre chose; il ny a en Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth, vérité de remede que celui-là et le temps."--Lellre du Roi de Pruss a D'Alembert, Sept. 7, 1776.
Invisible but gazing, as I glow
And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings'
dearth. Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
VII. Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? Yet must I think less wildly:- I have thought When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, Too long and darkly, till my brain became, And then we parted, -not as now we part,
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought,
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame;
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, The waters heave around me; and on high My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late! The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
Yet am I changed; though still enough the same Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, ! In strength to bear what time can not abate, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate. mine eye. II.
VIII. Once more upon the waters ! yet once more! Something too much of this ;- but now 'tis past, And the waves bound beneath me as a steed And the spell closes with its silent seal. That knows his rider. Welcome, to their roar! Long absent HAROLD reappears at last; Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead! He of the breast which fain no more would feel, Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Yet Time, who changes all, had alter'd him [heal; Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
In soul and aspect as in age: years steal
His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind;
The dregs were wormwood; but he fill'd again, Again I seize the theme then but begun,
And from a purer fount, on holier ground, And bear it with me, as the rushing wind
And deem'd its spring perpetual; but in vain! Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find Still round him clung invisibly a chain The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, Which gall’d, for ever fettering though unseen, Which, ebbing, leave a steril track behind,
And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with pain, O'er which all heavily the journeying years
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, Plod the last sands of life, -where not a flower Entering with every step he took through many a appears.
Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain, Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd
And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd
And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind, Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind; So that it ween me from the weary dream
And he, as one, might midst the many stand Of selfish grief or gladness--so it fling
Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find Forgetfulness around me it shall seem
Fit speculation; such as in strange land To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's
XI. He, who grown aged in this world of wo,
But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, To wear it? who can curiously behold So that no wonder waits him; nor below
The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek, Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife,
Nor feel the heart can never all grow old ? Cut to his heart again with the keen knife
Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb ? Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife Harold, once more within the vortex, rollid With airy images, and shapes which dweli
On with the giddy circle, chasing Time, Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fend cell.
XVIII. But soon he knew himself the most unfit
And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ; Little in common; untaught to submit [quell'd How in an hour the power which gave annuls His thoughts to others, though his soul was Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too! In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompell’d, In “pride of place” i here last the eagle flew, He would not yield dominion of his mind
Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, To spirits against whom his own rebellid;
Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through; Proud though in desolation; which could find | Ambition's life and labors all were vain; A life within itself, to breath without mankind. He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken
ΧΙΧ. Where rose the mountains, there to him were Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit friends;
And foam in fetters ;-but is Earth more free? Where roll’d the ocean, thereon was his home; Did nations combat to make One submit; Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? IIe had the passion and the power to roam; What! shall reviving Thraldom again be The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,
The patch’d-up idol of enlighten'd days ? Were unto him companionship; they spake Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we A mutual language, clearer than the tome
Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze
If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars,
In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears Till he had peopled them with beings bright
For Europe's flowers long rooted up before As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born
The trampler of her vineyards; in vain, years And human frailties, were forgotten quite: (jars,
Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Could he have kept his spirit to that flight
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord He had been happy; but this clay will sink
Of roused-up millions : all that most endears Its spark immortal, envying it the light
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, His breast and beak against his wiry dome
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat
And all went merry as a marriage-bell; 3 Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat.
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising
Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind, With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom;
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; The very knowledge that he lived in vain,
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined; That all was over on this side the tomb,
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet Had made Despair a smilingness assume, [wreck
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feetWhich, though 'twere wild,-as on the plunder'd
But, hark !that heavy sound breaks in once more, When mariners would madly meet their doom
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck. And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check. Arm
'Arm! Arm! it is it is the cannon's opening roar!
ΧΧΙΙΙ. Stop!-For thy tread is on an Empire's dust! Within a window'd niche of that high hall An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust?
That sound the first amidst the festival, Nor column trophied for triumphal show?
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, As the ground was before, thus let it be;
His heart more truly knew that peal too well How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! | Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,
And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory? He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting fell.
XXX. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And mine were nothing, had I such to give; And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; Which living waves where thou didst cease to live And there were sudden partings, such as press And saw around me the wide field revive The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, With all her reckless birds upon the wing, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not rise ?
XXXI. And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed! I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
And one as all a ghastly gap did make Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
May for a moment sooth, it cannot slake [Fame While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
| The fever of vain longing, and the name Or whispering, with white lips-“The foe! They so honor'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. come! they come!” XXVI.
XXXII. And wild and high the “ Cameron's gathering "I They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills (rose! The tree will wither long before it fall; [mourn: Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :
The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn; How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills/ In massy hoariness; the ruin'd wall Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; With the fierce native daring which instills The bars survive the captive they enthral; [sun; The stirring memory of a thousand years,
The day drags through tho' storms keep out the
A thousand images of one that was,
The same, and still the more, the more it breaks; Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold, In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches, Of living valor, rolling on the foe,
Yet withers on till all without is old,
There is a very life in our despair,
Vitality of poison,-a quick root The morn the marshalling in arms,-the day
Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were Battle's magnificently-stern array !
As nothing did we die; but Life will suit The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Like to the apples on the 8 Dead Sea's shore, Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,
All ashes to the taste: Did man compute Rider and horse--friend, foe,-in one red burial
| Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er
Such hours 'gainst years of life,--say, would he name blent! XXIX.
XXXV. Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, The Psalmist number'd out the years of nan: Partly because they blend me with his line, They are enough; and if thy tale be true, And partly that I did his sire some wrong,
Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, And partly that bright names will hallow song; More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd | Millions of tongues record thee, and anew The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Their children's lips shall echo them, and say
Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, “Here, where the sword united nations drew, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, Our countrymen were warring on that day!” gallant Howard!
And this is much, and all which will not pass away.
There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire One moment of the mightiest, and again
And motion of the soul which will not dwell On little objects with like firmness fixt,
In its own narrow being, but aspire Extreme in all things ! hadst thou been betwixt, Beyond the fitting medium of desire; Thy throne had still been thine, or never been; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Even now to reassume the imperial mien,
Of aught but rest; a fever at the core,
This makes the madmen who have made men mad She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name
By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings, Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now
Founders of sects and systems, to whom add That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame,
Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became
Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert
And are themselves the fools to those they fool; A god unto thyself; nor less the same
Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings To the astounded kingdoms all inert,
Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or assert.
rule ; XXXVIII.
XLIV. Oh, more or less than man-in high or low,
Their breath is agitation, and their life Battling with nations, flying from the field;
A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now
And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;
That should their days, surviving perils past, An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,
Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,
With sorrow aud supineness, and so die;
Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste
With its own flickering, or a sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. star.
Ile who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide,
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; With that untaught innate philosophy,
He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,
Must look down on the hate of those below. Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.
Though high above the sun of glory glow, When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,
And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast
rinking, thou hast Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow With a sedate and all-enduring eye;- [smiled
Contending tempests on his naked head, When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favorite child,
d. And thus reward the toils which to those summits He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled.
Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them
Within its own creation, or in thine,
Maternal Nature! for who teems like thee,
A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, And spurn the instruments thou wert to use, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow:
vine, 'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose;
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly choose.
XLVII. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock,
And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock;} All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy Or holding dark communion with the cloud. Their admiration thy best weapon shone; [throne. There was a day when they were young and proud, The part of Philip's son was thine, not then Banners on high, and battles pass'd below; (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, Like stern Diogenes to mock at men;
And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den !9 And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.