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Yet still with consciousness; and there it stands, The negligentiy grand, the fruitful bloom

Making a marvel that it not decays, Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen,

When the coeval pride of human hands. The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom, Levelld Aventicum, hath strew d her subject lands. The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been

LXVI. In mockery of man's art; and these withal

And there-oh! sweet and sacred be the naine !A race of faces happy as the scene,

Julia--the daughter, the devoted--gave Whose fertile bounties here extend to all,

Her youth to Heaven; her heart, beneath a claim Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near

Nearest to Heaven's, broke o er a father s grave. them fall.

Justice is sworn gainst tears, and hers would crave LXII.

The life she lived in; but the judge was just, But these recede. Above me are the Alps,

And then she died on him she could not save.

Their tomb was simple, and without a bust,
The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,

And held within their urn one inind, one heart, one

dust.t And throned Eternity in icy halls

Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The avalanche-the thunderbolt of snow !

But these are deeds which should not pass away, All that expands the spirit, yet appals,

And names that must not wither, though the earth Gather around these summits, as to show

Forgets her empires with a just decay. How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain

The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and man below.

birth; LXIII.

The high, the mountain-majesty of worth, But cre these matchless heights I dare to scan,

Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe,

And froin its immortality look forth There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain,

In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow,t
Morat ! the proud, the patriot field ! where man

Imperishably pure beyond all things below.
May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain,
Nor blush for those who conquered on that plain;

llere Burgundy bequeath'd his tombless host, Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face,
A bony heap, through ages to remain,

The mirror where the stars and mountains view Themselves their monument ;-the Stygian coast The stillness of their aspect in cach trace Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wan. Its clear depth yields of their far height and huc: dering ghost.*

There is too much of man here, to look through LXIV.

With a fit inind the might which I behold; While Waterloo with Cannæ's carnage vies,

But soon in me shall Loneliness renew Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand; Thoughts hid, but not less cherish'd than of old. They were true Glory's stainless victories,

Ere mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their Won by the unambitious heart and hand


Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band,
All unbought champions in no princely cause To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind;
Of vice-entaild Corruption; they no land

All are not fit with them to stir and toil,
Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws

Nor is it discontent to keep the mind Making king's rights divine, by some Draconic clause.

Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil


• Aventicum, near Morat, was the Roman capital of By a lone wall a lonelier column rears

Helvetia, where Avenches now stands. A grey and grief-worn aspect of old days,

+ Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian priestess, died

soon after a vain endeavour to save her father, con'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years,

demned to death as a traitor by Aulus Caecina. Her And looks as with the wild bewilder'd gaze lepitaph was discovered many years ago. It is thus: Of one to stone converted by amaze,

Julia Alpinula: Hic jaceo. Infelicis patris infelix proles. Deæ Aventiæ Sacerdos. Exorare patris necem

non potui: Male mori in fatis ille erat. * Vixi annos The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of XXI. I know of no human composition so affecting bones diminished to a small number by the Burgun- as this, nor a history of deeper interest. These are dian legion in the service of France, who anxiously the names and actions which ought not to perish, and effaced this record of their ancestors' less successful to which we turn with a true and healthy tenderness, invasions. A few still remain, notwithstanding the from the wretched and glittering detail of a confused pains taken by the Burgundians for ages (all who mass of conquests and battles, with which the mind is passed that way removing a bone to their own country), roused for a time to a false and feverish sympathy, and the less justifiable larcenies of the Swiss postilions, from whence it recurs at length with all the nausea who carried them off to sell for knife-handles.-a pur consequent on such intoxication. pose for which the whiteness imbibed by the bleach- This is written in the eye of Mont Blanc (June 3d, ing of years had rendered them in great request. 1816), which even at this distance dazzles mine. (July

of these relics I ventured to bring away as much as 20th.)-- 1 this day observed for some time the distinct may have made a quarter of a hero, for which the reflection of Mont Blanc and Mont Argentière in the sole excuse is, that if I had not, the next passer-by calm of the lake, which I was crossing in my boat. might have perverted them to worse uses than the The distance of these mountains from their mirror is careful preservation which I intend for them. sixty miles.

In one hot throng, where we become the spoil The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot? Of our infection, till too late and long

Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal We may deplore and struggle with the coil,

lot? In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong

LXXV. 'Midst a contentious world, striving where none are

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part strong

Of me and of my soul, as I of them?

Is not the love of these deep in my heart
There, in a moment, we may plunge our years With a pure passion ? should I not contemn
In fatal penitence, and in the blight

All objects, if compared with these? and stem Of our own soul, turn all our blood to tears,

A tide of suffering, rather than forego And colour things to come with hues of Night; Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm The race of life becomes a hopeless flight

Of those whose eyes are only turned below, To those that walk in darkness : on the sea, Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare The boldest steer but where their ports invite,

not glow? But there are wanderers o'er Eternity

LXXVI. Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er

But this is not my theme; and I return shall be.

To that which is immediate, and require

Those who find contemplation in the urn,
Is it not better, then, to be alone,

To look on One whose dust was once all fire, And love Earth only for its earthly sake?

A native of the land where I respire By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,

The clear air for awhile-a passing guest, Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake,

Where he became a being, -whose desire Which feeds it as a mother who doth make

Was to be glorious; 'twas a foolish quest, A fair but froward infant her own care,

The which to gain and keep he sacrificed all rest. Kissing its cries away as these awake;Is it not better thus our lives to wear,

LXXVII. Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, bear?

The apostle of affliction, he who threw

Enchantment over passion, and from woc
I live not in myself, but I become

Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew Portion of that around me; and to me,

The breath which made him wretched; yet he High mountains are a feeling, but the hum

knew Of human cities torture: I can see

How to make madness beautiful, and cast Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be

O'er erring deeds and thoughts, a heavenly hue A link reluctant in a fleshly chain,

Or words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past Class'd ainong creatures, when the soul can flee, The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain

fast. Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain.


His love was passion's essence as a tree

On fire by lightning ; with ethereal flame
And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life:

Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be I look upon the peopled desert past,

Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same. As on a place of agony and strise,

But his was not the love of living dame, Where, for some sin, to Sorrow I was cast,

Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, To act and suffer, but remount at last

But of Ideal beauty, which became With a fresh pinion ; which I felt to spring,

In him existence, and o'erflowing teems Though young, yet waxing vigorous as the blast Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems. Which it would cope with, on delighted wing, Spurning the clay.cold bonds which round our being

LXXIX. cling:

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this

Invested her with all that's wild and sweet;
And when, at length, the mind shall be all free

This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss From what it hates in this degraded form,

Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet, Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be Existent happier in the fly and worm,

* This refers to the account in his Confessions of

his passion for the Comtesse d'Houdetot (the mistress When elements to elements conform,

of St. Lambert), and his long walk every morning. And dust is as it should be, shall I not

for the sake of the single kiss which was the common Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm?

salutation of French acquaintance. Rousseau's descrip: tion of his feelings on this occasion may be considered

as the most passionate, yet not impure, description • The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a and expression of love that ever kindled into words; depth of tint which I have never seen equalled in which, after all, must be felt, from their very force, tu water, salt or fresh, except in the Mediterranean and be inadequate to the delineation. A painting can Archipelago,

Igive no sufficient idea of the ocean.

From hers, who but with friendship his would meet : Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring, Flash'd the thrilled spirit's love-devouring heat; This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing

In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest, To waft me from distraction; once I loved
Than vulgar minds may be with all they scek possest. Torn ocean's roar, but thay soft murmuring

Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved,

That I with stern delights should e'er have been so
His life was one long war with self-sought foes, moved.
Or friends by him self-banish'd; for his mind

LXXXVI. Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose

It is the hush of night, and all between For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind, 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind.

Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, But he was frenzied, --wherefore, who may know?

Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen,

Save darken d Jura, whose capt heights appear Since cause might be which skill could never find;

Precipitously steep; and drawing near,
But he was frenzied by disease or woe
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,

Of flowers yet fresh with chudhood; on the ear show. LXXXI.

Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, For then he was inspired, and from him came,

Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol

more As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore,

LXXXVII Those oracles which set the world in flame,

He is an evening reveller, who makes Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more:

His life an infancy, and sings his fill; Did he not this for France, which lay before

At intervals, some bird from out the brakes
Bowd to the inborn tyranny of years?

Starts into voice a moment, then is still.
Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore,
Till by the voice of him and his compeers

There seems a floating whisper on the hill,

But that is fancy, for the starlight dews Roused up to too much wrath, which follows o'er.

All silently their tears of love instil, grown fears? LXXXII.

Weeping themselves away, till they infuse

Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. They made themselves a fearful monument ! The wreck of old opinions-things which grew,

LXXXVIII Breathed from the birth of time: the veil they rent,

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven, And what behind it lay, all earth shall view.

If in your bright leaves we would read the fate But good with ill they also overthrew,

Of men and empires,-'tis to be forgiven, Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild

That in our aspirations to be great, Upon the same foundation, and renew

Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refill'd,

And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
As heretofore, because ambition was self-willd.

A beauty and a mystery, and create

In u3 such love and reverence from afar,
But this will not endure, nor be endured!

That fortune, fame, power, life, have named

themselves a star. Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. They might have used it better, but, allured

LXXXIX. By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt

All heaven and earth are still--though not in sleep On one another; pity ceased to melt

But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; With her once natural charities. But they,

And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt,

All heaven and earth are still : From the high host
They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day; Of stars, to the lullid lake and mountain-coast,
What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their All is concenter'd in a life intense,
prey ?

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,

But hath a part of being, and a sense
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?

Or that which is of all Creator and defence.
The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear
That which disfigures it; and they who war

хс. With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd,

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt bear

In solitude, where we are least alone; Silence, but not submission: in his lair

A truth, which through our being then doth melt, Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour Which shall atone for years ; none need despair :

And purifies from self: it is a tone,

The soul and source of music, which makes known It came, it cometh, and will come,-the power

Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm,
To punish or forgive-in one we shall be slower.

Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,

Binding all things with beauty ;-twould disarm Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, The spectre Death, had he substantial power to With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing



That in such gaps as desolation work'd, Not vainly did the early Persian make

There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein His altar the high places and the peak

lurk'd. Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, and thus take


. A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek

Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak,

ye, Upreard of hunian hands. Come, and compare With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek,

soul With nature's realms of worship, earth and air, To inake these felt and feeling, weil may be Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer! Things that have made me watchful; the far

roll XCII.

of your departing voices, is the knoll The sky is changed !-and such a change! 0

of what in ne is sleepless,-if I rest.

But where of ye, O tempests! is the goal ? night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,

Are ye like those within the human breast? Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light

Or do ye find at length, like eagles, soine high

nest? Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,

From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud,

Could I embody and unbosom now
But every mountain now hath found a tongue;

That which is most within me.--could I wreak And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud !

Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or


All that I would have sought, and all I seek, XCIII.

Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe-into one And this is in the night :-Most glorious night!

word, Thou wert not sent for sluinber! let me be

And that one word were Lightning, I would A sharer in thy fierce and far delight

speak; A portion of the tempest and of thee!

But as it is, I live and die unheard, How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,

With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a And the big rain comes dancing to the eartl.!

sword. And now again 'tis black,--and now, the glce

XCVIII. Of the loud hills shakes with its mountainmirth,

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's

With breath all incense, and with cheek all birth.


Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, XCI.

And living as if earth contain'd no tomb,Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way

And glowing into day: we may resume between

'The march of our existence: and thus I, Heights which appear as lovers who have

Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find roon parted

And food for meditation, nor pass by In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,

Much, that may give us pause, if pondered That they can meet no inore, though broken.


XCIX. hearted; Though in their souls, which thus each other Clarens ! sweet Clarens! birthplace of deep thwarted,

Love! Love was the very root of the fond rage

Thine air is the young breath of passionate Which blighted their life's bloom, and then de. thought; parted:

Thy trees take root in love; the snows above Itself expired, but leaving them an age

The very Glaciers have his colours caught, Of years all winters-war within themselves to And sunset into rose-lues sees them wrought wage.

By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks, XCV.

The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who

sought Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his

In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, way,

Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his

then mocks. stand: For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, Flashing and cast around : of all the band,

Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne The brighest through these parted hills hath To which the steps are mountains; where the

fork'd His lightnings, as if he did understand

Is a pervading life and light,---so shown


Not on those summits solely, nor alone

They were gigantic minds, nd their steep aim In the still cave and forest ; o er the flower

Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, Thoughts which should call down thunder, and

His soft and summer breath, whose tender power the flame Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while hour

On man and tnan's research could deign do more CI.

than smile. All things are here of him ; from the black pines,

Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar The one was fire and fickleness, a child
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines

Most mutable in wishes, but in mind Which slope his green path downward to the A wit as various-gay, grave, sage, or wild, shore,

Historian, bard, philosopher combined: Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore, He multiplied himself among mankind, Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, The Proteus of their talents : But his own The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar,

Breathed inost in ridicule,--which, as the wind, But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it Blew where it listed, laying all things prone. stood,

Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude.



The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought,
A populous solitude of bees and birds,
And fairy-form'd and many colour'd things,

And hiving wisdom with each studious year,

In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, Who worship him with notes more sweet than

And shaped his weapon with an edge severe. words, And innocently open their glad wings,

Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs,

The lord of irony,-that inaster-spell,

Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend

fear, Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend,

And doom'd him to the zealot's ready hell,

Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.

He who hath loved not, here would learn that

Yet, peace be with their ashes,- for by them,

If merited, the penalty is paid; lore, And make his heart a spirit; he who know's

It is not ours to judge, far less condemn;

The hour must come when such things shall be That tender mystery, will love the more,

made For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes,

Known unto all, -or hope and dread allay'd And the world's waste, have driven him far from

By slumber on one pillow, in the dust, those,

Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay'd ; For 'tis his nature to advance or die;

And when it shall revive, as is our trust, He stands not still, but or decays, or grows

'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With the immortal lights, in its eternity!

CIX. civ.

But let me quit man's works, again to read

His Maker's spread around me, and suspend 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot,

This page, which from iny reveries ed,
Peopling it with affections; but he found
It was the scene which passion must allot

Until it seems prolonging without end.

The clouds above me to the white Alps tend, To the mind's purified beings; 'twas the ground Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound,

And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er And hallow'd it with loveliness: 'tis lone,

May be permitted, as my steps I bend

To their most great and growing region, where And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound,

The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air. And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone

CX Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd

Italia I too, Italia! looking on thee a throne. CV.

Full flashes on the soul the light of ages.

Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee, Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes

To the last halo of the chiefs and sages, Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name ;*

Who glorify thy consecrated pages, Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous

Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still, roads,

The fount at which the panting mind assuages A path to perpetuity of fame :

Her thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill,

Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial • Voltaire and Gibbon.


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