CANTO III. "Atm que cette application vous forgât de penser à autre chose; il n'y a en erité de remede que celui-là et le tempa."-Lettre du Roi de Prusse a ** Alembert, Sept. 7, 1776. I. Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me; and on high The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye. II. Ouce more upon the waters! yet once more! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider. Welcome, to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead! Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail. III. In my youth's summer I did sing of One, The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; Again I seize the them.e then but begun, And bear it with me, as the rushing wind Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, Which, ebbing, leave a steril track behind, O'er which all heavily the journeying years Plod the last sands of life,-where not a flower appears. IV. Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain, Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string, And both may jar; it may be, that in vain I would essay as I have sung to sing. Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, So that it ween me from the weary dream Of selfish grief or gladness-so it fling Forgetfulness around me-it shall seem To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. V. He, who grown aged in this world of wo, But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek To wear it? who can curiously behold still unimpair'd though old, in the soul's haunted Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fend a Within a window'd niche of that high hall Stop!-For thy tread is on an Empire's dust. Even as a broken mirror, which the glass The same, and still the more, the more it breaks. And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold Showing no visible sign, for such things are untole and low. XXXVI. There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, One moment of the mightiest, and again XLII. But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. scene! XXXVII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men m Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst Which would unteach mankind the lust to snine assert. XXXVIII. Oh, more or less than man-in high or low, Battling with nations, flying from the field; Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield; An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star. XXXIX. Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide, With that untaught innate philosophy, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast With a sedate and all-enduring eye;- [smiled When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favorite child, He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled. XL. Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them 'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose; rule; XLIV. Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow aud supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, XLV. He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and sno He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summ led. XLVI. Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, vine, And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin gree For sceptied cynics earth were far too wide a den! And the bleak battlements shall bear no future bl But History's purchased page to call them great? A wider space, an ornamented grave? LIV. And he had learned to love,-I know not why, Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to as brave. XLIX. In their baronial feuds and single fields, What deeds of prowess unrecorded died! And love, which lent a blazon to their shields, With emblems well devised by amorous pride, Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide; But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on Keen contest and destruction near allied, And many a tower for some fair mischief won, Faw the discolor'd Rhine beneath its ruin run. L. But Thou, exultiag and unbounding river! Making thy waves a blessing as they flow Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever Could man but leave thy bright creation so, Nor its fair promise from the surface mow With the sharp scythe of conflict, then to see Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know Earth paved like Heaven; and to seem such to me, Even now what wants thy stream?-that it should Lethe be. LI. A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks, But these and half their fame have pass'd away, And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks; Their very graves are gone, and what are they r Thy tide wasn'd down the blood of yesterday, And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray; Bat o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem. LII. Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, In glens which might have made even exile dear; Bat c'er it in such scenes would steal with transient trace. LIII. Nor was all love shut from him, though his days Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. It is in vain that we would coldly gaze On such as smile upon us; the heart must Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust Hath wenn'd it from all worldlings: thus he felt, For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. glow. LV. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, But this was firm, and from a foreign shore Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour. 1. The castled crag of Drachenfels " Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine. Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine. And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strew'd a scene which I should see With double joy wert thou with me. 2. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; 3. I send the lilies given to me; 4. The river nobly foams and flows, Could thy dear eyes in following mine |