XL. Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show Men and their thoughts; 't was wise to feel, not so And spurn the instruments thou wert to use, Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow: 'T is but a worthless world to win or lose ; So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who chuse. XLI. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock; But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy throne, Their admiration thy best weapon shone : The part of Philip's son was thine, not then (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) Like stern Diogenes to mock at men ; For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. 9 XLII. But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire In its own narrow being, but aspire XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; conquerors and kings, Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school XLIV. Their breath is agitation, and their life XLV. He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find Must look down on the hate of those below. And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. XLVI. Away with these! true wisdom's world will be Within its own creation, or in thine, A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine, And chiefless castles, breathing stern farewells From grey but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. XLVII. And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, Or holding dark communion with the cloud. There was a day when they were young and proud, Banners, on high, and battles pass'd below; But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. XLVIII. Beneath these battlements, within those walls, Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state Doing his evil will, nor less elate Than mightier heroes of a longer date. What want these outlaws 10 conquerors should have, A wider space an ornamented grave? Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. XLIX. In their baronial feuds and single fields, L. But thou, exulting and abounding river! 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, LII. Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, In glens which might have made even exile dear; Joy was not always absent from his face, But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient trace. LIII. Nor was all love shut from him, though his days LIV. And he had learn'd to love,-I know not why, To change like this, a mind so far imbued But thus it was; and though in solitude Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow. LV. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, Which unto his was bound by stronger ties Than the church links withal; and, though unwed, That love was pure, and, far above disguise, Had stood the test of mortal enmities Still undivided, and cemented more By peril, dreaded most in female eyes; 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, And hands which offer early flowers, Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls of grey, And many a rock which steeply lowers, And noble arch, in proud decay, Look o'er this vale of vintage bowers: But one thing want these banks of Rhine,— Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! I send the lilies given to me, 3. Though, long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must wither'd be ; But yet reject them not as such: For I have cherish'd them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, And know'st them gather'd by the Rhine! And offer'd from my heart to thine! 4. The river nobly foams and flows, The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round; The haughtiest breast its wish might bound Through life to dwell delighted here; Nor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear, |