LXXXII. They made themselves a fearful monument! The wreck of old opinions-things which grew And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild Upon the same foundation, and renew Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour re-fill'd, As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd. LXXXIII. But this will not endure, nor be endured! Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt With her once natural charities. But they, LXXXIV. What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear That which disfigures it; and they who war With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear Silence, but not submission: in his lair Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour Which shall atone for years; none need despair: It came, it cometh, and will come,-the power To punish or forgive-in one we shall be slower. LXXXV. Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, To waft me from distraction; once I loved That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. LXXXVI. It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more; LXXXVII. He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. LXXXVIII. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you; for A beauty and a mystery, and create ye are In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. LXXXIX. All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, All is concenter'd in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being, and a sense Of that which is of all Creator and defence. XC. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone; A truth, which through our being then doth melt And purifies from self: it is a tone, The soul and source of music, which makes known Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, Binding all things with beauty;-'twould disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. XCI. Not vainly did the early Persian make His altar the high places and the peak Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, (20) and thus take A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'r! |