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From dark and icycaverns called you forth, | Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,

thou

Forever shattered and the same forever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,

Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came),

Here let the billows stiffen and have rest? Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow

Adown enormous ravines slope amain, Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,

And stopped at once amid their maddest
plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the gates of
Heaven

Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun

Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?

God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,

Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God! sing, ye meadow - streams, with gladsome voice!

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soullike sounds!

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!

Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain

storm!

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!

Ye signs and wonders of the elements, Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou, too, hoar Mount! with thy skypointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene,

Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,

That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused
with tears,

Solemnly seemest like a vapory cloud
To rise before me Rise, O, ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the
Earth!

Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,

Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven,

Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

CHRISTABEL.

PART I

"T Is the middle of night by the castle clock,

And the owls have awakened the crowing
cock;
Tu-whit! tu-whoo!

And hark, again! the crowing cock,
How drowsily it crew.

Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch; From her kennel beneath the rock She maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour;

Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Sixteen short howls, not over-loud; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.

Is the night chilly and dark? The night is chilly, but not dark. The thin gray cloud is spread on high, It covers but not hides the sky. The moon is behind, and at the full; And yet she looks both small and dull. The night is chill, the cloud is gray; "T is a month before the month of May, And the Spring comes slowly up this way.

The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothed knight;

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"THOU, TOO, HOAR MOUNT! WITH THY SKY-POINTING PEAKS." - Page 110.

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