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But the wild prospect when the soul reviews..
273. FROM THE Prisoner of CHILLON.”
Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls :
Which round about the wave inthralls '
Sounding o'er our heads it knocked;
And then the very rock hath rocked,
And I have felt it shake, unshocked,
FROM “MANFRED.” 274. MANFRED's SOLILOQUY ON THE JUNGFRAU.
My mother Earth! And thou, fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
[An eagle passes
[The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard The natural music of the mountain reedFor here the patriarchal days are not A pastoral fable - pipes in the liberal air, Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd; My soul would drink those echoes. - that were The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, A living voice, a breathing harmony, A bodiless enjoyment - born and dying With the blest tone which made ine!
275. THE COLISEUM. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the Night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, When I was wandering - upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall, 'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and More near from out the Cæsars' palace came The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly, Of distant sentinels the fitful song Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach Appeared to skirt th’ horizon, yet they stood Within a bowshot. Where the Cæsars dwelt, And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst A grove which springs through levelled battlemente, And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth; But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, A noble wreck in ruinous perfection, While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Which softened down the hoar austerity Of rugged desolation, and filled up, As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old, The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rulo Our spirits from their urns.
276. THE ISLES OF GREECE. The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phæbus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
The Scian and the Teian muse,
The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Their place of birth alone is mute
The mountains look on Marathon
And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone,
I dreamed that Grecce might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave.
A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And men in nations; - all were his!
And where are they? and where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now
The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though linked among a fettered race,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but Llush? - Our fathers bled. Earth! n nuer back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, ļo make a new Thermopylæ!
What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no; — the voices of the dead
And answer, “Let one living head,
In vain - in vain; strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
The nobler and the manlier one?
Trust not for freedom to the Franks
They have a king who buys and sells:
The only hope of courage dwells :
On my arrival at Venice, in the year 1816, I found my mind in a slate which required study, and study of a nature which should leave little scope for the imagination, and furnish some difficulty in the pursuit.
At this period I was much struck - in common, I believe, witi. erery other traveller — with the society of the Convent of St Lazarus, which appears to unite all the advantages of the monastic institution. without any of its vices.
The neatness, the comfort, the gentleness, the unaffected devotion, he accomplishments, and the virtues of the brethren of the order, are well fitted to strike the man of the world with the conviction tha: 6. there is another and a better" even in this life.
These men are the priesthood of an oppressed and a noble nation, which has partaken of the proscription and bondage of the Jews anj of the Greeks, without the sullenness of the former or the servility o: the latter. This people has attained riches without usury, and all the