And this is in the night: Most glorious Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines Which slope his green path downward to the shore, night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be power His soft and summer breath, whose tender Peopling it with affections; but he found It was the scene which Passion must allot To the mind's purified beings; 'twas the ground Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. All things are here of him; from the black pines, Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound, And hallow'd it with loveliness; 'tis lone, And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone Yet, peace be with their ashes, them, Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps If merited, the penalty is paid; Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name; Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, A path to perpetuity of fame: They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame Of Heaven again assail'd, if Heaven the while demn ; - for by far less con The hour must come when such things shall be made Known unto all, or hope and dread allay'd By slumber, on one pillow, in the dust, Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay'd; And when it shall revive, as is our trust, 'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. * CANTO IV I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand: On man and man's research could deign I saw from out the wave her structures Their clay creator the vain title take They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wash'd them power while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou; Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play, Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow: Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. His petty home in some near port or bay My task is done, my song hath ceased, And dashest him again to earth: - there let him lay. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls, Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make my theme Has died into an echo; it is fit The spell should break of this protracted. dream. The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit My midnight lamp- and what is writ, is writ; |