Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Let such approach this consecrated land,
Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, And pass in peace along the magic waste;
Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled,

But spare its relics-let no busy hand
And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields; Deface the scenes, already how defaced !
There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, Not for such purpose were these altars placed ;
The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air ; : Rerere the remnants nations once revered:
Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds,

So may our country's name be undisgraced, Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare; So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear's Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. By every honest joy of love and lite endear'd !

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XCIV. Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground; For thee, who thus in too protracted song No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, . Hath soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng And all the Muse's tales seem truly told,

Of louder minstrels in these later days; Till the sense aches with gazing to behold

To such resign the strife for fading bays,The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon:

Ill may such contest now the spirit move Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise ;

Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone: Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Mara- And none are left to please, when nonc are left to thon.

love. LXXXix.

XCV. The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same;

Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one! Unchanged in all except its foreign lord

Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me, Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame

Who did for me what none beside have done, The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde

Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,

What is my being ? thou hast ceased to be! As on the morn to distant Glory dear,

Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, When Marathon became a magic word ; 39

Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see: Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear

Would they had never been, or were to come! The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's ea- Would he had ne'er returned, to find fresh cause to XC.

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow;
The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear;

Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved !

How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past,
Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below,
Death in the front, Destruction in the rear!

And clings to thoughts now better far removed! Such was the scene—what now remaineth here?

But Time shall tear thy shadow from me lnst. (hast. What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground,

All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death! thou Recording freedom's smile, and Asia's tear?

The parent, friend, and now the more than friend; The rified urn, the violated mound,

Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flow so fast, The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spornis Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend

And grief with grief continuing still to blend,

Yet tc the remnants of thy splendor past
Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied throng;

Then must I plunge again into the crowd,
Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast,

And follow all that Peace disdains to seek? Hail the bright clime of battle and of song;

Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue

False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore;

To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak; Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young!

Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, Which sages venerate, and bards adore,

To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ; As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore.

Smiles for the channel of a future tear,

Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. XCII.

XCVIII. The parted bosom chings to wonted home. If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth; What is the worst of woes that wait on age ? He that is lonely, hither let him roam,

What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? And gaze complacent on congenial carth.

To view each loved one blotted from life's page, Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth. And be alone on earth, as I am now. But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, Before the Chastener hnmbly let me bow And scarce regret the region of his birth,

O'er hearts divided, and o'er hopes destroy'd; When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow, Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd, died.

Aud with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd.


'Tis to create, and in creating live

A being more intense, that we endow !

With form or fancy, gaining as we give
The life we image, eren as I do now.

What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou, # Afin que cette application vous forçat de penser à autre chose ; à n'y a en Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth, véritè de remede que celui-là et le temps." --Letire du Roi de Pruese a D'Alembert, Sept.7, 1776.

Invisible but gazing, as I glow

Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,

And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings' I.

dearth. Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!

Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? Yet must I think less wildly :- I have thought
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
And then we parted, -not as now we part, 1 In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought,
But with a hope.-

A whirling gulf of phantasy and fame;
Awaking with a start,

And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tamen The waters heave around me; and on high My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late! The winds lift up their voices: I depart,

Yet am I changed; though still enough the same Whither I know not; but the hour's gone bye In strength to bear what time can not abate, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad And teed on ottier fruits without accusing Fate. mine eye. II.

VIII. Once more upon the waters ! yet once more! Something too much of this ;—but now 'tis past, And the waves bound beneath me as a steed And the spell closes with its silent seal. That knows his rider. Welcome, to their roar! Long absent HAROLD reappears at last; Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead! He of the breast which fain no more would feel, Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er See And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Yet Time, who changes all, had alter'd him (heal; Still must I on; for I am as a weed,

In soul and aspect as in age: ycars steal Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. prevail. III.

IX. In my youth's summer I did sing of One,

His had been quafi'd too quickly, and he found The wandering outlaw of his own dark mit ); The dregs were wormwood; but he fill'd again, Again I seize the theme then but begun,

And from a purer fount, on holier ground,
And bear it with me, as the rushing wind

And deem'd its spring perpetual; but in vain !
Bears the cloud onwards : in that Tale I tii! Still round him clung invisibly a chain
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up ttars,

Which galli, Torerut tentering though unseen, Which, ebbing, leave a steril track behind, And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with pain, O'er which all heavily the journeying years

Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,
Plod the last sands of life, -where not a flower Entering with every step he took through many a

Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain, Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string, Again in fancied safety with his kind,
And both may jar; it may be, that in vain And deem’d his spirit now so firmly fix'd
I would essay as I have sung to sing.

And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind, | Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind; So that it ween me from the weary dream

And he, as one, might midst the many stand Of selfish grief or gladness—so it fling

Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find Forgetfulness around me-it shall seem

Fit speculation; such as in strange land To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's


He, who grown aged in this world of woe, But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, To wear it? who can curiously behold
So that no wonder waits him; nor below

The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek,
Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife, Nor feel the heart can never all grow old ?
Cut to his heart again with the keen knife Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold
Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell

The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb ? Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife Harold, once more within the vortex, rollid

With airy images, and shapes which dwell On with the giddy circle, chasing Time, Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond cell.




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XVIII. But soon he knew himself the most unfit

And IIarold stands upon this place of skulls, Of men to herd with Van; with whom he held The

grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ; Little in common; untaught to submit (quella How in an hour the power which gave anauls His thoughts to others, though his soul was Its gifts, transferring fame as flceting too! In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompellid, In “pride of place”, here last the cagle flew, He would not yield dominion of his mind

Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, To spirits against whom his own rebellid;

Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through; Proud though in desolation; which could find Ambition's life and labors all were rain; A life within itself, to breath without mankind. He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken

chain. XIII.

XIX. Where rose the mountains, there to him were Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit friends;

And foam in fetters ;-but is Earth more free? Where roll'd the ocean, thereou was his home; Did nations combat to make One submit, Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? He had the passion and the power to roam; What! shall reviving Thraldom again be The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,

The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days? Were unto him companionship; they spake

who struck the Lion down, shall we A mutual language, clearer than the tome Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze

Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake And servile knees to thrones ? No: prove before yo For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake.

praise !


If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more!
Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars,

In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears Till he had peopled them with beings bright For Europe's flowers long rooted up before As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born

The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain, years And human frailties, were forgotten quite: (jars,

Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Could he have kept his spirit to that flight

Have all been borne, and broken by the accord He had been happy; but this clay will sink

Of roused-up millions: all that most endears Its spark immortal, envying it the light

Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword To which it mounts, as if to break the link

Such as Harmodius? drew on Athens' tyrant lord. That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink. XV.

XXI. But in Man's dwellings he became a thing

There was a sound of revelry by night, Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome,

And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with clipt wing,

Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright To whom the boundless air alone werc home:

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat
His breast and beak against his wiry dome

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat

And all went merry as a inarriage-bell;3

But hush? hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising pf his impeded soul would through his bosom eat.

knell! XVI.

XXII. Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again,

Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind, With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom;

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; The very knowledge that he lived in rain,

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; That all was over on this side the tomb,

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet Had made Despair a smilingness assume, [1 reck

To chase the glowing Hours with fiving feetWhich, though 'twere wild, -as on the plunderal But, hark !--that heavy sound breaks in once more, When mariners would madly meet their doom

As if the clouds its echo would repeat; With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check. 7 Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!


Stop!-For thy tread is on an Empire's dust! Within a window'd niche of that high hall
An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred

below! Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust?

That sound the first amidst the festival, Nor column trophied for triumphal show? And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, And when thoy smiled because he deem'd it near, As the ground was before, thus let it be;

His heart more truly knew that peal too well How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,

And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell. Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory? He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting fell


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XXX. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And mine were nothing, had I such to give; And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness ; Which living waves where thou didst cease to live And there were sudden partings, such as press And saw around me the wide field revive The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, With all her reckless birds upon the wing, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not rise ?

bring.? XXV.

XXXI. And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed

I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,

And one as all a ghastly gap did make Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,

In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;

Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ;

The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake And near, the beat of the alarming drum

Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;

May for a moment sooth, it cannot slake (Fame While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,

The fever of vain longing, and the name Or whispering, with white lips—"The foe! They so honor'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. come! they come!” XXVI.

XXXII. And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills (rose!

The tree will wither long before it fall; [mourn: Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn; How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills In massy hoariness; the ruin'd wall Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; With the fierce native daring which instills

The bars survive the captive they enthral; [sun;
The stirring memory of a thousand years, The day drags through tho'storms keep out the
And 4Evan's, 5Donald's fame rings in each clans- And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
man's ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass In every fragment multipties; and makes
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,

A thousand images or one that was,
Over the unreturning brave,--alas !

The same, and still the more, the more it breaks; Ere evening to be trodden like the grass

And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold, In its next verdure, when this fiery mass

And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches, of living valor, rolling on the foe,

Yet withers on till all without is old,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.
and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,

There is a very life in our despair,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,

Vitality of poison.--à quick root The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day

Which feeds these deadly bratiches; for it were Battle's magnificently-stern array!

As nothing did we die; but Life will suit The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,

Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, The earth is covered thick with other clay,

Like to the apples on the 8 Dead Sea's shore, Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,

All ashes to the taste: Did man compute Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial

Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er. blent!

Such hours 'gainst years of life,-say, would he namo XXIX.

threescore? Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine;

XXXV. Yet one I would select from that proud throng, The Psalmist number'd out the years of nan : Partly because they blend me with his line, They are enough; and if thy tale be true, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, And partly that bright names will hallow song; More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd Millions or tongues record theo, tad anew The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Their children's lips shall echo them, and say—

Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'a, “Here, where the sword united nations drew, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, Our countrymen were warring on that day!” gallant Howard!

And this is much, and all which will not pass away,

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There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
Whose spirit antithetically mixt

And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire One moment of the mightiest, and again

And motion of the soul which will not dwell On little objects with like firmness fixt,

In its own narrow being, but aspire
Extreme in all things ! hadst thou been betwixt, Beyond the fitting medium of desire;
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore
For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
Even now to reassume the imperial mien,

Of aught but rest; a fever at the core,
And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou !

This makes the madmen who have made men mad She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name

By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings, Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now

Founders of sects and systems, to whom add That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame,

Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became

Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert

And are themselves the fools to those they fool; A god unto thyself; nor less the same

Envied, you taqw unen viable! what stings To the astounded kingdoms all inert,

Are theirst! One breast laid open were a school Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst Which woulunteach mankind the lust to shine or assert.


Oh, more or less than man-in high or low,

Their breath is agitation, and their life
Battling with nations, flying from the field;

A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last,

And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife,
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;

That should their days, surviving perils past,

Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast
An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,

With sorrow aud supineness, and so die;

Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

With its own flickering, or a sword laid by,
Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest


He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide,

The loftiest peaks most wraft trclouds ånd snow; With that untaught innate philosophy,

He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,

Must look down on the date of those below. Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.

Though high above the sun of glory glow, When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,

And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast

Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow With a sedate and all-enduring eye ;- [smiled

Contending tempests on his naked head, When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favorite child, and thus reward the toils which to those summits He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled.



Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them

Within its own creation, or in thrine, Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show

Maternal Nature ! for who teems like thee, That just habitual scorn which could contemn Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine? Men and their thoughts ; 'twas wise to feel, not so There Harold gazes on a work divine, To wear it ever on thy lip and brow,

A blending of all beauties; streams and dello, And spurn the instruments thou wert to use, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow:

vine, "Tis but a worthless world to win or lose;

And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly choose.

dwells. XLI.

XLVII. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock,

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock; All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy Or holding dark communion with the cloud. Their admiration thy best weapon shone; [throne. There was a day when they were young and proud, The part of Philip's son was thine, not then Banners on high, and battles pass'd below; (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, Like stern Diogenes to mock at men;

* And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den! 9' And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.

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