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But spare its relics-let no busy hand
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 !
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.
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.
Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved !
How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past,
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,
Then must I plunge again into the crowd,
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.
CANTO III. X
A being more intense, that we endow !
With form or fancy, gaining as we give
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!
A whirling gulf of phantasy and fame;
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 deem'd its spring perpetual; but in vain !
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,
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
The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek,
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.
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
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.
If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more!
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,
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.
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!
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
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 ?
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;
A thousand images or one that was,
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,
There is a very life in our despair,
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,
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
Of aught but rest; a fever at the core,
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.
Their breath is agitation, and their life
A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last,
And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife,
That should their days, surviving perils past,
Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast
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,
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.
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.