XCIII | |
And this is in the night: – Most glorious night! | |
870 | Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be |
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, – | |
A portion of the tempest and of thee! | |
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, | |
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! | |
875 | And now again ’tis black, – and now, the glee |
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, | |
As if they did rejoice o’er a young earthquake’s birth. | |
XCIV | |
Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between | |
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted | |
880 | In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, |
That they can meet no more, though brokenhearted! | |
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, | |
Love was the very root of the fond rage | |
Which blighted their life’s bloom, and then departed: | |
885 | Itself expired, but leaving them an age |
Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage. | |
XCV | |
Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, | |
The mightiest of the storms hath ta’en his stand: | |
For here, not one, but many, make their play, | |
890 | And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, |
Flashing and cast around: of all the band, | |
The brightest through these parted hills hath fork’d | |
His lightnings, – as if he did understand, | |
That in such gaps as desolation work’d, | |
895 | There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk’d. |
XCVI | |
Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! | |
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul | |
To make these felt and feeling, well may be | |
Things that have made me watchful; the far roll | |
900 | Of your departing voices, is the knoll |
Of what in me is sleepless, – if I rest. | |
But where of ye, oh tempests! is the goal? | |
Are ye like those within the human breast? | |
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? | |
XCVII | |
905 | Could I embody and unbosom now |
That which is most within me, – could I wreak | |
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw | |
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, | |
All that I would have sought, and all I seek, | |
910 | Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into |
And that one word were Lightning, I would speak; | |
But as it is, I live and die unheard, | |
With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. | |
XCVIII | |
The morn is up again, the dewy morn, | |
915 | With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, |
Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, | |
And living as if earth contain’d no tomb, — | |
And glowing into day: we may resume | |
The march of our existence: and thus I, | |
920 | Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room |
And food for meditation, nor pass by | |
Much, that may give us pause, if ponder’d fittingly. | |
XCIX | |
Clarens! sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep Love! | |
Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought; | |
925 | Thy trees take root in Love; the snows above |
The very Glaciers have his colours caught, | |
And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought | |
By rays which sleep there lovingly: the rocks, | |
The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought | |
930 | In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, |
Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then mocks. | |
C | |
Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, – | |
Undying Love’s, who here ascends a throne | |
To which the steps are mountains; where the god | |
935 | Is a pervading life and light, – so shown |
Not on those summits solely, nor alone | |
In the still cave and forest; o’er the flower | |
His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, | |
His soft and summer breath, whose tender power | |
940 | Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. |
CI | |
All things are here of | |
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar | |
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines | |
Which slope his green path downward to the shore, | |
945 | Where the bow’d waters meet him, and adore, |
Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, | |
The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, | |
But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, | |
Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude. | |
CII | |
950 | A populous solitude of bees and birds, |
And fairy-formed and many-colour’d things, | |
Who worship him with notes more sweet than words, | |
And innocently open their glad wings, | |
Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs, | |
955 | And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend |
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings | |
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, | |
Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. | |
CIII | |
He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, | |
960 | And make his heart a spirit; he who knows |
That tender mystery, will love the more, | |
For this is Love’s recess, where vain men’s woes, | |
And the world’s waste, have driven him far from those, | |
For ’tis his nature to advance or die; | |
965 | He stands not still, but or decays, or grows |
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie | |
With the immortal lights, in its eternity! | |
CIV | |
’Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, | |
Peopling it with affections; but he found | |
970 | It was the scene which passion must allot |
To the mind’s purified beings; ’twas the ground | |
Where early Love his Psyche’s zone unbound, | |
And hallow’d it with loveliness: ’tis lone, | |
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, | |
975 | And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone |
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear’d a throne. | |
CV | |
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, | |
980 | 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 | |
985 | On man and man’s research could deign do more than smile. |
CVI | |
The one was fire and fickleness, a child, | |
Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, | |
A wit as various, – gay, grave, sage, or wild, – | |
Historian, bard, philosopher, combined; | |
990 | He multiplied himself among mankind, |
The Proteus of their talents: But his own | |
Breathed most in ridicule, – which, as the wind, | |
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, – | |
Now to o’erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. | |
CVII | |
995 | The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, |
And hiving wisdom with each studious year, | |
In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, | |
And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, | |
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; | |
1000 | The lord of irony, – that master-spell, |
Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, | |
And doom’d him to the zealot’s ready Hell, | |
Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. | |
CVIII | |
Yet, peace be with their ashes, – for by them, | |
1005 | If merited, the penalty is paid; |
If it is not ours to judge, – far less condemn; | |
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, | |
1010 | Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay’d; |
And when it shall revive, as is our trust, |