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But soon in me shall loneliness renew 650 Nothing to loathe in Nature, save to be Thoughts hid, but not less cherished A link reluctant in a fleshly chain, 685 than of old,

Classed among creatures, when the soul Ere mingling with the herd had penned me can flee, in their fold.

And with the sky, the peak, the heav

ing plain To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind;

Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in

vain. All are not fit with them to stir and toil, Nor is it discontent to keep the mind 655

And thus I am absorbed, and this is Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil

life: In the hot throng, where we become the

I look upon the peopled desert past, 690 spoil Of our infection, till too late and long

As on a place of agony and strife,

Where, for some sin, to sorrow I was We may deplore and struggle with the

cast, coil, In wretched interchange of wrong for

To act and suffer, but remount at last

With a fresh pinion; which I feel to wrong

660 'Midst a contentious world, striving


Though young, yet waxing vigorous as where none are strong.

the blast

695 There, in a moment, we may plunge our Which it would cope with, on delighted years

wing, In fatal penitence, and in the blight Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round Of our own soul turn all our blood to our being cling.

tears, And color things to come with hues of And when, at length, the mind shall be night:

665 all free The race of life becomes a hopeless From what it hates in this degraded flight

form, To those that walk in darkness; on the Reft of its carnal life, save what shall


700 The boldest steer but where their ports Existent happier in the fly and worm,invite,

When elements to elements conform, But there are wanderers o'er Eternity And dust is as it should be, shall I Whose bark drives on and on, and an- not chored ne'er shall be.

670 Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more

warm? Is it not better, then, to be alone,

The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each And love Earth only for its earthly sake? By the blue rushing of the arrowy of which, even now, I share at times the


705 Rhone,

immortal lot? Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake, Which feeds it as a mother who doth

Are not the mountains, waves, and make

675 A fair but froward infant her own care,

skies, a part

Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Kissing its cries away as these awake;

Is not the love of these deep in my Is it not better thus our lives to wear,

heart Than join the crushing crowd, doomed to

With a pure passion? should I not coninflict or bear?


710 I live not in myself, but I become 680 All objects, if compared with these and Portion of that around me: and to me,

stem High mountains are a feeling, but the A tide of suffering rather than forego hum

Such feelings for the hard and worldly Of human cities torture; I can see



Of those whose eyes are only turned

below, Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow?


Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate

825 Of men and empires,—'tis to be for

given, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal

state, And claim a kindred with you; for ye


Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake,

797 With the wild world I dwelt in, is a

thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to

forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring.

800 This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction; once I

loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft mur

muring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice re

proved That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved.


A beauty and a mystery, and create 830 In us such love and reverence from

afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have

named themselves a star.

All heaven and earth are still—though

not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling

most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep

835 All heaven and earth are still: from the

high host Of stars, to the lulled lake and moun

tain-coast, All is concentered in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is

lost, But hath a part of being, and a sense 840 Of that which is of all Creator and De


It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk,

yet clear, Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly

seen, Save darkened Jura, whose capped

heights appear Precipitously steep; and drawing near, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,

811 Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on

the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended

oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night

carol more.

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He is an evening reveller, who makes 815
His life an infancy, and sings his fill;
At intervals, some bird from out the

Starts into voice a moment, then is still.
There seems a floating whisper on the

But that is fancy, for the starlight dews
All silently their tears of love instil, 821
Weeping themselves away, till they

infuse Deep into Nature's, breast the spirit of

her hues.

Not vainly did the early Persian make.
His altas the high places and the peak
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, and

thus take A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek The Spirit, in whose honor shrines are weak,


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The Scipios tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,

Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.


The Goth, the Christian, Time, War,

Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's

pride; She saw her glories star by star expire, And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,

715 Where the car climbed the Capitol; far

and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left

a site: Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void,

O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, “Here was, or is,” where all is doubly night?


Arches on arches! as it were that Rome, Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome,

1146 Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams

shine As 't were its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which streams here,

to illume This long-explored but still exhaustless mine

1150 Of contemplation; and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies


The double night of ages, and of her, Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath

wrapped and wrap All round us; we but feel our way to err: The ocean hath his chart, the stars their

map, And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap;

725 But Rome is as the desert, where we

steer Stumbling o'er recollections; now we clap Our hands, and cry “Eureka! it is

clear!”When but some false mirage of ruin rises

Hues which have words, and speak to ye

of heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous

monument, And shadows forth its glory. There is given

1155 Unto the things of earth, which Time

hath bent, A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant His hand, but broke his scythe, there is

a power And magic in the ruined battlement,

For which the palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower.



Alas! the lofty city! and, alas,

730 The trebly hundred triumphs; and the

day When Brutus made the dagger's edge

surpass The Conqueror's sword in bearing fame

away! Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page;—but these shall be

735 Her resurrection; all beside decay.

Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free!

1 chariot.

And here the buzz of


ran, In murmured pity, or loud-roared ap

plause, As man was slaughtered by his fellow man. And wherefore slaughtered? wherefore, but because

1246 Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws, And the imperial pleasure.

Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to fill the

maws Of worms-on battle-plainsor listed spot? Both are but theaters where the chief actors rot.



see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand-his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low



And through his side the last drops, ebb- But when the rising moon begins to ing slow

climb From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Its topmost arch, and gently pauses Like the first of a thunder-shower; and there;

When the stars twinkle through the The arena swims around him-he is gone, loops of time,

1290 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which And the low night-breeze waves along hailed the wretch who won.

1260 the air

The garland-forest which the gray walls He heard it, but he heeded not-his eyes

wear, Were with his heart, and that was far

Like laurels on the bald first Cæsar'shead; away;

When the light shines serene but doth He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, not glare, But where his rude hut by the Danubelay,

Then in this magic circle raise the dead: There were his young barbarians all at Heroes have trod this spot—'tis on their play,

dust ye tread.

1296 There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire,

“While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall Butchered to make a Roman holiday

stand; All this rushed with his blood-Shall he

When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall, expire

And when Rome falls—the World." And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and

From our own land glut your ire!

Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty But here, where Murder breathed her wall

1300 bloody steam;

In Saxon times, which we are wont to

1270 And here, where buzzing nations choked call

Ancient; and these three mortal things And roared or murmured like a mountain stream

On their foundations, and unaltered all; Dashing or winding as its torrent strays;

Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's Here, where the Roman millions' blame skill, or praise

The world, the same wide den-of thieves, Was death or life, the playthings of a


1305 crowd,

1275 My voice sounds much-and fall the

NATURE stars' faint rays

Oh that the desert were my dwelling On the arena void-seats crushed-walls


1585 bowed

With one fair spirit for my minister, And galleries, where my steps seem echoes

That I might all forget the human race, strangely loud.

And, hating no one, love but only her! A ruin-yet what ruin! from its mass

Ye Elements, in whose ennobling stir Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been I feel myself exalted, can ye not 1590 reared;


Accord me such a being? Do I err Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass,

In deeming such inhabit many a spot, And marvel where the spoil could have Though with them to converse can rarely appeared.

be our lot? Hath it indeed been plundered, or but cleared?

There is a pleasure in the pathless Alas! developed, opens the decay, 1284 woods,

1594 When the colossal fabric's form is neared: There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

It will not bear the brightness of the day, There is society where none intrudes, Which streams too much on all, years, By the deep sea, and music in its

the ways,

are still

or what

man have reft away.


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