But the wild prospect when the soul reviews ·· The joy untasted, the contempt or hate Too quick y on to guess if hell or heaven; Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remembered not Not cankering less because the more concealed — and break. 273. FROM "THE PRISONer of ChillON.” Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: A thousand feet in depth below Its massy waters meet and flow; Thus much the fathom-line was sent A double dungeon wall and wave The dark vault lies wherein we lay, We heard it ripple night and day; Sounding o'er our heads it knocked; Wash through the bars when winds were high And then the very rock hath rocked, And I have felt it shake, unshocked, Because I could have smiled to see The death that would have set me free. FROM "MANFRED." 274, MANFRED'S SOLILOQUY ON THE JUNGFRAU. My mother Earth! And thou, fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye. And thou, the bright eye of the universe, Art a delight thou shin'st not on my heart. I feel the impulse - yet I do not plunge; And my brain reels and yet my foot is firm: There is a power upon me which withholds, And makes it my fatality to live; If it be life to wear within myself My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased Thou wingéd and cloud-cleaving minister, [An eagle passes Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, How beautiful is all this visible world! How glorious in its action and itself! But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make And men are what they name not to themselves, And trust not to each other. Hark! the note, [The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard The natural music of the mountain reed For here the patriarchal days are not A pastoral fable-pipes in the liberal air, Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd; O that i were The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, 275. THE COLISEUM. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops I learned the language cf another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, A noble wreck in ruinous perfection, While Caesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries; The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 276. THE ISLES OF GREECE. The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! The Scian and the Teian muse, The mountains look on Marathon And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Grecce might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. On my arrival at Venice, in the year 1816, I found my mind in a state which required study, and study of a nature which should leave little scope for the imagination, and furnish some difficulty in the pursuit. At this period I was much struck-in common, I believe, wit every other traveller-with the society of the Convent of St Lazarus, which appears to unite all the advantages of the monastic institution. without any of its vices. The neatness, the comfort, the gentleness, the unaffected devotion, he accomplishments, and the virtues of the brethren of the order, are well fitted to strike the man of the world with the conviction tha "there is another and a better" even in this life. These men are the priesthood of an oppressed and a noble nation, which has partaken of the proscription and bondage of the Jews and of the Greeks, without the sullenness of the former or the servility o: the latter. This people has attained riches without usury, and all the |