CV And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks, Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear: But could I gather from the wave-worn store 940 Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer? There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here. CVI Then let the winds howl on! their harmony With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright, What are our petty griefs?-let me not number mine. CVII Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strown CVIII There is the moral of all human tales; 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory-when that fails, 950 960 And History, with all her volumes vast, Where gorgeous Tyranny hath thus amass'd 970 Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask-Away with words! draw near, CIX Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep,-for here There is such matter for all feeling :-Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear, Ages and realms are crowded in this span, This mountain, whose obliterated plan The pyramid of empires pinnacled, Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd! 980 Where are its golden roofs where those who dared to build? CX Tully was not sc eloquent as thou, To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime, 990 CXI Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, And looking to the stars: they had contain'd With household blood and wine, serenely wore CXII Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place Where Rome embraced her heroes? where the steep The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap Their spoils here? Yes; and in yon field below, CXIII The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood: But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd, CXIV Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, 1000 1010 1020 Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf The forum's champion, and the people's chief Her new-born Numa thou-with reign, alas! too brief, CXV Egeria! sweet creation of some heart The nympholepsy of some fond despair; Who found a more than common votary there Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. CXVI The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Whose green, wild margin now no more erase Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 1030 1040 The rill runs o'er, and round fern, flowers, and ivy creep, CXVII Fantastically tangled: the green hills Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes, Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven seems colour'd by its skies. CXVIII Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, Egeria! thy all heavenly bosom beating For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover; 1050 The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting With her most starry canopy, and seating Thyself by thine adorer, what befell? This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting Haunted by holy Love-the earliest oracle ! CXIX And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, The purity of heaven to earthly joys, Expel the venom and not blunt the dart— 1060 1070 And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys? CXX Alas! our young affections run to waste, CXXI Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art— The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, And to a thought such shape and image given, 1080 As haunts the unquench'd soul-parch'd, wearied, wrung, and riven. CXXII Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seiz'd? In him alone. Can Nature show so fair? Where are the charms and virtues which we dare The unreach'd Paradise of our despair, Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, And overpowers the page where it would bloom again ? CXXIII Who loves, raves-'tis youth's frenzy-but the cure Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's The fatal spell, and still it draws us on, Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds; The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun, 1090 1100 Seems ever near the prize-wealthiest when most undone. CXXIV We wither from our youth, we gasp away Sick-sick; unfound the boon, unslaked the thirst, 1110 Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first But all too late, so are we doubly curst. And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame. CXXV Few-none-find what they love or could have loved, 1120 Whose touch turns Hope to dust,-the dust we all have trod. CXXVI Our life is a false nature: 'tis not in The harmony of things, this hard decree, This uneradicable taint of sin, This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree, Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be 1130 The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew— Disease, death, bondage-all the woes we see, And worse, the woes we see not-which throb through The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. CXXVII Yet let us ponder boldly-'tis a base Our right of thought-our last and only place Though from our birth the faculty divine Is chain'd and tortured-cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, 1140 And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine Too brightly on the unprepared mind, The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the blind. CXXVIII Arches on arches! as it were that Rome, Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine As 'twere its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which streams here to illume Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume CXXIX Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, 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 Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. 1150 1160 |