In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. LXXXIX. All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, XC. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt A truth, which through our being then doth melt, The soul and source of music, which makes known Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, Binding all things with beauty;-'twould disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. XCI Not vainly did the early Persian make The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, XCII. The sky is changed!—and such a change! O night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among XCIII. And this is in the night :-Most glorious night! 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! 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 Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed:- 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: The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd That in such gaps as desolation work'd, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd. XCVI. Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye, Of what in me is sleepless,-if I rest. But where of ye, O tempests! is the goal? Are ye like those within the human breast? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? XCVII. 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, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe-into one word, 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, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, And glowing into day: we may resume Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly. XCIX. Clarens! sweet Clarens! birthplace of deep Love! Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then mocks. C. Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,- To which the steps are mountains; where the god 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 Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. CI. All things are here of him; from the black pines, 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, 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. A populous solitude of bees and birds, And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things, Who worship him with notes more sweet than words, And innocently open their glad wings |