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The race of life becomes a hopeless flight

All objects, if compared with these ? and stem To those that walk in darkness : on the sea, A tide of suffering, rather than forego The boldest steer but where their ports invite, Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm But there are wanderers o'er Eternity

Of those whose eyes are only turned below, Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare shall be.

not glow?

LXXVI.
LXXI.
Is it not better, then, to be alone,

But this is not my theme; and I return
And love Earth only for its earthly sake ?

To that which is immediate, and require By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, 1

Those who find contemplation in the urn, Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake,

To look on One whose dust was once all fire, Which feeds it as a mother who doth make

A native of the land where I respire A fair but froward infant her own care,

The clear air for awhile-a passing guest, Kissing its cries away as these awake;

Where he became a being—whose desire Is it not better thuis our lives to wear,

Was to be glorious ; 'twas a foolish quest, Thau join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or

The which to gain and keep he sacrificed all rest. bear?

LXXVII.
LXXII.

Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, I live not in myself, but I become

The apostle of affliction, he who threw Portion of that around me; and to me,

Enchantment over passion, and from woe High mountains are a feeling, but the hum

Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew Of human cities torture : I can see

The breath which made him wretched; yet he

knew Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be A link reluctant in a fleshly chain,

How to make madness beautiful, and cast Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee,

O'er erring deeds and thoughts, a heavenly hue And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain

Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain.

The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.

LXXVIII.

His love was passion's essence as a tree And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life:

On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame I look upon the peopled desert past,

Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be As on a place of agony and strife,

Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same.
Where, for some sin, to Sorrow I was cast, But his was not the love of living dame,
To act and suffer, but remount at last

Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams,
With a fresh pinion; which I felt to spring, But of Ideal beauty, which became
Though young, yet waxing vigorous as the blast In bim existence, and o’erflowing teems

Which it would cope with, on delighted wing, Along bis burning page, distemper'd though it Spurning the clay.cold bonds which round” our

seems.
being cling

LXXIX.
LXXIV.

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this
And when, at length, the mind shall be all free

Invested ber with all that's wild and sweet; From what it bates in this degraded form,

This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be

Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet, Existent happier in the fly and worm,

From hers, who but with friendship his would

meet : When elements to elements conform, And dust is as it should be, shall I not

But to that gentle touch, through brain and

breast Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm? The bodiless thought ? the Spirit of each spot ?

Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat; of whiclı, even now, I share at times the immortal Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek

In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest, lot ?

possest. LXXV.

LXXX. Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part His life was one long war with self-sought foes, Of me and of my soul, as I of them ?

Or friends by him self-banish’d; for his mind Is not the love of these deep in my heart

Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and close With a pure passion ? should I not contemn For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind,

LXXIII.

(1) The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth acquaintance. Rousseau's description of his feelings on this of tínt which I have never seen equalled in water, salt or occasion may be considered as the most passionate, yet not fresh, except in the Mediterranean and Archipelago.

impure, description and expression of love that ever kindled (2) This refers to the account in his Confessions of his into words; which, after all, must be felt, from their very passion for the Comtesse d'Houdetot (the mistress of St. forco, to be inadequate to the delineation. A painting can Lambert), înd his long walk every morning, for the sake of give no sufficient idea of the ocean the single kiss which was the common salutation of French

LXXXVI.

grown fears ?

'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind.
But he was frenzied, -wherefore, who may know? It is the hush of night, and all between
Since cause might be which skill could never find;

Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, But he was frenzied by disease or woe

Mellow'd and niingling, yet distinctly seen, To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear show.

Precipitously steep; and drawing near,

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, LXXXI.

Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear For then he was inspired, and from him came, Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol Those oracles which set the world in flame,

more; Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more : Did he not this for France, which lay before

LXXXVII. Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years ?

He is an evening reveller, who makes Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, His life an infancy, and sings his fill; Till by the voice of him and his compeers

At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Roused up to too much wrath, which follows o'er

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

But that is fancy, for the starlight dews
LXXXII.

All silently their tears of love instil,
They made themselves a fearful monument ! Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
The wreck of old opinions--things which grew, Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Breathed from the birth of time: the veil they rent,
And what behind it lay, all earth shall view.
But good with ill they also overthrew,

LXXXVIII. Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild

Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven, Upon the same foundation, and renew

If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refillid,

Of men and empires,—'tis to be forgiven,

That in our aspirations to be great, As heretofore, because ambition was self-will’d.

Our destinies o’erleap their mortal state,

And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
LXXXIII.

A beauty and a mystery, and create
But this will not endure, nor be endured! In us such love and reverence from afar,
Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. That fortune, fame, power, life, have named them-
They might have vred it better, but, allured

selves a star.
By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt
On one another; pity ceased to inelt
With her once natural charities. But they,

LXXXIX.
Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt, All heaven and earth are still —though not in sleep,
They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day; But breathless, as we grow when feeling most;
What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep :-

All heaven and earth are still: From the high host

Of stars, to the lullid lake and mountain-coast,
LXXXIV.

All is concenter'd in a life intense,
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear But hath a part of being, and a sense
That which disfigures it; and they who war Of that which is of all Creator and defence.
With their own liopes, and have been vanquishid,

bear
Silence, but not submission : in his lair

xc. Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt Which shall atone for years ; none need despair : In solitude, where we are least alone :

It came, it cometh, and will come,—the power A truth, which through our being then doth melt, To punish or forgive-in one we shall be slower. And purifies from self: it is a tone,

The soul and source of music, which makes known LXXXV.

Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm,

Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,
Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake,
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing

Binding all things with beauty ;-'twould disarm Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake

The spectre Death, had he substantial power to

harm.
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring.
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing.
To waft me from distraction; once I loved

XCI.
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring, Not vainly did the early Persian make

Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved, His altar the high places and the peak
That I with steru delights should e'er have been so Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, and thus take

A fit and unwall d temple, there to seek

prey ?

moved.

XCII.

XCVIII.

XCIX.

The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak,

XCVII. Upreard of human hands. Come, and compare Could I embody and unbosom now Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, That which is most within me,-could I wreak With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air,

My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer ! Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or

weak,

All that I would have sought, and all I seek, The sky is changed !--and such a change! O night, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe-into one word, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong; And that one word were Lightning, I would Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light

speak; Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,

But as it is, I live and die unheard, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud,

sword. But every mountain now hath found a tongue;

And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud !

The morn is up again, the dewy morn,
XCIII.

With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom,

Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And this is in the night :-Most glorious night!

And living as if earth contain’d no tomb, — Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be

And glowing into day: we may resume
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,

The march of our existence : and thus I,
A portion of the tempest and of thee !
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,

Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room

And food for meditation, nor pass by And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! Much, that may give us pause, if pondered fittingly. And now again 'tis black,—and now, the glee

Of the loud bills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. XCIV.

Clarens ! sweet Clarens ! birthplace of deep Love! Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way

Thine air is the young breath of passionate

thought; between

Thy trees take root in love; the snows above Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,

The very Glaciers lave his colours caught,

And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought That they can meet no more, though brokenhearted;

By rays which sleep there lovingly: the rocks, Though in their souls, which thus each other

The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who thwarted,

sought Love was the very root of the fond rage

In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, Which blighted their life's bloom, and then de- / Wbich stir and sting the soul with hope that woog, parted;

then mocks. Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters—war within themselves to wage.

C.

Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, — XCV. Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his

Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne

To which the steps are mountains ; where the way,

god The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand;

Is a pervading life and light,--so shown
For here, not one, but many, make their play,
And Aling their thunderbolts from land to land,

Not on those summits solely, nor alone

In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower Flashing and cast around: of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath

His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown,

His soft and summer breath, whose tender power fork'd

Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate His lightnings, as if he did understand

hour
That in such gaps as desolation work’d,
There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein
lurk’d.

CI.
All things are here of him ; from the black pines,

Which are his shade on bigh, and the loud roar Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye, Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul Which slope his green path downward to the To make these felt and feeling, well may

be

shore, Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore, Of your departing voices, is the knolli

Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, Of what in me is sleepless,-if I rest.

The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, But where of ye, O tempests ! is the goal ? But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it Are ye like those within the human breast ?

stood, Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest ?' Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude.

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CVII.

CII.
A populous solitude of bees and birds,

The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, And fairy-form'd and many colour'd things, And hiving wisdom with each studious year, Who worship him with notes more sweet than In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, words,

And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, And innocently open their glad wings,

Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer ; Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs, The lord of irony,-that master-spell

, And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend

Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings

fear, The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell, Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. end.

CVIII. He who hath loved not, here would learn that

Yet, peace be with their ashes,-for by them, lore,

If merited, the penalty is paid ; And make his heart a spirit; he who knows

It is not ours to judge,-far less condemn; That tender mystery, will love the more;

The hour must come when such things shall be

made For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes, And the world's waste, have driven him far from

Known unto all, or hope and dread allay'd those,

By slumber, on one pillow, in the dust, For 'tis his nature to advance or die;

Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay’d; He stands not still, but or decays, or grows

And when it shall revive, as is our trust, Into a boundless blessing, which

'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. With the immortal lights, in its eternity!

CIII.

may vie

CIX.

CIV.

CV.

But let me quit man's works, again to read 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot,

His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend Peopling it withi affections ; but he found

This page, which from my reveries I feed, It was the scene which Passion must allot

Until it seems prolonging without end. To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground

The clouds above me to the white Alps tend, Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound, And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er And ballow'd it with loveliness ; 'tis lone,

May be permitted, as my steps I bend And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound,

To their most great and growing region, where And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the The earth to her embrace compels the powers of Rhone

air.
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps bave rear'd
a throne.

CX,
Italia! too, Italia ! looking on thee,

Full flashes on the soul the light of ages,
Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the

Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee, abodes

To the last halo of the chiefs and sages, Of names which unto you bequeatlı'd a name ;'

Who glorify thy consecrated pages; Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous

Thou wert the throne and grave of enipires; still, roads,

The fount at which the panting mind assuages A path to perpetuity of fame :

Her thirst of knowledge, quafting there her fill, They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim

Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile

hill.
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and
the flame

CXI.
Of Heaven again assail'd, if Heaven the while
On man and man's research could deign do more Thus far have I proceeded in a theme
than smile.

Renew'd with no kind auspices :-to feel
We are not what we have been, and to deem

We are not what we should be, and to steel The one was fire and fickleness, a child

The heart against itself; and to conceal, Most mutable in wishes, but in mind

With a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught, A wit as various-gay, grave, sage, or wild,

Passion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal,Historian, bard, philosopher, combined:

Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought, He multiplied himself among mankind,

Is a stern task of soul :-No matter,-it is taught.
The Proteus of their talents : But his own
Breathed most in ridicule,—which, as the wind,

CXII.
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, –
Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a

And for these words, thus woven into song,
throne.

It may be that they are a barmless wile,

The colouring of the scenes which fleet along, (1) Voltaire and Gibbon.

Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile

CVI.

CXIII.

CANTO THE FOURTH.

My breast, or that of others, for a while.

Thougla the grave closed between us--'twere the Fame is the thirst of youth,--but I am not

same, So young as to regard men's frown or smile I know that thou wilt love me; though to drain As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot ;

My blood from out thy being were an aim, I stood and stand alone,-remember'd or forgot. And an attainment, -all would be in vain;

Still thou wouldst love me, still that more than life

retain I have not loved the world, nor the world me;

CXVIII. I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd The child of love, though born in bitterness, To its idolatries a patient knee,

And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles, nor cried aloud These were the elements, and thine no less. In worship of an echo; in the crowd

As yet such are around thee; but thy fire They could not deem me one of such ; I stood Shall be more temper'd, and thy hope far higher. Among them, but not of them ; in a shroud Sweet be thy cradled slumbers! O'er the sea Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and And from the mountains where I now respire, still could,

Faiu would I waft such blessing upon thee, Had I not filedi my mind, which thus itself sub- As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to dued.

me.
CXIV.
I have not loved the world, nor the world me,-
But let us part fair foes; I do believe,
Though I have found them not, that there may Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.

be
Words which are things, hopes which will not

deceive,
And virtues which are merciful, nor weave
Snares for the failing : I would also deem
O’er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve ;2
That two, or one, are almost what they seem, -

“Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna, That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.

Quel Monte che divide, e quel che serra
Italia, e un mare e l'altro, che la bagna.".

Ariosto, Sat. iii.
cxv.
My daughter! with thy name this song begun-, TO JOHN HOBHOUSE, Esq., A.M., F.R.S., &c.
My daughter! with thy name thus much shall

VENICE, January 2, 1818. I see thee not, I hear thee not, but none

My Dear HOBHOUSE, -After an interval of eight Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend

years between the composition of the first and last To whom the shadows of far years extend :

cantos of Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poem Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold,

is about to be submitted to the public. In parting My voice shall with thy future visions blend, And reach into thy heart, when mine is cold,

with so old a friend, it is not extraordinary that I

should recur to one still older and better, -to one A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould.

who has beheld the birth and death of the other,

and to whom I am far more indebted for the social CXVI.

advantages of an enlightened friendship, thanTo aid thy mind's development, to watch

though not ungrateful - I can, or could be, to Thy dawn of little joys, to sit and see

Childe Harold, for any public favour reflected

through the poem on the poet,-to one, whom I Almost thy very growth, to view thee catch Knowledge of objects,-wonders yet to thee!

have known long and accompanied far, whom I To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee,

have found wakeful over my sickness and kind in And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,

my sorrow, glad in my prosperity and firm in my This, it should seem, was not reserved for me,

adversity, true in counsel and trusty in peril,—to a

friend often tried and never found wanting ;-to Yet this was in my nature : as it is, I know not what is there, yet something like to yoursell

.

In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth; and this.

in dedicating to you, in its complete or at least CXVII.

concluded state, a poetical work, which is the Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught, longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of 1 know tliat thou wilt love me ; though my name my compositions, I wish to do honour to myself by Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught the record of many years' intimacy with a man of With desolation, and a broken claim :

learning, of talent, of steadiness, and of honour.

It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive "If it be thus,

flattery; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been For Banquo's issue have I fled my mind." -- Macbeth. permitted to the voice of friendship; and it is not (2) It is said by Rochefoucault that there is always soinething in the misfortunes of men's best friends not displeasing which has not elsewhere, or lately, been so much

for you, nor even for others, but to relieve a heart to them."

end;

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