(Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) Like stern Diogenes to mock at men; [(9) For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. XLII. But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule: XLIV. Their breath is agitation, and their life XLV. He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find Must look down on the hate of those below. And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. XLVI. Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine, And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. 'XLVII. And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Banners on high, and battles pass'd below; But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. XLVIII. Beneath these battlements, within those walls, Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state, Each robber chief upheld his armed halls, Doing his evil will, nor less elate Than mightier heroes of a longer date. What want these outlaws (10) conquerors should have? But History's purchased page to call them great? A wider space, an ornamented grave? Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. XLIX. In their baronial feuds and single fields, And many a tower for some fair mischief won, Saw the discolour'd Rhine beneath its ruin run. L. But Thou, exulting and abounding river! ever Could man but leave thy bright creation so, Earth paved like Heaven; and to seem such to me Even now what wants thy stream?-that it should Lethe be. LI. A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks, Their very graves are gone, and what are they? seem. LII. Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, In glens which might have made even exile dear: Joy was not always absent from his face, But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient trace. LIII. Nor was all love shut from him, though his days Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. It is in vain that we would coldly gaze On such as smile upon us; the heart must Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust Hath wean'd it from all worldlings: thus he felt, For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. LIV. And he had learn'd to love,-I know not why, Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow. LV. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, That love was pure, and, far above disguise, Still undivided, and cemented more By peril, dreaded most in female eyes; But this was firm, and from a foreign shore Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour! 1. The castled crag of Drachenfels (11) |