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They mourn, but smile at length; and,

smiling, mourn : The tree will wither long before it fall ; The hull drives on, though mast and

sail be torn ; The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on

the hall In massy hoariness; the ruin'd wall Stands when its wind-worn battlements

are gone; The bars survive the captive they en.

thral; The day drags through, though storms

keep out the sun: And thus the heart will break, yet bro

kenly live on :

Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps

than mine: Yet one I would select from that proud

throng, Partly because they blend me with his

line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, And partly that bright names will hallow

song ; And his was of the bravest, and when

shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd

files along, Even where the thickest of war's tem

Pest lower d. They reach'd no nobler breast than thine,

young gallant Howard ! There have been tears and breaking

hearts for thee, And mine were nothing had I such to

give; But when I stood beneath the fresh

green tree, Which living waves where thou didst

cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the

Spring

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was,
The same, and still the more, the more

it breaks ; And thus the heart will do which not

forsakes, Living in shatter'd guise; and still, and

cold, And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow

aches, Yet withers on till all without is old, Showing no visible sign, for such things

are untold.

There is a very life in our despair,
Vitality of poison,-a quick root
Which feeds these deadly branches; for

it were

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Oh, more or less than man-in high or

low, Battling with nations, flying from the

field ; Now making monarchs' necks thy foot

stool, now More than thy meanest soldier taught

to yield ; An empire thou couldst crush, command,

rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, Look through thine own, nor curb the

lust of war, Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave

the loftiest star. Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turn

ing tide With that untaught innate philosophy, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep

pride, Is gall and worm wood to an enemy. When the whole host of hatred stood

hard by, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou

hast smiled With a sedate and all-enduring, eye ;When Fortune fled her spoil'd and

favorite child, He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon

him piled. Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show That just habitual scorn, which could

contemn Men and their thoughts ; 'twas wise to

feel, not so To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, And spurn the instruments thou wert to Till they were turn'd unto thine over

throw: 'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ; So bath it proved to thee, and all such

lot who choose. If, like a tower upon a headland rock, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall

alone, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave

the shock ; But men's thoughts were the steps which

paved thy throne, Their admiration thy best weapon shone ; The part of Philip's son was thine, not

then (Unless aside thy purple had been

thrown)

use

Conqueror and captive of the earth art

thou ! She trembles at thee still, and thy wild

name Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds

than now That thou art nothing, save the jest of

Fame, Who wood thee once, thy vassal, and

became The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou

wert A unto thyself ; nor less the same To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er

thou didst assert,

Like stern Diogenes to mock at men ; For sceptred cynics earth were far too

wide a den.

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
And there hath been thy bane; there is a

fire And motion of the soul which will not

dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; And, but once kindled, quenchless ever

more, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever

bore.

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 :

And far beneath the earth and ocean

spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those

summits led. Away with these! true Wisdom's world

will be Within its own creation, or in thine, Maternal Nature ! for who teems like

thee, Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine? There Harold gazes on a work divine, 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. And there they stand, as stands a lofty

mind, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, All tenantless, save to the crannying

wind, Or holding dark communion with the

cloud. There was a day when they were young

and proud ; Banners on high, and battles pass'd

below; But they who fought are in a bloody

sliroud, And those which waved are shredless

dust ere now, And the bleak battlements shall bear no

future blow.

Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at

last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils

past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die ; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to

waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid

by, Which eats into itself, and rusts inglori

ously.

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He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall

find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds

and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those

below, Though high above the sun of glory glow,

In their baronial feuds and single fields. What deeds of prowess unrecorded died! And Love, which lent a blazon to their

shields,

Of feelings fierier far but less severe, Joy was not always absent from his face. But o'er it in such scenes would steal

with transient trace.

With emblems well devised by amorous

pride, Through all the mail of iron hearts

would glide; But still their flame was fierceness, and

drew on Keen contest and destruction near allied, And many a tower for some fair mis

clief won, Saw the discolor'd Rhine beneath its

ruin run.

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, thouglı

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.

tion so,

now

But Thou, exulting and abounding

river! Making thy waves a blessing as they

flow Tlırough banks whose beauty would

endure for ever Could man but leave thy bright creaNor its fair promise from the surface With the sharp scythe of conflict,

then to see Thy valley of sweet waters, were to

know Earth paved like Heaven ; and to seem

such to me, Even now what wants thy stream ?

that it should Lethe be. A thousand battles have assail'd thy

banks, But these and half their fame have

pass'd away, And Slaughter heap'd on high his welter

ing ranks ; Their very graves are gone, and what

are ther? Thy tide wash'd down the blood of

yesterday, And all was stainless, and on thy clear

stream Glass'd, with its dancing light, the

sunny ray ; But o'er the blacken'd memory’s blight

ing dream Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweep

ing as they seem.

And he had learn'd to love,--I know not

why, For this in such as him seems strange of

mood, The helpless looks of blooming infancy, Even in its earliest nurture ; what sul

dued, To change like this, a mind so far im.

bued With scorn of man, it little boots to

know; But thus it was: and though in solitude Small power the nipp'd affections have

to grow, In him this glow'd when all beside had

ceased to glow. And there was one soft breast, as hath

been said, Which unto his was bound by stronger

ties Than the church links witbal; anil,

though unwed, Thut love was pure, and, far above dis

guise, Had stood the test of mortal enmities 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 ab.

sent greetings pour !

Thus Harold inly said, and pass d along,
Yet not insensible to all which here
Awoke the jocund birds to early song
In glens which might have made even

exile dear: Though on his brow were graven lines

austere, And tranquil sternness, which had ta'en

the place

The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding

Rhine,

Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the

vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and

wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them

shine, Have strew'd a scene, which I should

Beneath its base are heroes' ashes bid, Our enemy's—but let not that forbid Honor to Marceau ! o'er whose early

tomb Tears, big tears, gush'd from the rough

Boldier's lid, Lamenting and yet envying such a

doom, Falling for France, whose rights he

battled to resume.

see

With double joy wert thou with me.

E

And peasant girls, with deep blue

eyes, And hands which offer early flowers, Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls

of gray ; And many a rock which steeply

lowers, And poble arch in proud decay, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; But one thing want these banks of

Rhine, Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! I send the lilies given to me ; Though long before thy hand they

touch, I know that they must wither'd be, But yet reject them not as such;. For I have cherish'il them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold'st them drooping

nigh, And knowist them gather'd by the

Rhine, And offer'd from my heart to thine !

Brief, brave, and glorious was his young

career',His mourners were two hosts, his friends

and foes; And fitly may the stranger lingering

here Pray for bis gallant spirit's bright repose; For he was Freedom's champion, one of

those, The few in number, who had not

o'erstept The charter to chastise which she be

stows On such as wield her weapons; he had

kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men

o'er him wept.

The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
and all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round :
The laughtiest breast its wish might

bound
Through life to dwell delighted here ;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear,
Could thy dear eyes in following mine
Still sweeten more these banks of

Rhine !

Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shatter'd

wall Black with the miner's blast, upon her

height Yet shows of what she was, when shell

and ball Rebounding idly on her strength did

light: A tower of victory! from whence tlie

flight Of baffled foes was watch'd along the

plain : But Peace destroy'd what War could

never blight, And laid those proud roofs bare to Sum

mer's rain On which the iron shower for years hail

pour'd in vain. Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long

delighted The stranger fain would linger on his

way! Thine is a scene alike where souls uniteit Or lonely Contemplation thus might

stray ; And could the ceaseless vultures cease

to prey On self-condemning bosoms, it were

here,

By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid, Crowning the summit of the verdant

mound;

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