Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere, Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year. Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu! There can be no farewell to scene like thine; The mind is color'd by thy every hue; "T is with the thankful heart of parting praise; More mighty spots may rise, more glar ing shine, But none unite in one attaching maze The brilliant, fair, and soft, the glories of old days, The race of life becomes a hopeless flight To those who walk in darkness: on the sea The boldest steer but where their ports invite ; But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be. Is it not better, then, to be alone, A fair but froward infant her own care, I live not in myself, but I become Of human cities torture: I can see And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life: To act and suffer, but remount at last With a fresh pinion; which I feel to spring, Though young, yet waxing vigorous as the blast Which it would cope with, on delighted wing, Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling. And when, at length, the mind shall be all free From what it hates in this degraded form, Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be Existent happier in the fly and worm-When elements to elements conform, And dust is as it should be, shall I not 200 Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm? The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot? Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot? Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them? All objects, if compared with these? and stem A tide of suffering, rather than forego Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm Of those whose eyes are only turn'd below, Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow? But this is not my theme; and I return To that which is immediate, and require Those who find contemplation in the urn, To look on One, whose dust was once all fire. A native of the land where I respire The clear air for a while-a passing guest The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest. But of ideal beauty, which became This breathed itself to life in Julie, this This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss greet, From hers, who but with friendship his would meet; But to that gentle touch through brain and breast Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat; In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. His life was one long war with selfsought foes, Or friends by him self-banish'd; for his mind Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose, For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind, 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. But he was phrensied,-wherefore, who may know? Since cause might be which skill could never find; But he was phrensied by disease or woe, To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. For then he was inspired, and from him came, As from the Pythian's mystic cave of 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. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so inter vene, That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted; Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, 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: Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand: For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around; of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd His lightnings,- -as if he did understand, That in such gaps as desolation work'd, There the hot shaft should blast what ever therein lurk'd. Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll |