The Works of Lord Byron Volume II Part 45

Thine air is the young breath of pa.s.sionate Thought; Thy trees take root in Love; the snows above,[kk]

The very Glaciers have his colours caught, And Sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought[21.B.]

By rays which sleep there lovingly: the rocks,[kl]

The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, Which stir and sting the Soul with Hope that woos, then mocks.

C.

Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,--[km]

Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne To which the steps are mountains; where the G.o.d Is a pervading Life and Light,--so shown[kn]

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[ko]

Pa.s.ses the strength of storms in their most desolate hour.

CI.

All things are here of _Him_; from the black pines,[340]

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 sh.o.r.e, Where the bowed Waters meet him, and adore, Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the Wood, The covert of old trees, with trunks all h.o.a.r, But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood,[kp]

Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude.

CII.

A populous solitude of bees and birds, And fairy-formed and many-coloured things, Who worship him with notes more sweet than words,[kq]

And innocently open their glad wings, Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs, And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of Beauty, here extend Mingling--and made by Love--unto one mighty end.

CIII.

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore,[341]

And make his heart a spirit; he who knows That tender mystery, will love the more; For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes, And the world's waste, have driven him far from those,[kr]

For 'tis his nature to advance or die; He stands not still, but or decays, or grows Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With the immortal lights, in its eternity!

CIV.

'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, Peopling it with affections; but he found It was the scene which Pa.s.sion must allot To the Mind's purified beings; 'twas the ground Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound,[342]

And hallowed it with loveliness: 'tis lone, And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have reared a throne.

CV.

Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes Of Names which unto you bequeathed a name;[22.B.]

Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, A path to perpetuity of Fame: They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim Was, t.i.tan-like, on daring doubts to pile Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame Of Heaven again a.s.sailed--if Heaven, the while, On man and man's research could deign do more than smile.

CVI.

The one was fire and fickleness,[343] a child Most mutable in wishes, but in mind A wit as various,--gay, grave, sage, or wild,-- Historian, bard, philosopher, combined;[ks]

He multiplied himself among mankind, The Proteus of their talents: But his own Breathed most in ridicule,--which, as the wind, Blew where it listed, laying all things p.r.o.ne,-- Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne.[344]

CVII.

The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought,[kt]

And hiving wisdom with each studious year, In meditation dwelt--with learning wrought, And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; The lord of irony,--that master-spell, Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear[ku][345]

And doomed him to the zealot's ready h.e.l.l, Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well.

CVIII.

Yet, peace be with their ashes,--for by them, If merited, the penalty is paid; It is not ours to judge,--far less condemn; The hour must come when such things shall be made Known unto all,--or hope and dread allayed By slumber, on one pillow, in the dust,[kv]

Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decayed; And when it shall revive, as is our trust,[346]

'Twill be to be forgiven--or suffer what is just.

CIX.

But let me quit Man's works, again to read His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend This page, which from my reveries I feed, Until it seems prolonging without end.

The clouds above me to the white Alps tend, And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er[347]

May be permitted, as my steps I bend To their most great and growing region, where The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air.

CX.

Italia too! Italia! looking on thee, Full flashes on the Soul the light of ages, Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee, To the last halo of the Chiefs and Sages Who glorify thy consecrated pages; Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still,[348]

The fount at which the panting Mind a.s.suages Her thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill, Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial hill.

CXI.

Thus far have I proceeded in a theme Renewed 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 heart against itself; and to conceal, With a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught,-- Pa.s.sion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal,-- Which is the tyrant Spirit of our thought, Is a stern task of soul:--No matter,--it is taught.[349]

CXII.

And for these words, thus woven into song, It may be that they are a harmless wile,--[kw]

The colouring of the scenes which fleet along,[kx]

Which I would seize, in pa.s.sing, to beguile My breast, or that of others, for a while.

Fame is the thirst of youth,--but I am not[ky]

So young as to regard men's frown or smile, As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot;-- I stood and stand alone,--remembered or forgot.

CXIII.

I have not loved the World, nor the World me; I have not flattered its rank breath,[350] nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,--nor cried aloud In worship of an echo: in the crowd They could not deem me one of such--I stood Among them, but not of them[351]--in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed my mind, which thus itself subdued.[23.B.]

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 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--[kz][24.B.]

That two, or one, are almost what they seem,-- That Goodness is no name--and Happiness no dream.

CXV.[352]

My daughter! with thy name this song begun!

My daughter! with thy name thus much shall end!-- I see thee not--I hear thee not--but none Can be so wrapt in thee; Thou art the Friend To whom the shadows of far years extend: Albeit my brow thou never should'st behold, My voice shall with thy future visions blend, And reach into thy heart,--when mine is cold,-- A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould.

CXVI.

To aid thy mind's developement,--to watch Thy dawn of little joys,--to sit and see Almost thy very growth,--to view thee catch Knowledge of objects,--wonders yet to thee!

To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,-- This, it should seem, was not reserved for me-- Yet this was in my nature:--as it is, I know not what is there, yet something like to this.

CXVII.