XLI. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock; For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. (9) 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 And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. XLVI. Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be Maternal Nature! for who teems like thee, A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, XLVII. And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, XLVIII. Beneath these battlements, within those walls, Than mightier heroes of a longer date. What want these outlaws (10) conquerors should have? Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. XLIX. In their baronial feuds and single fields, And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields, L. But Thou, exulting and abounding river! 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, But these and half their fame have pass'd away, And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks; Their very graves are gone, and what are they? 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 blighting dream Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem. LII. Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, 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 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. 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, LV. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, Had stood the test of mortal enmities Still undivided, and cemented more Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour! |