XCII. The sky is changed!—and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! (21) XCIII. 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! As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. VOL. I. T Of XCIV. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted; Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed :Itself expired, but leaving them an age years all winters,- -war within themselves to wage. XCV. Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, For here, not one, but many, make their play, 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 whatever therein lurk'd. XCVI. Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! But where of ye, oh tempests! is the goal? Are ye like those within the human breast? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? XCVII. Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me,-could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe-into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. XCVIII. The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, And living as if earth contain❜d no tomb,— The march of our existence: and thus I, Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly. XCIX. Clarens! sweet Clarens, birth-place of deep Love! Thy trees take root in Love; the snows above And sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought (22) By rays which sleep there lovingly the rocks, 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,— To which the steps are mountains; where the god Not on those summits solely, nor alone In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower His soft and summer breath, whose tender power Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. CI. All things are here of him; from the black pines, Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude, |