XXXII. 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 enthral; The day drags through, though storms keep out the sun; And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on : XXXIII. Even as a broken mirror, which the glass The same, and still the more, the more it breaks; Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. XXXIV. There is a very life in our despair, Vitality of poison, a quick root Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were As nothing did we die; but life will suit Itself to sorrow's most detested fruit, Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste: did man compute Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er Such hours 'gainst years of life,—say, would he name three-score? XXXV. The Psalmist number'd out the years of man : They are enough; and if the tale be true, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say- XXXVI. There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, One moment of the mightiest, and again On little objects with like firmness fixt. Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt, And shake again the world, the thunderer of the scene! XXXVII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert. XXXVIII. Oh more or less than man!-—in high or low, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted fate will leave the loftiest star. XXXIX. Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide Is gall and wormwood 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 favourite child, He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled. XL. Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show Men and their thoughts; 't was wise to feel, not so And the instruments thou wert to use, spurn Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow : 'T is but a worthless world to win or lose ; So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who chuse. 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; 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) Like stern Diogenes to mock at men; 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 In its own narrow being, but aspire XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men mad Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school XLIV. Their breath is agitation, and their life XLV. He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find Must look down on the hate of those below. And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. XLVI. Away with these! true wisdom's world will be Within its own creation, or in thine, A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine, And chiefless castles, breathing stern farewells From grey but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. XLVII. And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Or holding dark communion with the cloud. XLVIII. Beneath these battlements, within those walls, Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state Doing his evil will, nor less elate Than mightier heroes of a longer date. What want these outlaws 10 conquerors should have, A wider space an ornamented grave? Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. XLIX. In their baronial feuds and single fields, And many a tower for some fair mischief won, L. But thou, exulting and abounding river! 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. LI. A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks, But these and half their fame have pass'd away, |