LXXX. His life was one long war with self-sought foes, 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. LXXXI. For then he was inspired, and from him came, Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, Roused up to too much wrath, which follows o'ergrown fears? LXXXII. They made themselves a fearful monument! The wreck of old opinions-things which grew Breathed from the birth of time: the veil they rent, And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. But good with ill they also overthrew, Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour re-fill'd, LXXXIII. But this will not endure, nor be endured! Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. They might have used it better, but, allured By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt On one another; Pity ceased to melt With her once natural charities. But they, Who in Oppression's darkness caved had dwelt, They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day; What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey? LXXXIV. What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? That which disfigures it; and they who war With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear Silence, but not submission: in his lair Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour Which shall atone for years; none need despair: It came, it cometh, and will come,-the power To punish or forgive-in one we shall be slower. LXXXV. Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, LXXXVI. It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, hirps the grasshopper one good-night ei LXXXVII. He is an evening reveller, who makes LXXXVIII. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! Of men and empires,-'tis to be forgiven, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you; for ye are In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. LXXXIX. All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep:- Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, All is concenter'd in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, Of that which is of all Creator and defence. XC. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt A truth, which through our being then doth melt The soul and source of music, which makes known Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, Binding all things with beauty;-'twould disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. XCI. Not vainly did the early Persian make 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, |