LXXXIX.
All heaven and earth are still—though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ;
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep:
All heaven and earth are still : From the high host
Of stars, to the luli'd lake and mountain-coast,
All is concenter'd in a life intense,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,

But hath a part of being, and a sense
Of that which is of all Creator and defence.

XC. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone; A truth, which through our being then doth melt And purifies from self: it is a tone, The soul and source of music, which makes known Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, 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 His altar the high places and the peak Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, (20) and thus take A fit and unwallid temple, there to seek The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, Upreard of human hands. Come, and compare Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek,

With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray’r!

III

11I

XCII. The sky is changed!—and such a change! Oh night,(21) 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 !

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!
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
And now again 'tis black,-and now, the glee

Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.

XCIV.
Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted
In bate, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted;
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,
Love was the very root of the fond rage
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed:

Itself expired, but leaving them an age
Of years all winters, war within themselves to wage.

XCV. Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand: For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around: of all the band, 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 ! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless,-if I rest. 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 Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, 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,
Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn,
And living as if earth contain'd no tomb,
And glowing into day: we may resume
The march of our existence: and thus I,
Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room

And food for meditation, nor pass by
Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly.

XCIX.
Clarens! sweet Clarens, birth-place of deep Love!
Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought;
Thy trees take root in Love; the snows above
The very Glaciers have his colours caught,
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.

Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne
To which the steps are mountains; where the god
Is a pervading life and light,--so shown
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 Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour.