Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to

Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest.

Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and

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 it 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 hate, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more, though broken-
hearted!

Tho' in their souls, which thus each other thwarted
Love was the very root of the fond rage [parted:
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then de-
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 thunderbolts from hand to hand,
Flashing and cast around: of all the band, [fork'd
The brightest through these parted hills hath
His lightnings, as if he did understand,
That in such gaps as desolation work'd,

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 colors caught,
And sunset into rose hues sees them wrought?
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,
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.

CI.

All things are here of him; from the black pines,
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines
Which slope his green path downward to the shore,
Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore,
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,

There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude.

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?

CII.

A populous solitude of bees and birds,

And fairy-form'd and many-color'd things, [words,
Who worship him with notes more sweet than
And innocently open their glad wings,
Fearless and full of life; the gush of springs,
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend,

Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.

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,

[sword.

CIII.

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore,
And make his heart a spirit: he who knows
That tender mystery, will love the more,
For this is love's recess, where vain men's woes,
And the world's waste, have driven him far from
For 'tis his nature to advance or die; [those
He stands not still, but or decays, or grows
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie

With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a With the immortal lights, in its eternity'