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Yet withers on till all without is old,
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 thy 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, “ Here, where the sword united nations drew,
« Our countrymen were warring on that day!" And this is much, and all which will not pass away.
Even now to re-assume the imperial mien,
To the astounded kingdoms all inert,
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 With that untaught innate philosophy, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, 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.
'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ; So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose.
XLI. If, like a tower upon a headland 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 weapons 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;
Yeptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. (9)
Of aught but rest; a fever at the core,
XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion ; Conquerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings
Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule:
With its own flickering, or a sword laid by
XLV. He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
Contending tempests on his naked head, 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, Maternal Nature! for who teems like thee, Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine ? There Harold gazes on a work divine, A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.
XLVII. And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, . Or holding dark communion with the cloud. There was a day when they were young and proud, Banners on high, and battles pass'd below; But they who fought are in a bloody shroud,
And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.