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When France in wrath her giant-limbs up-rear'd,
To scatter rage and traitorous guilt, Where Peace her jealous home had built; A patriot-race to disinherit Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear; 75 And with inexpiable spirit To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer — O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, And patriot only in pernicious toils, Are these thy boasts, champion of human kind? To mix with kings in the low lust of sway, 81 Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray?
BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE WALE OF CHAMOUNI
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
. An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge ' But when I look again, Io
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy: 20
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale ! O struggling with the darkness all the night, 30 And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink:
Companion of the morning-star at dawn,
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call'd you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth, 41 Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, Forever shatter'd and the same forever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam P
Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain – 5o Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?— God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voicel 6o
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 65
peaks, 7o Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure
Serene, Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast— Thou too again, stupendous Mountain' thou That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low 75 In adoration, upward from thy base Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me — Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth! 8o