CLXV. Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all Between us sinks and all which ever glow'd, To hover on the verge of darkness; rays Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, CLXVI. And send us prying into the abyss, To gather what we shall be when the frame These fardels of the heart-the heart whose sweat was gore. CLXVII. Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, A long low distant murmur of dread sound, Such as arises when a nation bleeds With some deep and immedicable wound; Through storm and darkness yawns the rending ground, The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd, And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief She claps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief, CLXVIII. Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head? In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, Death hush'd that pang for ever: with thee fled The present happiness and promised joy Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. CLXIX. Peasants bring forth in safety. Can it be, Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored! Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her many griefs for ONE; for she had pour'd Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head Beheld her Iris. Thou, too, lonely lord, And desolate consort-vainly wert thou wed! The husband of a year! the father of the dead! CLXX. Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid. Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd Our children should obey her child, and bless'd Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd Like stars to shepherds' eyes: - 'twas but a me. teor beam'd. CLXXI. Woe unto us, not her; for she sleeps well: The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate 69) Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung Against their blind omnipotence a weight Within the opposing scale, with crushes soon or late, CLXXII. These might have been her destiny; but no, Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest The land which loved thee so that none could love thee best. CLXXIII. 70) Lo, Nemi! navell'd in the woody hills And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake, All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. CLXXIV. And near Albano's scarce divided waves Shine from a sister valley;-and afar The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves The Latian coast where sprang the Epic war, "Arms and the Man, whose re-ascending star Rose o'er an empire:- but beneath thy right Tully reposed from Rome; from Rome; and where yon bar Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's delight. "1) CLXXV. But I forget. My pilgrim's shrine is won, Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd CLXXVI. Upon the blue Symplegades: long yearsLong, though not very many, since have done Their work on both; some suffering and some tears Have left us nearly where we had begun: Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, We have had our reward-and it is here; That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun. And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. CLXXVII. Oh! that the Desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair Spirit for my minister, That I might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her! Ye Elements!-in whose ennobling stir 1 feel myself exalted- Can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot? Though with them to converse can realy be our lot, CLXXVIII. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal. CLXXIX. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave,unknell'd,uncoffin'd, and unknown. CLXXX. His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, CLXXXI. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war; These are thy tops, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. CLXXXII. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playTime writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. CLXXXIII. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime CLXXXIV. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers-they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror- 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy name as I do here. |