UHTLbB HAltOLD’S PILGRiMAGi).
219
AOV.
Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft hisway,
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en hisstand :
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,
The brightest through these parted hills hathfork’d
His lightnings,—as if he did understand,
That in such gaps as desolation work’d,ihere the hot shaft should blast whatever thereinlurk’d.
xcvi.
Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings!ye I
^With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soulTo make these felt and feeling, well may beThings that have made me w r atchful; the farroll
Of your departing voices, is the knollOf what in me is sleepless,—if I rest.
■But where of ye, oh tempests I is the goal ?
Are ye like those within the human breast?
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some highnest?
xevir.
Oould I embody and unbosom nowThat which is most within me,—could I wreakthoughts upon expression, and thus throwkoul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong orweak,
that 1 would have sought, and all I seek,
Bear , know, feel, and yet breathe—into oneword,
And that one word were Lightning, I would.p speak;
*J?ut as it is, I live and die unheard,
"ith a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as asword.
XCVIII.
The morn is up again, the dewy mom,
With breath all incense, and with cheek allT bloom,
-^ughiug the clouds away with playful scorn,£hd living as if earth contain'd no tomb,—
And glowing into day : we may resume£he march of our existence: and thus I,
^«11 on thy shores, fair Leman! may And roomMi * 00< ^ ^ or me ditation, nor pass byUc h, that may give us pause, if ponder’d fit-tingly.
XCIX.
Clarens! sweet ClarensI birthplace of deeprp, . Love !
A mne air is the young breath, of passionaterp, thought;
i,by trees take root in Love ; the snows abovejthe very Glaciers have his colours caught,ttd sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought,j,y rays which sleep there lovingly: the rocks,
“ e permanent crags, tell here of Love , whoIn n sought
y^hinh °? a from the worldly shocks,
lc h stir and sting the soul with hope that woos,then mocks.
c.
Claxens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,—Undying Love ’s who here ascends a throneTo which the steps are mountains; where thegod
Is a pervading life and light,—so shownNot on those summits solely, nor aloneIn the still cave and forest; o’er the flowerHis eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blownHis soft and summer breath, whose tenderpower
Passes the strength of storms in their most desolatehour.
CJ.
All things are here of him; from the black pines,Which are his shade on high, and the loud roarOf torrents, where he listeneth, to the vinesWhich slope his green path downward to theshore,
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 itstood,
Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude.
CII.
A populous solitude of bees and birds,
And fairy-form’d and many-colour’d things,
Who worship him with notes more sweet thanwords,
And innocently open their glad wingsFearless and full of life; the gush of springs,And fall of lofty fountains, and the bendOf stirring branches, and the bud which rings,The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend,Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.cur.
lie who hath loved not, here would learn thatlore,
And make his heart a spirit; he who knowsThat 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 fromthose,
For ’tis his nature to advance or die:
He stands not still, but or decays, or growsInto a boundless blessing, which may vieWith the immortal lights, in its eternity!
CIV.
’Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot,Peopling it with affections; but he foundIt was the scene which passion must allotTo the mind’s purified beings; ’twas the groundWhere earlv Love his Psyche’s zone unbound,And hallow'd it with loveliness; ’tis lone,
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound,
And sense, and sight of sweetness; here theRhone
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'da throne.
cv.
Lausanne ! and Ferney! ye have been theabodes
Of names which unto you bequeath’d a name; *Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerousroads,
A path to perpetuity of fame: