LXXXVIII.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires, - 'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create

In us such love and reverence fronı afar,

That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves

a star.

LXXXIX.

All heaven and earth are still - though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ;
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep: -
All heaven and earth are still: From the high host
Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast,
All is concenter'd in a life intense,

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
But hath a part of being, and a sense
Of that which is of all Creator and defence.

went over the castle again. Met an English party in a carriage; a lady in it fast asleep - fast asleep in the most anti-narcotic spot in the world, excellent! After a slight and short dinner, visited the Château de Clarens. Saw all worth seeing, and then descended to the 'Bosquet de Julie,' &c. &c.: our guide full of Rousseau, whom he is eternally confounding with St. Preux, and mixing the man and the book. Went again as far as Chillon, to revisit the little torrent from the hill behind it. The corporal who showed the wonders of Chillon was as drunk as Blucher, and (to my mind) as great a man: he was deaf also; and, thinking every one else so, roared out the legends of the castle so fearfully, that Hobhouse got out of humour. However, we saw things from the gallows to the dungeons. Sunset reflected in the lake. Nine o'clock going to bed. Have to get up at five to-morrow."]

xc.

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
In solitude, where we are least alone;

A truth, which through our being then doth melt,

And purifies from self: it is a tone,

The soul and source of music, which makes known

Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm

Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,

Binding all things with beauty; -'t would disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm.

XCI.

Not vainly did the early Persian make
His altar the high places and the peak
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains 1, and thus take
A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek
The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak,
Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek,
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air,
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'r!

XCII.

The sky is changed! - and such a change! Oh

night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is 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 !

1 See Appendix, note [F].

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! 1 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. 2

XCIV.

Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way be

tween

Heights which appear as lovers who have parted
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more, though broken-
hearted;
[thwarted,
Though in their souls, which thus each other
Love was the very root of the fond rage
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then de-

parted:

Itself expired, but leaving them an age

Of years all winters, - war within themselves to wage.

1 The thunder-storm to which these lines refer occurred on the 13th of June, 1816, at midnight. I have seen, among the Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari, several more terrible, but none more beautiful.

2 This is one of the most beautiful passages of the poem. The "fierce and far delight" of a thunder-storm is here described in verse almost as vivid as its lightnings. The live thunder "leaping among the rattling crags" - the voice of mountains, as if shouting to each other the plashing of the big rain - the gleaming of the wide lake, lighted like a phosphoric sea - present a picture of sublime terror, yet of enjoyment, often attempted, but never so well, certainly never better, brought out in poetry. SIR WALTER SCOTT.]

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 thunder-bolts from hand to hand,
Flashing and cast around: of all the band,
The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd
His lightnings, -as if he did understand,
That in such gaps as desolation work'd,

There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein

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. 1
But where of ye, oh tempests! is the goal ?
Are ye like those within the human breast ?

Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?

[The Journal of his Swiss tour, which Lord Byron kept for his sister, closes with the following mournful passage: - " In the weather, for this tour, of thirteen days, I have been very fortunate - fortunate in a companion" (Mr. Hobhouse) - "fortunate in our prospects, and exempt from even the little petty accidents and delays which often render journeys in a less wild country disappointing. I was disposed to be pleased. I am a lover of nature, and an admirer of beauty. I can bear fatigue, and welcome privation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world, But in all this, the recollection of bitterness, and more especially of recent and more home desolation, which must accompany me through life, has preyed upon me here; and neither the music of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me to lose my own wretched identity, in the majesty, and the power, and the glory, around, above, and beneath me."]

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,

With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.

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 livin

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 Clarens1, birthplace 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 colours caught,

And sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought

1 [Stanzas XCIX. to cxv. are exquisite. They have every thing which makes a poetical picture of local and particular scenery perfect. They exhibit a miraculous brilliancy and force of fancy; but the very fidelity causes a little constraint and labour of language. The poet seems to have been so engrossed by the attention to give vigour and fire to the imagery, that he both neglected and disdained to render himself more harmonious by diffuser words, which, while they might have improved the effect upon the ear, might have weakened the impression upon the mind. This