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CXXVII.

Yet let us ponder boldly-'tis a base1
Abandonment of reason to resign

Our right of thought-our last and only place
Of refuge; this, at least, shall still be mine :

Though from our birth the faculty divine

Is chain'd and tortured-cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine Too brightly on the unprepared mind,

The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch

the blind.

CXXVIII.

Arches on arches! as it were that Rome,
Collecting the chief trophies of her line,

Would build up all her triumphs in one dome,
Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine
As 'twere its natural torches, for divine

Should be the light which streams here, to illume
This long-explored but still exhaustless mine
Of contemplation; and the azure gloom

Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume

66

1 "At all events," says the author of the Academical Questions, " I trust, whatever may be the fate of my own speculations, that philosophy will regain that estimation which it ought to possess. The free and philosophic spirit of our nation has been the theme of admiration to the world. This was the proud distinction of Englishmen, and the luminous source of all their glory. Shall we then forget the manly and dignified sentiments of our ancestors, to prate in the language of the mother or the nurse about our good old prejudices? This is not the way to defend the cause of truth. It was not thus that our fathers maintained it in the brilliant periods of our history. Prejudice may be trusted to guard the outworks for a short space of time, while reason slumbers in the citadel; but if the latter sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty support each other; he who will not reason is a bigot; he who cannot, is a fool; and he who dares not, is a slave." -Vol. pref. p. 14, 15.

CXXIX.

Hues which have words, and speak to ye of

heaven,

Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument,
And shadows forth its glory. There is given
Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent,
A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant
His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power
And magic in the ruin'd battlement,

For which the palace of the present hour

Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its

dower.

cxxx.

Oh Time! the beautifier of the dead,
Adorner of the ruin, comforter

And only healer when the heart hath bled-
Time! the corrector where our judgments err,
The test of truth, love, sole philosopher,
For all besides are sophists, from thy thrift,
Which never loses though it doth defer-
Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift

My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a

gift:

CXXXI.

Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine
And temple more divinely desolate,

Among thy mightier offerings here are mine,
Ruins of years-though few, yet full of fate :-
If thou hast ever seen me too elate,

Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne
Good, and reserved my pride, against the hate
Which shall not whelm me, let me not have

worn

This iron in my soul in vain shall they not mourn?

1

CXXXII.

And thou, who never yet of human wrong

Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis!1

Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long

Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss,

And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss

For that unnatural retribution-just,

Had it not been from hands less near-in this

Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust! Dost thou not hear my heart? - Awake! thou shalt,

and must.

CXXXIII.

It is not that I may not have incurr'd
For my ancestral faults or mine the wound
I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd
With a just weapon, it had flown unbound;
But now my blood shall not sink in the ground;
To thee I do devote it-thou shalt take

The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and

found,

Which if I have not taken for the sakeBut let that pass-I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake.

CXXXIV.

And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now
I shrink from what is suffer'd: let him speak
Who hath beheld decline upon my brow,
Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak;
But in this page a record will I seek.
Not in the air shall these my words disperse,
Though I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak
The deep prophetic fulness of this verse,

And pile on human heads the mountain of my

curse!

1 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. XXVIII.

CXXXV.

That curse shall be forgiveness.-Have I not

Hear me, my mother earth! behold it, Hea

ven

Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?

Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven?

Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven,

Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied

away?

And only not to desperation driven,
Because not altogether of such clay

As rots into the souls of those whom I survey.

CXXXVI.

From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy
Have I not seen what human things could do ?
From the loud roar of foaming calumny
To the small whisper of the as paltry few,
And subtler venom of the reptile crew,
The Janus glance of whose significant eye,
Learning to lie with silence, would seem true,
And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh,
Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy.1

1 [Between stanzas cxxxv. and CxxxVI. we find in the original MS. the following:---

"If to forgive be heaping coals of fire

As God hath spoken-on the heads of foes,
Mine should be a volcano, and rise higher
Than, o'er the Titans crush'd, Olympus rose,
Or Athos soars, or blazing Etna glows:-

True, they who stung were creeping things; but what
Than serpents' teeth inflicts with deadlier throes?

The lion may be goaded by the gnat.

Who sucks the slumberer's blood? -The eagle? - No: the

bat."]

CXXXVII.

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain; But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire; Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre, Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.

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The seal is set.-Now welcome, thou dread power!

Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear; Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear, That we become a part of what has been, And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen.

CXXXIX.

And here the buzz of eager nations ran,
In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause,
As man was slaughter'd by his fellow man.
And wherefore slaughter'd? wherefore, but be-

cause

Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws, And the imperial pleasure. - Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to fill the maws Of worms-on battle-plains or listed spot? Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot.

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