CXXVII. Yet let us ponder boldly-'tis a base1 Our right of thought-our last and only place 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, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Should be the light which streams here, to illume 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, 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, And only healer when the heart hath bled- My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift: CXXXI. Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne 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 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 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, As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. CXXXVI. From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy 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, True, they who stung were creeping things; but what 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. 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, 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. |