The peak whereon we stand, midway, around,
Encinctured by the dark and blooming forests,
Dim twilight-lawns, and stream-illumined caves,
And wind-enchanted shapes of wandering mist;
And far on high the keen sky-cleaving mountains
From icy spires of sun-like radiance fling
The dawn, as lifted Ocean's dazzling spray,
From some Atlantic islet scattered up,
Spangles the wind with lamp-like water-drops.
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
What can atone, O ever injured shade,
Thy fate unpitied and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear
Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier.
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By strangers honour'd and by strangers mourn'd!
What though no friends in sable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances and the public show;
What though no weeping Loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face;
What though no sacred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb;
Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be dress'd,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast;
There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow,
There the first roses of the year shall blow;
While angels with their silver wings o'ershade
The ground, now sacred by their relics made.
So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
Which once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.
How loved, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;
A heap of dust alone remains of thee;
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be !
Thus saith the Lord to Cyrus his anointed,
Whose right hand I have holden, to subdue
Nations before him: I will go before thee,
To loose the strong-knit loins of mighty kings,
Make straight the crooked places, break in pieces
The gates of solid brass, and cut in sunder
The bars of iron. For my servant's sake,
Israel my chosen, though thou hast not known me,
I have surnam'd thee: I have girded thee:
That from the rising to the setting sun
The nations may confess I am the Lord,
There is none else, there is no God besides me.
Thou shalt perform my pleasure, to Jerusalem
Saying, Thou shalt be built; and to the Temple,
Thy raz'd foundation shall again be laid.
EXERCISE XXXI.
I do believe you innocent, a good man,
And Heav'n forgive that naughty thing that wrong'd me!
Why look
ye wild, my
friends? why stare ye on me?
I charge ye, as ye're men, my men, my lovers,
As ye are honest faithful men, fair soldiers,
Let down your anger! Is not this our sovereign?
The head of mercy and of law?
But rebels, scorning law, appear thus violent?
Is this a place for swords, for threat'ning fires?
The rev'rence of this house dares any touch,
But with obedient knees, and pious duties?
Are we not all his subjects, all sworn to him?
Has he not pow'r to punish our offences,
And don't we daily fall into 'em? Assure you
I did offend, and highly, grievously;
This good sweet prince I offended, my life forfeited,
Which yet his mercy, and his old love met with,
And only let me feel his light rod this way.
Ye are to thank him for your general,
Pray for his life and fortune, sweat your bloods for him.
Ye are offenders too, daily offenders;
Proud insolencies dwell in your hearts, and ye
Do 'em against his peace, his law, his person;
Ye see he only sorrows for your sins,
And where his pow'r might persecute, forgives ye.
Effertur: imus. Interea inter mulieres,
Quæ ibi aderant, forte unam aspicio adolescentulam,
Formâ
Sosia. Bonâ fortasse. Simo. Et voltu, Sosia,
Adeo modesto, adeo venusto, ut nihil supra.
Quia tum mihi lamentari præter ceteras
Visa est, et quia erat formâ præter ceteras
Honestâ et liberali, accedo ad pedisequas:
Quæ sit, rogo. Sororem esse aiunt Chrysidis.
Percussit illico animum. Atat! hoc illud est,
Hinc illæ lacrumæ, hæc illa est misericordia,
Sosia. Quàm timeo, quorsum evadas!
Procedit: sequimur: ad sepulcrum venimus:
In ignem imposita est: fletur. Interea hæc soror,
Quam dixi, ad flammam accessit imprudentius,
Satis cum periclo. Ibi tum exanimatus Pamphilus
Bene dissimulatum amorem et celatum indicat:
Accurrit: mediam mulierem complectitur;
Mea Glycerium, inquit, quid agis? cur te is perditum ?
Tum illa, ut consuetum facile amorem cerneres,
Rejecit se in eum flens quàm familiariter.
Yet here, Laertes! Aboard, aboard, for shame; The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stay'd for: There, my blessing with you;
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in,
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,-To thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man..
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!
Make net-work of the dark blue light of day,
And the night's moontide clearness, mutable
As shapes in the weird clouds. Soft mossy lawns
Beneath these canopies extend their swells,
Fragrant with perfumed herbs, and eyed with blooms
Minute, yet beautiful. One darkest glen
Sends forth its woods of musk-rose twined with jasmine,
A soul-dissolving odour, to invite
To some more lovely mystery. Through the dell
Silence and Twilight here, twin-sisters, keep
Their noonday watch, and sail among the shades,
Like vap'rous shapes half seen. Beyond, a well
Dark, gleaming, and of most translucent wave,
Images all the woven boughs above,
And each depending leaf, and every speck
Of azure sky, darting between their chasms:
Nor aught else in the liquid mirror laves
Its portraiture, but some inconstant star,
Between one foliaged lattice twinkling fair,
Or painted bird sleeping beneath the moon,
Or gorgeous insect, floating motionless,
Unconscious of the day, ere yet his wings
Have spread their glories to the gaze of noon.
SHELLEY'S Alastor.
I never looked that he should live so long.
He was a man of that unsleeping spirit,
He seemed to live by miracle: his food
Was glory, which was poison to his mind,
And peril to his body. He was one
Of many thousand such, that die betimes,
Whose story is a fragment, known to few.
Then comes the man that has the luck to live,
And he's a prodigy. Compute the chances,
Aud deem there's ne'er a one in dangerous times
Who wins the race of glory, but than him
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