And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent! Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, And partly that bright names will hallow song; And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard! There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. LAKE OF GENEVA.-CALM. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii. Stanzas 85-87.) CLEAR, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, To waft me from distraction; once I loved It is the hush of night, and all between Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more; He is an evening reveller, who makes At intervals, some bird from out the brakes LAKE OF GENEVA.-STORM. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii. Stanzas 92-96.) THY sky is changed !—and such a change! Oh night, Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among And this is in the night :-Most glorious night! Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted! Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed : Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters,-war within themselves to wage. Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd That in such gaps as desolation work'd, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd. Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! Of what in me is sleepless,—if I rest. Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? CLARENS. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii. Stanzas 99-104.) CLARENS! Sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep Love! The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then mocks. Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,— To which the steps are mountains; where the god Not on those summits solely, nor alone In the still cave and forest ; o'er the flower His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, His soft and summer breath, whose tender power Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. All things are here of him; from the black pines, Which slope his green path downward to the shore, H |