XXXVIII. Oh, more or less than man in high or low, Battling with nations, flying from the field; Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield; An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war Norlearn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star.

XXXIX. Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide With that untaught innate philosophy, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast

smiled With a sedate and all- enduring eye; When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child, He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled. XL. Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show That just habitual scorn which could contemn Men and their thoughts; 'was wise to feel, not so To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, And spurn the instruments thou wert to use Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow: "Tis but a worthless world to win or lose; So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who clioose.

XLI. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, . Thou badst been made to stand or fall alone, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock; But men's thoughts were the steps which paved

thy throne, Their admiration thy best weapon shone; The part of Philipp's son was thine, not then (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) Like stern Diogenes to mock at men; For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. 9

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire
And motion of the soul which will not dwell
in its own narrow being, but aspire
Beyond the fitting medium of desire;
And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
Of aught but rest; a fever at the core,
Fatal to him who bcars, to all who ever bore.

XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; Conqerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems, to wliom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings

Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind tlre lust to shine or


Their breath is agitation, and their life
A strom whereon they ride, to sink at last,
And yet so nurs’d and bigotted to strise,
That should their days, surviving perils past,
Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast
With sorrow and supineness, and so die;
Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste
With its own flickering, or a sword laid by
Which cats into itsell, and rusts ingloriously.

XLV. . He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; ile who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.

XLVI. Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be Within its own creation, or in thine, Dlaternal Nature! for who teems like thee, Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine? There Harold gazes on a work divine, A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain,

vine, And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenlyd wells.

XLVII. And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, Or holding dark communion with the cloud. There was a day when they were young and proud, Banners on high, and battles pass'd below; But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.

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