Yes, as the Son of Thetis said, One hears thee saying now —

Greater by far than thou are dead:

Strive not: die also thou.

Ah! Two desires toss about

The poet's feverish blood.

One drives him to the world without,

And one to solitude.

The glow, he cries, the thrill of life —

Where, where do these abound?

Not in the world, not in the strife

Of men, shall they be found.

He who hath watch'd, not shar'd, the strife, Knows how the day hath gone;

He only lives with the world's life

Who hath renounc'd his own.

To thee we come, then. Clouds are roll'd Where thou, O Seer, art set;

Thy realm of thought is drear and cold—
The world is colder yet!

And thou hast pleasures too to share

With those who come to thee:

Balms floating on thy mountain air,

And healing sights to see.

How often, where the slopes are green

On Jaman, hast thou sate

By some high chalet door, and seen

The summer day grow late,

And darkness steal o'er the wet grass With the pale crocus starr'd,

And reach that glimmering sheet of glass Beneath the piny sward,

Lake Leman's waters, far below:

And watch'd the rosy light

Fade from the distant peaks of snow:

And on the air of night

Heard accents of the eternal tongue Through the pine branches play: Listen'd, and felt thyself grow young; Listen'd, and wept Away!

Away the dreams that but deceive!

And thou, sad Guide, adieu!

I go; Fate drives me but I leave

Half of my life with you.

We, in some unknown Power's employ,

Move on a rigorous line :

Can neither, when we will, enjoy;

Nor, when we will, resign.

I in the world must live

Thou melancholy Shade!

:

but thou,

Wilt not, if thou can'st see me now,
Condemn me, nor upbraid.

For thou art gone away from earth,
And place with those dost claim,
The Children of the Second Birth
Whom the world could not tame;

And with that small transfigur'd Band,

Whom many a different way

Conducted to their common land,

Thou learn'st to think as they.

Christian and pagan, king and slave,

Soldier and anchorite,

Distinctions we esteem so grave,

Are nothing in their sight.

They do not ask, who pin'd unseen,

Who was on action hurl'd,

Whose one bond is that all have been

Unspotted by the world.

There without anger thou wilt see Him who obeys thy spell

No more, so he but rest, like thee,

Farewell! Whether thou now liest near

-

That much-lov'd inland sea

The ripples of whose blue waves cheer
Vevey and Meillerie,

And in that gracious region bland,
Where with clear-rustling wave
The scented pines of Switzerland
Stand dark round thy green grave,

Between the dusty vineyard walls Issuing on that green place

The early peasant still recalls

The pensive stranger's face,

And stoops to clear thy moss-grown date

Ere he plods on again ;·

Or whether, by maligner Fate,

Among the swarms of men,

Where between granite terraces

The blue Seine rolls her wave,
The Capital of Pleasure sees
Thy hardly-heard-of grave-

Farewell! Under the sky we part,

In this stern Alpine dell.
O unstrung will! O broken heart!
A last, a last farewell!

THE BURIED LIFE.

LIGHT flows our war of mocking words, and yet, Behold with tears my eyes are wet.

I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.

Yes, yes, we know that we can jest, We know, we know that we can smile; But there's a something in this breast To which thy light words bring no rest, And thy gay smiles no anodyne.

Give me thy hand, and hush awhile, And turn those limpid eyes on mine,

And let me read there, love, thy inmost soul.

Alas, is even Love too weak

To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?

I knew the mass of men conceal'd

Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met

With blank indifference, or with blame reprov'd:
I knew they liv'd and mov'd