And o'er the river hast thou past, and o'er the mighty sea, And o'er the Alps, the dizzy bridge hath borne thy steps to me; To look all near upon the bloom my deathless beauty knows, And, face to face, to front the pomp whose fame through ages goes-- Gaze on, and touch my relics now! At last thou standest here, But art thou nearer now to me--or I to thee more near?
What the Grecian arts created, May the victor Gaul, elated, Bear with banners to his strand.[45] In museums many a row, May the conquering showman show To his startled Fatherland!
Mute to him, they crowd the halls, Ever on their pedestals Lifeless stand they!--He alone Who alone, the Muses seeing, Clasps--can warm them into being; The Muses to the Vandal--stone!
"Who would himself with shadows entertain, Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain, Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true? Though with my dream my heaven should be resign'd-- Though the free-pinion'd soul that now can dwell In the large empire of the Possible, This work-day life with iron chains may bind, Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find, And solemn duty to our acts decreed, Meets us thus tutor'd in the hour of need, With a more sober and submissive mind! How front Necessity--yet bid thy youth Shun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, Truth."
So speak'st thou, friend, how stronger far than I; As from Experience--that sure port serene-- Thou look'st; and straight, a coldness wraps the sky, The summer glory withers from the scene, Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly, The godlike images that seem'd so fair! Silent the playful Muse--the rosy Hours Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers Pall from the sister-Graces' waving hair. Sweet-mouth'd Apollo breaks his golden lyre, Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;-- The veil, rose-woven by the young Desire With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of Life. The world seems what it _is_--A Grave! and Love Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above, And _sees_!--He sees but images of clay Where he dream'd gods; and sighs--and glides away. The youngness of the Beautiful grows old, And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold; And in the crowd of joys--upon thy throne Thou sitt'st in state, and harden'st into stone.