Perhaps the workings of defiance stir Within me--or perhaps a cold despair, Brought on when ills habitually recur-- Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, (For even to this may change of soul refer, And with light armour we may learn to bear,) Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not The chief companion of a calmer lot. VII. I feel almost at times as I have felt In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks, Which do remember me of where I dwelt Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books, Come as of yore upon me, and can melt My heart with recognition of their looks: And even at moments I could think I see Some living thing to love--but none like thee. VIII. Here are the Alpine landscapes which create A fund for contemplation.--to admire Is a brief feeling of a trivial date; But something worthier do such scenes inspire: Here to be lonely is not desolate. For much I view which I could most desire, And, above all, a lake I can behold Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old. IX. Oh that thou wert but with me!--but I grow The fool of my own wishes, and forget The solitude which I have vaunted so Has lost its praise in this but one regret; There may be others which I less may show;-- I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet I feel an ebb in my philosophy And the tide rising in my alter'd eye. X. I did remind thee of our own dear lake, By the old hall which may be mine no more, Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore: Sad havoc Time must with my memory make Ere _that_ or _thou_ can fade these eyes before; Though, like all things which I have loved, they are Resign'd for ever, or divided far. XI. The world is all before me; I but ask Of nature that with which she will comply-- It is but in her summer sun to bask, To mingle with the quiet of her sky, To see her gentle fare without a mask, And never gaze on it with apathy. She was my early friend, and now shall be My sister--till I look again on thee. XII. I can reduce all feelings but this one: And that I would not;--for at length I see Such scenes as those wherein my life begun. The earliest--even the only paths for me-- Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun, I had been better than I now can be: The passions which have torn me would have slept: I had not suffered, and _thou_ hadst not wept. XIII. With false ambition what had I to do? Little with love, and least of all with fame; And yet they came unsought, and with me grew, And made me all which they can make--a name. Yet this was not the end I did pursue; Surely I once beheld a nobler aim. But all is over--I am one the more To baffled millions which have gone before. XIV.