The first were nothing--had I still the last, It were the haven of my happiness; But other claims and other ties thou hast,[aa] And mine is not the wish to make them less. A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past[ab] Recalling, as it lies beyond redress; Reversed for him our grandsire's[85] fate of yore,-- He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore. III. If my inheritance of storms hath been In other elements, and on the rocks Of perils, overlooked or unforeseen, I have sustained my share of worldly shocks, The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen My errors with defensive paradox;[ac] I have been cunning in mine overthrow, The careful pilot of my proper woe. IV. Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward. My whole life was a contest, since the day That gave me being, gave me that which marred The gift,--a fate, or will, that walked astray;[86] And I at times have found the struggle hard, And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay: But now I fain would for a time survive, If but to see what next can well arrive. V. Kingdoms and Empires in my little day I have outlived, and yet I am not old; And when I look on this, the petty spray Of my own years of trouble, which have rolled Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away: Something--I know not what--does still uphold A spirit of slight patience;--not in vain, Even for its own sake, do we purchase Pain. VI. 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,[ad] 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.[ae] 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,[af] 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.[ag] 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,[87] 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.[88] IX.