XCI.

   Nor vainly did the early Persian make
   His altar the high places and the peak
   Of earth-o’ergazing mountains, and thus take
   A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek
   The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak,
   Upreared of human hands.  Come, and compare
   Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek,
   With Nature’s realms of worship, earth and air,
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer!

XCII.

   The sky is changed!—­and such a change!  O night,
   And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
   Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
   Of a dark eye in woman!  Far along,
   From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
   Leaps the live thunder!  Not from one lone cloud,
   But every mountain now hath found a tongue;
   And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!

XCIII.

   And this is in the night:  —­Most glorious night! 
   Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be
   A sharer in thy fierce and far delight —
   A portion of the tempest and of thee! 
   How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
   And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! 
   And now again ’tis black,—­and now, the glee
   Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth,
As if they did rejoice o’er a young earthquake’s birth.

XCIV.

   Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
   Heights which appear as lovers who have parted
   In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,
   That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted;
   Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,
   Love was the very root of the fond rage
   Which blighted their life’s bloom, and then departed: 
   Itself expired, but leaving them an age
Of years all winters—­war within themselves to wage.

XCV.

   Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way,
   The mightiest of the storms hath ta’en his stand;
   For here, not one, but many, make their play,
   And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand,
   Flashing and cast around:  of all the band,
   The brightest through these parted hills hath forked
   His lightnings, as if he did understand
   That in such gaps as desolation worked,
There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked.

XCVI.