Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/297

CANTO III.] By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,N17

Or the pure bosom of its nursing Lake,

Which feeds it as a mother who doth make

A fair but froward infant her own care,

Kissing its cries away as these awake;—

Is it not better thus our lives to wear,

Than join the crushing crowd, doomed to inflict or bear?

LXXII.

I live not in myself, but I become

Portion of that around me; and to me

High mountains are a feeling, but the hum

Of human cities torture: I can see