gion, so That being, thou wouldst be again, and go, | When busy Memory flashes on my brai On earth no more, but mingled with the skies? more, What! could not Pluto spare the chief once | For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks, Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved; By British hands, which it had best behoved And once again thy hapless bosom gored, But where is Harold? shall I then forget rave; Wriend the parting hand extended gave, Harold felt not as in other times, He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sea, view'd at times, I ween, a full fair sight, When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, white sail set, the gallant frigate tight; pires, and strand retiring to the right, Tirious main expanding o'er the bow, The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight, The dallest sailer wearing bravely now, And oh, the little warlike world within! preserve That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks Conquest and Fame: but Britons rarely What leagues are lost before the dawn of day, The moon is up; by Heaven a lovely eve! Such be our fate when we return to land! Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze: sombre down. But Mauritania's giant-shadows frown, The hearse command, the busy humming din, From mountain-cliff to coast descending When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high: ark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry! While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides; hool-boy Midshipman that, standing by, in his shrill pipe as good or ill betides, And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. Wie is the glassy deck, without a stain, 'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel Who with the weight of years would wish Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant Death hath but little left him to destroy! Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy? walks: Le on that part which sacred doth remain This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! Well deem'd the little God his ancient sw More blest the life of godly Eremite, Such as on lonely Athos may be seen, Watching at Eve upon the giant height, Which looks o'er waves so blue, skies so serene, That he who there at such an hour hath been Will wistful linger on that hallow'd spot; Then slowly tear him from the 'witching scene, Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot, Then turn to hate a world he had almost forgot. Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind; Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack, And each well known caprice of wave and wind; Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, Coop'd in their winged sea-girt citadel; was o'er. Fair Florence found, in sooth with son amaze, still sigh'd to all saw, One who, 'twas said, All that gay Beauty from her bondsm claims: And much she marvell'd that a youth so ra Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-toflames, Which, though sometimes they frown, y rarely anger dames. Little knew she that seeming marble-hear Now mask'd in silence or withheld by prid Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, And spread its snares licentious far an wide; Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd asid As long as aught was worthy to pursue: But Harold on such arts no more relied; crew. Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs; What careth she for hearts when once pos- De proper homage to thine idol's eyes; Disguise even tenderness, if thou art wise; is an old lesson; Time approves it true, nor let me loiter in my song, Nature is the kindest mother still, she is fairest in her features wild, ne by day or night she ever smiled, and of Albania! where Iskander rose, Childe Harold sail'd and pass'd the barren The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. "Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve (Born beneath some remote inglorious star) But when he saw the evening-star above Morn dawns; and with it stern Albania's Array'd in many a dun and purple streak, Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men ap- And gathering storms around convulse the Now Harold felt himself at length alone, Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed summer's heat. Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, Forgets that pride to pamper'd Priesthood | The convent's white walls glisten fair dear; Churchman and votary alike despised. Ambracia's gulph behold, where once was lost From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, Even to the centre of Illyria's vales, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales; Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales Tho' classic ground and consecrated most, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, Is lawless law; for with a bloody hand Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. Monastic Zitza! from thy shady brow, Thou small, but favour'd spot of holy ground! Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found! Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, And bluest skies that harmonize the whole: Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul. Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, Might well itself be deem'd of dignity, high: Here dwells the caloyer, nor rude is he, Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer by Is welcome still; nor heedless will he fl From hence, if he delight kind Natur sheen to see. Here in the sultriest season let him rest Fresh is the green beneath those aged tree Here winds of gentlest wing will fan h breast, From heaven itself he may inhale the breez The plain is far beneath-oh! let him sei Pure pleasure while he can; the scorchi ray Here pierceth not, impregnate with diseas Then let his length the loitering pilgrim la And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, t eve away. Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight Nodding above: behold black Acheron! Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view; Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, Veil'd by the screen of hills: here men a few, Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot; But, peering down each precipice, the go Browseth; and,pensive o'er his scatter'd floc The little shepherd in his white capote Doth lean his boyish form along the roc Or in his cave awaits the tempest's shor lived shock. Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grov Prophetic fount, and oracle divine? What valley echoed the response of Jove What trace remaineth of the thundere shrine? All, all forgotten-and shall man repine That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well ! thine: Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak When nations, tongues, and worlds must sin beneath the strok Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail |