Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate ;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.

"Come hither, hither, my little page!
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billow's rage,
Or tremble at the gale?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong:
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along."

"Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful in mind;
For I have from my father gone,

A mother whom I love,
And have no friend, save these alone,

But thee and one above.

"My father bless'd me fervently,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.”——
"Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had

Mine own would not be dry.

"Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoma
Why dost thou look so pale?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?
Or shiver at the gale?"—
Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife

Will blanch a faithful cheek.

"My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake,

And when they on their father call,
What answer shall she make?"
"Enough, enough, my ycoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.

"For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour?

Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes
We late saw streaming o'er.
For pleasures past I do not grieve,
Nor perils gathering near;

My greatest grief is that I leave
No thing that claims a tear.

"And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea:
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands ;
But long ere I come back again,

He'd tear me where he stands.

Oh. Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!

That fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! But man would mar them with an impious hand:

when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge

Gaist those who most transgress his high command,

With treble vengeance will his hot shafts

urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge.

What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold!
Her image floating on that noble tide,

ch poets vainly pave with sands of gold, Bow whereon a thousand keels did ride

Of

mighty strength, since Albion was allied, And to the Lusians did her aid afford: Auation swoln with ignorance and pride, Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the

sword

Thare them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord.

But whoso entereth within this town,
That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,
Disconsolate will wander up and down,
Mid many things unsightly to strange ee;
For hat and palace show like filthily:
The dingy denizens are reared in dirt;
personage of high or mean degree
Both care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,
Though shent with Egypt's plague, un-
kempt, unwash'd; unhurt.

Por, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest

Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, To follow half on which the eye dilates Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken

Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates?

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd,

The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep,

The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep,

The tender azure of the unruffled deep, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough,

The torrents that from cliff to valley leap,
The vine on high, the willow-branch below,
Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied
beauty glow.

Then slowly climb the many-winding way,
And frequent turn to linger as you go,
From loftier rocks new loveliness survey,
And rest ye at our "Lady's house of woe;"
Where frugal monks their little relics show,
And sundry legends to the stranger tell:
Here impious men have punish'd been, and lo!
Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell,
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth
a Hell.

And here and there, as up the crags you spring,

Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path:
Yet deem not these devotion's offering—
These are memorials frail of murderous
wrath:

For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath
Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's
knife
Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath;
And grove and glen with thousand such are

rife Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, Are domes where whilome kings did make repair; But now the wild flowers round them only breathe;

Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there.
And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair:
There thou too, Vathek! England's wealth-
iest son,
Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware

When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds
hath done,
Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont
to shun.

Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan,

Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow:
But now, as if a thing unblest by Man,
Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou!
Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow
To halls deserted, portals gaping wide :
Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how
Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied;
Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle
tide!

Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened!

Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye!
With diadem hight foolscap, lo! a fiend,
A little fiend that scoffs incessantly,

To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever qu A scene of peace, though soothing to soul:

Again he rouses from his moping fits,
But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl
Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal
Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimag
And o'er him many changing scenes in
roll

Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, Or he shall calm his breast, or learn perience sage.

Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, Where dwelt of yore the Lusian's luckl

queen;

And sundry signatures adorn the roll, Whereat the Urchin points and laughs with all his soul.

And ever since that martial synod met,
Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name;
And folks in office at the mention fret,
And fain would blush, if blush they could,
for shame.

How will posterity the deed proclaim!
Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer,
To view these champions cheated of their
fame,
By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors
here,
Where Scorn her finger points through ma-
ny a coming year?
So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains
he

Did take his way in solitary guise:
Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to
flee,

More restless than the swallow in the skies:
Though here awhile he learn'd to moralize,
For Meditation fix'd at times on him;
And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise
His early youth, mispent in maddest whim;
But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes
grew dim.

sheen,

That men forget the blood which she ha spilt, And bow the knee to Pomp that loves varnish guilt.

O'er vales that teem with fruits, romant hills,

(Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fill Childe Harold wends through many a ple sant place.

Though sluggards deem it but a foolis chase,

And marvel men should quit their easy chai The toilsome way, and long, long leag

to trace,

Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain ai And life, that bloated Ease can never hop to share.

More bleak to view the hills at length reced And, less luxuriant, smoother vales exten Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed! Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, Spain's realms appear whereon her shepher tend

Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the tr der knows

Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defent For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, And all must shield their all, or sha Subjection's woe

The broken tools, that tyrants cast away
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way
With human hearts-to what?-a dream
alone.

Can despots compass aught that hails their sway?

Or call with truth one span of earth their own, Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone?

Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief! As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed,

Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!

Peace to the perish'd! may the warrior's meed And tears of triumph their reward prolong! Till others fall where other chieftains lead Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,

And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song!

Enough of Battle's minions! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame:

Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, Though thousands fall to deck some single

name.

In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good,

And die, that living might have proved her shame;

Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued.

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued: Yet is she free-the spoiler's wish'd-for prey! Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude.

Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famished brood Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive.

But all unconscious of the coming doom, The feast, she song, the revel here abounds; Strange modes of merriment the hours con

sume,

Nor bleed these patriots with their country's

wounds:

Not here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds;

Here Folly still his votaries enthralls; And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds:

At every turn Morena's dusky height
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load;
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road,
The bristling palisade, the fosse o'er-flow`
The station'd bands, the never-vacant watc
The magazine in rocky durance stow'd,
The holster'd steed beneath the shed
thatch,

tott'ring walls.

match,