LXXXIV. Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng; LXXXV. Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu! To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen day. TO INEZ. NAY, smile not at my sullen brow; Alas! I cannot smile again: Yet Heaven avert that ever thou 2. And dost thou ask, what secret wo 3. It is not love, it is not hate, Nor low Ambition's honors lost, That bids me loathe my present state, And fly from all I prized the most: It is that weariness which springs 5. It is that settled, ceaseless gloom 6. What Exile from himself can flee? To Zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life-the demon Thought. 7. Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, 8. Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. 9. What is that worst? Nay do not ask- Smile on-nor venture to unmask Chivalry! LXXXVI. Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate! LXXXVII. Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, So may he make each curst oppressor bleed, LXXXVIII. Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? LXXXIX. Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done; XC. Not all the blood at Talavera shed, Have won for Spain her well-asserted right. Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil XCI. And thou, my friend! 19-since unavailing wo Burst from my heart, and mingles with the strainHad the sword laid thee with the mighty low, Pride might forbid ev'n Friendship to complain; But thus unlaurel'd to descend in vain, By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest! What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest? XCII. Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most! Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear! Though to my hopeless days for ever lost, In dreams deny me not to see thee here! And Morn in secret shall renew the tear Of Consciousness awaking to her woes, And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier, Till my frail frame return to whence it rose, And mourn'd and mourner lie united in repose. XCIII. Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage: Ye who of him may further seek to know, Shall find some tidings in a future page, If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. Is this too much? stern Critic! say not so: Patience! and ye shall hear what he beheld In other lands, where he was doom'd to go: Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands we quell'd. CANTO II. I. COME, blue-eyed maid of heaven!--but thou, alas. Didst never yet one mortal song inspireGoddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was, And is, despite of war and wasting fire,' And years, that bade thy worship to expire; But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire Of men who never felt the sacred glow That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts bestow.2 II. Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering III. Son of the morning, rise! approach you here; Come-but molest not yon defenceless urn: Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre ! Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. Even gods must yield-religions take their turn: 'Twas Jove's 'tis Mahomet's-and other creeds Will rise with other years, till man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds; Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds. IV. Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heavenIs't not enough, unhappy thing! to know Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given, That being, thou would'st be again, and go Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, se On earth no more, but mingled with the skies? Still wilt thou dream on future joy and wo? Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies; That little urn saith more than thousand homilies. V. Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound; Far on the solitary shore he sleeps :3 He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around; But now not one of saddening thousands weeps, Nor war-like worshipper his vigil keeps Where demi-gods appear'd, as records tell. Remove yon sull from out the scatter'd heaps: Is that a temple where a God may dwell? Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd cell! VI. Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, And Passion's host, that never brook'd control; VII. Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son! "All that we know is, nothing can be known." Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun? Each has his pang, but feeble sufferers groan With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best; Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest. VIII. Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be With those who made our mortal labors light! To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more! Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the IX. If aught of young Remembrance then remain, XV. Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee, For me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest. And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to northern climes X. Here let me sit upon this massy stone, abhorr'd! XVI. But where is Harold? shall I then forget No loved one now in feign'd lament could rave; Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes, Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like XXVI. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone: XXXI. Thus Harold deem'd, as on that lady's eye o'er. XXXII. Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze, |