XLII. Morn dawns; and with it stern Albania's hills, Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, Robed half in mist, bedew'd with snowy rills, Array'd in many a dun and purple streak, Arise; and, as the clouds along them break, Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer: Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak, Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear, And gathering storms around convulse the closing year. XLIII. Now Harold felt himself at length alone, This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet, Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed summer's heat. XLIV. Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross? XLV. Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost GOD! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and lose? XLVI. From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, Are rarely seen; nor can fair Tempe boast To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. XLVII. 31 He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, XLVIII. Monastic Zitza! from thy shady brow,34 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 harmonise 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. XLIX. Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, 35 Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer by Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see. L. Here in the sultriest season let him rest, Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees; Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze: The plain is far beneath-oh! let him seize Pure pleasure while he can ; the scorching ray Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease: Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away LI. Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, Chimæra's alps extend from left to right: Beneath, a living valley seems to stir Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-fir Nodding above; behold black Acheron ! 37 Once consecrated to the sepulchre. Pluto! if this be hell I look upon, Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none. LII. Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view; Veil'd by the screen of hills: here men are few, LIII. Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove, What valley echo'd the response of Jove? What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's 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 be thine : Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak? When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke! |