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* * * - Few earthly things found 1avou. ... ... --> Save concubines and carnal companie,

And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

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OH, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, Muse ! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will Since shained full oft by later lyres on earth, Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill: Yet there I’ve wander'd by thy vaunted rill; Yes! sigh’d o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine,' Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still ; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale—this lowly lay of mine.

II

Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. Ah me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; Few earthly things found favour in his sightSave concubines and carnal companie, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

III.

Childe Harold was he hight:—but whence his name And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, And had been glorious in another day: But one sad losel soils a name for aye, However mighty in the olden time; Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

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Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, Disporting there like any other fly; Nor deem'd before his little day was done One blast might chill him into misery. But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by, Worse than adversity the Childe befell; He felt the fulness of satiety: Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell.

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For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run,
Nor made atonement when he did amiss,
Had sigh’d to many though he loved but one,’
And that loved one, alas ! could ne'er be his.
Ah, happy she to 'scape from him whose kiss
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste ;
Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss,
And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste,
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deign'd to taste.

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