CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CANTO I. I. Oн, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, II. Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, Few earthly things found favour in his sight 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; IV. 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. Then loath'd he in his native land to dwell, V. For he through sin's long labyrinth had run, 1 VI. And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, And from his native land resolved to go, And visit scorching climes beyond the sea; With pleasure drugg'd, he almost long'd for woe, And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below. VII. The Childe departed from his father's hall: It was a vast and venerable pile; So old, it seemed only not to fall, Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. VIII. Yet oft-times in the maddest mirthful mood As if the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurk'd below: But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; For his was not that open, artless soul Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not control. IX. And none did love him--though to hall and bower He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour; Yea! none did love him-not his lemans dear But pomp and power alone are woman's care, And where these are light Eros finds a feere; Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair. X. Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot, Before his weary pilgrimage begun : If friends he had, be bade adieu to none. Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel; upon A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. XI. His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, hands, And traverse Paynim shores, and pass earth's central line, XII. The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home; And fast the white rocks faded from his view, And soon were lost in circumambient foam : And then, it may be, of his wish to roam Repented he, but in his bosom slept The silent thought, nor from his lips did come One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. XIII. But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight, While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last «Good Night. 1. « Adieu, adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; My native land—Good night! VOL. I. 2 |