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XLV.
Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost
A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing!
In yonder rippling bay, their naval host
Did many a Roman chief and Asian king
To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring:
Look where the second Cæsar's trophics rose:
Now, like the hands that rear'd them, withering:

Imperial anarch's, doubling human woes!
God! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and lose?

XLVI.
From the dark barriers of that rugged clime,
Even to the centre of Illyria’s vales,
Childe Harold passid o'er many a mount sublime,
Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales ;
Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales
Are rarely seen; nor can fair Tempe boast
A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails,

Though classic ground and consecrated most,
To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast.

XLVII.
He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake,
And left the primal city of the land,
And onwards did his further journey take
To greet Albania's chief, whose dread command
Is lawless law; for with a bloody hand
He sways a nation, turbulent and bold:
Yet here and there some daring mountain-band

Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold
Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold.

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LI.

Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight,
Nature's volcanic amphitheatre,
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 !
Once consecrated to the sepulchre.
Pluto! if this be hell I look upon,

[none. Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for

LII.
Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view;
Unseen is Yanina, though not remote,
Veild by the screen of hills: here men are few,
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot:
But, peering down each precipice, the goat
Browseth; and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock,
The little shepherd in his white capote

Doth lean his boyish form along the rock,
Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock.

LIII.
Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove,
Prophetic fount, and oracle divine?
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!

LIV.
Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail;
Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye
Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale
As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye:
Even on a plain no humble beauties lie,
Where some bold river breaks the long expanse,
And woods along the banks are waving high,

Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance,
Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn trance.

LV. The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by; The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, When, down the steep banks winding warily, Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, The glittering minarets of Tepalen, Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and drawing nigh,

He heard the busy hum of warrior-men Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen.

LVI.
He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower,
And underneath the wide o'erarching gate
Survey'd the dwelling of this chief of power,
Where all around proclaim'd his high estate.
Amidst no common pomp the despot sate,
While busy preparation shook the court,
Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait;

Within, a palace, and without, a fort:
Here men of every clime appear to make resort.

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