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What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now. Before the Chastener humbly let me bow, O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroy'd : Roll on, vain days full reckless may ye flow, Since Time hath rest whate'er my soul enjoy’d, And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd.
end OF CANTO THE SECOND.
CAN TO TIIE THIRD. * Afin que cette application vous forcât de penser à autre chose ; il n'y a en vérité de remède que celui-là et le temps.o Lettre du Roi de Prusse à D'Alembert, Septembre 7, 1776.
CHILDE HAROLD’S PILGRIMAGE.
canto THE Thirt D.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
Awaking with a start,
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath
In my youth's summer I did sing of One, The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; Again I seize the theme, then but begun, And bear it with me, as the rushing wind Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find The surrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind, O'er which all heavily the journeying years Plod the last sands of life, where not a flower appears.
He, who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him; nor below Can love or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife, Cut to his heart again with the keen knife Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rise With airy images, and shapes which dwell Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted cell.