Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; My days once number'd, should this homage past Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require ? CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CANTO THE FIRST I. OH, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, Whilome in. Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. (1) The little village of Castri stands partly on the site of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains of sepulchres hewn in and from the rock. "One," said the guide, "of a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little above Castri is a cavo, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth; the upper part of it is paved, and now a cow-house. On the other side of Castri stands a Greek monastery; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, and apparently leading to the interior of the mountain; probably to the Corycian Cavern mentioned by Pausanias. From this part descew the fountain and the "Dews of Castalie." 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, Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, IV. Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, Nor deem'd before his little day was done Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell. V. For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, 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: So old, it seemed only not to fall, Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. ; VIII. Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow, As if the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurk'd below: But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow, 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; But 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, A sister whom he loved, but saw her not Before his weary pilgrimage begun : If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel; A few dcar objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. XI.' His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine, Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, 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, XIII. But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." 1.. "ADIEU, adieu! my native shore The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild seamew. Yon Sun that sets upon the sea My native Land-Good Night! |