Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, To gaze on Dian's wave-reflected sphere; The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride, And flies unconscious o'er each backward year. None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; A flashing pang! of which the weary breast Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean: This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought and sued: This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! More blest the life of godly Eremite, Such as on lonely Athos may be seen, Watching at Eve upon the giant height, Which looks o'er waves so blue, skies so The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind, As breezes rise and fall and billows swell, Till on some jocund morn-lo, land! and all is well. But not in silence pass Calypso's isles, weep, And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep For him who dared prefer a mortal bride : Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide; While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly sigh'd. Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone: But trust not this; too easy youth, beware! A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne, And thou may'st find a new Calypso there. Sweet Florence! could another ever share. This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine: But check'd by every tie, I may not dare To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine, Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine. amaze, still sigh'd to all he saw, Fair Florence found, in sooth with some All that gay Beauty from her bondsmen claims: And much she marvell'd that a youth so raw Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told flames, Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely anger dames. Little knew she that seeming marble-heart, Now mask'd in silence or withheld by pride, Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, And spread its snares licentious far and wide; Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside, As long as aught was worthy to pursue: But Harold on such arts no more relied; crew. Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs; What careth she for hearts when once pos- Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes;. tropes: Disguise even tenderness, if thou art wise; 'Tis an old lesson; Time approves it true, Childe Harold sail'd and pass'd the barren forgot, The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. "Twas or a Grecian autumn's gentle eve (Born beneath some remote inglorious star) But when he saw the evening-star above his pallid front. Away! nor let me loiter in my song, Dear Nature is the kindest mother still, Oh! she is fairest in her features wild, To me by day or night she ever smiled, Land of Albania! where Iskander rose, Morn dawns; and with it stern Albania's Dark Suli's rocks, and Now Harold felt himself at length alone, Peril he sought not,but ne'er shrank to meet, Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, Forgets that pride to pamper'd Priesthood | The convent's white walls glisten fair on dear; Churchman and votary alike despised. Ambracia's gulph behold, where once was lost From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, Even to the centre of Illyria's vales, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales; Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales Tho' classic ground and consecrated most, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, Is lawless law; for with a bloody hand Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. Monastic Zitza! from thy shady brow, Thou small, but favour'd spot of holy ground! Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found! Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, And bluest skies that harmonize the whole: Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul. Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, Might well itself be deem'd of dignity, high: And woods along the banks are waving high, Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Or with the moon-beam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. The Sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, When,down the steep banks winding warily, He heard the busy hum of warrior-men Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen. 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 preparations 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. The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, Master of all around, too potent to be meek, Are mix'd conspicuous: some recline in groups, Scanning the motley scene that varies round; There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, And some that smoke, and some that play, are found; Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground; Half whispering there the Greek is heard. to prate; Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound, It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard Ill suits the passions which belong to youth; Love conquers age-so Hafiz hath averr'd, So sings the Teian, and he sings in soothBut crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth, Besceming all men ill, but most the man In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth; Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span, In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. 'Mid many things most new to ear and eye retreat Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise : And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet; But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack Their wrath how deadly! but their friend- Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's Thronging to war in splendour and success; Himself awhile the victim of distress; And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof- It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark It came to pass, that when he did address And therefore did he take a trusty band Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's As winds come lightly whispering from the Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene: On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly The feast was done, the red wine circling And he that unawares had there ygazed The native revels of the troop began; Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore, That those who loathe alike the Frank and Might once again renew their ancient but- Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the wel- Kinder than polish'd slaves though not so ful lamp, And view'd 'but not displeased, the revelrie, The long wild locks that to their girdles TAMBOURGI! Tambourgi! thy 'larum afar Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, To rest the weary and to soothe the sad, least the bad. from the rock. |