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VIII. Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow, As is the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurked below : But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; For his was not that open, artless soul 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 gathered revellers from far and near, He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour; The heartless parasites of present cheer. 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 moth's, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair.
Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot,
Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel ;
A few dear objects, will in sadness feel
XI. His house, his home, his heritage , his lands, The laughing names in whom he did delight, Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, And long had fed his youthful appetite ; His goblets brimmed with every costly wine, And all that mote to luxury invite:
Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central line.
XII. The sails were filled , 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 deemed 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 preceded from his sight, Thus to the elements he poured his last « Good Night. »
Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue;
And shrieks the wild seamew.
We follow in his flight;
To give the morrow birth;
But not my mother Earth. Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or tremble at the gale?
Our ship is swift and strong:
More morrily along. »
* Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;
Am sorrowful in mind;
A mother whom I love.
But thee--and one above.
5. « My father blessed me fervently,
Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again. »
« Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye; If I thy guileless bosom had Mine own would not be dry.
6. « Come hither, hither my staunch yeoman,
Why dost thou look so pale?
Or shiver at the gale ? »-
Sir Childe; I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife
Will blanch a faithful cheek.
« My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
Along the bordering lake,
What answer shall she make? »
Thy grief let none gainsay; But I, who am of lighter mood, Will laugh to flee away.'
8. « For who would trust the seeming sighs
Of wife or paramour?
We late saw streaming o'er.