CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. A ROMAUNT. CANTO II. I. COME, blue-eyed maid of heaven !-but thou, alas! Didst never yet one mortal song inspire Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was, And years, that bade thy worship to expire: But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire Of men who never felt the sacred glow That thoughts of thee and thine, on polished breasts bestow. 2 II. Ancient of days! august Athena ! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone-glimmering through the dream of things that were: First in the race that led to Glory's goal, They won, and passed away-is this the whole? A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour! The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, grey flits the shade of power. III. Son of the morning, rise! approach you here! Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre ! Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds. IV. Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven Is't not enough, unhappy thing to know Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given, Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so V. Or burst the vanished Hero's lofty mound; Far on the solitary shore he sleeps: 3 He fell, and falling nations mourned around; Where demi-gods appeared, as records tell. Is that a temple where a God may dwell? Why ev'n the worm at last, disdains her shattered cell! VI. Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall, Its chambers desolate, and portals foul: Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul: And Passion's host, that never brooked control: VII. Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son! « All that we know is, nothing can be known. » Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun? Each has his pang, but feeble sufferers groan With brain-born dreams of evil all their own, There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, But Silence spreads the couch, of ever welcome rest, Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be A land of souls beyond that sable shore, With those who made our mortal labours light! The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right! IX. There, thou-whose love and life together fied, Have left me here to love and live in vain Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead, When busy Memory flashes on my brain? Well-I will dream that we may meet again, If aught of young remembrance then remain, Be as it may futurity's behest, For me'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest! |