Is lawless law; for with a bloody hand Yet here and there some daring mountain-band Disdain his power, Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. XLVIII, Monastic Zitza! 20 from thy shady brow, Thou small, but favoured spot of holy ground! 19 What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found! 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, Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, The convent's white walls glisten fair on high: Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see, L. Here in the sultriest season let him rest, Fresh in the green beneath those aged tress; is Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, LI, Dusky and luge, enlarging on the sight, Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, 22 Chimera's alps extend from left to right: Beneath, a living valley seems to stir; Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain fir. Nodding above: behold black Acheron! Once consecrated to the sepulchre. Pluto! if this be hell I look upon, 23 Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none! LII. No city's towers pollute the lovely view; Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, Veiled by the screen of hills: here men are few, Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot; But, peering down each precipice, the goat The little shepherd in his white capote Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, 24 Or in his cave awaits, the tempest's short-lived shock, LIII. Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove, Prophetic fount, and oracle divine? What valley echoed the response of Jove? What trace remaineth of the thunderer's shrine? All, all forgotten-and shall man repine That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke? Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine: Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak? When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke! LIV. Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail; Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale As ever Spring y'clad in grassy dye: Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie, Where some bold river breaks the long expanse, Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Or with the moon-beam sleep, in midnight's solemn trance. LV. The Sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by; 25 26 The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and drawing nigh, He heard the busy hum of warrior-men Swelling the breeze that sighed, along the lengthening glen. LVI. He passed the sacred Haram's silent tower, Slaves, eunuchs, soldier, guests, and santons wait; Within, a palace, and without, a fort: Here men of every clime, appear to make resort. LVII. Richly caparisoned, a ready row Of armed horse, and many a warlike store Above, strange groups adorned the corridore: And oft-times through the Area's echoing door The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, While the deep war-drum's sound, announced the close of day. The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, And gold-embroidered garments, fair to see; The bearded Turk that rarely deigns to speak, LIX. Are mixed conspicuous: some recline in groups, There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, And some that smoke, and some that play, are found; Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate; « There is no god but God!-to prayer-lo! God is great! » |