III. Childe Harold was he hight :-but whence his name Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay, IV. Childe Harold basked him in the noon-tide sun, Nor deemed before his little day was done But long ere scarce a third of his passed by, Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, 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 drugged he almost longed for woe, And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below. VII. The Childe departed from his father's ball: It was a vast and venerable pile; So old, it seemed only not to fall, Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle. VIII. Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood 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 knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour; Yea! none did love him-not his lemans dear- X. Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot, If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel; A few dear 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 brimmed 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 filled, and fair the light winds blew, And fast the white rocks faded from his view, The silent thought, nor from his lips did come 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, Thus to the elements he poured his last « Good Night. I. ADIEU, adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild seamew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea " 2. "A few short hours and he will rise Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; 3. «Come hither, hither, my little page! But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; More merrily along. 4. "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, |