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Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view;
Veil'd by the screen of hills! here men are few,
But, peering down each precipice, the goat
Browseth and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock, The little shepherd in his white capote 4
Doth lean his boyish form along the rock,
Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock.
Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove,
Prophetic fount and oracle divine?
What valley echoes the response
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!
Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail;
Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye
Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale
As ever spring yclad in grassy dye :
Or with the moon-beams sleep in midnight's solemn trance.
The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, 35
The glittering minarets of Tepalen,
Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and drawing nigh,
He heard the busy hum of warrior-men
Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the length'ning glen.
He pass'd the sacred haram's silent tower,
Here men of every clime appear to make resort.
Richly caparison'd, a ready row
Of armed horse, and many a warlike store,
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,
Are mix'd conspicuous: some recline in groups,
Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate ;
"There is no god but God!-to prayer-lo! God is great!"
Just at this season Ramazani's fast
But from the chambers came the mingling din,
page and slave anon were passing out and in.
Here woman's voice is never heard : apart,
Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears,
In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring
Along that aged venerable face,
It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard
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
abhorreth artificial joys, And pleasure, leagued with pomp, the zest of both destroys.
Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack
When gratitude or valour bids them bleed,
Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower
And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof—27
It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark
That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk
Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand,
To rest the weary and to soothe the sad,
It came to pass, that when he did address
Till he did greet white Achelous' tide,
Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove,
's grove, Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast, As winds come lightly whispering from the west ! Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.“ Here Harold was received a welcome guest,
Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, For many a joy could he from night's soft presence glean.
On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed,
And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man, Yelling their uncouth dirge, long danced the kirtled clan.