VI. And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, And from his native land resolved to go, 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 hall: It was a vast and venerable pile; So old, it seemed only not to fall, Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle. Monastic dome! condemned to uses vile! Where Superstition once had made her den Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile; And monks might deem their time was come agen, If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. VIII. Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; 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 dearBut pomp and power alone are woman's care, And where these are light Eros finds a feere; Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair. X. Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot, Though parting from that mother he did shun; A sister whom he loved, but saw her not Before his weary pilgrimage begun: If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel; Ye, who have known what 'tis to doat upon 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, 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, And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, 1. "ADIEU, adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, Farewell awhile to him and thee, 2. "A few short hours and He will rise Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; |