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And thou, my friend! 19-since unavailing wo
Burst from my heart, and mingles with the strain-
Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low,
Pride might forbid ev'n Friendship to complain;
But thus unlaurel'd to descend in vain,
By all forgotten, save the lonely breast,

And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain,
While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest!
What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to


Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most!
Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear!
Though to my hopeless days for ever lost,
In dreams deny me not to see thee here!
And Morn in secret shall renew the tear
Of Consciousness awaking to her woes,
And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier,
Till my frail frame return to whence it rose,
And mourn'd and mourner lie united in repose.


Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage:
Ye who of him may further seek to know,
Shall find some tidings in a future page,
If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe.
If this too much? stern Critic! say not so:
Patience! and ye shall hear what he beheld
In other lands, where he was doom'd to go:
Lands that contain the monuments of Eld,
Kre Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands we



COME, blue-eyed maid of heaven!-but thou, alas.
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire-
Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was,
And is, despite of war and wasting fire,'
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 polish'd breasts


Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone glimmering through the dream of things that
First in the race that led to Glory's goal [were:
They won, and pass'd away-is this the whole?
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
The warrior's weapon and the sophists stole

Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering


Son of the morning, rise! approach you here;
Come-but molest not yon defenceless urn:
Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre !
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn.
Even gods must yield-religions take their turn
'Twas Jove's-'tis Mahomet's-and other creeds
Will rise with other years, till man shall learn
Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds;
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is buik
on reeds.


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,
That being, thou would'st be again, and go
Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, sc
On earth no more, but mingled with the skies?
Still wilt thou dream on future joy and wo?
Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies;
That little urn saith more than thousand homilies.


Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound;
Far on the solitary shore he sleeps :3
He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around;
But now not one of saddening thousands weeps,
Nor war-like worshipper his vigil keeps
Where demi-gods appear'd, as records tell.
Remove you scull from out the scatter'd heaps:
Is that a temple where a God may dwell?
Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd


Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall,
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul;
Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall,
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul;
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole,
The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit

And Passion's host, that never brook'd control;
Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ,
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit;


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.
Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best;
Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron :
There no forced banquet claims the sated guest,
But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest


Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be
A land of souls beyond that sable shore,
To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee
And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore;
How sweet it were in concert to adore
With those who made our mortal labors light!
To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more
Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight,


Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right.


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There, thou!-whose love and life together fled,
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,
And woo the vision to my vacant breast;


Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on the
Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved:
Dull is the eye that will not weep to see [moved
Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines re
By British hands, which it had best behooved
To guard those relics ne'er to be restored.
Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved,
And once again thy hapless bosom gore

If aught of young Remembrance then remain,
Be as it may Futurity's behest,

For me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest. And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to norther climes


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What! shall it e'er be said by British tongue,
Albion was happy in Athena's tears?
Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung.
Tel not the deed to blushing Europe's ears;
11: ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears
The last poor plunder from a bleeding land;
Yes, she, whose gen'rous aid her name endears,
Tore down those remnants with a harpy's hand,
Which envious Elb forbore, and tyrants left to stand.


Where was thine Egis, Pallas, that appall'd
Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way?8
Where Peleus' son? whom Hell in vain enthrall'd,
Hs shades from Hades upon that dread day
Bursting to light in terrible array!
What could not Pluto spare the chief once more,
To scare a second robber from his prey?


But where is Harold? shall I then forget
To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave?
Little reck'd he of all that men regret ;

No loved one now in feign'd lament could rave;
No friend the parting hand extended gave,
Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes:
Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave,
But Harold felt not as in other times,
And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes


He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sea
Has view'd at times, I ween, a full fair sight,
When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be,
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight;
Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right,
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow,
The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight
The dullest sailer wearing bravely now,

So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow


And oh, the little warlike world within!
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,"
The hoarse command, the busy humming din.
When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high;
Hark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry!
While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides;
Or schoolboy Midshipman, that, standing by,
Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides,
And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides.


White is the glassy deck, without a stain,
Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks
Look on that part which sacred doth remain
For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks,
Silent and fear'd by all-not oft he talks
With aught beneath him, if he would preserve
That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks
Conquest and Fame: but Britons rarely swerve
From law, however stern, which tends their strength

to nerve.


Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale!
Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray;
Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail,
That lagging barks may make their lazy way.
Ah! grievance sore, and listiess dull delay,
To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze!
What leagues are lost, before the dawn of day,
Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas,

Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore,

Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like



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More blest the life of godly Eremite, Such as on lonely Athos may be seen, Watching at eve upon the giant height, Which looks o'er waves so blue, skies so sei ene That he who there at such an hour hath been Will wistful linger on that hallowed spot; Then slowly tear him from the witching scene, Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot, Then turn to hate a world he had almost forgot.


Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind; Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack And each well known caprice of wave and wind; Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, Coop'd in their winged sea-girt citadel; The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind, As breezes rise and fall and billows swell, Till on some jocund morn-lo, land! and all is well


But not in silence pass Calypso's isles,10 The sister tenants of the middle deep; There for the weary still a haven smiles, Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep And o'er her cliffs a fuitless watch to keep For him who dared prefer a mortal bride: Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide; While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubl sigh'd.


Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone: But trust not this; too easy youth, beware! A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne, And thou may'st find a new Calypso there. Sweet Florence! could another ever share This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine: But check'd by every tie, I may not dare To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine, Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine.


Thus Harold deem'd, as on that lady's eye He look'd, and met its beam without a thought, Save Admiration glancing harmless by: Love kept aloof, albeit not far remote, Who knew his votary often lost and caught, But knew him as his worshipper no more, And ne'er again the boy his bosom sought; Since now he vainly urged him to adore, Well deem'd the little God his ancient sway was o'er.


Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze, One who, 'twas said, still sigh'd to all he saw, Withstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze. Which others hail'd with real or mimic awe, law; Their hope, their doom, their punishment, thea All that gay Beauty from her bondsmen claims; And much she marvelled that a youth so raw Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told names Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely anger dames.


Little knew she that seeming marble heart,
Now mask'd in silence or withheld by pride,
Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art,
And spread its suares licentious far and wide;
Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside,
As long as aught was worthy to pursue:

But Harold on such arts no more relic 1;

And had he doted on those eyes so blue,
Zet never would he join the lover's whining crew.


"Tis an old lesson; Time approves it true,
And those who know it best, deplore it most;
When all is won that all desire to woo,
The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost;
Youth wasted, minds degraded, honor lost,
These are thy fruits, successful Passion! these!



Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs;
What careth she for hearts when once possess'd?
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes;
But not too humbly, or she will despise
Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes:
Disguise ev'n tenderness, if thou art wise;

'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve
Childe Harold hail'd Leucadia's cape afar;
A spot he long'd to see, nor cared to leave.
Oft did he mark the scenes of vanish'd war,
Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar; 13
Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight
(Born beneath some remote inglorious star)
In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight,

Brisk confidence still best with woman copes;
Pique her and sooth in turn, soon Passion crowns But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at mai

thy hopes.

tial wight.

If, kindly cruel, early Hope is crost,

Still to the last it rankles, a disease,


But when he saw the evening star above
Leucadia's far-projecting rock of wo,
And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love,14
He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow;
And as the stately vessel glided slow
Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount,
He watch'd the billows' melancholy flow,
And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont,

Not to be cured when Love itself forgets to please. More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid



Away! nor let me loiter in my song,

For we have many a mountain-path to tread,
And many a varied shore to sail along,
By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led-
Climes, fair withal as ever mortal head
Imagined in its little schemes of thought;
Or e'er in new Utopias were read,

To teach man what he might be, or he ought;
If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught.


Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot1
Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave;
And onward view'd the mount, not yet forgot,
The lovers refuge, and the Lesbian's grave.
Dark Sappho! could not verse immortal save
That breast imbued with such-immortal fire?
Could she not live who life eternal gave?
If life eternal may await the lyre,

That only Heaven to which Earth's children may



Dear Nature is the kindest mother still,
Though alway changing, in her aspect mild;
From her bare bosom let me take my fill,
He never-wean'd, though not her favor'd child.
Oh! she is fairest in her features wild,
Where nothing polish'd dares pollute her path;
To me by day or night she ever smiled,
Though I have mark'd her when none other hath,
And sought her more and more, and loved her best
in wrath.


Morn dawns; and with it stern Albania's hills
Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak,
Robed half in mist, bedewed with snowy rills,
Arrayed in many a dun and purple streak,
Arise; and, as the clouds along them break,
Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer:
Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak,
Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear,
And gathering storms around convulse the closing



Now Harold felt himself at length alone,
And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu;
Now he adventured on a shore unknown,
Which all admire, but many dread to view; [few
His breast was arm'd 'gainst fate, his wants war
Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet;
The scene was savage, but the scene was new;
This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet,
Beat back keen winter's bl, and welcomed sum
mer's heat.


Land of Albania! where Iskander rose,
Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise,
And he his namesake, whose oft-baffled foes
Shrunk frota his deeds of chivalrous emprize:
Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes
On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men!
The Cross descents, thy minarets arise,
And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen,
Through many a cypress grove within each city's Who from truc worship's gold can separate thy




Here the red cross, for still the cross is here,
Though sadly scoff'd at by the circumcised,
Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear
Churchman and votary alike despised.
Foul Superstition! howsoe'er disguised,
Idol, saint, virgin, prophet, crescent, cross,
For whatsoever symbol thou art prized,
Thon sacerdotal gain, but general loss!


Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight,
Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, 2
Chimæra's alps extend from left to right;
Beneath, a living valley seems to stir;
Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain
Nodding above: behold black Acheron! 3
Once consecrated to the sepulchre.
Pluto! if this be hell I look upon,


GOD! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall sek


for none!


Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost
A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing!
In yonder rippling bay, their naval host
Did many a Roman chief and Asian king 15
To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring:
Look where the second Cæsar's trophies rose ! 16
Now, like the hands that rear'd them, withering:
Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes!

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