a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages. I now leave "Childe Harold," to live his day, such as he is; it had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him do more and express less, but he never was intended as an example, further than to show that early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all exciteinents) are lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem, this character would have deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline which I once meant to fill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon, perhaps a poetical Zeluco. TO IANTHE. Not in those climes where I have late been straying, To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak? Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, Young Peri of the West!-'tis well for me To those whose admiration shall succeed, But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed. Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, This much, dear maid, accord; nor question why Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; My days once number'd, should this homage past Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require ? CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CANTO THE FIRST I. OH, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, II. Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. (1) The little village of Castri stands partly on the site of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains of sepulchres hewn in and from the rock. "One," said the guide," of a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little above Castri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth; the upper part of it is paved, and now a cow-house. On the other side of Castri stands a Greek monastery; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, and apparently leading to the interior of the mountain; probably to the Corycian Cavern mentioned by Pausanias. From this part descend the fountain and the "Dews of Castalie." III. Childe Harold was he hight :— but whence his name And lineage long, it suits me not to say; Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, IV. Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, Nor deem'd before his little day was done Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell. 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 drugg'd, he almost long'd for woe, And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below. |