VII. aisle. The Childe departed from his father's hall: VIII. Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow, As if the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurk'd below: 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. He gather'd revellers from far and near, He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour; The heartless parasites of present cheer. 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; 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, And long had fed his youthful appetite; His goblets brimm'd 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 fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home; 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, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." 1. “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 My native Land-Good Night! 2. "A few short hours and He will rise And I shall hail the main and skies, Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; 3. "Come hither, hither, my little page! But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; 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, 5. My father bless'd me fervently, Such tears become thine eye; 6. yeoman, "Come hither, hither, my staunch • Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? 7. My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake, And when they on their father call, What answer shall she make?' "Enough, enough, my yeoman good, Thy grief let none gainsay; But I, who am of lighter mood, 8. "For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour? Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. 9. "And now I'm in the world alone, But long ere I come back again, 10. "With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves! And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves! My native Land-Good Night!" XIV. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics XV. Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see reap. What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. XVI. What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold! Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword XVII. But whoso entereth within this town, Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash’d, un hurt. |