XXXII. Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze, Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their law ; Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told flames, Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely anger dames. XXXIII. Little knew she that seeming marble heart, And had he doted on those eyes so blue, Yet never would he join the lover's whining crew. XXXIV. Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, 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 : Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes; Pique her and soothe in turn, soon Passion crowns thy XXXV. '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, honour lost, These are thy fruits, successful Passion! these! If, kindly cruel, early Hope is crost, Still to the last it rankles, a disease, Not to be cured when Love itself forgets to please. XXXVI. Away! nor let me loiter in my song, For we have many a mountain-path to tread, To teach man what he might be, or he ought; If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught. XXXVII. Dear Nature is the kindest mother still, 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, XXXVIII. Land of Albania! where Iskander rose, Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise, And he his namesake, whose oft-baffled foes Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprise: Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men! The cross descends, thy minarets arise, And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen, Through many a cypress grove within each city 1. XXXIX. Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot, If life eternal may await the lyre, That only Heaven to which Earth's children may aspire. XL. 'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight But loathed the bravo's trade, and laugh'd at martial wight. XLI. But when he saw the evening star above And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont, More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid front. XLII. Morn dawns and with it stern Albania's hills, Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, Robed half in mist, bedew'd with snowy rills, Array'd 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 anneer, And gathering storms a |