LX Just at this season Ramazani's fast Through the long day its penance did maintain: But when the lingering twilight hour was past, Revel and feast assumed the rule again: Now all was bustle, and the menial train Prepared and spread the plenteous board within ; The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain, But from the chambers came the mingling din, As page and slave anon were passing out and in. LXL Here woman's voice is never heard: apart, Blest cares! all other feelings far above! Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares. LXII. In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring ALI reclined, a man of war and woes; While Gentleness her milder radiance throws Along that aged venerable face, LXIII. It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth; LXIV. 'Mid many things most new to ear and eye But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. LXV. Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack Who can so well the toil of war endure? Their native fastnesses not more secure Than they in doubtful time of troublous need: LXVI. Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press: In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof! LXVII. It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore, When all around was desolate and dark; To land was perilous, to sojourn more; Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk: At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work. LXVIII. Vain fear the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, To rest the weary and to soothe the sad, LXIX. It came to pass, that when he did address To traverse Acarnania's forest wide, In war well season'd, and with labours tann'd, And from his further bank Ætolia's wolds espied. LXX. Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence glean. LXXI. On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, And he that unawares had there ygazed With gaping wonderment had stared aghast; For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past, The native revels of the troop began ; Each Palikar his sabre from him cast, And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man, LXXII. Childe Harold at a little distance stood And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie, Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude: In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee; And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd, Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, The long wild locks that to their girdles stream'd, While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream'd: |