.IX. And none did love him: though to hall and bower Yea! none did love him—not his lemans dear- X. Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot, Though parting from that mother he did shun; Before his weary pilgrimage begun : If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel: Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon 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, The laughing dames in whom he did delight, Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands, Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, And long had fed his youthful appetite; 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 soon were lost in circumambient foam: And then, it may be, of his wish to roam 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, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." 9. "And now I'm in the world alone, But why should I for others groan, Till fed by stranger hands; But long ere I come back again IO. "With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves! XIV. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, His fabled golden tribute bent to pay; And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap. XV. Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see 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 To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. XVII. But whoso entereth within this town, Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd; unhurt. XVIII. Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes- Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken XIX. The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, |