IV. Childe Harold bask'd him in the noon-tide 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. VII. The Childe departed from his father's hall: It was a vast and venerable pile : So old, it seemed only not to fall, Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. 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; For his was not that open, artless soul, Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, Whate'er his grief mote be, which he could not control. IX. And none did love him-though to hall and bower He gather'd revellers from far and near, He knew them flatterers of the festal hour, The heartless parasites of present cheer. Yea, none did love him-not his lemans dear- 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; 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 't is 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, Without a sigh he left to cross the brine, hands. And traverse Paynim shores, and pass earth's central line. XII. The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, XIII. But when the sun was sinking in the sea, He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it did he fling, And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." 1. 66 Adieu, adieu! my native shore The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea My native land-Good Night! 2. "A few short hours and he will rise But not my mother earth. Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; 3. "Come hither, hither, my little page! Why dost thou weep and wail? 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, And have no friend, save these alone, But thee-and one above. Will blanch a faithful cheek. 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?' "For who would trust the seeming sighs Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave 9. "And now I'm in the world alone, But long ere I come back again, He'd tear me where he stands. 10. "With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves ! And when you fail my sight, 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. |