« PreviousContinue »
VIII. Yet oft-time 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 car'd to know ; For his was not that open, artless soul That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow,
Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole,
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
A few dear objects, will in sadness feel
Without a sigh he left to cross the brine,
XII. The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home ; And fast the white rocks faded from his view, And soon were lost in circumambient foam : And then, it may be, of his wish to roam Repented be, but in his bosom slept The silent thought, nor from his lips did come
One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept,
And fleeting shores receded from his sight,
“ Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue ;
And shrieks the wild seamew.
We follow in his flight ;
My native Land-Good Night!
“ A few short hours, and He will rise
To give the Morrow birth ;
But not my mother Earth,
Its hearth so desolate;
My dogs howl at the gate.
Why dost thou weep and wail ?
Or tremble at the gale?
Our ship is swift and strong;
More merrily along."
“ Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave por wind;
Am sorrowful in mind;
A mother whom I love,
But thee-and one above.
“ My father bless'd me fervently,
Yet did not much complain ; But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.”— “ Enough, enough, my little lad !
Such tears become thine eye ; If I thy guileless bosom had
Mine own would not be dry.
« Come hither, hither my staunch yeoman,
Why dost thou look so pale ?
Or shiver at the gale?”.
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek.
“My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
Along the bordering lake,
What answer shall she make ?".
Thy grief let none gainsay ;
Will laugh to flee away.
- For who would trust seeming sighs
Of wife or paramour ? Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes
We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasure past I do not greive,
Nor perils gathering near ; My greatest grief is that I leave
No thing that claims a tear.
“ And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea
When none will sigh for me?
Till fed by stranger hands; But long ere I come back again,
He'd tear me where he stands.
« With thee, my bark, l'll swiftly go
Ath ward the foaming brine;
So not again to mine.
And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves !
My native Land-Good Night!"
And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap,
XV. Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land ! What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand ! But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 'Gainst those who most trausgress his high command
With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge
Who lick yet loath the hand that waves the sword To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord.
Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, [unhurt. Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwashid,