File:Childe Harold's pilgrimage - a romaunt (1869) (14756243136).jpg

Identifier: haroldspilgram00byro (find matches)
Title: Childe Harold's pilgrimage : a romaunt
Year: 1869 (1860s)
Authors: Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron, 1788-1824 Skelton, Percival
Subjects:
Publisher: London : John Murray
Contributing Library: Getty Research Institute
Digitizing Sponsor: Getty Research Institute

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ells the caloyer, nor rude is he,Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer byIs welcome still; nor heedless will he fleeFrom hence, if he delight kind Natures sheen to sec. L. Here in the sultriest season let him rest,Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees ;Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast,From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze :The plain is for beneath—oh ! let him seizePure pleasure while he can; the scorching rayHere pierceth not, impregnate with disease :Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay,And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. LT. Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight,Natures volcanic amphitheatre,Chimeras alps extend from left to right :Beneath, a living valley seems to stir ;Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-firNodding above ; behold black Acheron !Once consecrated to the sepulchre.Pluto ! if this be hell I look upon,Close shamed Elysiums gates, my shade shall seek for none. CANTO II. childe harolds pilgrimage 95
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LTI. Ne citys towers pollute the lovely view ;Unseen is Yanina, though not remote,Veild by the screen of hills : here men are few,Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot :But, peering <lown each precipice, the goat childe harolds pilgrimage CANTO 11. Erowsetli; and, pensive oer his scatterd flock,The little slieplierd in liis white capoteDoth lean his boyish form along the rock,Or in his cave awaits the tempests short-lived shock. LIII. Oh ! where, Dodona ! is thine aged grove,Prophetic fount, and oracle divine 1What valley echoed the response of Jove ?What trace remaineth of the Thunderers shrine 1All, all forgotten—and shall man repineThat his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke 1Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine :Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak 1When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneaththe stroke ! LIV. Epirus bounds recede, and mountains fail;Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eyeReposes gladly on as smooth a valeAs ever Spring yclad in

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