File:Childe Harold's pilgrimage - a romaunt (1869) (14776910284).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
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Publisher: London : John Murray
Contributing Library: Getty Research Institute
Digitizing Sponsor: Getty Research Institute

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slowly with heroic earth,Broke by the share of every rustic plough :80 perish monuments of mortal birth,So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; LXXXVL Save where some solitary column mournsAbove its prostrate brethren of the cave ;Save where Tritonias airy shrine adornsColonnas cliff, and gleams along the wave;Save oer some warriors half-forgotten grave,Where the gray stones and unmolested grassAges, but not oblivion, feebly brave •While strangers only not regardless pass,Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh Alas ! LXXXVII. Vet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ;Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields,Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled,And still his honeyd wealth Hymettus yields ;There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds,The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air;Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds,Still in his beam Mendelis marbles glare ;Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Mature still is fair. 116 childe hakolds pilgrimage CANTO II.
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MARATHON LXXXVITI. Whereer we tread tis haunted, holy ground ;ISo earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould,But one vast realm of wonder spreads around,And all the Muses tales seem truly told,Till the sense aches with gazing to beholdThe scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon ;Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and woldDefies the power which crushd thy temples gone :Age shakes Athenas tower, hut spares gray Marathon. CANTO n. childe harolds pilgrimage LXXXIX. The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same ;Unchanged in all except its foreign lord;Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fameThe Battle-field, where Persias victim hordeFirst bowd beneath the brunt of Hellas sword,As on the morn to distant Glory dear,When Marathon became a magic word ;Which utterd, to the hearers eye appearThe camp, the host, the fight, the conquerors career, XC. The flying Mode, his shaftless broken bow ;The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear;Mountains above, Earths, Oceans plain below ;Death in

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