File:Childe Harold's pilgrimage - a romaunt (1869) (14778911322).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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he city won for Allah from the Giaour,The Giaour from Othmans race again may wresl ;And the Serais impenetrable towerReceive the fiery Frank, her former guest ;Or Wahabs rebel brood who dared divestThe Prophets tomb of all its pious spoil,May wind their path of blood along the West ;But neer will freedom seek this fated soil,But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil. LXXVIII. Yet mark their mirth—ere lenten days begin,That penance which their holy rites prepareTo shrive from man his weight of mortal sin,By daily abstinence and nightly prayer ;But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear,Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all,To take of pleasaunce each his secret share,In motley robe to dance at masking ball,And join the mimic train of merry Carnival. LXXTX. And whose more rife with merriment than thine.Oh Stamboul ! once the empress of their reign 1Though turbans now pollute Sophias shrine,And Greece her very altars eyes in vain : cantoii. childe harolds pilgrimage hi
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SIAMBOOL, (Alas ! her woes will still pervade my strain !)Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng,All felt the common joy they now must feign,Nor oft Ive seen such sight, nor heard such song,As wood the eye, and thrilld the Bosphorus along. IL2 childe harolds pilgrimage CANTO H. LXXX. Loud was the lightsome tumult ou the shore,Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone,And timely echod back the measured oar,And rippling waters made a pleasant moan :The Queen of tides on high consenting shone,And when a transient breeze swept oer the wave,Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne,A brighter glance her form reflected gave,Till sparkling billows seemd to light the banks (hey lave. LXXXI. (danced many a light caique along the foam,Danced on the shore the daughters of the land,No thought had man or maid of rest or home,While many a languid eye and thrilling handExchanged the look few bosoms may withstand,Or gently prest, returnd the pressure still :Oh Love ! young Love ! boun

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