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He had kept
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.
The sky is changed! and such a change! O night,
And storm, and darkness! ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman. Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder.
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer.
I have not loved the world, nor the world me.
Among them, but not of them.
Canto iv. St. 1.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs.
The cold — the changed — perchance the dead anew,
The mourned — the loved — the lost — too many! yet
Fills The air around with beauty.
Childe Harold — Continued.
The starry Galileo with his woes.
The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss.
The Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
The nympholepsy of some fond despair.
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday.
While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;
And when Rome falls, the world..
O that the desert were my dwelling-place,
With one fair spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,
And, hating no one, love but only her!
* The exclamation of the pilgrims in the eighth century, as recorded by the venerable Bcde.
Childe Harold — Continued.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar.
I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow —
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
And what is writ, is writ.
Would it were worthier!
Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.
Shrine of the mighty! can it be
That this is all remains of thee?
The Giaour — Continued.
For freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.
And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own;
And every woe a tear can claim,
Except an erring sister's shame.
The cold in clime are cold in blood,
Their love can scarce deserve the name.
Parisina. St. 1.
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word.
THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
Canto i. St. 1.
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle,
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime; Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
The Bride of Abydos—Continued.
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,
And oh! that eye was in itself a soul!
Canto ii. St. 2.
The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.
Canto ii. St. 20.
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!
He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace.*
Canto i. St . 1.
O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home.
* " Solitudinem faciunt,— paccm appellant."
Tacitus, Agricola, cap. 30.