VII.

The Childe departed from his father's hall:

It was a vast and venerable pile; So old, it seemed only not to fall, Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. Monastic dome! condemn'd to uses vile! Where Superstition once had made her den Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile ; And monks might deem their time was come agen, If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men,

VIII.

Yet oft-times 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 cared 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,

Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not

control.

IX.

And none did love him-though to hall and bower
He gather'd revellers from far and near,
He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour;

The heartless parasites of present cheer.

Yea! none did love him-not his lemans dear But pomp and power alone are woman's care, And where these are light Eros finds a feere; Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might

despair.

x.

Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot,
Though parting from that mother he did shun;
A sister whom he loved, but saw her not
Before his weary pilgrimage begun:

If friends he had, he bade adieu to none.

Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel :
Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon

A few dear objects, will in sadness feel

[heal.

Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to

XI.

His house, his home, his heritage, his lands,
The laughing dames in whom he did delight,
Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands,
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite,
And long had fed his youthful appetite;
His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine,
And all that mote to luxury invite,

Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, [line. (1)
And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central

XII.

The sails were fill'd, 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 he, but in his bosom slept
The silent thought, nor from his lips did come
One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept,
And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.
(1) [Lord Byron originally intended to visit India. -E]

T

XIII.

But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." (1)

1.

" ADIEU, adieu! my native shore

Fades o'er the waters blue;

The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land - Good Night!

2.

"A few short hours and He will rise
To give the morrow birth ;

And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.

Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.

(1) [See Lord Maxwell's "Good Night," in Scott's Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. p. 297.

"Adieu, madame, my mother dear," &c. - E.]

3.

" Come hither, hither, my little page! (1)
Why dost thou weep and wail ?

Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,

Or tremble at the gale?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;

Our ship is swift and strong:

Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along."

4.

'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;

Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I

Am sorrowful in mind; (2)

For I have from my father gone,

A mother whom I love,

And have no friend, save these alone,
But thee- and one above.

(1) [This "little page" was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Lord Byron's tenants. "I take Robert with me," says the poet, in a letter to his mother; "I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal." - Ε.]

(2) [Seeing that the boy was "sorrowful" at the separation from his parents, Lord Byron, on reaching Gibraltar, sent him back to England under the care of his old servant Murray. "Pray," he says to his mother, "shew the lad every kindness, as he has behaved extremely well, and is a great favourite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy, which leaves a most favourable impression of his thoughtfulness and kindliness. "I have," he says, "sent Robert home, because the country which 1 am about to travel through is in a state which renders it unsafe, particularly for one so young. I allow you to deduct from your rent five and twenty pounds a year for the expense of his education, for three years, provided I do not return before that time, and I desire he may be considered as in my service."-E.]

5.

• 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. (1)

6.

" Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, (2) Why dost thou look so pale?

Or dost thou dread a French foeman?

Or shiver at the gale?"

• Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak ;

But thinking on an absent wife

Will blanch a faithful cheek.

(1) Here follows in the original MS.

"My Mother is a high-born dame,
And much misliketh me;
She saith my riot bringeth shame
On all my ancestry:

I had a sister once I ween,

Whose tears perhaps will flow;
But her fair face I have not seen
For three long years and moe."

(2) [William Fletcher, the faithful valet; - who, after a service of twenty years, ("during which," he says, "his Lord was more to him than a father,") received the Pilgrim's last words at Missolonghi, and did not quit his remains, until he had seen them deposited in the family vault at Hucknell. This unsophisticated "yeoman" was a constant source of pleasantry to his master: -e. g. "Fletcher," he says, in a letter to his mother, " is not