Might well itself be deem’d of dignity, | |
The convent’s white walls glisten fair on high: | |
Here dwells the caloyer, | |
Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer by | |
440 | Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee |
From hence, if he delight kind Nature’s sheen to see. | |
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, | |
445 | From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze: |
The plain is far beneath – oh! let him seize | |
Pure pleasure while he can; the scorching ray | |
Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease: | |
Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, | |
450 | And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. |
LI | |
Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, | |
Nature’s volcanic amphitheatre, | |
Chimæra’s alps extend from left to right: | |
Beneath, a living valley seems to stir; | |
455 | Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-fir |
Nodding above; behold black Acheron! | |
Once consecrated to the sepulchre. | |
Pluto! if this be hell I look upon, | |
Close shamed Elysium’s gates, my shade shall seek for none. | |
LII | |
460 | Ne city’s towers pollute the lovely view; |
Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, | |
Veil’d by the screen of hills: here men are few, | |
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot: | |
But peering down each precipice, the goat | |
465 | Browseth; and, pensive o’er his scatter’d flock, |
The little shepherd in his white capote | |
Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, | |
Or in his cave awaits the tempest’s short-lived shock. | |
LIII | |
Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove, | |
470 | Prophetic fount, and oracle divine? |
What valley echo’d the response of Jove? | |
What trace remaineth of the Thunderer’s shrine? | |
All, all forgotten – and shall man repine | |
That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke? | |
475 | Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine: |
Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak? | |
When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke! | |
LIV | |
Epirus’ bounds recede, and mountains fail; | |
Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye | |
480 | Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale |
As ever Spring yclad in grassy die: | |
Ev’n on a plain no humble beauties lie, | |
Where some bold river breaks the long expanse, | |
And woods along the banks are waving high, | |
485 | Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, |
Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight’s solemn trance. | |
LV | |
The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, | |
And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by; | |
The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, | |
490 | When, down the steep banks winding warily, |
Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, | |
The glittering minarets of Tepalen, | |
Whose walls o’erlook the stream; and drawing nigh, | |
He heard the busy hum of warrior-men | |
495 | Swelling the breeze that sigh’d along the lengthening glen. |
LVI | |
He pass’d the sacred Haram’s silent tower, | |
And underneath the wide o’erarching gate | |
Survey’d the dwelling of this chief of power, | |
Where all around proclaim’d his high estate. | |
500 | Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, |
While busy preparation shook the court, | |
Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait; | |
Within, a palace, and without, a fort: | |
Here men of every clime appear to make resort. | |
LVII | |
505 | Richly caparison’d, a ready row |
Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, | |
Circled the wide extending court below; | |
Above, strange groups adorn’d the corridore: | |
And oft-times through the area’s echoing door, | |
510 | Some high-capp’d Tartar spurr’d his steed away: |
The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, | |
Here mingled in their many-hued array, | |
While the deep war-drum’s sound announced the close of day. | |
LVIII | |
The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, | |
515 | With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, |
And gold-embroider’d garments, fair to see: | |
The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon; | |
The Delhi with his cap of terror on, | |
And crooked glaive; the lively, supple Greek; | |
520 | And swarthy Nubia’s mutilated son; |
The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak, | |
Master of all around, too potent to be meek, | |
LIX | |
Are mix’d conspicuous: some recline in groups, | |
Scanning the motley scene that varies round; | |
525 | There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, |
And some that smoke, and some that play, are found; | |
Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground; | |
Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate; | |
Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound, | |
530 | The Muezzin’s call doth shake the minaret, |
‘There is no god but God! – to prayer – lo! God is great!’ | |
L Χ | |
Just at this season Ramazani’s fast | |
Through the long day its penance did maintain: | |
But when the lingering twilight hour was past, | |
535 | Revel and feast assumed the rule again: |
Now all was bustle, and the menial train | |
Prepared and spread the plenteous board within; | |
The vacant gallery now seem’d made in vain, | |
But from the chambers came the mingling din, | |
540 | As page and slave anon were passing out and in. |
LXI | |
Here woman’s voice is never heard: apart, | |
And scarce permitted, guarded, veil’d, to move, | |
She yields to one her person and her heart, | |
Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove: | |
545 | For, not unhappy in her master’s love, |
And joyful in a mother’s gentlest cares, | |
Blest cares! all other feelings far above! | |
Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, | |
Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares. | |
LXII | |
550 | In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring |
Of living water from the centre rose, | |
Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling, | |
And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, | |
ALI reclined, a man of war and woes: | |
555 | Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, |
While Gentleness her milder radiance throws | |
Along that aged venerable face, | |
The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace. | |
LXIII | |
It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard | |
560 | Ill suits the passions which belong to youth; |
Love conquers age – so Hafiz hath averr’d, | |
So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth – | |
But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth, | |
Beseeming all men ill, but most the man | |
565 | In years, have mark’d him with a tiger’s tooth; |
Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span, | |
In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. | |
LXIV | |
‘Mid many things most new to ear and eye | |
The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, | |
570 | And gazed around on Moslem luxury, |
Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat | |
Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat | |
Of sated Grandeur from the city’s noise: | |
And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet; | |
575 | But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, |
And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. | |
LXV | |
Fierce are Albania’s children, yet they lack | |
Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. | |
Where is the foe that ever saw their back? | |
580 | Who can so well the toil of war endure? |