File:Childe Harold's pilgrimage - a romaunt (1869) (14776912644).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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ill with thy fame the youth of many a shore ;Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young !Which sages venerate and bards adore,As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. XCII. The parted bosom clings to wonted home,If aught thats kindred cheer the welcome hearth;He that is lonely, hither let him roam,And gaze complacent on congenial earth.Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth :But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide,And scarce regret the region of his birth,When wandering slow by Delphis sacred side,()r gazing oer the plains where Greek and Persian died. XCIII. Let such approach this consecrated land,And pass in peace along the magic waste ;Put spare its relics—let no busy handDeface the scenes, already how defaced !Not for such purpose were these altars placet I :Revere the remnants nations once revered :So may our countrys name he undisgraced,So mayst thou prosper where thy youth was reard,By every honest joy of love and life endeard ! CANTO II. chtlde harolds pilgrimage 119
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?■ DELPHI XCIV. For thee, who thus in too protracted songHast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays,Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throngOf louder minstrels in these later days : 120 childe harolds pilgrimage CANTO II. To such resign the strife for fading bays—111 may such contest now the spirit moveWhich heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise,Since cold each kinder heart that might approve,And none are left to please when none are left to love. xcv. Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one !Whom youth and youths affections bound to me ;Who did for me what none beside have done,Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee.What is my being ? thou hast ceased to be !Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer homo,AVho mourns oer hours which we no more shall see—Would they bad never been, or were to come !Would ho bad neer returnd to find fresh cause to roam ! XCVI. Oil ! ever loving, lovely, and beloved !How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past,And clings to thoughts now

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