Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (With Byron's Biography). Lord Byron

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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (With Byron's Biography) - Lord  Byron

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as the "wicked Lord," and many tales, true and apocryphal, were told to his discredit (Life of Lord Byron, by Karl Elze, 1872, pp. 5, 6).]

      "'Hail, venerable pile!' whose ivied walls

       Proclaim the desolating lapse of years:

       And hail, ye hills, and murmuring waterfalls,

       Where yet her head the ruin'd Abbey rears.

       No longer now the matin tolling bell,

       Re-echoing loud among the woody glade,

       Calls the fat abbot from his drowsy cell,

       And warns the maid to flee, if yet a maid.

       No longer now the festive bowl goes round,

       Nor monks get drunk in honour of their God."]

      Of all his train there was a henchman page, peasant served A dark eyed boy, who loved his master well; And often would his pranksome prate engage Harold's Childe Burun's ear, when his proud heart did swell With sable thoughts that he disdained to tell. Alwin Then would he smile on him, as Rupert smiled, Robin When aught that from his young lips archly fell Harold's The gloomy film from Burun's eye beguiled; And pleased the Childe appeared nor ere the boy reviled. And pleased for a glimpse appeared the woeful Childe. } Him and one yeoman only did he take To travel Eastward to a far countree; And though the boy was grieved to leave the lake On whose firm banks he grew from Infancy, Eftsoons his little heart beat merrily With hope of foreign nations to behold, And many things right marvellous to see, vaunting Of which our lying voyagers oft have told, From Mandevilles' and scribes of similar mold. or, In tomes pricked out with prints to monied ... sold In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old. }

      And none did love him though to hall and bower few could Haughty he gathered revellers from far and near An evil smile just bordering on a sneer He knew them flatterers of the festal hour Curled on his lip The heartless Parasites of present cheer, As if And deemed no mortal wight his peer Yea! none did love him not his lemmans dear To gentle Dames still less he could be dear Were aught But pomp and power alone are Woman's care But And where these are let no Possessor fear The sex are slaves Maidens like moths are ever caught by glare Love shrinks outshone by Mammons dazzling glare And Mammon That Demon wins his [MS. torn] where Angels might despair.

      "As with the woful fere, And father of that chaste dishonoured dame."

       Titus Andronicus, act iv. sc. 1.

      Compare, too, "That woman and her fleshless

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