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The heart against itself; and to conceal,
Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought,
CXII. And for these words, thus woven into song, It may be that they are a harmless wile, The colouring of the scenes which feet along, Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile My breast, or that of others, for a while. Fame is the thirst of youth,-but I am not So young as to regard men's frown or smile,
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot; I stood and stand alone,-remember'd or forgot.
CXII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me; I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd To its idolatries a patient knee,Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo; in the crowd They could not deem me one of such ; I stood Among them, but not of them ; in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and
still could, Had I not filed (24) my mind, which thus itself
Snares for the failing: I would also deem
(25) That two, or one, are almost what they seem, That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.
cxv. My daughter! with thy name this song begunMy daughter! with thy name thus much shall
And reach into thy heart,-when mine is cold,
Yet this was in my nature :-as it is,
My blood from out thy being, were an aim,
And an attainment,--all would be in vain, Still thou would'st love me, still that more than life
CXVIII. The child of love,--though born in bitterness, And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire These were the elements,--and thine no less. As yet such are around thee,—but thy fire Shall be more temper'd, and thy hope far higher, Sweet be thy cradled slumbers ! O'er the sea,
And from the mountains where I now respire, • Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee, As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna,
Quel Monte che divide, e quel che serra
Ariosto. Satira iii.