Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales; Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales Are rarely seen; nor can fair Tempe boast A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails, Though classic ground and consecrated most, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. XLVII. He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, (17) And left the primal city of the land, And onwards did his further journey take To greet Albania's chief, (18) whose dread command Is lawless law; for with a bloody hand He sways a nation, turbulent and bold: Yet here and there some daring mountain-band Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield unless to gold. (19) XLVIII. Monastic Zitza! (20) from thy shady brow, Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, XLIX. Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, The convent's white walls glisten fair on high : Here dwells the caloyer, (21) nor rude is he, Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer by 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, 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, And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. LI. Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, Beneath a living valley seems to stir : Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow the mountain-fir Nodding above: behold black Acheron! (23). 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. Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view ; VOL. I.-F 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 Browseth; and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock, The little shepherd in his white capote (24) Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock. LIII. On! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove, What valley echo'd the response of Jove? That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke? 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; As ever spring yclad in grassy dye : 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, Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Or with the moon-beam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. LV. The sun had sunk behind vast Tomeret, (25) And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by; (26) The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, When, down the steep banks winding warily, Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, The glittering minarets of Tepalen, [nigh, Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and drawing He heard the busy hum of warrior-men 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. 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. 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 Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away; The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, Here mingled in the many-hued array, While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day. LVIII. The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, The Delhi with his cap of terror on, And crooked glaive; the lively, supple Greek; 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; 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, The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, "There is no god but God!-to prayer-lo! God is great!" LX. Just at this season Ramazani's fast Through the long day its penance did maintain : But when the lingering twilight hour was past, 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, As page and slave anon were passing out and in. LXI. Here woman's voice is never heard: apart, |
