Lord Byron

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


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Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves!

       And when you fail my sight,

       Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!

       My native Land—Good Night!"

      XIV.

      On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone,

       And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay.

       Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon,

       New shores descried make every bosom gay;

      XV.

      Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see

      XVI.

      XVII.

      But whoso entereth within this town,

       That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,

       Disconsolate will wander up and down,

      XVIII.

      Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes—

       Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men?

      XIX.

      XX.

      Then slowly climb the many-winding way,

       And frequent turn to linger as you go,

       From loftier rocks new loveliness survey,

      XXI.

      And here and there, as up the crags you spring,

      XXII.

      XXIII.

      Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan,

       Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow:

      XXIV.