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. Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove, 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; Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale As ever Spring yclad in grassy die: 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 moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. LV. The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, 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, Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and drawing nigh, He heard the busy hum of warrior-men Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthe. ning glen. LVI. He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower, Within, a palace, and without, a fort: LVII. Richly caparison'd, a ready row Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridore; Here mingled in their many-hued array, While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day. LVIII. The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, And crooked glaive; the lively, supple Greek ; 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 Álbanian 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, And scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to move, She yields to one her person and her heart, Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove: For, not unhappy in her master's love, And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, Blest cares! all other feelings far above! Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares. LXII. In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace. LXIII. It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard Il suits the passions which belong to youth; Love conquers age-so Hafiz hath averr'd, In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth; span, In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. LXIV. 'Mid many things most new to ear and eye And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. LXV. Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. Where is the foe that ever saw their back? Who can so well the toil of war endure? Their native fastnesses not more secure Than they in doubtful time of troublous need: Their wrath how deadly! but their friendship sure, When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed, Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead. LXVI. Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower And fellow.countrymen have stood aloof-27) In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof! LXVII. It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk: sore That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk Might once again renew their ancient butcher work. LXVIII. Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, Kinder than polish'd slaves though not so bland, And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp, And fill'd the bowl, and trimm'd the cheerful lamp, And spread their fare; though homely, all they had: Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stampTo rest the weary and to soothe the sad, Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad. LXIX. It came to pass, that when he did address In war well season'd, and with labours tann'd, And from his further bank Aetolia's wolds espied. LXX. Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, |