And long had fed his youthful appetite;

His goblets brimmed with every costly wine,
And all that mote to luxury invite,

Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine,

And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central line.*

XII.

The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home; And fast the white rocks faded from his view, And soon were lost in circumambient foam: And then, it may be, of his wish to roam Repented he, but in his bosom slept The silent thought, nor from his lips did come One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.

XIII.

But when the sun was sinking in the sea

He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody,

When deemed he no strange ear was listening:

And now his fingers o'er it he did fling,

And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight.
While flew the vessel on her snowy wing,

And fleeting shores receded from his sight,
Thus to the elements he poured his last "Good
Night."

* [Byron originally intended to visit India.]

1.

"ADIEU, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;

The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;

Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land-Good Night!

2.

"A few short hours and he will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.

3.

"Come hither, hither, my little

*

page

Why dost thou weep and wail?

Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?

[This "little page' was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Byron's tenants. "I take Robert with me," says the poet, in a letter to his mother; "I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal." The boy, being sickly, Byron, on reaching Gibraltar, sent him back to England.]

*

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;

Our ship is swift and strong:
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along.”

4.

"Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind;

Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I

Am sorrowful in mind;

For I have from my father gone,

A mother whom I love,

And have no friend, save these alone,
But thee-and one above.

5.

"My father blessed me fervently,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.” -
"Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had,
Mine own would not be dry.*

[Here follows in the original MS.:

"My Mother is a high-born dame,

And much misliketh me;
She saith my riot bringeth shame
On all my ancestry:

I had a sister once I ween,

Whose tears perhaps will flow;
But her fair face I have not seen

For three long years and moe."]

6.

66

"Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,*

Why dost thou look so pale?

Or dost thou dread a French foeman?
Or shiver at the gale?"

"Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife
Will blanch a faithful cheek.

7.

"My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake,

66

And when they on their father call,

What answer shall she make?"
Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;

But I, who am of lighter mood,

Will laugh to flee away.

* [William Fletcher, his faithful valet. This unsophisticated yeoman " was a constant source of pleasantry to his master:e. g. "Fletcher," he says, in a letter to his mother, "is not valiant: he requires comforts that I can dispense with, and sighs for beer, and beef, and tea, and his wife, and the devil knows what besides. We were one night lost in a thunder-storm, and since, nearly wrecked. In both cases he was sorely bewildered; from apprehensions of famine and banditti in the first, and drowning in the second instance. His eyes were a little hurt by the lightning, or crying, I don't know which. I did what I could to console him, but found him incorrigible. He sends six sighs to Sally. I shall settle him in a farm; for he has served me faithfully, and Sally is a good woman."]

8.

"For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour?

Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes

We late saw streaming o'er.

For pleasures past I do not grieve,

Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave

No thing that claims a tear.

9.

"And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea:

But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands;

But long ere I come back again

He'd tear me where he stands.*

10.

"With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;

Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.

* [Here follows in the original MS:

"Methinks it would my bosom glad,

To change my proud estate,

And be again a laughing lad

With one beloved playmate.

Since youth I scarce have passed an hour
Without disgust or pain,

Except sometimes in Lady's bower,

Or when the bowl I drain."]