"Come hither, hither, my little page ! * Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; More merrily along." "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, And have no friend, save these alone, "My father bless'd me fervently, "Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, Or dost thou dread a French foeman ? Or shiver at the gale?" The "little page" was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Lord Byron's tenants. The boy being sickly, his master, on reaching Gibraltar, sent him back to England. + Childe was a title anciently applied to both knights and squires, and was adopted by Lord Byron as in keeping with the old English style which he sparingly scattered through the two first cantos of the poem. GOOD NIGHT TO ENGLAND. "Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek.* "My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake, And when they on their father call, For who would trust the seeming sighs 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; And now I'm in the world alone, But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands. *Notwithstanding that the "staunch yeoman," who was William Fletcher, the poet's valet, is made in this stanza to disclaim being timid, he was, in reality, the reverse of valiant, and sighed for home comforts,-beer, beaf, and tea,-quite as much as for his absent wife. 3 With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves; Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves: My native Land-Good Night. CHILDE HAROLD.-Canto I. THE BOUNDARY BETWEEN SPAIN AND PORTUGAL. WHERE Lusitania and her Sister meet, Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide? Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide? Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride? Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall?Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul: But these between a silver streamlet glides, CHILDE HAROLD.-Canto I. VANITY OF MARTIAL GLORY. 5 VANITY OF MARTIAL GLORY. * Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done; To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see Their various arms that glitter in the air! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! All join the chase, but few the triumph share; The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; And fertilise the field that each pretends to gain. *The Giant is Battle personified. There shall they rot-Ambition's honour'd fools! By myriads, when they dare to pave their way CHILDE HAROLD.-Canto I. PARNASSUS. OH, thou Parnassus! whom I now survey, But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, Oft have I dream'd of Thee! whose glorious name In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee! |