LXII. In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, While Gentleness her milder radiance throws Along that aged venerable face, The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace. LXIII. It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard In years, have marked him with a tiger's tooth; Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span, In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. LXIV. 'Mid many things most new to ear and eye The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, And gazed around on Moslem luxury, Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise: And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet; But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. LXV. Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack Their native fastnesses not more secure Than they in doubtful time of troublous need: When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed, Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead. H LXVI. Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower Thronging to war in splendour and success; That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press: When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less, In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof! LXVII. It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore, When all around was desolate and dark; To land was perilous, to sojourn more; Yet for awhile the mariners forbore, Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk : At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work. LXVIII. Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad. LXIX. It came to pass, that when he did address To traverse Acarnania's forest wide, In war well season'd, and with labours tann'd, And from his further bank Ætolia's wolds espied. LXX. Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence glean. LXXI. On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, The feast was done, the red wine circling fast, (28) With gaping wonderment had stared aghast ; For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past Each Palikar (29) his sabre from him cast, And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man, Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled clan. |