Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt . here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam;And here, where buzzing nations choked the roared or murmured like a mountain streamDashing or winding as its torrent strays;Here, where the Roman millions blame or praiseWas death or life, the playthings of a voice sounds much — and fall the stars faint raysOn the arena void — seats crushed — walls bowed —And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. ruin — yet what ruin ! from its massWalls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared;Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye passAnd
Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt . here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam;And here, where buzzing nations choked the roared or murmured like a mountain streamDashing or winding as its torrent strays;Here, where the Roman millions blame or praiseWas death or life, the playthings of a voice sounds much — and fall the stars faint raysOn the arena void — seats crushed — walls bowed —And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. ruin — yet what ruin ! from its massWalls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared;Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye passAnd marvel where the spoil could have it indeed been plundered, or but cleared ?Alas! developed, opens the the colossal fabrics form is neared:It will not bear the brightness of the day,Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away. when the rising moon begins to climbIts topmost arch, and gently pauses there;When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 219. And the low niglit-breeze waves along the airThe garland-forest which the gray walls wear,Like laurels on the liald first Ceesars head;When the light shines serene but doth not glare,Then in this magic circle raise the dead:Heroes have trod this spot — t is on their dust ye tread. CXLV. While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;And when Rome falls—the World. From our own landThus spake the pilgrims oer this mighty wallIn Saxon times, which we are wont to callAncient; and these three mortal things are stillOn their foundations, and unaltered all;Rome and her Ruin past Redemptions skill,The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will. 220 CHILDE HAROLDS canto iv. CXLVI. Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime —Shrine of all saints and temple of all Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time ;Looking tranquillity, while falls or nodsArch, empire, each thing round thee, and man
Size: 1934px × 1292px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidchildeharoldspil02byro
