Childe Harold's pilgrimage : a romaunt . V CLXXIII. Lo, Nemi! navelld in the woody hillsSo far, that the uprooting wind which tearsThe oak from his foundation, and which spillsThe ocean oer its boundary, and hearsIts foam against the skies, reluctant sparesThe oval mirror of thy glassy lake ;And calm as cherishd hate, its surface wearsA dee]) cold settled aspect nought can shake,All coild into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. CLXXIV. And near, Albanos scarce divided wavesShine from a sister valley ;—and afarThe Tiber winds, and the broad ocean lavesThe Latian coast where sprung the Epic
Childe Harold's pilgrimage : a romaunt . V CLXXIII. Lo, Nemi! navelld in the woody hillsSo far, that the uprooting wind which tearsThe oak from his foundation, and which spillsThe ocean oer its boundary, and hearsIts foam against the skies, reluctant sparesThe oval mirror of thy glassy lake ;And calm as cherishd hate, its surface wearsA dee]) cold settled aspect nought can shake,All coild into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. CLXXIV. And near, Albanos scarce divided wavesShine from a sister valley ;—and afarThe Tiber winds, and the broad ocean lavesThe Latian coast where sprung the Epic war,Arms and the man, whose re-ascending starRose oer an empire :—but beneath thy rightTully reposed from Koine ;—and where yon barOf girdling mountains intercepts the sightThe Sabine farm was tilld, the weary bards delight, CLXXV. But I forget.—My Pilgrims shrine is won,And he and I mast part,—so let it be,—His task and mine alike are nearly done :Vet once more let us look upon the sea; CANTO IV childe harolds pilgrimage 27. The midland ocean breaks on him and me,And from the Alban Mount we now behold()ur friend of youth, that Ocean, which when weBeheld it last by Calpes rock unfoldThose waves, we followd on till the dark Kuxinc rolld CHILDE HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE CANTO CLXXVI. Upon the blue Symplegades : long years—Long, though not very many—since have doneTheir work on both; some suffering and some tearsHave left us nearly where we had begun :Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run;We have had our reward, and it is here,—That we can yet feel gladdend by the sun,And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dearAs if there were no man to trouble what is clear. CLXXVII. Oh ! that the Desert were my dwelling-place,With one fair Spirit for my minister,That I might all forget the human race,And, hating no one, love but only her !Ye elements !—in whose ennobling stirI feel myself exalted—Can ye notAccord me such a being 1 Do I errIn deeming such inhabit many a spot I
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