Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt . Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, chiefless castles breathing stern farewellsFrom gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. there they stand, as stands a lofty , but unstooping to the baser tcnantless, save to the crannying holding dark communion with the was a day when they were young and proud,Banners on high, and battles passed below ;But they who fought are in a bloody those which waved arc shredless dust ere the bleak battlements shall bear no future b
Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt . Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, chiefless castles breathing stern farewellsFrom gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. there they stand, as stands a lofty , but unstooping to the baser tcnantless, save to the crannying holding dark communion with the was a day when they were young and proud,Banners on high, and battles passed below ;But they who fought are in a bloody those which waved arc shredless dust ere the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. these battlements, within those dwelt amidst her passions; in proud stateEach robber chief upheld his armed halls,Doing his evil will, nor less elate CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 133 Than mightier heroes of a longer want these outlaws conquerors should haveBut Historys purchased page to call them great?A wider space, or ornamented grave ?Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as their baronial feuds and single fields,What deeds of prowess unrecorded died!And Love, which lent a blazon to their emblems well devised by amorous pride,Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide ;But still their flame was fierceness, and drew onKeen contest and destruction near many a tower for some fair mischief won,Saw the discolored Rhine beneath its ruin run. 134 CHILDE HAROLDS canto hi. L. But thou, exulting and abounding river!Making thy waves a blessing as they flowThrough banks whose beauty would endure for everCould man but leave thy bright creation so,Nor its fair promise from the surface mowWith the sharp scythe of conflict,—then to seeThy valley of sweet waters, were to knowEarth paved like Heaven ; and to seem such to meEven now what wants thy stream ? — that it should Lethe be. LI. A thousand battles have assailed thy these and half their fame have passed away,And Slaughter heape
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