Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt . his cave awaits the tempests short-lived shock. LIII. Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove,Prophetic fount, and oracle divine ?What valley echoed the response of Jove ?What trace remaineth of the Thunderers shrine ?All, all forgotten — and shall man repineThat his frail bouds to fleeting life are broke?Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine :Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak ?When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke! bounds recede, and mountains fail;Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eyeReposes gla
Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt . his cave awaits the tempests short-lived shock. LIII. Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove,Prophetic fount, and oracle divine ?What valley echoed the response of Jove ?What trace remaineth of the Thunderers shrine ?All, all forgotten — and shall man repineThat his frail bouds to fleeting life are broke?Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine :Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak ?When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke! bounds recede, and mountains fail;Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eyeReposes gladly on as smooth a vale CHILDE HAIIOLDS CANTO II. As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye :Even on a plain no humble beauties lie,Where some bold river breaks the long expanse,And woods along the banks arc waving shadows in the glassy waters dance,Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnights solemn trance. LV. The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit,And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by;The shades of wonted night were gathering yet,. When, down the steep banks winding warily,Childc Harold saw, like meteors in the sky,The glittering minarets of Tepalcn,Whose walls overlook the stream; and drawing nigh,He heard the busy hum of warrior-menSwelling the breeze that sighed along the lengthening glen. LVI. He passed the sacred Harams silent underneath the wide oerarching gateSurveyed the dwelling of this chief of power, CANTO 11. PILGRIMAGE. 89 Where all aroimcl proclaimed his high no common pomp the despot sate,While busy preparation shook the court,Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and Santons wait;Within, a palace, and without, a fort:Here men of every clime appear to malvc resort. LVII. Richly caparisoned, a ready rowOf armed horse, and many a warlike storeCircled the wide-extending court below:Above, strange groups adorned the corridore;And oft-times through the areas echoing doorSome high-capped Tartai- spurred his steed away:The Turk, the Greek, the
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