Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 88.

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.

Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.

Ibid.

Canto iii. Stanza 1.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.

I am as a weed,

Stanza 2.

Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath

prevail.

Years steal

Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb;

Ibid.

And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright

Stanza 8.

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell.

Stanza 21.

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined.

Stanza 22.

And there was mounting in hot haste.

Stanza 25.

Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! They

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 32.

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.

Stanza 42

He who surpasses or subdues mankind

Must look down on the hate of those below.

Stanza 45.

All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.

Stanza 47.

The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine.

Stanza 55.

He had kept

The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.

But there are wanderers o'er Eternity

Stanza 57.

Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall

be.

Stanza 70.

By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone.

Stanza 71.

I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me; and to me

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,

But hath a part of being.

Stanza 89.

In solitude, where we are least alone.

Stanza 90.

1 I am a part of all that I have met. - Tennyson, Ulysses.

The sky is changed, and such a change! O night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light

Of a dark eye in woman!

Far along,

From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 92. Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer.

Stanza 107.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me.1

Among them, but not of them.

I stood

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand.

Stanza 113.

Ibid.

Canto iv. Stanza 1.

Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred

isles.

The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree

I planted, they have torn me, and I bleed;

Ibid.

I should have known what fruit would spring from

such a seed.

O for one hour of blind old Dandolo,

Stanza 10.

The octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe! 2

Stanza 12.

Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound.

Stanza 23.

The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew,
The mourned, the loved, the lost, -

few!

1 I never have sought the world; the world was not to seek me.

2 Compare Wordsworth. Page 412.

Boswell's Johnson, An. 1783.

Parting day

Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,

The last still loveliest, till 't is gone-and all is

gray. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 29.

The Ariosto of the North.

Italia! O Italia! thou who hast

The fatal gift of beauty.1

Stanza 40.

Stanza 42.

The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss.

Stanza 69.

The Niobe of nations! there she stands.

Stanza 79.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.

Stanza 98.

Heaven gives its favourites-early death.2

Stanza 102.

Man!

Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.

Stanza 109.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart

Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast.

Stanza 115.

Ibid.

The nympholepsy of some fond despair.

1 A translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja: Italia, Italia, O

tu cui feo la sorte!

2 Compare Don Juan, Canto iv. Stanza 12. Page 488.

Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 57.

Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.

There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother, he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday!

Stanza 141.

"While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;
And when Rome falls, - the World." 1

Stanza 145.

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou?
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead?

Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low
Some less majestic, less beloved head?
O 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!

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

Stanza 168.

Stanza 177.

Stanza 178.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, - roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin, — his control
Stops with the shore.

Stanza 179.

1 Literally the exclamation of the pilgrims in the eighth century.