Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Part 25

Thy sh.o.r.es are empires, changed in all save thee-- a.s.syria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?

Thy waters washed them power while they were free And many a tyrant since: their sh.o.r.es obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play-- Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-- Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

CLx.x.xIII.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Gla.s.ses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed--in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving;--boundless, endless, and sublime-- The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

CLx.x.xIV.

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers--they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror--'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.

CLx.x.xV.

My task is done--my song hath ceased--my theme Has died into an echo; it is fit The spell should break of this protracted dream.

The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit My midnight lamp--and what is writ, is writ-- Would it were worthier! but I am not now That which I have been--and my visions flit Less palpably before me--and the glow Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.

CLx.x.xVI.

Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been-- A sound which makes us linger; yet, farewell!

Ye, who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop sh.e.l.l; Farewell! with HIM alone may rest the pain, If such there were--with YOU, the moral of his strain.

Footnotes:

{1} Lady Charlotte Harley, daughter of the Earl of Oxford.