Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel;

un;
A sister whom he loved, but saw her not

Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel;

The corse is piled—sweet sight for vulgar eyes;

His gory chest unveils life's panting source;
Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears;

Oh! many a time and oft had Harold loved,
Or dreamed he loved, since rapture is a dream;

Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear;
Now is thy time to perish, or display
The skill that yet may check his mad career.

For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm stream must flow.

And consecrate the oath with draught and dance till morn.

Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades