Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/144

110 Dull is the eye that will not weep to see

Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed

By British hands, which it had best behoved

To guard those relics ne'er to be restored:—

Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved,

And once again thy hapless bosom gored,

And snatched thy shrinking Gods to Northern climes abhorred!

XVI.

But where is Harold? shall I then forget

To urge the gloomy Wanderer o'er the wave?

Little recked he of all that Men regret;

No loved-one now in feigned lament could rave;

No friend the parting hand extended gave,

Ere the cold Stranger passed to other climes:

Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave;

But Harold felt not as in other times,

And left without a sigh the land of War and Crimes.

XVII.

He that has sailed upon the dark blue sea

Has viewed at times, I ween, a full fair sight,