Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/76

42 XXVII.

So deemed the Childe, as o'er the mountains he

Did take his way in solitary guise:

Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee,

More restless than the swallow in the skies:

Though here awhile he learned to moralise,

For Meditation fixed at times on him;

And conscious Reason whispered to despise

His early youth, misspent in maddest whim;

But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew dim.

XXVIII.

To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever quits

A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul:

Again he rouses from his moping fits,

But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl.

Onward he flies, nor fixed as yet the goal

Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage;