Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (With Byron's Biography). Lord Byron

      He passed the sacred Haram's silent tower,

       And underneath the wide o'erarching gate

       Surveyed the dwelling of this Chief of power,

       Where all around proclaimed his high estate.

       Amidst no common pomp the Despot sate,

       While busy preparation shook the court,

Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons156 wait;fe Within, a palace, and without, a fort: Here men of every clime appear to make resort.

      LVII.

      Richly caparisoned, a ready row

       Of arméd horse, and many a warlike store,

       Circled the wide-extending court below;

       Above, strange groups adorned the corridore;

       And oft-times through the area's echoing door

       Some high-capped Tartar spurred his steed away:

       The Turk—the Greek—the Albanian—and the Moor,

       Here mingled in their many-hued array,

While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day.ff

      LVIII.

      The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee,

       With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun,

       And gold-embroidered garments, fair to see;

       The crimson-scarféd men of Macedon;

       The Delhi with his cap of terror on,

       And crooked glaive—the lively, supple Greek

       And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son;

       The bearded Turk that rarely deigns to speak,

       Master of all around, too potent to be meek,

      LIX.

Are mixed conspicuous: some recline in groups,157 Scanning the motley scene that varies round; There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, And some that smoke, and some that play, are found; Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground; Half-whispering there the Greek is heard to prate; Hark! from the Mosque the nightly solemn sound, The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, "There is no god but God!—to prayer—lo! God is great!"

      LX.

Just at this season Ramazani's fast158 Through the long day its penance did maintain: But when the lingering twilight hour was past, Revel and feast assumed the rule again: Now all was bustle, and the menial train Prepared and spread the plenteous board within; The vacant Gallery now seemed made in vain, But from the chambers came the mingling din, As page and slave anon were passing out and in.159

      LXI.

      Here woman's voice is never heard: apart,

And scarce permitted, guarded, veiled, to move,fg She yields to one her person and her heart, Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove: For, not unhappy in her Master's love,fh And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, Blest cares! all other feelings far above! Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears Who never quits the breast—no meaner passion shares.

      LXII.

      In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring

       Of living water from the centre rose,

       Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling,

       And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose,

Ali reclined, a man of war and woes:160 Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, While Gentleness her milder radiance throws161 Along that agéd venerable face, The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace.

      LXIII.

      It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard

Ill suits the passions which belong to Youth;fi Love conquers Age—so Hafiz hath averr'd, So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth162— But crimes that scorn the tender voice of ruth,fj163 Beseeming all men ill, but most the man In years, have marked him with a tiger's tooth; Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span, In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began.fk164

      LXIV.

'Mid many things most new to ear and eyefl The Pilgrim rested here his weary feet, And gazed around on Moslem luxury, Till quickly, wearied with that spacious seat Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise: And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet; But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys.

      LXV.

      Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack

       Not virtues, were those virtues more mature.

       Where is the foe that ever saw their back?

       Who can so well the toil of War endure?

       Their native fastnesses not more secure

       Than they in doubtful time of troublous need:

       Their wrath how deadly! but their friendship sure,

       When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed,

       Unshaken rushing on where'er their Chief may lead.

      LXVI.

      Childe Harold saw them in their Chieftain's tower

       Thronging to War in splendour and success;

       And after viewed them, when, within their power,

       Himself awhile the victim of distress;

       That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press:

       But these did shelter him beneath their roof,

       When less barbarians would have cheered him less,

       And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof— 27.B. In aught that tries the heart, how few withstand the proof!

      LXVII.

      It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark