Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/258

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224
CHILDE HAROLD’S PILGRIMAGE.
[CANTO III.

Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
He had the passion and the power to roam;
The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,
Were unto him companionship; they spake
A mutual language, clearer than the tome
Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake
For Nature's pages glassed by sunbeams on the lake.


XIV.

Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars,[1]
Till he had peopled them with beings bright
As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born jars,
And human frailties, were forgotten quite:
Could he have kept his spirit to that flight
He had been happy; but this clay will sink
Its spark immortal, envying it the light
To which it mounts, as if to break the link
That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink.[2]


XV.

But in Man's dwellings he became a thing[3]

Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome,
  1. Like the Chaldean he could gaze on stars.—[MS.]
    —— adored the stars.—[MS. erased.]
  2. That keeps us from that Heaven on which we love to think.—[MS.]
  3. But in Man's dwelling—Harold was a thing
    Restless and worn, and cold and wearisome
    .—[MS.]