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 —
In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof!

LXVII.

   It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark
   Full on the coast of Suli’s shaggy shore,
   When all around was desolate and dark;
   To land was perilous, to sojourn more;
   Yet for awhile the mariners forbore,
   Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk: 
   At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore
   That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk
Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work.

LXVIII.

   Vain fear! the Suliotes stretched the welcome hand,
   Led them o’er rocks and past the dangerous swamp,
   Kinder than polished slaves, though not so bland,
   And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp,
   And filled the bowl, and trimmed the cheerful lamp,
   And spread their fare:  though homely, all they had: 
   Such conduct bears Philanthropy’s rare stamp —
   To rest the weary and to soothe the sad,
Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad.

LXIX.

   It came to pass, that when he did address
   Himself to quit at length this mountain land,
   Combined marauders half-way barred egress,
   And wasted far and near with glaive and brand;
   And therefore did he take a trusty band
   To traverse Acarnania forest wide,
   In war well-seasoned, and with labours tanned,
   Till he did greet white Achelous’ tide,
And from his farther bank AEtolia’s wolds espied.

LXX.

   Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove,
   And weary waves retire to gleam at rest,
   How brown the foliage of the green hill’s grove,
   Nodding at midnight o’er the calm bay’s breast,
   As winds come whispering lightly from the west,
   Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep’s serene: 
   Here Harold was received a welcome guest;
   Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene,
For many a joy could he from night’s soft presence glean.

LXXI.