IX.

   His had been quaffed too quickly, and he found
   The dregs were wormwood; but he filled again,
   And from a purer fount, on holier ground,
   And deemed its spring perpetual; but in vain! 
   Still round him clung invisibly a chain
   Which galled for ever, fettering though unseen,
   And heavy though it clanked not; worn with pain,
   Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,
Entering with every step he took through many a scene.

X.

   Secure in guarded coldness, he had mixed
   Again in fancied safety with his kind,
   And deemed his spirit now so firmly fixed
   And sheathed with an invulnerable mind,
   That, if no joy, no sorrow lurked behind;
   And he, as one, might midst the many stand
   Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find
   Fit speculation; such as in strange land
He found in wonder-works of God and Nature’s hand.

XI.

   But who can view the ripened rose, nor seek
   To wear it? who can curiously behold
   The smoothness and the sheen of beauty’s cheek,
   Nor feel the heart can never all grow old? 
   Who can contemplate fame through clouds unfold
   The star which rises o’er her steep, nor climb? 
   Harold, once more within the vortex rolled
   On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,
Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth’s fond prime.

XII.

   But soon he knew himself the most unfit
   Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held
   Little in common; untaught to submit
   His thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled,
   In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompelled,
   He would not yield dominion of his mind
   To spirits against whom his own rebelled;
   Proud though in desolation; which could find
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.

XIII.

   Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;
   Where rolled the ocean, thereon was his home;
   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,
   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