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NoT in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd ; Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd:
To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd-
To those who gaze on thee what language could they
Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art,
Young Peri of the West!-'tis well for me
But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed.
Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,
Such is thy name with this my verse entwined;
On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined
Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast,
Such is the most my memory may desire;
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require?
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
OH, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heav'nly birth,