Canto I XIII
But when the sun was sinking in the sea,He seized his harp, which he at times could string,And strike, albeit with untaught melody,When deemed he no strange ear was listening:And now his fingers o'er it he did fling,And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight,While flew the vessel on her snowy wing,And fleeting shores receded from his sight,Thus to the elements he poured his last 'Good Night.'
Adieu, adieu! my native shoreFades o'er the waters blue;The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,And shrieks the wild sea-mew.Yon sun that sets upon the seaWe follow in his flight;Farewell awhile to him and thee,My Native Land--Good Night!
A few short hours, and he will riseTo give the morrow birth;And I shall hail the main and skies,But not my mother earth.Deserted is my own good hall,Its hearth is desolate;Wild weeds are gathering on the wall,My dog howls at the gate.
'Come hither, hither, my little page:Why dost thou weep and wail?Or dost thou dread the billow's rage,Or tremble at the gale?But dash the tear-drop from thine eye,Our ship is swift and strong;Our fleetest falcon scarce can flyMore merrily along.'
'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,I fear not wave nor wind;Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that IAm sorrowful in mind;For I have from my father gone,A mother whom I love,And have no friend, save these alone,But thee--and One above.
'My father blessed me fervently,Yet did not much complain;But sorely will my mother sighTill I come back again.'--'Enough, enough, my little lad!Such tears become thine eye;If I thy guileless bosom had,Mine own would not be dry.
'Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,Why dost thou look so pale?Or dost thou dread a French foeman,Or shiver at the gale?'--'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;But thinking on an absent wifeWill blanch a faithful cheek.
'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,Along the bordering lake;And when they on their father call,What answer shall she make?'--'Enough, enough, my yeoman good,Thy grief let none gainsay;But I, who am of lighter mood,Will laugh to flee away.'
For who would trust the seeming sighsOf wife or paramour?Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyesWe late saw streaming o'er.For pleasures past I do not grieve,Nor perils gathering near;My greatest grief is that I leaveNo thing that claims a tear.
And now I'm in the world alone,Upon the wide, wide sea;But why should I for others groan,When none will sigh for me?Perchance my dog will whine in vainTill fed by stranger hands;But long ere I come back againHe'd tear me where he stands.
With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly goAthwart the foaming brine;Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,So not again to mine.Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!And when you fail my sight,Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!My Native Land--Good Night!
Words in this poem
- albeit conj.
- Even though; although; notwithstanding. [OE. al be although it be, where al is our all. Cf. Although.]
- snowy a.
- White like snow.
- awhile adv.
- For a while; for some time; for a short time. [Adj. a + while time, interval.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- scarce a.
- Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
- childe n.
- A cognomen formerly prefixed to his name by the oldest son, until he succeeded to his ancestral titles, or was knighted; as, Childe Roland.
- sorely adv.
- In a sore manner; grievously; painfully; as, to be sorely afflicted.
- guileless a.
- Free from guile; artless.
- foeman n.
- An enemy in war. [AS. fhman.]
- spouse v. t.
- To wed; to espouse. [See Espouse, and Spouse, n.]
- dwell v. i.
- To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
- streaming a.
- Sending forth streams.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Canto I XIII is in the public domain. This text is taken from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Project Gutenberg ebook #5131; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Lord Byron, Canto I XIII, in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1812–1818), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #5131, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/byron-childe-harold/canto-i-xiii.html, id L06480.
Form and metre
Canto I XIII is 89 lines in 11 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABABCDCD, complete in 8 of its 11 stanzas. 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.4 syllables. 6 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 15% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end. Rhymes that have moved apart since the poem was written: host / lost, love / move.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABBCBCC seaA · stringB · melodyA · listeningB · flingB · twilightC · wingB · sightC · nightC
- 2 ABABCDCD shoreA · blueB · roarA · mewB · seaC · flightD · theeC · nightD
- 3 ABABCDCD riseA · birthB · skiesA · earthB · hallC · desolateD · wallC · gateD
- 4 ABABCDCD pageA · wailB · rageA · galeB · eyeC · strongD · flyC · alongD
- 5 ABABCDCD highA · windB · iA · mindB · goneC · loveD · aloneC · aboveD
- 6 -ABACBCB fervently · complainA · sighB · againA · ladC · eyeB · hadC · dryB
- 7 ABABCDCD yeomanA · paleB · foemanA · galeB · lifeC · weakD · wifeC · cheekD
- 8 ABABCDCD hallA · lakeB · callA · makeB · goodC · gainsayD · moodC · awayD
- 9 ABABCDCD sighsA · paramourB · eyesA · o'erB · grieveC · nearD · leaveC · tearD
- 10 ABABCDCD aloneA · seaB · groanA · meB · vainC · handsD · againC · standsD
- 11 -A-ABCBC go · brineA · to · mineA · wavesB · sightC · cavesB · nightC
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| But when the sun was sinking in the sea, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| He seized his harp, which he at times could string, | 10 | ·········· |
| And strike, albeit with untaught melody, | 11 | ··˘/˘···/˘˘ |
| When deemed he no strange ear was listening: | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight, | 10 | ····/···/· |
| While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And fleeting shores receded from his sight, | 10 | ·/˘·˘/˘··· |
| Thus to the elements he poured his last 'Good Night.' | 11 | ···/˘······ |
| Adieu, adieu! my native shore | 8 | ˘/˘/·/˘· |
| Fades o'er the waters blue; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And shrieks the wild sea-mew. | 6 | ······ |
| Yon sun that sets upon the sea | 8 | ········ |
| We follow in his flight; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Farewell awhile to him and thee, | 8 | ·/˘/···· |
| My Native Land--Good Night! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| A few short hours, and he will rise | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| To give the morrow birth; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And I shall hail the main and skies, | 8 | ········ |
| But not my mother earth. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Deserted is my own good hall, | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| Its hearth is desolate; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, | 9 | ···/˘˘··· |
| My dog howls at the gate. | 6 | ······ |
| 'Come hither, hither, my little page: | 9 | ·/˘/˘·/˘· |
| Why dost thou weep and wail? | 6 | ······ |
| Or dost thou dread the billow's rage, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Or tremble at the gale? | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| But dash the tear-drop from thine eye, | 8 | ········ |
| Our ship is swift and strong; | 7 | /˘····· |
| Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly | 9 | /˘/˘/˘··· |
| More merrily along.' | 6 | ·/˘˘˘/ |
| 'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, | 8 | ········ |
| I fear not wave nor wind; | 6 | ······ |
| Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Am sorrowful in mind; | 6 | ·/˘˘·· |
| For I have from my father gone, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| A mother whom I love, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And have no friend, save these alone, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| But thee--and One above. | 6 | ······ |
| 'My father blessed me fervently, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘˘ |
| Yet did not much complain; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| But sorely will my mother sigh | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Till I come back again.'-- | 6 | ····˘/ |
| 'Enough, enough, my little lad! | 8 | ˘/˘/·/˘· |
| Such tears become thine eye; | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| If I thy guileless bosom had, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Mine own would not be dry. | 6 | ······ |
| 'Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, | 9 | ·/˘/˘··/˘ |
| Why dost thou look so pale? | 6 | ······ |
| Or dost thou dread a French foeman, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Or shiver at the gale?'-- | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| 'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; | 6 | ······ |
| But thinking on an absent wife | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Will blanch a faithful cheek. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| 'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, | 8 | ········ |
| Along the bordering lake; | 7 | ˘/·/˘˘· |
| And when they on their father call, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| What answer shall she make?'-- | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| 'Enough, enough, my yeoman good, | 8 | ˘/˘/·/˘· |
| Thy grief let none gainsay; | 6 | ····/· |
| But I, who am of lighter mood, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Will laugh to flee away.' | 6 | ····˘/ |
| For who would trust the seeming sighs | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Of wife or paramour? | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes | 8 | ········ |
| We late saw streaming o'er. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| For pleasures past I do not grieve, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Nor perils gathering near; | 7 | ·/˘/˘˘· |
| My greatest grief is that I leave | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| No thing that claims a tear. | 6 | ······ |
| And now I'm in the world alone, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Upon the wide, wide sea; | 6 | ······ |
| But why should I for others groan, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| When none will sigh for me? | 6 | ······ |
| Perchance my dog will whine in vain | 8 | ˘/······ |
| Till fed by stranger hands; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| But long ere I come back again | 8 | ······˘/ |
| He'd tear me where he stands. | 6 | ······ |
| With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Athwart the foaming brine; | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, | 8 | ········ |
| So not again to mine. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves! | 8 | /˘/˘···· |
| And when you fail my sight, | 6 | ······ |
| Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves! | 8 | /˘·˘/··· |
| My Native Land--Good Night! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
Notes from the edition 6
E. H. Coleridge's notes to Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, The Works of Lord Byron, Poetry vol. II (John Murray, 1899; Project Gutenberg #25340). Bracketed passages are the editor's; unbracketed are Byron's own (Cantos I-III) or John Cam Hobhouse's (Canto IV, his 'Historical Notes'). Digit footnotes ('[17]') are informational and numbered continuously through the whole book; end-notes keyed '[n.B.]' (Byron) or '[n.H.]' (Hobhouse) follow each canto and are numbered afresh from 1 there. Both kinds are placed here by matching each note's own quoted words against the site's text, not by the number or stanza the note states, because the site's text (Gutenberg #5131) and this edition (#25340) are different editions with different stanza counts in Canto I. Lettered footnotes ('[h]', '[dn]') are manuscript and edition variant readings and are not harvested, matching the treatment of Don Juan's and byron-works-3's lettered notes.
- Stanza 1, line 9 [See Lord Maxwell's "Good Night" in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border (Poetical Works, ii. 141, ed. 1834): "Adieu, madam, my mother dear," etc. [MS.]. Compare, too, Armstrong's "Good Night" ibid.--
"This night is my departing night, For here nae langer mun I stay; There's neither friend nor foe of mine, But wishes me away. What I have done thro' lack of will, I never, never can recall; I hope ye're a' my friends as yet. Good night, and joy be with you all."] - Stanza 4, line 1 [Robert Rushton, the son of one of the Newstead tenants. "Robert I take with me; I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal. Tell Mr. Rushton his son is well, and doing well" (letter to Mrs. Byron, Falmouth, June 22, 1809: Letters, 1898, i. 224).]
- Stanza 5, line 4 [Robert was sent back from Gibraltar under the care of Joe Murray (see letter to Mr. Rushton, August 15, 1809: Letters, 1898, i. 242).]
- Stanza 7, line 1 [William Fletcher, Byron's valet. He was anything but "staunch" in the sense of the song (see Byron's letters of November 12, 1809, and June 28, 1810) (Letters, 1898, i. 246, 279); but for twenty years he remained a loyal and faithful servant, helped to nurse his master in his last illness, and brought his remains back to England.]
- Stanza 9, line 8 ["I leave England without regret--I shall return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation, but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab" (letter to F. Hodgson, Falmouth, June 25, 1809, Letters, 1898, i. 230). If this Confessio Amantis, with which compare the "Stanzas to a Lady, on leaving England," is to be accepted as bona fide, he leaves England heart-whole, but for the bitter memory of Mary Chaworth.]
- Stanza 10, line 8 ["I do not mean to exchange the ninth verse of the 'Good Night.' I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind; and Argus we know to be a fable" (letter to Dallas, September 23, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 44).
Byron was recalling an incident which had befallen him some time previously (see letter to Moore, January 19, 1815): "When I thought he was going to enact Argus, he bit away the backside of my breeches, and never would consent to any kind of recognition, in despite of all kinds of bones which I offered him." See, too, for another thrust at Argus, Don Juan, Canto III. stanza xxiii. But he should have remembered that this particular Argus "was half a wolf by the she side." His portrait is preserved at Newstead (see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 280, Edition de Luxe).
For the expression of a different sentiment, compare The Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog (first published in Hobhouse's Imit. and Transl., 1809), and the prefatory inscription on Boatswain's grave in the gardens of Newstead, dated November 16, 1808 (Life, p. 73).]
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.