When, from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
[70]
And o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
My Thoughts their dungeon know too well;
Back to my breast the Wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent cell.[ce]
September, 1813.
[MS. M. first published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
