Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   The Childe departed from his father’s hall;
   It was a vast and venerable pile;
   So old, it seemed only not to fall,
   Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle. 
   Monastic dome! condemned to uses vile! 
   Where superstition once had made her den,
   Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile;
   And monks might deem their time was come agen,
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.