Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   Childe Harold had a mother—­not forgot,
   Though parting from that mother he did shun;
   A sister whom he loved, but saw her not
   Before his weary pilgrimage begun: 
   If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. 
   Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel;
   Ye, who have known what ’tis to dote upon
   A few dear objects, will in sadness feel
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.