Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   Poor, paltry slaves! yet born midst noblest scenes —
   Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men? 
   Lo!  Cintra’s glorious Eden intervenes
   In variegated maze of mount and glen. 
   Ah me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen,
   To follow half on which the eye dilates
   Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken
   Than those whereof such things the bard relates,
Who to the awe-struck world unlocked Elysium’s gates?