Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan. 
   Beneath yon mountain’s ever beauteous brow;
   But now, as if a thing unblest by man,
   Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou! 
   Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow
   To halls deserted, portals gaping wide;
   Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how
   Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied;
Swept into wrecks anon by Time’s ungentle tide.