Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever quits
   A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul: 
   Again he rouses from his moping fits,
   But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. 
   Onward he flies, nor fixed as yet the goal
   Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage;
   And o’er him many changing scenes must roll,
   Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage,
Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage.