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I have not loved the world, nor the world me;
Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed my mind, which thus itself subdued.
That two, or one, are almost what they seem,That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.
My daughter! with thy name this song begun-
And reach into thy heart,-when mine is cold,
To aid thy mind's development,—to watch
Yet this was in my nature :—as it is,
Yet, though dull hate as duty should be taught,
And an attainment,-all would be in vain,-
The child of love,—though born in bitterness,
Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee,
END OF CANTO THE THIRD.
Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna,
Quel Monte che divide, e quel che serra Italia, e un mare e l'altro, che la bagna.
ARIOSTO, Satira iii. TO
JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. A.M. F.R.S.
ETC. ETC. ETC.
VENICE, January 2, 1818.
MY DEAR IIOBHOUSE,
After an interval of eight years between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the public. In parting with so old a friend it is not extraordinary that I should recur to one still older and better,-to one who has beheld the birth and death of the other, and to whom I am far more indebted for the social advantages of an enlightened friendship, thanthough not ungrateful - I can, or could be, to Childe Harold, for any public favour reflected through the poem on the poet,—to one, whom I have known long, and accompanied far, whom I have found wakeful over my sickness and kind in my sorrow, glad in my prosperity and firm in my adversity, true in counsel and trusty in peril—to a friend often tried and never found wanting ;-to yourself.
In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth, and in dedicating to you in its complete, or at least concluded state, a poetical work which is the longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my compositions, I