And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart,[u]

And from his fellow Bacchanals would flee;

'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start,

But Pride congealed the drop within his ee:[25]

Apart he stalked in joyless reverie,[v]

And from his native land resolved to go,

And visit scorching climes beyond the sea;[26]

With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe,

And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below.