But where is Harold? shall I then forget

To urge the gloomy Wanderer o'er the wave?

Little recked he of all that Men regret;

No loved-one now in feigned lament could rave;[124]

No friend the parting hand extended gave,

Ere the cold Stranger passed to other climes:

Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave;

But Harold felt not as in other times,

And left without a sigh the land of War and Crimes.