Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, ¹¹

With nought of Hope left—but with less of gloom;

The very knowledge that he lived in vain,

That all was over on this side the tomb,

Had made Despair a smilingness assume,

Which, though 'twere wild,—as on the plundered wreck

When mariners would madly meet their doom

With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,—

Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.