Chapter 11 No.11

"But where is Harold? Shall I then forget

To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave?

Little reck'd he of all that men regret;

No loved one now in feign'd lament could rave;

No friend the parting hand extended gave

Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes."

Byron.

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The reader is not to suppose that the eyes of Europe