Cuộc hành hương của chàng hiệp sĩ Childe Harolds - Khúc thứ ba (09) Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage - Canto III (09)

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage - Canto III (09)

His had been quaffed too quickly, and he found
The dregs were wormwood; but he filled again,
And from a purer fount, on holier ground,
And deemed its spring perpetual; but in vain!
Still round him clung invisibly a chain
Which galled for ever, fettering though unseen,
And heavy though it clanked not; worn with pain,
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,
Entering with every step he took through many a scene.