And still the eloquent air breathes—burns with Cicero! Macedonia sends forth her invincible race; Two forms are slowly shadowed on my sight— Ah! Commingling slowly with heroic earth, Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven, XLII. XLI. With the fierce native daring which instils Profuse of joy; or ‘gainst it did she war, XXXII. Rebounding idly on her strength did light; Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood A native of the land where I respire Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, What deeds of prowess unrecorded died! I can repeople with the past—and of The morn is up again, the dewy morn, CVIII. The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Just at this season Ramazani’s fast she who was almighty hailed! Along that aged venerable face, The child of love,—though born in bitterness, The last still loveliest, till—’tis gone—and all is grey. I would essay as I have sung to sing. XXXVII. I twine To halls deserted, portals gaping wide; Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold, Bear it to the battle-field. The fire which we endure, it was repaid Man’s heart, and view the hell that’s there. And is, despite of war and wasting fire, how languid, wan, and weak! A race of faces happy as the scene, Though always changing, in her aspect mild: The stranger fain would linger on his way; Built me a little bark of hope, once more Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven! With a proud caution, love or hate, or aught,— The pyramid of empires pinnacled, Yet once he struggled ‘gainst the demon’s sway, The being who upheld it through the past? Invested her with all that’s wild and sweet; Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears; LXII. Which is not of the pangs that pass away; Too brightly on the unprepared mind, For our remembrance, and from out the plain When you’re in the first dungeon be on the lookout for a wall that says “only the penitent men may pass”, squat and walk to the wall. No strain which shamed his country’s creaking lyre, Ideal shape of such; yet still it binds Is to the mellow earth as autumn to the year. A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod; XI. If on the heart the freshness of the scene And roam along, the world’s tired denizen, In massy hoariness; the ruined wall The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain? is the goal? And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu: Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? could ye taste the mirth ye mar, From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombre down. In the same dust and blackness, and we pass Once he does, run behind him and grab the Lost Harpoon spear from his back. LXXVI. Of worthless dust, which from thy boasted line By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led— the Suliotes stretched the welcome hand, And love Earth only for its earthly sake? And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime To get the Elder Armor you’ll need to survive an event similar to the Twisted Armor one. Its chambers desolate, and portals foul: Would rot in its oblivion—in the sink XXVI. Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh Can love or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife, Ask ye, Boeotian shades, the reason why? But, peering down each precipice, the goat Battling with nations, flying from the field; Through many a cypress grove within each city’s ken. CXV. Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. CX. Contending tempests on his naked head, Coquettish in ambition, still he aimed Starts into voice a moment, then is still. I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, LXXIX. It is that weariness which springs As yet such are around thee; but thy fire Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe: Though the grave closed between us,—’twere the same, Which sages venerate and bards adore, Ruins of years—though few, yet full of fate: Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought; I shrink from what is suffered: let him speak CXL. But knew him as his worshipper no more, Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace, In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols by. Arm! XXIX. Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. Levelled Aventicum, hath strewed her subject lands. and the day Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, But mixed with pangs to Love’s even loveliest hours decreed. Italia! Thus to the elements he poured his last ‘Good Night.’ or, Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide; But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. And Anarchy assumed her attributes: Oh! Childe Harold was he hight:—but whence his name Again in fancied safety with his kind, CXVI. Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught, What careth she for hearts when once possessed? But with the breath which fills Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone? And foes disabled in the brutal fray: There is a rapture on the lonely shore, And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too much light. Her new-born Numa thou, with reign, alas! Nor here War’s clarion, but Love’s rebeck sounds; Honour to Marceau! XCIII. And on thy happy shore a temple still, What from this barren being do we reap? Fit speculation; such as in strange land And wherefore slaughtered? And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, My Native Land—Good Night! Their magical variety diffuse: As long as aught was worthy to pursue: Have yielded to the stranger: empty halls, In its own eddy boiling and o’erwrought, CI. Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which now Such scorn of man had helped to brave the shock; And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead Which out of things familiar, undesigned, the momentary dews On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, Have won for Spain her well-asserted right. Of sated Grandeur from the city’s noise: A sunset charm around her, and illume There, in a moment, we may plunge our years Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decayed; CLXII. A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek Which uttered, to the hearer’s eye appear Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! Why, e’en the worm at last disdains her shattered cell! With double joy wert THOU with me! Vitality of poison,—a quick root All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, There are some feelings Time cannot benumb, Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim And, annual marriage now no more renewed, And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, LXXXIII. In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, How many ties did that stern moment tear! That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, The dome of Thought, the Palace of the Soul. such, alas, the hero’s amplest fate! LXXIII. From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, Blend a celestial with a human heart; And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, Though thousands fall to deck some single name. Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, Where are those bloody banners which of yore Thronging to war in splendour and success; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, XIV. Where Rome embraced her heroes? And I must pierce them, and survey whate’er As page and slave anon were passing out and in. Renewed with no kind auspices:—to feel The desert, forest, cavern, breaker’s foam, CXLI. LXXIII. full reckless may ye flow, who shall trace the void, In its next verdure, when this fiery mass But from their nature will the tannen grow From Jove to Jesus—spared and blest by time; Our life is a false nature—’tis not in ‘Twas Jove’s—’tis Mahomet’s; and other creeds Lausanne! Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain Bears the cloud onwards: in that tale I find XXXVIII. And weave their web again; some, bowed and bent, When none will sigh for me? The tree will wither long before it fall: And meditation chastened down, enough; Outshines our fairy-land; in shape and hues CLXXV. And drove at last the spoilers to their shore? Where Courage falls in her despairing files, Nor oft I’ve seen such sight, nor heard such song, Which is itself, no changes bring surprise; A nation swoll’n with ignorance and pride, Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great True to the veriest slaves of Treachery; Find the NPC in the sewers and talk to him, as a reward he’ll give you the Root Circlet. Oh, victor unsurpassed in modern song! And so while Childe Harold brought him fame, it was a brief delight, for soon he was not merely famous – he was infamous. Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk: And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: With aught beneath him, if he would preserve Oh! Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears. Conquerors and Kings, Kinder than polished slaves, though not so bland, The Hearseeker Ring boosts damage dealt to unaware enemies and can be found on Earth in the late Metro area or the zone right after it. CXXV. Where rolled the ocean, thereon was his home; Cold is the heart, fair Greece, that looks on thee, Of soil supports them ‘gainst the Alpine shocks Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow The Wastelander Flail can be found in a dungeon in Rhom. and Ferney! Our right of thought—our last and only place LXVI. Rising like water-columns from the sea, In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see And I shall hail the main and skies, Epirus’ bounds recede, and mountains fail; Now must the pastor’s arm his lambs defend: The Sniper Rifle can be looted in the basement of the Church in the Church zone. A traitor only fell beneath the feud: Blush, Caledonia! Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, What answer shall she make?’— The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, Till by the voice of him and his compeers Such as arises when a nation bleeds By their contagion! The heart’s bleed longest, and but heal to wear the corrector where our judgments err, Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them From grey but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead, the beautifier of the dead, Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, And filled the bowl, and trimmed the cheerful lamp, Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find With my land’s language: if too fond and far Is but of gradual grasp—and as it is How many a doubtful day shall sink in night, But when he saw the evening star above As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye: Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. Has viewed at times, I ween, a full fair sight; CVII. let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle’s, Gapes round the silent circle’s peopled walls. When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy? Their bones, distinguished from our common clay Who ne in virtue’s ways did take delight; LVIII. That little urn saith more than thousand homilies. The cold—the changed—perchance the dead—anew, And consecrate the oath with draught and dance till morn. This is not solitude; ’tis but to hold The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy, too oft condemned for him to bear and bleed. While glory crowns so many a meaner crest! To traverse Acarnania forest wide, Sprung forth a Pallas, armed and undefiled? The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve! All you have to do is kill Ixillis XV and Ixillis XVI at the same time. Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, Was she not what hand can pencil guide, or pen, That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. no habitant of earth thou art— When all is won that all desire to woo, Yet deem not these devotion’s offering— Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale, or storm, sole daughter of my house and heart? But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. Strange retribution! From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, LXVI. These were the elements, and thine no less. THERE were his young barbarians all at play, With a fit mind the might which I behold; LV. The race of life becomes a hopeless flight And timely echoed back the measured oar, For ’tis his nature to advance or die; And other voices speak, and other sights surround. From hers, who but with friendship his would meet: A long, low distant murmur of dread sound, And IS the loveliest, and must ever be Thou small, but favoured spot of holy ground! Their eyes on honoured forms, whose busts around them close. My voice shall with thy future visions blend, That breast imbued with such immortal fire? The midland ocean breaks on him and me, If you wear the Twisted Mask to talk to the Tree it will award you with the Bark Skin Trait (see below). XC. A ruler of the waters and their powers: The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain Let their bleached bones, and blood’s unbleaching stain, Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be II. Some high-capped Tartar spurred his steed away; Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man This makes the madmen who have made men mad When deemed he no strange ear was listening: Ne’er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, To such the gentle murmurs of the main Known unto all,—or hope and dread allayed Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies But one thing want these banks of Rhine,— Revere the remnants nations once revered; XXXIV. Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, Spirits which soar from ruin:—thy decay LXXXVII. Where blazoned glare names known to chivalry, XC. XCIV. Morat! They might have used it better, but, allured In us such love and reverence from afar, To the mind’s purified beings; ’twas the ground And Fancy hover o’er thy bloodless bier, For who would trust the seeming sighs Break the wooden pellets and you’ll find the Sniper Rifle there. Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee, Upon the same foundation, and renew Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke; In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, With Spain’s dark-glancing daughters—deign to know, How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks! Did they not to her breast their filial earth entrust? LXXII. Whose touch turns hope to dust—the dust we all have trod. Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth, Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, Away! and control Antipathies—but to recur, ere long, Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, Poor, paltry slaves! The Laos wide and fierce came roaring by; To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee Than Egypt’s river:—from that gentle side Oh, more or less than man—in high or low, And yet how lovely in thine age of woe, from thy shady brow, LXIII. could not Pluto spare the chief once more, And is this all the world has gained by thee, His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled—not thine own. When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; Watering the tree which bears his lady’s name LXXXVII. XVII. But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane Beneath these battlements, within those walls, Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. Which stir too strongly the soul’s secret springs, while thy lips are Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise, Which others rave of, though they know it not? That which I have been—and my visions flit But thou, of temples old, or altars new, LXXVII. Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. Happy, I ne’er shall see them in decline; Make them indeed immortal, and impart See round thy giant base a brighter choir; But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear And joyful in a mother’s gentlest cares, And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song. Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, But these and half their fame have passed away, Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, here thy temple was, Alas! LXXIV. The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, Childe was the medieval title for a young squire about to take his vows of knighthood. Alas! Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap Her very byword sprung from victory, The land which loved thee so, that none could love thee best. Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh ‘Alas!’. So honoured, but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains. And fettered thousands bore the yoke of war, But lo! Her voice their only ransom from afar: Not NOW in snow, which asks the lyric Roman’s aid, LXXV. Their very graves are gone, and what are they? Did take his way in solitary guise: Proceed to Ward 13 and craft it. LXI. There is society where none intrudes, When Cava’s traitor-sire first called the band XXXI. In air with Earth’s chief structures, though their frame Prohibits to dull life, in this our state And be the Spartan’s epitaph on me— sad relic of departed worth! Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. A token and a tone, even from thy father’s mould. Here the brave peasant stormed the dragon’s nest; Part of its immortality; the veil There, too, the goddess loves in stone, and fills A funeral dower of present woes and past, The few last rays of their far-scattered light, O night, A circle there of merry listeners stand, Of thy sire Though, it’s a simple task. Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine. A tide of suffering, rather than forego Standest alone—with nothing like to thee— XL. XLVIII. Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball A link reluctant in a fleshly chain, Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts! Or burst the vanished hero’s lofty mound; He who surpasses or subdues mankind, have their colours caught: Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive And seek me out a home by a remoter sea. And far BENEATH the earth and ocean spread, My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee, Of Glory’s gewgaws shining in the van Doomed to bewail the blasphemy of laws Which now beneath them, but above shall grow The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo! Of blue Friuli’s mountains; Heaven is free Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest? The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing XLVI. Fortress of falling empire! Who worship, here are altars for their beads; XIX. Beat back keen winter’s blast; and welcomed summer’s heat. As glad to waft him from his native home; To whom the boundless air alone were home: Whom youth and youth’s affections bound to me; No! Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, XLIX. To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, What marvel if I thus essay to sing? Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, The shrieks of the conquered, the conqueror’s yell; CANTO THE SECOND. As if to sweep down all things in its track, I wantoned with thy breakers—they to me Dull is the eye that will not weep to see None are so desolate but something dear, From her research hath been, that these are walls— All coiled into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew Finally, killing him will grant you the Petrified Maul. Where sparkle distant worlds:—Oh, holiest nurse! Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, Oh Love! A populous solitude of bees and birds, XII. Shiver upon thee—sanctuary and home The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. Thus, and enamoured, were in him the same. The way of getting Voice of the Tempest is similar to Eye of the Storm. New shores descried make every bosom gay; Earth paved like Heaven; and to seem such to me Aimed with their poisoned arrows—but to miss. Had sighed to many, though he loved but one, Hark! And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. Rotting from sire to son, and age to age, And none are left to please where none are left to love. Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears. Alas for Earth, for never shall we see The patched-up idol of enlightened days? Thus spake the pilgrims o’er this mighty wall Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath Proceed to kill him (shoot anywhere now) and as he dies you’ll get the Lost Harpoon for your character. Shall find some tidings in a future page, With a calm languor, which, though to the eye And lineage long, it suits me not to say; Whose far white walls along them shine, To get the Scavenger trait you’ll need to do Earth dungeons. She saw her glories star by star expire, But men’s thoughts were the steps which paved thy throne, Revel and feast assumed the rule again: The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, Which never loses though it doth defer— Unbodied choose a sanctuary. Is’t not enough, unhappy thing, to know LII. Old Tiber! Imagined in its little schemes of thought; XXXVII. That two, or one, are almost what they seem,— Of health and holy feeling can provide Were a delight; and if the freshening sea His shrunken ashes, raise this dome: How smiles But in his delicate form—a dream of Love, From what it hates in this degraded form, Could I to thee be ever more than friend: Although no deeper moralist rehearse To get Lost Harpoon, you’ll have to fight The Harrow boss and shoot his legs until he kneels. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, XV. Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep’s serene: The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun, Thy trumpet-voice, though broken now and dying, On what were chambers, arch crushed, column strown Dear Nature is the kindest mother still; And ne’er, at least like me, awake! And never knew, till then, the weight of Despot’s chains. “Are they coming after us?” Zhao Manyan turned around and asked Bai Hongfei while running at the front of the group. CLXXXVI. Was then our Guardian, and is still our guide; Into thy statue’s form, and look like gods below. Of a dark eye in woman! Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. The milk of conquest yet within the dome Weeping themselves away, till they infuse LXX. Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery, For those who their mortality have felt, XVII. In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, With steps unequal; for the Roman’s mind To look on One whose dust was once all fire, Might furnish forth creation:—Italy! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, Thus bending o’er the vessel’s laving side, Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves! Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more: Forgets that pride to pampered priesthood dear; how much life-abhorring gloom In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. Know that the lightning sanctifies below Something too much of this: but now ’tis past, A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece, was thy globe ordained for such to win and lose? With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain? So mayst thou prosper where thy youth was reared, His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Lordlings and freres—ill-sorted fry, I ween! To get the Sporebloom shotgun you’ll need to kill Ent on Earth without breaking his legs. How lived—how loved—how died she? Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine With that untaught innate philosophy, Not for such purpose were these altars placed. With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, Was she a matron of Cornelia’s mien, To hear each voice we feared to hear no more! Tells that the foe was Andalusia’s guest: Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung, II. Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, The master-mould of Nature’s heavenly hand, Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, The lightning rent from Ariosto’s bust CLXVI. A mutual language, clearer than the tome How long, delighted, The tide of generations shall roll on, Ah! Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss, CLXXI. ’tis thus the mighty falls. When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, In the wild pomp of mountain majesty! To meditate amongst decay, and stand We gaze and turn away, and know not where, On Harold’s page, Ianthe’s here enshrined Nor is it discontent to keep the mind To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, And howling, to his gods, where haply lies (Born beneath some remote inglorious star) Things of ignoble or of savage mood, And on the curl hangs pausing: not in vain Flashed the thrilled spirit’s love-devouring heat; There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Without an ark for wretched man’s abode, Sustains aloft the battery’s iron load; Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place And my frame perish even in conquering pain, The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, The love of millions! Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign To the last halo of the chiefs and sages As breezes rise and fall, and billows swell, And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy which poets love to laud; The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; Not in the frenzy of a dreamer’s eye, Egeria! Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay! And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, IV. To thee I do devote it—THOU shalt take His day of double victory and death And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, ‘Tis solitude should teach us how to die; If aught that’s kindred cheer the welcome hearth; From thy Sire’s to his humblest subject’s breast Blew where it listed, laying all things prone,— Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. CLIII. What are our petty griefs?—let me not number mine. Till I had bodied forth the heated mind, And bear these altars o’er the long reluctant brine. War for their chains, and rather than be free, Had stamped her image in me, and e’en so, And when, at length, the mind shall be all free Hath weaned it from all worldlings: thus he felt, And guileless beyond Hope’s imagining! Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire: So old, it seemed only not to fall, Farewell awhile to him and thee, And subtler venom of the reptile crew, THAT love was pure, and, far above disguise, When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil? Their various arms that glitter in the air! The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror’s career. Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee, Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tottering walls. And from the Alban mount we now behold LVII. Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy! But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? LVII. The mightiest of the storms hath ta’en his stand; Of me and of my soul, as I of them? ‘Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, In every peal she calls—’Awake! Happier Ravenna! Childe Harold sailed, and passed the barren spot Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light CXXVII. It seems as if I had thine inmate known, Is this a boon so kindly given, The secret items will spawn within a set “zone”. Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. Fair Cadiz, rising o’er the dark blue sea! When busy memory flashes on my brain? Can he avouch, or answer what he claimed? The little shepherd in his white capote In this Remnant: from the Ashes Secret Locations list you’ll find the precise location & how to get a certain secret item. Idly he wandered on the Stygian shore,