In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,[542:1]

So that no wonder waits him.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 5.

Years steal

Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb,

And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 8.

There was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgium's capital had gather'd then

Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright