XLIII. Now Harold felt himself at length alone, And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu: Now he adventured on a shore unknown, Which all admire, but many dread to view: His breast was armed 'gainst fate, his wants were few: Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet: The scene was savage, but the scene was new; This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet, Beat back keen winter's blast; and welcomed summer's heat.
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