Byron realised he would have to give way before his enemies; so he left England, meaning to rally his forces amidst the undisturbing surroundings of foreign lands, for some means of revenging himself upon them. He left England on 25 April 1816. He had published during his six years in London, the first two cantos of _Childe Harold_, _The Giaour_, _The Bride of Abydos_, _The Siege of Corinth_, _Lara_ and _The Corsair._ He departed, and his saddest regrets were for the wife who had exiled him, and for the daughter whom he had hardly seen, and whom he was never to look upon again. "Fare thee well! and if for ever. Still for ever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er canst know again: . . . . . . . Both shall live, but every morrow Wake us from a widow'd bed. . . . . . . . And when thou wouldst solace gather, When our child's first accents flow, Wilt thou teach her to say 'Father!' Though his care she must forego? When her little hands shall press thee, When her lip to thine is press'd, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, Think of him thy love had bless'd! Should her lineaments resemble Those thou never more may'st see, Then thy heart will softly tremble With a pulse yet true to me." This was to the mother: then, in _Childe Harold_, he addresses his child:-- "Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! Ada, sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted,--not as now we part, But with a hope.-- . . . . . . . My daughter! with thy name this song begun; My daughter! with thy name thus much shall end; I see thee not, I hear thee not, but none Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend To whom the shadows of far years extend: Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold, My voice shall with thy future visions blend, And reach into thy heart, when mine is cold, A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould. To aid thy mind's development, to watch Thy dawn of little joys, to sit and see Almost thy very growth, to view thee catch Knowledge of objects,--wonders yet to thee! To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,-- This, it should seem, was not reserved for me; Yet this was in my nature: as it is, I know not what is there, yet something like to this.