"Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate of men and empires--'tis to be forgiven, that in our aspirations to be great, our destinies overleap their mortal state". A pilgrimage for the ages: yours, to the terra incognita of sleep, and Childe Harold's, to the land for which, at one time or another, a Roman or a Gaul, a Caesar or a Napoleon, fiercely contended. Join me, as I follow our hero through his reveries on nature, his engagements in war, and his yearnings for a lover beside whom he'd stop at nothing to wake.