I BY KAY....................1795 2 BY SAUNDERS................1807 3 W STALL......... 14 4 ILLIP..................... 1814 5.. HAR:OIO)T........1817: 6. THORWALDSEN.:.... 1816 B 0 S T ON PHJLLIPS, SAMPSON &C? THEP WORKS OF LORD BYRON: EMBRACING HIS SUPPRESSED POEMS. AND A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE, ILLUSTRATED. NEW EDITION, COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 110 WASHINGTON STREET. 1854. ADVERTISEMENT. IN the preparation of the present edition of the works of Lord Byron, the publishers have spared no expense or delay in making it ENTIRELY COMPLETE. In its progress through the press, it has undergone the careful supervision of a distinguished literary gentleman; and its proprietors feel that they can claim for this elition what no other publisher can in this country, -that it contains, UNABRIDGED line for line, and word for word, the COMPLETE WORKS of Lord Byron, and, in this respect, the only one ever issued from the American press. CONTENTS. POEMS, ETC. Page fags CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. THIE PRISONER OF CHILLON.. 183 Preface.17 Sonnet on Chillon. 183 To Ianthe.......18 Notes...... 186 Canto I........ 19 BEPPO........ 188 Canto II. 28 Notes..... 195 Canto III. 37 MAZEPPA....... 196 Canto IV. 47 Advertisement...... 196 Notes to Canto I. 64 THE ISLAND... 203 Notes to Canto II. 65 Advertisement.203 Appendix....... 75 Canto I...203 Notes to Canto III. 81 Canto II.. 205 Notes to Canto IV. 84 Canto III. 210 THE GIAOUR.......108 Canto IV.. 212 Dedication..... 108 Appendix... 216 Advertisement.... 108 MANFRED...220 Notes..... 119 Notes.. 233 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 122 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED 233 Dedication.....122 Advertisement.... 233 Canto I......122 HEAVEN AND EARTH.... 24 Canto II...... 126 CAIN....,.. 259 Notes........132 Dedication.... 259 THE CORSAIR..... 135 Preface....... 259 Dedication..... 135 MARINO FALIEnO, DOGE OF VENICE,. 278 Canto I..... 136 Preface....... 278 Canto II. 141 Notes..., 311 Canto HI.. 145 Appendix.. 312 Notes........151 THE Two FOSCARI.. 320 LARA........ 154 Appendix..... 341 Canto I....... 54 SARDANAPALtS.. 348 Canto II. 159 Dedication...... 48 Note.....165 Preface....... 348 rHE SIEGE OF CORINTH... 166 Notes...,... 377 Dedication.... 166 WERNER........378 Advertisement 166 Dedication... 378 Notes........175 Preface. 378 PARISINA.. 176 HovRS OF IDLENESS.... 412 Dedication.......176 Dedication...... 412 Advertisement. 176 Preface. 412 Notes.. 181 On leaving Newstead AXbey. 413 Iv CONTENTS Page Pag On a Distant View of the Village and School To the Earl of -.. 436 of Harrow on the Hill.... 414 Granta. A Medley... 437 To D........414 Answer to some elegant Verses sent by a Epitaph on a Friend.... 415 Friend to the Author, complaining that one A Fragment. 415 of his Descriptions was rather too warmly To Eddleston... 415 drawn.... 438 Reply to some Verses of J. M. B. Pigot, Lachin Y Gair.. 439 Esq., on the cruelty of his Mistress. 415 To Romance... 439 To the Sighing Strephon... 416 Elegy on Newstead Abbey... 440 The Tear.... 416 On a change of Masters at a great Public To Miss Pigot...... 417 School.... 442 Lines written in "Letters of an Italian Nun' Childish Recollections....442 and an English Gentleman. By J. J. Answer to a beautiful Poem, written by MontRousseau. Founded on Facts".. 417 gomery, entitled "The Common Lot". 446 Answer to the foregoing, addressed to Miss - 417 To the Rev. J. T. Becher... 447 The Cornelian... 417 The Death of Calmar and Orla. An ImitaOn the Death of a Young Lady, Cousin to tion of Macpherson's Ossian.. 447 the Author, and very dear to him. 418 To E. N. L., Esq.... 448 To Emma... 418 To..... 449 An Occasional Prologue. Delivered previous Stanzas... 450 to the performance of " The Wheel of For- Lines written beneath an Elm in the Churchtune" at a private Theatre... 418 yard of Harrow on the Hill, September 2, On the Death of Mr. Fox. 419 1807. 450 To M. S. G. 419 Critique on "Hours of Idleness," extracted To Caroline.......419 from the Edinburgh Review... 451 To Caroline..... 420 ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS 453 To Caroline...... 420 Preface.... 453 Stanzas to a Lady, with the Poems of Camoens 420 Postscript.. 467 The first Kiss of Love.... 421 HINTS FROM HORACE. 468 To Mary.... 421 THE CURSE OF MINERVA.... 480 To Woman.......421 THE WALTZ....483 To M. S. G. 422 To the Publisher.. 483 To a Beautiful Quaker... 422 THE AGE OF BRONZE.... 48 Song. 422 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT... 494 To.......423 Preface. 494 To Mary, on receiving her Picture.. 423 MORGANTE MAGGOIRE. 503 To Lesbia.... 424 Advertisement.. 503 Lines addressed to a Young Lady.. 424 Canto I...... 604 Love's Last Adieu... 424 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 610,Dama.tas...... 425 Dedication...... 610 To Marion.....425 Preface....610 Oscar of Alva.. 425 Canto I........611 To the Duke of Dorset. 428 Canto II..... 612 Adrian's Address to his Soul, when Dying 429 Canto III... 613 Translation from Catullus. Ad Lesbiam. 430 Canto IV....... 15 Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Notes...... 616 Tibullus. By Domitius Marsus. 430 HEBREW MLODIES.... 518 Imitation of Tibullus.... 430 Advertisement... 618 Translation fromCatullus.... 430 She Walks in Beauty... 618 Imitated from Catullus. To Ellen. 430 The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept. 618 Translation from Horace. Ode 3, Lib. 3. 430 If that High World..... 618 Translation from Anacreon. To his Lyre 431 The Wild Gazelle. 618 Ode III....431 Oh! Weep for Those..... 19 Fragments of School Exercises. From the On Jordan's Banks.... 619 Prometheus Vinctus of AEschylus.. 431 Jephtha'sI)aughter.. 619 The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus. A Par- Oh! snatch'd away in Beauty's Bloom. 619 aphrase from the MEneid,'Lib. IX...431 My Soul is Dark.... 619 Translation from the Medea of Euripides 435 I saw Thee Weep.... 20 Thoughts suggestedby a College Examination 435 Thy Days are Done,.. 520 CONTENTS. T Page Page Song of Saul before his last Battle. 520 Remember Him, &c.... 546 Saul. 520 Lines inscribed upon a Cup formed from a "All is Vanity, saith the Preacher" 520 Skull. 547 When Coldness wraps this suffering Clay. 521 On the Death of Sir Peter Parker, Bart. 547 Vision of Belshazzar.... 521 To a Lady weeping.. 547 Sun of the Sleepless!.. 521 From the Turkish... 547 Were my Bosom as False as Thou deem'st it Sonnet. To Genevra. 548 to be........521 Sonnet. To Genevra... 548 Herod's Lament for Mariamne.. 521 Inscription on the Monument of a NewfoundOn the Day of the Destruction of Jerusalem land Dog.. 548 by Titus...... 522 Farewell..... 548 By the Rivers of Babylon we sat down and Bright be the Place of thy Soul.. 548 wept... 522 When we Two Parted... 549 The Destruction of Sennacherib..522 Stanzas for Music..... 549 From Job. 522 Stanzas for Music.. 549 THE LAMENT OF TASSO... 523 Fare Thee Well... 550 Advertisement. 523 A Sketch...550 MONODY ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. TO -. 551 R. B. SHERIDAN... 525 Ode. [From the French].. 5.51 ODE TO NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.. 527 From the French.. 552 Notes....... 528 On the Star of "the Legion of Honor." ODE ON VENICE... 529 [From the French]... 553 THE DREAM... 530 Napoleon's Farewell. [From the French] 553 THE BLUES... 532 Written on a blank Leaf of "The Pleasures MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.... 537 of Memory" 554 Written in an Album..... 57 Sonnet... 554 To * * *... 537 Stanzas to-.... 554 Stanzas written in passing the Ambracian Gulf 537 Darkness.... 554 Stanzas composed during the Night, in a Churchill's Grave..... 55b Thunder-Storm..... 538 Prometheus.... 55 Written at Athens.. 538 The Prayer of Nature.... 556 Written after Swimming from Sestos to Aby- Romance muy Doloroso del Sitio y Toma de dos... 538 Alhama... 557 Song. Zioj yov as6 aya7Tr... 539 A very mournful Ballad on the Siege- and Translation of the famous Greek War Song, Conquest of Granada... 557 ArE C rails Trv'EXArivw... 539 Sonetto di Vittorelli. Per Monaca. 559 Translation of the Romaic Song, "M7revO Pe Translation from Vittorelli. On a Nun. 559'rT lrE~ptf6y'&lpat6rarr Xarn"... 540 To my dear Mary Anne... 559 Written beneath a Picture... 540 To Miss Chaworth.. 559 On Parting.......540 Fragment...... 560 To Thyrza...... 540 Fragment.....560 Stanzas... 541 On Revisiting Harrow.., 560 To Thyrza...... 541 L'Amitie est l'Amour sans Ailes..560 Euthanasia... 542 To my Son.... 561 Stanzas. "Heu quanto minus est cum reli- Epitaph on John Adams, of Southwell. 561 quis versari quam tui meminisse".. 542 Fragment.... 561 Stanzas... 543 To Mrs. * * *, on being asked my reason for On a Cornelian Heart which was Broken. 543 quitting England in the Spring. 562 To a Youthful Friend.... 543 A Love Song.. 562 To******.....544 Stanzas to * * ** *.. 562 From the Portuguese.... 544 To the Same..562 Impromptu, in reply to a Friend..544 Song.... 563 Address, spoken at the opening of Drury- Stanzas to * *, on leaving England. 563 Lane Theatre..... 544 Lines to Mr. Hodgson. 564 To Time.... 545 Lines in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenus 564 Translation of a Romaic Love Song..545 On Moore's Last Operatic Farce. 565 A Song....... 546 Epistle to Mr. Hodgson. 565 On being asked what was the "Origin of On Lord Thurlow's Poems.. 565 Love "... 546 To Lord Thurlow... 56 vi~~~n ~CONTENTS. Page Pafg To Thomas Moore..... 566 Remembrance.. 57& Fragment of an Epistle to Thomas Moore 566 The Adieu.... 576 The Devil's Drive..... 66 To a Vain Lady... 577 Windsor Poetics...... 567 To Anne.... 578 Additional Stanzas to the Ode to Napoleon To the Same.578 Bonaparte. 567 To the Author of a Sonnet beginning "' Sad To Lady Caroline Lamb.... 567 is my Verse,' you say, "' and yet no Tear' " 578 Stanzas for Music..... 568 On Finding a Fan. 578 Address intended to be recited at the Caledo- Farewell to the Muse..579 nian Meeting... 568 To an Oak at Newstead. 579 n the Prince Regent's returning the Picture Lines, on hearing that Lady Byron was Ill 579 of Sarah, Countess of Jersey, to Mrs. Mee 568 Stanzas. "Could Love for ever". 580 To Belshazzar...... 569 Stanzas. To a Hindoo Air. 581 Hebrew Melodies... 569 Oh, never talk again to me... 581 Lines intended for the opening of "The Siege The Third Act of Manfred, in its original of Corinth". 569 Shape, as first sent to the Publisher. 581 Extract from an Unpublished Poem..570 DoN JUAN.. 585 To Augusta... 570 Dedication. 585 On the Bust of Helen, by Canova..571 Canto I..587 Fragment of a Poem on hearing that Lady Canto II. 603 Byron was Ill......571 Canto III. 618 To Thomas Moore..... 572 Canto IV. 627 Stanzas to the River Po... 572 Canto V. 635 Sonnet to George the Fourth... 572 Preface to Cantos VI. VII. and VIII.. 647 Francesca of Rimini... 572 Canto VI. 648 The Irish Avatar..... 573 Canto VII. 656 Stanzas to Her who can best understand Them 574 Canto VIII.... 663 Stanzas written on the Road between Florence Canto IX... 673 and Pisa.. 575 Canto X. 679 Impromptu, on Lady Blessington expressing Canto XI....... 685 her Intention of taking the Villa called Canto XII....692 "II Paradiso," near Genoa. 575 Canto XIII. 698 To the Countess of Blessington.. 575 Canto XIV.... 706 On this Day I complete my Thirty-Sixth Year 576 Canto XV. 713 To a Lady who presented the Author with Canto XVL... 721 the Velvet Band which bound her Tresses 576 Notes. 730 CONTENTS. LETTERS, ETC. Page Pan LETTERS LETTERS I. to Miss Pigot... 739 XXXIX. to Mr. Harness, 751 II. to Mr. Pigot... 739 XL. to R. C. Dallas, Esq... 751 III. to Miss Pigot.. 739 XLI. to Mr. William Bankes.. 751 IV. to Mr. Pigot... 740 XLII. to Mrs. Byron.... 752 V. to Mr. Pigot.... 740 XLIII. to Mr. Henry Drury.. 752 VI. to Mr. Pigot... 740 XLIV. to Mr. Hodgson. 7.. 752 VII. to Mr. Pigot.. 740 XLV. to Mr. Hodgson.. 752 VIII. to Miss Pigot.. 741 XLVI. to Mr. Hodgson.... 753 IX. to the Earl of Clare.. 741 XLVII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron.. 753 X. to Mr. Pigot... 741 XLVIII. to Mr. Rushton... 754 XI. to Mr. William Bankes..742 XLIX. to the Honorable Mrs. Byron 755 XII. to Mr. William Bankes. 742 L. to Mrs. Byron.... 755 XIII. to Mr. Falkner.. 742 LI. to Mrs. Byron.. 757 XIV. to Mr. Pigot.. 742 LII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron.. 757 XV. to Miss Pigot. 743 LIII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron.. 757 XVI. to Miss Pigot. 743 LIV. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron.. 757 XVII. to Miss Pigot. 743 LV. to Mr. Henry Drury,. 767 XVIII. to Miss Pigot.. 744 LVI. to Mr. Hodgson.... 759 XIX. to Miss Pigot.. 744 LVII. to the Honorable Mrs. Byron 759 XX. to Miss Pigot.. 745 LVIII. to Mr. Henry Drury... 75c XXI. to Miss Pigot. 745 LIX. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron. e. 760 XXII. to Mr. Dallas. 746 LX. to Mrs. Byron.... 761 XXIII. to Mr. Dallas. 746 LXI. to Mrs. Byron.... 761 XXIV. to Mr. Henry Drury.. 747 LXII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron. 762 XXV. to Mr. Harness. 747 LXIII. to Mr. Hodgson... 762 XXVI. to Mr. Harness... 747 LXIV. to Mrs. Byron....763 XXVII. to Mr. Becher. 748 LXV. to Mrs. Byron.... 764 XXVIII. to Mr. Becher.. 748 LXVI. to Mrs. Byron... 764 XXIX. to Mr. Jackson.. 748 LXVII. to Mr. Hodgson... 764 XXX. to Mr. Jackson.. 749 LXVIII. to Mr. Dallas.... 765 XXXI. to Mr. Jackson... 749 LXIX. to Mr. Henry Drury.. 765 XXXII. to Mr. Becher. 749 LXX. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron.. 765 XXXIII. to the Honorable Mrs. Byron. 749 LXXI. to Dr. Pigot.... 766 XXXIV. to Mrs. Byron.. 749 LXXII. to Mr. Scrope Davies... 766 XXXV. to Mr. Hodgson.... 750 LXXIII. to - Bolton, Esq... 766 XXXVI. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. 750 LXXIV. to Mr. Bolton.... 767 XXXVII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq.. 750 LXXV. to Mr. Bolton... 767 XXXVII1. to Mrs. Byron... 751 LXXVI. to Mr. Dallas. 767 2* Ui CONTENTS. Page Page LETTERS LETTERS LXXVII. to Mr. Hodgson... 767 CXXXV. to Lord Holland... 786 LXXVIII. to Mr. Dallas... 768 CXXXVI. to Lord Holland.. 786 LXXIX. to Mr. Murray.. 768 CXXXVII. to Lord Holland... 786 LXXX. to Mr. Dallas... 769 CXXXVIII. to Lord Holland. 787 LXXXI. to Mr. Dallas.. 769 CXXXIX. to Lord Holland.. 787 LXXXII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq.. 769 CXL. to Lord Holland.. 787 LXXXIII. to Mr. Murray... 770 CXLI. to Mr. Murray... 787 LXXXIV. to Mr. Dallas... 770 CXLIIl to Mr. Murray... 787 LXXXV. to R. C. Dallas, Esq.. 771 CXLII1. to Mr. William Bankes.. 788 LXXXVI. to Mr. Murray.. 771 CXLIV. to Mr. Murray... 788 LXXXVII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq... 771 CXLV. to Mr. Murray... 789 LXXXVIII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq.. 771 CXLVI. to Lord Holland.. 789 LXXXIX. to Mr. Murray.. 771 CXLVII. to Mr. Murray.. 789 XC. to Mr. Dallas... 771 CXLVIII. to Mr. Murray... 789 XCI. to R. C. Dallas, Esq.. 772 CXLIX. to Mr. Murray... 789 XCII. to Mr. Dallas... 772 CL. to Mr. Murray... 790 XCIII. to Mr. Dallas.... 772 CLI. to Mr. William Bankes.. 790 XCIV. to R. C. Dallas, Esq.. 772 CLII. to Mr. Murray... 790 XCV. to R. C. Dallas, Esq... 773 CLIII. to Mr. Rogers....790 XCVI. to Mr. Dallas... 773 CLIV. to Mr. Murray.. 791 XCVII. to Mr. Hodgson... 774 CLV. to Mr. Murray... 791 XCVIII.G to R. C. Dallas, Esq.. 775 CLVI. to Mr. Murray.. 791 XCIX. to R. C. Dallas, Esq... 775 CLVII. to Mr. Murray... 791 C. to R. C. Dallas, Esq.. 775 CLVIII. to WV. Gifford, Esq... 792 CI. to R. C. Dallas, Esq... 775 CLIX. to Mr. Moore.... 792 CII. to Miss Pigot... 776 CLX. to Mr. Moore... 792 CIII. Mr. Moore to Lord Byron. 776 CLXI. to Mr. Moore.... 792 CIV. to Mr. Moore... 776 CLXII. to Mr. Moore... 793 CV. to Mr. Moore... 776 CLXIII. to Mr. Moore.... 793 CVI. to Mr. Moore... 777 CLXIV. to Mr. Moore... 793 CVII. to Mr. Moore.... 777 CLXV. to Mr. Croker....794 CVIII. to Mr. Harness.. 777 CLXVI. to Mr. Murray.. 794 CIX. to Mr. Harness... 777 CLXVII. to Mr. Murray... 794 CX. to Mr. Hodgson... 778 CLXVIII. to Mr. Murray... 795 CXI. to Mr. Hodgson...778 CLXIX. to Mr. Moore.. 795 CXII. to Mr. Harness... 779 CLXX. to Mr. Moore... 796 CXIII. to Mr. Moore... 779 CLXXI. to Mr. Moore....796 CXIV. to Mr. Moore... 779 CLXXII. to Mr. Moore... 797 CXV. to Robert Rushton... 780 CLXXIII. to Mr. Moore.... 797 CXVI. to Robert Rushton.. 780 CLXXIV. to Mr. Moore... 797 CXyII. to Mr. Hodgson... 780 CLXXV. to Mr. Moore.... 797 CXVIII. to Master John Cowell. 780 CLXXVI. to Mr. Moore... 798 CXIX. to Mr. Rogers... 781 CLXXVII. to Mr. Moore....791 CXX. to Lord Holland.. 781 CLXXVIII. to Leigh Hunt... 799 CXXI. to Mr. Hodgson... 781 CLXXIX. to Mr. Moore... 799 CXXII. to Lord Holland.. 781 CLXXX. to Mr. Murray 800 CXXIII. to Mr. William Bankes.. 782 CLXXXI. to Mr. Gifford.... 800 CXXIV. to Mr. William Bankes. 782 CLXXXII. to Mr. Murray... 800 CXXV. to Lord Holland... 783 CLXXXIII. to Mr. Murray... 801 CXXVI. to Sir Walter Scott, Bart.. 783 CLXXXIV. to Mr. Murray... 801 CXXVII. to Lord Holland... 784 CLXXXV. to Mr. Murray... 802 CXXVIII. to Lord Holland. 784 CLXXXVI. to Mr. Murray... 802 CXXIX. to Lord Holland... 784 CLXXXVII. to Mr. Murray... 802 CXXX. to Lord Holland.. 784 CLXXXVIII. to Mr. Murray... 803 CXXXI. to Lord Holland... 784 CLXXXIX. to Mr. Ashe.... 803 CXXXII. to Lord Holland.. 785 CXC. to Mr. Ashe... 804 CXXXIII. to Lord Holland... 785 CXCI. to Mr. Galt.. 804 CXXXIV. to Lord Holland.. 785 CXCII. to Mr. Leigh Hunt.. 804 CONTENTS. iii Page Page LETTERS LETTERS CXCIII. to Mr. Merivale... 804 CCLI. to Mr. Murray... 823 CXCIV. to Mr. Murray... 804 CCLII. to Mr. Murray... 824 CXCV. to Mr. Moore... 805 CCLIII. to Mr. Nathan... 82 CXCVI. to Mr. Moore.. 805 CCLIV. to Mr. Moore... 824 CXCVII. to Mr. Murray...806 CCLV. to Mr. Moore... 824 CXCVIII. to Mr. Murray... 806 CCLVI. to Mr. Moore... 824 CXCIX. to Mr. Murray...806 CCLVII. to Mr. Murray... 825 CC. to Mr. Murray.. 807 CCLVIII. to Mr. Moore... 825 CCI. to Mr. Hodgson...807 CCLIX. to Mr. Moore... 825 CCII. to Mr. Moore... 808 CCLX. to Mr. Moore... 825 CCIII. to Mr. Hunt.... 808 CCLXI. to Mr. Moore... 826 CCIV. to Mr. Murray... 809 CCLXII. to Mr. Moore... 82 CCV. to Mr. Rogers... 809 CCLXIII. to Mr. Moore... 82] CCVI. to Mr. Rogers... 809 CCLXIV. to Mr. Coleridge.. 82, CCVII. to Mr. Moore... 809 CCLXV. to Mr. Murray... 828 CCVIII. to Mr. Dallas... 810 CCLXVI. to Mr. Moore... 828 CCIX. to *.... 810 CCLXVII. to Mr. Murray... 828 CCX. to Mr. Moore... 810 CCLXVIII. to Mr. Hunt... 828 CCXI. to W * * WV *, Esq.. 811 CCLXIX. to Mr. Moore... 829 CCXII. to Mr. Moore... 811 CCLXX. to Mr. Moore.. 829 CCXIII. to Mr. Moore... 811 CCLXXI. to Mr. Sotheby.. 830 CCXIV. to Mr. Murray.. 812 CCLXXII. to Mr. Sotheby.. 830 CCXV. to Mr. Murray... 812 CCLXXIII. to Mr. Taylor... 830 CCXVI. to Mr. Moore... 812 CCLXXIV. to Mr. Murray... 830 CCXVII. to Mr. Moore... 813 CCLXXV. to Mr. Murray... 831 CCXVIII. to Mr. Murray... 814 CCLXXVI. to Mr. Hunt... 831 CCXIX. to Mr. Murray... 814 CCLXXVII. to Mr. Hunt... 831 CCXX. to Mr. Murray.. 814 CCLXXVIII. to Mr. Hunt... 831 CCXXI. to Mr. Murray... 814 CCLXXIX. to Mr. Moore...832 CCXXII. to Mr. Murray... 814 CCLXXX. to Mr. Hunt... 832 CCXXIII. to Mr. Murray... 815 CCLXXXI. to Mr. Moore... 833 CCXXIV. to Mr. Moore... 816 CCLXXXII. to Mr. Moore... 833 CCXXV. to Mr. Moore... 816 CCLXXXIII. to Mr. Murray... 834 CCXXVI. to Mr. Moore... 816 CCLXXXIV. to Mr. Murray... 834 CCXXVII. to Mr. Rogers... 816 CCLXXXV. to Mr. Murray... 834 CCXXVIII. to Mr. Rogers... 817 CCLXXXVI. to Mr. Moore... 834 CCXXIX. to Mr. Moore... 817 CCLXXXVII. to Mr. Hunt... 835 CCXXX. to Mr. Moore... 817 CCLXXXVIII. to Mr. Rogers... 835 CCXXXI. to Mr. Murray... 818 CCLXXXIX. to Mr. Moore... 835 CCXXXII. to Mr. Murray... 818 CCXC. to Mr. Hunt... 836 CCXXXIII. to Mr. Murray... 818 CCXCI. to Mr. Moore... 836 CCXXXIV. to Mr. Moore... 818 CCXCII. to'Mr. Murray... 837 CCXXXV. to Mr. Murray... 819 CCXCIII. to Mr. Rogers... 837 CCXXXVI. to Mr. Murray... 819 CCXCIV. to Mr. Murray... 837 CCXXXVII. to Mr. Moore... 819 CCXCV. to Mr. Murray... 837 CCXXXVIII. to Mr. Moore... 820 CCXCVI. to Mr. Murray... 837 CCXXXIX. to Mr. Murray... 820 CCXCVII. to Mr. Murray... 837 CCXL. to Mr. Murray... 820 CCXCVIII. to Mr. Rogers... 838 CCXLI. to Mr. Moore... 821 CCXCIX. to Mr. Murray.. 838 CCXLII. to Mr. Moore... 821 CCC. to Mr. Murray... 838 CCXLIII. to Mr. Moore... 821 CCCI. to Mr. Rogers... 839 CCXLIV. to the Countess of * * 822 CCCII. to Mr. Murray... 839 CCXLV. to Mr. Moore... 822 CCCIII. to Mr. Murray... 840 CCXLVI. to Mr. Hunt... 822 CCCIV. to Mr. Murray.. 840 CCXLVII. to Mr. Moore...822 CCCV. to Mr. Murray.. 84C CCXLVIII. to Mr. Henry Drury. 823 CCCVI. to Mr. Murray. 841 CCXLIX. to Mr. Cowell...823 CCCVII. to Mr. Murray... 841 CCL. to Mr. Moore... 823 CCCVIII. to Mr. Moore.. 84! CONTENTS. Page Pag LETTERS LETTERS CCCIX. to Mr. Moore... 843 CCCLXVII. to Mr. Rogers... 872 CCCX. to Mr. Moore... 843 CCCLXVIII. to Mr. Moore... 872 CCCXI. to Mr. Murray... 845 CCCLXIX. to Mr. Murray... 873 CCCXII. to Mr. Murray.. 845 CCCLXX. to Mr. Murray.. 873 CCCXIII. to Mr. Murray... 846 CCCLXXI. to Mr. Murray... 873 CCCXIV. to Mr. Murray.. 846 CCCLXXII. to Mr. Murray.. 874 CCCXV. to Mr. Murray... 847 CCCLXXIII. to Mr. Murray.. 874 CCCXVI. to Mr. Moore... 848 CCCLXXIV. to Mr. Moore... 874 CCCXVII. to Mr. Murray... 849 CCCLXXV. to * * * *... 875 CCCXVIII. to Mr. Murray.. 849 CCCLXXVI. to Mr. Murray.. 877 CCCXIX. to Mr. Murray... 850 CCCLXXVII. to Mr. Murray... 877 CCCXX. to Mr. Moore... 850 CCCLXXVIII. to Mr. Murray.. 877 CCCXXI. to Mr. Murray... 851 CCCLXXIX. to Mr. Murray.. 878 CCCXXII. to Mr. Murray.. 851 CCCLXXX. to Capt. Basil Hall. 878 CCCXXIII. to Mr. Moore... 852 CCCLXXXI. to Mr. Moore... 878 CCCXXIV. to Mr. Moore... 852 CCCLXXXII. to Mr. Murray.. 879 CCCXXV. to Mr. Murray...853 CCCLXXXIII. to Mr. Murray... 879 CCCXXVI. to Mr. Moore... 854 CCCLXXXIV. to Mr. Murray.. 879 CCCXXVII. to Mr. Murray... 855 CCCLXXXV. to Mr. Murray... 88t CCCXXVIII. to Mr. Rogers.. 855 CCCLXXXVI. to Mr. Murray.. 880 CCCXXIX. to Mr. Murray... 856 CCCLXXXVII. to the Editor of Galignani's CCCXXX. to Mr. Moore... 856 Messenger.. 881 CCCXXXI. to Mr. Murray...857 CCCLXXXVIII. to Mr. Murray... 881 CCCXXXII. to Mr. Murray.. 858 CCCLXXXIX. to Mr. Murray.. 881 CCCXXXIII. to Mr. Murray... 858 CCCXC. to Mr. Murray... 882 CCCXXXIV. to Mr. Murray.. 858 CCCXCI. to Mr. Hoppner.. 882 CCCXXXV. to Mr. Murray... 859 CCCXCII. to Mr. Hoppner... 882 CCCXXXVI. to Mr. Moore.. 859 CCCXCIII. to Mr. Murray.. 883 CCCXXXVII. to Mr. Murray... 859 CCCXCIV. to Mr. Hoppner... 884 CCCXXXVIII. to Mr. Murray.. 860 CCCXCV. to Mr.Murray.. 884 CCCXXXIX. to Mr. Murray... 861 CCCXCVI. to Mr. Hoppner... 885 CCCXL. to Mr. Murray.. 861 CCCXCVII. to Mr. Murray.. 885 CCCXLI. to Mr. Murray... 861 CCCXCVIII. to Mr. Murray... 885 CCCXLII. to Mr. Murray.. 862 CCCXCIX. to Mr. Murray.. 886 CCCXLIII. to Mr. Murray...862 CCCC. to Mr. Murray.. 887 CCCXLIV. to Mr. Murray.. 862 CCCCI. to the Countess Guiccioli 887 CCCXLV. to Mr. Murray... 863 CCCCII. to Mr. Murray... 887 CCCXLVI. to Mr. Moore... 863 CCCCIII. to Mr. Murray.. 887 CCCXLVII. to Mr. Murray... 863 CCCCIV. to Mr. Hoppner.. 888 CCCXLVIII. to Mr. Murray.. 864 CCCCV. to Mr. Hoppner.. 889 CCCXLIX. to Mr. Murray... 864 CCCCVI. to Mr. Hoppner... 889 CCCL. to Mr. Murray.. 865 CCCCVII. to Mr. Murray.. 889 CCCLI. to Mr. Murray... 865 CCCCVIII. to Mr. Hoppner... 890 CCCLII. to Mr. Murray.. 866 CCCCIX. to Mr. Murray.. 890 CCCLIII. to Mr. Hoppner... 866 CCCCX. to Mr. Bankes.. 891 CCCLIV. to Mr. Murray.. 866 CCCCXI. to Mr. Murray.. 891 CCCLV. to Mr. Murray... 867 CCCCXII. to the Countess Guiccioli 892 CCCLVI. to Mr. Murray.. 867 CCCCXIII. to the Countess Guiccioli 892 CCCLVII. to Mr. Murray... 868 CCCCXIV. to Mr. Hoppner... 892 CCCLVIII. to Mr. Murray.. 868 CCCCXV. to Mr. Murray. 892 CCCLIX. to Mr. Murray...869 CCCCXVI. to Mr. Hoppner... 893 CCCLX. to Mr. Hoppner.. 869 CCCCXVII. to Mr. Moore... 893 CCCLXI. to Mr. Murray... 869 CCCCXVIII. to Mr. Hoppner... 893 CCCLXII. to Mr. Murray.. 870 CCCCXIX. to Mr. Hoppner.. 894 CCCLXIII. to Mr. Murray... 870 CCCCXX. to Mr. Murray... 894 CCCLXIV. to Mr. Moore... 870 CCCCXXI. to Mr. Bankes.. 894 CCCLXV. to Mr. Murray... 870 CCCCXXII. to Mr. Murray... 895 CCCLXVI. to Mr. Hoppner.. 871 CCCCXXIII. to Mr. Bankes.. 896 CONTENTS. PageRS L LCTTERS LETTERS CCCCXXIV. to Mr. Murray... 896 CCCCLXXXI. to Mr. Murray...921 CCCCXXV. to Mr. Murray.. 897 CCCCLXXXII. to Mr. Perry.. 921 CCCCXXVI. to Mr. Murray.. 897 CCCCLXXXIII. to Mr. Murray... 922 CCCCXXVII. to Mr. Murray... 897 CCCCLXXXIV. to Mr. Hoppner.. 922 CCCCXXVIII. to Mr. Murray...897 CCCCLXXXV. to Mr. Murray...923 CCCCXXIX. to Mr. Murray.. 897 CCCCLXXXVI. to Mr. Shelley. 923 CCCCXXX. to Mr. Murray... 898 CCCCLXXXVII. to Mr. Murray... 923 CCCCXXXI. to Mr. Hoppner. 898 CCCCLXXXVIII. to Mr. Moore. 924 CCCXXXII. to Mr. Murray...898 CCCCLXXXIX. to Mr. Moore.. 924 CCCCXXXIII. to Mr. Murray.. 899 CCCCXC. to Mr. Murray. 924 CCCCXXXIV. to Mr. Hoppner.. 899 CCCCXCI. to Mr. Hoppner. 925 CCCCXXXV. to Mr. Murray.. 899 CCCCXCII. to Mr. Murray.. 925 CCCCXXXVI. to Mr. Murray... 900 CCCCXCIII. to Mr. Moore.. 925 CCCCXXXVII. to Mr. Murray.. 901 CCCCXCIV. to Mr. Murray. 926 CCCCXXXVIII. to Mr. Murray...901 CCCCXCV. to the Countess Guiccioli 926 CCCCXXXIX. to Mr. Moore.. 901 CCCCXCVI. to Mr. Moore.. 926 CCCCXL. to Mr. Hoppner.. 902 CCCCXCVII. to Mr. Hoppner.. 927 CCCCXLI. to Mr. Moore.. 902 CCCCXCVIII. to Mr. Murray. 927 CCCCXLII. to Mr. Murray... 903 CCCCXCIX. to Mr. Murray...927 CCCCXLIII. to Mr. Moore.. 903 D. to Mr. Murray.. 927 CCCCXLIV. to Mr. Moore.. 903 DI. to Mr. Hoppner. 928 CCCCXLV. to Mr. Murray.. 904 DII. to Mr. Moore. 928 CCCCXLVI. to Mr. Murray...905 DIII. to Mr. Moore.. 928 CCCCXLVII. to Mr. Moore.. 905 DIV. to Mr. Moore. 929 fCCCXLVIII. to Mr. Murray... 905 DV. to Mr. Murray... 929 CCCCXLIX. to Mr. Murray.. 906 DVI. to Mr. Murray. 929 CCCCL. to Mr. Murray...906 DVII. to Mr. Murray.. 930 CCCCLI. to Mr. Murray.. 906 DVIII. to Mr. Hoppner.. 930 CCCCLII. to Mr. Murray... 906 DIX. to Mr. Murray... 930 CCCCLIII. to Mr. Murray.. 906 DX. to Mr. MoOre.. 931 CCCCLIV. to Mr. Murray...907 DXI. to Mr. Murray.. 932 CCCCLV. to Mr. Murray.. 908 DXII. to Mr. Murray. 932 CCCCLVI. to Mr. Murray...908 DXIII. to Mr. Murray.. 932 CCCCLVII. to Mr. Murray.. 909 DXIV. to Mr. Moore. 933 CCCCLVIII. to Mr. Murray...909 DXV. to Mr. Murray..933 CCCCLIX. to Mr. Moore.. 910 DXVI. to Mr. Murray. 933 CCCCLX. to Mr. Murray.. 910 DXVII. to Mr. Moore. 934 CCCCLXI. to Mr. Murray.. 911 DXVIII. to Mr. Murray. 934 CCCCLXII. to Mr. Moore... 911 DXIX. to Mr. Murray.. 935 CCCCLXIII. to Mr. Murray.. 912 DXX. to Mr. Moore.. 935 CCCCLXIV. to Mr. Murray...912 DXXI. to Mr. Moore.. 935 CCCCLXV. to Mr. Murray.. 913 DXXII. to Mr. Moore.. 936 CCCCLXVI. to Mr. Murray...914 DXXIII. to Mr. Murray.. 936 CCCCLXVII. to Mr. Moore.. 914 DXXIV. to Mr. Murray...937 CCCCLXVIII. to Mr. Moore... 915 DXXV. to Mr. Moore.. 938 CCCCLXIX. to Mr. Moore.. 915 DXXVI. to Mr. Murray.. 938 Address to the Neapolitan Government. 916 DXXVII. to Mr. Moore. 938 CCCCLXX. to Mr. Moore.. 916 DXXVIII. to Mr. Moore...939 CCCCLXXI. to Mr. Murray.. 917 DXXIX. to Mr. Moore. 939 CCCCLXXII. to Mr. Murray.. 917 DXXX. to Mr. Murray... 940 CCCCLXXIII. to Mr. Murray...918 DXXXI. to Mr. Murray. 940 CCCCLXXIV. to Mr. Murray.. 918 DXXXII. to Mr. Rogers. 940 CCCCLXXV. to Mr. Moore...918 DXXXIII. to Mr. Moore. 941 CCCCLXXLVI. to Mr. Murray.. 918 DXXXIV. to Mr. Murray... 941 CCCCLXXVII. to Mr. Murray...919 DXXXV. to Mr. Murray.. 941 CCCCLXXVIII. to Mr. Murray.. 919 DXXXVI. to Mr. Moore.. 942 CCCCLXXIX. to Mr. Murray...920 DXXXVII. to Mr. Sheppard.. 943 CCCCLXXX. to Mr. Moore.. 921 DXXXVIII. to Mr. Murray.. 943 vi CONTENTS. Page Page LEITERS LETTERS DXXXIX. to Mr. Murray... 943 DXCVI. to Goethe... 965 DXL. to Mr. Moore... 944 DXCVII. to Mr. Bowring... 965 DXLI. to Mr. Shelley... 944 DXCVIII. to the General Government of DXLII. to Mr. Moore... 944 Greece... 966 DXLIII. to Sir Walter Scott, Bart.. 945 DXCIX. to Prince Mavrocordato. 966 DXLIV. to Douglas Kinnaird. 945 DC. to Mr. Bowring.. 966 DXLV. to Mr. Murray... 946 DCI. to Mr. Bowring.. 967 DXLVI. to Mr. Moore... 946 DCII. to Mr. Bowring... 967 DXLVII. to Mr. Moore... 947 DCIII. to the Honorable Mr. Douglas DXLVIII. to Mr. Moore... 947 Kinnaird...967 DXLIX. to Mr. Moore... 947 DCIV. to Mr. Bowring.. 968 DL. to Mr. Moore... 948 DCV. to Mr. Moore... 968 DLI. to Mr. Moore.. 948 DCVI. to the Hon. Colonel Stanhope 969 DLII. to Mr. Murray... 948 DCVII. to Mr. Muir... 969 DLIII. to Mr. Moore... 949 DCVIII. to Mr. C. Hancock.. 969 DLIV. to Mr. Murray... 949 DCIX. to Mr. Charles Hancock. 970 DLV. to Mr. Murray... 949 DCX. to Mr. Charles Hancock. 971 DLVI. to Mr. Murray... 950 DCXI. to Mr. Charles Hancock 971 DLVII. to Mr. Murray... 950 DCXII. to * *... 971 DLVIII. to Mr. Shelley... 950 DCXIII. to Mr. Charles Hancock. 972 DLIX. to Sir Walter Scott.. 950 DCXIV. to Andrew Londo.. 973 DLX. to Mr. Murray... 951 DCXV. to His Highness Yussuff DLXI. to Mr. Moore... 951 Pacha... 973 DLXII. to Mr. Murray... 951 DCXVI. to Mr. Barff.. 973 DLXIII. to Mr. Murray... 952 DCXVII. to Mr. Mayer... 973 DLXIV. to Mr. Murray... 952 DCXVIII. to the Honorable Douglas DLXV. to Mr. Moore.. 952 Kinnaird... 974 DLXVI. to Mr. Ellice.953 DCXIX. to Mr. Barff.... 974 DLXVII. to Mr. Murray... 953 DCXX. to Mr. Murray... 974 DLXVIII. to Mr. Murray. 953 DCXXI. to Mr. Iloore. 975 DLXIX. to Mr. Moore.. 953 DCXXII. to Dr. Kennedy. 975 DLXX. to Mr. Moore..954 DCXXIII. to Mr. Barff.. 976 DLXXI. to Mr. Moore.. 954 DCXXIV. to Mr. Barff... 976 DLXXII. to Mr. Murray... 955 DCXXV. to Sr. Parruca.. 976 DLXXIII. to Mr. Murray. 955 DCXXVI. to Mr. Charles Hancock. 976 DLXXIV. to Mr. Murray... 956 DCXXVII. to Dr. Kennedy.. 976 DLXXV. to Lady... 957 DCXXVIII. to Colonel Stanhope. 977 DLXXVI. to Mr. Proctor.. 957 DCXXIX. to Mr. Barff.. 977 DLXXVII. to Mr. Moore... 957 DCXXX. to Mr. Barff... 977 DLXXVIII. to Mrs. -... 957 DCXXXI. to Mr. Barff.... 978 DLXXIX. to Lady * * *.. 958 DCXXXII. to * * * * *, a Prussian Officer 978 DLXXX. to Mr. Moore.. 958 DCXXXIII. to Mr. Barff.... 978 DLXXXI. to the Earl of Blessington 959 DCXXXIV. to Mr. Barff.. 978 DLXXXII. to the Earl of Blessington. 959 DCXXV. to Mr. Barff.... 979 DLXXXIII. to the Earl of Blessington 960 Extracts from a Journal, begun November 14, DLXXXIV. to the Count * *.. 960 1813......979 DLXXXV. to the Countess of Blessington 960 Extracts from a Journal in Switzerland. 995 DLXXXVI. to the Countess of ***. 961 Extracts from a Journal in Italy... 998 DLXXXVII. to Lady Byron... 961 Detached Thoughts, extracted from various DLXXXVIII. to Mr. Blaquiere... 961 Journals, Memorandums, &c., &c... 1010 DLXXXIX. to Mr. Bowring.. 962 Review of Wordsworth's Poems.. 1022 DXC. to Mr. Bowring... 963 Review of Gell's Geography of Ithaca, and DXCI. to Mr. Church, American Itinerary of Greece... 1023 Consul at Genoa.. 963 The First Chapter of a Novel, contemplated DXCII. to M. H. Beyle.. 963 by Lord Byron in the Spring of 1812; (afterDXCIII. to Lady * * *.. 964 wards Published in one of Mr. Dallas's DXCIV. to the Countess of Blessington 964 Novels.. 1028 DXCV. to Mr. Bowring... 964 Parliamentary Speeches... 1029 CONTENTS.. Page Page A fragment..... 1035 Note... 1054 Letter to John Murray on the Rev. W. L. Some Observations upon an Article in BlackBowles's Strictures on the Life and Writings wood's Magazine... 1053 of Pope... 1037 Letter to the Editor of My Grandmother's Notes....1046 Review.... 1064 Observations upon "Observations." A Sec- Lord Bacon's Apothegms... 1066 ond Letter to John Murray, Esq., on the Translation of Two Epistles from the ArmeRev. W. L. Bowles's Strictures on the Life nian Version... 1068 and Writings of Pope... 1046 The Will of Lord Byron.. i070 THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. GEORGE GORDON BYRON was born in Holles through the care and dailyinstruction of this nurse, street, London, on the 22d day of January, 1788. he attained a far earlier and more intimate acquaintSoon after his birth, his father deserted him, and the ance with the Sacred Writings, than falls to the lot whole responsibility of his early training devolved of most young people. on his mother, who, with him, soon after repaired The defect in the formation of his foot, and a great to Aberdeen, where they resided for some time in weakness of constitution, induced his mother to keep almost complete seclusion, him from an attendance on school, that he might The infancy of Byron was marked with the work- expand his lungs and brace his limbs, upon the ings of that wild and active spirit which he so fully mountains of the neighborhood. displayed in all subsequent years of his life. As a This was evidently the most judicious method for child, his temper was violent, or rather, sullenly imparting strength to his bodily frame; and the sepassionate. Being angrily reprimanded by his nurse, quel showed that it likewise imparted tone and one day, for having soiled or torn a new frock in vigor to his mind. The savage grandeur of nature which he had just been dressed, he got into one of around him; the feeling that he was upon the hills his " silent rages," (as he termed them,) seized the where frock with both hands, rent it from top to bottom, "Foreign tyrant never trod, and stood in sullen stillness, setting his censurer But freedom, with her falchiol bright, and her wrath at defiance. swept the stranger from her sight; " Notwithstanding these unruly outbreaks, in whic hiih h h he was too much encouraged by the example of his his intercourse with a people whose chief amusemother, who frequently proceeded to the same ex- ments consisted in the recital of heroic tales of other tremities with her own caps, gowns, &c., there times, feats of strength, and a display of independwas in his disposition a mixture of affectionate ence, blended with the wild, supernatural stories pesweetness and playfulness, which attached many to culiar to remote and thinly-peopled districts;-al him, and which rendered him then, as in riper years, these were calculated to foster that peculiar poetical easily manageable by those who loved and under- feeling innate in his character. stood him sufficiently to be at once gentle and firm The malformation of his foot was a subject on enough for the task. which young Byron was extremely sensitive. As The undivided affection of the mother was natu-his nurse was walking with him one day, she was rally centered in her son, who was her darling; and joined by a female friend, who said, " What a pretty when he only went out for an ordinary walk, she boy, Byron is! what a pity he has such a leg." On would entreat him, with tears in her eyes, to take hearing this allusion to his infirmity, the child's care of himself, as "she had nothing on earth but eyes flashed with anger, and, striking at her with a him to live for;" a conduct not at all pleasing to little whip hich he held in his hd, he impatiently his adventurous spirit; the more especially as some exclaimed, " Dinna speak f it! of his companions, who beheld the affectionate As an instance of his quickness and energy at this scene, would laugh and ridicule about it. This ex- period, might be mentioned a little incident that occessive maternal affection and indulgence, and the curred one night during the performance of " Tamentire absence of that salutary discipline so neces- ing a Shrew, which his nurse had taken him to see. sary to childhood, doubtless contributed to the He had attended some time, with silent interest; formation of these unpleasant traits of character but, in the scene between Katherine and Petruchio, that distinguished Byron from all others in subse- where the following dialogue takes place,quent years. a"Kath. — knowit is the moon. An accident, at the time of birth, caused a mal- Pe.-Nay, then, you lie,-it is the blessed sun," formation of one of his feet. Many expedients were used to restore the limb to its proper shape, George started up, and cried out boldly, " But I say under the direction of Dr. Hunter. His nurse, to it is the moon, sir." whom fell the task of putting on the bandages, Byron was not quite five years of age when he was would often sing him to sleep, or relate to him sto- sent to a day school at Aberdeen, taught by Mr. ries and legends, in which, like most other children, Bowers. At that school he remained about one he manifested great delight. She also taught him year. to repeat a great number of Psalms; and the first During his schoolboy days he was lively, warmand twenty-third were among the earliest that he hearted, generous, and high-spirited. He was, howcommitted to memory. Out of these lessons arose, ever, passionate and resentful, and to a remarkable long afterwards, the " Hebrew Melodies; " which, degree venturesome and fearless. If he received an but for them, never would have been written,'though injury, he was sure to revenge it: though the castiByron studied Lowth on the Sacred Poetry of the gation he inflicted might be long on its way, yet it Hebrews all his life. It is a remarkable fact, that, came at length, and severely. Vnii BYRON'S WORKS He was a brave youth, and was much more anx- placably. The old lady had some curious notions ious to excel his fellows by prowess in sport and respecting the soul, which, she imagined, took its gymnastic exercises, than by advancement in learn- flight to the moon after death, as a preliminary ing. essay, before it proceeded further. One day, after When any study pleased him, he devoted all his a repetition, it is supposed, of her original insult to attention to it, and was quick in the performance of the boy, he appeared before his nurse in a violent his task. He cared but little where he stood in his rage. "Well, my little hero," she asked, " what's class; and at the foot was as agreeable to him as at the matter with you, now?" Upon which the the head. child answered, that " this old wonman had put him He remained at school until the year 1796, when in a terrible passion,-that he could not bear the an attack of scarlet fever weakened his, by no means sight of her," &c., &c.,-and then broke out into strong, constitution, and he was removed by his the following doggerel, which he repeated over and mother to the Highlands. over, as if delighted with the vent he had found for From the period of his residence in the High- his rage;lands, Byron dated his love of mountainous countries and his equally ardent love of solitude. While "As Nottigan colly, there lives a Swan Green, As curst an old lady as ever was seen; at Aberdeen, he would escape unnoticed, and find And when she does die, which 1 hope will be soon, his way to the sea-side. At one time, it was sup- She firmly believes she will go to the moon." posed he was lost, and after a long and anxious search he was found struggling for his life in a sort This was the occasion and the result of his first of morass or marsh, in which he would undoubtedly effort at rhyming.. His "first dash at poetry," as have perished, had not some one came to the rescue. he calls it, was made one year later, during a vacaMany like instances occurred during his residence tion visit at the house of a cousin, Miss Parker. among the Highlands. His love of adventure often Of that poem, he says, " It was the ebullition of a led him into difficulty and danger. While scram- passion for my first cousin, one of the most beautibling over a declivity that overhung a small water- ful of evanescent beings. I have long forgotten fall, called tIen-in of Dee, some heather caught the verses, but it would be difficult for me to forget his lame foot, and he fell. He was rolling down- her-her dark eyes-her long eye-lashes-her comward, when the attendant luckily caught him, and pletely Greek cast of face and figure'I was then was but just in time to save him from being killed. about twelve-she rather older, perhaps a year." On the 17th of May, 1798, William, the fifth Lord Love for this young lady obtained strong hold of Byron, died without issue, at Newstead, and young his heart. Of her personal appearance, he says. Byron, then in his tenth year, succeeded to his "I do not recollect any thing equal to the transpatitles and his estates; and his cousin, the Earl of rent beauty of my cousin, or to the sweetness of her Carlisle, the son of the late Lord's sister, was ap- temper, during the short period of our intimacy. pointed his guardian. She looked as if she had been made out of a rainUpon this change of fortune, Lord Byron was bow-all beauty and peace." removed from under the immediate care of his After a short visit at Cheltenham, in the summer mother. of 1801, at the earnest solicitation of his mother, In the latter part of 1798 he went with his mother he was placed at Harrow, under the tuition of to Newstead Abbey. On their arrival, he was placed Doctor Drury, to whom he testified his gratitude in at Nottingham, under the care of a person who a note to the fourth canto of Childe Harold. In professed to be able to cure his lameness; at the one of his manuscript journals,. he says, "Dr. same time, he made some advancement in Latin Drury was the best, the kindest friend I ever hadstudies, under the tuition of a schoolmaster of that and I look upon him still as a father." town, a Mr. Rogers, who read parts of Virgil and "Though he was lame," says one of his schoolCicero with him. The name of the man whose fellows, "he was a great lover of sports, and prepretensions in curing excelled his skill, and under ferred hockey to Horace, relinquished even Helicon whose empiricism the young lord was placed, was for'duck puddle,' and gave up the best poet that Lavender; and the manner in which he proceeded ever wrote hard Latin for a game of cricket on the to effect a cure was, by first rubbing the foot over common. He was not remarkable (nor was he ever) for a long time with handsful of oil, and then for his learning, but he was always a clever, plainforcibly twisting the foot round, and binding it up in spoken, and undaunted boy. I have seen him fight a sort of a machine, with about as much care and by the hour like a Trojan, and stand up against the thought of the pain he might give, as if straighten- disadvantage of his lameness with all the spirit of ing up a crooked limb of a tree. an ancient combatant." Byron, during his lessons with Mr. Rogers, was It was during a vacation, and his residence at often in violent pain; and one day the latter said to Newstead, that he formed an acquaintance with him, "It makes me uncomfortable, my lord, to see Miss Chaworth, an event which, according to his you sitting there in such pain as I know you must be own deliberate persuasion, exercised a lasting and suffering." "Never mind, Mr. Rogers," answered paramount influence over the whole of his subthe boy; "you shall not see any signs of it in me." sequent character and eventful career. -This gentleman often spoke of the gaiety of his Twice had he lovea, and now a third time he pupil, and the delight he experienced in exposing bowed before beauty, wit, and worth. Lavender's pompous ignorance. One day he wrote The father of this young lady had been killed in down on a sheet of paper all the letters of the a duel by the eccentric grand-uncle of Byron, and alphabet, put together at random, and placing them the union of the young peer with her, the heiress of before this concentrated body of, pretension, asked Annesley Hall, "would," as he said, "have healed him very seriously what language it was. Not feuds in which blood had been shed by our fathers; wishing to expose his ignorance, and not dreaming it would have joined lands rich and broad; it would of the snare to trip him, he replied as seriously as have joined at least one heart, and two persons not the inquiry was put, that it was Italian, to the ill-matched in years." But all this was destined to infinite delight of the young satirist, who burst exist but in imagination. They had a parting into a loud laugh. interview in the following year; and, in 1805, Miss At about this period, Lord Byron's first symptom Chaworth was married to Mr. Musters, with whom of a tendency to rhyme manifested itself. The she lived unhappily. She died in 1831. Many of occasion which gave rise to it is thus related:- his smaller poems are addressed to this lady. The An elderly lady, who was in the habit of visiting scene of their last interview is most exquisitely his mother, had made use of some expressions that described in " The Dream." very much affronted him; and these slights, his During one of the Harrow vacations he studied nurse said, he generally resented violently and im- French, but with little success, under the direction THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 1 of the Abbe de Rouffigny. The vacation of 1804 His residencewas now at Newstead, where, during he spent with his mother at Southwell, and in the preparation of the new edition of his poems, he October, 1805, he left harrow, and entered Trinity dispensed with a liberal hand the hospitalities of College, Cambridge. He left with feelings of sad- the old Abbey to a party of college friends.' C. S. ness. He says, "I always hated Harrow till the Matthews, one of this party, in a letter to an last year and a half, but then I liked it." He now acquaintance, gives the following description of the began to feel that he was no longer a boy, and in Abbey at that time, and amusing account of the solitude he mourned over the truth; this sorrow he proceedings and habits of its occupants: — could not at all times repress in public. " Newstead Abbey is situated one hundred and Soon after entering college, he formed an attach- thirty-six miles from London-four on this side mont with a youth named Eddleston, which exceeded Mansfield. Though sadly fallen to decay, it is still in warmth and romance all his schoolboy attach- completely an abbey, and most part of it is still ments. standing in the same state as when it was first In the summer of 1806, another visit to South- built. There are two tiers of cloisters, with a well resulted in an acquaintance with the family of variety of cells and rooms about them, which, Pigots, to a lady of which the earliest of his pub- though not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, lished letters were addressed. might easily be made so; and many of the original The temper of his mother exceeded all bounds. rooms, amongst which is a fine stone hall, are still This temper, Byron in a great degree inherited. In in use. Of the abbey-church only one end remains; his childhood, this passion often broke out in the and the old kitchen, with a long range of apartmost violent manner. Mother and son were often ments, is reduced to a heap of rubbish. Leading quarrelling, and provocations finally led to a sepa- from the abbey to the modern part of the habitaration, in August, 1806. Byron fled to London, tion is a noble room, seventy feet in length and where his mother followed him, made overtures of twenty-three in breadth; but every part of the peace, and a reconciliation was brought about. house displays neglect and decay, save those which Early in November, his first volume of poems the present lord has lately fitted up. were put in press. It was entitled "Poems on "The house and gardens are entirely surrounded Various Occasions," and was printed anonymously by a wall with battlements. In front is a large by Mr. Ridge, a bookseller at Newark. Becoming lake, bordered here and there with castellated dissatisfied with this, he caused a second edition to buildings, the chief of which stands on an eminence be printed in January, in which he omitted many at the further extremity of it. Fancy all this pieces which had appeared in the first. This was surrounded with bleak and barren hills, with scarce not intended for public scrutiny, but merely circu- a tree to be seen for miles, except a solitary clump lated among his friends, and such persons as he or two, and you will have some idea of Newstead. thought well disposed towards the first effort of a "So much for the place, concerning which I have young and inexperienced author, thrown together these few particulars. But if the Encouraged by its favorable reception, he again place itself appears rather strange to you, the ways re-wrote the poems, made many additions and of its inhabitants will not appear much less so. alterations, and, under the name of "Hours of Ascend, then, with me the hall steps, that I may Idleness," sent his volume forth to the public. introduce you to my lord and his visitants. But This book, containing many indications of genius, have a care how you proceed; be mindful to go also contained many errors of taste and judgment, there in broad daylight, and with your eyes about which were fiercely assailed by a critique* in the you. For, should you make a-y blunders,-should Edinburgh Review, and brought forth from Byron you go to the right of the hall steps, you are laid the stinging satire, " English Bards and Scotch hold of by a bear; and should you go to the left, Reviewers." your case is still worse, for you run full against a The minor reviews gave the "Hours of Idleness" wolf.* Nor, when you have attained the door, is a better reception, yet we may, with no degree of un- your danger over; for the hall being decayed, and reasonableness, suppose that to the scorching words therefore standing in need of repair, a bevy of of the Edinburgh he owed much of future success inmates are very probably banging at one end of it and fame. He was roused like a lion in its lair. with their pistols; so that if you enter without lie felt, though it might be true, he did not deserve giving loud notice of your approach, you have only such an article, and he resolutely determined to escaped the wolf and the bear, to expire by the show the critic that he had talent and genius, pistol-shots o' the merry monks of Newstead. though the reviewer, in his eager search for its "Our party consisted of Lord Byron and four absence, could not discover its presence. others, and was, now and then, increased by the Lord Byron supposed Jeffrey to be the author of presence of a neighboring parson. As for our way the obnoxious article, and he poured out on him of living, the order of the day was generally this:his vials of wrath and merciless satire. for breakfast we had no set hour, but each suited During the progress of his poem through the his own convenience,-every thing remaining on press, he added to it more than a hundred lines. the table till the whole party had done; though New impressions and influences gave birth to new had one wished to breakfast at the early hour of thoughts, and he made his Bards and Reviewers ten, one would have been rather lucky to find any carry them forth to vex and annoy his victims. of the servants up. Our average hour of rising The person who superintended its progress through was one. I, who generally got up between eleven the press, daily received new matter for its pages; and twelve, was always-even when an invalidand, in a note to that gentleman, Byron says, the first of the party, and was esteemed a prodigy "Print soon, or I shall overflow with rhyme." It of early rising. It was frequently past two before was so in subsequent years. If he could reach his the breakfast party broke up. Then, for the amuseprinter, he would continue to send his " thick- ment of the morning, there was reading, fencing, coming fancies," which were suggested by perusals single-stick, or shuttlecock, in the great reom; of what he had already written. practising with pistols in the hall; walking, riding, On the 13th of March, he took his seat in the cricket, sailing on the lake, playing with the bear, House of Lords, and on the middle of the same teasing the wolf. Between seven and eight we month published his satire. From the hour of its dined; and our evening lasted from that time till appearance, fame and fortune followed him. Its one, two, or three in the morning. The evening success was such as to demand his attention in the diversions may be easily conceived. preparation of a second edition. To this much was " I must not omit the custom of handing round, added, and to it was prefixed his name. after dinner, on the removal of the cloth, a human Lord Brougham. * Lord Byron's pet annimarls at Newstead. x BYRON'S WORKS. skull filled with Burgundy. After revelling on around him from the depths of solitude the spirits choice viands, and the finest wines of France, we of other times to people its ruins. adjourned to tea, where we amused ourselves with He made frequent excursions to Attica, on one reading or improving conversation,-each according of which he came near being seized by a band of to his fancy,-and, after sandwiches, &c., retired pirates dwelling in a cave under the cliffs of Mito rest. A set of monkish dresses, which had been nerva Sunias. provided, with all the proper apparatus of crosses, His beautiful song, " Maid of Athens, ere we beads, tonsures, &c., often gave a variety to our part," was addressed to the eldest daughter of the appearance, and to our pursuits." Greek lady, at whose house he lodged. Byron was at London when he put the finishing Ten weeks had flown rapidly and pleasantly away, touches upon the new edition, which, having done, when the unexpected offer of a passage in a Brithe took leave of that city, and soon after sailed for ish sloop of war to Smyrna, induced the travellers Lisbon. After a passage of four days, he arrived to leave Athens, which they did, on the 5th ol at his destination, in company with his friend, Mr. March, with much reluctance. John Cam Hobhouse. They remained but a short At Smyrna, Lord Byron resided in the house of time in Lisbon, from whence they travelled on the Consul-General. In the course of his residence horseback to Seville and Cadiz. He was as free here, he made a three-day visit to the ruins of Epheand easy in each of these places as he had been at sus. While at S.. he finished the two first cantos home. In Lisbon, as he said, he ate oranges, of "Childe Harold," which he had commenced five talked bad Italian to the monks, went into society months before at Joannina. with pocket pistols, swam the Tagus, and became The Salsette frigate being about to sail for Conthe victim of musquitoes. In Seville, a lady of stantinople, Lord Byron and Hobhouse took pascharacter became fondly attached to him, and at sage in her. It was while this frigate lay at anchor parting gave him a lock of her hair " three feet in in the Dardanelles, that Byron accomplished his length," which he sent home to his mother. In famous feat of swimming the Hellespont. The Cadiz, "Miss Cordova and her little brother" distance across was about two miles; but the tide became his favorites, and the former his preceptress ran so strong that a direct course could not be purin Spanish. He alludes to this in one of his poems. sued, and he swam three miles. He arrived at Constantinople on the 13th of May.'Tis pleasing to be school'd n a strange tongue female lips ascd eyes-that is, I mean. While there, he wore a scarlet coat, richly embroiBy female lips and eyes —that is, I rean.with two heavy epaulettes and a When both the teacher and the taught are young,e th, h t ha y epae e a As was the case, at least, where 1 have been." feathered cocked hat. He remained about two months, during which time he was presented to the Leaving Cadiz, in the Hyperion frigate, he sailed Sultan, and made a journey to the Black Sea and for Gibralter, where he remained till the 19th of other places of note in that vicinity. On the 14th August, when he left for Malta. of July, they left in the Salsette frigate,-Mr. HobAt this latter place, he formed an acquaintance house intending to accompany Mr. Adair, the Engwith Mrs. Spencer Smith, a lady whose life had lish ambassador, to England, and Byron determined been fertile with remarkable incidents, and whom to visit Greece. he addresses, in his poetry, under the name of The latter landed at Zea, with two Albanians, a "Florence." Tartar, and his English servant. Leaving Zea, he After remaining at anchor for three or four days reached Athens on the 18th. From thence, he made off Patras, Byron and his friend proceeded to their another tour over the same places he had previousl] ultimate destination. On their passage, they had a visited, and returned to Athens in December, with most charming sunset view of Missolonghi. They the purpose of remaining there during his sojourn landed at Prevesa on the 29th of September. From in Greece. The persons with whom he associated Prevesa they journeyed to the capital of Albania, at Athens, were Lord Sligo, Lady Hester Stanhope, and, soon after, to Yanina; at which place he and Mr. Bruce. Most of his time was employed in learned that Ali Pacha was with his troops in collecting materials for those notes on the state of Illyrium, besieging Ibrahim Pacha in Berat. From modern Greece, appended to the second canto of Yanina, Lord Byron passed to Tepaleen. Being Childe Harold. Here also he wrote, "Hints from among the first English travellers in that part of Horace," a satire full of London life, yet, singular the world, they met with much attention, and the as it may appear, dated, "Athens, Capuchin Congreatest show of hospitality. vent, March 12, 1811." With the intention of going to Patras, Lord He intended to have gone to Egypt, but failing Byron embarked on board a Turkish ship of war, to receive expected remittances, he was obliged to provided for him by Ali Pacha. A moderate gale forego the pleasure of that trip, and he left Athens of wind arose, and, owing to the ignorance of the and landed at Malta. There he suffered severely Turkish officers, the vessel came near being wrecked. from an attack of fever, recovering from which, he Luckily for all on board, the wind abated, and drove sailed in the Volage frigate for England. He left them on the coast of Suli, where they landed, and, Greece with more feelings of regret than he had by aid of the natives, returned again to Prevesa. left his native land, and the memories of his sojourn While at the Suliote village, a poor but honest in the East, immortalized in Childe Harold, were Albanian supplied his wants. Byron pressed him among the pleasantest that accompaniedhim through to take money in return for his kindness, but he life. refused, with the reply, "I wish you to love me, He arrived at London after an absence of just two not to pay me." years. Mr. Dallas, the gentleman who had superAttended by a guard of forty or more Albanians, intended the publication of "English Bards and they passed through Acarnania and Etolia to Mis- Scotch Reviewers," called on him the day after his solonghi, crossed the Gulf of Corinth to Patras, arrival; Lord Byron mentioned having written a and proceeded from thence, by land, to Vostizza, new satire, and handed the MSS. to him for examiwhere they caught the first glimpse of Mount Par- nation. Mr. Dallas was grieved, supposing that nassus. In a small boat they were conveyed to the the inspiring lands of the East had brought from opposite shore of the gulf; rode on horseback from his mind no richer poetical works. Salona to Delphi, and after travelling through Liva- Meeting him the next morning, Mr. Dallas exdia, and making a brief stop at Thebes, and other pressed surprise that he had, during his absence, places, arrived at Athens on the 25th of Decem- written nothing more. Upon this, Lord Byron told oer. him that he had occasionally written short poems, He remained at Athens between two and three besides a great many stanzas in Spenser's measure, months, employing his time in visiting the vast and relative to the countries he had visited. " They are splendid monuments of ancient genius, and calling not worth troubling you with," said Byron, "but THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. i you shall have them all with you, if you like." tears, and exclaimed, "0, Mrs. By, I had but one le then took Childe Harold's Pilgrimage from a friend in the world, and she is gone!" small trunk, and handed it to Mr. Dallas, at the He was called at this time to mourn over the loss, same time expressing a desire to have the "Hints not only of his mother, but of six relatives and from Horace" put to press immediately. Ile intimate friends. undervalued Childe Harold, and overvalued the He returned to London in October, and resumed "Hints." He thought the former inferior to the the toils of literary labor, revising Childe. Harold, latter. As time passed on, he altered his mind in and making many additions and alterations. He reference to this matter. "Had Lord Byron," had, also, at this time, two other works in press, says Moore, "persisted in his original purpose of "Hints from Horace," and "The Curse of Minergiving this poem to the press, instead of Childe va." In January, the two cantos of Childe Harold Harold, it is more than probable, that lie would were printed, but not ready for sale until the month have been lost, as a great poet to the world." of March, when " the effect it produced on the He finally consented to the publication of Childe public," says Moore, "was as instantaneous as it Harold, yet, to the last, lie expressed doubts as to has proved deep and lasting. It was electric;-his its merit, and the reception it would meet with at fame had not to wait for any of the ordinary gradathe hands of the public. Doubts and difficulties tions, but seemed to spring up, like the palace of a arose as to a publisher. Messrs. Longman had re- fairy tale, in a night." Byron, himself, in a memfused to publish "English Bards and Scotch Re- oranda of the sudden and wholly unexpected effect, viewers;" and it was expressly stipulated with Mr. said, "I awoke one morning, and found myself Dallas, to whom Lord Byron had presented the famous." copyright, that Childe Harold should not be offered It was just previous to this period, that he to that house. An application was made to Mr. became acquainted with Moore, the poet. The Miller, but owing to.the severity in which a per- circumstance which led to their acquaintance was sonal friend of that gentleman was mentioned, in a correspondence caused by a note. appended to the poem, he declined publishing it. At length it "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." The acpassed into the hands of Mr. Murray, then residing quaintance thus formed, was continued, with the in Fleet street, who was proud of the undertaking, utmost familiarity, through life. Lord Byron was /and by whom it was immediately put to press;- personally introduced to Moore at the house of i and thus was laid the foundation of that friendly Rogers, the poet, where, on the same day, these a and profitable connection, between that publisher three, together with Campbell, dined ~and the author, which continued, with but little Among the many tributes to his genius, which interruption, during the poet's life.* Lord Byron received, was that of the Prince ReAbout this time, the fifth edition of his satire was gent. At an evening party he was presented to issued, and, soon after, every copy that could be that personage, at the request of the latter. The found was taken and destroyed. In America, how- Regent expressed his admiration of Childe Harold ever, and on the continent, where the law of Eng- and entered into a long and animated conversation, land had no power, it continued to meet with an which continued all the evening. unprohibited sale. In the month of August, 1811, the new theatre in While busily engaged -in literary projects, lie was Drury Lane was finished, and, after being urgently suddenly called to Newstead, by information of the requested, Byron wrote an opening address for the sickness of his mother. He immediately departed, occasion He now resided at Cheltenham, where, and travelled with all possible speed, yet death pre- in addition to the address, he wrote a poem on ceded him. When he arrived, he found her dead. "Waltzing." In May, appeared "The Giaour," In a letter, the day after, he says, "I now feel which rapidly passed through several editions. The the truth of Mr. Gray's observation,'we can only first contained but about four hundred lines, the have one mother.'" Mrs. Byron had, undoubtedly, last edition, about fourteen hundred. Many of its loved her son, and he her, with a depth of feeling choicest parts were not in the early copies, yet it hardly supposable by those who had seen them in was received with the greatest favor, and the admirtheir fits of ungovernable passion. An incident ers of Childe Harold equally admired this new prothat occurred at Newstead, at this time, proves the duct of the mind of its author. sincerity of his affection. On the night after his In December, 1813, he published "The Bride of arrival, the waiting woman of Mrs. Byron, in pass- Abydos." To this, while being printed, he added ing the door of the room, where the deceased body nearly two hundred lines. It met with a better relay, heard a sound as of some one sighing heavily ception, if possible, than either of his former works from within; and, on entering the chamber, found, Fourteen thousand copies were sold in one week; to her surprise, Lord Byron, sitting in the dark, and it was with the greatest difficulty and labor that beside the bed. On her representing to him the the demand for it could be supplied. In January weakness of thus giving way to grief, he burst into following, appeared the "The Corsair." In April the "Ode to Napoleon," and, during the ensuing month, he published " IHebrew Melodies."'The following memorandum exhibits the amounts paid by Mr. Murray, In May, lie adopted th strange and singular reso it various times, for the copyrights of his poems:' Childe Harold, i. o h.. o..h..6001. lution of calling in all he had written, buying up I" 1 1I........ all his copyrights, and not writing any more. For...'.. two. years, he had been the literary idol of the peo Giaour...... 5-5 ple. They had bestowed upon him the highest Bride of Abydos......... 525 words of praise, and shouted his genius and fame Corsair.......... 525 to the skies. His name had ever been on the lips, Lara..'700 his writings in the head, and his sentiments in the Siege of Cointh,..... heart of the great public. This strong popularity Lament of Tasso,.'.'.'..... 315 began to wane, as the excitement caused by the Manfred,.......... 315 sudden appearance of any new thing, always will. leppo.......... 525 The papers raised a hue and cry against a few of Oon Juan, I. 11......... 1,525 his minor poems. His moral and social character ". I....... v v.1,z52.5 was brought into prominency; all that had occurred Doge f Venice...... 1,050 during his short, but eventful life, and much that Sardanspalus, Cain, and Fosa ri. ~ 100 had never an existence, except in the minds of his Prn.r e.fC.ion,.'.'.'.... 5125 opponents, was related with minute particularity mdrier........ 0 Not only this, but the slight opinion these journal ists expressed of his genius,-seconded, as it was Tof,...... 5.455i. by that inward dissatisfaction with his own powers Xii BYRON'S WORKS. which they, whose standard of excellence is highest, M. G. Lewis, Mr. Hobhouse and Mr. S. Davies are always surest to feel, mortified and disturbed with whom he made the excursions previously al him. In noticing these attacks, he remarks, "I luded to. It was while here, that he began his prose am afraid what you call trash is plaguily to the pur- rolmance of "The Vampire;" also another, founded pose; and, to tell the truth, for some time past, I upon the story of the Marriage of Belphegor, both have been myself much of the same opinion." In of which he left unfinished. this state of mind, he resolved upon bidding fare- From the commencement of the year 1817, to that well to the muses, and betaking himself to some of 1820, Lord Byron's principal residence was at other pursuit. Mentioning this determination to Venice. Soon after reaching that city, he began Mr. Murray, that gentleman doubted his serious- the study of the Armenian language, in which he ness; but on the arrival of a letter, enclosing a made considerable progress. While there, he purdraft for the amount of the copyrights, and a re- sued his literary labors with much diligence and quest to withdraw all the advertisements, and de- success. He wrote " The Lament of Tasso," the stroy all copies of his poems, remaining in store, fourth canto of "Childe Harold," the dramas of except two of each for himself, all doubts vanished. " Marino Faliero," and the " Two Foscari; " BepM1r. Murray wrote an answer, that such an act po," "Mazeppa," and the first cantos of "Don would be deeply injurious to both parties, and final- Juan." ly induced him to continue publishing. He formed an acquaintance with Madame GuicciIn connection with "Jacqueline," a poem, by Mr. oli, which soon grew to a passionate love, and was Rogers, "Lara" appeared in August. This was duly reciprocated by her. She was a Romagnese his last appearance as an author, until the spring lady. Her father was Count Gamba, a nobleman of of 1816. high rank and ancient name, at Ravenna. She had On the 2d of January, 1815, Lord Byron pro- been married, when at the age of sixteen, without posed and was accepted in marriage, by an heiress, reference to her choice or affection, to the Count Miss MilbankQ, daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke, a' Guiccioli, an old and wealthy widower. At the baronet, in the county of Durham. Her fortune time Byron was introduced to her, she was about was upwards of ten thousand pounds sterling, which twenty; with fair and delicate complexion, large, was considerably increased by the death of her pa- dark eyes, and a profusion of auburn hair. This rents, a few years subsequent to her union with the lady almost entirely governed the movements of poet. This union cast a shade on his hitherto Byron, while in Italy; and it was a government bright career. A twelve-months' extravagance, ^vhich he appeared to love, and from which he manembarrassments, and misunderstandings, dissolved iested no desire to escape. it, and the lady retired to the country-seat of her She proceeded with her husband to Ravenna, in parents, from the unpleasant scenes of her own April, 1819, and Lord Byron soon followed. He home. One child was the result of this marriage, shortly returned to Venice, where he received a visit Ada Augusta Byron. Previous to the separation, from Moore, in the course of which he presented to Byron's muse was stimulated to exertion by his him a large manuscript volume, entitled, "My Life fast-gathering misfortunes, and he produced the and Adventures." As he handed it to him, he re" Siege of Corinth" and "Parisina." marked, "It is not a thing that can be published At the time of their separation, Lord Byron and during my lifetime; but you may have it, if you Lady Byron resided in London. He entered into a like,-there, do whatever you please with it; " and giddy whirlpool of frolicking and unrestrained gai- soon after added, "This will make a nice legacy for ety, which at length brought upon him great pecu- my littleTom, who shall astonish the latter days niary embarrassments, which so increased, that in of the nineteenth century with it." November, he was not only obliged to sell his libra- This manuscript was a collection of various jourry, but his furniture, and even his beds, were seized nals, memorandas, etc. At Byron's request, Mr. by the bailiffs. Moore sold the copyright to Murray for two thouAs soon as the separation took place, the full tide sand pounds, with the stipulation that it was not to of public opinion set against him, and those who be published until after the author's decease. When had sought his acquaintance, coveted his friendship, that event occurred, Mr. Moore returned to Mr. and envied him his position, were among his dead- Murray the money advanced, and placed the manuliest foes and his most slanderous vilifiers. "In script at the disposal of Lord Byron's sister, Mrs. every form of paragraph, pamphlet and caricature, Leigh; at whose request, and, with the accordant both his person and character were held up to odi- opinion of Lord Byron's best friends, it was deurn; hardly a voice was raised, or at least listened stroyed. The motive for its destruction is said to to, in his behalf; and though a few faithful friends have been an unwillingness to offend the feelings of remained unshaken by his side, the utter hopeless- many of the individuals mentioned in it. ness of stemming the torrent, was felt as well by Towards the close of the year 1819, Lord Byron them, as by himself; and after an effort or two to removed to Ravenna, where he wrote " The Prophgain a fair hearing, they submitted in silence." ecy of Dante," " Sardanapalus," " Cain," " Heaven Thus miserable, yet conscious of his newly- and Earth," the third, fourth and fifth cantos of awakening strength, Byron determined to leave "Don Juan," and "The Vision of Judgment." England. At leaving, the only person with whom He remained at Ravenna during the greater part he parted with regret, was his sister, and to her he of the two succeeding years. In the autumn of penned the touching tribute, "Though the Day 1821 he removed to Pisa, in Tuscany, where he of my Destiny's over." To Mr. Moore he addressed, remained until the middle of May. His habits of "My Boat is on the Shore;" and to Lady Byron, life, while at Pisa, are thus described by Moore:"Fare thee well." "At two, he usually breakfasted, and at three, or, He sailed for Ostend on the 25th of April. His as the year advanced, four o'clock, those persons, journey lay by the Rhine. He made a short stay at who were in the habit of accompanying him in his Brussels. At Geneva he spent the remainder of the rides, called upon him. After, occasionally, a game summer; living in a beautiful villa on the borders of billiards, he proceeded,-and in order to avoid of the lake. While there, he made frequent excur- stares, in his carriage,-as far as the gates of the sions to Coppet, Chamouni, the Bernese Alps, and town, where his horses met him. At first, the route ather places of interest. Mr. and Mrs. Shelley were he chose for these rides was in the direction of the ilso residing at Geneva at that time. It was in this Cascine, and of the pine forest that reaches towards villa, on the banks of the lake, that he finished the the sea; but having found a spot more convenient third canto of "Childe Harold." I-e also wrote for his pistol exercise, on the road leading from "The Prisoner of Chillon," stanzas "To Augusta," Portalla Spiaggia to the east of the city, he took "The Fragment," "Darkness," and "The Dream." daily this course during the remainder of his stay In the month of August he was visited by Mr. When arrived at the Podere, or farm, in the garden THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xii of which they were allowed to erect their target, his hundred, brave and hardy mountaineers, but wholly friends and he dismounted, and, after devoting undisciplined and unmanageable. Of these, having about half an hour to a trial of skill at the pistol, obtained a commission, he, on the first of Februreturned, a little before sunset, into the city." ary, took the command. Leaving Pisa, he removed to Genoa, where he An expedition against Lepanto was proposed; remained till his final departure for Greece, in July, but, owing to some difficulty with the rude and riot1823. During this time, he produced "Werner," ous soldiery, it was suspended. "The Deformed Transformed," "The Island," Disease now began to prey upon him, and he " The Age of Bronze," and the last cantos of " Don was attacked with a fit of epilepsy on the 15th of Juan." February, which deprived him, for a short time, of He became interested in the struggle of the his senses. On the following morning, he appeared Greeks for freedom, and offered his services in their to be much better, but still quite ill. behalf. He obtained the advance of a large sum of On the 9th of April, after returning from a ride money, and chartered an English vessel, the Hercu- with Count Gamba, during which they had met a les, for the purpose of taking him to Greece. violent shower, he was again prostrated with disAll things being ready, on the 13th of July, he, ease. He was seized with shuddering, and comand those who were to accompany him, embarked. plained of rheumatic pains. The following day he His suite consisted of Count Pietro Gamba, brother arose at his accustomed hour, transacted business. of the Countess Guiccioli; Mr. Trelawny, an Eng- and rode into the olive woods, accompanied by his lishman; and Doctor Bruno, an Italian physician, long train of Suliotes. who had just left the university, and was somewhat On the 11th his fever increased; and on the 12th acquainted with surgery. He had, also, at his ser- he kept his bed all day, complaining that he could vice, eight servants. not sleep, and taking no nourishment whatever. There were on board five horses, arms and ammu- The two following days, he suffered much from nition for the use of his own party, and medicine pains in the head, though his fever had subsided. enough for the supply of one thousand men for one On the 14th, Dr. Bruno, finding sudorifics unavailyear. ing, urged the necessity of his being bled. But of On the morning of the 14th of July, the Hercules this Lord Byron would not hear. At length, howsailed; but, encounteringa severe storm, was obliged ever, after repeated entreaties, he promised that, to put back. On the evening of the 15th, they should his fever increase, he would allow it to be again started, and after a passage of five days, done. He was bled; but the relief did not answer reached Leghorn, where they shipped a supply of the expectations of any one. The restlessness and gunpowder, and other English goods. Receiving agitation increased, and he spoke several times in these, they immediately sailed for Cephalonia, and an incoherent manner. On the 17th, it was repeated. reached Argolosti, the principal port of that island, His disease continued to increase; he had not, on the 21st of July. He was warmly received by till now, thought himself dangerously ill; but now, the Greeks and English, among whom his presence the fearful truth was apparent, not only in his own created a lively sensation. feelings, but in the countenances and actions of his Wishing information, in order to determine upon friends and attendants. the best course for him to pursue, he despatched A consultation of physicians was had. Soon Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Hamilton Browne with a after, a fit of delirium ensued, and he began to talk letter to the Greek government, in order to obtain wildly, calling out, half in English, half in Italian, an account of the state of public affairs. Here, as "Forwards!-forwards!-courage —follow my exin many other places, he displayed his generosity, ample! " &c., &c. by relieving the distressed, who had fled from Scio. On Fletcher's asking him whether he should He was delayed at Argolosti about six weeks, by bring pen and paper to take down his words, he adverse winds. At length, the wind becoming fair, replied:-" Oh, no, there is no time-it is now nearly he embarked on board the Mistico, and Count over. Go to my sister-tell her-go to Lady Byron Gamba, with the horses and heavy baggage, in a -you will see her-and say-" Here his voice fallarge vessel. tered, and became gradually indistinct. He conThe latter was brought to by a Turkish frigate, tinued speaking in a low, whispering tone. " My and carried, with its valuable cargo, into Patras, Lord," replied Fletcher, "I have not understood where the commander of the Turkish fleet was sta- a word your Lordship has been saying." "Not tioned. Count Gamba had an interview with the understood' me! " exclaimed Byron, with a look of Pacha, and was so fortunate as to obtain the release distress, "what a pity!-then it is too late;-all is of his vessel and freight; and sailing, reached Mis- over." " I hope not," answered Fletcher; but the solonghi on the 4th of January. He was surprised Lord's will be done!" "Yes, not mine," said to learn that Lord Byron had not arrived. Byron. He then attempted to say something; but On his Lordship's departure from Dragomestri, a nothing was intelligible, except "my sister-my violent gale came on, and the vessel was twice child." driven into imminent danger on the rocks; and it About six o'clock in the evening of the 19th, he was owing to Lord Byron's firmness and nautical said, "Now I shall go to sleep;" and, turning skill, that the vessel, several lives, and twenty-five round, fell into that slumber from which he never thousand dollars, were saved. awoke. It was while at Dragomnestri, that an imprudent The sad intelligence was received by the people bath brought on a cold, which was the foundation of Missolonghi with feelings of sorrow, which we of that sickness which resulted in his death. are unable to describe; and all Europe was in tHe reached Missolonghi on the 5th of January, mourning over the lamentable event, as its tidings and was received with enthusiastic demonstrations spread through its cities, towns, and villages. of joy. No mark of welcome or honor that the It was but a short time previous, that the Greeks Greeks could devise, was omitted. were inspired by his presence, and inspirited by the One of the first acts of Lord Byron, was an at- touch of his ever-powerful genius. Now, all was tempt to mitigate the ferocity of war. He rescued over. The future triumphs which they had pictured a Turk from the hands of some sailors, kept him at forth for their country's freedom, vanished. Their his house a few days, until an opportunity occurred bright hopes departed, and lamentation filled hearts to send him to Patras. He sent four Turkish pris- lately buoyant with rejoicing. oners to the Turkish Chief of Patras, and requested In various parts of Greece, honors were paid to that prisoners, on both sides, be henceforward his memory. treated with humanity. The funeral ceremony took place in the church of Forming a corps of Suliotes, he equipped them St. Nicholas. His remains were carried on the at his own expense. They numbered about six shoulders of the officers of his corps. On his coffin ivy BYRON'S WORKS. were placed a helmet, a sword, and a crown of laurel. ble of all extremes of expression, from the most The church was crowded to its utmost extent, dur- joyous hilarity to the deepest sadness, from the very ing the service. sunshine of benevolence to the most concentrated On the 2d of May the body was conveyed to Zante, scorn or rage. under a salute from the guns of the fortress. From But it was in the mouth and chin that the great thence, it was sent in the English brig Florida, in beauty of his countenance lay. Says a fair critic of charge of Col. Stanhope; and, being landed under his features, " Many pictures have been painted of the direction of his Lordship's executors, Mr. Hob- him, with various success; but the excessive beauty house and Mr. Hanson, it was removed to the house of his lips escaped every painter and sculptor. In of Sir Edward Knatchbull, where it lay in state dur- their ceaseless play they represented every emotion, ing the 9th and 10th of July. On the 16th of July, whether pale with anger, or curled in disdain, smilthe last duties were paid to the remains of the great ing in triumph, or dimpled with archness and love. poet, by depositing them close to those of his mother, This extreme facility of expression was sometimes in the family vault in the small village church of painful, for I have seen him look absolutelyugly-I Hucknall, near Newstead. It is a somewhat singu- have seen him look so hard and cold that you must lar fact, that on the same day of the same month hate him, and then, in a moment, brighter than the in the preceding year, he said to Count Gamba, sun, with such playful softness in his look, such " Where shall we be in another year?" affectionate eagerness kindling in his eyes, and On a tablet of white marble, in the chancel of the dimpling his lips into something more sweet than a church of Ilucknall, is the following inscription:- smile, that you forgot the man, the Lord Byron, in the picture of beauty presented to you, and gazed IN THE VAULT BENEATrI, with intense curiosity-I had almost said-as if to WHERE MANY OF HIS ANCESTORS ANX) IlIS MOT::; satisfy yourself, that thus looked the god of poetry, ARE BURIIED, the god of the Vatican, when he conversed with the LIE THE REMAINS OF sons and daughters of man." GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYR1ON, HIis head was small; the forehead high, on which LORD BYRON, OF ROCIILDALE, glossy, dark-brown curls clustered. His teeth IN THE CO'UNTY OF LSANC.ASTE'; w ere white and regular, and his countenance colorTHE AUTHOI OF less. "CHILDE II.ROLI'S PITLGRIMAIoGIE." He believed in the immortality of the soul. In HE WAS BORN IN LON-DON, ON TIE one of his letters, he said that he once doubted it,.22D OF J.TNUAh. Y, 1788. but that reflection had taught him better. The HE DIED AT.MISSOLONGIII, IN WEST'rlN. GREECE, publication of "Cain, a Mystery," brought down ON THE 19rr O OF APRIL, 1824, upon him the severest denunciations of many ENGAGED IN THE GLOI,O OUS ATTEMPT TO of the clergy, whose zeal took rapid flight and bore RESTORE TH'rAT COUNTRY TO HER away their reason and judgment. They called it ANCI-ET FltEEDO I AND blasphemous. This, Lord Byron denied in the RiENOWN. most positive terms. The misunderstanding was owing to the fact that Byron caused each of the iiis SISTER,'rHE HONOR.ABLE characters to speak as it was supposed they would AUGUSTA MARIIA LEIGH, speak, judging from their actions, and that these PLACED THIS TABLET TO HIS IMEMIORY. fault-finders, who raisedsuch an outcry, understood the language to be the belief of the author, than Thus lived and died the poet Byron. With a which nothing could be more unreasonable. mind, blest with an active genius, which but few are At the time of Byron's death many tributes to his privileged to possess, he passed through this world, memory were paid by the most celebrated authors. like a comet, on its bright but erratic course, leaving Among them was one from Rogers, from which we a luminous trace behind to mark his passage, and take the following as best fitted, in closing this to keep his memory fresh in the hearts of many fu- sketch, to leave on the mind of our readers a just ture generations. It is not our purpose, in this view of the strange and eventful life of the poet, place, to speak of the general tone of his writings and at the same time to call forth that charity in or of their influence. That he had faults, we are judgment which it is our duty to bestow:ready to admit; and that he had an inward goodness of heart, we are as ready to assert. But few "'rhou art gote; men, with like temperament and associations with And be who would assail thee in thy grave, his, would have pursued a different course. Oh, let him pause I for who among us all, In height he was five feet eight inches and a half. Tried as thou wert —even from thy earliest years, His hands were very white and small. Of his face, When wandering, yet unspoilt, a Highland boythe beauty may be pronounced to have been of the Tried as thou xert, an( with thy love of fame; Pleasure, wiile yet the down was on thy cheek, highest order, as combining at once regularity of Uplifting, pressing, and to lnps like thine, features with the most varied and interesting ex- Her charmed cup-ah, who amongst us all pression. His eyes were of a light gray, and capa- Could ~ay he had no' erred as much uan no " THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE A ROMAUNT. L'univers est une espece de livre, dent on n'a lu que la premire page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en at feuillet6 un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouve egalement mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point &t6 infructueux. Je halssais ma patrie. Toutes les impertniences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vieu, m'ont reconcili6 avee elle. Quand je u'aurais tire d'autre benefice de mes voyages que celui-l, je n'en regretterais ni les frais ni le1 fatigues. LE COSMOPOLITE. PREFACE. the exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of this poem was written in the Levant. THE following poem was written, for the most The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our part, amid the scenes which it attempts to describe. most successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. It was begun in Albania; and the parts relative to Beattie makes the following observation: "Not Spain and Portugal Were composed from the author's long ago I began a poem in the style and stanza of observations in those countries. Thus much it may Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my be necessary to state for the correctness of the de- inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descripscriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched tive or sentimental, tender or satiical, as the humor are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and strikes me; for, if I mistake not, the measure Greece. There for the present the poem stops: its which I have adopted admits equally of all these reception will determine whether the author may kinds of composition." * —Strengthened in my opinventure to conduct his readers to the capital of the ion by such high authority, and by the example of East, through Ionia and Phrygia: these two cantos some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall are merely experimental. make no apology for attempts at similar variations A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of in the following composition; satisfied that, if they giving some connexion to the piece; which, how- are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execuever, makes no pretension to regularity. It has tion, rather than in the design sanctioned by the been suggested to me by friends, on whose opinions practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie. I set a high value, that in this fictitious character, "Childe Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real personage: this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim-Harold is the child of imagination, for the purpose I have -stated. In some very trivial particulars, and those merely local, ADDITION TO THE PREFACE. there might be grounds for such a notion; but in I HAVE now waited till almost all our periodical the main points, I should hope, none whatever. journals have distributed their usual portion of It is almost superfluous to mention that the ap-criticism. To the justice of the generality of their pellation " Childe," as "Childe Waters," "Childe criticisms I have nothing to object; it would ill beChilders," &c., is used as more consonant with the come me to quarrel with their very slight degree of old structure of the versification which I have censure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind adopted. The "Good Night," in the beginning of they had been more candid. Returning, therefore, the first canto, was suggested by "Lord Maxwell's to all and each my best thanks for their liberality, Good Night," in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by on one point alone shall I venture an.observation. ^T~~~~~~~~Mr. ScottL-. ~Among the many objections justly urged to the very With the different poems which have been pub- indifferent character of the "vagrant Childe," lished on Spanish subjects, there may be found some (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the conslight coincidence in the first part, which treats of the Peninsula, but it can only be casual; as, with ~ Beattie's Letors. 3 18 BYRON'S WORKS. trary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage,) TO IANTHE. it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as the times of the Knights NOT in those climes where I have late been were times of love, honor, and so forth. Now it so straying, happens that the good old times, when "l'amour Though Beauty long hath there been matchless du bon vieux tems l'amour antique" flourished, deem'd; were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Not in those visions to the heart displaying Those who have any doubts on this subject may Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd, consult St. Palaye, passim, and more particularly Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd: vol. ii., page 69. The vows of chivalry were no Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek better kept than any other vows whatsoever; and To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd: the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent, To such as see thee not my words were weak; and certainly were much less refined, than those of To those who gaze on thee what language could Ovid. The " Cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour ou they speak? de courtesie et de gentilesse" had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, on the same subject with St. Palaye. Whatever Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, other objection may be urged to that most unamia- As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, ble personage, Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly Love's image upon earth without his wing, knightly in his attributes —"No waiter, but a And guileless beyond Hope's imagining! knight templar." * By the by, I fear that Sir And surely she who now so fondly rears Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better than they Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening, should be, although very poetical personages and Beholds the rainbow of her future years, true knights "sans peur," though not "sans re- Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears. proche." If the story of the institution of the "Garter " be not a fable, the knights of that order Y Pe of the West!-'tis well for me have for several centuries borne the badge of a My years already doubly number thine; Countess of Salisbury of indifferent memory. So My loveless eye unoved may gaze on thee, much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted And safely view thy ripening beauties shine; that its days are over, though Maria Antoinette was Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline; quite as chaste as most of those in whose honors Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed, lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed. Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of T those whose admiration shall succeed, Sir Joseph Banks, (the most chaste and celebrated But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliesthours of ancient and modern times,) few exceptions will decreed. be found to this statement, and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous ~.,.,.I.,, ~ Oh! let that eye, which, wild as t;e Gazelle's, mummeries of the middle ages. mumm s of the middle ages3. - Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, I now leave "Childe Harold," to live his day, o w brightly bld or beautiflly shy,.,,.-~^-Jl- X, Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, such as he is; it had been more agreeable, and cer-, z where de. Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny tainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable charac- or t n vr d taily more easy, to have drawn an amiable carac- That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, ter. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to C I to th e ever more than fin Could I to thee be ever more than friend: make him do more and express less, but he never wask hinted as exp e, b h ne This much, dear maid, accord: nor question why was intended as an example, further than to show an example, further than to show To one so young my strain I would commend, that early perversion of mind and morals leads to But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend. satiety of past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most Such is thy name wth ths my verse entwined; powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I pro- On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined ceeded with the poem, this character would have thus be first beheld, forgotten last: deapened as he drew to the close; for the outline y days once number'd, should this homage past which I once meant to fill up for him was, with Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon, Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, perhaps a poetical Zeluco. Such is the most my memory may desire; Though more than Hope can claim, could Frien& The Rome. AntiJaobi. ship less require' CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE CANTO I I. ~V. On, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, Muse! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will! Nor made atonement when he did amiss, Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth, Had sigh'd to many though he loved but one, Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill: And that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his. Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill; Ah, happy she! to'scape from him whose kiss Yes! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine,1 Had been pollution unto aught so chaste; Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still; Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss, Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste, Tc grace so plain a tale-this lowly lay of mine. Nor calm domestic peace had ever deign'd to taste II. VI. Whilome in AJhioa'isle there dwelt a youth, And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight; And from his fellow bacchanals ivould flee; But spent his days in riot most uncouth,'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee: Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee; And from his native land resolv'd to go, Few earthly things found favor in his sight And visit scorching climes beyond the sea; Save concubines and carnal companie, With pleasure drugg'd he almost long'd for wo, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below. III. VII. Childe Harold was he hight, —but whence his name The Childe departed from his father's hall: And lineage long, it suits.ne not to say; It was a vast and venerable pile; Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, So old, it seemed only not to fall, And had been glorious in another day: Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. But one sad losel soils a:ame for aye, Monastic dome! condemn'd to uses vile! However mighty in the o'den time: Where Superstition once had made her den, Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile; Nor florid prcde, nor horied lies of rhyme, And monks might deem their time was come agen, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. IV. VIII. Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, Yet ofttimes in his maddest mirthful mood Disporting there like any other fly; Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's Nor deem'd before his little day was done As if the memory of some deadly feud [brow, One blast might chill him into misery. Or disappointed passion lurk'd below: But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by, But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; Worse than adversity the Childe befell; For his was not that open, artless soul He felt the fulness of satiety: That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow, Then loathed he iv his native land to dwell, Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, Whicn seem'd tq Aimr more lone than Eremite's sad Whate'er his grief mote be, which he could not cell. control. 20 BYRON'S WORKS. IX. 2. And none did love him-though to hall and bower "A few short hours, and He will rise He gather'd revellers from far and near, To give the Morrow birth; He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour; And I shall hail the main and skies, The heartless parasites of present cheer. But not my mother Earth. Yea! none did love him-not his lemans dear- Deserted is my own good hall, But pomp and power alone are woman's care, Its hearth is desolate; And where these are light Eros finds a fere; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, My dog howls at the gate. And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair. 3. " Come hither, hither, my little page! X. Why dost thou weep and wail? Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot, Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Though parting from that mother he did shun; Or tremble at the gale? A sister whom he loved, but saw her not But dash the tear-drop from thine eye, Before his weary pilgrimage begun: Our ship is swift and strong: If friends he had, he bade adieu to Orne. Our fleetest falcon scarce could fly Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel; More merrily along." Ye, who have known what'tis to dote upon A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, heal. I fear not wave nor wind; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I XI. Am sorrowful in mind; His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, For I have from my father gone, The laughing dames in whom he did delight, A mother whom I love, Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands And have no friend, save these alone, Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, But thee-and one above. And long had fed his youthful appetite; His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine,. And all that mote to luxury invite,'My father bless'd me fervently, Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, Yet did not much complain; And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's cen- But sorely will my mother sigh tral line. Till I come back again.'" Enough, enough, my little lad! XII. Such tears become thine eye; The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, If I thy guileless bosom had, As glad to waft him from his native home; Mine own would not be dry. And fast the white rocks faded from his view, And soon were lost in circumambient foam: 6. And then, it may be, of his wish to roam "Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman Repented he, but in his bosom slept Why dost thou look so pale? The silent thought, nor from his lips did come Or dost thou dread a French foeman? One word of wail, whilst others sat and wept, Or shiver at the gale? " And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek. But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, 7. And strike, albeit with untaught melody,'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: Along the bordering lake; And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And when they on their father call, And tuned his farewell in the deep twilight. What answer shall she make?'While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, "Enough, enough, my yeoman good, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thy grief let none gainsay; Thus to the elements he pour'd his last " Good But I, who am of lighter mood, Night." Will laugh to flee away. 1. 8. "ADIEU, adieu! my native shore "For who would trust the seeming sighs Fades o'er the waters blue; Of wife or paramour? The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes And shrieks the wild sea-mew. We late saw streaming o'er. Yon Sun that sets upon the sea For pleasures past I do not grieve, We follow in his flight; Nor perils gathering near; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My greatest grief is that I leave My native Land-Good Night! No thing that claims a tear. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 21 9. XVIII. " And now I'm in the world alone, Poor, paltry slaves! yet born'midst noblest scenes, Upon the wide, wide sea: Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men? But why should I for others groan, Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes When none will sigh for me? In variegated maze of mount and glen. Perchance my dog will whine in vain Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, Till fed by stranger hands; To follow half on which the eye dilates, But long ere I come back again, Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken He'd tear me where he stands. Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's 10. gates? XIX. With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go X Athwart the foaming brine; The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, Nor care what land thou bear'st me tuo, The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, So not again to mine. The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves! The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, And when you fail my sight, The tender azure of the unruffled deep, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves! The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, My native Land-Good Night! " The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, The vine on high, the willow branch below, XIV. Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, XX. And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay. Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, Then slowly climb the many-winding way, New shores descried make every bosom gay; And frequent turn to linger as you go, And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep, And rest yet at our "Lady's house of wo; " His fabled golden tribute bent to pay; Where frugal monks their little relics show, And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, And sundry legends to the stranger tell: And steer'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics Here impious men have punish'd been, and lo! reap. Deep in yon cave Honorious long did dwell, XVea In hope to merit heaven by making earth a HelL XV. Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see XXI. What Heaven hath done for this delicious land a t H n hh d f tis dlicio la And here and there, as up the crags you spring, What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! ark many rude-carved crosses near the path What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! ion's offeringYet deem not these devotion's offering — But man would mar them with an impious hand: These are memorials frail of murderous wrath: And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge eekg vim ath For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath'Gainst those who most transgress his high Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, command, ^r.^^command, ^i i. ~ i. I-Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath; With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge A oe and glen with tound re ri And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen Throughout this purple land where law secures not purge. life.3 XVI. XXII. What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold! On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath Her image floating on that noble tide, Are domes where whilome kings did make repair; Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, But now the wild flowers round them only breathe; But now whereon a thousand keels did ride Yet ruin'd splendor still is lingering there. Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied, And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair; And to the Lusians did her aid afford: There thou too,Vathek! England's wealthiest son, A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware [done, Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath lo save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to sun. lord. XVII. XXIII. But whoso entereth within this town, Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, plan, Disconsolate will wander up and down, Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow:'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee; But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, For hut and palace show like filthily: Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou! The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt; Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow Ne personage of high or mean degree To halls deserted, portals gaping wide; Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how fhough shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied; unwash'd, unhurt. Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide 22 BYRON'S WORKS. XXIV. XXX. Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened! 4 O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye! (Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race!) With diadem hight foolscap, lo! a fiend, Whereon to gaze the eye with joyance fills, [place, A little fiend that scoffs incessantly, Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase His side is hung a seal and sable scroll, And marvel men should quit their easy chair, Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry, The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, And sundry signatures adorn the roll, Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air, Whereat the Urchin points and laughs with all his And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share. soul. XXV. XXXI. More bleak to view the hills at length recede, Convention is the dwarfish demon styled And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend: That foil'd the knights in Marialva's doe: Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed! Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom. th ey de w en, And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom. Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume, Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader And Policy regained what arms had lost; knows For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom! ow must the pastor's arm his lambs defend Wo to the conqu'ring, not the conquer'd host, For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast. And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's woes. XXVI. XXXII. And ever since that martial synod met, Where Lusitania and her sister meet, Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name; Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide? And folks in office at the mention fret, Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, And fain would blush, if blush they could, for Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide? How will posterity the deed ploclaim! [shame. Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride? Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer, Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall? - To view these champions cheated of their fame, Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, Where Scorn her finger points through many a com- Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from ing year? Gaul. XXVII. XXXIII. So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he But these between a silver streamlet glides, Did take his way in solitary guise: And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee, Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. More restless than the swallow in the skies: Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook, Though here a while he learned to moralize, And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, For meditation fix'd at times on him; That peaceful still'twixt bitterest foemen flow; And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise For proud each peasant as the noblest duke: His early youth misspent in maddest whim; Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew dim.'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low 6 XXVIII. XXXIV. But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd, To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever quits Dark Guadiana rolls his power along A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul; In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, Again he rouses from his moping fits, So noted ancient roundelays among. But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. hilome upon his banks did legions throng Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal Of Moor and knight in mailed splendor drest: VWhere he shall rest him on his pilgrimage; Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the And o'er him many changing scenes must roll The Paynim turban and the Christian crest [strong; Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts opOr he shall calm his breast, or learn experience press'd. sage. XXXV. XXIX.'~XXIX. ~Oh, lovely Spain! renown'd romantic land! Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay,5 Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen; When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band And church and court did mingle their array, That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic And mass and revel were alternate seen; gore? 7 Lordlings and freres-ill-sorted fry I ween! Where are those bloody banners which of yore But here the Babylonian whore hath built Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore? [pale, That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish While Afric's echoes thrill'dwith Moorish matrons' guilt. wail. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 23 XXXVI. XLII. Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale? There shall they rot-Ambition's honor'd fools! Ah! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate! Yes, honor decks the turf that wraps their clay! When granite moulders and when records fail, Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools, A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. The broken tools, that tyrants cast away Pride! bend thine eye from heaven to thine By myriads, when they dare to pave their way See how the mighty shrink into a song! [estate, With human hearts-to what?-a dream alone. Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve the great? Can despots compass ought that hails their sway Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, Or call with truth one span of earth their own, When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by thee wrong? bone? XXXVII. XLIII. Awake, ye sons of Spain! awake! advance Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief! Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries; As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steel, But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, [bleed. Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies: A scene where mingling foes should boast and Peace to the perish'd! may the warrior's meed Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, ece to the pcrish'd may the warrior's meed And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar: And tears of triumph their reward prolong! In every peal she calls-" Awake! arise! " Till others fall where other chieftains lead, S, is hery vie morea f eeble than of yore, " Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient shore song XLIV. XXXVIII. Enough of Battle's minions! let them play Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note?Enough o B l m le te play Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote; Though thousands fall to deck some single name. Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath In sooth'twere sad to thwart their noble aim [good, Tyrants and tyrants' slaves?-the fires of death Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's The bale-fires flash on high:-from rock to rock And die, that living might have proved her shame; Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe, Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, eOr in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. XLV. XXXIX. A1@~XXXIX. Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued: His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, Yet is she free-the spoiler's wished-for prey! With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Inevitable hour!'Gainst fate to strive Flashing afar,-and at his iron feet Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done; Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre, might yet survive, For on this morn three potent nations meet, And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive. To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. XLVI. XL. But all unconscious of the coming doom, The feast, the song, the revel here abounds; By heaven, it is a splendid sight to see Byor hneaven nofriendnobrotherther),. Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) (For one who batnfrenobNor bleed these patriots with their country's Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, wounds Their various arms that glitter in the air! [lair wo cls What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their hre ar's larion t ove's ree sons Here Folly still his votaries inthralls; And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight All join the chase, but few the triumph share; All join the chase, but few the triumph Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, [rounds: The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,, Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls. And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. XLVII. ~~~~XLI. ~Not so the rustic-with his trembling mate Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar, Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; Lest he should view his vineyard desolate Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies; Blasted below the dun hot breath of war The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star The foe, the victim, and the fond ally Fandango twirls his jocund castanet: That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, Ah, monarchs! could ye taste the mirth ye mar, Are met-as if at home they could not die-, Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret; To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain happy yet! 24 BYRON'S WORKS. XLVIII. LIV. How carols now the lusty muleteer? Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, Of love, romance, devotion, is his lay, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, His quick bells wildly jinging on the way? Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war i No! as he speeds, he chants "Viva el Rey! "8 Ad she, whom once the seblance of a scar And checks his song to execrate Godoy, Appall'd, an owlet's'larum chill'd with dread, The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day [boy, Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar, When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake joy. Xto tread. XLIX. On yon long level plain, at distance crown'd. With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, Wide scattered hoof-marks dint the wounded Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, [veil, ground; [vest Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Her fairy form, with more than female grace, Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest; Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful lost. chase. L. LVI. And whomsoe'er along the path you meet, Her lover sinks-she sheds no ill-timed tear; Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, Her chief is slain-she fills his fatal post; Which tells you whom to shun andwhom to greet;v Her fellows flee-she checks their base career; Wo to the man that walks in public view The foe retires-she heads the sallying host; Without of loyalty this token true: Who can appease like her a lover's ghost? Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke; Who can avenge so well a leader's fall? And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue, What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloak, ~Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, [lost? Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall? 1 smoke, LI.L. At every turn Morena's dusky height Sustains aloft the battery's iron load; Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, But form'd for all the witching arts of love: The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, The bristling pallisade, the fosse o'erflow'd, And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch,'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, The magazine in rocky durance stow'd, Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate: The bolster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, In softness as in firmness far above The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match,0 Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as LII. great. Portend the deeds to come:-but he whose nod LVIII. Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod; Denotes how soft that chin which bears his toucn:Is A little moment deigneth to delay: [way; Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave tneir nest, Soon will his legions sweep through these their Bid man be valiant ere he merit such: The West must own the Scourger of the world. Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much Ah! Spain! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings Which glows yet smoother from his amorous unfurl'd, clutch! And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades Who round the North for paler dames would seek hurl'd. How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, LIII. and weak! And must they fall? the young, the proud, the LIX. brave, To swell one bloated Chief's unwholesome reign? Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud; No step between submission and a grave? Match me, ye harams of the land! where now The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain? I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud And doth the Power that man adores ordain Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow; Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal? Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow Is all that desperate Valor acts in vain? To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal,, With Spain's dark-glancing daughters-deign to The Veteran's skill, Youth's fire, and Manhood's There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, [know heart of steel? His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind. ~ ~% ~ ~ ~ i~ ~ i!:::?i!~ i'~,~ ~ ~i~ ~:::~~.-:iiW ~ i i~~~~iiii~~~~~~~~i~;~......~~~~~~~~~~~~;i.~!ii' ~....... ~ ~ i~~tL~TWlD IB g All~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ PT iD YJF EIS. EG X.EC S CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 25 LX. LXV I. Oh, thou Parnassus! 13 whom I now survey, When Paphos fell by time-accursed Time! Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye, The queen who conquers all must yield to thee — Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky And Venus, constant to her native sea, In the wild pomp of mountain majesty! To naught else constant, hither deign'd to flee; What marvel if I thus essay to sing? And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white; The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Though not to one dome circunscribeth she Would gladly w vo thine Echoes with his string, Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, lhough from thy heights no more one Muse will A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. wave her wing. LXI. LXVII. LXI. Ofthavedream'dofThewhosegloriousname From morn till night, from night till startled Mom Oft have I dream'd of Thee! whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: P b o n,'. a wih s The song is heard, the rosy garland worn, And now I view thee,'tis, alas! with shame That I in feeblest accents must adore. Devices quaint, and frolics ever new, That I in feeblest accents must adore. hThatn I i unf t a mst ore Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu When I recount thy worshippers of yore W rrece, untn ty w thie o e He bids to sober joy that here sojourns: I tremble, and can only bend the knee; Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu u z b t ty cd c Of true devotion monkish incense burns, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy nt g be athi ty cloy cno And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by In silent joy to think at last I look on nhee I turns. turns. LXII. LXVIII. The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest; Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, Te S h c, a dy o b Happier * -i- ~3^'- 4. What hallows it upon this Christian shore? Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, What hallows t upon this Chrstian shore' Lo! it is sacred to a solemn feast; Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene, Which others rave of, though they know it not? Hark! heard you not the forest monarch's roar? Which others rave of, though they know it not?. Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn, And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave,d e th hs Soeenlespr a'ds th sp' The throng'd arena shakes with shouts for more; Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, Some gentlhe spit kstell pervaces tihe spot, Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave, And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. Nor shrinks the female eye, nor n afts to mourn. LXIX. ~ LXIII. The seventh day this; the jubilee of man. Of thee hereafter.-Evn amidst my strain London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer: I turn'd aside to pay my homage here; Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan, Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain; And smug apprentice gp teir weekly air: Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear; Thy coach of Hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl Now to my theme-but from thy holy haunt To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair; Let me some remnant, some memorial bear; Let me some remnant, some memorial bear; Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, Yield me one leaf of Daphnes deathless plant, Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl. Nor let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vaunt. LXX. LXIV. Some o'er thy Thames row the ribbon'd fair, But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was Others along the safer turnpike fly; See round thy giant base a brighter choir, [young, Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung, And many to the steep of Highgate hie. The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire, Ask ye, Betian shades! the reason why? 1 Behold a train more fitting to inspire'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, The song of love than Andalusia's maids, Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery, [sworn. Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire: In whose dread name both men and maids are Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her till morn. glades. LXXI. TLXV ~~~~LXV. ~All have their fooleries-not alike are thine, Fair is proud Seville; let her country boast Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea! Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine, But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, [days; 14 Thy saint adorers count the rosary: Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. Much is the VIRGIN teased to shrive them free Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways! (Well do I ween the only virgin there) While boyish blood is mantling who can'scape From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be; The fascination of thy magic gaze? Then to the crowded circus forth they fare: A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. share. 4 26 BYRON'S WORKS. LXXII. LXXVIII. The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd, Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, Thousands on thousands piled are seated round; Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard,'Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, Ne vacant space for lated wight is found: And foes disabled in the brutal fray; Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, And now the Matadores around him play, Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye, Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand: Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound; Once more through all he bursts his thund'ring way: None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die, Vain rage! the mantle quits the conynge hand, A.s moonstruck bards complain, by Love's sad Wraps his fierce eye-'tis past —he sinks upon the archery. sand! LXXIII. Hush'd is the din of tongues-on gallant steeds, LXXIX With milk-white crest, gold-spur, and light-poised Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, [lance, Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. And lowly bending to the lists advance; He stops-he starts-disdaining to decline: Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance: Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries, If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, * Without a groan, without a struggle, dies. The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, The decorated car appears-on high Best prize of better acts, they bear away, The corse is piled-sweet sight for vulgar eyesAnd all that kings or chiefs e'er gain -their toils Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, repay. Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by. LXXIV. In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd, But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore Such the ungentle sport that oft invites Stands in the centre, eager to invade The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain. The lord of lowing herds; but not before Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed: What private feuds the troubled village stain! His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the Can man achieve without the friendly steed- Enough, alas! in humble homes remain, [foe, Alas! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. To meditate'gainst friends the secret blow, For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm LXXV. stream must flow. Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls, LXXXI. The den expands, and Expectation mute Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. But Jealousy has fled: his bars, his bolts, Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, His witherd sentinel, Duenna sage And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot, And all whereat the generous soul revolts, The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe; Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage, Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. His first attack, wide waving to and fro Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen, His angry tail; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,) With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, LXXVI. While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving Queen Sudden he stops; his eye is fix'd: away, LXXXII Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear: Now is thy time, to perish, or display! many a time, and oft, h Harold loved, The skill that yet may check his mad career. Or dream'd he loved, since Rapture is a dream; With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer; But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes; For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream; Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear: And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes Love has no gift so grateful as his wings; Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bellowings How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem, speak his woes. Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom LXXVII. flings.'6 LXXXIIT. Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail, L Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse; Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, Though man, and man's avenging arms assail, Though now it moved him as it moves the wise; Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. Not that Philosophy on such a mind One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse; E'er deigned to bend her chastely-awful eyes: Another, hideous sight! unseam'd appears, But Passion raves itself to rest, or flies; His gory chest unveils life's panting source; And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb, Though death-struck, stillhis feeble frame he rears, Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise: Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he Pleasure's pall'd victim! life-abhorring gloom bears. Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 27 LXXXIV. LXXXV. Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng; Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu! But view'd them not with misanthropic hate: Who may forget how well thy walls have stood? Fain wouldhe now havejoined the dance, the song, When all were changing thou alone wert true, But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate? First to be free and last to be subdued: Nought that he saw his sadness could abate: And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, Yet once he struggled'gainst the demon's sway, Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye; And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate, A traitor only fell beneath the feud: 17 Pour'd forth this unpremeditated lay Here all were noble, save Nobility;'o charms as fair as those that soothed his happier None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen day. Chivalry! TO INEZ. LXXXVI. 1. Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate! They fight for freedom who were never free; NAY, smile not at my sullen brow; Alas! I cannot smile agA Kingless people for a nerveless state, Alas! I cannot smile again: Alaet I eavn av t smer t: Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, Yet Heaven avert that ever thou tHo see ant thap wvee in True to the veriest slaves of Treachery: Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, 2. Pride points the path that leads to Liberty; Back to the struggle, baffled in thepstrife, And dost thou ask, what secret wo War, war is still the cry, "War even to the I bear, corroding joy and youth? knife! " i And wilt thou vainly seek Lo know LXXXVII A pang, ev'n thou must fail to sooth? Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, 3. Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife: It is not love, it is not hate, Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe Nor low mbition's honors lost, Can act, is acting there against man's life: That bids me loathe my present state, From flashing scimitar to secret knife, And fly from all I prized the most: War mouldeth there each weapon to his need So may he guard the sister and the wife, 4 So may he make each curst oppressor bleed, So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed' It is that weariness which springs From all I meet, or hear, or see: To me no pleasure Beauty brings; Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me. Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain; 5. Look on the hands with female slaughter red; It is that settled, ceaseless gloom Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore; Then to the vulture let each corse remain; That will not look beyond the tomb, Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, [stain, But cannot hope for rest before. Let their bleach'd bones, and blood's unbleaching Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe: 6. Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw! What Exile from himself can flee? To Zones, though more and more remote, LXXXIX. Still, still pursues, where'er I be, Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done; The blight of life-the demon Thought. Fresh legions pour adown the Pyreneen: It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, 7. Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees And taste of all that I forsake; More than her fell Pizarros once enchain'd: Oh! may they still of transport dream, Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease And ne'er, at least like me, awake! Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd, While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder un8. restrain'd. Through many a clime'tis mine to go, XC. With many a retrospection curst; Not all the blood at Talavera shed, And all my solace is to know, Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. Not Albuera lavish of the dead, Have won for Spain her well-asserted right. 9. When shall her Olive-Branch be free from blight? What is that worst? Nay do not ask- When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil? In pity from the search forbear: How many a doubtful day shall sink in night, Smile on-nor venture to unmask Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil 28 BYRON'S WORKS. XCI. III. And thou, my friend! 19-since unavailing wo Son of the morning, rise! approach you here; Burstsfrom my heart, and mingles with the strain- Come-but molest not yon defenceless urn: Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre! Pride might forbid ev'n Friendship to complain; Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. But thus unlaurel'd to descend in vain, Even gods must yield-religions take their turn: By all forgotten, save the lonely breast,'Twas Jove's-'tis Mahomet's-and other creeds And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, Will rise with other years, till man shall learn While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest! Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds; Wnat hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built rest? on reeds. XCII. IV. Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most! Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heavenDear to a heart where nought was left so dear! Is't not enough, unhappy thing! to know Though to my hopeless days for ever lost, Thou art Is this a boon so kindly given, In dreams deny me not to see thee here That being, thou would'st be again, and go And Morn in secret shall renew the tear Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so Of Consciousness awaking to her woes, On earth no more, but mingled with the skies And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier, Still wilt thou dream on future joy and wo? Till my frail frame return to whence it rose, Regard and weigh yo dust befor it flies And mourn'd and mourner lie united in repose. That little urn saith more than thousand homilies. And mourn'd and mourner lie united in repose. V. XCIII. Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound; Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage: Far on the solitary shore he sleeps:3 Ye who of him may further seek to know, He fell, and fallin nations mourn'd around; Shall find some tidings in a future page, But now not one of saddening thousands weeps, If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. No war-like worshipper his vigil keeps Is this too much? stern Critic! say not so: Where demi-gods appear'd, as records tell. Patience! and ye shall hear what he beheld Remove yon scull from out the scatter'd heaps: In other lands, where he was doom'd to go: Is that a temple where a God may dwell? Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands we cell quell'd. I. Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, Its chambers desolate, and portals foul; Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul; Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit CANTO II. And Passion's host, that never brook'd control; Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, TI.~~~ ~People this lonely tower, this tenement refit; COME, blue-eyed maid of heaven!-but thou, alas. VII. Didst never yet one mortal song inspire — Didst never yet one mortal song~ inspire- Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son! Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was, W didst t s A' wi sn Goddess of Wisdom here thy temple was, "All that we know is, nothing can be known." And is, despite of war and wasting fire,i And is, despite of war and worasting fire,; Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun? And years, that bade thy worship to expire; Each has his pang, but feeble sufferers groan But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. Is ^ the dread sceptre and dominion direWith brain-born dreams of evil all their own. s the dread sceptre and dominion dire Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best; Of men who never felt the sacred glow Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron: That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, bestow?2 But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest. II. Ancient of days! august Athena! where, V. Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that A land of souls beyond that sable shore, First in the race that led to Glory's goal [were: To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee They won, and pass'd away-is this the whole? And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore; A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! How sweet it were in concert to adore The warrior's weapon and the sophists stole With those who made our mortal labors light! Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more! tower. Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the Power. right. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 29 IX. XV. There, thou!-whose love and life together fled, Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee, Have left me here to love and live in vain- Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved; Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead Dull is the eye that will not weep to see [moved When busy Memory flashes on my brain? Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines reWell-I will dream that we may meet again, By British hands, which it had best behooved And woo the vision to my vacant breast; To guard those relics ne'er to be restored. If aught of young Remembrance then remain, Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved, Be as it may Futurity's behest, And once again thy hapless bosom gored, For me'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest. And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to northern climes abhorr'd! X. XVI. Here let me sit upon this massy stone, But where is Harold? shall I then forget The marble column's yet unshaken base; To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave? Here, son of Saturn! was thy fav'rite throne.4 Little reck'd he of all that men regret; Mightiest of many such! hence let me trace No loved one now in feign'd lament could rave; The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place. No friend the parting hand extended gave, It may not be; nor ev'n can Fancy's eye Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes: Restore what Time hath labored to deface. Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave, Yet these proud pillars claim no passing sigh; But Harold felt not as in other times, Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes. by. XI. XVII. But wno, of all the plunderers of yon fane He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sea On high, where Pallas linger'd, loath to flee Has view'd at times, I ween, a full fair sight; The latest relic of her ancient reign; When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was he? The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight; Blush, Caledonia! such thy son could be! Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right, England! I joy no child he was of thine: [free; The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, Thy free-born men should spare what once was The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight, Yet they could violate each saddening shrine, The dullest sailer wearing bravely now, And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine.5 So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow. XII. XVIII. But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast, And oh, the little warlike world within! To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,9 Cold as the crags upon his native coast, [spared;6 The hoarse command, the busy humming din, His mind as barren and his heart as hard, When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high; Is he whose head conceived, whose hand prepared, Hark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry! Aught to displace Athena's poor remains. While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides; Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, Or schoolboy Midshipman, that, standing by, Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains,7 Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides, And never knew, till then, the weight of Despot's And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. chains. XIII. XIX. What! shall it e'er be said by British tongue, White is the glassy deck, without a stain, Albion was happy in Athena's tears? Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks: Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung. Look on that part which sacred doth remain Tell not the deed to blushing Europe's ears; For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks, The ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears Silent and fear'd by all-not oft he talks The last poor plunder from a bleeding land; With aught beneath him, if he would preserve Yes, she, whose gen'rous aid her name endears, That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks Tore down those remnants with a harpy's hand, Conquest and Fame: but Britons rarely swerve Which envious Elb forbore, and tyrants left to stand. From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve. XIV. XX. Where was thine Egis, Pallas, that appall'd Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale! Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way? 8 Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray; Where Peleus' son? whom Hell in vain enthrall'd, Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail, His shades from Hades upon that dread day That lagging barks may make their lazy way. Bursting to light in terrible array! Ah! grievance sore, and listless dull delay, What! could not Pluto spare the chief once more, To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze! To scare a second robber from his prey? What leagues are lost, before the dawn of day, Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore, Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas, Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like before. these! 30 B RON'S WORKS. XXI. XXVII. The moon is up by Heaven, a lovely eve! More blest the life of godly Eremite, Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand; Such as on lonely Athos may be seen, Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe. Watching at eve upon the giant height, Such be our fate when we return to land! Which looks o'er waves so blue, skies so serene, Meantime, some rude Arion's restless hand That he who there at such an hour hath been Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love; Will wistful linger on that hallowed spot; A circle there of merry listeners stand, Then slowly tear him from the witching scene, Or to some well-known measure featly move, Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot, Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to Then turn to hate a world he had almost forgot. rove. XXII. XXVIII. Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy shore; Passwe the long, unvarying course, the track Europe and Afric on each other gaze! Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind; Lands of the dark-eyed Maid and dusky Moor Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack, Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze; And each well known caprice of wave and wind; How softly on the Spanish shore she plays, Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown, Coop'd in their winged sea-girt citadel; Distinct, though darkening with her waning phase; The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind, But Mauritania's giant-shadows frown, As breezes rise and fall and billows swell, From mountain cliff to coast descending sombreTillonsomejocundmorn-lo,land!andalliswell down. XXIX. XXIII. But not in silence pass Calypso's isles,'l'ris night, when Meditation bids us feel The sister tenants of the middle deep We once have loved, though love is at end. There for the weary still a haven smiles, The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal, Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep, Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. And o'er her clifs a fuitless watch to keep Who with the weight of years would wish to bend For him who dared prefer a mortal bride: When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy? Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide; Death hath but little left him to destroy! While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a sigh'd. boy XX. XXIV. Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone: Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, But trust not this; too easy youth, beware To gaze on Dian's wave reflected sphere, A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne, The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride. And thou may'st find a new Calypso there. And flies unconscious o'er each backward year. Sweet Florence! could another ever share None are so desolate but something dear, This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine: Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd But check'd by every tie, I may not dare A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine, A flashing pang! of which the weary breast Nor ask so dear abreast to feel one pang for mine. Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. XXXI. XXV. ~~~~XXV. ~Thus Harold deem'd, as on that lady's eye To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, He look'd, and met its beam without a thought, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Save Admiration glancing harmless by: Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, Love kept aloof, albeit not far remote, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been; Who knew his votary often lost and caught, To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, But knew him as his worshipper no more, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; And ne'er again the boy his bosom sought; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; Since now he vainly urged him to adore, This is not solitude;'tis but to hold Well deem'd the little God his ancient sway was Converse with Nature's charms, and view her store o'er. unroll'd. XXXII. XXVI. Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze, But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, One who,'twas said, still sigh'd to all he saw, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, Withstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, Which others hail'dwith real or mimic awe, [law; With none who bless us, none whom we can bless. Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their Minions of splendor, shrinking from distress! All that gay Beauty from her bondsmen claims; None that, with kindred consciousness endued, And much she marvelled that a youth so raw If we were not, would seem to smile the less Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told flames, Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! anger dames. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 3 XXXIII. XXXIX. Little knew she that seeming marble heart, Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot12 Now mask'd in silence or withheld by pride, Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave; Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, And onward view'd the mount, not yet forgot, And spread its snares licentious far and wide; The lovers refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside, Dark Sappho! could not verse immortal save As long as aught was worthy to pursue: That breast imbued with such immortal fire? But Harold on such arts no more relied; Could she not live who life eternal gave? And had he doted on those eyes so blue, If life eternal may await the lyre, Yet never would he join the lover's whining crew. That only Heaven to which Earth's children may aspire. XXXIV. XL. Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs; Childe Harold hail'd Leucadia's cape afar; What careth she for hearts when once possess'd? A spot he long'd to see, nor cared to leave Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes; Oft did he mark the scenes of vanish'd war, But not too humbly, or she will despise Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar; 13 Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight Disguise ev'n tenderness, if thou art wise; (Born beneath some remote inglorious star) Brisk confidence still best with woman copes; In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight, Pique her and sooth in turn, soon Passion crowns But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at marthy hopes. tial wight. XXXV. XLI.'Tis an old lesson; Time approves it true, But when he saw the evening star above And those who know it best, deplore it most; Leucadia's far-projecting rock of wo, When all is won that all desire to woo, And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love,14 The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost; He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow; Youth wasted, minds degraded, honor lost, And as the stately vessel glided slow These are thy fruits, successful Passion! these! Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, If, kindly cruel, early Hope is crost, He watch'd the billows' melancholy flow, Still to the last it rankles, a disease, And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont, Not to be cured when Love itself forgets to please. More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid front. XXXVI. XLII. Away! nor let me loiter in my song, Morn dawns; and with it stern Albania's hills, For we have many a mountain-path to tread, Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, And many a varied shore to sail along, Robed half in mist, bedewed with snowy rills, By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led- Arrayed in many a dun and purple streak, Climes, fair withal as ever mortal head Arise; and, as the clouds along them break, Imagined in its little schemes of thought; Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer: Or e'er in new Utopias were read, Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak, To teach man what he might be, or he ought; Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear, If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught. And gathering storms around convulse the closing year. XXXVII. XLIII. Dear Nature is the kindest mother still, Now Harold felt himself at length alone, Though alway changing, in her aspect mild; And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu; From her bare bosom let me take my fill, Now he adventured on a shore unknown, Her never-wean'd, though not her favor'd child. Which all admire, but many dread to view; [few, Oh! she is fairest in her features wild, His breast was arm'd'gainst fate, his wants were Where nothing polish'd dares pollute her path; Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet; To me by day or night she ever smiled, The scene was savage, but the scene was new; Though I have mark'd her when none other hath, This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet, And sought her more and more, and loved her best Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed sumin wrath. mer's heat. XXXVIII. XLIV. Land of Albania! where Iskander rose, Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise, Though sadly scoffd at by the circumcised, And he his namesake, whose oft-baffled foes Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear; Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprize: Churchman and votary alike despised. Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes Foul Superstition! howsoe'er disguised, On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men! Idol, saint, virgin, prophet, crescent, cross, The Cross descends, thy minarets arise, For whatsoever symbol thou art prized, And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen, Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss! Through many a cypress grove within each city's Who from true worship's gold can separate thy ken. dross? 82 BYRON'S WORKS. XLV. LI. Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing! Nature's volcanic amphitheatre,22 In yonder rippling bay, their naval host Chimaera's alps extend from left to right; Did many a Roman chief and Asian king 15 Beneath, a living valley seems to stir; [fir To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring: Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain Look where the second Caesar's trophies rose.! 1 Nodding above: behold black Acheron!3 Now, like the hands that rear'd them, withering: Once consecrated to the sepulchre. Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes! Pluto! if this be hell I look upon, GoD! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek lose? for none! XLVI. LII. From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view; Ev'n to the centre of Illyria's vales, Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, Veil'd by the screen of hills; here men are few, Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales; Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot; Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales But peering down each precipice, the goat Are rarely seen; nor can fair Tempe boast Browseth; and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock, A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails, The little shepherd in his white capote 2 Though classic ground, and consecrated most, Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock. coast. XLVII. LIII. He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, 17 Oh! where, Dodona is thine aged grove, And left the primal city of the land, Prophetic fount, and oracle divine? And onwards did his further journey take What valley echo'd the response of Jove What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's To greet Albania's chief,ls whose dread command W hat e Is lawless law; for with a bloody hand s e He sways a nation, turbulent and bold; All, all forgotten-and shall man repine He sways a nation, turbulent and bold; Yet here an nth, s ri nta and That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke? Yet here and there some daring mountain band Di.edi. his.pwranfo ther s d ir. roc hd... Cease, fool! the fate of Gods may well be thine. Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold ouldst thou survive the marble or the oak Hurl their defiancefar, nor yield, unless to gold. 19 When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink be~^ ^ ~XLVIII. ~neath the stroke! XLVIII. Monastic Zitza! 20 from thy shady brow, LIV. Though small, but favor'd spot of holy ground! Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail; Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found! Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale, Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, As ever Spring yclad in grassy die; And bluest skies that harmonize the whole: Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie, Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Where some bold river breaks the long expanse, Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll And woods along the banks are waving high, Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, the soul. Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn XLIX. trance. Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, L. Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit,25 Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by; 2 Might well itself be deem'd of dignity, The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, The convents's white walls glisten fair on high: When, down the steep banks winding warily, Here dwells the caloyer, 21 nor rude is he, Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer by The glittering minarets of Tepalen, [nigh, Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and drawing From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to He heard the busy hum of warrior men see. Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthenL. ing glen. Here in the sultriest season let him rest, LVI. Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees; He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower, Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, And underneath the wide o'erarching gate From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze: Survey'd the dwelling of this chief of power, The plain is far beneath-oh! let him seize Where all around proclaim'd his high estate. Pure pleasure while he can; the scorching ray Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease; While busy preparation shook the court, Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait; And gaze, untirod, the morn, the noon, the eve Within, a palace, and without, a fort: away. Here men of every clime appear to make resort CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 38 LVII. LXIII. Richly caparison'd, a ready row It is not that yon hoary lengthening beaid Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, Ill suits the passions which belong to youth; Circled the wide extending court below; Love conquers age-so Hafiz hath averr'd, Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridor; So sings the Teian, and he sings in soothAnd ofttimes through the area's echoing door But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth, Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away: Beseeming all men ill, but most the man The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth; Here mingled in their many-hued array, Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal While the deep war-drum's sound announced the span, close of day. In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood LVIII. began. LXIV. The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee,'Mid many things most new to ear and eye With shawl-girt head and ornamented, gun, With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, And gold-embroider'd garments, fair to see; And gazed around on Moslem luxury, The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon; Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat The Delhi with his cap of terror on, The Delhi with his cap of terror on, Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat And crooked glaive: the lively, supple Greek; Of sated Grandeur om the city's noise: Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise: And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son; And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son; And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet; The bearded Turk that rarely deigns to speak, B P o iii ^,, ^ J ^But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, Waster of all around, too potent to be meek, o a a And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both LIX. destroys. LXV. Are mix'd conspicuous: some recline in groups, Fierce are Albanias children, yet they lack oc~tnning. 1. 1 i.tley.cene ihat varies round; Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack Scanning the motley scene that varies round; Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, Where is the foe that ever saw their back? And some that smoke, and some that play, are Who can so well the toil of war endure? found; T found; Their native fastnesses not more secure Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground; IHere the Albanian proudly treads the ground; Than they in doubtful times of troublous need: Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate;Their rath how deadly! but their friendship sure, Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound, When Gratitude or Valor bids them bleed The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead "There is no god but God!-to prayer-lo! God is er their chief may lead great!" LXVI. LX. Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower Just at this season Ramazani's fast Thronging to war in splendor and success; Through the long day its penance did maintain: And after viewed them when, within their power But when the lingering twilight hour was past, Himself, awhile the victim of distress; Revel and feast assumed the rule again: That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press Now all was bustle, and the menial train But these did shelter him beneath their roof, Prepared and spread the plenteous board within; When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less, The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain, And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof-27 But from the chambers came the mingling din, In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the As page and slave anon were passing out and in. proof LXVII. LXI. It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark Here woman's voice is never heard: apart, Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore, And scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to move, When all around was desolate and dark: She yields to one her person and her heart, To land was perilous, to sojourn more; Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove; Yet for a while the mariners forbore, For, not unhappy in her master's love, Dubious to trust where treacherymight lurk: [sore And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, At length they ventured forth, though doubting Blest cares! all other feelings far above! That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares. LXVIII. ~~~~~LXII. Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, Of living water from the centre rose, Kinder than polish'd slaves, though not so bland, Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling, And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, damp, ALI reclined, a man of war and woes; And fill'd the bowl, and trimm'd the cheerful lamp, Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, And spreadtheir fare; though homely, all they had: While Gentleness her milder radiance throws Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp-Along that aged venerable face, To rest the weary and to sooth the sad, The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the disgrace. bad. 5 34 BYRON'S WORKS. LXIX. o. It came to pass, that when he did address Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, Himself to quit at length this mountain-land, And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, Combined marauders half-way barr'd egress, Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar, And wasted far and near with glaive and brand; And track to his covert the captive on shore. And therefore did he take a trusty band To traverse Acarnania's forest wide, 6. In war well season'd, and with labors tann'd, I ask not the pleasures that riches supply, Till he did greet white Achelous tide, My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy; And from his further bank A2tolia's wolds espied. Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair, And many a maid from her mother shall tear. LXX. Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, 7. And weary waves retire to gleam at rest, I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, How brown the foliage of the green hill's grove, Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall sooth; Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast, Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyrs As winds come lightly whispering from the west And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene: — Here Harold was received a welcome guest; 8. Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, Remember the moment when Previsa fell,32 For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors' yell, glean. The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, LXXI. The wealthy we slaughtered, the lovely we spared On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, The feast was done, the red wine circling fast,28 And he that unawares had there ygazed I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; With gaping wonderment had stared aghast; He neither must know who would serve the Vizier: For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past, Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw The native revels of the troop began; A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. Each Palikar29 his sabre from him cast, And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man, 10. Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, clan. Let the yellow-hair'd* Giaourst view his horse-tail+ LXXII. with dread; [banks, Childe Harold at a little distance stood TWhen his Delhis come dashing in blood o'er the And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie, How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks! Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude; 11 In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee; Selictar! I unsheathe then our chief's scimitar: And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd, Tambourgi! thy larum gives promise of war. Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore, The long wild locks that to their girdles stream'd, Shall view us as victors, or view us no mor While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream'd: 30 LXXIII. 1. Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! 33 1 TAMBOvcGI! Tambourgi! * thy'larum afar Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war; Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth, All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, And long accustom'd bondage uncreate? Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote! Not such thy sons who whilome did await, The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, O!himrba 2. th dIn bleak Thermopyle's sepulchral straitOh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, Oh! who that gallant spirit shall resume, In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote? Leap from Eurota's banks, and call thee from the To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock, tomb? And descends to the plain like the stream from the LXXIV. rock.. Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow34 never fore Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego? Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe But every carl can lord it o'er thy land; 4. Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, acedonia sends forth her invincible race; Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, Macedonia sends forth her invincible race; For a time they abandon the cave and the chase: From bth till death enslaved; word, in deed, But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before Jhe sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. ~he sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. * Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians. t Infidel. Horse-tails are the nsigna of a Pacha. Drummer. Hornemen, answering to our forlorn hope. I word-bearer. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 35 LXXV. LXXXI. In all save form alone, how changed! and who Glanced many a light caique along the foam, That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, Danced on the shore the daughters of the land, Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home, With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty! While many a languid eye and thrilling hand And many dream withal the hour is nigh Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand, That gives them back their fathers' heritage: Or gently prest, return'd the pressure still: For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, Oh Love! young Love! bound in thy rosy band, Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years o: page. ill! LXXVI. LXXXI Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not [blow? But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, Who would be free themselves must strike the Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain, By their right arms the conquest must be wrought? Even through the closest searment half betray'd i Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? no! To such the gentle murmurs of the main True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, Seem to reecho all they mourn in vain; But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd Shades of the Helots! triumph o'er your foe! Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain: Greece! change thy lords, thy state is still the same; How do they loathe the laughter idly loud, Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thy years of shame. And lon to change the robe of revel for the shroud LXXVII. LXXXIII. This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece, The city won for Allh from the Giour, If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast: The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest; ot such as prate of ar, but skulk in peace, And the Serai's impenetrable tower - The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost, Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest; a Receive the fiery Fralnk, her former guest; 3 Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost, Or Wahab's rebel brood who dared divest And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword: The 36 prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil, Greece t love thee least who owe thee May wind their path of blood along the West; most But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil, sublime record Their birth, tneir blood, and that sublime record But slave succeed to slave through years of endless O~~. ~Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde toil. LXXVIII. LXXXIV. Yet mark their mirth-ere lenten days begin When riseth Lacedamon's hardihood, That penance which their holy rites prepare When Thebes Epaminondas rears again, To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin, When Athens' children are with hearts endued, By daily abstinence and nightly prayer; When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men, But ere his'sackcloth garb Repentance wear, Then may'st thou be restored; but not till then. Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all, A thousand years scarce serve to form a state; To take of pleasaunce eaoh his secret share; An hour may lay it in the dust: and when In motley robe to dance at masking ball, Can man in shatter'd splendor renovate, And join the mimic train of merry Carnival. Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate? LXXIX. LXXXV. And whose more rife with merriment than thine, And yet how lovely in thine age of wo, Oh Stamboul! once the empress of their reign? Land of lost gods and godlike men! art thou! Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine, Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow,37 And Greece her very altars eyes in vain: Proclaim thee Nature's varied favorite now; (Alas! her woes will still pervade my strain!) Thy fame, thy temples to thy surface bow, Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, Commingling slowly with heroic earth, All felt the common joy they now must feign, Broke by the share of every rustic plough: Nor oft I've seen such sight, nor heard such song, So perish monuments of mortal birth, As woo'd the eye, and thrill'd the Bosphorus along. So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth; LXXX. LXXXVI. Loud was the lightsome tumult of the shore, Save where some solitary column mourns Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone, Above its prostrate brethren of the cave;38 And timely echo'd back the measured oar, Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns And rippling waters made a pleasant moan: Colonna's cliff, and gleams along the wave; The Queen of tides on high consenting shone, Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave, And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave, Where the gray stones and unmolested grass'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne, Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave, A brighter glance her form reflected gave, While strangers only not regardless pass, Till sparkling billows seem'd to light the banks they Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh lave, "Alas!" 36 BYRON'S WORKS. LXXXVII. XCIII. Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Let such approach this consecrated land, Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, And pass in peace along the magic waste; Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, But spare its relics-let no busy hand And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields; Deface the scenes, already how defaced! There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, Not for such purpose were these altars placed; The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air; Revere the remnants nations once revered: Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, So may our country's name be undisgraced, Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare; So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd, Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. By every honest joy of love and life endear'd! LXXXVIII. XCIV. Where'er we tread'tis haunted, holy ground; For thee, who thus in too protracted song No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, Hath soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, Of louder minstrels in these later days; Till the sense aches with gazing to behold To such resign the strife for fading bays,The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon: Ill may such contest now the spirit move Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise; Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone: Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Mara- And none are left to please, when none are left to thon. love. LXXXIX. XCV. The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same; t Thou too art gone' thou loved and lovely one! Unchanged in all except its foreign lord- Unchanged in all except its foreign lord- rhom youth and youth's affections bound to me, Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame Wo o a o Vho did for me what none beside have done, The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy tee. First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, hat is my being? thou hast ceased to be As on the morn to distant Glory dear, Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, When Marathon became a magic word; * 39. When Marathon became a magic word; 39 Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see: Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear hich uttr'd to the hearer's eye appear ould they had never been, or were to come! The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's ca- ould he had ne'er returned, to find fresh cause to reer. roam. XC. XCVI. The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow;,, and The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear; ow selih Sorrow pondes on e Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below, t p Death in the front, Destruction in the rear And clings to thoughts now better far removed! Death in the front, Destruction in the rear! v Such was the scene-hat now remaineth here? But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. [hast. All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death! thou'What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground, Recording freedom's smile, and Asia's tear? Recording freedom's smile, and Asia's tear? The parent, friend, and now the more than friend; The rifled urn, the violated mound, Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, The rifled urn, the violated mound,..... The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns And grief with grief continuing still to blend, around. Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend. XCI. XCVII. Yet tc the remnants of thy splendor past Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied throng; Then must I plunge again into the crowd, Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast, And follow all that Peace disdains to seek? Iail the bright clime of battle and of song; Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore; To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak; Boast of the aged! lesson of the young! Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, Which sages venerate, and bards adore, To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique; As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. Smiles form the channel of a future tear, Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. XCII. XCVIII. The parted bosom clings to wonted home,CVIII If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth; What is the worst of Roes that wait on age? He that is lonely, hither let him roam, What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? And gaze complacent on congenial earth. To view each loved one blotted from life's page, Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth. And be alone on earth, as I am now. But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, Before the Chastener humbly let me bow And scarce regret the region of his birth, O'er hearts divided, and o'er hopes destroy'd; When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow, Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd, died. Aud with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 87 VI.'Tis to create, and in creating live A being more intense, that we endow CANTO III. With form or fancy, gaining as we give The life we image, even as I do now. What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou, " Afin que cette application vous forgat de penser i autre chose; il n'y a en Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth, rkite de remede que celui-lk et le temps."-Leure du Roi de Prus abut gazing, as I glow n'Alembert, Sept. 7, 1776. Invisible but gazing, as I glow mbrSep. 7,1775. Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings' I. dearth. Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! VII Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? Yet must I think less wildly:-I have thought When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, Too long and darkly, till my brain became, And then we parted,-not as now we part, In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, But with a hope.- A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame; Awaking with a start, And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, The waters heave around me; and on high My springs of life were poison'd.'Tis too late! The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Yet am I changed; though still enough the same Whither I know not,; but the hour's gone by, In strength to bear what time can not abate, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate. mine eye. II. VIII. Once more upon the waters! yet once more! Something too much of this;-but now'tis past, And the waves bound beneath me as a steed And the spell closes with its silent seal. That knows his rider. Welcome, to their roar! Long absent HAROLD reappears at last; Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead! He of the breast which fain no more would feel, Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Yet Time, who changes all, had alter'd him [heal; Still must I on; for I am as a weed, In soul and aspect as in age: years steal Flung from the rock, en Ocean's foam to sail Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. prevail. III. IX. In my youth's summer I did sing of One, His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; The dregs were wormwood; but he fill'd again, Again I seize the theme then but begun, And from a purer fount, on holier ground, And bear it with me, as the rushing wind And deem'd its spring perpetual; but in vain! Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find Still round him clung invisibly a chain The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, Which gall'd, for ever fettering though unseen, Which, ebbing, leave a steril track behind, And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with pain, O'er which all heavily the journeying years Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, Plod the last sands of life,-where not a flower Entering with every step he took through many a appears. scene. IV. X. Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain, Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string, Again in fancied safety with his kind, And both may jar; it may be, that in vain And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd I would essay as I have sung to sing. And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind, Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind; So that it ween me from the weary dream And he, as one, might midst the many stand Of selfish grief or gladness-so it fling Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find Forgetfulness around me-it shall seem Fit speculation; such as in strange land To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's hand. V. XI. He, who grown aged in this world of wo, But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, To wear it? who can curiously behold So that no wonder waits him; nor below The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek, Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife, Nor feel the heart can never all grow old? Cut to his heart again with the keen knife Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb? Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife Harold, once more within the vortex, roll'd With airy images, and shapes which dwell On with the giddy circle, chasing Time, Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond cell. prime. 58 BYRON'S WORKS XII. XVIII. But soon he knew himself the most unfit And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo; Little in common; untaught to submit [quell'd How in an hour the power which gave annuls His thoughts to others, though his soul was Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too! In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompell'd, In " pride of place "' here last the eagle flew, He would not yield dominion of his mind Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, To spirits against whom his own rebell'd; Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through; Proud though in desolation; which could find Ambition's life and labors all were vain; Ulife within itself, to breath without mankind. He wears the shatter'd links of the world's brokel chain. XIII. XIX. Where rose the mountains, there to him were Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit friends; And foam in fetters;-but is Earth more free? Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home; Did nations combat to make One submit; Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? lie had the passion and the power to roam; What! shall reviving Thraldom again be The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days? Were unto him companionship; they spake Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we A mutual language, clearer than the tome Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake And servile knees to thrones? No: prove before ye For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. praise! XX. XIV. If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars, In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears Till he had peopled them with beings bright For Europe's flowers long rooted up before As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born The trampler of her vineyards; in vain, years And human frailties, were forgotten quite: [jars, Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Could he have kept his spirit to that flight Have all been borne, and broken by the accord HIe had been happy; but this clay will sink Of roused-up millions: all that most endears Its spark immortal, envying it the light Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword To which it mounts, as, if to break the link Such as Harmodius2 drew on Athens' tyrant lord. That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink. XV. XI There was a sound of revelry by night, But in Man's dwellings he became a thing T w And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with clipt wing, Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright To whom the boundless air alone were home: The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; To whom the boundless air alone were home: Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome, A thousand hearts beat happily; and when As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat Music arose with its voluptuous swell, As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat His reast and beak against his wiry dome Soft eves look'd love to eyes which spake again, His breast and beak against his wiry dome F And all went merry as a marriage-bell;3 Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heatt m y as a e-bell Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat. But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising Of his impeded s uld through h bosom knell! XVI. XXII. Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, Did ye not hear it?-No;'tas but the wind, With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom; Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; The very knowledge that he lived in vain, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; That all was over on this side the tomb, No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet Had made Despair a smilingness assume, [wreck To chase the glowing Hours with fying feetWhich, though'twere wild,-as on the plunder'd But, hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once more, When mariners would madly meet their doom As if the clouds its echo would repeat; With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck, And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check. Arm Arm it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar! XVII. XXIII. Stop!-For thy tread is on an Empire's dust! Within a window'd niche of that high hall An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust? That sound the first amidst the festival, Nor column trophied for triumphal show? And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, And when th9y smiled because he deem'd it near, As the ground was before, thus let it be;- His heart more truly knew that peal too well How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory? He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting fell CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 39 XXIV. XXX. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And mine were nothing, had I such to give; And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; Which living waves where thou didst cease to live And there were sudden partings, such as press And saw around me the wide field revive The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, With all her reckless birds upon the wing, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not rise? bring.7 XXV. XXXI. And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, And one as all a ghastly gap did make Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake And near, the beat of the alarming drum Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; May for a moment sooth, it cannot slake [Fame While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, The fever of vain longing, and the name Or whispering, with white lips-" The foe! They So honor'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. come! they come!" XXVI. XXXII. And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills [rose! The tree will wither long before it fall; [mourn: Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn; How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills In massy hoariness; the ruin'd wall Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; With the fierce native daring which instills The bars survive the captive they enthral; [sun; The stirring memory of a thousand years, The day drags through tho' storms keep out the And 4Evan's, 5Donald's fame rings in each clans- And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. man's ears! XXVII. XXXIII. And Ardennes6 waves above them her green leaves Even as a broken mirror, which the glass Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass In every fragment multiplies; and makes Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, A thousand images of one that was, Over the unreturning brave,-alas! The same, and still the more, the more it breaks; Ere evening to be trodden like the grass And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold, In its next verdure, when this fiery mass And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches, Of living valor, rolling on the foe, Yet withers on till all without is old, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. and low. XXVIII. XXXIV. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Xast.ve in:11uty's Xircle proudly There is a very life in our despair, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, Vitality of poison,-a quick root The morn the marshalling in arms,-the day WVhich feeds these deadly branches; for it were The morntemarhallininams,-te c As nothing did we die; but Life will suit Battle's -magnificently-stern array The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, Itself to Sorrow's most detested frut, The earth is covered thick with other clay, Like to the apples on the 8 Dead Sea's shore,..'' i i. eAll ashes to the taste: Did man compute Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial istence by enjoyment, and count o'er blent! Such hours'gainst years of life,-say, would he name XXIX. threescore XXXV. Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, The Psalmist number'd out the years of man: Partly because they blend me with his line, They are enough; and if thy tale be true, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, And partly that bright names will hallow song; More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo! And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd Millions of tongues record thee, and anew The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Their children's lips shall echo them, and sayEven where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, "Here, where the sword united nations drew, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, Our countrymen were warring on that day! " gallant Howard! And this is much, and all which will not pass away. 40 BYRON'S WORKS. XXXV1. XLII. There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, Whose spirit antithetically mixt And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire One moment of the mightiest, and again And motion of the soul which will not dwell On little objects with like firmness fixt, In its own narrow being, but aspire Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt, Beyond the fitting medium of desire; Thy throne had still been thine, or never been; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Even now to reassume the imperial mien, Of aught but rest; a fever at the core, 6nd shake again the world, the Thunderer of the Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. scene! XXXVII. XLIII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! This makes the madmen who have made men mad She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings, Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now Founders of sects and systems, to whom add That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert And are themselves the fools to those they fool; g uto th t Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings A god unto thyself; nor less the same,D To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didstWhich would unteach mankind the lust to shine or assert. rule; XXXVIII. XLIV., me or ls tn m -in hig o l Their breath is agitation, and their life Oh, more or less than man-in high or low, Battling with nations, flying from the field; A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, Battling with nations, flying from the field; And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now or taut to l That should their days, surviving perils past, More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield; elt to calm twilight they feel overcast l- Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, i s i, i -. X, -4.With sorrow and supineness, and so die; But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, But govern not thy pettiest passi, n, Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, Howevr d y in mn's spirits skill'd, With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, ^^,^J-r.~ -ill, i Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star. XI~V. XXXIX. He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide,'lie loftiest eks most wrapt in clouds and sno With that untaught innate philosophy, ie who surpasses or subdues mankind, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, st lok dn on the hate of te blo. Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. Though high above the sun of glory glow, -When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast d him are icy rocks, and loudly blow With a sedate and all-enduring eye;- [smiled Conending tempests on his naked head, When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favorite child hen Fortune fled her spoild and favorite child, And thus reward the toils which to those summite He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled. led. XLVI. XL. Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them Within its own creation, or in thine, Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show Maternal Nature! for who teems like thee, That just habitual scorn which could contemn Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine? Men and their thoughts;'twas wise to feel, not so There Harold gazes on a work divine, To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, And spurn the instruments thou wert to use, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow: vine,'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose; And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly choose. dwells. XLI. XLVII. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock; All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy Or holding dark communion with the cloud. Their admiration thy best weapon shone; [throne. There was a day when they were young and proud, The part of Philip's son was thine, not then Banners on high, and battles pass'd below; (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, Like stern Diogenes to mock at men; And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den! 9 And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 41 XLVIII. LIV. Beneath these battlements, within those walls, And he had learned to love,-I know not why, Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state For this in such as him seems strange of mood,Each robber chief upheld his armed halls, The helpless looks of blooming infarcy, Doing his evil will, nor less elate Even in its earliest nurture; what subdued, Than mightier heroes of a longer date. [have? To change like this, a mind so far imbued What want these outlaws'1 conquerors should With scorn of man, it little boots to know; But History's purchased page to call them great? But thus it was; and though in solitude A wider space, an ornamented grave? Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to as brave. glow. XLIX.LV. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, In their baronial feuds and single fields, hich unto his was bound by stronger ties n, ~Which unto his was bound by stronger ties What deeds of prowess unrecorded died! Than the church links withal; and, though unwed And love, which lent a blazon to their shields, That love was pure, and, far above disg-ise, With emblems well devised by amorous pride, Had stood the test of mortal enmities Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide; Stil undivided, and cemented more But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on By peril, dreaded most in female eyes; Keen contest and destruction near allied, But this was firm, and from a foreign shore And many a tower for some fair mischief won, Well to that heart might his these absent greetings Saw the discolor'd Rhine beneath its ruin run. pour. 1. L. The castled crag of Drachenfels 11 But Thou, exultiAg and unbounding river! Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine. Making thy waves, a blessing as they flow Whose breast of waters broadly swells Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever Between the banks which bear the vine. Could man but leave thy bright creation so, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, Nor its fair promise from the surface mow And fields which promise corn and wine, With the sharp scythe of eonflict,-then to see And scatterd cities crowning these, Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know Whose far white walls along them shine, Earth paved like Heaven; and to seem such to me, Have strew'd a scene which I should see Even now what wants thy stream?-that it should With double joy wert thos with me. Lethe be. 2. LI. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks, And hands which offer early flowers, But these and half their fame have pass'd away, Walk smiling o'er this paradise; And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks; Above, the frequent feudal towers Their very graves are gone, and what are they? Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday, And many a rock which steeply lowers, And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream And noble arch in proud decay, Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray; Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; But o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream But one thing want these banks of Rhine,Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! seem. 3. LII. I send the lilies given to me; Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, Though long before thy hand they toucn, Yet not insensibly to all which here I know that they must wither'd be, Awoke the jocund birds to early song But yet reject them not as such; In glens which might have made even exile dear; For I have cherish'd them as dear, Though on his brow were graven lines austere, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place And guide thy soul to mine even here, Of feelings fierier far but less severe, When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, Joy was not always absent from his face, And know'st them gather'd by the Rhine, But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient And offer'd from my heart to thine trace. 4 ~~~~LIII. ~The river nobly foams and flows, Nor was all love shut from him, though his days The charm of this enchanted ground, Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. And all its thousand turns disclose It is in vain that we would coldly gaze Some fresher beauty varying round: On such as smile upon us; the heart must The haughtiest breast its wish might bound Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust Through life to dwell delighted here; Hath wean'd it from all worldlings: thus he felt, Nor could on earth a spot be found For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust To nature and to me so dear, In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Aid in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! 6 42 BYRON'S WORKS LVI. LXII. By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, But these recede. Above me are the Alps, Thereis a small and simple pyramid, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Crowning the summit of the verdant mound; Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid, And throned Eternity in icy halls Our enemy's-but let not that forbid Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls Honor to Marceau! o'er whose early tomb The avalanche-the thunderbolt of snow! Tears, big tears, gush'd from the rough soldier's lid, All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, Gather around these summits. as to show FallingforFrance, whose rights he battledtoresume. How earth may pierce to HIeaven, yet leave vain man below. LVII. LXIII. Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career,- But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan, His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes; There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain,And fitly may the stranger lingering here Morat! the proud, the patriot field! where man Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose; May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, For he was freedom's champion, one of those, Nor blush for those who conquer'd on that plain, The few in number, who had not o'erstept Here Burgundy bequeath'd his tombless host, The charter to chastise which she bestows A bony heap, through ages to remain, On such as wield her weapons; he had kept Themselves their monument; the Stygian coast The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wept. 2 wandering ghost.'4 LVIII. Here Ehrenbreitstein,l3 with her shatter'd wall LXIV. Black with the miner's blast, upon her height While Waterloo with Cannue's carnage vies, Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand; Rebounding idly on her strength did light: They were true Glory's stainless victories, A tower of victory! from whence the flight Won by the unambitious heart and hand Of baffled foes was watch'd along the plain; Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band, But Peace destroy'd what war could never blight, All unbought champions in no princely cause And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain- Of vice-entail'd Corruption; they no land On which the iron shower for years had pour'd in Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws vain. Making kings' rights divine, by some Draconio LIX. clause. LXV. Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted The stranger fain would linger on his way! By a lone wall a lonelier column rears Thine is a scene alike where souls united A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days; Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray;'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years, And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey And looks as with the wild-bewilder'd gaze On self-condemning bosoms, it were here, Of one to stone converted by amaze, Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, Yet still with consciousness; and there it stands Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere, Making a marvel that it not decays, Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year. When the coeval pride of human hands, Levell'd 5 Aventicum, hath strew'd her subject LX. lands. Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu! LVI. There can be no farewell to scene like thine; And there-oh! sweet and sacred be the name! — The mind is color'd by thy every hue; Julia-the daughter, the devoted-gave And if reluctantly the eyes resign Her youth to Heaven; her heart, beneath a claim Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine! Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave.'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise; Justice is sworn'gainst tears, and hers would crave More mighty spots may rise-more glaring shine, The life she lived in, but the judge was just, But none unite in one attaching maze And then she died on him she could not save. The brilliant, fair, and soft,-the glories of old days. Their tomb was simple, and without a bust, And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one LXI. dust.'6 The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom LXVII. Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen, But these are deeds which should not pass away, The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom, And names that must not wither, though the earth The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, Forgets her empires with a just decay, [birth; The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been, The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and In mockery of man's art; and these withal The high, the mountain-majesty of worth A race of faces happy as the scene, Should be, and shall, survivor of its wo, Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, And from its immortality look forth Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow,17 them fall. Imperishably pure beyond all things below. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 43 LXVIII. LXXIV. Lake L^man woos me with its crystal face, And when, at length, the mind shall be all free The mirror cwhere the stars and mountains view From what it hates in this degraded form, The stillness of their aspect in each trace Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be Its clear depth yields of their fair height and hue: Existent happier in the fly and worm,There is too much of man here, to look through When elements to elements conform, With a fit mind the might which I behold; And dust is as it should be, shall I not But soon in me shall Loneliness renew Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm? Thoughts hid, but not less cherish'd than of old, The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot Ere mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal fold. lot; LXIX. LXXV. To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind: Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part All are not fit with them to stir and toil, Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Nor is it discontent to keep the mind Is not the love of these deep in my heart Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil With a pure passion? should I not contemn In the hot throng, where we become the spoil All objects, if compared with these? and stem Of our infection, till too late and long A tide of suffering, rather than forego We may deplore and struggle with the coil, Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong Of those whose eyes are only turn'd below, Midst a contentious world, striving where none are Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dart strong. not glow? LXX. LXXVI. There, in a moment, we may plunge our years But this is rot my theme; and I return In fatal penitence, and in the blight To that which is immediate, and require Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears, Those who find contemplation in the urn, And color things to come with hues of Night; To look on One, whose dust was once all fire, The race of life becomes a hopeless flight A native of the land where I respire To those that walk in darkness: on the sea, The clear air for a while-a passing guest, The boldest steer but where their ports invite, Where he became a being,-whose desire But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Was to be glorious;'twas a foolish quest, Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest. shall be. LXXI. LXXVII. Is it not better, then, to be alone, Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, And love Earth only for its earthly sake? The apostle of affliction, he who threw By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,' Enchantment over passion, and from wo Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake, Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew Which feeds it as a mother who doth make The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew A fair but froward infant her own care, How to make madness beautiful, and cast Kissing its cries away as these awake;- O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue Is it not better thus our lives to wear, Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and bear? fast. LXXII. LXXVIII. I live not in myself, but I become His love was passion's essence-as a tree Portion of that around me: and to me On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame High Mnountains are a feeling, but the hum Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be Of human cities torture: I can see Thus, and enamor'd, were in him the same Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be But his was not the love of living dame, A link reluctant in a fleshy chain, Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee, But of ideal beauty, which became And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain In him existence, and o'erflowing teems Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. Along his burningpage, distemper'dthough it seems. LXXIII. LXXIX. And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life; This breathed itself to life in Julie, this I look upon the peopled desert past, Invested her with all that's wild and sweet; As on a place of agony and strife, This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss Where, for some sin, to Sorrow I was cast, Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet, To act and suffer, but remount at last From hers, who but with friendship his would meet; With a fresh pinion; which I feel to spring, But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast Though young, yet waxing vigorous, as the blast Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat; Which it would cope with, on delighted wing, In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest, Spurning the clay-cold bondswhich round our being Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek cling. poPscst.19 44 BYRON'S WORKS. LXXX. LXXXV1. His life was one long war with self-sought foes, It is the hush of night, and all between Or friends by him self-banished; for his mind Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear'Gainstwhom he raged with fury strange and blind. Precipitously steep; and drawing near, But he was frensied,-wherefore, who may know? There breathes a living fragrance from the shorel Since cause might be which skill could never find; Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear But he was frensied by disease or wo, Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carolnmert show. LXXXI. LXXXVII. For then he was inspired, and from him came, He is an evening reveller, who makes As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore, His life an infancy, and sings his fill; Those oracles which set the world in flame, At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more: Starts into a voice a moment, then is still. Did he not this for France? which lay before There seems a floating whisper on the hill, Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years? But that is fancy, for the starlight dews Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, All silently their tears of love instil, Till by the voice of him and his compeers Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Roused up to too much wrath, which follows Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. o'ergrown fears? LXXXII. LXXXVIII. They made themselves a fearful monument! Yestars! which are the poetry of heaven! The wreck of old opinions-things which grew If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Breathed from the birth of time; the veil they Of men and empires,-'ti to be forgiven, And what behind it lay all earth shall view. [rent, T in our aspirations to be great, But good with ill they also overthrow, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild And claim a kindred with you; for ye are Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild A bu a a m a create Upon the same foundation, and renew A beauty and a mystery, and create Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour re- In us such love and reverence from afar, As heretofore because ambition was self-will'd. That fortune, fame, power, life, hath named them As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd. sv a star. selves a star. LXXXIII.LXX X. LXXXIX. But this will nor endure, nor be endured! [felt. But this will nor endure, nor be endured! [felt. All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, Mankind have felt their strength, and made it utbreathless, as e grow when feelingmost But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; They might have used it better, but allured A s in And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep;By their new vigor, sternly have they dealt An Bthi onew vigohr, steny haved the deal All heaven and earth are still: From the high host On one another: pity ceased to melt itn oer aonoher: pit ceasedie. tmet tOf stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, With her once natural charities. But they, All is concenter'd in a life intense Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt, Al t e ai n l i W vhere not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day; t h a art o in, an a sense But hath a part of being, and a sense What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their Of that which is of all Creator and defence. prey' Of that which is of all Creator and defence. prey? LXXXIV. XC. What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt That which disfigures it; and they who war [bear In solitude, where we are least alone; With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, A truth, which through our being then doth melt Silence, but not submission: in his lair And purifies from self: it is a tone Fix'd passion holds his breath, until the hour The soul and source of music, which makes known Which shall atone for years; none need despair: Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, It came, it cometh, and will come,-the power Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, To punish or forgive-in one we shall be slower. Binding all things with beauty;-'twould disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. LXXXV. XCI. Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, XCI With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Not vainly did the early Persian make Which warns me, with its stillness to forsake His altar the high places and the peak Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. Of earth-o'ergazing mountains,20 and thus take This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing A fit, and unwall'd temple, there to seek To waft me from distraction; once I loved The Spirit, in whose honor shrines are weak, Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, moved. Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'r I CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 45 XCII. XCVIII. The sky is changed!-and such a change! Oh The morn is up again, the dewy morn, nightl With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, Yet lovely in your strength, as it the light And living as if earth contain'd no tomb,Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, And glowing into day; we may resume From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, The march of our existence: and thus I Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And food for meditation, nor pass by And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly. Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! XCIX. XCIII. And this is in the night:-M'PNost glorious night! f Clarens! sweet Clarens, birth-place of deep Love, And this is in the night:-Most glorious night!... -. Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought; A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,- Thy trees take root in Love: the snows above A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,- oti o t t d f t h e The very Glaciers have his colors caught, A portion of the tempest and of thee e And sunset into rose hues sees them wrought22 How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the bi rain comes dancing to the earth By rays which sleep there lovingly; the rocks And the big rain comes daning to the earth!! v A-.And now again'tis black-nd now the glee The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who And now again'tis black,-and now, thle glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, sought In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's I t a birth. dWhich stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, XCIV. then mocks. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, Heights which appear as lovers who have parted Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, To which the steps are mountains; where the god That they can meet no more, though broken- Is a pervading life and light,-so shown hearted! Not on those summits solely, nor alone Tho' in their souls, which thus each other thwarted In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower Love was the very root of the fond rage [parted: His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown Which blighted their life's bloom, and then de- His soft and summer breath, whose tender power Itself expired, but leaving them an age Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate Of years all winters,-war within themselves to wage. hour. CI. XCV. All things are here of him; from the black pines, Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way Which are hissiade on high, and the loud roar The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand: Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines For here, not one, but many, make their play, Which slope his green path downward to the shore, And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore, Flashing and cast around: of all the band, [fork'd Rissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood The brightest through these parted hills hath The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar His lightnings,-as if he did understand, But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it That in such gaps as desolation work'd, stood There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude. lurk'd. XCVI.CII. Sky, mountains, rier, winds, lake, lightings ye! A populous solitude of bees and birds, With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul And fairy-fonn'd and many-color'd things, [words, To make these felt and feeling, well may be v # To make these felt and feeling, well may be Who worship him with notes more sweet than Things that have made me watchful; the far roll And innocently open their glad wings, Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of your departing voiceps, is the knll Fearless and full of life; the gush of springs, Of what in me is sleepless,-if I rest. And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend But where of ye, oh tempe Of stirrin branches, and the bud which brings Ared ye like those within the human breast? The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. nest? XCVII. CIII. Could I embody and unbosom now, That which is most within me,-could I wreak He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw And make his heart a spirit: he who knows Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or That tender mystery, will love the more, weak, For this is love's recess, where vain men's woes, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, And the world's waste, have driven him far from Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe-into one word, For'tis his nature to advance or die; [those~ And that one word were lightning, I would speak; He stands not still, but or decays, or grows But as it is, I live and die unheard, [sword. Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a With the immortal lights, in its eternity' 6 BBYRON'S WORKS. CIV. CX.'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, Italia! too, Italia! looking on thee, Peopling it with affections; but he found Full flashes on the soul the light of ages, It was the scene which passion must allot Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee, To the miud's purified beings;'tvas the ground To the last halo of the chiefs and sages, Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound, Who glorify thy consecrated pages: And hallow'd it with loveliness:'tis lone, Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, The fount at which the panting mind assuages And sense, and sight of sweetness: here the Rhone Her thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill, IHath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial a throne. hill. CV. CXI. Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes23 Thus far have I proceeded in a theme Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name; Renew'd with no kind auspices; to feel Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous We are not what we have been, and to deem A path to perpetuity of fame; [roads, We are not what we should be,-and to steel They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim The heart against itself; and to conceal Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile [flame With a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught,Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the Passion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal,Of heaven, again assail'd, if heaven the while Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought, On man and man's research could deign do more Is a stern task of soul:-No matter,-it is taught. than smile. CVI. CXII The one was fire and fickleness, a child, And for these words, thus woven into song, The one was fire and fickleness, a child, Mhost mIutable in wishes, but in mind, It may be that they are a harmless wile,A wit as va-rious-gay, g1rave, sage, or wild,- The coloring of the scenes which fleet along, Historian, bard, philosophraer, combined; Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile Historian, bard, philosopher, combined;, X He multiplied himself among mankind, My breast, or that of others, for a while. The Proteus of their talents; But his own, Fame is the thirst of youth,-but I am not The Proteus of their talents; But his own The Proteus of t.i'lns But...... his on. So young as to regard men's frown or smile, Breathed most in ridicule,-which, as the wind, S y a t' Blew where it listeth, laying all things prone,- As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot; Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. I stood and stand alone,-remember'd or forgot. CXIII. CVII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me; The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd And hiving wisdom with each studious year, To its idolatries a patient knee,In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, In worship of an echo; in the crowd Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; They could not deem me one of such: I stood The lord of irony,-that master-spell, [fear, Among them, but not of them: in a shroud [could Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from Of thoughts which werenot their thoughts, andstill And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell, Had I not filed24 my mind, which thus itself subWhich answers to all doubts so eloquently well. dued. CXIV. CVIII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me,Yet, peace be with their ashes,-for by them, But let us part fair foes; I do believe, If merited, the penalty is paid; Though I have found them not, that there may be It is not ours to judge,-far less condemn; [made Words which are things,-hopes which will not The hour must come when such things shall be deceive Known unto all,-or hope and dread allay'd And virtues which are merciful, nor weave By slumber, on one pillow,-in the dust, Snares for the failing: I would also deem Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay'd; O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve: 2 And when it shall revive, as is our trust, That two, or one, are almost what they seem,"Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. CIX. CXV. But let me quit man's works, again to read My daughter! with thy name this song begunHis Maker's, spread around me, and suspend My daughter! with thy name thus much shall This page, which from my reveries I feed, I see thee not,-I hear thee not,-but none [endUutil it seems prolonging without end. Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend The clouds abeve me to the white Alps tend, To whom the shadows of far years extend: And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er Albeit my brow thou never should'st behold, May be permitted, as my steps I bend My voice shall with thy future visions blend, To their most great and growing region, where And reach into thy heart,-when mine is cold,The earth to h'er embrace compels the powers of air. A token and a tone even from thy father's mould. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 47 CXVI. In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth, and in To aid thy mind's development-to watch dedicating to you in its complete, or at least conThy dawn of little joys-to sit and see luded state, a poetical work which is the longest, TAlmost thy very growth-to view thee catch the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my comKnowledge of objects,-wonders yet to thee! positions, I wish to do honor to myself by the record To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, of many years' intimacy with a man of learning, of And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,- talent, of steadiness, and of honor. It is not for Thisd it oshn o soeem, w as nt renserved for minds like ours to give or to receive flattery; yet This, it should seem, was not reserved for me; the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to Yet this was in my nature:-as it is,the voice of friendship; and it is not for you, nor 1 know not what is there, yet something like to this. the voice of friendship; and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve a heart which has not CXVII. elsewhere, or lately, been so much accustomed to the encounter of good-will as to withstand the Yet, though dull hate as duty should be taught, shock firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate I know that thou wilt love me; though my name your good qualities, or rather the advantages which Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught I have derived from their exertion. Even the recurWith desolation,-and a broken claim; [same- rence of the date of this letter, the anniversary of Though the grave closed between us,'twere the the most unfortunate day of my past existence, but I know that thou wilt love me; though to drain which cannot poison my future, while I retain the My blood from out, thy being, were an aim, resource of your friendship, and of my own faculAnd an attainment,-all would be in vain,- ties, will henceforth have a more agreeable recollecStill thou would'st love me, still that more than life tion for both, inasmuch as it will remind us of this retain. my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable regard, such as few men have experienced, and no one The child of love,-though born in bitterness, could experience, without thinking better of his And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire species and of himself. These were the elements,-and thine no less. It has been our fortune to traverse together, at As yet such are around thee,-but thy fire various periods, the countries of chivalry, history, Shall bo more temper'd, and thy hope far higher. and fable-Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy: Sweet be thy cradled slumbers! O'er the sea, and what Athens and Constantinople were to us a And from the mountains where I now respire, few years ago, Venice and Rome have been more Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee, recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to have accompanied me from first to last; and per me! haps it may be a pardonable vanity which induces me to reflect with complacency on a composition which in some degree connects me with the spot where it was produced, and the object, it would fain describe; and however unworthy it may be deemed of those magical and memorable abodes, however CANTO IV. short it may fall of our distant conceptions and immediate impressions, yet, as a mark of respect for what is venerable, and of feeling for what is gloriQ.uel Monte che divide, e quel che serra Quelo ho T~antsche divide, e qoel re saOUS, it has been to me a source of pleasure in the Italia, e un mare e 1' altro, che la bagna. production, and I part with it with a kind of regret, Ariosto, Satira Hi. which I hardly suspected that events could have left me for imaginary objects. Venice, January 2, 1818. With regard to the conduct of the last canto, TO there will be found less of the pilgrim than in any JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ., A.M. F.R.S. of the preceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his own per&c., &c., &c. son. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawMY DEAR HOBHOUSE, ing a line which every one seemed determined not AFTER an interval of eight years between the to perceive: like the Chinese in Goldsmith's "Citcomposition of the first and last cantos of Childe izen of the World," whom nobody would believe to Harold, the conclusion of the poem is about to be be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, and imsubmitted to the public. In parting with so old a agined that I had drawn, a distinction between the friend, it is not extraordinary that I should recur to author and the pilgrim; and the very anxiety to one still older and better,-to one who has beheld preserve this difference, and disappointment at findthe birth and death of the other, and to whom I am iug it unavailing, so far crushed my efforts in the far more indebted for the social advantages of an composition, that I determined to abandon it altoenlightened friendship, than-though not ungrate- gether-and have done so. The opinions which ful-I can or could be, to Childe Harold for any have been, or may be, formed on that subject, are public favor reflected through the poem on the poet, now a matter of indifference; the work is to depend -to one, whom I have known long, and accompa- on itself, and not on the writer; and the author, nied far; whom I have found wakeful over my sick- who has no resources in his own mind beyond the ness, and kind in my sorrow; glad in my prosperity, reputation, transient or permanent, which is to and firm in my adversity; true in counsel, and trusty arise from his literary efforts, deserves the fate of in peril,-to a friend often tried and never found authors. wanting;-to yourself. In the course of the following canto, it was my 48 BYRON'S WORKS. intention, either in the text or in the notes, to have something more than a permanent army and a s8atouched upon the present state of Italian literature, pended Habeas Corpus; it is enough for them to and perhaps of manners. But the text, within the look at home. For what they have done abroad, limits I proposed, I soon found hardly sufficient for and especially in the South, " Verily they will have the labyrinth of external objects and the conse- their reward," and at no very distant period. quent reflections; and for the whole of the notes, Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and excepting a few of the shortest, I am indebted to agreeable return to that country whose real welfare yourself, and these were necessarily limited to the can be dearer to none than to yourself, I dedicate to elucidation of the text. you this poem in its completed state; and repeat It is also a delicate, and no very grateful task, to once more how truly I am ever dissert upon the literature and manners of a nation Your obliged and affectionate friend, so dissimilar; and requires an attention and impar- BYRON tiality which would induce us,-though perhaps no inattentive observers, nor ignorant of the language I. or customs of the people amongst whom we have I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; I -recently abode,-to distrust, or at least defer our A palace and a prison on each hand: judgment, and more narrowly examine our informa- I saw from out the wave her structures rise tion. The state of literary, as well as political As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: party, appears to run, or to hlave run, so high, that A thousand years their cloudy wings expand for a stranger to steer impartially between them is Around me, and a dying glory smiles next to impossible. It may be enough then, at O'er the far times, when many a subject land least for my purpose, to quote from their own beau- Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, tiful language-" Mi pare che in un paese tutto Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred poetico, che vanta la lingua la pil nobile ed insieme isles la piu dolce, tutte tutte le vie diversi si possonoII tentare, e che sinche la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha perduto.l'antico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe She looks a sa-Cbele fresh from ocean essere la prima." Italy has great names still — Rising with her tiara of proud towers2 Canova, Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Visconti, At airy distance, ith majestic motion, Morelli, Cicognara, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, A ruler of the waters and their powers, Mustoxidi, Agiletti, and Vacca, will secure to the And such she as; her dauhters had their dowers present generation an honorable place in most of From spoils ofnations, and the exhaustless East the departments of Art, Science, and Belles Let- Purd in her lap al gems in sparkling showers. tres; and in some of the very highest;-Europe- purple was she robed, and of her feast the World-has but one Canova. Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity inIt has been somewhere said by Alfieri, that "La creased. pianta uomo nasce piu robusta in Italia che in qua- III lunque altra terra-e che gli stessi atroci delitti che In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more,3 vi si commettono ne sono una prova." Without And silent rows the songless gondolier; s ibscribing to the latter part of his proposition, a Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, dangerous doctrine, the truth of which may be dis- And music meets not always now the ear: puted on better grounds, namely, that the Italians Those days are gone-but beauty still is hereare in no respect more ferocious than their neigh- States fall, arts fade-but Nature doth not die: dors, that man must be wilfully blind, or ignorantly Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, heedless, who is not struck with the extraordinary The pleasant place of all festivity, capacity of this people, or, if such a word be admis- The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy. sible, their capabilities, the facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of their conceptions, the fire of IV. their genius, their sense of beauty, and amidst all n the disadvantages of repeated revolutions, the des- u elation of battles, and the despair of ages, their Her name in story, and her long array still unquenched "longing after immortality,"- Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond the immortslitY of independence. And *N-hen we Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway; the immortality of independence. And when we Ours is a trophy which will not decay ourselves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard O i a tr hch not decay the simple lament of the laborers' chorus, " Roma! it e iao; Shlock ad the Moor Roma! Roma! Roma non B pit come era prima," And Pierra, cannot be swept or worn awayR'oma! Roma! Roma non 6 come eraprima, The keystones of the arch! though all were o'er, it was difficult not to contrast this melancholy dirge e eso the o ere with the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation For us repeopled were the solitary shore still yelled from the London taverns, over the car- V nage of Mont St. Jean, and the betrayal of Genoa, of Italy, of France, and of the world, by men The beings of the mind are not of clay; whose conduct you yourself have exposed in a work Essentially immortal, they create worthy of the better days of our history. For me, And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence: that which fate " Non movere real corda Oe lNa troba i sue co arda." Prohibits to dull life, in this our state Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied, W'hat Italy has gained by the late transfer of First exiles, then replaces what we hate; nations, it were useless for Englishmen to inquire, till Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, it becomes ascertained that England has acquired And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 49 VI. XII Such is the refug of our youth and age, The Saubian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — The first from Hope, the last from Vacancy; An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt; And this worn feeling peoples many a page, Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye; Clank over sceptered cities; nations melt Yet there are things whose strong reality From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt Outshines our fairy-land; in shape and hues The sunshine for a while, and downward go More beautiful than our fantastic sky, Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's belt; And the strange constellations which the Muse Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo! 7 O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse: Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foo VII. XIII. I saw or dream'd of such,-but let them go- Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, They came like truth, and'disappear'dlike dreams; Their gilded collars glittering in the sun; And whatsoe'er they were-are now but so: But is not Doria's menace come to pass? I could replace them if I would; still teems Are they not bridled?-Venice, lost and won, My mind with many a form which aptly seems Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done Such as I sought for, and at moments found; Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose I Let these too go-for waking reason deenms Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, Such overweening phantasies unsound, Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes, And other voices speak, and other sights surround. From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. VIII. XIV. I've taught me other tongues-and in strange cyce In youth she was all glory,-a new Tyre,Have made me no; a stranger; to the mind Her very by-word sprung from victory, Which is itself, no changes bring surprise; The " Planter of the Lion," 9 which through fire Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find And blood she bore o'er, subject earth and sea; A country with-ay, or without mankind; Though making many slaves, herself still free, Yet was I born where men are proud to be, And Europe's bulwark'gainst the Ottomite; Not without cause; and should I leave behind. Witness Troy's rival, Candia! Vouch it, ye The inviolate island of the sage and free, Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight! And seek me out a home by a remoter sea, For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. IX. XV. Perhaps I loved it well; and should I lay Statues of glass-all shiver'd-the long file My ashes in a soil which is not mine, Of her dead Doges are declined to dust; My spirit shall resume it-if we may But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust; My hopes of being remember'd in my line Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, With my land's language: if too fond and frr Have yielded to the stranger; empty halls, These aspirations in their scope incline,- Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, Too oft remind her who and what enthrals,'0 Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. X. XVI. My name from out the temple where the dead When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, Are honor'd by the nations-let it be — And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war And light the laurels on a loftier head! Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse,1 And be the Spartan's epitaph on me- Her voice their only ransom from afar; "Sparta hath many a worthier son than he." 4 See! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need; Of the o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree IFall from his hands-his idle scimitar I planted,-they have torn me,-and I bleed: Starts from its belt-lie rends his captive's chains, [ should have known what fruit would spring from And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his such a seed. strains. XI. XVII. The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord; Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, And, annual marriage now no more renew'd, Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, Thy choral memory of the Bard divine, Neglected garment of her widowhood! Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot St. Mark yet sees his Lion where he stood 5 WThich ties thee to thy tyrants; and thy lot Stand, but in mockery of his wither'd power, Is shameful to the nations,-most of all, Over the proud place where an Emperor sued, Albion! to thee: the Ocean queen should not And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour Abandon Ocean's children; in the fall When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower. Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wal3 7 50 BYRON'S WORKS. XVIII. XXIV. I loved her from my boyhood-she to me And how and why we know not, nor can trace Was as a fairy city of the heart, Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, Rising like water-columns from the sea, But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art,12 Which out of things familiar, undesign'd, H d stamp'd her image in me, and even so, When least we deem of such, calls up to view Although I found her thus, we did not part, The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, [anew, Perchance even dearer in her day of wo, The cold-the changed-perchance the deadThan when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. The mourn'd, the loved, the lost-too many!-yet how few! XIX. XV. I can repeople with the past-and ofut m soul ndrs; I demand it ack The present there is still for eye and thought, mit To meditate amongst decay, and stand And meditation chastened down, enough;.,, ^ TA ru in ami rrdst ruins; there to track And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought; FAln tes and buried reat And of the happiest moments whi.h were.rout Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land And of the happiest moments olwhich comwere mandought Within the web of my existence, some Within the web of my existencesome And is the loveliest, and must ever be From thee, fair Venice! have their colors caught: The m ould of tu' enly hand The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, There are some feelings Time can not benumb, Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and beautiful the brave-the lords of earth and sea dumb. XX. XXVI. But from their nature will the tannen grow13 Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks, The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome Rooted in barrenness, where nought below And evn since, and now, fair Italy! Of soil supports them'gainst the Alpine shocks Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of eddying storms; yet springs the trunk, and Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree: mocks Even in thy desert, what is like to thee? The howling tempest, till its height and frame Thy overy eeds are beautiful, thy waste Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks Iore rich than other climes' fertility; Of bleak, gray granite into life it came, Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced And grew a giant tree;e-ithe ml mlay grow the Wi th an immaculate charm which can not be defaced. same. XXI. XXVII. Existence may be borne, and the deep root The Moon is up, and yet it is not nightOf life and sufferance make its firm abode Sunset divides the sky with her-a sea In bare and desolate bosoms: mute Of glory streams along the Alpine height The camel labors with the heaviest load, Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free And the wolf dies in silence,-not bestow'd From clouds, but of all colors seems to be In vain should such example be; if they, Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Things of ignoble or of savage mood, Where the Day joins the past Eternity; Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest May temper it to bear,-it is but for a day. Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest! XXII. XXVIII. All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd, single star is at her side, and reigns Even by the sufferer; and in each event,. vEnsll byom t ohe sufferer; andd in each event, With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still14 Ends:-Some with hope replenish'd and rebuoy'd, Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains Return to whence they came-with like intent, Rold o'er the peak of the far Rhatian hill, And weave their web again; some, bow'd and bent, As Day and Night contendin were, until Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, Nature reclaim'd her order:-gently flows And perish with the reed on which they leant; The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime, The odorous purple of a new-born rose, According as their souls were form'd to sink or climb: Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within XXIII. it glows, But ever and anon of griefs subduedXIX There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued; Comes down upon the waters; all its hues, And slight withal may be the things which bring From the rich sunset to the rising star, Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Their magical variety diffuse: Aside for ever: it may be a sound- And now they change; a paler shadow strews A tone of music-summer's eve-or spring- Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day A flower-the wind-the ocean-which shall Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues wound, With a new color as it gasps away, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone-and all is bound; gray. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 51 XXX. XXXVI. There is a tomb in Arqua,-rear'd in air, And Tasso is their glory and their shame. Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose Hark to his strain! and then survey his cell! The bones of Laura's lover; here repair And see how dearly earn'd Torquato's fame, Many familiar with his well-sung woes, And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell: The pilgrims of his genius. He arose The miserable despot could not quell To raise a language, and his land reclaim The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes: With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell Watering the tree which bears his lady's name 15 Where he had plunged it. Glory without end With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. Scatter'd the clouds away-and on that name attend XXXI. XXXVII. They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died; 1~ The tears and praises of all time; while thine The mountain-village where his latter days Would rot in its oblivion-in the sink Went down the vale of years.; and'tis their pride- Of worthless dust, which from thy boasted line An honest pride-and let it be their praise, Is shaken into nothing; but the link To offer to the passing stranger's gaze Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think His mansion and his sepulchre; both plain Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scornAnd venerably simple, such as raise Alfonso! how thy ducal pageants shrink A feeling more accordant with his strain, From thee! if in another station born, Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane. Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad'st to mourn: XXXII. XXXVIII. And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt Thou! form'd to eat, and be despised, and die, Is one of that complexion which seems made Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou For those wh-o their mortality have felt, Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty: And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd lie with a glory round his furrow'd brow, In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade, Which emanated then, and dazzles now, Which shows a distant prospect far away In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire, Of busy cities, now in vain display'd, And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow 18 [lyre, For they can lure no further; and the ray No strain which shamed his country's creaking Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday,- That Whetstone of the teeth —monotony in wire! XXXIII. XXXIX. Developing the mountains, leaves and flowers, Peace to Torquato's injured shade!'twas his And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, In life and death to be the mark where Wrong Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours Aim'd with her poison'd ar s, but to miss. With a calm languor, which, though to the eye h, vt pasd n modern song! Idlesse it seem, hath its morality. Idlesse it seenms, hath its morality. Each year brings forth its millions; but how long If from society ws e learn to live, - The tide of generations shall roll on,'Tis solitude should teach us how to die; And not the whole combined and countless throng It hath no flatterers; vanity can give Compose a mind like thine? though all in one No hollow aid: alone-man with his God must strive: Condensed their scatter'd rays, they would not form a sun. XXXIV. XL. Or, it may be, with demons, who impair 17 The strength of better thoughts, and seek theirprey pr'd by those, In melancholy bosoms, such as were Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine, Of moody texture from their earliest day, The bards of Hell and Chivalry first rose And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay, The Tuscan father's comedy divine; Deeming themselves predestined to a doom Then not unequal to the Florentine, Which is not of the pangs that pass away; The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd forth Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb, A new creation ih his magic line, The tomb a hell. and hell itself a murkier gloom. And, like the Ariosto of the North, Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly XXXV. worth. Ferrara! in thy wide and grass-grown streets,L Whose symmetry was not for solitude, The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust 19 There seems as'twere a curse upon the seats The iron crown of laurel's mimic'd leaves Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood Nor was the ominous element unjust, Of Este, which for many an age made good For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves2~ Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves, Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood And the false semblance but disgraced his brow; Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore Yet still if fondly Superstition grieves, The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn Know, that the lighning sanctifies below21 before Whate'er it strikes;-yon head is doubly sacred now 52 BYRON'S WORKS. XLII. XLVIII. Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast 2 But Arno wins us to the fair white walls. The fatal gift of beauty, which became Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps A funeral dower of present woes and past, A softer feeling for her fairy halls. On thy sweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame, Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps And annals graved in characters of flame. Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps Oh God! that thou wert in thy nakedness To laughing life, with her redundant horn. Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps, Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press Was modern Luxury of Commerce born. To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress: And buried Learning rose, redeem'd to a new morn XLIII. XLIX. Then might'st thou more appal; or, less desired, There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills s Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored The air around with beauty; we inhale For thy destructive charms; then, still untired, The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils Would not be seen the armed torrents pour'd Part of its immortality; the veil Down the deep Alps; nor would the hostile horde Of heaven is half undrawn; within the pale Of many-nation'd spoilers from the Po We stand, and in that form and face behold Quaff blood and water; nor the stranger's sword What mind can make, when Nature's self would Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, And to the fond idolaters of old [fail; Victor or vanquish'd, thou the slave of friend or foe. Envy the innate flesh which such a soul could mould: XLIV. L. Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him,s3 We gaze and turn away, and know not where, The Roman friend of Rome's least mortal mind, Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart The friend of Tully: as my bark did skim Reels with its fulness; there-for ever thereThe bright blue waters with a fanning wind, Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art, Came Megara before me, and behind We stand as captives, and would not depart. ZEgina lay, Piraeus on the right, Away!-there need no words, nor terms precise, And Corinth on the left; I lay reclined The paltry jargon of the marble mart, Along the prow, and saw all these unite Where Pedantry gulls Folly-we have eyes: In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight; Blood-pulse-and breast, confirm the Dardan Shepl herd's prize. XLV. tI. For Time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd Appear'dst thou not in Paris in this guise? Barbaric dwellings on their shatter'd site, Or to more deeply blest Anchises? or, Which only make more mourn'd and more endear'd In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies The few last rays of their far-scatter'd light, Before thee thy own vanquish'd Lord of War? And the crush'd relics of their vanish'd might. And gazing in thy face as toward a star, The Roman saw these tombs in his own age, Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, These sepulchres of cities, which excite Feeding on thy sweet cheek! 26 while thy lips are Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page With lava kisses melting while they burn, The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. Shower'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an urn! XLVI. LII. That page is now before me, and on mine Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love, His country's ruin added to the mass Their full divinity inadequate Of perish'd states he mourn'd in their decline, That feeling to express, or to improve, And I in desolation: all that was The gods become as mortals, and man's fate Of then destruction is; and now, alas! Has moments like their brightest; but the weight Rome-Rome imperial, bows her to the storm, Of earth recoils upon us:-let it go! In the same dust and blackness, and we pass We can recall such visions, and create, [grow The skeleton of her Titanic form,24 From what has been, or might be, things which Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. Into thy statue's form, and look like gods below. XLVII. LIII. Yet, Italy! through every other land I leave to learned fingers, and wise hands, Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side; The artist and his ape, to teach and tell MTother of arts! as once of arms; thy hand How well his connoisseurship understands Was then our guardian, and is still our guide; The graceful bend and the voluptuous swell; Parent of our Religion! whom the wide Let these describe the undescribable: [stream Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven! I would not their vile breath should crisp the Europe, repentant of her parricide, Wherein that image shall for ever dwell; Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 53 LIV. LX. In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie 27 What is her pyramid of precious stones? 34 Ashes which make it holier, dust which is Of phorphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues Even in itself an immortality. Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones Though there were nothing save the past, and this, Of merchant-dukes? the momentary dews The particle of those sublimities Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse Which have relapsed to chaos:-here repose Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead, Angelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his,23 Whose names are the mausoleums of the muse, The starry Galileo, with his woes; Are gently prest with far more reverent tread Here Machiavelli's earth return'd to whencc it rose.29 Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. LV. LXI. These are four minds, which, like the elements, There be more things to greet the heart and eyes Might furnish forth creation:-Italy! [rents In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine, Time, which hath wrong'd thee with ten thousand Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies; Of thin imperial garment, shall dey,There be more marvels yet —but not for mind; And hath denied, to every other sy, been accustomd to entwine Spirits which soar from ruin:-thy decay My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, Is still impregnate with divinity, Than Art in galleries: though a work divine Which gilds it with revivifying ray; Calls for my piit' homage, yet it yields Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields LVI. LXII. Is of another temper, and I roam But where repose the all Etruscan three- Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, B, i t Dante, and Petrar, and, scarce less than t, Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home, The Bard of Prose, creative spirit! e For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles Of the Hundred Tales of love-where did they lay b b m Come back before me, as his skill beguiles Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay The host between the mountains and the shore. In death aslife Ae they esolv o dust, The host between the mountains and the shore. In death as life? Are they resolved to dust, Where Courage falls in her despairing files, And have their country's marbles nought to say And torrents swoln to rivers with their gore, And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore, Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust?, Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust? Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd Did they not to her breast their filial earth intrust o'er LXIII. LVII. Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds; Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afiLrO' And such the storm of battle on this day, Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore; 1 And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds Thy factions, in their worse than civil war, To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore earthquake reeld unheedingly away! Their children's children would in vain adore Nne felt stern Nature rocking at his feet None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, With the remorse of ages; and the crown 3 And yawning forth a grave for those who lay Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, Upon their bucklers for a winding sheet; Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled-not thine me meet own. LXIV. LVIII. The Earth to them was as a rolling bark Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeath'd W3 Which bore them to Eternity; they saw His dust,-and lies it now her Great among, The Ocean round, but had no time to mark With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed The motions of their vessel; Nature's law, O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue? In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe [birds That l usic in itself, whose sounds are song, Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the The poetry of speech? No;-even his tomb Plunge in the clouds for refuge and withdraw Uptorn, must bear the hycena bigot's wrong, From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing No more amidst the meaner dead find room, herds Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for who;! Stumbling o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no words. LIX. LXV. And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust, Far other scene is Thrasimene now; Yet for this want more noted, as of yore Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain The Csesar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough; Did but of Rome's best Son remind her more: Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain Happier Ravenna! on thy hoary shore, Lay where their roots are; but a brook hath ta'en - Fortress of falling empire I honor'd sleeps A little rill of scanty stream and bedThe immortal exile;-Arqua, too, her store A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain' Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keeps, And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and Made the earth wet, and tnrn'd the unwilling waters weeps. red. 54 BYRON'S WORKS. LXVI. LXXII. But thou, Clitumnus! in thy sweetest wave 36 Horribly beautiful! but on the verge, Of the' most living crystal that was e'er From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge,38 Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer Its steady dyes, while all around is torn Grazes; the purest god of gentle waters! By the distracted waters, bears serene And most serene of aspect, and most clear; Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn; Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters- Resembling,'mid the torture of the scene, A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daugh- Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. ters! LXVII. LXXIII. And on thy happy shore a temple still, Once more upon the woody Apennine, Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, The infant Alps, which-had I not before Upon a mild declivity of hill, Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps The thundering lauwine-might be worshipp'd The finny darter with the glittering scales, more: 39 Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps; But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails IHer never trodden snow, and seen the hoar Down where the shallower wave still tells its hub- Glaciers of bleak Mount-Blanc both far and near, bling tales. And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, LXVIII. Pass not unblest the Genius of the place! LXXIV. If through the air a zephyr more serene Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name; Win to the biow,'tis his; and if ye trace And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly Along his margin a mnore eloquent green, Like spirits of the spot, as'twere for fame, If on the heart the fieshness of the scene For still they soar'd unutterably high; Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye; Of weary life a moment lave it clean Athos, Olympus, Etna, Atlas, made With Nature's baptism,-'tis to him ye must These hills seem things of lesser dignity, Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. All, save the lone Soracte's heights display'd Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid LXIX. The roar of waters! from the headloe height XXV. Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; For our remembrance, and from out the plain The fall of waters! rapid as the liiht Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss; And on the curl hangs pausing: not in vain The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss, May he, who will, his recollections rake And boil in endless torture; while the sweat And quote in classic raptures, and awake Of their great agony, wrung out from this The hills with Latian echoes; I abhorr'd Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, That girds the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by word40 In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record LXX. And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again LXXVI. Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, Aught that recalls the daily drug which turn'd With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain,. My sickening memory; and, though Time hath Is an eternal April to the ground, My mind to meditate what then it learn'd, [taught Making it all one emerald:-how profound Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought The gulf! and how the giant element By the impatience of my. early thought, From rock to rock leaps With delirious bound, That, with the freshness wearing out before Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent My mind could relish what it might have sought, With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful If free to choose, I cannot now restore vent Its health; but what it then detested, still abhor. LXXI. To the broad column which rolls on, and shows LXXVII. More like the fountain of an infant sea Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes Not for thy faults, but mine; it is a curse Of a new world, than only thus to be To understand, not feel thy lyric flow, Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, [back! To comprehend, but never love thy verse, With many windings, through the vale:-Look Although no deeper moralist rehearse Lo! where it comes like an eternity, Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art, As if to sweep down all things in its track, Nor livelier Satirist the conscience pierce, Charming the eye with dread.-a matchless cata- Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, ract.37 Yet fare thee well-upon Soracte's ridge we part. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 55 LXXVIII. LXXXIV. Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The dictatorial wreath,-couldst thou divine The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, To what would one day dwindle that which made Lone mother of dead empires! and control Thee more than mortal? and that so supine In their shut breasts their petty misery. By aught than Romans Rome should thus be laid What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see She who was named Eternal, and array'd The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way Her warriors but to conquer-she who veil'd O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye! Earth with her haughty shadow, and display'd, Whose agonies are evils of a day- Until the o'ercanopied horizon fail'd, A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. Her rushing w-ings —Oh! she who was Almighty hail'd! LXXIX. LXXXV. The Niobe of nations! there she stands Sylla was first of victors; but our own Childless and crownless, in her voiceless wo, The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell; he An empty urn, within her wither'd hands, Too swept off senates while he hew'd the throne Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago; Down to a block-immortal rebel! See The Scipio's tomb contains no ashes now; 41 What crimes it costs to be a moment free The very sepulchres lie tenantless And famous through all ages! but beneath Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow, His fate the moral lurks of destiny; Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? His day of double victory and death Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield mu breath. LXXX. LXXXVI. The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and The third of the same moon whose former course Fire, Had all but crown'd him, on the selfsame day Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride; Deposed him gently from his throne of force, She saw her glories star by star expire,d laid hi with the earth's preceding clay. And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide A all w deem delightful, and consume Temple and tower went down, nor left a site:- Our souls to compass through each arduous way, Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, in her eyes less happy than the tomb? O'er the dim fragments cast a- -lunar light,'Were they but so in man's, how different were his And say, "here was, or is," where all is doubly doom. night? LXXXVII. ~~~~LXXXI. And thou, dread statue! yet exist in45 The double night of ages, and of her, The austerest form of naked majesty, Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap Thou who beheld'st'mid the assassins' din, All round us; we but feel our way to err: At thy bathed base the bloody Cesar lie, The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, Folding his robe in dying dignity, And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap; An offering to thine altar from the queen But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Of gods and men, great Ncmesis! did he die, Stumbling o'er recollections; now we clap And thou, too, perish, Pouii.\-? have ye been Our hands, and cry " Eureka!" it is clear~ Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene? When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. LXXXVIII. And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome! Alas! the lofty city! and alas! She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged dugs impart The trebly hundred triumphs! 42 and the day The milk of conquest yet within the dome When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass Where, as a monument of antique art, The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away! Thou standest:-Mother of the mighty heart, Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat, And Livy's pictured page!-but these shall be Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's etherial dart, Her resurrection; all beside-decay. And thy limbs black with lightning-dost thou yet Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge That brightness in her eye she bore when Rnome was forget? free! LXXXIX. ~~~~LXXXIII. Thou dost;-but all thy foster babes are deadOh, thou, whose chariotroll'don Fortune's w-iel,43 The men of iron; and the world hath rear'd Triumphant Sylla! Thou, who didst subdue Cities from out their sepulchres: men bled Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to fool In imitation of the things they fear'd, [stcer'd The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due And fought and conquer'd, and the same course Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew At apish distance; but as yet none have, O'er prostrate Asia;-thou, who with thy frown Nor could, the same supremacy have near'd, Annihilated senates-Roman, too, Save one vain man, who is not in the grave, With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown- slave 56 BYRON'S WORKS. XC. XCVI. The fool of false dominion-and a kind Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be, Of bastard Cesar, following him of old And Freedom find no champion and no child With steps unequal: for the Roman's mind Such as Columbia saw arise when she Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould,47 Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled? With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold, Or must such minds be nourish'd in the wild, And an immortal instinct which redeem'd Deep in the unpruned forest,'midst the roar The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold, Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd On infant Washington? Has Earth no more At Cleopatra's feet,-and now himself he beam'd. Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore? XCI. XCVII. And came-and saw-and conquer'd! But the man But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime, RWho would have tamed his eagles down to flee, And fatal have her Saturnalia been Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van, To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime; Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, Because the deadly days which we have seen, With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be And vile Ambition, that built up between A listener to itself, was strangely framed; Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, With but one weakest weakness-vanity, And the base pageant last upon the scene, Coquettish in ambition-still he aim'd- Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall At what? can he avouch-or answer what he Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst-his claim'd? second fall. XCII. XCVIII. And would be all or nothing-nor could wait Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, For the sure grave to level him; few years Screams like the thunder-storm against the wind; Had fix'd him with the Csesars in his fate The trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, On whom we tread: For this the conqueror rears The loudest still the tempest leaves behind; The arch of triumph! and for this the tears Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, And blood of earth flow on as they have flow'd, Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth, An universal deluge, which appears But the sap lasts,-and still the seed we find Without an ark for wretched man's abode, Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North; And ebbs but to reflow -Rtenew thy rainbow, God! So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. XCIII. XCIX? What from this barren being do we reap? There is a stern round tower of other days,49 Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, 48 Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, Such as an army's baffled strength delays, And all things weigh'd in custom's falsest scale: Standing with half its battlements alone, Opinion and Omnipotence,-whose veil And with two thousand years of ivy grown, Mantles the earth with darkness, until right The garland of eternity, where wave And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale The green leaves over all by time o'erthrown;Lest their ownjudgments shouldbecome too bright, What was this tower of strength? within its cave And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid?-A woman's too much light. grave. C. ~~~XCIV. l ~But who was she, the lady of the dead, And thus they plod in sluggish misery, Tomb'd in a palace? was she chaste and fair? Rotting from sire to son, and age to age, Worthy a king's-or more-a Roman's bed? Proud of their trampled nature, and so die, What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear? Bequeathing their hereditary rage What daughter of her beauties was the heir? To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage How lived-how loved-how died she? Was she War for their chains, and rather than be free, So honor'd-and conspicusly there, [not Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage Where meaner relics mnst not dare to rot, Within the same arena where they see Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot? Their fellows fallbefore, like leaves of the same tree. CI. XCV. XCV. Was she as those who love their lords, or they I speak not of men's creeds-they rest between Who love the lords of others? such have been -Man and his Maker,-but of things allow'd, Even in the olden time, Rome's annals say. Aver'd and known,-and daily, hourly seen- Was she a matron of Cornelia's mien, The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd, Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen, And the intent of tyranny avow'd, Profuse of joy-or'gainst it did she war, The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown Inveterate in virtue? did she lean The apes of him who humbled once the proud, To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar And shook them from their slumbers on the throne; Love from amongst her griefs?-for such the affec Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. tions are. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 7 CII. CVII1. Perchance she died in youth: it may be, bow'd There is the moral of all human tales; 52 With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, That weigh'd upon her gentle dust, a cloud First Freedom, and then Glory-when that fail, Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom Wealth, vice, corruption,-bararism at last. In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom And History, with all her volumes vast, Heaven gives its favorites-early death; yet shed50 Hath but one page,-'tis better written here, A sunset charm around her, and illume Where gorgeous Tyranny had thus amass'd With hectic light, the Iesperus of the dead, All treasures, all delights, that eye or car, Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask —Away with words! draw near, CIII. Perchance she died in age-surviving all, CIX. Charms, kindred, children-with the silver gray Admire, exult-despise-laugh, weep,-for here On her long tresses, which might yet recall, There is such matter for all feeling: — an! It may be, still a something of the day Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear, When they were braided, and her proud array Ages and realms are crowded in this span, And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed This mountain, whose obliterated plan By Rome-But whither would Conjecture stray? The pyramid of empires pinnacled, Thus much alone we know —Aetella died, Of Glory's gewgags shining in the van the wealthiest Roman's wife; behold his love or Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd! pride! Where are its golden roofs? where those who dared CIV. to build? I know not why-but standing thus by thee, CX. It seems as if I had thine inmate known, n n, Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou tomb! and other days come back on me Thou nameless column with the buried ba With recollected music, though the tone a t l 0 >What are the laurels of the Caesar's brow? Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groanth v h 0, Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. Of dying thunder on the distant wind; dyi thundeon antin Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone T? t o Titus or Trajan's? NG —'tiS that of Time: Till I had bodied forth the heated mind Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace Forms from the flowing wreck which Ruin leaves a t ^ Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb behind; CV. To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime,53 And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks, CXI. Built me a little bark of hope, once more To battle with the ocean and the shocks Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar And looking to the stars: they had contain'd Which rushes on the solitary shore A spirit which with these would find a home Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear: The last of those who o'er the whole earth reig:n' 1, But could I gather from the wave-worn store The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd, Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer? But yielded back his conquests:-he was more here oos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd, is here. EWith household blood and wine, serenely wore CVI. His sovereign virtues-still we Trajan's name Then let the winds howln! their harmony adore.5 Shall henceforth be my music, and the night The sound shall temper with the owlets' cry, Whiere is the rock of Triumph, the high place As I now hear them, in the fading light Where Rome embraced her heroes? where the Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site, Tarpeian? fittest goal of Treason's race, [steep Answering each other on th-:- alitine, [bright, The promontory whence the Traitor's leap With their large eyes, all gitL.t.;:!')-: gray and Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap And sailing pinions.-Upon such a shrine Their spoils here? Yes; and in yon field below, What are our petty griefs?-let me not number A thousand years of silenced factions sleepmine. The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, CVII. And still the eloquent air breathes-burns with Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown Cicero Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd XI On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood: strown [steep'd Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, In fragmnents, choked up vaults, and frescoes From the first hour of empire in the bud In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd; Deeming it midnight:-Temples, baths, or halls? But long before had freedom's face been veil'd, Pronounce who can; for all that Learning reap'd And Anarchy assumed her attributes; From her research hath been, that these are walls- Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Behold the Imperial Mount!'tis thus the mighty Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes falls61 Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes 8 58 BYRON'S WORKS. CXIV. CXX. Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, Alas! our young affections run to waste, From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, Or water but the desert; whence arise Redeemer of dark centuries of shame- But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, The friend of Petrarch-hope of Italy- Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, Rienzi! last of Romans! While the tree 55 Flowers whose wild odors breathe but agonies, Of freedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf, And trees whose gums are poison; such the plan-. Even for thy tomb a garland let it be- Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies The forum's champion, and the people's chief- O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants Her new-born Numa thou-with reign, alas! too For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. brief. C CXV. Oh Love? no habitant of earth thou artEgeira! sweet creation of some heart 5 An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, Which found no mortal-resting,-place so fair A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see Or wert,-a young Aurora of the air, The naked eye, thy form, as it should be; The nympholepsy of some fond despair; The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, Even with its own desiring phantasy, Who found a more than conmmon votary there And to a thought such shape and image given, Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, As haunts the unquench'd soul-parch'd-weariedThou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied wrung-and riven. forth. CXVI. CXXII. The mosses- of thy fountain still are sprinkled Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, With thine Elysian water drops; the face And fevers into false creation:-where, Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, In him alone. Can Nature show so fair? Whose green, wild margin now no more erase Where are the charms and virtues which we dare Art's works; nor must the delicate waters sleep, Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men, Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base The unreach'd Paradise of our despair, Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pet, The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and And overpowers the page where it would bloom ivy creep again? ~~~~~~CXVII. CXXIII. CXVII. Who loves, raves-'tis youth's frenzy-but the cure Fantastically tangled; the green hills Is bitterer still; as charm by charm unwind Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass Which robed our idols, and we see too sure The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; Ideal shape of such; yet still it binds Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class The fatal spell, and still it draws us on, Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds; Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun, The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Seems ever near the prize-wealthiest when most Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems color'd by its undone. skies. CXXIV. CXVIII. CXVIIIv. -We wither from our youth, we gasp awayHere didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, Sick-sick; unfound tWe boon-unslak'd the thirst, Egeria! thy all heavenly bosom beating Though to the last, in verge of our decay, For the far footsteps of'thy mortal lover; Some phantom lures, such as we sought at firstThe purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting But all too late,-so are we doubly curst. With her most starry canopy, and seating Love, fame, ambition, avarice-'tis the same, Thyself by thine adorer, what befell? Each idle-and all ill-and none the worstThis cave was surely shaped out for the greeting For all are meteors with a different name, Of an enamoured Goddess, and the cell And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the Haunted by holy Love-the earliest oracle! flame. CXXV. CXIX. Few-none-find what they love or could have And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, loved, Blend a celestial with a human heart; Though accident, blind contact, and the strong And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, Necessity of loving, have removed Share with immortal transports? could thine art Antipathies-but to recur, ere long, Make them indeed immortal, and impart Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong; The purity of heaven to earthly joys, And Circumstance, that unspiritual god Expel the venom and not blunt the dart- And miscreator, makes and helps along The dull satiety which all destroys- Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, knd root from out the soul the deadly weed which Whose touch turns HIope to dust,-the dust we all cloys? have trod. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 59 CXXVI. CXXXII. Our life is a false nature-'tis not in And thou, who never yet of human wrong The harmony of things,-this hard decree., Left the unbalanced scale, great XAeic'sis I; This uneradicable taint of sin, Here, where the ancient paid thee homlage longThis boundless upas, this all-blasting tree, Thou who didst call the Furies from the abyss, Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss, The skies which rain their plagues on men like For that unnatural retribution-just, dew- Had it but been from hands less near-in this Disease, death, bondage-all the woes we see- Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust! And worse, the woes we see not-which throb Dost thou not hear my heart?-Awake! thou shalt, through and must. the immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. CXXXIII. CXXVII. It is not that I may not have incurr'd Yet let us ponder bodly s a be 7 For my ancestral faults or mine the wound Yet let us ponder boldly-'tis a base T" ^ Abandonment of reason to resign I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd Abandonment of reason to resign With a just weapon, it had flow'd unbound; Our right of thought-our last and only place But now my blood shall not sink in the ground; Of refuge; this, at least, shall still be mine: T Though from our birth the faculty divine Though from our birth the faculty divie The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and Is chain'd and tortured-cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, Wh ich if I have not ta fr te s e',-., nWhich if I have not taken for the sakeAnd bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine Ando bredhin dakn, lestntheptrut shun But let that pass-I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake Too brightly on the unprepared mind, The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the blind. CXXXIV. blind. CXXVIII. And if my voice break forth,'tis not that now Arches on arches! as it were that Rome, I shrink from what is suffer'd: let him speak Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak; Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine But in this page a record will I seek. As'twere its natural torches, for divine Not in the air shall these my words disperse, Should be the light which streams here, to illume Though I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak This long-explored but still exhaustless mine The deep prophetic fulness of this verse, Of contemplation; and the azure gloom And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse! Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume CXXXV. CXXIX. That curse shall be Forgiveness. —lave I notHues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven!Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? And shadows forth its glory. There is given Have I not suffered things to be forgiven? Untothethingsof theearth, whichTimehathb^it, Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied away His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a powv'r And only not to desperation driven, And magic in the ruin'd battlement, Because not altogether of such clay For which the palace of the present hour As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. CXXX. CXXXVI. From mighty w;rrongs to petty perfidy Oh Time! the beautifier of the dead, F n t p Adorner of the ruin, comforter Have I not seen what human things could do? And only healer when the heart hath bled- From the loud roar of foaming calumny Time! the corrector where our judgments err, To the small whisper of the as paltry few, The test oi truth, lovc, —s{ole imfi!vsopher, And subtler venom of the reptile crew, For all beside are sophists, fro thy thrift, sigficant eye, -Which never loses though it doth defer- Learning to lie with silence, would seem true, Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. gift: CXXXI. CXXXVII. Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine But I have lived, and have not lived in vain: And temple more divinely desolate, My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, And my frame perish even in conquering pain; Ruins of years-though few, yet full of fate:- But there is that within me which shall tire If thou hast ever seen me too elate, Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire; Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Good, and reserved my pride against the hate Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre, Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move This iron in my soul in vain-shall they not mourn? In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. 60 BYRON'S WORKS. CXXXVIII. CXLIV. The seal is set.-Now welcome, thou dread power! But when the rising moon begins to ciiimb Narieless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Its topmost arch, and gl tly Ipauses there; Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour When the stars twinkle through the loops of timq With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear; And the low night-breeze waves along the air Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head; 62 Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear When the light shines serene but doth not glare That we become a part of what has been, Then in this magic circle raise the dead: And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. Heroes have trod this spot-'tis on their dust ye tread. CXXXIX. CXLV. And here the buzz of eager nations ran, " fWhile stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; 6 In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, "When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; As mn:m wcs slai shter'd by his felloow-mnan. "And when Rome falls-the World." From our And wherefore slaughter'd? wherefore, but because own land Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws, Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall And the imperial pleasure.-Wherefore not? In Saxon timnes, which we are wont to call What matters where we fall to fill the maws Ancient; and these three mortal things are still Of worms-on battle-plains or listed spot? On their foundations, and unalter'd all; Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, The World, the same wide den-of thieves, or what CXL. ye will. I see before me the Gladiator lie: 59 He leans upon his hand-his manly brow Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublimeConsents to death, but conquers agony, Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, And his droop'd head sinks gradually low- From Jove to Jesus-spared and blest by time; 6 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now His way thrbugh thorns to ashes-glorious dome! The arena swims around him-he is gone, Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrant's Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the Shiver upon thee-sanctuary and home [rods wretch who won. Of art and Piety —t:l. il th:!-pride of Rome! CXLI. CXLTII. He heard it, but he heeded not-his eyes Relic of nalL r X'li-;, an-i noblest arts! Were with his heart, and that was far away. Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, A holiness appealing to all heartsBut where his rude hut by the Danube lay, To art a model; and to him who treads There were his young barbarians all at play, Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds There was their Dacian mother,-he, their sire, Her light through thy sole aperture; to those Butch]ec:' t> il:, s, a., ilo ml holiday-60 Who worship, hee re are ltelrs for their beads; All this rush'd with his blood —Shall he expire And they who feel fir,"geni;us may repose Eud unavenged?-Arise! ye Goths, and glut your Their eyes on holillnred forms, whose busts around ire! them close.6 CXLII. CXLVIII. Buthere, where Murder breathed her bloody steam, There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light t And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, What do I gaze on? Nothing: Look again! And roar'd or murmlur'd like a mountain stream Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sightDashing or winding as its torrent strays; Two insulated phantoms of the brain: Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise It is not so; I see them full and plainWas death or life, the playthings of a crowd,6l An old man, and a female young and fair, My voice sounds much-and fall the stars' faint rays Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein On the arena void-seats crush'd-walls bow'd- The blood is nectar:-but what does she there, And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and loud. bare? CXLIII. CXLIX. A ruin-yet what ruin! from its mass Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, Walls, palaces, half-cities have been rear'd; Where onl the heart, and from the heart we took Yet oft the en(orlnous skeleton ye pass, Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, nld marvel where the spoil could have appear'd. Blest into mother, in the innocent look, Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but clear'd? Or even the piping cry of lips that brook Alas! developed, opens the decay, No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives When the colossal fabric's form is near'd; Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook It will not bear the brightness of the day, She sees her little bud put forth its leavesWhich streams too much on all years, man, have What may the fruit be yet?-I know not-Cain waa reft away. Eve's. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 61 CL. CLVI. But here youth offers to old age the food, Thou movest-but increasing with the advance, The milk of his own gift:-it is her sire Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, To whom she renders back the debt of blood Deceived by its gigantic elegance; Born with her birth. No; he shall not expire Vastness which grows-but grows to harmonizeWhile in those warm and lovely veins the fire All musical in its immensities; [flame Of health and holy feeling can provide [higher Rich marbles-richer painting-shrines where Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises The lamps of god —and hauglhty doime which vies Than Egypt's river:-from that gentle side In air with Earth's chief sL-uctrle, though thei Drink, drink and live, old man! Heaven's realm frame holds no such tide. Sits on the firm-set ground-and this the clouds must claim. CLI. CLVII. The starry fable of the milky way Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must brea& Has not thy story's purity; it is To seperate contemplation, the great whole; A constellation of a sweeter lay, And as the ocean many bays will make, And sacred Nature triumphs more in this That ask the eye-so here condense thy soul Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss To more immediate objects, and control Where sparkle distant worlds:-Oh, holiest nurse! Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss Its eloquent proportions, and unroll To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source In mighty graduations, part by part, With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. The glory which at once upon thee did not dart, CLII. CLVIII. Turn to. the Mole which Hadrian rear'd on high,67 Not by its fault-but thine: Our outward sense Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, Is but of gradual grasp-and as it is Colossal copyist of deformity, That what we have of feeling most intense IWhose travell'd phantasy from the far Nile's Outstrips our faint expression; even so this Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice To build for giants, and for his vain earth, Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great His shrunken ashes, raise this dome: How smiles Defies at first our Nature's littleness, The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth, Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate ro view the huge design which sprung from such a Our spirits to the size of what they contemplate. birth! CLIII. CLIX. Butlo!-the dome-thevast and wondrous dome,6s Then pause, and be enlightened; there is more To which Diana's marvel was a cell- In such a survey than the sating gaze Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb! Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle- The worship of the place, or the mere praise Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell Of art and its great masters, who could raise The hyena and the jackall in their shade; What former time, nor skill, nor thought could I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell The fountain of sublimity displays [plan: Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of -nan Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd; Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. CLIV. CLX. But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Or, turning to the Vatican, go see Standest alone-with nothing like to thee- Laoccoon's torture dignifying painWorthiest of God, the holy and the true, A father's love and mortal's agony Since Zion's desolation, when that He With an immortal's patience blending:-Vain Forsook his former city, what could be, The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain Of earthly structures, in his honor piled, And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, The old man's clench; the long envenomed chain Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled Rivets the living links,-the enormous asp In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. CLV. CLXI. Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, And why? it is not lessen'd; but thy mind, The God of life, and poesy, and lightExpanded by the genius of the spot, The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow Has grown colossal, and can only find All radiant from his triumph in the fight; A fit abode wherein appear enshrined The shaft hath just been shot-the arrow bright Thy hopes of immortality; and thou With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, And nostril beautiful disdain, and might, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now And majesty, flash their full lightnings by His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. Developing in that one glance the Deitv _ __~~~~~~eeopn ntatoegacete et 62 BYRON'S WORKS. CLXII. CLXVIII. But in his delicate form-a dream of Love, Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Long'd for a deathless lover from above, Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low And madden'd in that vision-are exprest Some less majestic, less beloved head? All that ideal beauty ever bless'd In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, The mind with in its most unearthly mood, The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, When each conception was a heavenly guest- Death hush'd that pang for ever; with thee fled A ray of immortality-and stood, The present happiness and promised joy Starlike, around, until they gather'd to a god! Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy CLXIII. CLXIX. And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven Peasants bring forth in safety.-Can it be, The fire which we endure, it was repaid Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored! By him to whom the energy was given Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, Which this poetic marble hath array'd And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard With an eternal glory-which, if made Her many griefs for ONE; for she had pour'd By human hands, is not of human thought; Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid Beheld her Iris.-Thou, too, lonely lord, One ringlet in the dust-nor hath it caught And desolate consort-vainly wert thou wed! A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which The husband of a year! the father of the dead!'twas wrought. CLXIV. CLX. Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, Thy bridal's fiuit is ashes in the dust The being who upheld it through the past? The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, rethinks he cometh late and tarries long. The love of millions! How we did intrust Lie is n6 more-these breathings are his last, Futurity to her! and, though it must His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd,,1.,. ^....^ ~ Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd AZnd he himself as nothing: —if he was A^nd he himself as nothingd-if he w1las 3 Our children should obey her child, and bless'd Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd, ~ Aught but ah psantavsy, and could be class'd Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd ith forms which live and suffer-let that pass — Like stars to shepherd's eyes:-'twas but a meteor His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, beam'd. CLXV. CLXI. Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all o nto us, not her; for she sleeps well: That e inherit in its mortal shroud, The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue And spreads the dim and universal pall [cloud Of holh counsel, the false oracle, Through which all things grow phantoms; and the Vhih om the birth of mona hath rung Between us sinks and all which ever glow'd, Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung eNations have arm'd in madness, the strange fatee9 Till Glory's self is twilight, and displayse arm'd in madness, the strange fated Til elaory self isc and dil Which stumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath A melancholy halo scarce allow'd To hover on the verge of darkness; rays Against thair blind omnipotence a weight [flung Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze,ithin the opposing scale, which crushes soon o late, — CLXVI. CLXXII. And send us prying into the abyss These might have been her destiny; but no, To gather what we shall be when the frame Our hearts deny it: and so young, so fair, Shall be resolved to something less than this Good without effort, great without a foe; -Its wretched essence; and to dream of fame, But now a bride and mother-and now there! And to wipe the dust from off the idle name How many ties did that stern moment tear! We never more shall hear,-but never more, From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast Oh, happier thought! can we be made the same: Is link'd the electric chain of that despair, It is enough in sooth that once we bore Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and oppresS These fardels of the heart-the heart whose sweat The land which loved thee so that none could love was gore. thee best. CLXVII. CLXXIII. Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, 70 Lo, Nemi! navell'd in the woody hills A long low distant murmur of dread sound, So far, that the uprooting wind which tears Such as arises when a nation bleeds The oak from his foundation, and which spills With some deep and immedicable wound; [ground, The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears Through storm and darkness yawns the rending Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief The oval mirror of thy glassy lake, Seems royal still, though with her head discrow'd, And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears And. pale, but lovely, with maternal grief A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake, She clasps a babe to whom her breast yields no relief. All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snakb CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 63 CLXXIV. The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, And near Albano's scarce divided waves When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, Shine from a sister valley;-and afar He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unThe Latian coast where sprang the Epic war, known. "Arms and the Man," whose reascending star Rose o'er an empire:-but beneath thy right CLXXX. Tully reposed from Rome;-and where yon bar Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight, His steps are not upon thy paths,-thy fields The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bards delight.71 Are not a spoil for him,-thou dost arise [wields And shake him from thee: the vile strength he For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, CLXXV. Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, t rine is wn And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray But I forget.-My Pilgrim's she is And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies And he and I must part, —so let it be,- - And heis and I must piart,-so let lt be,- His petty hope in some near port or bay, His task and mine alike are nearly done; And dashest him ain to Yet once more let us look upon the sea; The midland ocean breaks on him and me, And from the Alban. Mount we now behold CL XI Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, roll'd And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make CLXX~VI. ~~~CLXX4VI. ~ Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: Upon the blue Symplegades: long years- O, Long, though not very many, since have done These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, Long, though not very many, since have done w' Their work on both; some suffering and some tears They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Theirworkonboth;some sufein and sonic tes,Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. Have left us nearly where we had begun: Yet not in vain our moral race hath run, We have had our reward-and it is here: That we can yet feel-gladden'd by the sun, CLXXXII. And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as deer hores are empires, changed in all save thee As if thtre were no man to trouble what is clear. ssyria, Greece, ome, Crthae, what are they Thy waters wasted them while they were free, oLXX^v~~Il.. And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Oh! that the desert were my dwelling-place, Has dried up realms to deserts:-not so thou, Vith one fair Spirit for my minister, gUnchangeable save to thy wild waves' playThat I might all forget the human race, Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure browAnd, hating no one, love but only her! Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Ye Elements!-in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted-Can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err CLXXXIII. In deeming such inhabit many a spot? In dming sh inbit my a s Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. Glasses itself in tempests: in all time, Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, CLXXVIII. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving;-boundless, endless, and sublimeThere is a pleasure in the pathless woods, The image of Eternity-the throne There is a rapture on the lonely shore, Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime There is society, where none intrudes, The monsters of the deep are made; each zone By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless I love not Man the less, but Nature more, alone. From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, CLXXXIV. To mingle with the Universe, and feel Wha' I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal, sn t a t Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy CLXXIX. I wanton'd with thy breakers-they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll! Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear, Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; For I was as it were a child of thee, Man marks the earth with ruin-his control And trusted to thy billows far and near, Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here. 64 BYRON'S WORKS. CLXXXV. CLXXXVI. My task is done-my song hath ceased-my theme Farewell! a word that must be, and hath beenHas died into an echo; it is fit A sound which makes us linger;-yet-farewell The spell should break of this protracted dream. Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit Which is his last, if in your memories dwell My midnight lamp-and what is writ, is writ,- A thought which once was his, if on ye swell Would it were worthier! but I am not now A single recollection, not in vain That which I have been-and my visions flit He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; Less palpably before me-and the glow Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain, Which in my spirit dwolt is fluttering, faint, and low. If such there were-with you, the moral of his straii NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CANTO I. -.. Yes! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine. Throughout this purple land, where law secures not Stanza i. line 6. life. Stanza xxi. line last. THE little village of Castri stands partly on the It is a well known fact, that in the year 1809 the site of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its from Chrysso, are the remains of sepulchres hewn vicinity were not confined by the Portuguese to in and from the rock. "One," said the guide, "of their countrymen; but that Englishmen were daily a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty butchered: and so far from redress being obtained, had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an we were requested not to interfere if we perceived achievement, any compatriot defending himself against his allies. A little above Castri is a cave, supposed the I was once stopped in the way to the theatre at Pythian, of immense depth; the upper part of it is eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were paved, and now a cow-house. not more empty than they generally are at that On the other side of Castri stands a Greek hour, opposite to an open shop and in a carriage monastery; some way above which is the cleft in with a friend; had we not fortunately been armed, the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, I have not the least doubt that we should have and apparently leading to the interior of the moun- adorned a tale instead of telling one. The crime tain; probably to the Corycian Cavern mentioned of assassination is not confined to Portugal; in by Pausahias From this part descend the fountain Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a and the " Dews of Castalie." handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished! 2. And rest ye at ofur " Lady's house of wo4. Stanza xx. line 4. Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened! Stanza xxiv. line 1. The Convent of'6 Our Lady of Punishment,' The o "ur Lady of Pun " The Convention of Cintra was signed in the Nossa Senora die Pefza,* on the summit of the rock. T Con T. of Cmtra w m Nossa Sentora (e Pensa,- on the summit of the rock. palace of the Marchese Marialva. The late exploits where St. Honoriuncs dug lois den, over which is his Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders; he has where St. Honorins dugr his den, over which is his lingt have effaced the follies of epitaph. Frons the hills, thesea addsto the beauty H h epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to.he beauty perhaps changed the character of a nation, recon of the view. ciled rival superstitions, and baffled an enemy who never retreated before his predecessors. Since the publication of this poem, I have been ifobrmed of the misapprehension of the termn Nos=a Senora de Pena. It was owin to the want of the tilde, or mark over the n, which alters the signification of the word: wkith it, Pena siinifies a rock; without it, Pena has the sense I adopted. 1 do not Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay. think it necessary to alter the passage, as, though the common acceptation Staa x. l r.flixed to it is " Our Laly of the Rock," I may well assume tle other sense from the cevcrities practised there. The extent of Mafra is prodigious; it contains a NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 6Q palace, convent, and most superb church. The six 14. organs are the most beautiful I ever beheld, in Fair is proed eville; let her country boast point of decorations; we did not hear them, but Her tr he wealth, her site f nciet days were told that their tones were correspondent to Stanza xv. lnes 1 and 2. their splendor. Mafra is termed the Escurial oftanza xv and Portugal. Seville was the IIispalis of the Romans. 6..15. Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low. Ak e, Beoti shades the reason why? Stanza xxxiii. lines' and 9. Stanza lxx. line 5. As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterized This was written at Thebes, and consequently in them. That they are since improved, at least in the best situation for asking and answering such a courage, is evident. question: not as the birthplace of Pindar, but as the capital of Boiotia, where the first riddle was 7. propounded and solved. When Cava's traitor sirefirst call'd the band 16. That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore. Stanza xxxv. lines 3 and 4. Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. Stanza lxxxii. line last. Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius preserved his independence in the fast- "Medio de fonte leporum nesses of the Asturias, and the descendants of his Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat." followers, after some centuries, completed their Luc. struggle by the conquest of Grenada 17. A traitor only fell beneath the feud. 8. Stanza lxxxv. line 7. No! as he speeds, he chants, " Viwl el Rey!" Alluding to the conduct and death of Solano, Stanza xlviii. line 5. the Governor of Cadiz. "Vivh el Rey Fernando!" Long live King Fer- 18 dinand! is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs: they are chiefly in dispraise of the "to the knife!" old king Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Stanza lxxxvi. line last. Peace. I have heard many of them; some of the "War to the knife." Palafox's answer to the airs are beautiful. Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, French general at the siege of Saragoza. was born at Badajoz, on the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish 19. Guards, till his person attracted the queen's eyes, A t y and raised him to the dukedom of Alcudia, &c. &c. Stanza xifr! e 1. It is to this man that the Spaniards universally Stanza xci. line 1. impute the ruin of their country. The Honorable I*. TW**. of the Guards, who iuteiotr t died of a fever at Coinbra. I hai known him ten 9. years, the better half of his life, and the happiest part of mine.. Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, In the short space of one month I had lost her Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet. who gave me being, and most of those who had Stanza 1. lines 2 an 3. made that being tolerable. To me the lines of The red cockade, with "Fernando Septimo" in Young are no fiction: the centre. 10, "Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain, The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match. And thrice ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn." Stanza li. line last. All who have seen a battery will recollect the I should have ventured a verse to the memory of pyramidal form in which shot and shells are piled. the late Charles Skinner Matthews, Fellow of The Sierra Morena was fortified in every defile Downing College, Cambridge, were he not too through which I passed in my way to Seville. much above all praise of mine. His powers of mind, shown in the attainment of greater honors, 11. against the ablest candidates, than those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, have sufficiently Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batted wall. established his fame on the spot where it was Stanza lvi. line last. acquired: while his softer qualities live in the Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza. recollection of friends who loved him too well to When the author was at Seville she walked daily envy his superiority. on the Prado, decorated with medals and orders, by command of the Junta. 12. The seal Love's dimpling inger hath impress'd Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch. Stanza lviii. lines 1 and 2. "Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem." AUL. GEL. CANTO II. 13. Oh, thou Parnassus! 1. Stanza lx. line 1. - despite of war and wasting fire These stanzas were written in Castri, (Delphos,) Stanza i. line 4. at the foot of Parnassus, now called talKvpa- PART of the Acropolis was destroyed by the Liakura. explosion of a magazine during the Venetian siege. 9 66 BYRON'S WORKS. 2. common with many of his countrymen-for, lost as But worse than steel and flame, they et eel on higes slooccasion-thus may Is the dread sceptre and dominion dirboast of havng ruined Athens. An Of men who never felt the sacred glow Italian painter of the first eminence, named Lusieri, That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts the agent of devastation; and like the Greek bestow. Stanza i. line 6. finder of Verres in Sicily, who followed the same profession, he has proved the able instrument of We can all feel, or imagine, the regret with plunder. Between this artist and the French Conwhich the ruins of cities, once the capitals of snl Fauvel, who wishes to rescue the remains for empires, are beheld; the reflections suggested by his own government, there is now a violent dispute such objects are too trite to require recapitulation. concerning a car employed in their conveyance, the But never did the littleness of man, and the vanity wheel of which-I wish they were both broken upon of his very best virtues of patriotism to exalt, and it-has been locked up by the Consul, and Lusieri of valor to defend his country, appear more con- has laid his complaint before the Waywode. Lord spicuous than in the record of what Athens was, Elgin has been extremely happy in his choice of and the certainty of what she now is. This theatre Signor Lusieri. During a residence of tell years in of contention between mighty factions, of the Athens, he never had the curiosity to proceed as far struggles of orators, the exaltation and deposition as Sunium,* till he accompanied us in our second of tyrants, the triumph and punishment of gen- excursion. However, his works, as far as they go, erals, is now become a scene of petty intrigue and are most beautiful; but they are almost all unfinperpetual disturbance, between the bickering agents ished. While he and his patrons confine themof certain British nobility and gentry. "The wild selves to tasting medals, appreciating cameos, foxes, the owls and serpents in the ruins of Baby- sketching columns, and cheapening gems, their lon," were surely less degrading than such inhab- little absurdities are as harmless as insect or foxitants. The Turks have the plea of conquest for hunting, maiden speechifying, barouche-driving, or their tyranny, and the Greeks have only suffered any such pastime; but when they carry away three the fortune of war, incidental to the bravest; but or four shiploads of the most valuable and massy how are the mighty fallen, when two painters relics that time and barbarism have left to the most contest the privilege of plundering the Parthenon, injured and most celebrated of cities; when they and triumph in turn, according to the tenor of each destroy, in a vain attempt to tear down, those works succeeding firman! Sylla could but punish, Philip which have been the admiration of ages, I know no subdue, and Xerxes burn Athens; but it remained motive which can excuse, no name which can desigfor the paltry antiquarian, and his despicable nate, the perpetrators of this dastardly devastation. agents, to render her contemptible as himself and It was not the least of the crimes laid to the charge his pursuits. of Verres, that he had plundered Sicily, in the The Parthenon, before its destruction in part, by manner since imitated at'Athens. The most unfire, during the Venetian siege, had been a temple, blushing impudence could hardly go farther than to a church, and a mosque. In each point of view it affix the name of its plunderer to the walls of the is an object of regard: it changed its worshippers; Acropolis; while the wanton and useless defacebut still it was a place of worship thrice sacred to ment of the whole range of the basso-relievos, in devotion; its violation is a triple sacrilege. But e compartment of the temple, will never permit "Man, vain man, that name to be pronounced by an observer without Drest in a little brief authority, execration. Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven On this occasion I speak impartially: I am not a As make the angels weep." collector or admirer of collections, consequently no rival; but I have some early prepossession in favor 3. of Greece, and do not think the honor of England advanced by plunder, whether of India or Attica. Far on the soltary shoree sles. Another noble Lord has done better, because he Stanza v. line 2. has done less; but some others, more or less noble, It was not always the custom of the Greeks to yet "all honorable men," have done best, because, burn their dead; the greater Ajax, in particular, after a deal of excavation and execration, bribery to was interred entire. Almost all the chiefs became gods after their decease; and he was indeed neg- Now Cape Colenna. In all Attica, if we except Athens itself, and lected, who had not annual games near his tomb, or Marathon, there is no scene more interesting than Cape Colonna. To the festivals in honor of his memory by his countrymen, antiquary ant artist, sixteen columns are an inexhaustible source of observa. as Achilles, Brasidas, &c., and at last even Anti- tion and design; to the philosopher, the supposed scene of some of Plato's nous, whose death was as heroic as his life was in- conversations will not be unwelcome; and the traveller will be struck with famous. the beauty of the prospect over " Isles that crown the Jgean deep:" but fcr'~. ~+~I.~ o an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's Shipwreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten, in the recolHere, son of Saturn! was thy favorite throne. lection of Falconer and Campbell: Stanza x. line 3. S tanza ~x. line 23." Here in the dead of night by Lonna's steep, The temple of Jupitur Olympius, of which six- The seaman's cry was heard along the deep." teen columns, entirely of marble, yet survive; originally there were one hundred and fifty. These This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea from a great distance. In two olumns, however, are by many supposed to belong journeys which I made, and one voyage to Cape Colonna, the view from columns, however, are by many supposedt either side, by land, was less striking than the approach from the isles. In,to the Pantheon. our second land excursion, we had a narrow escape from a party of Minotes, 5. concealed in the caverns beneath. We were told afterwards, by one of their And bear these altars o'er the long reluctant brine. prisoners subseoquently rallsomed, that they were deterred from attacking us by the appearance of my two Albanians: conjecturing very sagaciously, but Stanza xi. line last falsely, that we had a complete guard of these Arnaouts at hand, they'RThe ship was wrecked in the Archipelago. remained stationary, and thus saved our party, which was too small to have opposed any effectual resistance. 6. Colonna is no less a resort of painters than of pirates: there Toemce what Goth, and Turk, and Time have spared. hirelin artist plants his paltry desk, Stanza xii. line 2. And makes degraded nature picturesque." (See Hodgson's Lady Jane Grey, &c.) At.tkis moment, (January 3, 1809,) besides what hat s be moment, (Januaready 3, 1809,) beposited in London an Hyiot But there Nature, with the aid of Art, has done that for herself. I was has beeu already deposited in London, an Hydriot fortunate' enough to engage a very superior German artist; and hope to Vessel is in the Pyraeus to receive every portable renew my acquaintance with this and many other Levantine scenes, by Ute relie Thus, as I heard a young Greek observe, in ariral of his performanes. NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 67 the Waywode, mining and countermining, they have and adds Pyrrhus to the list, in speaking of his exdone nothing at all. We had such ink-shed, and wine- ploits. shed, which almost ended in bloodshed! Lord E.'s Of Albania Gibbon remarks, that a country "prig "-see Jonathan Wild for the definition of " within sight of Italy is less known than the inte"priggism "-quarrelled with another, Gropius* by rior of America." Circumstances, of little consename, (a very good name too for his business,) and quence to mention, led Mr. Hobhouse and myself muttered something about satisfaction, in a verbal into that country before we visited any other part answer to a note of the poor Prussian: this was of the Ottoman dominions; and, with the exception stated at table to Gropius, who laughed, but could of Major Leake, then officially resident at Joannina, eat no dinner afterwards. The rivals were not no other Englishmen have ever advanced beyond reconciled when I left Greece. I have reason to re- the capital into the interior, as that gentleman very member their squabble, for they wanted to make me lately assured me. Ali Pacha was at that time (Octheir arbitrator. tober, 1809), carrying on war against Ibraham 7. Pacha, whom he had driven to Berat, a strong forHer sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, ress which he was then besieging: on our arrival Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains. at Joannina we were invited to Tepoleni, his hightanza xii. lines 7 and 8. ness's birthplace, and favorite Serai, only one day's distance from Berat; at this juncture the Vizier I cannot resist availing myself of the permission had made it his head-quarters. of my friend Dr. Clarke, whose name requires no After some stay in the capital, we accordingly comment with the public, but whose sanction will followed; but though furnish-ed with every accomadd tenfold weight to my testimony, to insert the modation, and escorted by one of the vizier's secre following extract from a very obliging letter of his taries, we were nine days (on account of the rains' to me, as a note to the above lines. in accomplishing a journey which, on our return "When the last of the Metopes was taken from barely occupied four. the Parthenon, and in moving of it, great part of On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastro the superstructure with one of the triglyphs was and Libochabo, apparently little inferior to Yanina thrown down by the workmen whom Lord Elgin in size; and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to employed, the Disdar, who beheld the mischief the scenery in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, done to the building, took his pipe from his mouth, the frontier village of Epirus and Albania Proper. dropped a tear, and, in a supplicating tone of voice, On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling said. to Lusieri, TAs!~-I was present." to descant, because this will be done so much better The Disdar alluded to was the father of the pres- by my fellow-traveller, in a work which may probaent Disdar. bly precede this in publication, that I as little wish 8. to follow as I would to anticipate him. But some Where was thine _Egis, Pallas! that appall'd few observations are necessary to the text. Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way? The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by Stanza xiv. lines 1 and 2. their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, According to Zosimus, Minerva and Achilles in dress, figure, and manner of living. Their very frightened Alaric from the Acropolis; but others mountains seened Caledonian, with a kinder clirelate that the Gothic king was nearly as mischiev-. The kilt, thouh white; the spare, active ous as the Scottish peer. —See CHANDLER. form; their dialect, Celtic in its sound, and their hardy habits, all carried me back to Morven. No 9. nation are so detested and dreaded by their neighbors as the Albanese; the Greeks hardly regard the netted canopy. them as Christians, or the Turks as Moslems; and Stanza xviii. line 2. in fact they are a mixture of both, and sometimes The netting to prevent blocks or splinters from neither. Their habits are predatory-all are armed; falling on deck during action. and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Montenegrins, Chimariots, and Gegdes, are treacherous; the others 10. differ somewhat in garb, and essentially in characBut not in silence pass Calypso's isles ter. As far as my own experience goes, I can speak Stanza xxix. line 1. favorably. I was attended by two, an Infidel and a Mussulnan, to Constantinople and every other part Goza is said to have been the island of Calypso. of Turkey which came within my observation; and more faithful in peril, or indefatigable in service, 11. are rarely to be found. The Infidel was named BaLand of Albania! let me bend mine eyes silius, the Moslem, Dervish Tahiri; the former a On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men! man of middle age, and the latter about my own. Stanza xxxviii. lines 5 and 6. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pacha in person Albania comprises par f Maedonia, Ilyia, to attend us; and Dervish was one of fifty who acAlbania- comprises part of Macedonia, Illyria, Chaonia, and Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish companied us through the forests of Acarnania to the banks of Achelous, and onward to Messalonghi word for Alexander; and the celebrated Scander- in ZEtolia. There I took him into my own service, berg (Lord Alexander) is alluded to in the third and and never had occasion to repent it till the moment fourth lines of the thirty-eighth stanza. I do notf d know whether I am correct in making Scanderberg o f my departure of my friend the countryman of Alexander who was born at When in 1810, after the departure of my friend tPella c ountman of Aexandr o erms bhi sao Mr. H. for England, I was seized with a severe fever P _ella inm Macedon, obut Mr. Gibbon terms him so, in the Morea, these men saved my life by frightening away my physician, whose throat they thieatThis Sir Gropius was employed by a noble Lord for the sole purpose of ened to cut if I as not cured within a given time. sketching, in which he excels; but I am sorry to say, that he has, through To th consolatory as urance of posthumous trithe abused Fanction of that most respectable name, been treading at humble distance in the steps of Sr. Lusieri. A shiplull of his trophies was detained, bution, and a resolute refusal of Dr. Romanelli's and I believe confiscated, at Constantinople, in 1810. I am most happy to prescriptions, I attributed my recovery. I had left be now enabled to state, that " this was not in his bond; " that he was my last remaining English servant at Athens; my employed solely as a painter, and that his noble patron disavows all connex- dragoman was as ill as myself, and my poor Arlon with him, except as an artist. If the error in the first and second edition naouts nursed me with an attention that would of this poem has given the noble lord a moment's pain I am very sorry fort; have done honor to civilization Br. Gropius has assumed for years the name of his agent: and though I can- e one onor to cs lizaton. not much condemn myself for sharing in the mistake of so many, I am They had a variety of adventures; for the Mos' happy in being one of the first to be undeceived. Indeed, I have as much lem, Dervish, being a remarkably handsome manr lceasure in contradicting this I felt regret i stating it. was always squabbling with the husbands of Athens 68 BYRON'S WORKS. insomuch that four of the principal Turks paid me maika, the dull round-about of the Greeks, of whica a visit of remonstrance at the Convent, on the sub- our Athenian party had so many specimens. ject of his having taken a woman from the bath- The Albanians in general (I do not mean the culwhom he had lawfully bought, however-a thing tivators of the earth in the provinces, who have quite contrary to etiquette. also that appellation, but the mountaineers), have Basili, also, was extremely gallant among his own a fine cast of countenance; and the most beautiful persuasion, and had the greatest veneration for the women I ever beheld, in stature and in features, we church, mixed with the highest contempt of church- saw levelling the road broken down by the torrents men, whom he cuffed upon occasion in a most het- between Delvinachi and Libochabo. Their manner erodox manner. Yet he never passed a church of walking is truly theatrical; but this strut is without crossing himself; and I remember the risk probably the effect of the capote, or cloak, dependhe ran in entering St. Sophia, in Stambol, because ing from one shoulder. Their long hair reminds it had once been a place of his worship. On remon- you of the Spartans, and their courage in desultory strating with him on his inconsistent proceedings, warfare is unquestionable. Though they have some he invariably answered, "our church is holy, our cavalry amongst the Gegdes, I never saw a good priests are thieves; " and then he crossed himself Arnaout horseman; my own preferred the English as usual, and boxed the ears of the first " papas" saddles, which, however, they could never keep who refused to assist in any required operation, as But on foot they are not to be subdued by fatigue. was always found to be necessary where a priest had any influence with the Cogia Bashi of his village. 12. Indeed, a more abandoned race of miscreants cannot exist than the lower order of the Greek clergy.ee sad Pen ass'cl the arlo en spot, When preparations were made for my return, my he sa t Pe xloxe o lerlood s t wave. Albanians were summoned to receive their pay. Ithica.tanza li nd2. Basili took his with an awkward show of regret at my intended departure, and marched away to his 13. quarters, with his bag of piastres. I sent for Der- Actinum, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar. vish, but for some time he was not to be found; at Stanza xl. line 5. last he entered, just as Signor Logotheti, father to the ci-devant Anglo-consul of Athens, and some other of my'Greek acquaintnces, paid me a visiThe battle of Lepanto, equally bloody and considDervish toothe mon ey, but on a sudden dashed visit. erable, but less known, was fought in the Gulf of Dervish took the money, but on a sudden dashed it Patras. Here the author of Don Quixote lost his to the ground; and clasping his hands, which he left hand. raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room, weeping bitterly. From that moment to the hour 14. of mypembarkation, he continued his lamentations, And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love. and all our efforts to console him only produced this Stanza xli. line 3. answer, " Mei tv," " He leaves me." Signor Lo- Leucadia, now Santa Maura. From the promontheti, who never wept before for anything less than tory (the Lover's Leap) Sappho is said to have the loss of a para,' melted; the padre of the con- thrown herself. vent, my attendants, my visitors-and I verily be-' lieve that even Sterne's "foolish fat scullion" would have left her "fish-kettle," to sympathize - many a Roman chief and Asian king. with the unaffected and unexpected sorrow of this Stanza xlv. line 4. barbarian. It is said, that on the day previous to the battle For my own part, when I remembered that, a of Actium, Anthony had thirteen kings at his levee. short time before my departure from England, a noble and most intimate associate had excused himself from taking leave of me because he had to attend a relation " to a milliners," I felt no less surprised Look where the second Ccesar's trophies rose! than humiliated by the present occurrence and the Stanza xlv. line 6. past recollection. Nicopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at That Dervish would leave me with some regret some distance from Actium, where the wall of the was to be expected; when master and man have Hippodrome survives in a few fragments. been scrambling over the mountains of a dozen provinces together, they are unwilling to separate; 17 but his present feelings, contrasted with his native ferocity, improved my opinion of the human heart. Archerusia's lake. I believe this almost feudal fidelity is frequent Stanza xlvii. line 1. among them. One day, on our journey over Par- According to Pouqueville the lake of Yanina; nassus, an Englishman in my service gave him a but Pouqueville is always out. push in some dispute about the baggage, which he unluckily mistook for a blow; he spoke not, 18. but sat down, leaning his head upon his hands. Foreseeing the consequences, we endeavored to ex- To greet Albania's chief. plain away the affront, which produced the follow- Stanza slvii. line 4. ing answer:-I have been a robber; I am a soldier; The celebrated Ali Pacha. Of this extraordinary no captain ever struck me; you are my master, I man there is an incorrect account in Pouqueville's have eaten your bread, but by that bread! (an usual Travels. oath) had it been otherwise, I would have stabbed 19 the dog your servant, and gone to the mountains." So the affair ended, but from that day forward he Yet here and there some daring mountain band never thoroughly forgave the thoughtless fellow Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold who insulted him. Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. Dervish excelled in the dance of his country, con- Stanza xlvii. lines 7, 8 and 9. jectured to be a remnant of the ancient Pyrrhic: be Five thousand Suliotes, among the rocks and in that as it may, it is manly, and requires wonderful the castle of Suli, withstood thirty thousand Albaagility. It is very distinct from the stupid Ro- nians for eighteen years; the castle at last was ___________________ taken by bribery. In this contest there were several acts performed not unworthy of the better days of Para, about the fourth of a farthing. Greece. NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 69 20. As a specimen of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect Monastic Zitza, &c. of the Illyric, I here insert two of their most popStanza xlviii. line I ular choral songs, which are generally chanted in dancing by men or women indiseriminately. The The convent and village of Zitza are four hours' first words are merely a kind of chorus without journey from Joannina, or Yanina, the capital of meaning, like some in our own and all other the Pachalick. In the valley of the river Kalamas languages. (once the Acheron) flows, and not far from Zitza 1. 1 forms a fine cataract. The situation is perhaps the finest in Greece, though the approach to Delvinachi Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Lo, Lo, I come, I come; and parts of Acarnania and ZEtolia may contest the Naciarura, popuso. be thou silent. palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and, in Attica, even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are very inferior; 2. 2. as also every scene in Ionia, or the Troad; I am Naciarura na civin I come, I run; open the almost inclined to add the approach to Constanti- Ha penderini ti hin. door that I may enter. nople; but from the different features of the last, a comparison can hardly be made. 3. 3. Ha pe uderi escrotini Open the door by halves, -1. Ti vin ti mar servetini. that I may take my turHere dwells the caloyer. ban. Stanza xlix. line 6. 4. 4. The Greek monks are so called. Caliriote me surme Caliriotes* with the dark Ea ha pe pse dua tive. eyes, open the gate that 22. I may enter. Nature's volcanic amphitheatre. 5 Stanza li. line 2.. Buo, B, Bo, Bo, Bo, Lo, Lo, I hear thee, my The Chimariot mountains appear to have been Gi egem spirta esimiro. soul. volcanic. 23. 6. 6. - behold black Acheron! Caliriote vu le funde An Arnaout girl, in costly Stanza li. line 6. Ede vete tunde tunde. garb, walks with graceNow called Kalamas. ful pride. 24. 7. 7. - in his white capote. Caliriote me surme Caliriot maid of the dark Stanza lii. line 7. Ti mi put e poi mi le. eyes, give me a kiss. Albanese cloak. 25. 8. 8. The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit.. Se ti puta citi mora If I have kissedthee,what Stanza lv. line 1. Si mi ri ni veti udo gia. hast thou gained! My Anciently Tomarus. soul is consumed with 26. fire. 9. 9. And Lao. ride and fierce came roaring by. Stanza Iv. line 2. Va la ni il che cadale Dance lightly, more gentThe river Laos was full at the time the author Celo more, more elo. ly, and gently still. passed it; and immediately above Tepalen, was to 1 the eye as wide as the Thames at Westminster; at least in the opinion of the author and his fellow- Plu hari ti tirete Make not so much dust traveller, Mr. Hobhouse. In the summer it must Plu huron cia pra seti. to destroy your em be much narrower. It certainly is the finest river broidered hose. in the Levant; neither Achelous, Alpheus, Acheron, The last stanza would puzzle a commentator; the Schamander, nor Cayster, approached it in breadth men have certainly buskins of the most beautiful or beauty. texture, but the ladies (to whom the above is sup27. posed to be addressed) have nothing under their And fellow-countrymnen have stood aloof little yellow boots and slippers but a well-turned Stanza lxvi line 8. and sometimes very white ankle. The Arnaout girls Alluding to the wreckers of Cornwall are much handsomer than the Greeks, and their dress is far more picturesque. They preserve their 28. shape much longer also, from being always in the open air. It is to be observed, that the Arnaout is ~the red wine circling fast. not a written language; the words of this song, Stanza lxxi. line 2. therefore, as well as the one which follows, are the Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from spelt according to their pronunciation. They are wine. and indeed very few of the others. copied by one who speaks and understands the dialect perfectly, and who is a native of Athens. 29. 1. 1. Each Palikar his sabre fromn hins cast. Ndi sefda tinde ulavossa I amwounded bythylove. Stanza lxxi. line 7. Vettimi upri vi lofsa. and have loved but to Palikar, shortened when addressed to a single scorch myself. person from laAtKapt, a general name for a soldier 2. 2. amongst the Greeks and Albanese who speak Romaic-it means properly "a lad." Ah vaisisso mi privi lofse Thou hast consumed me Si mi rini mi la vosse. Ah, maid! thou hast 30. struck me to the heart. While thus in concert, &c. * The Albanese, particularly the women, are frequently termed "CaJid Stanza lxxii. line last. otes;" for what reuson I inquired in vain. 70 BYRON'S WORKS. 3. 3. 37. Uti tasa roba stua I have said I wish no Thy vales of ever-green, thy hills of sno — Sitti eve tulati dua. dowry, but thine eyes Stanza lxxxv. line 3. and eye-lashes. On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, the snow never is entirely melted, notwithstanding ^' ~~4. ~4~ ~the intense heat of the summer; but I never saw it Roba stinori ssidua The accursed dowry I lie on the plains, even in winter. Qu mi sini vetti dua. want not, but thee only. 38. 5. 5. Save where some solitary column mourns Qurmini dua civileni Give me thy charms, and Above its prostrate brethren of the cave. Roba ti siarmi tildi eni. let the portion feed the Stanza lxxxvi. lines 1 and 2. flames. Of Mount Pentelicus, from whence the marble 6. 6. was dug that constructed the public edifices of Ultara pisa vaisisso me I have loved thee, maid, Athens. The modern name is Mount Mendeli. simi rin ti hapti with a sincere soul, but An immense cave formed by the quarries still Eti mi bire a piste si gui thou hast left me like remains, and will till the end of time. dendroi tiltati. a withered tree. 39. 7. 7. VWhen Marathon became a magic word. Udi vura udorini udiri ci- If I have placed my hand Stanza lxxxix. line 7. cova cilti mora on thy bosom, what "Siste Viator-heroa calcas! " was the epitaph Udorini talti hollna u ede have I gained? my on the famous count Merci;-what then must be caimoni mora. hand is withdrawn, but our feelings when standing on the tumulus of the retains the flame. two hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon? The principal barrow has recently been opened by FauI believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a vel; few or no relics, as vases, &c., were foundby different measure, ought to belong to another bal- the excavator. The plain of Marathon was offered lad. An idea something similar to the thought in to me for sale at the sum of sixteen thousand the last lines was expressed by Socrates, whose arm piastres, about nine hundred pounds! Alas!having comein contact with one of his " ivroK0oXrot," " Expende,-quot libras in duce summo-inveCritobulus or Cleobodus, the philosopher com- nies!" —was the dust of Miltiades worth no more? plained of a shooting pain as far as the shoulder for It could scarcely have fetched less if sold by weight. some days after, and therefore very properly resolved to teach his disciples in future without touching them. 31. Tambourgi! Tambourg!, thy laruzm afar, ce. PPERS REFERRED TO BY NOTE 33. Song, Stanza i. line 1. These Stanzas are partly taken from different Albanese songs, as far as I was able to make them Before I say any thing about a city of which every out by the exposition of the Albanese in Romaic body, traveller or not, has thought it necessary to and Italian. say something, I will request Miss Owenson, when 32. she next borrows an Athenian heroine for her four volumes, to have the goodness to marry her to Remember the moment when Previsafell. somebody more of a gentleman than a "Disdar Song, Stanza viii. line 1. Aga," (who by the by is not an Aga,) the most imIt was taken by storm from the French. polite of petty officers, the greatest patron of larceny Athens ever saw, (except Lord E.) and the 33. unworthy occupant of the Acropolis, on a handsome annual stipend of 150 piastres, (eight pounds sterlFair Greece! sad relic of departed worth, Sc. ing,) out of which he has only to pay his garrison, Stanza lxxiii. line 1. the most ill-regulated corps in the ill-regulated Some thoughts on this subject will be found in the Ottoman Empire. I speak it tenderly, seeing I subjoined papers. was once the cause of the husband of "Ida of 34bjine p. Athens" nearly suffering the bastinado; and be34~. cause the said "Disdar " is a turbulent husband and Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow beats his wife; so that I exhort and beseech Miss Thou sat st with Thrasybulus and his train. Owenson to sue for a separate maintenance in behalf Stanza lxxiv. lines 1 and 2. of "Ida." Having premised thus much, on a matter of such import to the readers of romances, Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of I may now leave Ida, to mention her birthplace. Athens, has still considerable remains; it was Setting aside the magic of the name, and all eized by Thrasybulus previous to the expulsion of those associations which it would be pedantic and the Thirty. superfluous to recapitulate, the very situation of 35. Athens would render it the favorite of all who have Receive the fiery FIrank, herformer guest. eyes for art or nAture. The climate, to me at least, Stanza lxxvii. line 4. appeared a perpetual spring; during eight months I never passed a day without being as many hours When taken by the Latins, and retained for on horseback; rain is extremely rare, snow never several years.-See GIBBON. lies in the plains, and a cloudy day is an agreeable rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of the 36. East which I visited, except Ionia and Attica, I perceived no such superiority of climate to our own; The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil. d at Constantinople, where I passed May, June, Stanza lxxvii. line 6. and part of July, (1810,) you might "damn the Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by climate, and complain of spleen," five days out of the Wahabees, a sect yearly increasing. seven. NOTES TO CHILDE IIAROLI'S PILGRIMAGE. 71 The air of the Morea is heavy and unwholesome, Monsieur Roque: thus great men have ever been but the moment you pass the Isthmus in the direc- treated! tion of Megara the change is strikingly percepti- In short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and ble. But I fear Hesiod will still be found correct in most of the Englishmen, Germans, Danes, &c., of his description of a Beotian winter. passage came over by degrees to their opinion, on We found at Livadia an " esprit fort " in a Greek much the same grounds that a Turk in England bishop, of all free thinkers! This worthy hypocrite would condemn the nation by wholesale, because he rallied his own religion with great intrepidity, (but was wronged by his lacquey, and overcharged by not before his flock,) and talked of a mass as a his washerwonian. "coglioneria." It was impossible to think better of Certainly it was not a little staggering when the him for this; but, for a Bceotian, he was brisk with Sieurs Fauvel and Lusieri, the two greatest demaall his absurdity. This phenomenon (with the ex- gogues of the day, who divide between them the ception indeed of Thebes, the remains of Chleronea, power of Pericles and the popularity of Cleon, and the plain of Platea, Orchomenus, Livadia, and its puzzle the poor Vaywode with perpetual differences, nominal cave of Trophonius) was the only remarka- agreed in the utter condemnlation, "nulla virtute ble thing we saw before we passed Mount Citharon. redemptumn," of the Greeks in general, and of the The fountain of Dirce turns a mill: at least my Athenians in particular. companion (who resolving to be at once cleanly and For my own humble opinion, I am loth to hazclassical, bathed in it) pronounced it to be the foun- ard it, knowing, as I do, that there be now in MS. tain of Dirce, and any body who thinks it worth no less than five tours of the first magnitude and of while may contradict him. At Castri we drank of the most threatening aspect, all in typographical half a dozen streamlets, some not of the purest, be- array, by persons of wit, and honor, and regular fore we decided to our satisfaction which was the common-place books; but, if I may say this without true Castalian, and even that had a vilianous twang, offence, it seems to me rather hard to declare so posi. probably from the snow, though it did not throw us tively and pertinaciously, as almost every body has into an epic fever, like poor Dr. Chandler. declared, that the Greeks, because they are very From Fort Phyle of which large remains still ex- bad, will never be better. ist, the Plain of Athens, Pentelicus, Hymettus, the Eaton and Sonnini have led us astray by their.Agean, and the Acropolis, burst upon the eye at panegyrics and projects; but, on the other hand, De once; in my opinion, a more glorious prospect than Pauw and Thorlnton have debased the Greeks beeven Cintra or Istambol. Not the view from the yond their demerits. Troad, with Ida, the Hellespont, and the more dis- The Greeks will never be independent; they will tant Mount Athos, can equal it, though so superior never be sovereigns as heretofore, and God forbid in extent. they ever should! but they may be subjects withI heard much of the beauty of Arcadia, but ex- out being slaves. Our colonies are not independent, cepting the view from the monastery of Megaspelion, but they are free and industrious, and such may (which is inferior to Zitza in a command of country,) Greece be hereafter. and the descent from the mountains on the way from At present like the Catholics of Ireland and the Tripolitza to Argos, Arcadia has little to recom- Jews throughout the world, and such other cudgelled mend it beyond the name. and heterodox people, they suffer all the moral and physical ills that can afflict humanity. Their life is " Sternitur, et dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos." a struggle against truth; they ate vicious in their own defence. They are so unused to kindness, that Virgil could have put this into the mouth of none hen they occasionally meet with it they look upon but an Argive, and (with reverence be it spoken) it it with suspicion, as a dog often beaten snaps at does not deserve the epithet. And if the Polynices your fingers if you attempt to caress him. "They of Statius, " In mediis audit duo litora campis," are ungrateful, notoriously, abominably ungratedid actually hear both shores in crossing the isth- ful "-this is a general cry. Now, in the name of mus of Corinth, he had better cars than have ever Nemesis! for what are they to be grateful? Where been wvorn in such a journey since. is the human being that ever conferred a benefit on "Athens," says a celebrated topographer, "is Greek or Greeks? They are to be grateful to the still the most polished city of Greece." Perhaps it Turks for their fetters, and to the Franks for their mav be of Greece, but not of the Greeks; for Joannina broken promises and lying counsels. They are to be in Epirus is universally allowed, among themselves, grateful to the artist who engraves their ruins, and to be superior in the wealth, refinement, learning, to the antiquary who carries them away; to the and dialect of its inhabitants. The Athenians are traveller whose janissary flogs them, and to the remarkable for their cunning; and the lower or- scribbler whose journal abuses them! This is the ders are not improperly characterized in that prov- amount of their obligations to foreigners. erb, which classes them with " the Jews of Salonica, and the Turks of the Negropont." II. Among the various foreigners resident in Athens, Franciscan Convent, Athens, Janunry 23, 1811. French, Italians, Germans, Ragusans, &c., there was never a difference of opinion in their estimate of Among the remnants of the barbarous policy of the Greek character, though on all other topics the earlier ages, are the traces of bondage which yet they disputed with great acrimony. exist in different countries; whose inhabitants Mr Fauvel the French consul, who has passed however divided in religion and manners, almost all thirty years principally at Athens, and to whose agree in oppression. talents as an artist and manners as a gentleman The English have at last compassionated their none who have known him can refuse their testimo- Negroes, and under a less bigoted government, may ny, has frequently declared in my hearing, that the probably one day release their Catholic brethren: Greeks do not deserve to be emancipated; reason- but the interposition of foreigners alone can emaning on the grounds of their "national and individual cipate the Greeks, who otherwise, appear to have as depravity;" while he forgot that such depravity is small a chance of redemption from the Turks, as to be attributed to causes which can only be remov- the Jews have from mankind in general. ed by the measure he reprobates. Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough; Mr. Roque, a French merchant of respectability at least the younger men of Europe devoted much long settled in Athens, asserted with the most of their time to the study of the Greek writers and Pamusing gravity, "Sir they are the same canaille history, which would be more usefully spent in masthat existed in the days of Thenmistocles!" an alarm- tering their own. Of the moderns, we are perhaps ing remark to the " Laudator temporis acti." The more neglectful than they deserve; and while every nmcients banished Themistocles, the moderns cheat man of any pretensions to learning is tiring out.mk 72 BYRON'S WORKS. youth, and often his age, in the study of the lan- sert of himself, with an air of triumph, that le had guage and of the harangues of the Athenian dem- been but four times at Constantinople in as many agogues in favor of freedom, the real or supposed years. descendants of these sturdy republicans are left to As to Mr. Thornton's voyage in the Black Sea with the actual tyranny of their masters, although a very Greek vessels, they gave him the same idea of Greece slight effort is required to strike off their chains. as a cruise to Berwick in a Scotch smack would of To talk, as the Greeks themselves do, of their Johnny Grot's house. Upon what grounds, then, does rising again to their pristine superiority, would be he arrogate the right of condemning by wholesale a ridiculous; as the rest of the world must resume its body of men, of whom he can know little? It is barbarism, after reasserting the sovereignty of rather a curious circumstance that Mr. Thornton, Greece: but there seenis to be no very great obsta- who so lavishly dispraises Pouqueville, on every occle, except in the apathy of the Franks, to their casion of mentioning the Turks, has yet resource becoming an useful dependency, or even a free state to him as authority on the Greeks, and terms him an with aproper guarantee;-under correction, howev- impartial observer. Now Dr. Pouqueville is s little er, be it spoken, for many and well-informed men entitled to that appellation, as Mr. Thornton to condoubt the practicability even of this. fer it on him. The Greeks have never lost their hope, though The fact is, we are deplorably in want of informathey are now more divided in opinion on the subject tion on the subject of the Greeks, and in particular of their probable deliverers. Rteligion recommends their literature, nor is there any probability of our the Russians; but they have twice been deceived being better acquainted, till our intercourse becomes and abandoned by that power, and the dreadful les- more intimate, or their independence confirmed: the son they received after the Muscovite desertion in relations of passing travellers are as little to be dethe Morea has never been forgotten. The French pended on as the invectives of angry factors; but they dislike; although the subjugation of the rest till something more can be attained, we must be of Europe will, probably, be attended by the deliv- content with the little to be acquired from similar erance of continental Greece. The islanders look sources.* to the English for succor, as they have very late- However defective these may be, they are prefera ly possessed themselves of the Ionian republic, ble to the paradoxes of men who have read superCorfu excepted. But whoever appear with arms in ficially of the ancients, and seen nothing of the their hands will be welcome; and when that day ar- moderns, such as De Pauw; who when he asserts rives, Heaven have mercy on the Ottomans, they the British breed of horses is ruined by Newmarket, cannot expect'it from the Giaours. and that the Spartans were cowards in the field, beBut instead of considering what they have been, trays an equal knowledge of English horses and and speculating on what they may be, let us look Spartan men. Ilis "philosophical observations" at them as they are. have a much better claim to the title of "poetiAnd here it' is impossible to reconcile the con- cal." It could not be expected that he who libertrariety of opinions: some, particularly the mer- ally condemns some of the most celebrated instituchants, decrying the Greeks in the strongest lan- tions of the ancient, should have mercy on the guage; others, generally travellers, turning periods modern Greeks: and it fortunately happens, that in their eulogy, and publishing very curious specula- the absurdity of his hypothesis on their forefathers tions grafted on their former state, which can have refutes his sentence on themselves. no more effect on their present lot, than the exist- Let us trust, then, that in spite of the prophecies ence of the Incas on the future fortunes of Peru. of De Pauw, and the doubts of Mr. Thornton, there One very ingenious person terms them the "nat- is a reasonable hope of the redemption of a race of ural allies of Englishmen;" another, no less ingen- men, who, whatever may be the errors of their reious, will not allow them to be the allies of any body, ligion and policy, have been amply punished by three and denies their very descent from the ancients; a centuries and a half of captivity. third, more ingenious than either, builds a Greek empire on a Russian foundation, and realizes (on II. paper) all the chimeras of Catherine II. As to the question of their descent, what can it import who- Athens, Franciscan Convent, Isar. 17, 1811. ther the SMamotes are the lineal Laconians or not? or the present Athenians as indigenous as the bees of Hymettus, or as the grasshoppers, to which they Some time after my return from Constantinople to once likened themselves? What Englishman cares this city, I received the thirty-first number of the if he be of a Danish, Saxon, Norman, or Trojan Edinburgh Review as a great favor, and certainly blood? or who, except a Welshman, is afflicted with at this distance an acceptable one, from the captain a desire of being descended from Caractacus? of an English frigate off Salamis. In that number, The poor Greeks do not so much abound in the good things of this world, as to render even their * A word, en passant, with Mr. Thornton and Dr. Poiqueville, who claims to antiquity an obj ect of envy; it is very cruel, have been guilty between them of sadly clipping the Sultan's Turkish. thoen, in Mr. Thornton to disturb them in the Dr. Pouqceville tells a long story of a Moslem who swallowed corrosive possession of all that time has left them: viz. their s"blimaic ho sech qea X>piiO v Toy r'1 7Io'roP9ia, St' airiie yap Lsevlf'K6eTrat A Aa.Xio.ov. 1neaKpOvc'Pvrl raXalo6rrs, Kcai [cwpoivral i3g iv gK-aAaI^~u Toe FXaiKw'Apyios7. 0r6Orrpou 1i07, -pt6stu Kai rtOtKCaCeS 7roXh;3v Kai la06poop Klrapiacrra. idvrv cKai yevcov cy O(i.r ttWIprjl 3te'6-aTo Kai 60ta(aC-er8E W raparpos'AlmaXco\ AiosuE)g drd MAIovpiuva.'ICOPLKej 0(17y7luS Eis aua. Tov 07 OV7-ra. Tpayaevc6ds.'Aoc'KXat6sojpos Il-ov0Oe