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I..k..III.III IIIII.II III,:Z.jt,::;.--,..',:.....I.II". ..I-v, g- ...:,' 11 I'll, I'III..'' 11.1.1.,''I'll I. -.....IIIIIIII —,O ".... .,I,II,,II I II....I IIIII-II II, I III.I.-..-II. I.IIIIII.IIII IIIII'll II I I I,;\...-. I IIII I I I.I I II"I..1. 1.11 II1 -iWi`,'; -. —---------------- -- — l''I"I'll'. I.. I11.1... -.11.1 I I.,:: li- Ii''I'll-, 1,II.... -."- "I' —-.11,,:,",:is,II, ".."...-I"'I'l, "I 1. I I I "I 1, 1, I.I-.-,"'.::: i]]: .... I..'', -- I.,,-.1-1,. -, I.1.-:-:: 1-1-1.1-1111.,, - I -... 11.11 I I'll1. I.II,,- 1- 1- 1.11 I I.''. 11- I I 11 I,I11, 1.--11111.111 1. 11 I.11... I.:.,..-.111.1111 - I -....I...II I........... I II - 1. I,..11,111, I. -' Ill...... 11, 11.11 I — 1-11,'11. I'll. II.I- II I. I:.. -''I'll,... I I,. II —------— -..-.''I'll''I11 I-I,:-11.1-11.1 I", II - -:,. .,... 11.1.111,11'',. THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON, INCLUDING ut ~upprleih poems. ALSO A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. BY J. W. LAKE. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1856. CONTENTS. LIFE OF LORD bY RON. THE TWO FOSCARI - - - 3 27 H1OURS OF IDLENESS. Appendix....... On leaving Npwstead Abbey - - Page CAIN.......361 Epitaph on a Friend. i. A Fragment.: WERNER....... 384 Th Tear —--...- ib. THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED - - 4'27 An Occasional Prologue -- il. On the Death of Mr. Fox - iHEAVEN AND EARTIH - - - 445 Stanzas to a Lady ib. THE PROPHECY OF DANTE - - 457 To M** - - - - - - - - - - To Woman b4 Notes- - 463 o M. S. G. - -- - -ib THE ISLAND -... - 464 Song -.'i Appendix - - - - 476. To ** ib - To Mary. - ~5 THE AGE OF BRONZE - - 480 Damtnstas tb...' IbTIE VISION OF JUDGMENNI - 1s7 To Marion l.. OscaropAlva -'-'- ~- 1 - 6 MORGANTE MAGGIORE - - - - -495 To the Duke of. - - 8 WALTZ - 502 Translations and Imitations. Notes - - -- - 505 Adrian's Address to his Soul, when dying - 10 Translation -. - -- - ilb. THE LAMENT O? TASSO.-. 506 Translation from Catullus -. Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibulius - ib. iEBREW MELODIES. Translation tioin Catullus -b.. -i She walks in beauty - 50. Imitated from Catullus - - The harp the monarch minstrel swept - - - 50 Translation fron. Anacreon - - - ib. If that high world - - - ib ^~~~ — ~~~~~ —: "~" -Ode II - - ibi. The wild gazelle... - -.ib. Frag.nent from the Prometleus Vinctus - lb. Oh! weep for those.-.... ib. The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus - ib. On Jordan's banks - - - ib Translation from the Medea of Euripides - 14 J.phtha's daughter -. - -- lb Oh! snatCh'd away in beauty's bloom -- - 510 Fugitive Pieces. My scml is dark --- Thoughts suggested by a College Examination s t p - - b. To the Earl of *** - - - - - - Ty days are done -.b. Granta, a Medleyh ore -7 Grantain yG Medley, - - -Song- of Saul before his laIt battle - ib. LachinyGair - - Saul........ ib. To Romance N -w Abbb. "All is vanity, saith the preacher" - - 511 To E.le N. L. Esq.d A -When coldness wraps this suffering clay - - - ib. ToE.N.. -. —'1 Vision of Belshazzar - - -... b. Staozas- -ib.- Sun of the sleepless - - ib. iStanzas r- Wnbenth an Elm in the C'hurchyard of Bar- Were my bosom as false as thou deom'st it to be. - -513 Lines written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Har Hrod's lamntor Mariamne- - - ib. row on the Hill. - - - - - - - -. On the day of tlt destruction'of Jerusalem by Titus ib. The death of Cal-mar and Grina - - - - ~ - - ^1-k By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept - lb. CRITIQUE extracted from the Edinburgh Review, No. he destruction of Seunnchefib - -:., 22, for January, 1808 -24 F'om~.ob - -' 513 ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS - 26 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Postscript -........37 Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte - 513 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE - - - -38 Monody on the death of the Right lion I. B. Sheridan 514.Notes- The Irish Avatar - - 515,Thte Dream - - 516 THE GIAOUR — - 13 Ode (to Venice)- - - - - --- 518' Notes -14:} ILines written in in an Album - 519 Romance utiy doloroso del sipin y toma de Alhama 5'20 FHE BRIDE OF ABYDOS -. - 146 A very:nournful Ballad on the siege and conquest of Notes- ---- - - -1.56 Alhama. - ib. Sonetio di Vittorilli, with translation - - - -522 THE CORSAIR...... — 59 Stanzas written in passing the Ambracian!Gulf - -ib. Notes -- - - 5 - composed in a thunder-storm near mount PinLARA — -.17'7 duet bi ~ Note - * -' —.....188 Lines written at Athens.-ti.b. THE CURSE OF MINERVA - -189 - written beneath a picture - ib. Notes ^OI - MUN3V91 - ~Aritten after swimming from Sestos to Abydos 524 ZNrte -o- oaas ayanu - - - ib rHE'SIEGE OF CORINTH - - - - 392 Translation of a Greek war song - - ib -NotesTrainslation of a Romaic song - - 525 Notes......... -On parting - - - - - - - -i PARISINA.- - - - To Thyrza.b. Notes --- -2Sarzas..6 Notes........'T'o, Thyrza ib. 1i'IIE PRISONER OF CHILLON - Euthanasia - - -.- -. Notes - Sn - BEPPO -.!3 - On a cornelian heart which was broken - - 528 Notes. - - - - 22 To a yottmhful friend —.'o 5' ** *..... 5 MAZEPPA - - - - - - - - -lb. From the Portuguese -.-.. - - os rlTANTVTPREDP - -.. ~ - - - - 228 Impromptu, in reply to a friend - - - Ntes - - — 241 Addwrss, spoken at the opening of Drury-lane T'..atre'b'Notes T, Time o - _i....530 MIARINO FALIERO- -249 tTrnnslation of a Romaic love song Notes -..-) A Sn -- o.3 Apend' --...-.281,-" On being ask'd what was the "origin of love" - - b. Remember him, etc.-.ib 6ARDANAPALUS 0 — - JLines inscribed upon a cup formed from a skull - ib Notes - -. - - 326 On the death of Sir Peter Parker Bart - - 1 iv CONTENTS. To aLadyweeping - - - - 532 L'Amitie est l'Amour sans Ailes - - 4 From the Turkish - - - - - - - ib. To my Son -..- 74,Sonnet to Genevra - - - - - - - ib. Epitaph on John Adams of Southwell - b. l- - - - b. Fragment - - — l- ib inscription on the monument of a Newfoundland dog - ib. To Mrs. *** - - - ib Farewell - - - 533 A Love-Song- -ib Bright be the place of thy soul - l ib. Stanzas - -. 74. When we two parted - ib. To ***** - -... - ib isianzas for music - - - - - - - ib. Song - - - - - - - ib - - ~~; - -.-.-..-. —-534' ""Stanzas to *** on leaving England - b- *7are thee well - b. Lines to Mr. Hodgson. -74: To *** - - - - iff. Lines in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenus - 741 Oie (from the French) - - - - - 535 On Moore's last Operatic Farce -- ib From the French- - 536 Epistle to Mr. Hodgson - - - - - - ib On the Star of the Legion of Honour (from the French) ib. On Lord Thurlow's Poems - -ib Napoleon's Farewell (from the French) - 537 To Lord Thurlow - - - - - - ih S',nnet e -. ib. To Thomas Moore - -.- 74" Written on a blank leaf of "The Pleasures of Memory ib. Fragment of tan Epistle to Thomas Moore - ib Stanzas t * - - - - - - - - -ib. The Devil's Drive- - - ib Darkness - 538 Additional Stanzas to the Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte 741 ~ jhurchill's Grave-l - - -b. - o Lady Cartline Lamb - - ibh Prometheus - - - - - - - 539 tanzas for Music - - - 741 Odte.-. ih Address intended to be recited at the Caledonian lMeetWindsor Poetics - - - - - - - - -540 ing -b - A sketch from private life - - ib. On the Prince Regent's returning the Picture of Sarah, Carmina Byronis in C. Elgin - - 541 Countess of Jersey, to Mrs. Mee - - - ib Lines to Mr. MIoore - - - - - - - -ib. To Beishazzar - - -- 751'On this day I complete my thirty-sixth year' - ib. They say that Hope is Happiness - - ib i., Lines intended for the opening of "The siege of Corinth" ib!4ETTER TO**** ***** ON BOWLES'S STRIC- xtract from an unpublished Poem - -.- 751 -TURES ON POPE- Au a - - ibMoore xtao Thomas Mooreo 751 APFRAGMENT — 552 Stanzas to the river Po - - ib Sonnet to George the Fourth - - - - 753 PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES- - -553 Francesca of Rimini - - -b. Stanzas to her who best can understand them - ib.DON JUAN - - - - - - - - - -561 To the Countess of-Blessington - 75, Notes - - - - - -- 704 Stanzas written on the Road between Florence Lnd Pisa ib / Impromptu..- l.b HINTS FROM HORACE - - 711 To a Vain Lady - - - 75~~ Farewell to the Muse - - - ib ADDITIONS TO THE HOURS OF IDLENESS. To Anne - - ----- - ib To the same - -.- -. ib'-On a distant view of the Villag and School of Harrow To the Author of a Sonnet - - 751 on the Hill- - -- -.722 Ont fidindjng aFan- --- - - ib To D. --.. To an Oak at Newstead - - ib To Eddleston - - - - lb. Dedication to Don Juan. - ib Reply to som3 Verses of J. M. B. Pigot, Esq - Prenthetic Adress by Dr. Plagiary 7'lo he sighing Strephon - 723 Oh never talk again to me - - - ib Fo Miss Pigot.-ib. Farewell to Maltia -759 Lines wriiten in "Letters of an Italian Nun and an Endorsement to the Deed of Separation - - ib TEnisheGCtleman - -. - 74 Who kill'd John Keats - - ib S )n the De'th of a Young Lady the- L:i:i:ite-lb -The Cornelian ib, Song for the Luddites..ib IF-iiiti Ermath of a Yong- Lady The Chain I gae - 760 To EI. S.' -ma- - - - - - - Epitaph for Joseph Blackett - ib To Caroline - Si' - - oa - o- -- elb.,'To Caroline- - Tih T * - - - - - - - - 7l6 To Caroline - - - 7.. 26 7.I. Epig -.. l'The First.KissofLov b Epir m.......... To a beautifull Qpaker -- — b ih.i - ib. o- Leabi d~ ~~.~ -.....727 Verses bro nd in a Summer-House at Hales Owen - ib. I ~Lines sdtr.essed. to a Young Lady. From the French The Last Atlielu. ib. New Iuet - -... Translation frota Horace 728 Answer Fugitive Pieces sThe Conquest sis- - -ib. Answer to Verses sent by a Friend - - 728 Versiclis -ib. On a Change of Masters at a great public School - 729 Epigram; from the French of Rulhieres - - - b. -Childish Recollections' -3hlb. To Mr. Murray. 762 A nswer to a Po'em written by Montgomery - - 733 Epistle from Mr. Murray to Dr. Polidori - ib To the Rev. J. T. Becher —. 34 Epistle to Mr. Murray - ib. To Miss Chaworth -ib To Mr. Murray - --- - -763 Remembrance.... ib. To Thomas Moore ib. Stanzas - - ib. p. Epitaph for Wjlliam Pitt - - ib. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. n my Wedding-day - ib The Blues — 735 E igram - - - Thie Third Act of Manfred, in its original shape - -73 I The Charity Ball - ib. To my dear Mary Anne -74t Epigram - ib. To Miss Chaworth- -ib. I To Mr. Murray - ib Fragment - ib. Stanzas, to a Hindoo Air - - 764 The Prayer of Nature ib. On thebirth of John William Rizzo Hoppner ib On w~rao arrow - - - 742 Stanzas - - - -. ib cfte Lffe of Lort Baron. BY J. W. LAKE. O'er the harp, from earliest years beloved, He threw his fingers hurriedly, and tones Of melancholy beauty died away Upon its strings of sweetness. IT was reserved for the present age to pro- their readers, far beyond the rarpe of those.uce one distinguished example of the Muse ordinary feelings which are usul1ly excited laving descended upon a bard of a wounded by the mere efforts of genius. The impression spirit, and lent her lyre to tell afflictions of of this interest still accompanies the perusal no ordinary description; afflictions originating of their writings; but there is another interest, probably in that singular combination of feel- of more lasting and far stronger power, which ng with imagination which has been called each of them possessed,-which lies in the the poetical temperament, and which has so continual embodyingof the individual characoften saddened the days of those on whom it ter, it might almost be said of the very person has been conferred. If ever a man was enti- of the writer. When we speak or think of tied to lay claim to that character in all its Rousseau or Byron, we are not conscious of strength and all its weakness, with its un- speaking or thinking of an author. We have bounded range of enjoyment,and its exquisite- a vague but impassioned remembrance of men sensibility of pleasure and of pain, that man of surpassing genius, eloquence, and power,was Lord Byron. Nor does it require much of prodigious capacity both of misery and time, or a deep acquaintance with human na- happness. We feel as if we had transiently ture, to discover why these extraordinary met such beings in real life, or had known powers should in so many cases have con- them in the dim and dark communion of a tributed more to the wretchedness than to the dream. Each of their works presents, in suchappiness of their possessor. cession, a fresh idea of themselves; and, while The ".imagination all compact," which the the productions of other great men stand out greatest poet who ever lived has assigned as from them, like something they have created., the distinguishing Badge of hi brethren, is in theirs, on the contrary, are images, pictures every case a dangerous gift. it exaggerates, busts of their living selves,-clothed, no doubt, indeed, our expectations, ana can otten bid at different times, in different drapery, and its possessor hope, where hope is lost to reasonl prominent from a different back-ground,-but but the delusive pleasure arising from these uniformly impressed with the same form, and visions of imagination, resembles that of a mien, and lineaments, and not to be mistaken child whose notice is attracted by a fragment for the representations of any other of the of glass to which a sunbeam has given mo- children of men. mentary splendour. He hastens to the spot But this view of the subject, though univerwith breathless impatience, and finds that the sally felt to be a true one, requires perhaps a object of his curiosity and expectation is little explanation. The personal character of equally vulgar and worthless. Such is the which we have spoken, it should be underman of quick and exalted powers of imagina- stood, is not altogether that on which the seal tion: his fancy over-estimates the object of of life has been set,-and to which, therefore, his wishes; and- pleasure, fame, distinction, moral approval or condemnation is necessaare alternately pursued, attained, and despised rily annexed, as to the language or conduct when in his power. Like the enchanted fruit of actual existence. It is the character, so to in the palace of a sorcerer, the objects of his speak, which is prior to conduct, and yet admiration lose their attraction and value as open to good and to ill,-the constitution of soon as they are grasped by the adventurer's the being in body and in soul. Each of these hand; and all that remains is regret for the illustrious writers has, in this light, filled his time lost in the chase, and wonder at the hal- works with expressions o; his own character.. lucination under the influence of which it was -has unveiled to the world the secrets of his undertaken. The disproportion between hope own being, the mysteries of the framing of and possession, which is felt by all men, is thus man. They have gone down into those depths doubled to those whom nature has endowed which every man may sound for himself, with the power of gilding a distant prospect though not for another; and they have made'by the rays of imagination. disclosures to the world of what they beheld We think that many points of resemblance and kne*w there-disclosures that have corn may be traced between Byron and Rousseau. manded and forced a profound and universal Both are distinguished by the most ardent and sympathy, by proving that all mankind, the vivid delineation of- intense conception, and troubled and the untroubled, the lofty and tle by a deep sensibility of passion rather than of low, the strongest and the frailest, are linked affection. Both too, by this double power, together by the bonds of a common but in have held a dominion over the sympathy of scrutable nature. 2 r.6e ~ LIFE OF LORD BYRON. Thus, each of these wayward and richly- are not felt, while we read, as declacatiols gifted spirits made himself the object of pro- published to the world, but almost as secrets found interest to the world, and that too dur- whispered to chosen ears. Who is there that ing periods of society when ample food was feels for a moment, that the voice which every where spread abroad for the meditations reaches the inmost recesses ot his heart is and passions of men. speaking to the careless multitudes around Although of widely dissimilar fortunes and him? Or if we do so remember, the words birth, a close resemblance in their passions seem to pass by others like air, and to find and their genius may be traced too between their way to the hearts for whom they were Byron and Robert Burns. Their careers intended; kindred and sympathetic spirits, were short and glorious, and they both perish- who discern and own that secret language, ed in the " rich summer of their life and song," of which the privacy is not violated, though and in all the splendour of a reputation more spoken in hearing of the uninitiated, because likely to increase than diminish. One was a it is not understood. A great poet may adpeasant, and the other was a peer; but nature dress the whole world, in the language of is a great leveller, and makes amends for the intensest passion, concerning objects of which inuries of fortune by the richness of her rather than speak face to face with any one benefactions: the genius of Burns raised him human being on earth, he would perish in his to a level with the nobles of the land; by na- misery. For it is in solitude that lie utters tii re, if not by birth, he was the peer of Byron. what is to be wafted by all the winds of heaven:.They both rose by the force of their genius, there are, during his inspiration, present with and both fell by the strength of theirpassions; him only the shadows of men. He is not one wrote from a love, and the other from a daunted, or perplexed, or disturbed, or repelscorn of mankind; and they both sung of the led, by real, living, breathing features. He emotions of their own hearts, with a vehe- can updraw just as much of the curtain as lie mence and an originality which few have clhooses, that hangs between his own solitude equalled, and none surely have surpassed. and the world of life. He there pours his soul The versatility of authors who have been ollt, partly to himself alone, partly to the ideal able to draw and support characters as differ- abstractions and impersonated images that ent from each other as from their own, has float around him at his own conjuration; and given to their productions the inexpressible partly to human beings like himself, moving charm of variety, and has often secured them in the dark distance of the every-day world. from that neglect'which in general attends He confesses himself, not before men, but what is technically called mannerism. But it before the spirit of humanity; and he thus was reserved for Lord Byron (previous to his fearlessly lays open his heart, assured that Don Juan) to present the same character on nature never prompted unto genius that which the public stage again and again, varied only will not triumphantly force its wide way into oy the exertions of that powerful genius, the human heart. which, searching the springs of passion and We have admitted that Bvron has depicted of feeling in their innermost recesses, knew much of himself, in all his heroes; but when how to combine their operations, so that the we seem to see the poet shadowed out in all interest was eternally varying, and never those states of disordered being which his abated, although the most important person Childe Harolds, Giaours, Conrads, Laras, and of the drama retained the same lineaments. Alps exhibit, we are far from believing that "But that noble tree will never more bear his own mind has gone through those states fruit or blossom! It has been cut down in its of disorder, in its own experience of life. We strength, and the past is all that remains to us merely conceive of it, as having felt within of Byron. That voice is silent for ever, which, itself the capacity of such disorders, and therebursting so frequently on our ear, was often fore exhibiting itself before us in possibility. heard with rapturous admiration, sometimes This is not general,-it is rare with great with regret, but always with -the deepest in- poets. Neither Homer, nor Shakspeare, nor terest."-Yet the impression of his works still Milton, ever so show themselves in the charemains vivid and strong. The charm which racters which they pourtray. Their poetical cannot pass away is there,-life breathing in personages have no references to themselves dead words-the stern grandeur-the intense but are distinct, independent creatures of power and energy-the fresh beauty, the un- their minds, produced in the full freedom of dimmed lustre-the immortal bloom, and ver- intellectual power. In Byron, there does not dure, and fragrance of life, all those still are seem this freedom of power-there is little there. But it was not in these alone, it was in appropriation of character to eventS; Characthat continual impersonation of himself in his ter is first, and all in all f'it is dictated, comwritings, by which he was for ever kept pelied by some force in his own mind-nebrightly before the eyes of men. essitating him,- and the events obey. Hi-sl It might, at first, seem that his undisguised poems, therefore, excepting Don Juan, are revelation of feelings and passions, which th not full and complete narrations of some one becoming pride of human nature, jealous o definite story, containing within itself a pieits own dignity, would in general desire ture of human life. They are merely bold, liold in unviolated silence, could have pr confused, and turbulent exemplifications of duced in the public mind only pity, sorro certain sweeping energies and irresistible or repugnance, But in the case of men passions; they are fragments of a poe'dark eal genius, like Byron it is otherwise: thedream of life. The very personages, vividly LIFE OF LORD BYRON. Vll as they are pictured, are yet felt to be ficti- He had two sons, who both died without issue; tious, and derive their chief power over us and his younger brother, Sir Joln, became fromn their supposed mysterious connexion their heir. This person was made a Knight with the poet himself, and, it may be added, of the Bath, at the coronation of James:i. with each other. The law of his mind was to First. He had eleven sons, most of 4 i> 11, embody his peculiar feelings in the forms of distinguished themselves for their loyall /;.i1 other men. In all his heroes we recognise, gallantry on the side of Charles the 1- ~s though with infinite modifications, the same Seven of these brothers were engaged.he great characteristics: a high and audacious battle of Marston-moor, of whom four fell in conception of the power of the mind,-an in- defence of the royal cause. Sir John Byron. tense sensibility of passion,-an almost bound- one of the survivors, was appointed to many less capacity of tumultuous emotion,-a boast- important commands, and on the 26th of Ocing admiration of the grandeur of disordered tober, 1643, was created Lord Byron, with a power, and, above all, a soul-felt, blood-felt collateral remainder to his brothers. On the delight in beauty-a beauty, which, in his decline of the king's affairs, he was appointed wild creation, is often scared away from the governor to the Duke of York, and, in this agitated surface of life by stormier passions, office, died without issue, in France, in 1652; but which, like a bird of calm, is for ever re- upon which his brother Richard, a celebrated turning, on its soft, silvery wings, ere the cavalier, became the second Lord Byron. He black swell has finally subsided into sunshine was governor of Appleby Castle, and distinand peace. guished himself at Newark. He died in 1697, These reflections naturally precede the aged seventy-four, and was succeeded by his sketch we are about to attempt of Lord By- eldest son William, who married Elizabeth, ron's literary and private life: indeed, they the daughter of John Viscount Chaworth, of are in a manner forced upon us by his poetry, the kingdom of Ireland, by whom he had five by the sentiments of weariness of existence sons, all of whom died young, except William, and enmity with the world which it so fre- whose eldest son, William, was born in 1722, quently expresses, and by the singular analo- and came to the title in 1736. gy which such sentiments hold with the real William, Lord Byron, passed the early part incidents of his life. of his life in the navy. In 1763, he was made Lord Byron was descended from an illus- master of the stag-hounds; and in 1765, was trious line of ancestry. From the period of sent to the Tower, and tried before the Hous. the Conquest, his family were distinguished, of Peers, for killing his relation and neighnot merely for their extensive manors in Lan- bour, Mr. Chaworth, in a duel.-The follow cashire and other parts of the kingdom, but ing details of this fatal event are peculiarly for their prowess in arms. John de Byron interesting, from subsequent circumstances attended Edward the First in several warlike connected with the subject of our sketch.) expeditions. Two of the Byrons fell at the The old Lord Byron belonged to a club, of battle of Cressy. Another member of the which Mr. Chaworth was also a member. It family, Sir John de Byron, rendered good met at the Star and Garter tavern, Pall Mall,;ervice in Bosworth field to the Earl of Rich- once a month, and was called the Nottinghammon(d, and contributed by his valour to trans- shire Club. On the 29th January, 1765, they fer the crown from the head of Richard the met at four o'clock to dinner as usual, and Third to that of Henry the Seventh. This Sir every thing went agreeably on, until about John was a man of honour; as well as a brave seven o'clock, when a dispute arose betwixt warrior. He was very intimate with his neigh- Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth, concerning hour Sir Gervase Clifton; and, although By- the quantity of game on their estates. The ron fought under Henry, and Clifton under dispute rose to a high pitch, and Mr. ChaRichard, it did not diminish their friendship, worth, having paid his share of the bill,'retired. but, on the contrary, put it to a severe test. Lord Byron followed him out of the room in Previous to the battle, the prize of which was which they had dined, and, stopping him on a kingdom, they had mutually promised that the landing of the stairs, called to the waiter whichever of them was vanquished, the other to show them into an empty room. They were should endeavour to prevent the forfeiture of shown into one, -and a single candle being his friend's estate. While Clifton was bravely placed on the table,-in a few minutes the fighting at the head of his troop, he was struck bell was rung, and Mr. Chaworth found moroff his horse, which Byron perceiving, he tally wounded. He said that Lord Byron and quitted the ranks, and ran to the relief of his he entered the room together, Lord'Byron friend, whom he shielded, but who died in his leading the way; that his lordship, in walking arms. Sir John de Byron kept his word: he forward, said something relative to the former interceded with the-kinr: the estate was pre- dispute. on which he proposed fastening the served to the Clifton family, and is now in the door; that on turning himself round from this possession of a descendant of Sir Gervase. act, he perceived his lordship with his sword In the wars between Charles the First and half drawn, or nearly so: on which, knowing the Parliament, the Byrons adhered to the his man, he instantly drew his own, and made royal cause. Sir N icholas Byron, the eldest a thrust at him, which he thouglt had woundlbrother and representative of the family, was ed or killed him; that then, perceiving his an eminent loyalist, who, having distinguished lordship shorten his sword to return the thrust. hiimself in the wars of the Low Countries, hethought to have parried it with his left handi was appointed governor of Chelsea, in 1642. that he felt the sword enter his body. and go viii LIFE OF LORD BYRON. deep through his back; that he struggled, and to avoid his creditors, and died at Valencien being the stronger man, disarmed hislordship, nes, in 179 1. and expressed a concern, as under the appre- In Captain Medwin's " Conversations o' hension of having mortally Wounded him; Lord Byron," the following expressions are that Lord Byron replied by saying something said to have fallen from his lordship, on the to the like effect, adding at the same time, subject of his unworthy father:that he hoped " he would now allow him to " I lost my father when I was only six years be as brave a man as any in the kingdom." of age. My-mother, when she was in a rage For this offence he was unanimously con- with me (and I gave her cause enough,) used victed of manslaughter, but, on being brought to- say,'Ah! you little dog, you are a Byron up for judgment, pleaded his privilege as a all over; you are as bad as your father!' It peer, and was, in consequence, discharged. was very different from Mrs. Malaprop's sayAfter this affair he was abandoned by his rela- ing,'Ah! good dear Mr. Malaprop! I never tions, and retired to Newstead Abbey; where, loved him till he was dead.' But, in fact, my though he livedin a state of perfect exile from father was, in his youth, any tiling but a persons of his own rank, his unhappy temper' Ccelebs in search of a. wife.' He would have found abundant exercise in continual war made a bad hero for Hannah More. He ran with his neighbours and tenants, and sufficient out three fortunes, and married or ran away punishment in their hatred. One of his amuse- with three women; and once wanted a guinea ments was feeding crickets, which were his that he wrote for: I have the note. He seemQnly companions. He had made them so tame ed born for his own ruin, and that of the other as to crawl over him; and used to whip them sex. He began by seducing Lady Carmarwith a wisp of straw, if too familiar. In this then, and spent for her four thousand pounds forlorn condition he lingered out a long life, a-year; and, not content with one adventure doing all in his power to ruin the paternal of this kind, afterwards eloped with Miss mansion for that other branch of the family Gordon. This marriage was not destined to to which he was aware it must pass at his be a very fortunate one either, and I don't death, all his own children having descended wonder at her differing from Sheridan's widow before him to the grave. in the play; they certainly could not have. John, the next brother to William, and born claimed' the fitch.' " in the year after him, that is in 1723, was of a GeorgeByron Gordon (for so he was called very different disposition, although his career on account of the neglect'his father's family in life was almost an unbroken scene of mis- had shown to his mother) was born at Dover, fortunes. The hardships he endured while on the 22d of January, 1788. On the unnatuaccompanying Commodore Anson in his ex- ral desertion of his father, the entire care of pedition to the South Seas, are well known, his infant years devolved upon his mother from his own highly popular and affecting who retired to Aberdeen, where she lived in narrative. His only son, born in 1751, who almost perfect seclusion, on the ruins of hei "eceived an excellent education, and whose fortune. Her undivided affection was natufather procured for him a commission in the rally concentred in her son, who was her guards, was so dissipated that he was known darling; and when he only went out for ar by the name of" mad Jack Byron." He was ordinary walk, she would entreat him, witl one of the handsomest men of his time; but the tear glistening in her eye, to take care of his character was so notorious, that his father himself, as " she had nothing on earth but him f is obliged to desert him' anrl his company to live for;" a conduct not at all pleasing to was shunned by the better nart of society. his adventurous spirit; the more especially.n his twenty-seventh year, he seduced the as some of his companions, who witnessed the ilarchioness of Carmarthen, who had been affectionate scene, would laugh and ridicule but a few years married to a husband with him about it. This excessive maternal indulwhom she had lived in the most happy state, gence, and the absence of that salutary disciuntil she formed this unfortunate connexion. pline and control so necessary-to childhood, After one fruitless attempt at reclaiming his doubtless contributed to the formation of the lady, the Marquis obtained a divorce; and a less pleasing features of Lord Byron's characmarriage was brought about between her and ter. It must, however, be remembered, in her seducer; which, after the most brutal Mrs. Byron's extenuation, not only that the conduct on his part, and the greatest misery circumstances in which she had been left with and keenest remorse on hers, was dissolved her son were, of a very peculiar nature, but in two years, by her sinking to the grave, the also that a slight malformation of one of his victim of a broken heart. About three years feet, and great weakness of constitution, na subsequently, Captain Byron sought to recruit turally solicited for him in the heart of a mo his fortunes by matrimony, and having made ther a more than ordinary portion of tender a conquest of Miss Catherine Gordon, an ness. For these latterreasons, he was not sent Aberdeenshire heiress (lineally descended very early to school, but was allowed to ex from the Eail of Huntley and the Princess pand his lungs, and brace his limbs; upon the Jane, daughter of James II. of Scotland,) he mountains of the neighbourhood. This was united himself to her, ran through her proper- evidently the most judicious method for in ty in a few years, and, leaving her and her parting strength to his bodily frame; and the only child, the subject of this memoir, in a sequel showed that it was far from the worst -,sst'tute-and defenceless state, fled to France for giving tone and vigour to his mind. The ~..j" """~l"^ I.^U^ MUI.L..-.or..11111 tone11 and IIIu III h I T he11111 1111..1 11 11 1 1 1 1 LIFE OF LORD BYRON. IX ravage grandeur of nature around him; the "Brig of Balgounie, black's your-wa'; feeling that he was upon hills where Wi' a wife's ae son and a mear's aefoal, Doun ye shall fa'." "Foreicn tyrant never trod, oButF reign tyrant neer trod, He immediately stopped his companion, Who Swept the stranger from her sight;" Swept the stranger farom her sighth" was then riding, and asked him if he remembered the prophecy, saying, that as they were his intercourse with a people whose chief both only sons, and as the pony might be "-a amusements consisted in the recital of heroic mare's ae foal," he would rather ride over first; tales of other times, feats of strength, and a because he had only a mother to lament him, display of independence, blended with the should the prophecy be fulfilled by the falling wild supernatural stories, peculiar to remote of the bridge, whereas the other had both a and thinly-peopled districts;-all these were father and a mother to grieve for him. calculated to foster that poetical feeling innate It is the custom of the grammar-school at in his character. Aberdeen, that the boys of all the five classes When George was seven years of age, his of which it is composed, should be assembled mother sent him to /the grammar-school at for prayers in the public school at eight o'clock Aberdeen, where he remained till his removal in the morning; after prayers, a censor calls to Harrow, with the exception of some inter- over the names of all, and those who are abvals of absence, which were deemed requisite sent are punished. The first time that Lord for the establishment of his health. His pro- Byron had come to school after his accession gress beyond that of the general run of his to his title, the rector had caused his name to class-fellows, was never so remarkable as be inserted in the censor's book, Georgius after those occasional intervals, when, in a few Dominus de Byron, instead of Georgius Byron days, he would master exercises which, in the Gordon, as formerly. The boys, unaccusschool routine, it had required weeks to ac- tomed to this aristocratic sound, set up a loud complish. But when he had overtaken the and involuntary shout, which had such an efrest of the class, he always relaxed his exer- feet on his sensitive mind that he burst into tions, and, contenting himself with being con- tears, and would have fled from the school, sidered a tolerable scholar, never made any had he not been restrained by the master. extraordinary effort to place himself at the An answer which Lord Byron made to a head of the highest form. It was out of school fellow scholar, who questioned him as to the that he aspired to be the leader of every thing; cause of the honorary addition of " Dominus in all boyish games and amusements, hewould de Byron"' to his name, served at that time, be first if possible. For this he was emi- when he was only ten years of age, to point nently calculated; quick, enterprising, and out that he would be a man who would think, daring, the energy of his mind enabled him speak, and act for himself-who, whatever to overcome the impediments-which nature might be his sayings or his doings, his vices had thrown in his way. Even at that early or his virtues, would not condescend to take period (from eight to ten years of age), all his them at second-hand. This happened on the sports were of a manly character; fishing, very day after he had been menaced with being shooting, swimming, and managing a horse, flogged round the school for a fault which he or steering and trimming the sails of a boat, had not committed; and when the question conatituted his chiefdelights, and,to the super- was put to him, he replied, "it is not my doficial observer, seemed his sole occupations. ing; Fortune was to whip me yesterday fc" He was exceedingly brave, and in the ju- what another did, and she has this day made venile wars of the school, he generally gained me a lord for what another has ceased to do. the victory; upon one occasion, a boy pur- I need not thank her in either case, for I have sued by another took refuge in Mrs. Byron's asked nothing at her hands." house: the latter, who had been much abused On the 17th of May, 1798, William, the fifgh by the former, proceeded to take vengeance Lord Byron, departed this life at Newstead. on him even on the landing-plact of the draw- As the son of this eccentric nobleman had died ing-room stairs, when George interposed in when George was five years old, and as the his defence, declaring that nobody should be descent both of the titles and estates was to ill-used while under his roof and protection. heirs male, the latter, of course, succeeded Upon this the aggressor dared him to fight; his great-uncle. Upon this change of fortune, and, although the former was by much the Lord Byron, now ten years of age, was restronger of the two, the spirit of young Byron moved from the immediate care of his mother was so determined, that after the combat had and placed as a ward under the guardianship lasted for nearly two hours, it was suspend- of the Earl of Carlisle, whose father had mared because both the boys were entirely ex- ried Isabella, the sister of the preceding Lord hausted. Byron. In one or two points of character A school-fellow of Byron had a very small this great-aunt resembled the bard: she also Shetland pony, which his father had bought wrote beautiful poetry, and after adorning the him; and one day they went to the banks of gay and'fashionable world for many years, she the Don to bathe; but having only one pony, left it without any apparent cause, and with they were obliged to follow the good old prac- perfect indifference, and in a great measure tice called in Scotland'; ride and tie." When secluded herself from society. they came to the bridge over that dark ro- The young nobleman's guardian decided mantic stream, Byron bethought him of the that he should receive the usual education prophecy which he has quoted in Don Juan: given to England's titled sons, and that ht x LIFE OF LORD BYRON. should, in the first instance, be sent to the the Harrow vacation, saw and became en public school at Harrow. He was accord- amoured of Miss Chaworth: she is the AMary Ingly placed there under the tuition of the of his poetry, and his beautiful "Dream" reRev. Dr. Drury, to whom he has testified his lates to their loves. Miss Chaworth was oldei gratitude in a note to the fourth canto of than his lordship by a few years, was light Childe Harold, in a manner which does equal and volatile, and though, no doubt, highly fat honour to the tutor and the pupil. A change tered by his attachment, yet she treated oui of scene and of circumstances so unforeseen poet less as an ardent lover than as a youngel and so rapid, would have been hazardous to brother. She was punctual to the assignations any boy, but it was doubly so to one of Byron's which took place at a gate dividing the grounds ardent mind and previous habits. Taken at of the Byrons from the Chaworths, and aconce from the society of boys in humble life, cepted his letters from the confidants; but hei and placed among youths of his own newly- answers, it is said, were written with more of acquired rank, with means of gratification the caution of coquetry than the romance ol which to him must have appeared considera- "love's young dream;" she gave him, how ble, it is by no means surprising that he should ever,'her picture, but her hand was reserved have been betrayed into every sort of extrav- for another. agance: none of them appear, however, -to It was somewhat remarkable that Lord have been of a very culpable nature. Byron and Miss Chaworth should both have "Though he was lame," says one of his been under the guardianship of Mr. White. school-fellows, "he was a great lover of sports, This gentleman particularly wished that his and preferred hockey to-Horace, relinquished wards should be married together; but Miss even Helicon for' duck-puddle,' and gave up C., as young ladies generally do in such cirthe best poet that ever wrote hard Latin for cumstances, differed from him, and was rea game of cricket on the common. He was solved to please herself in the choice of a not remarkable (nor was he ever) for his learn- husband. The celebrated Mr. M., commonly ing, but he was always a clever, plain-spoken, known by the name of Jack M., was at this and undaunted boy. I have seen him fight by time quite the rage, and Miss C. was not subtle the hour like a Trojan, and stand up against enough to conceal the penchant she had for the disadvantage of his lameness with all the this jack-a-dandy; and though Mr. W. took spirit of an ancient combatant.' Don't you her from one watering-place to another, still remember your battle with Pitt?' (a brewer's the lover, like an evil spirit, followed, and son) said If to him in a letter (for I had wit- at last, being somehow more persuasive than nessed it), but it seems that he had forgotten the child of song," he carried off the lady it.'You are mistaken, I think,' said he in to the great grief of Lord Byron. The mar reply;'it must have been with Rice-Pud- riage, however, was not a happy one; the ding Morgan, or Lord Jocelyn, or one of the parties soon separated, and Mrs. M. afterDouglases, or George Raynsford, or Pryce wards proposed an interview with her former (wvith whom I had two conflicts), or with Moses lover, which, by the advice of his sister, he Moore (the clod), or with somebody else, and declined. not with Pitt; for with all the above-named, From Harrow Lord Byron was removed, and other worthies of the fist, had, I an inter- and entered of Trinity College, Cambridge; change of black eyes -and bloody noses, at there, however, he did not mend his manners, various and sundry periods; however it may nor hold the sages of antiquity in higher eshave happened for all that.' teem than when under the command of his The annexed anecdotes are characteristic: reverend tutor at Harrow. He was above The boys at Harrow had mutinied, and in studying the poetics, and held the rules of the their wisdom had resolved to set fire to the Stagyrite in as little esteem as in after-life he scene of all their ills and troubles-the school- did the "invariable principles" of the Rev. room: Byron, however, was against the mo- Mr. Bowles. Reading after the fashion of the tion; and by pointing out to the young rebels studious men of Cam, was to him a bore, and the names of their fathers on the walls, he he held a senior wrangler in the greatest conprevented the intended conflagration. This tempt. Persons of real genius are seldom early specimen of his power over the passions candidates for college prizes, and Byron left of his school-fellows, his lordship piqued him- " the silver cup" for those plodding characters self not a little upon. who, perhaps, deserve them, as the guerdon Byron long retained a friendship for several of the unceasing labour necessary to overof his Harrow school-fellows; Lord Clare was come the all but invincible natural dullness one of his constant correspondents; Scroope of their intellects. Byron, instead of reading Davies was also one of his chief companions, what pleased tutors, read what pleased himhefore his lordship went to the continent. self, and wrote what could not fail to displease This gentleman and Byron once lost all their those political weathercocks' He did not admoney at "chicken hazard," in one of the mire their system of education; and they, as hells of St. James's, and the next morning is the case with most scholars, could admire le)vies sent for Byron's pistols to shoot him- no other. He took to quizzing them, and no;clf with; Byron sent a note refusing to give one likes to be laughed at; doctors frowned, diem, on the ground that they would be for- and fellovws filmed, and Byron at the age of reited as a deodand. This comic excuse had nineteen left the university without a degree.!be desired effect. Among other means which he adopted to 13Bron, whilst living at Newstead during show his contempt for academical honours LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xl eI kept a young bear in his room for some rate character, who is never mentioned by the time, which he told all his friends he was train- neighbouring peasants without a significant ing up for a fellowship; but, however much shake of the head, might have returned and the fellows of Trinity may claim acquaintance recognised every thing about him, except with the " ursa major," they were by no means perhaps, an additional crop of weeds. There desirous of associating with his lordship's eleve. still slept that old pond, into which he is said When about nineteen years of age,- Lord to have hurled his lady in one of his fits of Byro: bade adieu to the university, and took fury, whence she was rescued by the gardener, up his residence at Newstead Abbey. Here a courageous blade, who was the lord's mashis pursuits were principally those of amuse- ter, and chastised him for his barbarity. There ment. Among others, he was extremely fond still, at the end of the garden, in a grove of of the water. In his aquatic exercises he had oak, two towering, satyrs, he with his goat and seldom any other companion than a large club, and Mrs. Satyr with her chubby cloven Newfoundland dog, to try whose sagacity and footed brat, placed on pedestals at the inter fidelity, he would sometimes fall out of the sections of the narrow and gloomy pathways, boat, as if by accident, when the dog would struck for a moment with their grim visages, seize him, and drag him ashore. On losing and silent shaggy forms, the fear into your this dog, in the autumn of 1808, he caused a bosom which is felt by the neighbouring peamonument to be erected, with an inscription santry at' th' oud laird's devils.' I have frecommemorative of its attachment. (See page quently asked the country people near New532 of this edition.) stead, what sort of man his lordship (our Lord The following descriptions of Newstead's Byron) was. The impression of his eccentric hallowed pile will be found interesting: but energetic character was evident in the This abbey was founded in the year 1170, reply,' He's the devil of a fellow for comical by Henry II., as a priory of Black Canons, fancies. He flogs th' oud laird to nothing; but and dedicated to the Virgin Mary. It con- he's a hearty good fellow for all that. " tinued in the family of the Byrons until the Walpole, who had visited Newstead. gives, time of the late lord, who sold it first to Mr. in his usual bitter, sarcastic manner, the folClaughton for the sum of 140,C001., and on lowing account of it: that gentleman's not being able to fulfil the'As I returned I saw Newstead and Alagreement, and thus paying 20,0001. of a for- thorpe; I like both. The former is the very feit, it was afterwards sold to another person, abbey. The great cast window of the church and most of the money vested in trustees for remains, and connects with the house; the the jointure of the Hon. Mrs.- Byron. The -hall entire, the refectory entire, the cloister greater part of the edifice still remains. The untouched, with the ancient cistern of the present possessor, Major Wildman, is, with convent, and their arms on it: it has a private genuine Gothic taste, repairing this beautiful chapel quite perfect. The park, which is still specimen of architecture. The late Lord charming, has not been so much unprofaned. Byron repaired a -considerable part of it; The present lord has lost large sums, and paid but, forgetting the roof, he had turned his at- part in old oaks, five thousand pounds' worth tention to the inside, and the consequence of which have been cut near the house. En was, that in a few years, the rain paying a revanche, he has built two baby forts, to pay visit to the apartments, soon destroyed all his country in castles for damage done to the those elegant devices which his lordship had navy, and planted a handful of Scotch firs, contrived. His lordship's own study was a that look like ploughboys dressed in old family neat little apartment, decorated with some liveries for a publi day. In the hall is a very good classic busts, a select collection of books, good collection of pictures, all animals. The an antique cross, a sword in a gilt case, and, refectory, now the great drawing-room, is full at the end of the room, two finely polished of Byrons: the vaulted roof remaining, but skulls on a pair of light fancy stands. In the the windows have new dresses making for garden, likewise, was a great number of these them by a Venetian tailor." skulls, taken from the burial-ground of the This is a careless but happy description of abbey, and piled up together; but afterwards one of the noblest mansions in England, and they were recommitted to the earth. A writer, it will now be read with a far deeper interest who visited it soon after Lord Byron had sold than when it was written. Walpole saw the it, says: "In one corner of the servants' hall seat of the Byrons, old, majestic, and veneralay a stone coffin, in which were fencing ble; but he saw nothing of that magic beauty gloves and foils, and on the walls of the ample which fame sheds over the habitations of ge but cheerless kitchen was painted in large let- nius, and which now mantles every turret of ters,'Waste not-want not.' During the mi- Newstead Abbey. He saw it when decay nority of Lord Byron, the abbey was in the was doing its work on the cloister, the refecpossession of Lord G, his hounds, and tory, and the chapel, and all its honours seemea divers colonies of jackdaws, swallows, and mouldering into oblivion. He could not know starlings. The internal traces of this Goth that a voice was soon to go forth from those were swept away; but without, all appeared antique cloisters, that should be heard throuuh as rude and unreclaimed as he could have left all future ages, and cry,' Sleep no more to all it. With the exception of the dog's tomb, a the house.' Whatever may be its future frte, conspicuous and elegant object, I do not re- Newstead Abbey must henceforth be a menlocollect the slightest trace of culture or im- rable abode. Time may shed its wild flowers nrovement. The late lord, a stern and despe- on the walls, and let the fox in aponl the coairt x)i LIFE OF LORD BYRON. yard and the chambers; it may even pass into travelling would no' incppacitate him, anthe hands of unlettered pride, or plebeian he wished to judge of men by experience. opulence: but it has been the mansion of a At lengih, in July, 1809, in company with mighty poet. Its name is associated with glo- John Cam }iobhouse, Esq. (with whom his acries that cannot perish, and will go down to quaintance commenced at Cambridge), Lord posterity in one of the proudest pages of our Byron embarked at Falmouth for Lisbon, and annals. thence proceeded, by the southern provinces Lord Byron showed, even in his earliest of Spain, to the Mediterranean. The objects years, that nature had added to the advan- that he met with as far as Gibraltar seem to tages of high descent the richest gifts of genius have occupied, his mind, to the temporary and of fancy. His own tale is partly told in exclusion of his gloomy and misanthropic two lines of Lara: thoughts; for a letter which he wrote to his Left byis sire, too you such loss to ow, mother from thence contains no indication of Lord of himself, that he.l^gse of woe." them, but, on the contrary, much playful description of the scenes through which he had His first literary adventure, and its fate, are passed. At Seville, Lord Byron lodged in the well remembered. The poems which he pub- house of two single ladies, one of whom, howlished in his minority had, indeed, those faults ever, was about to be married. Though he of conception and diction which are insepara- remained there only three days, she paid him ble from juvenile attempts, and in particular the most particular attentions, and, at their may rather be considered as imitative of what parting, embraced him with great tenderness, had caught the ear and fancy of the youthful cutting offa lock of his hair,and presenting him author, than as exhibiting originality of con- with one of her own. With this specimen of ception and expression. It was like the first Spanish female manners, he proceeded to Caessay of the singing-bird, catching at and imi- diz, where various incidents occurred to contating the notes of its parent, ere habit and firm the opinion he had formed -t Seville of time have given the fulness of tone, confi- the Andalusian belles, and whicl made him dence, and self-possession which render assist- leave Cadiz with regret, and determine to reance unnecessary. Yet though there were turn to it. Lord Byron wrote to his mother many, and those not the worst judges, who from Malta, announcing his safety, and again discerned in his " Inours of Idleness" a depth from Previsa, in November. Upon arriving of thought and felicity of expression which at Yanina, Lord Byron found that Ali Pacha promised much at a more mature age, the was with his troops in Illyrium, besieging work did not escape the critical lash of the Ibrahim Pacha in'Berat; but the vizier, hav"Scotch Reviewers," who could not resist the ing heard that an English nobleman was in opportunity of pouncing upon'a titled poet, his country, had given orders at Yanina to of showing off their own wit, and of seeking supply him with every kind of accommodato entertain their readers with a flippant ar- tion, free of expense. From Yanina, Lord ticle, without much respect to the feelings of Byron went to Tepaleen. Here he was lodged the author, or even to the indications of merit in the palace, and the next day introduced to which the work displayed. The review was Ali Pacha, who declared that he knew him read, and excited mirth; the poems were to be a man of rank from the smallness of his neglected, the author was irritated, and took ears, his curling hair, and his white hands, his revenge in keen iambics, which, at the and who sent him a variety of sweetmeats, same time, proved the injustice of the offend- fruits, and other luxuries. In going in a ing critic and the ripening talents of the bard. Turkish ship of war, provided for him by Having thus vented his indignation against Ali Pacha, from Previsa, intending to sail for the reviewers and their readers, and put all Patras, Lord Byron was very near being lost the laughter on his side, Lord Byron went in but a moderate gale of wind, from the ignoabroad, and the controversy was for some rance of the Turkish officers and sailors, and years forgotten. was driven on the coast of Suli. An instance It was at Newstead, just before his coming of disinterested hospitality in the chief of a of age, he had planned his future travels, and Suliote village occurred to Lord Byron, in his original intention included a much larger consequence of his disasters in the Turkish portion of the world than that which he after- galliot. The honest Albanian, after assisting wards visited. He first thought of Persia, to him in his distress, supplying his wants, and which idea indeed he for a long time adhered. lodging him and his suite, refused to receive lie afterwards meant to sail for India, and had any remuneration. When Lord Byron pressed so far contemplated this project as to write him to take money, he said: " I wish you to for information from the Arabic professor at love me, not to pay me." At Yanina, on his C4ambridge, and to ask his mother to inquire return, he was introduced to Hussien Bey of a friend who had lived in India, what things and Mahomet -Pacha, two young children of would be necessary for his voyage. He formed Ali Pacha. Subsequently, lie visited Smyrna nis plan of travelling upon very different whence he went in the Salsette frigate to grounds from those which he afterwards ad- Constantinople. vanced. All men should travel at one time or On the 3d of May, 1810, while this frigate another, he thought, and he had then no con- was lying at anchor in the Dardanelles, Lord nexions to prevent him; when he returned Byron, accompanied by Lieutenant Ekenhe mignt enter into political life, for which head, swam the Hellespont from the European LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xill shore to the Asiatic-about two miles wide. and the gratification which he manifested on The tide of the Dardanelles runs so strong, observing the superiority, inevery respect, of that it is impossible either to swim or to sail England to other countries, proved that patrito any given point. Lord Byron went from otism was far from being extinct in his bosom. the castle to Abydos, and landed on the oppo- The embarrassed state of his affairs at length site shore, full thi ee miles below his meditated induced him to return home, to endeavour to place of approach. He had a boat in attend- arrange them; and he arrived in the Volage ance all the way; so that no danger could be frigate on the 2d of July, 1811, having been apprehended even if his strength had failed. absent exactly two years. His health had not His lordship records, in one of his minor suffered by his travels, although it had been poems, that he got the ague by the Voyage; interrupted by two sharp fevers; but he had but it was well known, that when he landed, put himself entirely on a vegetable diet, and he was so much exhausted, that he gladly ac- drank no wine. cepted the offer of a Turkish fisherman, and Soon after his arrival, he was summoned to reposed in his hut for several hours; he was Newstead, in consequence of the serious illthen very ill, and as Lieutenant Ekenhead ness of his mother; but on reaching the abwas compelled to go on board his frigate, he bey, found that she had breathed her last. IHe was left alone. The Turk had no idea of the suffered much from this loss, and from the disrank or consequence of his inmate, but paid appointment of not seeing her before her death; him most marked attention. His wife was and while his feelings on the subject were still. his nurse, and, at the end of five days, he left very acute, he received the intelligence, that the shore, completely recovered. - When he a friend, whom he highly esteemed, had been was about to embark, the Turk gave him a drowned in the Cam. He had not long before large loaf, a cheese, and a skin filled with heard of the death, at Coimbra, of a schoolwine, and then presented him with a few fellow, to whom he was much attached. These paras (about a penny each), prayed Allah to three melancholy events, occurring within the bless him, and wished him safe home. His space of a month, had, no doubt, a powerful lordship made him no return to this, more than effect on Lord Byron's feelings. saying he felt much obliged. But when he Towards the termination of his " English arrived at Abydos, he sent over his man Ste- Bards and Scotch Iteviewers," the noble aufano, to the Turk, with an assortment of fish- thor had declared, that it was his intention to ing-nets, a fowling piece, a brace of pistols, break off, from that period, his newly-formed and twelve yards of silk to make gowns for connexion with the Muses, and that, should his wife. The poor Turk was astonished, and he return in safety from the " Minarets" of said, " What a noble return for an act of hu- Constantinople, the " Maidens" of Georgia, manity!" He then formed the resolution of and the "Sublime Snows" of Mount Caucrossing the Hellespont, and, in propria casus, nothing on earth should tempt him to persona, thanking his lordship. His wife ap- resume the pen. Such resolutions are seldom proved of the plan; and he had sailed about maintained. In February, 1812, the first two half way across, when a sudden squall upset cantos of "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" (with his boat, and the poor Turkish fisherman the manuscript of which he had presented his found a watery grave. Lord Byron was friend Mr. Dallas,) made their appearance, much distressed when he heard of the catas- producing an effect upon the public, equal to trophe, and, with all that kindness of heart that of any work which has been published which was natural to him, he sent to the within this or the last century. widow fifty dollars, and told her he would This poem is, perhaps, the most original in ever be her friend. This anecdote, so highly the English language, both in conception and honourable to his lordship's memory, is very execution. It is no more like Beattie's Min little known. Lieutenant Hare, who was on strel than Paradise Lost-though the former the spot at the time, furnished the particulars, production was in the noble author's mind and added that, in the year 1817, Lord Byron, when first thinking of Childe Harold. A great then proceeding to Constantinople, landed at poet, who gives himself up free and unconthe same spot, and made a handsome present fined to the impulses-of his genius, as Byron to the widow and her son, who recollected did in the better part of this singular creation, the circumstance, but knew not Lord Byron, shows to us a spirit as if sent out from the his dress and appearance having so altered hands of nature, to range over the earth and him. the societies of men. Even Shakspeare himit was not until after Lord Byron arrived self submits to the shackles of history and at Constantinople that he decided not to go society. But here Byron has traversed the on to Persia, but to pass the following summer whole earth, borne along by the whirlwind of in the Morea. At Constantinople, Mr. Hob- his own spirit. Wherever a forest frowned, house left him toreturn to England. On losing or a temple glittered-there he was privihis companion, Lord Byron went again, and leged to bend his flight. He suddenly starts alone, over much of the old track which he had up from his solitary dream, by the secret founalready visited, and studied the scenery and tain of the desert, and descends at once into inanners,ofGreeceespecially,with.the search- the tumult of peopled or the- silence of deing eye of a poet and a painter. His mind serted cities. Whatever actually lived-had appeared occasionally to have some tendency perished heretofore-or that had within it a towards a recovery from the morbid state of power to kindle passion, became the materie moral apathy which he had previously evinced, of his all-embracing song. There are no unitiet B xiV LIFE OF LORD BYRON. of time or place to fetter him-and we fly denizen in the first circles. This passport was with him from hill-top to hill-top, and from not necessary to Lord Byron, who possessed tower to tower, over all the solitude of nature, the hereditary claims of birth and rank. But and all the magnificence of art. When the the interest which his genius attached to his past pageants of history seemed too dim and presence, and to his conversation, was of a faded, he would turn to the splendid specta- nature far beyond what these hereditary cles that have dignified our own days, and the claims could of themselves have conferred, images of kings and conquerors of old gave and his reception was enthusiastic beyond place to those that were yet living in sove- any thing imaginable. Lord Byron was not reignty and exile. Indeed, much of the power one of those literary men of whom it may be which Byron possessed'was derived from this truly said, minuit prcesentiafamam. A counsource. He lived in a sort of sympathy with tenance, exquisitely modeled to the expresthe public mind —sometimes wholly distinct sion of feeling and passion, and exhibiting the from it-sometimes acting in opposition to it remarkable contrast of very dark hair and -sometimes blending with it,-but, at all eyebrows, with light and expressive eyes, times, in all his thoughts and actions, bearing presented to the physiognomist the most ina reference to the public mind. His spirit teresting subject for the exercise of his art. needed not to go back into the past,-though The predominating expression was that of it often did so,-to bring the objects of its love deep and habitual thought, which gave way to back to earth in more beautiful life. The ex- the most rapid play of features when he enistence he painted was-the present. The gaged in interesting discussion; so that a objects he presented were marked out to him brother poet compared them to the sculpture by men's actual regards. It was his to speak of a beautiful alabaster vase, only seen to perof all those great political events which were fection when lighted up from within. The objects of such passionate and universal sym- flashes of mirth, gaiety, indignation, or sapathy. But chiefly he spoke our own feelings, tirical dislike,which frequently animated Lord exalted in thought, language, and passion. Byron's countenance, might, during an evenHis travels were not, at first, the self-impelled ing's conversation, be mistaken by a stranger act of a mind severing itself in lonely roaming for its habitual expression, so easily and so from all participation in the society to which happily was it formed forthem all; but those it belonged, but rather obeying the general who had an opportunity of studying his feanotion of the mind of that society. tures for a length'of time, and upon various The indications of a bold, powerful, and occasions, both of rest and emotion, knew original mind, which glanced through every that their proper language was that of melanline of Childe Harold, electrified the mass of choly. Sometimes shades of this gloom interreaders, and placed at once upon Lord By- rupted even his gayest and most happy moron's head the garland for which other men ments; and the following verses are said to of genius have toiled long, and which, they have dropped from his pen to excuse a tranhave gained late. He was placed pre-eminent sient expression of melancholy which over among the literary men of his country, by clouded the general gaiety. general acclamation. Those who had so rigor- from the heart where Sorow sits,..sl.ce.suedhisjuvenleessays adperhaps- "When from the heart where Sorrow sits, ously censured his juvenile essays, and perhaps HIer dusky shadow mounts too high, " dreaded such another field," were the first And o'er the changing aspect flits, to pay warm homage to his matured efforts; And clouds the brow, or fills the eyewhile others, who saw in the sentiments of Heed-not the gloom that soon shall sink, Childe Harold much to regrefand to censure, My thoughts their dungeon know too well; did not withhold their tribute of applause to Back to my breast the captives shrink, the depth of thought, the power and force of And bleed within their silent cell." expression, and the energy of sentiment, It was impossible to notice a dejection bewhich animated the "Pil rimage. Thus, as longing neither to the rank, the age, no! the all admired the poem, all were prepared to success of'this young nobleman, without greet the author with that fame which is the feeling an indefinable curiosity to ascertain poet's best reward. It was amidst such feel- whether it had a deeper cause than habit or ings of admiration that Lord Byron fully en- constitutional temperament. It was obviously tered on that public stage, where, to the close of a degree incalculably more serious than that of-his life, he made so distinguished a figure. alluded to by Prince ArthurEvery thing in his manner, person, and conversation, tended to maintain the charm remember when I was in France which his genius had flung around him; and gentlemen woud beas sad as night, Only for'antonnhess those admitted to his conversation, far from y for w finding that the inspired poet sunk into ordi- But, howsoever derived, this, joined to Lord nary mortality, felt themselves attached to him Byron's air of mingling in amusements and not only by many noble qualities, but by the sports as if he contemned them, and felt that.iilerest of a mysterious, undefined, and almost his sphere was far above the fashionable and s,ainful curiosity fivolous crowd which surrounded him, gave It is well known how wide the doors of so- a strong effect of colouring to a character,lety are opened in London to literary merit, whose tints were otherwise decidedly romaneven to a degree far inferior to Lord Byron's, tic. Noble and far descended, the pilgrim of and that it is only necessary to be honourably distant and savage countries, eminent as a distinguished by the public voice, to move as a poet among the first whom Britain has pro LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xv duced, and having besides cast around him olic claims, which gave good hopes of his benmysterious charm arising from the sombre coming an orator; and the other related to a tone of his poetry, and the occasional melan- petition from Major Cartwright. Byron himcholy of his deportment, Lord Byron occu- self says, the Lords told him "his manner pied the eyes and interested the feelings of all was not dignified enough for them, and would The enthusiastic looked on him to admii, better suit the lower house;" others say, they the serious with a wish to admonish, and the gathered round him while speaking, listening soft with a desire to console. Even literary with the greatest attention-a sign at any rate envy, a base, sensation, from which, perhaps, that he was interesting. He always voted this age is more free than any other, forgave with the opposition, but evinced no likelihood the man whose splendour dimmed the fame of of becoming the blind partisan of either side. his competitors. The generosity of Lord By- The following is a pleasing instance of the ron's disposition, his readiness to assist merit generosity, the delicacy, and the unwounding in distress, and to bring it forward where un- benevolence of Byron's nature: known, deserved and obtained general re- A young lady of considerable talents, but gard; while his poetical effusions, poured forth who had never been able to succeed in turnwith equal force and fertility, showed at once ing them to any profitable account, was rea daring confidence in his own powers, and a duced to great hardships through the misfordetermination to maintain, by continued ef- tunes of her family. The only persons from fort, the high place he had attained in British whom she could have hoped for relief were literature. abroad, and so urged on, more by the sufferAt one of the fashionable parties where the ings of those she held dear than by her own. noble bard was present, His Majesty, then she summoned up resolution to wait on Lord Prince Regent, entered the room: Lord By- Byron at his apartments in the Albany, and ron was at some distance at the time, but, on ask his subscription to a volume of poems: learning who he was, His Royal Highness she had no previous knowledge of him except sent a gentleman to him to desire that he from his works, but from the boldness and would be presented. Of course the presenta- feeling expressed in them, she concluded that tion took place; the Regent expressed his he must be a man of kind heart and amiable admiration of " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," disposition. Experience did not disappoint and entered into a conversation which so fas- her, and though she entered the apartment cinated the poet, that had it not been for an with faltering steps and a palpitating heart, accident which deferred a levee intended to she soon found courage to state her request, have been held the next day, he would have which she did in the most simple and delicate gone to court. Soon after, however, an un- manner: he heard it with the most marked fortunate influence counteracted the effect of attention and the keenest sympathy; and roval praise, and Lord Byron permitted him- when she had ceased speaking, he, as if to self to write and speak disrespectfully of the avert her thoughts from a subject which could Prince. not be but painful to her, began to converse The whole of Byron's political career may in.words so fascinating, and tones so gentle, be summed up in the following anecdotes: that she hardly perceived he had been writThe Earl of Carlisle having declined to in- ing, until he put a folded slip of paper into her troduce Lord Byron to the House of Peers, hand, saying it was his subscription, and that he resolved to introduce himself, and accord- he most heartily wished her success. " But," ingly went there a little before the usual hour. added he, "we are both young, and the world when he knew few of the lords would be is very censorious, and so if I were to take present. On entering, he appeared rather any active part in procuring subscribers to abashed, and looked very pale, but, passing your poems, I fear it would do you harm rather the woolsack, where the Chancellor (Lord than good." The young lady, overpowered Eldon) was engaged in some of the ordinary by the prudence and delicacy of his conduct, routine of the house, lie went directly' to the took her leave, and upon opening in the street table, where the oaths were administered to the paper, which in her agitation she had not him in the usual manner. The Lord Chan- previously looked at, she found it was a draft cellor then approached, and offered his hand upon his banker for fifty pounds! in the most open familiar manner, congratu- The enmity that Byron entertained towards latmg him on his taking possession of his seat. the Earl of Carlisle, was owing to two causes: Lord Byron only placed the tips of his fingers'the Earl had spoken lather irreverently of In the Chancellor's hand; the latter returned the " Hours of Idleness," when Byron exto his seat, and Byron, after lounging a few pected, as a relation, that he would have minutes on one of the opposition benches, re- countenanced it. He had moreover refused tired. To his friend, Mr. Dallas, who followed to introduce his kinsman to the House of him out, le gave as a reason for not entering Lords, even, it is said, somewhat doubting his into the spirit of the Chancellor, " that it right to a seat in that honourable house. might have been supposed he would join the The Earl of Carlisle was a great admirer court party, whereas he intended to have no- of the classic drama, and once published a thing at all to do with politics." sixpenny pamphlet, in which he strenuously He only addressed the house three times: argued in behalf of the propriety and necesthe first of his speeches was on the Frame- sity of small theatres: on the same day that work Bill; the second in favour of the Cath- this weighty publication appeared lie suio xvi LIFE OF LORD BYRON. scribed a thousand pounds for some public then took "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" from purpose. On this occasion, Byron composed a trunk, and delivered it to him. Mr. Dallas, the following epigram: having read the poem, was in raptures with Carlisle s s a t d pd it; he instantly resolved to do his utmost in CaOut of his rich domainsn; psuppressing the "Hints from Horace," and And for a sixpence circles round to ring out Childe Harold. He urged Byron The produce of his brains: to publish this last poem; but he was unwill-'T is thus the difference you may hit ing and preferred to have the " Hints" pubBetween his fortune and his wit." lishe. He would not be convinced of the great mrerit of the "Childe," and as some perByron retained his antipathy to this relative great erit of the "Childe and as some perto the last. On reading some lines in the n had seen it before Mr. Dallas, and exnewspapers addressed to Lady Holland by pressed disapprobation, Byron was by no the Earl of Carlisle, persuading her to reject means sure of its kind reception by the world. the snuff-box bequeathed to her by Napoleon, In a sliort time afterwards, however, he agreed thenfobesginning:o queathed toheyto its bpoblication, and requested Mr. Dallas not to deal with Cawthorn, but offer it to Mil"Lady, reject the gift," etc. ler of Albkmarle street: he wished a fashionhe immediately wrote the following parody: able publisher; but Miller declined it, chiefly "Lady, accept the gift a hero wore, on accounit of the strictures it contained on In spite of all this elegiac stuff: Lord Elgi^, whose publisher he was. LongLet not seven stanzas written by a bore man had refused to publish the " Satire," and Prevent your ladyship from taking snuff." Byron woild not suffer any of his works to come fror# that house: the work was thereSir Lumley Skeffington had written a tra-come front that house: the work was theregedy, called, if we rememberi right, "The fore carridd to Mr. Murray, who then kept a gedy, called, if we remember right, Th o Mysterious Bride," which was fairly damned shop opposite St. Dunstan's church in Fleet on the first night: a masquerade took place street. Mi. Murray had expressed a desire soon after this fatal catastrophe, to which went to publish fBr Lord yron, and regretted that John Cam Hobhouse, as a Spanish nun who Mr. Dallas had not taken the "English Bards ad been ravshed by Fnh a n and Scotch Reviewers" to him; but this was had been ravished by-the French army, and success was under the protection of his lordship. fter its success. Skeffington, compassionating the unfortunate Byron fell into company with Hog, the young woman, asked, in a very sentimental Ettrick Shepherd, at the Iakes. The Shepmanner,of Byron, "who is she?" "The Mys- herd was standing at the inn-door of Ambleterious Bride," replied his lordship. side, when forth came a strapping young man On Byron's return from his first tour, Mr. from the house, and of with his hat, and out Dallas called upon him, and, after the usual with his hand. Hogg did not know him, and Dallas called upon him, and, after the usual a a a dead halt, the other relieved salutations had passed, inquired if he was pre- ppearing a dead halt, the other relieve pared with any other work to support the him by saying, " Mr. Hogg, I hope you will pared with any -ther work to support the fame which he had already acquired. Byron excuse me; my name is Byron, and I cannot then delivered for h ad already acquiron a poem, help thkiking that we ought to hold ourselves tentitled ints from Horace," beinon a para-em, acquainted. The poets accordingly shook entitled "Hints from Horace," being a para- hands immediately, and, while they continued phrase of the art of poetry. Mr. Dallas prom- hans ime diately, w and, wh glove, drant ised to superintend the publication of this a t the Lakes, were hand and glove, drank piece as he had done that of the satire, and, furiously together, and laughed at their brother piece as he had done that of the satire, and,bards. On Byron's leaving the Lakes, he sent accordingly, it was carried to Cawthorn the bards. On Byron's leaving the Lakes, he sent bookseller, and matters arranged; but Mr. Hogg a letter quizzing the Lakists, which the Dallas, not thinking the poem likely to in- Shepherd was so mischievous a to show to crease his lordship's reputation, allowed it to Mitylene in the ye When residing at Mitylene in the yeas linger in the press. began thus: 1812, he portioned eight young girls very libe" Who would not laugh if Lawrence, hired to grace rally, and even danced with them at the marHis costly canvas with each'flatter'd face,. Hs costly canvas with each'flatter'd face, riage feast; he gave a cow to one man, horses Abused his art, till Nature with ah b rush to another, and cotton and silk to several girls Saw cits grow centaurs underneath his brush? who lived by weaving these materials: he also Or should some limner join, for show or sale, l b g t m ri: A maid of honour to a mermaid's tail; bought a new oat for a fisherman who had Or Low D*** (as once the world has seen) lost his own in a gale, and he often gave Greek Degrade God's creatures in his graphic spleen- testaments to the poor children. Not all that forced politeness which-defends While at Metaxata, in 1823, an embankFools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends. ment, at which several persons had been enBelieve me, Moschus, like that picture seems gaged digging, fell in, and buried some of The book which, sillier than a sick man's dreams, them alive: he was at dinner when he heard Displays a crowd of figures incomplete, of the accident, and, starting up from the taPoetic nightmares, without head or feet." ble, ran to the spot, accompanied by his phyMr. Dallas expressed his sorrow that his sician, who took a supply of medicines with lordship had written nothing else. Byron then him. The labourers who were employed to told him that he had occasionally composed extricate their companions, soon became some verses in Spenser's measure, relative to alarmed for themselves, and refused to go on, the countries lie had visited. " They are not saying, they believed they had dug out all the worth troubling you with, said his lordship, bodies which had been covered by the ruins. but you shall have them all with you:" he Lord Byron endeavoured to induce them to LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xvil continue their exertions, but finding menaces persuaded that in declining my offer, she was in vain, he seized a spade and began to dig governed by the influence of her mother; and most zealously; at length the peasantry joined was the more confirmed in this opinion by her him, and they succeeded in saving two more reviving ourl correspondence herself, twelve persons from certain death. months after. The tenor of her letter was. It is stated in the "Conversations," that that although she could not love me, she deByron was engaged in several duels,-that in sired my friendship. Friendship is a dangerous one instance he was himself principal in an word for young ladies; it is love full-fledged, " affair of honour" with Hobhouse,-and would and waiting for a fine day to fly. have been so in another with Moore, if the " I was not so young when my father died, Bard of Erin's challenge had been properly but that I perfectly remember him, and had forwarded to him. very early a horror of matrimony from the On the 2d of January, 1815, Lord Byron sight of domestic, broils: this feeling came married, at Seaham, in the county of Durhlam, over me very strongly at my wedding. SomeAnne Isabella, only daughter of Sir Ralph thing whispered me that I was sealing my own Millbank (since Noel), Bart. To this lady he death-warrant. I am a great believer in prehad made a proposal twelve months before, sentiments; Socrates' demon was not a ficbtit was rejected: well would it have been for tion; Monk Lewis had his monitor; and Natheir mutual happiness had that rejection been poleon many warnings. At the last moment, repeated. After their marriage, Lord and I would have retreated if I could have done Lady Byron took a house in London; gave so; I called to mind a friend of mine, who had splendid dinner-parties; kept separate car- married a young, beautiful, and rich girl, and ra ges; and, in short, launched into every sort yet was miserable; he had strongly urged Ine of fashionable extravagance. This could not against putting my neck in the same yoke: last long; the portion which his lordship had and, to show you how firmly I was resolved to received with Miss Millbank (ten thousand attend to his advice, I betted Hay fifty guineas pounds) soon melted away; and, at length, an to one that I should always remain single. Six execution was actually levied on the furniture years afterwards, I sent him the money. The of his residence. It was then agreed that day before I proposed to Lady Byron. I had Lady Byron, who, on the 10th of December, no idea of doing so. 1815, had presented her lord with a daughter, "It had been predicted by Mrs. Williams, should pay a visit to her father till the storm that twenty-seven was to be a dangerous age was blown over, and some arrangements had for me; the fortune-telling witch was right,been made with their creditors. From that it was destined to prove so. I shall never forvisit she never returned, and a separation en- get the 2d of January! Lady; Byron, (Byrn, sued, for which various reasons have been he pronounced it,) was the only unconcerned assigned; the real cause or causes, however, person present; Lady Noel, her mother, cried: of that regretted event, are up to this moment I trembled like, a leaf, made the wrong reinvolved in mystery, though, as might be ex- sponses, and, after the ceremony, called her pected, a wonderful sensation was excited at Miss Millbank. the time, and every description of contra- "There is a singular history attached to the dictory rumour was in active circulation. ring; the very day the match was concluded, Byron was first introduced to Miss Mill- a ring of my mother's that had been lost, was bank at Lady's. In going up stairs he dug up by the gardener at Newstead. I thought stumbled, and remarked to Moore, who ac- it was sent on purpose for the wedding; but companied him, that it was a bad omen. On my mother's marriage had siot been a fortuentering the room, he perceived a lady more nate one, and this ring was doomed to be the simply dressed than the rest sitting on a sofa. seal of an unhappier union still. He asked Moore if she- was a humble com- "After the ordeal was over, we set off for a panion to any of the ladies. The latter replied, country-seat of Sir Ralph's, and I was sur-'She is a great heiress; you'd better marry prised at the arrangements for the journey, her, and repair the old place Newstead." and somewhat out of humour to find a lady's The following anecdotes on the subject of maid stuck between me and my bride. It was this unfortunate marriage, are given from rather too early to assume the husband, so I Lord Byron's Conversations, in his own words: was forced to submit; but it was not with a " There was something piquant, and what very good grace. we term pretty, in Miss'Millbank; her fea- " I have been accused of saying, on getting lures were small and feminine, though not into the carriage, that I had married Lady regular; she had the fairest skin imaginable; Byron out of spite, and because she had reher figure was perfect for her height, and there fused me twice. Though I was' for a moment was a simplicity, a retired modesty about her, vexed at her prudery, or whatever it may be which was very-characteristic, and formed a called, if 1 had made so uncavalier, not to say happy contrast to the cold artificial formality brutal, a speech, I am convinced Lady Byron and studied stiffness, which is called fashion: would instantly have left the carriage to me sne interested me exceedingly. It is unne- and the maid, (I mean the lady's); she had cessary to detail the progress of our acquaint- spirit enough to have done so, and would propance: I became daily more attached to her, erly have resented the affront. and it ended in my making her a proposal that "Our honey-moon was not all sunshine; was rejected; her refusal was couched in it had its clouds; and Hobhouse has some let. termni that could not offend me. I was besides ters which would serve to explain the risre:sid B 2 3 Mxvl LIFE OF LORD BYRON. fall in the barometer; but it was never down doctor said afterwards he had been told that;t zero. I always looked down when Lady Byron bent A curious thing happened to me shortly her eyes on me, and exhibited other symptoms after the honey-moon, which was very awk- equally infallible, particularly those that mark ward at the time, but has since amused me ed the late king's case so strongly. I do not much. It sO happened that three married however, tax Lady Byron with this transacwomen were on a wedding visit to my wife, tion: probably she was not privy to it; she (and in the same room at the same time), was the tool of others. Her mother always whom I had known to be all birds of the same detested me; she had not even the decency to nest. Fancy the scene of confusion that en- conceal it in her own house. Dining one day sued. at Sir Palph's (who was a good sort of man, The world says I married Miss Millbank and of whom you may form some idea, when for her fortune, because she was a great heir- I tell you that a leg of mutton was always ess. All I have ever received, or am likely served at his table, that he might cut the same to receive, (and that has been twice paid back joke upon it) I broke a tooth, and was in great too), was 10,0001. My own income at this pain, which I could not avoid showing.'It period was small, and somewhat bespoke. will do you good,' said Lady Noel;'I am glad Newstead was a very unprofitable estate, and of it!' I gave her a look! brrolght me in a bare 15001. a-year; the Lan- "Lady Byron had good ideas, but could cashire property was hampered with -a law- never express them; wrote poetry too, but it suit, which has cost me 14,0001. and is not yet was only good by accident; her letters were finished. always enigmatical, often unintelligible. She "I heard afterwards that Mrs. Charlment was easily made the dupe of the designing, had been the means of poisoning Lady Noel's for she thought her knowledge of mankind mind against me; that she had employed her- infallible. She had got some foolish idea of self and others in watching me in London, Madame de Stael's into her head, that a perand had reported having traced me into a son may be better known in the first hour than house in Portland-Place. There was one act in ten years. She had the habit of drawing unworthy of any one but such a confidante; people's characters after she had seen them I allude to the breaking open my writing- once or twice. She wrote pages on pages desk: a book was found in it that did not do about my character, but it was as unlike as much credit to my taste in literature, and some possible. She was governed by what she letters from a married woman, with whom I called fixed rules and principles, squared had been intimate before my marriage. The mathematically. She would have made an use that was made of the latter was most un- excellent wrangler at Cambridge. It must llstifiable, whatever may be thought of the be confessed, however, that she gave no proof [breach of confidence that led to their discov- of her boasted consistency; first, she refused eay. Lady Byron sent them to the husband me, then she accepted me, then she separated of the lady, who had the good sense to take herself from me-so much for consistency. I no notice of their contents. The gravest ac- need not tell you of the obloquy and opprocusation that has been made against me, is brium that were cast upon my name when thlat of having intrigued with Mrs. Mardyn in our separation was made public; I once made my own house, introduced her to my own ta- a list from the journals of the day of the difble, etc.; there never was a more unfounded ferent worthies, ancient and modern, to whom calumny. Being on the Committee of Drury- I was compared: I remember a few, Nero, Lane Theatre, I have no doubt that several Apicius, Epicurus, Caligula, Heliogabalus, actresses called on me; but as to Mrs. Mar- Henry the Eighth, and lastly, the ~. All dyn, who was a beautiful woman, and might my former friends, even my cousin George have been a dangerous visitress, I was scarcely Byron, who had been brought up with me, acquainted (to speak) with her. I might even and whom I loved as a brother, took my wife's mrake a more serious charge against - than part: he followed the stream when it was employing spies to watch'suspected amours. strongest against me, and can never expect I had been shut up in a dark street in Lon- any thing from me; he shall never touch a don, writing'The Siege of Corinth,' and had sixpence of mine. I was looked upon as the refused myself to every one till it was finished. worst of husbands, the most abandoned and I was surprised one day by a doctor and a wicked of men; and my wife as a suffering lawyer almost forcing themselves at the same angel, an incarnation of all the virtues and time into my room; 1 did not know till after- perfections of the sex. I was abused in the Vwards the real object of their visit. 1 thought public prints, made the common talk of prifl'ir questions singular, frivolous, and some- vate companies, hissed as I went to the House what importunate, if not impertinent; but of Lords, insulted in the streets, afraid to go what should I have thought if I had known to the theatre, whence the unfortunate Mrs. that they were sent to provide proofs of my Mardyn had been driven with insult. The insanity? I have no doubt that my answers to Examiner was the only paper that dared say these emissaries' interrogations were not very a word in my defence, and Lady Jersey the rational or consistent, for my imagination was only person in the fashionable world that did heated by other things; but Dr. Baillie could n'ot look upon me as a monster." not conscientiously make me out a certificate "In addition to all these mortifications, my for Bedlam, and perhaps the lawyer gave a affairs were irretrievably involved, and almost nmore favourable report t. his employers. The so as to make me what they wished. a was LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xix compelled to part with Newstead, which I borne onward on the wings of society with never could have ventured to sell in mymoth- little personal expense. er's lifetime. As it is, I shall never forgive "Lord Byron was of another quality and myself for having done so, though I am told temperament. If the world would not conthat the estate would not bring half as much form to him, still less would he conform to the as I got for it: this does not at all reconcile world. He had all the manly, baronial prlde me to having parted with the old Abbey. I of his ancestors, though he had not all their did not make up my mind to this step but from wealth, and their means of generosity, hospithe last necessity; I had my wife's portion to tality, and patronage. He had the will, alas! repay, and was determined to add 10,0001. without the power. more of my own to it, which I did: I always'" With this temper, these feelings, this gehated being in debt, and do not owe a guinea. nius, exposed to a combination of such unThe moment I had put my affairs in train, and toward and trying circumstances, it would in little more than eighteen months after my indeed have been inimitably praiseworthy if marriage, I left England, an involuntary ex- Lord Byron could have been always wise, ile, intending it should be for ever." prudent, calm, correct, pure, virtuous, and We shall here avail ourselves of some ob- unassailable:-if he could have shown all the servations by a powerful and elegant critic,' force and splendour of his mighty poetical enwhose opinions on the personal character of ergies, without any mixture of their clouds. Lord Byron, as well as on the merits of his their baneful lightnings, or their storms:-if poems, are, from their originality, candour, he could have preserved all his sensibility to and keen discrimination, of considerable every kind and noble passion, yet have reweight. mained placid, and unaffected by the attack " The charge against Lord Byron," says of any blameable emotion;-that is, it would this writer, is, not that he fell a victim to have been admirable if he had been an angel, excessive temptations, and a combination of and not a man! circumstances, which it required a rare and "Unhappily, the outrages he received, the extraordinary degree of virtue, wisdom, pru- gross calumnies which were heaped upon him, dence, and steadiness to surmount; but that even in the time of his highest favour with the he abandoned a situation of uncommon ad- public, turned the delights of his very days vantages, and fell weakly, pusillanimously, of triumph to poison, and have him a sort of and selfishly, when victory would have been moody, fierce, and violent despair, which. led easy, and when defeat was ignominious. In to humours, acts, and words, that mutually reply to this charge, I do not deny that Lord aggravated the ill-will and the offences beByron inherited somevery desirable, and even tween him and his assailants. There was a enviable privileges in the lot of life which fell daring spirit in his temper and his talents, to his share. I should falsify my own senti- which was always inflamed rather than corments, if I treated lightly the gift of an an- rected by opposition. cient English peerage, and a name of honour " In this most unpropitious state of things, and venerable antiquity'; but without a for- every thing that went wrong was attributed tune competent to that rank, it is not' a bed to Lord Byron, and, when once attributed, of roses,' nay, it is attended with many and was assumed and argued upon as an undeniaextreme difficulties. and the difficulties are ble fact. -Yet, to my mind, it is quite clear,exactly such as a genius and temper like Lord quite unattended by a particle of doubt, —,that Byron's were least calculated to meet-at any in many things in which he has been the most rate, least calculated to meet under the pecu- blamed, he was the absolute victim of misforliar collateral circumstances in which he was tune; that unpropitious trains of events (for placed. His income was very narrow; his I do not wish to shift the blame on others) led RNewstead property left him a very small dis- to explosions and consequent derangements, posable surplus; his Lancashire property was, which no cold, prudent pretender to extreme in its condition, etc., unproductive. A pro- propriety and correctness could have averted fession, such as the army, might have lessened, or met in a manner less blameable than that or almost annihilated the difficulties of his pe- in which Lord Byron met it. culiar position; but probably his lameness "It is not easy to conceive a character less rendered this' impossible. He seems to have fitted to conciliate general society by his manhad a love of independence, which was noble, ners and habits, than that of Lord Byron. It and probably even an intractability; but this is probable that he could make his address temper added to his indisposition to bend and and conversation pleasing to ladies, when he adapt himself to his lot. A dull. or supple, chose to please; but, to the young dandies of or intriguing, man, without a single' good fashion, noble and ignoble, he must have been quality of head or heart, might have managed very repulsive: as long as he continued to be it much better; he might have made himself the ton,-the lion,-they may have endured subservient to government, and wormed him- him without opening their mouths. because he. self into some lucrative place; or he might had'a f"own and a lash which they were not have lived meanly, conformed himself stu- willing to encounter; but when his back wah pidly or crigingly to all humours, andbeen turned, A d they thought it safe, I do not doubt that they burst out into full cry! I have 1 Sir Egerton Brydges, Bart. who has written so heard complaints of his vanity, his peevishdiffusely and so ably on Lord By on's genius and ness, his desire to monopolize distinction, hi, character dislike of all hobbies but his own. It is noI xx LIFE OF LORD BYRON. improbable that there may have been some exert a moral force continually and effectively foundation for these complaints: I am sorry to accomplish the same purpose. Nobody can for it if there was; I regret such littlenesses. escape this force but those who are too high, And then another part of the story is proba- or those who are too low, for public opinion to bly left untold: wehear nothing of the provo- reach; or those hypocrites who are, before cations given him;-sly hints, curve of the others, the loudest in their approbation of the lip, side looks, treacherous smiles, flings at empty and unmeaning forms of society, that poetry, shrugs at noble authors, slang jokes, they may securely indulge all their propensiidiotic bets, enigmatical appointments, and ties in secret. I have suffered amazingly from boasts of being senseless brutes! We do not this interference; for though I set it at defi hear repeated the jest of the glory of the Jew, ance, I was neither too high nor too low to be that buys the ruined peer's falling castle; the reactd d by it, and I was not hypocrite enough d-d good fellow, that keeps the finest stud to guard myself from its consequences. and the best hounds in the country out of the " What do they say of my family affairs in snippings and odds and ends of his contract; England, Parry? My story, I suppose, like and the famous good match that the duke's other minor events. interested the people for a daughter is going to make with Dick Wigly, day, and was then forgotten?" I replied, no; the son of the rich slave-merchant at Liver- I thought, owing to the very great interest the pool! We do not hear the clever dry jests public took in him, it was still remembered whispered round the table by Mr. -, eldest and talked about. I mentioned that it was son of the new and rich Lord -, by young generally supposed a difference of religious Mr., only son of Lord -, the ex-lords sentiments between him and Lady Byron had A., B., and C., sons of the three Irish Union caused the public breach. " No, Parry," was earls, great borough-holders, and the very the reply; "Lady Byron has a liberal mind, grave and sarcastic Lord, who believes particularly as to religious opinions; and I that he has the monopoly of all the talents, wish, when I married her, that I had possessand all the political and legislative knowledge,ed the same command over myself that I now of the kingdom, and that a poet and a bell- do. Had I possessed a little more wisdom, man are only fit to be yoked together. and more forbearance, we might have been "Thus, then, was this illustrious and mighty happy. I wished, when I was first married, poet driven into exile! Yes, driven! who to have remained in the country, particularly would live in a country in which he had been till my pecuniary embarrassments were over. so used, even though it was the land of his I knew the society of London; I knew the nativity, the land of a thousand noble ances- characters of many of those who are called tors, the land of freedom, the land where his ladies, with whom Lady Byron would neceshead had been crowned with laurels,-but sarily have to associate, and I dreaded her where his heart had been tortured. where all contact with them. But I have too much of his most generous and most noble thoughts my mother about me to be dictated to: I like had been distorted and rendered ugly, and freedom from constraint; I hate artificial reguwhere his slightest errors and indiscretions lations: my conduct has always been dictated had been magnified into hideous crimes." by my own feelings, and Lady Byron was Lord Byron's own opinions on the connu- quite the creature of-rules. She was not perbial state are thus related by Captain Parry:- mitted either to ride, or run, or walk, but as "There are," said his lordship, "so many the physician prescribed. She was not suf. undefinable, and nameless, and not-to-be- fered to go out when I wished to go; and then named causes of dislike, aversion, and disgust, the old house was a mere ghost-house; I in the matrimonial state, that it is always im- dreamed ofghosts,andthoughtofthemwaking. possible for the public. or the best friends of It was an existence I could not support." the parties, to judge between man and wife. Here Lord Byron broke off abruptly, saying, Theirs is a relation about which nobody but " I hate to speak of my family affairs; though themselves can form a correct idea, or have I have been compelled to talk nonsense con any right to speak. As long as neither party cerning them to some of mybutterfly visitors, commits gross injusticetowards theother; as glad on any terms to get rid of their importulong as neither the woman nor the man is nities. I long to be again on the mountains. 1 guilty of any offence which is injurious to the am fond of solitude, and should never talk noncommunity; as long as the husband provides sense if I always found plain men to talk to." for his offspring, and secures the public against In the spring of 1816, Lord Byron quitted the dangers arising from their neglected edu- England, to return to itno more. He crossed cation, or from the charge of supporting them; over to France, through which he passed by what right does it censure him for ceasing rapidly to Brussels, taking in his way a surid dwell under the same roof with a woman, vey of the field'of Waterloo., He then prowho is to him, because he knows her, while ceeded to Coblentz, and up the Rhine to others do not, an object of loathing? Can any Basle. He passed the summer on the banks thing be more monstrous than for the public of the lake of Geneva. With what enthusivolce to compel individuals who dislike each asm he enjoyed, and with what contemplations otner to continue their cohabitatioff This is he dwelt among its scenery, his own poetry at least the effect of its interfering with a re- soon exhibited to the world. His third canto of eationsmlp, of which it has po possible means Childe Harold lms Manfred, and his Prisoner ot Judging. It does not indeed drag a man to of Chillon.' ere composed at the Campagno. V woman's bed by physical force; but it does Diodati at Coligny, a mile from Geneva LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xxi These productions evidently proved, that five carriages, nine horses, a monkey, a bullthe unfortunate events which had induced dog and mastiff, two cats, three pea-fowls, and Lord Byron to become a voluntary exile from some hens, (I do not know whether I have his native land, however they might have ex- classed them in order of rank), formed part acerbated his feelings, had in no measure chill- of his live stock; these, and all his books, ed his poetical fire. consisting of a very large library of modern The anecdotes that follow are given as his works, (for he bought all the best that came lordship related them to Captain Medwin: out), together with a vast quantity of furni"Switzerland is a country I have been satis- ture, might well be termed, with Caesar, " imfied with seeing once; Turkey I could live in pediments." for ever. I never forget my predilections. I From about the commencement of the yea. was in a wretched state of health, and worse 1817 to that of 1820, Lord Byron's principal spirits, when I was at Geneva; but quiet and residence was Venice. Here he continued to the lake, physicians better than Polidori, soon employ himself in poetical composition with set me up. I never led so moral a life as during an energy still increasing. He wrote the Lamy residence in that country; but I gained ment of Tasso, the fourth canto of Childe no credit by it. Where there is a mortifica- Harold, the dramas of Marino Faliero, and tion, there ought to be rewhrd. On the con- the Two Foscari; Beppo, Mazeppa, and the trary, there is no story so absurd that they did earlier cantos of Don Juan, etc. not invent at my cost. I was watched by Considering these only with regard to inglasses on the opposite side of the lake, and tellectual activity and force, there can be no by glasses too that must have had very dis- difference of opinion; though there may be torted optics. I was waylaid in my evening as to their degree of poetical excellence, the drives-I was accused of corrupting all the class in the scale of literary merit to which grisettes in the rue Basse. I believe that they they belong, and their moral, religious, and looked upon me as a man-monster worse than political tendencies. The Lament'of Tasso, the piqueur." which in every line abounds in the most per"1 knew very few of the Genevese. Hentsh fect poetry, is liable to no countervailing obwas very civil to me; and I have a great re- jection on the part of the moralist. spect for Sismondi. I was forced to return In the third canto of the " Pilgrimage," the the civilities of one of their professors by ask- discontented and repining spirit of Harold Ing him, and an old gentleman, a friend of had already become much softened: Gray's, to dine with me. I had gone out to sail early in the morning, andthe wind pre Joy was not always absent from his face, sail early in the morning, and-the wind prevented me from returning in-time for dinner. But o'er it in such scenes would steal with tranquil vented me from returning in time for dinner race. I understand that I offended them mortally. grace. Polidori did the honours. He is a being of still gentler mould in the "Among-our countrymen I made no new fourth canto; his despair has even sometimes acquaintances; Shelley, Monk Lewis, and assumed a smilingness, and the lovely and Hobhouse, were almost the only English peo- lively creations of the poet's brain are less ple I saw. No-wonder; I showed a distaste for painfully alloyed, and less suddenly checked society at that time, and went little among the by the gloomy visions of a morbid imaginaGerievese; besides, I could not speak French. tion. He represented himself, from the beWhat is become of my boatman and boat? I ginning, as a ruin; and when we first gazed suppose she is rotten; she was never worth upon hjm, we saw indeed in abundance the much. When I went the tour of the lake in black traces of recent violence and convulher with Shelley and Hobhouse, she was nearly sion. The edifice was not rebuilt; but its wrecked near the very spot where Saint- hues were softened by the passing wings of Preux and Julia were in danger of being Time, and the'calm slow ivy had found leisure drowned. It would have been classical to to wreath the soft green of its melancholy have been lost there, but not so agreeable. among the fragments of the decay. In so far Shelley was on the lake much oftener than I, the pilgrim became wiser, as he seemed to at all hours of the night and day: he almost think more of others, and with a greater spirit lived on it; his great rage is a boat. We are of humanity. There was something fiendish both; building now at Genoa, I a yacht, and in the air with which he surveyed the first he an open boat." scene of his wanderings; and no proof of the "Somebody possessed Madame de Stael with strength of genius was ever exhibited so an opinion of my immorality. I used occa- strong and unquestionable as the sudden and sionally to visit her at Coppet; and once she entire possession of the minds of men by such invited me to a family-dinner, and I found the a being as he then appeared to be. He looked room full of strangers, who had.come to stare upon a bull-fight and a field of battle With no at me as at some outlandish beast in a rareer variety of emotion. Brutes and men were, show. One of the ladies fainted, and the rest in his eyes, the same blind, stupid victims of looked as if his satanic majesty had been the savage lust of power. He seemed to shut among them. Madame de Stael took the his eyes to every thing of that citizenship and liberty to read me a lecture before this crowd, patriotism which ennobles the spirit of the to which I only made her a low bow." soldier, and to delight in scattering the dust His lordship's travelling equipage was and ashes of his derision over all the most sarather a singular one, and afforded a strange cred resting-places of the soul of man. Even catalogue for the Dogana: seven servants, then, we must allow, the original spirit.f the xxiI LIFE OF LORD BYRON. Englishman and the poet broke triumphantly, The first idea of the descriptive passages of at times, through the chilling mist in which it this beautiful poem will be easily recognised had beenspontanepusly enveloped. In Greece, in the following extract from Lord Byron s above all, the contemplation of Actium, Sa- travelling memorandum book: lamis, Marathon, Thermopylh,. and Platmea, "Sept. 22, 1816. Left Thun in a boat, subdued the prejudices of him who had'gazed which carried us the length of this lake in unmoved, or with disdain, upon fields of more three hours. The lake small, but the banks recent glory. The nobility of manhood ap- fine-rocks down to the water's edge-landed peared to delight this moody visitant; and he at Newhouse. Passed Interlachen-entered accorded, without reluctance, to the shades upon a range of scenes beyond all description of long departed heroes that reverent homage or previous conception. Passed a rock bearwhich, in the strange mixture of envy and ing an inscription-two brothers-one murscorn wherewith the contemplative so often dered the other-just the place for it. After regard active men, he had refused to the liv- a variety of windings, came to an enormous ing, or to the newly dead. rock-arrived at the foot of the mountain (the But there would be no end of descanting Jungfraw)-glaciers-torrents-one of these on the character of the'Pilgrim, nor of the 900 feet visible descent-lodge at the curate's moral reflections which it awakens; we there- -set out to see the valley~-heard an avalanche fore take leave of Childe, Harold in his own fall, like thunder!-glaciers enormous-storm beautiful language: comes on-thunder and lightning, and hail! Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been- all in perfection and beautiful. The torrent Asound whch makes us linger;-vet, farewell! is in shape, curving over the rock. like the Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene tail of the white horse streaming in the wind Which is his last, if in your memories dwell -just as might be conceived would be that of A thought which once was his, if on ye swell the' Pale Horse,' on which Death is mounted A single recollection, not in vain in the Apocalypse. It is neither mist nor waHe wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; ter, but a something between both; its imFarewell! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * mense height gives it a wave, a curve, a Alas! we must now say farewell "for eer." spreading here, a condension there-wonderfiul —indescribable. Manfred was the first of Lord Byron's dra- "Sept. 23. Ascent of the Wingren, the matic poems, and, we think, the finest. The Dent d'argent shining like truth on one side, spirit of his genius seems there wrestling with on the other the clouds rose from the opposite the spirit of his nature, the struggle being for valley, curling up perpendicular precipices, the palm of sublimity. Manfred has always ap- like the foam of the ocean of hell during a peared to us one of the most genuine creations spring tide! It was white and sulphury, and of the noble bard's mind. The melancholy is immeasurably deep in appearance. The side more heartfelt: the poet does not here seem we ascended was of course, not of so precipito scowl his brows, but they drop under the tous a nature, but oh arriving at the summit weight of his thoughts; his intellect, too, is we looked down on the other side upon a boilstrongly at work in it, and the stern haughti- ing sea of cloud, dashing against the crag on ness of the principal character is altogether which we stood. Arrived at the Greenderof an intellectual cast: the conception of this wold; mounted and rode to the higher glacier character is Miltonic. The poet, has made -twilight, but distinct-very fine-glacier him worthy to abide amongst those "palaces like a frozen hurricane-starlight beautifulof nature," those " icy halls," " where forms the whole of the day was fine, and, in point and falls the avalanche." Manfred stands up of weather, as the day in which Paradise was against the stupendous scenery of the poem, made. Passed whole woods of withered pines and'is as lofty, towering, and grand as the -all withered-trunks stripped, and lifelessmountains: when we picture him in imagina- done by a single winter." tion, he assumes a shape of height and inde- Of Lord Byron's tragedies we shall merely pendent dignity, shining in its own splendour remark, with reference to the particular naamongst the snowy summits which he was ac- ture of their tragic character, that the effect customed to climb. The passion, too, in this of them all is rather grand, terrible, and tercomposition, is fervid and impetuous, but at rific, than mollifying, subduing, or pathetic. the same time deep and full, which is not al- As dramatic poems, they possess much beauty ways the case in Byron's productions; it is and originality. serious and sincere throughout. The music The style and nature of the poem of Donl of the language is as solemn and as touching Juan forms a singularly felicitous mixture of as that of the wind coming through the bend- burlesque and pathos, of humorous observa ing ranks of the inaccessible Alpine forests; tion, and the higher elements of poetical corn and the mists and vapours rolling down the position. Never was the English language gullies and ravines that yawn horribly on the festooned into more luxurious stanzas than in eye, are not more wild and striking in their Don Juan: like the dolphin sporting in its na appearance than are the supernatural crea- tive waves, at every turn, however grotesque lions of the poet's fancy, whose magical agen- displaying a new hue and a new beauty, so "Jv is of mighty import, but is nevertheless the noble author there shows an absolute conconnnually surmounted by the high intellec- trol over his means, and-at every cadence, tilal power. inyvpcible will, and intrepid phi- rhyme, or construction, however whimsical ifoplyv of Manfred. delights us with novel and magical associ. LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xxii tions. We wish. we heartily wish, that the duction occasioned, Lord Byron observed, in fine poetry which is so richlyscattered through a letter to his publisher, "If''Cain' be blasthe sixteen cantos of this most original and phemous,'Paradise Lost' is blasphemous, and most astonishing production, had not been the words of the Oxford gentleman,'Evil, be mixed up with very much that is equally frivo- thou my good,' are from that very poem from lous as foolish; arnd sincerely do we regret, the mouth of Satan; and is there any thing that the alloying dross of sensuality should run more in that of Lucifer in the mystery? so freely through the otherwise rich vein of'Cain' is nothing more than a drama, not a the author's verse. piece of argument: if Lucifer and Cain speak Whilst at Venice, Byron displayed a most as the first rebel and first murderer may be noble instance of generosity. The house of a supposed to speak, nearly all the rest of the shoemaker, near his lordship's residence in personages talk also according to their charSt. Samuel, was burnt to the ground, with acters; and the stronger passions have ever every article it contained, and the proprietor been permitted to the drama. I have avoided reduced, with a large family, to the greatest introducing the Deity as in Scripture, though indigence and want. When Lord Byron as- Milton does, and not very wisely either: but certained the afflicting circumstances of that have adopted his angel as sent to Cain instead, calamity, he not only ordered a new and su — on purpose to avoid shocking any feelings on perior habitation to be immediately built for the subject, by falling short of what all uninthe sufferer, the whole expense of which was spired men must fall short in, viz. giving an borne by his lordship, but also presented the adequate notion of the effect of the presence unfortunate tradesman with a sumequal in of Jehovah. The old mysteries introduced value to the whole of his lost stock in trade him liberally enough, and all this I avoided in and furniture. the new one." Lord Byron avoided, as much as possible, An event occurred at Ravenna during lsis any intercourse with his countrymen at Ven- lordship's stay there, which made a deep imice; this seems to have been in a great mea- pression on him, and to which he alludes in sure necessary, in order to prevent the intru- the fifth canto of Don Juan. The military sion of impertinent curiosity. In an appendix commandant of the place, who, though susto one of his poems, written with reference to pected of being secretly a Carbonaro, was a book of travels, the author of which dis- too powerful a man to be arrested, was assasclaimed any wish to be introduced to the no- sinated opposite to Lord Byron's palace. His ble lord, he loftily and sarcastically chastises lordship had his foot in the stirrup at the usual the incivility of such a gratuitous declaration, hour of exercise, when his horse started at expresses his " utter abhorrence of any con- the report of a gun: on looking up, Lord Bytact with the travelling English;" and thus ron perceived a man throw down a carbine concludes: "Except Lords Lansdowne, Jer- and run away at fill speed, and another man sey, and Lauderdale, Messrs. Scott, Ham- stretched upon the pavement a few yards from mend, Sir Humphrey Davy. the late Mr. himself; it was the unhappy commandant. A Lewis, W. Bankes, M. Hoppner, Thomas crowd was soon collected, but no one ventured Moore, Lod Kinnaird his brother, Mr. Joy, to offer the least assistance. Lord Byron diand Mr. HobhtuseTeo not recollect to have rected his servant to lift up the bleeding body, exchanged a word with another Englishman and carry it into his palace; though it was since I left their country, and almost all these represented to him that by doing so le would I had known before. The others, and God confirm the suspicion, which was already enknows there were some hundreds, who bored tertained, of his belonging to the same party. me with letters or visits, I refused to have any Such an apprehension could have no effect on communication with; and shall be proud and Byron's mind, when an act of humanity was happy when that wish becomes mutual." to be performed; he assisted in bearing the After a residence of three years at Venice; victim of assassination into the house, and Lord Byron removed to Ravenna, towardsthe putting him on a bed. He was already dead close of the year 1819. Here he wrote the from several wounds:'" he appeared to have Prophecy of Dante, which exhibited a new breathed his last without a struggle," said his specimen of the astonishing variety of strength lordship, when afterwards recounting the afand expansion of faculties he possessed and fair. I never saw a countenance so calm. exercised. About the same time he wrote His adjutant followed the corpse intothe house; Sardanapalus, a tragedy; Cain, a mystery; I remember his lamentation over him:and Heaven and Earth, a mystery. Though' Povero diavolo! non aveva fatta male, anchfi there are some obvious reasons which render ad un cane.'" The following were the noble Sardanapalus unfit for the English stage, it is, writer's poetical reflections (in Don Juan) 3u on the whole, the most splendid specimen viewingthe dead bod',. which our language affords of that species of tragedy which was the exclusive object of I gazed (as oft I gazed the same) Lord Byron's admiration. Cain is one of the To try if I cod wrench auht out of death, productions which has subjected its noble au- Which should copfirm, or shake, or make a farm productions which has subjected its noble auBut it was all a mystery:-here we are, thor to the severest denunciations, on account And there we go:-but where? Five bits oflead of the crime of impiety alleged against it; as Or three, or two, or one, send very far. it seems to have a tendency to call in question And is this blood, then, form'd but to be sheo t the benevolence of Providence. In answer Can every element our elements mar? to the loud and general outcry which this pro- And air, earth, water, fire,-live, and we, dead xxiv LIFE OF LORD BYRON. We whose minds comprehend all things?-No more: votion in women. She must have been a i But let us to the story as before." vine creature. I pity the man who has los, That a being of such glorious capabilities her! I shall write to him by return of the should abstractedly, and without an attempt courier, to condole with him, and tell him that to throw the responsibility on a fictitious per- Mrs. S. need not have entertained any consonage, have avowed such' startling doubts, cern for my spiritual affairs, for that no marn was a daring which, whatever might then have is more of a Christian than I am, whatevel been his private opinion, he ought not to have my writings may have led her and others to hazarded. suspect. " " It is difficult," observes Captain Medwin, We have given the above extracts from a "to judge, from the contradictory nature of sense of justice to the memory of Lord Byhis writings, what the religious opinions of ron; they are redeeming and consolatory eviLord Byron really were From the conver- dences that his heart was far from being sations I held with him, on the whole, I am sheathed in unassailable scepticism, and, as inclined to think, that if he were occasionally such, ought not to be omitted in a preface to sceptical, and thought it, as he says in Don his works. Juan, In the autumn of 1821, the noble bard repleasant voyage, perhaps, to float moved to Pisa, in Tuscany. He took up his Like Pyrrho, in a sea of speculation,' residence there in the Lanfranchi palace, and engaged in an intrigue with the beautiful vet his wavering never amounted to a disbe- Guiccioli, wife of the count of that name, lief in the divine Founder of Christianity. which connexion, with more than his usual Calling on him one day," continues the constancy, he maintained for nearly three Captain, "we found him, as was sometimes years, during which period the countess was tie case, silent, dull, and sombre. At length separated from her husband, on an applicahe said:'Here is a little book somebody has tion from the latter to the Pope. sent me about Christianity, that has made me The following is a sketch of this " fair envery uncomfortable; the reasoning seems to chantress," as taken at the time the liaison me very strong, the proofs are very stagger- was formed between her and Byron. " The ing. I don't think you can answer it, Shelley, countess is twenty-three years of age, though at least I am sure I can't, and what is more, I she appears no more than seventeen or eighdon't wish it.' teen. Unlike most of the Italian women, her "Speaking of Gibbon, Lord Byron said: complexion is delicately- fair. Her eyes, L- B thought the question set at rest large, dark, and languishing, are shaded by in the History of the Decline and Fall, but I the longest eyelashes in the world, and her am not so easily convinced. It is not a matter hair, which is ungathered on her head, plays of'volition to unbelieve. Who likes to own over her falling shoulders in a profusion of that he has been a fool all his life,-to unlearn natural ringlets of the darkest auburn. Her all that he has been taught in his youth, or figure is, perhaps, too much embonpoint for can think that some of the best men that ever her height; but her bust is perfect. Her lived have been fools? I don't know why I am features want little of possessing a Grecian considered an unbeliever. I disowned, the regularity of outline; and she has the most other day, that I was of Shelley's school in beautiful mouth and teeth imaginable. It is metaphysics, though I admired his poetry; impossible to see without admiring-to hear not but what he has changed his mode of the Guiccioli speak without being fascinated thinking very much since he wrote the notes Her amiability and gentleness show themto "Queen Mab," which I was accused of selves in every intonation of her voice, which, having a hand in. I know, however, that 1 and the music of her perfect Italian, gives a am considered an infidel. My wife and sister, peculiar charm to every thing she utters. when thev joined parties, sent me prayer-'Grace and elegance seem component parts books. There was a Mr. Mulock, who went of her nature. Notwithstanding that she about the continent preaching orthodoxy in adores Lord Byron, it is evident that the expolitics and religion, a writer of bad sonnets, ile and poverty of her aged father sometimes and a lecturer in worse prose,-he tried to affect her spirits, and throw a shade of melanconvert me to some new sect of Christianity. choly on her countenance, which adds to the ele was a great anti-materialist, and abused deep interest this lovely woman creates. Her Lnnoc' e.' ocas. he sad hejsconversation is lively without being learned; " On anbfne occasion he said' I have just she has read all the best ailthors of her own received a letter from a Mr. Sheppard, in- and the French language. She often conceals closing a prayer made for my welfare by his what she knows, from the fear of being thought wife, a few-days before her death. The letter to know too much, possibly from'being aware states that he has had the misfortune to lose that Lord Byron was not'fond of blues. He'his amiable woman, who had seen me at is certainly very much attached to her, withlatmnsgate, many years ago, rambling among out being actuallv ip love. His description Ihe cliffs; that she had been impressed with a of the Georgioni in- the Manfrini palace at sense of my irreligion from the tenor of my Venice, is meant for the countess. The beauworks, and had often prayed fervently for my tiful sonnet prefixed to the'Prophecy of conversion, particularly in her last moments. D.ante' was addressed to her." lThe prayer is beautifully written. I like de- The annexed lines, written by Byron when LIFE OF LORD BYRdN. xxv ne was about to quit Venice to join the count- or wrote till two or three in the morning; ess at Ravenna, will show the state of his occasionally drinking spirits diluted with wafeelings at that time-: ter as a medicine, from a dread of a nephritic complaint, to which he was, or fancied him" River I that rollest by the ancient walls self subject Where dwells the lady of my love, when she Walks by the brink, and there perchance recalls While Lord Byron resided at Pisa, a ser A faint and fleeting memory of me: ous affray occurred, in which he was personally concerned. Taking his usual ride, with " What if thy deep and ample stream should be some friends, one of them was violently jostled A mirror of my heart, where she may read by a serjeant-major of hussars, who dashed, The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee, at full speed, through the midst of the party. Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed? They pursued and overtook him near the "What do I say-a mirror-of my heart? Piaggia gate; but their remonstrances were Are not thy waters sweeping, ark, id strong? answered only by abuse and menace, and an Such as my feelings were and are, thou art; attempt, on the part of the guard at the gate, And such as thou art, were my passions long. to arrest them. This occasioned a severe Time may have somewhat tamed them; not for ever scuffle, in which several of Lord Byron's party Thou overflow'st thy banks; and not for aye were wounded, as was also the hussar. The Thy bosom overboils, congenial river! consequence was, that all Lord Byron's serThv floods subside, and mine have sunk away- vants (who were warmly attached to him, and " But left lone wrecks behind them, and again had shown great ardour in his defence), were Borne on our old unchanged career we move; banished from Pisa; and with them the Counts Thou tendest wildly onward to the main, Gamba, father and son. Lord Byron was himAnd I to loving one I should not love. self advised to leave it; and as the countess " The current I behold will sweep beneath accompanied her father, he soon after joined "The current I behold will sweep beneath Her native walls, and murmur at her feet them atLeghor, and passedsix weeks at Her eyes-will look on thee, when she shall breathe Monte Nero. His return to Pisa was occaThe twilight air, unharm'd by summer's heat. sioned by a new persecution of the Counts Gamba. An order was issued for them to " She will look on thee; I have look'd on thee leave the Tuscan states in four days; an A1)d 1 ^ ^ lhave l e ave the Tuscan states in four days; ano Full of that thought, and from that moment ne'er the at Th waters could ram of, name, or see, after their embarkation for Genoa, the countTh[ waters could I dream of, name, or see, idthout the inseparable sigh for her. ess and Lord Byron openly lived together, at the Lanfranchi palace. " Her bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream; It was at Pisa that Byron wrote " Werner," Yes, they will meet the wave I gaze on now: a tragedy; the "Deformed Transformed," Mine cannot witness, even in a dream, and connued his "Don Juan" to the end f That happy wave repass me in its flow. the sixteenth canto. We venture to intro" The wave that bears my tears returns no more: duce here the following critical summary of Will she return by whom that wave shall sweep? this wonderful production of genius. Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore; The poem of Don Juan has all sorts of I near thy source, she by the dark-blue deep. y defended faflts, many of which cannot be defended, "But that which keepeth us apart is not and some of which are disgusting; but it has, Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of earth, also, almost every sort of poetical merit: there But the distraction of a various lot, are in it some of the finest passages Lord ByAs various as the climates of our birth. ron ever wrote; there is amazing knowledge "A stranger loves a lady of the land, of human nature in it; there is exquisite huBorn far beyond the mountains, but his blood mour; there is freedom, and bound, and vigIs all meridian, as if never fann'd our of narrative, imagery, sentiment, and style, By the bleak wind that chills the polar flood. which are admirable; there is a vast fertility "My blood is all meridian; were it not, of deep, extensive, and original thought; and I had not left my clime;-I shall not be, at the same time, there is the profusion of a In spite of tortures ne'er to be forgot, prompt and most richly-stored memory. The A slave again of love, at least of thee. invention is lively and poetical; the descrip"'T is vain to struggle-let me perish youn- tions are brilliant and glowing, yet not over Live s I ivedand ove s I hve lved: tions are brilliant and glowing, yet not overLive as I lived, tad love as I ehve loved: wrought, but fresh from nature, and faithful To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, to her colours; and the prevalent character And then at least my heart can ne'er be moved." of the whole, (bating too many dark spots), not dispiriting, though gloomy, not misanIt is impossible to conceive a more unvaried thropic, though bitter; and not repulsive to life thin Lord Byron led at this period in the the visions of poetical enthusiasm, though society of a few select friends. Billiards, con- indignant and resentful. versation, or reading, filled up the intervals Lord Byron's acquaintance with Leign till it was time to take the evening-drive, ride, Hunt, the late editor of the Examiner, originand pistol-practice. ated in his grateful feeling for the manner in He dined at half an hour after sunset, then which Mr. Hunt stood forward in his iustifi drove to Count Gamba's, the Countess Guic- cation, at a time when the current of public cioli's father, passed several hours in her so- opinion ran strongly against him. This feelciety, returned to his palace, and either read ing induced him to invite Mr. Hunt to the -~ _______ _ ~ -- ~ ~Lanfranchi palace, where a suite of aparr1 The Po. ments were fitted up for him. On his arrival C 4 xxvi LIFE OF LORD BYRON. in the spring of 1822, a periodical publication riding a few miles distant. The heat of the was projected, under the title of "The Lib- sun and checked perspiration threw him into eral," of which Hunt was to be the editor, a fever, which he felt coming on before he left andfto which Lord Byron and Percy Shelley the water, and which became more violent (who had been residing for some time on terms before he reached Pisa. On his return, lie of great intimacy with his lordship) were to immediately took a warm bath, and the next contribute. Three numbers of the "Liberal" morning was perfectly recovered." were published in London, when, in conse- The enmity between Byron and Southey, quence of the unhappy fate of Mr. Shelley, the poet-laureate, is as well known as that be(who perished in the Mediterranean by the tween Pope and Colley Cibber. Their poliupsetting of a boat), and of other discouraging tics were diametrically opposite, and the noble circumstances, it was discontinued. bard regarded the bard of royalty as a reneByron attended the funeral of his poet- gado from his early principles. It was not, friend; the following description of which, however, so much on account of political by a person who was present, is not without principles that the enmity between Byron and interest:- Southey was kept up. The peer, in his satire, "18th August, 1822.-On the occasion of had handled the epics of the laureate " too Shelley's melancholy fate, I revisited Pisa, roughly," and this the.latter deeply resented. and on the day of my arrival, learnt that Lord Whilst travelling on the continent, Southey Byron was gone to the sea-shore, to assist in observed Shelley's name in the Album, at performing the last offices to his friend. We Mont Anvert, with "AOeos" written after it, came to a spot marked by an old and withered and an indignant comment in the same lantrunk of a fir-tree, and near it, on the beach, guage written under it; also the names of some stood a solitary hut covered with reeds. The of Byron's other friends. The laureate, it is situation was well calculated for a poet's grave, said, copied the names and the comment, arid, A few weeks before, I had ridden with him on his return to England, reported the whole and Lord Byron to this very spot, which I af- circumstances, and hesitated not to conclude terwards visited more than once. In front Byron of the same principles as his friends. was a magnificent extent of the blue and In a poem he subsequently wrote, called the windless Mediterranean, with the isles of Elba " Vision of Judgment," he stigmatized Lord and Guyarna,-Lord Byron's yacht at anchor Byron as the'father of the " Satanic School -.n the offing: on the other side an almost of Poetry." His lordship, in a note appended boundless extent of sandy wilderness, uncul- to the " Two Foscari," retorted in a very setivated and uninhabited, here and there inter- vere manner, and even permitted himself' to spersed in tufts with underwood curved by ridicule Southey's wife, the sister of Colethe sea-breeze, and stunted by thebarren and ridge's wife, they having been at one time dry nature of the soil in which it, grew. At "two milliners of Bath." The laureate wrote equal distances along the coast stood high an answer to this note in the Courier newssquare towers, for the double purpose of guard- paper, which, when Byron saw it. enraged ing the coast from smuggling, and enforcing him so much, that he consulted with his friends the quarantine laws. This view was bounded whether or not he ought to go to England to by an immense extent of the Italian Alps, answer it personally. In cooler moments, which are here particularly picturesque from however, he resolved,merely to write his their volcanic and manifold appearances, and " Vision of Judgment," which was a parody which, being composed of white marble, give on Southey's, and appeared in one of the numtheir summits the appearance of snow. As a bers of the "Liberal," for which Hunt, the foreground to this picture appeared as extra- publisher, was prosecuted by the " Constituordinary a group. Lord Byron and Trelawney tional Association," and found guilty. were.seen standing over the burning pile, with As some of our readers may be curious to some of the soldiers of the guard; and Leigh know the rate at which Lord Byron was paid Hunt, whose feelings and nerves could not for his productions, we annex the followinig carry him through the scene of horror,,lying statement, by Mr. Murray, the bookseller, of back in the carriage,-the four post-horses the sums given by him for the copy-rights ot ready to drop with the intensity of the noon- most of his lordship's works: day sun. The stillness of all around was yet mmole felt by the shrill scream of a solitary Childe Harold, I. II......... 6001. curlew, which, perhaps attracted by the body,, III......... 1,575 wheeled in such narrow circles round the.-, IV.......... 2,100,pile, that it might have been struck with the Giaour. 525 hand, and was so fearless that it could not be Bride of Abydos....... 525 driven away. Looking at the corpse, Lord Corsair.. Byron said:-' Why, that old black silk hand- La. 0..0. 0 kerchief retains its form better than that hu- iee of Corinth 525 Parisina............... 525 nman body!' Scarcely was the ceremony con- Lament of Tasso... 315 eluded, when Lord Byron, agitated by the Manfred........... 315 sn.ectacle le had witnessed, tried to dissipate Beppo... 525 in some degree the impression of it by his fa- Don Juan, I. II........... 1,525 vourite recreation. He took off his clothes,,III. IV. V......... 1,525 therefose. and swam to the yacht, which was Doge of Venice............ 1,010 LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xxvii Sardanapalus, Cain, and Foscari,.. 1,100' mal. The Irish and Scotch make better husMazeppa............... 525 bands than we do. You will think it was an Prisoner of Chillon........... 525 odd fancy; but I was not in the best of huS.undries'...4........ ^M mours with my countrymen at that moment 5 Total... ~,455 -you know the reason. I am told that Ada a.-.... 4. is a little termagant; I hope not. I shall write As is the case with many men in affluent to my sister to know if this is the case: perc:, cumstances, Byron was at times more than haps I am wrono in letting Lady Byron have generous; and again, at other times, what entirely her ownway in her education. I hear might be called nman. He once borrowed that my name is not mentioned in her pres50)0. in order to give it to the widow of one ence: that a green curtain is always kept who had been his friend; he frequently dined over my portrait, as over something'forbidden; on five Pauls, and once gave his bills to a lady and that she is not to know that she has a to be examined, because he thought he was father till she comes of age. Of course she cheated. He gave 10001. for a yacht, which will be taught to hate me; she will be brought ihe sold again for 3001., and refused to give the up to it, Lady Byron is conscious of all this, sailors their jackets. It ought, however, to be and is afraid that I shall some day carry off observed, that generosity was natural to him, -her daughter by stealth or force. I might and that his avarice, if it can be so termed, claim her of the Chancellor, without having was a; mere whim or caprice of the moment- recourse to either one or the other; but I had a role he could not long sustain. He once rather be unhappy myself than make her borrowed 1001. to give to the brother-in-law mother so; probably I shall never see her of Southey, Coleridge, the poet, when' the again." Here he opened his writing-desk latter was in distress. In his quarrel with the and showed Captain Medwin some hair, which laureate, he was provoked to allude to this he told him was his child's. circumstance, which certainly he ought not Several years aro, Lord Byron presented to have done. his friend, Mr. Thomas Moore, with his Byron was a great admirer of the Waverley " Memoirs," written by himself, with an unnovels, and never travelled without them. derstanding that they were not to be publish"They are," said he to Captain Medwin one ed until after his death. Mr. Moore, with the day, " a library in themselves,-a perfect lite- consent, and at the desire of Lord Byron, sold rary treasure. I could read them once a-year the manuscript to Mr. Murray, the bookseller, with new pleasure." During that morning, for the sum of two thousand guineas. The he had been reading one of Sir Walter's nov- following statement by Mr. Moore, will howels, and delivered, according to Medwin, the ever show its fate:' "Without entering into following criticism: "How difficult it is to the respective claims of Mr. Murray and mvsayanythingnew! Who was that voluptuary self to the property in these memoirs, (a of antiquity, who offered a reward for a new question which now that they are destroyed pleasure? Perhaps all nature and art could can be but of little moment to any one), it i1 not supply a new idea." sufficient to say, that, believing the manuscript The anxious and paternal tenderness Lord still to be mine, I placed it at the disposal of Byron felt for his daughter, is expressed with Lord Byron's sister, Mrs. Leigh,with the sole unequalled beauty and pathos in the first reservation of a protest against its total de stanza of the third canto of Childe Harold. struction; at least, without previous perusal "What do you think of Ada?" said he to Med- and consultation among the parties. The mawin, looking earnestly at his daughter's minia- jority of the persons present disagreed with ture, that hung by the side of his writing-ta- this opinion, and it was the only point upon ble.' They tell me she is like me-but she which there did exist any difference between has her mother's eyes. It is very odd that my us. The manuscript was accordingly torn mother was an only child;-I am an only child; and burnt before our eyes, and I immediately my wife is an only child; and Ada is an only paid to Mr. Murray, in the presence of the child. It is a singular coincidence; that is gentlemen assembled, two thousand guineas, the least that can be said of it. I can't help with interest, etc., being the amount of what thinking it was destined to be so; and perhaps I owed him upon the security of my bond, it is best. I was once anxious for a son; but, and for which I now stand indebted to my after our separation, was glad to have had a publishers, Messrs. Longmanand Co. daughter; for it would have distressed me too "Since then, the family of Lord Byron have, much to have taken him away from Lady By- in a manner highly honourable to themselves, roh, and I could not have trusted her with a proposed an arrangement, by which the sum son's education. I have no idea of boys being thus paid to Mr. Murray might he ieimburr brought up by mothers. I suffered too much ed me; but from feelings and consideration., from that myself: and then, wandering about which it is unnecessary here to explain, I have the world as I do, I could not take proper care respectfully, but peremptorily, declined their of a child; otherwise I should not have left offer." Allegra, poor little thing! at Ravenna. She One evening, after a dinner-party at the' has been a great resource to me, though I am Lanfranchi palace, his lordship wrote the fol not so fond of her as of Ada: and yet I mean lowing drinking-song: to mnake their fortunes equal-there will be enough for them both. I have desired in my," Fill the goblet again, for I rnever before will that Allegra shall not marry an English- Felt-the glow that now gladdens my heart to Its coit xxviii LIFE OF LORD BYRON. Let us drink-who would not? since, through life's At the age of six years he became presumpvaried round, tive heir to the family peerage, and at the age In the goblet alone no deception is found. of ten the peerage devolved on him. He then "1 have tried, in its turn, all that life can supply was sent to the public school of Harrow; but I have bask'd in the beams of a dark rolling-eye neither his person, his acquired habits, his I have loved-who has not? but what tongue will scholarship, nor his temper, fitted him for this declare strange arena. A peer, not immediately isThat pleasure existed while passion was there? suing from the fashionable circles, and not as rich as foolish boys suppose a peer ought to' In the days of our youth, when the heart's in rich as foolish boys suppose a peer ought to spring, be, must have a wonderful tact of society, and And dreams that affection can never take wing, amanaging, bending, intriguing temper, to I had friends-who has not? but what tongue will play his part with eclat, or with comfort, or avow even without degradation. All the treatment That friends, rosy wine, are so faithful as thou? which Lord Byron now received, confirmed the bitterness of a disposition and feelings "The breast of a mistress some boy may estrange, naturally sour, and already augmented by Friendship shifts with the sun-beam, thou never canst chilling solitude, or an uncongenial sphere of change; Thou grow'st old-who does not? but on earth what society. aTo a mind endowed with intense sensibility appears,aa Whose virtues, like thine, but increase with our years. and unextinguishable ambition,these circumstances operated in cherishing melancholy, "Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, and even misanthropy. They bred an intractShould a rival bow down to our idol below, ability to the light humours, the heartless We are jealous-who's not? thou hast no such alloy, cheerfulness, and all the artillery of unthinkFor the more that enjoy thee, the more they enjoy. e e e ing emptiness by which the energies of the "When the season of youth and its jollity's past, bosom are damped and broken. There were For refuge we fly to the goblet at last, implanted within him the seeds of profound Then we find-who does not? in the flow of the soul, reflection and emotion, which grew in him to That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. such strength, that the tameness, the petty "c When the box of Pandora was opened on earth passions, and frivolous desires of mankind in And Memorv's triumph commenced over Mirth, their ordinary intercourses of pleasure and Hope was left —was she not? but the goblet we kiss, dissipation, could never long retain him in And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss, their chains without weariness and disgust, even when they courted, dandled, flattered. "Long life to the grape! and when summer is flown, nd admired him. He was unsilled in their and admired him. He was unskilled in their The age of our nectar shall gladden my own. pitiful accomplishments, and disdained the We must de —who does not? may our sins be forgivent pitiful accomplishments, and disdained the An Hebe shall never be idle in heaven." trifling aims of their vanity, and the tests of excellence by which they were actuated, and Before we close the details of what may be by which they judged. He never, therefore, termed Lord Byrqn's poetical life-before we enjoyed their blandishments, and, ere long, enter on the painfully interesting particulars broke like a giant from their bonds. connected with the last and noblest part he There can be no doubt, that disappointpei formed in his brilliant but brief career- ments, working on a sombre temper, and the we beg leave to introduce the following sum- consequent melancholy and sensitiveness, aidmary of his character: ing, and aided by, the spells of the muse, were There seems to have been something of a Lord Byron's preservatives; at least, that they magical antidote in Lord Byron's genius to producedredeeming splendours, and moments the strange propensities to evil arising both of pure and untainted intellect, and exalting from his natural passions and temper, and the ebullitions of grand or tender sentiment, or accidental unpropitious circumstances of his noble passion, which, by fits at least, if not life. In no man were good and evil mingled always, adorned his compositions, and will for in such strange intimacy, and in such strange ever electrify and elevate his readers. proportions. His passions were extraordina- Had Lord Byron succeeded in the ordinary rily violent and fierce; and his temper, un- way to his'peerage, accompanied by the usual easy, bitter, and capricious. His pride was circumstances of prosperity and ease.-had deep and gloomy, and his ambition ardent and nothing occurred capable of stimulating to uncontrollable. All these were exactly such strong personal exertions, the mighty seeds as the fortuitous position of his infancy, boy- within him had probably been worse than hood, and first manhood, tended to aggravate neutral-they had worked to unqualified misby discouragenents, crosses, and mortifica- chief! In many cases, this is not the effect of tions. He was directly and immediatelysprung prosperity; but Lord Byron's qualities were from a stock of old nobility, of.a historic of a very peculiar cast, as well as intense and name, of venerable antiquity. All his alli- unrivalled in degree. ances, including his father, had moved in high When, in the spring of 1816, Lord Byron society. But this gay father died, improvident quitted England, to return to it no more, he or reckless of the future, and left him to waste had a dark, perilous, and appalling prospect his childhood in poverty and dereliction, in before him. The chances against the due tuJ)e remote town of Aberdeen, among the few ture use of his miraculous and fearful gifts of imaternal relations who yet would not utterly genius, poisoned and frenzied as they were by.aiondoi~ his mother's shipwrecked fortunes. blighted hopes, and all the evil incidents wh;ch LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xxix had befallen him, were too numerous to be obvious. It was in Greece that his high pocalculated Without overwhelming dismay! etical faculties had been first fully developed. Few persons, of a sensibility a little above the Greece, a land of the most venerable and ilcommon, would have escaped the pit of black lustrious history of peculiarly grand and and unmitigated despondence! But-Lord By- beautiful scenery, inhabited by various races ron's elasticity of mind recovered itself, and of the most wild and picturesque manners, soon rose to far higher conceptions and per- was to him the land of excitement,-neverformances than before. He passed the sum- cloying, never-wearying, never-changing exmer upon the banks of the lake of Geneva! citement. It was necessarily the chosen and With what enthusiasm he enjoyed, and with favourite spot of a man of powerful and origwhat contemplations he dwelt among its scene- inal intellect, of quick and sensible feelings,. ry, his own poetry soon exhibited to the world of a restless and untameable spirit, of various He has been censured for his peculiarities, information, and who, above all, was satiated his unsocial life, and his disregard of the habits, with common enjoyments, and disgusted with the decorums, and the civilities of the world, what appeared to him to be the formality, hyand of the rank to which he belonged. He pocrisy, and sameness of daily life. Dwelling might have pleaded, that the world rejected upon that country, as it is clear from all Lord him, and he the world; but the charge is idle Byron's writings he did, with the fondest soin itself, admitting it to have originated with licitude, and being, as he was well known to his own will. A man has a right to live in be, an ardent, though, perhaps, not a very syssolitude, if he chooses it; and, above all, he tematic lover of freedom, he could be no unwho gives such fruits of his solitude! concerned spectator of its recent revolution: In the autumn of 1822, Lord Byron quitted and as soon as it seemed to him that his presPisa, and went to Genoa, where he remained ence might be useful, he prepared to visit throughout the winter. A letter written by once more the shores of Greece. It is not his lordship, while at Genoa, is singularly improbable, also, that he had become ambihonourable to him, and is the more entitled to tious of a name as distinguished for deeds as notice, as it tends to diminish the credibility it was already by his writings. A glorious and of an assertion made since his death, that he novel career apparently presented itself, and could bear no rival in fame, but instantly be- he determined to try the event. came animated with a bitter jealousy and ha- Lord Byron embarked at Leghorn, and artred of any person who attracted the public rived in Cephalonia in the early part of Auattention from himself. If there be a living gust, 1823, attended by-a suite of six or seven being towards whom, according to that state- friends, in an English vessel, (the Hercules ment, Lord Byron would have experienced Captain Scott), which he had chartered fo such a sentiment, it must be the presumed the express purpose of taking him to Greece. ailthor of " Waverley." And yet, in a letter His lordship had never seen any of the volto Monsieur Beyle, dated May 29, 1823, the canic mountains, and for this purpose theves following are the just and liberal expressions sel deviated from its regular course, in order used by Lord Byron, in adverting to a pan- to pass the island of Stromboli, and lay off that phlet which had been recently published by place a whole night, in the hopes of witnessMonsieur Beyle: ing the usual phenomena, but, for the first time "There is one part of your observations in within the memory of man, the volcano emitthe pamphlet which I shall venture to remark ted no fire. The disappointed poet was obliged upon:-it regards Walter Scott. You say that to proceed, in no good humour with the fabled his character is little worthy of enthusiasm,' forge of Vulcan. at the same time that you mention his produc- v Greece thou h w.a lo t i tions in the manner they deserve. I have atwas at t at timein anunse known Walter Scott long and well, and in s. hi camen occasional situations which call forth the real with several instances of distinguished succharacter, and I can assure you that his char- cess-her arms were every where victorious, acter is worthy of admiration;-that, of all but her councils were distracted. Western men, he is the most open, the most honout- Greecewas in a ciitical situation,and although able, the most amiable. With his politics I the heroic Marco Botzaris had not fallen in have nothing to do: they differ from mine, vain, yet the glorious enterprise in which he which renders it difficult for me to speak of perished, only checked, and did not prevent them. But he is perfectly sincere in them,and the advance of the Turks towards Anatolica sincerity may be humble, but she cannot be and Missolonghi. This gallant chief, worthy servile. I pray you, therefore, to correct or of the best days of Greece, hailed with trans soften that passage. You may, perhaps, at- port Lord Byron's arrival in that country, and tribute this officiousness of mine to a false his last act, before proceeding to the attack, affectation of candour, as I happen to be a in which he fell, was to write a warm invitawriter also. Attribute it to what motive you tion for his lordship to come to Missolonghi. please, but believe the truth. I say that Wal- In his letter, which he addressed to a friend at ter Scott is as nearly a thorough good man as Missolonghi, Botzaris alludes to almost the man can be, because I know it by experience first proceeding of Lord Byron in Greece, to be the case." which was the arming and provisioning of - The motives which ultimately induced Lord forty Suliotes, whom he sent to join in the deByron to leave Italy, and join the Greeks, fence of Missolonghi. After the battle, Lord struggling for emancipation, are sufficiently Byron transmitted bandages and medic.ne c 2 xxx L LIFE OF LORD BYRON. if'hh IS= bo,,~ it a lrr s Mavrocordato was at this time endeavour [taly, adJcurliaL ur to those w- h9q ing to collect a fleet for the relief of Misso-e~-en wouL-Yndeld.iy longhi, and Lord Byron generously offered to ~ d~to e~ ver~t', advance fourhundredthousand piastres (about in a or"".... o er tp ~ ] 812,0001.) to pay for fitting it out. In a letter in dol ars.o&,!q~.co which he announced this his noble intention, lon!rir,::gn. fthe@.$uliotea.HioQ tars (since he alluded to the dissensions in Greece, and killed);' but t g. a er& stated, that if these continued, all hope of a me tog t tsla th-she loan in England, or of assistance, or even good 6 conter with ipreyOU^i 1 hi.i in factshes from abroad, would be at an end. sayihwish m`d 0ii`'to' s i.my money.in!' I must frankly confess," he says in his s ootni er direction.T il take care that it letter, " that unless union and order are conis for the public cause, otherwise I. will not firmed, all hopes of a loan will be in vain, and advance a para. The opposition say they all the assistance which the Greeks could exwant to cajole me, and the party in power say pect from abroad, an assistance which might the others wish to seduce me; so, between the be neither trifling nor worthless, will be sustwo, I have a difficult part to play: however, pended or destroyed; and, what is worse, the I will have nothing to do with the factions, great powers of Europe, of whom no one was un.s. tIp reconcile them, if possible."' an enemy to Greece, but seemed inclined to Lord Byron established i hinself for some favour her in consenting to the establishment time at the small village of Metaxata, in' of an independent power, will be persuaded Cephalonia, and despatched two friends, Mr. that the Greeks are unable to govern themTrelawney and Mr. Hiamilton Browne, with selves, and will, perhaps, themselves undera letter to the Greek government, in order to take to arrange your disorders in such a way collect intelligence as to the real-state of as to blast the brightest hopes you indulge, things. His lordship's generosity was almost and that are indulged by your friends. daily exercised in his new neighbourhood.,e " And allow me to add once for all, I desire prog.yjifior many Italian families in.i.sfrIss the well-being of Greece, and nothing else; and even aindu ige the peol?7.iountxy I will do all I can to secure it; but I cannot inip~yig:tba-th iTr~ i e remion -Inuries whi.h consent-I never-will consent to the'English they deemqed essssentiitotho ir's.ces" public, or English individuals being deceived -.In lthe"' meanwhile, Lord Byron's friends as to the real state of Greek affairs. The proceeded to Tripolitza, and found Coloco- rest, gentlemen, depends on you; you have troni (the enemy of Mavrocordato, who had fought gloriously; act honourably towards been compelled to flee from the presidency) your fellow-citizens, and towards the world, in great power: his palace was filled with and then it will no more be said, as has been arnmed men, like the castle of some ancient repeated for two thousand years, with the Pofeudal chief, and a good idea of his character man historian, that Philopemen was the last may be formed from the language he held. He of the Grecians. Let not calumny itself (and declared that he had told Mavrocordato, that it is difficult to guard against it in so difficult unless he desisted from his intrigues, he Would a struggle) compare the Turkish Pacha with put him on an ass and whip-him out of the the patriot Greek in peace, after you have Morea, and that he had only been withheld exterminated him in war."J from doing so by the representation of his The dissensions among he Greek chiefs friends, who had said that it would injure the evidently gave great pain to Lord Byron, cause. whose sensibility was keenly affected by the They next proceeded to Salamis, where the slightest circumstance which he considered congress was sitting, and Mr. Trelawney lilely to retard the deliverance of Greece. agreed to accompany Odysseus, a brave moun- " For my part," he observes, in another of his tain chief, into Negropont. At this time the letters, "I will stick by the cause, while a Greeks were preparing for many active en- plank remains which can be honourably clung terprises. Marco Botzaris' brother, with his to; if I quit it, it will be by the Greeks' conSuliotes and Mavrocordato, were to take duct, and not the Holy Allies, or the holier charge of Missolonghi, which, at that time, Mussulmans." In a letter to his banker at (October, 1823), was in a very critical state, Cephalonia, he says: "I hope things here will being blockaded both by land and sea. "There go well, some time or other; I will stick by have been," says Mr. Trelawney. "thirty bat- the cause as long as a cause exists." ties fought and won by the late Marco Bot- His playful humour sometimes broke out zaris,'and his gallant tribe of Suliotes, who amidst the deep anxiety he felt for the sucare shut up in Missolonghi. If it fall, Athens cess of the Greeks. He ridiculed, with great will be in danlger, and thousands of throats cut. pleasantry, some of the supplies which had A few thousand dollars would provide ships been sent out from England by the Greec to relieve it; a portion of this sum is raised- committee. In one of his letters, also, after and I would coin my heart to save this key of alluding to his having advanced 4,0001., and Greece!" A report like this was sufficient to expecting to be called on for 4,0001. more, he show'the point where succour was most need- says: " How can I refuse, if they (the Greeks) ed, and Lord Byron's determination to relieve will fight, and especially if I should happen Missolonghi, was. still nore decidedly con- to be in their corpany? I therefore request firmed by a letter, which he received from and require that you should apprise my trusty MTavrocordato. and trustworthy trustee and banker. and LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xxxt crown and sheet-anchor, Douglas Kinnaird his attention, was to mitigate the ferocity With the honourable, that he prepare all moneys of which the war had been carried on. The very mine, including the purchase-money of Roch- day of his lordship's arrival was signalized by dale manor, and mine income for the year A. his rescuing a Turk, who had fallen into the D. 1824, to answer and anticipate any orders hands of some Greek sailors. The individual or drafts of mine, for the good cause, in good thus saved, having been clothed bv his orders, and lawful money of Great Britain, etc. etc. was kept in the house until an opportunity etc. May you live a thousand years! which occurred of sending him to Patras. Nor had is nine hundred and ninety-nine longer than his lordship been long at Missolonghi, before the Spanish Cortes constitution." an opportunity presented itself for showing All being ready, two Ionian vessels were his sense of Yusuff Pacha's moderation in reordered, and, embarking his horses and ef- leasing Count Gamba. Hearing that there fects, Lord Byron sailed from Argostoli on the were four Turkish prisoners in the town, he 29th of December. At Zante, his lordship requested that they might be placed in his took a considerable quantity of specie on hands. This being immediately granted, he board, and proceeded. towards Missolonghi. sent them to Patras, with a letter addressed Two accidents occurred in this short passage. to the Turkish chief;,,expressing his hope that Count Gamba, who had accompaniedhis lord- the prisoners thenceforward taken on both ship from Leghorn, had been charged with sides, would be treated with humanity. This the vessel in which the horses and part of the act was followed by another equally praisemoney were embarked. VThen off Chiarenza, worthy, which proved how anxious Lord Bya point which lies between Zante and the ron felt to give a new turn to the system of place of their destination, they were surprised warfare hitherto pursued. A Greek cruiser at daylight on finding themselves under the having captured a Turkish boat, in which bows of a Turkish frigate. Owing, however, there was a number of passengers, chiefly to the activity displayed on board Lord By- women and children, they were also placed ron's vessel, and her superior sailing, she es- in the hands of Lord Byron, at his particular caped, while the second was fired at, brought request; upon which a vessel was immediately to, and carried into Patras. Count Gamba hired, and the whole of them, to the number and his companions, being taken before Yusuff of twenty-four, were sent to Previsa, provided Pacha, fully expected to share the fate of with every requisite for their comfort during some unfortunate men whom that sanguinary the passage. The Turkish governor of Prechief had sacrificed the preceding year at visa thanked his lordship, and assured him, Previsa, and their fears would most prob- that he would take care equal attention shoula ably have been realized, had it not been for be in future shown to the Greeks who might the presence of mind displayed by the count, become prisoners. who, assuming an air of hauteur and indiffer- Another grand objectwith Lord Byron, and ence,-accused the captain of the frigate of a one which he never ceased to forward with scandalous breach of neutrality, in firing at the most anxious solicitude, was to reconcile and detaining a vessel under English colours, the quarrels of the native chiefs, to make them and concluded by informing Yusuff, that lie friendly and confiding towards one another, might expect the vergeance of the British and submissive to the orders of the governgovernment, in thus interrupting a nobleman ment. He had neither time nor opportunity who was merely on his travels, and'bound to to carry this point to any eat extent: much Calamos. The Turkish chief, on recognising good was, however, doneJ in the master of the vessel a person who had ~ Lord Byron landed at Missolonghi animated saved his life in the Black Sea fifteen years with military ardour. After paying the fleet, before, not only consented to the vessel's re- which, indeed, had only come out'under the lease, but treated the whole of the passengers expectation of receiving its arrears from the with the utmost attention, and even urged loan which he promised to make to the prothem to take a day's shooting in the neighbour- visional government, he set about forming a hood. brigade of Suliotes. Five hundred of these, Owing to contrary winds, Lord Byron's ves- the bravest and most resolute of the soldiers sel was obliged to take shelter at the Scropes, of Greece, were taken into his pay on the Ist a cluster of rocks within a few miles of Mis- of January, 1824. An expedition against Lesolonghi. While detained here, he was in panto was proposed, of which the command considerable danger of being captured by was given to Lord Byron. This expedition. t u e Turks. however, had to experience delay and disaprLord Byron was received at Missolonghi pointment. The Suliotes,conceiving that tlhe with enthusiastic demonstrations of joy. No had found a patron whose wealth was inex mark of honour or welcome which the Greeks haustible, and whose generosity was bound could devise was omitted. The ships anchored less, determined to maike the most of the Of: off the fortress, fired a salute as he passed. casion, and proceeded to the most extravagant Prince Mavrocordato, and all the authorities, demands on their leader for arrears, andunrwith the troops and the population, met him der other pretences. These mountaineers on his landing, and accompanied him to the untameable in the field, and unmanageable lo house which had been prepared for him, amidst a town, were, at this moment, peculiarly disthe shouts of the multitude, and the discharge posed to be obstinate, riotous, and mercenary of cannon. They had been chiefly instrumental in pre One of the first objects to which he turned seri ing Missolonghi, when besieged the pre Kxxii LIFE OF LORD BYRON. vious autumn by the Turks; had been driven cies of motion to which Suliotes are not ac fi nm their abodes; and the whole of their customed, the man carelessly advanced; upon families were, at this time, in the town, des- which the serjeant of the guard (a German) titute of either home or sufficient supplies. demanded his business, and receiving no satOf turbulent and reckless character, they isfactory answer, pushed him back. These kept the place in awe; and Mavrocordato wild warriors, who will dream for years of a having, unlile the other captains, no sol- blowif revenge is out of their power, are not diers of his own, was glad to find a body of slow to resent even a push. The Suliote struck valiant mercenaries, especially if paid for out again, the serjeant and he closed and strugof the funds of another; and, consequently, gled, when the Suliote drew a pistol from his was not disposed to treat them with harshness. belt; the serjeant wrenched it out of his hand, Within a fortnight after Lord Byron's arrival, and blew the powder out of the pan. At this a burgher refusing to quarter some Suliotes, moment, Captain Sass, a Swede, seeing the who rudely demanded entrance into his house, fray, came up, and ordered the man to be tawas killed, and a riot ensued, in which some ken to the guard-room. The Suliote was then lives were lost. Lord Byron's impatient spirit disposed to depart, and would have done so it could ill brook the delay of a favourite scheme, the serjeant would have permitted him. Unbut he saw, with the utmost chagrin, that the fortunately, Captain Sass did not confine himstate of his troops was such as to render any self to merely giving the order for his arrest; attempt to lead them out at that time imprac- for when the Suliote struggled to get away, ticable. Captain Sass drew his sword, and struck him Thepoject of proceeding against Lepanto with the flat part of it; whereupon the enbeing thus suspended, at a moment when Lord raged Greek flew upon him, with a pistol in Byron's enthusiasm was at its height, and when one hand and the sabre in the other, and at he had fully calculated on striking a blow the same moment nearly cut off the Captain's which cquld not fail to be of the utmost ser- right arm, and shot him through the head. vice to the Greek cause, the unlooked-for dis- Captain Sass, who was remarkable for his appointment preyed on his spirits, and pro- mild and courageous character, expired in a. duced a degree of irritability, which, if it was few minutes. The Suliote also was a man of not the sole cause, contributed greatly to a distinguished bravery. This was a serious afsevere fit of epilepsy, with which he was at- fair, and great apprehensions were entertained tacked cn the 15th of February. His lordship that it would, not end here. The Suliotes rewas sitting in the apartment of Colonel Stan- fused to surrender the man to justice, alleging hope, talking in a jocular manner with Mr. that he had been struck, which, in Suliote Parry, the engineer, when it was observed, law, justifies all the consequences which may from occasional and rapid changes in his coun- follow. tenance, that he was suffering under some In a letter written a few days after Lord strong emotion. On a sudden he complained Byron's first attack, to a fiiend in Zante, he of a weakness in one of his legs, and rose, but speaks of himself as rapidly recovering. " I finding himself unable to walk, he cried out am a good deal better," he observes, " though for assistance. He then fell into a state of of course weakly. The leeches took too much nervous and convulsive agitation, and was blood from my templesthe day after, and there placed on a bed. For some minutes his coun- was some difficulty in stopping it; but I have tenance was much distorted. He however been up daily, and out in boats or on horsequickly recovered his senses, his speech re- back. To-day I have taken a warm bath, turned, and he soon appeared perfectly well, and live as temperately as well can be, withalthough enfeebled and exhausted by the vio- out any liquid but water, and without any anilence of the struggle. During the fit, he be- mal food." After adverting to some other haved with his usual extraordinary firmness, subjects, the letter thus concludes: " Matters and his efforts in contending with, and at- are here a little embroiled with the Suliotes, tempting to master, the disease, are described foreigners, etc.; but I still hope better things, as gigantic. In the course of the month, the and will stand by the cause as long as my attack was repeated four times; the violence health and circumstances will permit me to of the disorder, at length, yielded to the reme- be supposed useful." (lies which his physicians advised, such as Notwithstanding Lord Byron's improvement bleeding, cold bathing, perfect relaxation of in health, his friends felt, from the first, that mind, etc., and he gradually recovered. An he ought to try a change of air. Missoldnghi accident, however, happened a few days after is a flat, marshy, and pestilential place, and, his first illness, which was ill calculated to aid except for purposes of utility, never would the efforts of his medical advisers. A Suliote, have been selected for his residence. A genaccompanied by another man, and the late tleman of Zantewrote to him early in March, Marco Botzaris' little boy, walked into the to induce him to return to that island for a Seraglio, a place which. before Lord Byron's time. To his letter the following answer was arrival, had been used as a sort of fortress and received: barrack for the Suliotes, and out of which they "I am extremely obliged by your offer of were ejected with great difficulty for the re- your country-house, as for all other kindness, ception of the committee-stores, and for the in case my health should require my removal; occupation of the engineers, who required it but I cannot quit Greece while there is a for a laboratory. The sentinel on guard or- chance of my being of(even supposed) utility dered the Suliote to retire, which being a spe- There is a stake worth millions such as I am LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xxxiiu and while I can stand at all, I must stand by about the classic land of freedom, the birththe cause. While I say this, I am aware of place of the arts, the cradle of genius, the the difficulties, and dissensions, and defects of habitation of the gods, the heaven of poets, the Greeks themselves: but allowance must and a great many such fine things. I was be made for them by all reasonable people.' obliged to answer him, and I scrawled some Uit may be well imagined, after so severe a nonsense in reply to his nonsense; but I fancy fit of illness, and that in a great measure I shall get no more such epistles. When I brought on by the conduct of the troops he came to the conclusion of the poetry part of had taken into his pay, and treated with the my letter, I wrote,' so much for blarney, now utmost generosity, that Lord Byron was in no for business.' I have not since heard in the humour to pursue his scheme against Le- same strain from Mr. Bowring." panto, even supposing that his state of health' My future intentions," continued he, "as had been such as to bear the fatigue of a cam- to Greece, may be explained in a few words: paign in Greece. The Suliotes, however, I will remain here till she is secure against showed some signs of repentance, and offered the Turks, or till she has fallen under their to place themselves at his lordship's disposal. power. All my income shall be spent in her But still they had an objection to the nature service; but, unless driven by some great neof the service: "they would not fight against cessity, I will not touch a farthing of the sum stone walls!" It is not surprising that the ex- intended for my sister's children. Whatever pedition to Lepanto wasnIo longer thought of. I can accomplish with my income, and my In conformity with our plan, we here add a personal exertions, shall be cheerfully done. selection of anecdotes, etc. connected with When Greece is secure against external eneLord Byron's residence at Missolonghi. They mies, I will leave the Greeks to settle their are principally taken from Captain Parry's government as they like. One service more, "Last Days of Lord Byron;" a work which and an eminent service it will be, I- think I seems to us, from its plain and unvarnished may perform for them. You, Parry, shall style, to bear the stamp and impress of truth. have a schooner built for me, or I will buy a In speaking of the Greek Committee one vessel; the Greeks shall invest me with the ay, his lordship said-" I conceive that I character of their ambassador or agent; I will have been already grossly ill-treated by the go to the United States, and procure that free committee. In Italy, Mr. Blaquiere, their and enlightened government to set the examagent, informed me that every requisite sup- pie of recognising the federation of Greece ply would be forwarded with all despatch. I as an independent state. This done, England was disposed to come to Greece, but I has- must follow the example, and then the fate of tened my departure in consequence of earnest Greece will be permanently fixed, and she solicitations. No time was to be lost, I was will enter into all her rights, as a member of told, and- Mr. Blaquiere, instead of waiting the great commonwealth of Christian Euon me at his return fromh Greece, left a paltry rope." j note, which gave me no information w-hat- "This," observes Captain Parry, in his plain ever. If I ever meet with him, I shall not fail and manly manner, "was Lord Byron's hope to mention my surprise at his conduct; but it and this was to be his last project in favour of has been all of a-piece. I wish the acting Greece. Into it no motive. of personal ambicommittee had had some of h the trouble which tion entered,-more than that just and proper has fallen on me since my arrival here; they one, the basis of all virtue, and the distinwould have been more prompt in their pro- guished characteristic of an honourable mind ceedings, and would have known better what -the hope of gaining the approbation of good the country stood in need of. They would not men. As an author, he had already attained have delayed the supplies a day, nor have sent the pinnacle of popularity and of fame; but out German officers, poor fellows, to starve at this did not satisfy his noble ambition. He Missolonghi, but for my assistance. I am a hastened to Greece, with a devotion to liberty, plain man, and cannot comprehend the use and a zeal in favour of the oppressed, as pure of printing-presses to a people who do not as ever shone in the bosom of a knight in the read. Here the committee. have sent supplies purest days of chivalry, to gain the reputation' of maps, I suppose, that I may teach the-young of an unsullied warrior, and of a disinterested mountaineers geography. Here are bugle- statesman. He was by her unpaid, but the horns, without buglemen, and it is a chance blessings of all Greece, and the high honours if we can find any body in Greece to blow his own countrymen bestow on his memory them. Books are sent to a people who want bearing him in their hearts, provsithat he was guns: they ask for a sword, and the commit- not her unrewarded champion."J tee give them the lever of a printing-press. Lord Byron's address was the most affable Heavens! one would think the committee and courteous perhaps ever seen; his manmeant to inculcate patience and submission. ners, when in a good humour, and desirous of and to condemn resistance. Some materials being well with his guest, were winning, fasfor constructing fortifications they have sent, cinating in the extreme, and though bland, hut they have chosen their people so ill, that still spirited, and with an air of frankness and the work is deserted, and not one para have generosity-qualities in which he was certhey sent to procure other labourers. Their tainly not deficient. He was open to a fault secretary, Mr. Bowring, was disposed, I be- -a characteristic probably the result of his leve, to claim the privilege of an acquaint- fearlessness, and independence of the world, amice with me. He wrote me a long letter but so open was he, that his friends weio 5 xxxiv LIFE OF LORD BYRON. obliged to be upon their guard with him. He pacity and ignorance, and I should burn with was the worst person in the world to confide impatience to attempt the destructiorn of those a secret to; and if any charge against any stupid Turkish rascals. The Greeks and body was mentioned to him, it was probably Turks are opponents worthy, by their imbethe first communication he made to the per- cility, of each other.' I had scarcely explainson in question. He hated scandal and tit- ed myself fully, when his lordship ordered our tle-tattle-loved the manly straight-forward boat to be placed alongside the other, and accourse: he would harbour no doubts, and tually related our whole conversation to the never live with another with suspicions in his prince. In doing it, however, he took on himbosom-out came the accusation, and he called self the task of pacifying both the prince and upon the individual to clear, or be ashamed me, and though I was atfirst very angry, and of, himself. He detested a lie-nothing en- the prince, I believe, very much annoyed, he raged him so much: he was by temperament succeeded. Mavrocordato afterwards showed and education excessively irritable, and a lie no dissatisfaction with me, and I prized Lord completely unchained him-his indignation Byron's regard too much, to remain long disknew no bounds. He had considerable tact pleased with a proceeding which was only an in detecting untruth; he would smell it out unpleasant manner of reproving us both." almost instinctively; he avoided the timid "On one occasion (which we before slightly driveller, and generally chose his companions alluded to), he had saved twenty-four Turkish among the lovers and practisers of sincerity women and children from slavery, and all its and candour. A man tells a falsehood and accompanying horrors. I was summoned to conceals the truth, because he is afraid that attend him, and receive his orders, that every the declaration of thb thing as it is will hurt thing should be done which might contribute him. Lord Byron was above all fear of this to their comfort. He was seated on a cushion sort: he flinched from telling no one what he at the upper end of the room, the women and thought to his face; from his infancy he had children were standing before him, with their been afraid of no one. Falsehood is not the eyes fixed steadily on him, and on his right vice of the powerful: the Greek slave lies, hand was his interpreter, who was extracting the Turkish tyrant is remarkable for his ad- from the women a narrative of their sufferherence to truth. The anecdote that follows, ings. One of them, apparently about thirty told by Parry, is highly characteristic:- years of age, possessing great vivacity, and ~' When the Turkish fleet was lying off Cape whose manners and dress, though she was then Papa, blockading Missolonghi, I was one day dirty and disfigured, indicated that she was ordered by Lord Byron to accompany him to superior- in rank and condition to her comthe mouth of the harbour to inspect the forti- panions, was spokeswoman for the whole. I fications, in order to make a report on the state admired the good order the others preserved, they were in. He and I were in his own punt, never interfering with the explanation, or ina little boat which he had, rowed by a boy; terrupting the single speaker. I also admired and in a large boat, accompanying us, were the rapid manner m which the interpreter exPrince Mavrocordato and his attendants. As plained every thing they said, so as to make I was viewing, on one hand, the Turkish fleet it almost appear that there was but one attentively, and-reflecting on its powers, and speaker.-After a short time, it was evident our means of defence; and looking, on the that what Lord Byron was hearing, affected other, at Prince Mavrocordato and his attend- his feelings-his countenance changed, his ants, perfectly unconcerned, smoking their colour went and came, and I thought he was pipes, and gossiping as if Greece were libe- ready to weep. But he had, on all occasions, rated and at peace, and Missolonghi in a state a ready and peculiar knack in turning conof complete security, I could pot help giving versation from any disagreeable or unpleasant vent to a feeling of contempt and indignation. subject; and he had recourse to this expedi-'What is the matter,' said his lordship, ap- ent. He rose up suddenly, and turning round pearing to be very serious,' what makes you on his heel, as was his wont, he said something so angry, Parry?''I am not angry,' I replied, quickly to his interpreter, who immediately my lord, but somewhat indignant. The repeated it to the women. All eyes were inTurks, if they were not the most stupid stantly fixed on me, and one of the party, a wretches breathing, might take the fort of young and beautiful woman, spoke very Vasaladl, by means of two pinnaces, any night warmly. Lord Byron seemed satisfied, and they pleased; they have only to approach it said they might retire. The women all slipwith muffled oars; they will not be heard, I ped off their shoes in an instant, and going up will answer for their not being seen; and they to his lordship, each in succession, accompanay stormit in a few minutes. With eight nied by their children, kissed his hand fergun-boats, properly armed with 24-pounders, vently, invoked, in the Turkish manner, a they might batter both Missolonghi and Ana- blessing both on his head and heart, and then tolica to the ground. And there sits the old quitted the room. This was too much for Lord gentlewoman, Prince Mavrocordato and his Byron, and he turned his face away to controop, to whom I applied an epithet I will not ceal his emotion." here repeat, as if they were all perfectly safe. "One of Lord Byron's household had sevThey know their powers of defence are in- eral times involved himself and his master in adequate, and-they have no means of improv- perplexity and trouble, by his unrestrained;ng them. If I were in their place, I should attachment to women. In Greece this had be in a fever it the thought of my own inca- been very annoying, and induced Lord Byron LIEE OF LORD BYRON. xxxv to think of a means of curing it. A young rious Apollo! no general had ever before such Suliote of the guard was accordingly dressed an army.'" up like a woman; and instructed to place him- "Lord Byron had a black groom with him self in the way of the amorous swain. The in Greece, an American by birth, to whom he bait took, and after some communication, had was very partial. He always insisted on this rather by signs than by words, for the pair did man's calling him Massa, whenever he spoke not understand each other's language, the to him. On one occasion, the groom met with sham lady was carefully conducted by the gal- two women of his own complexion, who had lant to one ofLord Byron's apartments. Here been slaves to the Turks and liberated, but the couple were surprised by an enraged Su- had been left almost to starve when the Greeks liote. a husband provided for the occasion, had risen on their tyrants. Being of the same accompanied by half a dozen of his comrades, colour was a bond of sympathy between them whose presence' and threats terrified the poor and the groom, and he applied to me to give lacquey almost out of his senses. The noise both these women quarters in the Seraglio. I of course brought Lord Byron to the spot, to granted the application, and mentioned it to laugh at the tricked serving-man, and rescue Lord Byron, who laughed at the gallantry of him from the effects of his terror." his groom, and ordered that he should be " A few days after the earthquake, which brought before him at ten o'clock the next took place on the 21st of February, as we day, to answer for his presumption in making were all sitting at table in the evening, we such an application. At ten o'clock, accordwere suddenly alarmed by a noise and a ingly, he attended his master with great tremshaking of the house, somewhat similar to bling and fear, but stuttered so when he atthat which we had experienced when the tempted to speak, that he could not make earthquake occurred. Of course all started himself understood; Lord Byron erideavourfrom their places,and there was the same kind ing, almost in vain, to preserve his gravity, of confusion as on the former evening, at reproved him severely for his presumption. which Byron, who was present, laughed im- Blacky stuttered a thousand excuses, and was moderately; we were re-assured by this, and ready to do any thing to appease his massa's soon learnt that the whole was a method he anger. His great yellow eyes wide open, he had adopted to sport with our fears." trembling from head to foot, his wandering "The regiment, or rather the brigade, we and stuttering excuses, his visible dread-all formed, can be described only as Byron him- tended to provoke laughter; and Lord Byself describes it. There was a Greek tailor, ron, fearing his own dignity would be hove who had been in the British service in the overboard, told him to hold his tongue, and Ionian Islands, where he had married an Ital- listen to his sentence. I was commanded to ian woman.. This lady, knowing something enter it in his memorandum-book, and then of the military service, petitioned Lord Byron he pronounced, in a solemn tone of voice, to appoint her husband master-tailor of the while Blacky stood aghast, expecting some brigade. The suggestion was useful, and this severe punishment, the following doom:'My part of her petition was immediately granted. determination is, that the children born of At the same time, however, she solicited that these black women, of which you may be the she might be permitted to raise a corps of father, shall be my property, and I will mainwomen, to be placed under her orders, to ac- tain them. What say you?'' Go-GoGod company the regiment. She stipulated for bless you, massa, may you live great while,' free quarters and rations for them, but reject- stuttered out the groom, and sallied forth to ed all claim for pay. They were to be'free tell the good news to the two distressed woof all incumbrances, and were to wash, sew, men." cook, and otherwise provide for the men. The The luxury of Lord Byron's living at this proposition pleased Lord Byron, and, stating time, may be seen from the following order, the matter to me, he said he hoped I should which he gave his superintendent of the househave no objection. I had been accustomed hold, for the daily expenses of his own table. to see women accompany the English army, It amounts to no more than one piastre. and I knew that, though sometimes an incum- PARAS. brance, they were, on the whole, more bene- Bread, a pound and a half....... 15 ficial than otherwise. In Greece, there were Wine............. 7 many circumstances which would make their Fish................. 1I services extremely valuable, and I' gave my Olives......~........ 8 consent to the measure. The tailor's wife did accordingly recruit-a considerable number of 40 unincumbered women, of almost all nations, This was his dinner; his breakfast consisted but principally Greeks, Italians, Maltese, and of a single dish of tea, without milk or sugar. Negresses.' I was afraid,' said Lord Byron, The circumstances that attended the.death' when I mentioned this matter to you, you of this illustrious and noble-ninded man, are would be crusty, and oppose it-it is the very described in the following plain and simple thing. Let me see,' my corps outdoes Fal- manner, by his faithful valet and constant fol staff's: there are English, Germans, French, lower, Mr. Fletcher:Mlaltese, Ragusians, Italians, Neapolitans, "My master," says Mr. Fletcher, "con Transylvanians, Russians, Suliotes, Moreotes, tinued his usual custom of riding daily, whet and Western Greeks in front, and, to bring up the weather would permit, until the 9th oi the reav, the tailor's wife and her troop. Go- April. But on that ill-fated day he got very xxxvi LIFE OF LORD BYRON. wet; and on his return home, his lordship The first time I heard of there being any inchanged the whole of his dress; but he had tention of bleeding his lordship, was on the been too long in his wet clothes, and the cold, 15th, when it was proposed by Dr. Bruno, but of which he had complained more or less ever objected to at first by my master, who asked since we left Cephalonia, made this attack be Mr. Millingen if there was any great reason more severely felt. Though rather feverish for taking blood? The latter replied that it during the night, his lordship slept pretty well, might be of service, but added, it might be but complained in the morning of a pain in deferred till the next day; and, accordingly, his bones, and a head-ache: this did not, how- my master was bled in the right arm on the ever, prevent him from taking a ride in the evening of the 16th, and a pound of blood was afternoon, which, I grieve to say, was his last. taken. I observed, at the time, that it had a On his return, my master said that the saddle most inflamed appearance. Dr. Bruno now was not perfectly dry, from being so wet the began to say, that he had frequently urged my day before, and observed that he thought it master to be bled, but that he always refused. had made him worse. His lordship was again A long dispute now arose about the time that visited by the same slow fever, and I was sorry had been lost, and the necessity of sending to perceive, on the next morning, that his ill- for medical aid to Zante; upon which I was ness appeared to be increasing. He was very informed, for the first time, that it would be low, and complained of not having had any of no use, as my master would be better, or sleep during the night. His lordship's appe- no more, before the arrival of Dr. Thomas. tite was also quite gone. I prepared a little His lordship continued to get worse, but Dr. arrow-root, of which he took three or four Bruno said, he thought letting blood again spoonfuls,'aying it was very good, but he would save his life; and I lostno time in tellcould take no more. It was not till the third ing my master how necessary it was to comday, the 12th, that I began to be alarmed for ply with the doctor's wishes. To this he re" my master. In all his former colds, he always plied, by saying, he feared they knew nothing slept well, and was never affected by this slow about his disorder; and then, stretching out fever. I therefore went to Dr. Bruno and his arm, said,' Here, take my arm, and do Mr. Millingen, the two medical attendants, whatever you like.' His lordship continued and inquired minutelyinto every circumstance to get weaker, and on the 17th he was bled connected with my master's present illness: twice in the morning, and at two o'clock in both replied that there was no danger, and I the afternoon; the bleeding at both times was might make myself perfectly easy on the sub- followed by fainting fits, and he would have ject, for all would be well in a few days. This fallen down more than once, had I not caught was on the 13th. On the following day, I found him in my arms. In order to prevent such an my master in such a state, that I could not accident, I took care not to permit his lordfeel happy without supplicating that he would ship to stir without supporting him. On this send to Zante for Dr. Thomas. After ex- day my master said to me twice,' I cannot pressing my fears lest his lordship should get sleep, and you well know I have not been worse, he desired me to consult the doctors, able to sleep for more than a week; I know,' which I did, and was told there was no occa- added his lordship,' that a man can only be sion for calling in any person, as they hoped a certain time without sleep, and then he must all would be well in a fewdays. -Here I should go mad, without any one being able to save remark, that his lordship repeatedly said, in him; and I would ten times sooner shoot mythe course of the day, he was sure the doctors self than be mad, for I am not afraid of dying did not understand his disease; to which I an- -I am more fit to die than people think!' swered,'Then, my lord, have other advice "I do not, however, believe that his lordby all means.''They tell me,' said his lord- ship had any apprehension of his fate till the ship,'that it is only a common cold, which, day after the 18th, when he said,'I fear you you know, I have had a thousand times.'' I am and Tita will be ill by sitting continually night sure, my lord,' said I,' that yoii never -had and day.' I answered,' We shall never leave one of so serious a nature.'' I think I never your lordship till you are better.' As my mashad,' was his lordship's answer. I repeated ter had a slight fitof delirium on the 16th, I took my supplications that Dr. Thomas should be care to remove the pistol and stiletto, which sent for, on the 15th, and was again assured had hitherto been kept at his bedside in the that my master would be better in two or three night. On the 18th, his lordship addressed me days. After these-confident assurances, I did frequently, and seemed to be very much disnot renew my entreaties until it was too late. satisfied with his medical treatment. I then With respect to the medicines that were given said,-' Do allow me to send for Dr. Thomas?' to my master, I could not persuade myself to which he answered,' Do so, but be quick; that those of a strong purgative nature were I am sorry I did not let you do so before, as 1 the best adapted for his complaint, concluding am sure they have mistaken my disease. that, as he had nothing on his stomach, the bWrite yourself, for I know they would not only effect would be to create pain; indeed, like to see other doctors here.' I did not lose this must have been the case with a person in a moment in obeying my master's orders; and perfect health. Th'e whole nourishment taken on informing Dr. Bruno and Mr. Millingei by my master, for the last eight days, consist- of it, they said it was very right, as they now ed of a small quantity. of broth, at two or three began to be afraid themselves. On returning different times, and two spoonfuls of arrow- to my master's room, his first words were root on the 18th, the day before -his death.'have you sent?'-' I have; my lord.' was ny LIFE OF: LORD BYRON xxxvii answer; upon which he sail,'you have done parently sunk into a slumber. Mr. Parry right, for i shoula like to know what is the went away, expecting to find him refreshed matter with me.' Although his lordship did on his return,-but it was the commencement not appear to think his dissolution was so near, of the lethargy preceding his death. The last I could perceive he was getting weaker every words I heard my master utter, were at six hour, and he even began to have occasional o'clock on the evening of the 18th, when he fits of delirium. He afterwards said,' I now said,'I must sleep now;' upon which he laid begin to think I am seriously ill, and in case down, never to rise again!-for he did not I should be taken off suddenly, I wish to give move hand or.ot during the following twenyou several directions, which I hope you will ty-four hours. His lordship appeared, howbe particular in seeing executed.' I answered ever, to be in a state of suffocation at intervals, I would, in case such an event came to pass, and had a frequent rattling in the throat; on but expressed a hope that he would live many these occasions, I called Tita to assist me in years to execute them much better himself raising his head, and I thought he seemed to than I could. To this my masterreplied,'No, get quite stiff. The rattling and choking in it is now nearly over';' and then added,'I the throat took place every half-hour, and we must tell you all, without losing a moment!' I continued to raise his head whenever the fit then said,' Shall I go, my lord, and fetch pen, came on, till six o'clock in the evening of the ink, and paper?'-' Oh, my God! no; you will 19th, when I saw my master open his eyes and lose too much time, and I have it not to spare, then shut them, but without showing any sympfor my time is now short,' said his lordship, tom of pain, or moving hand or foot.'Oh! and immediately after,'Now, pay attention!' my God!' I exclaimed,' I fear his lordship is His lordship commenced by saying,' You will gone!' the doctors then felt his pulse, and said, be provided for.' I begged him, however, to' You are right —he is gone!' " proceed with things of more consequence. He It would be vain to attempt a description then continued,' Oh, my poor dear child! my of the universal sorrow that ensued at Missodear Ada! my God! could I but have seen her! longhi. Not only Mavrocordato and his imGive her my blessing-and my dear sister mediate circle, but the whole city and all its Augusta, and her children; and youwill go inhabitants were, as it seemed, stunned by this to Lady Byron, and say-tellher every thing, blow; it had been so sudden, so unexpected. -you are friends with her.' His lordship His illness, indeed, had been known, and for seemed to be greatly affected at this moment. the last three days none of his friends could Here my master's voice failed him, so that I walk in the streets, without anxious inquiries could only catch a word at intervals; but he from every one, of " How is my lord?" kept muttering something very seriously for On the day of this melancholy event, Prince some time, and would often raise his voice, Mavrocordato issued a proclamation expresand said,' Fletcher, now if you do not exe- sive of the deep and unfeigned grief felt by all cute every order which I have given you, I classes, and ordering every public demonstrawill torment you hereafter, if possible.' Here tion of respect and sorrow to be paid to the I told his lordship, in a state of the greatest memory of the illustrious deceased, by firing perplexity, that I had not understood a word minute-guns, closing all the public offices and of what he said; to which he replied, Oh, shbps, suspending the usual Easter festivities, my God! then all is lost, for it is now too late! and by a general mourning, and funeral prayCan it be possible you have not understood ers in all the churches. It was resolved that me?'-' No, my lord,' said I,'but I pray you the body should be embalmed, and after the to try and inform me once more.''How can suitable funeral honours had been performed, I?' rejoined my master, it is now too late, should be embarked for Zante,-thence to be and all is over!' I said,'Not our will, but conveyed to England. Accordingly the medGod's be done!'-and he answered,' Yes, not ical men opened the body and embalmed it,and mine be done!-but I will try.' His lordship having enclosed the heart, and brain, and indid indeed make several efforts to speak, but testines in separate vessels, they placed it in could only speak two or three words at a time, a chest lined with tin, as there were no means -such as' My wife! my child! my sister!- of procuring a leaden coffin capable of holdyou know all-you must say all-you know ing the spirits necessary for its preservation my wishes'-the rest was quite unintelligible, on the voyage. Dr. Bruno drew up an acA consultation was now held (about noon), count of the examination of the body, by when it was determined to administer some which it appeared his lordship's death had Peruvian bark and wine. My master had been caused by an inflammatory fever. Dr. now been nine days without any sustenance Meyer, a Swiss physician, who was present, whatever, except what I have already men- and had accidentally seen Madame de Stael tioned. With the exception of a few words, after her death; stated, that the formation ot which can only interest those to whom they the brain in both these illustrious persons was were addressed, and which, if required, I shall extremely similar, but that Lord Byron had communicate to themselves, it was impossible a much greater quantity. to understand any thing his lordship said after On the 22d of April, 1824, in the midst of taking the' bark. He expressed a wish to his own brigade, of the troops of the goveirn sleep. I at one time asked whether I should ment, and of the whole population, on the call Mr. Parry, to which he replied,' Yes, shoulders of the officers of his corps, relieved you may call him.' Mr. Parry desired him occasionally by other Greeks, the most preto compose himself. He shed tears, and ap- cious portion of his honoured remains were D Sxxviii LIFE OF LORD BYRON. carried to the church, where lie the bodies of priests, poets, and politicians, came in gilded Marco Botzaris and of General Normann. chariots, and in hired hacks, to gaze upon the There they were laid down: the coffin was a splendour of the funeral preparations, and to rude, ill-constructed chest of w6od; a black see in how rich and how vain a shroud the mantle served for a pall, and over it were body of the immortal hard had been hid. placed a helmet, a sword, and a crown of lau- Those idle trappings, in which rank seems to rel. But no funeral pomp could have left the mark its altitude above the vulgar, belonged impression, nor spoken the feelings, of this to the state of the peer, ratherthan to the state simple ceremony. Thewretchedness and deso- of the poet; genius required no such attraclation of the place itself; the wild and half- tions, and all this magnificence served only to civilized warriors present; their deep-felt, un- distract our regard from the man, whose inaffected grief; the fofid recollections; thedis- spired tongue was, now silenced for ever. appointed hopes; the anxieties and sad pre- Who cared for Lord Byron, the peer and the sentiments which might be read on every privy-counsellor, with his coronet, and his countenance-all contributed to form a scene long descent from princes on one side, and more moving, more truly affecting, than per- from heroes on both? and who did not care hapswas ever beforewitnessedround thegrave for George Gordon Byron, the poet, who has of a great man. charmed us, and will charm our descendants, When the funeral service was over, the bier with his deep and impassioned verse? The was left in the middle of the church, where it homage was rendered to genius, not surely to remained until the evening of the next day, rank-for lord can be stamped on any clay, and was guarded by a detachment of his own but inspiration can only be impressed on the brigade. The church was incessantly crowd- finest metal. ed by those who came to honour and to regret A few select friends artd admirers followed the benefactor of Greece. In the evening of Lord Byron to the grave-his coronet was the 23d, the bier was privately carried back borne before him, and there were many indiby his officers to his own house. The coffin cations of his rank; but, save the assembled was not closed till the 29th of the month. multitude, no indications of his genius. In Immediately after his death, his countenance conformity with a singular practice of the had an air of calmness, mingled with a se- great, a long train of their empty carriages verity, that seemed gradually to soften, and followed the mourning-coaches-mocking the the whole expression was truly sublime. dead with idle state, and impeding with barren On May 2d, the remains of Lord Byron pageantry the honester sympathy of the crowd. were embarked, under a salute from the guns Where were the owners of those machines of of the fortress. "How different," exclaims sloth and luxury-where were the men of Count Gamba, "from that which had wel- rank, among whose dark pedigrees Lord Bycomed the arrival of Byri on6ily faour months ron threw the light of his genius, and lent the ago!" After a passage of three days, the ves- brows of nobility a halo to which they were sel reached Zante, and the precious deposit strangers? Where were the great whigs? was placed in the quarantine house. Here where were the illustrious tories? could a some additional precautions were taken to en- mere difference in matters of human belief sure its safe arrival in England, by providing keep those fastidiouspersonsaway? But,above another case for the body. On May the 10th, all, where were the friends with whom wedColonel Stanhope arrived at Zante, from the lock had united him? On his desolate corpse Morea. and, as he was on his way back to no wife looked, no child shed a tear. We have England, he took charge of Lord Byron's re- no wish to set ourselves up as judges in domains, and embarked with them on board the mestic infelicities, and we are willing to beFlorida. On the 25th of May she sailed from lieve they were separated in such a way as to Zante, on the 29th of June entered the'Downs, render conciliation hopeless; but who could and from thence proceeded to Stangate creek, stand and look on his pale manly face, and his to perform quarantine, where she arrived on dark locks, which early sorrows were making Thursday, July 1st. thin and gray, without feeling that, gifted as John Cam Hobhouse, Esq. and John Han- he was, with a soul above the mark of other son, Esq. Lord Byron's executors, after hav- men, his domestic misfortunes called for our ing proved his will, claimed the body from the pity, as surely as his genius called for our adFlorida, and under their directions it was re- miration? moved to the house of Sir Edward Knatch- As the cavalcade proceeded through the bull, No. 20, Great George-street, West- streets of London, a fine-looking honest tar ininster. was observed to walk near the hearse uncovIt was announced, from time.to time, that ered, throughout the morning, and on being the body of Lord Byron was to be exhibited asked by a stranger whether he formed part in state, and the progress of the embellish- of the funeral cortege, he replied, he came meints of the poet's bier was recorded in the there to pay his respects to the deceased, with pages of a hundred publications. They were whom he had served in the Levant, when he at length completed, and to separate the curi- made the tour of the Grecian Islands. This esity of the poor from the admiration of the poor fellow was kindly offered a place by some rich, the. latter were indulged with tickets of of the servants who were behind the carriage, admission, and a day was set apart for them but he said he was strong, and had rather walk to go and wonder over the decked room and near the hearse. the emblazoned bier. Peers and peeresses, It was not till Friday, July 16th, that the LIFE OF LORD BYRON. xxxIX interment took place. Lord Byron was buried An urn accompanied the coffin, and on it in the family vault, at the village of Huck- was inscribed: nail, eight miles beyond Nottingham, and "Within this urn are deposited the heart, within two miles of the venerable abbey of brain, etc. Newstead. He was accompanied to the grave of the deceased Lord Byron." by crowds of persons eager to show this last An elegant Grecian tablet of white marble testimony of respect to his memory. In one has been placed in the chancel of the Hucknali of his earlier poems, he had expressed a wish church. We subjoin a copy of the inscrlpthat his dust might mingle with his mother's, tion. and, in compliance with this wish, his coffin The words are in Roman capitals, and diwas placed in the vault next to hers. It was vided into lines, as under: twenty minutes past four o'clock, on Friday, July 16th, 1824, when the ceremony was con- IN THE VAULT BENEATH, eluded, when the tomb closed for ever on By- WHERE MANY OF HIS ANCESTORS AND HIS MOTHEB ron, and when his friends were relieved from ARE BURIED, LIE THE REMAINS OF every care concerning him, save that of doing GEO HEORON NOE RON justice to his memory, and of cherishing his LORD RONF ROCHDA LORD BYRON, OF ROCHDALE, fame. fa me n ~. ~. ~..~ 3IN THE COUNTY OF LANCASTER; The following inscription was placed on THE AUTHOR OF "CHILDE HAROLD'S PI.GlGRtMAGE. the coffin:- HE WAS BORN IN LONDON, ON THE George Gordon Noel Byron, 22D OF JANUARY, 1788. Lord Byron, HE DIED AT MISSOLONGHI, IN WESTERN GREECEB of Rochdale, ON THE 19TH OF APRIL, 1824, Born in London, ENGAGED IN THE GLORIOUS ATTEMPT TO RESTORE Jan. 22, 1788, THAT COUNTRY TO HER ANCIENT FREEDOM died at Missolonghi, AND RENOWN. m Western Greece, April 19th, 1824." HIS SISTER, THE HONOURABLE AUGUSTA MARIA LEIGH, I Mr. Dallas says Dover which is undoubtedly correct. PLACED THIS TABLET TO HIS MEMORY. I THE COMPLETE WORKS OF momr ot 0leneo~ Mtar' Jp is 1ai) av'Es flrTE Tt vEctIE. HOMER. liad. 10. He whistled as he went for want of thought. DRYDEN. 10 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FREDERICK, EARL OF CARLISLE KNIGHT OF THE GARTER, etc., THESE POEMS ARE INSCRIBED, BY HIS OBLIGED WARD) AND AFFECTIONATE JINSMAN, THE AUTHOR. ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY. For the rights of a monarch, their country defending, Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. Why dost thou build the hall Son of the winged days! Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing Thou lookest from thy tower to-day; yet a few years, and theewell! your descendantdepart blast of the desert comes; it howls in thy empty court. From the seat of his ancestors bids you adieu! OSSIAN. Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting New courage, he'1 think upon glory and you. THROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle* Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay;'T is nature, not fear, that excites his regret; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle F distant he goes, with the same emulation, Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in the The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. way. That fame, and that memory, still will ho cherish, Of the mail-cover'd barons who, proudly, to battle He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown, Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast rattle, When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with y our own Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. 1803. No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, Raise a flame in the breast,for thewar-laurel'd wreath; Near AskAlon's Towers John of Horistan' slumbers, EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death. Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley of Cressy; Arttp pptv Ciev XaJreS cVt woLcrv Ecroc. For the safety of Edward and England they fell; LAERTIUS. My fathers! the tears of your country redress ye; How you fought! how you died! still her annals can ell. H, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear! (On Marston,2 with Rupert 3'ainst traitors contending, What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bter! Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field; What sighs re-echo'd tohy parting breath, While thou wast struggling in the pangs of dearn' Could tears retard the tyrant in his course; I Horistan Castle, in Deroyshire, an ancient seat of the Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force, Bron family. Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, 2 The battle of Marston moor, where the adherents of the spectre from his pre Charles I. were defeated. Or beauty charm the spectre from his prev; 3 Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. He Thou still had'st lived, to bless my aching signt, afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles II. Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight. D 2 6 2 BYRON'S WORKS. If, yet, thy gentle spirit hover nigh As he bends o'er the wave, The spot, where now thy mouldering ashes lie, Which may soon be his grave, Hern wilt thou tread, recorded on my heart, The green sparkles bright with a Tear. A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. The soldier braves death, No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, For a fanciful wreath But living statues there are seen to weep; In Glory's romantic career Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, Butraisesthefoe Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. he i ate ld lo What though thy sire lament his failing line, Ad he ever d with a And bathes every wound with a Tear. A father's sorrows cannot equal mine! Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer, If, with high-hounding pride, Yet, other offspring sooth his anguish here: He return to his bride, But who with me shall hold thy former place? Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear; Thine image what new friendship can efface? All his toils are repaid, Ah, none! a father's tears will cease to flow, When, embracing the maid, Time will assuage an infant brother's woe; From her eyelid he kisses the Tear. To all, save one, is consolation known, Sweet scene of my youth, While solitary Friendship sighs alone. Seat of Friendship and Truth, 1803. Where love chased each fast-fleeting year; Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, A FRAGMENT. For a last look I turn'd, WE to thr ay hl my f s ve But thy spire was scarce seen through a Teal. WHEN to their airy hall my fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; Though my vows I can pour, When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, To my Mary no more, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side; My Mary, to Love once so dear; Oh! may my-shade behold no sculptured urns, In the shade of her bower, To mark the spot where earth to earth returns: I remember the hour, No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone; She rewarded those vows with a Tear. My epitaph shall be my name alone: By another possest, If that with honour fail to crown my clay, May she ever live blest, Ob I may no other fame my deeds repay; Her name still my heart must revere; That, only that, shall single out the spot, With a sigh I resign, By that remember'd, or with that forgo Wht I once thught was mine 1803. And forgive her decei' with a Tear. Ye friends..y heart, THE TEAR. Ere from you I depart, This hope to my breast is most near; O lacrymarum fons, tenero sacros If again we shall meet, Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater In this rural retreat, Felix! in imo qui scatentem May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. _____GRAY. When my soul wings her flight, To the regions of night, ~~WH~BER Friendship or Love AndEmy corse shall recline on its, bier; Our sympathies move; As ye pass by the tomb, When Truth in a-glance should appear; Where my ashes consume, Where my ashes consum e, The lips may beguile, iThe dip may beosmile, Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear. With' a dimple or smile, But the test of affection's a Tear. May no marble bestow Too~oft is a smile ~The splendour of woe, Too oft is a smile Which the children of vanity rear; But the hypocrite's wile, No fiction of fame To mask detestation or fear;Shallblazon name, Shall blazon my name, Give me the soft sigh, Give me the soft sigh, All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear. Whilst the soul-telling eye, I R Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear. Mild charity's glow, To us mortals below, Shows the soul from barbarity clear; AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, Compassion will melt, Delivered previous to the performance of "' The Wimn Where this virtue is felt, of Fortune" at a private theatre. And its dew is diffused in a Tear SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age The man doom'd to sail, Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; With the blast of the gaie, Since taste has now expunged licentious wit, 1hrough bilows Atlantic to steer; Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author wru; HOURS OF IDLENESS. 3 Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek, Yet let not canker'd calumny assaJ, Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Or round our statesman wind her gloomy vei. Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim, Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, And meet indulgence though she find not fame. Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep, Still, not for her alone we wish respect, For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan, Others appear more conscious of defect; While friends and foes alike his talents own; To-night, no Veteran Roscii you behold, Fox shall, in Brita.n's future annals, shine, In all the arts of scenic action old; Nor e'en to PITT the patriot's palm resign, No COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here, Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask, No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear; For PITT, and PITT alone, has dared to ask. To-night, you throng to witness the debut ()f embryo Actors, to the drama new. Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; STANZAS TO LADY. Clip not our pinions, ere the birds can fly; Failing in this our first attempt to soar, With the Poems of Camoens. Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. This votive plede of fond esteem Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays, Perhaps, der girl! for me thout prize; Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise, It sins of Love's enchanting dream, But all our Dramatis Personae wait, A theme we never can despise. In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate. In fond suspense,.this crisis of their fate. Who blames it but the envious fool, No-venal views our progress can retard, 7- X The old and disappointed maid? Your generous plaudits are our sole reward; of the prdish schoo Or pupil of the prudish school, For these, each Hero all his power displays, In single sorrow doom' to fade. Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze: Then read, dear girl, with feeling read, Surely, the last will some protection find, For thou wilt ne'er be one of those; None to the softer sex can prove unkind For thou wilt ne'er be one of those; nr..<.i~ rTo thee in vain I shall not plead, Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female shield, i ^,o~ ~ X^~~~~~~~~~ ^ i" ~In pity for the Poet's woes. The sternest Censor to the fair must yield.or the Poet's woes. Yet should our feeble efforts nought avail, He was, in sooth, a genuine bard; Should, after all, our best endeavours fail; His was no faint fictitious flame; Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live, Like his, may love be thy reward, And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive. But not thy hapless fate the same. ON THE DEATH OF MR FOX. **. TO M * * *. The following illiberal Impromptu appeared in a Morning Paper. OH did those eyes, instead of fire, With bright, but mild affection shine; OuR Nation's foes lament, on Fox's death, W r I utn le e, Though they might kindle less desire, But bless the hour when PITT resign'd his breath; Love more than mortal would be thine, These feelings wide let Sense and Truth unclue, For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, We give the palm where Justice points it due. F Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, To which the Author of these Pieces sent the following We must admire, but still despair: Reply. That fatal glance forbids esteem. OH! factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birtl Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth; So much perfection in thee shone What, though our "nation's foes" lament the fate, She fear'd that, too divine for earth With generous feeling, of the good and great; The skies miht claim thee for their ow Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name Therefore, to ard her deaest work, V.,.. Therefore, to auard her dearest work, Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame e the pr Lest angels might dispute the prize, When PITT expired, in plenitude of power,She badesecret lihtning lurk -She bade a secret lightning lurk Though ill success obscured his dying hour, Within those onc celestial eyes.'-). Within those once celestial eyes. Pity her dewy wings before him spread For noble spirits "war not with the dead." His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem-gave,When glaming with meridian blaze As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; Thy beauty must enrapture all, He sunk, an Atlas, bending'neath the weight But who can dare thine ardent gaze Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state;'T is said, that Berenice's hair When, lo! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd, In stars adorns the vault of heaven, Who, for a time, the ruin'd fabric rear'd; But they wouldne'er permit thee there, He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied; Thou. would'st so far outshine the seven, With him, our fast-reviving hopes have died: For, did those eyes as planets roll, Not one great people only raise his urn, Thy sister lights would scarce appear: All Europe's far-extended regions mourn. E'en suns, which systems now control, "cThese feelings wide let Sense and Truth unclue, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere'oo give the palm where Justice points it due;" 8, ~4 BYRON'S WORKS. TO WOMAN. IUntutor'd by science, a stranger to fear, And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, WOMAN! experience might have told me, n-....... No feeling, save one to my bosom was dear, That all must love thee who behold thee, ve o t m b w Surely~, experience might have taugh, Need I say, my sweet Mary,'t was centred in you? Surely, experience might have taught,, Thy firmest promises are nought; Yet, it could not be Love, for I knew not the name; But, placed in al thy charms before me, What passion can dwell in the heart of a child? All 1 forget, but to adore thee. But, still, I perceive an emotion the same Oh! Memory! thou choicest blessing; As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild: When join'd with hope, when still possessing; One image, alone, on my bosom imprest, But how much cursed by every lover, I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new; When hope is fled, and passion's over. And few were my wants, for my wishes were blest, Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you How prompt are striplings to believe her! How throbs the pulse, when first we view I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide, The eye that rolls in glossy blue, From mountain to mountain I bounded along, Or sparkles black, or mildly throws I breasted 1 the billows of Dees 2 rushing tide, A beam from under hazel brows! And heard at a distance the Highlander's song: How quick we credit every oath, At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose, And hear her plight the willing troth! No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view Fondly we hope't will last for aye, And warm to the skies my devotions arose, When, lo! she changes in a day. For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you. This record will for ever stand, I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone, " Woman! thy vows are traced mi sn. The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no more; As the last of my race, I must wither alone, And delight but in days I have witness'd before, TO M. S. G. Ah! splendour has rais'd, but embitter'd my lot, WFIEN I dream that you love me, you'11 surely forgive, More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew' Extend not your anger to sleep; Extend not your anger to sleep,; Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are notforgot, For in visions alone, your affection can live; Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you. I rise, and it leaves me to weep. When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky, Then, Morpheus! envelope my faculties fast, I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen; Shed o'er me your languor benign; When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last; I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene; What rapture Celestial is mine! When, haply, some light waving locks I beheld, They tell us, that slumber, the sister of death, That faintly reseble my Mary's in- hue, Mortality's emblem is given; Mortality's emblem is given; I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold, To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you. To fate be how Ibmtrail breatven, If' this be a foretaste of heaven! Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains, once mores Ah! frown not, sweet Lady,, unbend your soft brow, Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snow: Nor deem me too happy in this; But while these soar above me, unchanged as before, If I sin.n my dream, I atone for it now, Will Mary be there to receive me? ah, no! Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss. Adieu! then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred, rhoiagh in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps, you may smile, Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu! Oh' think not my penance deficient; No home in the forest shall shelter my head; Whe;, dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, Ah! Mary, what home could be mine, but with you To awake will be torture sufficient. TO***. SONG. S ~ONtG. ~~OH! yes, I will own we were dear to each other, WHiEN I roved, a young Highlander, o'er the dark heath, The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are And climb'd thy steep summit, oh! Morven of Snow,2 true; To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath, The love which you felt was the love of a brother, Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below,3 Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you. 1 T1he last line is almost a literal translation from the Spanish But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion, proverb. The attachment of years in a moment expires; 2 Morven, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire: " Gormal of Like Love too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, Snow." is an expression frequently to be found in Ossian. But ows not, like Love with unenchabe fires. a This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been accustomed to the mountains it is by no meansuncommon on the ly attaining the top of Ben e vis, Ben y bourd, etc. to perceive, 1 Breasting the lofty surge."-Shakspeae. between the summit and tne valley, clouds pouring'down rain, 2 The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar',otlgu and. occasionally, accompanied by lightning, while the spec- and ftlls into the sea at New Aberdeen. tator hiteraly looks dowa on the storm, perfectly secure fiom 3 Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands. ts effle' not far from the ruins of Dee Castle. HOURS OF IDLENESS. Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together, DAMLETAS. And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow; In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather IN law an infant, I and in years a boy, But winter's rude tempests are gathering now. mind a slave to eve vicious joy, From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd, No more with Affection shall.Memory blending lies an ad in deceit a fiend The wonted delights of our childhood retrace; Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child When Pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending,Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild; And what would be Justice appears a disgrace. Wom his dupe his heedless friend a tool, Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool, However, dear S-, for I still must esteem you, Old in the world, tho' scarcely broke from sch.-o The few whom I love I can never upbraid, Dalt etas ran through all the maze of sin, The chance, which has lost, may in future redeem you, And found the goal, when others just begin; Repentance will cancel the vow you have made. Even still conflicting passions shake his soul, I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection, And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl; With me no corroding resentment shall live; But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection, And, what was once his bliss, appears his bane. That both may be wrong, and that both should forgive. You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence, MARION. If daner demanded, were wholly your own; MARION! why that pensive brow? You knew me unalter'd, by years or by distance, What disgust to life hast thou? Devoted to love and to friendship alone. Change that discontented air; You knew,-,but away with the vain retrospection, Frowns become not one so fair. The bond of affection no'longer endures;'T is not love disturbs thy rest, Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, Love's a stranger to thy breast; And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours. He in dimpling smiles appears, Or mourns in sweetly timid tears, For the, present, we part,-I will hope not for ever, Or ens e l eyelid d, For time and regret will restore you at last; Bt sns the old fridd own But shuns the cold forbidding frown. To forget our dissension we both should endeavour; fr ~~~~~~r,X~~ i. il lThen resume thy former fire, I ask no atonement, but days like the past. Some will love, and all admire; While that icy aspect chills us, Nought but cool indifference thrills us. TO MARY, Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile, On receiving her picture. Smile, at least, or seem to smile; Eyes like thine were never meant THIS faint resemblance of thy charms, To hide their orbs, in dark restraint; Though strong as mortal art could give, Spite of all thou fain wouldst say My constant heart of fear disarms, Still in truant beams they play. Revives my hopes, and bids me live. Thy lips,-but here my modest Muse Here, I can trace the locks of gold, Her impulse chaste must needs refuse; Which round thy snowy forehead wave; She blushes, curtsies, fiowns,-in short, she The cheeks, which sprung from Beauty's mould, Dreads, lest the subject should transport me The lips, which made me Beauty's slave. And flying off, in search of reason, re, I can trace ah no that eye, Brins prudence back in proper season. Whose azure floats in liquid fire, All I shall therefore say (whate'er flost al. the painter's at.e,,.I think is neither here nor there), Must all the painter's art defy, And bid him from the task retire. Is that such lips, f looks endearing, Were form'd for better things than sneering; Here I behold its beauteous hue, Of soothing compliments divested, But where's the beam so sweetly straying Advice at least sinterested Which gave a lustre to its blue, Such is my artless song to thee, Like Luna o'er the ocean playing. From all th flow of atte free; Sweet copy! far more dear to me, Counsel, lile mine, is as a brother's, Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, My heart is given to some others; Than all the living forms could be, That is to say, unskill'd to cozen, Save her who placed thee next my heart. It shares itself amongst a dozen. She placed it, sad, with needless fear, Marion! adieu! oh! prithee slight ntot Lest time might shake my wavering soul, This warning, though it may delight not: Unconscious, that her image, there, And lest my precepts be displeasing Held every sense in fast control. To those who think remonstrance teazi!,g At once I'11 tell thee our opinion rhro' hours, thro' years, thro' time,'t will cheer; Concerning woman's soft dominiun: My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; I, life's last conflict't will appear, - X, ls lt c 1' 1 In law, every person is an infant who has not ahirffal uw And meet my fona expiring gaze. age of twenty-one. 6 BYRON'S WORKS Howe'er we gaze with admiration, They feast upon the mountain deer, On eyes of blue, or lips carnation; The Pibroch raised its piercing note, Howe'er the flowing locks attract us, To gladden more their Highland cheer, Howe'er those beauties may distract us; The strains in martial numbers float. Still fickle, we are prone to rove, And they who heard the war-notes wild, These cannot fix our souls to love; Hoped that, one day, the Pibroch's strain It is not too severe a strictuere H cild, To.say theybrm aprett picture. Should play before the Hero's child, To say they'tbrm a pretty picture. To say they frm apretty' ict re. ^,While he should lead the Tartan train. But would'st thou see the secret cham, Which binds us in your humble train, Another year is quickly past, To hail you queens of all creation, And Angus hails another son, lt ow, in a word,'t is ANIMATION. His natal day is like the last, Nor soon the jocund feast was done. Taught by their sire to bend the bow, OSCAR OF ALVA.' On Alva's dusky hills of wind, The boys in childhood chased the roe, A TALE. And left their hounds in speed behind. How sweetly shines, through azure skies, The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore, ut, eretheir years of youth are o'er Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, They inle in the ranks of war; And hear the din of arms no more. y r And hear the din of armrs no mIore. They lightly wield the bright claymore, And send the whistling arrow far. But often has yon rolling moon.0 o 1 1 X 1Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair On Alva's casques of silver play'd, Dark was the fow of Oscar's hair, And view'd, at midniaht's silent noon, Wildly it stream'd along the gale; Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd.But Allan's locks were bright and fair, And pensive seenl'd his cheek, and pale. And on tne crimson'd rocks beneath, Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, But Oscar wn'd a hero's soul, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death, His dark eye shone through beams of truth, She saw the gasping warrior low. Allan had early learn'd control, She saw the gasping warrior low. And smooth his words had been from youth. While many an eye, which ne'er again Could mark the rising orb of day, Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear Tarn'd feebly.from the gory plain, T.irn'd feebly from the gory plain, Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel; Beheld in death her fading ray. "And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear, But Oscar's bosom knew to feel. Once, to those eyes the lamp of Love, They blest her dear propitious light: su hs o Baut now, she glimmer'd from above, H~ut now, she glimmer'd from above, Unworthy with such charms to dwell; A sad funereal torch of night. Keen as the lightning of the storm, On foes his deadly vengeance fell. Faded is Alva's noble race, From high Southannon's distant tower And grey her towers are seen afar; Arrived a young and noble dame; No more her heroes urge the chase, Arrived a youn and noble dame; r With Kenneth's lands to form her dower Or roll the crimson tide of war. Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came: But who was last of Alva's clan? Why rows the moss on Alva's stone? And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, Why grows the moss on Alva's stone? And Angus on his Oscar smiled; Iler towers resound no steps of man, Hertowery echo to the gale alone. maIt soothed the father's feudal pride, They echo to the gale alone.: The eh to th glaoThus to obtain Glenalvon's child. Alt, when that gale is fierce and high,,, —- ~ t, Hark! to the Pibroch's pleasing note, A sound is heard in yonder hall, Hark! to the swelling nuptial song; It rises hoarsely through the sky, It rises hoarsely throutlh the sky, In joyous strains the voices float, And vibrates o'er the moulderinrg wall. i t c.! And still the choral peal prolong. Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs, See how the heroes' blood-red plumes, It shakes the shield of Oscar brave; Assembled wave-in Alva's hall; but there no more his banners rise, Each youth his varied plaid assumes, No more his plumes of sable wave. Attending on their chieftain's call. Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, It is not war their aid demands, When Angus hail'd his eldest born; The Pibroch plays the song of peace; I he vassals round their chieftain's hearth, To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands. Crowd to applaud the happy morn. Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. But where is Oscar? sure'tis late: i The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame Jeronymo and Lorenzo," in the first volume of "The Ar- ti -.,enian. or (;host-Se.er:" it also bears some resemblance to Whle throning guests and ladies walt scene ill the third act of " Macbeth." Nor Oscar nor his brother came. HOURS OF IDLENESS. At length young Allan join'd the bride, She thought that Oscar low was laid, " Why comes not Oscar?" Angus said; And Allan's face was wondrous fair; " Is he not here?" The youth replied, If Oscar lived, some other maid "With me he roved noto'er the glade. Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care. "Perchance, forgetful of the day, And Angus said, if one year more'T is his to chase the bounding roe; In fruitless hope was pass'd away, Or Ocean's waves prolong his stay, His fondest scruple should be o'er, Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." And he would name their nuptial day. "Oh! no!" the anguish'd sire rejoin'd, Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last, "Nor chase nor wave my boy delay.; Arrived the dearly destined morn; Would he to Mora seem unkind? The year of anxious trembling past, Would aught to her impede his way? What smiles the lover's cheeks adorn! "Oh! search, ye chiefs! oh, search around! Hark! to the Pibroch's pleasing note, Allan, with these through Alva fly, Hark! to theswellin nuptial song; Till Oscar, till my son is found, In joyous strains the voices float Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply!" And still the choral peal prolong. All is confusion-through the vale t. AAain the clan, in festive crowd, The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, Aain the clan, fete crow It~ rises on the murmuring gale, Throng through the gate of Alva's hail, It rises on the murmuring gale, g t Till night expands her dusky wings. T And all their former joy recall. It breaks the stillness of the night, But echoes through her shades in vain But who is he, whose darken'd brow It sounds through morning's misty light, Glooms in the midst of general mirth? But Oscar comes not o'er the plain. Before his eye's far fiercer glow The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. Three days, three sleepless nights, the chiefs c e o t For Oscar search'd each mountain cave; Dark is the robe which wraps his form, Then hope is lost in boundless grief, And tall his plume of gory red; His locks in grey torn ringlets wave. His voice is like the rising storm, "Oscar! my son!-Thou God of heaven! But light and trackless is his tread. Restore the prop of sinking age;'T is noon of night, the pledge goes round, Or, if that hope no more is given, Or if that hope no moe is The bridegroom's health is deeply quaftl Yield his assassin to my raae. Y h s t ra ge.With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, "Yes, on some desert rocky shore And all combine to hail the draught. My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie; Then, grant, thou God! I ask no more, Sudden the stranger chief arose, With nim his frantic sire may die. And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, cc Yet, he may live-away despair; And Mora's tender bosom blush'd. Be calm, my soul! he yet may live; T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear; "Old man!" he cried, "this pledge is done 0 God, my impious prayer forgive. Thou saw'st't was duly drunk by me, What, if he live for me no more, It hail'd the nuptials of thy son; I sink forgothen in the noedust, Now will I claim a pledge from thee. I sink forgotten in the dust, The hope of Alva's age is o'er; "While all around is mirth and joy, Alas! can pangs like these be just?" To bless thy Allan's happy lot; Thus did the hapless parent mourn, Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy? Till Time, who soothes severest woe, got?" Had bade serenity return, "Alas!" the hapless sire replied, And made the tear-drop cease to flow. The big tear starting as he spoke; For still some latent hope survived, "When Oscar left my hall, or died, That Oscar might once more appear; This aged heart was almost broke. His hope now droop'd, and now revived, "Thrice has the earth revolved her course, Till Time had told a tedious year. Since Oscar's form has blest my sight; Days roll'd along, the orb of light resource, kgain had run his destined race; No Oscat bless'd his father's sight, "'T is well," replied the stranger stern, And sorrow left a fainter trace. And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye; For youthful Allan still remain'd, " Th Oscar's fate I fain would learn; And, -now, his father's only joy: Perhaps the herodidnotdie. And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd, "Perchance, if those whom most he loved For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy. Would call, thy Osiar might retun 8 BYRON'S WORKS. Perchance the chief has only roved, But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, For him thy Beltane I yet may burn. His locks are lifted by the gale, AndWith him in da ark Glentanar's vale.y, "Fill high the bowl, the table round, And Allans barbed arrow lay, We will not claim the pledge by stealth; Glentanas vale. With wine let every cup be crown'd, And whence the dreadful stranger came, Pledge me departed Oscar's health." Or who, no mortal wight can tell; "With all my soul," old Angus said, "With all my soul," old Angus said, But no one doubts the Form of Flame,. are. 1. 2.. t. X For Alva's sons knew Oscar well. And filld his goblet to the brim; Forlvs sons knew Oscar well "Here's to my boy! alive or dead, Ambition nerved young Allan's hand, I ne'er shall find a son like him." Exulting demons wing'd his dart, " Bravely, old man, this health has sped, Envy waved her burning brand, But why does Allan trembling stand? And pour'd her venom roud hs heart. Come, drink remembrance of the dead, Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow: And raise thy cup with firmer hand." Whose streaming life-blood stains his side? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, The crimson glow of Allan's face Dark O s sable crest is low, Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue; d The drops of death each other chase, And Mora's eye could Allan move, Adown in agonizing dew.' She bade his wounded pride rebel: Thrice did he raise the goblet high, Thrice did he raise the goblet high, Alas! that eyes, which beam'd with love, And thrice his lips refused to taste; Should urge the soul to deeds of Hell. For thrice he caught the stranger's eye, Lo! see'st thou not a lonely tomb, On his with deadly fury placed. Which rises o'er a warrior dead! " And is it thus a brother hails It glimmers through the twilight gloom; " And is it thu'sa brother halsd. A brother's fond remembrance here? t i A n If thus affection's strength prevails, Far, distant far, the noble grave, What might we not expect from fear?" Which held his clan's great ashes, stood; And o'er hes corse no banners wave, Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl; And o'er his corse no banners wave, " Would Oscar now could share our mirth For they ere stain'd with kindred blood Internal fear appall'd his soul, What minstrel grey, what hoary bard, He said, and dash'd the cup to earth. Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise? "'Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice, The song is glory's chief reward, Loud shrieks a darkly-gleaming Form; But who can strike a murderer's praise? " A murderer's voice!" the roof replies, Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, And deeply swells the bursting storm. No minstrel dare the theme awake; Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, Guilt would benum his palsied hand, The stranger's gone, amidst the crew His harp in shuddering chords would breA A Form was seen, in tartan green, No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, And tall the shade terrific grew. Shall sound his glories high in air, His waist was bound with a broad belt round, A dying father's bitter curse, His plume of sable stream'd on high; His plum'e of sable stream'd on high; A brother's death-groan echoes there. But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there, And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye. TO THE DUKE OF D. And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild, On Andthic, hensin edw,hie so wn i, X In looking over my papers, to select a few additional 1 emni On Angus, bending low the knee;' for this second edition, I found the following lines, which i And thrice he frown'd on a Chief on the ground, had totally forgotten, composed in the Summer of 1805, a Whom shivering crowds with horror see. short time previous to my departure from H-. They were addressed to a young school-fellow of high rank, who The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole, had been my frequent companion in some rambles through The thunders through the welkin ring; the neighbouring country; however he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a re-perusal. I found And the gleaming Form, through the mist of the storm, them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing. have now published them, for the first time, after a slight Cold was the feast, the revel ceased; revision. Who lies upon the stony floor? D-R-T! whose early steps with mine have stray'd, Oblivion prest old Angus' breast, Exploring every path of Ida's glade, At length his life-pulse throbs once more. Whom, still, affection taught me to defend, " Away, away, let the leech essay, "Awa, awy, ettelech ssayAnd made me less a tyrant than a friend; To pour l the light on Alan's eyes s Though the harsh custom of our youthful band Hi sand is done,-his race is run, - Bade thee obey, and gave me to command;' his sand is done, —iis race is run, Oh! never more shall Allan rise! 1 At every public/school, the junior boys aro completely subservient to the upper forms, till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of probation, very properly, I Beltane-Tree.-A Highland festival, on' the 1st of May, no rank is exempt; but after a certain period, they connamnd. hema near fire lighted for the occasion. in turn, those who succeed. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 9 Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower Turn to the annals of a former day,The gift of riches, and the pride of power; Bright are the deeds thine earlier Sires display; Even now a name illustrious is thine own, One, though a Courtier, lived a man of worth, Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne. And call'd, proud boast! the British Drama forth.' Yet, D)-r-t, let not this seduce thy soul, Another view! not less renown'd for Wit, To shun fair science, or evade control; Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; Though passive tutors,' fearfil to dispraise Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine, The titled child, whose future breath may raise, In every splendid part ordain'd to shine; View ducal errors with indulgent eyes, Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng, And wink at faults they tremble to chastise. The pride of princes, and the boast of song.2 When youthful parasites, who bend the knee Such were thy Fathers; thus preserve their name, To wealth, their golden idol,-not to thee! Not heir to titles only, but to Fame. And, even in simple boyhood's opening dawn, The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close, Some slaves are found to flatter and to Twn: To me, this little scene of joys and woes; When these declare, " that pomp alone should wait Each knell of Time now warns me to resign On one by birth predestined to be great; Shades, where Hope, Peace, and Friendship, all were That books were only meant for drudging foos; mine; That gallant spirits scorn the common rules;" Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue, Believe them not,-they point the path to shame, And gild their pinions, as the moments flew; And seek to blast the honours of thy name: Peace, that reflection never frown'd away, Turn to the few, in Ida's early throng, By dreams of ill, to cloud some future'day; Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong; Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tellOr if, amidst the comrades of thy youth, Alas! they love not long, who love so well. None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth, To these adieu! nor let me linger o'er Ask thine own heart!'t will bid thee, boy, forbear, Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore, For well I know that virtue lingers there. Receding slowly through the dark blue deep, Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day, Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep. But now new scenes invite me far away; Yes! I have mark'd, within that generous mind, D-r-t! farewell! I will not ask one part Oft sad rememlbrance in so young a heart; A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind: ance in so yong a heart; Ah! though myself by nature haughty, wild, The comin morrow from thy youthful mind Whom Indiscretion hatl'd her favourite child,ill sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind. And yet perhaps, in some maturer year Though every error stamps me for her ow perhaps, in some maturer year, And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone; Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere, rhough my proud heart no precept now can te n ame,, t, I love the virtues which I cannot claim. X. I love the virtues which I cannot claim. May one day claim our suffrage for the state,'T is not enough, with other Sons of power, We hence may meet, and pass each other by To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour, 1 r P To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour, With faint regard, or'cold and distant eye. To swell some peerage page in feeble pride, F m oA straner to ture, thery weal or woe; With long-drawn names, that grace no page beside; r r t t t w r Then share with titled crowds the common lot, Wth thee no more aga I hope to trace In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot recollection of our early race; r6z~ * * No more, as once, in social hours, rejoice, While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead,, in si th rejoice, Except the dull cold stone that hides thy head, Or hearnless in crowds, thy ellknown voice. The mouldering'sdutcheon, or the herald's roll, ill, if the wishes ofa heart untaught That well emblazon'd, but neglected scroll, l those feelings, which, perchance, it ought; If these,-but let me cease the lengthen'd strain, Whei e Lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find If these,but let me cease the lengthen'd strain, One spot to leave a worthless name behindOh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain, There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults The Guardian eraph, who directs thy fate, That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults; leave thee glorious, as he found thee grea A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread, " In records destined never to be read. 1 "Thomas S-k-lle, Lord B-k-st, created Earl or Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes, D- by James the First, was one of the earliest and brightmore,. good. ad est ornaments to the poetry of his country, and the first who Exalted more among the good and wise; produced a regular drama."-Anderson's British Poets. A glorious and a long career pursue, 2 Charles S —k-lle,'Earl of D-, esteemed the meos As first in rank, the first in talent too; accomplished man of his day, was alike distinguished in the Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun, voluptuous court of Charles TI. and the gloomy one of Wil, Not Fortune's minion, but her nolest son. iam III. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch, in 1665, on the day previous to which he composed his celebrated song. His character has been drawn 1 Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the in the highest colours by Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Conrirev., most distant; I merely mention, generally, what is too often Fide Anderson's British Poets. the weakness of preceptors. 7 I10 BYRON'S WORKS. TRANSLATION FROM CATUITA A;ra"Blatfon~ an~ 30me tatfe'o. - " LUCTUS DE MORTE PASSERiq" ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, WHEN YE Cupids, droop each little head, DYING. Nor let your wings with joy be spread; AMULA! vaula, blandula, My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead, ANIMULA! vagula, blandula, rIospes, comesque, c.rporis, Whom dearer than her eyes she loved; Hospes, comesque, corporis, Quopes nncomebibis in lca For he was gentle, and so true, aQulnuna abibis ia nloca? Obedient to her call he flew, Pallidula, rigida, nudula, Ncutsoles, X.idabis ocos.u No fear, no wild alarm he knew, Nec ut soles, dabis Jos. But lightly o'er her bosom moved: And softy fluttering here and there, He neve6 sought to cleave the air; TRANSLATION. But chirrup'd oft, and, free from care, AH! gentle, fleeting, wavering Sprite, Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. Friend and associate of this clay! Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn, To what unknown region borne, From whence he never can return, Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight? His death, and Lesbia's grief, I mourn, No more, with wonted hunour gay, Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain. But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave! Whose jaws eternal victims crave, From whom no earthly power'can save, For thou hast ta'en the bird away: TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. From thee, my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow, Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow, "AD LESBIAM." Thou art the cause of all her woe, Receptacle of life's decay, EQtVAL to Jove that youth must be, Greater than Jove he seems to me, Who, free from Jealousy's alarms, IMITATED FROM CATULLUS, Securely views thy matchless charms; That cheek, which ever dimpling glows, TO ELLEN. That mouth from whence such music flows, To him, alike, are always known,'To him, alike, are always known, OH! might I kiss those eyes of fire, Reserved for him, and him alone. Reserved for him, and him alone. *A million scarce would quench desire; Ah Lesbia! though'tis death tome, Ah t Lesbia! though't kis death to me, Still would I steep my lips in bliss, I cannot choose but look on thee; And dwell an age on every - vAnd dwell an age on every kiss; But, at the sight, my senses fly; Nor thn m soul should sated be I needs must gaze, but gazing die; Still would I kissand cling to thee: Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, Nought should my kiss from thine dissever Parch'd to the throat, my tongue adheres, Still ould e kiss and kiss for ever; My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, en though the numberdid exceed My limbs deny their slight support;lowharvest's countless seed The yellow harvest's countless seed; Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, To pat would be a vainendeavour With deadly languor droops my head, I desist -ah never-never. My ears with tingling echoes ring, And life itself is on the wing; My eyes refuse the cheering light,Their orbs are veil'd in starless night: TRANSLATION FROM ANACREON Such pangs my nature sinks beneath, And feels a temporary death. To HIS LYRE. I WISH to tune my quivering lyre, TRANSLATION, TRANSLATION To deeds of fame, and notes of fire; To echo from its rising swell, OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS. How heroes fought,and nations fell; BY DOM3ITIUS MARSUS. When Atreus' sons advafnced to war, HE who, sublime, in Epic numbers roll'd, Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar; And he who struck the softer lyre of love, But, still, to martial strains unknown, By Death's unequal hand alike control'd, My lyre recurs to love alone. Fit comrades in Elysian regions move. Fired with the hope of future fame, I seek some nobler hero's name; The dying chords are strung anew, I Th, nand of Death is said to be unjust, or unequal, as T d Virgei was considerably older than Ti ullus, at his decease. To war, to war my harp is due; HOURS OF IDLENESS. 1I With glowing strings, the epic strain FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES. To Jove's great son I raise ain FROM THE PROMETHEUS OF NSCHYLUS Alcides and his glorious deedb, Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds; GREAT Jove! to whose Almighty throne All, all in vain, my wayward lyre Bot gods and mortals homage pay, Wakes silver notes of soft desire. Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, Adieu! ye chiefs renown'd in arms! Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. Adieu! the clang of war's alarms. Oft shall the sacred victim fall To other deeds my soul is strung,n sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall; n)8 D Myvoice shalleraise noeimnious strain And sweeter notes shall now be sung; My v stra My harp shall all its powers reveal,'Gainst him who rules the sky, and azure main. To tell the tale my heart must feel * * * * * Love, love alone, my lyre shall claim, How different now thy joyless fate, In songs of bliss, and sighs of flame. Since first Hesione thy bride, When placed aloft.in godlike state, The blushing beauty by thy side, ~ODE n ~III~ Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smiled, And mirthful strains the hours beguiled; ~T WAS now the hour, when Night had driven The Nymphs and Tritons danced around, Her car half round yon sable heaven; Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd Bootes, only, seem'd to roll Harrow, Dec. 1, 1804. His Arctic charge around the Pole;. While mortals, lost in gentle sleep, Forgot to smile, or cease to weep; THE EPISODE OF NISUS AND EURYALUS. At this lone hour, the Paphian boy, A PARAPHRASE FROM THE XENEID, LIB. 9. Descending from the realms of joy, B)escending from the realms of joy, NIsvs, the guardian of the portal, stood,',uick to my gate directs his course, nd knock to my gate directsall hislittle force: Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood.d knocks,,with all hislitle force: Well skill'd in fight, the quivering lance to wield, Vly visions fled, alarmd I rose; Or pour his arrows through th' embattled field, -'What stranger breaks my blest repose?" r What stranger breaks my blest repose? From Idh torn, he left his sylvan cave,' Alas!" replies the wily child, s te wy c And sought a foreign home, a distant grave:n faltering accents, sweetly mild, falter accentssweetly mild, To watch the movements of the Daunian host, *' A hapless iniant here I roam, A hapless infant here I roam1W, With him, Euryalus sustains the post; Far from my dear maternal home; No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy, Oh! shield me from the wintry blast,! l m fo t i, And beardless bloom yet graced the gallant boy; The mighty storm is pouring fast; Though few the seasons of his youthful life, No prowling robber lingers here, o prowling robber linges, As yet a novice in the martial strife, A wandering baby who can fear?"'T was his, with beauty, valour's gift to share, I heard his seeming artless tale,.,,,,.., ~ i,' A soul heroic, as his form was fair; I heard his sighs upon the gale; I heard his sighs upon the gale; These burn with one pure flame of generous love, My breast was never pity's foe, My breast was ner pits In peace, in war, united still they move; But felt for all the baby's woe;' I u l r a t b Friendship and glory form their joint reward, I drew the bar, and by the light, Y Love tt h inf.an mt m sigt d And now combined, they hold the nightly guard. Young Love, the infant, met my sight; His bow across his shoulders flung, "What god," exclaim'd the first, " instils this fire I And thence his fatal quiver hung, Or, in itself a god, what great desire? (Ah! little did I think the dart My labouring soul, with anxious thought opprest, Would rankle soon within my heart';) Abhors this station of inglorious rest; With care I tend my weary guest, The love of fame with this can ill accord,His little fingers chill my breast; Be't mine to seek for glory with my sword. His glossy curls, his azure wing, See'st thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim, Which droop with nightly showers, I wring. Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb? His shivering limbs the embers warm, Where confidence and ease the watch disdain, And now, reviving from the storm, And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign? Scarce had he felt his wonted glow, Then hear my thought:-In deep and sullen gtief Than swift he seized his slender bow: Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief; " I fain would know, my gentle host," Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine He cried, "if this its strength has lost; (The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine); I fear, relax'd with midnight dews, Were this decreed-beneath yon rising mound, The strings their former aid refuse:" Methinks, an easy path perchance were founid, With poison tipt, his arrow flies, Which past, I speed my way toPallas' walls, Deep in my tortured heart it lies: And lead iEneas from Evander's halls." Then loud the joyous urchin laugh'd, With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy, " My bow can st:1 impel the shaft; His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy'T is firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it; " These deeds, my Nisus,shalt thou dare alone I Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it?" Must all the fame, the peril, be thine own? 12 BYRON'S WORKS. Am I by thee despised, and left afar, If you, ye chiefs, and Fortune will allow, As one unfit to share the toils of war? We'11 bend our course to yonder mountain's brow, Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught, Where Pallas' walls, at distance, meet the sight, Not thus my sire in Argive combats fought; Seen o'er the glade, when not obscured by night; Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate, Then shall YEneas in his pride return, I track'd iEneas tnrough the walks of fate; While hostile matrons raise their offspring's urn, Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of fear, And Latian spoils, and purpled heaps of dead, And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear; Shall mark the havoc of our hero's tread; Here is a soul with hope immortal burns, Such is our purpose, not unknown the way, And life, ignoble life, for Glory spurns; Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray. Fame, fame is cheaply earn'd by fleeting breath, Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream, The price of honour is the sleep of death." The distant spires above the valleys gleam." Then Nisus —" Calm thy bosom's fond alarms, Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms;, fr s w More dear thy worth and valour than my own, Moved by the speech, Alethes here exclaim'd: I swear by him who fills Olympus' throne! " Ye parent gods! who rule the fate of Troy, Still dwells the ]ardan spirit in the boy; So may I triumph, as I speak the truth, S d And clasp again the comrade of my youth. When minds like these in striplings thus ye laise, But should I fall, and he who dares advance But should I fall, and he who dares advance Yours is the godlike act, be yours the praise; Through hostile legions must abide by chance; In gallnt youth my inting hopes revive, If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow, And Ilion's wonted glories still survive." Should lay the friend who ever loved thee low; Then, in his warm embrace, the boys he press'd, Live thou, such beauties I would fain preserve, nd, quivering, stran'd them to his aed breast Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve; With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd, When humbled in the dust, let some one be, And, sobbing, thus his first discourse renew'd: Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me; "hat gi, my countrymen, what martial prize Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force, an we bestow which you may not despise Or wealth redeem from foes my captive corse: Our deities the first, best boon have given, Or, if my destiny these last deny, Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven. If in the spoiler's power my ashes lie, What poor rewards can bless your deeds on earth, Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb, Doubtless, await such young exalted worth; To mark thy love, and signalize my doom. neas and Ascanius shall combine Why should thy doating wretched mother weep To yield applause far, far surpassing mine." Her only boy, reclined in endless sleepuus then: "By all the powers above! Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dared, By those Penates* who my country love; Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril shared; By hoary Vesta's sacred fane, I swear, W'ho braved what woman never braved before, My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair! And left her native for the Latian shore." Restore my father to my grateful sight, In vain you damp the ardour of my soul," And all my sorrows yield to one delight. Replied Euryalus, "it scorns control; Nisus! two silver goblets are thine own, Hence, let us haste."-Their brother guards arose, Saved from Arisba's stately domes oerthrown; Roused by their call, nor court again repose; My sire secured them on that fatal day, The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing, Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey. Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king. Two massy tripods also shall be thine, Now, o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran, Two talents polish'd from the glittering mine; A nd luli'd alike the cares of brute and man; An ancient cup which Tyrian Dido gave, Save where the Dardan leaders nightly hold While yet our vessels press'd the Punic wave: Alternate converse, and their plans unfold; But, when the hostile chiefs at length bow down, On one great point the council are agreed, When great neas wears Hesperia's crown, An instant message to their prince decreed; The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed, Each lean'd upon the lance he well could Wield, Which Turnus guides with more than mortal speed, And poised, with easy arm, his ancient shield; Are thine; no envious lot shall then be cast, When Nisus and his friend their leave request I pledge my word, irrevocably pass'd; To offer something to their high behest. Nay more, twelve slaves and twice six captive dames, \With anxious tremors, yet unawed by fear, To soothe thy softer hours with amorous flames, The faithful pair before the throne appear; And all the realms which now the Latians E 1,y, lulus greets then; at his kind command, The labours of to-night shall well repay. The elder first address'd the hoary band. But thou, my generous youth, whose tender years s" WTith patience,'"thus Hyrtacides began, Are near my own, whose worth my heart reveres, " Attend, nor judge from youth our humble plan; enceforth affection, sweetly thus begun, WX here yonder beacons, half-expiring, beam,' Shall join our bosoms and our souls in one; Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream, Without thy aid no glory shall be mie, Nor need that we asecret path have traced, Without thy dear advice, no great design; Betw-'~en the ocean and the portal placed: Alike, through life esteem'd, thou godlike boy, Beneath the cnvert of the blackening smoke, In war my bulwark, and in peace my joy. Whvse shade securely our design will cloak. * Houselold-Gods HOURS OF' IDLENESS. 13 To him Euryalus ~ " No aay shall shame I'll carve our passage through the heedless foe, The rising giories which from this I claim. And clear thy road, with many a deadly blow." Fortune may favour or the skies may frown, His whispering accents then the youth represt, But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown. And pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting breast; Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart, Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed, One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart: Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed; My mother sprung from Priam's royal line, To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince, Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine; His omens more than augur's skill evince; Nor Troy nor King Acestes' realms restrain But he, who thus foretold the fate of all, Her feebled age from dangers of the main; Could not avert his own untimely fall. Alone she came, all selfish fears above, Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell, A bright example of maternal love. And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell: Unknown, the secret enterprise I brave, The charioteer along his courser's sides Lest grief should bend my parent to the grave: Expires, the steel his severed neck divides; From this alone no fond adieus I seek, And, last, his lord is number'd with the dead, No fainting mother's lips have press'd my cheek; Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head; By gloomy Night, and thy right hand, I vow From the swollen veins the blackening torrents pour, Her parting tears would shake my purpose now: Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting gore. Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain, Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire, In thee her much-loved child may live again; And gay Serranus, fill'd with youthful fire; Ier dying hours with pious conduct bless, Half the long night in childish games was past, Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress: Lull'd by the potent grape, he slept at last; So dear a hope must all my soul inflame, Ah! happier far, had he the morn survey'd, To rise in glory, or to fall in fame." And, till Aurora's dawn, his skill display'd. Struck with a filial care, so deeply felt, In slauhterd folds the keepers lost in sleep, In tears, at once, the Trojan warriors melt; ry fangs a lion thus may steep; His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep; Faster than all, Iulus' eyes o'erflow; t Z3 Faster than all, Iulus' eyes o'erflow; Mid the sad flock, at dead of night, he prowls, Such love was his, and such had been his woe.ith murder glutted, and incarna rolls "All thou hast ask'd, receive," the prince replied, Insatite still, through teeming herds roams, "Nor this alone, but many a gift beside; In seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams. To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim, Creusa's' style but wanting to the dame; Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came, Fortune an adverse wayward course may run, But falls on feeble crowds without a name; But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son. His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel, Now, by my life, my Sire's most sacred oath, Yet wakeful Rhaesus sees the threatening stee: To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth, His coward breast behind a jar he hides, All the rewards which once to thee were vow'd, And, vainly, in the weak defence confides; If thou shouldst fall, on her shall be bestow'd." Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins, Thus spoke the weeping prince, then forth to view The reeking weapon bears alternate stains; A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew; Through wine and blood, commingling as they flow, Lycaon's utmost skill had graced the steel, The feeble spirit seeks the shades below. For friends to envy and for foes to feel. Now, where Messapus dwelt they bend their way, A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil, Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray; Slain midst the forest, in the hunter's toil, There, unconfined behold each grazing steed, Mnestheus, to guard the elder youth, bestows, Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed; And old Alethes' casque defends his brows; - Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm, Arm'd, thence they go, while all the assembled train, Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain; " Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is past, More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace, Full foes enough, to-night, have breathed their last; lulus holds amidst the chiefs his place; Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn. His prayers he sends, but what can prayers avail, Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn." Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale? What silver arms, with various arts emboss'd, The trench is past, and, favour'd by the night, What bowls and mantles, in confusion toss'd, Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary flight. They leave regardless! yet, one glittering prize When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er? Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes; Alas! some slumber who shall wake no more! The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt, Chariots, and bridles, mix'd with arms, are seen, The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt; And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between; This from the, pallid corse was quickly torn, Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine, Once by a line of former chieftains worn. A mingled chaos this of war and wine. Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears, "Now," cries the first, "for deeds of blood prepare, Messapus' helm his head, in triumph, bears, With me the conquest and the labour share; Then from the tents their cautious steps they ben,. Here lies our path; lest any hand arise, To seek the vale, where safer paths extend. Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain dies; Just at this hour a band of Latian horse 1 The mother of Iulus, lost on the night when Troy was taken. To Turnus' camp pursue their destined couirse: E2 14 BYRON'S WORKS. While the slow foot their tardy march delay, Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals, The knights, impatient, spur along the way: Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals; Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led, Aghast, confused, his fears to madness rise, To Turnus, with their master's promise sped: And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies: Now, they approach the trench, and view the walls, "Me, me,-your vengeance hurl on me alone, When, on the left, a light reflection falls; Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own; The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night, Ye starry Sphere! thou conscious Heaven attest! Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright; He could not-durst not-lo! the guile confest! Volscens, with question loud, the pair alarms- All, all was mine-his early fate suspend, "Stand, stragglers! stand! why early thus in arms? He only loved too well his hapless friend; From whence? to whom?" He meets with no reply; Spare, spare, ye chiefs! from him your rage remove Trusting the covert of the night, they fly; His fault was friendship, all his crime was love." The thicket's depth, with hurried pace, they tread, He pray'd in vain, the dark assassin's sword While round the wood the hostile squadron spread. Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored; Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad crest, With brakes entangled, scarce a path between, plume-clad crest, Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene; And sanguine torrents mantle o'er his breast: Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene; Euryalus his heavy spoils impede, As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air, Euryalus his heavy spoils impede, 4y * Languid in death, expires beneath the share; The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead; d i d e b t.,..Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower, But Nisus scours along the forest's maze, n n the sho Declining gently, falls a fading flower; To where Latinus' steeds, in safety graze, Decmg gently, falls a fading flower; Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend, Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head, Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend, On every side they seek his absent friend. And lingering Beauty hovers round the dead. On every side they seek his absent friend. " 0 God! my boy," he cries, " of me bereft, But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide, In what impending perils art thou left!" Revenge his leader; and Despair his guide; Listening he runs-above the waving trees, Volscens he seeks, amidst the gathering host, Tumultuous-voices swell the passing breeze; Volscens must soon appease his comrade's gnost; The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe, Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground; Rage nerves his arm, Fate gleams in every blow; Again he turns-of footsteps hears the noise, In vain, beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds, The sound elates-the sight his hope destroys; Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds; The hapless boy a ruffian train surround, In viewless circles wheel'd his falchion flies, While lengthening shades his weary way confound; Nor quits the Hero's grasp till Volscens dies; Him, with loud shouts, the furious knights pursue, Deep in his throat its end the weapon found, Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew. The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound. What can his friend'gainst thronging numbers, dare? Thus Nisus all his fond affection proved, Ah! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share! Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved; What force, what aid, what stratagem essay, Then on his bosom, sought his wonted place, Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey! And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace. His life a votive ransom nobly give, His life a votive ransom hnobly give,s' Celestial pair! if aught my verse can claim, Or die with him for whom he wish'a to live! Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame! Poising with strength his lifted lance on high, o \ t,' Ages on ages shall your fate admire; On Luna's orb he cast his phrenzied eye: b On Luna's orb he cast his phrenzied eye: No future day shall see your names expire; " Goddess serene, transcending every star! While stands the Capitol, immortal dome! Queen of the sky! whose beams are seen afar; And vanquish'd millions hail their Empress, Rome By night, Heaven owns thy sway, by day, the grove, When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove; Ife'ermyselfor sire have sought to grace TRNSLTION FROM THE MEDEA TRANSLAT EURIPIDES. Thine altars with the produce of the chase; EURIPIDES Speed, speed my dart to pierce yon vaunting crowd, WVHEN fierce conflicting passions urge To free my friend, and scatter far the proud." The breast where love is wont to glow, Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung; What mind can stem the stormy surge, Through parted shades the hurtling weapon sung; Vhich rolls the tide of human woe? The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay, The hope of praise, the dread of Ihame, Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay: Can rouse the tortured breast no more; He sobs, he dies,-the troop, in wild amaze, The wild desire, the guilty flame, Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze; Absorbs each wish it felt before. Wlile pale they stare, through Tagus' temples riven, But, if affection gently thrills A second shaft with equal force is driven; The soul, by purer dreams possest, Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes, The pleasing balm of mortal ills, Veil'd ny the night, secure the Trojan lies. In love can soothe the aching breast; Bu ning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall; If thus, thou comest in gentle guist "'Thou youth accurst! thy life shall pay for all." Fair Venus! from thy native heaven, Quick fron the sheath his flaming glaive he drew, What heart, unfeeling, would despise Aid raging, on the Doy defenceless flew. The sweetest boon the gods have aiven HOURS OF IDLENESS. 15 But, never from thy golden bow As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, May I beneath the shaft expire, His voice, in thunder, shakes the sounding dome, Whose creeping venom, sure and slow, Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools, Awakes an all-consuming fire; Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules. Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears! Happy the youth! in Euclid's axioms tried, With others wage eternal war; Though little versed in any art beside; Repentance! source of future tears, Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen, From me be ever distant far. Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken. May no distracting thoughts destroy What! though he knows not how his fathers bled, The holy calm of sacred love! When civil discord piled the fields with dead; The holy calm of sacred love! May all the hours be wingd with joy, When Edward bade his conquering bands advance, May all the hours be wing'd with joy, Which hover faithful hearts above! Or Henry trampled on the crest of France; Fair Vnus I on thy myrtle shrine, Though, marv'ling at the name of Magna Charta, May I with some fond lover sigh! Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta; May I with some fond lover sigh! Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made, Whose heart may mingle pure with mine Can tell what edicts sage Lycrgus made, With me to live, with me to die. m, While Blackstone's on the shelf neglected laid; With me to live, with me to die. Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame, My native soil! beloved before, Of Avon's bard remembering scarce the name. Now dearer, as my peaceful home, Such is the youth, whose scientific pate, Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore, Class-honours, medals, fellowsnips, await; A hapless, banish'd wretch to roam; Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize, This very day, this very hour, If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes. May I resign this fleeting breath, But, l! no common orator can hope Nor quit my silent, humble bower — Nor quit my silent, humble bower_- l The envied silver cup within his scope: A doom, to me, far worse than death. Not that our Heads much eloquence require, Have I not heard the exile's sigh, Th' Athenian's glowing style, or Tully's fire. And seen the exile's silent tear? A manner clear or warm is useless, since Through distant climes condemn'd to fly, We do not try, by speaking, to convince: A pensive, weary wanderer here: Be other orators of pleasing proud, Ah! hapless dame! I no sire bewails, WVe speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd; No friend thy wretched fate deplores, Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, No kindred voice with rapture hails A proper mixture of the squeak and groan; Thy steps, within a stranger's doors. No borrow'd grace of action must be seen, The slightest motion would displease the Dean; Perish the fiend! whose iron hea-t, Whilst every staring Graduate would prate To fair affection's truth unknown, Against what he could never imitate. Bids her he fondly loved depart, Unpitied, helpless, and alone; Unpitied, helpless, and alone; The man, who hopes t' obtain the promised cup, Who ne'er unlocks, with silver key, Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up; The milder treasures of his soul; The milder treasures of his soul,; Nor stop, but rattle over every word, May such a friend be far from me, May such a friend be far from me, No matter what, so it can not be heardAnd Ocean's storms between us roll! Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest! Who speaks the fastest's sure to speak the best' Who utters most within the shortest space, FU GITIVE PIE CE S. May safely hope to win the wordy race. The sons of science these, who, thus repaid, Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade; THOUGIHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE Where, on Cam's sedgy banks, supine they lie, EXAMINATION. 3 Unknown; unhonour'd live,-unwept for, die; Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls, HIGH in the midst, surrounded by his peers, the mis,' surrounde They think all learnina fix'd within their walls; MAGNUS his ample front sublime uprears; In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, Placed on his chair of state, he seems a god, d All modemrn arts affecting to despise; While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod; Yet rizing BENT BUC'S, i or Pooto d Yet prizing BENTLEY'S, BRUNCK'S, l or PORSON 6. note, 1 Medea, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was deserted More than the verse on which the critic wrote, by him for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. The Chorus Vain as their honours heavy as theirale, from which this is taken, here address Medea; though a con- siderable liberty is taken with the original, by expanding the Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale, idea, as also in some other parts of the translation. To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel, 2 The original is " KaOapcav aIvoiavrt KXEida bpEvv v:" When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal. lterally " Disclosing the bright key of the mind." With eager haste they court the lord of power, 3 No reflection is here intended against the person mentioned Whether't is PITT or P-TTY rules the hour 3 under the name of Magnus. He is merely represented as per —forming an unavoidable function of his office: indeed such an 1 Celebrated critics. attempt could only recoil upon myself; as that gentleman is 2 The present Greek professor at Trinitv College, Camn now as much distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified bridge; a man whose powers of mind and writn'gs may;sbt propriety with which he fills his situation, as he was, in his haps justify their preference. younger days, for wit and conviviality 3 Since this was written Lord H. P — has,at his olasc G1 BYRON'S WORKS. To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head, Poor LITTLE! sweet, melodious bard. While distant mitres to their eyes are spread; Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard, But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, That he, who sang before all; They'd fly to seek the next who fill'd his place. lie, who the love of Love expanded, Such are the men who learning's treasures guard, By dire reviewers should be branded, Such is their practice, such is their reward; As void of wit and moral.' This much, at least, we may presume to say- Beautpraise is thine, And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine, The premium can't exceed the pric kthey pay.armonious favourite of the ine *1806. Harmonious favourite of the Nine! Repine not at thy lot; Thy soothing lays may still be read, TO THE EARL OF * * *, When Persecution's arm is dead, And critics are forgot. " tu semper amoris Still I must yield those worthies merit, Sis memor, et cari comiis ne abscedat imago." VALERIUS FLACCUS. Who chasten, with unsparing spirit, ______________ Bad rhymes, and those who write them; FRIEND of my youth! when young we roved, Andthoughmyselfmaybethenext Like striplings mutually beloved, By critic sarcasm to be vext, With Friendship's purest glow; I reallywill not fight them; The bliss which wmg'd those rosy hours Perhaps they would do quite as well, Was such as pleasure seldom showers To break the rudely-sounding shell On mortals here below. Of such a young beginner; The recollection seems, alone, He who offends at pert nineteen, Dearer than all the joys I've known, Ere thirty, may become, I ween, When distant far from you; A very harden'd smner. Though pain,'t is still a pleasing pain, Now -, I must return to you, To trace those days and hours again, And sure apologies are due; And sigh again, adieu! Accept then my concession; ~ly pensive memory lingers oer In truth, dear, in fancy's flight, M~y pensive memory lingers o'er X' MTyepscenesto be enjoy'dnomore, I soar along from left to right; Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more, my use admires diression. My muse admires digression. Those scenes regretted ever; The measure of our youth is full, I think I said't would be your fate Life's evening dream is dark and dull, To add one star to royal state; And we may meet-ah! never! May regal smiles attend you; And should a noble Monarch reign, As when one parent spring supplies As when one parent spring supplies -You will not seek his smiles in vain, Two streams, which from one foun tain rise, If worth can recommend you. Together join'd in vain; How soon, diverging from their source, Yet, since in danger courts abound, Each murmuring seeks another course, Where specious rivals glitter round, Till mingled in the main. From snares may saints preserve you; And grant your love or friendship ne'er Our vital streams of weal or woe, From any claim a kindred care, Though near, alas! distinctly flow, But those who best deserve you. Nor mingle as before; Now swift or slow, now black or clear, for a moment may you stray Till death's unfathom'd gulf appear, Truth's secure unerring way; And both. shall quit the shore. May no delights decoy; O'er roses may your footsteps move, Our souls, my Friend! which once supplied Your smiles be ever smiles of love, One wish, nor breathed a thought beside, Your tears be tears of joy. Now flow in different channels; ^~ ~~..~~~. 1~ ^ tOh! if you wish that happiness Disdaniing humbler rural sports, D. Iisd humb r p orts, Your coming days and years may bless,'T is yours to mix in polish'd courts, And.,.. T^ Fashi_-'s, ]als, And virtues crown your brow; And shine in Fashion's annals... Be still, as you were wont to be,'T is mine to waste on Love my time, Spotless- as you've been known to me, Or vert my reveries in rhyme, Be, still, as you are now. Without the aid of Reason; F'or Sense and Reason (critics know it) 1 These Stanzas were written soon after the appea:ance of Have quitted every amorous poet, a severe critique in a Northern review, on a new publication of the British Anacreon Nor left a thought to seize on. r Aa re Nor left a thought t2 A Bard (hdrrescoreferens) defied his reviewer to moreta - --- combat. If this exa/iple becomes prevalent, our periodi-al a subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honur censors must be dipped in the river Styx, for what else can f representing the University; a fact so glaring requires no secure them from the numerous host of their enraged assaiiSoisKM~~~mel~utl' ^ants saomeut HOURS OF IDLENESS. 17 And though some trifling share of praise, Renouncing every pleasing page To cheer my last declining days, From authors of historic use; To me were doubly dear; Preferring to the letter'd sage Whilst blessing your beloved name, The square of the hypothenuse.' I'd waive at once a Poet's fame, Still, harmless are these occupations, To prove a Prophet here. That hurt none but the hapless student, ~ Compared with other recreations, GRANTA, A MEDLEY. Which bring together the imprudent; Whose daring revels shock the sight, AoyvEats XoyXatat!zaXov Kat ravra Kparals. at. Aoybe ar Pi T, v sc~at a.Kparieair. When vice and infany combine, When drunkenness and dice unite, OH! could LE SAGE'S' demon's gift And every sense is steep'd in wine. Be realized at my desire, This night my trembling form he'd lift, Not so the methodistic crew, To place it on St. Mary's spire. Who plans of reformation lay: In humble attitude they sue, Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls e e t X^,' ~'.~.~ ~,.,And for the sins of others pray. Pedantic inmates full display; Fellows who dream on lawn, or stalls, Forgetting that their pride of spirit, The price of venal votes to pay. Their exultation in their ti ial, would I view each ril, Detracts most largely from the merit Then would I view each rival wight, Of all their boasted self-denial. P-tty and P-lm-st-n survey; Who canvass there with all their might,'T is morn,-from these I turn my sight: Against the next elective day. What scene is this which meets the eye? caindathe and verleive. A numerous crowd, array'd in white, 2 Lo! candidates and voters lie, Lo addt n l, ~ Across the green in numbers fly. All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number! A race renown'd for piety, Loud rings, in air, the chapel bell; Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber.'T is hush'd: What sounds are these I heal I Lord H-,indeedmy not demur. The organ's soft celestial swell Lord H, ideed, may not demur, Rolls deeply on the listening ear. Fellows are sage, reflecting men! They know preferment ca occur To this is join'd the sacred song, But very seldom,-now and then. The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain; know the Chanc r Though he who hears the music long They know the Chancellor has got O. -. They know the Chancellor has got Will never wish to hear again. Some pretty livings in disposal; Each hopes that one may be his lot, Our choir would scarcely be excused, And, therefore, smiles on his proposal. Even as a band of raw beginners; All mercy, now, must be refused, Now, from the soporific scene To such a set of croaking sinners. I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, To view, unheeded and unseen, To view, unheeded and unseen, If David, when his toils were ended, The studious sons of Alma Mater. Had heard these blockheads sing before him, To us his psalms had ne'er descended, There, in apartments small and damp, In furious mood he would have torn'em. The candidate for college prizes The luckless Israelites, when taken, Sits poring by the midnight lamp, Goes lan to bed, yet early rises. By some inhuman tyrant's order, Goes late to bed, yet early rises. Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken, He, surely, well deserves to gain them, On Babylonian river's border. With all the honours of his college, i Who, striving hardly to obtain them, Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge; Inspired by strataem or fear, They might have set their hearts at easeWho sacrifices hours of rest, The devil a soul had stay'd to hear. To scan, precisely, metres Attic, ButI if I scribble longer now, Or agitates his anxious breast But, if I scribblelonger now, Or Itates his anxious athemati The deuce a soul will stay to read; In solving problems mathematic; My pen is blunt, my ink is low, Who reads false quantities m Sele,2'T is almost time to stop indeed. Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle, Deprived of many a wholesome meal, Therefore, farewell, old GRANTA'S spires, In barbarous Latin3 doom'd to wrangle; No more, lke Cleofas, I fly; N__o more thy theme my Muse inspires 1 The Diable Boiteux of Le Sagf, where Asmodeus, the The reader's tired, and so am 1. demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation and un- 1806. roofs the houses for his inspection.___ 2 Sele's publication on Greek metres displays considerable talent and ingenuity, but, as might be expected in so difficult 1 The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the a work, is not remarkable for accuracy hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides ot 3 The Latin of the schools is of the canine species, and not a right-angled triangle. very intelligible. 2 On a Saint day, the students wear surplices in chalc 8 18 BYRON'S WORKS. LACHIN Y GAIR. TO ROMANCE. PARENT of golden dreams, Romance!,achin y Gair, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch na Auspicious queen of childish joys Garr, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern Highlands, near Invercauld. One of our modern tourists men- Who lead'st along, in airy dance, tions it as the highest mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain Thy votive train f girls and boys; be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and picturesque amongst our " Caledonian Alps." Its ap- At length, in spells no longer bound, pearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat of brak t ftte f m eternal snows: near Lachin y Gair I spent some of the break the fetters of my youth; early part of my life, the recollection of which has given No more I tread thy mystic sound, birth to the following Stanzas. birth to the following Stanzas. But leave thy realms for those of Truth. AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses! And yet,'tis hard to quit the dreams In you let the minions of luxury rove; Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes, her every nymph a goddess seems, Though still they are sacred to freedom and love: Whose eyes through rays immortal roll; Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains, While Fancy holds her boundless reign Round their white summits though elements war, nd all assume a varied hue, Though cataracts foam,'stead of smooth-flowing foun- When virgins seem no longer vain, tains, And even woman's smiles are true. I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. And must we own thee but a name, Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd, And from thy hal of clouds descend; My cap was the bonnet, my'cloak was the plaid; Nor inda sylph in every dame On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd, A Pvlades in every friend? As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade; But leave, at once, thy realms of air I sought not my home till the day's dying glory To mingling bands of fairy elves: Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; Confess that woman's false as fair For Fancy was cheer'd by traditional story And friends have feelings for-themselves Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. e of, d. With shame, I own I've felt thy sway, " Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices heard your voices Repentant, now thy reign is o'er, Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale? No moe thy precepts Ioe;Dw~. ~~~No more thy precepts I obey, Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,p s No more on fancied pinions soar: And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale: Fondfool! t love a sparklin eye, Round Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist gathers, w b I............... And think that eye to Truth was dear, Winter presides in his cold icy car; To trust a passing wantons sigh, Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers- A mt b th wanton's tear And melt beneath a wanton's tear. They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr: Romance i! disgusted with deceit, "IIl-starr'd 2 though brave, did no visions foreboding a om t motley court I f Tell you that Fate had forsaken your cause?" Where Affectation holds her seat 3 -. Where Affectation holds her seat, Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, And sickly Sensibility; Victory crown'd not.your fall with'applause; Whose silly tears can never flow Still were you happy, in death's early slumber y p e For any pangs excepting thine; You rest with your clan, in the caves of Braemar,4 Who turns aside from real woe, The Pibroch 5 resounds to the piper's loud number o stee in dew thy gaudy shrine: Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you; Now join with sable Sympathy, Years must elapse ere I tread you again; With cypress crown'd, array'd in wseds, Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Whoe breaswith the er bosom bleeds; Yet, still, are yoe dearer than Albion's plain: And call thy sylvan female quire, England! thy beauties are tame and domestic To mourn a swain for ever gone, To one who has roved on the mountains afar; Who once could glow with equal fire, Oh! for the brags that are wild and majestic, But bends not now before thy throne. Tne steep-frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr!: Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears, 1 This word is erroneously pronounced plad; the proper On all occasions, swiftly flow; pronunciation (according to the Scotch) is shown by the Whose bosoms heave with fancied tears, orthography. With fancied flames and phrenzy glow; 2 I allude here to my maternal ancestors, " the Gordons," Say, will you mourn my absent name. many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, Apostate fron your gentle train i better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was n nnt t ma aim nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Stewarts. An infant Bar, atleast, ma claim George, th& second Earl of Huntley, married the Princess From you a sympathetic strain. Annabella Stewart, daughter of James the First of Scotland; by her hi.eft four sons'the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors. 3 Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden I am not 1 It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of tertain; but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with thosea name of the principal action, "pars pro tote." Achilles and Patrocles, N;sus and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have 4A tract of the Highlands so caed; thre is also a Ca been handed down to posterity as remarkattl instances of attachments 4 A tract of the Highlands so calle i probaility, ever existed,beyond the imagination of tb The tgpipe.'poet, the page of L historian, or moder novelist. HOURS OF IDLENESS.:9 Adieu! fond race, a long adieu! Years roll on years-to ages, ages yieldThe hour of fate is hovering nigh; Abbots to abbots in a line succeed, Even now the gulf appears in view, Religion's charter their protecting shield, Where unlamented you must lie: Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed. Oblivion's blackening lake is seen One holy HENRY rear'd the Gothic walls, Convulsed by gales you cannot weather, And bade the pious inmates rest in peace; Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Another HENRY' the kind gift recalls, Alas! must perish altogether. And bids devotion's iallow'd echoes cease. Vain is each threat, or supplicating prayer, He drives them exiles from their blest abode, ELEGY ON N ST D A' To roam a dreary world, in deep despair, No friend, no home, no refuge but their God. It is the voice of years that are gone! they roll before me with all their deeds. OSSIAN. Hark! how the hall, resounding to the strain, Shakes with the martial music's novel din! NEWSTEAD! fast falling, once resplendent dome! The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign, Religion's shrine! repentant HENRY'S 2 pride! Iigh-crested banners, wave thy walls within. Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloister'd tomb, Of changing sentinels the distant hum, Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide: The mirth offeasts, the clang of burnish'd arms, Hail to thy pile! more honour'd in thy fall, The braying trumpet, and the hoarser drum, Than modern mansions ih their pillar'd state; Unite in concert ith increased alarms. Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall An abbey once, a regal fortress 2 now, Scowling defiance on the blast of fate. Encircled by insulting rebel powers; mll ser' o n t tr l, War's dread machines o'erhang thy threatening brow No mail-clad serfs, 3 obedient to their lord, i - ~ No mall-clad serfs, 3 obedient to their lord, And dart destruction in sulphureous showers. In grim array, the crimson cross 4 demand:. d Or gay assemblhe round tme festive board, Ah! vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege, Or gay assemble round the festive board, Their chief's retainers, an immortal band. Thouh oftrepulsed, by guile o'ero s the brave His thronging foes oppress the faithful liege, Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye Rebellion's reeking standards o'er-him wave. Retrace their progress, through the lapse of time; Not unavenged the raging baron yields Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die, Marking each ardent youth ordain'd to die, The blood of traitors smears the purple plain; A votive pilgrim, in Judea's clime. Unconquer'd still his falchion there he wields, But not from thee, dark pile! departs-the Chief, And days of glory yet for him remain. His feudal realm in other regions lay; Still, in that hour the warrior wish'd to strew In thee, the wounded conscience courts relief, Self-gather'd laurels on a self-sought grave; Retiring fromthe garish blaze of day. But Charles' protecting genius hither flew, Yes, in thy gloomy cells and shades profound, iThe monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to save. The monk abjured a world he ne'er could view; Trembling she snatch'd him 3 from the unequal strife Or blood-stain'd Guilt repenting solace found, In other fields the torrent to repel, Or innocence from stern Oppression flew. For nobler combats here reserved his life, - To lead the band where godlike F.ALXLAND 4 fen. A monarch bade thee from that wild arise, T l t D fe. Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont to prowl; From thee, poor pile! to lawless plunder given, And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes, While dying groans their painful requiem sound, Sought shelter in the priest's protecting cowl. Far different incense now ascends to heavenSuch victims wallow on the gory ground. Where now the grass exhales a murky dew, The humid pall of life-extauish'd clay, There, many a pale and ruthless robber's corse, The humid pall of life-extmnguish'd clay, v * Th hed pail lfe.en cd,aths Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod; In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,.In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew, O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd with horse, Nor raised their pious voices, but to pray. M Nor r, tr ps Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers trod. Where now the bats their wavering wings extend, S t m r waning shad Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds o'erspread, Soon as the gloaming 5 spreads her waning shade,.loaming I spreads her aning shade, Ransack'd, resign perforce their mortal mould; The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend, Ransack'd resin perforce their mortal mould Or matin orisons- to Mary6 paid From ruffian fangs escape not e'en the dead, Or matin orisons to Mary r paid. _______ Raked from repose, in search of buried gold. 1 As one poem on this subject is printed in the beginning, 1 At the dissolution of the Monasteries, Henry VIII. be the author had originally no intention of inserting the follow- stowed Newstead Abbey on Sir John Byron. ing: it is now added at the particular request of some friends. 2 Newstead sustained a considerable siege in the war be2 Henry II. founded Newstead soon after the murder of tween Charles I. and his Parliament. Thomas-a-Becket. 3 Lord Byron and his brother Sir William held high con. 3 This word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem, "The mands in the royal army; the former was General in Chief in Wild Huntsman," as synonymous with Vassal. Ireland, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Governor to James 4 The Red Cross'was the badge of the Crusaders. Duke of York, afterwards the unhappy James II. The latter 5 As "Gloaming," the Scottish word for Twilight, is far had a principal share in many actions. Vide Clarendon more poetical, and has been recommended by many eminent Hume, etc. literary men, particularly Dr. Moore, in his Letters to Burns. 4 Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accomI have ventured to use it on account of its harmony. plished man of his age, was killed at the battle of Newberrs 6 The Priory was dedicated to the Virgin charging in the ranks of Lord Byron's regiment of cava.v 2C BYRON'S WORKS Hlnsh'd is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre, Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showersThe minstrel's palsied hand reclines in death; These, these he views, and views them but to weep No more he strikes the quivering chords with fire, Yet are his tears no emblem of regret Or sings the glories of the martial wreath. Cherished affection only bids them flow; At length, the sated murderers, gorged with prey, Pride, Hope, and Love forbid him to forget, Retire-the clamour of the fight is o'er; But warm his bosom with impassion'd glow. Silence again resumes her awful sway, Yet, he prefers thee to the gilded domes, And sable Horror guards the massy door. Or gewgaw grottos of the vainly great; Here Desolation holds her dreary court; Yet lingers'mid thy damp and mossy tombs, What satellites declare her dismal reign! Nor breathes a murmur'gainst the will of fate Shrieking their dirge, ill-omen'd birds resort Haply thy sun emerging yetmay shine, To flit their vigils in the hoary fane. Thee to irradiate with meridian ray; Soon a new morn's restoring beams dispel Hours splendid as the past may still be thine. The clouds of anarchy from Britain's skies; And bless thy future as thy former day. The fierce usurper seeks his native hell, And Nature triumphs as the tyrant dies. With storms she welcomes his expiring groans, TO E. N. L. ESQ. Whirlwinds responsive greet his labouring breath; Earth shudders as her cave receives his bones, Nil ego contulerim jucundo anus amico. Loathing 1 the offering of so dark a death. The legal Ruler 2 now resumes the helm, DEAR L-, in this sequester'd scene, He guides through gentle seas the prow of state: While all around in slumber lie, Hope cheers with wonted smiles the peaceful realm, The joyous days which ours have been And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied Hate. Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye: Thus, if amidst the gathering storm, The gloomy tenants, Newstead, of thy cells, While clouds the darken'd noon deform, Howling resign their violated nest; Yon heaven assumes a varied glow, Again the master on his tenure dwells, I hail the sky's celestial bow, Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured zest. Which spreads the sign of future peace, Vassals within thy hospitable pale, And bids the war of tempests cease. Loudly carousing, bless their lord's return; Ah! though the present brings but pain, Culture again adorns the gladdening vale, I think those days may come again; And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn. Or if, in melancholy mood, Some lurkl;ing envious fear intrude, A thousand songs on tuneful echo float, TTX~ J ~ -To check my bosom's fondest thought, Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees; b s f XJ,,, -. And interrupt the golden dream; And, hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note, A i t te g Xrr^~~~~~ L IX i~~~i.- T I crush the fiend with malice fraught, The hunter's cry hangs lengthening on the breeze. s t ind malice fraught And still indulge my wonted theme; Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake: Although we ne'er again can trace, What fears, what anxious hopes attend the chase! In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore, The dying stag seeks refuge in the lake, Nor, through the groves of IDA, chase Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race. Our raptured visions as before; Ah! happy days! too happy to endure! Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion, Such simple sports our plain forefathers knew: And Manhood claims his stern dominion, No splendid vices glitter'd to allure- Age will not every hope destroy, Their joys were many, as their cares were few. But yield some hours of sober joy. From these descending, sons to sires succeed, Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing Time steals along, and Death uprears his dart; Will shed around some dews of spring; Another chief impels the foaming steed, But, if his scythe must sweep the flowers Another crowd pursue the panting hart. Which bloom among the fairy bowers, Newstead! what saddening change of scene is thine! Where smiling Youth delights to dwell, Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay; And hearts with early rapture swell; If frownina Aret with cold control, The last and youngest of a noble line I f t t Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway. Confines the current of the soul, Congeals the tear of Pity's eye, Deserted now, he scans thy gray-worn towers- Or checks the sympathetic sigh Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep- Or hears unmoved Misfortune's groan, And bids me feel for self alone; 1 This is a historical fact. A violent tempest occurred im- Oh may my bosom never learn mediately subsequent to the death, or interment, of Cromwell, which occasioned many disputes between his partisans and To sooth its wonted heedless flow, the cavat:ers; both interpreted the circumstance into divine Still, still, despise the censor stern, interposition, but whether as approbation or'condemnation, But ne'er forget another's woe. we leaye Lo the casuists of that age to decide. I have made wuch use of thejoccurrence as suited the subject of my poem. Yes as you knew me in the days 9 Charles IL O'er which Remembrance yet delays, HOURS OF IDLENESS 21 Still may I rove untutor'd, wild, TO. And even in age at heart a child. OH i had my fate been jom'd with thine, Though now on airy visions borne, As once this pledge appear'd a token, To you my soul is still the same, These follies had not then been mine, Oft has it been my fate to mourn, For then my peace had not been broken. And all my former joys are tame. To thee these early faults I owe, But, hence! ye hours of sable hue, To thee, the wise and old reproving; Your frowns are gone, my sorrow's o'er; They know my sins, but do not know By every bliss my childhood knew,'T was thine to break the bonds of loving. I II think upon your shade no more. I'11 think upon your shade no more. For once my soul, like thine, was pure, Thus, when the whirlwinds rage is past, Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past, And all its rising fires could smother; And caves their sullen roar enclose, But now thy vows no more endure We heed no more the wintry blast, Bestow'd by thee upon another. When lull'd by zephyr to repose. Full often has my infant Muse Perhaps his peace I could destroy, Attuned to love her lantuid lyre,- And spoil the blisses that await him; Attuned to love her languid lyre; But now, without a theme to choose, Yet, let my rival smile in joy The strains in stolen siahs exopire; For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. The strains in stolen sighs expire; My youthful nymphs, alas! are flown; Ah! since thy angel form is gone, E- is a wife, and C a mother, My heart no more can rest with any; And Carolina sighs alone, But what it sought in thee alone, And Mary's given to another; Attempts, alas! to find in many. And Cora's eye, which roll'd on me, Then fare thee well, deceitful maid, Can now no more my love recall;'T were vain and fruitless to regret thee; In truth, dear L-,'t was time to flee, Nor hope nor memory yield their aid, For Cora's eye will shine on all. But pride may teach me to forget hee, And though the sun, with genial rays, t.., ~ vw X. Yet all this giddy waste of years, His beams alike to all displays, His beams alike to all displays, This tiresome round of palling pleasures. And every lady's eye's a sun, dThese last shold be cnned to one These varied loves, these matron's fears, These last should be confined to one...The soul's meridian don't becime her These thoughtless strains to passion's measures The soul's meridian don't become her Whose sun displays a general summer. If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd; Thus faint is every former flame, This cee, now pale from early riot, And Passion's self is now a name: With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd, As, when the ebbing flames are low, But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. The aid which once improved their light, Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, And bade them burn with fiercer glow, For Nature seem'd to smile before thee; Now quenches all their sparks in night; And once mry breast abhorr'd deceit, Thus has it been with passion's fires, For then it beat but to adore thee. As many a boy and girl remembers, But now I seek for other joys; While all the force of love expires, To think would drive my soul to madness. Extinguish'd with the dying embers. In thoughtless throngs and empty noise, But now, dear L-,'t is midnight's noon I conquer half my bosom's sadness. And clouds obscure the watery moon, And clouds obscure the watery moon, Yet, even in these a thought will steal, Whose beauties I shall not rehearse, In spite of every vain endeavour; Described in every stnpling's verse; And fiends night pity what I feel, For why should I the path go o'er, To knw that thou art lost for ever. Which every bard has trod before? Yet, ere yon silver lamp of night Has thrice perform'd her stated round, STANZAS. Has thrice retraced her path of light, I WOULD I were a careless child, And chased away the gloom profound, Still dwelling in my highland'cave, I trust that we, my gentle friend, Or roaming through the dusky wild, Shall see her rolling orbit wend Or bounding o'er the dark-blue wave. Above the dear-loved peaceful seat The cumbrous pomp of Saxon' pride Which once contain'd our youth's retreat; Accords not with the free-crn soul, And then, with those our childhood knew, Which loves the mountain's craggy side, We'11 mingle with the festive crew; And seeks the rocks where billows roll. While many a tale of former day Fortune! take back these cultured lanes, Shall wing the laughing hours away; Take back this name of splendid sound' And all the flow of soul shall pour I hate the touch of servile handsThe sacred intellectual shower, I hale the slaves that cringe around: Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn Scregi~estrog h orn I Sasmeriah, or Saxon, a Gaelico word signifyig eoithel f,. Scarce glimmners through the mist of Morn. lanr,lor a Gli s F '22 BYRON'S WORKS. Place me along the rocks I love, How do thy branches, moaning to the blast, Which sound to ocean's wildest roar; Invite the bosom to recall the past; I ask but this-again to rove And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, Through scenes my youth hath known before. "Take, while thou can'st, a lingering last farewell "' Few are my years, and yet I feel When Fate shall chill at length this fever'd breast, The world was ne'er design'd for me; And calm its cares and passions into rest, The world was ne'er designed for me; Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal Oft have I thought't would soothe my dying hour, The hour when man must cease to be? If aught may soothe when life resigns her power, The hour when man must cease to be? t Once I beheld a splendid dream, To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell, A visionary scee of bliss; Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell: Truth! wherefore did thy hated beam With this fond dream methinks't were sweet to dieTruthl! wherefore did thy hated beam Awake me to a wor d like this? And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie; Here might I sleep, where all my hopes arose, I loved-but those I toyed are gone; S a, Had friends-my eary friends are fled; Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose: Had friends-my ear.y friends are fled; For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade, How cheerless feels the heart alone Prest by the turf where once my childhood play'd, Then all its formo oer thpare deadl Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, Though gay companionse o'er the bowlMix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps moved; Dispel awhile the sense of ill, ThhDispel awhilse stirs the maddenin' soul, Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear, Though Pleasure stirs the maddening soul, Murn'd by the few my sul acknowledged here, Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here, The heart-the heart is lonely still. The heartthe heart is lonely stillDeplored by those in early days allied, How dull to hear the voice of those And unremember'd by the world beside. Whom Rank or Chance, whom Wealth or Power, Have made, though neither friends nor foes, Associates of the festive hour. THE DEATH OF CALMAR AND CORLA. Give me again a faithful few, An imitation of Macpherson's Ossian. In years and feelings still the same, DEAR are the days of youth! Age dwells on their r& And I will fly the midnight crew, membrance through the mist of time. In the twilight Where boist'rous Joy is but a name. he recalls the sunny hours of morn. He lifts his spear And Woman! lovely Woman, thou, with trembling hand. " Not thus feebly did I raise the My hope, my comforter, my all! steel before my fathers!" Past is the race of heroes! How cold must be my bosom now, but their fame rises on the harp; their souls ride on When e'en thy smiles begin to pall! the wings of the wind! they hear the sound through Without a sigh would I resign the sighs of the storm, and rejoice in their hall ol Tis busy scene of splendid woe, clouds! Such is Calmar. The gray stone marks his To make that calm contentment mine narrow house. He looks down from eddying tempests, Which Virtue knows, or seems to know. he rolls his form in the whirlwind; and hovers on the Fain would I fly the haunts of men- blast of the mountain. I seek to shun, not hate mankind; In Morven dwelt the chief; a beam of war to Fingal. My breast requires the sullen glen, His steps in the field were marked in blood; Lochlin's Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind. sons had fled before his angry spear: but mild was the Oh! that to me the wings were given eye of Calmar; soft was the flow of his yellow locks-Which bear the turtle to her nest! they stream'd like the meteor of the night. No maid Then would I cleave the vault of Heaven, was the sigh of his soul; his thoughts were given to To flee away and be at rest.' friendship, to dark-haired Orla, destroyer of heroes! Equal were their swords in battle; but fierce was the LINES pride of Orla, gentle alone to Calmar. Together they WhItfTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD dwelt in the cave of Oithona. OF HARROW ON THE HILL. From-Lochlin, Swaran bounded o'er the blue waves. SEPT. 2, 1807. Erin's sons fell beneath his might. Fingal roused his SPOT f my youth! whose hoary branches sigh, chiefs to combat. Their ships cover the ocean! Their Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; hosts throng on the green hills. They come to the aid Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, of Erin. With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; Night rose in clouds. Darkness veils the armies; With those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore, but the blazing oaks gleam through the valley. The Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: sons of Lochlin slept: their dreams were of blood. They Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill, lift the spear in thought, and Fingal flies. Not so the Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still, host of Morven. To watch was the post of Orla. CalT'hhot drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay, mar stood by his side. Their spears were in their hands. And frequent mused the twilight hours away;, Fingal called his chiefs. They stood around. The king Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline, was in the midst. Gray were his locks, but strong was But ah without the thoughts which then were mine: the arm of the king. Age withered not his powers 1 Psalm lv. v.6.-" And I said, Oh! that I had wings like 1 It may be necessary to observe, that the story, though a dove, then would I fly away and be at rest." This verse considerably varied in the catastrophe, is taken from " Nisus ato constitutes a part of the most beautiful anthem in our and Euryalus," of which episode a translation has been al lanuage ready given. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 23 " Sons of Morven," said the hero, "to-morrow wemeet haired Orla: " Mathon is mine; I shall die in joy; but the foe; but where is Cuthullin, the shield of Erin? Lochlin crowds around; fly through the shade of night." He rests in the halls of Tura; he knows not of our Orla turns; the helm of Mathon is cleft; his shield coming. Who will speed through Lochlin to the hero, falls from his arm: he shudders in his blood. He rolls and call the chief to arms? The path is by the swords by the side of the blazing oak. Strumon sees him fll. of foes, but many are my heroes. They are thunderbolts His wrath rises; his weapon glitters on the head of of war. Speak, ye chiefs! who will arise?" Orla; but a spear pierced his eye. His brain gushes " Son of Trenmor! mine be the deed," said dark- through the wound, and foams on the spear of Calmar. haired Orla, " and mine alone. What is death to me? As roll the waves of Ocean on two mighty barks of the I love the sleep of the mighty, but little is the danger. north, so pour the men of Lochlin on the chiefs. As, The sons of Lochlin dream. I will seek car-borne breaking the surge in foam, proudly steer the barks of Cuthullin. If I fall, raise the song of bards, and lay the north, so rise the chiefs of Morven on the scattered me by the stream of Lubar."-" And shalt thou fall crests of Lochlin. The din of arms came to the ear ol alone?" said fair-haired Calmar. " Wilt thou leave thy Fingal. He strikes his shield: his sons throng around; friend afar, Chief of Oithona? not feeble is my arm in the people pour along the heath. Ryno bounds in joy. fight. Could I see thee die, and not lift the spear? No, Ossian stalks in his arms. Oscar shakes the spear. The Orla! ours has been the chase of the roebuck, and the'eagle wing of Fillan floats on the wind. Dreadful is feast of shells; ours be the path of danger: ours has the clang of death! many are the widows of Lochlin been the cave of Oithona,; ours be the narrow dwelling Morven prevails in his strength. on the banks of Lubar."-" Calmar!" said the chief of Morn glimmers on the hills: no living foe is seen; Oithona, " why should thy yellow locks be darkened but the sleepers are many: grim they lie on Erin. The in the dust of Erin? Let me fall alone. My father breeze of ocean lifts their locks: yet they do not awake. dwells in his hall of air: he will rejoice in his boy: but The hawks scream above their prey. the blue-eyed Mora spreads the feast for her son in Whose yellow locks wave o'er the breast of a chief? Morven. She listens to the steps of the hunter on the bright as the gold of the stranger, they mingle with the heath, and thinks it is the tread of Calmar. Let him dark hair of his friend.'Tis Calmar-he lies on the not say,'Calmar is fallen by the steel of Lochlin; he bosom of Orla. Theirs is one stream of blood. Fierce died with gloomy Orla, the chief of the dark brow.' is the look of the gloomy Orla. He breathes not; but Why should tears dim the azure eye of Mora? Why his eye is still a flame: it glares in death unclosed. should her voice curse Orla, the destroyer of Calmar? His hand is grasped in Calmar's; but Calmar lives: he Live, Calmar! live to raise my stone of moss; live to lives, though low. "Rise," said the king, "rise, son ol revenge me in the blood of Lochlin! Join the song of Mora,'tis mine to heal the wounds of heroes. Calmar bards above my grave. Sweet will be the song of death may yet bound on the hills of Morven." to Orla, from the voice of Calmar. My ghost shall smile "Never more shall Calmar chase the deer of Morven on the notes of praise."-" Orla!" said the son of with Orla;" said the hero, "what were the chase to Mora, "could I raise the song of death to my friend? me, alone? Who would share the spoils of battle with Could I give his fame to the winds? No; my heart Calmar? Orla is at rest! Rough was thy soul, Orla! would steak in sighs; faint and broken are the sounds yet soft to me as the dew of morn. It glared on others in of sorrow. Orla! our souls shall hear the song together. lightning; to me asilver beam of night. Bear my swoi d One cloud shall be ours on high; the bards will mingle to blue-eyed Mora: let it hang in my empty hall. It is the names of Orla and Calmar." not pure from blood: but it could not save Orla. Lay They quit the circle of the chiefs. Their steps are me with my friend: raise the song when I am dark." to the host of Lochlin. The dying blaze of oak dim They are laid by the stream of Lubar. Four gray twinkles through the night. The northern star points stones mask the dwelling of Orla and Calmar. the path to Tura. Swaran, the king, rests on his When Swaran was bound, our sais rose on the blue lonely hill. Here the troops are mixed: they frown in waves. The winds gave our barks to Morven. The sleep, their shields beneath their heads. Their swords Bards raised the song. gleam, at distance, in heaps. The fires are faint; their "What form rises on the roar of clouds! whose dark embers fail in smoke. All is hushed; but the gale ghost gleams on the red streams of tempests? his voice sighs on the rocks above. Lightly wheel the heroes rolls on the thunder.'T is Orla; the brown chief of through the slumbering band. Half the journey is Oithona. He wasunmatched in war. Peace tothysoul, past, when Mathon, resting on his shield, meets the Orla! thy fame will not perish. Nor thine, Calmar! lovely eye of Orla. It rolls in flame, and glistens through the wast thou, son of blue-eyed Mora; but not harmless shade: his spear is raised on high. "Why dost thou was thy sword. It hangs in thy cave. The ghosts of bend thy brow, Chief of Oithona?" said fair-haired Lochlin shriek aroundits steel. Hear thy praise, Calma,! Calmar. "We are in the midst offoes. Is this a time it dwells on the voice of the mighty. Thy name shakes for delay?"-_" It is a time for vengeance," said Orla, on the echoes of Morven. Then raise thy fair locks, son of the gloomy brow. " Mathon of Lochlin sleeps: seest of Mora; spread them on the arch of the rainbow, and thou his spear? Its point is dim with the gore of my smile through the tears of the storm." father. The blood of Mathon shall reek on mine; but - shall I slay him sleeping, son of Mora? No! he shall I fear Laing's late edition has completely overthrown every hope that Macpherson's Ossian might prove the Translation of feel his wound; my fame shall not soar on the blood a series of Poems, complete in themselves; but, while the im ofslumber. Rise, Mathon! rise! the son of Connal calls; posture is discovered, the merit ofthe work remains undisputed, thy life is his: rise to combat." Mathon starts from though not without faults, particularly,in some parts, turgid and sleep but did he rise alone? No: the gathering chiefs bombastic diction.-The present humble imitation will be parsleep, but did he rise alone? No: the gathering chiefs, ^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^pt. nowerey bound on the pdain.,oned by the admirer s of the original, as an attempt, nowever bound on the plain. "Fly, Calmar, fly!" said dark- inferior, which evinces an attachmentto their favourite author 24 BYRON'S WORKS. CRITIQUE EXTRACTED FROM THE EDINBURGH REVIEW, NO. 22, FOR JANUARY 1808. Hours of Idleness; a Series of Poems, original and With this view, we must beg leave seriously to assure translated. By GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON, him, that the mere rhyming of the final syllable, even a Minor. 8vo. pp. 200.-Newark, 1807. when accompanied by the presence of a certain number of feet; nay, although (which does not always happen) -THE poesy of this young Lord belongs to the class those feet should scan regularly, and have been all which neither gods nor men are said to permit. Indeed, counted accurately upon the fingers-it is not the we do not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse hole art of poetry. We would entreat him to believe, with so few deviations in either direction from that that a certain portion of liveliness, somewhat of fancy, that a certain portion of liveliness, somewhat of fancy, exact sta'ndard. His effusions are spread over a dead is necessary to constitute a poem, and that a poem in flat, and can no more get above or below the level, than the present day, to be read, must contain at least one if they were so much stagnant water. As an extenuation thought, either in a little degree different from the ideas of this offence, the noble author is peculiarly forward of former writers, or differently expressed. We put it in pleading minority. We have it in the title-page, to his candour, whether there is any thing so deserving and on the very back of the volume; it follows his the name of poetry in verses like the following, written name like a favourite part of his style. Much stress is in 1806; and whether, if a youth of eighteen could say laid upon it in the preface, and the poems are connected any thing so uninteresting to his ancestors, a youth of with this general statement of his case, by particular nineteen should publish it: dates, substantiating the age atwhich each was written. Now, the law upon the point of minority we hold to be " Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing perfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the de- From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu fendant; no plaintiff can offer it as a supplementary Abroador athome, yourremembrance imparting New courage, he 11 think upon glory and you. ground of action. Thus, if any suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for the purpose of compelling him Though a tear dim his, eye at this sad separation, to put into court a certain- quantity of poetry, and if - Tis ture, not fear, that excites hisregret: X.., ~Far distant he goes, with the same emulation; judgment were given against him, it is highly probable The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. that an exception would be taken were he to deliver for poetry the contents of this volume. To this he "That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish, for poetry the cos,, tT this He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown; might plead minority; but, as he now makes voluntary Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; tender of the article, he hath no right to sue, on that When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own.' ground, for the price in good current praise, should the goods be unmarketable. This is our view of the Now we positively do assert, that there is nothing bet law on the point, and, we dare to say, so will it be ruled. ter than these stanzas in the whole compass of the noblv Perhaps however, in reality, all that he tells us about mnor's volume. his youth is rather with a view to increase our wonder, Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting than to soften our censures. He possibly means to say, what the greatest poets have done before him, for "See how a minor can write! This poem was actually comparisons (as he must have had occasion to see at his writing-master's,) are odious.-Gray's Ode on Eton composed by a young man of eighteen, and this by one g r ae oou Oe on ton ofonlysixteen!"But,alas!weallrememberthepoetry College should really have kept out the ten hobbling of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve; and- so far from stanzas " On a distant view of the village and school of hearing, with any degree of surprise, that very poor Harrow. verses were written by a youth from his leaving school Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance to his leaving college, inclusive, we really believe this Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied; to be the most common of all occurrences; that it hap- Hw welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance, pens in the life of nine men in ten who are educated in Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied." England; and that the tenth man writes better verse In like manner, the exquisite lines of Mr Rogers " On than Lord Byron. a Tear," might have warned the noble author off those His other plea of privilege our author rather brings premises, and spared us a whole dozen such stanzas as forward in order to waive it. He certainly, however, the following: does allude frequently to his family and ancestorssometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes; and while "Mild Charity's glow, giving up his claim on the score of rank, he takes care To us mortals below b~w "w~."~~ rn i. Xi~.-~ iShows the soul from barbarit.y (ciat to rememoer us of Dr. Johnson's saying, that when a Compassion will melt, nobleman appears as an author, his merit should be Where this virtue is felt, handsomely acknowledged. In truth, it is this consid- And its dew is diffused in a Tear. oration only, that induces us to give Lord Byron's poems "The man doom'd to sail a place in our review, beside our desire to counsel him, With the blast of the aal,, that he do forthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents, Through billows Atlantic to steer, As he bends o'er the wave, which are considerable, and is opportunities, which are Which may soon be h i grave, great, to better account. The green sparkles bright with a ear CRITIQUE ON HOURS OF IDLENESS. 25 And so of instances in which former poets had failed. last and youngest of a noble line." There is a good rhus, we do not think Lord Byron was made for trans- deal also about his maternal ancestors, in a poem on lating, during his non-age, Adrian's Address to his Lachin y Gair, a mountain where he spent part of his Soul, when Pope succeeded so indifferently in the at- youth, and might have learnt that pibroch is not a tempt. If our readers, however, are of another opinion, bagpipe, any more than duet means a fiddle. they may look at it. As the author has dedicated so large a part of his gentle, fleeting, wavering ite, volume to immortalize his'employments at school and Friend and associate of this clay! college, we cannot possibly dismiss it without presentTo what unknown region borne, ing the reader with a specimen of these ingenious effuWilt thou now wing thy distant flight sions. In an ode with a Greek motto, called Granta, No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn." e have the following magnificent stanzas: However, be this as it may, we fear his translations There, in apartments small and damp, The candidate for college prizes and imitations are great favourites with Lord Byron. Sits poring by the midnight lamp, We have them of all kinds, from Anacreon to Ossian; Goes late to bed, yet early rises. anld, viewing them as school exercises, they may pass. " Who reads false quantities in Sele Only, why print them after they have had their day Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle, and served their turn? And why call the thing in p. 79 Deprived of many a wholesome meal, t.heir- tun iu Xt In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle: a translation, where two words (OsAe Xcyetv) of the original are expanded into four lines, and the. other "Renouncing everypleasingpage, From authors of historic use, thing in p. 81,1 where fIe5ovvKTiats Tos' Spats, is ren- Preferring to the letter'd sage dered by means of six hobbling verses? As to his Os- The square of the hypothenuse. sianic poesy, we are not very good judges, being, in "Still harmless are these occupations, truth, so moderately skilled in that species of compo- That hurt none but the hapless student, sition, that we should, in all probability, be criticising Compared with other recreations, Which bring together the imprudent." some bit of the genuine Macpherson itself, were we to express our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. If, We are sorry to hear so bad an account of the colthen, the following beginning of a " Song of Bards" is lege psalmody as is contained in the following Attic Dy his Lordship, we venture to object to it, as far as we stanzas: can comprehend it. " What form rises on the roar of "Our choir would scarcely be excused clouds, whose dark ghost gleams on the red stream of Even as a band of raw beginners; tempests? His voice rolls on the thunder;'t is Orla, the All mercy now must be refused To such a set of croaking sinners. brown chief of Oithona. He was," etc. After detaining this "brown chief" some time, the bards conclude by Dad he these bohs bere ende Had heard these blockheads sing before him, giving him their advice to " raise his fair locks;" then To us his psalms had ne'er descended: to " spread them on the arch of the rainbow;" and " to In furious mood he would have tore'em!' smile through the tears of the storm." Of this kind of But whatever judgment may be passed on the poems thing there are no less than nine pages; and we can so of this noble minor, it seems we must take them as we far venture an opinion in their favour, that they look find them, and be content; for they are the last we very like Macpherson; and we are positive they are shall ever have from him. He is, at best, he says,, but pretty nearly as stupid and tiresome. an intruder into the groves of Parnassus; he never lived It is a sort of privilege of poets to be egotists; but in a garret, like thorough-bred poets; and " though he they should "use it as not abusing it;" and particu- once roved a careless mountaineer in the Highlands of,arly one who piques himself (though indeed at the Scotland," he has not of late enjoyed this advantage. ripe age of nineteen) of being "an infant bard,"- Moreover, he expects no profit from his publication; (" The artless Helicon I boastis youth;")-should either and, whether it succeeds or not, " it is highly improbanot know, or should seem not to know, so much about bl, from his situation and pursuits hereafter," that he his own ancestry. Besides a poem above cited, on the should again condescend to become an author. Therefamily seat of the Byrons, we have another of eleven fore, let us take what we get, and be thankful. What pages, on the selfsame subject, introduced with an right have we poor devils to be nice? We are well otf apology, " he certainly had no intention of inserting to have got so much from, a man of this Lord's station, it," but really "the particular request of some friends," who does not live in a garret, but, " has the sway" of atc., etc. It concludes with five stanzas on himself, " the Newstead Abbey. Again,'we say, let us be thankful; and, with honest Sancho, bid God bless the giver, not 1 Seb page C, 2 Page 11. look the gift horse in the mouth. i2 9 ( 26 ) Li inutl Itartrt aat cotth bt0irttrro, A SATIRE. I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew! Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers. SHIAKSPEARE. Such shameless Bards we have; and yet,'t is true, There are as mad, abandon'd Critics too. POPE PREFACE.' than the author, that some known and able writer hac undertaken their exposure; but Mr. GIFFORD has devoted himself to MIassinger, and; in the absence of the ALL my friends, learned and unlearned, have urged regular physician, a country practitioner may, in cases me not to publish this Satire with my name. If I were to of absolute necessity, be allowed to prescribe his nosbe "turned from the career of my humour by quibbles trum, to prevent the extension, of so deplorable an quick, and paper bullets of the brain," I should have epidemic, provided there be no quackery in his treatcomplied with their counsel. But I am not to be ter- ment of the malady. A caustic is here offered, as it is rified by abuse, or bullied by reviewers, with or with- to be feared nothing short of actual cautery can reout arms. I can safely say that I have attacked none, cover the numerous patients afflicted with the present personally who did not commence on the offensive, prevalent and distressing rabies for rhyming.-As to An author's works are public property: he who pur- the Edinburgh Reviewers, it would indeed require a chases may judge, and publish his opinion if he pleases; Hercules to crush the Hydra; but if the author succeeds and the authors I have endeavoured to commemorate in merely " bruising one of the heads of the serpent," may do by me as I have done by them: I dare say they though his own hand should suffer in the encounter, will succeed better in condemning my scribblings than he will be amply satisfied. in mending their own. But my object is not to prove that I can write well, but, if possible, to make others write better. As the Poem has met with far more success than I ENGLISH BARDS expected, I have endeavoured in this edition to make etc. etc. some-additions and alterations, to render it more worthy of public perusal. STILL must I hear?-shall hoarse FITZGERALDI baw In the first edition of this Satire, published anony- His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, mously, fourteen lines on-the subject of Bowles's Pope And 1 not sing, lest, haply, Scotch Reviews were written and inserted at the request of an inge- Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my Muse? nious friend of mine, who has now in the press a vol- Prepare for rhyme-I'11 publish, right or wrong: ume of poetry. In the present edition they are erased, Fools are my theme, let Satire be my song. and some of my own substituted in their stead; my only reason for this being that which I conceive would ature's noblest gimy gray goose-quill operate with any other person in the same manner-a Slave of my thouhts, obedient to my will, Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen, determination not to publish with my name any pro- Tn fm thy prent bid to fo a en duction which was not entirely andexclusively my own That mihty instrument of little men! composition. The pen foredoom'd to aid the mental throes With regard to the real talents of many of the poet- Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose, ical persons whose performances are mentioned or Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride, alluded to in the following pages, it is presumed by the The lover's solace, and the author's pride: author that there can be little difference of opinion in W f, what poets dost thou daily raise! mne public at large; though, like other sectaries, each How frequent thy use, how small thy praise has his separate tabernacle of proselytes, by whom his Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite, abilities are overrated, his faults overlooked, and his With al the pages which't was thine to write. metrical canons received without scruple and without Bu t least, mine own especia pen' consideration. But the unquestionable possession of Once laid aside, but now assumed again, considerable genius by several of the writers here censured, renders their mental prostitution more to be 1 IMITATION. regretted. Imbecility may be pitied, or, at worst, " Semper ego auditor tantumrn nunquamne reponanm. regretted. Imbecility may be pitied or, at worst, Vexatus toties rauci Theseide Codri?"-Juvenal. at. I laughed at and forgotten; perverted powers demand r. irzgld, facetiously termed by Cobbett the " Smat.1 the most decided reprehension. No one can wish more Beer Poet," inflicts his annual tribute of verse on the " Literary Fund;" not content with writing, he spouts in person, 1 This Preface was written for the second edition of this after the company have imbibed a reasonable quantity of bad Voem, and printed with it. port, to enable them to sustain the operation. ENGLISH BARDSAND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 27 Our task complete, like Hamet's' shall be free; Or any other thing that's false, before Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me: You trust in critics who themselves are sore; Then let us soar to-day; no common theme Or yield one single thought to be misled No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream By JEFFREY'S heart, or LAMBE'S Bceotian head.' Inspires-our path, though full of thorns, is plain; To these young tyrants, 2 by themselves misplaced Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain. Combined usurpers Qn the throne of Taste; When vice triumphant holds her sovereign sway, To these, when authors bend in humble awe, And men, through life her willing slaves, obey; And hail their voice as truth, their word as law; When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime, While these are censors,'t would be sin to spare; Unfolds her motley store to suit the time; While such are critics, why should I forbear? When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail, But yet, so near all modern worthies run, When Justice halts, and Right begins to fail,'T is doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun; E'en then the boldest start from public sneers, Nor know we when to spare, or where to strike, Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears, Our bards and censors are So much alike. More darkly sin, by Satire kept in awe, 3 Then should you ask me, why I venture o'er And shrink from ridicule, though not from law. The path which POPE and GIFFORD trod before; Such is the force of Wit! but not belong If not yet sicken'd, you can still proceed: To me the arrows of satiric song; Go on; my rhyme will tell you as you read. The royal vices of our age demand Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days A keener weapon, and a mightier hand. Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise, Still there are follies e'en for me to chase, When Sense and Wit with poesy allied, And yield at least amusement in the race: No fabled Graces, flourish'd side by side, Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame- From the same fount their inspiration drew, The cry is up, and Scribblers are my game; And, rearmd by Taste, bloom'd fairer as they grew. Speed, Pegasus!-ye strains of great and small, Then, in this happy isle, a POPE's pure strain Ode, Epic, Elegy, have at you all! Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain; I too can scrawl, and once upon a time A polish'd nation's praise aspired to claim, I pour'd along the town a flood of rhyme- And raised the people's, as the poet's fame. A school-boy freak, unworthy praise or blame: Like him great DRYDEN pour'd the tide of song, I printed-older children do the same. In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong.'T is pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; Then CONGREYE'S scenes could cheer, or OTWAYS' A book's a book, although there's nothing in' t. meltNot that a title's sounding charm can save For Nature then an English audience felt. Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave: But why these names, or greater still, retrace, This LAMBE must own, since his patrician name When all to feebler bards resign their place? Fail'd to preserve the spurious farce from shame. 2 Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast, No matter, GEORGE continues still to write, 3 When taste and reason with those times are past. Though now the name is veil'd from public sight. Now look around, and turn each trifling page, Moved by the great example, I pursue Survey the precious works that please the age; The selfsame road,'but make my own review: This truth at least let Satire's self allow, Not seek great JEFFREY'SY-yet, like him, will be No dearth of bards can be complain'd of now: Self-constituted judge of poesy. The loaded press beneath her labourgroans, A man must serve his time to every trade, And printers' devils shake their weary bones; Save censure-critics all are ready made. - 1 Save censure-critics all are ready made. While SOUTHEY'S epics cram the creaking shelves, Take hackney'd jokes from MILLR, got by rote, And LITTLE'S lyrics shine in hot-press'd twelves. With just enough of learning to misquote; Thus saith the preacher, 4 " nought beneath the sun A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault; Is new;" yet still from change to change we run: A turn for punning, call it Attic salt; What varied wonders tempt us as they pass! To JEFFREY go, be silent and discreet, The cow-pox, tractors, galvanism, and gas, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet: In turns appear, to make the vulgar stare, Fear not to lie,'t will seem a lucky hit; Till the swoln bubble bursts-and all is air! Shrink not from blasphemy,'t will pass for wit; Nor less new schools of poetry arise, Care not for feeling-pass your proper jest, Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize: And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. O'er Taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail And shall we own such judgrhent? no-as soon And shall we own such judgmhent? no-as soon Each country book-club bows the knee to Baal, Seek roses in December, ice in June; 1 Messrs. Jeffrey and Lambe are the Alpha and Omega. the Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaffy first and last, of the Edinburgh Review: the others are men Believe a woman, or an epitaph; tioned.hereafter. _~_______________________ __ ~2 "stulta est dementia, cum tot ubique occurras periturae parcere chartae."-Juvenal. Sat. L 1 Cid Hamet Benengeli promises repose to his pen in the last MITAT 3 IMITATION. chapter of Don Quixote. Oh! that our voluminous gentry r t n h p d "Cur tamen hoc potius libeat decurrere campo would follow the example of Cid Hamet Benengeli Per que magnuseques Aurunca fileit alumnus "2 This ingenious youth is mentioned more particularly, with Si vacat, et placidi rationem admittitis, edam." — his production, in another place. Juvenal. Sat 3 In the Edinburgh Review. 4 Ecclesiastes. ChaD. 1. 28 BYRON'S WORKS. And, hurling lawful genius from the throne, The gibbet or the field prepared to graceErects a shrine and idol of its own; A mighty mixture of the great and base. Some leaden calf-but whom it matters not, And think'st thou, SCOTT! by vain conceit perchance From soaring SOUTHEY down to groveling STOTT. I On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though MURRAY with his MILLER may combine Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew, For notice eager, pass in lo. Z review: To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? For notice eager, pass in Iona review: Foprs nutice ea?er pas nln rev No! when the sons of sona descend to trade, Eacf spurs his jaded Pegasus apace t, Ecsprhivae Pegasus apace, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade, And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race; Let such forego the poet's sacred name, Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode; Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on odeho rack their brains for lucre, not for fame: And tales of terror jostle on the road; te n o r easurableeasuresmovelonLoW may they sink to merited contempt, Immeasurable measures move along; Immea.surle. measurloes ma vald7 And scorn remunerate the mean attempt! For simpering Folly loves a varied song, Tor simperinge Follyloves a varti ed so ieng, Such be their meed, such still the just rewara To strange mysterious Dulness still the friend, O Of prostituted muse and hirelina bard! Admires the strain she cannot comprehend. Thus Lays of Minstrels 2-may they be the last! For this we spurn Apollo's venal son, On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast. d Marmion Z3., These are the themes that claim our plaudits now; While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, These are the themes that claim our plaudits now These are the bards to whom the-muse must bow: That dames may listen to their sound at nights; While MILTON, DRYDEN, POPE, alike forgot, And goblin brats, of Gilpin Homrner's 3 brood, Decoy youn bodr-nobes throughthe wood. Resign their hallow'd bays to WALTER SCOTT. Decoy young border-nobles through the wood. in And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, The time has been when yet the muse was young, And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, X When HOMER swept the lyre, and MARO sung And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why; hen HOMER swept the lyrand M sug, While high-born ladies in their maic cell, An epic scarce ten centuries could claim, While hig.h-born ladies in their magic cell, Forbddi.ngknightstoe h c o sl While awe-struck nations hail'd the magic name: Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell, TDespatch a courier to a wizard'sgrave, The work of each immortal bard appears Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave, The single wonder of a thousand years. 2 And fight with honest men to shield a knave., nd ye Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth, Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, Tongues have expired with those who gave them birth, The golden-crested haughty Marmion, Without the glory such a strain can give, Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, As even in ruin bids the language live. Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, Not so with us, though minor bards, content, On one great work a life of labour spent:. Stott, better known in the " Morning Post" by the name With eale pinions soaring to the skies, of Hfaiz. This personage is at present the most profound ex- plorer of the bathos. I remember, to the reigning family ofehold the ballad-monger, SOUTHE, rise! Portugal, a special ode of Master Scott's, beginning thus - To him let CAMOENS, MILTON, TASSO, yield, (Stott loquitur quoad Hibernia.) Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field, "Princely offspring of Braganza, First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, Erin greets thee with a stanza," etc. etc. The scourge of England, and the boast of France Also a sonnet to Rats, well worthy of the subject, and a most Though burnt by wicked BEDFORD for a witch thundering ode commencing as follows: thundering ode commencing as follows: Behold her statue placed in glory's niche; "Oh! for a lay! loud as the surge That lashes Lapland's sounding shore." Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, Lord have mercy on us: the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" A virgin Phoenix from her ashes risen. was nothing to this. Next see tremendous Thalaba come on, 3 2 See the " Lay of the Last Minstrel," passim. Never was Arabias monstrous, wild, and wondrous son; any plan so Incongruous and absurd as the groundwork of Domdaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew this production. The entrance of Thunder and Lightning prologuising to Bayes' tragedy, unfortunately takes away the More mad magicians than the world e'er knew, merit of originality from the dialogue between Messieurs the Immortal hero! all thy foes o'ercome, Sp'rits of Flood and Fell, in the first canto. Then we have For ever reign-the rival'of Tom Thumb the amiable William of Deloraine, "a stark moss-trooper," videlicit, a happy compound of poacher, sheep-stealer, and Since startled metre fled before thy face, highwayman. The propriety of his magical lady's injunction Well wert thou doom'd the last of all thy race I not to read can only be equalled by his candid acknowledg- Well might triumphant Genii bear thee hence, ment of his independence of the trammels of spelling, al- Illustrious conqueror of common sense though, to use his own elegant phrase, "'t was his neck-verse at Hairibee," i. e. the gallows. 1 "Good night to Marmion" —the pathetic and also pilo 3 The Biography of Gilpin Homer, and the marvellous pe- phetic exclamation of Henry Blount, Esquire, on the death destrian page, who travelled twice as-fast as his master's horse, of honest Marmion. without the aid of seven-leagued boots, are chefs-d'asuvre in 2 As the Odyssey is so closely connected with the story of the improvement of taste. For incident we have the invisible, the Iliad, they may almost be classed as one grand historical but by no means sparing, box on the ear bestowed on the poem. In alluding to Mlilton and Tasso, we consider the page, and the entrance of a Knight and Charget into the "Paradise Lost," and "Gierusalemme Liberata," as their castle, under'the very natural disguise of a wain of hay. Mar- standard efforts, since neither the "Jerusalem Conquered" of mion, the hero of the latter romance, is exactly what William the Italian, nor the " Paradise Regained" of the English Bard, sf Deloraine would have been, had he been able to read or obtained a proportionate celebrity to their former poems. write. The Poem was manufactured for Messrs. Constable, Query: Which of Mr. Southey's will survive? J.furray, and Jiller, worshipful Booksellers, in consideration 3 Thalaba, Mr Southey's second poem, is written in open tf the receipt of a sum-of money; and, truly, considering the defiance of precedent and poetry. Mr. S. wished to produce inspiration. it is a very creditable production. If Mr. Scott will something novel, and succeeded to a miracle. Joan of Arc write for hire, let him do his best for his paymasters, but not was marvellous enough, but Thalaba was one of those poems diqgrace his genius, which is undoubtedly great, by a repeti- " which (in the words of Porsoei) will be read when Homer urnof black.letter iunitations and Virgil are forgotten, but —not till thea." ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 29 Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails, Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass Cacique in Mexico, and Prince in Wales; The bard who soars to elegize an ass. Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do, How well the subject suits his noble mind! More old than Mandeville's, and not so true. "A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind!" Oh! SOUTHEY, SOUTHEY! cease thy varied song Oh! onder-worlino LEW! Monk, or Bard, A Bard may chaunt too often and too long: Parnassus a church-yard! Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church-yard! As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare! As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow, A fourth, alas! were more than we could bear, But if~, *in spie oc,. Thy Muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou! But if, in spite of all the world can say, But if in spite of a Whether on ancient-tombs thou tak'st thy stand, Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way; By gibberlng spectres hail'd, thy kindred band If still in Berkley,ballads, most uncivil, O cestcstescrtn thy Thou wilt devote oOr tracest chaste description onl thy page, Thou wilt devote old women to the devil, 2 To please the females of our modest age, The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue; Al hl All hail, M. P.! I frorm whose infernal brain "God help thee," SOUTHEY, and thy readers too. 3 Th d omsgde, a ri rain Thin-sheeted phantoms'glide, a grisly train; Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, At whose command, "grim women" throng in crowds, That mild apostate from poetic rule, And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, The simple WORDSWORTH, framer of a lay With " small gray men,"-" wild vagers," and what not, As soft as evening in his favourite May; - To crown with honour thee and WALTER SCOTT: Who warns his friend " to shake off toil and trouble; Again, all hail! If tales like thine may please, And quit his books, for fear of growing double;, 4 St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease; Who, both by precept and example, shows E'cn Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose, And in thy skull discern a deeper hell. Convincing all, by demonstration plain, ho in soft guise, surrounded by a choir Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir Poetic souls delight in prose insane; Ovirginsmelting, not toVesta's fire, And Christmas stories, tortured into rhyme, And Christmas stories, tortured into rhyme, With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flush'd, Contain the e'ssence'of the true sublime: i Contain the ~essence'of the true sublime: Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are hush'd 1 Thus when he tells the tale of Betty Foy,'T is LITTLE youn Catullus of his day The idiot mother of "4 an idiot Boy;" The idiot mother of " an idiot Boy," As sweet, but as immoral in his lay! A moon-struck silly lad who lost his way, Grieved to condemn, the Muse must still be just, And, like his bard, confounded night with day; N pare melodious ad es of t. X, a,, - X Nor spare melodious advocates of lust. So close on each pathetic part he dwells, Pure is the flame which o'er the altar burns; And each adventure so sublimely tells, From grosser incense with disgust she turns: That all who view the "idiot in his glory," Yet, kind to youth this expiation oer Conceive the Bard the hero of the story. X X Conceive the Bard the, hero of the story. She bids thee " mend thy line and sin no more." Shall gentle COLERIDGE pass unnoticed here, For thee, translator of the tinsel song, To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear? To whom such glittering ornaments belong, Though themes of innocence amuse him best, Hibernian STRANGFORD! with thine eyes of blue, 2 Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest. And boasted locks of red, or auburn hue If Inspiration should her aid refusea u b urn hue, If Inspiration should her aid refuse Whose plaintive strain each love-sick Miss admires, To him who takes a Pixy for a Muses ___ 6 And o'er harmonious fustian half expires, Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's sense, 1 We beg Mr. Southey's pardon: "Madoc disdains thede- graded title of epic." See his preface. Why is epic degraded? Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence. and by whom? Certainly the late Romauntsof Masters Cottle, Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place Laureat Pye, Ogilvy, Hoyle, and gentle Mistress Cowzley, By dressing Camoens in a suit of lace? have not exalted the Epic Muse: but as Mr. Southey's poem "disdains the appellation," allow us to ask-has he substituted Mend, STRANGFOR! mend thy morals and thy taste any thing better in its stead? or must he be content to rival Sir Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but be chaste Richard Blackmore, in the quantity as well' as quality of his Cease to deceive; thy pilfer'd harp restore,'verse. -Nor teach the Lusian Bard to copy MOORE. 2 See The Old Woman ofBerk.ey, a Ballad by Mr. Southey, wherein an aged gentlewoman is carried away by Beelzebub, In many marble-cover'd volumes view on a "high-trotting horse." HAYLEY, in vain attempting something new: 3 The last line, " God help thee," is an evident plagiarism Whether he spin his comedies in rhyme, from the Anti-jacobin to Mr. Southey, on his Dactylics: "God help thee, silly one.'-Poetry ofthe Anti-jacobin, p. 23. Orscrawl, as Wooand BARCLAY alk,'ganst time, 4 Lyrical Ballads, page 4.-" The tables turned." Stanza 1. His style in youth or age is still the same, " Up, up. my friend, and clear your looks- For ever feeble and for ever tame. Why all this toil and trouble?. Up, up, my friend, and quit your books, Triumphant first see "Temper's Triumphs" shine! Or surely you' grow double." At least, I'm sure, they triumph'd over mine. 5 Mr. W., in his preface, labours hard to prove that prose and verse are much the same, and certainly his precepts ahd "For every one knows little Matt's an M. P."-See practice are strictly conformable: practice are strictly conformale: poem to Mr. Lewis, in The Statesman, supposed to be writ " And thus to Betty's questions he ten by Mr. Jekyll. Made answer, like a traveller bold, Tlhe cock did crow to-who, to-whlo, 2 The reader, who may wish for an explanation of this, may And the sun did shine so cold," etc., etc. refer to " Strangford's Camoens," page 127, note to page 56, Lyrical'Ballads, page 129. or to the last page of the Edinburgh Review of Strangford's 6 Coleridge's Poems, page 11. Songs of the Pixies, i. e. Camoens. It is also to be remarked, that the things given ain Devonshire Fairies. Page'4, we have, "Lines to a young the public as Poems of Camoens, are no more to be founlu it Lady," and page 52, " Lines to a Young Ass." the original Portuguese than in the Song of Solomon 30 BYRON'S WORKS. Of "Music's Triumphs" all who read may swear But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe, That luckless Music never triumph'd there.' Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe, Moravians, rise! bestow sqme meet reward If chance some bard, though once by dunces fear'd, Moravians, rise! bestow some meet reward X. r On dull Devotion-lo! the Sabbath Bard, Now, prone in dust, can only be revered; On dull Devotion-lo! the Sabbath Bard, X P X' Sepulchral GRAHA~ME, pours his notes sublime If POPE, whose fame and genius from the first In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme, In marngled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme, Have foil'd the best of critics, needs the worst, Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke, Breaks into blank the Gospiel of St. Luke, Do thou essay; each fault, each failing scan And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch; The first of poets was, alas! but man! And, undisturb'd by conscientious qualms, Rake from each ancient dunghill every pearl, And, undisturbed by conscientious qualms, P Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms. 2 Consult Lord Fanny, and confide in CURLL' Let all the scandals of a former age Hail, Sympathy! thy soft idea brings Perch on thy pen and flutter o'er thy page; A thousand visions of a thousand things, Affect a candour which thou canst not feel, And shows, dissolvel in thine own melting tears, Clothe envy in the arb of honest zeal; ) 1, X Clothe envy in the garb of honest zeal; The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers. Y3 The maudlin prince of mournful sonnteers. rite as if St. John's soul could still inspire, And art thou not their prince, harmonious BowLES? from hate what ALLET did for hire. Thou first great oracle of tender souls? Thou first greatt oracle of tender souls? ~ Oh! hadst thou lived in that congenial time, Whether in sighing winds thou seek'st relief, T and with RALPH to rhyme,. To rave with DENSIS, and with RALPH to rhyme, Or censolation in a yellow leaf; Throng'd with the rest around his living head, Whether thy musf: most lamentably tells IF Whether thy mus;: most lamentably tells Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead, W hat merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells, 3 A meet reward had crown'd thy glorious gains, Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend, iadfor thy pains. b en X And lnk'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains. 4 In every chime that jingled from Ostend? Another Epic! who inflicts again Ah! how much juster were thy Muse's hap, Ah! how.111. much juster were thyMuse'sls, More books of blank upon the sons of men? If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap! Deihtu..i~ I Boeotian COTTLE, rich Bristowa's boast, Delightful BOWLES! still blessing and still blest, t C r r A~ ~ ~~~~t X 11.Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast, All love thy strain, but children like it best. os od sois rom te Camrian coa, "1' is h.in,' with gentle LITTLE'S moral song, And sends his goods to market-all alive!'T is thine, with gentle LITTLE'S moral song, b t \ ri i. Al -Lines forty thousand, Cantos twenty-five! To soothe the mania of the amorous throng!,T~r-b * T i Fresh fish from Helicon! who'll buy? who'11 buy 7 With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears, The precious bargain's cheap-in faith not I. Ere Miss as yet completes her infant years: -. Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight, But in her teens thy whining powers are vain: Too much o'er bowls of'rack prolong the night: She quits poor BOWLES for LITTLE'S purer strain. Now to soft themes thou scornest to confin~e If commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain, Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine And AMos COTTLE strikes the Lyre in vain. The lofty numbers of a harp like thine: Aw4ke a louder a In him an author's luckless lot behold! "Awake a louder and a loftier strain, as none had efer w.ain Condemn'd to make the books which once he sold. Such as none heard before, or will again; ~ 1,.'.. ~,'~.i~ aOh! AMos COTTLE!-Phoebus! what a name Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood, Sice 71.11 leaky ark rTo fill the speaking-trump of future fame!Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud, Oh os COTTLE for a moment think Oh! AMOs COTTLE! for a moment think By more or less, are sung in every book, From Captain n to n CO What meagre profits spread from pen and ink! From Captain NOAH down to Captain COOK. r' When thus devoted to poetic dreams, Nor this alone, but pausing on the road, W Who will peruse thy prostituted reams? The bard sighs forth a gentle episode W reams Oh! pen perverted! paper misapplied! And gravely tells-attend each beauteous Miss!- Oh! pen perverted paper misaplied When first Madeira trembled to a kiss. Had COTTLE 5 still adorn'd the counter's side, We i tem le tBent o'er the desk, or, born to useful toils, BOWLES! in thy memory let this precept dwell, Stick to thy Sonnets, man! at least they sell. Been taught to make the paper which he soils, Stick to thy Sonnets, man! at least they sell. I Plough'd, delved, or plied the oar with lusty limb, 1 Hayley'stwo most notorious verse productions, are " Tri- He had not sung of Wales, nor I of.him. amphs of Temper," and "Triumphs of Music." He has also As Sisyphus against the infernal steep,vritten much comedy in rhyme, Epistles, etc. etc. As he is hu rock whose rather an elegant writer of notes and biography, let us recom- os te he roc w otions ne'er may sleep mend Pope's Advice to Wycherley to Mr. H.'s consideration; I Curll is one of the heroes of the Dunciad, and was a book viz. "to convert his poetry into prose," which may be easily seller. Lord Fanny is the poetical name of Lord Hervey done by taking away the final syllable of each couplet. author of "Lines to the imitator of Horace." 2 Mr. Grahame has poured forth two valumes of cant, under 2' Lord Bolingbroke hired Mallet to traduce Pope after his the name of "Sabbath Walks," and " Biblical Pictures." decease, because the poet had retained some copies of a work 3 See Bowles's Sonnets, etc.-" Sonnet to Oxford," and by Lord Bolingbroke (the Patriot King), which that splendid,'Stanzas on hearing the Bells of Ostend." but malignant genius, had (cdered to be destroyed. 4 "Awake a louder," etc. etc. is the first line in Bowles's 3 Dennis the critic, and Ralph the rhymester. Spirit of Discovery;" avery spirited and pretty Dwarf Epic. "Silence, ye wolves while Ralph to Cynthia howls, Among other exquisite lines we have the following:- Making night hideous-answer him, ye owls!' —l)uciad. "-1 _ - - A kiss 4 See Bowles's late edition of Pope's works, for which he Stole on the list'ning silence, never yet received 3041.: thus Mr. B. has experienced how much easier Here heard; they trembled even as if the power," ete etc. it is to profit by the reputation of another, than to elevate his -rhat is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss, very much own. astonished, as well they might be, at such a phenomenon. 5 Mr. Cottle,.Amos or Joseph, I don't know which, but one 5 The episode above alluded to is the story of " Robert a or both, once sellers of books they did not write, and now Machin," and "Anna d'Arfet," a pair of constant lovers, writers of books that do not sell, have published a pair ol who performed the kiss above-mentioned, that startled the Epics. "Alfred" (poor Alfred! Pye has been at him too! woods of Madeira and the Fall of " Cambria." ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 31 So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond! heaves When LITTLE'S leadless pistol met his eye, Dull MAURICE' all his granite weight of leaves: And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by?' Smooth, solid monuments of mental pain! Oh day disastrous! on her firm-set rock, The petrifactions of a plodding brain, Dunhdin's castle felt a secret shock; That ere they reach the top fall lumbering back again. Dark roll'd the sympathetic waves of Forth, Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the north; With broken lyre and cheek serenely pale, TWEED ruffled half his wave to form a tear, Lo! sad ALCAJUS wanders down the vale! The other half pursued its calm career; 2 Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd at last, ARTHUR'S steep summit nodded to its base, His hopes have perish'd by the northern blast: The surl Tolbooth scarcely kept her place Npp'd in the bud by Caledonian, gales, The Tolbooth felt-for marble sometimes can, His blossoms wither as the blast prevails! On such occasions, feel as much as manO'er his lost works let classic SHEFFIELD weep; The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms May no rude hand disturb their early sleep! 2 If JEFFREY died, except within her arms: 3 Yet say! wy s d te Bd at oe Nay, last, not least, on that portentous morn, Yet say! why should the Bard at once resign t His claim to favour from the sacred Nine? The sixteenth storey, where himself was born, His patrimonial garret fell to ground, For ever startled by the mingled howl And pale Edina shuddered at the sound: Of northern wolves, that still in darkness prowl:- A Of northern wolv, that still in darness prowl Strew'd were the streets around with milk-white reams A coward brood, which mangle as they prey, By hellish instinct, athat cross their wy Flow'd all the Canongate with inky streams; Byhlls in,all ta cs tr This of his candour seem'd the sable dew, Aged or youna, the living or the dead, NTe r.in- - thes hrie mur t efd. That of his valour show'd the bloodless hue, No mercy find-these harpies must be fed.... Why dothe injured unresisting yield And all with justice deem'd the two combined Why do-the injured unresisting yield The mingled emblems of his mighty mind. The calm possession of their native field?The gled emblems of his mighty md. But Caledonia's Goddess hover'd o'er Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat, XT The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moo, E, Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to ARTHUR'S Seat? 3 he field, and saved him from the wrath of From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead, Health to immortal JEFFREY! once, in name, And straight restored it to her favourite's head: England could boast a judge almost the same: That head, with greater than magnetic power, In soul so like, so merciful, yet just, Caught it, as Danae the golden shower; Some think that Satan has resigned his trust, And, though the thickening dross will scarce refine, And given the Spirit to the world again, Augments its ore, and is itself a mine. To sentence letters as he sentenced men; "My son," she cried, "ne'er thirst for gore again, With hand less mighty, but with heart as black, Resign the pistol, and resume the pen; With voice as willing to decree the rack; O'er politics and poesy preside, Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide! As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw. For, long as Albion's heedless sons submit, Since-vell instructed in the patriot school Or Scottish taste decides on English wit, To rail at party, though a party tool, So long shall last thine unmolested reign, Who knows, if chance his patrons should restore Nor any dare to take thy name in vain. Back to the sway they forfeited before, Behold a chosen band shall aid thy plan, His scribbling toils some recompense may meet, And own thee chieftain of the critic clan. And raise this Daniel to the Judgment Seat. First in the ranks illustrious slall be seen Let JEFFRIES' shade indulge the pious hope, The travell'd Thane! Athenian Aberdeen. 4 And greeting thus, present him with a rope: HERBERT shall wieldTHoR's hammer,5 and sotmetimes, " Heir to my virtues! man of equal mind! In gratitude, thou'It praise his rugged rhymes. Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind, 1 In 1806, Messrs. Jeffrey and J.oore met at Chalk-Farm. This cord receive-for thee reserved with care, The duel was prevented by the interference of the magistracy; To yield in judgment, and at length to wear." and, on examination, the balls of the pistols, likethe courage of the combatants, were found to have evaporated. This inciHealth to great JEFFREY Heaven preserve his life, dent gave occasion to much waggery in the daily prints. 2 The Tweed here behaved with proper decorum; it would 1 o flourish on the fertile shores of Fife, have been highly reprehensible in the English half of the rivet And guard it sacred in his future wars, to have shown the-smallest symptom of apprehension. Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars - ~3 This display of sympathy ori the part of the Tolbooth (the principal prison in Edinburgh), which truly seems'to have been Can none remember that eventful day, most affected on thisoccasion; is much to be commended. It That ever glorious, almost fatal fray, was to be apprehended, that the many unhappy criminalsexecuted in the front, might have rendered the edifice more callous. She is said to be of the softer sex, because her delicacy 1 Mr. Maurice hath manufactured the component parts of a of feeling on this day was truly feminine, though, like mot ponderous quarto, upon the beauties of " Richmond Hill," and feminine impulses, perhaps a little selfish. the like-it also takes in a charming view of Turnham 4 His lordship has been much abroad, is a member ot the Green, IIammersmith, Brentford, Old and New, and the parts Athenian Society, and reviewer of ell's Topography of Troy. adj icent. 5 Mi. Herbert is a translator of Icelandic and other poetry. 2 Poor.Montgomtery! though praised by every English Re- One of the principal pieces is a " Song on the recovery of Thora' view, has been bitterly reviled by the Edinburgh. After all, IIammer-" the translation is a pleasant cLaunt in the vulgar the Bard of Sheffield is a man of considerable genius: his tongue, and ended thus."Wanderer of Switzerland" is worth a thousand "Lyrical "Instead of money and rings, Iwot, Ballads," and at least fifty "degraded Epics." The hammer's bruises were her lot; 3 Arthur's Seat, the hill which overhangs Edinburgh. Thus Odin's son his hammer got' 3>~ BUBYRON'S WORKS Smug SYDNEY a too thy bitter page shall seek, And tinge with red the female reader's cheek, And classic HALLAM,2 much renown'd for Greek. My lady skims the cream of each critique; SCOTT may perchance his name and influence lend, Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul, And paltry PI LLANS3 shall traduce his friend: Reforras each error, and refines the whole.' While gay Thalia's luckless votary, LAMBE,4 Now to the drama turn: Oh nlotley sight! As he himself was damn'd, shall try to damn. What precious scenes the wondering eye invite! Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway! Puns, and a prince within a barrel pent,2 Thy HOLLAND'S banquets shall each toil repay; And DIBnIN's nonsense, yield complete content. While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes Though now, thank Heaven! the Roscio mania's o'er,'r HOLLAND'S hirelings, and to Learning's foes. And full-grown actors are endured once more; Yet mark one caution, ere thy next Review Yet what avail their vain attempts to please, Spread its light wings of saffron and of blue, While British critics suffer scenes like these? Beware lest blundering BaouO GHAM5 destroy the sale, While REYNOLDs vents his "danmes," " poohs," and Turn beef to bannocks, cauliflowers to kail." " zounds," 3 Thus having said, the kilted goddess kist And common-place, and common sense confounds? Her son, and vanish'd in a Scottish mist.6 While KENNY'S World, just suffer'd to proceed, Illustrious HOLLAND! hard would be his lot, Proclaims the audience very kind indeed? Ilis hirelings mention'd, and himself forgot! And BEAUMONTS pilfer'd Caraiach affords HOLLAND, with HENRY PETTY at his back, A tragedy complete in all but words?4 The whipper-in and huntsman of the pack. V Who but must mourn while these are all the rage, Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House, e dearadation of our vaunted stage? Where Scotchmen feed, and critics may carouse! Heavens! is all sense of shame and talent gone? Long, long beneath that hospitable roof, Have e no living bard of merit?-none! Shall Grub-street dine, while duns are kept aloof. Awake, GEORGE COLMAN, CUMBERLAND, awake! See honest HALLAM lay aside his fork, Rina the alarum-bell, let folly quake! Resume his pen, review his lordship's work, Oh SHERIDAN! if aught can move thy pen, And, grateful to the founder of the feast, Let comedy resume her throne again Declare his landlord can translate, at least! Abjure the mummery of German schools, Dunedin! view thy children with delight,Leave new Pizarros to translating fools; They write for food, and feed because they write: Give, as thy last memorial to the age And lest, when heated with th' unusual grape, One classic Drama, and reform the stage. One classic Drama, and reform the stage. Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape, Gods! o'er those boards shall Folly rear her head Where GARRICK trod, and KEMBLE lives to tread? I The Rev. Sidney Smith, the reputed author of Peter On those shall Farce display Buffoonery's mask, Plymley's Letters, and sundry criticisms. And HOOKE conceal his heroes in a cask? 2 Mr. Hallam reviewed Payne Inight's Taste, and was ex- Shall sapient managers new scenes produce ceedingly severe on some Greek verses therein: it was not dis- o s d covered that the lines were Pindar's, till the press rendered it From CHERRY, SKEFFINGTON, and MOTHER GOOSE? impossible to cancel the critique, which still stands an everlast- While SHAXSSP.EAP&E, OTWV~ V MA&SINGER, forgot in monument of Hallam's ingenuity. TWAY MASaNGER forgot The saidHallam is incensed, because he is falsely accused, On stalls must moulder, or in closets rot? seeing that he never dineth at Ilolland House. If this be true, Lo ith what pomp the d I am sorry-not for'having said so, but on his account, as L with what pomp the daly prints proclaim understand his lordship's feasts are preferable to his composi- The rival candidates for Attic fame! tions. If he did not review Lord Hiolland's performance, I am glad. because it must have been painful to read, and irksome In grim array though LEWIS' spectres rise, to piaise it. If Mr..lallam will tell me who did review it, the Still SKEFFINGTON and GOOSE divide the prize. real namne shall find a place in the text, provided nevertheless the said name be of two orthodox musical syllables, and will And sure great SEEFFINGTON must claim our praise, come into the verse; till then, Hallarm must stand for wat of For skirtless coats and skeletons of plays a: better.Forskirtlesscoatsandskeletonsofplays 3 Pillans is a tutorat Eton. Renown'd alike; whose genius ne'er confines 4 The Hon. G. Lambe reviewed "Beresford's Miseries," Her flight to garnish GREENWOOD's gay designs; * and is moreover author of a farce enacted with much ap- Nor sleeps with "Sleeping Beauties," but anon plause at the Priory, Stanmore, and damned with great expe-auties, but anon dition at the late Theatre Covent-Garden. It was entitled In five facetious acts comes thundering on,6 Whistle for it." "Whistle for it. No.ofWhile poor John Bull, bewilder'd with the scene, 5 Mr. Brougham. in No. XXV. of the Edinburgh Review, Stares, wondering what the devil it can mean; throughout the' article concerning Don Pedro de Cavallos, has displayed more politics than policy; many of the worthy burginpes iof Eincebugho being so incensed ait the infamous 1 Certain it is. her ladyship is suspected of having displayed principles it evinces, as to have withdrawn their subscriptions. It seems that Mr. Brougham is not a Pict, as I supposed, but her matchless wit in the Edinburgh Review: however that a borderer, and his name is pronounced Broom, from Trent may be, we know from good authority that the manuscripts to Tay. Sobe it. are submitted to her perusal-no doubt for correction. 6 I ought to apologize to the worthy Deities for introducing 2 In the melo-drame of Tekeli, that heroic prince is clapt a new Goddess with short petticoats to their notice; but alas! into a barrel on the stage-a new asylum fordistressed'heroes. what was to be done? I could not-say Caledonia's Genius, it 3 All these are favourite expressions of Mr. R. and prombeing well known there is no Genius to be- found from Clack- nmannan to Caithness: yet, without supernaural agency, how inent in his Comedies, living and defunct. was Jeffrey to be saved' The "national Kelpies," etc. are 4 Mr. T. Sheridan, the new Manager of Drury-lane Theatre, too unpoetical, and'the "Brownies" and "Gude Neigh- stripped the Tragedy of Bonduca of the dialogue, and exhibI^os" (Spirits of a good disposition), refused to extricate ited the scenes as the spectacles of Caractacus. Was this him. A Goddess therefore has been called for the purpose, and great ought to be the gratitude of Jeffrey, seeing it is the only worthy of his sire, or of himself? communication he ever held,-or is likely to: hold, with any 5 Mr. Greenwood is, we believe, Scene-Painter to Drurylhing heavenly.' Lane Theatre: as such Mr. S is much indebted to him. 7 Lord H. has translated some specimens of Lope de Vega 6 Mr. S. is the illustrious author ofthe " Sleeping Beauty;" inserted in his life of the Author- both are bepraised by his and some Comedies, particularly." Maids and Bachelors urinterested qvest. Baccalaurei baculo magis quam lauro digni. ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 33 But as some hands applaud, a venal few! Talk not to us, ye starving sons of trade! kather than sleep, why John applauds it too. Of piteous ruin, which ourselves have made: Such are we now, ah! wherefore should we turn In Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask, To what our fathers were, unless to mourn? Nor think of Poverty, ecept "en masque." Degenerate Britons! are ye dead to shame, hen fr the night some lately titled as Or, kind to dulness, do ye fear to blame? Appears the beggar which his grandsire was. Well may the nobles of our present race The curtain dropp'd, the gay burletta o'er, Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face; The audience take their turn upon the floor; Well may they smile on Italy's buffoons, Now round the room the circling dow'gers sweep, And worship Catalani's pantaloons,' Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters leap: Since their own drama yields no fairer trace The first in lengthened line majestic swim, Of wit than puns, of humour than grimace. The last display the free unfetter'd limb: Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair Then let AusoNiAi'skill'd in every art, xT- Then let AuONIA, still'd in every art, Wvith art the charms which Nature could not spare; To soften manners, but corrupt the heart, To softenm iann.ers butcorut~ the. hear, These after husbands wing their eager flight, Pour her exotic follies o'er the town, Ponr her exotic- follies o'er the town, Nor leave much mystery for the nuptial night. To sanction vice and hunt decorum down: Let wedded strumpets languish o'er Deshayes, Oh! blest retreats of infamy and ease! And bless the promise which his form displays; Where, all forgotten, but the power to please, While Gayton bounds before the enraptured looks Each maid may give a loose to genial thought, Of hoary marquisses and stripling dukes: Each swain may teach new systems, or be taught: Let high-born lechers eye the lively Presle There the blithe youngster, just return'd from Spain, Twirl her light limbs that spurn the needless veil: Cuts the light pack, or calls the rattling main; Let Angiolini bare her breast of snow, The jovial caster's set, and seven's the nick, Wave the white, arm and point the pliant toe: Or-done!-a thousand on the coming trick! Collini trill her love-inspiring song, If mad with loss, existence'gins to tire, Strain her fair neck and charm the listening throng! And all your hope or wish is to expire, Raise not your scythe, suppressors of our vice! Here's POWELL'S pistol ready for your life, Reforming saints, too delicately nice! And, kinder still, a PAGET for your wife. By whose decrees, our sinful souls to save, Fit consummation of an earthly race NI Sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave, Begun in folly, ended in disgrace, And beer undrawn and beards unmown display While none but menials o'er the bed of death, Your holy reverence for the sabbath-day. Wash thy red wounds, or watchlthy wavering breath Or hail at once the patron and the pile Traduced by liars, and forgot by all, Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle! 2,-The mangled victim of a drunken brawl, Where yon proud palace, Fashion's hallow'd fane, To live like CLODIUS, and like FALKLAND fll. Spreads wide her portals for the motley train, Truth! rouse some genuine bard and guide his hand, Behold the new Petronius of the day, To drive this pestilence from out the land. The arbiter of pleasure and of play! Even I-least thinking of a thoughtless throng, There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir, I There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir, Just skill'd to know the right and choose the wrong, The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyre, - Freed at that age when Reason's shield is lost, The song fiom Italy, the step from France, ITo fight my course through Passion's countless host, The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance, Whom every path of pleasure's flower way The smile of beauty, and the flush of wine,s lured in turn, and all have le astrayFor fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and lords combine: E'e I must raise ny voice, e'en I must feel Each to his humour,-Comus all allows Such scenes, such men, destroy the public weal; Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse. tho' some kind, censorious friend will ay ____________ ___ _ _X _X' What art thou better, meddling fool, than they?" I JValdi and Catalani require little notice, for the visage of And every brother rake will smile to see the one, and the salary of the other, will enable us long to re- That miracle, a moralist in me. collect these amusing vagabonds; besides, we are still black i and blue from thesqueeze on the first night of the lady's ap- No matter-when some bard, in virtue strong, pearance in trowsers. GIFFORD perchance, shall raise the chastening song, 2 To prevent any blunder, such as mistaking a street for a Then sleep my pen for ever! and my voice man, I beg leave to state, that it is the Institution, and not the Be only heard to hail him and rejoice; Duke of that name, which is here alluded to. A gentleman with whom I am slightly acquainted, lost inthe Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise; thugh I Argyle Rooms several thousand pounds at backgammon. It is May feel the lash that virtue must appiy. but justice to the manager in this instance to say, that some degree of disapprobation was manifested. But why are the 1 Mutato nomine de te implements of gaming allowed in a place devoted to the society Fabula narratur. of both sexes. A pleasant thing for the wives and daughters 2 T knew the late Lord Falkland well. On Sunday night I of thosewho are blest or cursed with such connexions, to hear beheld him presiding at his own table, in all the honest pride the biliiard-tables rattling in one room, and the dice in an- of hospitality; onWednesdaymorning at threeo'clock, Isaw, other! This is the case I myself can testify, as a late unworthy stretched before me, all that remained of courage, feeling, and member of an institution which materially affects the mo'als a host of passions. He was a gallant and successful officer; of the higher orders, while the lower may not even moveto the his faults were the faults of a sailor-as such, Britons will forsound of a tabor and fiddle, without a chance of indictment for give them. He died like a brave man in a better cause, for had, riotous behaviour. he fallen in like manner on the deck of the frigate to which he 3 Petroniuk, " arbiter elegantiarum'" to Nero, " and a very was just appointed, his last moments would have been held ptetty fellow in his day," as Mr. Cangreve's old Bachelor saith. up by his countilmen as at example to succeeding herocs G I) 34 BYRON'S WORKS. As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals, Whose strains, the faithful echoes of her mind, From silly HAFIZ up to simple BOWLES, Leave wandering comprehension far behind,' Why should we call them from their dark abode, Though CRUSCA's bards no more our journals fill, In broad St. Giles's or in Tottenham road? Some stragglers skirmish round their columns still. Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare Last of the howling host which once was BELL'S. To scrawl in verse) from Bond-street, or the Square? MATILDA snivels yet, and HAFIZ yells; If things of ton their harmless lays indite, And MERRY'S metaphors appear anew, Most wisely doom'd to shun the public sight, Chain'd to the signature of O. P..2 What harm? in spite of every critic elf, When some brisk youth, the tenant of a stall, Sir T. may read his stanzas to himself; Employs a pen less pointed than his awl, MILES ANDREWS still his strength in couplets try, Leaves his snug shop, forsakes his store of shoes, And live in prologues, though his dramas die. St. Crispin quits, and cobbles for the Muse, Lords too are bards: such things at times befall, Heavens! how the vulgar stare! how crowds applaud! And'tis some praise in peers to write at all. How ladies read,-and literati laud! Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times, If chance some wicked wag should pass his jest, Ah! who would take their titles with their rhymes?'T is sheer ill-nature, don't the world know best? ROSCOMMON! SHEFFIELD! with your spirits fled, Genius must guide. when wits admire the rhyme, No future laurels deck a noble head; And CAPEL LOFFT 3 declares't is quite sublime. No muse will cheer, with renovating smile, Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade! The paralytic puling of CARLISLE: Swains! quit the plough, resign the useless spade: The puny school-boy and his early lay Lo! BURNS and BLOOMFIELD,4 n.y, a greater far, Men pardon, if his follies pass away; GIFFORD was born beneath an adverse star, But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse, Forsook the labours of a servile state, Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse? Stemm'd the rude storm, and triumph'd over Fate. What heterogeneous honours deck the peer! Then why no more? if Phoebus smiled on you, Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer! 2 BLOOMFIELD! why not on brother Nathan too? So dull in youth, so drivelling in his age, Him too the Mania, not the Muse, has seized; lis scenes alone had damn'd our sinking stage: Not inspiration, but a mind diseased: But managers for once cried "hold, enough!" And now no boor can seek his last abode, Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff. No common be inclosed, without an ode. Yet at their judgment let his lordship laugh, Oh! since increased refinement deigns to smile And case his volumes in congenial calf: On Britain's sons, and bless our genial isle, Yes doff that coverinagwhere nlorocco shines, Let Poesy go forth, pervade the whole, And hang a calf-skin on those recreant lines. Alike the rustic and mechanic soul: With you, ye Druids! rich in native lead, P With you, ye Druids! rich in native lead, Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong, Who daily scribble for your daily bread, Compose at once a slipper and a song; With you I war not: GIFFORD'S heavy hand handiwork peruse; Has crush'd, without remorse, your numerous band. Your sonnets sure shall please-pernaps your shoes On "all the talents" vent your venal spleen, Ma Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, ant your defence, let pity be your screen. And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! Want your defence, let pity be your screen. a Let monodies on Fox resale your crew, Let monodies on Fox regale your crew, While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And Melville's Mantle 4 prove a blanket too! nd pay for poems-when they pay for coats. One common Lethe waits each hapless bard, To the famed throng now paid the tribute due, And peace be with you!'t is your best reward. Neglected Genius! let me turn to you. Such damning fame as Dunciads only give, Come forth, Oh CAMPBELL! 6 give thy talents scope Could bid your lines beyond a mory.ing live; Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope? Could bid your lines beyond a morning live; I But now at once your fleeting labours close, And thou, meodious ROGERS rise at last, Recall the oleasin, memory of the past; With names of greater note in blest repose. Recall the pleasing memory of the past; Far be't from me unkindly to upbraid 1 This lovely little Jessica, the daughter of the noted Jew The lovely RosA's prose in masquerade, K, seems to be a follower ol the Della Crusca School, ~~____X__ _______________.-_ _ *and has published two volumes of very respectable absurdities I Whatwould bethesentents of the PersianAnacreonin rhyme, as times go; besides sundry novels in the style of the I What would e the sentimendidts of the Persian Anacreon, first edition of the Monk. Hfi. could he rise t'roen his splendid sepulchre. at Sieeraz, 2 These are the signatures of various worthies who figure where he reposes wi.h Ferdousi and Sadi, the Oriental Homer he eta dpartments of the newspapers. and Catullus, and behold his name assumed by one Stott of 3 e poel ft, the enas of hoemak ner s and Dromore, the most impudent and execrable of literary poach- pPreface-writer general to distress'd versemen; a kind of gratis oera for the daily prints. accoucheur to those who wish to be delivered of rhyme, but 2 The Earl of Carlisle has lately published an eighteen-penny do not know how to bring it forth. pamnphlet on the state of the stage, and offers his plan for4 See \athaniel Bloomfield's ode, elegy, or whatever he or building a new theatre: it is to be hoped his lordship will be any one else chooses to call it, on the inclosure of "Honingpermitted to bring forward any thing lor the stage, except his ton Green." own tragedies. 5 Vide "Recollections of a Weaver in the Moorlands ot 3'Doff that lion's hide, Staffordshire." And hang a calf-skin on those recreant iimbs." 6 It would be superfluous to recall to the mind of the reades Shaks. KingJohn. the author of " The Pleasures of Memory," and "The PleasLoid C. s works, most resplendently bound, form a conspicu- ures of Hopte," the most beautiful didactic poems in our lan. OBs ornament to his book-shelves: guage, if we except Pope's Essay on Man: but so many "The rest is all but leather and prunella." poetasters have started up, that even the nameo of Campbell I ~Melvills's Mantle, a parody on "Elijah's Mantle," a poem. and Rogers are become strange. ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 35 Arise! let blest remembrance still inspire, Yet truth sometimes will lend her noblest fires, And strike to wonted tones thy hallow'd lyre! And decorate the verse herself inspires: Restore Apollo to his vacant throne, This fact in virtue's name let CRABEE attest — Assert thy country's honour and thine own. Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best. What! must deserted Poesy still weep And here let SH`EE' and genius find a place. Where her last hopes with pious COWPER sleep? Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace; Unless, perchance, from his cole bier she turns, To guide whose hand the sister arts combine, To deck the turf that wraps her nmnstrel, BURNS! And trace the poet's or the painter's line; No! though contempt hath mark'd the spurious brood, Whose magic touch can bid the canvas glow, The race who rhyme from folly, or for food; Or pour the easy rhyme's harmonious flow, Yet still some genuine sons,'t is her's to boast, While honours doubly merited attend Who, least affecting, still effect the most; The poet's rival, but the painter's friend. Feel as they write, and write but as they feel- Blest is the manwho dares approach the bower Bear witness, GIFFORD, SOTHEBY, MACNEI.1 Where deslt the Muses at their natal hour "Whyslumbers GIFsFORD?" once was ask'd in vain:2 Whose steps have pregs'd, whose eye has marked ala: Why slumbers GIFFORD? let us ask again: The clime that nursed the sons of song and war, Are there no follies for his pen to purge? The scenes which glory still must hover o'er, Are there no fools whose backs demand the scourge? Her place of birth, her own Achaian shore: Are there no sins for Satire's Bard to greet? But doubly blest is he whose heart expands Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street? With hallow'd feelings for those classic lands; Shall peers or princes tread Pollution's path, Who rends the veil of ages long gone by, And'scape alike the law's and Muse's wrath? And views the remnants with a poet's eye! Nor blaze with guilty glare through future time, WRIGT! 2't was thy happy lot at once to view Eternal beacons of consummate crime? Those shores of glory, and to sing them too; Arouse thee, GIFFORD! be thy promise elaim'd, And sure no common muse inspired thy pen Make bad men better, or at least ashamed. To hail the land of gods and godlike men. Unhappy WHITE! while life was in its spring, And you) associate Bards! 3 who snatch'd to hgl.t And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, Those gems too long withheld from modern sight; The spoiler came, and all thy,promise fair Whose mingling taste combined to cull the wreath Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. Where Attic flowers Aonian odours breathe, Oh! what a noble heart was here undone, And all their renovated fragrance flung, When Science' self destroy'd her favourite son! To grace the beauties, of your native tongue, Yes! she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, Now let those minds that nobly could transfuse She sow'd the seeds, but death has reap'd the fruit. The glorious spirit of the Grecian muse,'T was thine own genius gave the final blow, Though soft the echo, scorn a borrow'd tone, And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low: Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own. So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, Let these, or such as these, with just applause, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Restore the Muse's violated laws: View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, But not in flimsy Darwin's pompous chime, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart: That mighty master ot unmeaning rhyme; Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel WVhose gilded cymbals, more adorn'd than clear, He nursed the pinion which impell'd the steel, The eye delighted, but fatigued the ear, While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest In show the simple lyre could once surpass, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. But now worn down, appear in native brass; There be who say in these enlighten'd days While all his train of hovering sylphs around, That splendid lies are all the poet's praise; Evaporate in similies and sound: That strain'd invention, ever on the wing, Him let them shun, ith him let tinsel die Alone impels the modern bard to sing: Alone impels the modern bard to sing: False glare attracts, but more offends the eye. 4'T is true that all who rhyme, nay, all who write, Yet let them not to vulgar WoRDswo RTH stoop, Shrink from that fatal word to genius-trite; The meanest object of the lowly group, Whose verse, of all but childish prattle void, I Gifford, author of the Baviad and Maviad, the firstsatires Seems blessed harmony to LAMBE and LLOYD:. of the day, and translator of.Jlvenol. Sotheby, translator of Wieland's Oberon and Virgil's Let them-but hold, my muse, nordare to teach Georgics, and author of Saul, an epic poem. A strain far, far beyond thy humble reach: Jlacneil, whose poems are deservedly popular: particularly "Scotland's Scaith, or the Waes of War," of which ten 1 Mr. Shee, author of "Rhymes on Art," and "Elements thousand copies were sold in one month. of Art." 2 Mr. Gifflrdpromised publicly that the Baviad and Meviad 2 Mr. Wright, late Consul-General for the Seven Islands, is should not be his last original works: let him remember, author of a very beautiful poem just published: it is entitle " mox in reluctantes dracones." "Horae Ionicw.," and is descriptive of the Isles and the adja: Henry Kirke tWhitedied at Cambridge, in October 1806, cent coast of Greece. in consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies, 3 The translators of the Anthology have since publsheo that would have matured a mind which disease and poverty separate poems, which evince genius that only requires oppor. could not impair, and which Death itself destroyed rather than tunity to attain eminence. subdued. His poems abound in such beauties as must impress 4 The neglect of the " Botanic Garden' is some proof of the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period was returning taste. the scenery is its sole recommendation. allotted to talents which would have dignified even the sacred 5 Messrs. Lambe and Lloyd,.bt most.gnohle followers a functions he was lestined to assume. Southey and Co. 36 BYRON'S WORKS. The native genius with their feeling given Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope Will point the path, and peal their notes to heaven. To conquer ages, and wtih time to cope? New eras spread their wings, new nations rise, And thou, too, SCOTT!' resign to minstrels rude And other victors fill the applauding skies: The wilder slogan of a Border feud: A few brief generations fleet along, Let others spin their meagre lines for hire- Whose sons forget the poet and his song: Enough for genius if itself inspire! E'en now what once-loved minstrels scarce may clam Let Southey sing, although his teeming muse, The transient mention of a dubious name! Prolific every string,.be too profuse; When Fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast, Let simple WORDSWORTH chime his childish verse, Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last, And brother COLERIDGE lull the babe at nurse; And glory, like the phoenix midst her fires, Let spectre-mongering LEWIS aim at most Exhales her odours, blazes and expires. To rouse the galleries, or to raise a ghost; Let MOORE be lewd; let'STRANGFORD steal from Shall hoary Granta call her sable sons, MOORE, Expert in science, more expert at puns? And swear that CAMOENS sang such notes of yore: Shall these approach the muse? ah, no! she flies, Let HAYLEY hobble on, MONTGOMERY rave, And even spurns the great Seatonian prize, And godly GRAHAME chaunt the stupid stave; Though printers condescend the press to soil Let sonnetteering BOWLEs his strains refine, With rhyme by HOARE, and epic blank by HovLE: And whine and whimper to the fourteenth line; Not him whose page, if still upheld by whist, Let STOTT, CARLISLE,2 MATILDA, and the rest Requires no sacred theme to bid us'list. Of Grub-street, and of Grosvenor-Place the best, Ye, who in Granta's honours would surpass, Scrawl on, till death release us from the strain, Must mount her Pegasus, a full-grown assOr common sense assert her rights again; A foal well worthy of her ancient dam, But thou, with powers that mock the aid of praise, Whose Helicon is duller than her Cam. Should'st leave to humbler bards ignoble lays: There CLAR:E, still striving piteously " to please," Thy country's voice, the voice of all the Nine, Forgetting doggrel leads not to degrees, Demand a hallow'd harp-that harp is thine. A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon, Say! will not Caledonia's annals yield A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon, The glorious record of some nobler field, Condemn'd to drudge the meanest of the mean, Than the vile foray of a plundering clan, And furnish falsehoods for a magazine, Whose proudest deeds disgrace the name of man? Devotes to scandal his congenial mindOr Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food Himself a living libel on mankind.3 For outlaw'd Sherwood's tales of Robin Hood? Oh, dark asylum of a Vandal race! 4 Scotland! still proudly claim thy native bard, At once the boast of learning, and disgrace; And be thy praise his first, his best reward! So sunk in dulness and so lost in shame, Yet not with thee alone his name should live, That SMYTHE and HODGSON 5 scarce redeem thy faint But own the vast renown a world can give; But where fair Isis rolls her purer wave, Be known, perchance, when Albion is no more, The partial muse delighted ioves to lave; And tell the tale of what she was before; On her green banks a greener wreath is wove,'To future times her faded fame recall, To crown the bards'that haunt her classic grove, And saye her glory, though his country fall. Where RICHARDS wakes a genuine poet's fires, And modern Britons justly praise their sires.6 I By the bye, I hope that in Mr. Scott's next poem his hero or heroine will be less addicted to "gramarye," and more to For me, who thus unask'd have dared to tell grammar, than the Lady of the Lay, and her bravo, William My country what her sons should know too well, of Deloraine. 2 It may be asked why I have censured the Earl of Carlisle, Zeal for her honour bade me here engage my guardian and relative, to whom I dedicated a volume of The host of idiots that infest her age. puerile poems a few years ago. The guardianship was nominal, at least as far as I have been able to discover; the relationship-I cannot help, and am very sorry -for it;-but as his lordship seemed to forget it on a very essential occasion to me, I "Tollere humo, victorque virum volitare per ora.' I shall not burthen my memory with the recollection. I do not Virgil. think that personal differences sanction the unjust condemna- 2 The "Games of Hoyle," well known to the votaries or tion of abrother scribbler; but I see no reason why theyshould whist, chess, etc., are not to be superseded by the vagaries oi act as a preventive, when the author, noble or ignoble, has his poetical namesake, whose poem comprised, as expressly f)r a series of years beguiled a "discerning public" (as the stated in the advertisement, all the "Plagues of Egypt." advertisements have it) with divers reams of most orthodox, 3 This person, who has lately betrayed the most rapid sympimperial nonsense. Besides, I do not step aside to vituperate toms of confirmed authorship, is writer of a poem denoninated the Earl; no-his works come fairly in review with those of the "Art of Pleasing," as "'lucus a non lucendo," containing other patrician literati. If, before I escaped from my teens, 1 little pleasantry, and less poetry. He also acts as monthly sail any thing in favour of hislordship's paper books, it was in stipendiary and collector of calumnies for the Satirist. If this tlhe way of dutiful dedication, and more trom the advice of unfortunate young man would exchange the magazines for the,thers than my own judgment, and I seize thefirst opportunity mathematics, and endeavour to take a decent degree in' hi ofpronoulcingmysincererecantation. Ihaveheardthatsome university, it might eventually prove more serviceable than persons conceive me to be under obligations to Lord Carlisle: his present salary. if so I sha'l be most particularly happy to learn what they 4 "Into Cambridgeshire the Emperor Probus transported a are, and when conferred, that they may he duly appreciated considerable body of Vandlals."-Gibbon's jecline and Foll, rpnd publicly acknowledged. What I have humbly advanced.and publicly acknowledn edd. What ig have humy ed to supp, page 83, vol. 2. There is no reason to doubt the truth of this its 1an1 opinion on his printed things, I am prepared to support, assertion-the breed is still in high perfection. if necessary. by qllotatiois from elegies, eulogies, odes, epi ses p odes, and certain facetious and dainty tragedies, bearing his 5'ibis gentleman's name reques no praise the man wnsi naime and mark: in translation displays unquestionable genius, may well ibe udedmiWhat can enoble knaves, orfea, or cowards' Cxpected to excel in original composition, of which it is to te What can ennoble knaves, or fools, or cowards hoped we shall soon see a splendid specimen. Alas! not all the blood of all the 1towards!" 6 The " Aboriginal Britons," an excellent poem by Rich;o si.ais Jo'S Amnen ards. ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 37 So just applause her honour'd name shall lose, My voice was heard again, though not so loud; As first in freedom, dearest to the muse. My page, though nameless, never disavow'd, Oh, would thy bards but emulate thy fame, And now at once I tear the veil away: And rise more worthy, Albion, of thy name! Cheer on the pack! the quarry stands at bay, What Athens was in science, Rome in power, Unscared by all the din of MELBOURNE-house, What Tyre appear'd in her meridian hour, By LAMBE'S resentment, or by HOL LAND'S spouse'T is thine at once, fair Albion, to have been, By JEFFREY'S harmless pistol, HALLAM'S rage, Earth's chief dictatress, Ocean's mighty queen: EDINA'S brawny sons and brimstone page. But Rome decay'd, and Athens strew'd the plain, Our men in buckram shall have blows enough, And Tyre's proud.piers lie shatter'd in the main: And feel they too are " penetrable stuff:" Like these thy strength may sink in ruin hurl'd, And though I hope not hence unscathed to go, And Britain fall, the bulwark of the world. Who conquers me shall find a stubborn foe. But let me cease, and dread Cassandra's fate, The time hath been, when no harsh sound would fal With warning, ever seoff'd at,'till too late; From lips that now may seem imbued with gall, To themes less lofty still my lay confine, Nor fbols nor follies tempt me to despise And urge thy bards to gain a name like thine. The meanest thing that crawl'd beneath my eyes: Then, hapless Britain! be thy rulers blest, Then, hapless Britain! be thy rulers blest, But now, so callous grown, so changed since youtlh, he senate's oracles, the people's jest've learn'd to think and sternly speak the truth; the senate's oracles, the people's jest!pn Still hear thy motley orators dispense Learn'd to deride the critic's starch decree, The flowers of rhetoric, though not of sense, And break him on the wheel he meant for me; While CANNING'S colleagues hate him for his wit, spurn the rod a scribbler bids me kiss, And old dame PORTLAND 1 fills the place of PITT. Nor care if courts and crowds applaud or his Nay, more, though all my rival rhymesters frown, Yet once again adieu! ere this the sail poetaster down; I too can hunt a poetaster down; That wafts me hence is shivering in the gale:, armd in proo the gauntlet castat once And-Afric's coast and Calpe's2 adverse height, ToScotchmarauder,andtoSouthern dunce. And Stamboul's 3 minarets must greet my sight: Thus much I've dared to do; how far my lay Thence shall I stray through beauty's 4 native clime, Hath wrong'd these righteous times, let others say; Where Kaff is clad in rocks, and crown'd with snows This let the world, which knows not how to spare, ~~~~~~~sublime. -Yet rarely blames unjustly, now declare. But should I back return, no letter'd rage Shall drag my commonplace book on the stage: Let vain VALENTIA 6 rival luckless CARR, nrrd equal him whose work he sought to mar; POSTSCRIPT.. Let ABERDEEN and ELGIN, still pursue the shade of fame through regions of virtu; ~T0 ~ i i J I-' n^I HAVE been informed, since the present edition went Waste useless thousands on their Phidian freaks, i i Misshapen monuments an aim tito the press, that my trusty and well-beloved cousins, Misshapen monuments and maim'd antiques; And make their grand saloons a general mart the Edinburgh Reviewers, are preparing a most veheFor all the mutilated blocks of art: - I For all the mutilated blocks of art: ment critique on my poor, gentle, unresisting muse, Of Dardan tours let dilettanti tell, whom they have already so bedeviled with their ungodly I leave topography to classic GELL; ribaldry: O~~~~~~~~~ X ~~~" Tanteene animis ccelestibus ire!" And, quite content, no more shall interpose To stun mankind with poesy or prose. I suppose I must say of JEFFREY as Sir ANDREW n i withoesyorposeAGUECHEEK saith, " an I had known he was so cunThus far I've held my undisturb'd career, ning of fence, I had seen him damned ere I had fought Prepared for rancour, steel'd'gainst selfish fear: him." What a pity it is that I shall be beyond the BosThis thing of rhyme I neler disdain'd to own- phorus before the next number has passed the Tweed. Though not obtrusive, yet not quite unknown: But yet I hope to light my pipe with it in Persia. My northern friends-have accused me' with justice, of I A friend of mine being asked why his Grace of P. was, h j likened to an old woman? replied, " he supposed it was be- personalty towards their greatliterary Anthropophagus, cause he was past bearing." JEFFREY: but what else was to be done with him and 2 Calpe is the ancient name of Gibraltar. his dirty pack, who feed " by lying and slandering," and 3 Stamboul is the Turkish word for Constantinople. 4 Georgia, remarkable for the beauty of its inhabitants. slake their thirst by "evil-speaking?" I have adduced 5 MountCaucasus. facts already well known, and of Jeffrey's mind I have t Lord Valentia (whose tremendous travels are forthcom- stated my free opinion; nor has he thence sustained ing, with due decorations, graphical, topographical, and typo- a ur what scavener wasever soiled bybein graphical) deposed, on Sir John Carr's unlucky suit, that wt w s er s od by Dubois' satire prevented his purchase of the "Stranger in pelted with mud? It may be said that I quit England Ireland."-Oh fie, my Lord! has your lordship no more feel- because I have censured there " persons of honour and ing for a fellow-tourist? but "two of a trade," they say, etc. wit about town- " but I am coming back again, and 7 Lord Elgin would fain persuade us that all the figures, with and without noses, in his stone-shop, are the work of their vengeance will keep hot till my return. Those Phidias! "CredatJudseus." who know me can testify that my motives tbr eaving 8 Mr. Gell's Topography of Troy and Ithaca cannot fail England are very different from fears, literary or pelto ensure the approbation of every man possessed of classical ona thos who do not may one day be convinced. taste, as well for the information Mr. G. conveys to the mind of the reader, as for the abiJity and research the respective works display 1 Published to the Second Editior 38 BYRON'S WORKS. Since the Publication of this thing, my name has not with him, treated me with kindness when a boy, and been concealed; I have been mostly in London, ready whatever he may say or do, " pour on, I will endure." to answer for my transgressions, and in daily expecta- I have nothing further to add, save a general note o tion of sundry cartels; but, alas! "The age of chiv- thanksgiving to readers, purchasers, and publisher; and, alry is over;" or, in the vulgar tongue, there is no in the words of SCOTT, I wish spirit now-a-days. "To a. and each a fair good night, There is a youth yclept Hewson Clarke (subaudi, And rosy dreams and slumbers light." Esq.), a sizer of Emanuel College, and I believe a denizen of Berwick-upon-Tweed, whom I have introduced Thefollowing Lnes were written by Mr. FTZGERALD, in these pages to muchbetter company than he has been a Cpy of NGLISHBARDS AND SCOTCH RE accustomed to meet: he is, notwithstanding, a very sad VIEWERS dog, and, for no reason that I can discover, except a I find Lord Byron scorns my musepersonal quarrel with a bear, kept by me at Cambridge Our fas are ill ar to sit for a fellowship, and whom the jealousy of his Hs erse is I can't ab His verse is safe-I can't abuse rinity contemporaries prevented from success, has been Those lines I never read. abusing me, and, what is worse, the defenceless innocent W. F. F. above mentioned, in the Satirist, for one year and some __ months. I am utterly unconscious of having givenhim His Lorsh ccidtally met with the Copy, and su any provocation; indeed I am guiltless of having heard V` — - -'joined the following pungent Reply:his name, till it was coupled with the Satirist. He has, therefore, no reason to complain, and I dare say that, What s writ on me, cried Fitz, - never read;ike air Fretful Plagiary, he is rather pleasedthan other- What's wrote by thee, dear Fitz, none will indeed. wise. I have now mentioned all who have done me the The case stands simply thus, then, honest Fitz. — honour to notice me and mine, that is, my bear and my Thou and thine enemies are fairly quits, book, except the editor of the Satirist, who, it seems, Or rather would be, if, for time to come, is a gentleman. God wot! I wish he could impart a lit. They luckily were deaf, or thou wert dumbtie of his gentility to his subordinate scribblers. I hear But, to their ens, while scribblers add their tongues,' that Mr. JERNINGHAM is about to take up the cudgels The waiter only can escape their lungs. for his Maecenas, Lord Carlisle: I hope not; he was one for his Mcenas, Lord Carlisle: I hope not he was o 1 Mr. Fitzgerald is in the habit of reciting his own poetry of the few who, in the very short intercourse I had -See note to English Bards, p. 26. A ROMAUNT. L'univers est une espece de livre, dont on n'a lu que la premierepage, quand on n'a vu que sons pays J'en ai feuillet6 un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvees Bgalementmauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point 6et infructueux. Je haissais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai v6cu, m'ont r6concilie avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tire d'autre ben6fice de mes voyages que celui-l, je n'on regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues. LE COSMOPOLITE. ~>KPREFACE. Harold is the child of imagination, for the purpose I have stated. In some very trivial particulars, and the A merely local, there might be grounds for such a noti, ~i: THE following poem was written, for the most part, but in the main points, I should hope, none whatever. amidst the scenes which it attempts to describe. It It is almost superfluous to mention that the appc.awas begun in Albania; and the parts relative to Spain tion "Childe," as "Childe Waters," "Childe Chiland Portugal were composed from the author's obser- ders," etc., is used as more consonant with the old strucvations in those countries. Thus much it may be ne- ture of versification which I have adopted. The " Good cessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. Night," in the beginning of the first canto, was sugThe scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, gested by "Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in the BorPortugal, Epirus,' Acarnania, and Greece. There der Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott. for the present the poem stops: its reception will With the different poems which have been published determine whether the author may venture to conduct on Spanish subjects, there may be found some slight his readers to the capital of the East, through Ionia and coincidence in the first part, which treats of the PeninPhrygia: these two cantos are merely experimental. sula, but it can only be casual; as, with the exception A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of this poem giving some connexion to the piece; which, however, was written in the Levant. makes no pretension to regularity. It has been sug- The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most gested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a hign successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie ~alue, that in this fictitious character, "Childe Harold," makes the following observation: "Not long ago I I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in,personage: this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim- which I propose to give full scope to my inclina'ion, I 0 Vbb'~ - -- — ~~ PREFACE TO CHILDEI HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 39 aid be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or senti- more and express less, bm he never was intended as an mental, tender or satirical, as the'humour stnKes me; example, further than to snow that early perversion of for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted, mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and admits equally of all these kinds of composition."l — disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by of nature, and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the example of some in the highest order of Italian the most powerful of all excitements), are lost on a soul poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar so constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded variations in the following composition; satisfied that, with the poem, this character would have deepened as if they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the lie drew to the close; for the outline which I once execution, rather than in the design sanctioned by the meant to fill up for him, was, with some exceptions, practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie. the sketch of a modern Timon, perhaps a poetical Zeluco. ADDITION TO THE PREFACE. I have now waited till almost all our periodical journals have distributed their usual portion of criticism. TO IANTHE. To the justice of the generality of their criticisms I St ~~~~b in ~ NOT in those climes where I have late been straying have nothing to object; it would ill become, me to r5t~~~~~~.'.Tho' beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, when Not in those visions to the heart displayin perhaps, if they had been less kind, they had been moree ony da'd Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best th, in th fancy see Hath aught like thee, in truth or fancy seem'd: thanks for their liberality, on one point alone shall I inly seek Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek venture an observation. Amongst the many objections Topaintthosecharmswhicvariedtheybeam'dS, y To paint those charms which varied as they beam'djustly urged to the very indifferent character of the To such as see thee not my words were weak "vagrant Childe" (whom, notwithstanding many hints To those who gaze on thee what language could they to the contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious per- spek sonage), it has been stated that, besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as the times of the knights Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, were times of love, honour, and so forth. Now, it so Nor unbescem the promise of thy spring, happens, that the good old times, when l'amour du As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, bon vieux temps, I'amour antique" flourished, were the Love's image upon earth without his wing, most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who And guileless beyond hope's imagining! have any doubts on this subject, may codsult St. Palaye, And surely she who nrw so bondly rears passim, and more particularly vol. ii. page 69. The Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening, vows of chivalry were no better kept than any other Beholds the rainbow of her future years, vows whatsoever, and the songs of the Troubadours Before whose heavenly l.t:cs all sorrow disappears. were not more decent, and certainly were much less -'c~ n ~-.3 ~ r ^ nYouno Peri of the West!-'tis well for me refined, than those of Ovid.-The "Cours d'amour of te W i', ~. ~. J~.,~ ~~ My years already doubly number thine; parlements d'amour ou de courtoisie et de gentilesse," My years aea duy n e thine My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee, had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness.- y lvele ss eye unve ay gae n the And safely view thy ripening beauties shine; See Roland on the same subject with St. Palaye.- Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline, Whatever other objection may be urged to that most Happy, I ne'er shall see them dec uaaeprng Cid Harold h wasso. far Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed, unamiable personage, Childe Harold, he was so far Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign perfectly knightly in his attributes-" No waiter, but acapethe doom te eyes assign kniht templar.'-By the To those whose admiration shall succeed, knight templar."~ —By the bye, I fear that Sir Tristram d STir L t ee no be tn t s l But mix'd with pangs to love's even loveliest hours deand Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, " creed. although very poetical personages and true knights "sans peur," though not " sans reproche."-If the Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle's, story of the institution of the " Garter" be not a fable, Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, the knights of that order have for severalcenturies borne Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indifferent Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, regretted that its days are over, though Marie Antoinette Could I to thee be ever more than friend: was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honours This much, dear maid, accord; nor question why lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed. To one so young, my strain I would commend, Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend. Joseph Banks (the most chaste and celebrated of anSuch is thy name'with this my verse entwined; cient and modern times), few exceptions will be found ameith this my verse entwined; to this statement, and I fear a little investigation will And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast teach us not to regret those monstrous mummeries of On Harold's pae, anthe'shere enshrined the middle ages. Shall thus he first beheld, forgotten last: I now leave "Childe Harold" to live h's day, such My days once numer'd, should this homage pas as he is, it had been more agreeable, and certainly Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It had Of him who hai'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him do Such is the -most my memory may desire Though more than hope can clarm. could friendtllu 1 Beattie's Letters. 2 The Rovers.-J~nti-jacobin. less require? 40 BYRON'S WORKS. VI. C THILDE HTAROLD'S And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, And from his fellow bacchanals would flee; P I G IR I MI A G E. -'T is said,-at times the sullen tear would start, But pride congeal'd the drop within his ee: Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie, And from his native land resolv'd to go, ~A~ RODAUKN~T. ^And visit scorching climes beyond the sea; With pleasure drugg'd he almost long'd for woe, And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades CANTO I. below. VII. The Childe departed from his father's hall: OH, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, vt a v Muse! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will It ws a vst nd enele ll So old, it seemed only not to fall, Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth, Yet strength was illar in each massy aisle. X,., i,Yet strength was pillar'd m each massy aisle. Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill: -d to us Monastic dome! condemn'd to uses vile! Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill;here Superstitiononce had made her den Where Superstition once had made her den Yes! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long-deserted shrine,' Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile, Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still; And monks miht deem their time was come agen Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine, Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine, If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. Io grace so plain a tale-this lowly lay of mine. VIII.,e i An isI. t d, Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood, Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, isl t d a y Strange pangswould flash along Childe Harold'sbrow, Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight; A i t m As if the memory of some deadly feud But spent his days in riot most uncouth, Or disappointed psion lurk belo And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of night. But this none knew nor haply cared to know; Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, For his was not that open, artless soul, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee; Sore given to revel and ungodly glee; That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow, Few earthly things found favour in his sight souht he friend to counsel or condole Save concubines and carnal corpanic, ave concubines and caral companiehate'er his grief mote be, which he could not contr.l And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. ~~~~~~~III.~ ~IX. And none did love him-though to hall and bower Childe Harold was he hight:-but whence his name He gather'd revellers from far and near, And lineage long, it suits me not to say; He knew them flatterers of the festal hour; Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, The heartless parasites of present cheer. And had been glorious in another day: Yea, none did love him-not his lemans dearBut one sad losel soils a name for aye, But pomp and power alone are woman's care, However mighty in the olden time; And where these are light Eros finds a fere; Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, And Mammonwins his waywhere seraphs mightdespair. Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. X. IV. -~IV. Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot, Cnilde Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, Though parting from that mother he did shun; Disporting there like any other fly; A sister whom he loved, but saw her not Nor deer'd before his little day was done, Before his weary pilgrimage begun: One blast might chill him into misery. If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. But long ore scarce a third of his passed by, Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel; Worse than adversity the Childe befell; Ye who have known what't is to dote upon He felt the fulness of satiety: A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. Wbich seem'd to him more lone than eremite's sad cell. XI. V. His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, For he through sin's long labyrinth had run, The laughing dames in whom he did delight, Nor made atonement when he did amiss, Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands, Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one, Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, And that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his. And long had fed his youthful appetite; Ah, happy she! to'scape from him whose kiss His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine, Ilad been pollution unto aught so chaste; And all that mote to luxury invite, Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss, W ithout a sigh he left, to cross the brine, And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste, And traverse Paynim shoreia, s.l pass eaith's cern *r calm domestic uea ca Wd ewr deign'd to taste. in. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 41 XII. 5. The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew,'My father bless'd me fervently, As glad to waft him from his native home; Yet did not much complain; And fast the white rocks faded from his view, But sorely will my mother sigh And soon were lost in circumambient foam: Till I come back again.'And then, it may be, of his wish to roam "Enough, enough, my little lad! Repented he, but in his bosom slept Such tears become thine eye; The silent thought, nor from his lips did come If I thy guileless bosom had, One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, Mine own would not be dry. And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. XIII. 6. But when the sun was sinking in the sea, " Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, He seized his harp, which he at times could string, Why dost thou look so pale? And strike, albeit with untaught melody, Or dost thou dread a French foeman? When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: Or shiver at the gale?"And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, i'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, But thinking on an absent wife And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Will blanch a faitlful cheek. Thus to the elements he pour'd his last " Good Night." 1. 7. " ADIEU, adieu!i my native shore'e.My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, ADIEU, adieu!. my nativeshore Along the bordering lake Fades o'er the waters blue; Along the borderig lake, The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And when they on their father call, What answershall she make?'And shrieks the wild sea-mew.. aEnouah enough my yeoman good,. Yon sun that sets upon the sea eno, my y n We follow in his fligl:; Thy grief let none gainsay, Farewell awhile to him and thee, But I, who am of lighter mood, My native land-Good Nightilllauh to flee aay. 2. 8. A few short hours and he will rise "For who would trust the seeming sighs To give the morrow birth; Of wife or paramour? And I shall hail the main and skies, Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes But not my mother earth. We late saw streaming o'er. Deserted is my own good hall, For pleasures past I do not grieve, Its hearth is desolate; Nor perils gathering near; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; My greatest grief is that I leave My dog howls at the gate. No thing that claims a tear. S. 9. "Come hither, hither, my little page! RAnd now I'm in the world alone, Why dost thou weep and wail? Upon the wide, wide sea: Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, But why should I for others groan, Or tremble at the gale? When none will sigh for me? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Perchance my dog will whine in vain Our ship is swift and strong: Till fed by stranger hands; Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly Bt long ere I come back again, More merrily along." He'd tear me where he stands. 4. 10.'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll hig ith thee, my bark'll swiftly I fear not wave nor wind; Athwart the foaming brine; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Nor care what land thou ear't Am sorrowful in mind; So not again to mine. For I have from my father gone, Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves A mother whom I love, And when you fail my sight, And have no friend, save these alone, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves I But thee-and one above. My natve land-Good Night!" 11 42 BYRON'S WORKS. XIV. XX. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay. And frequent turn to linger as you go, Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, New shores descried make every bosom gay; And rest ye at " our Lady's house of woe; 2 And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, Where frugal monks their little relics show, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep, And sundry legends to the stranger tell: His fabled golden tribute bent to pay; Here impious men have punished been, and lo! And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, And steer'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap. In hope to merit heaven by making earth ahell. XV. XXI. Oh! Christ! it is a goodly sight to see And here and there, as up the crags you spring, WhatHeaven hath done for this delicious land! Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path: What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! Yet deem not these devotion's offeringWhat goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! These are memorials frail of murderous wrath: But man would mar them with an impious hand: For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife,'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath; With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life * 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 splendour 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 Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword When wanton wealth her mightiest deeds hath done, ro save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. Meek peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. XVII. XXIII. But whoso entereth within this town, Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, Beneath yon mountain's ever-beauteous brow: Disconsolate will wander up and down, But now, as if a' thing unblest by man,'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee; Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou! For hut and palace show like filthily: Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow The dingy denizens are reared in dirt; To halls deserted, portals gaping wide' Ne personage of high or mean degree Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied; Tlough shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd, Swept into wrecks anon by time's ungentle tide! unhurt. XXIV. XVIII. XXIV. Poor, paltry slaves! yet born'midst noblest scenes- Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened 4 Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men? Oh dome displeasing unto British eye! Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes With diadem hight foolscap, lo! a fiend, In variegated maze of mount and glen. A little fiend that scoffs incessantly, Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, open, There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by To follow half on which the eye dilates, Is side is hung a seal and sable scroll,'through views more dazzling unto mortal ken Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry, Than those whereof such things the bard relates, And sundry sigatures adorn the roll, Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates? Whereat the urchin points and laughs with all his soul. XIX. XXV. The horrid crags, by toppling convent c"owtn'd, Convention is the dwarfish demon styled The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome: The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must wee-, And turned a nation's shallow joy to gloom. The tende' azure of the unruffleddeep,. - Here folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume, The orange tints lhat gild the greenest bough, And policy regain'd what arms had lost: The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom! The vine on high, the willow branch below, Woe to the conquering, not the conquer'd host, Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. Since baffltd triunph dro-ros on Lusitania's cast CHILIE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 43 XXVI. XXXII. And ever since that martial synod met, Where Lusitanla and her sister meet, Britannia sickens, Cintra!- at thy name; Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide? And folks inx office at the mention fret, Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame. Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide? How will posterity the deed proclaim! 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 coming Rise like the rocks that partHispania's land frorn Gaul: year? XXXIII. XXVII. But these between a silver streamlet glides, So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, Did take his way in solitary guise: Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee, Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook, More restless than the swallow in the skies: And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, Though here awhile he learn'd to moralize, That peaceful still'twixt bitterest foemen flow; For meditation fix'd at times on him; For proud each peasant as the noblest duke: And conscious reason whisper'd to despise Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know His early youth, mispent in maddest whim;'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low.6 But as he gazed on truth, his aching eyes grew dim. XXXIV. XXVIII. But, ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd, To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever quits X 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. Whilome upon his banks did legions throng Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal Of Moor and knight, in mailed splendour drest: Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage; Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the strong; And o'er him many changing scenes must roll The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts oppress'd. )r he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage. XXXV. 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 Lusian's 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 gore?' And mass and revel were alternate seen; Where are those bloody banners which of yore Lordlings and freeres-ill-sorted fry I ween! Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, But here the Babylonian whore hath built And drove at last the spoilers to their shore? A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' waiL And bow the knee to pomp that loves to varnish guilt. XXXVI. XXX. Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale' O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, Ah! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate! (Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race! ) When granite moulders and when records fail, Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place. Pride! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate, Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, See how the mighty shrink into a song! And marvel men should quit their easy chair, Can volume, pillar, pile, preserve thee great? The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, Or must thou trust tradition's simple tongue, Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air, When flattery sleeps with thee, and history does thee And life, that bloated ease can never hope to share. wrong? XXxi. XXXVII. More bleak to view the hills at length recede, Awake! ye sons of Spain! awake!' advance! And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend: Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries, Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed! But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies. Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader knows- And speaks ai thunder through yon engine's roa. Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend: In every peal sne cals —" Awake! arise!" For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, And all must shield their all, or share subjection's woes. When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore r 44 BYRON'S WORKS. XXXVIII. XLIV. HarK!-heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? Enough of battle's minions! let them play Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote; Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath Though thousands fall to deck some single name. Tyrants and tyrants' slaves?-the fires of death, In sooth't were sad to thwart their noble aim The bale-fires flash on high:-from rock to rock Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe; And die, that living might have proved her shame; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. Or in a narrower sphere wild rapine's path pursued. XXXIX. XLV. Lo! where the giant on the mountain stands, Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued: With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, Yet is she free-the spoiler's wish'd-for prey! And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; Soon, soon shall conquest's fiery foot intrude, Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. Flashing afar,-and at his iron feet Inevitable hour!'gainst fate to strive Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done; Where desolation plants her famished brood For on this morn three potent nations meet, Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. And virtue vanquish all, and murder cease to thrive. XL. XLVI. By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see But all unconscious of the coming doom, (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) The feast, the song, the revel here'abounds; Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, Their various arms that glitter in the air! Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds. What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, Not here war's clarion, but loves rebeck sounds; And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! Here folly still his votaries enthralls; All join the chase, but few the triumph share; And young-eyed lewdness walks her midnight rounds: The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, Girt with the silent crimes of capitals, And havoc scarce for joy can number their array. Still to the last kind vice clings to the tott'ring walls. XLI. XLVII. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Not so the rustic-with his trembling mate Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar, Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies; Lest he should view his vineyard desolate, The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! Blasted below the dun hot breath of war. The foe, the victim, and the fond ally No more beneath soft eve's consenting star That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, Fandango twirls his jocund castanit: Are met-as if at home they could not die- Ah, monarchs! could ye taste the mirth ye mar, To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, Not in the toils of glory would ye fret; And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and man be hajppy yet XLII. XLVIII. There shall they rot —ambition's honour'd fools! How carols now the lusty muleteer? Yes, honour decks trie turf that wraps their clay! Of love, romance, devotion, is his lay, Vain sophistry! in these behold the tools, As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, The broken tools, that tyrants cast away His quick bells wildly jingling on the way? By myriads, when they dare to pave their way No! as he speeds, he chaunts: -" Viva el Bey!" v With human hearts-to what?-a dream alone. And checks his song to execrate Godoy, Can despots compass aught that hails their sway? The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day Or call with truth one span of earth their own, When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone? And gore-faced treason spiung from her adulterate joy XLIII. XLIX. Oh, Atbuera! glorious field of grief! On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd As o'er thy plain the pilgrim prick'd his steed, With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, Wide-scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground, A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed! And, scathed by fire, the green sward's darken'd vest Peace to the perish'd! may the warrior's meed Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: And tears of triumph their reward prolong! Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Till others fall where other chieftains lead, Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest;'rhv name shall circle round the gaping throng, Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, Ani shine in worthless lays, the theme oftransient song! 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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 45 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 and whom to greet: Her fellows flee-she checks-their base cai eel; Woe to the man that walks in public view The foe retires-she heads the sallying host: Without of loyalty this tbken 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 lost! If subtle poniards, Wrapt beneath the cloak, Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall?" smoke. LI. LVII. At every turn Morena's dusky height At every turn Morena's dusky height - Yet are Spain's maids no race of AmazonL, Sustains aloft the battery's iron load; But form'd for all the witching arts of love: And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, The bristling palisade, the fosseo'erflow'd,'T is but the tender fierceness of the dove, The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch, Peckin the hand that hovers o'er her mate: The magazine in rocky durance stow'd, In softness as in firmness far above The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; The ball-pilel pyramid, the ever-blazing match,Li Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great. LII. LII. LVIII. Portend the deeds to come:-but he whose nod The seal love's dimpling finger hath impress'd Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch' A mosment pauseth ere he lifts the rod *Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, A little umoment deigneth to delay: - Bid man.be valiant ere he merit such: A little moment deigneth to delay: Soon will his legions sweep through these their way; Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much The West must own the scourger of the world. Hath Pheebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, Ah, Spain! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch! When soars Gaul's vulture, with his wings unfurl'd, ho round the north for paler dames would seek? And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurl'd How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak! LIII. LIX. And must they fall? the young, the proud, the brave, Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud; To swell one bloated chief's unwholesome reign? Match me, ye harams of the land! where now No step between submission and a grave? I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain? Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow; And doth the Power that man adores ordain Match me those houries, whom ye scarce allow Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal? To taste the gale lest love should ride the wind, Is all that desperate valour acts in vain? With Spain's dark-glancing daughters-deign to know And counsel sage, and patriotic zeal, There your wise prophet's paradise we find, The veteran's skill, youth's fire, and manhood's heart of His black-eyed maids of heaven, angelically kind. steel? LIV. LX. Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, Oh, thou Parnassus! 1 whom I now survey, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye, And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war.? But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, Anl she, whom once the semblance of a scar In the wild pomp of mountain majesty! Appail'd, and owlet's larum chill'dwith dread, What marvel if I thus essay to sing! Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar, The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead Would gladly woo thine' echoes with his string, S'alks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake Though from thy heights no more one muse will w ve to tread. her wing. LV. LXI. Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale Oft have I dream'd of thee! whose glorious name Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, And now I view thee,'tis, alas! with shame Heard her light, lively tones in lady's bower, That I in feeblest accents must adore. Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, When I recount thy worshippers of yore Her fairy form, with more than female grace, I tremble, and can only bend the knee; Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, Beheld her smile in danger's Gorgon face, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy rhin the closed ranks, and lead in glory's fearful chase. In silent joy to think at last I look on thee' H 46 BYRON'S WORKS. LXII. LXVII. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, The sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest; Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, What hallows it upon this Christian shore? Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene, Lo! it is sacred to a solemn feast: Which others rave of, though they know it not? Hark! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar? Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot,. Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore And thou, the muses' seat, art now their grave, Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn; Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, The throng'd arena shakes with shouts for more; Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave, Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. Nor shrinks the female eye, nor even affects to mourn, LXIII. LXIX. Of thee hereafter.-Even amidst my strain The seventh day this; the Jubilee of man. I turn'd aside to pay my homage here; London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer. Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain; Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan, Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear, And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air: And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. Thy coach of Hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, Now to my theme-but from thy holy haunt And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl, Let me some remnant, some memorial bear; To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow, make repair; Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, Till the tired jade the wheel'forgets to hurl, Nor let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vaunt. Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl. LXIV. LXX. But ne'er didst thou, fair mount! when Greece was Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair, young, Others along the safer turnpike fly; See round thy giant base a brighter choir, Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung An many to the steep of Highgate hie. The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire, r Ask ye, Bceotian shades! the reason why?' Behold a train more fitting to inspire'T is to the worship of the solemn horn, The song of love, than Andalusia's maids, Grasp'd in the holy hand of mystery, Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire: In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades And consecrate the oath with draught and dance till As Greece can still bestow, though glory fly her glades. morn. LXXI. LXV. Al 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 days;14 Soon as the matinobell proclaimeth nine, But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, 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 share And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. LXXII. LXVI. The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd, When Paphos fell by time-accursed time! Thousands on thousands piled are seated round; The queen who conquers all must yield to thee- Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime; Ne vacant space for lated wight is found: And Venus, constant to her native sea, Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, To nought else constant,,hither deign'd to flee; Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye, And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white: Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound; Though not to one dome. circumscribeth she None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die, Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, As moon-struck bards complain, by love's sad archery. A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. LXXIII. LXVII. Hush'd is the din of tongues-on gallant steeds, From morn till night, from night till startled morn With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, lance, The song is heard, the rosy garland worn, Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, Devices quaint, and frolics ever new, And lowly bending to the lists advance; Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance: He bids to sober joy that here sojourns: If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, Of true devotion monkish incense burs, Best prize of better acts, they bear away, And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 47 LXXIV. LXXX. In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd, Such the ungentle sport that oft invites But all a-foot, the light-limb'd Matadore The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain. Stands in the centre, eager to invade Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights The lord of lowing herds; but not before In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, What private feuds the troubled village stain! Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed: Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the foa His arm's a dart, he fights aloof, nor more Enough, alas! in humble homes remain, Can man achieve without the friendly steed, To meditate'gainst friends the secret blow, Alas! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warr stream must flow. LXXV. LXXXI. Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls,XXX The den expands, and expectation mute But jealousy has fled; his bars, his bolts, Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. His withered sntinel, duenna sage! Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, A all whereat the generous soul revolts, And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot, Which the stern dotard deem'd he could engage, The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe: Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit ho late so free as Spanish girls were seen His first attack, wide waving to and fro (Ere war uprose in his volcanic rage,) His angry tail; red rolls his eye's dilated glow.th braded tresses bounding o'er the green, While on the gay dance shone night's lover-loving queet? LXXVI. Sudden he stops; his eye is fix'd: away, LXXXI Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear: Oh! many a cime, and oft, had Harold loved, Now is thy time, to perish, or display Or dream'd he loved, since rapture is a dream; The skill that yet may check his mad career. But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer; For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream; On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes; And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear; Love has no gift so grateful as his wings: He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes; How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem, Dart follbws dart; lance, lance; loud bellowings speak Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs his woes. Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings." LXXVII. LXXXIII. Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail, Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse; Though now it moved him as it moves the wise; Though man and man's avenging arms assail, Not that philosophy on such a mind Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. E'er deign'd to bend her chastely-awful eyes; One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse; But passion raves herself to rest, or flies; Another, hideous sight! unseam'd appears, And vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb, His gory chest unveils life's panting source, Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise: Though death-struck still his feeble frame he rears, Pleasure's pall'd victim! life-abhorring gloom Staggering, but stemming all, hislordunharm'dhe bears. Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom, LXXVIII. LXXXIV. Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, Still he beheld, nor mingled-with the throng; Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, - But view'd them not with misanthropic hate:'Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the song. And foes disabled in the brutal fray But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate? And now the Matadores around him play, Nought that he saw his sadness could abate: Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand: Yet once he struggled'gainst the demon's sway, Once more through all he bursts his thundering way- And as in beauty'sbower he pensive sate, Vain rage! the mantle quits the conynge hand, Pour'd forth his unpremeditated lay, Wraps his fierce eye-'t is past-he sinks upon the sand! To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier alky LXXIX. Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. T O N T E Z He stops-he starts'disdaining to decline; Slowly he falls, amidst triumphing cries, 1. Without a groan, without a struggle, dies. The decorated car appears-on high NAY, smile not at my sullen brow, The corse is piled-sweet sight for vulgar eyes- Alas! I cannot smile again, Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, Yet Heaven avert that ever thou Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by. Should'st weep, and haply weep ill vau 48 BYRON'S WORKS. 2. LXXXVII. And dost thou ask, what secret woe Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know I bear, corroding joy and youth? Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife: And wilt thou vainly seek to know Whate'er keen vengeance urged on foreign foe A pang, ev'n thou must fail to soothe? Can act, is acting there against man's life: From flashing scimitar to secret knife, War mouldeth there each weapon to his needIt is not love, it is not hate, So may he guard the sister and the wife, Nor low ambition's honours lost, So may he make each curst oppressor bleed, That bids me loathe my present state, ThXat bids me loathe my present state, So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed. And fly from all I prized the most; 4. LXXXVIII. It is that weariness which springs Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? From all I meet, or hear, or see: Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain; To me no pleasure beauty brings; Look on the hands with female slaughter red; Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me. Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, 5. Then to the vulture let each corse remain; It is that settled, ceaseless gloom Albeit unworthy of the prey.bird's maw, The faibled Hebrew wanderer bore; Lettheirbleach'dbones, and.blood'sunbleachingstain, That will not look beyond the tomb, Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe: That will not look beyond the tomb, BuL cannot hope for rest before. Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw! 6. LXXXIX. What exile from himself can flee? Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done, To zones, though more and more remote, Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees; Still, still pursues, where'er I be, It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, The blight of life-the demon thought. Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. 7. Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, More than her fell Pizarros once enchain'd: And taste of all that I forsake; *Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease Oh! may they still of transport dream, Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd, And ne'er, at least like me, awake! While o'er the parent clime prowls murder unrestrain'd. 8. XC. Through many a clime'tis mine to go, Not all the blood at Talavera shed, With many a retrospection curst; Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, And all my solace is to know, Not Albuera, lavish of the dead, Whate'er betides, I'Ye known the worst. IIave 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 1 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! XCI. LXXXV. And thou my friend! 19-since unavailing woe Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu!my friend-since unavailin woe h mi foret how well thywallshave stood! Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strainWVho may forget how well thy walls have stood I I X When a Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, When all were changing thou alone wert true, First to be free and last to be subdued: Pride might forbid ev'n friendship to complain: First to be free and last to be subdued: And if amidst a scene, a shock so Brude, But thus unlaurel'd to descend in vain, rude, Xf~amidt aBy all forgotten, save the lonely breast, Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye;. **A traitor oiy fell beneath the feud:1 And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, A traitor onliy fell beneath the feud: 17 re all were noble, savenobiity; hile glory crowns so many a meaner crest! Here all were noble, save nobility;. all wr, 7.l,,n ob.ii What hadst thou done to sink so peaceably to rest? None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen chivalry! LXXXVI. XCII. Sucii e the sons of Spain, and, strange her fate! Oh! known the earliest, and esteem'd the most!'1 hey fight for freedom who were never free; Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear! A kingless people for a nerveless state, Though to my hopeless days for ever lost, Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, In dreams deny me not to see thee here! True to the veriest slave of treachery; And morn in secret shall renew the tear Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, Of consciousness awaking to her woes, Pride points the path that leads to liberty; And fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier, Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife, Till my frail frame return to whence it rose, War. war is still the cry, "war even to the knife!" "8 And mourn'd and mourner lie united in repose. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 49 XCIII. V. Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage: Or burst the vanish'd hero's lofty mound; Ye who of him may further seek to know, Far on the solitary shore he sleeps: 3 Shall find some tidings in a future page, He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around: If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. But now not one of saddening thousands weeps, Is this too much? stern critic! say not so: Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps Patience I and ye shall hear what he beheld Where demi-gods appear'd, as records tell. In other lands, where he was doom'd to go: Remove yon skull from out the scatter'd heaps: Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, Is that a temple where a god may dwell-? Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands were Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd cell quell'd. VI. Look on its broken arch, its ruin'u wall, Its chambers desolate, and portals foul: Yes, this was once ambition's airy hall, The dome of thought, the palace of the soul: ~CAJNTOIU ITI Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, The gay recess of wisdom and of wit, And passion's host, that never brook'd control:'Can all, saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, Y~~~~I. ~ 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 thou speak, Athena's wisest son! Goddess of wisdom! here thy temple was, W' t s A s g Godidess of w aisdom! here thy temple Ias, " All that we know is, nothing can be known." And is, despite of war nd w asting 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, brain-born dreams of evil all their own. Is 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:'Ihat 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. VIII. ancient of days! august Athena! where, ncient of days! august Athena! where, Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be a..ere them mer- n gofImie rao h se A land of souls beyond that sable shore, Goe, limm erin thro' t hinsthatwere: To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee First in the race that led to glory's goal, o They won, and pass'd away-is this the whole? AHo soweet it wee in conert to adore; A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour? t it were in concert to ado T waror's weaponan, d the sophists With those who made our mortal labours light! The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more! Are'sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Behold each mht shade reveald to siht Dun with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. TheBactrian,Samia sage, and all who taught J. ~ii. right! Son of the morning, rise! approach you here! IX. Come-but molest not yon defenceless urn; There, thou!-whose love and life together fled, Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre! Have left me here to love and live in vainAbode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead, Even gods must yield-religions take their turn: When busy memory flashes on my brain?'T was Jove's-'t is Mahomet's-and other creeds Well-I will dream that we may meet again, Will rise with other years, till man shall learn And woo the vision to my vacant breast: Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds; If aught of young remembrance then remain, Poor child of doubt and death, whose hope is built on Be as it may futurity's behest, reeds. For me't were bliss enough to know thy spirit blest! IV. X. Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven- Here let me sit upon this massy stone, Is't not enough, unhappy thing! to know The marble column's yet unshaken base; Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given, Here, son of Saturn! was thy fav'rite throne: That being, thou wouldst be again, and go, Mightiest of many such! Hence let me trare Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so The latent grandeur of thy dwelling place. On earth no more, but mingled with the skies? It may not be: nor ev'n can fancy's eye Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe? Restore what time hath labour'd to deface. Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies: Yet these proud pillars claim no passing slgn-'Ihat little urn saith more than thousand -homilies. Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols bv. 12 50 BYRON'S WORKS. XI. XVII. But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane He that has sail'd upon the dark-blue sea On high, where Pallas linger'd, loth 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: The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, Thy freeborn men should spare what once was free; The convoy spread like wild swans in their fliglht 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 spared;6 The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,9 Cold as the crags upon his native coast, 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 As ne 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 s Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, Or school-boy midshipman, that, standing by, Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains,' Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides, And never knew, till then, the weight of despots' chains. And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. 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 Yesf she, whose gen'rous aid her name endears, That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks Tore down tnose remnants with a harpy's hand, Conquest and fame: but Britons rarely swerve Which envious Eld forbore, and tyrants left to stand. From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve. XIV. XX. XX. Where was thine segis, Pallas! that appall'd swy,. X Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale! Stern Alaric and havoc or their way? keel-compelling gale Where Peleus' son? whohell invain enthr, Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray; Where Peleus' son? whom hell in vain enthrall'd, His sae fm H s un tt dd d, Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail, His shade from Hades upon that dread day, Burstintoliht interriblearrayThat lagging barks may make their lazy way. Bursting to light in terrible array! Ad Z I Ah! grievance sore, and listless dull delay, What! could not Pluto spare the chief once more, A! gri sor and litles dull del To waste.on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze! To scare a second robber from hisprey What leagues are lost before the dawn of day, Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore,n the wn Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas, Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield before.. The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like thesel XV. XXI. QCeold ijecUth~t.kaa Greeks.9n..tJ 9 The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve! E~rf~~eelz.,~ ~ s~ asloy err_~th~llst;th ea y l ~v~evdLong streams of light o'er dancing waves expand; TDh~i~_T~a~lfiUdef~Lr~~d~th e moulderi~ sha t 3M31>_ aeoNow lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe: h...best e dme. Such be our fate when we return to land! BY British hands, which it had best behoved,4 To~ ur^~s ^~~^~"as ne-'er-' to ~- -tbe,. * rMeantime some rude Arion's restless hand Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love; Curste the hour when from their isle they roved, And Is,~.f:,!," rr > > i i > -6 to-nce - X A circle there of merry listeners stand, And once again thy ha losshoso~nigorea, - again_ - ty Iples.. PiOr to some well-known measure featly move, And suatch'd thy shri nkig gods to northern clies. ab ~~~~horr'd~~! tThoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove. XVI. XXII. Rut where is Harold? shall I then forget Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy shore To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave? Europe and Afric on each other gaze! Little reck'd he of all that men regret; Lands of the dark-eyed maid and dusky Moor so lovea-one now in feign'd lament could rave; Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze: No friend the parting hand extended gave, How softly on the Spanish shore she plays, Eie tne cold stranger pass'd to other climes: Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown, Htard is his hear/ whom charms may not enslave; Distinct, though darkening with her waning phase; But Harold felt not as in other times, But Mauritania's giant-shadows frown, Ao.fta witnoru a sigh the iand of war and crimes. From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombre down CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 51 XXIII. XXIX.'T is night, when meditation bids us feel But not in silence pass Calypso isles, The sister tenants of the middle deep; We once have loved, though love is at an end: The sister tenants of the middle deep; The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal, Thereforthe wearystilla haven smiles, Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. Though the fr goddess lon hath ceased to weep r' * * X * 1 t 1 ~~~And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep Who with the weight of years would wish to bend, o her liff a fritle When youth itself survives young love and joy? or hi ho dared reer a orta bri Alas! when mingling.souls foret to blend, Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Dabtbtillfh to destroy! Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide; Death hath but little left him to destroy! Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy? While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doub sigh'd. XXIV. XXX. Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone: To gaze on Dian's wave-reflected sphere; But trust not this; too easy youth, beware! The soul forgets her schemes of hope and pride, A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne, And flies unconscious o'er each backward year. And thou may'st find a new Calypso there. None are so desolate but something dear, Sweet Florence could another ever share Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine. A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; But check'd by every tie, I may not dare A flashing pang! of which the weary breast To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine, Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine. XXV. XXXI. To sit on rockst use oer flood andfell, Thus Harold deem'd, as on that lady's eve To smt on rocks, to muse o'er flood and-fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 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, g harless by: And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been Love kept aloof, albeit not far remote, To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, knew his voayoen lost n caught, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; a And ne'er again the boy his bosom sought: Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; ner again the boy his bosom sought: This is not solitude *'t is but to hold Since now he vainly urged him to adore, This is not solitude;'t is but to hold We^ d t le go h a s s Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores Well deem'd the little god his ancient sway was o'er. unroll'd. XXXII. XXVI. Fair Florence found, in sooth with some am:s7e, But'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, One who,'twas said, still sigh'd to all he saw, To hear, tQ see, to feel, and to possess, Withstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, Which others hail'd with real, or mimic awe, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their aw Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! All that gay beauty from her bondsmen claims: None that, with kindred consciousness endued, And much she marvel'd 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, thodgh sometimes they frown, yet rarely anger This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! dames. XX XXXIII. ~be XXVtth Ifo'gdlerI. Little knew she that seeming marble-heart, More blest the life of godly eremite, Now mask'd in silence or withheld by pride, Such as on lovely Athos may be seen, Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, Watching at eve upon the giant height, And spread its snares licentious far and wide; Which looks o'er waves so buie, skies so serene, Nor from the base pursuit had turnd aside, That he who there at such an hour hath been As long as aught was worthy-to pursue: Will wistful linger on that hallow'd spot; But Harold on sucharts no more relied Then slowly tear him from the'witching scene, And had he doated on those eyes so blue, Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot, Yet never would he join the lover's whining crew. Then turn to hate a world he had almost forgot. XXVIII. Not much nXX IV. XXVIII. Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs; Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind; What careth she for hearts when once possess'd' Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack, Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes; And each well-known caprice of wave and wind; But not too humbly, or she will despise Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes; Coop'd in their winged sea-girt citadel; Disguise ev'n tenderness, if thou art wise; The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind, Brisk confidence still best with women copes, As breezes rise and fall and billows swell, Pique her and soothe in turn, soon passion crcwn.q at Till on some jocund morn-lo, land! and all is well. hopes. b2 BYRON'S WORKS. XXXV. XLI. r is 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 woe, When all is won that all desire to woo, And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love,'4 The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost: He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow: Youth wasted, minds degraded, honour 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 ster 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, bedew'd with snowy rills, By pensive sadness, not by fiction, led- Array'd 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, Or e'er in new Utopias were read, Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak, To each man what he might be, or he ought; To each 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 always changing, in her aspect mild; Ad bad to Christian tongps a lon adieu And bade to Christlan tongues a long adieu; From her bare bosom let me take my fill, N w ~,J~,'..., Now he adventured on a shore unknown, Her never-wean'd, thouah not her favour'd child. Ni h advenred on a shre unno Ih. 5..he. ~s fairest ~n her ~il-] Which all admire, but many dread to view; Oh! she is fairest in her features wild,. Oh!re sotheis fairst in re u her f w ld, His breast was arm'd'gainst fate, his wants were ew; Where nothing polish'd dares pollute her path: Peril he sought not but ne'er shank to meet To m by ay o n h 1. -1 smil ~ JPeril 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, Though I have mark'd her when none other bath, This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet, And sought her more and more, and loved her best einweomed Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed sut.mwr's wrath. heat. heat. XXXVIII. Land of.Albania! where Iskander rose, L Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise, Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, And he, his name-sake, whose oft-baffled foes Though sadly scoffed at by the circumcised, Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprize: Forgets that pride to pamper'8 priesthood dear Land of Albania! " let me bend mine eyes Churchman and votary alike despised. On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men! Foul superstition! howsoe'er disguised, ihe cross descends, thy minarets arise, Idol, saint, virgin, prophet, crescent, cross, And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen, For whatsoever symbol thou art prized, Through many a cypress-grove within each city's ken. Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss! Who from true worship's gold can separate thy droo XXXIX. Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot2 XLV. Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave; Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost And onward view'd the mount, not yet forgot, A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing! The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. In yonder rippling bay, their naval host Dark Sappho! could not verse immortal save Did many a Roman chief and Asian king'5 That breast imbued with such immortal fire? To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring: Could she not live who life eternal gave? Look where the second Cesar's trophies rose!1 If life eternal may await the lyre, Now, like the hands that rear'd them, withering: That only heaven to which earth's children may aspire. Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes! GOD! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and lose XL. T was on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve XLVI. (hilde Harold h.al'd Leslcadia's cape afar: From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, A spot ne long'd to see, nor cared'to leave: Ev'n to the centre of Illyria's vales, Oft did he mark the scenes of vanish'd war, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, Actium, epanto, fatal Trafalgar; 3 Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales; Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales (Born beneath some remote inglorious star) Are rarely seen; nor can fair Tempe boasIn themes of bloody fray or galjant fight, A charm they know not; loved Parnassus tais, H k...asd'ro laugh'd at martial Though classic ground and consecrated most, wight. To match some spots that lurk within this lowering cuast. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 5! XLVII. LIII. He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, 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 echoed the response of Jove? To greet Albania's chief,'8 whose dread command What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's shrine? Islawless law; for with a bloody hand All, all forgotten-and shall man repine He sways a nation, turbulent and bold: That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke? Yet here and there some daring mountain-band Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine: Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak? Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold.'9 When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke! XLVII. LIV. Monastic Zitza! 20 from thy shady brow, Thou small, but favour'd spot of holy ground! Epirus' bonds recede and mountains f Tired of up-gazinm still, the wearied eye Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found! Reposes gladl on as smooth a va' As ever spring yclad in grassy dye: Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, Eve sin ra e Even on a plain no humble beauties lie, And bluest skies that harmonize the whole: i i eneh, t..d n tWhere some bold river breaks the long expanse, Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing,sound b Xrn~~~~~ i.iAnd woods along the banks are waving high, Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll A w Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the h w ithe glassy wters dance, soul. Or with the moon-beams sleep in midnight's so ernn trance. XLIX. LV. Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, The sun had snk behind vast Tomerit25 Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh nd Laos wide and fierce cane roaring by; Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, Might well itself be deem'd of dignity, TWhen, down the steep banks winding warily, The convent's white walls glisten fair on high: hilde Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, Here dwells the caloyer,21 nor rude is he, T ittering minarets of Tepalen, Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer-by WVhose walls o'e0rook the stream; and drawing nign, Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee Ie heard the busy hum of warrior-men From hence, if he delight kind nature's sheen to see. Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the length'ning glun L. LVI. Here in the sultriest season let him rest, He pass'd the sacred haram's silent tower, Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees; And underneath the wie o'erarching gate Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, Survey'd the dwelling of this chief of power, From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze: Where all around proclaim'd his high estate. The plain is far beneath-oh! let him seize Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, Pure pleasure while he can; the scorching ray While busy preparations shook the court, Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease: Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons aai Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, Within, a palace, and without, a fort: And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. Here men of every cime appear to make resort. LI. LVII. Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, Richly caparison'd, a ready row Nature's volcanic amphitheatre,22 Of armed horse, and many a warlike store Chimaera's Alps extend from left to right: Circled the wide-extending court below: Beneath, a living valley seems to stir; Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridor; Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain fir And oft-times through the Area's echoing ~o, Nodding above: behold black Acheron! 23 Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his stt. d a.e, Once consecrated to t pThe Turk, the sepulchrethe ek, the Albanian, aiJd the 16. t, Pluto! if this be hell I look upon, Here mingled in their many-hued array, Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for While the deep war-drum's sound annti Aced the cl, s none! of day. LII. LVIII. Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view; The wild Albanian kirtled to his knea, Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, With shawl-girt head and ornamuned gun, Veil'd by the screen of hills! here nn are few, And gold-embroider'd garments, f:ir to see; Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot; The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon; But, peering down each precipice, the goat The Delhi with his cap of teiror on, Browseth: and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock, And crooked glaive; the lively, supple Green. The little shepherd in his white capote 4 And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son; Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, The bearded Turk that rarely deigns to speak. Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock. Master of all around, too potent to be reek, b4 BYRON'S WORKS. LIX. LXV. Are mix'd conspicuous: some recline in groups, 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 found; Who can so well the toil of war endure? Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground; Their native fastnesses not more secure Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate; Than they in doubtful time of troublous need: Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound, Their wrath how deadly! but their friendship sure The Muezza's call doth shake the minaret, When gratitude or valour bids them bleed, "ThereisnogodbutGod!-toprayer-lo! Godisgreat!" Unshaxen rushing on where'er their chief may lead. LX. LXVI. Just at this season Ramazani's fast Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower Through the long day its penance did maintain: Thronging to war in splendour and success; But when the lingering twilight hour was past, And after view'd them, when, within their power, Revel and feast assumed the rule again: Himself awhile the victim of distress; Now all was bustle, and the menial train That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press: Prepared and spread the plenteous board within; But these did shelter him beneath their roof, The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain, When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less, But from the chambers came the mingling din, And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof-27 As page and slave anon were passing out and in. In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof. LXI. LXVII. IHere woman's voice is never heard: apart, It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark And scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to move, ll on the coast of Suli's shagy shore She yields to one her person and her heart,hen all around was desoate and dark Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove: to X - To land was perilous, to sojourn more; For, not unhappy in her master's love, Yet for a while the mariners forbore, And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, ~ Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk: Blest cares! all other feelings far above! erse oreswly rearf s t abe h At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk WVho never quits the breast no meaner passion shares. Might oce agan renew ther ancent butcherwork. LXII. In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring LXVIII. Of living water from the centre rose, Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, Whose bubbling did a ealfreshness fling, Led them o'er rocks. and past the dangerous swamp, Whose bubbling did a aemnal freshness fling, And soft voluptuous cohes breathed repose, Kinder than polish'd slaves though not so bland, AnI reclined, a man of war and woese, And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp, ALi reclined, a man of war and woes; b e p Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, And fill'd the bowl, and trimm'd the cheerful lamp, While gentleness her milder radiance throws And spread their fare; though homely, all they had. While gentleness her milder radiance throws An tt ad v e f, Such conduct bears philanthropy's rare stampAlono that aaed venerable face, The deeds that lurkbeneath, and stainhim with disgrace. To rest the weary and to soothe the sad, Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad. LXIII. It is not that.yon hoary lengthening beard LXIX. 11 suits the passions which belong to youth; It came to pass, that when he did address Love conquers age-so Hafiz hath averr'd, Himself to quit at length this mountain-land, So sings the Teian, and he singsin sooth- Combined marauders half-way barr'd egress, But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth, And wasted far and near with glaive and brand; Beseeming all men ill, but most the man And therefore did he take a trusty band In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth; To traverse Acarnania's forest wide, Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span, In war well season'd, and with labours tann'd, In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. Till he did greet white Achelous' tide, And from bis further bank AEtolia's worlds espied. LXIV.'Mid many things most new to ear and eye LXX. The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, And gazed around on Moslem luxury, And weary waves retire to gleam at rest, TilX quickly wearied with that spacious seat How brown the foliage of the green hill's grove, Of wealth and wantonness, the choice retreat Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast, Of sated grandeur from the city's noise: As winds come lightly whispering from the west, And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet; Kissing,, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.But peace abhorreth artificial joys, Here Harold was received a welcome guest, And pleasure, leagued with pomp, the zest of both Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, destroys. For many a joy could he from night's soft presence gleaa. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 55 LXXI. 8. On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, Remember the moment when Previsa fell,3" The feast was done, the red wine circling fast, 28 The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors'.ell; And he that unawares had there ygazed The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, With gaping wonderment had stared aghast; The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared. For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past, The native revels of the troop began; 9. Each palikar29 his sabre from him cast, I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man, He neither must know who would serve the vizier: Yelling their uncouth dirge, long danced the kirtled clan. Since the days of our prophet the crescent ne'er saw A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. LXXII. Childe Harold at a little distance stood 10. And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie,s sn t t n hated harmless mh h r r: Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude: nort hated harmles mirth, showet rude: Let the yellow-hair'd Giaours2 view his horse-tail In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to seewith d Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee, w,., dread; ATheir barbaous, yet their not indecent, glee, When his Delhis 4 come dashing in blood o'er the bains And, as the flames along their faces gleanm'd, An, as the fl s an thr facs geam'd, How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks! Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, The long wild locks that Lo their girdles stream'd, I While thus in concert they this lay half sung, half scream'd: 30 Selictar! 5 unsheathe then our chief's scimitar: Tambourgi! thy'larum gives promise of war. i. Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore, TM TAMBOURGI! Tambourgi! I thy'larum afar Shall view us as victors, or view us no more! Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war; All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, LXXIII. Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote! Fai Gree red wo! 33 Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! 2. Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth, Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, And long-accustom'd bondage uncreate? In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote? Not such thy sons who whilome did await, ro the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock, The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. In bleak Thermopylme's sepulchral straitOh! who that gallant spirit shall resume, S. Leap from Eurotas' b-a rs —- - p4 call. Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live? LXXIV. Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego? Spirit offreedom! when on Phyle's brow34 What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which nov, ~, 4,. in,,..,, Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Macedonia sends forth her invincible race; D thirt trant the c For a timne they abandon the cave and the chase: N t t But every carle can- lord it o'er thy land; But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. Tremblin* beneath the scour' h h 5. From birth till death ens av nword in deed ann'd Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, IXXV. And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar, I all frm how chana! dnd who And track to his covert the captive on shore. That marks the fie stil sparkling in each eye, Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew 6. With thy unquenched beam, lost liberty? I ask not the pleasures that riches supply, And many dream withal the hour is nigh My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy; That gives them back their fathers' heritage: Shall win the young bride with her long-flowing hair, For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, And many a maid from her mother shall tear. Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, Or tear their name defiled from s!avery's mournful;3 g. 7. I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, Her caresses shall lull me,. her music shall soothe; I Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre, 2 Infidels. And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. 3 Horse-tails are the insigniaof a pacha. 4 Horsemen, answering to our forlorn hopa I Drummer. 5 Sword-bearer. 5) ~ BYRON'S WORKS. LXXVI. LXXXII. Herediary bondsmenl know y not ut'midst the thronc in sq WhoasauldLbe free themselves must strike theblow? Lrk therp s te athrob with secre r Waht Gulet must be wrought tchthg a'dg Will Gaul or Muscovite redress Ie n To such the gentle murmurs of thi True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, em to re-echo -al. But not for you will freedom's altars flame. wd Shades of the Helots! triumph o'er your foe! Is source of wayward thut sten disda Greece! chance t lords, th state is sitil ha s. _; h ldo aey l aI e teJa'ugt-hte Thy loriosday is o'erAutntho_ And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud? LXXVII. LXXXIII. The city won for Allah from the Giaour, This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece, The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest; If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast: And the Serai's impenetrable tower Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace, Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest; 3 The bondman's peace, who sighs for all he lost Or Wahab's rebel brood, who dared divest Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost, The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil, 36 And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword: May wind their patl of blood along the WVest; Ah! Greece! theylove thee least who owe thee most But ne'er.will.freedomn.seekthisJated.soil, Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record Hu! slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil. Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde LXXVIII. LXXIV. Yet mark their mirth-ere lenten days begin, hen rist Lacedemon'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 repennce ween may'st thou berestored; 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 each his secret share, An hour may lay it in the dust; and when In motley robe to dance at masking ball, Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate, And join the mimic train of merry CarnivaL Recall its virtues back, and vanquish time and fate? LXXIX. LXX LXXXV. And whose more rife with merriment that thine, Oh Stamboul! once the empress of their reign? Though turbans n ollut:,n s A^e eThy hyvales of eyer-areenY thy ala 3 f.' (Alas! herw ee illa ade mur e ) avor v: Thy fanes, thy temples to urface bow, f ^_ herl, olstsn theyor ae mUsto g f, Commingling slowly with heroic earth, Broke by the share of every rustic plough: or oft I've seen sucn sight nor heard such song, So perish monuments of mortal birth ks woo'd the eye, and thrill'd the Bosphorus along. So perish all in turn save well-recorded worth LXXX. ^^*~~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 echoed 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'T was, 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, rill sparkling billows seem'd to light the banks they lave. Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh "Alabs LXXXI. LXXXVII. Glanced many a light caique along tl'e foam, Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Danced on the shore the daughters of the land, Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, While many a languid eye and thrilling hand And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields; Exchanged the look few bosorbs may withstand, There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, Or gently prest, return'd the pressure still: The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air; Oh love! young love! bound in thy rosy band, Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare; 1 tiese hours, and only these, redeem life's years of ill! Art, glory, freedom fail, but nature still is fair. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. b7 LXXXVIII. Not for such purpose were these altars placed: Whet,.'er. tread't is haunted, hoj.ouad. Revere the remnants nations once revered: *Noa earth of.^ tJhk l ost voulga rmould. So may our country's name be undisgraced, But oLne yeassrljn of wonder spreads around, So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd And all t.h, e'ae.tales.... etruytold. By every honest joy of love and life endear'd! T ll he sense aches with azin, to behold The......... eaigsr........ ->hae.,,elt.,........ XCIV. The scenes our earies.t 4rcams.haewelLt.upoa X: CIV E ~i'anland dale each deep'nina glen and wold For thee, who thus in too protracted song t r hc crshd thy Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon. Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng....................-....-......{-..Of louder' minstrels in these later days: LXXXIX. To such resign the strife for fading baysThe sun, the soil but not the slave the same; III may such contest now the spirit move tIcicn-an r1 Add allcept:. ~d i ord- Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise; Prseserves akle its bounds and boundless fame Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, The battle-field, where Persia's victim horde.And none are left to please when none are left to love, First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, As on the morn to distant glory dear, When Marathon became a magic word;39 Thou too art aone thou loved n vly.one! Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear aff.............. The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career. hg.dffQr. o.me whatgnie., eide:p. ydone, *t~ 2 - X - Nor shrank fr.o.one albeit unwor:ttAh.. XC. Iti myi?th esbe! The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bo Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, The fiery Greek, his red pursuing sp Who mouro'er. iswhich we np.maoe shallseeMountains above, earth's, ocean's Would they had. never. eenorwe r.. toQom. Death in the front, destruction in t ould hehad ne'er return'd to findfresn cause to roam), Such was the scene-what now re What sacred trophy marks the ha XCV Recording freedom's smile and A Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved! The rifled urn, the violated mound, How selfish sorrow ponders on the past, The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns And clings to thoughts now better far removed! around. t time shall tear thy shadow fro melast. XCI. All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death! thou hast Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past The parent, friend, and now the more than friendl Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng; e'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, Long shall the vovaer, with the Ionian blast, And grief with grief continuing still to blend, Hail the bright clime of battle and of song; Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend. Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue XCVII Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore; n mo te Boast of the ~ r lesson of Then must I plunge again into the crowd, Boast of the aged! lesson of the young ^ v. ~ t t a.. ed! lso of teyugAnd follow all that peace disdains to seek Which sages venerate and bards adore, Which sagesi.-I venerate and bards adoWhere revel calls, and laughter, vainly loud, As Pallas and the muse unveil their awful lore.alls, a la e, vainld loud, False to the hearti distorts the hollow cheek, XCII. To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak; The parted bosom clings to wonted home, Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth; T feign the pleasure or conceal the pique; He that is lonely hither let him roam, Smiles form the channel of a future tear, And gaze complacent on congenial earth. Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sncel. c~~Greet~;~.exi lsaso" a>~ sgXCVIII. But he whom sadness sootheth may abide, B he wm s. a What is the worst of woes that wait on age? And scarce regret the region of his birth, a,'.1~-1.. ~What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, To view each loved one blotted from life's page, gr gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died. o e eah loe one blote ro l And be alone on earth, as I am now. XCIII. Before the Chastener humbly.let me bow, Let such approach this consecrated land, O'er hearts divided, and o'er hopes destroy'd - And pass in peace along the magicwaste: Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow, But spare its relics-let no busy hand - Since time hath reft whate'er ny soul enjoy'a, Deface the scenes, already how defaced And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'a 13 58 BYRONS;WOQ'KS. VI.'T is to create, and in creating live ~CANTOV ~ ITT~ A being more intense, that we endo-' With form our fancy, gaining as wo givet The life we image, ev'n as I do now. " Afin que cette application vous forcat de penser. autre What am I? Nothing; but not soar.t'0.^toi ehoie,!I n'y a en verit6 deremede que celui-la et le temps." Soul of my thought! with whom Itravtr- ea4rti Lettre du Roi de Prusse a Dalembert, Sep. 7, 1776. Invisible but gazing, as I glow Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with fty birth 1.' And feeling still with thee in my crush'd:e'lngs' &dars Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? V. When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, Yet must I think less wildly:-I have thought And then:we parted,-not as now we palt, Too long and darkly, till my brain became, But with a hope.- In its own eddy boiling and o'erwirought, Awaking with a start, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame: The waters heave around me; and on high And thus, untaught in youth my heartito tame, The winds lift up their voices: I depart,;My springs of life were poison'd.'Tis too late! Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, Yet am I changed; though still enough the same When Albion's lessen Ig shores could grieve or glad In strength to bear what time cannotfabate, mine eye. And feed on bitter fruits without accusing fate. II. VII. Once more upon the waters! yet once more! ScIanhing too much of this:-but now t is past, And the waves bound beneath me as a steed And thes pell closes with its si len seal. That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar! Long -dsn tI HAROLD re-appeals at-last; Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead! He.of thelnast which fain no more would feel, Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, Wrsng with the wounds which kill not butne'er heal; And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Yet ti me,who changes all, had alter'd him Still must I on; for I am as a weed, In soul and aspect as in age: years steal. Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam, to sail F1i fetmf the mind as vigour from the limb; W here'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath And life s enchanted cup but sparkles near the bim. prevail. IX. III. II.'my. yous His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found In my youth's summer I did sing of one, wormwood bt e fil'd ain Zn~ ~rllt~r llm~r ~D nThe dregs were wormwood; but he fill'd again, The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; b The wandering outlaw ofhis ow dark mid; And from a purer fount, on holier ground, Again I seize the theme then but begun, And demd is sprin al but in vain! And bear it with me, as the rushingwind And deem'd its spring perpetual; but in vain! A nd bear it with me, as the rushing-wind And bear ith cwith me, as' the ru hing ind Still round him clung invisibly a chain Bears the cloud onwards: in that tale I find u Which gall'd for ever, fettering though unseen, The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, W a d f ^ o Which ebbin leave a sterile track behind And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with paw, Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind,. I r ^ O'er which allIheav t Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, O'er which all heavily the journeying years I)hc levlv theJourneying years Entering with every step he took, through man) t. sciaie. Plod the last sands of life,-where not a flower appears. E r V. X. bince 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 sheathe with an invulnrabl mi, Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling; That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk' behind; So that it wean 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 growv aged in thlls world of woe, But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek Iit deeds. rot years, piercing the depths of life, To wear it? who can curiously behold ScV 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? Clit to his heart again with the keen knife Who can contemplate fame through clouds unfold Of silent, sharp endurance: l)e can tell The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb? Wlhy thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife Harold, once more within the vortex, roll'd With airy images, and snapes which dwell On with the giddy circle, chasing time,:tlll unmrpauir'd though old, in the soul's haunted cell. 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I..-,..I II III 1. 1. -:...-.....-.....:... -.: —.I II.....-..... -—. —-...-.... ~ ~ ~ ~:-..:;::..; III'Il,........,............:, I 11 I, - 111,'I.","..,...,",.,..~.",~. ~ 1 -...-..,......... ~..I.I~17~::::::-::;;~~I:~;::,:i:I i i~' —:.. I ~I., -I'll,..............-,, "' 11 -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~::I 11 11 1111-1.1-......,,..,,., I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:::: 11,"''.."..,,,i.....'..:: i:..,...'''..,.,.:, I,,.-::-l I- - 1 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. bS XII. XVIII. But soon lie 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 How in an hour the power which gave annuls His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell'd 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 labours all were vain;. life within itself, to breathe without mankind. He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken chain. XIII. XIX. Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends; Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home; And foam in fetters;-but is earth more free? Where a blue sky and glowing clime extends, Did nations combat to make One submit; He had the passion and the power to roam Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, What! shall reviving thraldom again be Were unto him companionship; they spake The patch'd-up idol of enlightened days? A mutual language, clearer than the tome Shall we, who struck the lion down, shall we Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake Pay the wolf homage? proffering lowly -aze For nature's pages, glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. And servile knees to thrones' No; prove before } e praisel XIV. ^~~~~XIV. ~XX. ~ Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars, ~ If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! i Till he had peopled them with beings bright. Till he ad peopled them with beings bright In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born jars, For Europe's flowers lon rooted before \ And human frailties, were forgotten quite: t An hua'ritewr t The trampler of her vineyards; in vain years Could he have kept his spirit to that flight Of death, depopulation, bondage, fearsi He had been happy; but this clay will sink death, depopulation, bondage, fears Its spark immortal, envying it the light Have all men borne, and broken by the accord Its spark immortal, envying it the light To which it mounts, as if to break. the link...Of roused-up millions: all that most endears To which it mounts, as if to break the link'hat keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its Glory, is wen the myrtle wreathes the sword brink. Such as Harmodius 2 drew on Athens' tyrant lord. XV. XXI. But in man's dwellings he became a thing There was a sound of revelry by night, Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with clipt wng, 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; 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, His breast and beak against his wiry dome Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat And all went merry as a larriage-bell3 Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat. But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell XVI. XXII. Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom; Did ye not hear it?-No;'t was but the wind, The very knowledfge that he lived in vain, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; That all was over on this side the tomb, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined,Had made despair a smilingness assume, No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure me., Which, though't were wild,-as on the plunder'd chse the lowing hours with flying feetwreck But, hark! —that heavy sound breaks in once nio e 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 man before! Did yet inspire a cheer, which he-forbore to check. Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roaa XVII. XXIII. Mop!-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 heal Is the spot nark'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 they smiled because he deeni'd it neat, 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 qulle Thou first and last of fields! king-making victory? He rush'd into the field, and, foremost higning, fell 60 BYRON'S WORKS. 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 nights so sweet such awful morn could rise? I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. XXV. XXXI And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, I turn'd to thee to thosands, of whom each The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, one as a ahastly gap did make Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; Foretfu 3X Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; n nd the deep thunder peal on peal afar; The archangel's trump, not glory's, must awake And near, the beat of the alarming drum And near, the beat of the alarming drum Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of fame Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; May for a moment soothe it cannot slake While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, The fever of vain longing, and the name Or whispering, with white lips-" The foe! They come! S honour'd but assumes a stronger bitterer claim they come!" XXVI. XXXII. And wild and high the " C ameron's gathering" rose! They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourns The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills * The tree will wither long before it fall; Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: — The hull drives on, though mast anid 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 instils The bars survive the captive they enthral, The stirring memory of a thousand years, The day drags through though storms keep out the sin And Evan's,4 Donald's. fame rings in each clansman's And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on: ears! XXVII. XXXIII. And Ardennes 6 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 grassAnd thus the heart will do which not forsakes, Which now beneath them, but above shall grCv 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 valour, rolling on the foe, Yet withers on till all withou is old, And burning with high hope, shall moulder ctld vnd Showing no visible sign, forsich things are untold low. XXVIII. XXXIV. There is a very life in our despair, Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, is a vy life in ou spai, Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay, Vitality of poion,-a quick root Thee midninht brought the signal-sound of strife, Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, As nothing did we die; but life will suit The morn the marshalling in arms,-the da) Itself to sorrow's most detested fruit, Battle's magnificently-stern array!.' 8 Btl' manfcnl-tr ay.... Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's" shore. The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, l ashes to the tate dd man c t The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, s co oe Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd ai.d pent, E by enoyment, and count o'er Rider and horse,-friend, foe, —in one red burial blent Such hours gainst years of life-sa would he three-score? XXIX. Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; XXXV. 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 ev'n that fleeting spar 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, l'et'v i"ach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Our countrymen were warring on that day!" Huward And this is much. and all which will not pass away. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. C l XXXVI. XLI. There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, u quiet to qck bosms is a hell Whose spirit antithetically mixt And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire One moment of themightiest, and ain otion 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; nd, but once kindled, quenchless evernor, For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st Preys uponhih adventure nor can tire Even now to re-assume the imperial mien, a fever at the core Of aught but6 rest; a fever at the core, And shake again the world, the thunderer of the scene! Fatal to hi who bears, to all who ever bore. XXXVII. XLIII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! This makes the madmen whlo have made men mat] She trembles at thee still,,and thy wild name oneo and n as ne'er more bruited in ve md t n By their contagion; conquerors and kings, as~as ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now Founders of sects and systems, to whomn add TJhat thou art nothing, save the jest of fame That tho~u art nothing; save the jestoffame, Sophists, bards, statesmen, all unquiet things, Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became r S WhI-lo woo'd thee once, thy vseal, and became Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert themselves the fools to those they ool A goduno tyslf no lss-thseAnd are themselves the fools to those they fool; A god unto thyself; nor less the same Envied, yet how unenviable what stings To the astounded kingdoms allinertEnvied, yet how unenviable! what stings To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Are their's! One breast laid open were a school Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert. m t l t Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule. XXXVIII. Oh, more or less than man-in high or low, XLI. Battling with nations, flying from the field; a tei e Now makingXmonarchsnecks thy footstool, now A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, More th thnthy meanest soldier taught to yield; y s n a b bt- X — ---— That should their days, surviving perils past, An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, t ol t, er ButX overn ntMelt to calm twilight, they feel overcast But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,'lith sorrow and supineness, and so die; However deeply in men's spirits skill'd,w a s so die Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, ivia fl 6... 1. r il. i c E/With its own flickering, or a sword laid bv Nor learn that tempted fate will leave the loftiest star.... h n, r l VWhich eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. XXXIX. XLV. Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide wHe \vo ascends to mountain-tops shall find With that untaught innate philosophy, He who ascends to mountain-tos shall find Which be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, JThe loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. He who surpasses or subdues mankind When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, Must look down on the hate of those below. To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled Though high above the sun of glory glow, With a sedate and all-enduring eye;- And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, When fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled. Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. XL. Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them XL\I. Ambition stecl'd thee on too far to show Away with these! true wisdom's world will be That just habitual scorn which could contemn Within its own creation, or in thine, Men and their thoughts;'t was wise to feel, not so Maternal nature! for who teems like thee, To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine? And spurn the instruments thou wert to use There Harold gazes on a work divine, Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow: A blending of all beauties; streams and dells,'T is but a woithless world to win or lose; Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, viii, So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot wl.o choose. And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where ruin greenly dwells. XLI. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, XLVI1. Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock; Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, throne, Or holding dark communion with the cloud. Their admiration thy best weapon shone; There was a day when they were young and prodt, 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 ore n),w fiJr sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den.9 And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. 1 2 (2 BYRON'S WORKS. XLVIII. LIV. Beneath these battlements, within those walls, And he had learn'd 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 infancy, Doingi his evil will, nor less elate Even iA its earliest nurture; what subdued Than mightier heroes of a longer date. To change like this, a mind so far imbued What want these outlaws 0 conquerors should have, 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 glow. as brave. LV. XLIX. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, In their baronial feuds and single fields, 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 disguise, With emblems well devised by amorous pride, Had stood the test of mortal enmities Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide; Still 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 pour Saw the discolour'd Rhine beneath its ruin run. L. The castled crag of Drachenfels " But thou, exulting and abounding 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 conflict,-then to see And scatter'd cities crownihg 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 thou 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 ery graves are gone, and what are they? Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, The tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday, And many a rock which steeply lours 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,-'itly waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem. Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! 3. LII. I send the lilies given to me; Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, Though long before thy hand they touch, 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, Rut 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 wealvd 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 eves in following mine dc! in its tenderer hour on that his bosom'dwelt. Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! GCILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 63 LVI. LXII. By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, But these recede. Aboveme are the Alps, - There is 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 Honour 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 Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain nuin below. LVII. L 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 And fitly nmay the straner lingering here Morat! the proud, the patriot field! where man Pray for his gallant spirit's bright-epose; Pray for his gallant spirit's briglhlrepose; May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, blush forthose who conquerd 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, throuh ages to reain, A bony heap, through ages to remain, On such as wvield her weapons; he had kept Themselves their monument;-the Stygian coast The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.2 Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wandering LVIII. ghost. Here Ehrenbreitstein, 3 with her shatter'd wall, LXIV. Black with the miner's blast, upon her height While Waterloo with Carinn'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 io princely cause And laid those proud roofs bare to summer's rain- Of vice-enta;i'd corruption; they no land On which the iron shower for years had pour'd in vain. Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws Making kings' rights divine, by some Draconic clause. LIX. 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;'T is the last remnant of the wreck of years, And looks as with the wild bewilder'd gaze And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey And ooks as with the wd bewilder'd aze On self-condemning bosoms, it were here, Of one to stone converted by amaze, here 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 ofhuman hands, Levell'd Aventicum,'5 hath strew'd her subject lands. LX. ^~~~~LX.~~ LXVI. Adieu to th-emegain! a vain adieu! to*.Adieu tome~g~ainl a vain adieui And there-oh! sweet and sacred be the name!There can be no farewell to scene like thine;dahter te de ave Julia-the daughter, the devoted-gave The mind is colour'd by thy every hue; Her yoh o Her youth to tteaven; her heart, beneath a claim And if reluctantly the eyes resign And if reluctantly the eyes resign Nearest to heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave. Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine! e Justice is sworn'gainst tears, and hers would crave'T is with the thankful glance of parting praise;life she lived in but the jude was just More mighty spots may rise-more glaring shine,. reity spots may rise-mor lrno shine, And then she died on him she could not save. But none unite in one attaching maze But none unite in one attaching maze Their tomb was simple, and without a bust, The brilliant, fair, and soft,-the glories of old days. And held ithin their urn one mind, one eart And held within their urn one mind, one neart, on, LXI. dust. 16 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, The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and bil il, 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 woe Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, And from its immortality look forth Still s ringing o'er thy banks, though empires near In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow," them fall. Imperishably pure beyond all things below 64 BYRON'S WORKS. LXVIII. LXXIV. Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face, And when, at length, the mind shall be all free The mirror where 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, ire mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their fold. Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot? LXIX. LXXV. ~To fly from, need not be to hate, man.kid;. Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part All are not fit with them to stir ard 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 dare not strong. glow? LXX. LXXVI. There, m a moment, we may plunge our years But this is not 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 colour 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;'t was a foolish quest, Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be. The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest. LXXI... LXXVII. Is it rknh better the to be alone, And ovetholyfoe r it s e aarthblon e, Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, And love earth only for its earthly sake? of afftion, he who threw By the. blersigoheaThe apostle of affliction, he who threw By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,er passion, and from woe Enchantment over passion, and from woe Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake, run ove ZD XWrung overwhelmina eioquince; first drew Which feeds it as a mother who doth make r n 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; — Kissing its cries away as these awake;- O'er errina deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue Is it not better thus our lives to wear, s it not etter thus our lives to wear, Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past Fhan join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or bear? The eyes, e e s e e -.he eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. LXXII. LXXVIII. I live not in myself, but I become ortion of that around me; apd to me, His love was passion's essence-as a tree -nIh mountains are a feelinga but the lhum "On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame,ah mountains are a feelingh but the hum Of human cities torture: I cabn see Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same. A link reluctant in a fleshy chain, But his was not the love of living dame, Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee, Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain But ofidealbeaut, which became tf ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. In him existence, and o'erflowina teems Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems. ILXXIII. And thus l am absorb'd, and this is life: LXXIX. [ look upon the peopled desert past This breathed itself to life in Julie, this As on a place of agony and strife, Invested her with all that's wild and sweet; Where, for some sin, to so-row was I cast, This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss To act and suffer, but remount at last Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet, With a fresh pinion; which I feel to spring, From hers, who )ut with friendship his would meet: Though young, yet waxing vigorous as the blast But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast Which t would cope with, on delighted wing,,FSsn'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat;;purning the clay-cold bonds which round our being In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest, cline. Than vflgar minds may be with all they seek possest CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 65 LXXX. LXXXVI. His life was one long war with self-sought foes, It is the hush of night, and all between Or friends by him self-banish'd; for his mind.Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Ilad 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'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. Precipitously steep; and, drawing near, But he was phrenzied,-wherefore, who may know? There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Since cause night be which skill could never find; Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear But he was phrenzied by disease or woe, Drops the light drip' of the suspended oar, ro that worst pitch of all which wears a reasoning show. Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more 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 and 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 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 o'ergrown Deep into nature's breast the spirit of her hues. fears? LXXXIXXXVIII. They made themselves a fearful monument! Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! The wreck of old opinions-things which grew ITffyourdi-b, ht teave-we woutiread the ite Breathed from the birth of time: the veil they rent, Of nen and empires,'tis to be orgiven, And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. That in our aspirations to be great, But good with ill they also overthrew, — " But good with ill they also overthrew, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild And claim kindredwith you; for ye are Upon the same foundation, and renew A beauty and a mystery, and create Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour re-fill'd In us such love and reverence from afar, As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd. That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselve, As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd. a stah e a star. LXXXIII. LXXXIX. But this will not endure, nor be endured! All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep, Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; They might have used it better, but, allured And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep:By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt All heaven and earth are still: from the high host On one another; pity ceased to melt Of 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, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day; But hath a part of being, and a sense What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey? Of that which is of all Creator and defence. LXXXIV. XC. What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt The hearts bleed longest, and but heal to wear In solitude, where we are least alone; That which disfigures it; and they who war A truth, which through our being then doth melt, With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear And purifies from self: it is a tone, Silence, but not submission: in his lair The soul and source of music, which makes know n Fix'd passion holds his breath, until the hour Eternal harmony. and sheds a charm, Which shall atone for years; none need despair: Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, It came, it cometh, and will come,-the power Binding all things with beauty;-'t would disarm To punish or forgive-in one we shall be slower. The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harn LXXV. XCI. Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, Not vainly did the early Persian make With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing His altar the high places and the peak Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Of earth-o'ergazing mountains,20 and thus take Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing The spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, To waft me from distraction; once I loved Unrear'd of human hands. Conme and compare Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Columns and idol-dwrellings, Goth or Greek, Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, With nature's realms ot worship,. eacih and air, rhatI with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. Nor fix on fond abodes to ircumscbe thy prave. 14 b66 BYRON'S WORKS. XCII.. XCVIII.''he sky is changed!-and such a change! Oh night,2' The morn is up again, the dewy morn, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, With breath all indense, and with cheek all bloom, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, (O a dark eye in wonan! Far along, And living as if earth contain'd no tomb, — From peak to peak, the rattling crags among And glowing into day: we may resume. Leaps th^e ltlve une er! Notfrom one' one cloud, The march of our existence: and thus I. But every mountain now hath found a tongue, Still on thy shores, fair Lemai'n may find room And Jura answers, through hbr misty shroud, And food for meditation, nor pass by Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! Much that may give us pause, if ponder d fittingly. XCIII. XCIX. And this is in the night:-most glorious night! Clarens! sweet Clarens, birth-place of deep love! 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 portion of the tempest and of thee! The very glaciers have his colours caught, How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And sunset into rose-hues s es them wrought And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! By rays which sleep there I1 vingly: the rocks, And now aa.in't is black,-and now, the glee The permanent crags, tell h ire of love, who sought Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, the, mocks. XCIV. C. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,Heights which appear as lovers bho 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-hearted; Is a pervading life to light,-so shown,Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Not on those summits solely, nor alone Love was the very root of the fond rage In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed; His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, Itself expired, but leaving them an age His soft and summer breath, whose tender power zOf years all winters,-war within themselves to wage. Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hot.'XCV. CI. Now, where'the quick Rhone thus has cleft his way, All things are here of him; from the black pines, The nmightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand: Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar For here, not,one, but many, make their play, Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, Which slope his green path downward to the shone Flashing and cast around: of all the bad, here t bow'd waters meet him and adore, The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, I-is iightnings,-as if he did understand, The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, That in such gaps as desolation work'd, B.r..l..'eaves, young as joy, stands where it stood,'I here the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd. Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude. XCVI. CII. Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! A populous solitude of bees and birds, With night, and cle uds, and thunder, and a soul And fairy-form'd and man-colour'i things,'-o nmake these felt and feeling, well may'be Who worship him with notes nmore sweet than words,'Thingls that have made me watchful; the far roll And innocently open their glad wings, Of your departing voices is the knoll 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 tempests! is the goal? Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings Are ye like those within the human breast? The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, tr'lo ve find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? Mingling, and made by love, unto one mighty end. XCVII. CIII. Could I embody and unbosom now He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, That which is most within me, —could I wreak And make his heart a spirit; he who knows Mly thoughts upon expression, and thus throw That tender nystery, will love the more, Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or wea, 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 hin far from those, Bear, knor fel, atid yet breathe-into one word, For't is his nature to advance or die And thas:lawvRo rd wem Lightning, I would speak; He stands not still, but or decays, or grows silt as it i Is.iveand di.4p unheard, Into a boundless blessing, which may vie Witth a nrat voi eless thoulghtpheathling it as. sword. With the immortal lights, in its eternity CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 67 CIV. ~L^^A" CX.'T was 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 mind's purified beings;'twas 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:'t is lone, Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; stilly 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, Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial hill. throne. CXI. CV. Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes23 Thus far I have proceeded in a theme Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name; Rene'd ith no kind uspices:-to feel Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, We are not t we have been, and to ee A path ~ toO -~ bht~We are not what we should bee-and to steel A path to perpetuity of fame: The heart against itself; and to conceal, They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim h a i Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile'lith a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught,- - Thoughts which should call down thunder and the Passionor feeling, purpose, grief or zeal,flame Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought; Is a stern task of soul:-No matter-it is taught. Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while matter,-it is ta t. On man and man's research-could deign do more than CXII. smile. And for these words, thus woven into song, CVI. It may be that they are a harmless wile,The one was fire and fickleness, a child, The colouring of the scenes which fleet along, Most mutable in wishes, but in mind Which I would seize, in passing, to bcguiie A wit as various,-gay, grave, sage, or wild,- My breast, or that of others, for a while. IIistorian, bard, philosopher combined;. Fame is the thirst of youth,-but I am not He multiplied hilnself among mankind, So young as to regard men's frown or smile, The Proteus of their talents: but his own As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot; Breathed most in ridicule,-which, as the wind, I stooand s alone,-remember'd or forgot. Blew where it listed, laying all things prone,- -- CXIII. Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. I have not loved the world,nor the wor e CVII. b['ve"not-flatt6dl'i{sranikreatf, nor ow'd The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, Toiitsid'oaSri'esa palienfi;nee, — And hiving wisdom with each studious year, Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, In worship of an echo; in the crowd And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, They could not deem me one of such; I stood Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer: Among them, but not of them; in a shroud The lord of irony, —that master-spell, Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, ana stiD Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, could, And doom'd him to the zealot's ready hell, Had I not filed 24 my mind, which thus itself subduec. Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well.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 nt is not ours to judge,-far less condemn; Words which are things,-hopes which will not oat The hour must come when such things shall be made ceive, 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,-'T will be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. That goodness is no name, and happiness no dreamn CIX. CXV. But let me quit man's works, again to read My daughter! with thy name this song begunnHis Maker's spread around me, and suspend My daiglther! with thy name thus much shall enei. This page, which from my reveries I feed, I see thee not,-I hear thee not,-but none Until it seems prolonging without end., Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend The clouds above 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 shouldst behold, May be permitted, as my steps I bend My voice shall with thy fiture visions blend, To their most great and growing region, where And reach into thy heart,-when mine is co.o, * The earth to her embrace compels the power of air. A token and a tone, even from thy father's mculd. I: ~8 ~ BYRON'S WORKS. CXVI. state, a poetical work which is the longest, the most To aid thy mind's developement,-to watch thoughtful, and comprehensive of my compositions, I Thy dawn of little joys,-to sit and see wish to do honour to myself by the record of many Almost thy very growth,-to view thee catch years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of Knowledge of objects,-wonders yet to thee! steadiness, and of honour. It is not for minds like ours To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, to give or to receive flattery; yet the praises of sinAnd print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,- cerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendThis, it should seem, was not reserved for me; ship, and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to Yet this was in my nature:-as it is, relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, been I know not what is there, yet something like to this. so much accustomed to the encounter of good-will as CXVII. to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus attempt to Yet, though dull hate as duty should be taught, commemorate your good qualities, or rather the adI know that thou wilt love me - though roy name vantages which I have derived from their exertion. Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught Even the recurrence of the date of this letter, the anWith desolation,-_and a broken claim: niversary of the most unfortunate day of my past exThough the grave closed between us,'t were the istence, but which cannot poison my future, while I Though the grave closed between us,'t were the same- retain the resource of your friendship, and of my own 1 know that thou wilt love me,; though to drain ^faculties, will henceforth have a more agreeable recol7Iy blood from out thy being,s were an aim, lection for both, inasmuch as it will remind us of this And an attainment,-all would be in vain, — my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable regard, Still thou wouldst love me, still that more than life retain. such as few men have experienced, and no one could experience without thinking better of his species and CXVIII. of himself. The child of love,-though born in bitterness, It has been our fortune to traverse together, at variAnd nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire ous periods, the countries of chivalry, history, and These were the elements,-and thine no less. fable —Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy: and As yet such are around thee,-but thy fire what Athens and Constantinople were to us a few years Shall be more temper'd, and thy hope far higher. ago, Venice and Rome have been more recently. The Sweet be thy cradled slumbers! O'er the sea, poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accompanied And from the mountains where I now respire, me fiom first-to last; and perhaps it may be a pardonFain would I waft such blessing upon thee, able vanity which induces me to reflect with complaAs, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to me! cency on a composition which in some degree connects me with the spot where it was produced, and the objects it would fain describe; and however unworthy it,may be deemed of those magical and memorable abodes CANTO IV. however short it may fall of our distant conceptions and immediate impressions, yet as a mark of respec: for what is venerable, and a feeling for what is glorious, Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna, it has been to me a source of pleasure in the producQuel monte che divide, e quel che serra Italia. e un mare e 1' altio, che la bagna. tion, and I part with it with a kind of regret, which I ARIOSTO, Satira iii. hardly suspected that events could have left me for imaginary objects. TO With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. A.M. F.R.S. will be found less of thepilgrim than in any of the etc. etc. etc. preceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his own person. The fact iVIv DEAR HOBHOV-SE, is, that I had become weary of drawing a line which AFTrER an interval of eight years between the com- every one seemed determined not to perceive: like the position of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, Chinese in Goldsmith's "Citizen of the World," whom the conclusion of the poem is about to le submitted to nobody would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain the public. In parting with so old a friend, it is not ex- that I asserted, and imagined, that I had drawn a distraordinary that I should recur to one still older and tinction between the author and the pilgrim; and tile betters-to one who has beheld the birth and death of very anxiety to preserve this difference, and disaptie other, and to whom I am far more indebted for the pointment at finding it unavailing, so far crushed my social advantages of an enlightened friendship, than- efforts in the composition, that I determined to abandon though not ungrateful-I can, or could be, to Childe it altogether-and have done so. The opinions which Harold, for any public favour reflected through the have been, or may be, formed on that subject, are now Po(ni on the poet,-to one, whom I have known long, a matter of indifference; the work is to depend on itaid accompanied far, whom I have found wakeful over self, and not on the writer; and the author, who has no iiy sickness, and kind in my sorrow, glad in my pros- resources in his own mind beyond the reputation, tranperity, and firm in my adversity, true in counsel, and sient or permanent, which is to arise from his literary 1nusly in peril-to a friend often tried, and never found efforts, deserves the fate of authors. warnng; —to yourself. In the course of the following canto it was my intenIn so doing, I recur from fiction to truth, and in dedi-tion, either in the text or in the notes, to have touched cartilg to you in its complete, or at least concluded upon the present state of Italian literature, and perhaps CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 69 of manners. But the text, within the limits I proposed, "verily they will have their reward," and at no very I soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth of ex- distant period. ternal objects and the consequent reflections; and for Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and agreethe whole of the notes, excepting a few of the shortest, able return to that country whose real welfare can be I am indebted to yourself, and these were necessarily dearer to none than to yourself, I dedicate to you this limited to the elucidation of the text. poem in its completed state; and repeat once more how It is also a delicate, and no very grateful task, to truly I am ever dissert upon the literature and manners of a nation so Your obliged dissimilar; and requires an attention and impartiality And affectionate friend, which would induce us,-though perhaps no inatten- BYRON. tive observers, nor ignorant of the language or customs Venice, January 2, 1818. of the people amongst whom we have recently abode, -to distrust, or at least defer our judgment, and more tarrowly examine our information. The state of lite-ary, as well as political party, appears to run, or to I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; have run, so high, that for a stranger to steer impar- A palace and a prison on each hand: tially between them is next to impossible. It may be I saw from out the wave her structures rise enough, then, at least for my purpose, to quote from As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: heir own beautiful language-"Mi pare che in un A thousand years their cloudy wings expand iaese tutto poetico, che vanta la lingua la piu nobile ed Around me, and a dying glory smiles insieme la piu dolce, tutte tutte le vie diverse si possono O'er the far times, when many a subject land tentare, e che sinch6 la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, ha perduto l'antico valore, in tutte edssa dovrebbe essere Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred "a prima." Italy has great names still —Canova, Monti, isles Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonti, Visconti, Morelli, Cicognara, II. Albrizzi, Nezzofanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, Aglietti, and She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, 2 Vacca, will secure to the present generation an hon- Rising with her tiara of proud towers 9araule place in most of the departments of art, sci- At airy distance, with majestic motion, ence, and belles-lettres; and in some the very highest; A ruler of the waters and their powers: -Europe-the world-has but one Canova. And such she was;-her daughters had their dowers It has been somewhere said by Alfieri, that "La From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East pianta uomo nasce piu robusta in Italia che in qualun- Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers: que altra terra —e che gli stessi atroci delitti che vi si In purple was she robed, and of her feast commettono ne sono una prova." Without subscribing Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. to the latter part of his proposition, a dangerous doctrine, the truth of which may be disputed on better III. In Venice Tasso's echoes are no mofe,3 grounds, namely, that the Italians are in no respect I V more ferocious than their neighbours, that man must An silent rows the sonless ondolier; be wilfully blind, or ignorantly heedless, who is not Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, struck with the extraordinary capacity of this people, And music meets not always now the ear: Those days are gone-but beauty still is here. or, if such a word be admissible, their capabilities, ari e —b ut ti i he the facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of their States fall, arts fade —but Nature doth not die: conceptions, the fire of their genius, their sense of Nor yet foret ho Venice once was dear, theiX r sens The pleasant place of all festivity, beauty, and, amidst all the disadvantages of repeated I. ^ J,. c. ^ ^ J ^ ~ I nThe revel of the earth, the masque of Italy! revolutions, the desolation of battles, and the despair The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy of ages, their still unquenched "longing after immor- IV. tality," —the immortality of independence. And when But unto us she hath a spell beyond we ourselves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard Her name in story, and her long array the simple lament of the labourers' chorus, "Roma! Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despona Roma! Roma! Roma non e piu come era prima," it Above the dogeless city's vanish'd, sway; was difficult not to contrast this melancholy dirge with Ours is a trophy which will not decay the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation still yelled With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor, from the London taverns, over the carnage of Mont St. And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn awayJean, and the betrayal of Genoa, of Italy, of France, The keystones of the arch! though all were o'el, and of the world, by men whose conduct you yourself For us re-peopled were the solitary shore. have exposed in a work worthy of the better days of V our history. For me, our history. For me,' The beings of the mind are not of clay; "Non movero mai corda Essentially immortal, they create Ove la turba di sue ciance assorda."y i u a And mwultiply in us a brighter ray What Italy has gained by the late transfer of nations, And more beloved existence: that which tale it were useless for Englishmen to inquire, till it becomes Prohibits to dull life, in this our state ascertained that England has acquired something more Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied than a permanent army and a suspended Habeas Cor- First exiles, then replaces what we hatepus; it is enough for them to look at home. For what Watering the heart whose early flowers have dm'tf,. they have done abroad. and especially in the South, And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. K 70 BYRON'S WORKS. VI. XII. Such is the refuge of our youth and age, The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reign 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 sceptred cities; nations melt Yet there are things whose strong reality From power's high pinnacle, when they have fe, 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!' O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse: Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering fo, 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'd like 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? 8 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, arid at moments found; Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose! Let these too go-for waking reason deems 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 eyes In youth she was all glory,-a new Tyre,Have made me not 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, Immortalwaves 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,oved it well: and should I lay Statues of glass-all shiver'd-the long file My ashes in a soil which is not mine, 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 far 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, Of hasty growth and blight, and dull oblivion bar Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. X. ^'~~~~X. ~~XVI. My name from out the temple where the dead Syracuse, When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, Are the nate And fetterd thousands bore the nations-letyoke of war, And light the laurels on a loftier head! Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse, Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse, " And be the Spartan's epitaph on me- H v r o r "Sparta hath many a worthier son than he." S 4 ee a te n rai n, the car See! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need; Ofthe o'emaster'd victor stops the reins The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree handshisidle scimitar Fall from his hands-his-idle. scimitar I planted; —they have torn me,-and I bleed- Starts from its belt-he rends his captive's chains, I should have known what fruit would spring from such I should have known what fruit would spring from such And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strans. a seed. 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,'[he 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 s Which ties thee to thy tyrants; and thy lot Stand, uut 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 WiV'n Veniae was a queen with an unequall'd dower. Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wal. CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 71 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,2 Which out of things familiar, undesign'd, Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, When least we deem of such, calls up to v.ew Although I found her thus, we did not part, The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, Perchance even dearer in her day of woe, The cold-the changed —perchance the dead-anewr Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. The mourn'd, the loved, the lost-too many! yet how few! XIX. XX. XX.V I can repeople with the past-and of But my soll wanders; I demand it back The present there is stillfor eye and thought, To meditate aonst deca, and stand And meditation chasten'd down, enough! A te t r) A ruin amidst ruins; there to track And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought: Fallen states an buri greatness, oer a land And of the happiest moments which were wroughtt in its old command Z2 ~ Which was the mightiest in its old command, Within the web of my existence, some W~ithin the web of my existence, some And is the loveliest, and must ever be From thee, fair Venice! have their colours caught: master-mold ofnature's heavenly ha The master-mould of nature's heavenly hand, There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, Nor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. The beautiful, the brave-the lords of earth and sea, XX. -XXVI. But from their nature will the tannen grow 3 The commonealth of ki the Loftiest or, loftiest and least shelter'd rocks, And even since, and now, fair Italy Rooted in barrenness, where nought below Rooted in barrenness, where nought below Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of soil supports them'gainst the Alpine shocks f all art yields, nd nature can decree Of eddying storms; yet springs the trunk, and mocks Even in thy deert, what i like o thee The howling tempest, till its height and frame y veryweeds are beautiful, thy waste Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks rich than other imes' fertiit Of bleak, gray granite, into life it came, Thy wreck a lory, and th ruin graced Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced And grew a giant tree;-the mind may grow the same. With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced. XXI. XXVII, Existence may be borne, and the deep root moon is up, and yet it is not nightOf life and sufferance make its firm abode nset divides the sky with hera sea In bare and desolated bosoms: mute In bare and desolated bosoms:Of glory streams along the Alpine height The camel labours with the heaviest load, Of blue Friuli's mountains heaven isree And the wolf dies in silence,-not bestow'd And the wolf dies-in silence,-not bestow'd From clouds, but of all colours seems to be In vain should such example be; if they,elted to one vast Irisof the west Things of ignoble or of savage mood, Where the dav joins the past eternity Endure and shrink not, we ofn.obler clay 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. ^"'~~XXII. ~XXVIII. All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy sle star is at her side, and rei t) I A single star is at her side, and reigns Even by the sufferer; and, in each event With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still I Ends:-some, with hope replenish'd and rebuoy'd, Yo sunny sea heaves brightly, and reains Return to whence they came-with like intent, Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhmetian hill And weave their web again; some, bow'd and bent As day and night contending 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 inst 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 witha r XXIII. glows, But ever and anon of grief subdued XXIX. 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 thewaters; 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 dav A flower-the wind-the ocean-which shall wound, Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues Striking the electric chain wherewith we are quickly With a new colour as it gasps away, bound; The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone-and all is ga.r 72 BYRON'S WORKS. 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' 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; 16 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't is 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 who their mortality have felt,'Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty: And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd Ie! 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 Is For they can lure no further; and the ray No strain which shamed his country's creaking lyre, 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, In life and death to be the mark where Wrong Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours Aim'd with her poison'd arrows; but to miss. With a calm languor, which, though to the eye Oh, victor unsurpass'd in modern song! Idlesse it seem, hath its morality. Each year brings forth its millions; but how long If from society we learn to live, The tide of generations shall roll on,'T is solitude should teach us how to die; And not the whole combined and countless throng It hath no fatterers; 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 r sun. XXXIV. XL. Or, it may be, with demons, 17 who impair Great as thou art, yet parallel'd by those, The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine, In melancholy bosoms, such as were The bards of hell and chivalry: first rose Of moody texture from their earliest day, The Tuscan father's Comedy Divine; And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay, Then, not unequal to the Florentine, Deeming themselves predestined to a doom The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd forth Which is not of the pangs that pass away; A ndw creation with his magic line, Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb, And, like the Ariosto of the north, The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom. Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly wort. XXXV. XLI. f errara! in thy wide and grass-grown streets, The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust " Whose symmetry was not for solitude, The iron crown of laurel's mimick'd leaves;'here seems as't were a curse upon the seats Nor was the ominous element unjust, (if former sovereigns, and the antique brood For the true laurel-wreath which glory weaves 20 If Este, which for many an age made good Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves, Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore And the false Semblance but disgraced his brow; Pa.ron or'tyrarm, as the changing mood Yet still, if fondly superstition grieves, Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore Know that the lightning sanctifies below 21'he w-'eth which Dante's brow alone had worn before. Whate'er it strikes;-yon head is doubly sacred now. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 73 XLII. XLVIII. Italia! oh Itaita! thou who hast22 But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, The fatal gift of beauty, which became Where the Etrurian Athcns 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 malit'8st thou more appal; or, less desired, There, too, the goddess loves in stone, and fills"' Je homely arnd 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'dmortal; the veil Of heaven is half undrawn; within the pale Down the deep Alps; nor would the hostile horde Of heaven is half undrawn; within the pale Of many-nation'd spoilers friom the Po Of many-natlon'd spoilers fri-om tlhe Po VWe stand, and in that form and face behold Quaff blood and water; nor the stranger's swor What mind can mae, when nature's self ould f Be thy sad weapo i of defence, and so, f Be thy sad weapo s of de~fence, and so, And to the fond idolaters of old Victor or vanquish'd, thou the slave of friend or foe. Envy the innate ash which such a soul could mo XLIV. L. We gaze and turn away, and know not where, Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him,23 We gaze and turn away, and know not where, The Rnn in of' t a, Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart The Roman friend of Rome' Reels with is fulness; there-or ever thereThe friend of Tully: as my bark did skim Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal art, The bright blue waters with a fanning wind, rhe bright blue waters with a fanning wind, We stand as captives, and would not depart. Came Megara before me, and behind Came egara before me, and behind Away!-there need no words, nor terms precise, Jlgina lay, Piraeus on the right, oina layd Pirs s on the rlght; I l r The paltry jargon of the marble mart, And Corinth on the left; I lay reclined peantry guls foly-we have eyes: Along the prow, and saw all these unite ~Where pedantry gulls folly-we have eyes: Along, t ahe prow, and saw al the'dse unite Blood-pulse-and breast, confirm the Dardan shcp I a ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight; prize. XLV. LI. For time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd Appear'st thou not to Paris in this guise Barbaric dwellings on their shatter'd site, Or to more deeply blest Anhises? 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.nd 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 pageWith 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. Tildh 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 thatowas The gods become as mortals, and man's fate Of then destruction is; and now, alas! Has moments like their brightest; but the weight Romne-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, The skeleton of her Titantic form,24 From what has been or might be, things which r lw WTrecks 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 teacli and tell Mother of arts! as once of arms; thy hand How well his ccnnoisseurship understands Was then our guardian, and is still our guide; The graceful bend, and the voluptuous swe:i Parent of our religion! whom the wide Let these describe the undescribable: Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven! I would not their vile breath should cnsp the btreroh: Europe, repentant of her parricide, Wherein that image shall for ever dwell; Sh ll yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream Rt,1;he barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beamns x 2 15 74 BYRON'S WORKS. 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 porphyry, 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,28 and his, Whose names are mausoleums of the muse, The starry Galileo, with his woes; Are gently prest with far more reverent tread Hlere Machiavelli's earth returned to whence it rose.2 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 firnish forth creation: —Italy! 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; rents There be more marvels yet-but not for mine; Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, For I have been accustom'd to entwine And hath denied, to every other sky, My thoughts with nature rather in the fields, Spirits which soar from ruin:-thy decay Than art in galleries: though a work divine Is still impregnate with divinity, Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields Which gilds it with revivifying ray; Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. LXII. LVI. Is of another temper, and I roam But where repose the all Etruscan three- Ry Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home; The Bard of Prose, creative spirit! he For there the arthaginian's warlike wiles Of the Hundred Tales of love-where did they lay C Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay e h beeen he m ais and the shore, The host between the mountains and the shore, In death as life? Are they resolved to dust, files, Where courage falls in her despairing files, And have their country's marbles nought to say? And torrens s o riers And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore, Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust? Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd o'er. Did they not to her breast their filial earth entrust?. LVII. LXIII. Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar,30 Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds; Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore;' And such the storm of battle on this day, Thy factions, in their worse than civil war, And such the phrenzy, whose convulsion blinds Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray Their children's children would in vain adore An earthquake reel'd unheededly away! 35 With the remorse of ages; and the crown 32 None felt stern nature rocking at his feet, Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, And yawning forth a grave for those who lay Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, Upon their bucklers for a w inding-sheet; His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled-not thine Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet own. LX LVIII. The earth to them was as a rolling bark Boccaccio to his pa -nt earth bequeath'd 33 Which bore them to eternity; they saw I-is dust,-and lies it not her great among, The ocean round, but had no time to mark With many a sweet and solenin requiem breathed The motions of their vessels; nature's law O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue? In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe That music in itself, whose sounds are song, Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds The poetry of speech? No;-even his tomb Plunge in the clouds for refiuge, and withdraw Uptorn, must bear the hymena bigot's wrong, From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds No more amidst the meaner dead find room, Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom! words. LIX. LXV And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust; Far other scene is Thrasimene now; Ye, for this want more noted, as of yore Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain The Ctesar)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! honour'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 Sanguinettr tells ye where the dead While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and weeps. Made the earth -wet,.nd turn'd the unwilling waters red. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 75 LXVI. LXXII. But thou, Clitumnus! in thy sweetest wave 38 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, 3 Her limbs where nothling 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 daughters! Love watching madness with unalterable mien. 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 lauwines9-might be worshipp'd The finny darter with the glittering scales, more; Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps; But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling Glaciers of bleak Mont-Blanc both far and near, tales. And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, LXVIII. LXXIV. Pass not unblest the genius of the place Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name; If through the air a zephyr more serene And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly Win to the brow,'t is his; and if ye trace Like spirits of the spot as't were for fame, Along his margin a more eloquent green, For still they soar'd unutterably high,: If on the heart the freshness of the scene I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye; Sorinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust Athos, Olympus, Etna, Atlas, made 0. weary life' a moment lave it clean These hills seem things of lesser dignity, With Nature's baptism,-'t is to him ye must All, save the lone Soracte's height, display'd Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid LXIX. LXXV. The roar of waters!-from the headlong height or our remembance and fron out the plain Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, The fall of waters! rapid as the light The fall of wters! rapid as the liht And on the curl hangs pausing: not in vain The flashingmass foams shaking the abyss; he who will, his recollections rake The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss, And quote in classic raptures and aake And boil in endless torture; while the sweat The hills with Latian echoes; I abhor'd Of their areat agony, wrung out from this Of their great agony, wrung out from this Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, Their Phlegcethon, curls round the rocks of jet ^ ^ Their'Phlcethon, curls round the rocks of jet The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by woni 4, That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, In my repugnant youth with pleasure to record LXX. LXXVI. And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again Auht that recalls the daily drug which turn'd Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, sickening memory; and, though time hath taught With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, My mind to meditate what then it learnd, Is an eternal April to the ground, Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought Making it all one emerald:-how profound By the impatience of my early thought, The gulf! and how the giant element That, with the freshness wearing out before From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, My mind could relish what it miht have sought Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent If free to choose I cannot now restore With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent Its health; but what it then detested, stil abhor. LXXI. LXXVII. 1'o the broad column which rolls on, and shows Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, More like the fountain of an infant sea Not for thy faults, but mine; it is a curse Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes To understand, not feel thy lyric flow Of a new world, than cnly thus to be To comprehend, but never love thy verse, Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, Although no deeper moralist rehearse With many windings, through the vale:-look back! Our little life, nor bard prescribe his arL. Lo! where it comes like an eternity, Nor livelier satirist the conscience pierce, As if to sweep down all things in its track, Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart,::harming the eye with dread,-a matchless cataract, 3" Yet fare thee well-upon Soracte's ridge we pain 76 BYRON'S WORKS. 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'er-canopied horizon fail'd, A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. Her rushing wings-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 woe; 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 Scipios' 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 his breath. LXXX. The Goth, the Christian, time, war, flood, and fire, LXXXVI. Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd' city's pride; The third of the same moon whose former course She saw her glories star by star expire, Had all but crown'd him, on the selfsame day And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, Deposed him gently from his throne or force, Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide And laid him with the earth's preceding clay. 44 Temple and tower went down, nor left a site:- And show'd not fortune thus how fame and sway, Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, And all we deem delightful, and consume O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, Our sols to compass through each arduous way, And say, "here was, or is," where all is doubly night? Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb? Were they but so in man's, how different were his do( nm LXXXI. The double night of ages, and of her, LXXXVII Night's daughter, ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap And thou, dread statue! yet existent in All round us; we but feel our way to err: The austerest form of naked majesty, 4 The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, Thou who beheldest,'mid the assassins' din, And knowledge spreads them on her ample lap; At thy bathed base the bloody Cesar lie, But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Folding his robe in dying dignity, Stumbling o'er recollections; now we clap An offering to thine altar from the queen Our hands, and cry " Eureka!" it is clear- Of gods and men, great Nemesis? did he die, When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye been Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene? LXXXII. Alas' the lofty city! and alas! LXXXVII. The trebly hundred triumphs! 42 and the day And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome! 40 The trebly hundred triumphs! 42 and the day She-wolf! whose brazen-imaced dugs impart When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass. d i m he conqueror's sword in be g fe ay The milk of conquest yet within the dome Ihe conqueror's sword in bearing fame away! W. a Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay,ere as a monument of antie a t0r' i ~ J ~ v ^ L n^ Thou standest: —mother of the mighty heart, And Livy's pictured page!-but these shall be Thou standest other of te miht heart, Her resurrection; all beside-decay. Which the great founder suck'd fiom thy wild teat, Her resurrection; all beside-decay. I I Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's ethereal dart, Alas, for earth, for never shall we see Scoch'd by the Roman thral dart, Alas, for e, fr n r sl we se And thy limbs black with lightning-dost thou yet That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was ls bk wh lt tu free! Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge forgt a free' b LXXXIII. LXXXIX. Oh thou, whose chariot roll'd on fortune's wheel, 43 Thou dost;-but all thy foster-babes are deadTrumphant Sylla! thou who didst subdue The men of iron; and the world hath rear'd rhy country's foes ere thou would pause to feel Cities from out their sepulchres: men bled The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due In imitation of the things they fear'd, O)f hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew And fought and conquer'd, and the same course steer d O'er orostrate Asia;-thou, who with thy frown At apish distance; but as yet none have, Annihilated senates-Roman, too, Nor could, the same supremacy have near'd, With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down Save one vainman, who is not in the grave, With an toning smile a more than earthy crown- But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a slavej- ~, ~,~ - - -?c- - -~~c I- -L ~r~-P3 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 77 XC. XCVI. The fool of false dominion-and a kind Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be, Of bastard Caesar, 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,4' 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 B t m But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime, Andcame-adAnd fsaw-and conquered Saturnaliaut te b een Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, And fatahave her Saturnalia been Like a traind falcon, in the Gallic van, To freedom's cause, in every age and clime; Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van, 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, ith but one weakest weakness-vanity, And the base pageant last upon the scene, With but one weakest weakness-vanity, m - Coquettish in ambition-still he aim'd- Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst-his At what: can he avouch-or answer what he claim'd? n worst-his 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 Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind: Had fix'd him with the Caesars in his fate, Thy 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, A 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!-Renew 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 own judgments should become too bright, What was this tower of strength? within its cave And their free thoughts be crimes,'and earth have too What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid?-A woman's grae e much light. C. XCIV. 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 not War for their chains, and, rather than be free, So honour'd-and conspicuously there, Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, Within the same arena where they see Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot? Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree. CI. 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. Averr'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 affecutin Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. are. 78 BYRON'S WORKS. CII. CVIII. Perchance she died in youth: it may be, bow'd There is the moral of all human tales;' With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb'T is but the same rehearsal of the past, That weigh'd upon her gentle dust, a cloud First freedom, and then glory-when that fails, Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom Wealth, vice, corruption,-barbarism at last. In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom And history, with all her volumes vast, Heaven gives its favourites-early death; 50 yet shed Hath but one page,-'t is better written here, A sunset charm around her, and illume Where gorgeous tyranny had thus amass'd With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead, All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear, f0 her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. Heart, soul, could seek, tongue as -Away with words! draw near, CIII. CIX. Perchance she died in age-surviving all, Admire, exult-despise-laugh, weep,-for here Charms, kindred, children-with the silver gray There is such matter for all feeling: —man On her long tresses, which might yet recall, Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear It may be, still a something of th3 day Ages and realms are crowded in this span When they were braided, and her proud array This mountain, whose obliterated plan And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed The pyramid of empires pinnacled By Rome —-But whither would conjecture stray? Ofglory's gwaws shiningin the van Thus much alone we know-Metella died, Till the sun's rays with added flame were filld! The wealthiest Roman's wife; behold his love or pride! Where are its golden roofs? where those who dared to CIV. build? I know not why-but standing thus by thee C. It seems as if I had thine inmate known,ully wasnot so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base! Thou tomb! and other days come back on me Th nameless column with the buried base! With recollected music, though the tone What are the laurels of the Csas bro Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groan Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. Of dying thunder on the distant wind: Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, Of dying thunder on the distant wind: tim Yet could I seat me by this ivied stonetus, or Traan's No'tis that of time: Till I had bodied forth the heated mind Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace Forms ftom ne floating wreck which ruin leaves behind Sffing; and apostolic statues climb To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime,"' CV. ^~~~~~CV. ~CXI. And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks, Buriedin air, the deep-blue sky of Rome, Built me a little bark of hope, once more Built me a little bark of hope, once more And looking to the stars: they had contain'd To battle with the ocean and the shocks To battle with the ocean and the shocks A spirit which with these would find a home, Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar 7. Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar The last of-those who o'er the whole earth reign'd, Which rushes on the solitary shore The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd, Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear:ws But yielded back his conquests:-he was more But could I gather from the wave-worn store Than a mere Aleander, and, unstain'd Enough for my rude boat, where should I steerith household blood and wine, serenely wore'I'herewoos nohome, norhope, norlife, save whatis here. His sovereign virtures-still we Trajan's name adore. 4 CVI. CXII.'hen let the winds howl on! their harmony Where is the rock of triumph, the high place Shall henceforth be my music, and the night Where Rome embraced her heroes? where the steep The sound shall temper with the owlet's cry, Tarpeian? fittest goal of treason's race, As I now hear them, in the fading light The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site, Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap Answering each other on the Palatine, Their spoils here? Yes: and in yon field below, With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright, A thousand years of silenced factions sleepAnd sailing pinions.-Upon such a shrine The forum, where the immortal accents glow, What are our petty griefs?-let me not number mine. And still the eloquent air breathes-burns with CiAro CVII. CXIII. Cypress and ivy, weed and wall-flower grown The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood: Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strown From the first hour of empire in the bud In fragments, choked-up vaults, and frescos steep'd To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd; In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, But long before had freedom's face been veil'd, Deeming it midnight:-temples, baths, or halls? And anarchy assumed her attributes; Pronounce who can; for all that learning reap'd Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Fron her research hath been, that these are walls- Trod on the trembling senate's slavish muteb, Hehold the Imperial Mount!'t is thus the mighty falls.5' Or raised the venal voice of baser Drostitutes. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 79 CXIV CXX. < a. i.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,! 5 While the tree Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies, Of fieedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf, And trees whose gums are poison; such the plants 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 brief. For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. r~Y-~~CXV.~ CXXI. CXV. Eer! s t Oh love! no habitant of earth thou artEgeria! sweet creation of some heart 5 An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, Which found no mortal resting-place so fair ~~~A e e w At 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, Or wert,-a youn Aurora of the air The naked eye, thy form, as it should be; The nympholepsy of some fond despair; e n d e th, as it old be O'r,>.it.ight be,. beaThe 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 common votary there d Too much adoring; whatsoe'cr thy birth, And to a thought such shape and image given, Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, L.nX r'1- 1 fl | As haunts the unquench'd soul-parch'd-weariedrhou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.s haunts the unquench'd soul-parch'd-wea wrung-and riven. CXXII.. "'";'. The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled its own beauty is the mind diseased, 7 With thine Elysian water-drops; the face And fevers into fase creation:-where, Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul ath sized Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, In him alone. Can nature shoso 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 Theunreach'd paradise of our despair, Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy creep, And overpowers the page where it would bloom again T CXVII. CXXIII. Fantastically tangled; the green hills Who loves, raves-'t is youth's frenzy-but the cure Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass Is bitterer still; as charm by charm unwinds The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Which robed our idols, and we see too sure Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, Ideal shape of such, yet still it binds Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes The fatal spell, and still it draws us on,Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; Reaping the whirldwind from the oft-sown winds; The sweetness of the violet's deep-blue eyes, The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its Seems ever near the prize,-wealthiest when most us skies. done. CXVIII. CXXIV. Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, We wither from our youth, we gasp away Egeria! thy all-heavenly bosom beating.Sick-sick; unfound the boon-unslaked the thirst. For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover; Though to the last, in verge of our decay, The purple midnight veil'd that mystic meetino Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first- With her most starry canopy, and seating But all too late,-so are we doubly curst. ^A i 2 Thyself by thine adorer, what befell? Love, fame, ambition, avarice-'t is the sami. - This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting Each idle-and all ill-and none the worst-' Of an enamour'd goddess, and the cell For all are meteors with a different name, flaunted by holy love-the earliest oracle! And death the- sable smoke where vanishes the flame. CXXV. CXIX. Few-none-find what they love or could have loved, And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, Though accident, blind contact, and the strong Blend a celestial with a human heart; Necessity of loving, have removed.... And love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, Antipathies-but to reclr, ere long, -Share with immortal transports? could thine art Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong: Make them indeed immortal, and impart And circumstance, that unspiritual god The purity of heaven to earthly joys, And miscreator, makes and helps along Expel the venom and not blunt the dart- Our coining evils with a crutch-like rod, The dull satiety which all destroys- Whose touch turns hope to dust-the dust we all nave And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys? trod. 80 BYRON'S WORKS' CXXVI. CXXXII. Our life is a false nature-'t is not in And thou, who never yet of human wrong The harmony of things,-this hard decree,'Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis! 5 This uneradicable taint of sin,..... }' Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long-. This boundless upa~tifsT ail-blasting tree,' Thou, who didst call the furies from the abyss, Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be And round Oi6stes bade them howl and hiss TIhe skies which rain their plagues on men like dew- For that unnatural retribution-just, Disease, death, bondage-all the woes we see- Had it but been from hands less near-in this And worse, the woes we see not-which throb through Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust!'hle immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. Dost thou not hear my heart?-Awake! thou shalt, ano must. CXXVII. Yet let us ponder boldly 5'-'t is a base CXXXII Abandonment of reason to resi~gn It is not that I may not have incurr'd Abandonment of reason to resign Our right of thought-our last and only place For my ancestral faults or mine the wound Of refuge; this, at least, shall still be mine: I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd Though fiom our birth the faculty divine With a just weapon, it had flow'd unbound; Is chain'd and tortured-cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, Bt my blood shall not sink in the ground; And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine To thee I do devote it-thou shalt take Too brightly on the unprepared mind, The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the Which if I have not taken for the sakeblind. But let that pass-I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. CXXVIII. CXXXIV. Arches on arches! as it were that Rome, And if my voice break forth,'t is not that now Collecting the chief trophies of her line, I shrink from what is suffer'd: let him speak Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, Her Coliseum stands; the moon-beams shine Or seen my mind's convulsionleave it weak; As't were its natural torches, for divine But in this page a record will I seek. Should be the light which streams here, to illume Not in the air shall these my words disperse, This long-explored but still exhaustless mine Though I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak Of contemplation; and the azure gloom The deep prophetic Fulness of this verse. Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse. CXXIX. CXXXV. Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, That curse shall be forgiveness-Have I notFloats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, Hear me, my mother Earth L behold it, Heaven!And shadows forth its glory. There is given Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? Unto the things of earth, which time hath bent, Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven? A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, life's life lied away? And magic in the ruined battlement, And only not to desperation driven, For which the palace of the present hour Because not altogether of such clay Alust yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. CXXX. CXXXVI. Oh time! the beautifier of the dead, From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy,'l Adorner of the ruin, comforter Have I not seen what human things coild do? And only nealer 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 of truth, love,-sole philosopher, And subtler venom of the reptile crew, For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift, -The Janus glance of whose significant eye, Which never loses though it doth defer- Learning to lie with silence, would seem true, Time, the avenger! unto tnee I lift And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift: Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. CXXXI. CXXXVII. Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine But I have lived, and have not lived in vain: 7 rid temple more divinely-desolate, My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, Amlong 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 timb, and breathe when I expire; Hear me not: but if calmly I have borne Something unearthly, which they deen not of, rood. and reserved my pride against the hate Like the renember'd tone of a mute lyre, Which shall not whelm me, let fme not have worn Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move'l'lus iron in my so,, in vain-shall they not mourn? In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 81 CXXXVIII. CXLIV. The seal is set.-Now welcome, thou dread power! But when the rising moon begins to climb Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour When the stars twinkle through the loops of time. 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 Coesar's head; 2 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: End grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. Heroes have trod this spot-'t is on their dust-ye tread. CXXXIX. CXLV. And here the buzz of eager nations ran, "While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; *3 In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; As man was slaughter'd by his fellow man. And when Rome falls-the world." From our own And wherefore slaughter'd? wherefore, but because 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 times, 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 ye CXL. will. I see before me the gladiator lie: 59(~'"' CXLVI He leans upon his hand-his manly brow CXLVI. He leants uponnis hand-hirs manly bow {Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublimeConsents to death, but conquers agony, Shrine of all saints, and temple of all gods, And his droop'd bead sinks gradually low- From Jove to Jesus —spared and blest by time; 64 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 mar ptod,, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now 1His way through thorns to ashes —glorious dome! The arena swims around him —he is gone, Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrants' rod. Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch theesanctuary ad home Shiver upon thee —sanctuary and home who won. ^^~~who won. ~Of art and piety-Pantheon! —pride of Rome! CXLI. He heard it, but he heeded not-his eyes C. ^ He heard it, bst he heeded not-his eyes Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts; Were with his heart, and that was far away; 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 holinessappealingto all heartsA holiness appealing to all hearts — But where his rude hut by the Danube lay To art a model; and to him ho treads There were his young barbarians all at play, Roe for the sake of aeslory sheds There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire, Her light through thy sole aperture; to those Butcher'dto make a Roman boliday — ~ utcher'd to make a Roman holiday 60 Who worship, here are altars for their beads; All this rush'd with his blood-Shall he expire, And unavenged?-Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire! Their eyes on honour'd fors, whose busts aroun CXLII. them close. 65 But here, where murder breathed her bloody steam; CXLVIII. And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light 66 And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain stream What do I gaze on? Nothing: Look again! Dashing or winding as its torrent strays; Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sightHere, where the Roman million's blame or praise Two insulated phantoms of the brain: Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd,' It is not so; I see them full and plainMy voice sounds much-and fall the stars' faint rays An old man, and a female young and fair, On the arena void-seats crush'd-walls bow'd- Fresh as a nursing-mother, in whose vein &nd galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely The blood is nectar:-but what doth she there, loud. With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and batre 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 on the heart andfrom the heart we took Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife And 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 nooR 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 reft What may the fruit be yet?-I know not —C ain wa away. Eve's. 1 a 82 BYRON'S WORKS. 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: Of health and holy feeling can provide Rich marbles-richer painting-shrines where flame Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher Tve lamps of gold-and haughty dome which vies Than Egypt's river:-from that gentle side In air with earth's chief structures, though their frame )rink, drink and live, old man! Heaven's realm holds Sits on the firm-set ground-and this the clouds musi no such tide. claim. CLI. CLVII. The starry fable of the milky way Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break, Has not thy story's purity; it is To separate contemplation, the great whole; A constellation of a sweeter ray, And as the ocean many bays will make, And sacred Nature triumphs more in this That ask the eye-so herb 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 wav shall miss Its eloquent proportions, and unroll To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source In mighty graduations, part by part, 0With 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 Adrian rear'd on high, 6 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 Whose traveli'd phantasy from the far Nile's Oatstrips 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 To view the huge design which sprung from such a birth. Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. CLIII. CLIX. But to! the dome-the vast and wondrous dome, 68 Then pause, and be enlightend; 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 hytena and the jackal in their shade; What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan I I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell The fountain of sublimity displays Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 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- Laocoon's torture dignifying.pain — Worthiest 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 blendingc: —vainForsook his former city, what could be, The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain Of earthly structures in his honour piled, And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, Of a sublimer aspect? Mlajesty, The old man's clench; the long-envenom'd 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 thv 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'hy hopes of immortality; and thou" With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, And nostril beautifil disdain, and might, See thy God lace to face, as thou dost now And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, l li Hniv of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. Develooing in that one glance the Deity. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 83 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 ow 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 Star-like, around, until they gather'd to a god! Which filld 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 thou tat 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!'t was wrought. CLXIV. CLXX. But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; The being who upheld it through the past? Thy bridal's fruit is ashes: in the dust Methinks he cometh late-and tarries long. The fair-hair'd daughter of the isles is laid, He is no more-these breathingss are his last The ve of millions! How we did intrust His wanderings done, his visions oebbing fast, Futurity to her! and, though it must And he himself as nothing:-~if he was Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd Our children should obey her child, and bless'd With forms which live and suffer-let that pass- Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd [is shadow fades away into destruction's mass, Like stars to shepherds' eyes:-'t was but a meteor ~~CLJXV~~. ~beam'd. C LXV. C LXXI. Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all W u That we inherit, in its mortal shroud,; for she sleeps well: AndX satdThe fickle wreath of popular breath, the tongue And spreads the dim and universal pall Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, Through which all things grown phantoms; and the h h ru Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung cloud.i Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung Between us sinks, and all which ever glow'd, Na strae f Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate Till glory's self is twilight, and displays - Till glory's self is twilight, and displays Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns,69 and hath flung A melancholy hao scarce alld Against their blind omnipotence a weight To hover on the verge of darkness; rays Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late,Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, 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 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 was The land which loved thee so that none could love thee gore. best. CLXVII. CLXXIII. Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, Lo, Nemi!'o 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; The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears Through storm and darkness yawns the rending ground, 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 discrown'd, And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface weaIs And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief A deep cold settled aspect noug;t can shams She clasps a:habe. to whom her breast yields no relief. All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snoa 84 BYRON'S WORKS. CLXXIV. CLXXX. And, near, Albano's scarce divided waves His steps are not upon thy paths,-thy fields Shine from a sister valley;-and afar Are not a spoil for him,-thou dost arise The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war, For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, "Arms and the man," whose re-ascending star Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, Rose o'er an empire;-but beneath thy right And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray Tully reposed from Rome;-and where yon bar And howling, to his gods, where haply lies Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight, His petty hope in some near port or bay, The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's delight." And dashest him again to earth:-there let him lay. CLXXV. CLXXXI. But I forget.-My Pilgrim's shrine is wont The armaments which thunder-striKe the walls And he and I must part,-so let it be,- Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, His task and mine alike are nearly done; And monarchs tremble in their capitals, Yet once more let us look upon the sea; The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make The midland ocean breaks on him and me, Their clay creator the vain title take And from the Alban Mount we now behold Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war; Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. CLXXVI. CLXXXII. Upon the blue Symplegades: long years- Thy shores are empires, changed in all save theeLong, though not very many, since have done Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Their work on both; some suffering and some tears Thy waters wasted them while they were free, Have left us nearly where we had begun; And many a tyrant since; their shores obey Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay We have had our reward-and it is here; Has dried up- realms to deserts:-not so thou, That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playAnd reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure browAs if there were no man to trouble what is clear. Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. /. CX LXXVII. CLXXXIII. Oh! that the desert were my dwelling-place, Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form With one fair spirit for my minister, Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, That I might all forget the human race, Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, And, hating no one, love but only her! Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Ye elements!-in whose ennobling stir Dark-heaving;-boundless, endless, and sublimeI feel myself exalted-can ye not The image of eternity-the throne i Accord me such a being? Do I err Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime I1. deeming such inhabit many a spot? The monsters of the deep are made; each zone'; Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone CLXXVIII. CLXXXIV. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, And I have loved thee, ocean! and my Joy There is a rapture on the lonely shore, Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be There is society, where none intrudes, Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy.By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I wanton'd with thy breakers-they to me I love not man the less, but nature more, Were a delight; and if the freshening sea From these our interviews, in which I steal Made them a terror —'t was a pleasing fear, From all I may be, or have been before, For I was as it were a child of thee, To mingle with the universe, and feel And trusted to thy billows far and near, What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here. CLXXIX. CLXXXV. Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean-roll! My task is done-my song hath ceased-my theme Ten th'ousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Has died into an echo; it is fit Man markshe earth with ruin-his control The spell should break of this protracted dream. Stops with the shore:-upon the watery plain The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit The wrecks are all thv deed, nor doth remain My midnight lamp-and what is writ, is writsA shadow of man's ravage, save his own, Would it were:worthier! but I am not now W'hen, for a moment, like a drop of rain, That which I have been-and my visions flit He. sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Less palpably before me-and the glow Wahoml. a grave, unknel'd uncoffin'd, and unknown. Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering,faint, and low CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 85 CLXXXVI. assassination is not confined to Portugal: in Sicily Farewell! a word-that must be, and hath been — and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome A sound which makes us linger,-yet-farewell! average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene punished! Which is his last, if in your memories dwell Note 4. Stanza xxiv. A thought which once was his, if on ye swell Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened! A single recollection, not in vain The convention of Cintra was signed in the palace He wore his sandal-shoon. and scallop-shell; of the Marchese Marialva. The late exploits of Lord Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain, Wellington have effaced the follies of Cintra. He has, 1I such there were-with you, the moral of his strain. indeed, done wonders: he has perhaps changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, ~'~"~ ~~~- - ~~' ~ and baffled an enemy who never retreated before his predecessors. N 0 T E S*. Note 5. Stanza xxix. Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay. The extent of Mafra is prodigious; it contains a pal CANTO I. ace, convent, and most superb church. The six organs Note 1. Stanza i. are the most beautiful I ever beheld in point of decoYes! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long-deserted shrine. ration; we did not hear them, but were told that their THE little village of Castri stands partly on the site of tones were correspondent to their splendour. Mafra is Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, termed the Escrial of Portugal. are the remains of sepulchres hewn in and from the - ote 6. Stanza xxxiii. rock: " One," said the guide, "of a king who broke Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know his neck hunting." His Majesty had certainly chosen'T1wixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low. the fittest spot for such an achievement. As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterized A little above C astri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, them. That they have since improved, at least in couof immense depth; the upper part of it is paved, and rage, is evident. now a cow-house. Note 7. Stanza xxxv. On the other side of Castri stands a Greek monas- When, Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band tery; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, That dyed thy mountain strearrs with Gothic gore with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, and ap- Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelaparently leading to the interior of the mountain; prob- gius preserved his independence in the fastnesses of the ably to the Corycian Cavern mentioned by Pausanias. Asturias, and the -descendants of his followers, after From this part descend the fountain and the " Dews of some centuries, completed their struggle by the conquest Castalie." of Grenada. Note 2. Stanza xx. Note 8. Stanza xlviii. And rest ye at "our Lady's house of woe." No!as he speeds he chaunts: —" Viva el Rey!" The convent of "Our Lady of Punishrpent," Nossa "Viva el Rey Fernando!"-Long live King FerdiSenora de Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, nand! is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Ho- songs; they are chiefly in dispraise of the old King norius dug his den, over which is his epitaph. From Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. I have the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view, heard many of them; some of the airs are beautiful. Note 3. Stanza xxi. Godoy, the Prtncipe de la Paz, was born at Badajoz, Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. on the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the It is a well-known fact, that in the year 1809, the ranks of the Spanish Guards, till his person attracted assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity the queen's eyes, and raised him to the dukedom of were not confined by the Portuguese to their country- Alcudia, etc. etc. It is to this man that the Spaniards men, but that Englishmen were daily butchered: and, universally impute the ruin of their country. so far from redress being obtained, we were requested Note 9 Stanza not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot defend- Bears in his cap the badge of crimson. hue, ing himself against his allies. I was once stopped in Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet. the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, The red cockade, with "Fernando Septimo" in tlfh when the streets were not more empty than they gener- centre. ally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop, and in Note 10. Stanza li. a carriage with a friend; had we not fortunately been The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match armed, I have not the least doubt that we should have All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyra adorned a tale instead of telling one. The crime of midal form in which shot and shells are piled.'I'h Sierra Morena was fortified in every defile throuln.1 Since the publication of this poem I have been informed Sierra Morena was fotified in every defile throug of the misapprehension of the term JMossa Senora de Pena. which I passed in my way to Seville. It was owing to the want of the tilde, or mark over the n, which altars the signification of the word: with it, Penza sig- Note 11. Stanza IvM. nifies a rock; without it, Pena has the sense I adopted. I do Foil'd by a woman's hand before a batte,. wal:, not think itne ssaryto alter the passage as, though thecom- Such were ploits of the Mad of Saragoz mon accepts n affixed to it is "our Lady of the Rock," I may well assnsumf e other sense, from the severities practised there. When the author was at Seville she walked dailv on toe L 2 86 BYRON'S WORKS. Prado, decorated with medals and orders, by command Note 2. Stanza i. of the Junta. But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire Note 12. Stanza lviii. Of men who never felt the sacred glow Thatthoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts bestow. The seal love's dimpling finger hath impressed Denotes how soft that chin that bears his touch. We can all feel, or imagine, the regret with which "Sigillain mento impressa amoris digitulo the ruins of cities, once the capitals of empires, are Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem."- iAuL. Gel. beheld; the reflections suggested by such objects are Note 13. Stanza lx. too trite to require recapitulation. But never did the Oh, thou Parnassus! littleness of man, and the vanity of his very best virtues, These Stanzas were writtenin Castri(Delphos), atthe of patriotism to exalt, and of valour to defend his foot of Parnassus, now called AraKvpa-Liakura. country, appear more conspicuous than in the record Note 14. Stanza lxv. of what Athens was, and the certainty of what she now Fairis proud Seville; let her country boast is. This theatre of contention between mighty factions, Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days. of the struggles of orators, the exaltation and deposition Seville was the HISPALIS of the Romans. of tyrants, the triumph and punishment of generals, is Note 15. Stanza lxx. now become a scene of petty intrigue and perpetual Ask ye, Bceotian shades! the reason why? disturbance, between the bickering agents of certain This was written at Thebes, and consequently in the British nobility and gentry. " The wild foxes, the owls best situation for asking and answering such a ques- and serpents in the ruins of Babylon," were surelyless tion; not as the birth-place of Pindar, but as the capital degrading than such inhabitants. The Turks have the of Bceotia, where the first riddle was propounded and plea of conquest for their tyranny, and the Greeks have solved, only suffered the fortune of war, incidental to the Note 16. St anzlxxxii. bravest; but how are the mighty falien, when two om tteo'te pflo its li f ainters contest the privilege of plundering the ParSome bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings., a. a t "Medio de fonte leporurn " Medio de fonte leporum thenon, and triumph in turn, according to the tenor of Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat."-Luc. each succeeding firman! Sylla could but punish, Philip Note 17. Stanza lxxxv. subdue, and Xerxes burn Athens; but it remained for A traitor only fell beneath th e feud. pe altry antiquarian, and his despicable agents, to Alluding to the conduct and death of Solano, the rendr her contemptible as himself and his pursuits. Governor of Cadiz. The Parthenon, before its destruction in part, by fire, during the Venetian siege, had been a temple, a church, Note 18. Stanza lxxxvi. and a mosque. In each point of view it is an object of " War even to the knife " regard: it changed its worshippers; but still it was a'War to the knife;" Palafoxs answer to the French place of worshlip thrice sacred to devotion: its violation General at the siege of Saragoza. is a triple sacrilege. But Note 19. Stanza xci. " Man, vain man, And thou, my friend! etc. Drest in a little brief authority, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, The honourable I*. W**. of the Guards, who died of As make the angels weep." a fever at Coimbra. I had known him ten years, the better half of his life, and the happiest part of mine.. Sta In the short space of one month I have lost her who Far on the solitary shore he sleeps. gave me being', and most of those who had made that It was not always the custom of the Greeks to burr being tolerable. To me the lines of YOUNG are no their dead; the greater Ajax in particular was interred fiction: entire. Almost.all the chiefs became gods after their Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? decease, and he was indeed neglected who had not anThy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain, nual games near his tomb or festivals in honour of his And thrice ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.' m.. emory by his countrymen, as Achilles, Brasidas, etc., I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the Achilles, Brasidas, etc., and at last even Antinous, whose death was as heroic as late Charles Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing Col- and at l as as heroic a i his life was infamous. lege, Cambridge, were he not too, much above all praise of mine. His powers of mind, shown in the.attainment Note 4. Stanza x. ~of greater honours, against the ablest candidates than Here, son of Saturn was thy fav rite throne. those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, have The temple of Jupiter Olympius, of which sixteen sufficiently established his fame on the spot where it columns entirely of marble yet survive: originally there was acqu:red, while his softer qualities live in the recol- were 150. These columns, however, are by many supwction of friends who loved him too well to envy his posed to have belonged to the Pantheon. ioueriaority. Note 5. Stanza xi. And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brire. The ship was wrecked in the Archipelago. CANTO If. Note 6. Stanza xii. To rive what Goth, and Turk, andtime hath spared Note 1. Stanza i. Note 1. Stanza i. At this moment (January 3, 1809), besides what has -despite of war and wasting fire- been already deposited in London, a Hydriot vessel is P ART of the Acropolis was destroyedby the explosion in the Pirmeus to receive every possible relic. Thus, as I of a magazine during the Venetian siege. heard a young Greek observe, in common with manv of CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 87 his countrymen-for, lost as they are, they yet feel on On this occasion I speak impartially: I am not a co!this occasion-thus may Lord Elgin boast of haying lector or admirer of collections, consequently no rival; ruined Athens. An Italian painter of the first eminence, but I have some early prepossessions in favour ofGre ece, named Lusieri, is the agent of devastation; and, like and do not think the honour of England advanced by the Greek finder of Verres in Sicily, who followed the plunder, whether of India or Attica. same profession, he has proved the able instrument of Another noble Lord has done better, because he has plunder. Between this artist and the French consul done less: but some others, more or less noble, yet Fauvel, who wishes to rescue the remains for his own " all honourable men," have done best, because, after government, there is now a violent dispute concerning a deal of excavation and execration, bribery to the a car employed in their conveyance, the wheel of which Waywode, mining and countermining, they have done -I wish they were both broken upon it —has been nothing at all. We had such ink-shed, and wine-shed, locked up by the consul, and Lusieri has laid his corn- which almost ended in blood-shed! Lord E.'s " prig," plaint before the Waywode. Lord Elgin has been ex- -see Jonathan Wylde for the definition of " priggism," tremely happy in his choice of Signor Lusieri. During -quarrelled with another, Gropius' by name (a very a residence of ten years in Athens, he never had the good name too for his business), and muttered somecuriosity to proceed as far as Sunium,' till he accom- thing about satisfaction, in a verbal answer to a note of panied us in our second excursion. However, his works, the poor Prussian: this was stated at table to Gropius, as far as they go, are most beautiful: but they are al- who laughed, but could eat no dinner afterwards. The most all unfinished. While he and his patrons confine rivals were not reconciled when I left Greece. I have themselves to tasting medals, appreciating cameos, reason to remember their squabble, for they wanted to sketching columns, and cheapening gems, their little make me their arbitrator. absurdities are as harmless as insect or fox-hunting, Note 7. Stanza xii. maiden-speechifying, barouche-driving, or any such Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, pastime; but when they carry away three or four ship- Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains. loads of the most valuable and massy relics that time I cannot resist availing myself of the permission of and barbarism have left to the most injured and most my friend Dr. Clarke, whose name requires no corncelebrated of cities; when they destroy, in a vain at- ment with the public, but whose sanction will add tentempt to tear down, those works which have been the fold weiht to my testimony, to insert the following exadmiration of ages, I'know no motive which can ex- tract from a very obliging letter of his to me, as a note cuse, no name which can designate, the perpetrators of to the above lines: this dastardly devastation. It was not the least of the "When the last of the Metopes was taken from the crimes laid to the charge of Verres, that he had plun- Parthenon, and, in moving of it, great part of the sudered Sicily, in the manner since imitated at Athens. erstructure, with one of the triglyphs, was thrown The most unblushing impudence could hardly go fur- down by the workmen whom Lord Elgin employed; ther than to affix the name of its plunderer to the walls the Disdar, who beheld the mischief done to the buildof the Acropolis; while the wanton and useless deface- ing, took his pipe from his mouth, dropped a tear, and, ment of the whole range of the basso-relievos, in one in a supplicatingtone of voice, said to Lusieri, Tnosg compartment of the temple, will never permit that name — I was present." The Disdar alluded to was the father of the present to be pronounced, by an observer, without execration. sdar alluded to was the father of the prese __ _ _ _ _ _- _ _ _ _ __, _ _ _ __ _._ _ Dis lar. 1 Now Cape Colonna. In all Attica, if we except Athens ote 8. Stanza xiv. itself and Marathon, there is no scene more interesting than Where was thine rgis, Pallas! that appall'd Cape Colonna. To the antiquary and artist, sixteen columns Stern Alarc and havoc on theirway are an inexhaustible source of observation and design; to the According to Zozimus, Minerva and Achilles frightphilosoplher the supposed scene of some of Plato's conversa- oned Alaric from the Acropolis; but others relate that tlions will not -be unwelcome;, and the traveller will be struck the Gothic king was nearly as mischievous as the Scotwith the beauty of the prospect over " Isles that crown the xgean deep;" but for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an tish peer.-See CHANDLER. additiona linteiest, as the actual spotof Falconer's Shipwreck. Note 9. Stanza xviii. Pallas and Plato are forgotten in the recollection of Falconer the netted canopy. and Campbell: The netting to prevent blocks or splinters from tali"Here in the dead of night, by Lonna's steep g on d The seaman's cry was heard along the deep.' on deck durin action. This temple of Minerva may be been at sea from a great dis- Note 10. Stanza xxix. tance. In two journeys which I made, and one voyage to Cape- But not in silence pass Calypso's isles. Colonna, the view from either side, by land, was less striking Goza is said' to have been the island of Calypso. than the approach from the isles. In our second land excursion, we had a narrow escape from a party of Mainotes, concealed 1 This Sr. Gropius was employed by a noble Lord for the in the caverns beneath. We were told afterwards, by one of sole purpose of sketching, in which he excels; but I am sorry their prisoners subsequently ransomed, that they were deterred to say, that he has, through the abused sanction of that most from attacking us by the appearance of my two Albanians: respectable name, been treading at an humble distance in the conjecturing very sagaciously, but falsely, that we had a com- steps of Sr. Lusieri. A shipfull of his trophies was detained, p!ete guard of these Arnaouts at hand, they remained station- and, I believe, confiscated at Constantinople, in 1810. I ant ary, and thus saved our party, which was too small to have most happy to be now enabled to state, that "this was not in opposed any effectual resistance. his bond;" that he was employed solely as a painter, and that Colonna is no less a resort of painters than of pirates; there his noble patron disavows all connexion with him, except as "The hireling artist plants his paltry desk, an artist. If the error in the first and second edition of this And makes degraded Nature picturesque." poem has given the noble Lord a moment's pain, I am verb'(See Hodgson's Lady Jane Grey, etc.) sorry for it; Sr. Gropius has assumed for years the name'of But there Nature, with the aid of art, has done that for her- his agent; and, though I cannot much condemn myself for self. 1 wat fortunate enough to engage a very superior German sharing in the mistake of so many, I am happy in being one artist; and hope to renew my acquaintance with this and many of the first to be undeceived. Indeed, I have as much p easure usher Levantine acenes, by the arrival of his performances. in contradicting this as I felt regret in stating it. 83 BYRON'S WORKS. Note II. Stanza xxxviii. age, and the latter about my own. Basili was stnctly Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes cha;ged by Ali Pacha in person to attend us; and DerOn thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men! On thee thou rugged nurse of savage men! vish was one of fifty who accompanied us through the Albania comprises part of Macedonia, Illyria,Cha- forests of Acarnania to the banks of Achelois, and ononia, and Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish word for. Alexander;.nd t h celebrated Snderbeg ( Lord AT 1* ward to Messalunghi in Etolia. There I took him into Alexander; and the celebrated Scanderbea (Lord Alander) is alluded to in the third and fourth lines of my own service, and never had occasion to repent it till exander) is alluded to in the third and fourth lines of t m o m, the moment of my departure. the thirty-eighth stanza. I do not know whether I am the m oen t of my dearture When in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mri torrect in making Scanderbeg the countryman of Alex- H. for England, I ed it a eve in i -,. ^^ ~ T^T H. for Enoland I was seized with a severe fever in the ander, who was born at Pella in Macedon, but Mr. b Gibbon terms him soand adds Pyrrhus to the list in Morea, these men saved my life by frightening away Gbo tr h o, ad as my physician, whose throat they threatened to cut if I speaking of h;s exploits. speaking of his exploits, was not cured within a given time. To this consola Of Albania, Gibbon remarks, that a country " within ae'.'..-i i L I ~ rA ^tory assurance of posthumous retribution, and a reso' sight of Italy, is less known than the interior of Ame- toy au. posmo retribution, an a res ca. Circ tances of little consequence to lute refusal of Dr. Romanelli's prescriptions, I attributed i.rcumtanes, of little consequence to men- my recovery. I had left my last remaining English tion, led Mr. Hobhouse and myself into that country, tion, led Mr. Robhou6 "aid i- that country, servant at Athens; my dragoman was as ill as myself, before we visited any other part of the Ottoman domin- my s and my poor Arnaouts nursed me with an attention ions; and with the exception of Major Leake, then wih wo ud a don onour t iviiatin -,.,1.,.~~ T,'.~ i >~~ w~vhich would have done honour to civilization. officially resident at Joannina, no other Englishmen otficially resident at Joannina no otiher Englihmen They had a variety of adventures; for the Moslem, have ever advanced beyond the capital into the interior, erish a y n I Dervish being a remarkably handsome man, was alas that gentleman very lately assured me. All Pacha I, y h, w ways squabbling with the husbands of Athens; insowas at that time, (Octoher, 1809), carrying on war I n s t tt im ie 1 9 cin n w much that four of the principal Turks paid me a visit against Ibrahim Pacha, whom he had driven to Berat, against Ib m wm he hd drivn to of remonstrance at the Convent, on the subject of his a strong fortress, which he was then besieging: on our t. 5, n~~ T ~ -1~having taken a woman from the bath-whom he had arrival at Joannina we were invited to Tepaleni, his,.,.., * ion AC ~ ~' i 2 lawfully bougrht however-a thing quite contrary to Highness's birth-place, and favourite Serai, only one laully bought however-a thing quite contrary to day's distance from Bcrat; at this juncture the Viziertique had made it his head-quarters..,Basili also was extremely gallant amongst his own had made it his lead-quarters. After some stay in the cap ital we accordig persuasion, and had the greatest veneration for the After some stay i the capital, we accor y fol- church, mixed with the highest contempt of church. lowed; but though furnished with every accornmmoda-,J D ^~..i i-~ ~ men, whom he cuffed upon occasion in a most heterotion, and escorted by oneof the Vizier's secretaries, we dox manner. Yet he neve passed a church withut were nine days (on account of the rains) in accom'- ohe r h i,. i,. *:',., ^, 1crossing himself; and I remember the risk he ran in plishing a journey which, on our return, barely occu- oin hi m an be e i h ran in b d f entering St. Sophia, in Stambol, because it had once pied four. n pied^~~'u- * -. Abe-3n a place of his worship. On remonstratingm with On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastro and a place of his w ip. n emnstatn th t inferr. o.' a in. s him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably anLibochabo, apparently little inferior to anlna in size;., Libochabo, apparently i tt inei t nswered, "our church is holy, our priests are thieves;" and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to the scenery and then he crossed himself as usual, and boxed the mn the vicinity of Zitza and Dclvinachi, the-frontier vil-.n the vicinity of Zitzaanid Dlvi cth ears of the first "papas" who refused to assist in any lage of Epirus and Albania Proper. Lageof i pirus and Albania~. required operation, as was always found to be necesOn Albania and its inhabitants, I am unwilling to dsn b s t b ~sary where a priest had any influence with the Cogia descant, because this will be done so much better by Indeed a more abandoned race e Bashi of his village. Indeed a more abandoned race my fellow-traveller, in a work which mav probably b my fellow-traveller, in a work which may probably of miscreants cannot exist than the lower orders of the precede this in publication, that I as little wish to follow reek clery. as I would to anticipate him. But some few observa- p, m When preparations were made for my return, my lions are necessary to the text.. ~ i.. Lions are necessary to the text. Albanians were summoned to receive their pay. Basil The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by took his th an akward show of regret at my i their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, in tk hs wth an am d show o r t at y des fgr ad m r of. T y n tended departure, and marched away to his quarters dress, figure, and manner of living. Their very moun-. s ent for Dervish, but for ~ ~.i.~ i~t.i ~ - n with his bag of piastres. I sent for Dervish, but for tains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. The of iastres kilt, thou wite he ae r actie he sone timo e he was not to be found; at last he entered, kilt though white; the spare,1 actie form; their dia- j lust as Signor Loaotheti, father to the ci-devant Ang!ofect, Celtic in its sound, and their hardy habits, all car- just as Sinor ti ther o te ea - ried me hack to Morven. No nation are so detestedconsul of Athens, and some other of my Greek acried me back to Morven. No nation are so detested..'.. quaintances' paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, and dreaded by their neighbours as the Albanese: the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turks but on a sudden dashed it to the ground; and clasping Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turks. i. h ns.. i s t i, ruhd"u his hands which he raised to his forehead rushed out as Moslems; and in fact they are a mixture of both, o m that m omet to J,d.^ rr^ ^l.. ^'t - of the room weeping bitterly. From that moment to nd sometimes neither. Their habits are predatory: th f my em the hour of my embark ation, he continued his lamentall are armed; and the red-shawled Arnaouts, >the, he cotiued his lametations, and all our efforts to console him only produced N1ontenegrins, Chimariots, and Geades, are treacherous; s a n n D 7 this answer' Am' q55 Jt~^vetl, e leaves me." Signor ie others differ somewhat in garb, and essentially inHe l..haracter. As a~r~ S asmy on experience goes, I can Logotheti, who never wept before for any thing less Jharacter. As ar as my own exDerience ooesl can b " h racte. A a yo n eprnegsca than the loss of a para, I melted; the padre of the speak favourably. I was attended by two, an Infidel ls of a convent, my attendants, my visitors-and I verily beand a Mussulman, to Canstantinople and every other lcoven, t y attennts, my vooishis-and I verily beoleve that even " Sterne's foolish fat scullion" would i. rtof l uKeywhichl cale within my observation; and part of1 unrey whish earne within my observation; and have left her "fish-kettle" to sympathize with the un more faithful in peril, or indefatigable in service are " fi ettled t mp thiun;are to be found. The Infidel was named Basilius, thed unexpected sorrow of tis barbarian Moslem, Dero ish Tahiri; the former a man of middle 1 P about the fourth of a farthing. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 89 For my own part, when I remembered that, a short Note 15. Stanza xlv. time before my departure from England, a noble and -— many aRoman chief and Asian king. most intimate associate had-excused himself from tak- It is said, that on the day previous to the battle of ing leave of me because he had to attend a relation Actium, Anthony had thirteen kings at his levee. "to a milliner's," I felt no less surprised than humili- ated by the present occurrence and the past recollec-. Look where the second Casar's trophies rose. don. That Dervish would leave me with some regret was Nicopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at some distance from Actium, whaere thevish wall of thesome rerewaHippoto be expected: when master and man have been distance from tium, where the walloft Hippodrome survives ina few fragments. scrambling over the mountains of a dozen provinces to- u gether, they are unwilling to separate; but his present Note 17. Stanza xlvii. feelings, contrasted with his native ferocity, improved -Acherusia's lake. my opinion of the human heart. I believe this almost According to Pouqueville, the Lake of Yanina; bat feudal fidelity is frequent amongst them. One day, on Pouqueville is always out. our journey over Parnassus, an Englishman in my ser- Stanza xlvii vice gave him a push in some dispute about the bag- o geet.Aans cie. gage, which lie unluckily mistook for a blow; he spoke g. not, but sat down, leaning his head upon his hands. The celebrated AliPacha. Of this extraordinary man Foreseeing the consequences, we endeavoured to ex-there is an incorrect account in Pouqueville Travels. plain away the affront, which produced the following Note 19. Stanza xlvii. answer:-" I have been a robber, I am a soldier; no Yet here and there some daring mountain band captain ever struck me; you are my master, I have eaten Disdain his power and from their rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. your bread; but by that bread! (a usual oath) had it been otherwise, I would have stabbed the dog your ser- thousand Suliotes, amo the rocks an d in castle of Suli, withstood 30,000 Albanians for eighteen vant, and gone to the mountains." So the affair ended, castle of Suli, withstood,000 Albanans for eighteen years: the castle at last was taken by bribery., in this but from that day forward he never thoroughly forgave year the castle at last as taken by bribery. In this the thoughtless fellowv who insulted him.. contest there were several acts performed not unworthy the thouglhtless fellow who insulted him. Dervish excelled in the dance of his country, conjec- of the better days of Greece. tured to be aremnant of the ancient Pyrrhic: be that as Note 20. Stanza xlviii. it may, it i~ manly, and requires wonderful agility. It is Monastic Zitza, etc. very distinct from the stupid Romaika, the dull round- The convent and village of Zitza are four hours' jourabout of the Greeks, of which our Athenian party had ney from Joannina, or Yanina, the capital of the Paso many specimens. chalick. In the valley the river Kalamas (once the AcheThe Albanians in general (I do not mean the cultiva- ron) flows, and not far from Zitza forms a fine cataract. tors of the earth in the provinces, who have also that The situation is perhaps the finest in Greece, though appellation, but the mountaineers) have a fine cast of the approach to Delvinachi and parts of Acarnania and countenance; and the most beautiful women I ever be- 2Etolia may contest the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and, held, in stature and in features, we saw levelling, the in Attica, even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are road broken down by the torrents between Delvinachi very inferior; as also every scene in Ionia or the Troad: and Libochabo, Their manner of walking is truly the- I am almost inclined to add the approach to Constantiatrical; but this strut is probably the effect of the ca- nople, but, from the different features of the last, a pote, or cloak, depending from one shoulder. Their comparison can hardly be made. long hair reminds you of the Spartans, and their cour-Note 21. Stanza xix age in desultory warfare is unquestionable. Though h they have some cavalry amongst the Gegdes, I never reek res called. saw a good Arnaout horseman: my own preferred the English saddles, which, however, they could never keep. Note 22. Stanza li. But on foot they are not to be subdued by fatigue. Nature's volcanic amphitheatre. Note 12. Stanza xxxix. - The Chimariot mountains appear to have been vo canic. and pass'd the barren spot, ca. Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave. Note 23." Stanza Ih. Ithaca. behold black Acheron I Note 13. Stanza s~Now called Kalamas. Note 13. Stanza xl. Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar.Note 24. Stanza lii. Actium and Trafalgar need no further mention. The - in his white capote battle of Lepanto, equally bloody and considerable, but Albaese cloa less known, was fought in the gulf of Patras; here the Note 25. Stanza lv. author of Don Quixote lost his left hand.' The sun had sung behind vast Tomprit. Note 14. Stanza xli. Anciently Mount Tomarus. And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love. Note 26. Stanzalv, Leucadia, now Santa Maura. From the promontory And Laos wide and fierce came roaring oy. (the Lofver's Leap) Sappho is said to have thrown her- The river Laos was full at the time the author passeo self. it and, immediately above Tepaleen, was to the eye w 17 90 BYRON'S WORKS. wide as the Thames at Westminster; at least m the and slippers but a well-turned and sometimes very white opinion of the author and his fellow-traveller, Mr. ancle. The Arnaout girls are much handsomer than the Hobhouse. In the summer it must be much narrower. Greeks, and their dress is far more picturesque. They It certainly is the finest river in the Levant; neither preserve their shape much longer also, from being alAchelofus, Alpheus, Acheron, Scamander, nor Cayster, ways in the open air. It is to be observed that the approached it in breadth or beauty. Arnaout is not a written language; the words of this Note 27. Stoa xvi. song, therefore, as well as the one which follows, are Note 27. Stanza lxvi.... spelt according to their pronunciation. They are copied And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof. by one who speaks and understands the dialect perAlluding to the wreckers of Cornwall. fectly, and who is a native of Athens. Note 28. Stanza lxxi. ~ the red *wine circling fast. Ndi sefda tinde ulavossa I am wounded by thy love, The Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from wine,ettii upri vi lofsa and haveloved but to and indeed very few of the others. scorch myself. Note 29. Stanza lxxi. Ah vaisisso mi privi lofse Thou hast consumed me! N ote 29 Stanza l- i.- -Si mi rini mi la vosse. Ah, maid! thou hast Each Palikar his sabre from him cast.. struck me to the heart. Palikar, shortened when addressed to a single person, from IIakap, a general name for a soldier amonstUti tasa roba stua I have said I wish no dowfrom HlaNlKapr, a general name for a soldier amongst e the Greeks and Albanese who speak Romaic-it means Sitti tulati du. ry but thine eyes and properly a lad." evelashes. Note 30. Stanza lxxii. Roba stinori ssidua The accursed dowry I want While thus in concert, etc. Qu mi sinl vetti dua. not, but thee only. As a specimen of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect of Qurmini dua civileni Give me thy charms, and the Illyric, I here insert two of their most popular choral Roba ti siarmi tildi eni. let the portion feed the songs, which are generally chaunted in dancing by men flames or women indiscriminately. The first words are merely Utara pisa vaisisso me simi I have loved thee, maid, a kind of chorus, without meaning, like some in our rin ti bapti.' with a sincere soul, but own and all other languages. Eti mi bire a piste si gui thou hast left me like a Bo, Bo, Bo,, Bo, B o, Lo, Lo, I come, I come; dendroi tiltati. withered tree. Naciarura, popuso. be thou silent. Udi vura udorini udiri ci- If I have placed my hand Naciarura na civin I come, I run; open the cova cilti mora on thy bosom, what have Ha pe uderini ti hin. door that I may enter. Udorini talti hollna u ede I gained? my hand is caimoni mora. withdrawn, but retains Ha pe uderi escrotini Open the door by halves, th a the flame. Ti vin ti mar servetini. that I may take my turban. I believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a differCaliriote me surme Caliriotes I with the dark ent measure, ought to belong to another ballad. An Ea ha pe pse dua tive. eyes, open the gate that idea something similar to the thought in the last lines I may enter. was expressed by Socrates, whose arm having come in Buo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Lo, lo, I hear thee, my contact with one of his " MroroXr'toi," Critobulus or Gi egemr spirta esinliro. soul. Cleobulus, the philosopher complained of a shooting pain as far as his shoulder for some days after, and (Caliriote vu le tunds An Arnaout girl, in costly therefore very properly resolved to teach his disciples Ede vete tunde tunde. garb, walks with graceful future without touching them. pride. pride. ~ i ^ i iiNote 31. Scng, stanza 1. Caliriote me surme Caliriot maid of the dark. Scn, stanza. Ti mi put e poi mi le. eyes give me a kiss. Tambourgi! Tambourgi! thy'larum afar, etc. Ti mi put e poi mi lc. eyes, give me a kiss. These stanzas are partly taken from different Alba~e ti putst citi mora If I have kissed thee, what nese songs, as far as I was able to make them out by Si ml ri ni veti udo gia hast thou gained? My the exposition of the Albanese in Romaic and Italian. Xsoul is consumed with fire. Note 32. Song, stanza 8. Remember the moment when Previsa fell. V a.e nl il chc cadale Dance lightly, more gently, a elnho Dnmoreli, more e. a entl still. It was taken by storm from the French. C elo more, more celo. and gently still. Piu hari ti tirete Make not so much dust to Note 33. Stanza lxxiii. Plu huron cia ura seti. destroy your embroidered Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth, etc. hose. Some thoughts on this subject will be found in the The last stanza would puzzle a commentator: the men subjoined papers. nave certainly buskins of the most beautiful texture, Note 34. Stanza lxxiv. but the ladies (to whom the above is supposed to be Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow as(dressed) have nothing under their little yellow boots hou satt ith Thrasybulus and his train. Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens,'J'h Albanese, particulary the women are fequentlyhas still considerable remains; it was seized by Thrasy Treh( Albanese, " articularly the women, are frequentlyn of te T. med} y (Calirioes " tor what reason t inquired in vain. bulus previous to the expulsion of the Thirty. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 91 Note 35. Stanza lxxvii. would render it the favourite of all who have eyes for Receive the fiery Frank, her fbrmer guest. art or nature. The climate, to me at least, appeared a When taken by the Latins, and retained for several pdrpetual spring; during eight months I never passed a years. See GIBBON. day without being as many hours on horseback; rain is extremely rare, snow never lies in the plains, and a cloudy day is an agreeable rarity. In Spain, Portugal, The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil. The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil. and every part of the East which I visited, except Ionia Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the Mecca and Medina were taken some and Attica, I perceived no such superiority of climate Wahabees, a sect yearly increasing. to our own; and at Constantinople, where I passed Note 37. Stanza lxxxv. May, June, and part of July (1810), you might "damn Thy vales of ever-green, thy hills ofsnow — the climate, and complain of spleen," five days out of On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, the seven. snow never is entirely melted, notwithstanding the in- The air of the Morea is heavy and unwholesome, but tense heat of the summer; but I never saw it lie on the the moment you pass the isthmus in the direction of plains, even in winter. Meagara, the change is strikingly perceptible. But I fear Hesiod will still be found correct in his description of Note 38. Stanza lxxxvi. a Boeotian winter. Save where some solitary column mourns We found at Livadia an " esprit fort" in a Greek Above its prostrate brethren of the cave. bishop, of all free-thinkers! lis Worthy hypocrite Of Mount Pentelicus, from whence the marble was rallied his own religion with great intrepidity (but not dug that constructed the public edifices of Athens. before his flock), and talked of a mass as a "coglioThe modern name is Mount Mendeli. An immenseneria."' It was impossible to think better of him for cave formed by the quarries still remains, and will till this: but, for a Beotian, he was brisk with all his abthe end of time. surdity. This phenonmenon (with the exception indeed Note 39. Stanza lxxxix. of Thebes, the remains of Chaeronea, the plain of When Marathon became a magic word- Platea, Orchomenus, Livadia, and its nominal cave of " Siste, viator-heroa calcas!" was the epitaph on Trophonius), was the only remarkable thing we saw the famous Count Merci;-what then must be our before we passed Mount Citharon. feelings when standing on the tumulus of the two The fountain of Dirce turns a mill: at least, my comhundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon? The prin- panion (who, resolving to be at once cleanly and clascipal barrow has recently been opened by Fauvel; few sical, bathed in it) pronounced it to be the fountain of or no relics, as vases, etc. were found by the excavator Dirce, and any body who thinks- it worth while may The plain of Marathon was offered to me for sale at conradict him. At Castri we drank of half a dozen the sum of sixteen thousand piastres, about nine hun- streamlets, some not of the purest, before we decided dred poundst Alas!-" Expende-quot librcs in duce to our satisfaction which was the true Castalian, and summo-invenies? "-was the dust of Miitiades worth even that had a villanous twang, probably from the no more? it could scarcely have fetched less if sold by snow, though it did not throw us into an epic fever weight, like poor Doctor Chandler. From Fort Phyle, of which large remains still exist, PAP-ERS REFERRED TO BY NrOTE 33. the Plain of Athens, Pentelicus, Hymettus, the AEgean, 1. and the Acropolis, burst upon the eye at once; in my Before I say any thing about a city of which every opinion, a more glorious prospect than even Cintra or body, traveller or not, has thought it necessary to say stambol. Not the view from the Troad, with Ida, something, I will request Miss Owenson, when she next the Hellespont, and the more distant Mount Athos, can borrows an Athenian heroine for her four volumes, to equal it, though so superior in extent. have the goodness to marry her to somebody more of I heard much of the beauty of Arcadia, but, excepta gentleman than a " Disdar Aga" (who by the by is ing the view from the monastery of Megaspelion (which not an aga), the most impolite of petty officers, the is inferior to Zitza in a command of country), and the greatest patron of larceny Athens ever saw (except Lord descent from the mountains on the way from Tripolitza E.), and the unworthy occupant of the Acropolis, on a to Argos, Arcadia has lttle to recommend it beyond handsome annual stipend of 150 piastres (eight pounds the name. sterling), out of which he has only to pay his garrison, "Sternitur, et dulces roriens reminiscitur Argos." the most ill-regulated corps in the ill-regulated Otto- Virgil could have put this into the mouth of none but man Empire. I speak it tenderly, seeing I was once an Argive; and (with reverence be it spoken) it does the cause of the husband of "Ida of Athens" nearly not deserve the epithet. And if the Polynices of Stasuffering the bastinado; and because the. said " Disdar" tius, " In mediis audit duo littora campis," did actually is a turbulent husband, and beats his wife, so that I hear both shores in crossing the isthmus of Corinth, he exhort and beseech Miss Owenson to sue for a separate had better ears than have ever been worn in sucn a maintenance in behalf of "Ida." Having premised journey since. thus much, on a matter of such import to tie readers "Athens," says a celebrated topographer, "is stil the of romances, I may now leave Ida, to mention her most polished city of Greece." Perhaps it may t* birth-place. Greece, but not of the Greeks; for Joannina, in Epih ls, Setting aside the magic of the name, and all those is universally allowed, amongst themselves, to be supe associations which it would be pedantic and super- rior in the wealth, refinement, learning, and dialect of fluous to recapitulate, the very situation of Athens its inhabitants. The Athenians are r(markable.r 92 BYRON'S WORKS. their cunning; and the lower orders are not improperly suspicion, as a dog often beaten snaps at your fingers characterized in that proverb, which classes them with if you attempt to caress him. " They are ungrateful, "the Jews of Salonica, and the Turks of the Negro- notoriously, abominably ungrateful!"-this is the genpont." eral cry. Now, in the name of Nemesis! for what are Among the various foreigners resident in Athens, they to be grateful? Where is the human being that French, Italians, Germans, Ragusans, etc., there was ever conferred a benefit on Greek or Greeks? They never a difference of opinion in their estimate of the are to be grateful to the Turks for their fetters, and to Greek character, though on all other topics they dis- the Franks for their broken promises and lying counputed with great acrimony. sels. They are to be grateful to the artist who engraves M. Fauvel, the French consul, who has passed thirty their ruins, and to the antiquary who carries them years principally at Athens, and to whose talents as an away: to the traveller whose janissary flogs them, and artist, and manners as a gentleman, none who have to the scribbler whose journal abuses them! This is the known him can refuse their testimony, has frequently amount of their obligations to foreigners. declared in my hearing, that the Greeks do not deserve II. to be emancipated; reasoning on the grounds of their Franciscan Convent, Athens, January 23, 1811. "national and individual depravity," while he forgot Amongst the remnants of the barbarous policy of the that such depravity is to be attributed to causes which earlier ages, are the traces of bondage which yet exist can only be removed by the measure he reprobates. in'different countries; whose inhabitants, however diM. Roque, a French merchant of respectability long vided in religion and manners, almost all agree in opsettled in Athens, asserted with the most amusing pression. gravity: "Sir, they are the same canaille that existed The English have at last compassionated their nen the days of Themistocles!" an alarming remark to groes, and, under a less bigoted government, may the "Laudator temporis acti." The ancients banished probably one day release their Catholic brethren: but. Themistocles; the moderns cheat Monsieur Roque: the interposition of foreigners alone can emancipate the thus great men have ever been treated! Greeks, who, otherwise, appear to have as small a In short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and most chance of redemption from the Turks, as the Jews have of the Englishmen, Germans, Danes, etc. of passage, from mankind in general. came over by degrees to their opinion; on much the Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough; same grounds that a Turk in England would condemn at least the younger men of Europe devote much of the nation by wholesale, because he was wronged by their time to the study of the Greek writers and history, his lacquey, and overcharged by his washerwoman. which would be more usefully spent in mastering their Certainly it was not a little staggering, when the own, Of the moderns, we are perhaps more neglectful SieursFauvel and Lusieri, the two greatest demagogues than they deserve; and while every man of any preof the day, who divide between them the power of tensions to learning is tiring out his youth, and often his Pericles and the popularity of Cleon, and puzzle the age, in the study of the language and of the harangues poor Waywode with perpetual differences, agreed in of the Athenian demagogues, in favour of freedom, the the utter condemnation, "nulla virtute redemptum," real or supposed descendants of these sturdy republicans of the Greeks in general, and of the Athenians in par- are left to the actual tyranny of their masters, although ticular. a very slight effort is required to strike qff their For my own humble opinion, I am loth to hazard it, chains. Knowing, as I do, that there be now in MS. no less - To talk, as the Greeks themselves do, of their rising than five tours of the first magnitude and of the most again to their pristine superiority, would be ridiculous; threatening aspect, all in typographical array, by per- as the rest of the world must resume its barbarism, after sons of wit, and honour, and regular commonplace re-asserting the sovereignty of Greece: but there seems books: but, if I may say this without offence, it seems to be-no very great obstacle, except in the apathy of the to me rather hard to declare so positively and pertina- Franks, to their becoming a useful dependency, or ciously, as almost every body has declared, that the even a free state with a proper guarantee;-under Greeks, because they are very bad, will never be better. correction, however, be it spoken, for many and wellEton and Sonnini have led us astray by their pane- informed men doubt the practicability even of this. gyrics and projects; but, on the other hand, De Pauw The Greeks have never lost their hope, though they and Thornton have debased the Greeks beyond their are now more divided in opinion on the subject of their demerits. probable deliverers. Religion recommends the Russians; The Greeks will never be independent; they will but they have twice been deceived and abandoned by nlever be s6vereigns, as heretofore, and God forbid they that power, and the dreadful lesson they received after ever should! but they may be subjects without being the Muscovite desertion in the Morea has never been slaves. Our colonies are not independent, but they forgotten. The French they dislike; although the are free and industrious, and such may Greece be subjugation of the rest of Europe will, probably, be nereafter, attended by the deliverance of continental Greece. At present, like the Catholics of Ireland, and the The islanders look to the English for succour, as they Jews throughout the world, and such other cudgelled have very lately possessed themselves of the Ionian and heterodox people, they suffer all the moral and republic, Corfu excepted. But whoever appear with physical ills that can afflict humanity. Their life is a arms in their hands will be welcome;. and when that struggle against truth; they are vicious in their own day arrives, Heaven have mercy on the Ottomans; they letence. They are so unused to kindness, that when cannot expect it from the Giaours. ibev occasionally meet with it,. they look upon it with But instead of considering what they have been, and _w No c~soaly me ih t leylo po~twt CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 93 speculating on what they may be-let us look at them invectives of angry factors; but till something more as they are. can be attained, we must be content with the little to And here it is impossible to reconcile the contrariety be acquired from similar sources. l of opinions: some, particularly the merchants, decry- However defective these may be, they are'preferable ing the Greeks in the strongest language; others, gen- to the paradoxes of men who have read superficially of erally travellers, turning periods in their eulogy, and the ancients, and seen nothing of the moderns, such as publishing veiy curious speculations grafted on their De Pauw; who, when he asserts that the British breed former state, which can have no more effect on their of horses is ruined by Newmarket, and that the Sparpresent lot, than the existence of the Incas on the fu- tans were cowards in the field, betrays an equal knowture fortunes of Peru. ledge of English horses and Spartan men. His "phiOne very ingenious person terms them the "natural losophical observations" have a much better claim to allies" of Englishmen; another, no less ingenious, will the title of "poetical." It could not be expected that not allow them to be the allies of any body, and denies he who so liberally condemns some of the most celetheir very descent from the ancients; a third, more in- brated institutions of the ancient, should have mercy on genious than either, builds a Greek empire on a Russian the modern Greeks: and it fortunately happens, that foundation, and realizes (on paper) all the chimeras of the absurdity of his hypothesis on their forefathers reCatherine II. As to the question of their descent, what futes his sentence on themselves. can it import whether the Mainotes are the lineal La- Let us trust, then, that in spite of the prophecies of conians or not? or the present Athenians as indigenous DePauw, and the doubts of Mr. Thornton, there is a as the bees of Hymettus, or as the grasshoppers, to reasonable hope of the redemption of a race of men, which they once likened themselves? What English- who, whatever may be the errors of their religion and man cares if he be of a Danish, Saxon, Norman, or policy, have been amply punished by three centuries Trojan blood? or who, except a Welchman, is afflicted and a half of captivity. with a desire of being descended from Caractacus? III. The poor Greeks do not so much abound in the good Athens, Franciscan Convent, March 17,1811. things of this world, as to render even their claims to " I must have some talk with this learned Theban." antiquity an object of envy; it is very cruel then in Mr. Some time after my return from Constantinople tu Thornton, to disturb them in the possession of all that this city, I received the thirty-first number of the Edin time has left them; viz. their pedigree, of which they burgh Review as a great favour, and certainly at this are the more tenacious, as it is all they can call their distance an acceptable one, from the Captain of an own. It would be worth while to publish together, and English frigate off Salamis. In that number, Art. 3, compare, the works of Messrs. Thornton and De Pauw, containing the review of a French translation of Strabo, Eton and Sonnini; paradox on one side, and prejudice there are introduced some remarks on the modern on the other. Mr. Thornton conceives himself to have Greeks and their literature, with a short account of claims to public confidence from a fourteen years' resi- Coray, a co-translator in the French version. On those dence at Pera; perhaps he may on the subject of the remarks I mean to ground a few observations, and Turks, but this can give him no more insight into the real the spot where I now write will, I hope, be sufficient state of Greece and her inhabitants, than as many years excuse for introducing them in a work in some degree spent in Wapping, into that of the Western Highlands. connected with the subject. Coray, the most celebrated The Greeks of Constantinople live in Fanal; and if of living Greeks, at least among the Franks, was born Mr. Thornton did not oftener cross the Golden Horn 1 A word, en passant, with Mr. Thornton and Dr. Pouquethan his brother merchants are accustomed to do, I ville, who have been guilty between them of sadly clipping should place no great reliance on his information. I the Sultan's Turkish. y h d oe of t g b Df r. Pouqueville tells a long story of a Moslem who swal actually heard one of these gentlemen boast of their lowed corrosive sublimate, in such quantities that he acquired little general intercourse with the city, and assert of the name of "Suleyman Yeyen," i. e. quoth the doctor, himself, with an air of triumph, that he had been but "Suleyman, the eater of corrosive sublimate." "Aha," thinks Mr. Thornton, (angry with the doctor for the fiftieth four times at Constantinople in as many years. time) "have I caught you?" —Then, in a -note twice the As to Mr. Thornton's voyages in the Black Sea with thickness of the doctor's anecdote, he questions the doctor's Greek vessels, they gave him the same idea of Greece proficiency in the Turkish tongue, and his veracity in his own. as a cruise to Berwick in a Scotch smack would of -" For," observes Mr. Thornton, (after inflicting on us the tough participle of a Turkish verb), "it means nothing more Johnny Grot's house. Upon what grounds then does than Suleyman the eater," and quite cashiers the supplehe arrogate the right of condemning by wholesale a body mentary "sublimate." Now both are right and both are of men, of whom he can know little? It is rather a cu- wrong. If Mr. Thornton, when he next resides " fourteen rious circumstance that Mr. Thornton, who so lavishly years in the factory,"-' will consult his Turkish dictionary, or ask any of his Stamboline acquaintance, he will discover that dispraises Pouqueville on every occasion of mentioning "Suleyma'n yeyen," put together discreetly, mean the the Turks, has yet recourse to him as authority on the " Swallower of sublimate," without any " Suleyman" in the Greeks, and terms him an impartial observer. Now Dr. case; "Suleyma" signifying "corrosive sublimate," and not being a proper name on this occasion, although it be an orPouqueville is as little entitled to that appellation, as thodox name enough with the addition of n After Mr Mr. Thornton to confer it on him. Thornton's frequent hints of profound orientalism, he might The fact is, we are deplorably in want of information have found this out before he sang such paeans over Dr The- fact is, ~Pouqueville. on the subject of the Greeks, and in particular their After this I think "Travellers versus Factors"'shall fa literature; nor is there any probability of our being bet- our motto, though the above Mr. Thornton has condemner ter acquainted, till our intercourse becomes more inti- "hoc genus omne," obr mistake and misrepresentation.' Ne mate, or their independence confirmed: the relations of Sutor ultra crepidam," "No merchant beyond his bales'.IX' ~ ".,,,,, N. B. For the benefit of Mr. Thortton'Sutor" is ioi passing travellers are as little to be depended on as the proper name. M 94 BYRON'S WORKS. at Scio (in the Review Smyrna is stated, I have reason poetry is in rhyme. The most singular piece I have lately to think, incorrectly), and, besides the translation of seen, is a satire in dialogue between a Russian, Eng. Beccaria, and other works mentioned by the reviewer, lish, and French traveller, and the Waywode of Walhas published a lexicon in Romaic and French, if I may lachia (or Blackbey, as they term him), an archbishop, trust the assurance of some Danish travellers lately a merchant, and Cogia Bachi (or primate), in succesarrived from Paris; but the latest we have seen here sion; to all of whom under the Turks the writer attribin French and Greek is that of Gregory Zolikogloon. I utes their present degeneracy. Their songs are someCoray has recently been involved in an unpleasant times pretty and pathetic, but their tunes generally controversy with M. Gail,2 a Parisian commentator and unpleasing to the ear of a Frank: the best is the famous editor of some translations from the Greek poets, in " Aere r 7raiEsE rev'EX4fivov," by the unfortunate Riga. consequence of the Institute having awarded him the But from a catalogue of more than sixty authors, now prize for his version of Hippocrates " llpi d-Sarwv," before me, only fifteen-can be found who have touched etc. to the disparagement, and consequently displeasure, on any theme except theology. of the said Gail. To hisexertions, literary and patriotic, I am intrusted with a commission by a Greek of great praise is undoubtedly due, but a part of that praise Athens, named Marmarotouri, to make arrangements, ought not to be withheld from the two brothers Zosimado if possible, for printing in London a translation of Bar(merchants settled in Leghorn), who sent him to Paris, thelemi's Anacharsis in Romaic, as he has no other and maintained him, for the express purpose of eluci- opportunity, unless he despatches the MS. to Vienna dating the ancient, and adding to the modern researches by the Black Sea and Danube. of his countrymen. Coray, however, is not considered The reviewer mentions a school established at Hecaby his countrymen equal to some who lived in the two tonesi, and suppressed at the instigation of Sebastiani; last centuries: more particularly Dorotheus of Mity- he means Cidonies, or, in Turkish, Haivali; a town lene, whose Hellenic writings are so much esteemed by on the continent where that institution, for a hundred the Greeks, that Meletius terms him, " Mera rTv students and three professors, still exists. It is true, OovKvSi6nv Kai _5vo0pwvra aplaros'EXXvi0wv1." (P. 224. that this establishment was disturbed by the Porte, under Ecclesiastical History, vol. iv.) the ridiculous pretext that the Greeks were constructing Panagiotes Kodrikas, the translator of Fontenelle, a fortress instead of a college; but on investigation, and Kamarases, who translated Ocellus Lucanus on and the payment of some purses to the Divan, it has the Universe into French, Christodoulus, and more been permitted to continue. The principal professor, particularly Psalida, whom I have conversed with in named Veniamin (i. e. Benjamin), is stated to be a Joannina, are also in high repute among their literati. man of talent, but a free-thinker. He was born in The last-mentioned has published in Romaic and Latin Lesbos, studied in Italy, and is master of Hellenic, a work on " True Happiness," dedicated to Catherine Latin, and some Frank languages, besides a smattering II. But Polyzois, who is stated by the reviewer to be of the sciences. the only modern except Coray, who has distinguished Though it is not my intention to enter forther on this himself by a knowledge of Hellenic, if he be the Poly- topic than may allude to the article in question, I canzois Lampanitziotes of Yanina, who has published a not but observe that the reviewer's lamentation over the number of editions in Romaic, was neither more nor fall of the Greeks appears singular, when he closes it less than an itinerant vender of books; with the con- with these words: " the change is to be attributed to their tents of which he had no concern beyond his name on misfortunes, rather than to any physical degradation." the title-page, placed there to secure his property in the It may be true, that the Greeks are not physically depublication, and he was, moreover, a man utterly des- generated, and that Constantinople contained, on the titute of scholastic acquirements. As the name, how- day when it changed masters, as many men of six feet ever, is not uncommon, some other Polyzois may have and upwards, as in the hour of prosperity; but ancient edited the Epistles of Aristaenetus. history and modern politics, instruct us that something It is to be regretted that the system of continental more than physical perfection is necessary to preserve blockade has closed the few channels through which a state in vigour and independence; and the Greeks, the Greeks received their publications, particularly in particular, are a melancholy example of the near conVenice and Trieste. Even the common grammars for nexion between moral degradation and national decay. children are become too dear for the lower orders. The reviewer mentions a plan, "we believe," by PoAmongst their original works, the Geography ofMele- temkin, for the purification of the Romaic, and I have tius, Archbishop of Athens, and a multitude of theo- endeavoured in vain to procure any tidings or traces of logical quartos and poetical pamphlets, are to be met its existence. There was an academy in St. Petersburg with: their grammars and lexicons of two, three, and for the Greeks: but it was suppressed by Paul, and has four languages, are numerous and excellent. Their not been revived by his successor. There is a slip of the pen, and it can only be a slip of the 1 I have in my possession an excellent Lexicon' rpcy I hav in my possession an exhne ro - pen, in p. 58, No xxxi, of the Edinburgh Review, where yAhoaaov, which I received in exchange from S. G-, Esq., * for a small gem: my antiquarian friends have never forgotten these words occur:-" We are told that when the capi., or forgiven me. tal of the East yielded to Solyman"-It may be pre - In Gail's pamphlet against Coray, he talks of "throwing sumed that this last word will, in a future edition, be the insolvent Helleniste out of the windows." On this a French critic exclaims, "Ah, my God throw a Helleniste alteredtoMahometIIl. The "ladiesofConstantinople," out of the window!what sacrilege!" It certainly would be serious business for those authors who dwell in the attics: 1 In a former number of the Edinburgh Review, 1808, it is but I have quoted the passage merely to prove the similarity observed, "Lord Byron passed some of his early years in <'f style among the controversialists of all polished countries: Scotland, where he might have learned that pibroch does not loondor or Edinburgh could hardly parallel this Parisian mean a bagpipe, any more than duet means efiddle." Query, tmullition -Was it in Scotland that the young gentlemen of the Edin CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 95 it seems, at that period spoke a dialect, "which would able specimens of their epistolary style. I also received not have disgraced the lips of an Athenian." I do not some at Constantinople from private persons, written know how that might be, but am sorry to say the ladies in a most hyperbolical style, but in the true antique in general, and the Athenians in particular, are much character. altered; being far from choice either in their dialect or The reviewer proceeds, after some remarks on the expressions, as the whole Attic race are barbarous to a tongue in its past and present state, to a paradox (page proverb: 59) on the great mischief the knowledge of his own " a AO7va 7rporr7 xwpa language has done to Coray, who, it seems, is less likely Ti yalSapoves -pcEst rwpa";" to understand the ancient Greek, because he is perfect master of the modern! This observation follows a paraIn Gibbon, vol. x. p. 161, is the following sentence:- graph, recommending in explicit terms, the study of The vulgar dialect of the city was gross and barbarous, the Romaic, as a powerful auxiliary," not only to the though the compositions of the church and palace some- traveller and forei n merchant, but also to the classical times affected to copy the purity of the Attic models." scholar in short,to every body except the only person Whatever may be asserted on the subject, it is difficult who can be thoroughly acquainted with its uses: and to conceive that the "ladies of Constantinople," in the by a parity of reasoning our old language is conjectured reign of the last Cesar, spoke a purer dialect then Anna to be probably more attainable by "foreigners" than Comnena wrote three centuries before: and those royal by ourselves Now I am inclined to think, that-a Dutch pages are not esteemed the best models of composition, Tyro in our tongue (albeit himself of Saxon bloood) although the princess ywrrav EtXE AKPIB.QR ArrtK- would be sadly perplexed with " Sir Tristrem," or any Sovoav. In tlhe Fanal, and in Yanina, the best Greek other iven "uchinlech MS." with or without a gramis spoken: in the latter there is a flourishing school mar or lossary and to most apprehensions it seems.under the direction of Psalida. evident, that none but a native can acquire a competent, There is now in Athens a pupil of Psalida's, who is far less complete, knowledge of our obsolete idioms. making a tour of observation through Greece: he is in- We may give the critic credit for his ingenuity, but no telligent, and better educated than a fellow-commoner morebelieve him than we do Smollett's Lismahago, who of most colleges. I mention this as a proof that the naintains that the purest English is spoken in Edinspirit of inquiry is not dormant amongst the Greeks. burgh. That C ory may err is very possible but if he The reviewer mentions Mr. Wright, the author of the does, the fault is in the man rather than in his mother beautiful poem " Horas lonicae," as qualified to give de- tongue, which is, as it ought to be, of the greatest aid tails of these nominal Romans and degenerate Greeks, to the native student.-Here the Reviewer proceeds to and also of their language: but Mr. Wright, though a business on Strabo's translators, and here I ciose my good poet and an able man, has made a mistake where remarks he states the Albanian dialect of the Romaic to approxi- Sir. W. Drummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aberdeen mate nearest to the Hellenic: for the Albanians speak Dr. Clarke, Captain Leake, Mr. ell, Mr. Walole a Romaic as notoriously corrupt as the Scotch of Aber- and many others now in Enland, have all the requalle leenshire, or the Italian of Naples. Yanina (where, to furnish details of this fallen people. The few obsernext to Fanal, the Greek is purest), although thevations Ihave offered I should have left where I made capital of Ali Pacha's dominions, is not in Albania but them, had not the article in question, and, above all, Epirus; and beyond Delvinachi in Albania Proper up the spot where I read it, induced me to advert to those to Argyrocastro and Tepaleen (beyond which I did not pages, which the advantage of my present situation advance), they speak worse Greek than even the Athen- enabled me to clear, or at least to make the attempt lans. I was attended for a year and a half by two of I have endeavoured t a to waiv e the personal feelin these singular mountaineers, whose mother tongue is which rise in despite of me in touching upon any part of Illyric, and I never heard them or their countrymen the Edinburgh Review; not from a wish to conciliate (whom I have seen, not only at home, but to the amount the favour of its writers, or to cancel the remembrance of twenty thousand in the army of Veli Pacha) praised of a syllable I have formerly published, but simply from for their Greek, but oftenlaughed at for their provincial a sense of the impropriety of mixing up private resentbarbarisms. ments with a disquisition of the present kind, and more I have in my possession about twenty-five letters, particularly at this distance of time and place. amongst which some from the Bey of Corinth, written to me by Notaras, the Cogia Bachi, and others by the ADDITIONAL NOTE, ON THE TURKS. dragoman of the Caimacam of the Morea (which last The difficulties of travelling in Turkey have been much governs in Veli Pacha's absence) are said to be favour- exaggerated, or rather have considerably diminished of late years. The Mussulmans have been beaten into a mbrgh Review le ad than ctm s iSfollabilin m ths imt II an kind of sullen civility, very comfortable to voyagers. " Cadimus inque vicem prwebemus crura sagittis." It is hazardous to say much on the subject of Turks The mistake seemed so completely a lapse of the pen (from and Turkey; since it is possible to live amongst them the great similarity of the two wordls, and the total absence twenty years witout acquiring information at least of error from the former pages of the literary leviathan), that I should have passed it over as in the text, had I not perceived from themselves. As far-as my own slight experience in the Edinburgh Review much facetious exultation on all n such detections, particularly a recent one, where words and carried me, I have no complaint to make; but am in syllables are subjects of disquisition and transposition; and the debted for many civilities (I might almost say iua above-mentioned parallel passage in my own case irresistibly propelled me to hint how much easier it is to be critical than friendship), and much hospitality, to All Pacha, his sol correct. The gentlemen, having enjoyed many a triumph on Veli Pacha of the Morea, and several others of high ran. utch victories, wll hardly begrudge me a slight ovation foro ro r the present. in the provinces. Suleyman Aga; late- Governor of ~9(>G:BYRON'S WORKS. Athens, and now of Thebes, was a bon wivant, and as the upper or lower House of Parliament. Now this social a being as ever sat cross-legged at a tray or a question from a boy of ten years old proved that his table. During the carnival, when our English party education had not been neglected. It may be doubted were masquerading, both himself and his successor were if an English boy at that age knows the difference of more happy to "receive masks" than any dowager in the Divan from a College of Dervises; but I am ve-y Grosvenor-square. sure a Spaniard does not. How little Mahmout, surOn one occasion of his supping at the convent, his rounded, as he had been, entirely by his Turkish tutors, friend and visitor, the Cadi of Thebes, was carried from had learned that there was such a thing as a parliatable perfectly qualified for any club in Christendom, ment, it were useless to conjecture, unless we suppose while the worthy Waywode himself triumphed in his that his instructors did not confine his studies to the fall. Koran. In all money transactions with the Moslems, I ever In all the mosques there are schools established found the strictest honour, the highest disinterestedness. which are very regularly attended; and the poor are In transacting business with them, there are none of taught without the church of Turkey being put into those dirty peculations, under the name of interest, dif- peril. I believe the system is not yet printed (though ference of exchange, commission, etc.. etc., uniformly there is such a thing' as a Turkish press, and books found in applying to a Greek consul to cash bills, even printed on the late military institution of the Nizam on the first houses in Pera.. Gedidd): nor have I heard whether the Mufti and the With regard to presents, and established custom in Mollas have subscribed, or the Caimacam and the the East, you will rarely find yourself a loser; as one Tefterdar taken the alarm for fear the ingenuous worth acceptance is generally returned by another of youth of the turban should Be taught not to "pray to similar value-a horse or a shawl. God their way." The Greeks, also-a kind of Eastern In the capital and at court the citizens and courtiers Irish papists-have a college of their own at Maynooth arefornQed in the same school with those of Christian- -no at Haivali; where the heterodox receive much lty; but there does not exist a more honourable, the same kind of countenance from the Ottoman as friendly, and high-spirited character than the true Turk- the Catholic college from the English legislature. Who ish provincial Aga, or Moslem country gentleman. It shall then affirm that the Turks are ignorant bigots, is not meant here to.designate the governors of towns,' when they thus evince the exact proportion of Chrisbut those Agas who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess tain charity which is tolerated in the most prosperous lands and houses, of more or less extent, in Greece and and orthodox of all possible kingdoms? But, though Asia Minor. they allow all this, they will not suffer the Greeks to The lower orders are in as tolerable discipline as participate in their privileges: no, let them fight their the rabble in countries with greater pretensions to battles, and pay their haratch (taxes), be drubbed in civilization. A Moslem, in walking the streets of our this world, and damned in the next. And shall we country towns, would be more incommoded in England then emancipate our Irish Helots? Mahomet forbid! than a Frank in a similar situation in Turkey. Regi- We should then be bad Mussulmans, and worse Chrismentals are the best travelling dress. tians; at present we unite the best of both-jesuitical The best accounts of the religion, and different sects faith, and something not much inferior to Turkish of Islamism, may be found in D'Olisson's French; of toleration. their manners, etc., perhaps in Thorton's English. The Ottomans, with all their defects, are not a.people to be APPENDIX. despised. Equal, at least, to the Spaniards, they are superior to the Portuguese. If it be difficult to pronounce AMONGST an enslaved people, obliged to have recourse what they are, we can at least say what they are not: to foreign presses even for their books of religion, it is they are not treacherous, they are not cowardly, they less to be wondered at that we find so few publications ao not burn heretics, they are not assassins, nor has an on general subjects, than that we find any at all. The er.emy advanced to their capital. They are faithful to whole number of the Greeks, scattered up and down taeir sultan till he becomes unfit to govern, and devout the'Turkish empire and elsewhere, may amount, at to tneir God without an inquisition. Were they driven most, to three millions; and yet, for so scanty a numfrom St. Sophia to-morrow, and the French or Russians her, it is impossible to discover any nation with so enthroned in their stead, it would become a question, great a proportion of books and their authors, as the whether Europe would gain by the exchange. England Greeks of the present century. "Ay," but say the would certainly be the loser. generous advocates of oppression, who, while they asWith regard to that ignorance of which they are so sert the ignorance of the Greeks, wish to prevent them generally, and sometimes justly, accused, it may be from dispelling it, "ay, but these are mostly, if not doubted, always excepting France and England, in what all, ecclesiastical tracts, and consequently good for useful points of knowledge they are excelled by other nothing." Well! and pray what else can they write nations. Is it in the common arts of life? In their about? It is pleasant enough to hear.a Frank, particmianufactures? Is a Turkish sabre inferior to a Toledo? ularly an Englishman, who may abuse the governvr is a Turk worse clothed or lodged, or fed and ment of his own country; or a Frenchman, who may iaught, than a Spaniard? Are their Pachas worse edu- abuse every government except his own, and who may t*ated than a grandee? or an Effendi than a Knight of range at will over every philosophical, religious, scienSt. Jago? I think n.. tific, sceptical, or moral subject, sneering at the Greek I remember Mahmout, the grandson of Ali Pacha, legends. A Greek must not write on politics, and cansakmg whether my fellow-traveller and myself were in not touch on science for want of instruction; if he CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 97 Joubts, he is excommunicated and damned; therefore He removed to St. Petersburg the immense rock on his countrymen are not poisoned with modern philoso- which the statue of Peter the Great was fixed in 1769. phy; and, as to morals, thanks to the Turks! there are See the dissertation which he published in Paris, 1777. no such things. What then is left him, if he has a turn George Constantine has published a four-tongued for scribbling? Religion and holy biography: and it is lexicon. natural enough that those who have so little in this life George Ventote; a lexicon in French, Italian, and should look to the next. It is no great wonder then that Romaic. in a catalogue now before me of fifty-five Greek wri- There exist several other dictionaries in Latin and ters, many of whom were lately living, not above fifteen Romaic, French, etc., besides grammars, in every should have touched on any thing but religion. The modern language, except English. catalogue alluded to is contained in the twenty-sixth Amongst the living authors the following are most chapter of the fourth volume of Meletius's Ecclesiastical celebrated:History. From this I subjoin an extract of those who Athanasius Parios has written a treatise on rhetoric have written on general subjects; which will be followed in Hellenic. by some specimens of the Romaic. Christodoulos, an Acarnanian, has published, in Vienna, some physical treatises in Hellenic. LIST OF ROMAIC AUTHORS.' Panagiotes Kodrikas, an Athenian, the Romaic transNeophitus, Diakonos (the deacon) of the Morea, has lator of Fontenelle's " Plurality of Worlds" (a favourite published an extensive grammar, and also some politi- work amongst the Greeks), is stated to be a teacher of cal regulations, which last were left unfinished at his the Hellenic and Arabic languages in Paris, in both of death. which he is an adept. Prokopius, of Moscopolis (a town in Epirus), has Athanasius, the Parian, author of a treatise on rhetwritten and published a catalogue of the learned Greeks. oric. Seraphin, of Periclea, is the author of many works Vicenzo Damodos, of Cephalonia, has written " st in the Turkish language, but Greek character, for the ra prEoo6dpgapov," on logic and physics. Christians of Caramania, who do not speak Romaic, John Kamarases, a Byzantine, has translated into blt read the character. French Ocellus on the Universe. He is said to be an Eustathius Psalidas, of Bucharest, a physician, made excellent Hellenist and Latin scholar. the tour of England for the purpose of study (Xdapv Gregorio Demetrius published, in Vienna, a geo paO4c^wss): but though his name is enumerated, it is graphical work: he has also translated several Italan not stated that he has written any thing. authors, and printed his versions at Venice. Kallinikus Torgeraus, Patriarch of Constantinople: Of Coray and Psalida some account has been already many poems of his are extant, and also prose tracts, given. and a catalogue of patriarchs since the last taking of Constantinople. Anastasius Macedon, of Naxos, member of the royal academy of Warsaw. A church biographer. GREE: WAR SONG.' Demetrius Pamperes, a Moscopolite, has written 1 many works, particularly "A Commentary on Hesiod's Shield of Hercules," and two hundred tales (of what is A TE rae7 i)v'E\)vv, not specified), and has published his correspondence 6 Katpb Tis AErS PIXEv. with the celebrated George of Trebizond, his contem- As pav;6E.v iioi vKEivwv porary. r ov rv a Meletius, a celebrated geographer; and author of the TS rareiawuv avlpsios book from whence these notices are taken. T7V (vyOv T7i4 Tvpavvioe. Dorotheus, of Mitylene, an Aristotelian philosopher: tK&Kf461Suv praiptos nis Hellenic works are in great repute, and he is esteemed KO's bvsuos aioXp6v. by the moderns (I quote the words of Meletius) peira Ta 8rXa a's Xda6gev' Trv OovKvAitlv Kail'5slvo5vra Splo; k vs tnvWv. I nrazs'EXXvivv, aywpolv. add further, on the authority of a well-informed 11orapti3v ExOpwv Tr al.Aa Greek, that he was so famous amongst his countrymen, as rpo 67r6 eroov. that they were accustomed to say, if Thucydides and Xenophon were wanting, he was capable of repairing 2. the loss. 60v TCas TV E\XX4v Marinus Count Tharboures, of Cephalonia, professor K6KKaca rvSprrea; of chemistry in the academy of Padua, and member of II lvsara IeopTiva that academy and those of Stockholm and Upsal. rv pa dgers rrvoMiv; He has published, at Venice, an account of some' T)v wvv TS aaXrtyy6g pou marine animal, and a treatise on the properties of* rvvaXTs iXea uov. iron. Tl' fhrardXoov rTElrE) Marcus, brother to the former, famous in mechanics. ai YtKTTE rpi nravro. Ta nrXa as a6XdGotv, etc. 1 It is to be observed that the names given are not in chronological order, but consist of some selected at a venture from amtngst those who flourished from the taking of Constanti- lIThese names are not taken from any publication. noplo to the time of Meletius. 2 A translation of this song will be found at page A5;M 2 18 9a8 BYRON'S WORKS. S3 ~ ~~. 1 ~but this extract will be found sufficient. The Romaic in this composition is so easy as to render a version an Y-ridpra, EI7rpra, -r KOtp.traat rdrvov aiapyov, TsaOesv * insult to a scholar; but those who do not understand. rvraov, KXpapF Asv a, av the original will excuse the following bad translation of what is in itself indifferent. avlxaXov vavroreTviv. tvovop.rov A~wvitov.^rso-s'aKi, TRANSLATION. )pw05 TOV- 0;gaKOvS-ov, roi a&vrpus israivEPivov, A Russian, Englishman, and Frenchman, making the 0o6epoV Kat rposEpoV. tour of Greece, and observing the miserable state of Ta ara\a is XiGilpcev, etc. the country, interrogate, in turn, a Greek patriot, to learn the cause; afterwards an Archbishop, then a 4. Vlackbey,' a Merchant, and Cogia Bachi or Primate. 6 trov ss ria OeEpporsVag a Thou friend of thy country! to strangers record 7r6~XElOV avros KpoT-r, Why bear ye the yoke of the Ottoman lord? Kai TOiVS glEpoa afpavit~ Why bear ye these fetters thus tamely display'd. Ka gHipsu ariravuv(~~ t -The wrongs of the matron, the stripling, and maid! KaM avriv KaraKpare. The descendants of Hellas's race are not ye! Mf TrptaKOolovg aI'vpas, The patriot sons of the sage and the free, S15 TO KiV-pOV rIpos0XWPEl Thus sprung from the blood of the noble and brave, Kea, n - pwv w pc?^05, ^'o vilely exist as the Mussulman slave! K, g V, Not such were the fathers your annals can boast, EtS ro aJta ri v POvUre. Who, conquer'd and died for the freedom you lost! T ia gra Xasd6go)v, etc. Not such was your land in her earlier hour, The day-star of nations in wisdom and power! And still will you thus unresisting increase, Oh shameful dishonour! the darkness of Greece t Then tell us, beloved Achean! reveal ROMAIC EXTRACTS. The cause of the woes which you cannot conceal. P,~roaog, AyyXos, Kal raXXos KEdpvovrgi rlv i er~ptriyr7lv The reply of the Philellenist I have not translated, as r7;'EXXdoai, aKai lrOVTirS i-v aoOXiav r-v K-ar- it is no better than the question of the travelling triumacracll, dpwrr-uav KarapXa;'iva rpalKov ri\XXuiva virate; and the above will sufficiently show with what eal va PadOovv TiV ali av, iri' arTov'Eva yrTporoiTrnlv, kind of composition the Greeks are now satisfied. I Tir va P3Xa xAa rsqv, iisrrca va rTpayuiareTvris Kai iva trust I have not much injured the original in the few irpowerura. lines given as faithfully, and as near the "Oh, Miss E^lu pac, XXXva, cst ^pcrg Tiiv aKr'Xa6iav ^ "Bailey! unfortunate Miss Bailey!" measure-of the E1r7!pa;, WI Ot\AAXnva, 7r&S OlpEt rrv'KXa6[av sal s-ie drirapeydpiov Twv TopXv Tvpavviav, Romaic, as I could make them. Almost all their pieces, i-dig s-ut avXrad real i.6prsprs Togp wv viav saabove a song, which aspire to the name of poetry, conn-'S rag v Kat vpo Ka ptao Kai athpoeapitav t P'ailv, rapQevWv, yvatcv avtovarov tOopeav.. 7rufiwv, a iapOl vwv, yvvaracdiv elvrseavarev lOspriav. tain exactly the quantity of feet of,A&v dA' }aJ S Ei-t6yovol iCKErivwV ri7)v fXX4vw^ "A captain bold of Halifax who lived in country quarters," rSEv IX~vOepwv Kai aoU)iv K Kai ri-Vv (Xliorarpirwv, which is, in fact, the present heroic couplet of the RoKai r5s E KEtVOL a' tiOvrlCKov yta rTi v EEvOtEpiav maic. Kai Tripa eaeis vnrdKErtaCO ES TErrotav rvpavviav,,_ tai reorov yivos Wis EeiS crai7dOs dt rTi ti(vov ds TrIV aoilav, ivvaptv, ES K' iXa saKovwr#vov SCENE FROM'O KAIBENft. 7rgS vVv iyKaTraarT7ars rTr v rSirtvd)v EXXdada. aa! &5 D' ive Qr poav, di rrKoi-rrvv Xa p*Sav TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF GOLDONI BY OipXr, SIXi-,,ra s,parl, egidv eul~ay, ui [0Rva vSPIRIDON VLANTI. OitilXet, p)Arare rpatK:, Elne ipag r7bv alriav, fit Kp6rT-ri TiTroreS EiliV, XAU ri7v aaropiav. SKHNH KT'. 6 DIAE'AAHNO1. IIAATZIAA egs rv 7rOdprav roV XavtoV, Kal oi vwOg~v. IIAA. sL Os! alro -t rorapaOiipr plfto adv va (&Ko-~w'Ftror-ayyXo-aydXotr, IXXa, sKal Xt iaXXO, ri-v pwvirv ro aviSpds pyov' av aurag Eval er, CQpa'a ar Trov, cUs ArE, ro'ovI IEydaXi. Kalpov va rTv (Evrportadai. [Evyaivet Ivas obXos t0lri VVe N; a'OXla, Kal avatia rt Epyaar4pt.] hlatKadpti, 7rg5!ov, af 7rapaKarX, nrotas Jp ov'apXtaev 7 aupaOia. Evat EKU~1 ig iC~ivOS TOdg OvTa~'sS; 8a' dJtropoao'av va Trlv v.V4'rp7 AOYA. TpEg Xp4eltpOt Ivpe~g. Evasb ts Ki EvyE-'Oir' e; 3, XEpo iv bdrryovot. vto0, o a'XXosg KVp Mdprlos NEacroXlrdvos, Kai ^ rpiros a.7 Trrcvadel, ra rKva Kpdas, Kip Kdivre AavSp s ApiEvr7s. cra v v7 podKrcrovv oXa 7rpoo-Tard, AA. Avi/cra ErS liTo5 lev 1us O 6 usLtos, tv rar TOdr' AXrniet or' Ks~pCiel gos civ AXXa(ev dvo#a. tupnlv rKEwVOs aU Ti-v cOYiSEA. AEA. Nla. I} KarX) rsX, roi Kcp r V ryCvtov. [ICI. Ma i0 r-ts TOXrlrans vIa rv (vrrv7ir] vvTaS-.] dayet arov aiSriv Xpig rTlva Kpiatv. 6AOI. Na d, v a. rlit above is the commencement of a long dramatic I1AA. AliTros tIva u vSpas?pov X(wr, aXXAo KaXi ddanto on the Greek priesthood, princes, and gentry; it atvOpwurE Kr, E iov TilV Xapiv vi t avvr-oETocirp-'rdvv is contemptible as a composition, but perhaps curious sn a specimen of their rhymn; I have the whole in MS. 1 Vlackbey Prince of Wallachia CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 99 els avroTs rosE 1TevrdSds, biroh IXw va robs iraitw iplav. [The whole company.] Long five, etc. (Literally, [ITpas rav &VXov.] Nd (i, va d,, May he live.) AOY. bptalp6S eas (avvr?70fhivov oqp0iKiov riv ov- Pla. Without doubt that is my husband. [To the XEvriav.) [TIv piprdaul adTro T6 pyaariipi rou ratL- Serv.] My good man, do me the favour to accompany yviltoo.] me above to those gentlemen: I have some business. PIA. Kap&5a, Kapt5t, cdplsrE KaXi'v Kap&iav, iEv sivat Serv. At your commands. [Aside.] The old office riTrorES. [IIpos Trv Blrroptav.] of us waiters. [He goes out of the Gaming-house.] BIT. kyd alaOdvoliat i r5) aTreOaivo. [ZvvlpXsrat Ridolpho. [To Victoria on another part of the stage.] els'Tiv avrov rS.] Courage, courage, be of good cheer, it is nothing. [ATro'Td irapdOvpa ri-v dvradwv paivovratc Xot, Victoria. I feel as if about to die. [Leaning on him b7ro0v oryK6vovTrL ai7rb TO rpairEt tUvyXtliivol, &d as iffainting.] rTOV apvitlov TOV AEdvlpov P3XirovTaE T7rV [From the windows above all within are seen rising )IIdaTria, Kal:ia7i atrS &iesvu irLoS AsiXst d v Jrom the table in confusion: Leander starts at rTv QfovEvap.] the sight of Platzida, and appears by his gestures Eir. 6xi, ara0ires. to threaten her life.] MAP. Mhv Katvr-.... Eugenio. No, stopAEA. tirKW, Viys ain' l(d. I artio. Don't attemptIIAA. BoOilua, fPoilOta [dEsvyc anro rv cKadXav, b Leander. Away, fly from hence! AEavpos 9E~t iva rTv UaoKXov06irp pt ri arnaoOi, Kai b Evy. Pla. Help! Help! [Flies down the stairs: Leander rov G6ara..] attempting to follow with his sword, Eugenio hinders [TPA. ME i'va rtdro ItE payl ETs ptav ersTrra ir5if him.] airs rTa rapaOivp, Kat cpEVyut dls TrV KaotVi.] [Trappola with a plate of meat leaps over the balcony [HAA. Ebyaivu adro Trb pyacrTpl TO ro iatyvizou from the window,, and runs into the Coffee-house. rpiXwvras, Kai EVylt els rO xavt.] [Platzida runs out of the Gaming-house, and takes [Eir. Me aippaTa els r X T X rpb &s a0ie vT~rsvv rTs shelter in the Hotel.] IlHAaXdras, ivavTiov TOV AadvSpov, bnroV Trnv KaraTpe- [Martio steals softly out of the Gaming-house, and XEu.]' goes off exclaiming, "Rumores fuge." The- Servants [MAP. Ebyaiv~e Kai avtois ltya toiya air T r epya- from the Gaming-house enter the Hotel, and shut the oTrpt, Kai 0eVyuE Xiywvras' Rumores fuge.] [Povpd6pc door.] fcEyE.] 1 [Victoria remains in the Coffee-house assisted by [O Ao~VXot ar Trb Ipyacrpti a~'rpvoVv Els rT Xdavt, Ridolpho.] Kai KEL\OVV r'v irprav. ] [Leander, sword in hand, opposite Eugenio, exclaims,] [BIT. Mev els TOV KacEve po0ioEOivt ar, rv, Give way-I will enter that hotel. Pt6ldXov.] Eugenio. No, that shall never be. You are a scounAEA. A6atrrT TriVov E'Xwo va ip) o va p6to r1S drel to your wife, and I will defend her to the last drop fKSiVO ri XdVt. [ME Tri anraOi eis Tr Xipt ivavTiov TOV of my blood. EVYEVZov.] Leander. I will give you cause to repent this. [3ienEir. 6Xt, 47 ylvolt ro rT' s aalt va; aK'npoKapSos acing with his sword.] Ivavriov Tr yvvacK6S cov, Kai Iy7 X st rTyv 8DasvrTeva( Eugenio. I fear you not. [He attacks Leander, and (uS eiS T iffTgpov a'ta. makes him give back so much that, finding the door of AEA. SoV KciVOw'psKov ir4s iXEt T ro sravotwrqlS. the dancing girl's house open, Leander escapes through, [KvvryT r6v EbyiCvov P'Y rT- anrai.] and sofinishes.]l Eri. Av cE i po6oviat. [KaTrarpiXE TrOV AavSpolr, Kal T7v fltdat vid avpO, briaWto rT6dov, bro~ E~vpiaKxtvras Itotrriv ri irrTr T7S Xops6rpLas, lp6aist Eli aiTi, Kal AIA'AOrOI OIKIAKOi. FAMILIAR DIALOGUES. a(vErat.] iaa var]nrjfirs E'va srpaypa. To ask for any thing. TRANSLATION. aes irapaKa)Xi, 66arTi p aiv I pray you, give me if you bpiEsre. please. Platzida, from the door of the Hotel, and the Others. eipETri PJ. Bring me. Pla. Oh God! from the window it seemed that I AavmisiErf PS. Lend me. heard my husband's voice. If he is here, I have arrived HII7yaivers va t7r4aErs~. Go to seek. in time to make him ashamed. [A servant enters from the Shop.] Boy, tell me, pray, who are in those chaim- Z "-VE7at —"finishes"-awkwardly enough, but it is the Shop.] Boy, tell me, pray, who are in those chai- the literal translation -of the Romaic. The original of this bers.? comedy of Goldoni's I never read, but it does not appear one Serv. Three Gentlemen: one Signor Eugenio; the of his best. " I1 Bugiardo" is' one of the most lively; but I other Signor Martio, the Neapolitan; and the third, do not think it hag been translated into Romaic: it is much Lord the Count Leander Ardenti. more amusing than our own "Liar," by Foote. The charX.my Lord, the Count Leander Arden ater of Lelio is better drawn than Young Wilding. Go. Pla. Flaminio is not amongst these, unless he has doni's comedies amount to fifty; some perhaps the best in changed his name. Europe, and others the worst. His life is also one of the best Leander. [FVithin, drinking.] Long live the good specimens of autobiography, and, as Gibbon has observed, frtn re- Sin Eu' genio "more dramatic than any of his plays." The above scene fortune of Signor Eugenio. was selected as containing some of the most familiar Romaic idioms, not for any wit which it displays, since there is more done than said, the greater part consisting of stage directions ^ A6yos XarTiviKcE, bFro SEAeL ad v lia' reOty ralg The original is one of the few comedies by Goldoni whwa is vyXtlsG~. without the buffoonery of the speaking Harlequin. 100 BYRON'S WORKS. rTpa ekOvs. Now directly. AEv,AoW XEtcEL va ro5 r0 I will not fail to tell him t aKpti6e, lov KvpIs, KaIcdJe My dear Sir, do me this dier. of it. pe av7riv rriv xdpLv. favour. lIpooaKuvv4fiarad ov edr rvV My compliments to her Ey7 ara; 7rapaKaXw. I entreat you. IpX6vrtarav. ladyship. Ey) aags 4EopK;w. I conjure you. Ilnyafvere iprpoaOd Kal aas Go before and I will follow Eyw or's rb r7Ti ia ad XEtv. I ask it of you as a favour. daKoXovu0. you. YTroJXpEWT~cr pE eiS rToov. Oblige me so much. H'EW KaXdarT os Xo pov. I well know my duty. HsvEpW TO JelYa pUov. I know my situation. Adyta IpcWrKad, ) ayadnrg. Affectionate expressions. ME KadpveTr va IvrpiroWptat You confound me with so Zwio pov. My life. pE raTs r6OatgS i\Xo~po- much civility. AKcpt64 Io'i tLvX4. My dear soul. sivai; p ase AyarlrrE,pov, aKpLGE uov. My dear. EXere Xorlvro va Kdpo Iptav Would you have me then KapSira pov. My heart. aXpt'67Tra; be guilty of an incivility? Ayadr7 pov. My love. YTrdyw Ipoaoa dia va aaS I go before to obey you. 67raKovao. ^ai va sVbxapicrri'ps, va To thank, pay compliments, AtI vaKca rTiv rpoeray4v To comply with your cor Kadpp; 7repiroi7ae~s, Kal and testify regard. aaS. mand. biXLKalc f&Eiwcrs. AEv ayayr 7TocratrS 7rEprol- I do not like so much cer Ey at EaX vapLTar. I thank you. ia'. emony. >as yvwpitto Xdapv. I return you thanks. Av Efpat T7XtIir rcpt- I am not at all ceremoni uEar at Vor6Xpsor Kara I am much obliged to you. oLre6r. ous. 0XX'A.' AVrT Ecvat T Kae aXirepov. This is better. Ey SXso ro T KdAEL IErrda I will do it with pleasure. Toaov r8 KaX47EOv. So much the better.' ~~%ap^~ac~.~ EXErs X6yov, sreS Z:iKatov. You are in the right. Xapag' ME aXrqv pIov rTv Kapoiav. With all my heart. M1 KaX4v /tov Kapdiav. Most cordially. -Ata vd psaedas, vd app- To affirm, deny, conse', Eas; etjat Lr6XpEoS. I am obliged to you. vrnO,6s, vay cyKaTravesrS, etc. ETIXat 8sXos a'Ko6s cag. I am wholly yours. KrX. ETpat ZovX6cs eas. I am your servant. ETvsat dXrOiOtv, CirvEt aXr-.It is true, it is very true. TarEilvoraroS; 5oXo;. Your most humble servant. OIerarov. ET'arscKaa sroXXa e;uEVtKoI. You are too obliging. Ata va acsr czrr r7Y a&Xi,- To tell you the truth. rloXXa reipdaEaOe. You take too much trouble. OEtav. Tb'XoW dia xapav pov va I have a pleasure in serv- OvrTS, rT3 ETva. Really, it is so. eas 5ovXsow. ing you. Iofos dai6atX\~ e; Who doubts it? EO-ar~ ~vY~vitKs Kalt dspos- You are obliging and kind. Aiv 7evat rosai aditiX6oia. There is no doubt. 4yopos. Tob rirT~Vso, 6v TO Tiae- I believe it, I do not be* brb Jsvat rpE7rTOV. That is right. revo. lieve it. TI SeXEre; What is your pleasure? Aiyw rT vat. I say yes. Ti opitere; What are your commands? Aiyw rT'Xi. I say no. Eas 7rapaKaXsi va pt pe- I beg you will treat me BdXXw arixtxta Srt sivat. I wager it is. raX~epie~ffOcs EXsvpa. freely. BdXXo)eriX?7ea ornSEv elvat I wager it is not so. Xwops 7rsCptroirfos. Without ceremony. Vr q. Sag ayaTrit 6bX7? pov Kap- I love you with all my Nal, pa r71v rirtlv tov Yes, by my faith. Sias. heart. Eis rTv evv~idncriv tov. In conscience. Kael IX bitol;w. And I the same. Ma rTO foiv tov. By my life. Titpzriff~TE pi rag rpo- Honour me with your Nat, aaes rvtio. Yes, I swear it to you. Tarayals eas. commands. ars Pvw 6a ffav Trtpnpivos I swear to you as an honEXrcT rlerorTs vi fi' rpo- Have you any commands avOp0wros. est man. ffTad~T~; for me? a 6aS pvvw eravw eC rjv I swear to you on my horIlporar~T~d rbV ZI VXv era. Command your servant. rTipv pov. our. lpooptivw raTs rpotayda I wait your commands. [Itir~o'a~rE pe. Believe me. eas. HtIropli va aas TO p~t6ai(- I can assure you of it. Me KtidpErT~ p~yadXev Tlvip. You do me great honour.,. 0UVOdvvv!, T~rptrotiacr, aas Not so much ceremony, I HOsXa padXp oritXna, rai I would lay what bet you TraoakaX). beg. SXEsrs a r TOVTO. please on this. tIpocrKvv4aref~Ts ae povr Present my respects to the M~ TXp Kat dacTrd;e&o You jest by chance? piov rov apXov-ra, n roV gentleman, or his lord- (xopare~&r~);,cvpiov. ship. OI OXETcE ria i aa asg; Do you speak seriously? Be6at rs~TE Toy,rs rov Assure him of my remem- Ey n ras ii; 6tpX pE ra OXx I speak seriously to vou. IvOevpoipai. brance. t ov, Kal cas Xlayw rTiv and tell you the tlltKt. D&acwaserT reov iwr royv ssure him of my friend- daxsOeav..tJairn.'ship. Ey aeas TI r e6atXw. I will not. rov olov ETrX4pwvov TiAV oi 07o6at, OVTtVOS T- iCa'6o0 lty7 Ivav-rETcopat els roero. I object to this. avecKdca Or0 T0rorTC Vro rTv Aor, aXdyKov. E:Savru7yv)^i7v elI avT7jv TVO Tr6Xiv ra XaPLTr7iaa, TO brtofov ayowvos Lta va avev6ovXEv0u.; va'To consult, consider, or re- dlpov xrtypacag Iv tr76Xats El)ov Tro KTrLaV7Tg va0o ir' aroXsaaOe, va ad7ropa- solve. oV6art Trls Oor-6Kov, vri rot TpwrouraOapiov Aeooro;, spe. E7r rTav ogacatXi v Baatciov, A rottOS, Kai Kwloarav-riov,'X ovooasv or v o I'V TEV rlj P1 KOlVWs. TI rpErte va cKadoesv; What ought we to do?? O'E EiKW Toy(o TWO Xapraiov. Ti,d KIdIoIev;' What shall we do? EaXtrtri-4. Tli t avUpovUiXeT va Kd- What do you advise me to M s AsroXXwoiov AvroXEvs acro Malaavpov. pA,; do? Kqpv~. 6robov rpdrov SEXopeV pcra- What part shall we take? Z IiXo? ZXov IIpav o ZXo; Zcoov II to6. Eipicff04 nos;', Pa de6os. "As Kad.popE CrT7. Let us do this. NOvto Novtiov A ETvat KaXcrepov lyh va- It is better that I lloL)7r ev. EraOrsE ouXiyov. Wait a little.'Apivias A^7PoKXEovS Q26aios. Aov OjEXev eovat tcaXkrepov Would it not be better AvXnrs. va-; that'? kArooXXdoros AnroXXorTrov Kp4e, ty( &ayarovoa KaX4repa. I wish it were better. AvuwoS. OAire KardLt KUJXrepCPa - You will do better if- Pu ros Poiarov Apyro,. c0er-Ei Pi. Let me go. KtOaptirsT. Av J'/ovv els rav rdrov aag, If I were in your place, (la'ia AroAXXodr-ov rov PDaltov AloXcs acl, K/rli<. Ey ~i- I KI0apdgs. Eolval r Uirov. It is the same. ^ri o5 apcvaKov KaXto Aipt-rpio; FapptVfoioov KaAX2766'voa. Tpayo66os. Irr~orKpTdrs AptcoropivovS Pd66os. The reader by the specimens below w2' be enabled to KaXXarparos E TaKiarOV EQ6aloe. lornslrg Yasarp/pwv. compare the modern with the ancient tongue., lotrSOK oe Onalr. irvita; ^a[itoKXEOVS Orgalc,. PARALLEL PASSAGES FROM ST. JOHN'S tirocptrIs. GOSPEL. A^ I p0eoes ApoOiov Tapavrtvs;. 4ov. AbOevTiK6v. notnics Tpayi/iv. KEbdX. d. Koea'X. A..orXo s 2oorXovs A'Ovaos. I. Et riTy VpXiav Trov b 1. tN apX v b X6yos, Kap oos eo ES pov o6gaose. Ka6tpiXo;e Oeo&povp Onga~ o;. Xoyos Kai b X6yos; rov Uera Kal, 6yos jv i'rps TOV IIo KWlor(yd.V Geo' Kal Oe s?rTov b Xoyos. Oebv, Kal Oess v b oXyo;. AMXCavSpos Apiarp voS A'Be vaso;. 2. ftrotiroe rTOv el; T r 2. OZ-ros v lv apXn YrroKptr4s. aoiv pera OEoV. IrphS raY Oiov. XrraiXos ArrdAov iBkOval;. 102 BYRON'S WORKS OiEs E'vKiKWV trv V4rro aywva Trvv bioruv. cv pyvpovv a 0o(KEa5. K)) rap SlwvvVralov Kaft Co5)iXtvosg ltivo K&OdvetoS. Eivwv v rwV aovyXwopeiot.' iKart............t ro Evvomiov Kdpov, Ev;f3wXov 3dEiXet..........Xit rTiv FpXopEviwv apyovpio Eilpdoaas EZwKpartog eic6elog..............TrETapf'Ko vra EIXXv KaO' KaCTOV EVUIVrOV, HOuradS. K) rTdKOV t~pET SpaXpag........... raag lvaa g Kao'rag Kara M4rTowp Miaoropogs wKaltcs. pva............. rv Kr ElArpaKrTO EaCT rTv epXopivLov Pat~vsev..............Ka a -.a7 " KpadrTv KXiwvo5 Oti6tog. v I aXXots X0iotg. AVXt-radg "vAvoS3pa c-vopov Xa7ps" INOKYEE. " KaXXtr'Tro IEplY~VE5 HpaKXedrao KoV{tK27AV. rpycvdp HpacXdeao RKov v.atpdpxog, Kaot a Xat." Ev oc&pia irtyypab7. t'ov rToov, AvXaev6o. rvepa, 6I ba ps vTioroypadspoev, oi TraXatosi 7rpooiyoaAaplv4 rS r XaKw Apyo. r. pov. Kai ra E -g. KtOaptrrdg. rdparpos AXpaXdw AloXae &ar^ Movptvas. TpayaEvU6. kaKXaart6wpos HovOedo Tapavrtv6s. The following is the prospectus of a translation of Kwpaevr6g. - Anacharsis into Romaic, by my Romaic master, Mar-'1lK6TrpaTOS IltXooTpIpdrw Oel6gtUOS. marotouri, who wished to publish it in England. Ta E'rtviKEta Kwpaev og.' T Ev' orvpoxa KwHp'aSod..E E IIAHEI T TYTIOrPAr;w rTd Ktpeva; irap oaw0aXov, K) ro'-a oCardtaa iXiea arixEt c i pa InapX/a aro T}'v X CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 103 Xv~. Toros oKo~o/lPas TrIv av o6Xv, EKEPiO rTvI a\X- THE LORD'S PRAYER IN ROMAIC. Xrlv, Kat TX. HlpoPrtl lv EpWrT4olivCy avrovs roVS yi) EAXrvas XELpaywyovs yap, t6Oev -7rapaK~lvOrl1av v4 2 IIATEPA pya b7roi Eoat els rob; o.vpavovs, aS etpepvvaovvTvv apdpg T6Tov TaXatLa;, avvTcaT6Xw S, Tay tacO ro orvoyd cov. AS XeO 1 p AaatXia eo. Ag (toTKplvovTat pEi aAroiv roVa X6yous. " KaO&i b YCp r Trl ovpaviv, ~ETv Pal EPS.KVOias kvdXapatS, Av AEv EreppXE rora T2 Travevqcpoavva rv yv. Ta wt-li tas Tr KaOtr eplVov, AS pas rT aolTIEeva KLt'/aTa rsg,XXdAos,'v &v A(pQopdEro rd atoi6,ua- Epov. Kai avyX()pr4E' yas rM XPE"7 Pag KaOaS Kai IElei ra, ra TiOrl Kai rovS vdyovs TOrV XX4vwv,;ijX yEiv acvy XcopoUpEv robS KpEoI0EUTras paS. Kait ypv pasg ipE EKV0rS Kai rO S'vopa Kai rTo paypa' oUTr KaL o 7iyETEpoO els rnepaoyav, aXXa IXEv6Epwca a aTo d o ro ripov. iarpOp, 3v v ldvOIavp ra TOU iTroKpdrov, A7v ztvaro 6T ldaKv aTov sEva at / fa'tXeia A, i' d vayps, KaM P o65a, va 7rpoxwparn elPs TryV riXIvV roS. Av b Ev 7lpyv vooO1T1r Els roOg alwva;. Auav. EV ITraSe rat TOU EZ6Xovos, AvKOVpyov, Kai tirra KOV, IN GREEK. 6EV Edvvaro va pvOpyr7a Kat va Ka\LEpylapj Tr a Or IN GREE byoyEvov Trov Av b PYrITp AEv aT7rvOie~ro r Ta ~v(bpaePags IIATEP p'71.v, b Ev TroT olpavos, IyLa'O77rTr TA Ovopd Kai TO;VS aplEVTloCyOVs TOV Ar7yoa0OEVov, Ev IVEpyov/ev trov. tXOTWr fi paatXeia cov' yevr/OTrw TO iXACad crov, til TraS /UvXa; TrV aKpoaTWV TOV Av b NiOS Avdxap- w;s Ev opav., Kal r T rTg yg7s' Tov apTov /Piuv TOU lTlOVatis, o Kivptos A66as BapOoXopaoos v avEyivwUoK~ PiE cov dos fiv (/jpEpOv. Kat' ayoES K/pv TO ( 6jLXa ie aTa jyowv, fItyXYur7v ElTrlovYV Kai CTK(FtV TOVS rXEov EyKpCrovs (vy- (gl Kai {i7ETS /GpyepV rols &0~iX\iTats {yjv. Kai yI) ypapEs TPrV \XX/vwv, 4cepEvvPv avTrov KaTa f3dOos Eri' ElTPEViyKrs /pas El;S rETpaarOv, aXXa puraaL tpya aoTa ro5 TplaKovTa vuX E'r77T, Ev O6EXEV 4v(iav,7V roVT7v TuV rE~pp Trovrlpov. 67r oT farryTv T f3aarsXea, Kat ) U SvaIls, Ka i) hXXivwv o'lTropiav rTO, 7rTs llEptLiy7rafI roV' NEov Ava- ~o66a, s rTOVS aliwvas. Xpaeow; ap' avrov rpoatovopdTaOa, Kait El oaas Tra evpw.aiKas ta^aXEIKOVS pE7EYXW7TTiorIl." Kai v vi Xoyp, ____I__V ol VP6rEPOt, v Abe'r~Epvav Sla ibSIyovs robT rrpoyovovs pas), OEXav'lao-s Trptt0piPvrat parai oa S yipt TOV v//v. Atria ev euvat X6yta v0ovacitaua[vov JLa TO ()XoyEVEg C rpalKov, E7vaL Ai tXaXtoovs re~pavov, Obrt;S PyErcTpacP roV Noiov A.vdapatv ar roT raXXLKOVo ES TO reppyavLKOV. Av XorlTv Kat jpEpT sEgXoEpv val pei06owpv Tr/ yvdCEwS; Note 1. Stanza xviii. rTWv XaIA7rpwV KaTopBoolpaT7nV 67roV CKalpav ol`,avptacroi TvO XaprrpOv KarTopoPyprTov bdoV cKapav ov i aVua'TroL In "pride of place" here last the eagle flew. EKEvOL TpOT7rdTopEs /pWv, av ItrOvUpP~EV va pda oiepv Triv irpdozov Kat av~i'v?Tc V es rag TAP vas Kap t IraTarsl/ap Kat "PRIDE of place" is a term of falconry, and means upos K0E a\xo a'os yaO6aseC;, 7Av OyWpPEv rEpLpyEu av va the highest pitch of flight.-See Macbeth, etc. YvPPV~PEV roQEV KaaaYO"0a, Kat bno lov V Oav1A S ^aC7" An eagle towering in his pride of place,PW/OLpYP PataydpPva, Pav Iroiov raapacTTOP * Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd." Kat prEydXovs avopas, El Kai irpoy6vovgs /I7pv, EUv, 7i~elS Rdv yvpapiotev, eti KatpOv 7r oi a\XoyEvEs Savpadovstv Note 2. Stanza xx. avTov.s, Kati g -raTrpag TravroiaouOv pyalOrrws 6crgovTra, Such as Harmodius drew on Athens' tyrant lord. aS UvvbpAyvouev~ aravrT~s TrpoOIyiS PSI TriV ~KGOoltV TOg &Ii/u/i pdOTOTOEv,uTvypdpaTPoOup ETO NlV, a, aT TOp See the famous Song on Harmodius and Aristogiton. v5yaoariov Tro6rov cvyypyaryaTos TO7 NoV vaXadp'pawf;. (',:~'.-The best English translation is in Bland's Anthology HIlts o? ov ot VroyPypapEvot, aXOpPv aKTrXePt nipo- by Mr. Denman: Ovtios Trv PTErd(bpacav Tro Bl6Xiov /li rP'V Kara TrO vvaTOV 61EV pari/v 3bpdov TI/P VUV P- aO' IIap oiptap, Kat "With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," etc. TIr {iyiv KavX?pplo T rS vwV KaO''09[ bLX~ias, Kat tKA6vrTS roo sOO Ps TVTrov,;EXoPyv TA KaXXwtoic~t py rovS Note 3. Stanza xxi. yeoiypa/o1Kovb; lvaKaas PtE a7iXa, Pwt ai'ms X, yKtp,ypKeX- And all went merry as a marriage-bell. apayyivovs els oJtia yas ypaylarTa,'porrtlivrTE 8, TI Kapayp }avovpv cip AKd papv ypazppeaTw, TTPOOTLOTPP A TI On the night previous to the action, it is said that a LXxo Xp/isopov Ka? alpAtLOv PIP T7i/V'TTropiav. oT r yypaa,SX yE, pTOVP a ball was given at Brussels. b\ov Tr r677ypaypa -glXEt yi7vs es rT9 ovs d ow~a Kara pitflptv TPS iraXtKs EIK06C(res. H rtyp/l 5Xov TO arvyypdtl- Notes 4 and 5. Stanza xxvi. aTos PE'vai cPtopivaKa ATeaKa TAP BtLVl AA Ti/e'rpo- And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears. 4K77V 7 rOv yE(,))pa0ptxKv wtvLdKov. O OptXOyEVO; oTv'vvO/P1/PV TOPv Yypl)Ya/p Qvl~P T^IPvP/OP. 0 3LXOyPyisP OVP ~VP- Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the spopylTris rp)rstI va rXipousar epS KadOE TlrOpv lopiSwt Eva " gentle Lochiel" of the "forty-five." Kat KapavTavta PEPKOGa T]S BtEBVVP17S Kat TOVTO XwptS Kaplav Trp6SosTiov, AXX' EVVOs nrov Qa{\E r Tri 7apado;j o6 T6pos P Note 6. Stanza xxvii. rvwrtoyvo; Kai &PE'vos. tPiwpYvOI Kpa' taoaipovcs AaOpoTaE, XX/Iiv(iv -Tairs. And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. Trisg pETipas aya7rri/ EApT7/1pEvaS, The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of iwavvrs Mappapooaporopg. the "forest of Ardennes," famous in Boiardo's Orlando, AlnpITrptlo BsvEpr1s. and immortal in Shakspeare's "As you like it." I. is TY1vpibav I psE{Tos. also celebrated in Tacitus as being the spot of successfu. vy Tptetrrl%, Tfr nrpr 6KTO(o6piov, 1799. defence by the Germans against the Rona encroach. 104 BYRON'S WORKS. ments.-I have ventured to adopt the name connected it is in ruins, and connected with some singular tradiwith nobler associations than those of mere slaughter. tions: it is the first in view on the road from Bonn, Note 7. Stanza xxx. but on the opposite side of the river; on this bank, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. nearly facing it, are the remains of another called the My guide from Mont St. Jean over the field seemed Jew's Castle, and a large cross commemorative of the intelligent and accurate. The place where Major Howintelligent and accurate. The place where Major How- murder of a chief by his brother. The number of castles ard fell was not far from two tall and solitary trees (theree of te R e o b was a third cut down, or shivered in the battle) which is very great, and their situations remarkabl beautiful. stand a few yards from each other at a pathway's side. Note 12. Stanza lvii. -Beneath these he died and was buried. The body The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. has since been removed to England. A small hollow The monument of the young and lamented General for the present marks where it lay; but will probably Marceau (killed by a rifle-ball at Alterkirchen, on the soon be effaced; the plough has been upon it, and the last day of the fourth year of the French republic) still grain is. remains as described. After pointing out the different spots where Picton The inscriptions on his monument are rather too and other gallant men had perished, the guide said, long, and not required; his name was enough; France "Here Major Howard lay; I was near him when adored, and her enemies admired; both wept over him. wounded." I told him my relationship, and he seemed -His funeral was attended by the generals and detachthen still more anxious to point out the particular spot ments from both armies. In the same grave General and circumstances. The place is one of the most Hoche is interred, a gallant man also in every sense of marked in the field, from the peculiarity of the two the word; but though he distinguished himself greatly trees above-mentioned. in battle, he had not the good fortune to die there; his I went on horseback twice over the field, comparing death was attended by suspicions of poison. it with my recollection of similar scenes. As a plain, A separate monument (not over his body, which is Waterloo seems marked out for the scen6dof some great buried by Marceau's) is raised for him near Andernach, action, though this may be mere imagination: I have opposite to which one of his most memorable exploits viewed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, was performed, in throwing a bridge to an island on Leuctra, Charonea, and Marathon; and the field around the Rhine. The shape and style are different from Mont St. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little that of Marceau's, and the inscription more simple and but a better cause, and that undefinabie but impressive pleasing: halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated "The Army of the Sambre and Meuse to its Commander-in-Chief, spot, to vie in interest with any or all of these, except HOCHE." perhaps the last mentioned. This is all, and as it should be. Hoche was esteemed Note 8. Stanza xxxiv. among the first of France's earlier generals, before Like to the apples on the Dead'Sea's shore. Buonaparte monopolized her triumphs.-He was the The (fabled) apples on the brink of the lake Asphaltes destined commander of the invading army of Ireland. were said to be fair without, and within ashes.-Vide Note 13. Stanza lviii. Tacit. Histor. 1. v. 7. Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shatter'd wall. Note 9. Stanza xli. Ehrenbreitstein, i. e. " the broad Stone of Honour," For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. one of the strongest fortresses in Europe, was disThe great error of Napoleon, "ifwe have writ our mantled and blown up by the French at the truce of arnals true," was a continued obtrusion on mankind Leoben.-It had been and could only be reduced by of his want of all community of feeling for or with famine or treachery. It yielded to the former, aided them; perhaps more offensive to human vanity than by surprise. After having seen the fortifications of the active cruelty of more trembling and suspicious Gibraltar and Malta, it did not much strike by compartyranny. ison, but the situation is commanding. General MarSuch were his speeches to public assemblies as well ceau besieged it in vain for some time, and I slept in a as individuals i and the single expression which he is room where I was shown a window at which he is said said to have used on returning to Paris after the Russian to have been standing, observing the progress of the winter had destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over siege by moonlight, when a ball struck immediately a fire, " This is pleasanter than Moscow," would prob- below it. ably alienate more fayour from his cause than the Note 14. Stanza lxiii. destruction and reverses which led to the remark. Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wandering ghost. Note 10. Stanza xlviii. The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of bones diWhat want these outlaws conquerors should have. minished to a small number by the Burgundian legion in What wants that knave the service of France, who anxiously effaced this record That a king should have?" of their ancestors' less successful invasions. A few still was King James s question, on meeting Johnny Arm- remain, notwithstanding the pains taken by the Burgunstrong and his followers in full accoutrements.-See dians for ages (all who passed that way moving a bone to the Ballad. their owis country) and the less justifiable larcenies of the Note II. Song, stanza 1. Swiss postilions, who carried them off to sell for knife. The castle crag of Drachenfels. handles; a purpose for which the whiteness imbibed by The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest sum- the bleaching of years had rendered them in great remit ot "* the Seven Mountains," over the Rhine banks; quest. Of these relics I.ventured to bring away as much CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 105 as may have made the quarter of a hero, for which the eloquence,'the most effectual and splendid specimens sole excuse is, that if I had not, the next passer-by might were not pronounced within walls. Demosthenes adhave perverted them to worse uses than the careful pre- dressed the publick and popular assemblies. Cicero servation which 1 intend for them. spoke in the forum. That this added to their effect on Note 15. Stanza lxv. the mind of both orator and hearers, may be conceived Level'd Aventicum, hath strew'd her subject lands. from the difference between what we read of the emoAventicum (near Morat) was the Romnan capital of tions then and there produced, and those we ourselves Helvetia, where Avenches now stands. experience in the perusal in the closet. It is one thing ~vte,1G. ~ c,,. ~ to read the Iliad at Sigaeum and on the tumuli, or by Note 16. Stanza lxvi. Z.. Note 16. Stanza lxvi. the springs with mount Ida above, and the plain an( And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one dust. rirs n r ound o and ther to ti Julia i a ~ priestess I, d rivers and Archipelago around you; and another to trim Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian priestess, died soon yourtaper over it in a snug library-this I know. after a vain endeavour to save her father, condemned Were the early and rapid'progress of what is called to death as a traitor by Aulus Cecina. IHer epitaph was Methodism to be attributed to any cause beyond the discovered many years ago;-it is thus- enthusiasm excited by its vehement faith and doctrines Julia Alphiula (the truth or error of which I presume neither to canvass Hic jaceo. Infelicis p[atris intix prolaes, nor to question), I should venture to ascribe it to the Deie Aventite sacerdos. practice of preaching in the fields, and the unstudied Exorare patris necern non poui; and extemporaneous effusions of its teachers. Male mori in fatis lle erat.V An The Mussulmans, whose erroneous devotion (at least Vixi Annos XXIII. - i. in the lower ordersl is most sincere, and therefore im I know of no human composition so affecting as pressive, are accustomed to repeat their prescribed this, nor, a history of deeper interest. These are the orisons and prayers wherever they may be at the stated names and actions which ought not to perish, and to hours-of course frequently in the open air, kneeling which we turn with a true and healthy tenderness, from ic c upon a light mat (which they carry for the purpose of the wretched and glittering detail of a confused mass a bed or cushion as required) the ceremony lasts some of conquests and battles, with which the mind is roused m, d g w t a t a c''. ^, i^-.,, minutes, during which they are totally absorbed, and for a time to a false and feverish sympathy, from i in te ii whence it recurs at length with,~, the nausea conse- only living in their supplication; nothing can disturb whence it recurs at length with all the nausea conse-them. O me the s imple and entire sincerity of these ^. ~..D ^ ^" them. On me the simple and entire sincerity of these quent on such intoxication. men, and the spirit which appeared to be within and Note 17. Stanza lxvii. upon them, made a far greater impression than any In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow. general rite which was ever performed in places of This is written in the eye of Mont Blanc (June 3d, worship, of which I have seen those of almost every 1816), which even at this distance dazzles mine. persuasion under the sun; including most of our own (July 20th.) I this day observed for some time the sectaries, and the Greek, the Catholic, the Armenian, distinct reflection of Mont Blanc and Mont Argentidre the Lutheran, the Jewish, and the Mahometan. hMtny in the calm of the lake, which I was crossing in my of the negroes, of whom there are numbers in the boat; the distance of these mountains from their mir- Turkidi empire, are idolaters, and have free exercise of ror is sixty miles. their beiief and its rites: some of these I had a distant Note 18. Stanza xx-i. view of at Patras, and from what I could make out ot By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone.. them, they appeared to be of a truly Pagan descrpThe colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth tion and not ver areeable to a spectator. of tint which I have never seen equalled in water, salt Note 21. Stanza xcii. or fresh, except in the Mediterranean and Archipelago. The sky is changed!-andsuch a change! Oh nigh The thunder-storms to which these lines refeil u Note 19. Stanza lxxix. curred Qn the 13th of June, 1816, at midnight. I have Than vulgar minds nmay be with all they seek possest. seen among the Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari This refers to the accoutnt in his " Confessions" of his several more terrible, but none more beautiful. passion for the Comtesse d'Houdetot (the mistress of St.Note 22. Stanza xci-:. Lambert), and his long walk every morning for the sake And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought of the single kiss which was the common salutation of Roussea's tdloise, Letter 17, part 4, note. —" Co French acquaintance.-Rousseau's description of his montagnes sent si hautes, qu'une demi-heure aprhs le feelings on this occasion may be considered as the most soleil couche, leurs sommets sont encore eclair6s de ses passionate, yet not impure description and expression rayons; dont le rouge forme sur ces cimes blanches of love that ever kindled into words; which after all une belle couleur de rose qu'on apercoit de fort loin." must be felt, from their very force, to be inadequate This applies more paniualarly to the heights over to the delineation: a painting can give no sufficient Meillerie. idea of the ocean. "J'allai 3 Vevay loger h la Clef, et pendant deuxjours Note 20. Stanza xci. que j'y restai sans voir personne, je pris pour celtt Of earth o'er-gazing mountains. vilie un amour qui m'a suivi dans tous mes voyages, It is to be recollected, that the most beautiful and et qui m'y a fait etablir enfin les hdros de mon roman.;mpressive doctrines of the divine Founder of Chris- Je dirois volontiers i ceux qui ont du goft et qui sont tianity were delivered, not in the Ternpe, but on the sensibles: Allez a Vevay-visitez le pays, exarminer eg Mount. sites, promenez-vous sur l, lac, et dites si la nature To waive the question of devotion, and turn t human n'a pas fait ce beau pays pour une Julie, pour unc N 19 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 107 t., PENTIRTI PENTIRTI NULLA GIOVA Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up r4A BEN Dl VALOR TUO LA VERA PROVA and continue a stanza of their once familiar bard. 1607. ADI 2. GENARO. FUI RE- On the 7th of last January, the author of Childe TENTO'" LA BEST[EMMA P' AVER DATO Harold, and another Englishman, the writer of this DA MANZAR A UN MORTO notice, rowed to the Lido with two singers, one of whom LACOMO. GRITTI. SCRISSE. X ACOMO. GRI SCRSSE. was a carpenter, and the other a gondolier. The former 2. -placed himself at the prow, the latter at the stern of the UN PARLAR POCO et UN PARLA:R PONO et boat. A little after leaving the quay of the Piazetta, they N PENSAR AL FINE DARE LA VITA bean to sing and continued their exercise until we UN PENSAR AL FINE PUO DARE LA VITA A NOI ALTRI MESCHINI rarrived at the island. They gave us, amongst other 1605. essays, the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida; EGO IOHN BAPTISTA AD and did not sing the Venetian, but the Tuscan verses. ECCLESIAM CORTELLARIUS. The carpenter, however, who was the cleverer of the two, 3. and was frequently obliged to prompt his companion, D1 CHl MI FIDO GUARDAMI DIO told us that he could translate the original. He added, DI CHI NON MI FIDO MI GUARDERO IO that he could sing almost three hundred stanzas, but had VA. I A STA. CH. IKA. RNA. not spirits (morbin was the word he used), to learn any more, or to sing what he already knew: a man must The copyist has followed, not corrected, the solecisms; e e t on h nds to acquire or to repeat, and, X have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat, and, some of which are however notquite so decided, since the said the poor fellow, "look at my clothes and at me, I letters were evidently scratched in the dark. It only am starving" This speech was more affectin tn his need be observed, that Bestemmia and Mangiar may performance, which habit alone can make attractive. be read in the first inscription, which was probably The recitative was shrill, screaming, and monotonous, written by a prisoner confined for some act of impiety and the gondolier behind assisted his voice by holding committed at a funeral: the Cortellarius is the name of t carpenter used a a parish on terra firma, near the sea: and that the last quiet action, which he evidently endeavoured to retra, initials evidently are put for Viva la Santa Chiesa but was too much interested in his subject altogether to Kattolica Romana. repress. From these men we learnt that singing is not Note 2. Stanza ii. confined to the gondoliers, and that, although the chaunt She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, is seldom, ifever, voluntary, there are still several amongst Rising with her tiara of proud towers. tX Rising with her tiara o proud towersthe lower classes who are acquainted with a few stanzas. An old writer, describing the appearance of Venice, It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to has made use of the above image, which would not be row and sing at the same time. Although the verses of poetical were it not true. the Jerusalem are no longer casually heard, there is yet "Quo fit ut qui superne urbem contemipletur, turritam much music upon the Venetian canals; and upon holitelluris imaginem medio oceano figuratam se putet in- days, those strangers who are not near or informed spicere."' enough to distinguish the words, mayfancy that many of Note 3. Stanza iii. the gondolas still resound with the strains ofTasso. The In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more. writer of some remarks which appeared in the Curiosities The well-known song of the gondoliers, of alternate of Literature must excuse his being twice quoted; for, stanzas, from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with the with the exception of some phrases a little too ambitious pendence of Venice. Editions of the poem, with the and extravagant, he has furnisned a very exact, as well original on one column, and the Venetian variations on as agreeable, description. the other, as sung by the boatmen, were once common, "In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long pas and are still to be found. The following extract will serve sages from Ariosto and Tasso, and oftenchaunt them with to show the difference between the Tuscan epic and the a peculiar melody. But this talent seems at present on " Canta alla Barcariola." the decline:-at least, after taking some pains, I could find no more than two persons who delivered to me in Original. Cat Orgi5na1. e t aianthis way a passage from Tasso. I must add, that the late Canto I' armi pietose, e'I capitano Che'l gran sepolcro libero di Cristo. Mr. Berry once chaunted to me a passage in Tasso in the Molto egli oprb cot senno, e con la mano manner, as he assured me, of the gondoliers. Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto; "There are always two concerned, who alternately E in van I' Inferno a lui s' oppose, e in vano s asin the strophes. We know the melody eventually by S' armb d' Asia, e di Libia ii popol misto,.. Che it Ciel gli die favore, o sotto a i santi Rousseau, to whose songs it is printed; it has properly no Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti. melodious movement; and is a sort of medium between Venetian. the canto fermo and the canto figurato; it approaches to L' arme pietose de cantar gho vogia, the former by recitativical declamation, and to the lattet E de Goffredo la immortal braura, by passages and course, by which one sy!!able is detained Che P1 fin I' ha libera co strassia, e dogia ad e i Del nostro buon Gesu la sepoltura; and embellished. De mezo mondo unite, e de quel Bogia "I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placen Missier Pluton no I' ha bu mai paura; himself forwards, and the other aft, and thus proceeded Dio I' ha agluta, e i compagni sparpagnai to St. Georgio. One began the song: when he had enaed Tutti'I gh' i ha messi insieme i di del Dai. t ________________,his strophe, the other took up the lay, and so continued I Marci Antonii Sabelli, de Venete Urbis situ, narratio, edit. the song alternately. Throughout the whole of lt, tn Taurin. 1.27. lib. 1. fol. 202. same notes invariably returned, but, according to tUrM 10(18 BYRON'S WORKS. subject matter of the strophe, they laid a greater or a said quite unexpectedly: 1' singolare come quel canto smaller stress, sometimes on one, and sometimes on intenerisce, e molto pib quando lo cantano meglio.' another note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the "I was told that the women of Libo, the long row whole strophe as the object of the poem altered. of islands that divides the Adriatic from the Lagouns,' "On the whole, however, the sounds were hoarse and particularly the women of the extreme districts of Malascreaming: they seemed, in the manner of all rude un- mocca and Palestrina, sin in like manner the works of civilized men, to make the excellency of their singing in Tasso to these and similar tunes. the force of their voice: one seemed desirous of conquer- "They have the custom, when their husbands are ing the other by the strength of his lungs; and so far fishing out at sea, to sit along the shore in the evenings from receiving delight from this scene (shut up as I was and vociferate these songs, and continue to do so with in the box of the gondola), I found myself in a very un- great violence, till each of them can distinguish the pleasant situation. responses of her own husband at a distance." 2 "My companion, to whom I communicated this cir- The love of music and of poetry distinguishes all classes cumstance, being very desirous to keep up the credit of of Venetians, even amongst the tuneful sons of Italy. his countrymen, assured me that this singing was very The city itself can occasionally furnish respectable audelightful when heard at a distance. Accordingly we diences for two and even three opera-houses at a time; got out upon the shore, leaving one of the singers in the and there are few events in private life that do not call gondola, while the other wern to the distance of some forth a printed and circulated sonnet. Does a physician hundred paces. They now began to sing against one or a lawyer take his degree, or a clergyman preach his another, and I kept walking up and down between them maiden sermon, has a surgeon performed an operation, both, so as always to leave him who was to begin his part. would a harlequin announce his departure or his benefit, I frequently stood still and hearkened to the one and to are you to be congratulated on a marriage, or a birth, or a the other. law-suit, the Muses are invoked to furnish the same num" Here the scenewas properly introduced. The strong her of syllables, and the individual triumphs blaze abroad declamatory, and, as it were, shrieking sound, met the in virgin white or party-coloured placards on half the corear from far, and called forth the attention; the quickly- ners of the capital. The last curtsy of a favourite " prima succeeding transitions, which necessarily required to be donna" brings down a shower of these poetical tributes sung in a lower tone, seemed like plaintive strains suc- from those upper regions, from which, in our theatres, ceeding the vociferation of emotion or of pain. The nothing but cupids and snow-storms are accustomed to other, who listened attentively, immediately began where descend. There is a poetry in the very life of a Venetian, the former left off, answering him in milder or more which, inits common course, is varied with those surprises vehement notes, according as the purport of the strophe and changes so recommendable in fiction, but so different required. The sleepy canals, the lofty buildings, the from the sober monotony of northern existence; amusesplendour of the moon, the deep shadows of the few ments are raised into duties, duties are softened into gondolas, that moved like spirits hither and thither, in- amusements, and every object being considered as equalcreased the striking peculiarity of the scene; and, amidst ly making a part of the business of life, is announced and all these circumstances, it was easy to confess the char- performed with the same earnest indifference and gay acter of this wonderful harmony. assiduity. The Venetian gazette constantly closes itJ "It suits perfectly well with an idle solitary mariner, columns with the following triple advertisement: lying at length in his vessel at rest on one of these canals, Charade. waiting for his company, or for a fare, the tiresomeness of which situation is somewhat alleviated by the songs xposion of th most IolySacramnt in the church of St. and poetical stories he has in memory. He often raises Theatres. his voice as loud as he can, which extends itself to a vast St. Moses. opera. I. i. -i- -3 ii- -n *~St. Benedict, a comedy of characters. distance over the tranquil mirror, and as all is still around, St. Luke, repose. he is, as it were, in a solitude in the midst of a large and When it is recollected what the Catholics believe then populous town. Here is no rattling of carriages, no noise consecrated wafer to be, we may perhaps think it worth3 of foot passengers: a silentgondola glides now and then of a more respectable niche than between poetry and the by him, of which the splashing of the oars is scarcely playhouse. to be heard. Note 4. Stanza x. "At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly un- Sparta hath many a worthier son than he. known to him. Melody and verse immediately attach The answer of the mother of Brasidas to the strancers the two strangers; be becomes the responsive echo to the who praised the memory of her son. former, and exerts himself to be heard as he had heard Note 5. Stanza xi. the other. By a tacit convention they alternate verse for St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood verse; though the song should last the whole night Stand.through, tacy entertain themselves without fatigue; the The lion has lost nothing by his journey to the In hearers, who are passing between the two, take part in valiles, but the gospel which supported the paw that is the amusement. now on a level with the other foot. The horses, also, "This vocal performance sounds best at a great dis- are returned to the ill-chosen spot whence they set out,:ance, and is then inexpressibly charming, as it only and are, as before, half hidden under the porch window itlfils its des.gn in the sentiment of remoteness. It is of St. Mark's church. plaintive, but not dismal in its sound, and at times it is I The writer meant Lido, which is not a long row ofis!a.do. catrceiv -ossible to refrain from tears. My companion, but a long island —rittus, the shore. 2 Curiosities of Literature, vol. ii. p. 156. edit. 1807; ano *Wno oW.'wise was not a very deliealely organized person, Appendix xxix. to Black's Life of Tsasso. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 109 Their history, after a desperate struggle, has been Sebastian Ziani, the Doge. Sei eral embassies passed satisfactorily explored. The decisions and doubts of between Chioza and the capital, until, at last, the emperor Erizzo and Zanetti, and lastly, of the Count Leopold relaxing somewhat of his pretensions, "laid aside his Cicognara, would have given them a Roman extraction, leonine ferocity, and put on the mildness of the lamb."' and a pedigree not more ancient than the reign of Nero. On Saturday the 23d of July, in the year 1177, six But M. de Schlegel stepped in to teach the Venetians Venetian galleys transferred Frederic, in great pomp, the value of their own treasures, and a Greek vindicated, from Chioza to the island of Lido, a mile from Venice. at last and for ever, the pretension of his countrymen Early the next morning, the Pope, accompanied by the to this noble production. Mr. Mustoxidi has not been Sicilian ambassadors, and by the envoys of Lombardy, left without a reply; but, as yet, he has received no whom he had recalled from the main land, together answer. It should seem that the horses are irrevocably with a great concourse of people, repaired from the Chian, and were transferred to Constantinople by The- patriarchal palace to Saint Mark's church, and solemnly adosius. Lapidary writing is a favourite play of the absolved the emperor and his partisans from the exItalians, and has conferred reputation on more than communication pronounced against him. The chanone of their literary characters. One of the best speci- cellor of the empire, on the part of his master, remens of Bodoni's typography is a respectable volume nounced the anti-popes and their schismatic adherents. of inscriptions, all written by his friend Pacciaudi. Immediately the doge, with a great suite both of the Several were prepared for the recovered horses. It is clergy and laity, got on board the galleys, and waiting to be hoped that the best was not selected, when the on Frederic, rowed him in mighty state from the Lido following words were ranged in gold letters above the to the capital. The emperor descended from the galley cathedral porch: at the quay of the Piazetta. The doge, the patriarch, QUATUOR. EQUORUM. SIGNA. A. VENETIS. BY- his bishops and clergy, and the people of Venice, with ZANTIO. CAPTA. AD. TEMP. D. MAR. A. a..their crosses and their standards, marched in solemn MCCIV. POSITA. QUJ. HOSTILIS. CUPIDITAS. A. procession before him to the church of Saint Mark. IDCCCIII. ABSTULERAT. FRANC. I. IMP. PACIS. Alexander was seated before the vestibule of the baORBI. DATIE. TROPHEUM. A. MDCCCXV. VICTOR. silica, attended by his bishops and cardinals, by the RED'JXIT. patriarch of Aquileja, by the archbishops and bishops Nothing shall be said of the Latin, but it may be per- of Lombardy, all of them in state, and clothed in their mitted to observe,. that the injustice of the Venetians in church robes. Frederic approached-" moved by tho transporting the horses from Constantinople was at Holy Spirit, venerating the Almighty in the person of least equal to that of the tFrench in carrying them to Alexander, laying aside his imperial dignity, and throwParis, and that it would have been more prudent to have ing off his mantle, he prostrated himself at full length avoided all allusions to either robbery. An apostolic at the feet of the Pope. Alexander, with tears in his prince should, perhaps, have objected to affixing, over eyes, raised him benignantly from the ground, kissed the principal entrance of a metropolitan church, an in- iim, blessed him; and immediately the Germans of the scription having a reference to any other triumphs than train sang, with a loud voice,'We praise thee, O Lord. those of religion. Nothing less than the pacification The emperor then taking the Pope by the riht hand, of theworld can excuse such a solecism. led him to the church, and, having received his beneNote. Stanza xii. diction, returned to the ducal palace." 2 The ceremony h Nbi oted-6. Sadtanzautxii. rof humiliation was repeated the next day. The Pope The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns- An emperor tramples where an emperor knelt. himself, at the request of Frederic, said mass at Saint After many vain efforts on the part of the Italians, Mark's. The emperor again laid aside his imperial entirely to throw off the yoke of Frederic Barbarossa, mantle, and, taking a wand in his hand, officiated as and as fruitless attempts of the emperor to make him- verger, driving the laity from the choir, and preceding self absolute master throughout the whole of his Cisal- the pontiff to the altar. Alexander, after reciting the pine dominions, the bloody struggles of four-and-twenty gospel, preached to the people. The emperor put himyears were happily brought to a close in the city of Ven- self close to the pulpit in the attitude of listening; and ice. The articles of a treaty had been previously the pontiff,_touched by this nark of his attention, for agreed upon between Pope Alexander III. and Barba- he knew that Frederic did not understand a word he rossa, and the former, having received a safe-conduct, said, commanded the patriarch of Aquileja to translate had already arrived at Venice from Ferrara, in com- the Latin discourse into the German tongue. The creed pany with the ambassadors of the king of Sicily and the was then chaunted. Frederic made his oblation, and consuls of the Lombard league. There still remained, kissed the Pope's feet, and, mass being over, led him by however, many points to adjust, and for several days the hand to his white horse. He held the stirrup, and the peace was believed to ber impracticable. At this would have held the horse's rein to the water side, had juncture it was suddenly reported that the emperor not the Pope accepted of the inclination for the perhad arrived at Chioza, a town fifteen miles from the formance, and affectionately dismissed him with his capital. The Venetians rose tumultuously, and insisted benediction. Such is the substance of the account left upon immediately conducting him to the city. The by the archbishop of Salerno, who was present at the Lombards took the alarm, and departed towards Tre- ceremony, and whose story is confirmed by.every subviso. The Pope himself was apprehensive of some dis- sequent narration. It would not be worth so minute aster if Frederic should suddenly advance upon him, a record, were it not the triumph of liberty as well ats but was re-assured by the prudence and address of 1 "Quibus auditis, imperator. operante-eo, qui corda principim sicut vult et quando vult humililer inclinat, leonina 1 Sui quattro cavali della Basilica di S. Marco in Venezia. feritate deposita, ovinam mansuetudinem induit." Romualdi Lettera di Andrea Mustoxidi Corcirese. Padova per Bettoni Salernitani. Chronicon. apudScript. Rer. Ital. tomn. VII. p'1 e conmagni. 1816 2 Ibid. p. 231. 110 BYRON'S WORKS. of, superstition. The states of Lombardy owed to it the Signor of Padua, the Venetians were reduced to the a,confirmation of their privileges; and Alexander had most despair. An embassy was sent to the conquerors reason to thank the Almighty, who had enabled an in- with a blank sheet of paper, praying:hem to prescribe firm, unarmed old man to subdue a terrible and potent what terms they pleased, and leave to Venice only her sovereign.' independence. The Prince of Padua was inclined to Note 7. Stanza xil. listen to these proposals, but the'Genoese, who, after Oh, for one hour of blind old Dandolo! the victory at Pola, had shouted, " to Venice, to VenTh' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. ice, and long live St. George, determined to annihilate The reader will recollect the exclamation of the high- their rival, and Peter Doria, their commander-in-chief, lander, Oh, for one hour of Dundee! Henry Dandolo, returned this answer to the suppliants: " On God's when elected doge, in 1192, was eighty-five years of age. faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no peace from When he commanded the Venetians at the taking of the Signor of Padua, nor from our commune of Genoa, Constantinople, he was consequently ninety-seven years until we have first put a rein upon those unbridled horses old. At this age he annexed the fourth and a half of of yours, that are upon the porch of your evangelist St. the whole empire of Romania, 2 for so the Roman em- Mark. When we have bridled them, we shall keep you pire was then called, to the title and to the territories of quiet. And this is the pleasure of us and of our comthe Venetian Doge. The three-eighths of this empire mune. A for these my brothers of Genoa, that you were preserved in the diplomas until the dukedom of have brought with you to give up to us, I will not have Giovanni Dolfino, who made use of the above designa- them: take them back; for, in a few days hence, I tion in the year 1357.3 shall come and let them out of prison myself, both these Dandolo led the attack on Constantiople in person: and all the others."' In fact, the Genoese did advance two ships, the Paradise and the Pilgrim, were tied to- as far as Malamocco, within five miles of the capital; gether, and a drawbridge or ladder let down from their but their own danger, and the pride of their enemies, higher yards to the walls. The doge was one of the first gave courae to the Venetians, who made prodigious to rush into the city. Then was completed, said the efforts, and many individual sacrifices, all of them careVenetians, the prophecy of the Erythraean sybil. "A fully recorded by their historians. Vettor Pisani was gathering together of the powerful shall be made amidst pit at the head of thirty-four galleys. The Genoese the waves of the Adriatic, under a blind leader: they broke up from Malamocco, and retired to Chioza in shall beset the goat-they shall profane Byzantium- October; but they again threatened Venice, which was they shell blacken her buildings-her spoils shall be dis- reduced to extremities. At this' time, the 1st of Janupersed; a new goat shall bleat until they have measured ary 1380, arrived Carlo Zeno, who had been cruising outandrun overfifty-fourfeet, nine inches,and ahalf."4 on the Genoese coast with fourteen galleys. The Dandolo died on the first day of June, 1205, having Venetians were now strong enough to besiege the Gereigned thirteen years, six months, and five days, and noese; Doria was killed on the 22d of January by a was buried in the church of St. Sophia, at Constanti- stone bullet a hundred and ninety-five pounds weight, nople. Strangely enough it must sound, that the name discharged from a bombard called the Trevisan. Chioza of the rebel apothecary who received the doge's sword, was then closely invested; five thousand auxiliaries and annihilated the ancient government in 1796-7, was amongst whom were some English Condottieri, comDandolo. manded by one Captain Ceccho, joined the Venetians. Note 8. Stanza xiii. The Genoese, in their turn, prayed for conditions, but Are they not ridlenace come to pass none were granted, until, at last, they surrendered at After the loss of the battle of Pola, and the taking of discretion; and, on the 24th of June, 1380, the Doge Chioza on the 16th of August, 1379, by the united Contarini made his triumphal entry into Chioza. Four armament of the Genoese and Francesco da Carrara, thousand prisoners, nineteen galleys, many smaller vessels and barks, with all the ammunition and arms, 1 See the above-cited Romuald of Salerno. In a second and outfit of the expedition, -fell into the hands of the sermon which Alexander preached, on the first day of Au- conquerors who had it not been for the inexorable gust, before the emperor, he compared Frederic to the prodigal c n r t i son, and himself to the forgiving father. answer of Doria, would have gladly reduced their do2 Mr. Gibbon has omitted the important a, and has written minion to the city of Venice. An account of these Romani instead of Romanis:-Decline and Fall, chap. lxi. transactions is found in a work called the War of note 9. But the title acquired by Dandolo runs thus in the Chioz written by aniel Chinazzo, who was in Ve chronicle of his namesake, the Doge Andrew Dandolo e Chazzo, who was Ve Ducali titulo addidit, " Quartse partis et dimidis totius if- ice at the time.2 perii Romanis." And. Dand. Chronicon. cap. iii. pars xxxvii. Note 9. Stanza xiv. ap. Script. Rer. Ital. tom. xii. page 331. And the Romania The "Planter of the Lion." is observed in the subsequent acts of the doges. Indeed the continental possessions of the Greek empire in Europe, were Plant the Lion-that is, the Lion of St. Mark, the then generally known by the name of Romania, and that ap- pellation is still seen in the maps of Turkey as applied to 1 "Alla f6 di T)io, Signori Veneziani, non haverete mai pace Thrace. dal Signore di Padoua, ne dal nostro comune di Geneva, s6 3 See the continuation of Dandolo's Chronicle, ibid. p. 498. primieramente non mettemo le briglie a quelli vostri cavalli Mr. Gibbon appears not to include Dolfino, following Sanudo, sfrenati, chc sono su la Reza del Vostro EvangelistaS. Marco. who says, " il qual titolo si usoefin al Doge Giovanni Dol- Infrenati che gli havremo, vi faremo stare in buena pace. E flno." See Vite de' Duchi de Venezia, ap. Script. Rer. Ital. questa 6 la intenzione nostra, e del nostro comune. Questi tomn. xxii. 530. 641. miei fratelli Genovesi, che havete menati con voi per donarci 4 "Fiet potentium in aquis Adriaticis congregatio, caeco non li voglio; rimanetegli in dietro perche io intendo da qui pr;educe, Hircum ambigent, Byzantium prophanabunt, mdi- a pochi giorni venirgli a riscuoter dalle vostre prigioni, e lora ficia denigrahunt; spolia dispergentur, Hircus novus balabit e gli altri." usque dum LIV. pedes et IX. pollices et semis, praemensurati 2 " Chronica della guerra di Chioza," etc. Script. Rer. Ia. ^sw-rar.t." Chronicon. ibid. pars xxxiv. tom. xv. p. 699 to 804. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 11 standard of the republic, which is the origin of the word of their subjection. They retired from the space which pantaloon-Pianta-ieone, Pantaleone, Pantaloon. they had occupied in the eyes of their fellow-citizens; Note 10. Stanza xv. their continuance in which would have been a symptom Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must of acquiescence, and an insult to those who suffered by Too oft remind tier who and what enthrals. Too oft remind her ho and what ethrals. the common misfortune. Those who remained in the The population of Venice at the end of the seventeenth degraded capita might be said rather to haunt the century amounted to nearly two hundred thousand scenes of their departed power, than to live in them. souls. At the last census, taken two years ago, it was The reflection, "who and what enthrals," will hardly no more than about one hundred and three thousand, bear a comment from one who is, nationally, the friend and it diminishes daily. The commerce and the official and the ally of the conqueror. It may however, be employments, which were to be the unexhausted source allowed to say thus much, that, to those who wish to of Venetian grandeur, have both expired. Most of the recover their independence, any masters must be an patrician mansions are deserted, and would gradually object of detestation; and it may be safely foretold that disappear, had not the government, alarmed by the de- this unprofitable aversion will not have been corrected molition of seventy-two, during the last two years, ex- before Venice shall have sunk into the slime of her pressly forbidden this sad resource of poverty. Many choked canals. remnants of the Venetian nobility are now scattered Note 11 Stanza and confounded with the wealthier Jews upon the banks Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse. of the Brenta, whose palladian palaces have sunk, or The story is told in Plutarch'sLife of icias. are sinking, in the general decay. Of the "gentil uomo Veneto," the name is still known, and that is all. He Note 12. Stanza xvii. *And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art. is but the shadow of his former self, but he is polite and kind. It surely may be pardoned to him if he is que-Veice Preserved; Mysteriesof Udolpho; the hostrulous. Whatever may have been the vices of the re- seer, or Armenian; the Merchant of Venice; Othello. public, and although the natural term of its existence Note 13. Stanza'xx. may be thought by foreigners to have arrived in the due But from their nature will the tannen grow course of mortality, only one sentiment can be expected Lotiest o loftiest and lea shelterd ocks from the Venetians themselves. At no time were the from the Venetians themselves. At no time were the Tannen is the plural of tanne, a species of fir peciusubjects of the republic so unanimous in their resolution liar to the Alps, which only thrives in very rocky parts, to rally round the standard of St. Mark, as when it was where scarcely soil sufficient for its nourishment can be for the last time unfurled; and the cowardice and the found. On these spots it grows to a greater height than treachery of the few patricians who recommended the any other mountain tree. fatal neutrality, were confined to the persons of the Note 14. Stanza xxviii. traitors themselves. A single star is at her side, and reigns With her o'er half the lovely heaven. The present race cannot be thought to regret the o h t rt b The above description may seem fantastical or exagloss of their aristocratical forms, and too despotic gov- erated to the who have never seen an oriental or an y thi.ik y on ti vnisdin - erated to those who have never seen an oriental or an ernnient; they think only on their vanished indepen-.. e rnment; they think only on their vanished depen- Italian sky; yet it is but a literal and hardly sufficient dence. They pine away at the remembrance, and on dence. They pine away at the remembrance, and on delineation of an August evening (the eighteenth), as this subject suspend for a moment their gay good-hu- t he bas contemplated min one of many rides along the banks of mour. Venice may be said, in the words of the scrip- the Brenta near La Mira. ture, "to die daily;" and so general and so apparent is the decline, as to become painful to a stranger, not Note 15. Stanza xxx. reconciled to the sight of a whole nation expiring, as it Waterisl theld tree wicears his lady'f name were, before his eyes. So artificial a creation, having Thanks to the critical acumen of a Scotchman, we lost that principle which called it into life and sup- now know as little of Laura as ever. The discoveres ported its existence, must fall to pieces at once, and of the Abbe de Sade, his triumphs his sneers, can no sink more rapidly than it rose. The abhorrence of loner instruct or amused We must not, however, slavery, which drove the Venetians to the sea, has, think that these memoirs are as much a romance as since their disaster, forced them to the land, where Belisarius or the Incas, although we are told so by Dr. they may be at least overlooked amongst the crowd Beattie, a great name, but alittle authority. His "laof dependants, and not present the humiliating specta-our" has not been in vain, notwithstanding his "love" cle of a whole nation loaded with recent chains. Their has like m other passions, made him ridiculous liveliness, their affability, and that happy indifference e hypothesis which overpowered the struging Ita which constitution alone can give, for philosophy aspires to it in vain, have not sunk under circumstances; but 1 See A historical and critical Essay on the Life and Charmany peculiarities of costume and- manner have by dater of Petrarch; and a Dissertation on a Histonca. Hypothesis of the Abbe de Sade: the first appeared about the degrees been lost, and the nobles, wth year 1784; the other is inserted in the fourth volume of the mon to all Italians who have been marters, have not Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh; and both been persuaded to parade their insignificance.'hat have been incorporated into a work, published under the first splendour which was a proof and a portion of their title, by Ba!iantyne in 810. 2 M6moirs pour la Vie de Petrarque. power, they would not degrade into the trappings 2 Memoirs pour la Vie de Ptrarque.'~ ~~~~~~~~~power, the wul.dntdrm'' 3 Life of Beattie, by Sir. W. Forbes, t. ii. p. 10tt 1 "Nonnullorum e nobilitate immense sunt opes, adeo ut 4 Mr. Gibbon called his Memoirs" a labour of love," (seo ix aestimari possint: id quod tribus erebus oritur, parsimonia, Decline and Fall, cap. lxi, note 1.) and followed him with commercio, atque iis emolumenltis, quae e Repub. percipiunt, confidence and delight. The compiler of a very vo.ummnot; quui hale ob causam diuturna fore creditur."-See De Prin- work must take much criticism upon trust: Mr. Gibbon has cipatibus Italias Tractatus, edit. 1631. done so, though not so readily as some other authors. 112 BYRON'S WORKS. lians, and carried along less interested critics in its that it was guilty and perverse, that t. aosorbed hun current, is run out. We have another proof that we quite, and mastered his heart.' can never be sure that the paradox, the most singular, In this case, however, he was perhaps alarmed for and therefore having the most agreeable and authentic the culpability of his wishes; for the Abbe de Sade air, will-not give place to the re-established ancient himself, who certainly would not have been scrupuprejudice. lously delicate, if he could have proved his descent from It seems then, first, that Laura was born, lived, died, Petrarch as well as Laura, is forced into a stout defence and was buried, not in Avignon, but in the country. of his virtuous grandmother. As far as relates to the The fountains of the Sorga, the thickets of Cabrieres, poet, we have no security for the innocence, except may resume their pretensions, and the exploded de la perhaps in the constancy of his pursuit. He assures us, Bastie again be heard with complacency. The hypo- in his epistle to posterity, that, when arrived at his thesis of the Abbe had no stronger props than the fortieth year, he not only had in horror, but had lost parchment sonnet and medal found on the' skeleton of all recollection and image of any "irregularity."2 But the wife of Hugo de Sade, and the manuscript note to the birth of his natural daughter cannot be assigned the Virgil of Petrarch, now in the Ambrosian library. earlier than his thirty-ninth year; and either the memIf these proofs were both incontestable, the poetry was ory or the morality of the poet must have failed him, written, the medal composed, cast, and deposited, with- when he forgot or was guilty of this slip.3 The weakest in the space of twelve hours; and these deliberate du- argument for the purity of this love has been drawn from ties were performed round the carcass of one who died the permanence of effects, which survived the object of of the plague, and was hurried to the grave on the day his passion. The reflection of M. de la Bastie, that of her death. These documents, therefore, are too de- virtue alone is capable of making impressions which cisive: they prove, not the fact, but the forgery. Either death cannot efface, is one of those which every body the sonnet or the Virgilian note must be a falsification. applauds, and every body finds not to be true, the moThe Abb6 cites both as incontestably true; the conse- ment he examines his own breast or the records of quent deduction is inevitable-they are both evidently human feeling.4 Such apophthegms can do nothing for false.' IPetrarch or for the cause of morality, except with the Secondly, Laurawas never married, and was a haughty very weak and the very young. He that has made even virgin rather than that tender and prudent wife who a little progress beyond ignorance and pupilage, cannot honoured Avignon by making that town the theatre of be edified with any thing but truth. What is called an honest French passion, and played off for one-and- vindicating the honour of an individual or a nation, is twenty years her little machinery of alternate favours the most futile, tedious, and uninstructive of all writing; and refusals2 upon the first poet of the age. It was, although it will always meet with more applause than indeed, rather too unfair that a female should be made that sober criticism, which is attributed to the malicious responsible for eleven children upon the faith of a mis- desire of reducing a great man to the common standard interpreted abbreviation, and the decision of a librarian.3 of humanity. It Is, after all, not unlikely, that our It is, however, satisfactory to think that the love of historian was light in retaining his favourite hypothetic Petrarch was not platonic. The happiness which he salvo, which secures the author, although it scarcely saves prayed to possess but once and for a moment was surely the honoue of the still unknown mistress of Petralch.5 not of the mind, and something so very real as a mar- Note 1. Stanza xxxi riage project, with one who has been idly called a e ee h t n A,~'',, J,, They keep his dust in ArquL, where he died. shadowy nymph, may be, perhaps, detected in at least six places of his own sonnets.5 The love of Petrarch Petrarch retired to Arqu immediately on his return was neither platonic nor poetical; and, if in one passage fromtheunuccessfulattempttovisitUrbanV. atRome, of his works he calls it " amore veemenrelssimo ma in the year 1370, and, with the exception of his celeunico ed onesto," he confesses, in a letter to a friend, brated visit to Venice in company with Francesco No_____________ _________ vello de Carrara, he appears to have passed the four last 1 The sonnet had before awakened the suspicions of Mr. years of lbis life between, that charming solitude and Horace Walpole. See his letter to Wharton in 1763. Padua. For four months previous to his death he was 2 "Par ce petit manege, cette alternative de faveurs et de rigueurs bien m6nagde, une femme tendre et sage amuse, in a state of continual languor, and in the morning of pendant vingt-un ans, le plus grand poite de son sidcle, sans July the 19th, in the year 1374, was found dead in his faire la moindre breche ai son honneur." MWm. pour,la Vie de P6trarque Pr6face aux Francais. The Italian editor library chair with his head resting upon a book. The of the London edition of Petrarch, who has translated Lorr chair is still shown amongst the precious relics of Arquh, Woodhouselee, renders the "ftmme tendre et sage," "rtffinatr civetta." Riflessioni intorno a Madonna Laura, p. 2s4. which, from the uninterrupted veneration that has been vol. iii. ed. 1811.:' In a dialogue with St. Augustin, Petrarch has described attached to every thing relative to this great man, from Laura as having a body exhausted with repeated ptubs. The old editors read and printed pertsurbationihbus; but M. Capper onier, librarian to the French King, in 1762, who saw the MS ]a " Quella rea e perversa passione che solo tutto mi occu in the Paris library, made an attestation that "on lit et qu'on pays e mi regnava nel cuore. doit lire, pan.tubus exhaustum." De Sade joined the names 2 lzion disonesta, are his words. ot Messrs. Boudot and Bejot with M. Capperonier, and in the 3 " A questa contessione cooi sincera diede forse occasions whole discussion on this ptuhs, showed himself a downright una nuova caduta ch' ei fece." Tiraboschi, Storia, etc., tom. literary rogue. See Riflessioni. etc., p. 267. Thomas Aquinas v. lib. iv. par. ii. pag. 492. p. called in to settle whether Petrarch's mistress was a chaste 4 " tI nL' a que la vertu sevle qui soit capable de faire des inaid or a contintent wife. inipressions que la mort n' efface pas." M. de Bimard, Baron 4 " Piamalion. quanto lodarti dei de a Bastie, in the Memoires de I'Academie des Inscriptions Dell' irnmagine tua, se mille volte et Belles-Lettres fur 1740 and 1751. See also Riflessioni, etc.. N' avesti quel ch' i' sol una vorrei." p. 295. Sonetto 58, Quando fiunse a Simon' 5 " And if the virtue or prudence of Laura was inexorable alto concetto..e Rinme, etc., par. i. he enjoyed, and might boast of enjoying the nymph of poetpag. 189. edit. Ven. 1756. ry." lecline and Fall, cap. lxx. p. 327. vol. xii. oct. Pei3 Ste fiflessioni, etc., p. 291. haps the if is here meant for although. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 113 the moment of his death to the present hour, have, it capacity, extensive erudition, and refined taste, joined may be hoped, a better chance of authenticity than the to that engaging simplicity of manners which has been Shakspearian memorials of Stratford-upon-Avon. so frequently recognised as the surest, though it is rerArqua (for the last syllable is accented in pronun- tainly not an indispensable, trait of superior genius. ciation, although the analogy of the English language Every footstep of Laura's lover has been anxiously has been observed in the verse), is twelve miles from traced and recorded. The house in which he lodged is Padua, and about three miles on the right of the high shown in Venice. The inhabitants of Arezzo, in order road to Rovigo, in the bosom of the Euganean hills, to decide the ancient controversy between their city and After a walk of twenty minutes, across a flat well-wooded the neighbouring Ancisa, where Petrarch was carried meadow, you come to a little blue lake, clear but fathom- when seven months old, and remained until his seventh less, and to the foot of a succession of acclivities and year, have designated, by a long inscription, the spot hills, clothed with vineyards and orchards, rich with fir where their great fellow-citizen was born. A tablet has and pomegranate trees, and every sunny fruit-shrub. been raised to him at Parma, in the chapel of St. Agatha, From the banks of the lake, the road winds into the hills, at the cathedral, I because he was archdeacon of that and the church of Arqua is soon seen between a cleft society, and was only snatched from his intended sepulwhere two ridges slope towards each other, and nearly ture in their church by aforeign death. Another tablet inclose the village. The houses are scattered at intervals with a bust has been erected to him at Pavia, on acon the steep sides of these summits; and that of the count of his having passed the autumn of 1368 in that poet is on the edge of a little knoll overlooking two de- city, with his son-in-law Brossano. The political conicents, and commanding a view not only of the glowing dition which has for ages precluded the Italians from gardens in the dales immediately beneath, but of the the criticism of the living, has concentrated their wide plains, above whose low woods of mulberry and attention to the illustration of the dead. willow thickened into a dark mass by festoons of vines, Note 17. Stanza xxxiv. tall single cypresses, and the spires of towns are seen Or, it may e, with demons in the distance. which stretches to the mouths of the Po and the shores of the Adriatic. The struggle is to the full as likely to be with demons and the hores of the Adriatic. The climate of these volcanic hills is warmer, and the vintage begins a week as with our better thoughts. Satan chose the wildersooner than in the plains of Padua. Petrarch is laid, ness for the temptation of our Saviour. And our unfor he cannot be said to be buried, in a sarcophagus of sullied John Locke preferred the presence of a child ta red marble, raised on four pilasters on an elevated base, complete solitude. and preserved from an association with meaner tombs. Note 18. Stanza xxxvii. It stands conspicuously alone, but will be soon over- In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire; shadowed by four lately-planted laurels. Petrarch's And Boileau, whose rash eny, etc. fountain, for here every thing is Petrarch's, springs and Perhaps the couplet in which Boilea depreciates expands itself beneath an artificial arch, a little below Tasso may serve as well as any other specimen to justhe church, and abounds plentifully, in the driest season, tify the opinion given of the harmony of French verse. with that soft water which was the ancient wealth of A Malherbe, d Racan, prf rer Thdephile, Et le clinquant du Tasse i tout l'or de Virgile. the Euganean hills. It would be more attractive, were Sat. ix. verse 176. it not, in some seasons, beset with hornets and wasps. The biographer Serassi,a out of tenderness to the repuNo other coincidence could assimilate the tombs of tation either of the Italian or the French poet, is ea'ger Petrarch and Archilochus. The revolutions of centu- to observe that the satirist recanted or explained away ries have spared these sequestered valleys, and the this censure, and subsequently allowed the author of the only violence which has been cffered to the ashes of Jerusalem to be a " genius sublime, vast, and happily Peti arch, was prompted, not by hate, but veneration, born for the higher flights of poetry." To this we will An attempt was made to rob the sarcophagus of its add, that the recantation is far from satisfactory, when treasure, and one of the arms was stolen by a Florentine, through a rent which is still visible. The injury is 1 D. O.M. not forgotten, but has served to identify the poet with Francisco Petrarchae the country where he was born, but where he would Parmensi'Archidiacono. Parentibus praeclaris genere perantiquo ntot live. A peasant boy of Arqug being asked who Ethices Chiistianae scriptori eximio Petrarch was, replied, "that the people of the par- Romance linguae restitutori sonage knew all about him; but that he only knew that Etruscae principi he was a Florentine." Africae ob carmen hac in urbe peractum regibus accito S. P. Q. R. laurea donato. Mr. Forsyth was not quite correct in saying, that Tanti Viri Petrarch never returned to Tuscany after he had once Juvenilium juvenis seniliumn senex quitted it when a boy. It appears he did pass through Studiosissimus Comes Nicolaus Canonicus Cicognarus Florence on his way from Parma to Rome, and on his Marmorea proxima ara excitata. return in the year 1350, and remained there long enough Ibique condito to form some acquaintance with its rmst distinguished Div Januarin cruonto corpore H. M. P. inhabitants. A Florentine gentleman, ashamed of the Suffectum aversion of the poet for his native country, was eager to Sed infra meritum Francisci sepulchre Point out this trivial error in our accomplished traveller, Summa. ha m in ede efferri mandantis Si Parmn occumberet whom he knew and respected for an extraordinary Extera moe h nbbis repti ~ ~~ —~ ^"^~~~ 2 La vita del Tasso, lib. iii. p. 284. tom. ii edit. Bergams 1 Remarks, etc. on Italy, p, 95, rote, 2d edit. 1790. 20 114 BYRON'S WORKS. we examine the whole anecdote as reported by Olivet.l in Scrassi's life of the poet. But Tiraboschi had before The sentence pronounced against him by Bohours 2 is laid that rivalry at rest,' by showing, that between recorded only to the confusion of the critic, whose pa- Ariosto and Tasso it is not a question of comparison, linodia the Italian makes no effort to'discover, and but of preference. would not perhaps accept. As to the opposition which Note 19. Stanza xli. the Jerusalem encountered from the Cruscan academy, The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust Thb iron crown of laurel's minlick'd leaves. who degraded Tasso from all competition with Ariosto, Before the remains of Ariosto were removed from the below Bojardo and Pulci, the disgrace of such opposition Benedictine church to the library of Ferrara, his bust, must also, in some measure, be laid to the charge of which surmounted the tomb was struck by lightning, Alphonso, and the court of Ferrara. For Leonard Sal-and a crown of iron laurelsmelted away. The event viati, the principal and nearly the sole origin of this has been recorded by a writer of the last century.2 The attack,, was, there can be no doubt,3 influenced by a transfer of these sacred ashes on the 6th ofJune, 1801 hope to acquire the favour of the House of Este: an as one of the' most brilliant spectacles of the shortobject which he thought attainable by exalting the repu- lived Italian Republic, and to consecrate the memory of tation of a native poet at the expense of a rival, then a the ceremony, the once famus fallen Itrepidi were prisoner of state. The hopes and efforts of Salviati revived and re-fomed in the Ariostean academy. The must serve to show the cotemporary opinion as th the large public place through which the procession paraded nature of the poet's imprisonment; and will fill up the was then for the first time called Ariosto Square. The measure of our indignation at the tyrant jailor.4 In author of the Orlando is jealously claimed as the Hofact, the antagonist of Tasso was not disappointed in the merot of Italy but Ferrara. The mother of Arireception given to his criticism; he was called to the oso was of Reggi, and the huse in which he was court of Ferrara, where, having endeavoured to heighten born is carefully distinguished by a tablet with these his claims to favour, by panegyrics on the family of his wor "Qui nacque Ludovico Ariosto ii giorno 8 di sovereign, he was in his turn abandoned, and expired Settembre dell' anno 1474." But the Ferrarese make in neglected poverty. The opposition of the Cruscans light of the accident by which their poet was born was brought to a close in six years after the commence- abroad, and claim hi exclusively for their own. hey ment of the controversy; and if the academy owed its ps his bones, they show his arm-chair, and his first renown to having almost opened with such a para- ink-stand, and his autographs.,dox,6 it is probable that, on the other hand, the care "... hiiu rm of his reputation alleviated rather than aggravated the Hic currus fuit.... imprisonment of the injured poet. The defence of his The house where he lived, the room where he died, are father and of himself, for both were involved in the designated by his own replaced memorial,4 and by a censure of Salviati, found employment for many of his recent inscription. The Ferrarese are more jealous of solitary hours, and the captive could have been but'little their claims since the animosity of Denina, arising from embarrassed to reply to accusations. where, amongst a cause which their apologists mysteriously hint is not other delinquencies, he was charged with invidiously unknown to them, ventured to degrade their soil and omitting, in his comparison between France and Italy, climate to a Bceotian incapacity for all spiritual producto maKe any mention of the cupola of St. Maria del tions. A quarto volume has been called forth by the Fiore at Florence.' The late biographer of Ariosto detraction, and this supplement to Baretti's Memoirs seems as if willing to renew the controversy by doubting of the illustrious Ferrarese, has been considered a trithe interpretation of Tasso's self-estimation, related umphant reply to. the " Quadro Storico Statistico dell' Alta Italia." 1 Histoire de l'Acad6mie Francaise, depuis 1652 jusqu'b Note 0. Stanza xli 1700, par l'abb6 d'Olivet, p. 181. edit. Amsterdam, 1730. For the true laurel-wreath which glory weaves "Mais, ensuite, venant k l'usage qu'il a fait de ses talens, Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves. j'aurais montri que le bon sens nest pas toujours co qui do- The eaglethe sea-calfthe laurel,5 and the white mine chez lui," p. 182. Boileau said he had not changed his opinion: " J'en aisi peu change, dit-il," etc. p. 181. vine,6 were amongst the most approved preservatives 2 La manidre de bien penser dans les ouvrages de l'esprit, againstlightning: Jupiter chose the first, Augustus Cmsec. dial. p. 89. edit. 1692. Philanthes is for Tasso, and says, sar the second and Tiberius never failed to wear a in the outset, "de tous les beaux esprits que l'Italie a portes, le Tasse est peut-etre celui qui pense le plus noblement." wreath of the third when the sky threatened a thunder But Bohours seems to speak in Eudoxus, who closes with storm.8 These superstitions may be received without a the absurd comparison, " Faites valoire le Tasse tant qu'il vous plaira, je m'en tiens pour moi k Virgile," etc. ib. p. 102. 1 Storia della Lett., etc. lib. iii. tom. vii. par. iii. p. 1220 3 La Vita, etc. lib. iii. p. 90, tom. ii. The English reader sect. 4. may see an account of the opposition of the Crusca to Tasso, 2 " li raccontarono que' monaci, ch' essendo caduto un in Dr. Black, Life, etc. cap. xvii. vol. ii. fulmine nella loro chiesa schiantb esso dalle temple la corona 4 For further, and, it is hoped, decisive proof, that Tasso di lauro a quell' immortale poeta." Op. di Bianconi, vol. iii. was neither more nor less than a prisoner of state, the reader p. 176. ed. Milano, 1802; lettera al Signor Guido Savini Aris referred to " Historical Illustrations of the 1Vth Canto of cifisiocritico, sull' indole di un fulmine caduto in Dresda 1' Childe Harold," p. 5, and following. anno 1759. 5 Orazioni funebri..... elle lodi di Don Luigi Cardinal 3 "Appassionato ammiratore ed invitto apologists dell' d'Esto... Delle lodi di Donno Alfonzo d'Este. See La Omero Ferrarese." The title was first given by Tasso, and Vita, lib. iii. pag. 117. - is quoted to the confusion of the Tass'isti, lib. iii. pp. 262 6 It was founded in 1582, and the Cruscan answer to Pel- 265. La Vita di M. L. Ariosto, etc: tegrmol's Caraffa or epica poesia, was published in 1584. 4 " Parva, sed apta mihi, sed nulli obnoxia, sed non 7 "Cotanto potd sempre in lui il veleno della sua pessima Sordida, parta meo sed tamen ere domus." "olont centro alla nazion Fiorentana." La Vita, lib. iii. pp. 5 Aquila, vitulus marinus, et laurus. fulmine non fenuntul. 0q8, tom. ii- Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. ii. cap. lv. 8 La Vita di M. L. Ariosto, scritta dall' Abate Giro lamo 6 Columella, lib. x. laruffaldi giuniore, etc., Ferrara, 1807. lib. iii. page 262. 7 Sucton. in Vit. August. cap. xc Bee Histor:cal Illustrations, etc. p. 26. 8 Id. in Vit. Tiberii, cap. Ixix. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 11 I sneer in a country where the magical properties of the Alas! how do we poor mortals fret and vex ourselves if hazei-twig have not lost all their credit; and perhaps the any of our friends happen to die or be killed, whose reader may not be much surprised to find that a com- life is yet so short, when the carcasses of so many noble mentator on Suetonius has taken upon himself gravely cities lie here exposed before me in one view." I to disprove the imputed virtues of the crown of Tibe- Note 24 Stanza xlvi rius, by mentioning that, a few years before he wrote, and we pass a laurel was actually struck by lightning at Rome. The skeleton of her Titanic form. Note 21. Stanza xli.' It is Poggio, who, looking from the Capitoline hill Know that the lightning sanctifies below, upon ruined Rome, breaks forth into the exclamation, The Curtian lake and the Ruminal fig-tree in the " Ut nunc omni decore nudata, prostrata jacet, instar Forum, having been touched by lightning, were held gigantei cadaveris corrupti atque undique exesi." 2 sacred, and the memory of the accident was preserved Note25. Stanzaxlix by a puteal, or altar, resembling the mouth of a well, There, too, the goddess loves in stone. with a little chapel covering the cavity supposed to be T v o y The view of the Venus of Medicis instantly suggests made by the-thunderbolt. Bodies scathed and persons the lines in the asons, and the comparison of the o struck dead were thought to be incorruptible and a je with the description proves, not only the correctstroke not fatal conferred perpetual dignity upon the praitbut the peculiar trn of thought 1-3* * I lA TY ^ ness of the portrait, but the peculiar turn of thought man so distinguished by Heaven.3 and, if the term may be used, the sexual imagination ot Those killed by lightning were wrapped in a white the descriptive poet The same conclusion may be degarment, aud buried where they fell. The superstition duced from another hint in the ame episode of Musi was-act confined to the worshippers of Jupiter: the dora; for Thoso's notion of the privileges offavoured Lombards believed in the omens furnished by lightning, love must havebeen either very primitive, or rather and a Christian priest confesses that by a diabolical skill deficient in delicacy, when he made his rateul nymph in interpreting thunder, a seer foretold to Agilulf; duke inform her discreet Damon that in some happier mo-'f Turin, an event which came to pass, and gave him a ment he might perhaps be the companion of her bath: queen and a crown.4 There was, however, something equivocal in this sign, which the ancient inhabitants of "The time may come you need not fly." Rome did not always consider propitious; and as the The reader will recollect the anecdote told in the fears are likely to last longer than the consolations of life of Dr. Johnson. We will not-leave the Florentine superstition, it is not strange that the Romans of the age gallery without a word on the WTetter. It seems strange of Leo X. should have been so much terrified at some that the character of that disputed statue should not be misinterpreted storms as to require the exhortations of entirely decided, at least in the mind of any one who a scholar, who arrayed all the learning on thunder and has seen a sarcophagus in the vestibule of the Basilica lightning to prove the omen favourable; beginning with of St. Paul without the walls, at Rome, where the whole the flash which struck the walls of Velitre, and includ- group of the fable of Marsyas is seen in tolerable preing that which played upon a gate at Florence, and servation; and the Scythian slave whetting the knife foretold the pontificate of one of its citizens.5 is represented exactly in the same position as this Note 22. Stanza -xii. celebrated masterpiece. The slave is not naked but' talia oh Italia, etc. - it is easier to get rid of this difficulty than to suppose Thetwo tanzas,XLII. and XLIII,are, wit the knife in hte hand of the Florentine statue an inThe two stanzas, XLII. and XLIII., are, with the exception of a line or two, a translation of the famous strument for shaving, which it must be, if as Lanzi sonnet of Fi'icaja: supposes, the man is no other than the barber of Jusonnet of Filicaja: "~Taa Itai, 0 t c fo lius Caesar. Winkelmann, illustrating a bas-relief of "Italia, Italia, O tu cui feo la sorte." the same subject, follows the opinion of Leonard AgosNote 23. Stanza xliv. Wandering in youth, traced the path of him, tini, and his authority might have been thought conWandering in youth, I traced the path of him,, i. i The Roman friend of Rome's least mortal mind. elusive, even if the resemblance did not strike the most The celebrated letter of Servius Sulpicius to Cicero, on careless observer.3 the death of his daughter, describes as it then was, and Amongst the bronzes of the same princely collection, now is, a path which I often traced in Greece, both by is still to be seen the inscribed tablet copied and comsea and land, in different journeys and voyages. meted upon y. Gibbon Our historian found "On my return from Asia, as I was sailing from some difficulties, but did not desist from his illustraiEgina towards Megara, I began to contemplate the tion: he might be vexed to hear that his criticism has prospect of the countries around me: AEginawas behind, been thrown away on an inscription now generally reMegara before me; Pireus on the right, Corinth on the cognised to be a forgery. left; all which towns, once famous and flourishing, now Note 26. Stanza li. le overturned and buried in their ruins. Upon this - -his eyes to thee upturn, sight, I could not but think presently within myself, Feeding on thy'sweet cheek. 60taXpsov'5 lrrlvV. 1 Note 2. pag. 409. edit. Lugd. Bat. 1667. "...Atque oculos pascatuterque suos." —Ovid. Amor. lib. i 2 Vid. J. C. Bullenger, de Terrsr motu et Fulminibus, lib. {, cap. xi. - 3 Ohri; KspavvoOsig dTlrpOS lari, 6OsV Kai. - I rS 1 Dr. Middleton-History of the Life of M. Tullius Cicero rtq,-rat. Plut. Sympos., vid. J. C. Bulleng. ut sup. sect. vii. pag. 371, vo. ii. 2 De fortunte varietate urbis Romea et de ruinis eJusdem 4 Pauli Diaconi, degestis Langobard. lib. iii. cap. xiv. fo. descriptio, ap. Sallengre, Thesaur. toi. i. pag. 501. cv. edit. Taurim. 1527. 3 See Menira. Ant. ined. par. i. cap. xvii. n. xlii. pag. 50. 5 1. P. Valeriani, de fulminum significationibus declamatio 3 on. Ant. par. i. cap. n. pag. ap. Gr^v. Antiq. tom. tom. v. p. 593. The declamation is andStoria delle arti, etc. lib. xi. cap. i, tom. ii. p. 314. not. B addressed to Julian of Medics. 4 Nomina gentesque Antique Italic, p. 204 edit. toc !16 BYRON'S WORKS. Note 27. Stanza liv. - Note 28. Stanza liv. In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie. _ here repose This name will recall the memory, not only of those Angelo's, Alfieri's bones. Ahose tombs have raised the Santa Croce into the Alfieri is the great name of this age. The Italians, centre of pilgrimage, the Mecca of Italy, but of her without waiting for the hundred years, consider him as whose eloquence was poured over the illustrious ashes, " a poet good in law."-His memory is the more dear and whose voice is now as mute as those she sung. to them because he is the bard of freedom; and because, CORINNA is no more; and with her should expire the as such, his tragedies can receive no countenance from fear, the flattery, and the envy, which threw too daz- any of their sovereigns. They are but very seldom, and zling or too dark a cloud round the march of genius, but very few of them, allowed to be acted. It was oband forbad the steady gaze of disinterested criticism, served by Cicero, that nowhere were the true opinions We have her picture embellished or distorted, as friend- and feelings of the Romans so clearly shown as at the ship or detraction has held the pencil: the impartial theatre.' In the autumn of 1816, a celebrated improvportrait was hardly to be expected from a contempo- visatore exhibited his talents at.the Opera-house of Mirary. The immediate voice of her survivors will, it is lan. The reading of the theses handed in for the subprobable, be far from affording a just estimate of her jects of his poetry was received by a very numerous auvingular capacity. The gallantry, the love of wonder, dience, for the most part in silence, or with laughter; and the hope of associated fame, which blunted the but when the assistant, unfolding one of the papers, exedge of censure, must cease to exist.-The dead have claimed, " The apotheosis of Victor AIfieri," the whole no sex; they can surprise by no new miracles; they theatre burst into a shout, and the applause was concan confer no privilege: Corinna has ceased to be a tinued for some moments. The lot did not fall on Alwoman-she is only an author: and it may be foreseen fieri; and the Signor Sgricci had to pour forth 1is exthat many will repay themselves for former complai- temporary commonplaces on the bombardment of Alsance, by a severity to which the extravagance of pre- giers. The choice, indeed, is not left to accident quite vious praises may perhaps give the colour of truth. so much as might be thought from a first view of the The latest posterity, for to the latest posterity they will ceremony; and the police not only takes care to look assuredly descend, will have to pronounce upon her at the papers beforehand, but, in case of any prudential various productions; and the longer the vista through after-thought, steps in to correct the blindness of which they are seen, the more accurately minute will chance. The proposal for deifying Alfieri was received be the object, the more certain the justice of 4he deci- with immediate enthusiasm, the rather because it was sion. She will enter into that existence in which the conjectured there would be no opportunity of carrying great writers of all ages and nations are, as it were, it into effect. associated in a world of their own, and from that su- Note 29. Stanza liv. perior sphere shed their eternal influence for the con- Here Machiavelli's earth return'd to whence it rose trol and consolation of mankind. But the individual affectation of simplicity in sepulchral inscrip. The affectation of simplicity in sepulchral inscnrp will gradually disappear as the author is more distions which-so often leaves us uncertain whether the tinctly seen: some one, therefore, of all those whom o s is an actual esitr Xy'-~~~ ~wo. structure before us is an actual depository, or a cenothe charms of involuntary wit, and of easy hospitality, taph or a simple memorial not of death but life, has attracted within the friendly circles of Coppet, should given to the tomb of Machiavellino information as to rescue from oblivion those virtues which, although th place or time of the birth or death, the age or Fathey are said to love the shade, are, in fact, more fre- historian. quently chilled than excited by the domestic cares of private life. Some one should be found to portray T NO M INI NVLLVM PA ELL. the unaffected graces with which she adorned those JtD.~.. ^ i, r c ~ There seems at least no reason why the name should dearer relationships, the performance of whose duties not have been- put above the sentence which alludes is rather discovered amongst the interior secrets, than seen in the outward management, of family inter- t. se., in.. u r e t dliy o f.. It will readily be imagined that the prejudices which course; and which, indeed, it requires the delicacy of ~.'a..' v c...c ~ have passed the name of Machiavelli into an epithet genuine affection to qualify for the eye of an indiffer-. prver pas ofiniit, exit no ner at Florence. i ent spectator. Some one should be found, not to proverbial of iniquity, exist no longer at Florence. His cnt spectator. Some one should be found, not to memory was persecuted as his life had been for an atcelebrate, but to describe, the amiable mistress of an memory was persecuted as his life had been for an at-'.X~,_ l. ~~~.l ~ ~tachment to liberty, incompatible with the new system open mansion, the centre of a society, ever varied, and t chmet to iet, ico e the new syste always pleased, the creator of which, divested of the ofdespotism, which succeeded the fall of the free..'...'. ernments of Italy. He was put to the torture for beambition and the arts of public rivalry, shone forth only ernments of Italy He was put to the torture for be to give fresh animation to those around her. The mo- a "liberine, that is, for wishin t restore the re-,." i.c.~.J - iia..*public of Florence; and such are the undying efforts ther tenderly affectionate and tenderly beloved, the u fiend unboundedly generous, but still esteemed, the haritable patroness of all distress'cannt be forotten 1 The free expression of their honest sentiments survived charitable patroness of all distress,annot be their liberties Titus, the friend of Anton, presented them by those whom she cherished, protected,,and fed. Her with games in the theatre of Pompey. They did not suffer the brilliancy of the spectacle to efface from their memory that the loss will be mourned the most-where she was known man who furnished them with the entertainment had murthe best; and, to the sorrows of very many friends and dered the son of Pompey. They drove him from the theatre with curses. The moral sense of a populace, spontaneously'lore dependants, may be offered the disinterested re- expressed, is never wrong. Even the soldiers of the triumvirs gret of a stranger, who amidst the sublimer scenes of joined in the execration of thecitizens, by shouting round the chariots of Lepidus anrd Plancus, who had proscribed their tie Leman lake, received his chief satisfaction from brothers, De Germanis non de'Gallis duo triumphant Conof the inco asules; a saying worth a record, were it nothing but a good cunteniplating the engaging qualities of the incompaconteplating the enaging qualities of the icmpa- un. C. Vel. Paterculi Hist. lib. ii. cap. lxiix, pag. 78. edit table Corinna, Elzevir. 1639. Ibid. lib. ii. cap. lxxvii. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 117 of those who are interested in the perversion not only the injustice of his fellow-eitizens. His appeal to Fl,of the nature of actions, but the meaning of words, rence was accompanied by another to the Emperol that what was oncepatriotism, has by degrees come to Henry, and'the death of that sovereign, in 1313, was signify debauch. We have ourselves outlived the old the signal for a sentence of irrevocable banishment. Ic meaning of" liberality," which is now another word for had before lingered near Tuscany, with hopes of recall, treason in one country and for infatuation in all. It then travelled into the north of Italy, where Verona seems to have been a strange mistake to accuse the au- had to boast of his longest residence, and he finally.hor of the Prince, as being a pander to tyranny; and settled at Ravenna, which was his ordinary but not to think that the inquisition would condemn his work constant abode until his death. The refusal of the Vefor such a delinquency. The fact is, that Machiavelli, netians to grant him a public audience, on the part of as is usual with those against whom no crime can be Guido Novello da Polenta, his protector, is said to have proved, was suspected of and charged with atheism; been the principal cause of this event, which happened and the first and last most violent opposers of the Prince in 1321. He was buried (" in sacra minorunl rede,") were both Jesuits, one of whom persuaded the inqui- at Ravenna, in a handsome tomb, which was erected sition "benchb fosse tardo,'" to prohibit the treatise, by Guido, restored by Bernardo Bembo in 1483, pretor and the other qualified the secretary of the Florentine for that republic which had refused to hear him, again republic as no better than a fool. The father Possevin restored by Cardinal Corsi in 1692, and replaced by a was proved never to have read the book, and the father more magnificent sepulchre, constructed in 1780 at the Lucchesini not to have understood it. It is clear, how- expense of the Cardinal Luigi Valenti Gonzaga. The ever, that such critics must have objected not to the offence or misfortune of Dante was an attachment to a slavery of the doctrines, but to the supposed tendency defeated party, and, as his least favourable biographers of a lesson which shows how distinct are the interests allege against him,-too great a freedom of speech and of a monarch from the happiness of mankind. The haughtiness of manner. But the next age paid honours Jesuits are re-established in Italy, and the last chapter almost divine to the exile. The Florentines, having in of the Prince may again call forth a particular refuta- vain and frequently attempted to recover his body, tion, from those who are employed once more in crowned his image in a church,' and his picture is stil moulding the minds of the rising generation, so as to one of the idols of their cathedral. They struck medals, receive the impressions of despotism. The chapter they raised statues to him. The cities of Italy, not bears for title, "Esortazione aliberare la Italia dai Bar- being able to dispute about his own birth, contended bari," and concludes with a litertine excitement to the for that of his great poem, and the Florentines thought future redemption of Italy. " Non si deve adunque it for their honour to prove that he had finished the lasciar passare questa occasione, acciocche la Italia seventh Canto, before they drove him from his native veega dopo tanto tempo apparire un suo redentore. city. Fifty-one years after his death, they endowed a Ni posso esprimere con qual amore ei.fusse rice:vuto in professional chair for the expounding of his verses, ant tutte quelle provincie, che hanno patito per queste'il- Boccaccio was appointed to this patriotic employment. tuvioni esterne, con qual sete di vendetta, con che os- The example was imitated by Bologna and Pisa, and the tinata fede, con che lacrime. Quali porte se ii serre- commentators, if they performed but little service to rebeno? Quali populi li negherebbeno la obbedienza? literature, augmented the veneration which beheld a Quale Italiano li negherebbe 1' ossequio? AD OGNU'O sacred or moral allegory in all the images of his mystie PUZZA QUESTO BARBARO DOMINIO." I muse. His birth and his infancy were discovered to Note 30. Stanza lvii. have been distinguished above those of ordinary men; Ungrateful Florence Dante sleeps afar. the author of the Decameron, his earliest biographer, Dante was born in Florence in the year 1261. He relates that his mother was warned in a dream of the fought in two battles, was fourteen times ambassador, importance of her pregnancy; and it was found, by and once prior of the republic. When the party of others, that at ten years of age he had manifested his Charles of Anjou triumphed over the Bianchi, he was precocious passion for that wisdom or theology which, absent on an embassy to Pope Boniface VIII. and was under the name of Beatrice, had been mistaken for a condemned to two years' banishment, and to a fine of substantial mistress. When the Divine Comedy had eight thousand lire; on the non-payment of which he been recognised as a mere mortal production, and at was further punished by the sequestration of all his the distance of two centuries, when criticism and cornproperty. The republic, however, was not content with petition had sobered the judgment of Italians, Dante this satisfaction, for in 1772 was discovered in the was seriously declared superior to Homer,2 and though archives at Florence a sentence in which Dante is the the preference appeared to some casuists "a heretical eleventh of a list of fifteen condemned in 1302 to be blasphemy worthy of the flames," the contest was vlgburnt alive; Talis perveniens igne comburatur sic quod orously maintained for nearly fifty years. In later rnoriatur. The pretext for this judgment was a proof times, it was made a question which of the lords of of unfair barter, extortions, and illicit gains: Baracte- Verona could boast of having patronized him,3 and the riarum iniquarum, extorsionum, et illicitorum lucro- jealous scepticism of one writer would not allow Ra rum,2 and with such an accusation it is not strange that venna the undoubted possession of his bones. Even Dante should have always protested' his innocence, and the critical Tiraboschi was inclined to believe that the I So relates Ficino, hut some think his coronation only all I II Principe di Niccolo Machiavelli, etc., con la prefazione allegory. See Storia. etc., ut sup. p. 453. a le note istoriche e politiche di M. Amelot de Ilt Hoissaye, e 2 By Varchi, in his Ercolano. The controversy continued l'esame e confutazione dell' opera.... Cosmopoli, 1769. from 1570 to 1616. See Storia, etc., tom.vii. lib. ii. par uii 2 Storia della Lett. Ital. tom. v. lib. iii. par. 2. pag. 448. p. 1280. Tiraboqchi is incorrect: the dates of the three decrees against 3 Gio. Jacopo Dionisi canonico di Verona. Serie di Ano. I#ante ara A. D. t302, 1314, and 1316 doti, n. 2. See Storia, etc., tom. v b... par. p.'4. 0 118 BYRON'S WORKS. poet had foreseen and foretold one of the discoveries of service. " I have submitted," replied the magnanitnous Galileo. Like the great originals of other nations, his republican, " I have submitted to your deliberations popularity has not always maintained the same level, without complaint; I have supported patiently the pains The last age seemed inclined to undervalue him as a of imprisonment, for they were inflicted at your co-nmodel and a study; and Bettinelli one day rebuked his mand: this is no time to inquire whether I deserved pupil Monti, for poring over the harsh and obsolete them-the good of the republic may have seemed to extravagancies of the Commedia. The present genera- require it, and that which the republic resolves is always tion, having recovered from the Gallic idolatries of resolved wisely. Behold me ready to lay down my life Cesarotti, has returned to the ancient worship, and the for the- preservation of my country." Pisani was apDanteggaire of the northern Italians is thought even pointed generalissimo, and, by his exertions, in conjuncindiscreet by the more moderate Tuscans. tion with those of Carlo Zeno, the Venetians soon reThere is still much curious information relative to covered the ascendancy over their maritime rivals. the life and writings of this great poet, which has not The Italian communities were no less unjust to their as yet been collected even by the Italians; but the cele- citizens than the Greek republics. Liberty, both with brated Ugo Foscolo meditates to supply this defect; the one and the other, seems to have been a national, and it is not to be regretted that this national work not an individual object: and, notwithstanding the boasthas been reserved for one so devoted to his country ed equality before the laws, which an ancient Greck and the cause of truth. writer' considered the great distinctive mark between Note 31. Stanza lvii. his countrymen and the barbarians, the mutual rights Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore; of fellow-citizens seem never to have been the principal rshy factions, i their worse than civil war, scope of the old democracies. The world may have not The elder Scipio Africanus had a tomb, if he was not yet seen an essay by the author of the Italian Republics, buried, at Liternum, whither he had retired to volun- in which the distinction between the liberty of former tary banishment. This tomb was near the sea-shore, states, and the signification attached to that word by the and the story of an inscription upon it, Ingrata Patria, happier constitution of England, i ingeniously develhaving given a name to a modern tower, is, if not true, oped. The Italians, however, when they had ceased to an agreeable fiction. If he was not buried, he certainly be free, still looked backwith a sih upn thse times of lived there.i turbulence, when every citizen might rise to a share of Incosngutasolitaria villa sovereign power, and have never been taught fully to Era'I grand' uomo che d'Africa s'appella appreciate the repose of a monarchy. Sperone Speroni, Perche prima col ferro al vivo apprilla. 2 when Francis Maria II. Duke of Rovero proposed the Ingratitude is generally supposed the vice peculiar to question, " which was preferable, the republic or the republics; and it seems to be forgotten, that, for one principality-the perfect and not durable, or the less instance of popular -inconstancy, we have a hundred perfect and not so liable to change," replied, " that our examples of the fall of courtly favourites. Besides, a happiness is to be measured by its quality, not by its people have often repented-a monarch seldom or duration; and that he preferred to live for one day like never. Leaving apart many familiar proofs of this fact, a man, than for a hundred years like a brute, a stock, a short story may show the difference between even or a stone." This was thought, and called, a magan aristocracy and the multitude. nificent answer, down to the last days of Italian ser Vettor Pisani, having been defeated in 1354 at Porto- vitude.2 tongo, and many years afterwards in the more decisive Note Stanzalvii action of Pola, by the Genoese, was recalled by theand the crown Venetian government, and thrown into chains. The Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, Avvogadori proposed to behead him, but the supreme Upon a far and foreign soil had grown. tribunal was content with the sentence of imprison- The Florentines did not take the opportunity of Pe inent. Whilst Pisani was suffering this unmerited dis- trarch's short visit to their city, in 1350, to revoke the grace, Chioza, in the vicinity of the capital,3 was, by decree which confiscated the property of his father, the assistance of the Signorof Padua, delivered into who had been banished shortly after the exile of Dante. the hands of Pietro Doria. At the intelligence of that His crown did not dazzle them; but when, in the next disaster, the great bell of St. Mark's tower tolled to year, they were in want of his assistance in the formation arms, and the people and the soldiery of the galleys of their university, they repented of their injustice, and were summoned to the repulse of the approaching Boccaccio was sent to Padua to entreat the laureat tc enemy; but they protested they would not move a conclude his wanderings in the bosom of his native step, unless Pisani were liberated, and placed at their country, where he might finish his immortal Africa, and head. The great council was instantly assembled: the enjoy, with his recovered possessions, the esteem of all prisoner was called before them, and the Doge, Andrea classes of his fellow-citizens. They gave him the opContarini, informed him of the demands of the people tion of the book, and the science he might condescend and the necessities of the state, whose only hope of to expound: they called him the glory of his country. safety was reposed on his efforts, and who implored who was dear, and would be dearer to them; and they hirr to forgive the indignities he had endured in her added, that if there was any thing unpleasing in their letter, he ought to return amongst them, were it only to 1 Vitam Literni egit sine desiderio urbis. See T. Liv. Hist. lib. xxxviii. Livy reports that some said he was buried at 1 The Greek boasted that he was laoioCO. —See the last Liternum, others at Rome. Ib. cap. lv. chapter of the first book of Dionysus of Halicarnassus. 2 Trionfo della Castit.. 2 " E intorno alla magnifica risposta," etc. Serassi, Vita See note to stanza XIIL del Tasso, lib. iii. pag. 149. tom. ii. edit. 2, Bergaul. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 1l correct their style.' Petrarch seemed at first to listen to unfortunately for those who have to deplore the loss of the flattery and to the entreaties of his friend, but he did a very amiable person, is beyond all criticism; but the not return to Florence, and preferred a pilgrimage to mortality which did not protect Boccaccio from Mr. the tomb of Laura and the shades of Vaucluse. Eustace, must not defend Mr. Eustace from the imparNote 33. Stanza lviii. tial judgment of his successors. Death may canonize Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeath'd his virtues, not his errors; and it may be modestly proHis dust. nounced that he transgressed, not only as an author, Boccaccio was buried in the church of St. Michael and but as a man, when he evoked the shade of Boccaccio St. James, at Certaldo, a small town in the Valdels, in company with that of Aretino, amidst the sepulchres which was by some supposed the place of his birth. of Santa Croce, merely to dismiss it w th indgnity.' As There he passed the latter part of his life in a course of far as respects laborious study, which shortened his existence; and "Il flaeello de' Principi. there might his ashes have been secure, if not of honour, II divin Pietro Aretino," at least of repose. But the "hysena bigots" of Certaldo *it is of little import what censure is passed upon a coxtore up the tombstone of Boccaccio, and ejected it from comb who owes his present existence to the above burthe holy precints of St. Michael and St. James. The lesque character given to him by the poet whose amber occasion, and, it maybe hoped, the excuse of this eject- has preserved many other grubs and worms: but to ment, was the making of a new floor for the church: classify Boccaccio with such a person, and to excombut the fact is, that the tombstone was taken up and municate his very ashes, must of itself make us doubt thrown aside at the bottom of the building. Ignorance of the qualification of the classical tourist for writing may share the sin with bigotry. It would be painful to upon Italian, or, indeed, upon any other literature; for relate such an exception to the devotion of the Italians ignorance on one point may incapacitate an author for their great names, could it not be accompanied by a merely for that particular topic, but subjection to a protrait more honourably conformable to the general char- fessional prejudice must render him an unsafe directoi acter of the nation. The principal person of the district, on all occasions. Any perversion and injustice may be the last branch of the house of Medicis, afforded that made what is vulgarly called " a case of conscience," protection to the memory of the insulted dead which and this poor excuse is all that can be offered for the her best ancestors had dispensed upon all cotemporary priest of Certaldo, or the author of the Classical Tour. merit. The Marchioness Lenzoni rescued the tombstone It would have answered the purpose to confine the cenof Boccaccio from the neglect in which it had some time sure to the novels of Boccaccio, and gratitude to that lain, and found for it an honourable elevation in her own source which supplied the muse of Dryden with her last mansion. She has done more: the'house in which the and most harmonious numbers, might perhaps have repoet lived has been as little respected as his tomb, and stricted that censure to the objectionable qualities of is falling to ruin over the head of one indifferent to the the hundred tales. At any rate, the repentance of Bocname of its former tenant. It consists of two or three caccio might have arrested his exhumation, and it should little chambers, and a low tower, on which Cosmo II. have been recollected and told, that in his old age be affixed an inscription. This house she has taken meas- wrote a letter entreating his friend to discourage the ures to purchase, and proposes to devote to it that care reading of the Decameron, for the sake ofmodesty, and and consideration'which are attached to the cradle and for the sake of the author, who would not have an apoloto the roof of genius. gist always at hand to state in his excuse that he wrote it This is not the place to undertake the defence of Boc- when young, and at the command of his superiors.' It caccio; but the man who exhausted his little patrimony is neither the licentiousness of the writer, nor the evil in the acquirement of learning, who was amongst the propensities of the reader, which have given to the Defirst, if not the first, to allure the science and the poetry cameron alone, of all the works of Boccaccio, a perpetof Greece to thebosom of Italy;-who not only invented ual popularity. The establishment of a new and delighta new style, but founded, or certainly fixed, a new lan- ful dialect conferred an immortality on the works in guage; who, besides the esteem of every polite court of which it was first fixed. The sonnets of Petrarch were, Europe, was thought worthy of employment by the pre- for the same reason, fated to survive his self-admirea dominant republic of his own country, and, what is Africa, the "favourite of kings." The invariable traits more, of the friendship of Petrarch, who lived the life of nature and feeling, with which the novels, as well as of a philosopher and a freeman, and who died in the the verses, abound, have, doubtless, been the chief source pursuit of knowledge,-such a man might have found of the foreign celebrity of both authors; but Boccaccio, more consideration than he has met with from the as a man, is no more to be estimated by that work, than priest of Certaldo, and from a late English traveller, who Petrarch is to be regarded in no other light than as the strikes off his portrait as an odious, contemptible, licentious writer, whose impure remains should be suf- This dubious phrase is hardly enough to save the tourist from the suspicion of another blunder respecting the huriaifered to rot without a record.2 That English traveller, place of Aretino, whose tomb was in the church of St. Luke at Venice, and gave rise to the famous controversy of which i " Accingiti innoltre. se ci 6 lecito ancor l'esortarti, a cor- some notice is taken in Bayle. Now the words of Mr. Euspire 1' immortal tua Africa.... Se ti avviene d'incontrare nel tace would lead us to think the tomb was at Florence, or at nostro stile cosa che ti dispiaccia, cib debb' essere un altro least was to be somewhere recognised. Whether the nscrip motivo ad esaudire i desiderj della tua patria." Storia della tion so much disputed was ever written on the tome cannot Lett. Ital. tom. v, par. i. Iib. i. pag. 76. now be decided, for all memorial of this author has disap. 2 Classical'our. cap. ix. vol. ii. p. 355. edit. 3d. "Of peared from the church of St. Luke, which is now changed Boccaccio, the modern Petronius, we say nothing; the abuse into a lamp warehouse. of genius is more odious and more contemptible than its ab- I "Non enim ubique est, qui in excusationem meani cop aence; and it imports little where the impure remains of a hi- snrgens dicat, juvenls scripsit, et majoris coactus imoerio. centious author are consigned to their kindred dust. For the The letter was addressed to Maghinard cf Cavalcanti, marsame reason the traveller may pass unnoticed the tomb of the shal of the kingdom of Sicily. See Tiraboschi Storia ets maiigalaut Aretino." tom. v. par. ii. lib. iii. pag. 55.'-ed. Ven.'1795. 120 BYRON'S WORKS. lover of Laura. Even, however, had the father of the Bevius, canon of Padua, at the beginning of the 16th Tuscan prose been known only as the author of the century, erected at Arqua, opposite to the tomb of the Decameron, a considerate writer would have been cau- laureat, a tablet, in which he associated Boccaccio to tious to pronounce a sentence irreconcileable with the the equal honours of Dante and Petrarch. unerring voice of many ages and nations. An irrevoca- Note 34. Stanza Ix. ble value has never been stamped upon any work solely What is her pyramid of precious stones recommended by impurity. Our veneration for the Medici begins with Cosmo, and The true sourceof the outcry againstBoccaccio, which expires with his grandson; that stream is pure only at began at a very early period, was the choice of his scan- the source; and it is in search of some memorial of the dalous personages in the cloisters as well as the courts; virtuous republicans of the family, that we visit the out the princes only laughed at the gallant adventures church of St. Lorenzo at Florence. The tawdry, glaring, so unjustly charged upon Queen Theodelinda, whilst the unfinished chapel in that church, designed for the maupriesthood cried shame upon the debauches drawn from soleum of the Dukes of Tuscany, set round with crowns the convent and the hermitage; and, most probably, for and coffins, gives birth to no emotions but those of conthe opposite reason, namely, that the picture was faithful tempt for the lavish vanity of a race of despots, whilst to the life. Two of the novels are allowed to be facts the pavement slab, simply inscribed to the Father of'his usefully turned into tales, to deride the canonization of Country, reconciles us to the name of Medici.' It was rogues and laymen. Ser Ciapdelletto and Marcellinus very natural for Corinna 2 to suppose that the statue are cited with applause even by the decent Muratori.' raised to the Duke of Urbino in the capella de deposits The great Arnaud, as he is quoted in Bayle, states, that was intended for his great namesake; but the magnifia new edition of the novels was proposed, of which the cent Lorenzo is only the sharer of a coffin half hidden expurgation consisted in omitting the words, "monk " in a niche of the sacristy. The decay of Tuscany dates and " nun," and tacking the immoralities to other firom the sovereignty of the Medici. Of the sepulchral names. The literary history of Italy particularizes no peace which succeeded to the establishment of the reignsuch edition; but it was not long before the whole of ing families in Italy, our own Sidney has given us a Europe had but one opinion of the Decameron; and the glowing, but a faithful picture. " Notwithstanding all ~tbsolution of the author seems to have been a point set- the seditions of Florence, and other cities of Tuscany, tied at least a hundred years ago: " On se ferait siffler the horrid factions of Guelphs and Ghielins, Neri and s {'on pretendait convaincre Boccace de n'avoir pas ete Bianchi, nobles and commons, they continued populous, onredte homme, puisqu'il a fait le Decameron." So said strong, and exceeding rich; but in the space of less than one of the best men, and perhaps the best critic, that a hundred and fifty years, the peaceable reign of the ever lived-the very martyr to impartiality.2 But as this Medices is thought to have destroyed nine parts in ten infonmation, that in the beginning of the last century of the people of that province. Amongst other things tne would have been hooted at for pretending that Boc- it is remarkable, that when Philip the Second of Spain e-accio was not a good man, may seem to come from gave Sienna to the Duke of Florence, his ambassador one of those enemies who are to be suspected, even then at ome sent him word, that he had given away hiden they make us a present of truth, a more accept- more than 650,000 subjects; and it is not believed there able contrast with the proscription of the body, soul, are now 20,000 souls inhabiting that city and terriand muse of Boccaccio may be found in a few wordstory. isa, Pistoia, Arezzo, Cortona, and other towns, rom the righteous, tihe patriotic contemporary, wno that were then good and populous, are in the like prothought one of the tales of this impure writer worthy a portion diminished, and Florence more than any. Latin version from his own pen. "I have remarked When that city had been long troubled with seditions elsewhere, says Petrarch, writing to Boccaccio, " that tumults, and wars, for the most part unprosperoun, they the book itself has been worried by certain dogs, hut still retaed such strength, that when Charles VIII. stoutly defended by your stqff and voice. Nor was I of France, being admitted as a friend with his whole astonished, for I have had proof of the vigour of your arny, which soon after conquered the kingdom of mind, and I know you have fallen n that unaccom- Naples, thought to master them, the people taking arms modating incapable race of mortals who, whatever they struck such a terror into him, that he was glad to depart either like not, or know not, or cannot do, are sure to upo sch conditions as they thought fit to impose. reprehend in others, and on those occasions only put on a Machiavel reports, that, in that time, Florence alone, show of learning and eloquence, but otherwise are entirely with the Val d'Arno, a sall territory belonging to that dumb.3 city, could, in a few hours, by the sound of a bell, bring It is satisfactory to find that all the priesthood do not together 13,000 ell-ared men whereas now that stogeter 135',000 well-armed men;'whereas now that resemble those of Certaldo, and that one of them who city, with all the others in that province, are brought to did not possess the bones of Boccaccio would not lose such despicable weakness, emptiness, poverty, and basethe opportunity of raising a cenotaph to his memory. ness, that they can neither resist the oppressions of their own prince, nor defend him or themselves if they were 1 Dissertazioni sopra le antichith Italiano. Diss. lviii. p. 253. assaulted by a foreign enemy. The people are dispersed turn. iii. edit. Milan, 1751. or destroyed and thebest families sent seek habit 2 Eclaircsssement, etc. etc. p. 638. edit. Basle, 1741, in the or destroyed, and thebest families sent to seek habitaSupplement to Bayle's Dictionary. tions in Venice, Genoa, Rome, Naples, and Lucca. This 3'Animadverti alicubi librum ipsum canum tdentibus la- is not the effect of war or pestilence; they enjoy a perfect cessitum tuo tamen baculo egregie tuaque voce defensum. Ne, miratus sum: nam etvires ingenii tui novi, et scio exper- peace, and suffer no other plague than the government sus esses hominum genus insolens et ignavum, qui. quicquid ____ Itpsivel nolunt, vel nesciunt, vel non possunt. in aiis reprenendunt; ad hoe unum docti et arguti. sed elineaes ad reli- I Cosmus Medices, Decreto Pubilco, Pater Patrim. usa" Epist Joan Boccatio. opp. tom. i. u. 540. edit. Basil. 2 Corinne, Liv. xviii. ca. iii. vol. iii. page 24fi CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 121 hey are under.' From the usurper Cosmo down to the a semicircle, and running down at each end to the lake, imbecile Gaston, we look in vain for any of those unmixed which obliques to the right, and forms the chord of this qualities which should raise a patriot to the command of- mountain arc. The position cannot be guessed at from his fellow-citizens. The Grand Dukes, and particularly the plains of Cortona, nor appears to be so completely the third Cosmo, had operated so entire a change in the inclosed unless to one who is fairly within the hills. It Tuscan character, that the candid Florentines, in excuse then, indeed, appears " a place made as it'were on purfor some imperfections in the philanthropic system of pose for a snare," "locus insidiisZnatus." Borahetto is Leopold, are obliged to confess that the sovereign was the then found to stand in a narrow marshy pass close to only liberal man in his dominions. Yet that excellent the hill and to the lake, whilst there is no other outlet at ince himself had no other notion of a national as- the opposite turn of the mountains than through the little sembly, than of a body to represent the wants and town of Pasignano, which is pushed into the water by the wishes, not the will of the people. foot of a high rocky acclivity.' There is a woody emiNote 35. Stanza liii. nence branching down from the mountains into the upAn earthquake reel'd unheededly away! per end of the plain nearer to the side of Passignano, and "And such was their mutual animosity, so intent onthis stands awhite villagecalled Torre. Polybius seems were they upon the battle, that the earthquake, which to allude to this eminence as the one on which Hannibal overthrew in great part many of the cities of Italy, encamped and drew out his heavy-armed Africans and which turned the course of rapid streams, poured back Spaniards in a conspicuous position.2 From this spot he the sea upon the rivers, and tore down the very moun- despatched his Balearic and light-armed troops round tails, was not felt by one of the combatants."2 Such through the Gualandra heights to the right, so as to arrive is the description of Livy. It may be doubted whether unseen, and form an ambush amongst the broken acclimodern tactics would admit of such an abstraction. vities which the road now masses, and to be ready to act The site of the battle of Thrasimene is not to be mis- pon the left flank and above the enemy, whilst the horse taken. The traveller from the village under Cortona to shut up the pass behind. Flamnius came to the lake,asa di Piano, the next stage on the way to Rome, has, near Borghetto at sunset; and, without sending any spies for the first two or three miles, around him, but more before him, marched through the pass the next morning particularly to the right, that flatland which Hannibal laid before the day had quite broken, so that he perceived waste in order to induce the Consul Flaminius to move nothing of the horse and light troops above and about from Arezzo. On his left, and in front of him, is a ridge him, and saw only the heavy-armed Carthaginians in of hills, bending down towards the lake of Thrasimene, front on the hill of Torre.3 The consul began to draw called by Livy "montes Cortonenses," and now named out his army in the flat, and in the mean time the horse the Gualandra. These hills he approaches at Ossaja, a in ambush occupied the pass behnd him at Borghetto. village which the itineraries pretend to have beenso de- Thus the Romans were completely inclosed, having the nominated from the bones found there: but there have lake on the right, the main army on the hill of Torre in been no bones found there, and the battle was fought on front, the Gualandra hills filled with the light-armed on the other side of the hill. From Ossaja the road begins their left flank, and being prevented from receding by to rise a little, but does not pass into the roots of the the cavalry, who, the farther they advanced, stopped up mountains until the sixty-seventh mile-stone from Flo- all the outlets in the rear. A fog rising from the lake rence. The ascent thence is not steep but perpetual, and now spread itself over the army of the consul, but the continues for twenty minutes. The lake is soon seen high lands were in the sunshine, and all the different below on the right, with Borghetto, a round tower close corps in ambush looked towards the hill of Torre for the upon the water; ard the undulating hills partially covered order of attack. Hannibal gave the signal, and moved with wood amongst which the road winds, sink by degrees down from his post on the height. At the same moment into the marshes near to this tower. Lower than the all his troops on the eminences behind and in the flank road, down to the right amidst these woody hillocks, of Flaminius, rushed forward as it were with one accord Hannibal placed h his horse in the jaws of or rather above into the plain. The Romans, who were forming their the pass, which was between the lake and the present array in the mist, suddenly heard the shouts of the road, and most probably close to Borghetto, just under enemy amongst them, on every side, and, before they the lowest of the "tumuli."4 On a summit to the left, could fall into their ranks, or draw their swords, or see above the road, is an old circular ruin which the peasants by whom they were attacked, felt at once that they were call "the Tower of Hannibal the Carthaginian." Arrived surrounded and lost. at the highest point of the road, the traveller has apartial There are two little rivulets which run from the Gua view of the fatal plain, which opens fully upon him as he landra into the lake. The traveller crosses the first of descends the Gualandra. He soon finds himselfin a vale these at about a mile after lie comes into the plain, and inclosed to the left and in front and behind him by the this divides the Tuscan from the Papal territories. The Guialandra hills, bending round in a segment larger than second, about a quarter of a mile further on, is called "the bloody rivulet," and the peasants point out an 1 On Government, chap. ii. sect. xxvi. page 208. edit. 1751. open spot to the left between the " Sanguinetto" ani Sidney is, together with Locke and Hoadley, one of Mr. Hume's "despicable" writers. 1 "Inde colles assurgunt." Tit. Liv. lib. xxii. cap iv. 2 "Tantusque fuit ardor animorum, adeo intentus pugnme 2 To'y yiE Kara 7rp6oav7'ro~?rS ropstaE 60aov avrhs animus, utcum terra motum equi multarum urbium Italiae KareAd6sera, Kai rots Ai6va Ksal robs tirpaO s sXv'Tr magnas partes prostravit, avertitemue cursu rapido amnes, mare r- fluminibhs invexit, montes lapsu ingenti proruit, nemo pug- avro KcareEr paroarssevas. Hist. lib. iii. cap. 83. The acnantium senserit...." Tit. Liv. lib. xxii. cap. xii. count in Polybius is not so easily reconcileable with preseni 3 " Equites ad ipsas fatces saltus, tumulis apto tegentibus, appearances as that in Livy; he talks of hills to the right locat." Tit. Liv. lib. xxii. cap. iv.. and left of the pass and valley but when Flaminius entered 4- "Ubi maxime.ontes Cortonenses Thrasienus subit." he had the lake at the right of both. Ibid. 3 "A tergo etsuper caput decepre iusidi.e."'ri. Liv 1r o2 21 122 BYRON'S WORKS. the hills, which, they say, was the principal-scene of in comparative appearance. Of the fall of Schaffslaughter. The other part of the plain is covered with hausen I cannot speak, not yet having seen it. thick-set olive trees in corn-grounds, and is nowhere Note 38 Stanza lxxii quite level except near the edge of the lake. It is,. t. An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge. indeed, most probable that the battle was founht near 1.'.:..... I Of the time, place, and qualities of this kind of Irns, this end of the valley, for the six thousand Romans,, a..... * *~.. X l * l I 1 the reader may have seen a short account min a note to who, at the beginning of the action, bo troke eraeugh en a n wno at tne bealnnm(J. ox tne action broke t-rougn tne J1uanfJ-red. The fall looks so much like "the hell of enemy, escaped to-the summit of an eminence which. i waters" that Addison thought the descent, alluded to must have been in this quarter, otherwise they would aters" that Addison thought the descent alluded to L, i~'i ~ ~ i~.~.~~ ~to be the gulf in which Alecto plunged into the inhave, had to traverse the whole plain, and to piercegulf in which Alecto plunged into t.he i pierce fernal regions. It is singular enough that two of the through the main army ofHannibal. The Romans fought desperately for three hours, but finest cascades Europe should be articial-ths of the death of Flaminius was the. ignal for a general the Velino, and the one at Tivoli. The traveller is the death of Flammlus was the signal for a general dispersion. The Carthaginian horse then burst in upon strongly recommended to trace the Velino, at eastas the fugitives, and th lake, the marsh about Borghetto, high as the little lake called Pie' di Lup. The Reatine 10) A b I rr> 1 t X territory was the Italian Tempe,' and the ancient nabut chiefly the plain of the Sanguinetto and the passess e I n T a t of the Gualandra, were strewed with dead. Near some turalist, amongst other beautiful varieties remarked of the Gualandra, were strewed with dead. Near some the daily rainbows of the lake Velinus.2 A scholar old walls on a bleak ridge to the left above the rivulet, the daily rainbows of the lake elinus A scholar old wuans one ha blIe en re pa th la the r oiue a of great name has devoted a treatise to this district many human bones have been repeatedly found, and alone.3 this-has confirmed the pretensions and the name of the on Note 39. Stanza lxxiii. "stream of blood." Every district of Italy has its hero. In the north some The thundering lauwine. painter is the usual genius of the place, and the foreign In the greater part of Switzerland the avalanches are Julic Romano more than divides Mantua with her native known by the name of lauwine. Virgil.' To the south we hear of Roman names. Near Note40 Stanza lxv Thrasimene tradition is stiil faithful to the fame ofan _1 bhrr'd enemy, and Hannibal the Carthaginian is the only ancient Too much, to conquer for the post's sake, name remembered on the banks of the Perugian lake. e dill'd dull esn, force down word b wrd. Flaminius is unknown; btt the postilions on that road These stanzas may probably remind the reader of have been taught to show the very spot whereil Console Ensign Northerton's remarks: " Dn Homo," etc., but Romano was slain. Of all who fought and fell in the the reasons for our dislike are not exactly the same. battle of Thasimene, the historian himself has, besides I wish to express that we become tired of the task the generals and Maharbal, preserved indeed only a before we can comprehend the beauty; that we learn single name. You overtake the Carthaginian again on by rote before we can get by heart; that the freshness the same road to Rome. The antiquary, that is, the is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage hostler of the post-house at Spoleto, tells you that his deadened and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, town repulsed the victorious enemy, and shows you the at an age when we can neither feel nor understand gate still called Porta di Annibale. It is hardly worth the power of compositions which it requires an acwhile to remark that a French travel-writer, well known quaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to by the name of the President Dupaty, saw Thrasimene relish or to reason upon. For the same reason we in the lake of Bolsena, which lay conveniently on his never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest way from Sienna to Rome. passages of Shakspeare (" To be or not to be," for instance), from the habit of having them hammered Note 36. Stanza lxvi.' into us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of mind But thou. Clitumnus! but of memory: so that when we are old enough to No book of travels has omitted to expatiate on the enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. temple of the Clitumnus, between Foligno and Spoleto; In some parts of the continent, young persons are and no site, or scenery, even in Italy, is more worthy a taught from more common authors, and do not read description. For an account cf the dilapidation of the best classics till their maturity. I certainly do not this temple, the reader is referred to Historical Illustra- speak on this point from any pique or aversion totions of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. wards the place of my education. I was not a slow, Note 37. Stanza Lxxi. though an idle boy; and I believe no one could, or Charming the eye with dread,-a matchless cataract. can be more attached to Harrow than I have always been, and with reason;- a part of the time passed I saw the " C ascata del mairmore " of Terni twice, at X. i there was the happiest of my life; and my preceptor different periods; once from the summit of the preci- v X.A'' n i. i m \ (the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury) was the best and worthiest pice, and again from the valley below. The lower ) was thebest ad worthest is. A, frt.epeerd if. the trve ha friend I ever possessed, whose warnings I have rememview is far to be preferred, if the traveller has time though too late-when I have view, ^ ~ {~ ~ ~ A. ien r bered but too well, though too late-when I have for one only: but in any point of view, either from ed ^, fo d erred, and whose counsels I have but followed when above or below, it is worth all the cascades and tor- Ie o we I have done well or wisely. If ever this imperfect reits of Switzerland put together; the Staubach, Reichenbach, Pisse Vache, fall of Arpenaz, etc., are rills T d... 1 " Reatini me ad sua Tempe duxerunt." Cicer. Epist. ad ~~ ~~..._-. Attic. xv. lib. iv. A About the middle of tne Xllth century. the coins of 2 "In eodem lacu nullo non die apparere arcus." Plin. Mantua bore on one side the image and figure of Virgil, Hl-st. Nat. lib. ii. cap. lxii.'tecca d' Italia. pl. xvii. i... Voyaee danls Ie Milanais, 3 Aid. Manut. de Reatina urbe agroque ap. Sallengre us., par A Z. Millin, om ii. p. 291 Paris, 1817. Thesaur. tom. i. p. 773. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 123 record of my feelings towards him should reach his love of finding every coincidence has discovered the eyes, let it remind him of one who never thinks of true Caesarean ichor in a stain near the right knee; him but with gratitude and veneration-of one who but colder criticism has rejected not only the blood would more gladly boast of having been his pupil, if, but the portrait, and assigned the globe of power rather by more cosely following his injunctions, he could to the first of the emperors than to the last of the reflect any honour upon his instructor. republican masters of Rome. Winkelmann' is loth Note 41. Stanza lxxix. to allow a heroic statue of a Roman citizen, but the The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now. Grimani Agrippa, a contemporary almost, is heroic; and For a comment on this and the two following stanzas, naked Roman figures were only very rare, not absothe reader may consult Historical Illustrations of the lutely forbidden. The face accords much better with Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. the " hominem integrum et castum et gravem," 2 than Note 42. Stanza lxxxii. with any of the busts of Augustus, and is too stern for The trebly hundred triumphs! him who was beautiful, says Suetonius, at all periods Orosius gives three hundred and twenty for the of his life. The pretended likeness to Alexander the number of triumphs. He is followed by Panvinius: Great cannot be discerned, but the traits resemble the and Panvinius by Mr. Gibbon and the modern writers. medal of Pompey.3 The objectionable globe may not Note 43. Stanza lxxxiii. have been an ill-applied flattery to him who found Oh thou, whose chariot roll'd on fortune's wheel, etc. Asia Minor the boundary, and left it the centre of the Certainly were it not for these two traits in the life Roman empire. It seems that Winkelmann has made of Sylla, alluded to in this stanza, we should regard a mistake in thinking that no proof of the identity of him as a monster unredeenled by any admirable quality. this statue, with that which received the bloody sacriThe atonement of his voluntary resignation of empire fice, can be derived from the spot where it was discovmay perhaps be accepted by us, as it seems to have ered.4 Flaminius'Vacca says sotto una cantina, and satisfied the Romans, who if they had not respected this cantina is known to have been in the Vicolo de must have destroyed him. There could be no mean, no Leutari near the Cancellaria, a position corresponding division of opinion; they must have all thought, like exactly to that of the Janus before the basilica of Eucrates, that what had appeared ambition was a love Pompey's theatre, to which Augustus transferred the of glory, and what had been mistaken for pride was a statue after the curia was either burnt or taken down. real grandeur of soul.' Part of the Pompeian shade,6 the portico, existed in Note 44. Stanza lxxxvi. the beginning of the XVth century, and the atrium And laid him with the earth's preceding clay. was still called Satrum. So says Blondus, At all On the third of September, Cromwell gained the vic- events, so imposing is the stern majesty of the statue, tory of Dunbar; a year afterwards he obtained "his and so memorable is the story, that the play of the crowning mercy" of Worcester; and a few years after, imagination leaves no room for the exercise of the on the same day, which' he had ever esteemed the most judgment, and the fiction, if a fiction it is, operates fortunate for him, died. on the spectator with an effect not less powerful than Note 45. Stanza lxxxvii. truth And thou, dread statue! still existent in Note 46. Stanza lxxxviii. The austerest form of naked majesty. And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome! The projected division of the Spada Pompey.has Ancient Rome, like modern Sienna, abounded mos already been recorded by the historian of the Decline probably with images of the foster-mother of he. and Fall of the Roman Empire. Mr. Gibbon found it founder; but there were two she-wolves of whom in the memorials of Flaminius Vacca,2 and it may be history makes particular mention. One of these, of added to his mention of it that Pope Julius III. gave brass in ancient work, was seen by Dionysius 8 at the the contending owners five hundred crowns for the temple of Romulus under the Palatine, and is unistatue; and presented it to Cardinal Capo di Ferro, versally believed to be that mentioned by the Latin who had prevented the judgment of Solomon from historian, as having been made from the money colbeing executed upon the image. In a more civilized lected by a fine on usurers, and as standing under the age this statue was exposed to an actual operation: for Ruminal fig-tree.9 The other was that which Cicero " the French, who acted the Brutus of Voltaire in the has celebrated both in prose and verse, and which the Coliseum, resolved that their Caesar should fall at the base of that Pompey, which was supposed to have been 1 Storia delle arti, etc., lib. ix. cap. i. p. 321, 322. tom. ii. 2 Cicer. Epist a-1 Atticur, xi. 6.: sprinkled with the blood of the original dictator. The Pubished by Causeus in his usum Romanum. nine foot hero was therefore removed to the arena of 4 Storia delle arti, etc., ibid. the amphitheatre, and to facilitate its transport, suf- 5Sueton. in vit. August. cap. 31. and in vit. C. J. Caear. fered the temporary amputation of its right arm. The cap. 88. Appian says it was burnt down. See a note of Pit fiscus to Suetonius. pag. 224. republican tragedians had to plead that the arm was a 6 "Tu modo Pompeia lenta spatiare sub umbra." restoration: but their accusers do not believe that the Ovid Jr. Jlman. integrity of the statue would have protected it. The 7 Roma instaurata, lib. ii. fol.31. ________________________ 8 XadX\sa 7rotsia. a raXrasalspy'aiaas Antiq. Ron. fib. i 1 "Seigneur, vous changez, toutes mes idees de la falon 9 "Ad ficum Ruminalem simulacra infantium conditorum dontje vous vois agir. Je croyais que vous aviez de lambi- urbis sub uberibus lupwo posu6runt." Liv. Hist. lib x cap. tion, mais aucun amour pour la gloire: je voyais hien que lxix. This was in the year U. C. 455, or 457. votre ame etait haute; mais je ne soupconnais pas qu'elle 10 "Tum statua Natti, tom simulacra Deorum, Romulus(llt grande."-Dialogue de Sylla et d'Ezucrate. que et Remus cum altrice bellua vi fulminis icti coniderunt." 2 Menmorie num. lvii. pag. 9. ap. l'ontfaucon, Diarium De Divinat. ii. 20. "Tactus est ille etiam qui hane urbem Italicun. condidit Romulus, quem inauratum in Capitolio parvurp 124 BYRON'S WORKS. historian Dion also records as having suffered the same he had heard the wolf with the twins was found' near accident as is alluded to by the orator.' The question the arch of Septimius Severus. The commentator on agitated by the antiquaries is, whether the wolf now Winkelmann is of the same opinion with that learned in the conservator's palace is that of Livy and Dio- person, and is incensed at Nardini for not having renysius, or that of Cicero, or whether it' is neither marked that Cicero, in speaking of the wolf struck one nor the other. The earlier writers differ as much with lightning in the Capitol, makes use of the past as the moderns: Lucius Faunus 2 says, that it is the one tense. But, with the Abate's leave, Nardini does not alluded to by both, which is impossible, and also by positively assert the statue to be that mentioned by Virgil, which may be. Fulvius Ursinus 3 calls it the Cicero, and, if he had, the assumption would not perwolf of Dionysims, and Marlianus4 talks of it as the haps have been so exceedingly indiscreet. The Abate one mentioned by Cicero. To him Rycquius trem- himself is obliged to own that there are marks very blingly assents.5 Nardini is inclined to suppose it may like the scathing of lightning in the hinder legs of the be one of the many wolves preserved in ancient Rome; present wolf! and, to get rid of this, adds, that the wolf but of the twd rather bends to the Ciceronian statue.6 seen by Dionysius might have been also struck by lightMontfaucon' mentions it as a- point without doubt. ning, or otherwise injured. Of the later writers the decisive Winkelmann8 pro- Let us examine the subject by a reference to the claims it as having been found at the church of Saint words of Cicero. The orator in two places seems to Theodore, where, or near where, was the temple of particularize the Romulus and the Remus, especially Romulus, and consequently makes it the wolf of the first, which his audience remembered to have been Dionysius. His authority is Lucius Faunus, who, how- {n the Capitol, as being struck with lightning. In his ever, only says that it was placed not found, at the verses he records that the twins and wolf both fell, and Ficus Ruminalis by the Comitium, by which he does that the latter left behind the marks of her feet. Cicero not seem to allude to the church of Saint Theodore. does not say that the wolf was consumed: and Dion Rycquius was the first to make the mistake, and only mentions that it fell down, without alluding, as Winkelmann followed Rycquius. the Abate has made him, to the force of the blow, or Flaminius Vacca tells quite a different story, and says the firmness with which it had been fixed. The whole strength, therefore, of the Abate's argument, hangs atque lactantem, uberibus lupinis inhiantem fuisse meminis- upon the past tense; which, however, may be sometis." In Catilin. iii. 8. what diminished by remarking that the phrase only "Hi sylvestris orat Romani nomini& altrix - \ b P Martia, qua parvos Mavortis semine natos shows that the statue was not then standing in its U beribus gravidis vitali core rigabat, Qua turn um puerls vflammato fuminis ictu former position. Winkelmann has observed, that the Concidit, atque avulsa pedum vestigia liquit." present twins are modern; and it is equally clear that De Consulatu, lib. ii. (lib. i. de Divinat. cap. ii.) t a m o g E V " yap.~ 7" Ka As Xy'' vr" -~'7rll. there are marks of glding on the wolf, which might' Ev yap Tro KarnrirtM avoptavrss re TdXooi bv KEpavvIv YvvETOKvEr av, I la; it yaplrara a t- a,7T therefore be supposed to make part of the ancient Kca At'eos ur' KI6cvos pvv0ovs, erKWv Ti rts XvKat'? group. It is known that the sacred images of the Capiafvvltrc ret PIt(, Kat arvvT r- PtcotJv MlpvtEUr'~ E'r~s7. tol were not destroyed when injured by time or accident, Dion. HIisi. lib. xxxvii. pag. 37. edit. Rob. Steph. 1548. He but were put into certain underground depositories goes on to mention that the letters of the columns on which the laws were written were liquefied and become advSpZ. called favisse.2 It may be thought possible that the All that the Romans did was to erect a large statue to Jupiter, wolf had been so deposited, and had been replaced in looking towards the east: no mention is afterwards made of the wolf. This happened in A. U. C. 689. The Abate Fea, some conspicuous situation when the Capitol was rein noticing this passage of Dion, (Storia delle arti, etc., tom. built by Veslasian. Rycquius, without mentioning his i. p. 202. note x.) says,.N7on ostante, aggizunge Dione, che fosse ben-fermata (the wolf), by which it is clear the Abate authority, tells that it was transferred from the Comitranslated the Xylandro-Leuclavian version, which puts tiumto the Lateran and thence brought to the Capitol. quamvis stabilita for the original idpvevrv, a word that doese b t to te C. not mean ben-fermata. but only raised, as may be distinctly If it was found near the arch of Severus, it may have seen from another passage of the same Dion: Ih6ovX40l been one of the images which Orosius says was thrown v- o;vy b Aypimtr7as Kca rtat v Tv AayOVaTOV iYra iOa Ilpmat. down in the Forum by lightning when Alaric took the Ilist. lib. lvi. Dion says that Agrippa "wished to raise a. r istatue of Augustus in the Pantheon." city. That it is of very high antiquity the workman2 "In eadem porticu aenea lupa, cujus uberibus Romulus ac ship is a decisive proof; and that circumstance induced Remus lactantes inhiant, conspicitur: de hac Cicero et Virgi!ius semper intellefere. Livius hoc signum ab /Edilibus Winkelmann to believe it the wolf of Dionysius. The ex pecuniis:quibus mulctati essent fneneratores. positum in- Capitoline wolf, however, may have been of the same nuit. Antea in Comitiis ad Ficum Riiminalem, quo loco pueri rueraut expositi locattim pro certo est." Luc. Fauni, de early date as that at the temnple of Romulus. LactanAnti. Urb. Rom. lib. ii. cap. vii. ":. Sallengre, tom. i. p. tiUs4 asserts that, in his time, the Romans worshipped a 217. In his XVllth chapter he repeats that the statues wereshipped a there, but not that they were found there. wolf; and it is known that the Lupercalia held out to 3 Ap. Nardini, Roma Vetus, lib. v. cap. iv. t Marliani, Urb. Rom. topograph. lib. ii. cap. ix. He mentions another wolf and twins in the Vatican, lib. v. cap. xxi. I "lntesi dire, che l'Ercole di bronzo, che oggi si trova nella 5' Non desurt qui hanc ipsam esse putent, quam adpinxi- sala del Campidoglio, fu trovato nel foro Romano appresso mils, qume comitio in Basilicam Lateranam, cum nonnullis Iarco di Settimio:e vi fu trovata anche la lupa di bronzo che hllis antiquitatum reliquiis, atque hine in Capitolium postea allatta Romolo e Remo, esta nella Loggia de' conservatori." relata sit, quamvis Marlianus antiquarm Capitolinam esse Flain. Vacca. Memorie, num. iii. pag. i. ap. Montfaucon, mrlauit a Tullio descriptam, cui'it in re nimis dubia, trepide Diar. Ital, tom. i. assenttnur." Just. Rycquii de Capit. Roman. Comm. cap. 2 Luc. Faun. ibid. xxV. v. pag. 25. edit. Lugd. Bat. 1696. - 3 See note to stanza LXXX. in Historical Illustrations. 6 Nardini Roma Vetus, lib. v. cap. iv. 4 "Romuli nutrix Lupa honoribus est affects divnis, et 7 "Lupa ho.lieque in capitolinis prostat tedibus, cum ves- ferrem si animal ipsum fuisset, cujus figuram gerit." Laclgio fillmlinis quo ictam narrat Cicero." Diarium Italic. tom. tant. de falsa'religione. Lib. i. cap. 20..pag. 101. edit. variot. 17. 174.' 1660, that is to say, he would rather adore a wolf than i Storia delle arti, ei., lib. iii. cat i. iii ii. note 10. Win- prostitute. IHis commentator has observed. that the opinior melmann has made astrange blunder in the note, by saying of Livy concerning Laurentia being figured in this wolf was tha Ciceronian wolf was not in the Capitol, Pnd that Dion not universal. Strabo thought so. Rycquius is wrong in saywas wrong in saying so. ing that Laclantius mentions the wolf was in the Capitol. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 125 a very late period' after every other observance of the of the gilding, and of the lightning, are a better arguancient superstition had totally expired. This may ac- ment in favour of its being the Ciceronian wolf than count for the preservation of the ancient image longer any that can be adduced for the contrary opinion. A. than the other early symbols of paganism. any rate, it is reasonably selected in the text of the It may be permitted, however, to remark that the poem as one of the most interesting relics of the ancient wolf was a Roman symbol, but that the worship of city,' ana is certainly the figure, if not the very animal that symbol is an inference drawn by the zeal of Lac- to wnich Virgil alludes in his beautiful verses: tantius. The early Christian writers are not to be "Geminos huic ubera circum trusted in the charges which they make against the Luderependentes pueros et lambere matrern.mpavidos: illam tereti cervice reflexam pagans. Eusebius accused the Romans to their faces Mulcere alternos, et fingere corpora lingua."2 of worshipping Simon Magus, and raising a statue to him in the island of the Tyber. The Romans had prob-Note 47. Stanza xc. ably never heard of such a person before, who came, for the toman's mind Was modell'd in a Icss terrestrial mould. however, to play a considerable, though scandalous part in the church nistory, and has left several tokens of his It s possible to be a very reat man, and to still aerial combat with St. Peter at Rome; notwithstanding very inferior to Julius Caesar, the most complete chalthat an inscription found in this very island of the acter, so Lord Bacon thought, of all antiquity. Nature Tyber showed the Simon Maaus of Eusebius to be a seems incapable of such extraordinary combinations as certain indigenal god, called Semo Sanous or Fidius. composed his versatile capacity, which was the wonder even Of the Romans themselves. The first general — Even, when the worship of the founder of Rome had The first generalbeen abandoned, it was thought expedient to humourthe only triumphant politician-inferior to none in the habits of the good matrons of the city by sending eloquence-comparable to any in the attainments of them with their sick infants to the church of St. Theo- wisdom, in an age made up of the greatest commanders, dore, as they had before carried them to the temple of statesmen, oators, and philosophers, that ever appeared Romulus.3 The practice is continued to this day; and in the world-an author who composed a perfect speci1he site of the above church seems to be thereby iden-men of military annals in his travelling-carriage-at tified with that of the temple: so that if the wolf had one time in a controversy with Cato, at another writing been really found there, as Winkelmann says, there a treatise on punning, and collecting a set of good saywould be no doubt of the present statue being that ings-ghting and making love at the same moment, seen by Dionysius.4 But Faunus, in saying that it was and willing to abandon both his empire and his misat the Ficus Ruminalis by the Comitium, is only talkingtress for a sight of the fountains of the Nile. Such of its ancient position as recorded by Pliny; and even did Julius Cesar appear to his contemporaries, and to if he had been remarking where it was found, would those of the susequent ages, who were the most in not have alluded to the church of St. Theodore, but to dined to deplore and execrate his fatal genius. a very different place, near which it was then thought But we must not be so much dazled with his su the Ficus Ruminalis had been, and also the Comitium; passing glory or with his magnanimous, his amiable that is, the three columns by the church of Santa Maria qualities, as to forget the decision of his impartial Liberatrice, at the corner of the Palatine looking on countrymen: ~~~~~~~~~the Forum. ti~HE WAS JUSTLY SLAIN.4 the Forum. It is, in fact, a mere conjecture where the image was It is, in fat 5 a mier e onjecture where the mage was Capitolio videmus." Olai Borrichii antiqua Urbis Romanas actually dug up, and perhaps, on the whole the marks facies, cap. x. See also cap. xii. Borrichius wrote after Nardini in 1687. Ap. Graev. Antiq. Rom. tom. iv. p. 1522. I)onatus, lib. xi. cap. 18, gives a medal representing on 1 To A. D. 496. " Quis credere possit," says Baronius, one side the wolf in the same position as that in the Capitol; (Ann. Eecles. tom. viii. pag. 602. in an. 496.) " viguisse adhic and in the reverse the wolf with the head not reverted. It is Romae ad Gelasii tempora, quae tuere ante exordia urbis al- of the time of Antoninus Pius. lata in Italiam Lupercalia?" Gelasius wrote a letter which 2 /Eneid, viii. 631. See Dr. Middleton, in his Letter from occupies four folio pages to Andromachus, the senator, and Rome, who inclines to the Ciceronian wolf, but without ex others, to show that the rites should be given up. amining the subject. 2 Eusebius has these words: Kai av' ptdaVt Trap' fT)Hv (s 3 In his tenth book, Lucan shows him sprinkled with the E7s rErt7ltrat, ivs r7( Tigeptl poraeeiy iEraOr riv do yod - blood of Pharsalia in the arms of Cleopatra: vpwiv, EXwv E;rtypap)}v PwuiaiKimv raverv, iarnwvSe 6'"Sanguine Thessalica cladis perfusus adulter Admisit Venerem curs, et miscuit armis." EdyKry- Eccles. Hist. lib. ii. cap. xiii. p. 40. Justin Martyr I rem uris et miscuit armis." yKt~. Ejccies. Iist. lib. ii. cap. xiii. p. 40. Jostle Martyr After feasting with his mistress, he sits up all night to conhad told the story before; but Baronius himself was obliged verse with the 2Egyptian sages, and tells Achoreus to detect this fable. See Nardini Roma Vet. lib. vii. cap. xii. "Sps sit mihicertavidendi 3 "In essa gli antichi pontefici per toglier la memoria de' Niliacos fontes, bellum civile relinquam:" giuochi Lupercali istituiti in onore di Romolo, introdussero I' "Sic velut in tuta securi pace trahebant uso di portarvi Bambini oppressi da infermits occulte, accio Noctis iter medium." si libenno per l'intercessione di questo. Santo, come di consi libeno per interceRione dxiiq pac a e succin Immediately afterwards, he is fighting again and defending tinup si sperimenta." Rione xii. Rips, aecurata e succinta every position: descrizione, etc., di Roma Moderna dell' Ab. Ridolf. Venuti, e poo 1766. "Sed-adest defensor ubique Caesar, et hos aditus gladiis, hos ignibus arcet. 4 Nardini, lib. v. cap. ii. convicts Pomponius Laetus crassi C, et ho adtus gad, ho gnius arcet............. Caeca nocte carinis erroris, in putting the Ruminal fig-tree at the church of Saint nsiluit Cesar semer feliciter ss Theodore: but as Livy says the wolf was at the Ficus Rumi- PrIeciiti cusa r s emp er feliciter usu " nalis, and Dionysius at the temple of Romulus, he is obligedipcursubeorumet porerapto. (cap. iv.) to own that the two were close together, as well as 4 "Jure caesus existimetur," says Suetonius, after a fair the Lupercal cave, shaded, as it were, by the fig-tree. estimation of his character, and making use of a phrase which was a formula in Livy's time. "Melium jure cassum pronun 6 " Ad comitium ficus oim Ruminalis germinabat, sub qua tiavit, etiam i regni crimine insons fuerit." (lib. iv. cap. 48. hipae ruam, lu est, mammaru, dnocen te Varrone, suxera and which was continued in the legal judgments pronounced ^ohm Romulus ~et Remus;' non proculp~a tempio hodie D. in justifiable homicides, such as killing housebreakers.. See Mariae Liberatricis appellato, ubi fonrsai inventa nobilis ila eton. in vit. C Csaris with the co ent Pisu snea status lupa0 germnos puerults lactantis, qilam hodie in 184 p.'184 126 BYRON' WORKS. Note 48. Stanza xciii. Note 53. Stanza cx. What from this barren being do we reap - - and apostolic statues climb Our senses narrow, and our reason frail To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime. "... Omnes pene veteres; qui nihil cognosci, The column of Trajan is surmounted by St. Peter, nihil percipi, nihil sciri posse dixerunt; angustos sensuS; that of Aurelius by St. Paul. See Historical Illustrations imbecilles animos, brevia curricula vitae; in profundo of the IVth Canto etc. veritatem demersam; opinionibus et institutis omnia54. S......'.... -.... Note 54. Stanza cxi. tenari; nihil veritati relinqui: deinceps omnia tenebris Still we Trajan's name adore. circumfusa esse dixerunt."' The. eighteen hundred T w p -. t.. Trajan was proverbially the best of the Roman years which have elapsed since Cicero wrote this have easier to find a sover princes:I and it would be easier to find a sovereian not removed any of the imperfections of humanity: itin exa thh uniting exactly the opposite characteristics, than one and the complaints of the ancient philosophers may ay, possessed of all the happy qualities ascribed to this without injustice or affectation, be transcribed in a emperor. " When he mounted the throne," says the poem written yesterday. historian Dion,2 "he was strong in body, he was vigorNote 49. Stanza xcix. ous in mind; age had impaired none of his faculties; -There is a stern round tower of other days. he was altogether free from envy and from detraction; Alluding to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, called Capo he honoured all the good and he advanced them; and di Bove, in the Appian Way. See Historical Illustra- on this account they could not be the objects of his fear tions of the IVth Canto of Childe Harold. or of his hate; he never listened to informers; he gave Note 50. Stanza cii. not way to his anger; he abstained equally from unfair - -prophetic of the doom exactions and unjust punishments; he had rather be Heaven gives its favourites-early death. eaven vests favourites-early death loved as a man than honoured as a sovereign; he was Ov oyl pot rXiovairv, T7rov x'icaK veos. affable with his people, respectful to the senate, and TH yap SavsTv oVK atlxpv, &XX' aleXpuis,avcEv. universally beloved by both; he inspired none with Rich. Franc. Phil. Brunck. Poeti Gnomici, p. dread but the enemies of his country."'231. edit. 1784. Note55. Stanza cxiv. Note 51. Stanza cvii. Note5. Stanza cxiv. Rienzi, last of Romans! Behold the Imperial Mount! Riezi, last of Rmans The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the The name and exploits of Rienzi must be familiar to side towards the Circus Maximus. The very soil is the reader of Gibbon. Some details and inedited manformed of crumbled brick-work. Nothing has been uscripts, relative to this unhappy hero, will be seen in told; nothing can be told, to satisfy the belief of any but the Illustrations the IVth anto. a Roman antiquary.-See Historical Illustrations, page Note 56. Stanza cxv. 206. Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair Note 52. Stanza cviii. As thine ideal breast. There is the moral of all human tales; The respectable authority of Flaminius Vacca would'T is but the same rehearsal of the past, incline us to believe in the claims of the Egerian grotto.3 First freedom, and then glory, etc. t He assures us that he saw an inscription on the paveThe author of the Life of Cicero, speaking of the ment stating that the fountainwas that ofEgeria dediopinion entertained of Britain by that orator and his cotemporary Romans, has the following eloquent pas- at Paris, efforts were made for his release. The French minsage: "From their railleries of this kind, on the bar- ister continued to detain him, under the pretext that he was barity and misery of our island, one cannot help re- not anEnglishman, butonly a Ro an. See "Interestingfacts ectin on the suand revolutions of king-., relating to Joachim Murat," pag, 139. fle onthesurprising fatean 1 Hujus tantum memori delatum est, ut, usqoe ad nosdoms, how Rome, once the mistress of the world, the tram ratatem non aliter in Senatu principibus acclamatur, seat'of arts, empire, and glory, now lies sunk in sloth, nisi, FELICIOR. AVGVSTO. MELIOR. TRAJANO." ignorance, and poverty, enslaved to the most cruel as Eutrop. Brev. Hist. Romn. lib. viii. cap. v. well as to the most contemptible of tyrants, superstition, 2 Ti - r yap aQpart Irppro.......Katr' vXb'K/a;~v, and religious imposture: while this remote country, s POi0' Vir p yOipos -IXwraOat.........ca' Gr06vEt, anciently the jest and contempt of the polite Romans, ovre KaOiprt tva, aXXa Ka iardvv rdraga rois a&yaobgs is become the happy seat of liberty, plenty, and letters; irilt? Kact EiydAvv sar' dla rouro oirs 0io6sTr6 irva flourishing in all the arts and refinements of civil life; avrTv, ovrs Eltire........rLtaoXaas Je iKrrra lrtarev e, yet running perhaps the same course which Rome it- Kai dpy7j iKc'ra alovXovroi rwv rc Xp1arorwv rv aiXw self had run before it, from virtuous industry to wealth; -rpiwv I'a Kat r6vwv...c.Xv r iXro....... tXXoeIIrom wealth to luxury; from luxury to an impatience vc Trc OsV iri' atroit pItXov 7 ) rtrl.trvos Ealps' X car rqi of discipline, and corruption of morals: till, by a total Tr ) #ri' ELrrtiKErat cv vYYvsrTO, KcaI rm, y, poUOiq sp-pr degeneracy and loss of virtue, being grown ripe for vomprs)cS tsptiX' &yarrrTS priV iratL' po6ep~s r #p1sEvi, destruction, it fall a prey at last to some hardy oppress- -rX}v 7roX/XElioLt'v. Hist. Rom. lib. lxvlii. cap. ii. vii. tom. or, and, with the loss of liberty, losing every thing that. p. 1123 1124. edit. Hamb. 1750. i s li bar- 3 "Poco lontano dal detto luogo si seende ad un casaletto, is valuable, sinks gradually aain into its original bar- del quale ne sono Padroni Ii Cafarelli, che con questo nome barisn.."2 chiamato il luogo; vi una fontana sotto una gran volta antica, che al presente si gode, e li Romani vi vanno l'estate a iicrearsi; nel pavimento di essa fonte si legge inun epitaftio ) Academ. 1. 13. essere quella la fonte di Egeria, dedicata alle ninfo, e questa 2 The History of the Life of M. Tullius Cicero, sect. vi. dice l'epitalio, essere lamedesima fontein cui fu convertita."')l,. ii. pag. i02 The contrast has been reversed in a late Memorie, etc. ap. Nardini, pag. 13. He does not give!th artraoldinary instance. A gentleman was thrown into prison description. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 127 cated to the nymphs. The inscription is not there at the valley of Egeria, where were several artificial caves. this day; but Montfaucon quotes two lines' of Ovid It is clear that the statues of the Muses made no part from a stone in the Villa Giustiniani, which he seems of the decoration which the satirist thought misplaced to think had been brought from the same grotto. in these caves; for he expressly assigns other fanes This grotto and valley were formerly frequented in (delubra) to these divinities above the valley, and moresummer, and particularly the first Sunday in May, by over tells us, that they had been ejected to make room the modern Romans, who attached a salubrious quality for the Jews. In fact, the little temple, now called that to the fountain which trickles from an orifice at the of Bacchus, was formerly thought to belong to the bottom of the vault, and, overflowing the little pools, Muses, and Nardini places them in a poplar grove, creeps down the matted grass into the brook below, which was in his time above the valley. The brook is the Ovidian Almo, whose name and quali- It is probable, from the inscription and position, that ties are lost in the modern Aquataccio. The valley the cave now shown may be one of the "artificial cavitself is called Valle di Caffarelli, from the dukes of erns," of which, indeed, there is another a little way that name, who made over their fountain to the Palla- higher up the valley, under a tuft of alder bushes: but vicini, with sixty rubbia of adjoining land. a'single grotto of Egeria is a mere modern invention, There can be little doubt, that this long dell is the grafted upon the application of the epithet Egerian to Egerian valley of Juvenal, and the pausing place of these nymphea in general, and which might send us Umbricius, notwithstanding the generality of his corn- to look for the haunts of Numa upon the banks of the mentators have supposed the descent of the satirist and Thames. his friend to have been into the Arician grove, where Our English Juvenal was not seduced into mistransthe nymph met Hippolitus, and where she was more lation by his acquaintance with Pope: he carefully prepeculiarly worshipped. serves the correct pluralThe step from the Porta Capena to the Alban hill, "Thence slowly winding down the vale, we view fifteen miles distant, would be too considerable, unless Th Egerian grots; oh how unlike the true" we were to believe in the wild conjecture of Vossius, The valley abounds with springs, and over these who makes that gate travel from its present station, springs, which the Muses might haunt from their neighwhere he pretends it was during the reign of the Kins,bouring roves, Egeria presided: hence she was said as far as the Arican grove, and then snakes it recede to supply them with water; and she was the nymph of to its old site with the shrinking city. 2 The tufo, or the grottos through which the fountains were taught to pumice, which the poet prefers to marble, is the sub- flow. stance composing the bank in which the grotto is sunk. The whole of the monuments in the vicinity of the The modern topographers3 find in the grotto the Egerian valley have received names at will, which have statue of the nymph and nine niches for the Muses, and been changed at will. Venuti owns he can see no a late traveller4 has discovered that the cave is restored traces of the temples ofJove, Saturn, Jun, Venus, to that simplicity which the poet regretted had been ad Diana, which Nardini found, or hopedto find. The exchanged for injudicious ornament. But the headless mutatorium of Caracalla's circus, the temple of Honour statue is palpably rather a male than a nymph, and has and Virtue, the temple of Bacchus, and, above all the none of the attributes ascribed - it at present visible. teple of the god of Rediculus, ae the antiquaries' The nine Muses could hardly hao Jiod in six niches; despair. and Juvenil certainly does not allude to any individual The circus of Caracalla depends on a medal of that cave. 5 Nothing can be collected from the satirist but emperor cited by Fulvius Ursinus, of which the reverse that somewhere near the Porta Capena was a spot inhows a circus, supposed, however, y sme to reprewhich it was supposed Numa held nightly consultations sent the Circus Maximus. It gives a very good idea of with his nymph, and where there was a grove and a that place of exercise. The soil has been but little sacred fountain, and fanes once consecrated to the raised, if we may judge from the sma'lcellular structure Muses; and that from this spot there was a descent into at the end of the Spin, which was probably the chapetl ~__ - - _ ~~~~ of the god Census. This cell is half beceath the soil, 1 "In villa Justiniana extat ingens lapis quadratus solidus as it must have been in t, circus itself, f~r Dionysius 4 in quo sculpta hwc duo Ovidii carmina sunt Egerin quo ia culpt h pru e Ovidii carmna sunt Came. could not be persuaded t. believe that th's divinity was &Egeria est quae praebet aquas dea grata Camoenis. Illa Numea conjux consiliumque fuit. the Roman Neptune, because his altar was under Qui lapis videtur ex eodem Egeriae fonte, aut ejus vicinia ground. isthuccomportatus." Diarium Italc. p. 153. Note 57 Stanza cxxvii 2 De magnit. Vet. Rom. ap. Gr v. Ant. Rom. tom. iv. p. 15"07. Yet let u's ponder boldly. 1507. 3 Echinard. Descrizione di Roma e dell' agro Romano cor- " At all events," says the author of the Arademica. retto dall' Abate Venuti in Roma, 1750. They believe in the Questions, "' I trust, whatever may be the fate of my grotto and nymph. "Simulacro -di questo fonte, essendovi own speculations, that philosophy will regain that estieculpite le acque a pieadi esso." 4 Classical Tour, chap. vi. p. 217. vol. ii. mation which it ought to possess. The free and phi5 "Substitit ad voteres arcus, madidamque Capenam, losophic spirit of our nation has been the theme of adHic ubi nocturner Numa constitueba t amica), miration to the world. This was the proud distinction Nune sacri fontis nemus, et delubra locantur Judais quorum cophinum fcenumque supellex. of Englishmen, and the luminous source of all their Omnis enim populo mercedem pendere jussa est glory. Shall we then forget the manly and dignified Arbor, et ejectis mendicat silva Camcenis. - In vallem Egeriam descendimus, et speluncas 1 Lib. iii. cap. iii. Dissimiles veris; quanto prastantius esset 2 " Undique e solo aquae scaturiunt." Nardini, lib. iii. cam Numen aqua, viridi si margine clauderet undas iii. Herba noc ingenuum violarentmarmora tophum." 3 Echinard, etc. Cic. cit. pp. 297, 29& Sat. III. 4 Antiq. Rom lib. ii. cao. xxxs 1 8 BYRON'S WORKS. sentiments of our ancestors, to prate in the language of belief. The antiquaries have supposed tnis goddess to the mother or the nurse about our good old prejudices? be synonymous with fortune and with fate:' but it was This is not the way to defend the cause of truth. It in her vindictive quality that she was worshipped under was not thus that our fathers maintained it in the bril- the name of Nemesis. liant periods of our history. Prejudice may be trusted Note 59. Stanza cxl. to guard the outworks for a short space of time, while I see before me the gladiator lie. reason slumbers in the citadel: but if the latter sink Whether the wonderful statue which suggested this into a lethargy, the. former will quickly erect a standard image, be a laquearian gladiator, which in spite of for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty, support Winkelmann's criticism, has been stoutly maintained, 2 each other; he who will not reason, is a bigot; he who or whether it be a Greek herald, as that great antiquary cannot, is a fool; and he who dares not, is a slave." positively asserted, 3 or whether it is to be thought a Preface, p. xiv. xv. vol. i. 1805. Spartan or barbarian shield-bearer, according to the Note 58. Stanza cxxxii. opinion of his Italian editor, 4 it must assuredly seem a -~ _____- -__ "egreat Nemesis! copy of that masterpiece of Ctesilaus, which repreHere, where the ancient paid thee homage long. sented " a wounded man dying, who perfectly expressed We read, in Suetonius, that Augustus, from a warn- what there remained of life in him." 5 Montfaucon mg received in a dream, counterfeited'once a-year the and Maffei 7thought it the identical statue; but that oeggar, sitting before the gate of his palace, with hs statue was of bronze. The gladiator was once in the hand hollowed, and stretched out for charity.' A statue villa Ludovizi, and was bought by Clement XII. The formerly in the Villa Borghese, and which should be right arm is an entire restoration of Michael Angelo. 8 now at Paris, represents the emperor in that posture of'ote60. Stanza cxli. supplication. The object of this self-degradation was _he their sire the appeasement of Nemesis, the perpetual attendant Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday.' on good fortune, of whose power the Roman conquerors Gladiators were of two kinds, compelled and volun' were also reminded by certain symbols attached to their tary; and were supplied from several conditions; from cars of triumph. The symbols were the whip and the slaves sold for that purpose, from culprits; from barcrotalo, which were discovered in the Nemesis of the barian captives, either taken in war, and, after being Vatican. The attitude of beggary made the above led in triumph, set apart for the games, or those seized statue pass for that of Belisarius; and until the criti-. and condemned as rebels; also from free citizens, some cism of Winkelmann2 had rectified the mistake, one fighting for hire (auctorati), others from a depraved fiction was called in to support another. It was the same ambition: at last even knights and senators were exfear of the sudden termination of prosperity that made hibited, a disgrace of which the first tyrant was naturally Amasis, king of Egypt, warn his friend Polycrates of the first inventor. 9 In the end, dwarfs, and even woSamos, that the gods loved those whose lives were men, fought; an enormity prohibited by Severus. Of chequered with good and evil fortunes. Nemesis was these the most to be pitied, undoubtedly, were the barsupposed to lie in wait particularly for the prudent: that barian captives; and to this species a Christian writer i is, for those whose caution rendered them accessible justly applies the epithet "innocent," to distinguish them only to mere accidents; and her first altar was raised on the banks of the Phrygian,Esepus by Adrastus, I DEAE NEMESI SIVE FORTVNAE probably the prince of that name, who killed the son of PISTORIVS Croesus by mistake. Hence the goddess was called RVGIANVS Adrastea. 3 V. C. LEGAT. The Roman Nemesis was sacred and august; there LEGXIII G. wa.s a temple to her in the Palatine, under the name of See Questiones Romane, etc., Ap. Grtev. Antiq. Roman Rhamnusia: so great indeed was the propensity of the tom. v. p. 942. See also Muratori. Nov. Thesaur. Inscript. ancients to trust to the revolution of events, and to be- Vet. tom. i. pp. 88, 89. where there are three Latin and one,..ve.. in tfrt t in te Greek inscription to Nemesis, and others to Fate. lieve in the divinity of fortune, that in the same Pala- 2 By the Abate Bracci, dissertazione sopra un clipeo-votivo, tine there was a temple to the fortune of the day. 5 etc. Preface, pag. 7, who accounts for the cord round the This is the last superstition which retains its hold over neck, but not for the horn, which it does not appear the glathe human heart; asnd from concentrating' in one ob- diatomrs themselves ever used. Note (A.) Storia delle arti, the human heart and from concentrating'in one obtom. ii. p. 205. ject the credulity so natural to man, has always appeared 3 Either Polifontes, herald of Laius. killed by CEdipus; or strongest in those unembarrassed by other articles of Cepreas, herald of Euritheus, killed by the Athenians when ~~~-_________________ _- ~he endeavoured to drag the Heraclidm from the altar of I Sueton. in vit. Augusti, cap. 91. Casaubon, in the note, mercy, and in whose honour they instituted annual games, refers to Plutarch's Lives of Camillus and iEmilius Paulus' continued to the time of Hadrian; or Anthemocritus, the and also to his apophthegms, for the character of this deity. Athenian herald, killed by the Megarenses, yvho never recovT'h hollowed hand was reckoned the last degree of degra- ered the impiety. See Storia delle arti, etc., tom. ii. pp. 203, dation: and when the dead body of the profect Rufinus was 204, 205, 206,'27. lib. ix. cap. ii. *'urne about in triumph by the people, the indignity was in- 4 Storia, etc., tom. ii. p. 207. Not. (A.) creased by putting his hand in that position. 5 "Vulneratum deficientem fecit in quo possit intelligl 2 Storia delle arti, etc., lib. xii. cap. iii. tom. ii. p. 422. quantum restat aimae." Plin. Nat. Ilist. xxxiv. cap. 8. Visconti calls the statue, however, a Cybele. It is given in 6 Antiq. tom. iii. par. 2. tab. 155. tme Museo Pio Clement, tom. i. par. 40. The Abate Fea 7 Race. stat. tab. 64. Spiegaziode dei Rami. Storia, etc., tom. iii. p. 513.) calls it 8 Mus. Capitol. tom. iii. p. 154. edit. 1755. a Chrisippus 9 Julius Caesar, who rose by the fall of the aristocracy, 2 Diet. de Bayle, article Adrastea. brought Furius Leptinus and A. Calenus upon the arena. 4 It is enumerated by the regionary Victor. 10 Tertullian; " certe quidem et innocentes gladiatores is " Fortune hiujusce diei." Cicero mentions her, de legib. ludum veniunt, ut voluptatis publicae hostiae fiant" Just. ib it Lips. Saturn. Sermon. lib. ii Cap. iii. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 129 from the professional gladiators. Aurelian and Claudius sides; and, after the horsemen and piccadores have supplied great numbers of these unfortunate victims; fought the bull, the matadore steps forward and bows the one after his triumph, and the other on the pretext to him for permission to kill the animal. If the bull has of a reoellion. No ar, says Lipsius,2 was ever so de- done his duty by killing twi or three horses, or a man, structive to the human race as these sports. In spite which last is rare, the people interfere with shouts, the of the laws of Constantine and Constans, gladiatorial ladies wave their handkerchiefs, and the animal is saved. shows survived the old established religion more than The wounds and death of the horses are accompanied seventy years; but they owed their final extinction to with the loudest acclamations, and many gestures of the courage of a Christian. In the year 404, on the ka- delight, especially from the female portion of the audilends of January, they were exhibiting the shows in the ence, including those of the gentlest blood. Every thing Flavian amphitheatre before the usual immense con- depends on habit. The author of Childe Harold, the course of people. Almachius or Telemachus, aneastern writer of this note, and one or two other Englishmen, monk, who had travelled to Rome intent on his holy who have certainly in other days borne the sight of a purpose, rushed into the midst of the area, and endea- pitched battle, were, during the summer of 1809, in the voured to separate the combatants. The praetor Alypius, governor's box at the great amphitheatre of Santa Maa person incrediblyattached to these games,3 give instant ria, opposite to Cadiz. The death of one or two horses orders to the gladiators to slay him; and Telemachus completely satisfied their curiosity. A gentleman pregained the crown of martyrdom, and the title of saint, sent, observing them shudder and look pale, noticed which surely has never, either before or since, been that unusual reception of so delightful a sport to some awarded for a more noble exploit. Honorius immedi- youing ladies, who stared and smiled, and continued ately abolished the shows, which were never afterwards their applauses as another horse fell bleeding to the revived. The story is told by Theodoret4 and Cassiodo- ground. One bull killed three horses off his own horns. rus,5 and seems worthy of credit, notwithstanding its He was saved by acclamations, which were redoubled place in the Roman martyrology.6 Besides thetorrents when it was known he belonged to a priest. of blood which flowed at- the funerals, in the amphi- An Englishman, who can be much pleased with seetheatres, the circus, the forums, and other public places, ing two men beat themselves to pieces, cannot bear to gladiators were introduced at feasts, and tore each other look at a horse galloping round an arena with his to pieces amidst the supper tables, to the great delight bowels trailing on the ground, and turns from the spec and applause of the guests. Yet Lipsius permits him- tacle and spectators with horror and disgust. self to suppose the loss of courage, and the evident de- Note 62a Stanza cxliv generacy of mankind, to be nearly connected with te he bd f C Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head. abolition of these bloody'spectacles.. -A^i o ~ tSuetonius informs us that Julius Caesar was particu. Note 61. Stanza cxlii. larly gratified by that decree of the senate, which enHere, where the Roman million's blame or praise abled him to wear a wreath of laurel on all occasions. Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd. He was anxious, not to show that he was the conqueror When one gladiator wounded another, he shouted of the world, but to hide that he was bald. A stranger " he has it," "hoc habet," or " habet." The wounded at Rome would hardly have guessed at the motive, nor combatant dropped his weapon, and, advancing to the should we without the help of the historian. edge of the arena, supplicated the spectators. If he had Note63 Stanza cxv. fought well, the people saved him; if otherwise, or as, Re sl snd," e. t5 J v' J.. i..4While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand," etc. they happened to be inclined, they' turned down their thumbs, and he was slain. They were occasionally so This is quoted in the Decline and Fall of the Roman savage, that they were impatient if a combat lasted mpire and a notice on the Coliseum may be seen in longer than ordinary without wounds or death. The the Historical Illustrations to the IVth Canto of Childe emperor's presence generally saved the vanquished: and Harold. it is recorded as an instance of Caracalla's ferocity, that Note 64. Stanza cxlvi. he sent those who supplicated him for life, in a spec- spared and blest bytime. tacle at Nicomedia, to ask the people; in other words, "Though plundered of all its brass, except the ring handed them over to be slain. A similar ceremony is which/was necessary to preserve the aperture above, observed at the Spanishbull-fights. The Magistrate pre- though exposed to repeated fires, though sometimes flooded by the river, and always open to the rain, no 1 Vopiscus, in vit. Aurel.; and, in vit. Claud. ibid. monument of equal antiquity is so well preserved as 2 "Credo, imo scio, nullum bellum tantam cladem vastiti- this rotunda. It passed with little alteration from'the emque generi humano intulisse, quam hos ad voluptatem Pagan into the presentworship; and so convenient Were ludos." Just. Lips. ibid. lib. i. cap. ii.presentworship; and soconvenientwere 3 Augustinus, (lib. vi. confess. cap. viii.) " Alypium suum its niches for the Christian altar, that Michael Angelo, ladiatorii spectaculi inhiatu incredibiliter abreotum," scribit. ever studious of ancient beauty, introduced their deIbid. lib. i. cap. xii. 4 Hist Eccles. cap. xxvi. lib. v. sign as a model of the Catholic church." 5 Cassiod. Tripartita. 1. x. c. xi. Saturn. ib. ib. Forsyth's Remarks, etc., on Italy, p. 137. se:. edit 6 Baronius ad ann. et in notis ad Martyrol. Rom. 1. Jan. See Marangoni delle memorie sacre e profane dell' Amfiteatro Note 65. Stanza cxlvii. Flavio, p. 25. edit. 1746. And they who feel for genius may repose 7 " Quod? non tu Lipsi momentum aliquod habuisse censes Their eyes on honour'd forns, whose busisaround them pose ad virtutem? Magnum. Tempeora nostra, nosque ipsos ide- close mus. Oppidum ecce unum alterumve captum,,direptum est; The Pantheon has been made a receptacle for the tumultus circa nos, non in nobis: et tamen concidimus et turbamur. Ubi robur, ubi tot per annos meditata sapientice stu- busts of modern great, or, at least, distinguished men. dia ubi ille animus qui possit dicere, ai fractus ilabatr The flood of light which once fell thrugh the large o?" etc. ibid., lib. ii. cap. xxv. The prototype of Mr. Te flood of light which once fell through the large or Windham's panegyric on bul-baiting. above on the whole circle of divinities, now shines on P 22 130 BYRON'S WORKS. a numerous assemblage of mortals, some one or two of From the same eminence are seen the Sabine hills, whom have been almost deified by the veneration of embosomed m which lies the long valley of Rustica. their countrymen. There are several circumstances which tend to establish Note 66 Stanza cxviii the identity of this valley with the " Ustica " of Horace: Note 66. Stanza cxlviii. There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light. ms possible that the mosaic pavement which This and the three next stanzas allude to the story of the peasants uncover by throwing up the earth of a vinethe Roman Daughter, which is recalled to the travelleryard, may belong to his villa. Rustica is pronounced by the site or pretended site of that adventure now short, not accordin to our stress upon-" Ustic shown at the church of St. Nicholas in carcere. The dif- cubantis.-It is more rational to think that we are ficulties attending the full belief of the tale, are stated wrong, than that the inhabitants of this secluded valley. in Historical Illustrations, etc. have changed their tone in this word. The addition of the consonant prefixed is nothing: yet it is necessary to Note 67. Stanza clii. be aware that Rustica may be a modern name which Turn to the mole which Hadrian rear'd on high. the peasants may have caught from the antiquaries. The castle of St. Angelo. See Historical Illustra- The villa, or the mosaic, is in a vineyard on a knoll tions. covered with chesnut trees. A stream runs down the Note 68. Stanza cliii. valley, and although it is not true, as said in the guideBut lo! the dome-the vast and wondrous dome. books, that this stream is called Licenza, yet there is a This and the six next stanzas have a reference to the village on a rock at the head of the valley which is so church of St. Peter. For a measurement of the corn- denominated, and which may have taken its name from parative length of this basilica, and the other great the Digentia. Licenza contains 700 inhabitants. On a churches of Europe, see the pavement of St. Peter's, peak a little way beyond is Civitella, containing 3C0. and the Classical Tour through Italy, vol. ii. page 125, On the banks of the Anio, a little before you turn up et seq. chap. iv, into Valle Rustica, to the left, about an hour from the Note 69. Stanza clxxi. villa, is a town called Vico-varo, another favourable Note 69. stianza clxxi. _ the strange fate coincidence with the Varia of the poet. At the end Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns. of the valley, towards the Anio, there is a bare hill, Mary died on the scaffold; Elizabeth of a broken crowned with a little town called Bardela. At the foot heart; Charles V. a hermit; Louis XIV. a bankrupt in of this hill the rivulet of Licenza flows, and is almost means and glory; Cromwell of anxiety; and,-" the absorbed in a wide sandy bed berore it reaches the Anio. greatestisbehind,"-Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these Nothing can be more fortunate for the lines of the poet, sovereigns a long but superfluous list might be added whether in a metaphorical or direct sense: of names equally illustrious and unhappy. "Me quotiens reficit gelidus Digentia rivus, -Note 70. Stanza clxxiii. -Quem Mandela bibit rugosus frigore pagus. Lo Nem aell n the woody hlls. The stream is clear high up the valley, but before it Lo, Nemi I navelI' in the woody hills. Lo Nemi X nv e.d reaches the hill of Bardela looks green and yellow like The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of a i a sulphur rivulet. Egeria, and, from the shades which embosomed the a s rivulet. Egeria, and, from the shades which embosomed the Rocca Giovane, a ruined village in the hills, half an temple of Diana has preserved to this day its distinctive ctemple llatiof Diana, hove hour's walk from the vineyard where the pavement is appellation of The Grove. Nemi is but an evenina's appellation of The Grove. Nemi. is but an evening's shown, does seem to be the site of the fane of Vacuna, ride from the comfortable inn of Albano. ridefrom the com e in and an inscription found there tells that this temple of Note 71. Stanza clxxiv. the Sabine victory was repaired by Vespasian.i With -The Tier ind and afar these helps, and a position corresponding exactly to The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves The Latian coast, etc. etc. every thing which the poet has told us of his retreat, The whole declivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalledwe may feel tolerably secure of our site. beauty, and from the convent on the highest point, The hill which should be Lucretilis is called Cam. which has succeeded to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, panile, and by following up the rivulet to the pretended the prospect embraces all the objects alluded to in the Bandusia, you come to the roots of the higher mountain cited stanza: the Mediterranean; the whole scene of Gennaro. Singularly enough, the only spot of ploughed the latter half of the ]Eneid; and the coast from beyond land in the whole valley is on the knoll where this the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circaeum Bandusia rises, "......Tu frigus amabile and the Cape of Terracina. Fesss vofmere taur bi The site of Cicero's villa may be supposed either at Praebes, et pecori vago." the Grotta Ferrata, or at the Tusculum of Prince Lucien The peasants show another spring near the mosaic paveBuonaparte. ment, which they call " Oradina," and which flows down The former was thought some years ago the actual the hills into a tank, or mill-dam, and thence trickles mite, as may be seen from Middleton's Life of Cicero. over into th9 Digentia. But we must not hope At present it has lost something -of its credit, except for To trace the Muses upwards to. their spring," me Domenichinos. Nine monks, of the Greek order, by exploring the windings of the romantic valley in live there, and the adjoining villa is a cardinal's sum- search of the Bandusian fountain. It seems strange that ruer-house. The other villa, called Rufinella, is on the -~~bummit of the hill above Frascati, and many rich re- 1 IMP. CAESAR VESPASIANVS mains of Tusculum have been found there, besides PONTIFEX MAXIMVS. TRIB. seventy-two statues of different merit and preservation, VICTES. CENSO. rEDEP VICTORI E. VETVSTATE ILLAPSAMI. and seven busa., SVA. IMPENSA, RESTiTVIT. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 131 any one should have thought Bandusia a fountain of the exhortations of the moralist, may have made this work Dlgentia-Horace has not let drop a word of it; and something more and better than a book of travels, but this immortal spring has, in fact, been discovered in pos- they have not made it a book of travels; and this obsession of the holders of many good things in Italy, the servation applies more especially to that enticing method monks. It was attached to the church of St. Gervais of instruction conveyed by the perpetual introduction and Protais, near Venusia, where it was most likely to of the same Gallic Helot to reel and bluster before the oe found.1 We shall not be so lucky as a late traveller rising generation, and terrify it into decency by the in finding the occasional pine still pendant on the poetic display of all the excesses of the revolution. An ani villa. There is not a pine in the whole valley, but there mosity against atheists and regicides in general, an are two cypresses, which he evidently took, or mistook, Frenchmen specifically, may be honourable, and may for the tree in the ode. 2 The truth is, that the pine is be useful, as a record; but that antidote should either now, as it was in the days of Virgil, a garden tree, and be administered in any work rather than a tour, or, at it was not at all likely to be found in the craggy accliv- least, should be served up apart, and not so mixed with ities of the valley of Rustica. Horace probably-had one the whole mass of information and reflection, as to give of them in the orchard close above his farm, immediately a bitterness to every page: for who would choose to ~overshadowing his villa, not on the rocky heights at some have the antipathies of any man, however just, for his distance from his abode. The tourist may have easily travelling companions? A tourist, unless he aspires to supposed himself to have seen this pine figured in the the credit of prophecy, is not answerable for the changes above cypresses, for the orange and lemon-trees which which may take place in the country which he describes: throw such a bloom over his description of the royal but his reader may very fairly esteem all his political gardens at Naples, unless they have been since displaced, portraits and deductions as so much waste paper, the were assuredly only acacias and other common garden moment they cease to assist, and more particularly if shrubs. 3 The extreme disappointment experienced by they obstruct, his actual survey. choosing the Classical Tourist as a guide in Italy, must Neither encomium nor accusation of any government, be allowed to find vent in a few observations, which, it or governors, is meant to be here offered; but it is is asserted without fear of contradiction, will be con- stated as an incontrovertible fact, that the change opefirmed by every one who has selected the same con- rated, either by the address of the late imperial system, ductor through the same country. This author is, in fact, or by the disappointment of every expectation by those one of the most inaccurate, unsatisfactory writers that who have succeeded to the Italian thrones, has been so have in our times attained a temporary reputation, and is considerable, and is so apparent, as not only to put Mr. very seldom to be trusted even when he speaks of ob- Eustace's Antigallican philippics entirely out of date, jects which he must be presumed to have seen. His but even to throw some suspicion upon the competency errors, from the simple exaggeration to the downright and candour of the author himself. A remarkable exmisstatement, are so frequent as to induce a suspicion ample may be found in the instance of Bologna, over that he had either never visited the spots described, or whose papal attachments, and consequent desolation, nad trusted to the fidelity of former writers. Indeed the the tourist pours forth such strains of condolence and Classical Tour has every characteristic of a mere corn- revenge, made louder by the borrowed trumpet of Mr. pilation of former notices, strung together upon a very Burke. Now, Bologna is at this moment, and has slender thread of personal observation, and swelled out been for some years, notorious amongst the states of by those decorations which are so easily supplied by a Italy for its attachment to revolutionary principles, and systematic adoption of all the commonplaces of praise, was almost the only city which made any demonstra applied to every thing, and therefore signifying nothing. tions in favour of the unfortunate Murat. This change The style which one person thinks cloggy and cum- may, however, have been made since Mr. Eustace brous, and unsuitable, may be to the taste of others, visited this country; but the traveller whom he has and such may experience some salutary excitement in thrilled with horror at the projected stripping of the ploughing through the periods of the Classical Tour. copper from the cupola of St. Peter's, must be much It must be said, however, that polish and weight are relieved to find that sacrilege out of the power of the apt to beget an expectation of value. It is amongst the French, or any other plunderers, the cupola being,-ovpains of the damned to toil up a climax with a huge ered with lead. round stone. If the conspiring voice of otherwise rival critics had The tourist had the choice of his words, but there not given considerable currency to the Classical Tour, was no such latitude allowed to that of his sentiments. it would have been unnecessary to warn the reader, The love of virtue and of liberty, which must have dis- that, however it may adorn his library, it will De of little tinguished the character, certainly adorns the pages of or no service to him in his carriage; and if the judgment Mr. Eustace, and the gentlemanly spirit, so recom- of those critics had hitherto been suspended, no attempt mendatory either in an author or his productions, is very would have been made to anticipate their decision. As conspicuous throughout the Classical Tour. But these it is, those who stand in the relation of posterity to generous qualities are the foliage of such a performance, Mr. Eustace, may be permitted to appeal from cotelnand may be spread about it so prominently and pro- porary praises, and are perhaps more likely to be, ust fusely, as to embarrass those who wish to see and find.___ the fruit at hand. The unction of the divine, and the 1 What, then, will be the astonishment, or rather teb horror of my reader, when I inform him....... the Fiench 1 See Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto, p. 43. Committee turned its attention to Saint Peter's, and employee 2 See Classical Tour, etc. chap. vii. p. 250. vol. ii. a company of Jews to estimate and purchase the gold, silver 3 "Under our windows, and bordering on the beach, is the and bronze, that adorn the inside of the edifice as well as royal garden, laid out in parterres, and walks shaded by rows the copper that covers the vaults and dome on the outside. of orange-trees." Classical Tour, etc., chap. xi. vol. ii oct. Chap. iv. p. 130. vol. ii. The story about the Jews is poea 3(i5 tively denied at Rome. 132 BYRON'S WORKS. in proportion as the causes of love and hatred are the advice of returning travellers, induced to aoandon his farther removed. This appeal had, in some measure, design, although he had already arranged his types and been made before the above remarks were written; for paper, and had struck off one or two of the first sheets. one of the most respectable of the Florentine publishers, The writer of these notes would wish to part (like wno had been persuaded by the repeated inquiries of Mr. Gibbon) on good terms with the Pope and the Carmnose on their journey southwards, to reprint a cheap dinals, but he does not think it necessary to extend the edition of the Classical Tour, was, by the concurring same discreet silence to their humble partisans. mile- Qtart; A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE. One fatal remembrance-one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike-o'er our joys and our woesTo which life nothing darker nor brighter can bring, For which joy hath no balm, and affliction no sting. MOORE. TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. AS A SLIGHT BUT MOST SINCERE TOKEN OF ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS RESPECT FOR HIS CHARACTER, AND GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP; THIS PRODUCTION IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS OBLIGED AND AFFECTIONATE SERVANT, BYRON. -ADVERTISEMENT. V TTQ \TFair clime! where every season smiles Benignant o'er those blessed isles, Which, seen from far Colonna's height, Make glad the heart that hails the sight,'THE Tale which these disjointed fragments presd lend to loneliness delight. founded upon circumstances now less common in the There, mildly dimping, Oceans cheek East than formerly; either because the ladies are Reflects the tints of many a peak more circumspect than in the " olden time;" or be- Caut by the laughing tides that ave cause the Christians have better fortune, or less en- These dens of the eastern wave; terprise. The story, when entire, contained the And if at times, a transient breeze adventures of a female slave, who was thrown, in the Break the blue crystal of the seas, Mussulman manner, into the sea for infidelity, and Or sweep one blossom from the trees, avenged by a young Venetian, her lover, at the time How welcome is each gentle air the Seven Islands were possessed by the Republic of That wakes and wafts the odours there! Venice, and soon after the Arnaouts were beaten back For there-the rose o'er crag or vale, from the Morea, which they had ravaged for some Sultana of the nightingale,2 time subsequent to the Russian invasion. The deser- The maid for hom his melody tiorn of the Mainotes, on being refused the plunder of His thousand songs are heard on high Misitra, led to the abandonment of that enterprise, Blooms blushing to her lover's tale: and to the desolation of the Morea, during which the His queen, the garden queen, his rose, cruelty exercised on all sides was unparalleled even Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows, In the annals of the faithful. Far from the winters of the west, By every breeze and season blest, Returns the sweets by Nature given, THE GIAOUR. In softest incense back to heaven; And grateful yields that smiling sky Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh. No breath of air to break the wave And many a summer flower is there, That rolls below the Athenian's grave, And many a shade that love might share, That tomb' which, gleaming o'er the cliff, And many a grotto, meant for rest, First greets the homeward-veering skiff, That holds the pirate for a guest; High o er tne land he saved in vain: Whose bark in sheltering cove below When shall such hero live again? Lurks for the passing peaceful prow, * a * * * * Till the gay mariner's guitar 3 I heard, and seen the evening star; THE GIAOUR. 133 rhenl stealing with the muffled oar, Was freedom's home or glory's grave! Far shaded by the rocky shore, Shrine of the mighty! can it be, Rush the night-prowlers on the prey, That this is all remains of thee? And turn to groans his roundelay. Approach, thou craven crouching slave" Strange-that where Nature loved to trace, Say, is not this Thermopylae? As if for gods, a dwelling-place, These waters blue that round you lave, And every charm and grace hath mix'd Oh servile offspring of the freeWithin the paradise she fix'd, Pronounce what sea, what shore is this There man, enamour'd of distress, The gulf, the rock of Salamis!Should mar it into wilderness, These scenes, their story not unknown, And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower Arise, and make again your own; That tasks not one laborious hour; Snatch from the ashes of your sires Nor claims the culture of his hand The embers of their former fires; To bloom along the fairy land, And he who in the strife expires But springs as to preclude his care, Will add to theirs a name of feat And sweetly woos him-but to spare! That tyranny shall quake to hear, Strange-that where all is peace beside And leave his sons a hope, a fame There passion riots in her pride, They too will rather die than shame: And lust and rapine wildly reign For freedom's battle once begun, To darken o'er the fair domain. Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, It is as though the fiends prevail'd Though baffled oft, is ever won. Against the seraphs they assail'd, Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, And, fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell Attest it many a deathless age! The freed inheritors of hell; While kings; in dusty darkness hid, So soft the scene, so form'd for joy, Have left a nameless pyramid, So curst the tyrants that destroy! Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, He who hath bent him o'er the dead, A mightier monument command, Ere the first day of death is fled, The mountains of their native land! The first dark day of nothingness, There points thy muse to stranger's eye The last of danger and distress, The graves of those'that cannot die! (Before decay's effacing fingers'T were long to tell, and sad to trace, Have swept the lines where beauty lingers), Each step from splendour to disgrace; And mark'd the mild angelic air, Enough-no foreign foe could quell The rapture of repose that's there, Thy soul, till from itself it fell; The fix'd, yet tender traits that streak Yes! self-abasement paved the way The languor of the placid cheek, To villain-bonds and, despot-sway. And-but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, What can he tell who treads thy shore? And but for that chill, changeless brow, No legend of thine olden time, Where cold obstruction's apathy4 No theme on which the muse might soar, Appals the gazing mourner's heart, High as thine own in days of yore, As if to him it could impart When man was worthy of thy clime. The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; The hearts within thy valleys -bred, Yes, but for these, and these alone, The fiery souls that might have led Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour,' Thy sons to deeds sublime, He still might doubt the tyrant's power; Now crawl from cradle to the grave, So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, Slaves-nay, the bondsmen of a slave, The first, last look by death reveald! 5 And callous, save to crime,; Such is the aspect of this shore; Stain'd with each evil that pollutes'T is Greece, but living Greece no more! Mankind, where least above tfie brutes, So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, Without even savage virtue blest, We start, for soul is wanting there. Without one-free or valiant breast. Hers is the loveliness in death, - Still to the neighbouring ports they waft That parts not quite with parting breath; Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft; But beauty with that fearful bloom, In this the subtle Greek is found, That hue which haunts it to the tomb,. For this, and this alone, renown'd. Expression's last receding ray, In vain might liberty invoke A gilded-halo hovering round decay, The spirit to its bondage broke, The farewell beam of feeling past away! Or raise the neck that courts the yokrt Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, No more her sorrows I bewail, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth! Yet this will be a mournful tale, And, they who listen may believe, Clime of the unforgotten brave! Who heard it first had cause to grievo Whose land from plain to mountain-cave 4*' * * * p2 1314 BYRON S WORKS. Far, dark, along the blue-sea glancing, And what are these to thine or tlhe, The shadows of the rocks advancing, That thcu shouldst either pause or flee? Start on the fisher's eye like boat He stood-some dread was or, hs face, Of island-pirate or Mainote; Soon hatred settled in its place: And, fearful for his light caique, It rose not with the reddeniing fl:sh He shuns the near, but doubtful creek: Of transient anger's darkening blush, Though worn and weary with his toil, But pale as marble o'er the tomb, And cumber'd with his scaly spoil, Whose ghastly whiteness aids it3 gloom. Slowly, yet strongly, plies the o.r, His brow was bent, his eye was glazed, Till Port Leone's safer shore He raised his arm, and fiercely raised, Receives him by the lovely light And sternly shook his hand on high, That best becomes an eastern night. As doubting to return or fly: * * * * * *- * Impatient of his flight delay'd, Who thundering comes on blackest steed, Here loud his raven charger neigli'd-'Vithislacken'd bit, and hoof of speed? Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade Beneath the clattering iron's sound, That sound had burst his waking dream, The cavern'd echoes wake around As slumber starts at owlet's scream. In lash for lash, and bound for bound; The spur hath lanced his courser's sidus, The foam that streaks the courser's side Away, away, for life he rides; Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide; Swift as the hurl'd on high jerreed, 9 Though weary waves are sunk to rest, Springs to the touch his startled steed; There's none within his rider's breast; The rock is doubled, and the shore And though to-morrow's tempest lower, Shakes with the clattering tramp no more;'T is calmer than thy heart, young Giaour! " The crag is won, no more is seen I know thee not, I loathe thy race, His Christian crest and haughty mien. But in thy lineaments I trace'T was but an instant he restrain'd What time shall strengthen, not efface: That fiery barb so sternly rein'd: Though young and pale, that sallow front'T was but a moment that he' stood, Is scathed by fiery passion's brunt; Then sped as if by death pursued; Though bent on earth thine evil eye, But in that instant o'er his soul As meteor-like thou glidest by, Winters of memory seem'd to roll, Right well I view and deem thee one And gather in that drop of time Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. A life of pain, an age of crime. On-on he hastened, and he drew O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears, My gaze of wonder as he flew: Such moment pours the grief of years: Though like a demon of the night What felt he then, at once opprest He pass'd and vanish'd from my sight, By all that most distracts the breast? His aspect and his air impress'd That pause, which ponder'd o'er his fate, A troubled memory on my breast, Oh, who its dreary length shall date! And long upon my startled ear Though in time's record nearly nought, Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. It was eternity to thought! He spurs his steed; he nears the steep, For infinite as boundless space That; jutting, shadows, o'er the deep; The thought that conscience must embrace, He winds around; he hurries by; Which in itself can comprehend The rock relieves him from mine eye; Woe without name, or hope, or end. For well I ween unwelcome he The hour is past, the Giaour is gone; Whose glance is fix'd on those that flee; And did he fly or fall alone? And not a star but shines too bright Woe to that hour he came or went! On him who takes such timeless flight. The curse for Hassan's sin was sent, He wound along'; but, ere he pass'd, To turn a palace to a tomb: One glance he snatch'd, as if his last, Ite came, he went, like the simoom,' A moment check'd his wheeling steed, That harbinger of fate and gloom, A moment breathed him from his speed, Beneath whose widely-wasting breath A moment on his stirrup stood- The very cypress droops to deathWhy looks he o'er the olive-wood? Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, The crescent glimmers on the hill, The only constant mourner o'er the dead! The mosque's high lamps are quivering still: The steed is vanish'd from the stall; Though too remote for sound to wake No serf is seen in Hassan's hall; In echoes of the far tophaike, 8 The lonely spider's thin gray pall Tt e flashes of each joyous peal WVaves slowly widening o'er the wall; Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal. The bat builds in his haram bower; To- light, set Rhamazani's sun; And in the fortress of his power i o iight the Bairam feast's begun; The owl usurps the beacon-towe; To night-but woo and what art thou, The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim, O' foreign garb and fearful brow? With-baffled thirst, and famine grim; THE GIAOUR. For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed, The burthen ye so gently bear, Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread, Seems one that claims your utmost care,'T was sweet of yore to see it play And, doubtless, holds some precious freight, And chase the sultriness of day, My humble bark would gladly wait." As, springing high, the silver dew In whirls fantastically flew, "Thou speakest sooth, thy skiff unmoor, And flung luxurious coolness round And waft us from the silent shore; The air, and verdure o'er the ground. Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply'T was sweet, when cloudless stars were bright, The nearestoar that's scatter'd by; To view the wave of watery light, And midway to those rocks where sleep And hear its melody by night, The channell'd waters dark and deep, And oft had Hassan's childhood play'd Rest from your task-so-bravely done, Around the verge of that cascade; Our course has been right swiftly run; And oft upon his mother's breast Yet't is the longest voyage, I trow, That sound had harmonized his rest; That one of-" And oft had Hassan's youth along * * * * Its bank been soothed by beauty's song; And softer seem'd each melting tone Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank, Of music mingled with its own. The calm wave rippled to the bank; But ne'er shall Hassan's age repose I watch'd it as it sank, methought Along the brink at twilight's close: Some motion from the current caught The stream that fiil'd that font is fled- Bestirr'd it more,-'t was but the beam The blood that warm'd his heart is shed! That chequer'd o'er the living stream: And here no more shall human voice I gazed, till vanishing from view, Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice; Like lessening pebble it withdrew; The last sad note that swell'd the gale Still less and less, a speck of white Was woman's wildest funeral wail: That gemm'd the tide, then mock'd the sigh; That quenched in silence, all is still, And all its hidden secrets sleep, But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill: Known but to genii of the deep, Though raves the gust, and floods the rain, Which, trembling in their coral caves No hand shall close its clasp again. They dare not whisper to the waves. On desert sands't were joy to scan * * * + The rudest steps of fellow man — So here the very voice of grief As rising on its purple wing Might wake an echo like relief; The insect-queen 16 of eastern spring, At least't would say, "all are not gone; O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer "There lingers life, though but in one-" Invites the young pursuer near, For many a gilded chamber's there, And leads him on from flower to flower Which solitude might well forbear; A weary chase and wasted hour, Within that dome as yet decay Then leaves him, as it soars on hign, Hath slowly work'd her cankering way- With panting heart and tearful eye: But gloom is gathered o'er the gate, So beauty lures the full-grown chiid, Nor there the fakir's self will wait; With hue as bright, and wing as wild, Nor there will wandering dervise stay, A chase of idle hopes and fears, For bounty cheers not his delay; Begun in folly, closed in tears. Nor there will weary stranger halt If won, to equal ills betray'd, To bless the sacred " bread and salt." 11 Woe waits the insect and the maid, Alike must wealth and poverty A life of pain, the loss of peace, Pass heedless and unheeded by, From infant's play, and man's caprice For courtesy and pity died The lovely toy so fiercely sought With Hassan on the mountain side. Hath lost its charm by being caught. His roof, that refuge unto men,, For every touch that wooed its stay Is desolation's hungry den. Hath brush'd its brightest hues away, lhe guest flies the hall, and the vassals from labour, Till, charm, and hue, and beauty gone, Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre! 1'T is left to fly or fall alone. * * * * ~.* * With wounded wing, or bleeding breast, Ah! where shall either victim rest? I hear the sound of coming feet, Cpn this with faded pinion soar But not a voice mine ear to greet; Froln rose to tull? as before? More near-each turban I can scan, Or beauty, blighted in an hou, And silver-sheathed ataghan; 13 Find joy within her broken bower i The foremost of the band is seen, No: gayer insects fluttering by An emir by his garb of green: " Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that d.e, "Ho! who art thou?-this low salam l And lovelier things have mercy shown Replies of Moslem faith I am. To every failing but their own, 136 BYRON'S WORKS And every woe a tear can claim Yea, soul, and should our prophet say Except. an erring sister's shame. That form was nought but breathing clay, * * * *.. By Alla! I would answer nay; Though on AI-Sirat's2' arch I stood, The mind, that broods o'er guilty woes, Which totters o'er the fiery flood, Is like the scorpicn girt by fire, With paradise within my view, In circle narrowing as it glows, And all his houris beckoning through. rhe flames around their captive close, Oh! who young Leila's glance could iead, Till, inly search'd by thousand throes,- And keep that portion of his creed 22 And maddening in her ire, Which saith that woman is but dust, One sad and sole relief she knows, A soulless toy for tyrant's lust? The sting she nourish'd for her foes, On her might muftis gaze, and own Whose venom never yet was vain, That through her eye the Immortal shone; Gives but one pang, and cures all pain, On her fair cheek's unfading hue And darts into her desperate brain: The young pomegranate's23 blossoms strew So do the dark in soul expire, Their bloom in blushes ever new; Or live like scorpion girt by fire;; Her hair in hyacinthine 24 flow, So writhes the mind remorse hath riven, When left to roll its folds below, Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, As'midst her handmaids in the hall Darkness above, despair beneath, She stood superior to them all, Around it flame, within it death! Hath swept the marble where her feet * * * * * * Gleam'd whiter than the mountain sleet, Black Hassan from the haram flies, Ere from the cloud that gave it birth It fell, and caught one stain of earth. Nor bends on woman's form his eyes;' and caught onestain of earth.'The unwonted chase each hour employs, The cynet nobly walks the water So moved on earth Circassia's daughter, Yet shares he not the hunter's joys. The loveliest bird of Franguestan! 25 Not thus was Hassan wont to fly W'hen Leila dwelt in his Serai. As rears her crest the ruffled swan, Doth eila there no loner dwell And spurns the wave with wings of pride, Doth Leila there no longer dwell? P rrhat tale can only Iassan tell: When pass the steps of stranger man that tale can only Hassan tell. P Strange rumours in our city say the banks that bound her tide; Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck:U~pon that eve she fled away, phen thamazan'ss8 last sun was set, Thus arm'd with beauty would she check When Rhamazan's 15 last sun was set, I s dn t fo And, flashing from each minaret,, t ly's gaze Millions of lamps proclaim'd the feast Shrunk firom the charms it meant to praise. Of Bairam through the boundless eas. Thus high and graceful was her gait; - Of Bairam through the boundless east.'T was then she went as to the bath, Her heart as tender to her nate; Which Hassan vainly search'd in wrath; Her mate-stern Hassan, who was he? Alas! that name was not for thee I For she was flown her master's rage, In likeness of a Georgian page, Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en, And far beyond the Moslem's power Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaour. With twenty vassals in his train, Somewhat of this had Hassan deem'd; Each arm'd, as best becomes a man, But still so fond, so fair she seem'd, With arquebuss and ataghan; Too well he trusted to the slave I I i Too well he trusted to the slavre The chief before, as deck'd for war, Bears in h;s belt the scimitar Whose treachery deserved a grave: And on that eve had gone to mosque, Stain'd with the best of Arnaut blood, And thence to feast in his kiosk. When in the pass the rebels stood, And few return'd to tell the tale Such is thebtale his Nubians tell, Who did not watch their charge too well; Of what befell in Fame's vale. But others say, that on that night, B6ut others say, rhat on that night, Te pistols which his girdle bore By pale Phingari's' trembling light, ere those that once a pach wore, By pale Pingar i's trembling light, Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd with gor, The Giaour upon his jet-black steed Was seen, but seen alone to speed Even robbers tremble to behold. With bloody spur along the shore,'T is said he oes to woo a bride Nor maid nor page behind him bore. Moro left his side *, * * *The faithless slave'that broke her bower, And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour!' Her eye's dark charm't were vain to tell, * * * * But gaze on that of the gazehe, The sun's last rays are on the hill, It will ass3w thv fancy'well; And sparkle in thg fountain rill, As.arge, as languishingly dark, Whose welcome waters, cool and clear, 3ut soul beam'd forth in every spark Draw blessings from the mountaineer: That darted from beneath the lid, Here may the loitering merchant Greek Bright as the jewel of Giamnschid.? Find that repose'twere vain to seek THE GIAOUR.. 137 In cities lodged too near his lord, In fuller sight, more near and near, And trembling for his secret hoard- The lately ambush'd foes appear, Here may he rest where none can see, And, issuing from the grove, advance In crowds a slave, in deserts free; Some who on battle-charger prance. And with forbidden wine may stain Who leads them on with foreign brand, The bowl a Moslem nust not drain. Far flashing in his red right hand? * *, * * * * I "'Tis he!'t is he! I know him now; I know him by his pallid brow; The foremost Tartar's in the gap, Inow him by the evil eye 29 Conspicuous by his yellow cap; That aids his envious treachery; The rest in lengthening line the while I know him by his jet-black barb: Wind slowly through the long defile: Though now array'd in Arnaut garb, Above, the mountain rears a peak, Apostate from his own vile faith, Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, It shall not save him from the death: And theirs may be a feast to-night,'T is he! well met in any hour! Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light; Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaour!" Beneath, a river's wintry stream As rolls the river into ocean, Has shrunk before the summer beam, s t r i In sable torrent wildly streaming; And.eft a channel bleak and bare,.eaming As the sea-tide's opposing motion, Save shrubs that spring to perish there: Each side the midway path there lay a un ga o Beats back the current many a rood: Small broken crass of granite gray, In curling foam and mingling flood, By time, or mountain lightning, riven By tie.rmut tnig rinWhile eddying whirl and breaking wave, From summits clad in mists of heaven; e y h breakg ave For where is he that hath b Aheld Roused by the blast of winter, rave; Tor where is he thatn unveild el wThe peak of iakura unveist dh? hThrough sparkling spray, in thundering clash, The lightnings of the waters flash * * * * * * * In awful whiteness o'er the shore, That shines and shakes beneath the roar; They reach the grove of pine at last: iC Bismillab! 25 nowJ the peril's past; ~ Thus-as the stream and ocean greet, " Bismillah! 2 now the peril's past - I> ~ W'ith waves that madden as they meetFor yonder view the opening plain, *Fr y r'w *e o AdThus join the bands, whom mutual wrong, And there we'1 prick our steeds amain:" And fate, and fury, drive along. The Chiaus spake, and as he said, A bullet whistled o'er his head; The bickering sabres' shivering jar, A bullet whistled o'er his head;.. w o The foremost Tartar bites the ground! g we or r Scarce had they time to check the rein, Its echoes on the throbbin ear, The death-shot hissing from afar, Swift from their steeds the riders bound;e death-shot hissing from afar, But three shall never mount again: The shock, the shout, the groan of war But three shall never mount again:'2'u~~ ~ Reverberate along that vale Unseen the foes that gave the wound,a The dying ask reverne in vain. More suited to the shepherd's tale: With steel insheathed, and carbine ben, Though few the numbers-theirs the strife, With steel unsheathed, and carbine bent, Some o'er their coursers' harness leant, n s n Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press, Half shelter'd by the steed;. So fa bhind To seize and share the dear caress; Some fly behind the nearest rock, And there await the coming shock,itseould never pant N ~or tamely stand to bleed For all that beauty sighs to grant lNor tamely stand to bleed With half the fervour hate bestows Beneath the shaft of foes unseen, Upon the last embrace of foes, Who dare not quit their craggy screen. Stern Hassan only from his horse When grappling in the fight they fold.SternHaan on i- fr o his hors' Those arms that ne'er shall loose their hold Disdains to light, and keeps his course, Disdains to light, and keeps his course Friends meet to part; love laughs at faith. Till fiery flashes in the van Proclaim too sure the robb-an True foes, once met, are join'd till death Proclaim too sure the robber-clan Have well secured the only way * * * * * Could now avail the promised prey; With sabre shiver'd to the hilt, Then curl'd his very beard 7 with ire, Yet dripping with the blood he spilt; And glared his eye with fiercer fire: Yet strain'd within the sever'd hand Though far and near the bullets hiss, Which quivers round that faithless brand; I've scaped a bloodier hour than this." His turban far behind him roll'd, And now the foe their covert quit, And cleft in twain its firmest fold; And call his vassals to submit; His flowing robe by falchion torn, But Hassan's frown and furious word And crimson as those clouds of morn Are dreaded more than hostile sword, That, streak'd with dusky red, portena Nor of his little band a man The day shall have a stormy end; Resign'd carbine or ataghan, A stain on every bush that bore Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun! e A fragment of his oalampore,30 9 3138 BYRON'S WORKS His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven, Whereon can now be scarcely read His back to earth, his face to heaven, The Koranverse that mourns the dead. Fallen Hassan lies-his unclosed eye Point out the spot where Hassan fell'et lowering on his enemy, A victim in that lonely dell. As if the hour that seal'd his fate There sleeps as true an Osmanli. Surviving left his quenchless hate; As e'er at Mecca bent the knee; And o'er him bends that foe with brow As ever scorn'd forbidden wine, As dark as his that bled below.- Or pray'd with face towards the shrine, *. * ~* *~ *. In orisons resumed anew At solemn sound of " Alla Hu! " 3 "Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave, Yet died he by a stranger's hand, But his shall be a redder grave; And stranger in his native land; Her spirit pointed well the steel Yet died he as il arms he stood, Which taught that felon heart to feel. And unavenged, at least in blood. He call'd the Prophet, but his power But him the maids of paradise Was vain against the vengeful Giaour Impatient to their halls invite, He call'd on Alla-but the word And the dark heaven of Houri's eyes Arose unheeded or unheard. On him shall glance for ever bright; Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer They come-their kerchiefs green they wave, Be pass'd, and thine accorded there! And welcome with a kiss the brave! I watch'd my time, I leagued with these, Who falls in battle'gainst a Giaour The traitor in his turn to seize; Is worthiest an iimmnortal bower. My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done, * * * * *. And now I go-but go alone." * * * * * *. But thou, false infidel! shalt writhe * * * * * * Beneath avenging Monkir's 35 scythe; And from its torment'scape alone The browzing camels' bells are tinkling: To wander round lost Eblis' 36 throne; His mother look'd from her lattice high- And fire unquench'd, unquenchable, She saw the dews of eve besprinkling Around, within, thy heart shall dwell; The pasture green beneath her eye, Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell She saw the planets faintly twinkling: The tortures of that inward hell!' "T is twilight-sure his train is nigh." But first, on earth as vampire 3" sent, She could not rest in the garden-bower, Thy-corse shall from its tomb be rent: But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower Then ghastly haunt thy native place,'Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet, And suck the blood of all thy race; Nor shrink they from the summer heat; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, Why sends not the bridegroom his promised gift? At midnight drain the stream of life; Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift? Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now Must feed thy livid living corse: Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow, Thy victims ere they yet expire And warily the steep descends, Shall know the demon for their sire, And now within the valley bends; As cursing thee, thou cursing them, And he bears the gift at his saddle-bow- Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem. I ow could I deem his courser slow? But one that for thy crime must fall, Right well my largess shall repay The youngest, most beloved of all, His welcome speed, and weary-way." Shall bless thee with a father's nameThe Tartar lighted at the gate, That word shall wrap thy heart in flame! But scarce upheld his fainting weight: Yet must thou end thy task, and mark Hiis swarthy visage spake distress, Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark, Butt this might be from weariness; And the last glassy glance must view His garb with sanguine spots was dyed, Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue; But these might be from his courser's side; Then with unhallow'd hand shalt tear He drew the token from his vest- The tresses of her yellow hair, Angel of Death!'t is Hassan's cloven crest! Of which in life a lock, when shorn, His calpac' t rent-his caftan red- Affection's fondest pledge was worn;' Lady, a fearful bride thy son'hath wed: But now is borne away by thee, Me, not from mercy, did they spare, Memorial of thine agony! But this ernpurpled pledge to bea.. Wet with thine own best blood shall drip 39 Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip; Woe to the Giaour' for his the guilt." Then, stalking to thy sullen grave, *. *,. * Go-and with Gouls and Afrits rave; Till these in horror shrink away A turban 32 carved in coarsest stone, From spectre more accursed than they! A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown, * *, THE GIAOUR. 139 " How name ye yon lone Caloyer? Not oft to smile descendeth he, His features I have scann'd before And when he d6th't is sad to see In mine own land:'t is many a year, That he but mocks at misery. Since, dashing by the lonely shore, How that pale lip will curl and quiver! I saw him urge as fleet a steed Then fix once more as if for ever; As ever served a horseman's need. As if his sorrow or disdain But once I saw that face, yet then Forbade him e'er to smile again. It was so mark'd with inward pain, Well were it so-such ghastly mirth I could not pass it by again; From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth..t breathes the same dark spirit now, But sadder still it were to trace As death were stamp'd upon his brow." What once were feelings in that face: Time hath not yet the features fix'd, "'T is twice three years at summer-tide But brighter traits with evil mix'd; Since first among our freres he came; And there are hues not always faded, And here it soothes him to abide Which speak a mind not all degraded, For some dark deed he will not name. Even by the crimes through which it waded: But never at our vesper prayer, The common crowd but see the gloom Nor e'er before confession chair Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom; Kneels he, nor recks he when arise The close observer can espy Incense or anthem to the skies, A noble soul, and lineage high: But broods within his cell alone, Alas! though both bestow'd in vain, His faith and race alike unknown. Which grief could change; and guilt could sta!n, The sea from Paynim land he crost, It was no vulgar tenement And here ascended from the coast;- To which such lofty gifts were lent, Yet seems he not of Othman race, And still with little less than dread But only Christian in his face: On such the sight is riveted. I'd judge him some stray renegade, The roofless cot, decay'd and rent, Repentant of the change he made, Will scarce delay the passer-by; Save that he shuns our holy shrine, The tower by war or tempest bent, Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. While yet may frown one battlement, Great largess to these walls he brought, Demands and daunts the stranger's eye; And thus our abbot's favour bought: Each ivied arch, and pillar lone, But, were I prior, not a day Pleads haughtily for glories gone! Should brook such stranger's further stay, "His floating robe around him folding, Or, pent within our penance cell, Slow sweeps he through the column'd aisa, Should doom him there for aye to dwell. With dread beheld, with gloom beholding Much in his visions mutters he The rites that sanctify the pile. Of maiden whelm'd beneath the sea; But when the anthem shakes the choir, Of sabres clashing, foemen flying, And kneel the monks, his steps retire; Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying. By yonder lone and wavering torch On cliff he hath been known to stand, His aspect glares within the porch; And rave as to-some bloody hand There will he pause till all is doneFresh sever'd from its parent limb, And hear the prayer, but utter none. Invisible to all but him, See-by the half-illumined wall Which beckons onward to his grave, His hood fly back, his dark hair fall, And lures to leap into the wave." That pale brow wildly wreathing round, ** * * * * As if the Gorgon there had bound * * * * * * The sablest of the serpent-braid Dark and unearthly is the scowl That o'er her fearful forehead stray'd: That glares beneath his dusky cowl: For he declines the convent oath, The flash of that dilatnm eye And leaves those locks' unhallow'd growth, Reveals too much of times gone by; But wears our garb in all beside; Though varying, indistinct its hue, And, not from piety but pride, Oft will his glance the gazer rue, Gives wealth to walls that never heard For in it lurks that nameless spell Of his one holy vow nor word. Which speaks, itself unspeakable, Lo!-mark ye, as the harmony A spirit yet unqtlell'd and high, Peals louder praises to the sky, That claims and keeps ascendancy; That livid cheek, that stony air And like the bird whose pinions quake, Of mix'd defiance and despair! But cannot fly the gazing snake, Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine' Will others quail beneath his look, Else may we dread the wrath divine Nor'scape the glance they scarce can brook. Made manifest by awful sign. From him the half-affrighted friar If ever evil angel bore When met alone would fain retire, The form of mortal, such he woic: As if that eye and bitter smile By all my hope of sins forgiven, Transferr'd to others fear and guile: Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!" ,40 BYRON'S WORKS. To love the softest hearts are prone, Of passions fierce and uncontrJlld, But such can ne'er be all his own; Such as thy penitents unfold, Too timid in his woes to share, Whose secret sins and sorrows rest Too meek to meet, or brave despair; Within thy pure and pitying breast. And sterner hearts alone may feel My days, though few, have pass'd below The wound that time can never heal. In much of joy, but more of woe; The rugged metal of the mine Yet still in hours of love or strife, Must burn before its surface shine, I've'scaped the weariness of life: But plunged within the furnace-flame, Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes, It bends and melts —though still the same; I loathed the languor of repose. Then temper'd to thy want, or will, Now nothing left to love or hate,'T will serve thee to defend or kill; No more with hope or pride elate, A breastplate for thine hour of need, I'd rather be the thing that crawls Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed; Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls, But if a dagger's form it bear, Than pass my dull, unvarying days, Let those who shape its edge beware! Condemn'd to meditate and gaze. Thus passion's fire, and woman's art, Yet, lurks a wish within my breast Can turn and tame the sterner heart; For rest-but not to feel't is rest. From these its form and tone are ta'en, Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil; And what they make it, must remain, And I shall sleep without the dream But break-before it bend again. Of what I was, and would be still, * * * * * * Dark as to thee my deeds may seem: * * * * * * My memory now is but the tomb If solitude succeed to grief, Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom: Release from pain is slight relief; Though better to have died with those The vacant bosom's wilderness Than bear a life of lingering woes. Might thank the pang that made it less. My spirits shrunk not to sustain We loathe what none are left to share: The searching throes of ceaseless pain: Even bliss-'t were woe alone to bear; Nor sought the self-accorded grave The heart once left thus desolate Of ancient fool and modern knave: Must fly at last for ease-to hate. Yet death I have not fear'd to meet; It is as if the dead could feel And in the field it had been sweet The icy worm around them steal, Had danger woo'd me on to move And shudder, as the reptiles creep The slave of glory, not of love. To revel o'er their rotting sleep, I've braved it-not for honour's boast; Without the power to scare away I smile at laurels won or lost; The cold consumers of their clay! To such let others carve their way, It is as if the desert-bird,39 For high renown, or hireling pay: Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream But place again before my eyes -To still her famish'd nestlings' scream, Aught that I deem a worthy prize; Nor mourns a life to them transferr'd, The maid I love, the man I hate, Should rend her rash devoted breast, And I will hunt the steps of fate, And-find them flown her empty nest. To save or slay, as these require, The keenest pangs the wretched find Through rending steel, and rolling fire: Are rapture to the dreary void, Nor need'st thou doubt this speech from one The leafless desert of the mind, Who would but do-what he hath done. The waste of feelings unemploy'd. Death is but what the haughty brave, Who would be doom'd to gaze upon The weak must bear, the wretch must crave; A sky without a cloud or sun? Then let life go to him who gave: Iess hideous far the tempest's roar I have not quail'd to danger's brow Than ne'er to brave the billows more- When high and happy-need I now? Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, * * * * * * A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, "I loved her, friar! nay, adored-'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay, But these are words that all can useUnseen to drop by dull decay:- I proved it more in deed than word; Better to sink beneath the shock, There's blood upon that dined sword, Than moulder piecemeal on the rock! A stain its steel can never lose: * * *- * * **'T was shed for her, who died for me, "Father! thy days have pass'd in peace, It warm'd the heart of one abhorr'd:'Mid counted beads, and countless prayer Nay, start not-no-nor bend thy knee, To bid the sins of others cease, Nor midst my sins such act record: Thyseif without a crime or care, Thou wilt absolve me from the deed, Sa~ e transient ills that all must bear, Forhe was hostile to thy creed! Has oeen thy lot from youth to age; The very name of Nazarene And thou wil. bless thee from the rage Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen. THE GIAOUR. 14 Ungrateful fool! since but for brands Lips taught to writhe, but not complain, Well wielded in some hardy hands, If bursting heart, and madd'ning brain, And wounds by Galileans given, And daring deed, and vengeful steel, The surest pass to Turkish heaven, And all that I have felt, and feel, For him his Houris still might wait Betoken love-that love was mine, Impatient at the prophet's gate. And shown by many a bitter sign. I loved her-love will find its way'T is true I could not whine nor sigh, Through paths where wolves would fear to prey, I knew but to obtain or die. And if it dares enough,'t were hard I die-but first I have possess'd, f passion met not some reward- And, come what may, I have been blest. No matter how, or where, or why, Shall I the doom I sought upbraid? I did not vainly seek, nor sigh: No-reft of all, yet undismay'd Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain But for the thought of Leila slain, I wish she had not loved again. Give me the pleasure with the pain, She died-I dare not tell thee how; So would I live and love again. But look-'t is written on my brow! I grieve, but not, my holy guide! There read of Cain the curse and crime For him who dies, but her who died: In characters unworn by time: She sleeps beneath the wandering waveStill, ere thou dost condemn me, pause; Ah! had she but an earthly grave, Not mine the act, though I the cause. This breaking heart and throbbing head Yet did he but what I had done Should seek and share her narrow bed. Had she been false to more than one. She was a form of life and light, Faithless to him, he gave the blow; That, seen, became a part of sight; But true to me, I laid him low: And rose where'er I turn'd mine eye, Howe'er deserved her doom might be, The morning-star of memory! Her treachery was truthj to me; To me she gave her heart, that all Which tyranny can ne'er enthral;, Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; And I, alas! too late to save! A spark of that immortal fire Yet all I then could give, I gave, With angels shared, by Alla given,'T was some relief, our foe a grave. To lift from earth our low desire. His death sits lightly; but her fate Devotion wafts the mind above, Has made me-what thou well may'st hate. But heaven itself descends in love; His doom was seal'd-he knew it well, A feeling from the Godhead caught, ATarn'd by the voice of stern Taheer, To wean from self each sordid thought; Deep in whose darkly-boding ear4 A ray of him who form'd the whole; The death-shot pealPd of murder near, A glory circling round the soul! As filed the troop to where they fell! I grant my love imperfect, all He died too in the battle broil, That mortals by the name miscall; A time that heeds nor pain nor toil; Then deem it evil, what thou wilt; One cry to Mahomet for aid, But say, oh say, hers was not guilt f One prayer to Alla all he made: She was my life's unerring light; He knew and cross'd me in the fray — That quench'd, what beam shall break my mnitt? I gazed upon him where he lays Oh! would it shone to lead me still, And watch'd his spirit ebb away: Although to death or deadliest ill! Though pierced like pard by hunters' steel, Why marvel ye, if they who lose He felt not half that now I feel. This present joy, this future hope, I search'd, but vainly search'd, to find No more with sorrow meekly cope; The workings of a wounded mind; In phrensy then their fate accuse: Each feature of that sullen corse In madness do those fearful deeds Betray'd his rage, but no remorse. That seem to add but guilt to woe? Oh, what had vengeance given to trace Alas! the breast that inly bleeds Despair upon his dying face! Hath nought to dread from outward blow, The late repentance of that houri Who falls from all he knows of bliss, When penitence hath lost her power Cares little into what abyss. To tear one terror from the grave, Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now And will not soothe, and cannot save. To thee, old man, my deeds -appear: * * * * * * I read abhorrence on thy brow, " The cold in clime are cold in blood, And this too was I born to bear! Their love can scarce deserve the name;'T is true, that, like that bird of prey, But mine was like the lava flood With havoc have I mark'd my way. That boils in Etna's breast of flame. But this was taught me by the dove, I cannot prate in puling strain To die-and know no second love. Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain: This lesson yet hath man to learn, If changing cheek, and scorching vein, Taught by the thing he dares to snunr Q 142 BYRON'S WORKS. The bird that sings within the brake, Say-that his bodings came to pass, The swan that swims upon the lake, And he will start to hear their truth, One mate, and one alone, will take. And wish his words had not been sooth: And let the fool still prone to range, Tell him, unheeding as I was, And sneer on all who cannot change, Through many a busy bitter scene Partake his jest with boasting boys; Of all our golden youth had been, I envy not his varied joys, In pain, my faltering tongue had tried But deem such feeble, heartless man, To bless his memory ere I died; Less than yon solitary swan; But Heaven in wrath would turn away, Far, far beneath the shallow maid If guilt should for the guiltless pray. He left believing and betraytd. I do not ask him not to blame, Such shame at least was never mine- Too gentle he to wound my name; Leila! each thought was only thine! And what have I to do with fame? My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe, I do not ask him not to mourn, My hope on high-my all below. Such cold request might sound like scurn; Earth holds no other like to thee, And what than friendship's manly tear Or if it doth, in vain for me: May better grace a brother's bier? For worlds I dare not view the dame But bear this ring, his own of old, Resembling thee, yet not the same. And tell him-what thou dost behold! The very crimes that mar my youth, The wither'd frame, the ruined mind, This bed of death-attest my truth! The wreck by passion left behind,'T is all too late-thou wert, thou art A shrivell'd scroll, a scattered leaf, The cherish'd madness of my heart! Sear'd by the autumn blast of grief! "And she was lost-and yet I breathed, * * * * * * But not the breath of human life: m n m o "Tell me no more of fancy's gleam, A serpent round my heart was wreathed, No,father,no,was notdream And stung my every thought to strife. Alas the dreamer first must sleep Alike all time, abhorr'd all place, onlywatch, andwishd toweep I only watch'd, and wish'd to weep, Shuddering I shrunk from nature's face, But could not, for my burning brow Where every hue that charm'd before Throbbd to the very brain as now: The blackness of my bosom wore. The blackness of my bosom wore. I wish'd but for a single tear, The rest thou dost already know, The rest thou dost already know, As something welcome, new, and dear. And all my sins, and half my woe. I wish'ditthen, I wishitstillBut tallk no more of penitence; Despair is stronger than my will. Thou see'st I soon shall part from hence: aste not thine orison, despair And if thy holy tale were true, s mi r t The deed that's done can'st thou undo? woul not i ee I would not, if I might, be blest; Think me not thankless-but this grief I want no paradise, but rest. Looks not to priesthood for relief.4 4 1 w, b rest. Looks not to priesthood for relief.4''T was then, I tell thee, father! then My soul's estate in secret guess: I saw her yes, she lived aain But wouldst thou pity more, say less. And shining in her white syar42 When thou canst bid my Leila live, As through yon pale gray cloud the star Then will I sue thee to forgive; Which now I gaze on, as on her Then plead my cause in that high place Who look'd and looks far lovelier Where purchased masses proffer grace. Dimly I view its trembling spark: Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung To-morrow's night shall be more dark From forest-cave her shrieking young, And I, before its rays appear, And calm the lonely lioness: That lifeless thing the living fear. But soothe not-mock not my distress! I wonder, father! for my soul "In earlier days, and calmer hours, Is fleeting towards the final goal When heart with heart delights to blend, I saw her, friar! and I rose Where bloom my native valley's bowers Forgetful of our former woes; I had-ah! have I now?-a friend! And rushing from my couch, I dart, To hin this pledge I charge thee send, And clasp her to my desperate heart* Memorial of a youthful vow; I clasp-what is it that I clasp? I would remind him of my end: No breathing form within my grasp, Though souls absorb'd like mine-allow No heart that beats reply to mine. Brief thought to distant friendship's claim, Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine! Yet dear to him my blighted name. - And art thou, dearest, changed so much,'T is strange-he prophesied my doom, As meet my eye, yet mock my touch? And I have smiled-I then could smile- Ah! were thy beauties e'er so cold, When prudence would his voice assume, I care not; so my arms enfold Ana warn-I reck'd not what-the while: The all they ever wish'd to hold, But now remembrance whispers o'er -Alas! around a shadow prest, Those accents scarcely mark'd before. They shrink upon my lonely breast; THE GIAOUR. 143 Yet still't is there! in silence stands, Note 5. Page 133, line 48. And beckons with beseeching hands! The first, last look by death reveal'd. With braided hair, and bright-black eye- I trust that few of my readers have ever had an op I knew't was false-she could not die! portunity of witnessing what is here attempted in deBut he is dead! within the dell scription, but those who have, will probably retain a I saw him buried where he fell; painful remembrance of that singular beauty which He comes not, for he cannot break pervades, with few exceptions, the features of the dead, From earth; why then art thou awake? a few hours, and but for a few hours, after " the spirit They told me wild waves roll'd above is-not there." It is to be remarked, in cases of violent The face I view, the form I love; death by gun-shot wounds, the expression is always They told me-'t was a hideous tale! that of languor, whatever the natural energy of the I'd tell it, but-my tongue would fail: sufferer's character; but in death from a stab the counIf true, and from thine ocean-cave tenance preserves its traits of feeling or ferocity, and Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave, the mind its bias to the last. Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er V -~ r —-- -— ~ — ~~~ ---- Note 6. Page 133, line 110. This brow that then will burn no more; oe 6Pae s, line l0. Or place them on my hopeless heart: Slaves-nay, the bondsmen of a slave. But, shape or shade! whate'er thou art, Athens is the property of the Kislar Aga (the slave In mercy ne'er again depart! of the seraglio, and guardian of the women), who apOr farther with thee bear my soul, points the Waywode. A pander and eunuch-these Than winds can waft, "r Eaters roll! are not polite, yet true appellations-now governs the *,* -, * * governor of Athens! Note 7. Page 134, line 23. " Such is my name, and such my tale.'T is calmer than thy heart, young Giaour. Confessor! to thy secret ear Infidel. I breathe the sorrows I bewail, Note 8. Pace 134, line 58. And thank thee for the generous tear 13, le this glazing eye could never shed. In echoes of the far tophaike. Then lay me with the humblest dead, " Tophaike" musket.-The Bairam is announcedr And, save the cross above my head, by the cannon at sunset; the illumination of the Mosques, Be neither name nor emblem spread, and the firing of all kinds of smali arms, loaded with By prying stranger to be read, ball, proclaim it during the night. Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread." Note 9. Page 134, line 84. He pass'd-nor of his name and race Swift as the hurl'd on high jerreed. Hath left a token or a trace, Hath left a token or a trace, Jerreed, or Djerrid, a blunted Turkish javelin, which Save what the father must not say Save what the father must not say is darted from horseback with great force and precision. ho shrived him on his dying day: It is a favourite exercise of the Mussulmans; but I This broken tale was all we knew know not if it can be called a manly one, since!he most Of her he loved, or him he slew. 43 Of lier he loved, or him he slew. expert in the art are the Black Eunuchs of C onstanti_'___________________________________ nople-I think, next to these, a Mamlouk at Smyrna was the most skilful that came within my observation. N OTES. Note 10. Page 134, line 115. He came, he went, like the simoom. Note 1. Page 132, line 3. The blast of the desert, fatal to every thing living, That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff. and often alluded to in eastern poetry. A tomb above the rocks on the promontory, by some Note 11. Page 135, line 47. supposed the sepulchre of Themistocles. To bless the sacred " bread and salt." Note 2. Page 132, line 22. To partake of food, to break bread and salt with Sultana-of the nightingale. your host, insures the safety of the guest; even though The attachment of the nightingale to the rose is a an enemy, his person from that moment is sacred. well-known Persian fable. If I mistake not, the "Bul- Note 12. Page 135, line 55. bul of a thousand tales" is one of his appellations. Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre. Note 3. Page 132, line 40. I need hardly observe, that Charity and Hospitality Till the gay mariner's guitar. are the first duties enjoined by Mahomet; and, to say The guitar is the constant amusement of the Greek truth, very generally practised by his disciples. Thlsailor by night: with a steady fair wind, and during a first praise that can be bestowed on a chief is a puntcalm, it is accompanied always by the voice, and often gyric on his bounty; the next on his valour. by dancing. Note 13. Page 135, line 69. Note 4. Page 133, line 40. And silver-sheathed atagnan. Where cold obstruction's apathy. The ataghan, a long dagger worn with pistols in ime "Ay, but to die and go we know not where, belt, in a metal scabbard, generally of silver; alt. To lie in cold obstruction.".Measure for.Measure, Act III. 130. Se. 2. among the wealthier, gilt or of gold, 144 BYRON'S WORKS. Note 14. Page 135, line 61. paradise to well-behaved women: but by far me greater An emir by his garb of green. number of Mussulmans interpret the text their own Green is the privileged colour of the prophet's nu- way, and exlude their moieties from heaven. Being ierous pretended descendants; with them, as here, enemies to Platonics, they cannot discern "any fitness faith (the family inheritance) is supposed to supersede of things" in the souls of the other sex, conceiving the necessity of good works they are the worst of a them to be superseded by the Houris. very indifferent brobd. very indiffierent brood. INote 23. Page' 136, line 75. Note 15. Page 135, line 62. The young pomegranate's blossoms strew. "Ho! who art thou?-this low salam," etc. An oriental simile, which may, perhaps, though fairly Salam aleikoum! aleikoum salam! peace be with you; stolen, be deemed "plus Arabe qu'en Arabic." be with you peace-the salutation reserved for the faithful:-to a Christian, "Urlarula," a good journey;. Pe 1 l er hair in hyacinthine flow. or saban hiresem, saban serula; good morn, good even; Hyacinthine, in Arabic, "Sunbul;" as common a and sometimes, "may your end be happy;" are the y i A usual salutimes, "may your end be apptalutes. thought in the eastern poets, as it was among the asual salutes. Greeks. Note 16. Page 135, lne 93. The insect-queen of eastern spring,ote 25. The loveliest bird of Franguestan. The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, the most.. J " -^i^,.' Franguestan," Circassia. rare and beautiful of the species., Note 26. Page 137, line 26. Note 17. Page 136, line 15. ZD "Bismillah! now the peril's past," etc. -Or live like scorpion girt by fire. Aluding to the dubious suicide of the scorpion, so Bismillah-" In the name of God;" the commence. placed for experiment by gentle philosophers. Some ment of all the chapters of the Koran but one, and of maintain that the position of the sting, when turned prayer and thanksgiving. towards the head, is merely a convulsive movement: Note 27. Page 137, line 51. but others have actually brought in the verdict, "Felo Then curl'd his very board with ire. de se." The scorpions are surely interested in a speedy A phenomenon not uncommon with an angry Mussuldecision of the question; as, if once fairly established man. In 1809, the Capitan Pacha's whiskers at a as insect Catos, they will probably be allowed to live diplomatic audience, were not less lively with indignaas long as they think proper, without being martyred tion than a tiger cat's, to the horror of all the dragofor the sake of a hypothesis. mans; the portentous mustachios twisted, they stood Note 18. Pase 136, line 30. erect of their own accord, and were expected every When Rhanwazan's last sun was set moment to change their colour, but at last condescended The cannon at sunset close the Rhamazan. See to subside, which probably saved more heads than they note 8. contained hairs. Note!9. Page 136, line49. Note 28. Page 137, line 61. By paie Phingari's trembling light. Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun! Phingari, the moon. " Amaun," quarter, pardon. Note 20. Page 136, line 60. Note 29. Page 137, line 70. Bri'ht as the jewel of Giamschid. I know him by the evil eye. The celebrated fabulous ruby of Sultan Giamschid, The " evil eye," a common superstition in the Lethe embellisher of Istakhar; fiom its splendour, named vant, and of which the imaginary effects are yet very Schebgerag, "' the torch of night;" also, "the cup of singular, on those who conceive themselves affected. the sun," etc.-In the first editions, " Giamschid " was Note 30. Page 137, line 124. written as a word of three syllables, so D'Ierbelot A fragment of his palampore. has it; but I am told Richardson reduces it to a dis- The flowered shawls, generally worn by persons of syllable, and writes "Jamshid." I have left in the rank. text the orthography of the one with the pronunciation Note 31. Page 138, line 51. of:he other. His calpac rent-his caftan red. Note 21. Page 136, line 64. The " Calpac" is the solid cap or centre part of the Though on Al-Sirat's arch I stood. head-dress; the shawl is wound round it, and forms AI-Sirat, the bridge, of breadth less than the thread the turban. of a famished spider, over which the Mussulmans must Note 32. Page 138, line 57. skate into paradise; to which it is the only entrance; A turban carved in coarse st stone. but this is not the worst, the river beneath being hell The turban, pillar, and inscniptive verse, decorate itself, into which, as may be expected, the unskilful the tombs of the Osmanlies, w ether in the cemetery alnd tender of foot contrive to tumble with a "facilis or the wilderness. In the mountains you frequently tlJsceniAs Averni," not very pleasing in prospect to the pass similar mementos; and, on inquiry, you are in-'exL passenger. There is a shorter cut downwards for formed, that they record some victim of rebellion, re Jews and Christians. plunder, or revenge. Note 22.- rage 136, line 69. Note 33. Page 138, line 68. And keep that portion of his creed. At solemn sound of "Allu Hu!" A. vulgar error the Koran allots at least a third of "Alla Hu!" the concluding words of the Muezzin's THE GIAOUR. 145 call to prayer from the highest gallery on the exterior passes to Ephesus, Messalunghi, or Lepanto; there are ot the minaret. On a still evening, when the Muezzin plenty of us, well armed, and the Choriates have not has a fine voice, which is frequently the case, the ef- courage to be thieves."-" True, Affendi; but never feet is solemn and beautiful beyond all the bells in theless the shot is ringing in my ears."-" The shot!Christendom. not a tophaike has been fired this morning."-" I hear it line 7. notwithstanding-Borm-Bom-as plainly as I hear your Noe 34 Pae 138,l. voice*"-"Psha."-"As you please, Affendi; if it is They come-their kerchiefs green they wave. l tis qi d p i The following is part of a battle-song of the Turks: written, so t be I left this quk-ared predest -"I see-I see a dark-eyed girl of paradise, and she rarian, and rode up to Basili,his Christian compatriot, waves a handkerchief, a kerchief of green; and cries whose ears, though not at all prophetic, by no means aloud, Come, kiss me for I love thee," etc. relishedthe intelligence. We all arrived at Colonna, remained a few hours, and returned leisurely, saying a vaNote 35. Page 138, line 82. riety of brilliant things, in nore languages than spoiled Beneath avenging Monkir's scythe. the building of Babel, upon the mistaken seer; Romaic, Monkir and Nekir are the inquisitors of the dead, Arnaout, Turkish,Italian, andEnglishwereallexercised, before whom the corpse undergoes a slight noviciate in various conceits, upon the unfortunate Mussulman. and preparatory training for damnation. If the an- While we were contemplating the beautiful prospect, swers are none of the clearest, he is hauled up with a Dervish was occupied about the columns. I thought he scythe and thumped down with a red-hot mace till prop- was deranged into an antiquarian, and asked him if he erly seasoned, with a variety of subsidiary probations. had become a "Palaocastro' man. "No," said he, The office of these angels is no sinecure; there are but " but these pillars will be useful in making a stand;" two, and the number of orthodox deceased being in a and added other remarks, which at least evinced his own small proportion to the remainder, their hands are al- belief in his troublesome faculty offore-hearing. On our ways full. return to Athens, we heard from Leone (a prisoner set Note 36. Page 138, line 84. ashore some days after) of the intended attack of the To wander round lost Eblis' throne. Mainotes, mentioned, with the cause of its not taking Eblis, the Oriental Prince of Darkness. place, in the notes to Childe Harold, Canto 2d. I was Note 37. Page 138, line 89. at some pains to question the man, and he described the But first, on earth, as vampire sent. dresses, arms, and marks of the horses of our party so The Vampire superstition is still general in the Le- accurately, that, with other circumstances, we could not vant. Honest Tournefort tells a long story, which Mr. doubt of his having been in "villanous company," and Southey, in the notes on Thalaba, quotes about these ourselves in a bad neighbourhood. Dervish became a "Vroucolochas," as he calls them. The Romaic term is soothsayer for life, and I dare say is now hearing more "Vardoulacha." I recollect a whole family being terri- musketry than ever will be fired, to the great refreshfled by the scream of a child, which they imagined ment of the Arnaouts of Berat, and his native mounmust proceed from such a visitation. The Greeks tains.-I shall mention one trait more of this singular never mention the word without horror. I find that race. In March 1811, a remarkably stout and active "Broucolokas" is an old legitimate Hellenic appellation Arnaout came (I believe the 50th on the same errand) -at least is so applied to Arsenius, who, according to to offer himself as an attendant, which was declined: the Greeks, was after his death animated by the Devil. "Well, Affendi," quoth he, "may you live!-yoiu The moderns, however, use the word I mention. would have found me useful. I shall leave the town foi oeNote 38. Pague e138, line 115. ithe hills to-morrow; in the winter I return, perhaps you Note 38. Page 138, line 115. will then receive me." —Dervish, who was present, Wet with thine own best blood shall drip. Wet with thine own best blood shall drip remarked, as a thing of course, and of no consequence, The freshness of the face, and the wetness of the lip in the mean time he will join the Klephtes" (robwith blood, are the never-failing signs of a Vampire. bers), which was true to the letter.-Ifnot cut off, they The stories told in Hungary and Greece of these foul came down in the winter, and pass it unmolested in feeders are singular, and some of them most incredibly some town, where they are often as well known as their attested. exploits.' Note 39. Page 140, line 36. Note 41. Page 142, line 36. It is as if the desert-bird. Looks not to priesthood for relief.' he pelican is, I believe, the bird so libelled, by the The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had imputation of feeding her chickens with her blood. so little effect upon the patient, that it could have no Note 40. Pae 141, line 36. hopes from the reader. It may be sufficient to say, that *;ep.in w t?. it was of a customary length (as may be perceived from Deep in whose darkly-boding ear. the interruptions and uneasiness of the penitent), ana This superstition of a second-hearing (for I never met was delivered in the nasal tone of all orthodox preaches with downright second-sight in the east) fell once under my own ooservation.-On my third journey to Cape Note 42. Page 142, line 102. /olonna early in 1811, as we passed through the defile And shiningin her white symar. that leads from the hamlet between Keratia and Colonna, "Symar"-shroud. I observed Dervish Tahiri riding rather out of the path, Note 43. Page 143, line 37 and leaning his head upon his hand, as if in pain. I rode The circumstance to which the above story relate, up and inquired. " We are in peril," he answered, was not very uncommon in Turkey. A few years ago What peril? we are not now in Albania, nor in the the wife of Muchtar Pacha comolained to has father cl 0.2 24 146 BYRON'S WORKS. his son's supposed infidelity; he asked with whom, and and I regret that my memory has retained so few frag. she had the barbarity to- give in a list of the twelve ments of the original. handsomest women in Yanina. They were seized, fast- For the contents of some of the notes I am indebted ened up in sacks, and drowned in the lake the same partly to D'Herbelot, and part y to that most eastern, night! One of the guards who was present informed and, as Mr. Weber justly entitles it, "sublime tale," the me, that not one of the victims uttered a cry, or showed "Caliph Vathek." I do not know from what source a symptom of terror at so sudden a " wrench from all tile author of that singular volume may have drawn his we know, from all we love." The fate of Phrosine, the materials; some of his incidents are to be found in the fairest of this sacrifice, is the subject of many a Romaic " Bibliotheque Orientale;" but for correctness of cosand Arnaout ditty. The story in the text is one told of tume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, a young Venetian many years ago, and now nearly for- it far surpasses all European imitations; and bears such gotten. I heard it by accident recited by one of the marks of originality, that those who have visited the East coffee-house story-tellers who abound in the Levant, will find some difficulty in believing it to be more than and sing or recite their narratives. The additions and a translation. As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must interpolations by the translator will be easily distin- bow before it; his "Happy Valley" will not bear a guished from the rest by the want of Eastern imagery; comparison with the " Hall of Eblis." rI 33trie of rtbtoG; A TURKISH TALE. Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted. BURNS. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD HOLLAND, THIS TALE IS INSCRIBED, WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT, BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED AND SINCERE FRIEND, BYRON. CANTO I. Begirt with many a gallant slave, Apparell'd as becomes the brave, I.; Awaiting each his lord's behest, KNow ye the land where the cypress and myrtle To guide his steps, or guard his rest, Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Old Giaffir sate in his Divan: Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Deep thought was in his aged eye; Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime! And though the face of Mussulman Know ye the land of the-cedar and vine, Not oft betrays to standers by Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine mind within, well skill'd to hide Where the light wings ofZephyr,oppress'dwith perfume, All bt unconquerable pride, His pensive cheek and pondering brow VWax faint o'er the gardens of Gull' in her bloom ering brow Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, id more than he was wont avow And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; III. Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, "Iet thechamber be clear'd."-The train disappear'dIn1 colour though varied, in beauty may vie, "Now call me the chief of the Haram guard." And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye; With Giaffir is none but his only son, Where the virgins ate soft as the roses they twine, And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? " Haroun-when all the crowd that wait'T is the clime of the east;'t is the land of the sun- Are pass'd beyond the outer gate Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done?2 (Woe to the head whose eye beheld Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell My child Zuleika's face unveil'd!) Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they Hence, lead my daughter from her tower; sit. Her fate is fix'd this very hour: THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 147 Yet not to her repeat my thought; V. By me alone be duty taught!" No sound from Selim's lip was neard, "Pacha! to hear is to ohey." At least that met old Giaffir's ear, " Pacha! to hear is to obey." v X No more must slave to despot say- But every fwn and every word Pierced keener than a Christian's sword. Then to the tower had ta'en his way, Son But here young Selim silence brake,proach with fear Those gibes had cost another dear. First lowly rendering reverence meet: another dear. And downcast look'd, and gently spake, Son of a slave!-and who my sire? Sti 1 standing at the Pacha's feet: Thus held his thoughts their dark career For son of Moslem must expire, And glances even of more than ire Ere dare to sit before his sire! iFlash forth, then faintly disappear. Ere dare to sit before his sire t Old Giaffir gazed upon his son "Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide And started; for within his eye My sister, or her sable guide, He read how much his wrath had done; Know-for the fault, if fault there be, He saw rebellion there begun: Was mine; then fall thy frowns on me- " Come hither, boy-what, no reply? So lovelily the morning shone, I mark thee-and I know thee too; That-let the old and weary sleep- But there be deeds thou darest not do: I could not; and to view alone But if thy beard had manlier length, The fairest scenes of land and deep, And if thy hand had skill and strength, With none to listen and reply I'd joy to see thee break a lance, To thoughts with which my heart beat high, Albeit against my own perchance." Were irksome-for, whate'er my mood, As sneeringly these accents fell In sooth I love not solitude; On Selim's eyes he fiercely gazed: I on Zuleika's slumber broke, That eye return'd him glance for glance, And, as thou knowest that for me That proudly to his sire's was raised, Soon turns the Haram's grating key, Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk askanceBefore the guardian slaves awoke, And why-he felt, but durst not tell. We to the cypress groves had flown, I ms s w "Much I misdoubt this wayward boy And made earth, main, and heaven our own! o Will one day work me more annoy; There linger'd we, beguiled too long With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song; never l hi s arm is li orth, XnI uXAnd-but his arm is little worth, Till I, who heard the deep tambour 4nd sar i h e o o Beat thy Divan's approaching hour, And scarcely in the chase could cope Beat thy Divan's approaching hour, ith timid fawn or antelope With timid fawn or antelope, To thee and to my duty-true, Far less would venture into strife Warn'd by the sound, to greet thee flew: Where man contends for fame and lifeBut there Zuleik wanders yet-.Where man contends for fame and lifeBut there Zuleika wanders yet- I would not trust that look or tone: Nay, father, rage not-nor foraet No-nor the blood so near my own. That none can pierce that secret bower That blood-he hath not heard-no moreBut those who watch the women's tower." I watch him closer than before. IV. He is an Arab 5 to my sight, " Son of a slave!"-the Pacha said- Or Christian crouching in the fight"From unbelieving mother bred, But hark!-I hear Zuleika's voice; Vain were a father's hope to see Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear: Aught that beseems a man in thee. She is the offspring of my choice; Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow, Oh! more than even her mother dear, And hurl the dart, and curb the steed, With all to hope, and nought to fearThou, Greek in soul if not in creed, My Peri!'ever welcome here! Must pore where babbling waters flow, Sweet, as the desert-fountain's wave And watch unfolding roses blow. To lipsjust cool'd in time to saveWould that yon orb, whose matin glow Such to my longing sight art thou; Thy listless eyes so much admire, Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine Would lend thee something of his fire! More thanks for life, than I for thine, Thou, who wouldst see this battlement Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now. By Christian cannon piecemeal rent; VI. Nay, tamely view old Stambol's wall Fair, as the first that fell of womankind, Before the dogs of Moscow fall, When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling Nor strike one stroke for life and death Whose image then was stamp'd upon-her mindAgainst the curs of Nazareth! But once beguiled-and ever more beguiling; Go-let thy less than woman's hand Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision Assume the distaff —not the brand. To sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given, But, Haroun!-to my daughter speed: When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian. And hark-of thine own head take heed- And paints the lost on earth revives in heavvii, If thus Zuleika oft takes wing- Soft, as the memory of buried love-; Thou see'.4 yon bow-it hath a string!" Pure, as the prayer which childhood wafts abte .48 BYRON'S WORKS. Was she-the daughter of that rude old chief, So sweet the blush of bashfulness, Who met the maid with tears-but not of grief. Even pity scarce can wish it less! Whate'er it was the sire forgot; Who hath not proved how feebly words essay Or, if remembered, mark'd it not; To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray? Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steeo, Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Resign'd his gem-adorn'd Chibouke,'~ Faints into dimness with its own delight, And mounting featly for the mead, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess With Maugrabee 11 and Mamaluke, The might-the majesty of loveliness? His way amid hisDelis took,12 Such was Zuleika-such around her shone To witness many an active deed The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone: With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed. The light of love, the purity of grace, The Kislar only and his Moors The mind, the music breathing from her face," Watch'd well the Haram's massy doors. The heart whose softness harmonized the wholeAnd, oh! that eye was in itself a soul! h His head was leant upon his hand, Her gracefil arms in meekness bendin His eye look'd oer the dark-blue water Across her gently-budding breast, That swiftly glides and gently swells At one kind word, those arms extending Between the winding Dardanelles; To clasp the neck of him who blest But yet he saw nor sea nor strand His child caressing and carest, Nor even his Pacha's turban'd band His caild caressing and carest, Zuleika came-and Giaffir felt Mix in the game of mimic slaughter, His purpose half within him melt: Careering cleave the folded felt 13 Not that against her fancied weal With sabre stroke right sharply dealt; His heart, though stern, could ever feel; Nor markd the javeli-dartig crowd, nchain'her tothatheart; Nor heard their Ollahs 14 wild and louaAmbition tore the links apart. Ambition tore the links apart. He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter!,X. VII. No word from Selim's bosom broke; "Zuleika! child of gentleness! One sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke: How dear this very day must tell, Still gazed he through the lattice grate, When I forget my own distress, Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate. hI losing what I love so well, To him Zuleika's eye was turn'd, To bid thee with another dwell: But little from his aspect learn'd: Another! and a braver man Equal her grief, yet not the same; Was never seen in battle's van. Her heart confess'd a gentler flame: We Moslem reck not much of blood; But yet that heart alarm'd or weak, But yet the line of Carasman' She knew not why, forbade to speak, Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood Yet speak she must-but when essay? First of the bold Timariot bands " How strange he thus should turn away! That won and well can keep their lands. Not thus we e'er before have met; Enough that he who comes to woo Not thus shall be our parting yet." Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou: Thrice paced she slowly through the room His years need scarce a thought employ: And watch'd his eye-it still was fix'd: I would not have thee wed a boy. She snatch'd the urn wherein was mix'd And thou shalt have a noble dower: The Persian Atar-gul's I perfume, And his and my united power And sprinkled all its odours o'er Will laugh to scorn the death-firman, The pictured roof 6 and marble floor: Which others tremble but to scan, The drops, that through his glittering vest And teach the messengers what fate The playful girl's appeal addrest, The bearer of such boon may wait. Unheeded o'er his bosom flew, And now thou know'st thy father's will: As if that breast were marble too. All that thy sex hath need to know: c What, sullen yet? it mustnot beF' was mine to teach obedience still- Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!" The way to love thy lord may show." She saw in curious order set The fairest flowers of Eastern landVIII. "He loved them once; may touch them yet l'i silence bow'd the virgin's head; If offer'd by Zuleika's hand." And if hei eye was fill'd with tears, The childish thought was hardly.breath'd That stifled teeling dare, not shed, Before the rose was pluck'd and wreathed; And changed her cheek from pale to red, The next fond moment saw her seat And red to pale, as through her ears Her fairy form at Selim's feet: Those winged words lie arrows sped, "This rose to calm my brother's cares What could such be but maiden fears? A message from the Bulbul " bears; So bright the tear in beauty's eye, It says to-night he will prolong Love half regrets to kiss it dry; For Selim's ear his sweetest song; THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 1 1 And though his note is somewhat sad, I would not wrong the slenderest hair He'll try for once a strain more glad, That clusters round thy forehead fair, With some faint hope his alter'd lay For all the treasures buried far May sing these gloomy thoughts away. Within the caves of Istakar.'9 XI. This morning clouds upon me lowerd, " What! not receive nmy foolish flower? Reproaches on my head were shower'd, Nay then I am indeed unblest: And Giaffir almost called me coward! On me can thus thy forehead lower? Now I have motive to be brave; And know'st thou not who loves thee best? The son of his neglected slaveOh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest! Nay, start not,'t was the term he gaveSay, is it me thou hat'st or fearest? May show, though little apt to vaunt, Come, lay thy head upon my breast, A heart his words nor deeds can daunt. And I will kiss thee into rest, His son, indeed!-yet thanks to thee, Since words of mine, and songs must fail Perchance I am, at least shall be; Even from my fabled nightingale. But let our plighted secret vow I knew our sire at times was stern, Be only known to us as now. But this from thee had yet to learn I know the wretch who dares demand Too well I know he loves thee not; From Giaflir thy reluctant hand; But is Zuleika's love forgot? More ill-goi wealth, a meaner soul, Ah! deem I right? the Pacha's plan- Holds not a Musselim's O2 control: This kinsman Bey of Carasman Was he not bred in Egripo?2' Perhaps may prove some foe of thine. A viler race let Israel show! If so, I swear by Mecca's shrine, But let that pass-to none be told If shrines that ne'er approach allow Our oath; the rest shall time unfold To woman's step admit her vow, To me and mine leave Osman Bey; Without thy free consent, command, I've partisans for peril's day: The Sultan should not have my hand! Think not I am what I appear; Think'st thou that I could bear to part I've arms, and friends, and vengeance near With thee, and learn to halve my heart? Ah! were I sever'd from thy side, XIII. Where were thy friend-and who my guide? " Think not thou art what thou appearest! Years have not seen, time shall not see, My Selim, thou art sadly changed: The hour that tears my soul from thee: This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest; Even Azrael,'8 from his deadly quiver But now thou'rt from thyself estranged. When flies that shaft, and fly it must, My love thou surely knew'st before, That parts all else, shall doom for ever It ne'er was less, nor can be more. Our hearts to undivided dust!" To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay, XII. And hate the night I know not why, He lived-he breathed-he moved-he felt; Save that we meet not but by day; He raised the maid from where she knelt: With thee to live, with thee to die, His trance was gone-his keen eye shone I dare not to my hope deny: With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss, With thoughts that burn-in rays that melt. Like this-and this-no more than this; As the stream late conceal'd For, Alla! sure thy lips are flame: By the fringe of its willows; What fever in thy veins is flushing? When it rushes reveal'd My own have nearly caught the same, In the light of its billows; At least I feel my cheek too blushing. As the bolt bursts on high To soothe thy sickness, watch thy health, From the black cloud that bound it, Partake, but never waste, thy wealth, Flash'd the soul of that eye Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by, Through the long lashes round it. And lighten half thy poverty; A war-horse at the trumpet's sound, Do all but close thy dying eye, A lion roused by heedless hound, For that I could not live to try; A tyrant waked to sudden strife To these alone my thoughts aspire: By graze of ill-directed knife, More can I do, or thou require? Starts not to more convulsive life But, Selim, thou must answer why Than he, who heard that vow, display'd, We need so much of mystery? And all, before repress'd, betray'd: The cause I cannot dream nor tell, " Now thou art mine, for ever mine, But be it, since thou say'st't is well; With life to keep, and scarce with life resign; Yet what thou mean'st by' arms' and' fricties Now thou art mine, that sacred oath, Beyond my weaker sense extends. Though sworn by one, hath bound us both. I meant that Giaffir should have heard Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done; -The very vow I plighted thee; That vow hath saved more heads than cie: His wrath would not revoke my word.. But blench not thou-thy simplest tress But srely he woula leave merfree. Claims more f-om me than tenderness; Can this fond wish seem strange mi me, O150f~'BYRON'S WORKS To be what I have ever been? What other hath Zuleika seen From simple childhood's earliest hour? CANTO II. What other can she seek to see Tha- thee, companion of her bower, The partner of her infancy? These cherish'd thoughts with life begun, nn na, hg mstI o or aw TRE winds are high on Helle's wave, Say, why must I no more avow?. t X Say, why must I no more avow? As on that night of stormy water What change is wrought to make me shun A on th nh o stormy water The truth; my pride, and thine till now? hen o, who sent, fogot to save The young, the beautiful, the brave, To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter. Our law, our creed, our God denies; The lo e to dau Nor shall one wandering thought of mine when alone along te Her turret-torch was blazing high, At such, our Prophet's will, repine: et-torch was blazing high, NoAt such, r Prophmade by t derepine: Though rising gale, and breaking foam, No! happier made by that decree D t, Het me all in leaving thee. And shrieking sea-birds warn'd him home; He left me all in leaving thee. Hele me all,, inleavAnd clouds aloft and tides below, Deep were my anguish, thus compell'd u f To wed with one I ne'er'beheld: With signs and sounds, forbade to go; To wed with one I ne'er beheld: This wherefore should I not reveal? He could not see, he would not hear Why u ue me to conceal? Or sound or sign foreboding fear; Why wilt thou urge me to conceal? His eye but saw that light of love, I know the Pacha's haughty mood T To thee hath never boded good; The only star it haii'd above; To thee bath never boded good; His ear but rang with Hero's song, And he so often storms at nought, s ea t an wit ers ong " Ye waves divide not lovers long!" Allah! forbid that e'er he ought! t, That tale is old, but love anew And why I know not, but within My heart concealment weighs like sin. May nerve young hearts to prove as true. My heart concealment weighs like sin. If then such secrecy be crime, II. And such it feels while lurking here; The winds are high, and Helle's tide Oh, Selim! tell me yet in time, Rolls darkly heaving to the main; Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear. And niht's descending shadows hide 22And nighs descending shadows hide Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar,2 That field with blood bedew'd in vain, My father leaves the mimic war; The deseit of old Priam's pride; I tremble now to meet his eye- The tombs, sole relics of his reign, Say, Selim, canst thou tell me why?" All-save immortal dreams that could beguile XIV. "Zlika' otytXIV. retreatThe blind old man of Scio's rocky isle! "Zuleika! to thy tower's retreat Betake thee-Giaffir I can greet; III. And now with him I fain must prate Oh! yet-for there my steps have been; Of firmans, imposts, levies, state. These feet have press'd the sacred shore,'There's fearful news from Danube's banks; These limbs that buoyant wave hath borneOur Vizier nobly thins his ranks, Minstrel,. with thee to muse, to mourn, For which the Giaour may give him thanks! To trace again those fields of yore, Our Sultan hath a shorter way Believing every hillock green Such costly triumph to repay. Contains no fabled hero's ashes, But, mark me, when the twilight drum And that around the undoubted scene Hath warn'd the troops to food and sleep, Thine own " broad Hellespont" 23 still dashes, Unto thy cell will Selim come: Be long my lot! and cold were he Then softly from the Haram creep Who there could gaze denying thee! Where we may wander by the deep: Our garden-battlements are steep; IV. Nor these will rash intruder climb - The night hath closed on Helle's stream, To list o'ir words, or stint our time, Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill And. ne doth, I want not steel That moon, which shone on his high theme; Which some have felt, and more may feel. No warrior chides her peaceful beam, Then shalt thou learn of Seiim more But conscious shepherds bless it still. Than thou hast heard or thought before; Their flocks are grazing on the mound Trust me, Zuleika-fear not me! Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow Thou know'st I hold a Haram key.' That mighty heap of gather'd ground "' Fear thee, my Selim! neer till now Which Ammon's24 son ran proudly round, Did word like this- By nations raised, by monarchs crown'd, Delay not thou; Is now a lone and nameless barrow! I keep tne Key-and Haroun's guard Within-thy dwelling-place how narrow Have some,. and hope of more reward. Without-can only strangers breathe To-night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear The name of him that was beneath - LMy tale, my purpose, and my fear: Dust-long outlasts the storied stone, I am not, love I what 1 appear." But thou-thy very dust is gone! THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. l51 V. VIII. Late, late to-night will Dian cheer Since last she visited the spot The swain, and chase the boatman's fear; Some change seem'd wrought within the grot Till then-no beacon on the cliff It might be only that the night May shape the course of struggling skiff; Disguised things seen by better light: The scatter'd lights that skirt the bay, That brazen lamp but dimly threw All, one by one, have died away; A ray of no celestial hue; The only lamp of tnis lone hour But in a nook within the cell Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower. Her eye on stranger objects fell. There arms were piled, not such as wield Yes! there is light in that lone chamber, The turban'd Delis in the field; And o'er her silken ottoman But brands of foreign blade and hilt, Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber, And one was red-perchance with. uilt O'er which her fairy fingers ran; Ah! how without can blood be spilt? Near these, with emerald rays beset, A cup too on the board as set (How could she thus that gem forget?) That did not seem to hold sherbet. Her mother's sainted amulet,26 What may this mean? she turn'd to see Whereon engraved the Koorsee text, Her Selim-" Oh! can this be he?" Could smooth this life, and win the next; And by her Comboloio 27 lies IX. A Koran of illumined dyes; His robe of pride was thrown aside, And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme His brow no high-crown'd turban bore, By Persian scribes redeem'd from time; But in its stead a shawl of red, And o'er those scrolls,.not oft so mute, Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore Reclines her now neglected lute; That dagger, on whose hilt the gem And round her lamp of fretted gold Were worthy of a diadem, Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould; No lopger gitter'd at his waist, The richest work of Iran's loom, Where pistols unadorn'd were braced; And Sheeraz' tribute of perfume 3 And from his belt a sabre swung, All that can eye or sense delight And from his shoulder loosely hung Are gather'd in that gorgeous room: The cloak of white, the thin capote But yet it hath an air of gloom. That decks the wandering Candiote. She, of this Peri cell the sprite, Beneath-his golden-plated vest What doth she hence, and on so rude a night? Clung like a cuirass to his breast; The greaves below his knee that wound VI. With silvery scales were sheathed and bcuin4 Wrapt in the darkest sable-vest, But were it not that high command Which none save noblest Moslem wear, Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand, To guard from winds of heaven the breast All that a careless eye could see As heaven itself to Selim dear, In him was some young Galiongee.2 With cautious steps the thicket threading, And starting oft, as through the glade The gust its hollow moanings made, " I said I was not what I seem'd; Till on the smoother pathway treading, And now thou seest my words were true More free her timid bosom beat, I have a tale thou hast not dream'd, The maid pursued her silent guide; I sooth-its truth.must others rue. My story now't were vain to hide; And though her terror urged retreat, Iy story now't were vain to hide: How could she quit her Selim's side I?m How teach her tender lips to chide? But had not thine own lips declared How much of that young heart I shared, VII. I could not, must not, yet have shown They reach'd at length a grotto, hewn The darker secret of my own. In this I speak not now of love; By Nature, but enlarged by art, That, let time, truth, and peril prove: Where oft her lute she wont to tune, i her Koran conn'd apart; But first-Oh! never wed anotherAnd oft her K(oran conn'd apart; And oft in youthful reverie Zuleika! I am not thy brother! " And oft in youthful reverie She dream'd what Paradise might be: XI. Where woman's parted soul shall go' Oh! not my brother!-yet unsay — Her prophet had disdain'd to show; God! am I left alone on earth But Selim's mansion was secure, To mourn-I dare not curse-the- day Nor deem'd she, could he long endure That saw-my solitary birth? His bower in other worlds of bliss, Oh! thou wilt love me now no more! Wilhout her, most beloved in this! My sinking heart foreboded ill; Oh! who so dear with him could dwell? But know me all I was before, What Houri soothe him half so well? Thy sister-friend-Zuleika stiL 152 BYRON'S WORKS. Thou led'st me here perchance to kill; They gave their horsetails 32 to the wind, If thou hast cause for vengeance, see. And, mustering in Sophia's plain, My breast is offer'd-take thy fill! Their tents were pitch'd, their post assign'd; Far better with the dead to be To one, alas! assign'd in vain! Than live thus nothing now to thee: What need of words? the deadly bowl, Perhaps far worse, for now I know By Giaffir's order drugg'd and given, Why Giaffir always seem'd thy foe; With venom, subtle as his soul, And I, alas! am Giaffir)s child, Dismiss'd Abdallah's hence to heaven. For whom thou wert-contemn'd, reviled. Reclined and feverish in the bath, If not thy sister-wouldst thou save le, when the hunter's sport was up, My life, Oh! bid me be thy slave!" But little deem'd a brother's wrath To quench his thirst had such a cup: XII. The bowl a bribed attendant bore; " My slave, Zuleika!-nay, I'm thine: He drank one draught,33 nor needed niore! But, gentle love, this transport calm. If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt, Thy lot shall yet be link'd with mine; Call Haroun-he can tell it out. I swear it by our Prophet's shrine, XV. And be that thought thy sorrow's balm. IIThe deed once done, and Paswan's feud So may the Koran 29 verse display'd In part suppress'd, though ne'er subdued, Upon its steel direct rmy blade, b s hlik ws InT ~ dagrshu.t ga u bot, Abdallah's pachalick was gain'd: In danger's hour to guard us both Thou know'st not what in our Divan As I preserve that awful oath! Can wealth procure for worse than manThe name in which thy heart hath prided Abdallah's honours were obtain'd Must change; but, my Zuleika, know, him a brother's murder stain'd; That tie is widen'd, not divided,.ra ti is w.', nt'T is true, the purchase nearly drain'd Although thy sire's my deadliest foe. t,His ill-got treasure, soon replaced. My father was to Giaffir all T hath Ser latesd to t; Would'st question whence? Survey the waste, That Selim late was deem'd to thee;,That Slim late vaIs deem'd to thee; And ask the squalid peasant how Ihat brother wrought a brother's fall, is ains ra his rilin ow His gains repay his broiling brow? But spared, at least, my infancy; t I_,1,,., a -Why me the stern usurper spared, And lill'd me with a vain deceit Why thus with me his palace shared, That yet a like return may meet. t i That yet a like r n my mt. I know not. Shame, regret, remorse, He rear'd me, not with tender help, rear e, nt wt fte r h, And little fear from infant's force; But like the nephew of a Cain; 3 i i Besides, adoption as a son lie watch'd me like a lion's whelp, By him whom Heaven accorded none, That gnaws and yet may break his chain. Or some unknown cabal, caprice, My father's blood in every vein Preserved me thus;-but not in peace: Is boiling; but for thy dear sake r i He cannot curb his haughty mood, No present vengeance will I take; r s oo Nor I forgive a father's blood. Though here I must no more remain. N But first, beloved Zuleika! hear XVI. How Gaffir wrought this deed of fear. "Within thy father's house are foes; Not all who break his bread are true: XIII. To these should I my birth disclose, " How first their strife to rancour grew, His days, his very hours were few. If love or envy made them ibes, They only want a heart to lead, It matters little if I knew; A hand to point them to the deed. In fiery spirits, slights, though few But Haroun only knows, or knew And thoughtless, will disturb repose. This tale, whose close is almost'nigh: In war Abdallah's arm was strong, He in Abdallah's palace grew, Remember'd yet in Bosniac song, And held that post in his Serai And Paswan's 3 rebel hordes attest Which holds he here-he saw him die How little love they bore such giuest: But what could single slavery do? His death is all I need relate, Avenge his lord! alas! too late; The stern effect of Giaffir's hate Or save his son from such a fate? And how my birth disclosed to me, He chose the last, ard when elate What'er beside it makes, hath made me free. With foes subdued, or friends betray'd Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate, XIV. He led me helpless to his gate, " When Paswan, after years of strife, And not in vain it seems essay'd At last for power, but first for life, To save the life for which he pray d. In Widin's walls too proudly sate, The knowledge of my birth secured Our Pachas rallied round the state; From all and each, but most from me; Nor last nor least in high command Thus Giaffir's safety was ensured. Each brother led a separate band; Removed he too from Roumelie THE BRID)E OF ABYDOS. 153 Tro this our Asiatic side, I long'd to see the isles that gem F'ar tronm our seats by Danube's tide, Old Ocean's purple diadem: With none but Haroun, who retains I sought by turns, and saw them all;'4 Such knowledge-and the Nubian feels But when and where I join'd the crew, A tyrant's secrets are but chains With whom I'm pledged to rise or fall, From which the captive gladly steals, When all that we design to do And this and more to me' reveals: Is done,'t will then be time more meet Such still to guilt just Alla sends- To tell thee when the tale's complete. Slaves, tools, accomplices-no friends! XX. XVII. " All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds; "'T is true, they are a lawless brood, But harsher still my talc must be: But rough in form, nor mild in mood; Howe'er my tongue thy softness wounds, And every creed, and every race, Yet I must prove all truth to thee. With them hath found-may find a place: I saw thee start this garb to see, But open speech, and ready hand, Yet is it one I oft have worn, Obedience to their chief's command; And long must wear: this Galiongee, A soul for every enterprise, To whom thy plighted vow is sworn, That never sees with terror's eyes; Is leader of those pirate hordes, Friendship for each, and faith to all, Whose laws and lives are on their swords; And vengeance vow'd for those who'all, To hear whose desolating tale Have made them fitting instruments Would make thy waning cheek more pale: For more than even my own intents. Those arms thou see'st my band have brought, And some-and I have studied all The hands that wield are not remote; Distinguish'd from the vulgar rank, This cup too for the rugged knaves But chiefly to my council call Is fill'd —once quaff'd, they ne'er repine: The wisdom of the cautious FrankOur Prophet might forgive the slaves; And some to higher thoughts aspire, They're only infidels in wine. The last of Lambro's 5 patriots there Anticipated freedom share; XVIII. And oft around the cavern fire. " What could I be? Proscribed at home, On visionary schemes debate, And taunted to a wish to roam; To snatch the Rayahs 36 from their fate. And listless left-for Giaffr's fear So let them ease their hearts with prate Denied the courser and the spear- Of equal rights, which man ne'er knew; Though oft-~Oh, Mahomet! how oft!- I have a love for freedom too. In full Divan the despot scoff'd, Ay! let me like the ocean-patriarch 3 roam, As if my weak unwilling hand Or only know on land the Tartar's home! Refused the bridle or the brand: My tent on shore, my galley on the sea, He ever went to war alone, Are more than cities and serais to me: And pent me here untried, unknown; Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail, To Haroun's care with women left, Across the desert, or before the gale, By hope unblest, of fame bereft. Bound where thou wilt, my barb! or glide, my prow While thou-whose softness long endear'd, But be the star that guides the wanderer, thou! Though it unmann'd me, still had cheer'd- Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless mybark; To Brusa's walls for safety sent, The dove of peace and promise to mine ark! Awaited'st there the field's event. Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife, Haroun, who saw'ny spirit pining Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life! Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke, The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, His captive, though with dread resigning, And tints to-morow with prophetic ray! My thraldom for a season broke, Blest-as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall On promise to return before To pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call: The day when Giaffir's charge was o'er. Soft-as the melody of youthful days,'T is vain-my tongue cannot impart That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise, MIy almost drunkenness of heart, Dear-as his native song to exile's ears, When first this liberated eye Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears Survey'd earth, ocean, sun, and sky, For thee in those bright isles isbuilt a bower As if my spirt pierced them through, Blooming as Aden9 in its eariest houo. And all their inmost wonders knew! iA thousand swords, with Selim's heart and har.., One word alone can paint to thee Wait-wave-defend-destroy-at thy commasd I That more than feeling-I was free! Girt by my bahd Zuleika at my side, E'en for thy presence ceased to pine; The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride. The world-nay-heaven itself was mirne! The haram's languid years of listless ease XIX. Are well resign'd for cares-for joys like tness; " The shallop of a trusty Moor Not blind to fate, I see, where'er I rove, Convey'd, me from this idle shore; Unnumber'd perils-but one only love * P.25 154 BYRON'S WORKS. Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, To-morrow Osman with his train Though fortune frown, or falser friends betray. Arrives-to-night must break thy chain: How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill, And wouldst thou save that haughty Bey, Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still! Perchance his life who gave thee thine, Be but thy soul, like Selim's, firmly shown; With me this hour away-away! To thee be Selim's tender as thine own; But yet, though thou art plighted mine, To soothe each sorrow, share in each delight, Wouldst thou recall thy willing vow, Blend every thought, do all-but disunite! Appall'd by truths imparted now, Once free,'t is mine our horde again to guide; Here rest I-not to see thee wed: Friends to each other, foes to aught beside: But be that peril on my head!" Yet there we follow but the bent assin'd XXII. By fatal nature to man's warring kind: Zuleika, mute and motionless, Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease! i i ~ i -i 11 ~t. ~ Stood like that statue of distress, lie makes a solitude, and calls it-peace!W X i~ i-l.' vv glWhon, ner last hope for ever gone, I, like the rest, must use my skill or strength, The her at he or er one The mother harden'd into stone; But ask no land beyond my sabre's length: n i All in the maid that eye could see Power sways but by division-her resource Wa e Was but a younger Niobe. The blest alternative of fraud or force! ut er r or n hr But ere her lip, or even her eye, Ours be the last: in time deceit may come, Essay'd to speak or look reply, When cities cage us in a social home:icket prch ~~~~~~~b D~Beneath the garden's wicket porch There even thy soul might err-how oft the heart ea he Far flash'd on high a blazing torch! Corruption shakes which peril could not part! Another-and another-and anotherAnother-and another-and anotherAnd woman, more than man, when death or woe Oh fly-no more-yet now my more than broiha' Or even disgrace would lay her lover low, ar wi throuh every thicket spread, Sunk in the lap of luxury will shame — r ti r The fearful lights are gleaming red; Away suspicion!-not Zuleika's name! or r r Nor these alone-for each right hand But life is hazard at the best; and here Is redy with a sheathless brand. Is ready with a sheathless brand. No more remains to win, and much to fear: r r They part, pursue, return, and wheel Yes, fear!-the doubt, the dread of losing thee, rih ari a n'With searching flambeau, shining steel; By Osman's power and Gibffir's stern decree. n a a ing And last of all, his sabre waving, That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale, S Gaff his fury raving Stern Giaffir in his fury raving: Which love to-night hath promised to my sail: And now almost they touch the caveNo danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest, Oh must that grot e Selim's grave Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest. With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms; XXIII. Earth-sea alike-our world within our arms! Dauntless he stood-"'tis come-soon pastAy-let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck, One kiss, Zuleika-'t is my last: So that those arms cling closer round my neck: But yet myband not far from shore The deepest murmur of this lip shall be May hear this sinal, see the fash No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee Yet now too fewthe attempt were rash: The wars of elements no fears impart No mtter-yet one effort more." To love, whose deadliest bane is human art: Folth to the cavern mouth he stept; There lie the only rocks our course can check; His pistol's echo rang on high. Here moments menace-there are years of wreck! Zuleika started nut nor wept But hence ye thoughts that rise in horror's shape! Despair benumb'd her breast and eye!This hour bestows, or ever bars escape. "They hear me not or if they ply Few words remain of mine my tale to close; Their oars,'t i but to see me die Of thine but one to waft us from our foes; That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh. Yeas-foes-to me will Giaffir's hate decline? Then forth my father's scimitar Andl is not Osman, who would part us, thine? Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war! Farewell, Zuleika!-Sweet! retire. XXI. Yet stay within:-here linger safe, I' Iis head and faith from doubt and death At thee his rage will only chai. Return'd in time my guard to save; Stir not-lest even to thee perchance Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave Some erring blade or ball should glance. From isle to isle I roved the while: Fear'st thou for him?-may I expire An-d since, though parted from my band, If in this strife I seek thy sire!. Too seldom now I leave the land, No-though by him that poison pour'd; N,) deed they've done, nor deed shall do, No-thoughl again he call me coward! Ere I have heard and doom'd it too: But tamely shall I meet their steel! f form the plan, decree the spoil, No-as each crest save his may feel!"'T is fit I oftener share the toil. Put now too long I've held thine ear; Time presses, floats my bark, and here One bound he made, and gain'd the sand: We leave behind but hate and fear Already at his feet hath sunk THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 155 The foremost of the prying band, The sea-birds shriek above the prey, A gasping head, a quivering trunk: O'er which their hungry beaks delay, Anotner falls-but round him close As shaken on his restless pillow, A swarming circle of his foes; His head heaves with the heaving billow; From right to left his path he cleft, That hand, whose motion is not life, And almost met the meeting wave: Yet feebly seems to menace strife, His boat appears-not five oars' length- Flung by the tossing tide on high, His comrades strain with desperate strength-' Thdn levell'd with the waveOh! are they yet in time to save? What recks it, though that corse shaL lie His feet the foremost breakers lave; Within a living grave? His band are plunging in the bay, The bird that tears that prostrate form Their sabres glitter through the spray; Hath only robb'd the meaner worm; Wet-wild-unwearied to the strand The only heart, the only eye They struggle-now they touch the land! Had bled or wept to see him die, They come-'t is but to add to slaughter- Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed, His heart's best blood is on the water! And mourn'd above his turban-stone, 40 xx^. That heart hath. urst-that eye was closed.Yea-closed before his own! Escaped from shot, unharm'd by steel, eV XXVII. Or scarcely grazed its force to feel, Or scarcy g d its fe to f, By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail! Had Selim won, betray'd a, beset, S w be tray ad be m,: And woman's eye is wet-man's cheek is pale: To where the strand and billows met: Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race, rr>, i-i i c \- -\ J Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race, There as his last step left the land,,,.'... Thy destined lord is come too late; And the last death-blow dealt his hand- T Ah wherefore did he turn to look He sees not-ne'er shall see thy face! Ah! wherefore did he turn to look Can he not hear For her his eye but sought in vain? Can he not hear T u a gaze he The loud Wul-wulleh4' warn his distant ear? That pause, that fatal gaze he took,. TT~' 1 13'1c.. ~ LIThy handmaids weeping at the gate, Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain. h s w at te gt, Sad proof in peril and in pain, The Koran-chaunters of the hymn of fate, Sad proof,'ln pe, and pae rmin, The silent slaves with folded arms that wait How late will lover's hope remain! shrieks upon the gale, Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale, His back was to the dashim thy tale! Behind, but close, his comrades lay, T thy e Thou didst not view-thy Selim fall! When, at the instant, hiss'd the ball- Th t fearful moment when he left the cave ct So'ay,he ~oes ^'^. Gia. rn~~ failThat fearful moment when he left the cave " So may the foes of Giafir fall!" Thy heart grew chill: Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang. t r l. t. n He was thy hope-thy joy —thy love-thine allWhose bullet through the night-air sang,, T n ye amD t e, r. And that last thought on him thou couldst not save Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err -'T is thine-Abdallah's murderer! fficed to kill; ITh fs thinerAdsloly rue ty h.ae Burst forth in one wild cry-and all was still. The father slowly rued thy hate, The ason ath found a quicker fate: Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin grave! The son hath found a quicker fate: Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst! Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,, - That grief-though deep-though fatal-was thy first The whiteness of the sea-foam troublingIf aught his lips tessay'd -o groan, Thrice happy! ne'er to feelnor fear the force If aught his lips essay'd o groan, Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse! The rushing billows choak'd the tone! And, oh! that pang where more than madness lies XXVI. The worm that will not sleep-and never dies; Morn slowly rolls the clouds away; Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night, Few trophies of the fight are there: That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light, The shouts that shook the midnight bay That winds around, and tearsthe quivering heart! Are silent; but some signs of fray Ah! wherefore not consume itand depart! That strand of strife may bear, Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief! And fragments of each shiver'd brand: Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, Steps stamp'd; and dash'd into the sand Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs doth spread: The print of rany a struggling hand By that same hand Abdallah-Selim bled. May there be mark'd; nor far remote Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief: A broken torch, an oarless boat; Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed, And tangled on the weeds that heap She, whom thy sultan had but seen to wed, The beach where shelving to the deep Thy daughter's dead! iPere lies a white capote! Hope of' thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,'T is rent in twain-one dark-red stain The star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. The wave vet ripples o'er in vain: What quench'd its ray? —the blood that thou hast sh t!' But where is he who Wore? Hark! to the hurried question of despair: Ye! who would o'er his relics weep "Where is my child?" an echo answers —"When?". Go, seek them where the surges sweep XXVIII. Their burthen round Sigteum's steep, Within the place of thousand tombs And cast on Lemnos' shore: That shine beneath. while dark above 156 BYRON'S WORKS. The sad but living cypress glooms And withers not, though branch and leaf r T E Are stamp'd with an eternal grief, Like early unrequited love, One spot exists, which ever blooms. Pae 146 line 8. Even in that deadly grove- - X EWax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom A single rose is shedding thereGu "Gulf' the rose. Its lonely lustre, meek and pale: It looks as planted by despair- Note 2. Page 146, line 17. So white-so faint-the slightest gale Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? Might whirl the leaves on high; "Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, And yet, though storms and blight assail, With whom revenge is virtue." Young's Revenge. And hands more rude than wintry sky May wring it from the stem-in vain- Note 3. Page 147, line 31. To-morrow sees it bloom again! With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song. The stalk some spirit gently rears, Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of tnt And waters with celestial tears; East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia. For well may maids of Helle deem ae 147, line 32. That this can be no earthly flower, Till I, who heard the deep tambour. Which mocks the tempest's withering hourw Which mocks the tempest's withering hour, Tambour, Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, And buds upshelter'd by a bower; noon and twilight. Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower, Nor woos the summer beam: 5 Page 147, line 103. To it the livelong night there sings He is an Arab to my sight..A bird unseen-ut not remote: The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the compliInvisible his airy wings, ment a hundred fold), even more than they hate the Invisible his airy wings, ~ But soft as harp that Houri strings Chrstans. His long entrancing note! Note 6. Page 148, line 12. It were the bulbul; but his throat, The mind, the music breathing from her face. Though mournful, pours not such a strain: This expression has met with objections. I will not For they who listen cannot leave refer to "him who hath not Music in his soul," but The spot, but linger there and grieve merely request the reader to recollect, for ten seconds. As if they loved in vain! the features of the woman whom he believes to be the And yet so sweet the tears they shed, most beautiful; and if he then does not comprehend'T is sorrow so unmix'd with dread, fully what is feebly expressed in the above line, I shall They scarce can bear the morn to break be sorry for us both. For an eloquent passage in the That melancholy spell, latest work of the first female writer of this, perhaps And longer yet would weep and wake, of any age on the analogy and the immediate co He sintgs so wild and well! parison excited by that analogy), between "painting But when the day-blush bursts from high, and music," see vol. iii. cap. 10. DE L'ALLEMAGNE. Expires that magic melody. And is not this connexion still stronger with the original And some have been who could believe than the copy?-with the colouring of nature than of (So fondly youthful dreams deceive, art? After all, this is ratber to be felt tnan described; Yet harsh be they that blame) still I think there are some who will understand it, at That note so piercing and profoundleast they would have done, had they beheld the counWill shape and syllable its sound tenance whose speaking harmony suggested the idea; Ilto Zuleika's name.43 for this passage is not drawn from imagination, but'T is from her cypress' summit heard, memory, that mirror which affliction dashes to the That melts in air the liquid word: earth, and looking down upon the fragments, only be-'T is from her lowly virgin earth holds the reflection multiplied! That white rose takes its tender birth. Note 7. Page 148 line 34. There late was laid a marble stone; 1 But yet the line of Carasman. Eve saw it placed-the morrow gone! It was no mrtal arm that bore Carasman Oglou, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the It was no mortal arm that bore That deep-fixd pillar to the shore; principal landholder in Turkey: he governs Magnesia:'or thre, as Helle's legends tell,. those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on ['or there, as Helle's leaends tell, Next mornt was found where Selim fell; condition of service, are called Timariots: they serve Next morn't was found where Selim. fell; Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave as Spahis, according to the extent of territory, and Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave Denied his bones a holier grave: bring a certain number into the field, generally ca'alry. And there, by night, reclined,'t is said, Note 8. Page 148, line 46. Is seen a ghastly turban'd head: And teach the messenger what fate. And hence extended by the billow, When a -Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the'r is named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!" single messenger, who is always the first bearer of the Where first it lay that mourning flower order for his death, is strangled instead, and someIlath flourish'd; fourisheth this hour, times five or six, one after the other, on the same Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale; errand, by command of the refractory patient; if, on Ae weeuing beauty's clek at sorrow's tale! the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows, kisses the THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 1.57 Saltan's respectable signature, and is bowstrung with Note 18. Page 149, line 34. great complacency. In 1810, several of these presents " Even Azrael, from his deadly quiver. were exhibited in the niche of the Seraglio gate; "Azrael"-the angel of death. among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdat, a orave young man, cut off by treachery, after a despe- 9. Page 1, lne 67. Within the caves of Istakar. tate resistance. The treasures of the Preadamite Sultans. See D'IIER Note 9. Page 148, line 65. BELOT article Istakar Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd hit steed.. Clapping of hands calls the servants. The Turks Note 20. Page 149, line 83. hate a superfluous expenditure of voice, and they have Holds not a Musselim's control. no bells. Musselim, a governor, the next in rank after a Pacha; Note 10. Page 148, line 66. a Waywode is the third; and then come the Agas. Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque. Note 21. Page 149 line 84. Chibouque, the Turkish pipe, of which the amber Was he not bred in Egripo i mouth-piece, and sometimes the ball which contains the Eripo-theNeopont Acording totheproverb, Egripo-the Negropont. According to the proverb, leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession the Turks of Egripo, the Jews of Salonica and the of the wealthier orders. of the wealthier orders. Greeks of Athens, are the worst of their respective Note 11. Page 148, line 68. races. With Maugrabee and Mamaluke. Note 22. Page 150, line 31. Maugrabee, Moorish mercenaries. Ah! yonder see the TchQcadar. Note 12. Page 148, line 69. "Tchocadar"-one of the attendants who prectises His way amid his Delis took. a man of authority. Deli, bravoswho form the forlorn hope of the cavalry, Note 23. Page 150, line 101. and always begin the action. Thine own" broad Hellespont " still dashes Note 13. Page 148, line 81. The wrangling about this epithet, "the broad HelCareering cleave the folded felt. lespont" or the "boundless Hellespont," whether it A twisted fold of felt is used for scimitar practice by means one or the other, or what it means at all, has he Turks, and few but Mussulman arms can cut through been beyond all possibility of detail. I have even heard \t at a single stroke: sometimes a tough turban is used it disputed on the spot; and, not foreseeing a speedy for the same purpose. The jerreed is a game of blunt conclusion to the controversy, amused myself with javelins, animated and graceful. swimming across it in the mean time, and probably may again, before the point is. settled. Indeed, the Note 14. Page 148, line 84. question as to the truth of "the tale of Troy divine" Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud- still continues, much of it resting upon the talismanic "Ollahs,'" Alla ilAllah, the " Leilies," as the Spanish word " arzcpo:" probably Homer had the same notion poets call them, the sound is Ollah; a cry of which theof distance that a coquette has of time, ad when h Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat profuse, par- talks of boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by ticularly during the jerreed, or in the chase, but mostly a like figure, when she says eternal attachment, simply in battle. Their animation in the field, and gravity in specifies three weeks. the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios,' form an amusing contrast. Note 24. Page 150, line 112. Which Ammon's son ran proudly round. Note 15. Page 148, line 103. ZThe P agalsperfum. Before his Persian invasion, and crowned the altar The Persian Atar-gul's perfume. "Atar-gu," ottar of roses. The Persian is the with laurel, etc. He was afterwards imitated by Carafnt.rl' ot' o frss h esa te calla in his race. It is believed that the last also finest, poisoned a friend, named Festus, for the sake of new Note 16. Page 148, line 105. Patroclan games. I have seen the sheep feeding on The pictured roof and marble floor. the tombs of ZEsietes and Antilochus; the first is in The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the the centre of the plain.. Mussulman apartments are generally painted, in great houses, with one eternal and highly coloured view of Note 25. Page 151, line 12. Constantinople, wherein the principal feature is a noble O'er which her fairy fingers ran. contempt of perspective; below, arms, scimitars, etc., When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfilme, are in general fancifully and not inelegantly disposed. which is slight, but not disagreeable. Note 17. Page 148, line 121. Note 26. Page 151 line 15. A message from.the Bulbul bears. Her mother's sainted amulet. It has been much doubted whether the notes of this The belief in amulets engraved on gems, or inclosed' Lover of the rose," are sad or merry; and Mr. Fox's in gold boxes, containing scraps from the Koran, worn remarks on the subject have provoked some learned round the neck, wrist, or arm, is still universal in the controversy as to the opinions of the ancients on the East. The Koorsee (throne) verse in the second chap. subject. I dare not venture a conjecture on the point, of the Koran describes the attributes of the most High though a little inclined to the "errare mallem," etc., and is engraved in this manner, and wornuby me pious, tf Mr. Fox was mistaken. as the most esteemed and sublime of all sentences. a 2 '58 BYRON'S WORKS. Note 27. Page 151, line 18. sure which, was actually taken off by the Albanian Ali, And by her Comboloio lies. in the manner described in the text. Ali Pacha, while " Comboloio"-a Turkish rosary. The MSS., par- I was in the country, married the daughter of his victim,,icularly those of the Persians, are richly adorned and some years after the event had taken place at a bath in illuminated. The Greek females are kept in utter igno- Sophia, or Adrianople. The poison was mixed in the rance; but many of the Turkish girls are highly ac- cup of coffee, which is presented before the sherbet by complished, though not actually qualified for a Chris- the bath-keeper, after dressing. tian coterie; perhaps some of our own "blues" might Note 34. Page 153, line 64. lot be the worse for bleaching. I ~t be the worse for bleach^~it~g. ~I sought by turns, and saw them all. Note 28. Page 151, line 96. The Turkish notions of almost all islands are confined In him was some young Galiongee. to the Archipelago, the sea alluded to. Galiongee"'-or Galiongi, a sailor, that is, a Turkish sailor; the Greeks navigate, the Turks work the Noe la3. Pabs prios there. guns. Their dress is picturesque; and I have seen the C anan i a r famos fr his ef Captain Pacha more than once wearing it as a kind of 1 0 for the independence of his for forts: aban incog. Their legs, however, are generally naked. The 17890 fo the sianse became a pirate, and the buskins described in the text as sheathed behind with buskin s described in the text as eathb ehi wi Archipelago was the scene of his enterprises. He is said silver are those of an Arnaout rob b o a to be still alive at Petersburgh. He and Riga are the two host (he had quitted the profession), at his Pyrgo, near most celebrated of theGreek revolutionists. Gastouni in the Morea; they were plated in scales one over the other, like the back of an armadillo. Note 36. Page 153, line 91. To snatch the Rayahs from their fate. Note 29. Page 152, line 18. "Rayahs," all who pay the capitation tax, called the So may the Koran verse display'd. "Haratch." The characters on all Turkish scimitars contain sometimes the name of the place of their manufacture, but Note 37. age 153 line 95. more generally a text from the Koran, in letters of gold. Ay let me like the ocean-patriarch roam. Amongst those in my possession is one with a blade of This first of voyages is one of the few with which the singular construction; it is very broad, and the edge Mussulmans profess much acquaintance. notched into serpentine curves like the ripple of water, Note 38. Page 153, line 96. or the wavering of flame. I asked the Armenian who Or only know on land the Tartar's home. sold it, what possible use such a figure could add: he The wandering life of the Arabs, Tartars, and Turkosaid, in Italian, that he did not know; but the Mussul- mans, will be found well detailed in any book of Eastern mans had an idea that those of this form gave a severer travels. That it possesses a charm peculiar to itself canwound; and liked it because it was " piu feroce." I not be denied. A young French renegade confessed to did not much admire the reason, but bought it for its Chateaubriand, that he never found himself alone, galpeculiarity. loping in the desert, without a sensation approaching to Note n0. Page 152, line 33. rapture, which was indescribable. Note 8"0. Page 152, line 33. But like the nephew of a Cain. Note 39. Page 153, line 116. It is to be observed, that every allusion to any thing Blooming as Aden in its earliest hour. or personage in the Old Testament, such as the Ark, or " Jannat al Aden," the perpetual abode, the MussV3Cain, is equally the privilege of Mussulman and Jew; man Paradise. indeed the former profess to be much better acquainted Note 40. Page 155, line 78. with'the lives, true and fabulous, of the patriarchs, than And mourn'd above his turban-stone. is warranted by our own Sacred writ, and not content A turban is carved in stone above the graves of men with Adam, they have a biography of Pre-Adamites. only. Solomon is the monarch of all necromancy, and Moses Note 41 Pae 155 line 87 prophet inferior only to Christ and Mahomet. Zuleika The loud Wul-wulle warn his distant ear. Is the Persian name of Potiphar's wife, and her amour The death-song of the Turkish women. The "silent with Joseph constitutes one of the finest poems in their slaves are the men whose notions of decorum forbid,anguage. It is therefore no violation of costume to put complaint in public. ihe names of Cain, or Noah, into the mouth of a Moslem. Note 42. Page 155, line 123. Note 31. Page 152, line 49. "Where is my child? "-an echo answers-" Where' And Paswan's rebel hordes attest. I"I caine to the place of my birth and cried,' the Paswan Oglou, the rebel of Widin, who for the last friends of my youth, where are they'' and an Echo years of his life, set the whole power of the Porte at answe re t, w here are they?.efiance. From an Arabic MS. Note 32. -Page 152, line 61. Note 32. Page 152, line 61. The above quotation (from which the idea in the text They gave their horsetails to the wind... They gave their horsetais to the wind is taken) must be already familiar to every reader-it is Horsetai, ne standard of a Pacha. given in the first annotation, page 67, of "the Pleasures Note 33. Page 152, line 74. of Memory;" a poem so well known as to render a He drank one draught, nor needed more reference almost superfluous; but to whose pages dl thraffir, Pacha of Argvro Castro, or Scutari, I am not will be delighted to recur. THE CORSAIR. 159 Note 43. Page 156, line 47. (see Orford's Reminiscences), and many other instauInto Zuleika's name. ces, bring this superstition nearer home. The most singu"And airy tongues that syllable men's names." lar was the whim of a Worcester lady, who, believing MILTON. her daughter to exist in the shape of a singing-bird, litFor a behef that the souls of the dead inhabit the form erally furnished her pew in the Cathedral with cages-full ~Tbirds, we need not travel to the east. Lord Lyttleton's of the kind; and as she was rich, and a benefactress in ghost story; the belief of the Duchess of Kendal, that beautifying the church, no objection was made to her George 1. flew into her window in the shape of a raven harmless folly.-For this anecdote, see Orford's Letters. rlte Corayir; A TALE. I suoi pensieri in lui dormir non ponno. TASSO, Canto decimo, Gerusalemme Lzberata. TO after my own heart: Scott alone, of the present gener~THOaAAS i-rn ESQ. ration, has hitherto completely triumphed over the fatal THOMAS WglOOl-, ESQ. facility of the octo-syllabic verse; and this is not the least MlY DEAR MOORE, victory of his fertile and mighty genius: in blank verse, I DEDICATE to you the last production with which I Milton, Thomson, and our dramatists, are the beacons shall trespass on public patience, and your indulgence, that shine along the deep, but warn us from the rough for rome years; and I own that I feel anxious to avail and barren rock on which they are kindled. The heroic myself of this latest and only opportunity of adorning couplet is not the most popular measure certainly; but my pages with a name, consecrated by unshaken public as I did not deviate into the other from a wish to flatter principle, and the most undoubted and various talents. what is called public opinion, I shall quit it without While Ireland ranks you among the firmest of her pa- further apology, and take my chance once more with triots: while you stand alone the first of her bards in her that versification, in which I have hitherto published estimation, and Britain repeats and ratifies the decree, nothing but compositions whose former circulation is permit one, whose only regret, since our first acquaint- part of my present and will be of my futute regret. ance, has been the years he had lost before it commenced, With regard to my story, and stories m general, I to add the humble but sincere suffrage of friendship, to should have been glad to have rendered my personages the voice of more than one nation. It will at least prove more perfect and amiable, if possible,. inasmuch as I to you, that I have neither forgotten the gratification have been sometimes criticised, and considered no less derived from your society, nor abandoned the prospect responsible for their deeds and qualities than if all had of its renewal, whenever your leisure or inclination allows been personal. Be it so-if I have deviated into the you to atone to your friends for too long an absence. It gloomy vanity of " drawing from self," the pictures are is said among those friends, I trust truly, that you are probably like, since they are unfavourable; and if not, engaged in the composition of a poem whose scene will those who know me are undeceived, and those who do be laid in the East: none can do those scenes so much not, I have little interest in undeceiving. I have no justice. The wrongs of your own country, the magnifi- particular desire that any but my acquaintance should cent and fiery spirit of her sons, the beauty and feeling of think the author better than the beings of his imagining; her daughters, may there be found; and Collins, when but I cannot help a little suprise, and perhaps amusehe denominated his Oriental his Irish Eclogues, was not ment, at some odd critical exceptions in the present aware how true, at least, was a part of his parallel. Your instance, when I see several bards (far more deserving, imagination will create a warmer sun, and less clouded I allow), in very reputable plight, and quite exempted sky; but wildness, tenderness, and originality, are part from all participation in the faults of those heroes, who, of your national claim of oriental descent, to which you nevertheless, might be found with little more morality have already thus far proved your title more clearly than than " The Giaour," andperhaps-but no-I must admit the most zealous of your country's antiquarians. Childe Harold to be a very repulsive personage; and as May I add a few words on a subject on which all men to his identity, those who like it must give him whatever are supposed to be fluent, and none agreeable?-Self. "alias" they please. I have written much, and published more than enough If, however, it were worth while to remove the nnto demand a longer silence than I now meditate; but for pression, it might be of some service to me, that the man some years to come it is my intention to tempt no who is alike the delight of his readers and his friends, further the award of "gods, men, nor columns." In the poet of all circles, and the idol of his own, permits the present composition I have attempted not the most me here and elsewhere to subscribe myself, difficult, but, perhaps, the best-adapted measure to our most truly, and affectionately, language, the good old and now neglected heroic couplet. his obedient servant, The stanza of Spenser is perhaps too slow and dignified BYBON. for narrative; though I confess, it is the measure most January 2, 1814. 160 BYRON'S WORKS. Gaze where some distant sail a speck supplies, fCANVTO I. With all the thirsting eye of enterprise; Tell o'er the tales of many a night of toil, And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil: nessun maggior doloroe No matter where-their chief's allotment this, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria ~ Theirs to believe no prey nor plan amiss. DANTE. But who that CHIEF?-His name on every sho,) Is famed and fear'd-they ask and know no more. ^~~~I. ~ With these he mingles not but to command:' O'ER the glad waters of the dark-blue sea, Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand. Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as-free, Ne'er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, But they forgive his silence for success. Survey our empire and behold our home! Ne'er for his lip the purpling cup they fill, these are our realms, no limits to their sway- That goblet passes. him untasted stillOur flag the sceptre all who meet obey. And for his fare-the rudest of his crew 3urs the wild life in tumult still to range Would that, in turn) have pass'd untasted too; From toil to rest, and joy in every change. Earth's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest roots Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave! And scarce the summer luxury of fruits, Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; His short repast in humbleness supply Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease! With all a hermit's board would scarce deny. Whom slumber soothes not-pleasure cannot please- But while he shuns the grosser joys of sense, Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, J His mind seems nourish'd by that abstinence. Ard danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, "Steertothatshore!"-they sail. "Do this!"-'tisdone' The exulting sense-the pulse's maddening play, "Now form and follow me!"-the spoil is won. That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way? Thus prompt his accents and his actions still, That for itself can woo the approaching fight, And all obey and few inquire his will; And turn what some deem danger to delight; To such brief answer and contemptuous eye That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal, Convey reproof, nor further deign reply. And where the feebler faint-can only feel- III Feel-to the rising bosom's inmost core, Iets hope awaken and its spirit soare? "A sail!-a sail!"-a promised prize to hope. No dread of death-if with us die our foes- Her nationflag-how speaks the telescope? Save that it seems even duller than repose: No prize, alas!-but yet a welcome sail: Come when it will-we snatch the life of life; The blood-red signal glitters i the gale. When lost-what recks it-by disease or strife? Yes-she is ours-a home-returning barkLet him who crawls enamoour'd of decay, Blow fair, thou breeze!-she anchors ere the dark. Cling to his couch, and sicken years away;, Already doubled is the cape-our bay Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head; Receives that prow which proudly spurns the spray. Ours-the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. How gloriously her gallant course she goes! While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul, Her w e wings flying-never from her foes Ours with one pang-one bound-escapes control. She walks the waters like a thing oflife, His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave, And seems to dare the elements to strife. And they who loathed his life may gild his grave: Who would not brave the battle-fire-the weckOurs are the tears, though few, sincerely shed, To move the monarch of her peopled deck When ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead. IV. For us, even banquets fond regret supply Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings; In the red cup that crowns our memory; The sails are furl'd; and anchoring round she swings: And the brief epitaph in danger's day, And gathering loiterers on the land discern When those who win at length divide the prey, Her boat descendingr from the latticed stern. And cry remembrance saddening o'er each brow,'T is manil'd-the oars keep concert to the strand, H[ow had the brave who fell exulted now!" Till grates her keel upon the shallow sand. ~~~II.~ ~ Hail to the welcome shout!-the friendly speech! When hand grasps hand uniting on the beach; Sumxh were the notes that from the pirate's isle, The smile, the question, and the quick reply, Around the kindling watch-fire rang th'e while; And the heart's promise of festivity! Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along, And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song! V. In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand, The tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd; They game-carouse-converse-or whet the brand; The hum of voices, and the laughter loud, Select the arms-to each his blade assign, And woman's gentler anxious tone is heardAnid careless eye the blood that dims its shine: Friends'-husbands'-lovers' names in eachtdear ua-dr Repair tle boat, replace the helm or oar, "Oh! are they safe? we ask not of successWhile others straggling muse along the shore; But shall we see them' will their accents bless? F'or tie wild bird the busy springes set, From where the battle roars-the billows chafeI ) spread beneath the sun the aripping net; They doubtless boldly died-but who are safe' THE CORSAIR. 161 Here let them haste td gladden and surprise, That man of loneliness and mystery, And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!"- Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh; VI. Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew, c"Where is our chief? for hi, bea And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue; \' Where is our chief? for him we bear report-c L'*t'he for him we bear re~,ort- Still sways their souls with that commanding art And doubt that joy-which hails our coming-short; That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart. Yet thus sincere-'t is cheering, though so brief; Wht is s t What is that spell, that thus his lawless train But, Juan! instant guide us to our chief:, Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain? Omi greeting paid, we'11 feast on our return, C a o v Ou~ greeting paid, we II feWhat onshould it be, that thus their faith can bind? And all shall hear what each may wish to learn." ht hou t The power.of Thought-the magic of the Mind! Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way, ascending slowly by the roc n w, Link'd with success, assumed and kept with skill, To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay, T m That moulds another's weakness to its will; By bushy brake, and wild-flowers blossoming, By bushy brake, and wild-flowers. blossomingX Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown, And freshness breathing from each silver spring, Whosescatter'dt silver spring, Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own. Whose scatter'd streams from granite basins burst, been- l be-beneath the. W. w X Such hath it been-shall be-beneath the sun Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst; The many still must labour for the one! From crag to cliff they mount-Near yonder cave, From crag to cliff they mount-Ner yonder cave,'T is Nature's doom —but let the wretch who toils What lonely straggler looks along the wave? hat lonely straggler looks along the waveAccuse not, hate not him who wears the spoils. In pensive posture leaning on the brand, pensive posture leaning on thebrad, Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains, Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand. How light the balance of his humbler pains!'T is he —'t is Conrad-here —as wont-alone; On-Juan! on-and make our purpose known. IX. The bark he views-and tell him we would greet Unlike the heroes of each ancient race, His ear with tidings he must quickly meet: Demons in act, but gods at least in face, We dare not yet approach-thou know'st his mood, In Conrad's form seems little to admire, When strange or uninvited steps intrude." Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire VII. Robust, but not Herculean-to the sight Him Juan sought, and told of their intent- No giant frame sets forth his common heht; Yet in the whole who paused to look again He spake not-but a sign express'd assent., wo p d t k _). v..Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men; These Juan calls-they come-to their salute S m t m He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute. They gaze and marvel how-and still confess rnl t * X 15 I L That thus it is, but why they- cannot guess. "These letters, Chief, are from the Greek-the spy, u t is, bt why theycannot guess. Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh: Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale Whate'er his tidings, we can well report, The sable curls in wild profusion veil; M ych that"-" Peace, peace "-He cuts ther prating And oft perforce his rising lip reveals vXshort. r The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals, Wondering they turn, abash'd, while each to each X Wondering they turn, abash'd, while each to each Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech: Still seems there something he would not have seen: His features' deepening lines and varying hue, They watch his glance with many a stealing look, deepening es and varying hue, To gather how that eye the tidings took; At times attracted, yet perplex'd the view, 0......As if within that murkiness of mind But, this as if he guess'd, with head aside, As if within that murkiness of mind, Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride, Work'd feelings fearful, and yet undefined, He read the scroll-" My tablets, Juan, hark- Such might it e-that none could truly tellWhere is Gonsalvo?" Where is Gonsalvo?" Too close inquiry his stern glance would quell. "In the anchor'd bark." There breathe but few whose aspect might defy " There let him stay-to him this order bear. The full encounter of his searching eye He had the skill when Cunnit's aaze ofild seek Back to your duty-for my course prepare: He hd te s, w ld seek Myself this enterprise to-night will share." 1 P. tg Myself this enterprise to-niaht will share." To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek, "To-night, Lord Conrad?" At once the observer's purpose to espy, Ay! at set of sun: And on himself roll back his scrutiny, The breeze will freshen when the day is done. Lest he to Conrad rather should betray My corslet —cloak —one hour —and we are gone. Some secret thought than drag that chief's to-dav. My corslet-cloak-one hour-and we are gone. Sling on thy bugle-see that, free fron rust, Therewas a laughing devil in his sneer, My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust; That raised emotions both of rage and fear My carbine-lock springs worthy Of my trust; Be the edge sharpen'd of my boarding-brand, And where his frown of hatred darkly fel And give its guard more room to fit my hand. Hope withering fled-and Mercy sigh'd farewell' This let the armourer with speed dispose;. Last time, it more fatigued ny arm than foes: a t o Slight are the outward signs of' evil thought, Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired MRark that the signanl-gun be duly fired'Within-within-'t was there the spirit wrought To tell us when the hour of stay's expired." L s a c a Love shows all changes-Hate, ambition, guile VIII. Betray no further than the bitter smile; They make obeisance, and retire in haste, The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown Too soon to seek again the watery waste: Along the govern'd aspect, speak alone Yet they repine not-so that Conrad guides; Of deeper passions; and to judge their mien, And who dare question aught that he'decides? He, who would see, must be, hinisl unseen 26 THE CORSAIR. 163 3. Her consort still is absent, and her crew a Remember me-Oh! pass not thou my grave Have need of rest before they toilanew; Without one thought whose relics there recline: My love! thou mock'st my weakness; and wouldst stcd The only pang my bosom dare not brave My breast before the time when it must feel; Must be to find forgetfulness in thine. But trifle now no more with my distress, Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness. 4. Be silent, Conrad!-dearest! come and share "My fondest-faintest-latest-accents hear: The feast these hands delighted to prepare; Grief for the dead not virtue can reprove; Light toil! to cull and dress thy frugal fare! Then give me all I ever asked-a tear, See, I have pluck'd the fruit that promised best, The first-last-sole reward of so much love!" And where not sure, perplex'd, but pleas'd, I guess'd At such as seem'd the fairest: thrice the hill He pass'd the portal-cross'd the corridore, My steps have wound to try the coolest rill; And reach'd the chamber as the strain gave o'er: Yes! thy sherbet to-night will sweetly flow,' My own Medora! sure thy song is sad-~" See how it sparkles in its vase of snow! The grape's gay juice thy bosom never cheers; In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have 1. glad? Thou more than Moslem when the cup appears! Without thine ear to listen to my lay, Think not I mean to chide-for I rejoice Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray: What others deem a penance is thy choice. Still must each accent to my bosom suit, But come, the board is spread; our silver lamp My heart unhush'd-although my lips were mute! Is trimm'd, and heeds not the Sirocco's damp: Oh! many a night on this lone couch reclined, Then shall my handmaids while the time along, My dreaming fear with storms hath wing'd the wind, A join with me the dance, or wake the song And deem'd the breath that faintly fann'd thy sail Or my guitar, which still thou lov'st to hear, The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale; Shall soothe or lull-or, should it vex thine ear, Though soft, it seem'd the low prophetic dirge, We' turn the tale, by Ariosto told, That mourn'd thee floating on the savage surge: Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.1 Still would I rise to rouse the beacon-fire, Why-thou wert worse than he who broke his vow Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire; To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now; And many a restless hour outwatch'd each star, Or even that traitor chief-I've seen thee smile, And morning came-and still thou wert afar. When the clear sky show'd Ariadne's Isle, Oh! how the chill blast on my bosom blew, Which I have pointed from these cliffs the while: And day broke dreary on my troubled view, And thus, half sportive, half in fear, I said, And still I gazed and gazed-and not a prow Lest time should raise that doubt to more than dream Was granted to my tears-my truth-my vow! Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main At length-'t was noon-I hail'd and blest the mast And he deceived me-for-he came again!" That met my sight-it near'd-Alas! it past! Another came-Oh God!'twas thine at last! "Again-again-and oft again-my love! Would that those days were over! wilt thou ne'er, If there be life below, and hope above, My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share? He will return-but now, the moments bring Sure thou hast more than wealth; and many a home The time of parting with redoubled wing: As bright as this invites us not to roam; The why-the where-what boots it now to tell? Thou know'st it is not peril that I fear, Since all must end in that wild word-farewell! I only tremble when thou art not here: Yet would I fain-did time allow-discloseThen not for mine,,but that far dearer life, Fear not-these are no formidable foes; Which flies from love and languishes for strife- And here shall watch a more than wonted guard, How strange that heart, to me so tender still, For sudden siege and long defence prepared: Should war with nature and its better will!" Nor be thou lonely-though thy lord's away, Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay; "Yes, strange indeed, that heart hath long been changed; And this thy comfort-that, when next we meet, Worm-like't was trampled-adder-like avenged, Security shall make repose more sweet: Without one hope on earth beyond thy love, List!-'t is the bugle —Juan shrilly blew — And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above. One kiss-one more-another-Oh! Adieu!" Yet the same feeling which thou dost condemn, My very love to thee is hate to them, She rose-she sprung-she clung to his embrace. So closely mingling here, that, disentwined, Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face. I ceanse to love thee when I love mankind. He dared not raise to his that.deep-blue eye, Yet dread not this-the proof of all the past Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony. Assures the future that my love will last; Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms, But-Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart, In all the wildness of dishevell'd charms; This hour again-but not for long-we part." Scarce beat that bosom where his image aweit So full-that feeling seem'd almost unfelt! "This hour we part!-my heart foreboded this: Hark-peals the thunder of the signal-guln Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss. It told't was sunset-and he cursed that suit. This hour-it cannot be-this hour away! Again-again-that form he madly press'd: Yon bark hath hardly anchored in the bay: Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd I 164 BYRON'S WORKS. And, tottering to the couch, his bride he bore, For well had Conrad learn'd to curb lhe crowd, )ne moment gazed-as if to gaze no more; By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud; Felt-that for him earth held but her alone, His was the lofty port, the distant miep, Klss'd her cold forehead-turn'd-is Conrad gone? That seems to shun the sight-and awes if seen. The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye, XV. That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy; "And is he gone?"-on sudden solitude All these he wielded to command assent: How oft that fearful question will intrude! But where he wish'd to win, so well unbent, "'T was but an instant past-and here he stood! That kindness cancelld fear in those who heard, And now "-without the portal's porch she rush'd, And others' gifts show'd mean beside his word, And then at length her tears in freedom gush'd; When echoed to the heart as from his own Big-bright-and fast, unknown to her they fell; His deep yet tender melody of tone: But still her lips refused to send-" farewell!" But such was foreign to his wonted mood, For in that word-that fatal word-howe'er He cared not what he soften'd, but subdued; We promise-hope-believe-there breathes despair. The evil passions of his youth had made O'er every feature of that still pale face, Him value less who loved-than what obey'd. Had sorrow fix'dwhat time can ne'er erase; The tender blue 6f that large loving eye XVII. Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy, Around him mustering ranged his ready guard; Till-Oh, how far!-it caught a glimpse of him, Before him Juan stands-" Are all prepared?" And then it flow'd-and phrensied seem'd to swim " They are-nay more-embark'd: the latest boat Through these long, dark, and glistening lashes, dew'd Waits but my chief-" With drops of sadness oft to be renew'd. "My sword and my capote." "He's gone!"-against her heart that hand is driven, So firmly girded on, and lightly slung, Convulsed and quick-then gently raised to heaven; His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung. She look'd and saw the heaving of the main; " Call Pedro here!"-He comes-and Conrad bends, The white sail set-she dared not look again; With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends; But turn'd with sickening soul within the gate- "Receive these tablets, and peruse with care, " It is no dream-and I am desolate!" Words of high trust and truth are graven there; Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark XVI. Arrives, let him alike these orders mark: F,-om crag to crag descending-swiftly sped In three days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine Stern Conrad down, nor once he turn'd his head; On our return-till then all peace be thine!" But shrunk whene'er the windings of his way This said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung, Forced on his eye what he would not survey, Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung. His lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep, Flash'd the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke, Fhat hail'd him first when homeward from the deep: Around the waves, phosphoric brightness broke; And sle-the.dim and melancholy star, They gain the vessel-on the deck he stands; Whose ray of beauty reach'd him from afar, Shrieks the shrill whistle-ply the busy handsOn her he must not gaze, he must not think, He marks how well the ship her helm obeys, There he might rest, but on destruction's brink: How gallant all her crew-and deigns to praise. Yet once almost he stopp'd-and nearly gave His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turnHis fate to chance, his projects to the wave; Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn? But no-it must not be-a worthy chief Alas! those eyes beheld his rocky tower, May melt, but not betray to woman's grief. And live a moment o'er the parting hour; He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind, She-his Medora-did she mark the prow! And sternly gathers all his might of mind: Ah! never loved he half so much as now! Again he hurries on-and as he hears But much must yet be done ere dawn of dayThe clang of tumult vibrate on his ears, Again he mans himself and turns away; The busy sounds, the bustle of the shore, Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends, The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar; And there unfolds his plan-his means-and ends; As marks his eye the sea-boy on the mast. Before them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart, The anchor's rise, the sails unfurling fast, And all that speaks and aids the naval art; The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge They to the midnight watch protract debate; That mute adieu to those who stem the surge; To anxious eyes what hour is ever late? And, more than all, his blood-red flag aloft, Meantime, the steady breeze serenely blew, He marvell'd how his heart could seem so soft., And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew; Fire in his glance, and wildness in his breast% Pass'd the high headlands of each clustering isle, He feels of all his former self possest; To gain their port-long-long ere morning smile He bounds-he flies-until'his footsteps reach And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay The verge where ends the cliff, begins the beach, Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay. Theil checks his speed; but pauses less to breathe Count they each sail-and mark how there supine The breezy freshness of the deep beneath, The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine.'lian there his wonted statelier step renew; Secure, unnoted, Conrad's prow pass'd by, Noi rush, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view: And anchor'd where his ambush meant to lie; THE CORSAIR. 16.5 Screen'd from espial by the jutting cape, " A captive Dervise, from the pirate's nest That rears on high its rude fantastic shape. Escaped is here-himself would tell the rest." Then rose his band to duty-not from sleep- He took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye, Equipp'd for deeds alike on land or deep; And led the holy man in silence nigh. While lean'd their leader o'er the fretting flood, Iis arms were folded on his dark-green vest, And calmly talked-and yet he talk'd of blood! Iis step was feeble, and his look deprest; Yet worn he seem'd of hardship more than years, And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears. Vow'd to his God-his sable locks he wore, CANJTO 1I1. And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er: Around his form his loose long robe was thrown, Conosccste i dubiosi desiri? And wrapt a breast bestow'd on heaven alone; DANTE. Submissive, yet with self-possession mann'd, He calmly met the curious eyes that scann'd; Anid question of his coming fain would seek, IN Coron's bay floats many a galley light, Before the Pacha's will allow'd to speak. Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright, For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night: IV. A feast for promised triumph yet to come, "Whence com'st thou, Dervise?" When he shall drag the fetter'd Rovers home; "From the outl!w-s den, This hath he sworn by Alla and his sword, A fugitive-" And faithful to his firman and his word, "Thy capture where and when?" His summon'd prows collect along the coast, "From Scalanova's port to Scio's isle, And great the gatnering crews, and loud the boast; The aick was bound; but Alla did not smile Already shared the captives and the prize, Upon our course-the Moslem merchant's gains Though far the distant foe they thus despise; The Rovers won: our limbs have worn their chains.'T is but to sail-no doubt to-morrow's sun I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast, Will see the Pirates bound-their haven won! Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost; Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will, At length a fisher's humble boat by night Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill; Afforded hope, and offer'd chance of flight: Though all, who can, disperse on. shore and seek I seized the hour, and find my safety hereTo flesh their glowing valour on the Greek; With thee-most mighty Pacha! who can fear?" How well such deed becomes the turban'd braveTo bare the sabre's edge before a slave! " How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared, Infest his dwelling —but forbear to slay — Their plunder'd wealth, and robber's rock, to guard! Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day, Dream they of this our preparation, doom'd And do not deign to smite because they may! To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?" Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow, To keep in practice for the coming foe. "Pacha! the fetter'd captive's mourning eye Revel and rout the evening hours beguile, That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy; And they who wish to wear a head, must smile; I only heard the reckless waters roar, For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer, Those waves that would not bear me from the shore And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear. I only mark'd the glorious sun and sky, II. Too bright-too blue-for my captivity; High in his hall reclines the turban'd Seyd And felt-that all which Freedom's bosom cheers, High in his hall reclines the turban'd Seyda;t Around-the bearded chiefs he came to lead. Must break my chain before it dried my tears. Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff- -- Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff- This may'st thou judge, at least, from my.escape, Forbidden draughts,'t is said, he dared to quaff, T l d o r Though to the rest the sober berry's juice,3 Though to the rest the sober berry's juice, Else vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance The slaves bear round for rigid Moslem's use; That leads me here-if eyed with vigilance: The long Chibouque's dissolving cloud supply, The careless guard that did not see me fly, The dono Chebouque ds osoidng clout, supply. -While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy. May watch as idly when thy power is nigh: Pacha!-my limbs are faint —and nature craves The rising morn will view the chiefs embark; Pacha!-my limbs are faint-and nature craves But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark: my er, rest from tossing ves Permit my absence-peace be with thee!Peac,: And revellers may more securely sleep Permit my absence-peace be with thee! Pelcs On silken couch, than o'er the rugged deep; With all around!-now grant repose-release." Feast there who can-nor combat till they must, " Stay, Dervise! I have more to question-stay, And less to conquest than to Korans trust;, X,.,.I do command thee —sit —dost hear? —obey! And yet the numbers crowded in his host More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring, Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast. Thou shalt not pine where all ar; banqueting. 1II. The supper done-prepare thee to repiy, With cautious reverence from the outer gate, Clearly and full-I love not mystery." Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait, Bows his bent head-his hand salutes the floor,'T were vain to guess what shook the pious wau. Lre yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore: Who look'd not lovingly on that Divan: 8 166 BYRON'S WORKS. Nor show'd high relish for the banquet prest, Sweeps his long arm-thre sabre's whirling sway And less respect for every fe.low-guest. Sheds fast atonement for its first delay;'T was but a moment's peevish hectic past Completes his fury, what their fear began, Along his cheek, and tranquillized as fast: And makes the many basely quail to one. He sate him down in silence, and his look The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, Resumed the calmness which before forsook: And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head: The feast was usher'd in-but sumptuous fare Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelm'd with rage, surprise He shunn'd, as if some poison mingled there. Retreats before him, though he still defies. For one so long condemn'd to toil and fast, No craven he-and yet he dreads the blow, Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast. So much Confusion magnifies his foe! "What ails thee, Dervise? eat-dost thou suppose His blazing galleys still distract his sight, This feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes? He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight; Why dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge For now the pirates pass'd the Haram gate, Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge, And burst within-and it were death to wait; Makes even contending tribes in peace unite, Where wild amazement shrieking-kneeling-throws And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!" The sword aside-in vain-the blood o'erflows! The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within "Salt seasons dainties-and my food is still Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life, And my stern vow and order's 8 laws oppose Proclaim'd how well he did the work of strife. To break or mingle bread with friends or foes; They shout to find him grim and lonely there, It may seem strange-if there Be aught to dread, A glutted tiger mangling in his lair! That peril rests upon my single head; But short their greeting-shorter his replyBut for thy sway-nay more-thy Sultan's throne, T i well-but Seyd escapes-and he must die. I taste nor bread, nor banquet-save alone; Much hath been done-but more remains to doInfringed our order's rule, the Prophet's rage Their galleys blaze-whynot their city too?" To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage." V. " Well-as thou wilt-ascetic as thou artOne question answer; then in peace depart. Quick at the word-they seize him each a torch, How manyHa itcann e be day! And fire the dome from minaret to porch. How many,?-Ha! it cannot sure be day! Cow.an~y~7 —Ha. it cannot sure be day A' stern delight was fix'd in Conrad's eye, What star-what sun is bursting on the bay? Conrad's eye, It shines a lake of fire -away-away! But sudden sunk-for on his ear the cry It shines a lake of fire!-away-away! Of women struck, and like a deadly knell HoI treachery! my guards! my scimitar! HThe galleys feed the flames-and I afar! Knock'd at that heart unmoved by battle's yell. The galleys feed the flames-and I afar! n Aclcursed Dervise!-these thy tidinas-thou "Hara wrong not on your live One female form-remember-we have wives. Some villain spy-seize-cleave him-slay him nowm-remember- have wives. On them such outrage vengeance will repay; Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light, Man is our foe, and such't is ours to slay: Nor less his change of form appall'd the sight: But still we spared —must spare the weaker prey. Up rose that Dervise-not in saintly garb, Oh! I forgot-but Heaven will not forgive Butlike a warrior bounding on his barb, If at my word the helpless cease to live; Dash'd his high cap, and-tore his.robe away- Follow who will-I go-we yet have time Shone his mail'd breast, and flash'd his sabre's ray! Our souls to lighten of at leat a crime." His close but glittering casque, and sable plume, He climbs the crackling stair-he bursts the door, More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom, Nor feels his feet glow scorching with the floor; Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit sprite, His breath choak'd gasping with the volumed smokt Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight. But still from room to room his way he broke. the wild confusion, and the swarthy glow They search-they find-they save: with lusty arnm Of flames on high, and torches from below; Each bears a prize of unregarded charms; The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell- Calm their loud fears; sustain their sinking frames For swords began to clash, and, shouts to swell, With all the care defenceless beauty claims: Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell! So well could Conrad tame their fiercest mood, Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves And check the very hands with gore imbrued. Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves; But who is she? whom Conrad's arms convey Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry, From reeking pile and combat's wreck-awayThey seize that Dervise! seize on Zatanai! Who but the love of him he dooms tobleed lie saw their terror-check'd the first despair The Haram queen-but still the slave of Seyd! That urged him but to stand and perish there, Sinmc far too early and too well obey'4, The Ilame was kindled ere the signal made; Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare,g He saw their terror-from his baldric drew Few words to reassure the trembling fair; His inlgle-brief the blast-but shrilly blew; For in that pause compassion snatch'd from war,'T is answer'd-" Well ye speed, my gallant crew! The foe, before retiring fast and far, Why did I doubt their quickness of career? With wonder saw their footsteps unpursued, And deem desen had left me single here?" First slowlier fled-then rallied-then withsBtod. THE CORSAIR. 167 This Seyd perceives, then first perceives how few, Must he alone of all retain his breath, Comoared with his, the Corsair's roving crew, Who more than all had striven and struck for death And blusnes o'er his error, as he eyes He deeply felt-what mortal hearts must feel, The ruin wrought by panic and surprise. WIhen thus reversed on faithless fortune's wheel, Alla-il Alla! Vengeance swells the cry- For crimes committed, and the victor's threat Shame mounts to rage that must atone or die! Of lingering tortures to repay the debtAnd flame for flame and blood for blood must tell, He deeply, darkly felt; but evil pride The tide of triumph ebbs that flow'd too well- That led to perpetrate-now serves to hide. When wrath returns to renovated strife, Still in his stern and self-collected mien And those who fought for conquest strike for life. A conqueror's more than captive's air is seen Conrad beheld the danger-he beheld Though faint with wasting toil and stiffening wouna, His followers faint by freshening foes repell'd: Butfew that saw-so calmly gazed around: " One effort-one-to break the circling host!" Though the far shouting of the distant crowd, They form-unite-charge-waver-all is lost! Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud, Within a narrower ring compress'd, beset, The better warriors who beheld him near, Hopeless not heartless, strive and struggle yet- Insulted not the foe who taught them fear; Ah! now they fight in firmest file no more- And the grim guards that to his durance led, Hemm'd in-cut off-cleft down-and trampled o'er; In silence eyed him with asecret dread. But each strikes singly, silently, and home, And sinks outwearied rather than o'ercome, IX. His last faint quittance rendering with his breath, The leech was sent-but not in mercy-there Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of death! the blade glimms f To note how much the life yet left could bear; VII. He found enough to load with heaviest chain, And promise feeling for the wrench of pain: But first ere came the rallying host to blows, To-morrow-yea-t imorrow's evening sun rank and hand to hand opposeJTo-morrow-yea-to-morrow's evening sun And rank to rank and hand to hand oppose, And r an 11 to 1 Will sinking see impalement's pangs begun. Gulnare and all her Haram handmaids freed, And rising with the wonted blush of morn Safe in the dome of one who held their creed, d i w i B s e s w Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne. By Conrad's mandate safely were bestow'd,. J -.>,.X ~,i Of torments this the longest and the worst, And dried those tears for life and flame that flow'd: r i Which adds all other agony to thirst, And when that dark-eyed lady, young Gulnare, Xn -,vI, i Li..,. That day by day death still forbears to slake, Recall'd those thoughts late wandering in despair, he famhd lturs flit arou th stake. ~Aii LJ-J L iil. While famish'dvultures flit around the stake. Much did she marvel o'er the courtesy. Much did she marvel o'er the ot "Oh! water-water!"-smiling hate denies That smooth'd his accents; soften'd in his eye: X,,~~~ ~, 1-. - ~The victim's prayer-for if he drinks-he dies.'T was strange-that robber thus with gore bedew'd, This s d - i i - I ci -. J This was his doom:-the leech, the guard were gone, Seem'd gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood. a w And left proud Conrad fetter'd and alone. The Pacha woo'd as if he deem'd the slave Must seem delighted with the heart he gave; Thie Corsair vow'd protection, soothed affright, As if his homage were a woman's right. -'T were vain to paint to what his feelings grew"The wish is wrong-nay, worse for female, vain: It even were doubtful-if their victim knew. Yet much I long to view that chief again; There is a war, a chaos of the mind, If but to thank for, what my fear forgot, When all its elements convulsed-combined — The life-my loving lordremember'd not!" Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force, And gnashing with impenitentremorse; VIII. That juggling fiend-who never spake beforeAnd him she saw, where thickest carnage spread, But cries, "I warn'd thee!" when the deed is o e1. But gather'd breathing from the happier dead; Vain voice! the spirit burning but unbent, Far from his band, and battling with a host May writhe-rebel-the weak alone repent! That deem right dearly won the field he lost, Even in that lonely hour when most it feels, Fell'd-bleeding-baffled of the death he sought, And, to itself, all-all that self reveals, And snatch'd to expiate all the ills he wrought; No single passion, and no ruling thought Preserved to linger and to live in vain; That leaves the rest as once unseen, unsought, While Vengeance ponder'd o'er new plans of pain, But the wild prospect, when the soul reviewsAnd staunch'd the blood she saves to shed again- All rushing through their thousand avenuesBut drop by drop, for Seyd's unglutted eye Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret, Would doom him ever dying —ne'er to die! Endanger'd glory, life itself beset; Can this be he? triumphant late she saw, The joy untasted, the contempt or hate When his red hand's wild gesture waved, a law!'Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate,'T is he indeed —disarm'd but undeprest, The hopeless past; the hasting future driven Ris sole regret the life he still possest; Too quickly on to guess if hell or heaven His wounds too slight, though taken with that will, Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remember d' Which would have kiss'd the hand that then could kill. So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot; Oh! were there none, of all the many given, Things light or lovely in their acted time, To send his soul-he scarcely ask'd to heav'n? But now to stern reflection each a crime 16' BYRON'S WORKS. The withering sense of evil unreveal'd, And with it, scarcely question'd, won her way Not cankering less because the more conceal'd- Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey. All, in a word, from which all eyes must statt, Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows, That opening sepulchre-the naked heart Their eyes had envied Conrad his repose; Bares with its buried woes, till pride awake, And chill and nodding at the turret door, To snatch the mirror from the soul-and break. They stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more, Ay —pride can veil, and courage brave it all, Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring, All-all-before-beyond-the deadliest fall. Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. Each hath some fear, and he who least betrays, The only hypocrite deserving praise: Not the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies; She gazed in wonder, " Can he calmly sleep, But he who looks on death-and silent dies. While other eyes his fall or ravage weep? So steel'd by pondering o'er his far career, And mine in restlessness are wandering here — He half-way meets him should he menace near! What sudden spell hath made this man so dear? True-'t is to him my life, and more I owe, XI. And me and nine he spared from worse than woe: In the high chamber of his highest tower,'T is late to think-but soft-his slumber breaksSate Conrad, fetter'd in the Pacha's power. How heavily he sighs! —he starts —awakes!" His palace perish'd in the flame-this fort He raised his head —and, dazzled withthe light, Contain'd at once his captive and, his court. His eye seem'd dubious if it saw aright: Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame, He moved his hand-the grating of his chain His foe, if vanquish'd, had but shared the same:- Too harshly told him that he lived again. Alone he sate-in soLtude had scann'd "What is that form? if not a shape of air, His guilty bosom, but that breast he mann'd: Methinks my jailor's face shows wondrous fair t' One thought alone he could not-dared not meet. "Pirate! thou know'st me not —but I am one "Oh! how these tidings will Medora greet!" "Pirate! thou know'st me not —but I a one ThOen-ronly then-hiis cain handsheraised,;- Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done; Then-only then-his clanking hands he raised, Look on me-and remember her thy hand And strain'd with rage the chain on which he gazed; remember her, thy hand But soon he found-or feian'd-or drcam'd relief Snatch'd from the flames, and thy more fearful banBut soon he found-or feign'd-or dreamd relief, And smiled in self-derision of his grief: I come through darkness-and I scarce know whyAnd smiled in self-derision of his grief.: Yet not to hurt-I would not see thee die." " And now come torture when it will-or may, More need of rest to nerve me for the day!"If so, kind lady thine the only eye This said, with languor to his mat he crept,'Tlhis said, with languor to his mat he crept, That would not here in that gay hope delight: Ald, whatsoe'er his visions, quickly slept.heir is the chanceand let them use their right. I' was hardly midnight when that fray begun, But still I thank their courtesy or thine, For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done; That would confess me at so fair a shrine." And Havoc loathes somuch the wvaste of time, Strange though it seem-yet with extremest grief She scarce had left an uncommitted crime. s link'd a mirth-it doth not bring relief One hour beheld him since the tide he stemm'd- That playfulness of sorrow ner beguiles, Disguised, discovered, conquering, ta'en, condemn'd-And smiles in bitterness-but still it smiles; A chief on land-an outlaw on the deep- And sometimes with the wisest and the best, Destroying-saving-prison'd-and asleep! Till even the scaffold'o echoes with their jest! XII. Yet not the joy to which it seems akinHe slept in camt e or his b h It may deceive all hearts, save that within. He slept in calmest deeming-for his breath, Her t in almes AIL breath 1. Whate'er it was that flash'd on Conrad, now Was hush'd so deep-Ah! happy if in death! r i w t f t, ~s < ^' * -^ *. a v J i A laughing wildness half unbent his brow: He slept-Who o'er his placid slumber bends? g s hf u t hs And these his accents had a sound of mirth, His foes are gone-and here he hath no friends; thd o I ~.* As if the last he could enjoy on earth; Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace? Yet'gainst his nature-for through that short life, No,'tis an earthly form with heavenly face!! fe.. - Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife Its white arm raised a lamp'-yet gently hid, Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid XIV. Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain, "Corsair! thy doom is named-but I have power And once unclosed-but o6nce may close again. To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour. That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair, Thee would I spare-nay more-would save thee now And auburn waves of gemm'd and braided hair; But this-time-hope-nor even thy strength allow; W itl shape of fairy lightness —naked foot, But all I can, I will: at least, delay'1'at shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute — The sentence that remits thee scarce a day. I.)rough guards and dunnest night how came it there? More now were ruin-even thyself were loth Al! rather ask what will not woman dare, The vain attempt should bring but doom to both." Whom youth and pity lead like thee, Gulnare? She could not sleep-and while the Pacha's rest "Yes!-loth indeed:-my soul is nerved to all In multtering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest, Or fall'n too low to fear another fall: Suile eift his side-his signet-ring she bore, Tempt not thyself with peril; me with hope, Wlirh oil in sport adorn'd her hand before- Of flight from foes with whom I could not crpe THE CORSAIR. 169 Unfit to vanquish-shall I meanly fly, XV. The one of all my band that would not die? She press'd his fetter'd fingers to her heart, Yet there is one-to whom my memory clings, And bow'd her head, and turn'd her to depart, Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs. And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone. My sole resources in the path I trod And was she here? and is he now alone? Were these-my bark-my sword-my love-my God! What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his chain' The last I left in youth-he leaves me now- The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain, And man but works his will to lay me low. That starts at once-bright-pure-from pity's mine, I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer Already polish'd by the hand divine! Wrung from the coward crouching of despair; J " It is enough-I breathe-and I can bear. Oh! too convincing-dangerously dearMy sword is shaken from the worthless hand In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That might have better kept so true a brand; hat weapon of her weakness she can wield, My bark is sunk or captive-but my love- To save, subdue-at once her spear and shield: For her in sooth my voice would mount above: Avoid it-virtue ebbs and wisdom errs, Oh! she is all that still to earth can bind- Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers! And this will break a heart so more than kind, What lost a world, and bade a hero fly? And biight a form-till thine appear'd, Gulnare The timid tear in Clepatra's eye. Mine eye ne'er ask'd if others were as fair." Yet be the soft triumvir's fault forgiven, B-y this-how many lose not earth-but heaven! " Thou lovest another then?-but what to me Consign their souls to man's eternal foe, Is this-'t is nothing —nothing e'er can be: And seal their own to spare some wanton's woe! But yet-thou lovest-and-Oh! I envy those XVI Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, Tis morn-d o'er is alterd features play Who never feel the void-the wandering thought the hope of yesterda The beams-without the hope of yesterday. That sighs o'er visions-such as mine hath wrought." p hing What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing " Lady-methought thy love was his, for whom O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing: This arm redeem'd thee from a fiery tomb." By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt, While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt, " My love stern Seyd's! Oh-no-no-not my love- Chill-wet-and misty round each stiffen'd limb, Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove Refreshing earth-reviving all but him!To meet his passion-but it would not be. I felt-I feel-love dwells with-with the free. I am a slave, a favour'd slave at best, To share his splendour, and seem very blest! CANTO III. Oft must my soul the question undergo, Of-' Dost thou love?' and burn to answer'Noon m' abb,,,..,.Come vedi-ancor non m' abbandona. Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain, DANTE. And struggle not to feel averse in vain; But harder still the heart's recoil to bear, I And hide from one-perhaps another there. SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, He takes the hand I give not —nor withhold- Along Morea's hills, the setting sun; Its pulse nor check'd-nor quicken'd-calmly cold: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, And, when resign'd, it drops a lifeless weight But one unclouded blaze of living light! From one I never loved enough to hate. O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throwb, No warmth these lips return by his imprest, Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows. And chill'd remembrance shudders o'er the rest. On old JEgina's rock, and Idras isle, Yes-had I ever proved that passion's zeal, The god of gladness sheds his parting smile; The change to hatred were at least to feel: O'er his own regions lingering; loves to shine, But still-he goes unmourn'd-returns unsought- Though there his altars' are no more divine. And oft when present-absent from my thought. Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss Or when reflection comes-and come it must- Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis! I fear that henceforth't will but bring disgust; Their azure arches through the long expanse I am his slave-but, in despite' of pride, More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance, r were worse than bondage to become his bride. And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, Oh! that this dotage of his'breast would cease Mark his gay course and own the hues of heaven, Or seek another and give mine release, Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, But yesterday-I could have said, to peace t Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sieep. Yes-if unwonted fondness now I feign, Remember-captive!'t is to break thy chain; On such an eve, his palest beam he cast, Repay the life that to thy hand I owe; When, Athens! here thy wisest look'd his last, To give thee back to all endear'd below, How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray, Who share such love as I can never know. That closed their murder'd sage's " latest day Farewell-morn breaks-and I must now away: Not yet-not yet-Sol pauses on the hillT will cost me dear-but dread no death to day!" The precious hour of parting lingers still; 82 27 170 BYRON'S WORKS. But sad his light to agonizing eyes, It came at last-a sad and shatter'd boat, And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes: Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought, Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour, Some bleeding-all most wretched-these the fewThe land, where Phoebus never frown'd before; Scarce knew they how escaped —this all they knew. But, ere he sunk below Cithaeron's head, In silence, darkling, each appear'd to wait The cup of woe was quaff'd-the spirit fled; His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate: The soul of him who scorn'd to fear or fly- Something they would have said; but seem'd to feat Who lived and died, as none can live or die! To trust their accents to Medora's ear. She saw at once, yet sunk not —trembled notBut lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot, The queen of night asserts her silent reign. 2 Within that meek fair form were feelings high, No murky vapour, herald of the storm, That deem'd not till they found their energy. Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form; While yet was Hope-they soften'd-flutter'd-weptWith cornice glimmering as the moon-beams play, All lost-that softness died not-but it slept; There the white column greets her grateful ray, And o'er its slumber rose that strength which said, And, bright around with quivering beams beset, With nothing left to love-there's nought to dread." Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret:'T is more than nature's; like the burning might The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide Delirium gathers from the fever's height. Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide, The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque, "Silent you stand-nor would I hear you tell The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk,'3 What-speak not-breathe not-for I know it wellAnd, dun and sombre'mid the holy calm, Yet would I ask-almost my lip denies Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm, The-quick your answer —tell me where he lies." All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eyeAnd dull were his that pass'd them heedless by. "Lady! we know not-scarce with life we fled But here is one denies that he is dead: Again the JEgean, heard no more afar, Ile saw him bound, and bleeding-but alive." Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; She heard no further-'t was in vain to striveAgain his waves in milder tints unfold So throbb'd each vein-each thought-till then with Their long array of sapphire and of gold, stood N ixt with the shades of many a distant isle, Her own dark soul-these words at once subdued: Ihat frown-where gentler ocean seems to smile.'4 She totters —falls-and senseless had the wave II. Perchance but snatch'd her from another grave; not now my theme —why turn nmy thoughts to thee? BBut that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes, Oh! who can look along thy native sea, They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies: Nor dwell upon thy name, whate'er the tale, Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew, So much its magic mlust o'er all prevail? Raise-fan-sustain till life returns anew; Who that beheld that sun upon thee set, Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave Fair Athens! could thine evening face forget? That fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve; Not he —whose heart nor time nor distance frees, Then seek Anselmo's cavern, to report Spetl- bound within the clustering Cyclades! The tale too tedious-when the triumph short. Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain, I His Corsair's isle was once thine own domainWould that with freedom it were thine again! In that wild council words waxd warm and stange With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge; III. All, save repose or flight: still lingering there The sun hath sunk-and, darker than the night, Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair; Sinks with its beam upon the beacon height Whate'er his fate-the breasts he form'd and led Medora's heart —the third day's come and gone- Will save him living, or appease him dead. With it he comes not-sends not-faithless one! Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few, The wind was fair though light; and storms were none. Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true Last eve Anselmo's bark return'd, and yet His only tidings that they had not met! Though wild, as now, far different were the tale Within the Haram's secret chamber sate Had Conrad waited for that single sail. Stern Seyd, still pondering o'er his captive's fate, His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell, The night-breeze freshens-she that day had past Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cell; In watching all that hope proclaim'd a mast;- Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined Sadly she sate-on high —Impatience bore Surveys his brow-would soothe his gloom of r.iind, At last her footsteps to the midnight shore, While many an anxious glance her large dark eye And there she wander'd heedless of the spray Sends in its idle search for sympathy, That dash'd her garments oft, and warn'd away: His only bends in seeming o'er his beads,"5 She saw not-felt not this-nor dared depart, But inly views his victim as he bleeds. N or deem'd it cold-her chill was at her heart; Till grew such certainty from that suspense- " Pacha! the day is thine; and on thy crew His I o"v sight had shock'd from life or sense! Sits tritunph-Conrad taken-fall'n the rest! THE CORSAIR. 171 His doom Is fix'd-he dies: and well his fate Again his rage repell'd-until arose Was earn'd-yet much too worthless for thy hate: That strife of thought, the source of woman's woes! Methinks, a short release, for ransom told With all his treasure, not unwisely sold;. Report speaks largelyof his pirate-hoard- Meanwhile-long anxious-weary-still-the same Report speaks largely of his pirate-loardWould that of this my Pacha were the lord! - Roll'd day and night-his soul could terror tameWhile baffled, weaken'd by this fatal fray- This fearful interval of doubt and dread, Watch'd-follow'd-he were then an easier prey; When every hour might doom him worse than dead, But once cut off-the remnant of his band When every step that echo' by the gate, But once cuffteenatMight entering lead where axe and stake await: Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand." and stakeawait: When every voice that grated on his ear "Gulnare!-If for each drop of blood a gem Might be the last that he could ever hear; Were offer'd rich as Stamboul's diadem; Could terror tame-that spirit stern and high If for each hair of his a massy mine Had proved unwilling as unfit to die; Of virgin ore should supplicating shine;'T was worn —perhaps decay'd-yet silent bore If all our Arab tales divulge or dream That conflict deadlier far than all before: Of wealth were here-that gold should not redeem! The heat of fight, the hurry of the gale, It had not now redeem'd a single hour, Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail; But that I know him fetter'd, in my power; But bound and fix'd in fetter'd solitude; And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still To pine, the prey of every changing mood; On pangs that longest rack and latest kill." To gaze on thine own heart, and meditate Irrevocable faults, and coming fate" Nay, —Seyd!-I seek not to restrain thy rage, X"NaSyd -I sk nt to * rToo late the last to shun-the first to mendToo justly moved for mercy to assuage; I -oo justly moved for mercy to assuag; To count the hours that struggle to thine end, My thoughts were only to secure for thee it t i t ~/.,~t~ >^ i'Jl. c ~With not a friend to animate, and tell His riches-thus released, he were not free: T or ers ^.,X. t\~ JT - o other ears that death became thee well; Disabled, shorn of half his might and band,rreadyie Xg~~~'. Around thee foes to forge the ready lie, His capture could but wait thy first command." Hscpucoty ft And blot life's latest scene with calumny; "His capture could!-and shall I then resign Before the tortures, which the soul can dare, One day to him-the wretch already mine? Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear, Release my foe!-at whose remonstrance?-thine! But deeply feels a single cry would shame, Fair suitor!-to thy virtuous gratitude, To valour's praise thy last and dearest claim; That thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood, The life thou leavest below, denied above Which thee and thine alone of all could spare, By kind monopolists of heavenly love; No doubt-regardless if the prize were fair, And more than doubtful paradise-thy heaven My thanks and praise alike are due —now hear! Of earthly hope-thy loved one from thee riven. I have a counsel for thy gentler ear: Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain, I do mistrust thee, woman! and each word And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain: Of thine stamps truth on all suspicion heard. And those sustain'd he-boots it well or ill? Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai- Since not to sink beneath is something still! Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly? V Thou need'st not answer-thy confession speaks,.Alre rdei o. tguiy ceks; The first day pass'd-he saw not her-Gulnare — Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks; Then, lovely dame, betn i t and beware: The second-third-and still she came not there; Then, lovely dame, betninK lnee! and beware: Then,' l.ovely de. t aBut what her words avouch'd, her charms had donft'T is not his life alone may claim such care Or else he had not seen another sun. Another word and-nay-I need no more. Accursed was the moment when he bnore. The fourth day roll'd along, and with the night Accursed was the moment when he bore.. Thee from the ames, which better far-but-no Came storm and darkness in their niingling might; Thee from the flames, which better far-butuno-. D Thee fromthe lame, whch ette far-4Oh! how he listen'd to the rushing deep, I then had mourn'd thee with a lover's woe-' deep, That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep; Now't is thy lord that warns-deceitful thing! That neer ti now so broke upon his sleep Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing? And his wild spirit wilder wishes sent In words alone I am not wont to chafe: Roused by the roar of his own element! In words alone I am not wont to chafe: Oft had he ridden on that winged wave, Look to thyself-nor deem thy falsehood safe!" And loved its roughness for the speed it gave, He rose —and slowly, sternly thence withdrew, And now its dashing echo'd on his ear, Rage in his eye, and threats in his adieu: A long-known voice-alas! too vainly near. Ah! little reck'd that chief of womanhood- Loud sung the wind above; and, doubly loud, Which frowns ne'er quell'd, nor menaces subdued; Shook o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud; And little deem'd he what thy heart, Gulnare! And flash'd the lightning by the latticed bar, When soft could feel, and when incensed could dare. To him mere genial than the midnight star: His doubts appear'd to wrong-nor yet she knew Close to the glimmering grate he dragg'd his chaln How deep the root from whence compassion grew- And hoped that peril might not prove in vain. She was a slave-from such may captives claim He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray'd A fellow-feeling, differing but in name; One pitying flash to mar the form it made: Still halt-unconscious-heedless of his wrath, His steel and impious prayer attract alike — Again she ventured on the dangerous path, The storm roll'd onward, and disdain'd to stnko, 172 BYRON'S WORKS. Its peal wax'd fainter-ceased-he felt alone, I never loved-he bought me-somewhat highAs if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan! Since with me came a heart he could not buy. I was a slave unmurmuring; he hath said, VIII. But for his rescue Iiwith thee had fled. The midnight pass'd-and to the massy door,'T was false thou know'st-but let such augurs rua A light step came-it paused-it moved once nore: Their words are omens insult renders true. Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key: Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer;'' is as his heart forboded-that fair she! This fleeting grace was only to prepare Whate'er her sins, to him a guardian saint, New torments for thy life, and my despair. And beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint; Mine too he threatens; but his dotage still Yet changed since last within that cell she came, Would fain reserve me for his lordly will: More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame: When wearier of these fleeting charms and me, On him she cast her dark and hurried eye, There yawns the sack-and yonder rolls the sea! Which spoke before her accents-"thou must die! What, am I then a toy for dotard's play, Yes, thou must die-there is but one resource, To wear but till the gilding frets away? The last-the worst-if torture were not worse." I saw thee-loved thee-owe thee all-would save, If but to show how grateful is a slave. "Lady! I look to none-my lips proclaim t Lady! I look to non y liBut had he not thus menaced fame and life What last proclaim'd they-Conrad still the same in strife), (And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife), Why shouldst thou seek an outlaw's life to spare, I still had saved thee-but the Pacha spared. And change the sentence I deserve to bear? Now I am all thine own-for all prepared: Well have I earnd-nor here Thou lov'st me not-nor know'st —or but the worst. Of Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed." Alas this lovethat hatred are the firstAlas! this love-that hatred are the first" Why should I seek? because —Oh! didst thou not- Oh! couldst thou prove my truth, thou wouldst fot Redeem my life from worse than slavery's lot? start, Why should I seek?-hath misery made thee blind Nor fear the fire that lights an eastern heart; To the fond workings of a woman's mind?'T is now the beacon of thy safety-now And must I say? albeit my heart rebel It points within the port a Mainote prow: With all that woman fiels, but should not tell- But in one chamber, where our path must lead, Because-despite thy crimes-that heart is moved: There sleeps-he must not wake-the oppressor S eyd i It fear'd thee-thank'd thee-pitied-madden'd-loved. n f til en- Cci " Gulnare-Gulnare-I never felt till now Reply not, tell not now thy tale again, Tou lov'st another-land n I love in vain; * My abject fortune, wither'd fame so low: Thou lov'st another-and I love in vain; i mi'fi LI.. p' bSeyd is mine enemy: had swept my band Though fond as mine her bosom, form more fair, yd is mine enemy: had swept my band I flash through peril which she would not dare. From earth with ruthless but with open hand, If that thy heart to hers vere truly dear, Andtherefore came I, inmybarkofwar, To smite the smiter with the scimitar; Were I thine own-thou wert not lonely here: ~,J 1,1,. 7'Such is my weapon-not the secret knifeAn outlaw's spouse-and leave her lord to roam not the secrt What hath such gentle dame to do with home? Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life. What hath such gentle dame to do with home? Thine saved I gladly, lady, not for thisBut speak not now-o'er thine and o'er my head d Hans the keen sabre by a Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss. Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread; f tu ht c e still a w b fre Now fare thee well-more peace be with thy breast! If thou hast courage still, and wouldst be free,. Rceive thisponiard-.rise and follow me. ii" Night wears apace-my last of earthly rest!" Receive this poniard-rise and follow me!" "Ay —in my chains! my steps will gently tread, Rest! rest! by sunrise musthy sinews shak With these adornments, o'er each slumbering head! And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake. Thou hast forgot-is this a garb for flight I heard the order-saw-I will not seeOr is that instrument more fit for fight?" If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee. My life-my love-my hatred-all below " Misdoubting Corsair! I have gain'd the guard, o tis castCorsair tis but a blow Are on this cast-Corsair!'t is but a blow! Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward. Without it flight were idle-how evade A single word of mine removes that chain: His sure pursuit? my wrongs too unrepaid, Wlthout some aid, how here could I remain? My youth disgraced-the long, long wasted years, Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time, One blow shall cancel with our future fears; If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime: But since the dagger suits thee less than brand, The crime-'tis none to punish those of Seyd. I'11 try te firmness of a female hand. That hated tyrant, Conrad-he must bleed! The guards are gain'd-one moment all were o'er1 see thee shudder-but my soul is changed- Corsair! we meet in safety or no more; Wrong'd-spurn'd-reviled-and it shall be avenged- If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud Accutsed of what till now my heart disdain'd- Will hover o'r thy scaffld and my shroud Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chain'd. Yes, mnile I but he had little cause to sneer, IX. wvas not treacherous then-nor thou too dear: She turn'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply, But he has said it-and the jealous well, But his glance follow'd far with eager eye; Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel, And gathering, as he could, the links that bound Ueserve the fate their fretting lips foretell. His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound, x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.~~ ~:::, 2_:..::li::.11;;::::: i:::::'::~ i:j~i j:ii):..1:::~::'::j:::::::-:::.:I:I-:-1::::::: I:::':~i::::::.:l:::-:~l::::~i ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~................... I~~~~~~~~~~~~~' ~~~~~~~~::::s~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~....... ~P~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"~~.......... \...........~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~..........~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~L~ oolii~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'"8i.i~~~~:I-::::j::'_-..........~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~.............~~~~~~~~~~~.............w~tr. E~x RIN i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~: r ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~;is $j:~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~........ THE CORSAIR. 173 Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude, Resistance were as useless as if Seyd He, fast as fetter'd limbs allow, pursued. Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.'T was dark and winding, and he knew not where That passage led; nor lamp nor guard were there: XIII. He sees a dusky glimmering-shall he seek Embark'd, the sail unfurl'd, the light breeze blewOr shun that ray so iiindistinct and weak How much had Conrad's memory to review Chance guides his steps-a freshness seems to bear Sunk he incontemlation, till the cape Full on his brow, as if from morning air- Where last he anchor'd rear'd its giant shape. He reach'd an open gallery-on his eye Ah!-since that fatal night, though brief the time, Gleam'd the last star of night, the clearing sky: Had swept an age of terror, grief, and crime. Yet scarcely heeded these-another light As its far shadow frown'd above the mast, From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. He veil'd his face, and sorrow'd as he past; Towards it he moved, a scarcely closing door He thought of all-Gonsalvo and his band, Reveal'd the ray within, but nothing more. His fleeting triumph and his failing hand, With hasty step a figure outward past; He thought on her afar, his lonely bride: Then paused-andturn'd-and paused-'tis she atlast! He turn'd and saw-Gulnare, the homicide! No poniard in that hand-nor sign of ill- XIV "Thanks to that softening heart-she could not kill!"' n She watch'd his features till she could not bear Again he look'd, the wildness of her eye Their freezing aspect and averted air, Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully. St atso fro the day abru ada fe arfullyat'..v And that strange fierceness, foreign to her eye, She stopped-threw back her dark far-floating hair, Shetop' bac her dar far-t hi Fell quench'd in tears, too late to shed or,dry. That nearly veil'd her face and bosom fair:id hi i She knelt beside him, and his hand she prestAs if she late had bent her leaning head Above some object of her doubt or dread. " Thou may'st forgive, though Alla's self detest, But for that deed of darkness, what wert thou? They meet-upon her brow-unknown-forgot — IT. ~ I^JUJI^ i* K* * Reproach me-but not yet-Oh! spare me now! Her hurrying hand had left-'t was but a. spot — i r T* i. ill, J -^ 4. J I am not what I seem-this fearful night Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood- I am not what ee this eau nit. i. T- ~.'J. ~ 1-1.1 i My brain bewilder'd —do not madden quite! Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime —t is blood! f I had never ld-toh l my uilt'' If I had never loved-though less my guilt, X. Thou hadst not lived to-hate me-if thou wilt." He had seen battle-he had brooded lone XV. O'er promised pangs to sentenced guilt foreshown; He had been tempted-chasten'd-and the chain She wrongs his thoughts, they more himself upbraid Yet on his arms might ever there remain-: Than her, though undesign'd, the wretch he made; But ne'er from strife-captivity-remorse- But speechless all, deep, dark, nd unexprest, From all his feelings in their inmost force- They bleed within that silent ce-nis breast. So thrill'd-so shudder'd every creeping vein, Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge, The blue waves sport around thestern they urge; As now they froze before that purple stain. e e ste they urge That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak on the horizon's verge appears a speck, Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek! A spot-a mast-a sail-an armed deck! Blood he had view'd-could view unmoved-bt then Their little bark her men of watch descry, It flow'd in combat, or was shed by men! And ampler canvas woos the wind from high; She bears her down majestically near, XI. Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier; "'T is done-henearly waked-but it is done. A flash is seen-the ball beyond their bow Corsair! he perish'd-thou art dearly won. Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below. All words would now be vain-away-away! Up rose keen Conrad from his s'lent trance, Our bark is tossing-'t is already day. A long, long absent gladness in his glance; The few gain'd over, now are wholly mine, "'T is mine-my blood-red flag! again-againAnd these thy yet surviving band shall join: I am not all deserted on the main!" Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand, They own the signal, answer to the hail, When once our sail forsakes this hated strand." Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail. "'Tis Conrad! Conrad!" shouting from the dect, *~XII.~ ~ Command nor duty could their transpo t check! She clapp'd her hands-and through the gallery pour, With light alacrity and gaze of pride, Equipped for flight, her vassals-Greek and Moor; They view him mount once more his vessel's side, Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind; A smile relaxing in each rugged face, Once more his limbs are free as mountain-wind! Their arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace. But on his heavy heart such sadness sate, He, half-forgettingdanger and defeat, As if they there transferr'd that iron weight. Returns their greeting as a chief may greet, No words are utter'd-at her sign, a door Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand. Reveals the secret passage to the shore; And feels he yet can conquer and command The city lies behind-they speed, they reacl, The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach; XVI. And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd, These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow, Nor cared he now if rescued or betray'd; Yet grieve to win him back without a blow 174 BYRON'S WORKS. They sail'd prepared for vengeance-had they known He looks in vain-'t is strange-and all remark, A woman's hand secured that deed her own, Amid so many, hers alone is dark. She were their queen-less scrupulous are they'T is strange —of yore its welcome never fail'd, Than haughty Conrad how they win their way. Nor now, perchance, extinguished, only veil'd. With many an asking smile, and wondering stare, With the first boat descends he for the shore, They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare; And looks impatient on the lingering oar. And her, at once above-beneath her sex,. Oh! for a wing beyond the falcon's flight, Whom blood appall'd not, their regards perplex. To bear him like an arrow to that height! To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye, With the first pause the resting rowers gav,% She drops her veil, and stands in silence by; He waits not-looks not-leaps into the wava. Her arms are meekly folded on that breast, Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, aod high Which-Conrad safe-to fate resign'd the rest. Ascends the path familiar to his eye. Though worse than phrensy could that bosom fill, He reach'd his turret door-he paused-no sound Extreme in love or hate, m good or ill, Broke from within; ind all was night around. The worst of crimes had left her woman still! H knock'd, and loudly-footstep nor reply XVII. Announced that any heard or deemed him nigh; This Conrad mark'd, and felt-ah! could he less? He knock'd-but faintly-for his trembling hand Hate of that deed-but grief for her distress; Refused to aid his heavy heart's demahd. What she has done no tears can wash away, The portal opens-'t is a well-known faceAnd heaven must punish on its angry day: But not the form he panted to embrace; But-it was done: he knew, whate'er her guilt, Its lips are silent-twice his own essay'd, For him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt; And fail'd to frame the question they delay'd; And he was free!-and she for him had given He snatch'd the lamp-its light will answer allHer all on earth, and more than all in heaven! It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall. And now he turn'd him to that dark-eyed slave, He would not wait for that reviving rayWhose brow was bow'd beneath the glance he gave, As soon could he have linger'd there for day; Who now seem'd changed and humbled:-faint and But, glimmering through the dusky corridore, meek, Another chequers o'er the shadow'd floor; But varying oft the colour of her cheek His steps the chamber gain-his eyes behold Tc deeper shades of paleness-all its red All that his heart believed not-yet foretold!'That fearful spot which stain'd it from the dead! XX. He took.that hand-it trembled-now too late- He turn'd not-spoke not-sunk not-fix'd his.nok, So soft in love-so wildly nerved in hate; And set the anxious frame that lately shook: He clasp'd that hand-it trembled-and his own He gazedhow long we gaze despite of pain, Had lost its firmness, ana nis voice its tone. And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain! " Gulnare!"-but she replied not —" dear Gulnare!" In life itself she was so still and fair She raised her eye-her only answer there- That death with gentler aspect wither'd there At once she sought and sunk in his embrace: Ad the cold flowers i her colder hand containd, If he had driven her from that resting-place, In that last grasp as tenderly were strain'd His had been more or less than mortal heart, As if she scarcely felt, but feign'd a sleep, But-good or ill-it bade her not depart. And made it almost mockery yet to weep: Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast, long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow, Hlis latest virtue then had join'd the rest. And veil'd-thought shrinks from all that lurk'd belowYet even Medora might forgive the kiss Oh! o'er the eye death most exerts his might, That ask'd from form so fair no more than this, And hurls the spirit from her throne of light! The first, the last that frailty stole from faith- Sinks those lue orbs in thatlong last eclipse To lips where love had lavish'd all his breath, But spares, as yet, the charm around her lipsTo lips-whose broken sighs such fragrance fling, Yet, yet, they seem as they forbore to smile, As he had fann'd them freshly with his wing! And wish'd repose-but only for a while; XVIII. But the white shroud, and each extended tress, Tney gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle: Long-fair-but spread in utter lifelessness, To them the very rocks appear to smile; Which, late the sport of every summer wind, The haven hums with many a cheering sound, Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind: The beacons blaze their wonted stations round, These-and the pale pure cheek, became the bierThe boats are darting o'er the curly bay, But she is nothing-wherefore is he here? And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray; XXI. Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill discordant shriek He ask'd no question-all were answer'dnow Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak! By the first glance on that still-marble brow. Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams, Itwas enough-she died-what reck'd it how? Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams. The love of youth, the hope of better years Oh! what can sanctify the joys of home, The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears,\ Like hope's gay glance from ocean's troubled foam? The only living thing he could not hate, XIX. Was reft at once-and he deserved his fate, The lights are high on beacon and from bower, But did not feel it less;-the good explore, And'madst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower: For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar THE CORSAIR. 175 The proud-the wayward-who have fix'd below For him they raise not the recording stoneiheir joy-and find this earth enough for woe, His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known; Lose in that one their all-perchance a mite- He left a Corsair's name to other times, But whoin patience parts with all delight? Link'd with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.' Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern / Mask hearts where grief hath little left to learn;* And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost J N O E In smiles that least befit who wear them most. XXII. By those, that detnest feel, is ill exprest THE time in this poem mayNseem too short for the The indistinctness f the suffering breast; occurrences; but the whole of the _Egean isles are Where thousand th'ghts begin to end in one, within a few hours' sail of the continent, and the readel Which seeks from al, he refuge found in none; must be kind enough to take the wind as I have often No words suffice the secret soul to show, found it. For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. Note 1. Page 163, line 86. On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion prest, Of fair Olympia loved and left of old. And stupor almost lull'd it into rest; Orlando, Canto 10. So feeble now-his mother's softness crept, line 96. Note 2. Page 164, line 96. To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept: Around the waves phosphoric brightness broke. It was the very weakness of his brain, By night, particularly in a warm latitude, every Which thus confess'd without relieving pain. Which thus confess'd without relieving pain, stroke of the oar, every motion of the boat or ship, is None saw his trickling tears-perchance, if seen, None saw his trickling tears-perchance, if seen, followed by a slight flash like sheet lightning from the That useless flood of grief had never been: water Nor long they flow'd-he dried them to depart, In helpless-hopeless-brokenness of heart: Note Pae 165, le 39. Though to the rest the sober berry's juice. The sun goes forth-but Conrad's day is dim; Cof And the night cometh-ne'er to pass from him. There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, Note 4. Page 165, line 41. On grief's vain eye-the blindest of the blind! The long Chibouque's dissolving cloud supply. Which may not-dare not see-but turns aside Pipe. To blackest shade-nor will endure a guide! Note 5. Page 165, line 42. XXIII. While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy. His heart was form'd for softness-warp'd to wrong 7 Dancing-girls. Betray'd too early, and beguiled too long; NOTE TO CANTO II. Page 165, line 55. Each feeling pure-as falls the dropping dew It has been objected that Conrad's entering disguised Within the grot-like that had harden'd too; as a spy, is out of nature.-Perhaps so.-I find somn. Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass'd, thing not unlike it in history. But sunk, and chill'd, and petrified at last. "Anxious to explore with his own eyes the state of Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock; the Vandals, Majorian ventured, after disguising the If such his heart, so shatter'd it the shock. colour of his hair, to visit.Carthage in the character of There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, his own ambassador; and Genseric was afterwards Though dark the shade-it shelter'd, -saived till now. mortified by the discovery, that he had entertained and The thunder came-that bolt hath blasted both, dismissed the Emperor of the Romans. Such an anecThe granite's firmness, and the lily's growth: dote may be rejected as an improbable fiction; but it is The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell a fiction which would not have been imagined unless in Its tale, but shrunk and wither'd where it fell, the life of a hero." Gibbon, D. and F. Vol. VI. p. 180. And of its cold protector, blacken round That Conrad is a character not altogether out of naBut shiver'd fragments on the barren ground! ture, I shall attempt to prove by some historical coin. XXIV. cidences which I have met with since writing "The T is morn-to venture on his lonely hour Corsair." Few dare; though now Anselmo sought his tower. "Eccelin prisonnier," dit Rolandini, "s'enfermoit He was not there-nor seen along the shore; dans un silence menagant; il fixoit sur la terre son visage Ere night, alarm'd, their isle is traversed o'er: feroce, et ne donnoit point d'essor a sa profonde in. Another morn-another bids them seek, dignation.-De toutes parts cependant les soldats et leb And shout his name till echo waxeth weak; peuples accouroient, ils vouloient voir cet homme,;adis Mount-grotto —cavern-valley search'd in vain, si puissant, et la joie universelle eclatoit de toutes pans. They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain: * * * * * * * * Their hope revives-they follow o'er the main. " Eccelin 6toit d'une petite taille; mais tout i'aspect'T is idle all-moons roll on moons away, de sa personne, tous ses mnouvements indiquoier.t un And Conrad comes not-came not since that day: soldat.-Son langage dtoit amer, son deportement sli Nor trace nor tidings of his doom declare perbe-et par son seul regard il faisoit trembler lew Where lives his grief, or perish'd his despair! plus hardis." Sismondi, tome ii. pp. 219, 220. Long mourn'd his band whom none could mourn beside; " Gizericus (Genseric, king of the Vandals, the cont And fair the monument they gave his bride: queror of both Carthage and Rome), statura mediocrw 176 BYRON'S WORKS. *,t equi casu claudicans, animo profundus, sermone ra- Note 16. Page 174, line 98. rus, luxurias contemptor, ira turbidus, habendi cupidus, And the cold flowers her solder hand contain'd. ad sollicitandas gentes providentissimus," etc., etc. In the Levant it is the custom to strew flowers on the Jornandes de Rebus Geticis, c. 33. bodies of the dead, and in the hands of young persons I beg leave to quote these gloomy realities, to keep in to place a nosegay.,countenance my Giaour and Corsair. Note 17. Page 175, line 65. Note 6. Page 166, line 19. Link'd with one virtue, and a thousand crimes. And my stern vow and order's laws oppose. That the point of honour which is represented in one The Dervises are in colleges, and of different orders, istace ofConrad's aracter has not been carried as the Monks. beyond the bounds of probability, may perhaps be in Note 7 Page 166 le 54 some degree confirmed by the folln' mng anecdote of a Note 7. Page 166, line 54. Te seize that Dervie -s on Zatanai brother buccaneer in the present, ar, 1814. Satan. Our readers have all seen the account of the enterNote 8. Page 166, line 75. prise against the pirates of Barrataria; but few, we beHe tore his beard, and foaming fled the fiht. lieve, were informed of the situation, history, or nature A common and not very novel effect df Mussulman of that establishment. For the information of such as anger. See Prince Eugene's Memoirs, page 24. "The were unacquainted withit,we haveprocuredfroma Seraskier received a wound in the thigh; he plucked friend the following interesting narrative of the main up his beard by the roots, because he was obliged to facts, of which he has persona knowldge, an which quit the field." cannot fail to interest some of our readers. ote 9. Pae 166 le 1. Barrataria is a bay, or a narrow arm of the gulf of Note 9. Page 166, line 119. Mexico; it runs through a rich but very flat country, Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare. 6 ~ i p Conrd nw to gt G r.until it reaches within a mile of the Mississippi river, Gulnare, a female name; it means, literally, thefifteen miles belo the city of NewOrleans. The bay flower of the pomegranate. - has branches almost innumerable, in which persons Note 10. Page 168, line 100. can lie concealed from the severest scrutiny. It comTill even the scaffold echoes with their jest! municates with three lakes which lie on the south-west In Sir Thomas More, for instance, on the scaffold, side, and these, with the lake of the same name, and and Anne Boleyn in the Tower, when grasping her neck, which lies contiguous to the sea, where there is an island she remarked, that "it was too slender to trouble the formed by the two arms of this lake and the sea. The headsman much." During one part of the French Rev- east and west points of this island were fortified in the olution, it became a fashion to leave some "mot " as a year 1811, by a band of pirates, under the command of legacy; and the quantity of facetious last words spoken one Monsieur La Fitte. A large majority of these outduring that period, would form a melancholy jest-book laws are of that class of the population of the state of of a considerable size. Louisiana who fled from the island of St. Domingo Note 11. Page 169, line 113. during the troubles there, and took refuge in the island That closed their murder'd sage's latest day! of Cuba: and when the last war between France and Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sun- Spain commenced, they were compelled to leave that set (the hour of execution), notwithstanding the en- island with the short notice of a few days. Without treaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down. ceremony, they entered the United States, the most of Note 12. Panee 170, 1 e 10. them the State of Louisiana, with all the negroes they The queen of night asserts her silent reign. had possessed in Cuba. They were notified by the GovThe twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our elnor of that State of the clause in the constitution own country; the days in winter are longer, but in which forbad the importation of slaves; but, at the summer of shorter duration. same time, received the assurance of the Governor that 1he would obtain, if possible, the approbation of the genNote 13. Page 170, line 20. eral Government for their'retaining this property. Tho gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk. ^~~~T ~~~~~~~~~The island of Barrataria is situated about lat. 29. deg. withouhe ki present was mer-hose; then n r fpm is 15 min. lon. 92. 30. and is as remarkable for its health as without the present walls of Athens, not far from the.. i ie of thes beten wh anthen ntfr the v for the superior scale and shell-fish with which its waters temple of'Theseus, between which and the tree the wall abound. The chief of this horde l ike Charles de Moor torvenes.-Cephisus. stream is indeed scanty, and abound. The chief of this horde, like Charles de Moor, intervenes.-Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and....' -. nisus no stream 4at n dall. std'had mixed with his many vices some virtues. In the year Illissus nas no stream at all. h1813, this party had, from its turpitude and boldness, Note 14. Page 170, line 30. claimed the attention of the Governor of Louisiana; and That frown-where gentler ocean seems to smile. to break up the establishment, he thought proper to The opening lines as far as Section II. have, perhaps, strike at the head. He therefore offered a reward of 500 little business here, and were annexed to an unpub- dollars -for the head of Monsieur La Fitte, who was well lished, (though printed) poem; but they were written known to the inhabitants of the city of New-Orleans, or. the spot in the spring of 1811, and-I scarce know from his immediate connexion, and his once having been why-the reader must excuse their appearance here if a fencing-master in that city of great reputation, which lie can. art he learnt in Buonaparte's army, where he wcs a Note 15. Page 170, mne 116. Captain. The reward which was offered by the Gcvernor His only bends in seeming o'er his beads, for the head of La Fitte was answered oy the offer ot a The comboloio, or Mahometan rosarv; the beads are reward from the latter of ]5,000 f3rthe-head of the ia number ninety-nine, Governor. The Governor orcered out a company to LARA. 177 march from the city to La Fitte's island, and to burn and swered, he is Archbishop of York, We are informed, destroy all the property, and to bring to the city of New- that Blackbourne was installed sub-dean of Exeter in Orleans all his banditti. This company, under the com- 1694, which office he resigned in 1702: but after his mand of a man who had been the intimate associate of successor, Lewis Barnet's death, in 1704, heregainee this bold Captain, approached very near to the fortified it. In the following year he became dean; and, in 1714, island, before he saw a man, or heard a sound, until he held with it the archdeanery of Cornwall. He was conheard a whistle, not unlike a boatswain's call. Then it secrated bishop of Exeter, February 24, 1716; and was he found himself surrounded by armed men, who translated to York, November 28, 1724, as a reward, had emerged from the secret avenues which led into according to court scandal, for uniting George I. to the Bayou. Here it was that the modern Charles de Moor Duchess of Munster. This, however, appears to have developed his few noble traits; for to this man, who had been anunfounded calumny. As archbishop, he behaved come to destroy his life, and all that was dear to him, he with greatprudence, and was equally respectable as the not only spared his life, but offered him that which would guardian of the revenues of the see. Rumour whishave made the honest soldier easy for the remainder of pered he retained the vices of his youth, and that a his days, which was indignantly refused. He then, with passion for the fair sex formed an item in the list of his the approbation of his captor, returned to the city. This weaknesses; but so far from being convicted by seventy circumstance, and some concomitant events, proved that witnesses, he does not appear to have been directly this band of pirates was not to be taken by land. Our criminated by one. In short, I look upon these aspernaval force having always been small in that quarter, sions as the effects of mere malice. How is it possible a exertions for the destruction, of this illicit establishment buccaneer should have been so good a scholar as Blackcould not be expected from them until augmented; for bourne certainly was? he who had so perfect a knowan officer of the navy, with most of the gun-boats on ledge of the classics (particularly of the Greek tragethat station, had to retreat from an overwhelming force dians), as to be able to read them with the same ease of La Fitte's. So soon as the augmentation of the as he could Shakspeare, must have taken great pains navy authorized an attack, one was made; the over- to acquire the learned languages; and have had both throw of this banditti has been the result; and now this leisure and good masters. But he was undoubtedly almost invulnerable point and key to New-Orleans is educated at Christ-church College, Oxford. He is alclear of an enemy, it is to be hoped the government lowed to have been a pleasant man: this, however, was will hold it by a strong military force.-From an Ameri- turned against him, by its being said,'he gained more can Newspaper. hearts than souls.'" In Noble's continuation of Granger's Biographical " The only voice that could soothe the passions of the Dictionary, there is a singular passage in his account of savage (Alphonso 3d) was that of an amiable and vir archbishop Blackbourne, and as in some measure con- tuous wife, the sole object of his love; the voice of nected with the profession of the hero of the foregoing Donna Isabella, the daughter of the Duke of Savoy, poem, I cannot resist the temptation of extracting it: and the grand-daughter of Philip II. King of Spain."There is something mysterious in the history and Her dying words sunk deep into his memory; his fierce character of Dr. Blackbourne. The former is but im- spirit melted into tears; and, after the last embrace, perfectly known; and report has even asserted he was Alphonso retired into his chamber to bewail his irrea buccaneer; and that one of his brethren in that pro- parable loss, and to meditate on the vanity of human fession having asked, on his arrival in England, what life."-Miscellaneous Works of Gibbon, new edition, had become of his - l4 chum, Blackbourne, was an- 8vo. vol. 3. page 473. A TALE. CANTO I. ~CANTO ~I~. ~ The chief of Lara is return'd again: And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main? JI.~~~ ~ Left by his sire, too young such loss to know, Lord,f himself;-that heritage of woeTHE serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, That tearful empire which the human breast And slavery half forgets her feudal chain; But holds to rob the heart within of rest!He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord, With none to check, and few to point in time The long self-exiled chieftain is restored: The thousand paths that slope the way to crime There be bright faces m the busy hall, Then, when he most required commandment, hen Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall; Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men. Far checkering o'er the pictured window, plays It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace The unwonted faggots' hospitable blaze; His youth through all the mazes of;ts race; And gay retainers gather round the hearth, Short was the course his restlessness had run, With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth. But long enough to leave him half undone. T 2t 178 BYRON'S WORKS. III. VI. And Lara left in youth his father-land; Not much he loved long question of the past, But from the hour he waved his parting hand Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast, Each trace wax'd. fainter of his course, till all In those far lands where. he had wander'd lone, Had nearly ceased his memory to recall. And-as himself would have it seem-unknown His sire was dust, his vassals could declare, Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan,'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there; Nor glean experience from his fellow-man; Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew But what he had beheld he shunn'd to show, Cold in the many, anxious in the few. As hardly worth a stranger's care to know; His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name, If still more prying such inquiry grew, His portrait darkens in its fading frame, Hiis brow fell darker, and his words more few. Another chief consoled his destined bride,? VII. The young forgot him, and the old had died: Not unrejoiced to see him once again " Yet doth he live?" exclaims the impatient heir, was his elcome to the haunts of men And sighs for sables which he must not wear. Born of high liieage, link'd in high command, A hundred'scutcheons deck with gloomy grace He mingled with the magnates of his land The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place; Join'd the carousals of the great and ay But one is absent from the mouldering file, And saw them smile or sigh their hours away: That now were welcome in that Gothic pile. But still he only saw, and did not share ~1T~~V. ~The common pleasure or the general care; He did not follow what they all pursued He comes at last in sudden loneliness. With hope still baffled, still to be renew'd; And whence they know not, why they need not guess; Nor shadowy honour, nor substantial gain, They more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er, vas pain: I w X Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain: Not that he came, but came not long before: NoX train inhieyndAround him some mysterious circle thrown No train in his beyond a single page, Repell'd approach, and show'd hin still alone; Of foreign aspect, and of tender age.. X. X Of foreign aspect, and of tender age. Upon his eye sat something of reproof, Years had roll'd on, and fast they speed away, That kept at least frivolity aloof; To those that wander as to those that stay:e td tt b h And things more timid that beheld him near, But lack of tidings from another clime, In slence az r wherd mutual fear: In silence gazed, or whisper'd mutual fear: Had lent a flagging wing to weary time. b ZHad lent a fagging wing to weAnd they the wiser, friendlier few confest They see, they recognise, yet almost deem They see, they recognise, yet almost deem They deem'd him better than his air exprest. The present dubious, or the past a dream. VIII. He lives, nor yet is pass'd his manhood's prime,'T was strange-in youth all action and all life, Though sear'd by toil, and something touch'd by time; Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife; His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot, Woman-the field-the ocean-all that gave Might be untaught him by his varied lot; Promise of gladness, peril of a grave, Nor good nor ill of late we-e known, his name In turn h triede ransacked all below, Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame: And found his recompense in joy or woe, His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins No tame, trite medium; for his feelings sought No more than pleasure from the stripling wins; In that intenseness an escape from thought: And such, if not yet harden'd in their course, tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed Might be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse. On that the feebler elements hath raised; ^V. (The rapture of his heart had look'd on high, And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky: And they indeed were changed-'t is quickly seen wasi notv~. what. hhaben Chain'd to excess, the slave of each extreme, Whate'er he be, t was not what he had been: Whate'er'he be, It was not what he had been: How woke he from the wildness of that dream? That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last, Alas! he told not-but he did awake And spake of passions, but of passion past: And spake of passions, but of passion ast: To curse the wither'd heart that would not break The pride, but not the fire, of early days, Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise; IX. A high demeanour, and a glance that took Books, for his volume heretofore was Man, Their thoughts from others by a single look; With eye more curious he appear'd to scan, And that sarcastic levity of tongue, And oft, in sudden mood, for many a day The stinging of a heart the world hath stung, From all communion he would start away. That darts in seeming playfulness around, And then, his rarely-call'd attendants said, And makes those feel that will not own the wound; Through night's long hours would sound his hurried All these seem'd his, and something more beneath, tread Than glance could well reveal, or accent breathe. O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frown'd Ambition, glory, love, the common aim, In rude but antique portraiture around: That some can conquer, and that all would claim, They heard, but whisper'd, " that must not be knownWithin his breast appear'd no more to strive, The sound of words less earthly than his own. Yet seem'd as lately they had been alive; Yes, they who chose might smile, but some had seen And some deep feeling it were vain to trace They scarce knew what, but more than should havt &t moments lighten'd o'er his livid face. been. LARA. 179 Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head Hark! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hallWhich hands profane had gather'd from the dead, A sound-a voice-a shriek-a fearful call! That still beside his open'd volume lay, A long, loud shriek-and silence-did they hear As if to startle all save him away? That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear? Why slept he not when others were at rest? They heard and rose, and, tremulously brave, Why heard no music, and received no guest? Rush where the sound invoked their aid to save; All was not well they deem'd-but where the wrong? They come with half-lit tapers in their hands, Some knew perchance-but't were a tale too long; And snatch'd in startled haste unbelted brands. And such besides were too discreetly wise, XII. To more than hint their knowledge in surmise: his l w li a.~,, J * Cold as the marble where his length was laid, But if they would-they could "-around the board, ut if they would-theycould"-arounde ard, Pale as the beam that o'er his features play'd, Thus Lara's vassals prattled of their IordL Thus Lara vassals prattled of their lordWas Lara stretch'd; his half-drawn sabre near, X. Dropp'd it should seem in more than nature's fear; It was the night-and Lara's glassy stream Yet he was firm, or had been firm till now, The stars are studding, each with imaged beam: And still defiance knit his gather'd brow So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray, Though mix'd with terror, senseless as he lay, And yet they glide like happiness away; There lived upon his lip the wish to slay; Reflecting far and fairy-like from high Some half-form'd threat in utterance there had died, The immortal lights that live along the sky: Some imprecation of despairing pride; Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree, His eye was almost sead, but not forsook, And flowers the fairest that may feast the bee; Even in its trance, the gladiator's look, Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove, That oft awake his aspect could disclose, And Innocence would offer to her love, And now was fix'd in horrible repose. These deck the shore; the waves their channel make Theyraise him-bear him; hush! he breathes, he speoa In windings bright and mazy like the snake. The swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks, All was so still, so soft in earth and air, His lip resumes its red, his eye, though dim, You scarce would start to meet a spirit there Rolls wide and wild, each slowly-quivering limb Secure that nought of evil could delight Recalls its function, but his words are strung To walk in such a scene, on such a night! In terms that seem not of his native tongue; It was a moment only for the good: Distinct, but strange, enough they un'erstand So Lara deem'd, nor longer there he stood, To deem them accents of another lard; But turn'd in silence to his castle-gate; And such they were, and meant to eet an ear Such scene his soul no more could contemplate: That hears him not-alas! that cannot hear! Such scene reminded him of other days, XIV. Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze, His page approached, and he alone appear'd Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now- To know the import of the words the heard No —-no-the storm may beat upon his brow,. No -no-Xthe storm may beat upon his brow, And, by the changes of his cheek and brow, Unfelt-unsparing-but a night like this, Unfelt-unsparing-but a night like this, They were not such as Lara should avow, A night of beauty, mock'd such breast as his. Nor he interpret, yet with less surprise XI. Than those around their chieftain's state he eyes; He turn'd within his solitary hall, But Lara's prostrate form he bent beside, And his high shadow shot along the wall; And in that tongue which seem'd his own replied; There were the painted fbrms of other times, And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem'T was all they left of virtues or of crimes, To soothe away the horrors of his dream, Save vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults If drea it were, that thus could overthrow That hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults; A breast that heeded not ideal woe. And half a column of the pompous page, IV That speeds the specious tale from age to age;, 0. t1 ). Whate'er his phrensy dream'd or eye behela, Where history's pen its praise or blame supplies, te'erisphrnsy dream'd or eye behel y If yet remember'd ne'er to be reveal'd, And lies like truth, and still most truly lies.d er to be reeal'd, He wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shone Rests at his heart.-The'custom'd morning came, He wandering mused, and as tbe moonbeam shone Through the dim lattice o'er the floor of stone, And breathednew vigour his shaken frame; And the high fretted roof, and saints, that there And solace sought he none from priest nor leech, O'er Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer And, soon the same in moement speech, As heretofore he fill'd the passing hours, Reflected in fantastic figures grew, Like life, but not like mortal life, to view; Nor less he smiles, nor more his forehead lours, Like life, but not like mortal life, to view; Hisbristnglocksofsf g, Than these were wont; and if the coming night His bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom,ppear'd less welcome now to Lara's sig And the wide waving of his shaken plume, Appead less welcome now to Laras sign 0... He to his marvelling vassals show'd it not, Glanced like a spectre's attributes, and gave e to his marvelling vassals show'd it nt, His aspect all that terror gives the grave. Whose shuddering proved iheir fear was less forgot In trembling pairs (alone they dare not) crawl XII. The astonish'd slaves, and shun the fated hall;'T was midnight-all was slumber; the lone light The waving banner, and the clapping door, Dimm'd in the lamp, as loth to break the night. The rustling tanestry, and the echoing floor; 180 BYRON'S WORKS. The long dim shadows of surrounding trees, His early dreams of good outstripp'd the truth, The flapping bat, the night-song of the breeze; And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth; Aught they behold or hear their thought appals, With thought of years in phantom chase mispent, As evening saddens o'er the dark gray walls. And wasted powers for better purpose lent; And fiery passions that had pour'd their wrath XVI. XVI. In hurried desolation o'er his path, Vain thought! that hour of ne'er unravell'd gloom And left the better feelings all at strife Came not again, or Lara could assume In wild reflection o'er his stormy life; A seeming of forgetfulness, that made But haughty still, and loth himself to blame, His vassals more amazed nor less afraid- He call'd on Nature's self to share the shame, Had memory vanish'd then with sense restor'd? And charged all faults upon the fleshly form Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord She gave to clog the soul, and feast the worm; Betray'd a feeling that recall'd to these Till he at last confoundeodgood and ill, That fever'd moment of his mind's disease. And half mistook for fate the acts of will: Was it a dream? was his the voice that spoke Too high for common selfishness, he could Those strange wild accents? his the cry that broke At times resign his own for others' good, Their slumber? his the oppress'd o'er-labour'd heart But not in pity, not because he ought, That ceased to beat, the look that made them start? But in some strange perversity of thought, Could he who thus had suffer'd so forget, That sway'd him onward with a secret pride When such as saw that suffering shudder yet? To do what few or none would do beside; Or did that silence prove his memory fix'd And this same impulse would, in tempting time, Foo deep for words, indelible, unmix'd Mislead his spirit equally to crime; In that corroding secrecy which gnaws So much he soar'd beyond, or sunk beneath The heart to show the effect, but n.o the cause? The men with whom he felt condemn'd to breathe, Not so in him; his breast had buried both, And long'd by good or ill to separate Nor common gazers could discern the growth Himself from all who shared his mortal state; Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave half-told; His mind abhorring this had fix'd her throne They choke the feeble words that would unfold. Far from the world, in regions of her own XVII. Thus coldly passing all that pass'd below, In him inexplicably mix'd appear'd His blood in temperate seeming now would flow: Much to be loved and hated, sought and fear'd; happier if it ne'er with guilt had glow'd, Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot, But ever in that icy smoothness flow'd! IT is true, with other men their path he wallid, In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot; other mn their path he wald, 0T- *1 P X t * r.1 X And like the rest in seeming did and talk'd, His silence form'd a theme for others' prate- A g a They guess'd-theygazed-theyfainwould knowhisfate. Nor outraged reason's rules by flaw nor start, What had he been? what was he, thus unknown, Hi madness was not of the head, but heart; Who walk'd their world, his lineage only known? d rarely wander'di hi speech, or drew A hater of his kind? yet some would say, His thoughts so forth as to offend the view. With them he could seem gay amidst the gay; XIX. But own'd, that smile, if oft observed and near, With all that chilling mystery of mien, Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer;, And seeming gladness to remain unseen, That smile might reach his lip, but pass'd not by, He had (if't were not nature's boon) an art None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye: Of fixing memory on another's heart: Yet there was softness too in his regard, It was not love perchance-nor hate-nor aught At times, a heart as not by nature hard, That words can image to express the thought; But once perceived, his spirit seem'd to chide But they who saw him did not see in vain, Such weakness, as unworthy of its pride, And once beheld, would ask of him again: And steel'd itself, as scorning to redeem And those to whom he spake remember'd well, One doubt from others' half-withheld esteem; And on the words, however light, would dwell: In self-inflicted penance of a breast None knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwined Which tenderness might once have wrung from rest; Himself perforce around the hearer's mind; In vigilance of grief that would compel There he was stamp'd in liking, or in hate, That. soul to hate for having loved too well. If greeted once; however brief the date XVIII. That friendship, pity, or aversion knew, rhewashimav: Still there within the inmost thought he grew. R'hnee was in him a vital scorn of all: You could not penetrate his soul, but found, As if the worst had fall'n which could befall, c n p h Despite your wonder, to your own he wound; He stood a stranger in this breathing world, He stoodna stranper rm aths breathing wor His presence haunted still; and from the breast An erringa spirit from another hurl'd; tlrng of darku imaginings, that' Ap He forced an all-unwilling interest: A thming of dark imaginings, that shaped By ethe perils he b chance escaped Vain was the struggle in that mental net, By Choice the perils he by chance escaped, His spirit seem'd to dare you to forget'! But'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet H s s His mind would half exult and half regret: XX. With more capacity for love than earth There is a festival, where knights and dames, Bestows op most of mortal mould and birth, And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims LARA. 181 Appear-a high-born and a welcome guest, They knew, or chose to know-with dubious look To Otho's hall caine Lara with the rest. He deign'd no answer, but his head he shook, The long carousal shakes the illumined hall, And half-contemptuous turn'd to pass away; Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball; But the stern stranger motion'd him to stay. And the gay dance of bounding beauty's train "A word!-I charge thee stay, and answer here Links grace and harmony in happiest chain: To one who, wert thou noble, were thy peer, Blest are the early hearts and gentle hands But as thou wast and art-nay, frown not, lord, That mingle there in well-according bands; If false,'t is easy to disprove the wordIt is a sight the careful brow might smooth, But, as thou wast and art, on thee looks down, And make age smile, and dream itself to youth, Distrusts thy smiles, but shakes not at thy frown. And youth forget such hour was pass'd on earth, Art thou not he? whose deeds -" So springs the exulting bosom to that mirth! "Whate'er I be; Words wild as these, accusers like to thee XXI. I list no further; those with whom they weigh And Lara gazed on these, sedately glad, May hear the rest, nor venture to gainsay His brow belied him'if his soul was sad; The wond'rous tale no doubt thy tongue can tell. And his glance follow'd fast each fluttering fair, Which thus begins so courteously and well. Whose steps of lightness woke no echo there: Let Otho cherish here his polish'd guest, He lean'd against the lofty pillar nigh, To him my thanks and thoughts shall be exprest." With folded arms and long attentive eye, And here their wondering host hath interposedNor mark'd a glance s ssternly fix'd on his- "Whate'er there be between you undisclosed, Ill brook'd high Lara scrutiny like this: This is no time nor fitting place to mar At length he caught't,'t is a face unknown, The mirthful meeting with a wordy war. But seems as searching his, and his alone; if thou, Sir Ezzelin, hast aught to show Prying and dark, a stranger's oy his mien, Which it befits Count Lara's ear to know, Who still till now had gazed on him unseen; To-morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best At length encountering meets the mutual gaze Beseem your mutual judgment, speak the rest; Of keen inquiry, and of mute amaze; I pledge myself for thee, as not unknown, On Lara's glance emotion gathering grew, Though like Count Lara now return'd alone As if distrusting that the stranger threw; From other lands, almost a stranger grown; Along the stranger's aspect fix'd and stern, And if from Lara's blood and gentle birth Flash'd more than thence the vulgar eye could learn. I augur right of courage and of worth, He will not that untainted line belie, Nor aught that knighthood may accord deny." "'T is he!" the stranger cried, and those that heard Re-echoed fast and far the whisper'd word. To-morrow be it," Ezzelin replied, "'T is he!"'T is who?" they question far and near, " And here our several worth and truth be tried; Till louder accents rung on Lara's ear; I gage my life, my falchion to attest So widely spread, few bosoms well could brook My words, so may I mingle ith the blet " Thb general marvel, or that single look: What answers Lara? to its centre shrunk But Lara stirr'd not, changed not, the surprise soul, in deep abstraction sudden sunk; That sprung at first to his arrested eyes, The words of many, and the eyes of all Seem'd now subsided, neither sunknor raised, hat there were gather'd, seem'd on him tofall; Glanced his eye round, though still the stranger gazed; But his were silent, his appear'd to stray And drawing nigh, exclaimed, with haughty sneer, In f forgetfulness away-away"'T is he!-how came he thence?-what doth he here?"Alas! that heedlessness of all around Bespoke remembrance only too profound. XXIII. XXIV. It were too much for Lara to pass by " To-morrow!-ay, to-morrow!" further word Such question, so repeated fierce and high; Than those repeated none from Lara heard; With look collected, but with accent cold, Upon his brow no outward passion spoke, More mildly firm than petulantly bold, - More mildly firm than petulantly bold, From his large eye no flashing anger broke; He turn'd, and met the inquisitorial tone- "My name is Lar h is.. Yet there'was something fix'd in that low tone, "My name is Lara!-m-hen thine own is known, Dot not my fitting answer to uie Which show'd resolve, determined, though unknown. Doubt not my fitting answer to requite He seized his cloak-his head he slightly bow'd, The unlook'd-for courtesy of such a knight. i clo hed he sli'T is Lara!-further wouldst thou mark or ask, And, pass Ezzelin, heleft thecrowd; X TiAnd as he pass'd him, smiling met the *ovn I shun no question, and I wear no mask." d, as he pd, smling mt te With which that chieftain's brow would bear him down " Thou shun'st no question! Ponder-is there none It was nor smile of mirth, nor struggling pride, Thy heart must answer, though thine ear would shun.? That curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide; And deem'st thou me unknown too? Gaze again! But that of one in his own heart secure At least thy memory was not given in vain. Of all that he would do, or could endure. Oh! never canst thou cancel half her debt,. Could this mean peace? the calmness of the good Eternitv forbids thee to forget." Or guilt grown old in desperate hardihood? With slow and searching glance upon his face Alas! too like in confidence are each, Grew Lara's eves, but nothing there could trace For man to trust to mortal look or speech, T s 182 BYRON'S WORKS. From deeds, and deeds alone, may he discern But ne'er to mingle with the menial train, rruths which it wrings the unpractised heart to learn. To whom he show'd nor deference nor disdain, But that well-worn reserve, which proved he knew XXV. No sympathy with that familiar crew; And Lara call'd his page, and went his way- His soul, whate'er his station or his stem, Well could that stripling word or sign obey: Could bow to Lara, not descend to them. His only follower from those climes afar, Of higher birth he seem'd, and better days, Where the soul glows beneath a brighter star; Nor mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays For Lara left the shore from whence he sprung, So femininely white it might bespeak In duty patient, and sedate though young; Another sex, when match'd with that smooth cher, Silent as him he served, his faith appears But for his garb, and somethin in his gaze, Above his station, and beyond his years. More wild and high than woman's eye betrays; Though not unknown the tongue of Lara's land, A latent fiercenes that far more became In such from him he rarely heard command His fiery climate than his tender frame: But fleet his step, and clear his tones would come, True, in his words it broke not from his breast, When Lara's lip breathed forth the words of home: But, from his aspect, might be more than guess'I Those accents, as his native mountains dear, Kaled his name, though rumour said he bore Awake their absent echoes in his ear, Another, ere he left his mountain-shore; Friends', kindreds', parents', wonted voice recall, For sometimes he would hear, however nih, Now lost, abjured, for one-his friend, his all: That name repeated loud without reply, For him earth now disclosed no other guide; As unfamiliar, or, if roused again What marvel then he rarely left his side Start to the sound, as but remember'd then; ~XXVI~. UtiUnless't was Lara's wonted voice that spake, Light ws f. dFor then, ear, eyes. and heart would all awake. Light was his form, and darkly delicate That brow whereon his native sun had sate, XXVIII. But had not marr'd, though in his beams he grew, He had look'd down upon the festive hall, The cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone through; And mark'd that sudden strife so mark'd of all; Yet not such blush as mounts when health would show And when the crowd around and near him told All the heart's hue in that delighted glow; Their wonder at the calmness of the bold; But't was a hectic tint of secret care Their marvel how the high-born Lara bore That for a burning moment fever'd there; Such insult from a stranger, doubly sore, And the wild sparkle of his eye seem'd caught The colour of young Kaled went and came, From high, and lighten'd with electric thought, The lip of ashes, and the cheek of flame; Though its black orb those long low lashes fringe, And o'er his brow the damp'ning heart-drops threw Had temper'd with a melancholy tinge; The sickening iciness of that cold dew, Yet less of sorrow than of pride was there, That rises as the busy bosom sinks Or if't were grief, a grief that none should share: With heavy thoughts from which reflection shrinks. And pleased not him the sports that please his age, Yes-there bethings that we must dream and dare,'The tricks of youth, the frolics of the page: And execute ere thought be half aware: For hours on Lara he would fix his glance, Whate'er might Kaled's be, it was enow As all-forgotten in that watchful trance; To seal his lip, but agonize his brow. And from his chief withdrawn, he wander'd lone, He gazed on Ezzelin till Lara cast Brief were his answers, and his questions none; That sidelong smile upon the knight he past; His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book; When Kaled saw that smile, his visage fell, His resting-place the bank that curbs the brook: As if on something recognised right well; He seem'd, like him he served, to live apart His memory read in such a meaning, more From all that lures the eye, and fills the heart; Than Lara's aspect unto others wore: To know no brotherhood, and take from earth Forward he sprung-a moment, both were gone, No gift beyond that bitter boon-our birth. And all within that hall seem'd left alone; Each had so fix'd his eye on Lara's mien, XXVII. X~~SXVII~ ~.All had so mix'd their feelings with that scene, If aught he loved,'t was Lara; but was shown That when his long dark shadow through the por His faith in reverence and in deeds alone; His faith reverence and in deeds alone; No more relieves the glare of yon high torch, InI mute attention; and his care, which guess'd Each pulse beats quicker, and all bosoms see Each wish, fulfill'd it ere the tongue express'd. To bound, as doubing fro too black a dream, Still there was haughtiness in all he did, Such as we know is false, yet dread in sooth, A spirit deep that brook'd not to be chid; Because the worst is ever nearest truth. Hi, zeal, though more than that of servile hands, ndtheyaregone-but Ezzelin is there, n act alone obeys, his air commands; With thoughtful visage and imperious air: As if't was Lara's less than his desire remain'd not ere an hour exired But long remain'd not; ere an hour expired, That thas lie served, but surely not for hire. He waved his hand to tho and retired. Slght. were the tasks enjoin'd him by his lord, To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword; XXIX. I o tune his lute. or if ho will'd it more, The crowd are gone, the revellers at rest; Dp tomes of other times and tongues to pore; The courteous host, and all-approving guest LARA. 13 Again to that accustom'd couch must creep The word I pledged for his I pledge again, Where joy subsides, and sorrow sighs to sleep, Or will myself redeem his knighthood's stain." And man, o'er-labour'd with his being's strife, He ceased-and Lara answer'd, "I am here Shrinks to that sweet forgetfulness of life: To lend at thy demand a listening ear There lie love's feverish hope and cunning's guile, To tales of evil from a stranger's tonoue, Hate's working brain, and lull'd ambition's wile: Whose words already might my heart have wrung, O'er each vain eye oblivion's pinions wave, But that I deem'd him scarcely less than mad, And quench'd existence crouches in a grave. Or, at the worst, a foe ignobly bad. What better name may slumber's bed become? I know him not-but me it seems he knew Night's sepulchre, the universal home, In lands where-but I must not trifle too: Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue, sunk supine, Produce this babbler-or redeem the pledge; Alike in naked helplessness recline; Here in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge.'" Glad for a while to heave unconscious breath, Proud Otho, on the instant, reddening, threw Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of death, His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew. And shun, though day but dawn on ills increast, " The last alternative befits me best, That sleep, the loveliest, since it dreams the least. And thus I answer for mine absent guest." With cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom, However near his own or other's tomb; CANTO A II With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke Its grasp well used to deal the sabre-stroke; -~'. ~T With eye, though calm, determined not to spare, yI. ~ ~I ~ Did Lara too his willing weapon bare. NIGHT wanes-tne vapours round the mountains curl'd In vain the circling hieftains round them closed; For Otho's phrensy would not be opposed; Melt into morn, and light awakes the world. d from hs p thse word s of insult fel Man as aothe. dly tosl te.p, And from his lip those words of insult fell — Man has another day to swell the past, And l ead him near day to lttle, but his last;'"His sword is good who can maintain them well." And lead him near to little, but his last; But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth, IV. The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth; Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash, Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam, Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash: Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream. He bled, and fell, but not with deadly wound, Immortal man! behold her glories shine, Stretch'd by a dexterous sleight along the ground. And cry, exulting inly, "they are thine!" "Demand thy life:" He answer'd not: and then Gaze on, while yet thy gladden'd eye may see; From that red floor he ne'er had risen again, A morrow comes when they are not for thee: por Lara's brow upon the moment grew And grieve what may above thy senseless bier, Almost to blackness in its demon hue; Nor earth nor slky will yield a single tear; And fiercer shook his angry falchion now Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, Than when his foe's was level'd at his brow, Nor gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for a; Then all was stern collectedness and art, But creeping things shall revel in their spoil, rose the unleaven'd hatred of his heart And fit thy clay to fertilize the soil. So little sparing to the foe he fell'd, II. That when the approaching crowd his arm withheik'T is morn-'t is noon-assembled in the hall, He almost turn'd the thirsty point on those The gather'd chieftains come to Otho's call; Who thus for mercy dared to interpose;'T is now the promised hour, that must proclaim But to a moment's thought that purpose bent: The life or death of Lara's future fame; Yet look'd he on him still with eye intent, When Ezzelin his charge may here-unfold, As if he loathed the ineffectual strife And whatsoe'er the tale, it must be told. That left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life; His faith was pledged, and Lara's promise given, As if to search how far the wound he gave To meet it in the eye of man and heaven. Had sent its victim onward to his grave. Why comes he not? Such truths to be divulged, Methinks the accuser's rest is long indulged. They raised the bleeding Otho, and the leech ^'~III. ~ Forbade all present question, sign, and speech, The hour is past, and Lara too is there, The others met within a neighbouring hall, With self-confiding, coldly patient air; And he, incensed and heedless of them all, Why comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past, The cause and conqueror in this sudden fray, And murmurs rise, and Otho's brow's o'ercast. In haughty silence slowly strode away; "I know my friend! his faith I cannot fear, He back'd his steed, his homeward path he took, If yet he be on earth, expect him here; Nor cast on Otho's towers a single look.. The roof that held him in the valley stands Between my own and noble Lara's lands; VI. My halls from such a guest had honour gain'd, But where was he? that meteor of a night, Nor had Sir Ezzelin his host disdain'd, Who menaced but to disappear with light? But that some previous proof forbade him stay, Where was this Ezzelin? who c,:ne and went, And urged him to prepare against to day; To leave no other trace of his intent. 184 BYRON'S WORKS. lie left the dome of Otho long ere morn, New havoc, such as civil discord blends, In darkness, yet so well the path was worn Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends; lie could not miss it: near his dwelling lay; Fix'd in his feudal fortress each was lord, But there he was not, and with coming day In word and deed obey'd, in soul abhorr'd. Came fast inquiry, which unfolded nought Thus Lara had inherited his lands, Except te absence of the chief it sought. And with them pining hearts and sluggish hands; A chamber tenantless, a steed at rest, But that long absence from his native clime Iis host alarm'd, his murmuring squires distrest. Had left him stainless of oppression's crime, Their search extends along, around the path, And now diverted by his milder sway, In dread to meet the marks of prowlers' wrath: All dread by slow degrees had worn away; But none are there, and not a brake hath borne The menials felt their usual awe alone, Nor gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn; But more for him than them that fear was grown, Nor fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass, They deem'd him now unhappy, though at first Which still retains a mark where murder was; Their evil judgment augur'd of the worst, Nor dabbling fingers left to tell the tale, And each long restless night, and silent mood, The bitter print of each convulsive nail, Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude: When agonized hands, that cease to guard, And though his lonely habits threw of late Wound in that pang the smoothness of the sward, Gloom o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate; Some such had been, if here a life was reft, From thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed withdrew, But these were not; and doubting hope is left; For them, at least, his soul compassion knew. And strange suspicion whispering Lara's name, Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high, Now daily mutters o'er his blackened fanle; The humble pass'd not his unheeding eye; Then sudden silent when his form appear'd, Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof Awaits the absence of the thing it fear'd They found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof. Again its wonted wondering to renew, And they who watched might mark that day by day, And dye conjecture with a darker hue. Some new retainers gather'd to his sway; VII. But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost, Days roll along, and Otho's wounds are heal'd, He play'd the courteous lord and bounteous host: But not his pride; and hate no more conceal'd: Perchance his strife with Otho made him dread He was a man of power, and Lara's foe, Some snare prepared for his obnoxious head. rhe friend of all who sought to work him woe, Whate'er his view, his favour more obtains And from his country's justice now demands With these, the people, than his fellow thanes. Account of Ezzelin at Lara's hands. If this were policy, so far'twas sound, Who else than Lara could have cause to fear The million judged but of him as they found; His presence? who had made him disappear, From him, by sterner chiefs to exile driven, If not the man on whom his menaced charge They but required a shelter, and't was given. Had sate too deeply were he left at large? By him no peasant mourn'd his rifled cot The general rumour ignorantly loud, And scarce the serf could murmur er his lot; The mystery dearest to the curious crowd With him old Avarice found its hoar I secure, The seeming friendlessness of him who strove With him contempt forbore to mock the poor; To wvn no confidence, and wake no love; Youth, present cheer, and promised recompense Th'le sweeping fierceness which his soul betray'd, Detain'd, till all too late to part from thence: The skill with which he wielded his keen blade, To hate he ofer'd, with the coming change, Where had his arm unwarlike caught that art? The deep reversion of delay'd revenge; Where had that fierceness grown upon his heart? To love, long baffled by the unequal match, For it was not the blind capricious rage The well-won charms success was sure to snatch. A word can kindle and a word assuage; All now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim But the deep working of a soul unmix'd That slavery nothing which was stil a name. With aught of pity where its wrath had fix'd; The moment came, the hour when Otho thought Such as long power and overgorged success Secure at last the vengeance which he sought: Concentrates into all that's merciless: His summons found the destined criminal These, link'd with that desire which ever sways Begirt by thousands in his swarming hall, Mankid, the rather to condemn than praise, Fresh from their feudal fetters newly riven,'Gainst Lara gatheting raised at length a storm, Defying earth, and confident of heaven. Such as himself might fear, and foes would form, That morning he had freed the soil-boun'd slaves, And he must answer for the absent head Who dig no land for tyrants but their graves! Of one that haunts him still, alive or dead. Such is their cry-some watch-word for the fight Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the right: WVIinI. t a m a eReligion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, Within that land was many a malcontent, 0 M A word's enough to raise mankind to kill: Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent, ho u any, Some factious phrase by cunning caught and spread, That soil full many a wringing despot saw, That guilt may reignl and wolves and worms be fed Who work'd his wantonness in form of law; Long war vithou. and frequent broil within IX. Had made a path for blood and giant sin, Throughout that clime the feudal chiefs had gain'd That. wa-ed but a signal to begin Such sway, their infant monarch hardly reign'd; LARA. 18a Now was the hour for faction's rebel growth, In vain he doth whate'er a chief may do, The serfs contemn'd the one, and hated both: To check the headlong fury of that crew; They waited but a leader, and they found In vain their stubborn ardour he would tame,One to their cause inseparably bound; The hand that kindles cannot quench the flame; By circumstance compell'd to plunge again, The wary foe alone hath turn'd their mood, In self-defence, amidst the strife of men. And shown their rashness to their erring brood: Cut off by some mysterious fate from those The feign'd retreat, the nightly ambuscade, Whom birth and nature meant not for his foes, The daily harass, and the fight delay'd, Had Lara from that night, to him accurst, The long privation of the hoped supply, Prepared to meet, but not alone, the worst: The tentless rest beneath the humid sky, Some reason urged, whate'er it was, to shun The stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer's art, Inquiry into deeds at distance done; And palls the patience of his baffled heart, By-mingling with his own the cause of all, Of these they had not deem'd: the battle-day E'en if he fail'd, he still delay'd his fall. They could encounter as a veteran may The sullen calm that long his bosom kept, But more preferr'd the fury of the itrife, The storm that once had spent itself and slept, And present death to hourly suffering life Roused by events that seem'd foredoom'd to urge And famine wrings, and fever sweeps away His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, His numbers melting fast from their array; Burst forth, and made him all he once had been, Intemperate triumph fades to discontent, And is again; he only changed the scene. And Lara's soul alone seems still unbent: Light care had he for life, and less for fame, But few remain to aid his voice ard hand, But not less fitted for the desperate game: And thousands dwindled to a scanty band: Hie deem'd himself mark'd out for others' hate, Desperate, though few, the last and best remain'' And mock'd at ruin so they shared his fate. To mourn the discipline they late disdain'd. What cared he for the freedom of the crowd? One hope survives, the frontier is not far, He raised the humble but to bend the proud. And thence they may escape from native war; He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair, And bear within them to the neighbouring state But man and destiny beset him there; An exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hate: Inured to hunters, he was found at bay, Hard is the task their father-land to quit, An, they must kill, they cannot snare the prey. But harder still to perish or submit. olern, unambitious, silent, he had been XII Henceforth a calm spectator of life's scene; But, dragg'd again upon the arena, stood, It is resolved-they march-onsenting Night A leader not unequal to the feud; Guides with her star their dim and torchless flight In voice-mien-gesture-savage nature spoke, Already they perceive its tranquil beam And from his eye the gladiator broke. Sleep on the surface of the barrier stream; Already they nescry-Is yon the bank? X. Away!'t is lined with many a hostile rank. What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife, Return or fly!-What glitters in the rear? The feast of vultures, and the waste of life?'T is Otho's banner-the pursuer's spear! The varying fortune of each separate field, Are those the shepherds' fires upon the height? The fierce that vanquish and the faint that yield? Alas! they blaze too widely for the flight: The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall? Cut off from hope, and compass'd in the toil, In this the struggle was the same with all; Less blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil Save that distemper'd passions lent their force In bitterness that banish'd all remorse. None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain, A moment's pause,'t is but to breathe their band, The captive died upon the battle-plain: Or shall they onward press, or here withstand? In either cause, one rage alone possestIt matters little-if they charge the foes The empire of the alternate victors breastWho by the border-stream their march oppose, And they tat smote for freedom or for sway, Some few, perchance, may break and pass the l Deem'd few were slain, while more remain'd to slay. However link'd to baffle such design.. "The charge be ours! to wait for their assas.. It was too late to check the wasting brand, c b o t wa And desolation reap'd the famish'd land; Were fate well worthy of a coward's t." The torch was lighted, and the flame was spread, Forth flies each sabre, rein'd is every steed, And carnage smiled upon her daily dead. And carnagoe smiled upon her daily dead. And the next word shall scarce outstrip the dee0 - In the next tone of Lara's gathering breath XI. How many shall but hear the voice of death! Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung, X XIV The first success to Lara's numbers clung: But that vain victory lath ruin'd all, His blade is bared, in him there is an air But that vain victory hath ruin'd all, They form no longer to their leader's call; As deep, but far too tranquil for des In blind confusion on the foe they press, A something of indifference more than thlen And think to snatch is to secure success. Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men — The lust of booty, and the thirst of hate. tu hi on e, eer ear Lure on the broken brigands to their fate; And still too faithful to betray ne fe 29 18 6 BYRON'S WORKS. Perchance't was but the moon's dim twilight threw It is unquench'd, and yet they feel it not; Along his aspect an unwonted hue It was ar. agony-but now forgot! Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint exprest XVII The truth, and not the terror of his breast. This Lara nmark'd, and laid his hand on his: Beneath a lime remoter from the scene, It. tremlbled not in such an hour as this; Where but for him that strife had never been, [Hs lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart, brathing but devoted warrior lay: His eye alone proclaimed, " We will not part'T was Lara, bleeding fast from life away. Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee, His follower once, and now his only guide, Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee!" Kneels Kaled, watchful o'er his welling side, T hewrd di, And with his scarf would staunch the tides that rush, With each convulsion, in a blacker gush; Pours the link'd band through ranks asunder riven; And then as his faint breathin Well has each steed obey'd the armed heel,' In feebler not less fatal tricklinas flow: And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel: eee e Outnumber'd, not outbraved, they still oppose He scarce can speak, but motions him't is vain, Despair to daring and a front to 4oes * And merely adds another throb to pain. Despair to daring, and a front to foes; And blood is niigled with the dashin stream, He clasps the hand that pang which would assuage, And blood is mingled with the dashing stream,, W1hich rns all redly till the n orning beam. And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page, Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, nor sees, XV. Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees; Commanding, aiding, animating all, Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim, Where foe appear'd to press, or friend to fall, I Held all the light that shone on earth for him. Cheers Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his steel, XVIII. Inspiring hope, himself had ceased-to feel. None fled, for well they knew that flight were vain; The foe arrives, who long had search'd the field, But those that waver turn to smite again, Their triumph nought till Lara too should yield; While yet they find the firmest of the foe They would remove him, but they see't were vain. Recoil before their leader's look and blow: And he regards them with a calm disdain, Now girt with numbers, now almost alone, That rose to reconcile him with his fate, [He foils their ranks, or reunites his own; And that escape to death from living hate: Himself he spared not-once they seem'd to fly- And Otho comes, and, leaping from his steed, Now was the time, he waved his hand on high, Looks on the bleeding foe that made him bleed, And shook-why sudden droops that plumed crest? And questions of his state; he answers not, The shaft is sped-the arrow's in his breast! Scarce glances on him as on one forgot, That fatal gesture left the unguarded side, And turns to aled:-each remaining word And Death hath stricken down yon arm of pride. They understood not, if distinctly heard; The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; His dying tones are in that other tongue, That hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung! To which some strange remembrance wildly clung. But yet the sword instinctively retains, They spake of other scenes, but what-is known Though from its fellow shrink the falling reins: To Kaled, whom their meaning reach'd alone; These Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow, And he replied, though faintly, to their sound, And senseless bendngr o'er his saddle-bow, While gazed the rest in dumb amazement round: Perceives not Lara that his anxious page They seem'd even thenthat twain-unto the last heglles his charger from the combat's rage: To half forget the present in the past; Meantime his followers charge, and charge again; To share between themselves some separate fate, Too rnix'd the slayers now to heed the slain! Whose darkness none b-side should penetrate. XVI. XIX. Day giimmers on the dying and the dead, Their words, though faint, were many-from the tone The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head; Their import those who heard could judge alone; The; war-horse masterless is on the earth, From this, you might have deem'd young Kaled's dear And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth; More near than Lara's by his voice and breath, And near, yet quivering with what life remain'd, So sad, so deep and hesitating, broke The heel that urged him and the hand that rein'd; The accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke; And some too near that r)lling torrent lie, But Lara's voice though low, at first was clear Whose waters mock the lip of those that die; And calm. till murmuring death gasp'd hoarsely near, Thlat. pantina thirst which scorches in the breath But from his visage little could we guess, Of those that die the soldier's fiery death, So unrepentant, dark, and passionless,,n vain impels the burning mouth to crave Save that, when struggling nearer to his last, One drop-the last-to cool it for the grave; Upon that page his eye was kindly cast; With feeble and convulsive effort swept, And once as Kaled's answering accents ceast, Their limbs along the crimson'd turf have crept; Rose Lara's hind, and pointed to the East: The faint remains of life such struggles waste, Whether (as then the breaking sun from high But yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste: Roll'd back the clouds) the morrow caught his eye, They feel its fieshness, and almost partake- Or that't was chance, or some remnmber'd scene Why!,ause 7 No further thirst have they to slake- That raised his arm to point where such had been, LARA. d Scarce Kaled seem'd to know, but turn'd away To her he might be gentleness; the stern As if his heart abhorr'd that coming day. Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern, And shrunk his glance before that morning light, And when they love, your smilers guess not how To look on Lara's brow-where all grew night. Beats the strong heart, though less the lips avow. Yet sense seern'd left, though better were its loss; They were not common links, that form'd the chaii For when one near display'd the absolving cross, That bound to Lara Kaled's heart and brain, And proffer'd to his touch the holy bead, But that wild tale she brook'd not to unfold, Of which his parting soul might own the need, And seal'd is now each lip that could have told. He look'd upon it with an eye profane, XXIII. And smiled-Heaven pardon! if't were with disdain: They laid him in the earth, and on his breast, And Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew Besides the wound that sent his soul to rest, From Lara's face his fix'd despairing view, They found the scatter'd dints of many a scar, With brow repulsive, and with gesture swift, Which were not planted there in recent war; Flung back the hand which held the sacred gift, Where'er had pass'd his summer years of life, As if such but disturb'd the expiringman, It seems they vanish'd in a land of strife; Nor seem'd to know his life but then began, But all unknown his glory or his guilt That life of immortality, secure These only told that somewhere blood was spilt, To none, save them whose faith in Cli -..t is sure. And Ezzelin, who might have spoke the past, XX. Return'dno:more-that night appear'd his last. But gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew, XXIV. And dull the film along his dim eye grew; Upon that night (a peasant's is the tale), His limbs stretch'd fluttering, and his head droop'd o'er A serf that cross'd the intervening vale, The weak, yet still untiring knee that bore; When Cynthia's light almost gave way to morn, He press'd the hand he held upon his heart7- And nearly veil'd in mist her waning horn; It beats no more, but Kaled will not part A serf, that rose betimes to thread the wood, With the cold grasp, but feels, and feels in vain And hew the bough that bought his children's fod, For that faint throb which answers not again. Passed by the river that divides the plain "It beats!" Away, thou dreamer!-he is gone- Of Otho's lands and Lara's broad domain: It once was Lara which thou look'st upon. He heard a tramp-a horse and horseman broke From ouit the wood-before him was a cloak XXI. Wrapt round some burthen at his saddle-bow, He gazed, as if not yet had pass'd away Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow. The haughty spirit of that humble clay; Roused by the sudden sight at such a time, And those around have roused him from his trance, And some foreboding that it might be crime, But cannot tear from thence his fixed glance; Himself unheeded watch'd the stranger's course, And when, in raising him from where he bore Who reach'd the river, bounded from his horse, Within hisiarms the form that felt no more, And, lifting thence the burthen which he bore, He saw the head his breast would still sustain, Heaved up the bank, and dash'd it from the shore. Roll down like earth to earth upon the plain; Then paused, and look'd, and tufn'd, and scem'd is He did not dash himself thereby, nor tear watch, The glossy tendrils of his raven hair, And still another hurried,lance would snatch, But strove to stand and gaze, but reel'd and fell, And follow with his step the stream that flow'd, Scarce breathing more than that he loved so well. As if even yet too much its surface show'd: Than that he loved! Oh! never yet beneath At once he started, stoop'd, around him strown The breast of man such trusty love may breathe! The winter floods had scatter'd heaps of stone; That trying moment hath at once reveal'd Of these the heaviest thence he gather'd there, The secret long and yet but half conceal'd; And slung them with a more than common care. In baring to revive that lifeless breast, Meantime the serf had crept to where unseen Its grief seem'd ended, but the sex confess'd; Himself might safely mark what this might mean And life return'd, and Kaled felt no shame- He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast, What now to her was Womanhood or Fame! And something gfitter'd star-like on the vest, But ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk, XXII. A massy fragment smote it, and it stink: And Lara sleeps not where his fathers sleep; It rose again but indistinct to view, But where he died Ihis grave was dug as deep, And left the waters of a purple hue, Nor is his mortal slumber less profound, Then deeply disappear'd: die horseman gazed Though priest nor bless'd, nor-marble deck'dthe mound; Till ebb'd the latest eddy it had raised; And he was mourn'd by one whose quiet grief, Then turning, vaulted on his pawing steed, Less loud, outlasts a people's for their chief. And instant spurr'd him into pant'nig speed., Vain was all question ask'd her of the past, His face was mask'd-the features of the dead, And vain even menace-silent to the last, If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread; She told nor whence, nor why she left behind But if in sooth a star its bosom bore, Her all for one who seem'd but little kind. Such is the badge that knighthood ever wore, Wny did she love hin? Curious fool!-be still- And such't ^ known Sir Ezzelin had worn Is numan love the growth of human will? Upon the night that led to such r morn. i88 BYRON'S WORKS. If thus he perish'd, Heaven receive his soul! The duke then seated the person in the mask behind His undiscover'd limbs to ocean roll; him, and rode, I know not whither; but in that night And charity upon the hope would dwell he was assassinated, and thrown into the river. The It was not Lara's hand by which he fell. servant, after having been dismissed, was also assaulted XXV. and mortally wounded; and although he was attended. And Kaled-Lara-Ezzelin, are gone, with great care, yet such was his situation, that he Alike without their monumental stone! could give no intelligible account of what had befallen The first, all efforts vainly strove to wean his master. In the morning, the duke not having reFrom lingering where her chieftain's blood had been; turned to the palace, his servants began to be alarmed; Grief had so tamed a spirit once too proud, and one of them informed the pontiff of the evening Her tears were few, her wailing never loud; excursion of his sons, and that the quke had not yet But furious would you tear her from the spot made his appearance. This gave the Pope no small Where yet she scarce believed that he was not, anxiety; but he conjectured that the duke had been Her eye shot forth with all the living fire attracted by some courtesan to pass the night with That haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire: her, and, not choosing to quit the house in open day, But, left to waste her weary moments there, had waited till the following evening to return home. She talk'd all idly unto shapes of air, When, however, the evening arrived, and he found Such as the busy brain of sorrow paints, himself disappointed in his expectations, he became And woos to listen to her fond complaints: deeply afflicted, and began to make inquiries from And she would sit beneath the very tree different persons, whom he ordered to attend him for Where lay his drooping head upon her knee; that purpose. Amongst these was a man named GiorAnd in that posture where she saw him fall, gio Schiavoni, who, having discharged some timber His words, his looks, his dying. grasp recall; from a bark in the river, had remained on board the And she had shorn, but saved her raven hair, vessel, to watch it, and being interrogated whether he And oft would snatch it from her bosom there, had seen any one thrown into the river, on the night And fold, and press it gently to the ground, preceding, he replied, that he saw two men on foot, As if she staunch'd anew some phantom's wound. who came down the street, and looked diligently about, Herself would question, and for him reply; to observe whether any person was passing. That seeThen rising, start, and beckon him to fly ing no one, they returned, and a short time afterwards From some imagined spectre in pursuit; two others came, and looked around in the same Then seat her down upon some linden's root, manner as the former; no person still appearing, they And hide her visage with her meagre hand, gave a sign to their companions, when a man came, Or trace strange characters along the sand- mounted on a white horse, having behind him a dead This could not last-she lies by him she loved; body, the head and arms of which hung on one side, Her tale untold-her truth too dearly proved. and the feet on the other side of the horse; the two persons on foot supporting the body, to prevent its "XOT E,~ f 7falling. They thus proceeded towards that.part, where ~N] ~O IT ~E^. ~ the filth of the city is usually discharged into the river, and, turning the horse with his tail towards the water, TaE event in section 24, Canto II, was suggested by the two persons took the dead body by the arms and the description of the death, or rather burial, of the feet, and with ali their strength flung it into the river. Ouke of Gandia. The person on horseback then asked if they had thrown The most interesting and particular account of this it in, to which they replied, Signor, si, (yes, Sir). He mysterious event, is given by Burchard; and is in sub- then looked towards the river, and seeing a mantle stance as follows: "On the eighth day of June, the floating on the stream, he inquired what it was that cardinal of Valenza, and the Duke of Gandia, sons of appeared black; to which they answered, it was a the Pope, supped with their mother, Vanozza, near the mantle; and one of them threw stones upon it, in church of S. Pietro ad vincula; several other persons consequence of which it sunk. The attendants of the being p'esent at the entertainment. A late hour ap- pontiff then inquired from Giorgio, why he had not proaching, anid the cardinal having reminded his brother, revealed this to the governor of the city; to which he that it was time to return to the apostolic palace, they replied, that he had seen in his time, a hundred dead mounted their horses or mules, with only a few attend- bodies thrown into the river at the same place, without ants, and proceeded together as far as the palace of any inquiry being made respecting them, and that he cardinal Ascanio Sforza, when the duke informed the had not, therefore, considered it as a matter of any cardinal, that before he returned home, he had to pay importance. The fishermen and seamen were then a visit of pleasure. Dismissing, therefore, all his at- collected, and ordered to search the river; where, on terdants, excepting his stafiero, or footman, and a the following evening, they found the body of the nerson in a mask, who had paid him a visit whilst at duke, with his habit entire, and thirty ducats in his supper, and who, during the space of a month, or there- purse. He was pierced with nine wounds, one of ebhouts, previous to this time, had called upon him which was in his throat, the others in his head, body, almost daily, at the apostolic palace; he took this per- and limbs. No sooner was the pontiff informed of sfn behind him on his mule, and proceeded to the the death of his son, and that he had been thrown, street of the Jews, where he quitted his servant, direct- like filth, into the river, than, giving way to his grie., ig hinn to remain there until' a certain hour; when, he shut himself up in a chamber, and wept bitterly. bhe did not return, he might repair to the palace. The cardinal of Segovia, and other attendants on the THE CURSE OF1 MINERVA. 189 Poupe went to the door, and after many hours spent in ensuing day. At length, however, giving way to the persuasions and exhortations, prevailed upon him to entreaties of his attendants, he began to restrain his admit them. From the evening of Wednesday, till the sorrow, and to consider the injury which his ovwn following Saturday, the Pope took no food; nor did he health might sustain, by the further indulgence of his sleep from Thursday morning till the same hour on the grief."-Roscoe's Leo Tenth, vol. i. page 265. O1te suvre of inerfa* A POEM. ~ —-.Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas Immolat, et pcenam scelerato ex sanguine sumit. SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Again the iEgean, heard no more afar, Along Morea's hills the setting sun; Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, Again his waves in milder tints unfold But one unclouded blaze of living light! Their long array of sapphire and of gold, O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows. That frown-where gentler ocean seems to smile. On old IEgina's rock, and Idra's isle, The god of gladness sheds his parting smile; As thus within te walls of Pallas' f O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine, I mark'd the beauties of the land and main, Though there his altars are no more divine. Alone and friendless, on the magic shore Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss Whose arts and arms but live in poet's lore, Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis! ft as the matchless dome I turn'd to scan Their azure arches through the long expanse, Sacred to gods, but not secure from man, More deeply purpled, met his mellowing glance, The past return'd, the present seem'd to cease, And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, And glory knew n clime beyond her Greece. Mark his gay course and own the hues of heaven Hours roll'd along, and Dian's orb on high Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky, Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. And yet unwearied still my footstepstrod O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish'd god; On such an eve, his palest beam he cast, But chiefly, Pallas! thine, when Hecate's glare, When, Athens! here thy wisest look'd his last. Check'd by thy columns, fell more sadly fair Hlow watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray, O'er the chill marble, where the startling tread That closed their murder'd sage's latest day' Thrills the lone heart like echoes from the dead. Not yet-not yet-Sol pauses on the hill- Long had I mused, and measured every trace The precious hour of parting lingers still; The wreck of Greece recorded ofher race, But sad his light to agonizing eyes, When, lo! a giant form before me strode, And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes; And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode. Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour, Yes,'twas Minerva's self, but, ah! how changed The land where Phoebus never frown'd before; Since o'er the Dardan field in arms she ranged t But ere he sunk below Cithreron's head, Not such as erst, by her divine command, The cup of woe was quaff'd-the spirit fled; Her form appear'd from Phidias' plastic hand; The so Al of him that scorn'd to fear or fly- Gone were the terrors of her awful brow, Who lived and died as none can live or die! Her idle JEgis bore no gorgon now; But, lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, Her helm was deep indented, and her lance'he queen of night asserts her silent reign.2 Seem'd weak and shaftless, e'en to mortal glance; No murky vapour, herald of the storm, The olive branch, which still she deign'd to clasp, Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form; Shrunk from her touch and wither'd in her grasp: With cornice glimmering as the moon-beams play, And, ah! though still the brightest of the sky, There the white column greets her grateful ray, Celestial tears bedimm'd her large blue eye; And bright around, with quivering beams beset, Round the rent casque her owlet circled slow, Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret: And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek of woe The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide " Mortal! ('t was thus she spake) that blush of shalt* Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide, Proclaims thee Briton-once a noble nameThe cypress saddening by the sacred mosque, First of the mighty, foremost of the free, The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk, Now honour'd less by all-and least by me: And, dun and sombre'mid the holy calm, Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found:Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm, Seek'st thou the cause? O mortal, look around! All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye- Lo! here, despite of war and wasting fire, And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by. I saw successive tyrannies expire; U 190 BYRON'S WORKS.'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth, Hear then in silence Pallas' stern behest; Thy country sends a spoiler worse than bot' Hear and believe, for time shall tell the rest. Survey this vacant violated fane: First on the head of him who did the deed Recount the relics torn that yet remain; My curse shall light,-on him and all his seed:'lhese Cecrops placed-this Pericles adorn'd4- Without one spark of intellectual fire, That Hadrian rear'd when drooping science mourn'd: Be all the sons as senseless as the sire: What more I owe let gratitude attest-. If one with wit the parent brood disgrace, Know, Alaric and Elgin did the rest. Believe him bastard of a brighter race; That all may learn from whence the plunder came, Still with his hireling artists let him prate, The insulted wall sustains his hated name.5 And folly's praise repay for wisdom's hate! For Elgin's fame thus grateful Pallas pleads: Long of their patron's gusto let them tell, Below, his name-above, behold his deeds! Whose noblest native gusto —is to sell: Be ever hail'd with equal honour here To sell, and make (may shame record the day!) The Gothic monarch and the Pictish peer. The state receiver of his pilfer'd prey! Arms gave the first his right-the last had none, Meantime, the flattering feeble dotard, West, But basely stole what less barbarians won! Europe's worst dauber, and poor Britain's best, So when the lion quits his fell repast, With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er, Next prowls the wolf-the filthy jackal last: And own himself an infant of fourscore:9 Flesh, limbs, and blood, the former make their own; Be all the bruisers call'd from all St. Giles, The last base brute securely gnaws the bone. That art and nature may compare their styles; Yet still the gods are just, and crimes are crost- While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare, See here what Elgin won, and what he lost! And marvel at his lordship's stone-shop there.' Another name with his pollutes my shrine, Round the throng'd gate shall sauntering coxcombs creep, Behold where Dian's beams disdain to shine! To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep, Some retribution still might Pallas claim, While many a languid maid, with longing sigh, When Venus half avenged Minerva's shame."' On giant statues casts the curious eye; The room with transient glance appears to skim, She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply, Yet marks the mighty back and length of limb, To soothe the vengeancq kindling in her eye:- Mourns o'er the difference of now and then; "Daughter of Jove! in Britain's injured name, Exclaims,' these Greeks indeed were proper men;' A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim! Draws slight comparisons of these with those, Frown not on England-England owns him not- And envies Lais all her Attic beaux: Athena, no! the plunderer was a Scot!' When shall a modern maid have swains like these? Ask thou the difference? From fair Phyle's towers Alas! Sir Harry is no Hercules! Survey Bceotia-Caledonia's ours. And, last of all, amidst the gaping crew, And well I know within that bastard land 8 Some calm spectator, as he takes his view," Hath wisdom's goddess never held command: In silent indignation,mix'd with grief, A barren soil, where nature's germs, confined, Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief. To stern sterility can stint the mind; Loathed throughout life-scarce pardon'd in the dust, Whose thistle well'betrays the niggard earth, May hate pursue his sacrilegious lust! Emblem of all to whom the land gives birth. Link'd with the fool who fired the Ephesian dome, Each genial influence nurtured to resist, Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb; A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist: Erostratus and Elgin e'er shall shine Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy plain In many a branding page and burning line! Dilutes with drivel every drizzling brain, Alike condemn'd for aye to stand accursedTill, bffrst at length, each watery head o'erflows, Perchance the second viler than the first: Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows: So let him stand through ages yet unborn, Ten thousand schemes of petulance and pride Fix'd statue on the pedestal of scorn! Despatch her scheming children far and wide; Though not for him alone revenge shall wait, Some east, some west, some every where but north! But fits thy country for her coming fate: In quest of lawless gain they issue forth; Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son And thus, accursed be the day and year, To do what oft Britannia's self had done. She sent a Pict to play the felon here. Look to the Baltic blazing from afarYet, Caledonia claims some native worth, Your old ally yet mourns perfidious war: As dull Bceotia gave a Pindar birth- Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid, So may her few, the letter'd and the brave, Or break the compact which herself had made; Bound to no clime, and victors o'er the grave, Far from such councils, from the faithless field, SnaKe off the sordid dust of such a land, She fled-but left behind her gorgon shield; And shine like cnilaren of a happier strand: A fatal gift, that turn'd your friends to stone, As once of yore, in some obnoxious place, And left lost Albion hated and alone. Ten names (if found) had saved a wretched race!" Look to the east, where Ganges' swarthy race Shall shake your usurpation to its base; " Mortal," the blue-eyed maid resumed, "once more, Lo! there Rebellion rears her ghastly head, Bea- back my mandate to thy native shore; And glares the Nemesis of native dead, Though fallen, alas!' this vengeance still is mine, Till Indus rolls a deep purpureal flood, To turn my councils Qr from lands like thine. And claims his long arrear of northern blood, THIE CURSE OF MINERVA. 191 _ ~,.,_ So may ye perish I Pallas, when she gave Swell the young heart with visionary charms, Your free-born rights, forbade ye to enslave. And bid it antedate the joys of arms. Look on your Spain, she clasps the hand she hates, But know, a lesson you may yet be taughtBut coldly clasps, and thrusts you from her gates. With death alone are laurels cheiply bought: Bear witness, bright Barrossa, thou canst tell Not in the conflict havoc seeks delightWhose were the sons that bravely fought, and fell. His day of mercy is the day of fight; While Lusitania, kind and dear ally, But when the field is fought, the battle w on, Can spare a few to fight and sometimes fly. Though drench'd with gore, his woes are but begun. Oh glorious field! by famine fiercely won; His deeper deeds ye yet know but by name,The Gaul retires for once, and all is done! The slaughter'd peasant and the ravish'd dame, But when did Pallas teach that one retreat The rifled mansion and the foe-reap'd field, Retrieved three long olympiads of defeat? Ill suit with souls at home untaught to yield. Look last at home-ye love not to look there, Say with what eye, along the distant down, On the grim smile of comfortless despair; Would flying burghers mark the blazing town? Your city saddens, loud though revel howls, How view the column of ascending flames Here famine faints, and yonder rapine prowls: Shake his red shadow o'er the startled Thames? See all alike of more or less bereft- Nay, frown not, Albion! for the torch was tline No misers tremble when there's nothing left. That lit such pyres fron Tagus to the Rhine:'Blest paper credit' I2 who shall dare to sing? Now should they burst on thy devoted coast, It clogs like lead corruption's weary wing: Go, ask thy bosom, who deserves them most.? Yet Pallas plucked each Premier by the ear, The law of heaven and earth is life for life; Who gods and men alike disdain'd to hear And she who raised in vain regrets the strife." But one, repentant o'er a bankrupt state, On Pallas calls, but calls, alas! too late! Then raves for ***; 3 to that Mentor bends, NOTES Though he and Pallas never yet were friends: Him senates hear whom never yet they heard, Contemptuous once, and now no less absurd: Note 1. Page 189, line 22. So once of yore each reasonable frog Th atosed ther murder snageis latestl ray, Swore faith and fealty to his sovereign log; Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sun Thus hail'd your rulers their patrician clod, set (the hour of execution), notwithstanding the en As Egypt chose an onion for a god.. treaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down. "Now fare ye well, enjoy your little hour; Note 2. Page 189, line 34. Go, grasp the shadow of your vanish'd power; The queen of night asserts her silent reign. Gloss o'er the failure of each fondest scheme, The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in om Your strength a name, your bloated wealth a dream. country; the days in winter are longer, but in summei Gone is that gold, the marvel of mankind, of less duration. And pirates barter all that's left behind Note Pae 189 No more the hirelings, purchased near and far, e gleamin turret of the gay Kiosk. Crowd to the ranks of mercenary war; The Kiosk is a Turkish summer-house; the palm is The idle merchant on the useless quay without the present walls of Athens, not far from the Droops o'er the bales no bark may bear away, temple of Theseus, between which and the tree the Or, back returning, sees rejected stores wall intervenes. Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and Rot piecemeal on his own encumber'd shores; Ilissus has no stream at all. The starved mechanic breaks his rustic loom, Note 4. Pae 190, ine5. And, desperate, mans him'gainst the common doom.ese Cecrops place-tis Pericles adorn'd. Then in the senate of your sinking state, h io the mn o ou ae This is spoken of the -city in general, and not of the Show me talhe man whose counsels maly have weight. Acropolis in particular. The temple of Jupiter OlymVain is each voice whose tones could once command * Even ifs actions vce ahse to charm a factious land;' pius, by some supposed the Pantheon, was finished by Even factions cease to charm a factious land; Hadrian: sixteen columns are standing, of the most While jarring sects convulse a sister isle, r r r Z3.'. beautifilf marble and style of architecture. And light with maddening hands the mutual pile. Note 5. Page 190, line 10. "'T is done,' tis past, since Pallas warns in vain, The insulted wall sustains his hated name. The Furies seize her abdicated reign; It is stated by a late oriental traveller, that when ihe Wide o'er the realm they wave their kindling brands, wholesale spoliator visited Athens, he caused his own And wring her vitals with their fiery hands. name, with that of his wife, to be inscribed on a pillam But one convulsive struggle still remains, of one of the principal temples. This inscription was And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her chains, executed in a very conspicuous manner, and deeplv enThe banner'd pomp of war, the glittering files, graved in the marble, at a very considerable elevation. O'er whose gay trappings stern Bellona smiles; Notwithstanding which precautions, some person (dount'he brazen trump, the 4pirit-stirring drum, less inspired by the Patron Goddess), has been at the That bid the foe defiance ep'r thav come; pains to get himself raised up to the requisite heilg:. The hero bounding at his country's call, and has obliterated the name of the maird, but left thai Theglorious death that decorates his fall, of toe lady untouched. The traveller m question aw' 192 BYRON'S WORKS. companied this story by a remark, that it must have Is a new palace to be erected (at Rome) for an upstart cost some labour and contrivance to get at the place, family? the Coliseum is stripped to furnish materials. and could only have been effected by much zeal and Does a foreign minister wish to adorn the bleak walls iletermination. of a northern castle with antiques? the temples of TheNote 6. Page 190, line 21. seus or Minerva must be dismantled, and the works of When Venus half avenged Minerva's shame. Phidias or Praxiteles be torn from the shattered frieze. His lordship's name, and that of one who no longer That a decrepit uncle, wrapped up in the religious bears it, are carved conspicuously on the Parthenon duties of his age and station, should listen to the sugabove; in a part not far distant are the torn remnants gestions of an interested nephew, is natural; and that of the basso-relievos, destroyed in a vain attempt to an oriental despot should undervalue the masterpieces remove them. of Grecian art, is to be expected; though in both cases Note 7.~~ Pae 190 line 27. the consequences of such weakness are much to be laNote 7. Page 190, line 27. Frown not on Enland —Enland owns him nt- mented-but that the minister of a nation, famed for Frown not on England-Enfland owns him not-. Athena, no the plunderer was a Scot! its knowledge of the language, and its veneration for The plaster wall on the west side of the temple of the monuments of ancient Greece, should have been Minerva Polias bears the following inscription, cut in the prompter and the instrument of these destructions, very deep characters: is almost incredible. Such rapacity is a crime against Quod non fecerunt Goti all ages and all generations: it deprives the past of the Hoc fecerunt Scoti. Hobhuse's Traves in Gfreece, etc.. p. 345. trophies of their genius and the title-deeds of their Note. Pafame; the present, of the strongest inducements to Ad w ell I know withn that basta l ae 30. exertion, the noblest exhibitions that curiosity can And well I know within that bastard land. contemplate; the future, of the masterpieces of art, the Irish bastards according to Sir Callaghan O'Bral- contemplate; the future, of the masterpieces of art, the Irish bastards, according to Sir Calaghan - models of imitation. To guard against therepetition t 9. P 1taghan90. of such depredations is the wish of every man of geNote 9. Page 190, line 77. hiote 9. Page 190, line 77 o nius, the duty of every man in power, and the common With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er, And own himself an intant of ifurscore. interest of every civilized nation."- Eustace's Classical Mr.West, on seeing "the Elgin collection" (I suppose Tour through Italy, p. 269. woe shall hear of the Abershaw's and Jack Shepherd's "This attempt to transplant the temple of Vesta from collecton next), declared himself a mere Tyro in Art. Italy to England, may, perhaps, do honour to the late Lord Bristol's patriotism or to his magnificence; but it Note 10. Page 190, line 80, te 10. Pge 190, line 80. cannot be considered as an indication of either taste or While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare, And marvel at his lordship's stone-shop there. judgment."-Ibid. p. 419. Poor Crib was sadly puzzled when exhibited at Elgin-,Note 12. Page 191, line 19. house; he asked if it was not "a stone-shop: " he was' Blest paper credit' who shall dare to sing 1 right,-it is a shop. Blest paper credit, last and best supply, That lends corruption lighter wings to fly.-Pope Note 11. Pave 190, line 94. And, last of all, amidst the gaping crew, Note 13. Page 191, line 25. Some calm spectator, as he takes his view, Then raves for * ** "Alas! all the monuments of Roman magnificence, The Deal and Dover traffickers in specie. 4d1 the remains of Grecian taste, so dear to the artist, Note 14 Pae 191, line 38. the historian, the antiquary, all depend on the will of Gone is that god, the marvel of mankind, an arbitrary sovereign; and that will is influenced too And pirates barter all that's left behind. often by interest or vanity, by a nephew or a sycophant. See the preceding note. the iete of Eorinttl. TO JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS FRIEND. January 22, 1816. ADVERTISEMENT. Corinth, upon which they made several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it *'rhe grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under the Ptime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the 1810-11- and in the course ofjourneyimg through the country;eart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli from myr first arrival in 1809, 1 crossed the Isthmus eight times Xn —-- -- --— in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the mountains, il Romania, the most considerable place in all that or in the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of Athens country, thought it best in the firs, place to attack to that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beat. -_~ ___'.__ tiful, though very different: that by sea has more sameness, I Napo!idi Romania is no. now the most considerable place in but the voyage being always in sight of land, and often very'he Morea, but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and main- near it, presents many attractive views of the islands Salamis, ains hisgovernment. Nap Jli is nearArgo,. I visited all three in,Egina, Poro, etc., and the coast of the continent. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 193 wab impossible to hold out against so mighty a force, Fast whirl the fragments from the wall, thought it fit to beat a parley: but while they were Which crumbles with the ponderous ball; treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the And from that wall the foe replies, Turkish camp, wherein they had six hundred barrels O'er dusty plain and smoky skies, of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven With fires that answer fast and well hundred men were killed: which so enraged the infi- The summons of the Infidel. dels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signor Minotti, the But near and nearest to the wall governor, to the sword. The rest, with Antonio Bembo, Of those who wish and work its fall, proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war." With deeper skill in war's black art History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151. Than Othman's sons, and high of heart As any chief that ever stood Triumphant in the fields of blood; From post to post, and deed to deed, THE Fast spurring on his reeking steed, Where sallying ranks the trench assail, Coir~TT f ^? TOT1~ T^Tf~ ^And make the foremost Moslem quail; SIETGE OF CORllINTHJ a t Or where the battery, guarded well, Remains as yet impregnable, Alighting cheerly to inspire MANY a vanish'd year and age, The soldier slackening in his fire; And tempest's breath, and battle's rage, The first and freshest of the host Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands, Which Stamboul's sultan there can boasr, A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands. To guide the follower o'er the field, The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock, To point the tube, the lance to wield, Have left untouch'd her hoary rock, Or whirl around the bickering blade,The keystone of a land which still, Was Alp, the Adrian renegade! Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill, The landmark to the double tide IV. That purpling rolls on either side, From Venice-once a race of worth As if their waters chafed to meet, His gentle sires-he drew his birth; Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet. But late an exile from her shore, But could the blood before her shed Against his countrymen he bore Since first Timoleon's brother bled, The arms they taught to bear; and now Or baffled Persia's despot fled, The turban girt his shaven brow. Arise from out the earth which drank Through many a change had Corinth pass'd The stream of slaughter as it sank, With Greece to Venice' rule at last; That sanguine ocean would o'erflow And here, before her walls, with those Her isthmus idly spread below: To Greece and Venice equal foes, Or could the bones of all the slain, He stood a foe, with ail the zeal Who perish'd there, be piled again, Which young and fiery converts feel, That rival pyramid would rise Within whose heated bosom throngs More mountain-like, through those clear skies, The memory of a thousand wrongs. Than yon tower-capt Acropolis To him had Venice ceased to be Which seenms the very clouds to kiss. Her ancient civic boast-" the Free;" And in the palace of St. Mark ^'~~~II. ~ Unnamed accusers in the dark On dun Citharon's ridge appears Within the "Lion's mouth" had placed The gleam of twice ten thousand spears; A charge against him uneffaced: And downward to the Isthmian plain, He fled in time, and saved his life From shore to shore of either main, To waste his future years in strife, The tent is pitch'd, the crescent shines That taught his land how great her loss" Along the Moslem's leaguering lines; In him who trumph'd o'er the Cross, And the dusk Spahi's bands advance'Gainst which he rear'd the Crescern: hlgk. Beneath each bearded pacha's glance; And battled to avenge or die. And far and wide as eye can reach, The turban'd cohorts throng the beach; V. Arld there the Arab's camel kneels, Coumourgi 2-he whose closing scene And there his steed the Tartar wheels; Adorn'd the triumph of Eugene, The Turcoman hath left his herd,' When on Carlowitz' bloody plain, The sabre round his loins to gird; The last and mightiest of the slain, And there the volleying thunders pour, He sank, regretting not to die, Till waves grow smoother to the roar. But curst the Christian's victoryThe trench is dug, the cannon's breath Coumourgi-can his glory cease, Wings the far hissing globe of death; That latest conqueror of Greece u 2 30 194 BYRON'S WORKS. Till Christian hands to Greece restore Her voice less lively in the song; The freedom Venice gave of yore? Her step, though light, less fleet among A hundred years have roll'd away The pairs, on whom the morning's glance Since he refix'd the Moslem's sway; Breaks, yet unsated with the dance. And now he led the Mussulman, And gave the guidance of the van IX. To Alp, who well repaid the trust Sent by the state to guard the land By cities levell'd with the dust; (Which, wrested from the Moslem's iland, And proved, by many a deed of death, While Sobieski tamed his pride How firm his heart in novel faith. By Buda's wall and Danube's side, The chiefs of Venice wrung away VI. From Patra to Eubcea's bay), The walls grew weak;. and fast and hot Minotti held in Corinth's towers Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot, The Doge's delegated powers, With unabating fury sent While yet the pitying eye of peace From battery to battlement; Smiled o'er her long-forgotten Greece: And thunder-like the pealing din And, ere that faithless truce was broke Rose from each heated culverin; Which freed her from the unchristian yoke, And here and there some crackling dome With him his gentle daughter came: Was fired before the exploding bomb: Nor there, since Menelaus' dame And as the fabric sank beneath Forsook her lord and land, to prove The shattering shell's volcanic breath, What woes await on lawless love, In red and wreathing columns flash'ed Had fairer form adorn'd the shore The flame, as loud the ruin crash'd, Than she, the matchless stranger, bore. Or into countless meteors driven, Its earth-stars melted into heaven; Whose cloudthat day grew doubly dn, The wall is rent, the ruins yawn, Impervious to the- -hidden sun, And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn, WTith volumed smoke that slowly grew O'er the disjointed mass shall vault To one wide sky of sulphurous hue. The foremost of the fierce assault. The bands are rank'd; the chosen van VII. Of Tartar and of Mussulman, tThe full of hope, misnamed "forlorn," But not for vengeance, long delay'd, ~, "', ~. Alone, did AlWthe forenegeanlongdel, WVho hold the thought of death in scorn, Alone, did Alp, the renegade, The Moslem warriors sternly teach And win their way with falchions' force, The Moslem warriors sternly teach Or pave the path with many a corse, His skill to pierce the promised breach: p p Within these walls a maid was pent O'er which the following brave may rise, Within these walls a maid was pent Their stepping-stone-the last whio dies' His hope would win, without consenti Of that inexorable sire, XI. Whose neart refused him in its ire, IT is midnight: on the mountain's brown When Alp, beneath his Christian name, The cold round moon shines deeply down; Her virgin hand aspired to claim. Blue roll the waters, blue the sky In happier mood and earlier tinme, Spreads like an ocean hung on high, While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime, espanled with those isles of liht, Bespangled with those isles of light, Gayest in gondola orhall, So wildly, spiritually bright; IHe glitter'd through the Carnival; Who ever gazed upon them shining, Alld tuned the softest serenade And turn'd to earth without repining, That e'er on Adria's waters play'd Nor wish'd for wins to flee away, At midnight to Italian maid. And mix with their eternal ray? The waves on either shore lay there VI I. Calm, clear, and azure as the air; And many deem'd her heart was won; And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, For, sought by numbers, given to none, But murmur'd meekly as the brook. Had young Francesca's hand remain'd The winds were pillow'd on the waves; Sfill by the church's bonds unchain'd: The banners droop'd along their staves, And when the Adriatic bore And, as they fell around them furling, Lanciotto to the Paynim shore, Above them shone the crescent curling; Her wantdd smiles were seen to fail, And that deep silence was unbroke, And pensive wax'd the maid, and pale; Save where the watch his signal spoke, More constant at confessional, Save where the steed neigh'd oft and shrill, More rare at masque and festival; And echo answer'd from the hill, Or seen at such, with downcast eyes, And the wide hum of that wild host Which conquer'd hearts they ceased to prize' Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, With listless look she seems to gaze; As rose the Muezzin's voice in air With humble- care her form arrays: In midnight call to wonted prayer THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 19 It rose; that chaunted mournful strain, XIII. Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain: His head grows fevered, and his pulse'T was musical, but sadly sweet, The quick successive throbs convulse; Such as when winds and harp-strings meet, In vain from side t side he throws And take a long unmeasured tone, His form, in courtship of repose; To mortal ministrelsy unknown. To mortal ministrelsy unknown. Or if he dozed, a sound, a start It seem'd to those within the wall Awoke him with a sunken heart. A cry prophetic of their fall: The turban on his hot brow press'd, It struck even the besieger's ear The mail weigh'd lead-like on his breast, With something ominous and drear, Though oft and long beneath its weight An undefined and sudden thrill, Upon his eyes had slumber sate, Which makes the heart a moment still, Without or couch or canopy, Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed Except a rougher field and sky Of that strange sense its silence framed; Than no might yield a warrior's bed Than now might yield a warrior's bed, Such as a sudden passing-bell Than now along the heaven was spread. Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell. could not rest, he could not stay XII. Within his tent to wait for day, The tent of Alp was on the shore; But walk'd him forth along the sand, The sound was hush'd the prayer was o'er; Where thousand sleepers strew'd the stranw The watch was set, the night-round made, What pillow'd them? and why should he All mandates issued and obey'd; More wakeful than the humblest be?'T is but another anxious night, Since more their peril, worse their toil, His pains the morrow may requite And yet they fearless dream of spoil; With all revenge and love can pay, While he alone, where thousands pass'd In guerdon for their long delay. A night of sleep, perchance their last, Few hours remain, and he hath need In sickly vigil wander'd on, Of rest, to nerve for many a deed And envied all he gazed upon. Of slaughter; but within his soul The thoughts like troubled waters roll. X. He stood alone among the host; He felt his soul become more light Not his the loud fanatic boast Beneath the freshness of the night. To plant the Crescent o'er the Cross, Cool was the silent sky, though calm Or risk a life with little loss, And bathed his brow with airy bahn: Secure in paradise to be Behind, the camp-before him lay, By Houris loved imnortally: In many a winding creek and bay, Nor his, what burning patriots feel, Lepanto's gulf: and, on the brow The stern exaltedness of zeal, Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow, Profuse of blood, untired in toil, High and eternal, such as shone When battling on the parent soil.'Through thousand summers brightly gone, He stood alonea renegade Along the gulf, the mount, the clime; Against the country he betray'd; It will not melt, like man, to time: He stood alone amidst his band, Tyrant and slave are swept away, Without a trusted heart or hand: Less form'd to wear before the ray, They follow'd him, for he was brave, But that white veil, the lightest, frailest, And great the spoil he got and gave; Which on the mighty mount thou hailest, They crouch'd to him, for he had skill While tower and tree are torn and rent, To warp and wield the vulgar will: Shines o'er its craggy battlement; But still his Christian originIn form a peak, in height a cloud, With them was little less than sin. In texture like a hovering shroud, They envied even the faithless fame Thus high by parting Freedom spread, He earn'd beneath a Moslem nane; As from her fond abode she fled, Since he, their mightiest chief, had been And linger'd on the spot, wherelong In youth a bitter Nazarene. Her prophet spirit spake in song. They did not know how pride can stoop, Oh, still her step at moments falters When baffled feelings withering droop; O'er wither'd fields and ruin'd altars, They did not know how hate can burn And fain would wake, in souls too broken, In hearts once changed from soft to stern; By pointing to each glorious token. Nor all the false and fatal zeal But vain her voice, till better days The convert of revenge can feel. Dawn in those yet remember'd rays Ile ruled them-man may rule the worst, Which shone upon the Persian flying, By ever daring to be first: And saw the Spartan smile in dying. So lions o'er the jackal sway; V. The jackal points, he fells the prey, Then on the vulgar yelling press, Not mindless of these mighty times To gorge the relics of sccess. Was Alp, despite his fliht and crmes; 196 BYRON'S WORKS. And through this night, as on he wandered, Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb; And o'er the past and present ponder'd, They were too busy to bark at him! And thought upon the glorious dead From a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the flesh, Who there m better cause had bled, As ye peel the fig when the fruit is fresh; He felt how faint and feebly dim And their white tusks crunch'd o'er the whiter skull,4 The fame that could accrue to him, As it slipp'd through theirjaws, whentheiredge grew dull Who cheer'd the band, and waved the sword, As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, A traitor in a turban'd horde; When they scarce could rise from the spotwherethey fed And led them to the lawless siege, So well had they broken a lingering fast Whose best success were sacrilege. With those who had fallen for that night's repast. Not so had those his fancy numnber'd, And Alp knew, by the turbans that roll'd on the sand, The chiefs whose dust around him slumber'd; The foremost of these were the best of his band: Their phalanx marshal'd on the plain, Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear, Whose bulwarks were not then in vain. And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair,5 They fell devoted, but undying; All the rest was shaven and bare. The very gale their names seem'd sighing: The scalps were in the wild dog's maw,'he waters murmur'd of their name; The hair was tangled round his jaw. The woods were peopled with their fame; But close by the shore on the edge of the gulf, The silent pillar, lone and gray, There sat a vulture flapping a wolf, Claiin'd kindred with their sacred clay; Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away, Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain, Scared by the dogs, from the human prey; Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain; But he seized on his share of a steed that lay, The meanest rill, the mightiest river Pick'd by the birds, on the sands of the bay. Roll'd mingling with their fame for ever. XVII Despite of every yoke she bears, That land isglory's st ill., an tAlp turn'd him from the sickening sight: That land is glory's still and theirs! Neer had shaken his nerves in Never had shaken his nerves in fight;'T is still a watch-word to the earth: But he better could brook to behold the dying, When man would do a deed of worth Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying, He points to Greece, and turns to tread, He points to Greece, and turns to tread, Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head: Than the perishing dead who are past all pain. He looks to her, and rushes on He looks to h, andThere is something of pride in the perilous hour, Where life-is lost, or freedom won. Where life-is lost, Whate'er be the shape in which death may lour; XVI. For Fame is there to say who bleeds, Still by the shore Alp mutely mused, And onour's eye on darin deeds! And woo'd the freshness night diffused. And woo'd the freshness night tdiffudesead. But when all is past, it is humbling to tread There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea, O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, Which changeless rolls eternally; Which changoeless rolls eternally; And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood, Beasts of the forest, all gathering there; Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood; All regarding man as their prey, And the powerless moon beholds them flow, All rejoicing in his decay. Heedless if she come or go: XVIII. Calm or high, in main or bay, On their course she hath no sway. There is a temple in ruin stands, The rock unworn its base doth bare, Fashion'd by long-forgotten hands; And looks p'er the surf, but it comes not there; Tw or three columns, and many a stone, And the fringe of the foam may be seen below, Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown! On the line that it left long ages ago: Out upon time! it will leave no more A smooth short space of yellow sand Of the things to come than the things before! Between it and the greener land. Out upon time! who for ever will leave But enough of the past for the future to grieve He wanderld on, along the beach, c wander'donalon O'er that which hath been, and o'er that which must be Till within the range of a carbine's reach What we have seen our sons shall see Of the leaguer'd wall; but they saw him not, OfX,,'et-. ^ eaurdwl;Remnants of things that have pass'd away, Or how could he'scape from the hostile shot? r Di traits lk in te Cristins Fragments of stone, rear'd by creatures of clay! Did traitors lurk in the Christian's hold? Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts wax'd cold? XIX. I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall He sate him down at a pillar's base, There flash'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball, And pass'd his hand athwart his face; Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown, Like one in dreary musing mood, That flank'd the sea-ward gate of the town; Declining was his attitude; Though lie heard tne sound, and could almost tell His head was drooping on his breast, The sullen words of the sentinel Fever'd, throbbing, and opprest; As his measured step on the stone below And o'er his brow, so downward bent, Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro; Oft his beating fingers went, And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall Hurriedly, as you may see Hold o'er the dead their carvinal. Your own run over the ivory key. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 197 Ere the measured tone is taken But dash that turban to earth, and si'n By the chords you would awaken. The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine; There he sate all heavily, Wring the black drop from thy heart, As he heard the night-wind sigh. And to-morrow unites us no more to part." Was it the wind, through some hollow stone, Sent that soft and tender "And where should our bridal couch be spread?,Sent that soft and tender moan? In the midst of the dying and the dead? He lifted his head, and he look'd on the sea, or tomorrow ye give to the slau r and But it was unrippled as glass may be; th an n He look'd on the long grass-it waved not a blade; e save tou and th ine, I'e sworn r,,,,,5 ~> tNone save thou and thine, I've sworn, How was that gentle sound convey'd? Shall be left upon the morn: He look'd to the banners-each flag lay still, Bt e ll e to loel po But thee will I bear to a lovely spot, So did the leaves on Cithseron's hill. Sodid thel ea ve rhisoncheekl Where our hands shall be join'd, and our sorrow firgot. And he felt not a breath come over his cheek; There thou yetshalt be mv bride There thou yet shalt be my bride, What did that sudden sound bespeak? When once again I've quell'd the pride He turn'd to the left-is he sure of sight Of Venice and her hated race There sate a lady, youthfil and bright! Of Venice; and her hated race There sate a lady, youthfid and bright! Have felt the arm they would debase,Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those XX. Whom vice and envy made my foes." He started up witn more of fear Than if an armed foe were near. Upon his hand she laid her own9"God of my fathers! what is here? Light was the touch, but it tlrill'd to the bone, Who art thou, and wherefore sent And shot a chillness to his heart, So near a hostile armament?")' Which fix'd him beyond the power to start. So near a hostile armament?" His trebing hands refused to sin Though slight was that grasp so mortal void, His trembling hands refused to sign. The cross he deem'd no nore divine: He could not loose him from its hold; THe hehad resumed it in that hour, o dBut never did clasp of one so dear He had resumed it in that hour, But conscience wrung away the power. Strike on-the pulse with such feeling of fear,, But conscience wrung away the power.. P leazd, he saw: he knew the face As those thin fingers, long and white, He dazed, he saw: he knew the face r Of beauty, and the form ofgrace; Froze through his blood by; their touch that night. Of beauty, and the form of grace Z5 It was Francesca by his side, The feverish glow of his brow was gone, The maid who might have been his bride! The maid who might have been his bride! And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone, As he look'd oh the face, and beheld its hue The rose was yet upon her cheek, So deeply changed from what he knew: But mellow'd with a tender streak: Fair but faint-without the ray Where was the play of her soft lips fled? Of mind, that made each feature play Gone was the smile that enliven'd their red. Like sparkling waves on a sunny day; The ocean's calm within their view, And her motionless lips lay still as death, Beside her eye had less of blue; And her words came forth without her breath, But like that cold wave it stood still, And th ere rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell, And its glance, though clear, was chill. And there seem'd not a pulse in her veins to dwell. Around her form a thin robe twining, Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fix'd, Nought conceal'd her bosom shining; And the glance that it gave was wild and unmix'd Through the parting of her hair, With aught of change, as the eyes may seem Floating darkly downward there, Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream; Her rounded arm show'd white and bare: Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, And ore yet she made reply, Stirr'd by the breath of the wintry air, Once she raised her hand on high; So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light, It was so wan, and transparent of hue, Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight; You might have seen the moon shine through. As they seem, through the dimness, about to come dowm From the shad6wy wall where their images frown; XXI, Fearfully flitting to and fro'I come from my rest to him I love best, As the gusts on the tapestry come and go. That I may be happy, and he may be blest. "If not for love of me be given I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the wall; Thus much, then, for the love of HIeaven,Sought thee in safety through foes and all. Again I say-that turban tear'T is said the lion will turn and flee From off thy faithless brow, and swear From a maid in the pride of her purity; Thine injured country's sons to spare, And the power on high, that can shield the good Or thou art lost; and never shalt see, Thus from the tyrant of the wood, Not earth-that's past-but heaven or me. Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well If this thou dost accord, albeit From the hands of the leaguering infidel. A heavy doom't is thine to meet, come-and if I come in vain, That doom shall half absolve thy sin, Never, oh never, we meet again! And Mercy's gate may receive thee withi; Thou hast done a fearful deed But pause one moment more, and take In falling away from thy father's creed: The curse of Him thou didst forsake 19P BYRON'S WORKS. And look once more to heaven, and see White is the foam of their champ on the bit: Its love for ever shut from thee. The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit; There is a light cloud by the moon-' The cannon are pointed and ready to roar,'T is passing, and will pass full soon- And crush the wall they have crumbled before: If, by the time its vapoury sail Forms in his phalanx each Janizar; Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil, Alp at their head; his right arm is bare, Thy heart within thee is not changed, So is the blade of his scimitar; Then God and man are both avenged; The khan and the pachas are all at their post; Dark will thy doom be, darker still The vizier himself at the head of the host. Thine immortality of ill." When the culverin's signal is fired, then on; Leave not in Corinth a living oneAlp look'd to heaven, and saw on high A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls, The sign she spake of in the sky; A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls. But his heart was swollen, and turn'd aside, God and the prophet-Alla Htu! By deep interminable pride, Up to the skies with that wild halloo! This first false passion of his breast "There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale, Roll'd like a torrent o'er the rest. And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail? He sue for mercy'! He dismay'd He who first downs with the red cross may crave By wild words of a timid maid! His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!" le, wrong'd by Venice, vow to save Thus utter'd Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier; Her sons devoted to the grave! The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, No-though that cloud were thundbr's worst, And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire:And charged to-crush him-let it burst! Silence-hark to the signal-fire He look'd upon it earnestly, XXIII. Without an accent of reply; As the wolves, that headlong go He watched it passing; it is flown: On the stately buffalo Full on his eye the clear moon shone, Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, And thus he spake-" Whateer my fate, And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore, I am no changeling-'t is too late: He tramples on earth, and tosses on high The reed in storms may bow and quiver, The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die: Then rise again; the tree must shiver. Thus against the wall they ent What Venice made me, I must be, Thus the first were backward bent; Her foe in all, save love to thee: Many a bosom, sheathed in brass But thou art safe: oh, fly with me! —. But thou art safe: oh; fly with me!-" Strew'd the earth like broken glass, tie turn'd, but she is gone! Shiver'd by the shot, that tore Nothina is there but the column stone. The ground whereon they moved no more: Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air? Even as they fell, in files they lay, He saw not, he knew not; but nothing is there. Like the moer gras, at the close of day When his work is done on the levell'd plain; XXII. Such was the fall of the foremost slain. The night is past, and shines the sun As if that morn were a jocund one. XXIV. Lightly and brightly breaks away As the spring-tides, with heavy plash, The morning from her mantle gray, From the cliffs invading dash And the moon will look on a sultry day. Huge fragments, sapp'd by the ceaseless flow, Hark to the trump, and the drum, Till white and thundering down they go, A.,i the mournful sound of the barbarous horn, Like the avalanche's snow And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne, On the Alpine vales below; And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum, Thus at length outbreathed and worn, And the clash, and the shout, "they come, they come!" Corinth's sons were downward borne The horsetails 8 are pluck'd from the ground, and the By the long and oft-renew'd sword Charge of the Moslem multitude. From its sheath; and' they form, and but wait for the In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell word. Heap'd by the host of the infidel, rartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, Hand to hand, and foot to foot: strike your tents, and throng to the van; Nothing there, save death, was mute; Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain, Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry That the fugitive may flee in vain, For quarter, or for victory, When he breaks from the town; and none escape, Mingle there with the volleying thunder, Aged or young, in the Christian shape; Which makes the distant cities wonder While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass, How the sounding battle goes, Bloodstamn the breach through which they pass. If wv;h them, or for their foes; T'he steeds are all bridled and snort to the rein; If they must mourn, or may rejoice Curve, is each neck, and flowing each mane; In that annihilating voice, THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 19I Which pierces the deep hills through and through Their leader's nervous arm is bare, With an echo dread and new: Swifter to smite, and never to spareYou might have heard it, on that day, Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on; O'er Salamis and Megara; Thus in the fight he is ever known: (We have heard the hearers say,) Others a gaudier garh may show, Even unto Pirmus bay. To tempt the spoil of the greedy foe; Many a hand's on a richer hilt, XXV. But none on a steel more ruddily gilt; From the point of encountering blades to the hilt, Many a loftier turban may wear,Sabres and swords with blood were gilt. Alp is but known by the white rm bare; But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun, Look through the thick of the fight,'t is there' And all but the after-carnage done. There is not a standard on that shore Shriller shrieks now mingling come So well advanced the ranks before; From within the plunder'd dome' There is not a banner in Moslem war Hark to the haste of flying feet, Will lure the Delhis half so far; That splash in the blood of the slippery street; It glances like a falling star! But here and there, where'vantage ground Where'er that mighty arm is seen, Against the foe may still be found, The bravest be, or late have been! Desperate groups, of twelve or ten, There the craven cries for quarter Make a pause, and turn again- Vainly to the vengeful Tartar With banded backs against the wall, Or the hero, silent lying, Fiercely stand, or fighting fall. Scorns to yield a groan in dying; Mustering his last feeble blow There stood an old man-his hairs were white,'Gainst the nearest levell'd foe, But his veteran arm was full of might: Though faint beneath the mutual wound, So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray, Grappling on the gory ground. The dead before him on that day In a semicircle lay; XXVII. Still he combated unwounded, Still the old man stood erect, Though retreating, unsurrounded. And Alp's career a moment check'd. Many a scar of former fight " Yield thee, Minotti; quarter take, Lurk'd beneath his corslet bright; For thine own, thy daughter's sake." But of every wound his body bore, Each and all had been ta'en before; Never renad never Though aged, he was so iron of limb, nv Though aged, he was so iron of lim Though the life of thy gift would last for ever." Few of our youth could cope with him; And the foes whom he, singly kept at bay "Francesca!-Oh my promised bride! Outnumber'd his thin hairs of silver gray. Must she too perish by thy pride?" From right to left his sabre swept: Many an Othman mother wept " She is safe."-" Where? where?"-" In heacr., Sons that were unborn, when dipp'd From whence thy traitor soul is drivenHis weapon first in Moslem gore, - Far from thee, and undefiled." Ere his years could count a score. Grimly then Minotti smiled, Of all he might have been the sire, As he saw Alp staggering bow Who fell that day beneath his ire: Before his words, as with a blow. For, sonless left long years ago, "Oh God! when died she?"-" Yesternight His wrath made many a childless foe; Nor weep I for her spirit's flight: And since the day, when in the strant None of my pure race shall be His only boy had met his fate, Slaves to Mahomet and theeHis parent's iron hand did doon Come on!"-That challenge is in vainMore than a human hecatomb. Alp's already with the slain! If shades by carnage be appeased, While Minotti's words were wreaking Patroclus' spirit less was pleased More revenge in bitter speaking Than his, Minotti's son, who died Than his falchion's point had found, WThere Asia's bounds and ours divide. Had the time allow'd to wound, Buried he lay; where thousands before From within the neighbouring porch For thousands of years were inhumed or. th, sho:e: Of a long-defended church, What of them is left to tell Where the last and desperate few Where they lie, and how they fe? 1 Would the failing fight renew, Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their g'rves, The sharp shot dash'd Alp to the grotund, But they live in the verse that immortally saves. Ere an eye could view the wound That crash'd through the br.in ot the inmfd XXVI. Round he spun, and down he fell; Hark to the Allah shout! a band A flash like fire within his evea (f the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand: j Blazed, as he bent no more to rise. V0W BYRON'S WORKS. And then eternal darkness sunk But the portal wavering grows and weakThrough all the palpitating trunk: The iron yields, the hinges creakNought of life left, save a quivering It bends-it falls-and all is o'er; Where his limbs were slightly shivering: Lost Corinth may resist no more! They turn'd him on his back; his breast And brow were stain'd with gore and dust, XXX. And through his lips the life-blood oozed, Darkly, sternly, and all alone, From its deep veins lately loosed; Minotti stood o'er the altar-stone: But in his pulse there was no throb, Madonna's face upon him shore, Nor on his lips one dying sob; Painted in heavenly hues above, Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath With eyes of light and looks of love; Heralded his way to death; And placed upon that holy shrine Ere his very thought could pray, To fix our thoughts on things divine, Unanel'd he pass'd away. When pictured there, we kneelin see Without a hope from mercy's aid, — Her and the boy-gcd on her knee, To the last a renegade. Smiling sweetly on each prayer XXVIII. To heaven, as if to waft it there. Still she smiled; even now she smiles, Fearfully the yell anhrose fsThough slaughter streams along her aisles: Of his followers, and his foes;inotti lifted his aed eye, Minotti lifted his aged eye, These in joy, in fury those: And made the sign of a cross with a sigh, Then again in conflict mixing, b Then agoain In conflict mixing, Then seized a torch which blazed thereby;, Clashing swords and spears transfixing, And still he stood, while, with steel and flame, Interchanged the blow and thrust, Inward and onward the Mussulman came. Hurling warriors in the dust. Street by street, and foot by foot, XXXI. Still Minotti dares dispute The vaults beneath the mosaic stone The latest portion of the land, Contain'd the dead of ages gone; Left beneath his high command; Left beneath his high command; Their names were on the graven floor, With him, aiding heart and hand, now illegible with ore The remnant of his gallant band. The carved crests, and curious hues Still the church is tetfnable, The varied marble's veins diffuse, Whence issued late the fated ball Were smear'd, and slippery-stain'd and strov i That half-avenged the city's fall, That half-avenged the city's fall, With broken swords and helms o'erthrown; Wlhen Alp, her fierce assailant, fell: XC'hen Alp, 7er *ierce assailant, fell= There were dead above, and the dead below Thither-bending sternly back, Lay cold in many a coffin'd row, They leave before a bloody track; They leave before a bloody track; You might see them piled in sable state, And, with their faces to the foe, eAlind s with heice to the foe By a pale light through a gloomy grate; Dealing wounds with every blow,ut war had entered their dark caves, But war had enter'd their dark caves, The chief, and his retreating train, loin to those within the fane: And stored along the vaulted graves loin to those within the fane:, Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread There they yet may breathe awhile; henter'd byt themassypile. In masses by the fleshless dead; Shelter'd l)y the massy pile. Here, throughout the siege, had been XXIX. The Christian's chiefest magazine; Brief breathing-time! the turban'd host, To these a late-form'd train now led, With added ranks, and raging boast, Minotti's last and stern resource, Press onwards with such strength-and heat, Against the foe's o'erwhelming force. Their numbers balk their own retreat; For narrow the way that led to the spot X Where still the Christians yielded not; The foe came on, and few remain And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try To strive, and those must strive in vain: Through the massy column to turn and fly: For lack of further lives, to slake They perforce must do or die. The thirst of vengeance now awake, They die; but ere their eyes could close With barbarous blows they gash the deaa, Avengers o'er their bodies rose; And lop the already lifeless head, Fresh and furious, fast they fill And fell th9 statues from their niche, The ranks unthinn'd, though slaughter'd still; And spoil the shrines of offerings rich, And faint the weary Christians wax And from each other's rude hands wrest Before the still renew'd attacks: The silver vessels saints had blest. And now the Othmans gain the gate; To the high altar on they go; Still resists its iron weight, Oh, but it made a glorious show! And still all deadly aimd and hot, On its table still behold From every crevice comes the shot; The cup of consecrated gold; From every shatter'd wip.dow pour Massy and deep, a glittering prize, The volleys of tne sulphurous shower: Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes: THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 20 That morn it held the holy wine, The bull-frog's note, from out the marsh, Converted by Christ to his blood so divine, Deep-mouth'd arose, and doubly harsh; Which his worshippers drank at the break of day, The wolves yell'd on the cavern'd hill, To shrive their souls ere they jom'd in the fray. Where echo roll'd in thunder still; Still a few drops within it lay; The jackal's troop, in gather'd cry,'~ And round the sacred table glow Bay'd from afar complainingly, Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row, With a mix'd and mournful sound, From the purest metal cast; Like\crying babe and beaten hound: A spoil-the richest, and the last. With sudden wing and ruffled breast, The eagle left his rocky nest, XXXIII. And mounted nearer to the sun, The clouds beneath himn seem'd so dun; So near they came, t st reh'dheir smoke assail'd his startled beak, To grasp the spoil he almost reach'd, And made him higher soar and shriekWhen old Minotti's hand When old Minotti's hand' Thus was Corinth lost and won! Touch'd with the torch the train —'T is fired _ Spire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain, The turban'd victors, the Christian band, NOTES, All that of living or dead remain, Hurl'd on high with the shiver'd fane, In one wild roar expired! Note 1. Page 193, line 38. The shatter'd town-the walls thrown down- The Turcoman hath left his herd. The waves a moment backward bent- THE life of the Turcomans is wandering and patri The hills that shake, although unrent, archal: they dwell in tents. As if an earthquake pass'dThe thousand shape'ess things all driven Note 2. Ptge 193, line 96.,,JO~~,~ ^^ ^Coumourgi-he whose closing scene. In cloud and flame athwart the heaven, Ali Coumourgi, the favourite of three sultans, and By that tremendous blast- - By that tremendous blast-Grand Vizier to Achmet III. after recovering Pelopon. Proclaim'd the desperate conflict o'er mo nesus from the Venetians, in one campaign, was morOn that too-long afflicted shore: Up ito the sky like rockets go tally wounded in the next, against the Germans, at the Up to the sky like rockets go p to the y le roets go battle of Peterwaradin (in the plain of Carlowitz), in All that mingled there below: Anl that mngld there bel Hungary, endeavouring to rally his guards. He died Many a tall and goodly man,. Mny a tall and goodly man, of his wounds next day. His last order was the de Scorch'd and shrivelled to a spin, Scorch'd and shrivl'd tcapitation of General Breuner, and some other Ger When he fell to earth again, hen he fell to earth aganman prisoners; and his last words, "Oh that I could Like a cinder strew'd the plain: thus serve all the Christian dogs!" a speech and at; Down the ashes shower like rain; D.own the ashes shower like rain; one of Caligula. He was a young man of Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles great ambition and unbounded presumpion on bein With a thousand circling wrinkles; rith X5 tosn rln rne;told that Prince Eugene, then opposed to him, " was Some fell on the shore, but, far away, gene," he said, I shall become a greater, Scatter'd o'er the isthmus lay; adat exee Christian or Moslem, which be they Let their mothers see and say Not. Pag 196, line 3. When in cradled rest they lay, There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea. And each nursing-mother smiled The reader need hardly be reminded that there are On the sweet sleep of her child, no perceptible tides in the Mediterranean. Little deem'd she such a day Note 4. Page 196, line 65. Would rend those tender limbs away. And their white tusks crunch'd o'er the whiter skull. Not the matrons that them bore This spectacle I have seen, such as described, beCould discern their offspring mere; neath the wall of the Seraglio at Constantinople, in the That one moment left no trace little cavities worn by the Bosphorus in the rock, u More of human form or face, narrow terrace of which projects between the wall and Save a scatter'd scalp or bone: the water. I think the fact is also mentioned in HobAnd down came blazing rafters, strown house's Travels. The bodies were piobably those of Around, and many a falling stone, some refractory Janizaries. Deeply dited in the clay, Note 5. Page 19, line 7. All blackend there and reeking lay. And each scalp had a single long tuft of hail All the living things that heard All the living things that heard This tuft, or long lock, is left from a superstition that That deadly earth-shock disappear'd: t The wild birds flew, the wild dogs fled, Mahomet will draw them into paradise by it And howling left the unburied dead; Ne 6. Page 197, lne 5. The camels from their keepers broke; I must here acknowledge a close, though uttmien The distant steer forsook the yoke-'tional, resemblance in th, e twelve lines to a passage a.l The nearer steed plunged o'er the Iplain,, at unpublished poem of. Coleridge, called "'aris;. And burst his girth, andl tore his rein; Label." It was not till ali - these laes were wktten 31 O02 BYRON'S WORKS. that I heard that wild and singularly original and beau- work to which I have before referred; and never recur tiful poem recited; and the MS. of that production I to, or read, without a renewal of gratification. never saw till very recently, by the kindness of Mr. Note 8. Pae 19, line 48. Coleridge himself, who, I hope, is convinced that I have pl d the ground, and the sword. not been a wilful plagiarist. The original idea undoubtedly pertains to Mr. Coleride w e pm hs bn The horse-tail, fixed upon a lance, a pacha's standard. edly pertains to Mr. Coleridge, whose poem has been composed above fourteen years. Let me conclude by a Note 9. Page 199, line 45. hope, that he will not longer delay the publication of a And since the day, when in the strait. production, of which I can only add my mite of appro- In the naval battle at the mouth-of the Dardanelles, ration to the applause of far more competent judges. between the Venetians and the Turks. Note 7. Page 198, line 3. There is a light cloud by the moon. Note 10. Page 201 line 68. I have been told that the idea expressed from lines The jackal's troop in gather'd cry. 598 to 603, have been admired by those whose appro- I believe I have taken a poetical license to transplant bation is,valuable. I am glad of it: but it is not ori- the jackal from Asia. In Greece I never saw nor heard ginal-at least not mine; it may be found much better these animals; but among the ruins of Ephesus I have expressed in pages 182-3-4, of the English version of heard them by hundreds. They haunt ruins, and fol"Vathek" (I forget the precise page of the French), a low armies. TO SCROPE BERDMORE DAVIES, ESQ. THE FOLLOWING POEM IS INSCRIBED, BY ONE WHO HAS LONG ADMIRED HIS TALENTS, AND VALUED HIS FRIENDSHIP. January 22, 1816. ADVERTISEMENT. It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word; And gentle winds, and waters near, The following poem is grounded on a circumstance Ad gentle winds, and waters near Make music to the lonely ear. mentioned in Gibbon's "Antiquities of the House of Each flower the dews have lightly wet, Brunswick."-I am aware that in modern times the Each flower te dews have lihtly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, delicacy or fastidiousness of the reader may deem such subjects unfit for the purposes of poetry. The Ad onthewave isdeeperblue, And on the leaf a browner hue, Greek dramatists, and some of the best of our old English writers,.vr f a different opi s Al And in the heaven that clear obscure, English writers, were of a different opinion: as AlSo softly dark, and darkly pure, ficri and Schiller have also been, more recently, upon S oftly dark, and darkly pur,,.h. i.....i.~ ~~'...t Which follows the decline of day, the continent. The following extract will explain the l.,. ~~ JJ m As twilight melts beneath the moon away. facts on which the story is founded. The name of Azo is substituted for Nicholas, as more metrical. "Under the reign of Nicholas II, Ferrara was pol- i But it is not to list to the waterfall luted with a domestic tragedy. By the testimony of an That Parisina leaves her hall, attendant, and his own observation, the Marquis of And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light Este discovered the incestuous loves of his wife Pari- hat the lady walks in the shadow of night; sina, and Hugo his bastard son, a beautiful and valiant And if she sits in Este's bower youth. They were beheaded in the castle by the sen-'T is not for the sake of its full-blown flowertence of a father and husband, who published his shame, She listens-but not for the nightingaleand survived their execution. He was unfortunate, if Though her ear expects as soft a tale. they were guilty; if they were innocent, he was still There glides a step through the foliage thick, more unfortunate; nor is there any possible situation in And her cheek grows pale-and her heart beats quick. ulich I can sincerely approve the iast a-. of the justice There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves, of a parent."-Gibbon's.Miscellaneous Works, vol. 3, And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves:,~ 470, new edition. A moment more-and they shall meet-'T is past-her lover's at her feet. PARISINA. III. And what unto them is the world beside, I. With all its change of time and tide 7 IT 1. the hour when from the boughs Its living things-its earth and sky-'1he rghtingale's high note is heard; Are nothing to their mind and eye. PARISINA. 203 And heedless as the dead are they And whose that name? that o'er his pillow Of aught around, above, beneath; Sounds fearful as the breaking billow, As if all else had pass'd away, Which rolls the plank upon the shore, They only for each other breathe; And dashes on the pointed rock Their very sighs are full of joy The wretch who sinks to rise no more;So deep, that, did it not decay, So came upon his soul the shock. That happy madness would destroy And whose that name?'t is Hugo's,-hisThe hearts which feel its fiery sway: In sooth he had not deem'd of this!Of guilt, of peril, do they deem'T is Hugo's-he, the child of one In that tumultuous tender dream? He loved-his own all-evil sonWho that have felt that passion's power, The offspring of his wayward youth, Or paused, or fear'd in such an hour, When he betray'd Bianca's truth, Or thought how brief such moments last? The maid whose folly could confide But yet-they are already past! In him who made her not his bride. Alas! we must awake before We know such visions come no more. He pluck'd his poniard in its sheath, IV. But sheathed it ere the point was bareWith many a lingering look they leave Howe'er unworthy now to breathe, The spot of guilty gladness past; He could not, slay a thing so fairAnd though they hope, and vow, they grieve, At least, not smiling-sleeping thereAs if that parting were the last. Nay, more:-he did not wake her then, The frequent sigh —the long embrace- But gazed upon her with a glance The lip that there would cling for ever, Which, had she roused her from her trance, While gleams on Parisina's face Had frozen her sense to sleep againThe Heaven she fears will not forgive her, And o'er his brow the burning lamp As if each calmly conscious star Gleam'd on the dew-drops big and damp. Beheld her frailty from afar- She spake no more-but still she slumber'd — The frequent sigh, the long embrace, While, in his thought, her days are'number'd. Yet binds them to their trysting-place. But it must come, and they must part VIII. In fearful heaviness of heart, And with the morn he sought, and found, With all the deep and shuddering chill In many a tale from those around, Which follows fast the deeds of ill The proof of all he fear'd to know, Their present guilt, his future woe;'~~~~V.. The long-conniving damsels seek And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, To save themselves, and would transfer To covet there another's bride; The guilt-the shame-the doom to her' But she must lay her conscious head Concealment is no more-they speak A husband's trusting heart beside. All circumstance which may compel But fever'd in her sleep she seems, Full credence to the tale they tell: And red her cheek with troubled dreams, And Azo's tortured heart and ear And mutters she in her unrest Have nothing more to feel or hear. A name she dare not breathe by day, And clasps her lord unto the breast IX Which pants for one away: He was not one who brook'd delay: And he to that embrace awakes, Within the chamber of his state, And, happy in the thought, mistakes The chief of Este's ancient sway That dreaming sigh, and warm caress, Upon his throne of judgment sate; For such as he was wont to bless; His nobles and his guards are there,And could in very fondness weep Before him is the sinful pair; O'er her who loves him even in sleep. Both young-and one how passing fair! With swordless belt, and fetter'd hand, VI. ^"~~~VI. ~Oh, Christ! that thus a son should stand He clasp'd her sleeping to his heart, Before a father's face! And listen'd to each broken word: Yet thus must Hugo meet his sire He hears-why doth Prince Azo start, And hear he sentnce of his ire As if the Archangel's voice he heard? The tale of his disgrace And well he may-a deeper doom And yet he seems not overcome Could scarcely thunder o'er his tomb, Although, as yet, his voice be dumb. When he shall wake to sleep no more, And stand the eternal throne before. X, And well he may-his earthly peace And still, and pale, and silently Upon that sound is doom'd to cease. Did Parisina wait her doom; That sleeping whisper of a name How changed since last her speaking e e Bespeaks her guilt and Azo's shanie. Glanced gladness round the glittering ro(, 204 BYRON'S WORKS. Where high-born men were proud to wait- But here, upon the earth beneath, Where Beauty watch'd to imitate There is no spot where thou and I Her gentle voice-her lovely mien- Together, for an hour, could breathe: And gather from her air and gait Farewell! I will not see thee die.The graces of its queen: But thou, frail thing! shall view his headThen,-had her eye no sorrow wept, Away! I cannot speak the rest: A thousand warriors forth had leapt, Go! woman of the wanton breast; A thousand swords had sheathless shone, Not I, but thou his blood dost shed: And made her quarrel all their own. Go! if that sight thou canst outlive, Now,-what is she? and what are they? And joy thee in the life I give." Can she command, or these obey? XIII. All silent and unheeding now, With downcast eyes and knitting brow, And here stern Azo hid his faceAnd folded arms, and freezing air, For on his brow the swelling vein And lips that scarce their scorn forbear, Thllrobb'd as if back upon his brain Her knights and dames, her court-is there: The hot blood ebbd and flow'd again; And e, the chosen one whose lance And therefore bow'd he for a space, And he, the chosen one, whose lance Had yet been couch'd before her glance, And pass'd his shakmg hand along Who-were his arm a moment free- -- mWho-were his arm a moment free- His eye, to veil it from the throng; Had died or gain'd her liberty; While Hugo raised his chained hands, The minion of his father's bride,- And for a brief delay demands He, too, is fetter'd by her side; His father's ear: the silent sire Nor sees her swoln and full eye swim Forbids not what his words require. Less for her own despair than him: " It is not that I dread the death Those lids-o'er which the violet vain For thou hast seen me bytthy side Wandering, leaves a tender stain, Already through the battle ride, Shining through the smoothest white And that not once a useless brand That e'er did softestkiss invite — Thy slaves have wrested from my hand, Now seem'd with hot and livid glow Hath shed more blood in cause of thine, To press, not shade, the orbs below; Than e'er can stain the axe of mine: Which glance so heavily, and fill, Thou gavest, and may'st resume my breath, As tear on tear grows gathering still A gift for which I thank thee not; XI. Nor are my mother's wrongs forgot, And he for her had also wept, Her slighted love and-ruin'd name, But for the eyes that on him gazed: Her offspring's heritage of shame; His sorrow, if he felt it, slept; But she is in the grave, where he, Stern and erect his brow was raised. Her son, thy rival, soon shall be, Whate'er the grief his soul avowd,er broken heart-my sever'd heade would not shrink efore the crowd; Shall witness for thee from the dead tie would not shrink before the crowd; But yet he dared not look on her: Iow trusty and how tender were Remembrance of the hours that were- Thy yothful love-paternal care. His guilt-his love-his present state-'T is true, that I have done thee wrongHis father's wrath-all good men's hate- But wrong for wrong-this deem'd thy bride His earthly, his eternal fate- The other victim of thy pride, And hers,-oh, hers!-he dared not throw Thou know'st for me as destined long. One look upon that deathlike brow! Thou saw'st, and coveted'st her charmsElse had his rising heart betray'd And with thy very crime-my birth, Remorse for all the wreck it made. Thou taunted'st me —as little worth; A match ignoble for her arms, XII. Because, forsooth, I could not claim And Azo spake:-" But yesterday The lawful heirship of thy name, I gloried in a wife and son; Nor sit on Este's lineal throne: lhat dream tl's morning pass'd away; Yet, were a few short summers mine, Ere day declines, I shall have none.. My name should more than Este's shine My lte must linger on alone; W uh honours all my own. Well,-let that pass,-there breathes not one I had a sword-and have a breas. Who would not do as I have done: That should have won as haught a crest TlIhse ties are broken-not by me; As ever waved along the line Let that too pass;-the doom's prepared! Of all these sovereign sires of thine. HLIglt the oriest iva;. s on nee, Not always knightly spurs are worn And then-thy crime's reward! The brightest by the better born; Away! address thy prayers to Heavet., And mine have lanced my courser's flank Bifoie its evening stars are met- Before proud chiefs of princely rank, I.:arllnifthou there canst be forgiven; When charging to the cheering cry It umcnry may absolve the yet. rOf' Este and of Victory l' PARISINA. 20.) I will not plead the cause of crime, And those who saw, it did surprise, Nor sue thee, to redeem from time Such drops could fall from human eyes. A few brief hours or days, that must To speak she thought —the imperfect note At length roll o'er my reckless dust; — Was chok'd within her swelling throat, Such maddening moments as my past, Yet seem'd in that low hollow groan They could not, and they did not, last- Her whole heart gushing in the tone. Albeit my birth and name be base, It ceased-again she thought to speak, And thy nobility of race Then burst her voice in one long shriek, Disdain'd to deck a thing like me- And to the earth she fell like stone, Yet in my lineaments they trace Or statue from its base o'erthrown, Some features of my father's face, More like a thing that ne'er had life,And in my spirit-all of thee. A monument of Azo's wife,From thee-this tamelessness of heart- Than her, that living guilty thing, From thee-nay, wherefore dost thou start?- Whose every passion was a sting, From thee in all their vigour came Which urged to guilt, but could not bear My arm of strength, my soul of flame- Thatguilt's detection and despair. Thou didst not give me life alone, But yet she lived-and all too soon But all that made me more thine own. Recover'd from that deathlike swoonSee what thy guilty love hath done! But scarce to reason-every sense Repaid thee with too like a son! Had been o'erstrung-by pangs intense; I am no bastard in my soul, And each frail fibre of her brain For that, like thine, abhorr'd control: (As bow-strings, when relax'd by rain, And for my breath, that hasty boon The erring arrow launch aside) Thou gavest and wilt resume so soon, Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wideI valued it no more than thou, The past a blank, the future black, When rose thy casque above thy brow, With glimpses of a dreary track, And we, all side by side, have striven, Like lightning on the desert path, And o'er the dead our coursers driven: When midnight storms are mustering wrath. The past is nothing-and at last She fear'd-she felt that something ill The future can but be the past; Lay on her soul, so deep and chillYet would I that I then had died: That there was sin and shame she knew; For though thou work'dst my mother's ill, That some one was to die-but who? And made thy own my destined bride, She had forgotten:-did she breathe? I feel thou art my father still; Could this be still the earth beneath? And, harsh as sounds thy hard decree, The sky above, and men around;'T is not unjust, although from thee. Or were they fiends who now so frown'd Begot in sin, to die in shame, On one, before whose eyes each eye My life begun and ends the same: Till then had smiled in sympathy? As err'd the sire, so err'd the son, All was confused and undefined, And thou must punish both in one. To her all-jarr'd and wandering mind; My crime seems worst to human view, A chaos of wild hopes and fears: But God must judge between us two!" And now in laughter, now in tears, But madly still in each extreme, *,XIV.~~~,' She strove with that convulsive dream: He ceased-and stood with folded arms, F For so it seem'd on her to break: On which the circling fetters sounded; stritowake Oh! vainly must she strive to wake! And not an ear but felt as wounded,, Of all the chiefs that there were rank'd When those dull chains in meeting clank'd: Till Parisina's fatal charms The convent-bells are ringing, Again attracted every eye- But mournfully and slow; Would she thus hear him doom'd to die? In the gray square turret swinging, She stood, I said, all pale and still, With a deep sound, to and fro. The living cause of Hugo's ill: Heavily to the heart they go! Her eyes unmoved, but full and wide, Hark! the hymn is singingNot once had turn'd to either side- The song for the dead below, Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, Or the living, who shortly shall be so; Or shade the glance o'er which they rose, For a departing being's soul But round their orbs of deepest blue The death-hymn pea:s, and the hollow bells h noll the circling white dilated grew- He is near his mortal goal; And there with glassy gaze she stood Kneeling at the friar's knee; As ice were in her curdled blood; Sad to hear-and piteous to see-r But every now and then a tear, Kneeling on the bare cold ground, So large and slowly gather'd, slid With the block before and the guards atound - From the long dark fringe of thatfair lid, And the heads-man with his bare arm -eady, at was a thing to see, not hear! That the blow may be both swift and steady v2 106 BYRON'S WORKS. Feels if the axe be sharp and true- Meekly had he bow'd and pray'd, Since he set its edge anew: As not disdaining priestly aid, While the crowd in a speechless circle gather Nor desperate of al hope on high. To see the son fall by the doom of the father. And while before the prior kneeling, XVI. His heart was wean'd from earthly feemng; It is a lovely hour as yet His wrathful sire-his paramourWhat were they in such an hour? Before the summer sun shall set, "^ B efore the summer sun shall set, No more reproach-no more despair; h ich rose upon that hsteavt ay, No thought but heaven-no word but prayerAnd mock'd it with his steadiest ray; w Save the few which from him broke, And his evening beams are shed When, bared to meet the heads-man's stroke, Full on Hugo's fated head, He claim'd to die with eyes unbound, As, his last confession pouring cla to th To the monk his doom deploring, His sole adieu to those around. To the monk his doom deploring, In penitential holiness, XV He bends to hear his accents bless Still as the lips that closed in death, With absolution such as mav Wipe our mortal stains away. Each gazer's bosom held his breath: Wipe our mortal stains away. That high sun on his head did glisten But yet afar, from man to man A cold electric shiver ran. As he there did bow and listen- Ad te rs of c t hr As down the deadly blow descended And the rings of chesnut hair Curl'd half down his neck so bare; On him whose life and love thus ended; CurI'd half down his neck so bare; And with'a hushing sound comprest, But brighter still the beam was thrown And witha hushing sound comprest, Upon the axe, which near him shone A sigh shrunk back on every breast; Upon the axe, which near him shone - a v X nithe a clIhear and ghastly glitter- But no more thrilling noise rose there, With a clear and ghastly glitter- Oh! that parting hour was, bitter! Beyond the blow that to the block Oh! that parting hour was bitter ],Even the ste stood chill'd with awe' Pierced through with forced and sullen shocs, Even the stern stood chill'd with awe: 1 - Dark the crime and just the law- - Dark; the crime, and just the law — Save one: —what cleaves the silent air So madly shrill-so passing wild? Yet they shuddered as they saw.y s -o p g That, as a mother's o'er her child, xvii. Done to death by sudden blow, The parting prayers are said and over To the sky these accents go, Like a soul's in endless woe. Of that false son-and daring lover.-... t. Through Azo's palace-lattice driven, His beads and sins are all recounted, Throh As palacelaltce driven, His hours to their last minute mounted- T h And every eye is turn'd thereon; His mantling cloak before was stripp'd,y ee is t 0 - But sound and sight alike'are gone! His bright brown locks must now be clipp'd; a s a It was a woman's shriek-and ne'er'T is done-all closely are they shorn — In madlier accents rose despair; The vest which till this moment worn- In madl er accents rose despair; The scarf which Parisina gave- And those who heard it pe the ast, Must not adorn him to the grave. C Even that must now be thrown aside, XIX. And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied; But no-that last indignity Hugo is fallen; and, from that hour, Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. No more in palace, hall, or bower, All feelings seemingly subdued, Was Parisina heard or seen: In deep disdain were half renew'd, Her name-as if she neer had beenWhen heads-man's hands prepared to bind Was banish' from each lip and ear, Those eyes which would not brook such blind, Like words of wantonness or fear; As if they dared not look on death. And from Prince Azo's voice, by none " No-yours my forfeit blood and breath —. Was mention heard of wife or son; These hands are chain'd-but let me die No tombno memory had they; At least with -an unshackled eye- Theirs was unconsecrated clay; Strike:~"-and as the word he said, At least the knight's, who died that day. Upon the block he bow'd his head; ButParisina's fatelieshid These the last accents Hugo spoke: Like dst beneath the coffin lid: " Strike"-and flashing fell the stroke- Whether in convent she abode, Utoll'd the head-and, gushing, sunk And won to heaven her dreary road, Back the stain'd and heaving trunk, By blighted and remorseful years In the dust, which each deep vein Of scourge, and fast, and sleepless tears; Slaked with its ensanguined rain; Or if she fell by bowl or steel, ilis eyes and lips a moment quiver, For that dark love she dared to feel; Or if, upon the moment smote, ( onvulsed and quick-then fix for ever. Or i upon te moment smote, She died by tortures less remote; i [e died, as erring man should die, Like him she saw upon the block, Witlhout display, without parade; With heart that shared the heads-man's shock. P'ARISINA. 207 In quicken'd brokenness that came, In pity, o'er her shatter'd frame, NOTES. None knew-and none can ever know: But whatsoe'er its end below, Note 1. Page 202 line 14. Her life began and closed in woe!3 As twilight melts beneath the moon away. THE lines contained in section I. were printed as set XX. to music some time since: but belonged to the poem where they now appear, the greater part of which was composed And Azo found another bride, prior to " Lara," and other compositions since published. And goodly sons grew by his side; Note 2. Page 204, line 117. But none so lovely and so brave That should have won as haught a crest. As him who wither'd in the grave; Haught-haughty:Or, if they were-on his cold eye " Away haughit man, thou art insulting me." Their growth but glanced unheeded by, Shakspeare: Richard I[. Or noticed with a smother'd sigh. Note S. Page 207, line 5. But never tear his cheek descended, Her life began and closed in woe. And never smile his brow unbended; " This turned out a calamitous year for the-people ot And o'er that fair broad brow were wrought Ferrara, for there occurred a very tragical event in the The intersected lines of thought; court of their sovereign. Our annals, both printed and Those furrowswhich theburning share in manuscript, with the exception of the unpolished and Of sorrow ploughs untimely there; negligent work of Sardi, and one other, have given the Scars of the lacerating mind following relation of it, from which, however, are reWhich the soul's war doth leave behind. jected many details, and especially the narrative of He was past all mirth or woe: Bandelli, who wrote a century afterwards, and who Nothing more remain'd below does not accord with the cotemporary historians. But sleepless nights and heavy days, "By the above-mentioned Stella dell' Assassino, the A mind all dead to scorn or praise, Marquis, in the year 1405, had a son called Ugo, a beauA heart which shunn'd itself-and yet tiful and ingenuous youth. Parisina Malatesta, second That would not yield-nor could forget, wife of Niccolo, like the generality of step-mothers, Which when it least appear'd to melt, treated him with little kindness, to the infinite regret ot Intently thought-intensely felt: the Marquis, who regarded him with fond partiality. The deepest ice which ever froze One day she asked leave of her husband to undertake a Can only o'er the surface close- certain journey, to which he consented, but upon conThe living stream lies quick below, dition that Ugo should bear her company; for he hoped And flows-and cannot cease to flow. by these means to induce her, in the end, to lay aside the Still was his seal'd-up bosom haunted obstinate aversion which she had conceived against him. By thoughts which nature hath implanted, And indeed his intent was accomplished but too well, Too deeply rooted thence to vanish: since, during the journey, she not only divested herself Howe'er our stifled tears we banish, of all her hatred, but fell into the opposite extreme. When, struggling as they rise to start, After their return, the Marquis had no longer any occaWe check those waters of the heart, sion to renew his former reproofs. It happened one day They are not dried-those tears unshed that a servant of the Marquis, named Zoese, or, as some But flow back to the fountain-head, call him, Giorgio, passing before the apartments of And, resting in their spring more pure, Parisina, saw going out from them one of her chamberFor ever in its depth endure, maids, all terrified and in tears. Asking the reason, she Unseen, unwept, but uncongeal'd, told him that her mistress, for some slight offence, had And cherish'd most where least reveal'd. been beating her; and, giving vent to her rage, she With inward starts of feeling left, added, that she could easily be revenged, if she chose to To throb o'er those of life bereft; make known the criminal familiarity which subsisted Without the power to fill again between Parisina and her step-son. The servant took The desert gap which made his pain; note of the words, and related them to his master. He Without the hope to meet them where was astounded thereat, but, scarcely believing his ears, United souls shall gladness share, he assured himself of the fact, alas! too clearly, on the With all the consciousness that he 18th of May, by looking through a hole made in the Had only pass'd a just decree; ceiling of his wife's chamber. Instantly he broke into That they had wrought their doom of ill; a furious rage, and arrested both of them, together with Yet Azo's age was wretched still. Aldobrandino Rangoni, of Modena, her gentleman, anti The tainted branches of the tree, also, as some say, two of the women of her chamber, If lopp'd with care, a strength may give, as abettors of this sinful act. He ordered them to be By which the rest shall bloom and live brought to a hasty trial, desiring the judges to pro nounce All greenly fresh and wildly free: sentence, in the accustomed forms, upon the culprits. But if the lightning, in its wrath, This sentence was death. Some there were that bestirred The waving boughs with fury scathe, themselves in favour of the delinquents, and, amo ngst The massy trunk the ruin feels, others, Ugoccion Contrario, who was all-powerful with And prver more a leaf reveals. Niccolo, and also his aged and much-deserving inltsits, 208 BYRON'S WORKS. Alberto dal Sale. Both of these, their tears flowing yet? who answered him, Yes. He then gave hinself down their cheeks, and upon their knees, implored him up to the most desperate lamentations, exclaiming, For mnlrcy: adducing whatever reason they could sug- "Oh! that I too were dead, since I have been hurried on, gest for sparing the offenders, besides those motives of to resolve thus against my own Ugo!" And then gnawhonour and decency which might persuade him to con- ing with his teeth a cane which he had in his hand, he ceal from the public so scandalous a deed. But his rage passed the rest of the night in sighs and in tears, calling made him inflexible, and, on the instant, he commanded frequently upon his own dear Ugo. On the following that the sentence should be put in execution. day, calling to mind that it would be necessary to make " It was, then, in the prisons of the castle, and public his justification, seeing that the transaction could exactly in those frightful dungeons which are seen at not be kept secret, he ordered the narrative to be drawn this day beneath the chamber called the Aurora, at the out upon paper, and sent it to all the courts of Italy. foot ofthe Lion's tower, at the top of the street Giovecca, " On receiving this advice, the Doge of Venice, Fran that on the night of the twenty-first of May, Were be- cesco Foscari, gave orders, but without publishing his headed, first, Ugo, and afterwards Parisina. Zoese, he reasons, that stop should be put to the preparations for a that accused her, conducted the latter under his arm to the tournament, which under the auspices of the Marquis, place of punishment. She, all along, fancied that she and at the expense of the city of Padua, was about to was to be thrown into a pit, and asked, at every step, take place in the square of St. Mark, in order to celewhether she was yet come to the spot? she was told brate his advancement to the ducal chair. that her punishment was the axe. She inquired what " The Marquis, in addition to what he had already was become of Ugo, and received for answer, that he done, from some unaccountable burst of vengeance, was already dead: at the which, sighing grievously, she commanded that as many of the married women as were exclaimed, "Now, then, I wish not myself to live;" and well known to him to be faithless, like his Parisina, being come to the block, she stripped herself with her should, like her, be beheaded. Amongst others, Barbaown hands of all her ornaments, and, wrapping a cloth rina, or, as some call her, Laodamia Romei, wife of the round her head, submitted to the fatal stroke which court judge, underwent this sentence, at the usual place terminated the cruel scene. The same was done with ofexecution, that is to say, in the quarter of St. Giacomo, Rangoni, who, together with the others, according to opposite the present fortress, beyond St. Paul's. It cantwo calendars in the library of St. Francesco, was buried not be told how strange appeared this proceeding in a Ri the' cemetery of that convent. Nothing else is known prince, who, considering his own disposition, should, as respecting the women. it seemed, have been in such cases most indulgent. "The Marquis kept watch the whole of that dreadful Some, however, there were, who did not fail to commend night, and, as he was walking backwards and forwards, him."' inquired of the captain of the castle if Ugo was dead 1 Frizzi- History of Ferrara. ^tie iritenr of euiiuon. SONNET ON CHILLONI. yMy limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, ETERNAL spirit of the chainless mind! te f o And mine has been the fate of those Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art To whom the godly earth and air For there thy habitation is the heart- Are bann'd, and barr'd-forbidden fare; The heart which love of thee alone can bind; But this was for my father's faitl And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd-er chains and courted death Z5 I suffer'd chains and courted death; To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, fther persh'd at the stake Their country conquers with their martyrdom, For tenets he would not forsake; And Freedom"s fame finds wings on every wind for the same his lineal race Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, darkness found a dwellin-place; I X In darkness found a dwelling-place; And thy sad floor an altar-for't w-a. trod, We were seven-who now are one Until his very steps have left a trace Six in youth, and one in a Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, Fiish'd as they had begun By Bonnivard!'-May none those marks efface persecution's rage Proud of persecution's rage; Fir they appeal from tyranny to God. One in fire, and two in field,._~ ~~~- -~~-~~ ~Their belief with blood have seal'd; TIlE Dying as their father died, For the God their foes denied; I'R1SONER OF CHILLON, Three were in a dungeon cast, Of whom this wreck is left the last. I. II. My hair is gray, but not with years, There are seven pillars of Gothic mould, Nor grew it white In Chillon's dungeons deep and old; In a single night,2 There are seven columns, massy and gray, A& men's have grown from sudden fears: Dim with a dull imprison'd ray, THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 209 A sunbeam which hath lost its way, V. And through the crevice and the cleft The other was as pure of mind, Of the thick wall is fallen and left; But form'd to combat with his kind: Creeping o'er the floor so damp, Strong in his frame, and of a mood Like a marsh's meteor lamp: Which'gainst the world in war had stood, And in each pillar there is a ring, And perish'd in the foremost rank And in each ring there-is a chain; With joy:-but not in chains to pine; That iron is a cankering thing, His spirit wither'd with their clank, For in these limbs its teeth remain, I sawit silently declineWith marks that will not wear away, And so perchance in sooth did mine; Till I have done with this new day, But yet I forced it on to cheer Which now is painful to these eyes, Those relics of a home so dear. Which have not seen the sun so rise He was a hunter of the hills, For years-I cannot count them o'er, Had follow'd there the deer and wolf; I lost their long and heavy score, To him this dungeon was a gulf When my last brother droop'd and died, And fetter'd feet the worst of ills. And I lay living by his side. VI. III. ^~~~~III. ~Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: They chain'd us each to a column stone, A thousand feet in depth below And we were three-yet, each alone; Its massy waters meet and flow We could not move a single pace, Thus much the fathom-line wal sent We could not see each other's face, From Chillon's snow-white battlement,3 But with that pale and livid light Which round about the wave enthrals: That made us strangers in our sight: A double dungeon wall and wave And thus together-yet apart, Have made-and like a living grave. Fetter'd in hand, but pined in heart; Below the surface of the lake'T was still some solace in the dearth The dark vault lies wherein we lay, Of the pure elements of earth, We heard it ripple night and day, To hearken to each other's speech, Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd; And each turn comforter to each, And I have felt the winter's spray With some new hope, or legend old, Wash through the bars when winds were igh Or song heroically bold; And wanton in the happy sky; But even these-at length grew cold. And then the very rock hath rock'd, Our voices took a dreary tone, And I have felt it shake unshock'd, An echo of the. dungeon-stone, Because I could have smiled to see A grating sound-not full and free The death that would have set me free. As they of yore were wont to be: It might be fancy-but to me VI. They never sounded like our own. I said my nearer brother pined, I said his mighty heart declined, IV. He loathed and put away his food; I was the eldest of the three, It was not that't was coarse and rude, And to uphold andcheer the rest For we were used to hunter's fare, I ought to do-and did my best- And for the like had little care: And each did well in his degree. The milk drawn from the mountain goat The youngest, whom my father loved, Was changed for water from the moat; Because our mother's brow was given Our bread was such as captives' tears To him-with eyes as blue as heaven, Have moisten'dmany a thousand years, For him my soul was sorely moved; Since man first pent his fellow-men And truly might it be distrest Like brutes within an iron denr: To see such bird in such a nest; But what were these to us or him? For he was beautiful as day - These wasted not his heart or limb; (When day was beautiful to me My brother's soul was of that mould As to young eagles, being free)- Which in a palace had grown cold, A polar day, which will not see Had his free breathing been denied A sunset till its summer's gone, The range of the steep mountain's side Its sleepless summer of long light, But why delay the truth?-he died. The snow-clad offspring of the sun: I saw and could not hold his head, And thus he was as pure and bright, Nor reach his dying hand-nor dead. And in his natural spirit gay, Though hard I strove, but strove m'vanm, With tears for nought but others' ills, To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. And then they flow'd like mountain rills, He died-and they unlock'd-his chain, Unless he could assuage the woe And scoop'd for him a shallow grave Which he abhorr'd to view below. Even from the cold earth of our oea 32 C2 I() BYRON'S WORKS. I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay The last-the sole-the dearest link His corse in dust whereon the day Between me and the eternal brink, Might shine-it was a foolish thought, Which bound me to my failing race, But when within my brain it wrought, Was broken in this fatal place. That even in death his free-born breast ~One on the earth, and one beneath,In such a dungeon could not rest. My brothers-both had ceased to breathe: I might have spared my idle prayer- I took that hand which lay so still, They coldly laugh'd-and laid him there: Alas! my own was full as chill; The flat and turfless earth above I had not strength to stir, or strive; The being we sotmuch did love; But felt that I was still aliveHis empty chain above it leant, A frantic feeling when we know Such murder's fitting monument! That what we love shall ne'er be so. I know' not why VIII. I could not die, But lie, the favourite and the flower, I had no earthly hope-butfaith, Most cherish'd since his natal hour, And that forbade a selfish death. His mother's image in fair face,'rhe infant love of all his race, What next befell me then and there His martyr'd father's dearest thought, know not well neverknew My latest care, for w'hom I sought First came the loss of light, and air, To hoard my life, that his might be And then of darkness too; Less wretched now, and one day free; I had no thought, no feeling-noneHe, too, who yet had held untired Among the stones I stood a stone, A spirit natural or insp;ired-~ A spirit,natural or nred- And was, scarce conscious what I wist, He, too, was struck, and day by day As shrubless crags within the mist; Was wither'd on the stalk away. For all was blank, and bleak, and grayOh God! it is a fearful thing oh sGod! it is a fearful thing It was not night-it was not day, l'o see the human soul take wing It was not even the dungeon-light, In any shape, in any mood:- heavy si So hateful to my heavy sight, I've seen it rushing forth in blood, But vacancy absorbin sce I've seen it on the breaking ocean And fixedness-itout a place ID. -1. 1 ~ And fixedness-without a place; Setrive with a swoln convulsive motion, Strive with a swoln convulsive motionThere were no stars-no earth-no timeI've seen the sick and ghastly bed I'vo seen the sick and ghastly bed No check-no change-no good-no crimeOf sin delirious with its dread; But silence, and a stirless breath But these were horrors-this was woe Which neither was of life nor death; Unmix'd with such-but sure and slow: A sea of stagnant idleness, He faded, and so calm and meek,Blind boundless, mute, and motionless \ So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tender-kind, X. And grieved for those he left behind, A light broke in upon my brain, With all the while a cheek whose bloom It was the carol of a bird; Was as a mockery of the tomb, It ceased, and then it came again, Whose tints as gently sunk away The sweetest song ear ever heard, As a departing rainbow's ray-. And mine was thankful till my eyes An eye of most transparent light,'Ran over with the glad surrise, That almost made the dungeon bright, And they that moment could not see And not a word of murnur-not I was the mate, of misery; A groan o'er his untimely lot,- But then by dull degrees came back A little talk of better days,' My senses to their wonted track, A little hope my own to raise, I saw the dungeon walls and floor For I was sunk in silence-lost Close slowly round me as before, In this last loss, of all the most; I saw the glimmer of the sun And then the sighs he would suppress Creeping as it before had done, Of fainting nature's feebleness But through the crevice where it came More slowly drawn, grew less and less: That bird was perch'd, as fond and tanme, I listen'd, lut I could not hear- And tamer than upon the tree; Icall'd, for I was wild with fear; A lovely bird, with azure wings, I knew'twas hopeless, but my dread And song that said a thousand things, Would not be thus -admonished And seem'd to say them all for me! I ca'l'd, and thought I heard a sound- I never saw its like before, I burst my chain with one strong bound, I ne'er shall see its likeness more: And rush'd to him:-I found him not, It seem'd like me to want a mate, I only stirr'd in this black spot, But was not half so desolate, I only lived-I only drew And it was come to love me when'ne acwursed breath of dungeon dew; None lived to love me so again, THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 211 And cheering from my dungeon's brink! I heard the torrents leap and gush Had brought me back to feel and think. O'er channell'd rock and broken bush; I know not if it late were free, I saw the white-wall'd distant town, Or broke its cage to perch on mine, And whiter sails go skimming down; But knowing well captivity, And then there was a little/isle,4 Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine! Which in my very face did smile, Or if it were, in winged guise, The only one in view; A visitant from Paradise; A small green isle, it seem'd no more, For-Heaven forgive that thought! the while Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, Which made me both to weep and smile; But in it there were three tall trees, I sometimes deem'd that it might be And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, My brother's soul come down to me; And by it there were waters flowing, But then at last away it flew, And on it there were young flowers growing, And then't was mortal-well I knew, Of gentle breath and hue. For he would never thus have flown, The fish swam by the castle-wall, And left me twice so doubly lone,- And they seem'd joyous each and al.; Lone-as the corse within its shroud, The eagle rode the rising blast, Lone-as a solitary cloud, Methought he never flew so fast A single cloud on a sunny day, As then to me he seem'd to fly, While all the rest of heaven is clear, And then new tears came in my eye, A frown upon the atmosphere, And I felt troubled-and would fain That hath no business to appear I had not left my recent chain; When skies are blue, and earth is gay. And when I did descend again, The darkness of my dim abode * XI. Fell on me as a heavy load; A kind of change came in my fate, It was as is a new-dug grave, My keepers grew compassionate; Closing o'er one we sought to save, I know not what had made them so, And.yet my glance, too much opprest, They were inured to sights of woe, Had almost need of such a rest. But so it was:-my broken chain XIV. With links unfasten'd did remain, And it was liberty to stride And it was liberty to stride It might be months, or years, or days, Along my cell from side to side,I count-I took no note, And up and down, and then athwart, I had no hope my-eyes to raise, And tread it over every part; And clear them of their dreary mote, And tread it over every part; At last men came to set me free, And round the pillars one by one, At last men came to set me free, Returning where nay walk begun, I ask'd not why, and reck'd not whert It was at length the same to me, Avoiding only, as I trod, Fetter'd or fetterless to be' My brothers' graves without a sod; Fetter or fetteress to For if I thought with heedless tread I rn to love despair. And thus when they appear'd at las My step profaned their lowly bed, And thus when they appear'd at la& My breath came gaspingly and thick,d all my bonds aside were cast, p... These heavy wabos to me had grown And my crush'd heart fell blind and sick. T A hermitage-and all my own! XII. And half I felt as they were come I made a footing in the-wall, To tear me from a second homne: It was not therefrom to escape, With spiders I had friendship made, For I had buried one and all, And watch'd them in their sullen trade, Who loved me in a human shape; Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And the whole earth would henceforth be And why should I feel less than they? A wider prison unto me: We were all inmates of one place, No child-no sire-no kin had I, And I, the monarch of each race, No partner in my misery; Had power to kill-yet, strange to tell! I thought of this, and I was glad, In quiet we had learn'd to dwellFor thought of them had made me mad; My very chains and I grew friends, But I was curious to ascend So much a long communion tends To my barr'd windows, and to bend To make us what we are:-even 1 Once more upon the mountains high, Regain'd my freedom with a sigh. The quiet of:a loving eye. XIII. NOTES. I saw them —and they were the same, They were not,changed& like me in frame; Note 1. Page 208, Sonnet, line 13. I saw their thousand years of snow By Bonnivard!-may none those marks etface On high-thel wide long lake below, Franqois de Bonnivard, fils de Louis de Bonnmvma. And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; originaire de Seyssel et Seigneur de Lunes, naquit es $12 BYRON'S WORKS. 1496; il fit'ses etudes h Turin. En 1510 Jean-Aim6 auteurs classiques latins, et qu'il avait approfondi la de Bonnivard, son oncle, lui rsignale Prieurede Saint- theologie et l'histoire. Ce grand honine aimait les Victor, qui aboutissait aux murs de Geneve, et qui sciences, et il croyait qu'elles pouvaient faire la gloiro f)rmalt un benefice considerable. de Geneve; aussi il ne negligea rien pour les fixer dans Ce grand homme (Bonnivard merite ce titre par la cette ville naissante; en 1551 il donna sa bibliotheque force de son ame, la droiture de son coeur, la noblesse au public; elle fut le commencement de notre biblio de ees intentions, la sagesse de ses conseils, le courage theque publique; et ces livrcs sont en partie les rares de ses demarches, l'etendue de ses connaissances, et la et belles editions du quinzibme silcle qu'on voit dans vivacit6 de son esprit), ce grand homme, qui excitera notre collection. Enfin, pendant la mnme annee, co I'admiration de tous ceux qu'une vertu heroique peut bon patriote institua la republique son heritiere, a conencore emouvoir, inspirera encore la plus vive recon- dition qu'elle emploierait ses biens k entretenir le col. naissance dans les ceurs des G6nevois qui aiment Ge- lfge dont on projetait la fondation. ntve. Bonnivard en fut toujours un.des plus fermes 11 parait que Bonnivard mourut en 1570; mais on ne appuis: pour assurer la liberte de notreoRepublique, il peut l'assurer, parcequ'il y a une lacune dans le N6 ne craignit pas de perdre souvent la sienne; il oublia crologe depuis le mois de Juillet 1570 jusqu'en 1571. son repos; il meprisa ses richesses; il ne negligea rien Note 2. Page 208, line S. pour affermir le bonheur d'une patrie qu'il honora de son In a single night. choix: dbs ce moment il la ch6rit comme le plus ze61 Ludovico Sforza, and others.-The same is asserted de ses citoyens; il la servit avec l'intr6pidite d'un h6ros, of Marie Antoinette's, the wife of Louis XVI., though et il ecrivait son histoire avec la naivete d'un philosophe not in quite so short a period. Grief is said to havo et la chaleur d'un patriote. the same effect: to such, and not to fear, this charge Il dit dans le commencement de son histoire de Ge- in hers was to be attributed. n6ve, que, dbs qu"il eut comnmencd de lire rhistoire des Note S. Page 209, line 81. nations, it se sentit entra'nd par son goUt pour les re- From Chillon's snow-white battlement. publiques, dont il epousa toujours les interts: c'est ce The Chhiteau de Chillon is situated between Clarens gout pour la liberte qui lui fit sans doute adopter Ge- and Villeneuve, which last is at one extremity of the nuve pour sa patrie. Lake of Geneva. On itsleft are the entrances of the Bonnivard, encorejeune, s'annonqahautement comme Rhone, and opposite are the heights -f Meillerie and le defenseur de Gen/ve contre le Due de Savoye et the range of Alps above B6verct and St. Gingo. l'6evque. Near it, on a hill behind, is a torrent; below it, En 1519 Bonnivard devint le martyr de sa patrie: le washing its walls, the lake has been fathomed to the Duc de Savoye etant entre dans Geneve avec cinq cents depth of 800 feet (French measure); within it are a homines, Bonnivard craignit le ressentiment du due; il range of dungeons, in which the early reformers, and voulut se retirer a Fribourg pour en eviter les suites; subsequently prisoners of state, were confined. Across mais il fut trahi par deux hommes qui l'accompagnaient, one of the vaults is a beam black with age, on which et conduit par ordre du prince a Grolee, oh il resta pri- we were informed that the condemned were formerly sonnier pendant deux ans. Bonnivard etait malheureux executed. In the cells are seven pillars, or, rather dans ses voyages; comme ses malheurs n'avaient point eight, one being half merged in the wall; in some o. ralenti son zele pour Gen6ve, il 6tait toujours un ennemi these are rings for the fetters and the fettered; in the redoutable pour ceux qui la menaqaient, et par conse- pavement the steps of Bonnivard have left their traces quent il devait 6tre expos6e leurs coups. II fut ren- -he was confined here several years.'contr6 en 1530 sur le Jura, par des voleurs, qui le d6- It is by this castle that Rousseau has fixed the catas. pouillbrent, et qui le mirent encore entre les mains du trophe of his Heloise, in the rescue of one of her chil. Due de Savoye: ce prince le fit enformer dans le chA- dren by Julie from the water: the shock of which, and teau de Chillon, oh il resta sans etre interrog6 jusqu'en the illness produced by the immersion, is the cause of 1536; il fut alors d6livrd par les Bernois, qui s'empar&- her death. lent du pays de Vaud. The chAteau is large, and seen along the lake for s Bonnivard, en sortant de sa captivite, cut le plaisir de great distance. The walls are white. itouver Geneve libre et reform6e: la republique s'em- Note 4. Page 211, line 65. pressa de lui temoigner sa reconnaissance et de le de- And then there was a little isle. donmager des maux qu'il avait soufferts; elle le requt Between the entrances of the Rhone and Villeneuve, bourgeois de la ville au mois de Juin 1536; elle lui not far from Chillon, is a very small island; the only donna la maison habitee autrefois par le Vicaire-Gen- one I could perceive, in my voyage round arid over the 6ral, et elle lui assigna une pension de 200 ecus d'or lake, within its circumference. It contains a few trees tant qu'il sejournerait a Genhve. II fut admis dans le (I think not above three), and from its singleness and Conseil des Deux-Cents en 1537. diminutive size, has a peculiar effect upon the view. Bonmnvard n'a pas fini d'etre utile: aprbs avoir tra- When the foregoing poem was composed, I was not atllle rendre Geneve libre, il reussit' la rendre tole- sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I iante. Bonnivard engagea le Conseil b accorder aux should have endeavoured to dignify the subject by an eccleslastiques et aux paysans un temps suffisant pour attempt to celebrate his courage and his virtues. Some examiner les propositions qu'on leur faisait; il reussit account of his life will be found in a note appendea w p- r sa dooceur: on pr~che toujours le -christianisme the " Sonnet on Chillon," with which I have been furceec succbs quand on le pr6che avec charite. nished by the kindness of a citizen of that republic, Bonnivard fut savant; ses manuscrits, qui sont dans which is still proud of the memory of a man worthy of oihljsbeoue publique, prouvent qu'i avait bien lu les the best age of ancient freedom. ( 213 ) A VENETIAN STORY. losalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you, lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God foi making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think that you have swam in a Gondola..As You Like It, Act IV. Scene. Annotation of the' Commentators. That is. been at Venice, which was much visited by the young English gentlemen of those times, and was then what Paris is now —the seat of all dissoluteniess.-S. A. VI. T is known, at least it should be, that throughout This feast is named the Carnival, which, being All countries of the Catholic persuasion, Interpreted, implies "farewell to flesh:" Some weeks before Shrove-Tuesday comes about, So call'd, because the name and thing agreeing, The people take their fill of recreation, Through Lent they live on fish both salt and frc sa And buy repentance, ere they grow devout, But why they usher Lent with so much glee in, However high their rank, or low their station, Is more than I can tell, although I guess With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking,'T is as we take a glass with friends at parting, And other things that may be had for asking. In the stage-coach or packet, just at starting. II. VII. The moment night with dusky mantle covers And thus they bid farewell to carnal disne, The skies (and the more duskily the better), And solid meats, and highly-spiced ragouts, The time less liked by husbands than by lovers To live for forty days on ill-dressed fishes, Begins, and prudery flings aside her fetter; Because they have no sauces to their stews, And gaiety on restless tiptoe hovers, A thing which causes many "poohs" and "pishes," Giggling with all the gallants who beset her; And several oaths (which would not suit the Muse And there are songs and quavers, roaring, humming, From travellers accustom'd from a boy Guitars, and every other sort of strumming. To eat their salmon, at the least, with soy; III. VIII. And there are dresses splendid, but fantastical, And therefore humbly I would.recommend Masks of all times and nations, Turks and Jews, "The curious in fish-sauce," before they cross And harlequins and clowns, with feats gymnastical, The sea, to bid their cook, or wife, or friend, Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles, and Hindoos; Walk or ride to the Strand, and buy in gross All kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical, (Or if set out beforehand, these may send All people, as their fancies hit, may choose; By any means least liable to loss), But no one in these parts may quiz the clergy- Ketchup, Soy, Chili-vinegar, and Harvey, Therefore take heed, ye freethinkers! I charge ye. Or, by the Lord! a Lent will well nigh starve ye; IV. IX. You'd better walk about begirt with briars, That is to say, if your religion's Roman, Instead of coat and small-clothes, than put on And you at Rome would do as Romans do, A single stitch retlecting upon friars, According to the proverb,-although no mans Although you swore it only was in fun; If foreign, is obliged to fast.; and you, They'd haul you o'er the coals, and stir the fires If Protestant, or sickly, or a woman, Of Phlegethon with every mother's son, Would rather dine in sin on a ragoutNor say one mass to cool the cauldron's bubble Dine, and be d-d! I don't mean to be coarse, That boil'd your bones, unless you paid thenm louble. But that's the penalty, to say no worse. V. X. But, saving this, you may put on whate'er Of all the places where the Carnival You like, by way of doublet, cape, or cloak, Was most facetious in the days of yore, Such as in Monmouth-street, or in Rag Fair, For dance and song, and serenade, and bail, Would rig you out in seriousness or joke; And masque, and mime and mystery, and mnoe And even in Italy such places are, Than I have tine to tell now, or at all, With prettier names in softer accents spoke, Venice the bell from every city bore, For, bating Covent-Garden, I can hit on And at'he moment when I fix my story No place that's calld. " Piazza" in Great Britain. That sea-born city was in all her glory W 214 BYRON'S WORKS. XI. XVIII. They've pretty faces yet, those same Venetians, Their jealousy (if they are ever jealous) Black eyes, arch'd brows, and sweet expressions still, Is of a fair complexion altogether, Such as of old were copied from the Grecians, Not like that sooty devil of Othello's, In ancient arts by moderns mimick'd ill; Which smothers women in a bed of feather, And like so many Venuses of Titian's But worthier of these much more jolly fellows, (The best's at Florence-see it, if ye will), When weary of the matrimonial tether They look when leaning over the balcony, His head for such a wife no mortal bothers, Or stepp'd from out a picture by Giorgione, But takes at once another, or another's. XII. XIX. Whose tints are truth and beauty at their best; Didst ever see a gondola? For fear And when you to Manfrini's palace go, You should not, I'11 describe it you exactly; That picture (howsoever fine the rest)'Tis a long cover'd boat that's common here, Is loveliest to my mind of all the show: Carved at the prow, built lightly, but compactly It may perhaps be also to your zest, Row'dby two rowers, each called " Gondolier," And that's the cause I rhyme upon it so, It glides along the water looking blackly,'T is but a portrait of his son, and wife, Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe, And self; but such a woman! love in life! Where none can make out what you say or do. XIII. XX. Love in full life and length, not love ideal, And up and down the long canals they go, No, nor ideal beauty, that fine name, And under the Rialto shoot along, But something better still, so very real, By night and day, all paces, swift or slow, That the sweet, model must have been the same: And round the theatres, a sable throng, A thing that you would purchase, beg, or steal, They wait in their dusk livery of woe, Wer't not impossible, besides a shame: But not to them do woful things belong, The face recalls some face, as't were with pain, For sometimes they contain a, deal of fun, You once have seen, but ne'er will see again: Like mourning coaches when the funeral's done. XIV. XXI, One of those forms which flit by us, when we But to my story.-'Twas some years ago, Are young, and fix our eyes on every face; It may be thirty, forty, more or less, And, oh! the loveliness at times we see The Carnival was at its height, and so In momentary gliding, the soft grace, Were all kinds of buffoonery and dress; The youth, the bloom, the beauty which agree A certain lady went to see the show, In many a nameless being we retrace, Her real name I know not, nor can guess, Whose course and home we knew not, nor shall know, And so-we'll call her Laura, if you please, Like the lost Pleiad' seen no more below. Because it slips into my verse with ease. XV. XXII. I said that like a picture by Giorgione She was not old, nor young, nor at the years Venetian women were, and so they are, Which certain people call a " certain age," Particularly seen from a balcony Which yet the most uncertain age appears, (For beauty's sometimes best set off afar); Because I never heard, nor could engage And there, just like a heroine of Goldoni, A person yet by prayers, or bribes, or tears, They peep from out the blind, or o'er the bar, To name, define by speech, or write on page, And, truth to say, they're mostly very pretty, The period meant precisely by that word,And rather like to show it, more's the pity! Which surely is exceedingly absurd. XVI. XXIII. For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, Laura was blooming still, had made the best Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter, Of time, and time return'd the compliment, Which flies on -wings of light-heel'd Mercuries, And treated her genteelly, so that, drest, Who do such things because they know no better; She look'd extremely well where'er she wentAnd tnen, God knows what mischief may arise, A pretty woman is a welconme guest, When love links two young people in one fetter, And Laura's brow a frown had rarely bent; Vile assignations, and adulterous beds, Indeed she shone all smiles, and seem'd to flatter Elopements, broken vows, and hearts, and heads. Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her. XVII. - XXIV. Shaispeare described the sex in Desdemona She was a married woman;'t is convenient, As very fair, bu. et suspect in fame, Because in Christian countries't is a rule And to this day, from Venice to Verona, To view their little slips with eyes more lenient; Sucuh matters may be probably the same, Whereas if single ladies play the fool, Except that since those times was never known a (Unless within the period intervenient, Husband whom mere suspicion could inflame' A well-timed wedding makes the scandal cool' To suffocate a wile no more than twenty, I don't know how they ever can get over it. Because she had a "cavalier servente." Except they manage never to discover IL. BEPPO. 215 XXV. XXXII. Her husband sail'd upon the Adriatic, His " bravo" was decisive, for that sound And made some voyages, too, in other seas, Hush'd " academic" sighe'd in silent awe; And when he lay in quarantine for pratique The fiddlers trembled as he look'd around, (A forty days' precaution'gainst disease), For fear of some false note's detected flaw. His wife would mount, at times, her highest attic, The "prima donna's" tuneful heart would bound, For thence she could discern the ship with ease: Dreading the deep damnation of his " bah!" He was a merchant trading to Aleppo, Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto, His name Giuseppe, call'd more briefly, Beppo.2 Wish'd him five fathoms under the Riatto. XXVI. XXXIII. IHe was a man as dusky as a Spaniard, He patronized the improvvisatori, Sunburnt with travel, yet a'portly figure; Nay, could himself extemporize some stanzas, Though colour'd, as it were, within a tan-yard, Wrote rhymes, sang songs, could also tell a story, He was. a person both of sense and vigour- Sold pictures, and was skilful in the dance as A better seaman never yet did men yard: Italians can be, though in this their glory And she, although her manners show'd no rigour, Must surely yield the palm to that which France has; Was deen'd a woman of the strictest principle, In short, he was a perfect cavaliero, So much as to be thought almost invincible. And to his very valet seem'd a hero. XXVII. XXXIV. But several years elapsed since they had met; Then he was faithful too, as well as amorous; Some people thought the ship was lost, and some So that no sort of female could complain, That he had somehow blunder'd into debt, Although they're now and then a little clamorous, And did not like the thoughts of steering home; He never put the pretty souls in pain: And there were several offer'd any bet, His heart was one of those which most enamour us, Or that he would, or that he would not come, Wax to receive, and marble to retain. For most men (till by losing render'd sager) He was a lover of the good old school, Will back their own opinions with a wager. Who still become more constant as they cool. XXVIII. XXXV.'Tis said thattheir last parting was pathetic, No wonder such accomplishments should turn As partings often are, or ought to be, A female head, however sage and steadyAnd their presentiment was quite prophetic With scarce a hope that Beppo could return, That they should never more each other see, In law he was almost as good as dead, he (A sort of morbid feeling, half poetic, Nor sent, nor wrote, nor show'd the least concern, Which I have known occur in two or three), And she had waited several years already; When kneeling on the shore upon her sad knee, And really if a man won't let us know iHe left this Adriatic Ariadne. That he's alive, he's dead, 6o should be so. XXTX. XXXVI. And Laura waited mong, and wept a little, Besides, within the Alps, to every woman And, thought of wearing weeds, as well she might; (Although, God knows, it is a grievous sin), She almost lost all appetite for victual,'T is, I may say, permitted to have two men; And could not sleep with ease alonpat night; I can't tell who first brought the custom in, She deem'd the window-frames and shutters brittle But "Cavalier Serventes" are quite common, Against a daring housebreaker or sprite, And no one notices, nor cares a pin; And so she thought it prudent to connect her And we may call this (not to say the worst) With a vice-husband, chiefly to protect her. A second marriage which corrupts thefirst. XXX. XXXVII. She chose, (and what is there they will not choose, The word was formerly a " Cicisbeo," If only you will but oppose their choice?) But that is now grown vulgar and indecent;'Till Beppo should return from-his long cruise, The Spaniards call the person a " Cortejo,"3 And bid once more her faithful heart rejoice, For the same mode subsists in Spain, though recem A man some women like, and yet abuse- In short it reaches from the Po to Teio, A coxcomb was he by the public voice: And may perhaps at last be o'er the sea sent. A count of wealth, they said, as well as quality, But Heaven preserve Old England from such course' And in his pleasures of great liberality. Or what becomes of damage and divorces? XXXI. XXXVIII. And then he was a cot.t, and then he knew However, I still think, with all due deference Music and dancing, fiddling, French, and Tuscan; To the fair single part of the creation, The last not easy, be it known to you, That married ladies-should preserve the preference For few Italians spr-ak the right Etruscan. In thte-h-tlte or general conversationHe was a critic unon operas too, And this I say without peculiar reference And knew all niceties of the sock and buskin; To England, France, or any other natin And no Venetian auJlicia could endure a Because they know the world, and are at ease, Song, scene, or ar, when he cried'seccatura. And being natural, naturaLy please. 216 BYRON'S WORKS. XXXIX. XLVI.'T is true, your budding Miss is very charming, Eve of the land which still is Paradise! But shy and awkward at first coming out, Italian beauty! didst thou not inspire So much alarm'd, that she is quite alarming, Raphael,4 who died in thy embrace, and vies All giggle, blush;-half pertness, and half pout; With all we know of heaven, or can desire, And glancing at MIamma, for fear there's harm in In what he hath bequeath'd us?-in what guise, What you, she, it, or they, may be about, Though flashing from the fervour of the lyre, The nursery still lisps out in all they utter- Would words describe thy past and present glow, Besides, they always smell of bread and butter. While yet Canova can create below. * XL. XLVII. But " Cavalier Servente" is the phrase "England! with all thy faults I love thee still," Used in politest circles to express I said at Calais, and have not forgot it; rhis supernumerary slave, who stays I like to speak and lucubrate my fill; Close to the lady as a part of dress, I like the government (but that is not it); Her word the only law which he obeys. I like the freedom of the press and quill; His is no sinecure, as you may guess; 1 like the Habeas Corpus (when we've got it); Coach, servants, gondola, he goes to call, I like a parliamentary debate, And carries fan, and tippet, gloves, and shawl Particularly when'tis not too late; XLI. XLVIII. With all its sinful doings, I must say, I like the taxes, when they're not too many; That Italy's a pleasant place to re, I like a sea-coal fire, when not too dear; Who love to see the sun shine every day, I like a beef-steak, too, as well as any; And vines (not nail'd to walls) from tree to tree Have no objection to a pot of beer, Festoon'd, much like the back scene of a play, I like the weather, when it is not rainy, Or melodrame, which people flock to see, That is, I like two months of every year. When the first act is ended by a dance And so God save the regent, church, and king I In vineyards copied from the south of France. Which means that I like all and every thing. XLII. XLIX. I like on Autumn evenings to ride out, Our standing army, and disbanded seamen, Without being forced to bid my groom be sure Poor's rate, reform, iny own, the nation's debt My cloak is round his middle strapp'd about, Our little riots just to show we're freemen, Because the skies are not the most secure; Our trifling bankruptcies in the gazette, know too that, if stopp'd upon my route, Our cloudy climate, and our chilly women, Where the green alleys windingly allure, All these I can forgive, and those forget, Reeling with grapes red vagons choke the way- And greatly venerate our recent glories, In England't would be dung, dust, or a dray. And wish they were not owing to the tories. XLIII. L. i also like to dine on becaficas, But to my tale of Laura,-for I find To see the sun set, sure he'll rise to-morrow, Digression is a sin, that by degrees Not through a misty morning twinkling weak as Becomes exceeding tedious to my mind, A drunken man's dead eye in maudlin sorrow, And, therefore, may the reader too displeaseBut with all heaven t' himself; that day will break as The gentle reader, who may wax unkind, Beauteous as cloudless, nor be forced to borrow And, caring little for the author's ease, That sort of farthing-candle light which glimmers Insist on knowing what he means, a hard Where reeking London's smoky cauldron simmers. And hapless situation for a bard. XLiV. LI. I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Oh! that I had the art of easy writing Which melts like kisses from a female motth, What should be easy reading! could I scale And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, Parnassus, where the Muses sit inditing With syllables which breathe of the sweet south, Those pretty poems never known to fail, And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, How quickly would I print (the world delighting)'Inat not a single accent seems uncouth, A Grecian, Syrian, or Assyrian tale; IKte our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural, And sell you, mix'd with western sentimentalism, Whicn we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and sputter all. Some samples of the finest orientalism. XLV. ___ I like the women too (forgive my folly), * Jrote. Froi, the rich peasant-cheek of ruddy bronze, In talking thus, the writer, more especially And lat ge black eyes that flash on you a volleyf wo wo e unerst to say vl ey liie speaks as a spectator, not officially, Of rays that say a thousand things at once, And always, reader, in a modest way; To ihe hlilb lama's brow, more melancholy, Perhaps, too, in no very great degree shall h1 Butt clear, and with a wild and liquid glance, A ppear t have oftlndled in this lay,,~inher lips, and soui within her eyes, ~ Since, as all kpow, without the sex, our sonnets teart on her lips, and sour within her eyes oul seem unfiniJh' like their untlimm'd bonnets Soft as lher clime, and sunny as her skies. Signed) Printer's Devil BEPPO. 217 LI[. LIX. lBut I am but a nameless sort of person' For a "mixt company" implies, that, save (A broken dandy lately on my travels), Yourself and friends, and half a hundred more, And take for rhyme, to hook my rambling verse on, Whom you may bow to without looking grave, The first that Walker's Lexicon unravels, The rest are but a vulgar set, the bore A.nd when I can't find that, I put a worse on, Of public places, where they basely brave Not caring as I ought for critics' cavils; The fashionable stare of twenty score I've half a mind to tumble down to prose, Of well-bred persons, called " the world;" but 1, But verse is more in fashion-so here goes. Although I know them, really don't know why. LIII. L -X. The Count and Laura made their new arrangement, This is the case in England; at least was Which lasted, as arrangements sometimes do, During the dynasty of dandies, now For half a dozen years without estrangement; Perchance succeeded by some other class They had their little differences too; Of imitated imitators:-how those jealous whiffs, which never any change meant: Irreparably soon decline, alas! In such affairs there probably are few The demagogues of fashion: all below Who have not had this pouting sort of squabble, Is frail; how easily the world is lost From sinners of high station to the rabble. By love, or war, and now and then by frost! LIV. LXI. But on the whole they were a happy pair, Crush'd was Napoleon by the northern Thor, As happy as unlawful love could make them; Who knock'd his army down with icy hammer The gentleman was fond, the lady fair, Stopp'd by the elements, like a whaler, or Their chains so slight,'t was not worth while to break A blundering,novice in his new French grammar, them: Good cause had he to doubt the chance of war, The world beheld them with indulgent air; And asforfortunebut I darenot d-n her The pious only wish'd " the devil take them!" Because were I to ponder to infinity, He took them not; he very often waits, The more I should believe in her divinity. And leaves old sinners to be young ones' baits. LXII. LV. *teweeyug LV. Oh wShe rules the present, past, and all to be yet, But they were young: Oh! what without our youth She gives us luck in lotteries, love, and marriage Would love be? What would youth be without love? I cannot say that she's done much for me yet; Youth lends its joy, and sweetness, vigour, truth, that I mean herbounties to disparae, Heart, soul, and all that seems as from above; We've not yet closed accounts, and we shall see yet But, languishing with years, it gr th-ow much she'I- make amends for past miscarriage One of few things experience don't improve, Meantime the goddess I'11 no more importune, Which is, perhaps, the reason why old fellows Unless to thank her when she's made my fortune. Are always so preposterously jealous. LXIII. LVI. To tumn,-and to return;-the devil take it, It was the Carnival, as I have said T - d Some six-and-thirty stanzas back, and so This story slips for ever through my fingers, Some six-and-thirty stanzas back, and so Because, just as the stanza likes to make it, Laura the usual preparations made, Which you do when your mind's made upto go It needs must be-and so it rather lingers; Which you do when your mind's made up to go. This form of verse began, I can't well break it, To-night to Mrs. Boehm's masquerade, Spectator, orpartakerintheXshow; But must keep time and tune like public singers: But if I once get through my present measure, The only difference known between the cases t su Is-here, we have six weeks of " varnish'd faces." takeanotherwhen nextleisure. LVII. LXIV. Laura, when drest, was (as I sang before) They went to the Ridotto-'t is a place A pretty woman as was ever seen, - To which I mean to go myself to-morrow, Fresh as the angel o'er a new inn-door, Just to divert my thoughts a little space, Or frontispiece of a new magiazine, Or frontispiece of a new magazine, Because I'm rather hippish, and may borrew Some spirits, guessing at what kind of face With all the fashions which the last month wore, g kind of face Colour'd, and silver paper leaved between May lurk beneath each mask, and as my soIlu That and the title-page, for fear the press Slackens its pace sometimes, I 11 make, or find Should soil with parts of speech the parts of dress. Something shall leave it half an hour behind. LVIII. LXV. They wetlt to the Ridotto;-'t is a hall Now Laura moves along the joyous crowd, Where people dance, and sup, and dance again: Smiles in her eyes, and simpers on her lips; Its proper name, perhaps, were a mask'd ball, To some she whispers, others speaks aloud: But-that's of no importance to my strain; To some she curtsies, and to some she dips,'T is (on a smaller scale) like our Vauxhall, Complains of warmth, and this complaint avow X Excepting that it can't be spoilt by rain: Her lover brings the lemonade,she sips Tne company is "mixt" (the phrase I quote is, he then surveys condemns, but pities stie si muck as saying, they're below your notice), Her dearest friends for being drest so ill.,w 2 33 21 8 ~VBYRON'S WORKS. LXVI LXXIII. One has false curls, another too much paint, No solemn, antique gentleman of rhyme, A third-where did she buy that frightful turban? Who having angled all his life for fame, & fourth's so pale she fears she's going to faint, And getting but a nibble at a time, A fifth's look's vulgar, dowdyish, and suburban, Still fussily keeps fishing on, the same A sixth's white silk has got a yellow taint, Small " Triton of the minnows," the sublime A seventh's thin muslin surely will be her bane, Of mediocrity, the furious tame, And lo! an eighth appears,-" I'11 see no more!". The echo's echo, usher of the school For fear, like Banquo's kings, they reach a score. Of female wits, boy-bards-in short, a fool! LXVII. LXXIV. Meantime, while she was thus at others gazing, A stalking oracle of awful phrase, Others were levelling their looks at her; The approving "' Good!" (by no means GOOD in law) She heard the.men's half-whisper'd mode of praising, Humming like flies around the newest blaze, And, till't was done, determined not to stir; The bluest of bluebottles you e'er saw, The women only thought it quite amazing Teasing with blame, excruciating with praise, That at her time of life so many were Gorging the little fame he gets all raw, Admirers still,-but men are so debased, Translating tongues he knows not even by letter, Those brazen creatures always suit their taste. And sweating plays so middling, bad were better LXVIII. LXXV. For my part, now, I ne'er could understand One hates an author, that's all author, fellows Why naughty.women-but I won't discuss In foolscap uniforms turn'd up with ink, A thing which is a scandal to the land, So very anxious, clever, fine, and jealous, I only don't see why it should be thus; One don't know what to say to them, or think, And if I were but in a gown and band, Unless to puff them with a pair of bellows; Just to entitle me to make a fuss, Of coxcombry's worst coxcombs e'en the pink I'd preach on this till Wilberforce and Romilly Are preferable to these shreds of paper, Should quote in their next speeches from my homily. These unquench'd snuffings of the midnignt taper. LXIX. LXXVI. While Laura thus was seen and seeing, smiling, Of these same we see several, and of others, Talking, she knew not why and cared not what, Men of the world, who know the world like men, So that her female friends, with envy broiling, S-tt, R-s, M-re, and all the better brothers, Beheld her airs and triumph, and all that; Who think of something else besides the pen; And well-drest males still kept before her filing, But for the children of the "mighty mother's," And passing bow'd and mingled with her chat; The would-be wits and can't-be gentlemen, More than the rest one person seem'd to stare I leave them to their daily " tea is ready," With pertinacity that's rather rare. Snug coterie, and literary lady. LXX. LXXVII. lie was a Turk, the colour of mahogany; The poor dear Mussulwomen whom I mention And Laura saw him, and at first was glad, Have none of these instructive pleasant people; Because the Turks so much admire philogyny, And one would seem to them a new invention, Although their usage of their wives is sad; Unknown as bells within a Turkish steeple;'T is said they use no better than a dog any I think't would almost be worth while to pension Poor woman, whom they purchase like a pad: (Though best-sown projects very often reap ill) They have a number, though they ne'er exhibit'em, A missionary author, just to preach Four wives by law, and concubines "ad libitum." Our Christian usage of the parts of speech. LXXI. LXXVIII. They lock them up, and veil, and guard them daily, No chenistry for them unfolds her gasses, They scarcely can behold their male relations, No metaphysics are let loose in lectures, So that their moments do not pass so gaily No circulating library amasses As is supposed the case with northern nations; Religious novels, moral tales, and strictures Confineinen, too, must make them look quite palely; Upon the living manners as they pass us; And as the Turks abhor long conversations, No exhibition glares with annual pictures; Thlir days are either pass'd in doing nothing, They stare not on the stars from out their attics, Oi oath;ng, nursing, making love, and clothing. Nor deal (thank God for that!) in mathematics. LXXII. LXXIX. Thee cannot read, and so don't lisp in criticism; Why I thank God for that is no great matter, Nor write, and so they don't affect the muse; I have my reasons, you no doubt suppose, Wer. never caught in epigram or witticism, And as, perhaps, they would not highly flatter," Have no romances, sermons, plays, reviews,- I'11 keep them for my life (to come) in prose; tin haiams learning soon would make a pretty schism! I fear I have a little turn for satire, But! luckily these beauties are no "blues," And yet methinks the older that one grows No hustling Botherbys have they to show'em Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughte Turat clarmmi-ig oassage in the last new poem." Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after BEPPO. 219 LXXX. LXXXVII. On, mirth and innocence! Oh, milk and water! The count and Laura found their boat at last, Ye happy mixtures of more happy days! And homeward floated o'er the silent tide, In these sad centuries of sin and slaughter, Discussing all the dances gone and past; Abominable man no more allays The dancers and their dresses, too, beside; His thirst with such pure beverage. No matter, Some little scandal eke: but all aghast I love you both, and both shall have my praise: (As to their palace-stairs the rowers glide), Oh, for old Saturn's reign of sugar-candy!- Sate Laura by the side of her adorer, Meantime I drink to your return in brandy. When lo! the Mussulman was there before her. LXXXI. LXXXVIII. Our Laura's Turk still kept his eyes upon her, "Sir," said the count, with brow exceeding grave, Less in the Mussulman than Christian way, - Your unexpected presence here will make Which seems to say, "Madam, I do you honour, It necessary for myself to crave And while I please to stare, you 11 please to stay;" Its import! But perhaps't is a mistake; Could staring win a woman this had won her, I hope it is so; and at once to waive But Laura could not thus be led astray, All compliment, I hope so for your sake; She had stood fire too long and well to boggle You understand my meaning, or you shall." Even at this stranger's most outlandish ogle. "Sir," (quoth the Turk) "'t is no mistake at all. LXXXII. LXXXIX. The morning now was on the point of breaking, That lady is my wife!" Much wonder paints A turn of time at which I would advise The lady's changing cheek, as well it might; Ladies who have been dancing, or partaking But where an Englishwoman sometimes faints, In any other kind of exercise, Italian females don't do so outright; *To make their preparations for forsaking They only call a little on their saints, The ball-room ere the sun begins to rise, And then come to themselves, almost or quite; Because when once the lamps and candles fail, Which saves much hartshorn, salts, and sprinkling facts His blushes make them look a little pale. And cutting stays, as usual in such cases. LXXXIII. XC. I've seen some balls and revels in my time, She said-what could she say? Why, not a word: And staid them over for some silly reason But the count courteously invited in And then I look'd (I hope it was no crime), The stranger, much appeased by what he heard: To see what lady best stood out the season; "Such things perhaps we'd best discuss withii,' And though I've seen some thousands in their prime, Said he; " don't let us make ourselves absurd Lovely and pleasing, and who still may please on, In public, by a scene, nor raise a din, I never saw but one (the stars withdrawn), For then the chief and only satisfaction Whose bloom could after dancing dare the dawn. Will be much quizzing on the whole transaction." LXXXIV. XC I. The name of this Aurora I'11 not mention, They enter'd, and for coffee call'd,-it came, Although I might, for she was nought to me A beverage for Turks and Christians both, More than that patent work of God's invention, Although the way they make it's not the same. A charming woman, whom we like to see; Now Laura, much recover'd, or less loth But writing names would merit reprehension, To speak, cries, " Beppo! what's your pagan name 7 Yet, if you like to find out this fair she, Bless me! your beard is of amazing growth! At the next London or Parisian ball And how came you to keep away so long? You still may mark her cheek, out-blooming all. Are you not sensible't was very wrong? LXXXV. XCII. Laura, who knew it would not do at all "And are you really, truly, now a Turk? To meet the day-light after seven hours' sittiig With any other women did you wive? Among three thousand people at a ball, Is't true they use their fingers for a fork? To make her curtsy thought it right and fitting; Well, that's the prettiest shawl-as I'm alive I The count was at her elbow with her shawl, You 11 give it me? They say you eat no pork. And th ththe room were on the point of quitting, And how so many years did you contrive When lo! those cursed gondoliers had got To- Bless me! did I ever? No, I never Just mn the very place where they should not. Saw a man grown so yellow! How's your liver? LXXXVI. XCIII. In this they're like our coachmen, and the cause "Beppo! that beard of yours becomes you no' Is much the same-the crowd, and pulling, hauling, It shall be shaved before you're a day older: With blasphemies enough to break their jaws, Why do you wear it? Oh! I had forgotThey make a never-intermitted bawling. Pray, don't you think the weather here is co.der r At home, our Bow-street gemmen keep the laws, How do I look? you sha'n't stir frorI'his spot And here a sentry stands within your calling; In that queer dress, for fear that some beholder But, for all that, there is a deal of swearing, Should find you out, and make the story known. Aprt nauseous words past mentioning or bearing. How short your hair is Lord! how gray it's grownB a 220 BYRON'S WORKS. XCIV. XCVIII. What answer Beppo made to these demands, His wife received, the patriarch re.baptized him, Is more than I know. He was cast away (He made the church a present by the way); About where Troy stood once, and nothing stands; He then threw off the garments which disguised him, Became a slave, of course, and for his pay And borrow'd the count's small-clothes for a day; Had bread and bastinadoes, till some bands His friends the more for his long absence prized him, -Of pirates landing in a neighbouring bay, Finding he'd wherewithal to make them gay, He join'd the rogues and prosper'd, and became With dinners, where he oft became the laugh of them A renegado of indifferent fame. For stories,-but I don't believe the half of them. XCIX.,.,~XCV,/. Whate'er his youth had suffer'd, his old age But he grew rich, and with his riches grew so With wealth and talking made him some amends Keen the desire to see his home again, Though Laura sometimes put him in a rage, He thought himself in duty bound to do so, He thought himself in duty bound to do so, I-'ve heard the count and he were always friends And not be always thieving on the main;My pen is at the bottom of a page, Lonely he felt, at times, as Robin Crusoe: Which being finishd, here the story ends And so he hired a vessel come from Spain, And he hired a vessel come from Spa'T is to be wish'd it had been sooner done, Bound for Corfu; she was a fine polacca, But stories somehow lengthen when begun. X.' But stories somehow lengthen when begun. Mann'd with twelve hands, and laden with tobacco. ___ xCVI. NOTES. Himself, and much (Heaven knows how gotten) cash, He then embark'd with risk of life and limb, Note 1. Stanza xiv, line 8. And got clear off, although the attempt was rash; ie te s seen no me below. " Ouaseptem dici sex tamen esse solent."-Ovid. He said that Providence protected him- te Stamene olen For my part, I say nothing, lest we clash Note 2. Stanza xx, line 8. In oury opinions:-wellthe ship weas trim, His name Giuseppe, call'd more briefly, Beppo In our opinions: —well, the ship was trim, Set sail, and kept her reckoning fairly on, BeppotheJoe thetaliano Fxcept three days of calm when off Cape Bonn. Note 3. Stanza xxxvii, line 3. The Spaniards call the person a "Cortejo." XCVII. "Cortejo" is pronounced "Corteho,"with an asThey reach'd the island, he transferr'd his lading, pirate, according to the Arabesque guttural. It means "And self andlive-stock, to another bottom, what there is as yet no precise name for in England, And pass'd for a true Turkey-merchant, trading though the practice is as common as in any tramontane With goods of various names, but I've forgot'em. country whatever. However, he got off by this evading, Note 4. Stanza xlvi, line S. Or else the people would perhaps have shot him; Raphael, who died in thy embrace, and vies. And thus at Venice landed to reclaim For the received accounts of the cause of Raphael'b His wife, religion, house, and Christian name. death, see his Lives. ADVERTISEMENT. " Le roi fuyant et poursuivi cut son cheval tu6 sous lui; le Colonel Gieta, bless6, et perlant tout son sang,;' CELUI oui remplissait alors cette place etoit un lui donnale sien. Ainsi on remit deux fois h cheval, dans gentllhommB Polonais, nomm Mazeppa, n6 dans le la fuitc, ce conqudrant qui n'avait pu y monter penpalatinat de Padolie; il avait ete 6lev6 page de Jean dant la bataille." Casimir, et avait pris B sa cour quelque teinture des VOLTAIRE, Htstoire de Charles XII p. 216. belles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il eut dans sa jeunesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme Polonais, ayant ete clecouverte, le mari le fit lier tout nu sur un cheval "Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec quelques cavrarouche, et le laissa aller en cet 6tat. Le cheval, quialiers. Le carrosse oh il dtait rompit dans la marche; stait du paysde l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta Ma- on le remit k cheval. Pour comble de disgrace, il zeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. Quelques s'egarapendant la nuit dans un bois; lh, son courage paysans le secoururent: il resta long-temps parmi eux, ne pouvant plus supplier a ses forces 6puisees, les douet se signala dans olusieurs courses contre les Tartares. leurs de sa blessure devenues plus insupportables par Le superiorit ae seumirs mires lui donna une grande la fatigue, son cheval 6tant tomb6 de lassitude, il so eoniider2aion parmi les Cosaques: sa reputation s'aug- coucha quelques heures, au pied d'un arbre, en danger Hlettant de jour en jour, obligea lo Czar i le faire d'8tre surpris h tout moment par les vainqueurs qui le Princ aoe l'Ukraine." cherchaient de tous c6tes.", VotrALREA. Hl toirede Charles XIL p. 196. VOLTAIRE, Itistoire de Charles XIL. r 218. MAZEPPA. 221 But first, outspent with this long course, M'iAEPPA.' The Cossack prince rubb'd down his horse, And made for him a leafy bed, And smooth'd his fetlocks and his mane, ~~~~~I.;. ~ And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein'T WAS after dread Pultowa's day, And joy'd to see how well he fed; When fortune left the royal Swede, For until now he had the dread Around a slaughter'd army lay, His wearied courser might refuse No more to combat and to bleed. To browse beneath the midnight dews: The power and glory of the war, But he was hardy as his lord, Faithless as their vain votaries, men, And little cared for bed and board; Had pass'd to the triumphant Czar, But spirited and docile too, And Moscow's walls were safe again, Whate'er was to be done, would do; Until a day more dark and drear, Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb, And a more memorable year, All Tartar-like he carried him; Should give to slaughter and to shame Obey'd his voice, and came to call, A mightier host and haughtier name; And knew him in the midst of all: A greater wreck, a deeper fall, Though thousands were around,-and nights A shock to one-a thunderbolt to all. Without a star, pursued her flight,That steed from sunset until dawn II. His chief would follow like a fawn. Such was the hazard of the die'; IV. The wounded Charles was taught to fly This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak, By day and night, through field and flood, And laid his lance beneath his oak, Stain'd with his own and subjects' blood; Felt if his arms in order good For thousands fell that flight to aid: The long day's march had.wellwithstoodAnd not a voice was heard to upbraid If still the powder fill'd the pan, Ambition in his humbled hour, And flints unloosen'd kept their lock — When truth had nought to dread from power. His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt, His horse was slain, and Gieta gave And whether they had chafed his beltIIis own-and died the Russians' slave. And next the venerable man, This too sinks after many a league From out his haversack and can, Of well-sustain'd, but vain fatigue; Prepared and spread his slender stock And in the depth of forests, darkling And to the monarch and his men, The watch-fires in the distance sparkling — The whole or portion offer'd then, The beacons of surrounding foes- With far less of inquietude A king must lay his limbs at length. Than courtiers at a banquet would. Are these the laurels and repose And Charles of this his slender share For which the nations strain their strength? With smiles partook a moment there,. They laid him by a savage tree, To force of cheer a greater show, In out-worn nature's agony; And seem above both wounds and woe; His wounds were stiff-his limbs were stark- And then he said — Of all our band, The heavy hour was chill and dark; Though firm of heart and strong of hand, The fever in his blood forbade In skirmish, march, or forage, none A transient slumber's fitful aid: Can less have said, or more have done, And thus it was; but yet through all, Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth King-like the monarch bore his fall, So fit a pair had never birth, And made, in this extreme of ill, Since Alexander's days till now, His pangs the vassals of his will; As thy Bucephalus and thou: All silent and subdued were they, All Scythia's fame to thine should yield As once the nations round him lay. For pricking on o'er flood and field." Mazeppa answer'd"I l l lbetide III. The school wherein I learn'd to ride!" A band of chiefs!-alas! how few, Quoth Charles-" Old hetman, wherefore 1o Since but the fleeting of a day Since thou hast learn'd the art so well?"; Had thinn'd it; but this wreck was true Mazeppa said-"'T were long to tell; And chivalrous;' upon the clay And we have many a league to go Each sate him down, all sad and mute, With every now and then a blow, Beside his monarch and his steed, And ten to one at least the foe, For danger levels man and brute, Before our steeds may graze at ease And all are fellows in their need. Beyond the swift Borysthenes: Among the rest, Mazeppa made And, sire, your limbs have need of res, His pillow in an old oak's shade- And I will be the sentinel Himself as rough, and scarce less old, Of this your troop." —" But I reques., The Ukraine's hetman, calm and bold; Said Sweden's monarch, " th.u wilt teo 222 BYRON'S WORKS. This tale of thine, and I may reap That there were few, or boys or men, Perchance from this the boon of sleep; Who, in my dawning time of day, For at this moment from my eyes Of vassal or co knight's degree, The hope of present slumber flies." Could vie in vanities with me; " Well, sire, with such a hope, I'l track For I had strength, youth, gaiety, My seventy years of memory back: A port not like to this ye see, I think't was in my twentieth spring,- But smooth, as all is rugged now; Ay,'t was,-when Casimir was king- For time, and care, and war, have plough'd John Casimir,-I was his page My very soul from out my brow; Six summers in my earlier age; And thus I should be disavow'd A learned monarch, faith! was he, By all my kind and kin, could they And most unlike your majesty: Compare my day and yesterday; He made no wars, and did not gain This change was wrought, too, long ere age New realms to lose them back again; Had ta'en my features for his page: And (save debates in Warsaw's diet) With years, we know, have not declined He reign'd in most unseemly quiet; My strength, my courage, or my mind, Not that he had no cares to vex, Or at this hour I should not be He loved the muses and the sex; Telling old tales beneath a tree And sometimes these so froward are, With starless skies my canopy. They made him wish himself at war; But let me on: Theresa's formBut soon his wrath being o'er, he took Methinks it glides before me now, Another mistress, or new book: Between me and yon chesnut's bough, And then he gave prodigious f6tes- The memory is so quick and warm; kl Warsaw gather'd round his gates And yet I find no words to tell To gaze upon his splendid court, The shape of her I loved so well: And dames, and chiefs, of princely port: She had the Asiatic eye, He was the Polish Solomon, Such as our Turkish neighbourhood So sung his poets, all but one, Hath mingled with our Polish blood Who, being unpension'd, made a satire, Dark as above us is the sky; And boasted that he could not flatter. But through it stole a tender light, It was a court of jousts and mimes, Like the first moonrise at midnight; Where every courtier tried at rhymes; Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, Even I for once produced some verses, Which seem'd to melt to its own beam; And sign'd my odes, Despairing Thirsis. All love, half languor, and half fire, There was a certain Palatine, Like saints that at the stake expire, A contt of far and high descent, And lift their raptured looks on high, Rich as a salt or silver mine;' As though it were a joy to die. And ne was proud, ye may divine, A brow like a midsummer lake, As if from heaven he had been sent: Transparent with the sun therein, He had such wealth in blood and ore, When waves no murmur dare to make, As few could match beneath the throne; And heaven beholds her face within. And he would gaze upon his store, A cheek and lip-but why proceed? And o'er his pedigree would pore, I loved her then-I love her still; Until by some confusion led, And such as I am, love indeed Which almost look'd like want of head, In fierce extremes-in good and ill. He thought their merits were his own. But still we love even in our rage, His wife was not of his opinion- And haunted to our very age -His junior she by thirty years- With the vain shadow of the past, trew daily tired of his dominion; As is Mazeppa to the last. And, after wishes, hopes, and fears, To virtue a few farewell tears, VI A restless dream or two, some glances "We met-we gazed-I saw, and sig'd, At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances, She did not speal, and yet replied; Awaited but the usual chances, There are ten thousand tones and signs Those happy accidents which render We hear and see, but none definesThe coldest dames so very tender, Involuntary sparks of thought To deck her count with titles given, hich strike from out the heart oerwrought'T is said, as passports into heaven; And form a stane intellignce But, strange to say, they rarely boast A m r a se Of these who have deserved them most. i lk te ri ainthat binds, Which link the burning chain that binds, ^~~~~V. ~ Without their will, young hearts and minds; "I w^s a goodlv stripling then; Conveying, as the electric wire, At seventy years I so may say, We know not how, the absorbing fire.X This comparison of a " salt mine " may perhaps be per- I saw, and sigh'd-in silence wept, ited to a Pole, as the wealth of the country consists greatly And still reluctant distance kept, in the salt mtinea MAZEPPA. 223 Until I was made known to her, And had no other gem nor wealth And we might then- and there confer Save nature's gift of youth and healthWithout suspicion-then, even then, We met in secret-doubly sweet, I long'd, and was resolved to speak; Some say, they find it so to meet; But on my lips they died again, I know not that-I would have given The accents tremulous and weak, My life but to have call'd her mine Until one hour. —There is a game, In the full view of earth and heaven; A frivolous and foolish play, For I did oft and long repine Wherewith we while away the day; That we could only meet by stealth. It is-I have forgot the nameAnd we to this, it seems, were set, V. By some strange chance, which I forget: "For lovers there are many eyes, I reck'd not if I won or lost, And such there were on us:-the devil It was enough for me to be On such occasions should be civilSo near to hear, and oh! to see The devil!- I'm loth to do him wrong, The being whom I loved the most.- It might be some untoward saint, I watch'd her as a sentinel, Who would not be at rest too long, (May ours this dark night watch as well!) But to his pious bile gave ventUntil I saw, and thus it was, But one fair night, some lurking spies That she was pensive, nor perceived Surprised and seized us both. Her occupation, nor was grieved The count was something more than wrothNor glad to lose or gain; but still I was unarm'd; but if in steel, Play'd on for hours, as if her will All cap-i-pic; from head to heel, Yet bound her to the place, though not What'gainst their numbers could I do? That hers might be the winning lot.'T was near his castle, far away Then through my brain the thought did pass From city or from succour near, Even as a flash of lightning there, And almost on the break of day; That there was something in her air I did not think to see another, Which would not doom me to despair; My moments seem'd reduced to few; And on the thought my words broke forth, And with one prayer to Mary Mother, All incoherent as they were- And, it may be, a saint or two, Their eloquence was little worth, As I resign'd me to my fate, But yet she listen'd-'t is enough- They led me to the castle gate: Who listens once will listen twice; Theresa's doom I never knew, Her heart, be sure, is not of ice, Our lot was henceforth separate.And one refusal no rebuff. An angry man, ye may opine, Was he, the proud Count Palatine; VII- And he had reason good to be, "I loved, and was beloved again- But he was most enraged lest such They tell me, Sire, you never knew An accident should chance to touch Those gentle frailties: if't is true, Upon his future pedigree; I shorten all my joy or pain, Nor less amazed, that such a blot To you't would seem absurd as vain; His noble'scutcheon should have got, But all men are not born to reign, While he was highest of his line: Or o'er their passions, or, as you, Because unto himself he seem'd Thus o'er themselves and nations too. The first of men, nor less he deem'd I am-or rather was-a prince, Inwothers' eyes, and most in mine. A chief of thousands, and could lead'Sdeath! with a page —perchance a king Them on where each would foremost bleed; Had reconciled him to the thing: But could not o'er myself evince But with a stripling of a pageThe like control-But to resume: I felt-but cannot paint his rage. I loved, and was beloved again; In sooth, it is a happy doom, IX. But yet where happiness ends in pain.- "'Bring forth the horse!'-the horse was br-. ag! We met in secret, and the hour In truth, he was a noble steed, Which led me to that lady's bower A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, Was fiery expectation's dower. Who look'd as though the speed of thought My days and nights were nothing-all Were in his limbs: but he was wild,. Except that hour, which doth recall Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, In the long lapse from youth to age With spur and bridle undehiledNo other like itself-I'd give'T was but a day he had been caught, The Ukraine back again to live And snorting, with erected mane, It o'er once more-and be a page, And struggling fiercely, but in vain, The happy page. who was the lord In the full foam of wrath and dread Of one soft heart, and his own sword, To me the deser-born was led: 3 24 BYRON'S WORKS. They bound me on, that menial throng, And bounded by a forest black: Upon his back with many a thong; And, save the scarce-seen battlement Then loosed him with a sudden lash- -On distant heights of some strdng hold, Away!-away!-and on we dash! Against the Tartars built of old, Torrents less rapid and less rash. No trace of man. The year before A Turkish army had march'd o'er; X. And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod, "Away!-away!-My breath was gone- The verdure flies the bloody sod:I saw not where he hurried on: The sky was dull, and dim, and gray,'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, And a low breeze crept moaning byAnd on he foam'd-away!-away!- I could have answer'd with a sigh — The last of human sounds which rose, But fast we fled, away, awayAs I was darted from my foes, And I could neither sigh nor pray; Was the wild shout of savage laughter, And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Which on the wind came roaring after Upon the courser's bristling mane: A moment from that rabble rout: But, snorting still with rage and fear,s With sudden wrath I wrench'd my head, He flew upon his far career: And snapp'd the cord, which to the mane At times I almost thought, indeed, Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, He must have slacken'd in his speed: And writhing half my form about, But no-my bound and slender frame Howl'd back my curse; but'midst the tread, Was nothing to his angry might, The thunder of my courser's speed, And merely like a spur became: Perchance they did not hear nor heed: Each motion which I made to free It vexes me-for I would fain My swoln limbs from their agony Have paid their insult back again. Increased his fury and affright: I paid it well in after days: I tried my voice,-'t was faint and low, There is not of that castle gate, But yet he swerved as from a blow; Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, And, starting to each accent, sprang Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left; As from a sudden trumpet's clang: Nor of its fields a blade of grass, Meantime my cords were wet with gore, Save what grows on a ridge of wall, Which, oozing through my-limbs, ran o'er,:-i Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall; nd in my tongue the thirst became ""And many a time ye there might pass, A something fierier far than flame. Nor dream that e'er that fortress was: XII. I saw its turrets in a blaze, " We near'd the wild wood-'t was so wide, Their crackling battlements all cleft, I saw no bounds on either side; And the hot lead pour down like rain'T was studded with old sturdy trees, From off the scorch'd and blackening roof, That bent not to the roughest breeze Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof. Which howls down from Siberia's waste, They little thought that day of pain, And strips the forest in its haste,When lanch'd, as on the lightning's flash, But these were few, and far between, They bade me to destruction dash, Set thick with shrubs more young and green. That one day I should come again, Luxuriant with their annual leaves, With twice five thousand horse, to thank Ere strown by those autumnal eves The count for his uncourteous ride. That nip the forest's foliage dead, They play'd me then a bitter prank, Discolour'd with a lifeless red, When, with the wild horse for my guide, Which stands thereon like stiffen'd gore rhey bound me to his foaming flank: Upon the slain when battle's o'er, At length I play'd them one as frank- And some long winter's night hath shed For time at last sets all things even- Its frost o'er every tombless head, And if we do but watch the hour, So cold and stark the raven's beak There never yet was human power May peck unpierced each frozen cheek: Which could evade, if unforgiven,'T was a wild waste of underwood, lThe patient search and vigil long And here and there a chesnut stood, O)f him who treasures up a wrong. The strong oak, and the hardy pine; But far apart —and well it were, XI. Or else a different lot were mine-' Away, away, my steed and I, The boughs gave way, and did not tear UIporn the pinions of the wind, My limbs; and I found strength to bear Ail human dwellings left behind; My wounds, already scarr'd with cold — We sped like meteors through the sky, My bonds forbade to loose my hold. When with its crackling sound the night We rustled through the leaves like wind, Is chequer'd with the northern light: Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind; Town-village-none were on our track, By night I heard them on the track, But a wild plain of far extent, Their troop came hard upon our back, MAZEPPA. 22 With their long gallop, which can tire Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire: Fever begins upon the brain; Where'er we flew they follow'd on, But soon it pass'd, with little pain, Nor left us with the morning sun; But a confusion worse than such: Behind I saw them, scarce. rood, I own that I should deem it much, At daybreak winding through the wood, Dying, to reel the same again; And through the night had heard their feet And yet I do suppose we must Their stealing, rustling step repeat. Feel far more ere we turn to dust: Oh! how I wish'd for spear or sword, No matter; I have bared my brow At least to die amidst the horde, Full in Depth's face-before-and now. And perish-if it must be soAt bay, destroying many a foe. X. When first my courser's race begun, "My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold I wish'd the goal already won; And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse But now I doubted strength and speed. Life reassumed its lingering hold, Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed And throb by throb; till grown a pang Had nerved him like the mountain-roe; Which fora moment would convulse, Nor faster falls the blinding snow My blood reflow'd, though thick and chill, Which whelms the peasant near the door My ear with uncouth noises rang, Whose threshold he shall cross no more, My heart began once more to thrill; Bewilder'd with the dazzling blast, My sight return'd, though dim, alas! Than through the forest-paths he past- And thicken'd, as it were, with glass. Untired, untamed, and worse than wild; Methought the dash of waves was nigh; All furious as a favour'd child There was a gleam too of the sky, Balk'd of its wish; or fiercer still- Studded with stars;-it is no dream; A woman piqued —who has her will. The wild horse swims the wilder stream! The bright broad river's gushing tide XIII. XIII. Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, "The wood was past;'t was more than noon; And we are half-way struggling o'er But chill the air, although in June; To yon unknown and silent shore. Or it might be my veins ran cold- The waters broke my hollow trance Prolong'd endurance tames the bold: And with a temporary strength And I was then not what I seem, My stiffen'd limbs were rebaptized, But headlong as a wintry stream, My courser's broad breast proudly braves, And wore my feelings out before And dashes off the ascending waves, I wes could count their causes o'er: And onward we advance And what with fury, fear, and wrat r the slippery shore at lenth. The tortures whic beset my pathWe reach the slippery shore at length. The tortures which beset my path, A haven I but little prized, Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress, For all behind was dark and drear, Thus bound in nature's nakedness; n all before was night and fear. And all before was night and fear. Sprung from a race whose rising blood How many hours of night or day When stirr'd beyond its calmer mood, In those suspended pangs I lay, And trodden hard upon, is like' I could not tell; I scarcely. knew The rattlesnake's, in act to strike, If this were human breath I drew. What marvel if this worn-out trunk Beneath its woes a moment sunk? XV. The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round, With glossy skin, and dripping mane, I seem'd to sink upon the ground; And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, But err'd, for I was fastly bound. The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain My heart turn'd sick, my brain grew sore, Up the repelling bank. And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more: We gain the top': a boundless plain The skies spun like a mighty wheel; Spreads through the shadow of the nignh, I saw the trees like drunkards reel, And onward, onward, onward, seems And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, Like precipices in our dreams, Which sqw no farther: he who dies To stretch beyond the sight; Can die no more than then I died. And here and there a speck of white, O'ertortured by that ghastly ride, Or scatter'd spot of dusky green, I felt the blackness come and go, In masses broke into the light, And strove to wake; but could not make As rose the moon upon my right. My senses climb up from below: But nought distinctly seen I felt as on a plank at sea, In the dim waste, would indicate When all the waves that dash o'er thee, The omen of a cottage gate; At the same time upheave and whelm, No twinkling taper from afar And hurl thee towards a desert realm. Stood like a hospitable star; My undulating life was as Not even an ignis-fatuus rose The fancied lights that flitting pass To make him merry with my woeos X 34 '226 BYRON'S WORKS. That very cheat had cheer'd me then! And feet that iron never shod, Although detected, welcome still, And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod, Reminding me, through every ill, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Of the abodes of men. Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on, Xvi. As if our faint approach to meet; The sight renerved my courser's feet, "Onward we went-but slack and slow; A moment staggering, feebly fleet, His savage force at length o'erspent,A moment, with a faint low neigh rhe drooping courser, faint and low, e e, ad then el All feebly foaming went. All feebly foaming went. dWith gasps and glazing eyes he lay, A sickly infant had had power A sickl ahad power And reeking limbs immoveable, To guide him forward in that hour; His first and last career is done But useless all to me. On came the troop-they saw him st.op, His new-born tameness nought avail'd, Z5. 1 >,. They saw me strangely bound along My limbs were bound; my force had fail'd, H b w His back with many a bloody thong: Perchance, had they been free. Perchance, had they been free. They stop-they start-they snuff the air, With feeble effort still I tried Gallop a moment here and there, To rend the bonds so starkly tied- - Approach, retire, wheel round and round, But still it was in vain; But still it wereas in vain; themoThen plunging back with sudden bound, My limbs were only wrung the more, H,", $.,, ~.~ ~, * Headed by one black mighty steed,' And soon the idle strife gave o'er, And son te ie se ge Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed, Which but prolong'd their pain: Without a single speck or hair The dizzy race seem'd almost done, Of white upon his shaggy hide; Although no goal was nearly won: lthough no goal was neary won: They snort-they foam-neigh-swerve aside, Some streaks announced the coming sun- And backward to the forest fly, How slow, alas! he came! How slow, alas! he came! t J By instinct from a human eyeMethought that mist of dawning gray They left me there, to my despair, Would never dapple into day; Would never dapple into day; Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch, How heavily it roll'd awayHow heavily it roll'd aw - Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, Before the eastern flame Relieved from that unwonted weight, Rose crimson, and deposed the stars, F w I,,1~,,,.'r ~ i.-~ | From whence I could not extricate And call'd the radiance from their cars, Nor him nor me-and there we lay, And fill'd the earth, from his deep throne, The dying on the dead!With lonely lustre, all his own. I little dee another day I little deem'd another day Would see my houseless, helpless head. XVII. And there from morn till twilight bound, " Up rose the sun; the mists were curl'd I felt the heavy hours toil round, Back from the solitary world With just enough of life to see Which lay around-behind-before: My last of suns go down on me, What booted it to traverse o'er In hopeless certainty of mind, Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute, That makes us feel at length res:gn'd Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, To that which our foreboding years Lay in the wild luxuriart soil; Presents the worst and last of fears No sign of travel-none of toil; Inevitable-even a boon, The very air was mute; Nor more unkind for coming soon; And not an insect's shrill small horn, Yet shunn'd and dreaded with such care, Nor matin bird's new voice was borne As if it only were a snare From herb nor thicket. Many a werst, That prudence might escape: Panting as if his heart would burst At times both wish'd for and implored, The weary brute still stagger'd on; At times sought with self-pointed sword, And still we were-or seem'd-alone: Yet still a dark and hideous close At length, while reeling on our way, To even intolerable woes, Methought I heard a courser neigh, And welcome in no shape. From out yon tuft of blackening firs. And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure, Is it the wind those branches stirs? They who have revell'd beyond measure No, no! from out the forest prance In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure, A trampling troop; I see them come! Die calm, or calmer oft than he In one vast squadron they advance! Whose heritage was misery: I strove to cry-my lips were dumb. For he who hath in turn run through The steeds rush on in plunging pride; All that was beautiful and new, But where are they the reins to guide? Hath nought to hope, and nought to lease; A thousand horse-and none to ride! And, save the future (which is view'd Wit flowing tail, and flying mane, Not quite as men are base or good, Wide nostrils-never stretch'd by pain, But as their nerves may be endued), bTouths moodtess to the bit or rein, With nought perhaps to grieve' MAZEPPA. -227 The wretch still hopes his woes must end, The sparkle of her eye I caught, And Death, whom he should deem his friend, Even with my first return of thought; Appears to his distemper'd eyes For ever and anon she threw Arrived to rob him of his prize, A prying, pitying glance on me The tree of his new Paradise. With her black eyes so wild and free: To-morrow would have given him all, I gazed, and gazed, until I knew Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall; No vision it could be,To-morrow would have been the first But that I lived, and was released Of days no more deplored or curst, From adding to the vulture's feast: But bright, and long, and beckoning years, And when the Cossack maid beheld Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, My heavy eyes at length unseal'd, Guerdon of many a painful hour;.She smiled-and I essay'd to speak, To-morrow would have given him power But fail'd-and she approach'd, and made To rule, to shine, to smite, to save- With lip and finger signs that said, And must it dawn upon his grave? I must not strive as yet to break The silence, till my strength should be XVIII. Enough to leave my accents free;'The sun was sinking-still I lay And then her hand on mine she laid, Chain'd to the chill and stiffening steed, And smooth'd the pillow for my head, I thought to mingle there our clay; And stole along on tiptoe tread, And my dim eyes of death had need, And gently oped the door, and spake No hope arose of being freed: In whispers-ne'er was voice so sweet I cast my last looks up the sky, Even music follow'd her light feet! And there between me and the sun But those she calld were not awake, I saw the expecting raven fly, And she went forth; but ere she pass'd, Who scarce would wait till both should die, Another look on me she cast, Ere his repast begun; Another sign she made, to say, He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more, That I had nought to fear, that all And each time nearer than before; Were near, at my command or call, I saw his wing through twilight flit, And she would not delay And once so near me he alit Her due return;-while she was gone, I could have smote, but lack'd the strength; Methought I felt too much alone. But the slight motion of my hand, And feeble scratching of the sand,. The exerted throat's faint struggling noise, " She came with mother and with sire-. Which scarcely could be call'd a voice, What need of more?-I will not tire Together scared him off at length.- With long recital of the rest, I know no more-my latest dream Since I became the Cossack's guest: Is something of a lovely star They found me senseless on the plainWhich fix'd my dull eyes from afar, They bore me to the nearest hutAnd went and came with wandering beam, They brought me into life againAnd of the cold, dull, swimming, dense Me-one day o'er their realm to reign! Sensation of recurring sense, Thus the vain fool who strove to glut And then subsiding back to death, His rage, refining on my pain, And then again a little breath, Sent me forth to the wilderness, A little thrill, a short suspense, Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone, An icy sickness curdling o'er To pass the desert to a throne.My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain- What mortal his own doom may guess? A gasp, a throb, a start of pain, Let none despond, let none despair! A sigh, and nothing more. To-morrow the Borysthenes XIX. May see our courser's graze at ease XIX. Upon his Turkish bank,-and never "I woke-Where was I?-Do I see Had I such welcome for a river A human face look down on me? As I shall yield when safely there. And doth a roof above me close? Comrades, good night!"-The hetman threw Do these limbs on a couch repose? His length beneath the oak-tree shade, Is this a chamber where I lie? With leafy couch aleady made, And is it mortal yon bright eye, A bed nor comfortless nor new That watches me with gentle glance? To him, who took his rest whene'er I closed my own again once more, The hour arrived, no matter wnere:As doubtful that the former trance His eyes the hastening slumbers steep. Could not as yet be o'er. And if ye marvel Charles forgot A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tll, To thank his tale, he wonder'd not, - Sate watching by the cottage wall; The king had been an hour asleeo. .228 A DRAMATIC POEM. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." DRAMATIS PERPSONE. In subtler essence-ye, to whom the tops Of mountains inaccessible are haunts, And earth's and ocean's caves familiar thingsIMANFRED. WITCH OF THE ALPS. I call upon ye by the written charm CHAMOIS HUNTER. ARIMANES. Which gives me power upon you-Rise! appear! ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE. NEMESIS. [A paus MANvEL. THE DESTINIES. They come not yet.-Now by the voice of him HERMAN. SPIRITS, etc. Who is the first among you-by this sign, Which makes you tremble-by the claims of him The Scene of the Drama is amongst the Higher Alps Who is undying, —rise! appear!-Appear! — partly in the Castle of.Manfred, and partly in the [.A pause. Mountains. If it be so.-Spirits of earth and air, Ye shall not thus elude me: by a power, Deeper than- all yet urged, a tyrant-spell, f/r AN "F a ED. -nTVWhich had its birth-place in a star condemn'd, Vs A 1^ F ItREA DA. The burning wreck of a demolish'd world, A wandering hell in the eternal space; ACnT I By the strong curse which is upon my soul, The thought which is within me and around me, SCENE I. I do compel ye to my will.-Appear! i[A star is seen at the darker end of the gal. Gothic Gallery.-Time, Midnight. lery; it is stationary; and a voice is heard MANFRED (alone). singing.] The lamp must be replenish'd, but even then FIRST SPIRIT. It will not burn so long as I must watch: Mortal! to thy bidding bow'd, My slumbers-if I slumber-are not sleep, From my mansion in the cloud, But a continuance of enduring-thought, Which the breath of twilight builds, Which then I can resist not: in my heart And the summer's sunset gilds There is a vigil, and these eyes but close With the azure and vermilion, fo look within: and yet I live, and bear Which is mix'd for my pavilion; The aspect and the forn of breathing men. Though thy quest may be forbidden, But grief should be the instructor of the wise: On a star-beam I have ridden; Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most To thine adjuration bow'd, Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, Mortal-be thy wish avow'd! b tee of knowledge is not that of life. _Phiosop y a~n sciheinc an esprings Voice of the SECOND SPIRIT. Mont-Blanc is the monarch of mountains, Of wonder; and the wisdom of the world, Mo nc hemonar o I have essay'd, and in my mind there is They crown'd himlong ago A power to make these subject to itself- On a throne ofrocks, in a robeofclods.With a diadem of snow. But they avail not: I have done men good, W.... Around his waist are forests braced, And I have met with good even among men- Around his waist are forests ced, But this avail'd not: I have had mv foes,The avalanchein his hand; And none have baffled, many fallen before me- B re it fall, the thundering ball But this avail'd not:-good or evil, life, Must pause for my command. Powers, passions, all I see in other beings, The glacier's cold and restless mass t5 Moves onward day by day; Have been to me as rain unto the sands, Moves onward day y day; Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread, But I am he who bids it pass, And feel the curse to have no natural fear, Or with its ice deay. Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes, I am the spirit bf the place, Or lurking love of something on the earth.- Could make the mountain bow Now to my; task.- And quiver to his cavern'd baseMlysterious Agency! And what with me wouldst thou? Ye spirits of the unbounded universe! Voice of the THIRD SPIR r. Whom I have sought in darkness and in lighti- In the blue depth of the waters, Ye. who do compass earth about, and dwell Where the wave hath no strife, MANFRED. 2o, Where the wind is a stranger, FIRST SPIRIT. And the sea-snake hath life, Of what-of whom-and wly? Where the mermaid is decking MANFRED. Her green hair with shells; Of that which is within me; read it thereLike the storm on the surface Ye know it, and I cannot utter it. Came the sound of thy spe ls; * SPIRIT. O'er my calm hall of coral We can but give thee that which we possess: The deep echo rolld- Ask of us subjects, sovereignty, the power To the Spirit of Ocean O'er earth, the whole, or portion, or a sign Thy wishes unfold! Which shall control the elements, whereof FOURTH SPIRIT. We are thedominators-each and all, Where the slumbering earthquake These shall be thine. Lies pillow'd on fire, MANFRED.... And the lakes of bitumen Oblivion, -bliv Rise boilingly higher; Can ye not wring from out the hidden realms Where the roots of the Andes Ye offer so profusely what I ask? Strike deep in the earth, SPIRIT. As their summits to heaven It is not in our essence, in our skill; Shoot soaringly forth; But-thou may'st die. I have quitted my birth-place, MANFRED. Thy bidding to bide- Will death bestow it on me:? rhy spell hath subdued me, SPIRIT. Thy will be my guide! We are immortal, and do not forget: FIFTH SPIRIT. We are eternal; and to us the past I'm the rider of the wind, Is, as the future, present. Art thou answer'd? The stirrer of the storm; MANFRED. The hurricane I left behind Ye mock me-but the power which brought ye here Is yet with lightning warm; Hath made you mine. Slaves, scoff not at my will! Fo speed to thee, o'er shore and sea The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark, I swept upon the blast: The lightning of my being, is as bright, The fleet I met sail'd well, and yet Pervading, and far darting as your own,'T will sink ere night be past. And shall not yield to yours, though coop'd in clay! SIXTH SPIRIT. Answer, or I will teach you what I am. My dwelling is the shadow of the night, SPIRIT. Why doth thy magic torture me with light? - We answer as we answer'd; our reply * SEVENTH SPIRIT. Is even in thine own words. * The star which rules thy destiny, MANFRED. Was ruled, ere earth began, by me: Why say ye so? It was a world as fresh and fair SPIRIT. As e'er revolved round sun in air; 1., as thou say'at, thine essence be as ours, Its course was free and regular, We have replied in telling thee, the thing Space bosom'd not a lovelier star. Mortals call death hath nought to do with us. The hour arrived-and it became MANFRED. A wandering mass of shapeless flame, I then have call'd ye from your realms in vain, A pathless comet, and a curse, Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me. The menace of the universe; SPIRiT. Still rolling on with innate force, Say; Without a sphere, without a course, What we possess we offer; it is thine: A bright deformity on high, Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask againThe monster of the upper sky! Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length of days.And thou! beneath its influence born- MANFRED. Thou, worm! whom I obey and scorn- Accursed! what have I to do with days? Forced by a power (which is not thine, They are too long already.-Hence-begone And lent thee but to make thee mrine)' SPIRIT. For this brief moment to descend, Yet pause: being here, our will would do thee set \ ice' Where these weak spirits round thee bend, Bethink thee, is there then no other gift And partly with a thing like thee- Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes? What wouldst thou, child of clay, with me? MANFRED. THE SEVEN SPIRITS. No, none: yet stay-one moment, ere we partEarth, ocean, air, night, mountains, winds, thy star, I would behold ye face to face. I hear Are at thy beck and bidding, child of clay! Your voices, sweet and melancholy sounos, Before thee, at thy quest, their spirits are- As music on the waters; and I see What wouldst thou with us, son of mortals-say? The steady-aspect of a clear large star. MANFRED. But nothing more. Approach me as ye ate, Forgtfless- Or one, or al, in your accustom'd forms. '230 BYRON'S WORKS. SPIRIT. From thy own smile I snatch'd the snake, Wre have no forms beyond the elements For there it coil'd as in a brake; Of which we are the mind and principle: From thy own lip I drew the charm But choose a form-in that we will appear. Which gave all these their chiefest harm; MANFRED. In proving every poison known, I have no choice; there is no form on earth I found the strongest was thine own. Hideous or beautiful to me. Let him, By thy cold breast and serpent smile, Who is most powerful of ye, take such aspect By thy unfathom'd ulfs of guile As unto him may seem most fitting-Come! By that most seeming virtuous eye,SEVENTH SPIRIT. By thy shut soul's hypocrisy; (Apoearing in the shape of a beautiful female figure). By the perfection of thine art Behold! Which pass'd for human thine own heart; MANFRED. By thy delight in others' pain, h God! if it be thus, and thou And by thy brotherhood of Cain, Art not a madness and a mockery, I call upon thee! and compel I yet might be most happy.-I will clasp thee, ThS yrh S And we again will be- [The figure vanishes. My heart is crush'd i - And on thy head I pour the vial [MANFRED i falls sehnse ss. Which doth devote thee to this trial; [MANFRED falls senseless. e (A voice is heard in the Incantation whichfollows). ol.Shall be in thy destiny; When the moon is on the wave, be tdesty;.And the glowworm in the grass,`Though thy death shall still seem near And the glow-worm in the grass, And the meteor on the grave, To thy wish, but as a fear; And the wisp on the morass; Lto! the spell now works around thee, And the wisp on the morass; When the falling stars are shooting, And the clankless chain hath bound thee; A..n the answer'dowls are hooting,,.O'er thy heart and brain together And the answer'd owls are hooting, And the silent leaves are still.Hath the word been pass'd-now wither! And the silent leaves are still In the shadow of the hill, Shall my soul be upon thine,SCENE II. With a power and with a sign. e Mountain of the Jungfrau. —Time, Morning.s. MANFRED alone upon the Clis. Though thy slumber may be deep, MA RED alone upon he C Yet thy spirit shall not sleep; MANFRED. There are shades which will not vanish, The spirits I have raised abandon meThere are thoughts thou canst not banish; The spells which I have studied baffe me By a power to thee unknown, The remedy I reck'd of tortured me; Thou canst never be alone; I lean no more on super-human aid, Thou art wrapt as with a shroud, It hath no power upon the past, and for Thou art gather'd in a cloud; The future, till the past be gulf'd in darkness, Thou art gathered in a cloud; "d And for ever shalt thou dwell It is not of my search.-My mother earth.! In the spirit of this spell. And thou, fresh breaking day, and you, ye. mountains., spirit of this spellWhy are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye. Though thou seest me not pass by, And thou, the bright eye of the universe, Thou shalt feel me with thine eye t t That openest over all, and unto all As a thing that, though unseen, Art a delight-thou shinest not on my heart. Must be near thee and hath beenAnd you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge And when in that secret dread I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath - Thou hast turn'd around thy head; Thou hast turn'd around thy head; Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs Thou shalt marvel I am not In dizziness of distance; when a leap, As thy shadow on the spot,. a i.A te p. w'. w h to dt fl A Stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring And the power which thou dost feel Shallbe, must con ceal.My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed Shall be what thou must conceal. To rest for ever-wherefore do I pause And a magic voice and verse I feel the impulse-yet I do not plunge; Hath baptized thee with a curse; I see the peril-yet do not recede; And a spirit of the air And my brain reels-and yet mv foot is firm: Htath begirt thee with a snare; There is a power upon me which withholds In the wind there is a voice And makes it my fatality to live; Shall forbid thee to rejoice; If it be life to wear within myself v And to ftee shall Night deny This barrenness of spirit, and to be t All the quiet of her.sky; My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased Arid tihe dayshall have a sun, To justify my deeds unto myselfWhich shall make thee wish it done. The last infirmity of evil. Ay From thy false tears I did disth Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, An essence which hath strength to kill; - [n eagle p'ea. From thy own heart I then did wring Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, The black blood in its blackest spring; Well may'st thou swoop so near nme-I should be MANFRED. 31 Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone CHAMOIS HUNTER Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine I must approach him cautiously; if near, Yet pierces downward, onward, or above, A sudden step will startle him, and he With a pervading vision.-Beautiful! Seems tottering already. How beautiful is all this visible world! MANFRED. How glorious in its action and itself! Moantains have fallen, But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock Half dust, half deity, alike unfit V P Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up i To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinter s, A conflict of its elements, and breathe Dain.ming the rivers with a sudden dash, The breath of degradation and of pride, Which crush'd the waters into mist, and made Contending with low wants and lofty will Their fountains find another channel-thus, Till our mortality predominates, Thus, in its old age, did Mount RosenburgAnd men are-what they name not to themselves, Why stood I not beneath it? And trust not to each other. Hark! the note, CHAMOIS HUNTER. [The shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard. Friend! have a care, The natural music of the mountain reed- Your next step may be fatal!-for the love For here the patriarchal days are not Of him who made you, stand not on that brink! A pastoral fable-pipes in the liberal air, MANFRED (not hearing him). Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd; Such would have been for me a fitting tomb; My soul would drink those echoes.-Oh, that I were My bones had then been quiet in their depth; The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, They had not then been strewn upon the rocks A living voice, a breathing harmony, For the wind's pastime-as thus-thus they shall be- A bodiless enjoyment-born and dying In this one plunge.-Farewell, ye opening heavens! With the blest tone which made me! Look not upon me thus reproachfullyEnterfrom below a CHAMOIS HUNTER. Ye were not meant for me-Earth! take these atoms' CHAMOIS HUNTER. [AS MIANFRED is in act to spring from the cliff Even so, the CHAMOIS HUNTER seizes and retains him This way the chamois leapt: her nimble feet with a sudden grasp.] Have baffled me; my gains to-day will scarce CHAMOIS HUNTER. Repay my break-neck travail.-What is here? Hold, madman!-though aweary of thy life, Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reach'd Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood.A height which none even of our mountaineers, Away with me-I will not quit my hold. Save our besthunters, may attain: his garb MANFRED, Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air I am most sick at heart-nay, grasp me notProud as a free-born peasant's, at this distance.- I am all feebleness-the mountains whirl I will approach him nearer. Spinning around me-I grow blind.-What art thou? MANFRED (not perceiving the other). CHAMOIS HUNTER. To be thus- I'11 answer that anon.-Away with mneGray-hair'd with anguish, like these blasted pines, The clouds grow thicker-there-now lean on meWrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless, Place your foot here-here, take this staff, and cling A blighted trunk upon a cursed root, A moment to that shrub-now give me your hand, Which but supplies a feeling to decay- And hold fast by my girdle-softly-wellAnd to be thus, eternally but thus, The Chalet will be gain'd within an hourHaving been otherwise! Now furrow'd o'er Come on, we'I quickly find a surer footing, With wrinkles, plough'd by moments, not by years; And something like a pathway, which the torrent; And hours-all tortured into ages-hours Hath wash'd since winter. -Come,'t is bravely don — Which I outlive!-Ye toppling crags of ice! You, should have been a hunter.-Follow me. Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down [As they descend the rocks with difficulty, thi in mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me! scene closes.] I hear ye momently above, beneath, Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass, ACT II. And only fall on things that still would live; On the young flourishing forest, or the hut SCENE I. And hamlet of the harmless villager. A Cottage amongst the Bernese Alps. CHAMOIS HUNTER. MANFRED and the CHAMOIS HUNTER. The mists begin to rise from up the valley; CIAMOIS HUNTER. I'11 warn hint to descend, or he may chance No, no-yet pause-thou must not yet go forth To lose at once his way and life together. Thy mind and body are alike unfit MANFRED. To trust each other, for some hours, at least; The mists boil up around the glaciers; clouds When thou art better, I will be thy guideRise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury, But whither? "ike foam from the roused ocean of deep hell, MANFRED. Whose every wave breaks on a living shore, It imports not: I do know Heap'd with the damn'd like pebbles.-I am giddy. My route full well, and need no further guldance. 232 BYRON'S WORKS CHAMOIS HUNTER. But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks, rhy garb and gait bespeak thee of high lineage- Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness. One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags CHAMOIS HUNTER. Look o'er the lower valleys-which of these Alas! he's mad-but yet I must not leave hint. May call thee lord? I only know their portals; MANFRED. My way of life leads me but rarely down I would I were-for then the things I see To bask by the huge hearths of those old halls, Would be but,a distemper'd dream. Carousing with the vassals; but the paths, CHAMOIS HUNTER. Which step from out our mountains to their doors, What is it I know from childhood-which of these is thine? That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon' MANFRED. MANFRED. No matter. Myself and thee-a peasant of the AlpsCHAMOIS HUNTER.. Thy humble virtues, hospitable home, Well, sir, pardon me the question, And spirit patient, pious, proud and free; And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; Thy self-respect, gra.ted on innocent thoughts;'T is of an ancient vintage; many a day Thy days of health, and nights of sleep; thy toils,'T has thaw'd my veins among our glaciers, now By danger dignified, yet guiltless; hopes Let it do thus for thine-Come, pledge me fairly. Of cheerful old age and a quiet grave, MANFRED. With cross and garland over its green turf, Away, away! there's blood upon the brim! And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph: Will it then never-never sink in the earth? This do I see-and then I look withinCHAMOIS HUNTER. It matters not —my soul Wvas scorch'd already! What dost thou mean? thy senses wander from thee. CHAMOIS HUNTER. MANFRED. And wouldst thou then exchange thy lot for mine? I say't is blood-my blood! the pure warm stream MANFRED. Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor exchange,When we were in our youth, and had one heart, My lot with living being: I can bearAnd loved each other as we should not love, However wretchedly,'tis still to bearAnd this was shed: but still it rises up, In life what others could not brook to dream, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven, But perish in their slumber. Where thou art not-and I shall never be. CHAMOIS HUNTER. CHAMOIS HUNTER. And with thisMan of strange words, and some half-maddening sin, This cautious feeling for another's pain, Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er Canst thou be black with evil?-say not so. Thy dread and sufferance be, there's comfort yet- Can one of gentle thoughts have wreak'd revenge The aid of holy men, and heavenly patience- Upon his enemies? MANFRED. MANFRED. Patience, and patience! Hence-that word was made Oh! no, no, no! For brutes of burthen, nor for birds of prey; My injuries came down on those who loved mePreach it to mortals of a dust like thine- On those whom I best loved: I never quell'd I am not of thine order. An enemy, save in my just defence- - CHAMOIS HUNTER, But my embrace was fatal. A Thanks to Heaven! CHAMOIS HUNTER. I would not be of thine for the free fame Heaven give thee rest! Of William Tell; but whatsoe'er thine ill, And penitence restore thee to thyself; It must be borne, and these wild starts are useless. My prayers shall be for thee. MANFRED. W &NFRED. Do I not bear it?-Look on me-I live. I need them not, CHAMOIS HUNTER. But can endure thy pity. I departthis is convulsion, and no healthful life.'T is time-farewell! Here's gold, and thanks for theeMANFRED. No words-it is thy due.-Follow me notI tell thee, man! I have lived many years, I know my path-the mountain peril's past:Many long years, but they are nothing now And once again, I charge thee, follow not! To thosi which I must number; ages-ages- [Exit MANS RED. Space and eternity-and consciousness, With the fierce thirst of death-and still unslaked! SCENE II. CHAMOIS HUNTER. A lower Valley in the Alps-A Cataract. Why, on thy brow the seal of middle age Enter MANFRED. Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far. XIt is not noon-the sunbow's rays' still arch MANFRED. The torrent with the many hues of heaven, Think'st thou existence doth depend oh time? And roll the sheeted silver's waving column It doth. but actions are our epochs: mine O'er the,crag's headlong perpendicular, Have made my days and nights imperishable, And fling its lines of foaming light along Endless, and all alike as sands on the shore, And to and fro, like the pale courser's tai., Innumerable atoms; and one desert, The giant steed, to be bestrode by Death, Pc —ea And cold, on which the wild waves break, As told in the Apocalypse. No eves ;MANFRE'S. 233 But mine now drink this sight of loveliness; I said, with men, and with the thoughts of mer, I should be sole in this sweet solitude, I held but slight communion: but instead And with the spirit of the place divide. Myjoy.wasjn the wilderness, to breathe The homage of these waters.-I will call her. The difficult air of the iced iountain's toN [MANFRED takes some of the water into the Where the birds dare not buni, nor insect's wing palm of his hand, and flings it in the air, Flit o'er the herbless granite;: or to plunge muttering the adjuration.- After a pause, Into the torrent, and to roll along the WITCH OF THE ALPS rises beneath the.' arthe WIT sunbeam of the AL r theorr. On the swift whirl of the new-breaking wave arch of the sunbeam of the torrent. I~AN~FRED. ~Of river-stream, or ocean, in their flow. MANFRED......In these my early strength exulted; or Beautiful spirit! with thy hir of light, In these my early strength exulted; or And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose formTo follow through the night the moving moon, And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form LI The charms of earth's least-mortal daughters grow developement or catch The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim; To an unearthly stature, in an essence Thedazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim; Of purer elements; while the hues of youth- Or to look, listning, on the scatterd leaves, Carnation'd lie a sleepin infant's ucheek,' While autumn winds were at their evening song. Ltck'd by thea beating of i a s eev mo s chee, These were my pastimes, and to be alone; RoAk~d b the -beting ofher mother's heart, For if the beinas of whom I was one,Or the rose tints, which summer's twilight leaves iHatn to be so,-crofs'd me in my path, Upon the lofty glacier's virgin snow, Ha to socros'd in path, I felt myself degraded back to them, The blush of earth embracing with her heaven,- l ysl dgadd ac the Tinge thy celestial aspect, and make tame c a A t I te In my lone wanderings, to the caves of death, The beauties of the sunbow which bends o'er thee., Beautifulspirit! in t calm clear brow, Searching its cause in its effect; and drew Beautiful spirit! in thy.c brow, From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'd-up dust, Wherein is glass'd serenity of soul, Which of itself' sehows immortality, Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd Which of itself shows immortality, Whiread that thou wilt immortality, soThe nights of years in sciences untaught, I read that thou wilt pardon to a son. Ifr eadrtha t*houitp o a ss Save in the old time; and with time and toil, Of earth, whom the abstruser powers permit And terrible ordeal, and such penance At times to commune with them-if that he An terrible oreal As in itself hath power upon the air, Avail him of his spells-to call thee thus, -Avai him of hissellso cl te And spirits that do compass air and earth, And gaze on thee a moment. An gz oteamoet. Space, and the peopled infinite, I made Son of earth*!' Mine eyes familiar with eternity, Such as, before me, did the Magi, and I know thee, and the powers which give thee power; a b I know theefor a man of many thoughts, XHe who from out their fountain dwellings raised I know thee for a man of many thoughts, Eros and Anteros,2 at Gadara, And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both,s d t Ga Fatal and fated in thy sufferings. As I do thee;-and with my knowledge grew i Fatal and fated in thy sufferings. The thirst of knowledge, and the power and joy I have expected this-what wouldst thou with me of knowledge and the poer and oy MANFRED. Of this most bright intelligence, untilTo look upon thy beauty-nothing further. Proceed WITCH. The face of the earth hath madden'd me, and I MANFRZD. Take refuge m her mysteries, and pierce h Iut thus proond m words To the abodes of those who govern her- Boasting these idle attributes, because But they can nothing aid me. I have sought I approach the core of my heart's griefFrom them what they could not bestow, and now But to my task. I have not named to thee I search no further. IH search no further. Father or mother, mistress, friend, or being, WITCH. With whom I wore the chain of human ties; What could be the quest If I had such, they seem'd not such to meWhich is not in the power of the most powerful, Yet there as oneYet there was one The rulers of the invisible? WITCH. MANFRED. Spare upt thyself-proceed. A boon; MANFRED. Bat why should I repeat it?'t were in vain. She was like me in lineaments-her eyes, WITCH. Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone I know not that; let thy lips utter it. Even of her voice, they said, were iike to mine; MANFRED. But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty; Well, though it torture me,'t is but the same;'She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, My pang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, To comprehend the universe: nor these Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes, Alone, but with them gentler powers than mlni, The thirst of their ambition was not mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears-which I had not: The aim of their existence was not mine; And tenderness-but that I had for her; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Humility-and that I never nad. Made me a stranger; though I wore the form, Her faults were mine-her virtues were her ownhsd no sympathy with brthipg flesh I loved her, and destroyed her! Nor midst ths reature ifo clay that girded me WITCH. Was there but one who-but of her anon. With thy haind ~35 234 BYRON'S WORKS. MANFRED. Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Not with my hand, but heart-which broke her heart- Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. It gazed on mine, and wither'd. I have shed In all the days of this detested yokeBlood, but not hers-and yet her blood was shed- This vital weight upon the struggling heart, I saw-and could not stanch it. Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pam, WITCH. Or joy that ends in agony or faintnessAnd for this- In all the days of past and future, for A being of the race thou dost despise, In life there is no present, we can number The order which thine own would rise above, How few-how less than few-wherein the soul Mingling with us and ours, thou dost forego Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back The gifts of our great knowledge, and shrink'st back As from a stream in winter, though the chill To recreant mortality-Away! Be but a ioment's. I have one resource MANFRED. Still in my science-I can call the dead, Daughter of Air! I ell thee, since that hour- And ask them what it is we dread to be; But words are breath-look on me in my sleep, The sternest answer can but be the Grave, Or watch my watchings-Come and sit by me! And that is nothing-if they answer notMy solitude is solitude no more, The buried Prophet answer'd to the Hag But peopled with the Furies.-I have gnash'd Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew My teeth in darkness till returning morn, From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit Then cursed myself till sunset;-I have pray'd An answer and his destiny-he slew For madness as a blessing-'t is denied me. That which he loved, unknowing what he slew, I have affronted death-but in the war And died unpardon'd-though he call'd in aid Of elements the waters shrunk from me, The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused And tatal things pass'd harmless-the cold hand The Arcadian Evocators to compel Of an all-pitiless demon held me back, The indignant shadow to depose her wrath, Back by a single hair, which would not break. Or fix her term of vengeance-she replied In phantasy, imagination, all In words of dubious import, but fulfill'd. The affluence of my soul-which one day was If I had never lived, that which I love A Croesus in creation-I plunged deep, Had still been living; had I never loved, But, like an ebbing wave, it dash'd me back That which I love would still be beautifulInto the gulf of my unfathom'd thought. Happy and giving happiness. What is she? I plunged amidst mankind-Forgetfulness What is she now?-a sufferer for my sinsI sought in all, save where't is to be found, A thing I dare not think upon-or nothing. And that I have to learn-my sciences, Within few hours I shall not call in vainMy long-pursued and super-human art, Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare: Is mortal here-I dwell in my despair- Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze And live-and live for ever. On spirit,,good or evil-now I tremble, WITCH. And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart; It may be But I can act even what I most abhor, That I can aid thee. And champion human fears.-The night approaches. MANFRED. [EAci To do this thy power Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them. SCENE III. Do so.-in any shape-in any hour- eThe Summit of the Jungfrau Mountain. With any torture-so it be the last. nter FIRT DESTINY. That is notinmy WITCH. but i The moon is rising broad, and round, and bright; That is not mn my province; but if thou Wilt.iswea m odince;t my i aho And here on snows, where never human foot Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread, My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes. et5uQ J y JAnd leave no traces; o'er the savage sea, MANFRED. The glassy ocean of the mountain ice, I will not swear.-Obey! and whom? the spirits. We skim its rugged breakers, which put on Whose presence I command, and be the slave ts r, p sre me-Never!The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam, Of those who served me —Never! I Of those whio Frozen in a moment-a dead whlrlpool's image; WITCH. Is this all? And this most steep fantastic pinnacle, Ilast thou no gentler answer?-Yet bethink thee, The fretwork of some earthquake-where the clouds And pause ere thou rejectest. Pause to repose themselves in passing byMANFRED. IS sacred to our revels, or our vigils; I have said it. Here do I wait my sisters, on our way WITCH. To the Hall of Arimanes, for to-night Enough!-l may retire then-say! -Is our great festival-'t is strange they come not. MANFRED. A voice without, singing. Retire! The Captive Usurper, [The WITCH disappears. Hurl'd down from the throne, MANFRED (alone). Lay buried in torpor, We are tne fools of time and terror: days Forgotten and lone; MANFRED. 235 I broke through his slumbers, SCENE IV. I shiver'd his chain, The Hall of Arimanes-Arimanes on hzs throne, a I leagued him with numbers- lobe of Fire, surrounded by the Spirits. He's tyrant again! With the blood of a million he'11 answer my care, Hymn of the SPIRITS. Hail to our master!-Prince of earth and air!With a nation's destruction-his flight and despair. Second V, Who walks the clouds and waters-in his hand The ship sal'd Son, the shipce saild faThe sceptre of the elements, which tear But I left not a sail, and I left not a mast; Themselves to chaos at his high command There is not a plank of the hull or the deck, He breatheth-andi a tempest shakes the sea; And there is not a wretch to lament o'er his wreck; He speaketh-and the clouds reply in thunder; Save one, whom I held, as he swam, by the hair, He gazeth-from his glance the sunbeams flee; And he was a subject well worthy my care; *He moveth-earthquakes rend the world asunder, A traitor on land, anl a pirate at sea- Beneath his footsteps the volcanoes rise; /brt I saved him to wreak further havoc for me! His shadow is the pestilence; his path diRSt DreSI aher. The comets herald through the crackling skies; FIRST DESTINY, answering'. TheT c tyIe Y s g And planets turn to ashes at his wrath. The city lies sleeping, T mnteoIt,'To him war offers daily sacrifice; The morn, to deplore it, The morn, to deplor iTo him death pays his tribute; life is his, May dawn on it weeping: May ~dawn on itweepg: With all its infinite of agonies — Sullenly, slowly, ~Sullenly, slowly~, And his the spirit of whatever is! The black plague flew o'er it- t Thousands lie lowly; Thousands lie lowly; Enter the DESTINIES and NEMESIS. Tens of thousands shall perish- FIRST DESTINY. The living shall fly from Glory to Arimanes! on the earth The sick they should cherish; is power increaseth-both my sisters did But nothing can vanquish His bidding, nor did I neglect my duty! The touch that they die from. SECOND DESTINY. Sorrow and anguish, Glory to Arimanes! we who bow And evil anddread, The necks of men, bow down before his throne! Envelop a nation- THIRD DESTINY. The blest are the dead, Glory to Arimanes!-we await his nod! Who see not the sight NEMESIS. Of their own desolation.- Sovereign of sovereigns! we are thine, This work of a night, And all that liveth, more or less, is ours, [his wreck of' a realm-this deed of my doing- And most things wholly so; still to increase for ages I've done, and shall still be renewing! Our power, increasing thine, demands our care, Enter the SECOND and THIRD DESTINIES. And we are vigilant-Thy latecommands The Three. Have been fulfilled to the utmost. Our hands contain the hearts of men, Enter MIANFRED. Our footsteps are their graves; A SPIRIT. We only give to take again What is here? The spirits of our slaves! A mortal!-Thou most rash and fatal wreteh, FIRST DESTINY. Bow down and worship.! Welcome!-Where's Nemesis? SECOND SPIRIT. SECOND DESTINY. I do know the manAt some great work; A Magian of great power, and fearful skill! But what I know not, for my hands were full. THIRD SPIRIT THIRD DESTINY. o THIRD DESTINY. BBow down and worship, slave!Behold she cometh. Enter NEMESIS... What, know'st thou noA FIRST DESTINY. Thine and our sovereign?-Tremble, and obey! Say, where hast thou been? ALL THE SPIRITS. My sisters and thyself are slow to-night. Prostrate thyself, and thy condemned clay, NEMESIS. Child of the Earth or dread the worst. I was detain'd repairing shattered thrones, MANFRED. Marrying fopls, restoring dynasties, y kn no. And yet ye see I kneel not. Avenging men upon their enemies, And making them repent their own revenge; FOURTH SPIRIT. Goading the wise to madness; fron the dull be taught thee. Shaping out oracles to rule the world. MANFRED. Afresh, for they were waxing out of date,'T is taught already;-many a night on the earth, And mortals dared to ponder for themselves, On the bare ground, have I bow'd down my face, To weigh kings in the balance, and to speak And strew'd my head with ashes; I have known Of freedom, the forbidden fruit.-Away! The fulness of humiliation, for We have outstaid the hour-mount we our clouds! I sunk before my vain despair, and knelt [Exeunt. To my own desolation. 236 BYRON'S WORKS. FIFTH SPIRIT. Which still doth inherit Dost thou dare The whole or a part Refuse to Arimanes on his throne Of the form of thy birth, What the whole earth accords, beholding not Of the mould of thy clay, The terror of his glory?-Crouch! I say. Which return'd to the earth,MANFRED. Re-appear to the day! Bid him bow down to that which is above him,- Bear what thou borest, The overruling Infinite-the Maker The heart and the form, Who made him not for worship-let him kneel, And the aspect thou worest And we will kneel together. Redeem from the worm.. THE SPIRITS. Appear!-appear!-appear! Crush the worm!T Who sent thee there requires thee here! Tear him in pieces!- {_[The phantom of ASTARTE rises and Tear him in pieces!stands in the midst. FIRST DESTINY. MANFRED. Hence! Avaunt! he Is mine, Hence! Avaunt! he's mine, Can this be death? there's bloom upon her cheek! Prince of the powers invisible! this man But now I see it is no living hue, Is of no common order, asis h port. But a strange hectic-like the unnatural red And presence here denote: his sufferings Which Autumn plants upon the perish'd leaf. Have been of an immortal nature, like It is the same! Oh God! that I should dread Our own; his knowledge and his power and will, To look upon the sameAstarteNo As far as is compatible with clay, I cannot speak to her-but bid her speakWhich clogs the ethereal essence, have been such Forgive me or condemn me. As clay hath seldom borne; his aspirations NEMESIS. Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth, By the power which hath broken And they have only taught him what we know- The grave which enthrald thee That knowledge is not happiness, and science Speak to him who hath spoken But an exchange of ignorance for that Or those who havecal'd thee! Which is another kind of ignorance. MANFRED. This is not all-the passions, attributes She is silent Of earth and heaven, from which no power, nor being, And in that silence I am more than answer'd Nor breath, from the worm upwards, is exempt, NEMESIS. Have pierced his heart; and in their consequence My power extends no further. Prince,f a Made him a thing which I, who pity not, It rests with thee alone-command her (. Yet pardon those who pity. He is mine, ~ ARIMANES. And thine, it may be-be it so, or not, Spirit! obey this sceptre! No other spirit in this region hath NEMESIS. A soul like his-or power upon his soul. Silt-it,,li! NEMESIS. She is not of our order, but b;cLi What doth he here then? To the other powers. Mortal! d quest Is v FIRST DESTINY. And we are baffled also. Let him answer that. MA.' r.ED. MANFRED. Hear me, hear meYe know what I have known; and without power Astarte! my beloved! speak to me: I could not be amongst ye: but there are I have so much enJutrsd —so much endurePowers deeper still beyond-I come in quest Look on me! tho grave hath not changed thee m. Of such, to answer unto what I seek. Than I am chenged for thee. Thou lovedst me NEMESIS. Too much, ai I laved thee: we were not made WVhat wouldst thou? To torture rhds each other, though it were MANFRED. The dea(list sin to love as we have loved. Thou canst not reply to me. Say thu thou loathest me not-that I do bear' all up the dead-my question is for them. This punishment for both-that thou wilt be NEMESIS. OnrI rf the blessed-and that I shall die; Great Arimanes, doth thy will avouch Fr hitherto all hateful things conspire'rhe wishes of this mortal? T'o bind me in existence-in a life Whic:. makes me shrink from immortalityARIMAN'ES. -A future like the past. Icannot rest. I know not what I ask nor what I seek: NEMESIS. Whom woulds it I feel but what thou art-and what I am; [nch rnel? And I would hear yet once before I perish MANFRED. The voice which was my music-Speak to rne One without a tomb-call up For I have call'd on thee in the still night, Ast'ln.. JStartled the slumbering birds from the hush'd bcghs, NEMESIS. And woke the mountain wolves, and made the caves Shadow! or Spirit! Acquainted with thy vainly-echoed name, Whutever thou art, Which answer'd me-many things answer'd me MANFRED. 237 Spirits and men-but thou wert silent all. MANFRED. Yet speak to me t I have outwatch'd the stars, Say. And gazed o'er heaven in vain in search of thee. Are all things so disposed of in the tower Speak to me! I have wander'd o'er the earth As I directed? And never found thy likeness-Speak to me! HERMAN. Look on the fiends around-they feel for me: All, my lord, are ready, I fear them not, and feel for thee alone- Here is the key and casket. Speak to me! though it be in wrath;-but say- MANFRED. I reck not what-but let me hear thee once- It is well: this once-once more! Thou may'st retire. [Exit HERMAN PHANTOM OF ASTARTE. MANFRED (alone). Manfred! There is a calm upon meInexplicable stillness! which till now MANFRED. MANFR)ED. Did not belong to what I knew of life. Say on, say on-- Say on,,. y say on- If that I did not know philosophy I live but in the sound-it is thy voice! e of al or vanitis t ioi PHANTOM.-~ To be of all our vanities the notliest, ~,,. ~PHANTOM. ~The merest word that ever fool'd the ear Manfred! to-morrow ends thine earthly ills. Manred! to-morrow ends the From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem Farewell! Farewell! MANFRED. The golden secret, the sought "Kalon," found, Yet one word more-uam I forgiven? And seated in my soul. It will not last, PHANTOM. But it is well to have known it, though but once: f arewell! PHAN.It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new senseD MANFRED. And I within my tablets would note down Say, shall we meet again? That there is such a feeling. Who is there? PHANTOM. Re-enter HERMAN. Farewell! HERMAN. MANFRED. My lord, the abbot of St. Maurice craves One word for mercy! say, thou lovest me. To greet your presence. PHANTOM. Enter the ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE. Manfred! ABBOT. [The Spirit of ASTARTE disappears. Peace be with Count Manfred NEMESIS. MANFRED. She's gone, and will not be recall'd; Thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls; Her words will be fulfili'd. Return to the earth. Thy presence honours them, and blesseth those A SPIRIT. Who dwell within them. He is convulsed.-This is to be a mortal, ABBOT. And seek the things beyond mortality. Would it were so, Count. ANOTHER SPIRIT. But I would fain confer with thee alone. Yet, see, he mastereth himself, and makes MANFRED. His torture tributary to his will. Herman, retire. What would my reverend guest? Had he been one of us, he would have made ABBOT. An awful spirit. Thus, without prelude:-Age and zeal, my office, NEMESIS. And ood intent, must plead my privilege; Hast thou further question Our near, though not acquainted neighbourhood, Of our great sovereign, or his worshippers? May also be my herald. Rumours strange, MANFRED. And of unholy nature, are abroad, None. And busy with thy name; a noble name NEMESIS. For centuries; may he who bears it now Then for a time farewell. Transmit it unimpair'd Transmit it unimpair'd! MANFRED.MANFRED. We meet then! Where? On the earth?- Proceed listen. Even as thou wilt: and for the grace accorded ABBOT. I now depart a debtor. Fare ye well! I now depart a debtor. Fare ye well!'T is said thou holdest converse with the things [Exit MANFRED. Which are forbidden to the search of man; (Scene closes.) That with the dwellers of the dark abodes, ~ —- ~ ~ ~ IThe many evil and unheavenly spirits -ACT III. Which walk the valley of the shade of death, Thou communest. I know that with mankind, SCENE I. Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely A Hall in the Castle of Manfred. Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude MANFRED AND HERMAN. Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy. MANFRED. MANFRED Vhat is the hour'? And what are they who do avouch these things HERMAN. ABBOr. It wants but one till sunset, My pious brethren-the scared peasantryund promises a lovely twilight. Even thy own vassals-who do look on thee. YV ~2~38 ~ BYRON'S WORKS. With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril. ABBOT. MANFRED. It never can be so, Take it. To reconcile thyself with thy own soul, ABBOT. And thy own soul with Heaven. Hast thou no hope 7 I come to save, and not destroy-'T is strange-even those who do despair above, 1 would not pry into thy secret soul; Yet shape themselves some phantasy on earth, But if these things be sooth, there still is time To which frail twig they cling, like drowning men, For penitence and pity: reconcile thee A E. With the true church, and through the church to Heaven. Ay-father! I have had those earthly visions MANFRED. And noble aspirations in my youth, I hear thee. This is my reply; whate'er To make my own the mind of other men, I may have been, or am, doth rest between The enlightener of nations; and to rise Heaven and myself.-I shall not choose a mortal I knew not whither-it might be to fall; To be my mediator. Have I sin'd But fall, even as the mountain cataract, Against your ordinances? prove and punish! Which having leapt from its more dazzling height, ABBOT. Even in the foaming strength of its abyss My son! I did not speak of punishment, (Which casts up misty columns that become But penitence and pardon;-with thyself, Clouds, raining from the reascended skies), The choice of such remains-and for the last, Lies low but mighty still.-But this is past, Our institutions and our strong belief My thoughts mistook themselves. Have given me power to smooth the path from sin ABBOT. To higher hope and better thoughts; the first And wherefore so? I leave to Heaven —" Vengeance is mine alone!" MANFRED. So saith the Lord, and with all humbleness I could not tame my nature down; for he His servant echoes back the awful word. Must serve who fain would sway-and soothe-and sue MANFRED. And watch all time-and pry into all placeOld man! there is no power in holy men, And be aliving lie-who would become Nor charm in prayer-nor purifying form A mighty thing amongst the mean, and such Of penitence-nor outward look-nor fast- The mass are: I disdain'd to mingle with Nor agony-nor, greater than all these, A herd, though to be leader-and nf wolves. The innate tortures of that deep despair The lion is alone, and so am I. Which is remorse without the fear of hell, ABBOT. But all in all sufficient to itself And why not live and act with other men? Would make a hell of heaven-can exorcise MANFRED. From out the unbounded spirit, the quick sense Because my nature was averse from life; Of'ts own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and revenge And yet not cruel; for I would not make, IUpon itself; there is no future pang But find a desolation:-like the wind, Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd The red-hot breath of the most lone Simoom, He deals on his own soul. Which dwells but in the desert, and Sweeps o'er ABBOT.- The barren sands which bear no shrubs to blast, All this is well; And revels o'er their wild and arid waves, For this will pass away, and be succeeded And seeketh not, so that it is not sought, By an auspicious hope, which shall look up But being met is deadly; such hath been With calm assurance to that blessed place, The course of my existence; but there came Which all who seek may win, whatever be Things in my path which are no more. Their earthly errors, so they be atoned: ABBOT. And the commencement of atonement is Alas! The sense of its necessity.-Say on- I'gin to fear that thou art past all aid And all our church can teach thee shall be taught; From me and from my calling; yet so young, And all we can absolve thee shall be pardon'd. I still wouldMANFRED. MANFRED. Look on me! there is an order When Rome's sixth Emperor was near his last,! t Emperor was.i near his lasti d wOf mortals on the earth, who do become The victim of a self-inflicted wound, *T hen vtim z of a self-inflictedwound..Old in their youth and die ere middle age, To shun the torments of a public death From senates once his slaves, a certain soldier, thout the violence of warlike death; Some perishing of pleasure-some of study-. With show of loyal pity, would have stanchg pleas-some of studySome worn with toil-some of mere weariness — The gushing throat with his officious robe; toil-some of mere wearinessThe dying Roman thrust him back and said- Some of disease-and som insanitySome empire still in his expiring glance, S0m emir stllin his expiring glance, And some of wither'd or of broken hearts'; " It is too late-is this fidelity?" For this last is a malady which slays More than are number'd in the lists of Fate, ABBOT. And wnat of this? ABBOT. Taking all shapes, and bearing many names, ~MANHFRED. ~ ~ Look upon me! for even of all these things, 1 answer with the Roman- Have I partaken; and of all these things, I t is too te!' One were enough: then wonder not that I MANFRED. 239 Am what I am, but that I ever was, SCENE II1. Or, having been, that I am still on earth. The Mountains-The Castle of Mlanfred at some dts ABBOT. tance-A Terrace before a Tower.- -Time, Twilight. Yec, hear me still- -HERMAN, MANUEL, and other defendants oJ MANFRED. MANFRED. Old-man! I do respect HER N. Thine order, and revere thy years; I deem Thine order, and revere thy years; I deem'T is strange enough: night after night, for years, Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain: * Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain: He hath pursued long vigils in this'tower, Think me not churlish; I would spare thyself, a w I Far more than me, in shunning at this time b i Far more than me, in shunning at this me So have we all been oft-times: but from it, All further colloquy-and so-farewell. further colOr its contents, it were impossible [ETMANFRED. o draw conclusions absolute, of aught ABBOT. ABBOT. His studies tend to To be sure there is This should have been a noble creature: he. One chamber where none enter; I would give Hath all the energy which would have made The fee of what I have to come these three years, A goodly frame of glorious elements, To pore upon its mysteries. Had they been wisely mingled; as it is, MA L. MANUEL. It is an awful chaos-light and darkness- T were dangerous;'T were dangerous; And mind and dust-and passions and pure thoughts, C t t w w Content thyself with what thou know'st already. Mix'd and contending without end or order,ERMAN. All dormant or destructive: he will perish, Ah Manuel! thou art elderly and wise, And yethe must not; I will try once more, And couldst saymuch; thou hast dwelt within the castleFor such are worth redemption; and my duty How many years is't Is to dare all things for a righteous end. MANEL. I'll follow him-but cautiously, though surely. Ere Count Manfred's birth [Exit ABBOT. I served his father, whom he nought resembles. HERMAN. SCENE II There be more sons in like predicament. Another Chamber. But wherein do they differ? MANFRED AND HERMAN. MA NUEL. HERMAN. I speak not My Lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset: Of features or of form, but mind and habits: He sinks behind the mountain. Count Sigismund was proud,-but gay and free,MANFRED. A warrior and a reveller; he dwelt not Doth he so? With books and solitude, nor made the night I will look on him. A gloomy vigil, but a festal time, [MANFRED advances to the window of the Hall. Merrier than day; he did not walk the rocks Glorious orb! the idol And forests like a wolf, nor turn aside Of early nature, and the vigorous race From men and their delights. Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons4 HERMAN4 Of the embrace of angels, with a sex Beshrew the hour, More beautiful than they, which did draw down But those were jocund times! I would that such The erring spirits who can ne'er return- Would visit the old walls again; they look Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere As if they had forgotten them. The mystery of thy making was reveal'd! MANUEL. Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, These walls Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts Must change theirchieftain first. Oh! I have seen Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd Some strange things in them, Herman. Themselves in orisons! Thou material god! ~ HERMAN. And representative of the Unknown- Come, be friendiy Who chose thee for his shadow! Thou chief star Relate me some to while away our watch: Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth I've heard thee darkly speak of an event Endurable, and temperest the hues Which happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower. And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! MANUEL. Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes, That was a night indeed; I do remember And those who dwell in them! for near or far,'Twas twilight as it may be now, and such Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, Another evening:-yon red cloud, which rests Even as our outward aspects;-thou dost rise, On Eigher's pinnacle, so rested tnen,And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well! So like that it might be the same: the wind I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance Was faint and gusty, and the nmantain snows Of love and wonder was for thee, then take Began to glitter with the climbing moon: My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one Count Manfred was, as now, within his Lower,To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been How occupied, we knew not, but with him - Of a more fatal nature. He is gone: The sole companion of his wanderings I follow [Exit MANFRED. And watchings-her, whom of all arthly thinm 240 BYRO-)N'S WORKS. That lived, the only thing he seem'd to love,- Within a bow-shot-where the Caesars dwelt, As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do, And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst Thc^Jlady:Astartqhis- A grove which springs through levell'd battlements Hush! who comes here? And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, Enter the ABBOT. Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth;ABBOT. But the gladiator's bloody Circus stands, Where is your master? A noble wreck in ruinous perfection! HERMAN. While Caesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, Yonder, in the tower. Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.ABBOT. And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon I must speak with him. All this, and cast a wide and tender light, MANUEL. Which soften'd down the hoar austerity'T is impossible; Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up, He is most private, and must not be thus As't were anew, the gaps of centuries: Intruded on. Leaving that beautiful which still was so, ABBOT. And making that which was not, till the place Upon myself I take Became religion, and the heart ran o'er The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be- With silent worship of the great of old!But I must see him. The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule HERMAN. Our spirits from their urns.Thou hast seen him once'T was such a night! This eve already.'T is strange that I recall it at this time; ABBOT. But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight Herman! I command thee, Even at the moment when they should array Knock, and apprize the Count of my approach. Themselves in pensive order. HERMAN. Enter the ABBOT. We dare not. ABBOT. ABBOT. My good lord! Then it seenis I must be herald I crave a second grace for this approach; Of my own purpose. But yet let not my humble zeal offend MANUEL. By its abruptness-a.l it hath of ill Reverend father, stop- Recoils on me; its good in the effect I pray you pause. May light upon your head-could I say heartABBOT. Could I touch that, with words or prayers, I should Why so? Recall a noble spirit which hath wander'd; MANUEL. But is not yet all lost. But step this way, MANFRED. Andt I will tell you further. Thou know'st me not: [Exeunt. My days are numbered, and my deeds recorded: Retire, or't will be dangerous-Away! SCENE IV. ABBOT. Thou dost not mean to menace me? Interior of the Tower. MANFRED. MANFRED. MANFRED, alone.. Not I; MANFRED. I simply tell thee peril is at hand, The stars are forth, the moon above the tops And would presevethee. Of the snow-shining mountains.-Beautiful! ABBOT. I linger yet with Nature, for the night I lath been to me a more familiar face MANFRED. Look there. Than that of man; and in her starry shadeht dost thou see Of dim and solitary loveliness, ABBOT. I learn'd the language of another world. Nothing. I do remember me, that in my youth, MANFRED. When I was wandering, —upon such a night Look there, I say, I stood within the Coliseum's wall And stedfastly;-now tell me what thou seest?'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; ABBOT. The trees which grew along the broken arches That which should shake me,-but I fear it notWaved dark in the blue-midnight, and the stars I see a dusk and awful figure rise Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar Like an infernal god from out the earth; The watch-dog bay'd beyond the Tiber; and His face wrapt in a mantle, ard his form More near from out the Caesar's palace came Robed as with angry clouds; he stands between The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly, Thyself and me-but I do fear him not. Of distant sentinels the fitful song MANFRED. Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Thou hast no cause-he shall not harm thee-bu' Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach His sight may shock thine old limbs into oalsv. Appear'd to siurt the horizon, vet they stood I say to thee-Retire t MANFRED. 2X41 ABBOT. MANFRED. And I reply-,Thou false fiend, thou!iest Never-till I have battled with this fiend- My life is in its last hout,-that I know, What doth he here? Nor would redeem a moment of that hour; MANFRED. I do not combat against death, but thee Why-ay-what doth he here? And thy surrounding angels: my past power I did not send for him,-he is unbidden. Was purchased by no compact with thy crew, ABBOT. But by superior science-penance-daringAlas! lost mortal! what with guests like these And length of watching-strength of mind-and skill Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake. In knowledge of our fathers-when the earth Why doth he gaze on thee, and thou on him? Saw men and spirits walking side by side, Ah! he unveils his aspect; on his brow And gave ye no supremacy: I stand The thunder-scars are graven; from his eye Upon my strength-I do defy —deny — Glares forth the immortality of hell- Spurn back, and scorn ye!Avaunt! SPIRIT. MANFREI But thy many crimes Pronounce-what is thy mission? Have made thee-S;PI~RIT5T~ MANFRED. ~/ Come! What are they to such as thee? ABBOT. Mustcrimes be punish'd but by other crimes, What art thou, unknown being? answer!-speak! And greater criminals?-Back to thy hell I SPIRIT. Thou hast no power upon me, that I feel; The genius of this mortal.-Come!'t is time. Thou never shalt possess me, that I know: MANFRED. What I have done is done; I bear within, am prepared for all things, but deny A torture which could nothing gain from thine: rhe power which summons me. Who sent thee here? The mind which is immortal makes itself SPIRIT. Requital for its good or evil thoughtsrhou'lt know anon-Come! come! Is its own origin of ill and endMANFRED. And its own place and time-its innate sense, I have commanded When stripp'd of this mortality, derives rhings of an essence greater far than thine, No colour from the fleeting things without; And striven with thy masters. Get thee hence! But is absorb'd in sufferance or in joy, SPIRIT. Born from the knowledge of its own desert. Mortal! thine hour is come-Away! I say. Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt mea MANFRED. I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy preyI knew, and know my hour is come, but not But was my own destroyer, and will be To render up my soul to such as thee: My own hereafter.-Back, ye baffled fiends! Away! I'11 die as I have lived-alone. The hand of death is on me-but not yours! SPIRIT. [ 7re Demons disappear Then I must summon up my brethren.-Rise! ABBOT. [Other Spirits rise u Alas! how pale thou art-thy lips are whiteABBOT. And thy breast heaves-and in thy gasping throat Avaunt! ye evil ones!-Avaunt! I say,- The accents rattle.-Give thy prayers to HeavenYe have no power where piety hath power, Pray-albeit but in thought,-but die not thus. And I do charge ye in the name- MANFRED. SPIRIT.'T is over-my dull eyes can fix thee not; Old man. But all things swim around me, and the earth We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order; Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare thee wellWaste not thy holy words on idle uses, Give me thy hand. It were in vain; this man is forfeited. ABBOT. Once more I summon him-Away! away! Colds-cold —even to the heart —.MANFRED. But yet one prayer-alas! how fares it with thee?I do defy ye,-though I feel my soul MANFRED. Is ebbing from me, yet I do defy ye; Old man!'t is not so difficult to die. Nor will I hence, while I have earthly breath [MANFRED expire To breathe my scorn upon ye-earthly strength ABBOT. To wrestle, though with spirits; what ye take He's gone-his soul hath ta'en its earthless flightShall be ta'en limb by lirmb. Whither? I dread to think-but he is gone. SPIRIT. Reluctant mortal! NOTES. Is this tne Magian who would so pervade The world invisible, and make himself Note ge 232, ines 114 and 115 Almost our equal?-Can it be that thou the sunbow's rays still arcn Art thus in love with life? the very life The torrent with the many hues of heaven. Which made thee wretched! THIS Iris is formed by the rays of the son over toe 1 2 36 242 BYRON'S WORKS.'ower part of the Alpine torrents: it is exactly like a wards perished for an attempt to betray the Lacederainbow, come down to pay a visit, and so close that monians), and Cleonice, is told in Plutarch's life of you may walk into it:-this effect lasts till noon. Cimon; and in the Laconics of Pausanias the Sophist, in his description of Greece. Note 2. Page 233, lines 100 and 101.tion of Greece. He who from out their fountain dwellings raised Note 4. Page 239, lines 39 and 40. Eros and Anteros, at Gadara. the giant sons The philosopher Iamblicus. The story of the raising Of the embrace of angels. of Eros and Anteros may be found in his life, by "That the Sons of God saw the daughters of men, Eunapius. It is well told. that they were fair," etc. Note 3. Page 234, lines 91- and92. "There were giants in the earth in those days; and Note 3. Page 234, lines 91 and 92. she replied also after that, when the Sons of God came in unto In words of dubious import, but fulfill'd. the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, The story of Pausanias, king of Sparta, (who com- the same became mighty men which were of old, men manded the Greeks at the battle of Platea, and after- of renown."-Genesis, ch. vi. verses 2 and 4. ^tttario Itlt re, ot f Vtnice; A HISTORICAL TRAGEDY. PREFACE.p,Sanuto, Vettor Sandi, AndreaNavagero, and the account of the siege of Zara, first published by the indefatigable Abbate Morelli, in his "Monumenti Veneziani di varia THE conspiracy of the Doge Marino Faliero Is one of letteratura," printed in 1796, all of which I have looked the most remarkable events in the annals of the most over in the original language. The moderns, Darn, singular government, city, and people of modern his- Sismondi, and Laugier, nearly agree with the ancient tory. It occurred in the year 1355. Every thing about chroniclers, Sismondi attributes the conspiracy to his V enice is, or was, extraordinary-her aspect is like a jealousy; but I find this nowhere asserted by the nadream, and her history is like a romance. The story tional historians. Vettor Sandi, indeed, says, that "Altri of this Doge is to be found in all her Chronicles, and scrissero che.... dalla gelosa suspizion di essoDoge particularly detailed in the "Lives of the Doges," by siasifatto(Michel Steno) staccarcon violenza," etc.,etc.; Marin Sanuto, which is given in the Appendix. It is b"tMhis appears to have been by no means the general simply and clearly related, and is, perhaps, more dra- opinion, nor is it alluded to by Sanuto or by Navamatic in itself than any scenes which can be founded gero; and Sandi himself adds, a moment after, that uplo. the subject. "per altre Veneziane memoiie traspiri, che non il solo Marino Faliero appears to have been a man of tal- desiderio di vendetta lo dispose alla congiura ma anche ents and of courage. I find him commander-in-chief la innata abituale ambizion sua, per cui anelava a farsi of the land forces at the siege of Zara, where he beat principe independente." The first motive appears to the King of Hungary and his army of eighty thousand have been excited by the gross affront of the words men, killing eight thousand men, and keeping the be- written by Michel Steno on the ducal chair, and by sieged at the same time in check, an exploit to which the light and inadequate sentence of the Forty on the I know none similar in history, except that of Caesar offender, who was one of their "tre capi." The at. at Elesia, and of Prince Eugene at Belgrade. He was tentions of Steno himself appear to have been directed afterwards commander of the fleet in the same'war, towards one of her damsels, and not to the " DogaHe took Capo d'Istria. He was ambassador at Genoa ressa" herself, against whose fame not the slightest and Rome, at which last he received the news of his insinuation appears, while she is praised for her beauty, election to the dukedom; his absence being a proof and remarked for her youth. Neither do I find it that he sought it by no intrigue, since he was apprized asserted (unless the hint of Sandi be an assertion) that of his predecessor's death and his own succession at the Doge was actuated by jealousy of his wife; but the same moment. But he appears to have been of rather by respect for her, and for his own honour, an ungovernable temper. A story is told by Sanuto, warranted by his pAst services and'present dignity. of his having, many years before, when podesta and I know not that the historical facts are alluded to cantain at Treviso, boxed the ears of the bishop, who in English, unless by Dr. Moore in his view of Italy. wva somewhat tardy in bringing the Host. For this His account is false and flippant, full of stale jests honest Sanuto "saddles him with a judgment," as about old men and young wives, and wondering at so Thwackum did Square; but he does not tell us whether great an effect from so slight a cause. How so acute he was punished or rebuked by the senate for this and severe an observer of mankind as the author of outrage at the time of its commission. He seems, in- Zeluco could wonder at this is inconceivable. He knew aeed, to have been afterwards at peace with the church, that a basin of water spilt on Mrs. Masham's gown defoi we find him ambassador at Rome, and invested prived the Duke of Malborough of his command, and with the fief of Val di Marino, in the March of Tre- led to the inglorious peace of Utrecht-that Louis XIV.,iso, and with the title of Count, by Lorenzo Count- was plunged into the most desolating wars because Bishop of Ceneda. For these facts my authorities are, his minister was nettled at his finding fault with a MARINO FALIERO. 243 window, and wished to give him another occupation- and the Giant's Staircase, where he was crowned, and that Heler lost Troy-that Lucretia expelled the Tar- discrowned, and decapitated, struck forcibly upon my quins from Rome-and that Cava brought the Moors to imagination, as did his fiery character and strange story. Spain-that an insulted husband led the Gauls to Clu- I went in 1819, in search of his tomb, more than once, sium, and thence to Rome-that a single verse of Fred- to the church of San Giovanni e San Paolo; and, as I eric II. of Prussia, on the Abbe de Bernis, and a jest was standing beforethe monument of another family, on Madame de Pompadour, led to the battle of Ros- a priest came up to me and said, "I can show you bach-that the elopement of Dearbhorgil with Mac finer monuments than that." I told him that I was in Murchad, conducted the English to the slavery of Ire- search of that of the Faliero family, and particularly of land-that a personal pique between Marie Antoinette the Doge Marino's. "Oh," said he, " I will show it and the Duke of Orleans precipitated the first expulsion you " and, conducting me to' the outside, pointed out of the Bourbons-and, not to multiply instances, that a sarcophagus in the wall, with an illegible inscription. Commodus, Domitian, and Caligula fell victims, not to He said that it had been in a convent adjoining, but their public tyranny, but to private vengeance-and that was removed after the French came, and placed in its an order to make Cromwell disembark from the ship in present situation; that he had seen the tomb opened at which he would have sailed to America, destroyed both its removal; there were still some bones remaining, but king and commonwealth. After these instances, on the no positive vestige of the decapitation. The equestrian least reflection, it is indeed extraordinary in Dr. Moore statue, of which I have made mention in the third act to seem surprised that a man, used to command, who as before that church, is not, however, of a Faliero, had served and swayed in the most important offices, but of some other now obsolete warrior, although of a should fiercely resent; in a fierce age, an unpunished later date. There were two other Doges of this family affront, the grossest that can be offered to a man, be he prior to Marino: Ordelafo, who fell in battle at Zara, prince or peasant. The age of Faliero is little to the in 1117 (where his descendant afterwards conquered purpose, unless to favour it. the Huns), and Vital Faliero, wno reigned in 1082, " The young man's wrath is like straw on fire. The family, originally from Fano,_was of the most ilBut like red-hot steel is the old man's ire." BYoung me n - so l is e d asoon forget afronts lustrious in blood and wealth in the city of once the f" Young men soon give and soon forget affronts. Old age is slow at both." most wealthy, and still the most ancient families in EuLaugier's reflections are more philosophical:-~"Tale rope. The length I have gone into on this subject, will fu il fine ignominioso di un uomo, che la sua nascith, show the interest I have taken in it. Whether I have la sua eth, il suo carattere dovevano tener lontano dalle succeeded or not in the tragedy, I have at least transpassioni produttrici di grandi delitti. I suoi talenti per ferred into our language a historical fact worthy of lungo tempo esercitati ne' maggiori impieghi, la sua commemoration. capacita sperimentata ne' governi e nelle ambasciate, It is now four years that I have meditated this work, gli avevano acquistato la stima e lafiducia de' cittadini, and, before I had sufficiently examined the records, I ed avevano uniti i suffragi per collocarlo alla testa della was rather disposed to have made it turn on a jealousy republica. Innalzato ad un grado che terminava glo- in Falier6. But perceiving no foundation for this in riosamenta la sua vita, il risentimento di un' ingiuria historical truth, and aware that jealousy is'an exhausted leggiera insinub nel suo cuore tal veleno che bastb a passion in the drama, I have given it a morel historical corrompere le antiche sue qualita, e a condulo al ter- form. I was, besides, well advised by the late Matthew mine dei scellerati; serio esempio, che prova non es- Lewis on that point,'in talking with him of my intenservi et0l, in cui la prudenza umana sia sicura e che nell' tion, at Venice, in 1817. "If you make him jealous," uomo restano sempre passioni capaci a disonorarlo, quan- said he, " recollect that you have to contend with esdo non invigili sopra se stesso."-LAUGIER, Italian tablished writers, to say nothing of Shakspeare, and an translation, vol. iv. pp. 30, 31.'exhausted subject;-stick to theold fiery Doge's natuWhere didDr. Moore find that MarinoFalierobegged ral character, which will bear you out, if properly his life? I have searched the chroniclers, and find drawn; and make your plot as regular as you can."nothing of the kind; it is true that he avowed all. Sir William Drummond gave me nearly the same He was conducted to the place of torture, but there is counsel. How far I have followed these instructions, no mention made of any application for mercy on his or whether they have availed me, is not for me to depart; and the very circumstance of their having taken cide. I have had no view tothe stage; in its present him to the rack, seems to argue any thing but his hav- state it is, perhaps, not a very exalted object of ambiing shown a want of firmness, which would doubtless tion; besides, I have been too much behind the scenes have been also mentioned by those minute historians to have thought it so at any time. And I cannot conwho by no means favour him: such, indeed, would be ceive any man of irritable feeling putting himself at contrary to his character as a soldier, to the age in the mercies of an audience:-the sneering reader, and which he. lived, and at which he died, as it is to the the loud critic, and the tart review, are scattered and truth of history. I know no justification.at any distance distant calamities; but the trampling of an intelligent of time for calumniating a historical character; surely or of an ignorant audience, on a production which, be truth belorhg to the dead and to the unfortunate, and it good or bad, has been a mental labour to the writer, they who have died upon a scaffold have generally had is a palpable and immediate grievance, heightened by faults enough of their own, without attributing to them a man's doubt of their competency to judge, and his that which the very incurring of the perils which con- certainty of his own imprudence in electing them his ductea them to their violent death renders, of all others, judges. Were I capable of writing a play which could the most improbable. The black veil which is painted be deemed stage-worthy, success would give me no ova the place of Marino Faliero amongst the doges, pleasure, and failure great pain. It is for this reaso -~ ~~........ i i~.'........ - i.. i.. \........ - -.... -... ~ - -......^..- i i i~ 244 BYRON'S WORKS. that, even during the time of being one of the corn- D AMATI P ON mittee of one of the theatres, I never made the attempt, and never will.' But surely there is dramatic power somewhere,-where Joanna Baillie, and Milman, and MEN. John Wilson exist. The "City of the Plague" arnd MARINO FALIERO, Doge of Venice. the "Fall of Jerusalem," are full of the best matdriel BERTUCCIO FALIERO, Nephew of the Doge. for tragedy that has been seen since Horace Walpole, LIoNI, a Patrician and Senator. except passages of " Ethwald " and " De Montfort."- BENINTENDE, Chief of the Council of Ten. It is the fashion to underrate Horace Walpole, firstly, MICHEL STENO, one of the three Capi of the Forty. because he was a nobleman, and secondly, because he ISRAEL BERTUCCIO, Chief of the Arsenal. was a gentleman; but, to say nothing of the composi- PHILIP CALENDARO, tion of his incomparable " Letters," and of the "Castle DAGOLINO, Conspirators. of Otranto," he is the "Ultimus Romanorum," the BERTRAND author of the " Mysterious Mother," a tragedy of the " Sinore di Notte one of the highest order, and not a puling love-play. He is the Signor of the Night, Officers belonging to the Re. father of the first romance, and of the last tragedy in rst public. our language, and surely worthy of a higher place than First Citizen any living writer, behe who he may. Second Citizen. In speaking of the drama of Marno Faliero, I forgot Third Citizen. to mention that the desire of preserving, though still too VINCENZO, remote, a nearer approach to unity than the irregulari- PITRO, L Oficers belonging to the Ducal Palace ty, which is the reproach of the English theatrical cor- BTTISTA, positions, permits, has induced me to represent the Secretary of the Council of Ten. conspiracy as already formed, and the Doge acceding Guards, Conspirators, Citizens, the Council of Ten, the to it, whereas, in fact, it was of his own preparation Giunta, etc., etc. and that of Israel Bertuccio. The other characters WOMEN. (except that of the duchess), incidents, and almost the ANGIOLINa, Wife to the Doge. time, which was wonderfully short for such a design in MARIANNA, her Friend. real life, are strictly historical, except that all the con- Female Attendants, etc. sultations took place in the palace. Had I followed this, the unity would have been better preserved; but Scene, VENICE-in the year 1355. I wished to produce the Doge in the full assembly of the conspirators, instead of monotonously placing him always in dialogue with the same individuals. For the M ARIINO FALIERO real facts, I refer to the extracts given in the Appendix in the Italian, with a translation. 1 " While I was in the sub-committee of Drury-Lane The- ACT I atre, I can vouch for my colleagues, and I hope for myself, that we did our best to bring back the legitimate drama. I SCENE I. tried what I could to get " De Montfort" revived, but in vain, and equally in vain in favour of Sotheby's " Ivan," whichucal Palace. was thought an acting play; and 1 endeavoured also to Wake PIETRO speaks, in entering, to BATTISTA. Mr. Coleridge to write a tragedy. Those who are not in the PIETRO. secret, will hardly believe that the "School for Scandal" is the play which has brought least money, averaging the num- Is not the messenger return'd? her of times it has been acted since its production;. so Mana- BATTISTA. ger Dibdin assured me. Of what has occurred since Matu- Not yet; rin's " Bertram." I am not aware; so that I may be traducing, I have sent frequently, as you commanded, through ignorance, some excellent new writers; if so, I beg their pardon. I have been absent from England nearly five But still the signory is deep in council years, and, till last-year, I never read an English newspaper And long debate on Steno's accusation. since my departure, and am now only aware of theatrical PIETRO. matters through the medium of the Parisian English Gazette of Galignani, and only for the last twelve months. Let me Too long-at least so thinks the Doge. then deprecate all offence to tragic or comic writers, to whom BATTISTA. I wish well, and of whom I know nothing. The long com- How bears he plaints of the actual state of the drama arise, however, from These moments of suspense? no fault of the performers. I can conceive nothing better PIETRO than Kemble, Cooke, and Kean,'in their very different manners, or than Elliston in gentleman's comedy, and in some With struggling patience. parts of tragedy. Miss O'Neill I never saw, having made Placed at the ducal table, cover'd o'er and kept a determination to see nothing which should divide With all the apparel of the state; petitions, or disturb my recollection of Siddons. Siddons and Kemble Despatches, udgents, acts, reprieves, reports, were tie ideal of tragic action; I never saw any thing at allespathes, udgments acts, reprieves, reports resembling them, even in person: for this reason we shall Ile sits as rapt in duty: but whene'er never see again Coriolanus or Macbeth. When Kean is He hears the jarring of a distant door, mlamed for want of dignity, we should remember that it is Or aughtthat intimates a coming step, a grace and not an art, and not to be attained by study. In -.l enot supernatural parts, he is perfect; even his very de- Or murmur of a voice, his quick eye wanders, fucts belong, or seem to belong, to the parts themselves, and And he will start up from his chair, then pause, appear truer to nature. But of Kemble we may say, with And seat himself again and fix his gaze reference to his acting, what the Cardinal de Retz said of the Marquis of Montrose, "that he was the only mai he ever Upon some edict; but I have observed saw who reminded him of.ne heroes of Plutarch." For the last hour he has not turn'd a leaf. MARINO FALIERO. 245 BATTISTA. VINCENZO. T is said he is much moved, and doubtless't was No, my lord; you know Foul scorn in Steno to offend so grossly. The secret customs of the courts in Venice. PIETRO. ~ BERTUCCIO FALIERO. Ay, if a poor man: Steno s a patrician, True; but there still is something given to guess. Young, galliard, gay, and haughty. Which a shrewd gleaner and quick eye would catch at, BATTISTA. A whisper, or a murmur, or an air Then you think More or less solemn spread o'er the tribunal. He will not be judged hardly. The Forty are but men-most worthy men, PIETRO. And wise, and just, and cautious-this I grant —'T were enough And secret as the grave to which they doom He be judged justly; but htis not for us - He be judged justly; but'tis not for us The guilty; but with all this, in their aspects — To anticipate the sentence of the Forty. At least in some, the juniors of the numberBATTISTA. A searching eye, an eye like yours, Vincenzo, And here it comes.-What news, Vincenzo? t setence ere it was pronounced. Xnter VI~cE~zo. Would read the sentence ere it was pronounced. Enter VINCENZO. ~~~~~VINCENZO. ~YINCENZO,r,, j Mylord, I came away upon the moment, Decided; but as yet his doom's unknown: And leis I saw the president in at to seal Which pass'd among the judges, even ili seeming, The parchment which will bear the Forty's judgment My station near the accused too, Michael Sten Unto the Doge, and hasten to inform him. Made me [Exeunt. DOGE (abruptly). And how look'd he? deliver that. VINCENZO. SCENE II. Calm, but not overcast, he stood resign'd The Ducal Chamber. To the decree, whate'er it were;-but lo! MARINO FALIERO, Doge; andlhisnephew, BERTUCCI Itcomes, for the perusal of his hignness. FALIERO. Enter the SECRETARY of the Forty. BERTUCCIO FALIERO. SECRETARY. It cannot be but they will do you justice. The high tribunal of the Forty sends DOGE. Health and respect to the Doge Faliero, Ay, such as the Avogadori did, Chief magistrate of Venice, and requests Who sent up my appeal unto the Forty His highness to peruse and to approve To try him by his peers, his own tribunal. The sentence pass'd on Michel Steno, born BERTUCCIO FALIERO. Patrician, and arraign'd upon the charge His peers will scarce protect him; such an act Contain'd, together with its penalty, Would bring contempt on all authority. Within the rescript which I now present. DOGE. DOGE. Know you not Venice? know you not the Forty? Retire,, and wait without.-Take thou this papel: But we shall see anon. [Exeunt SECRETARY and VINGECzo BERTUCCIO FALIERO (addressing VINCENZO, then The misty letters vanish from my eyes; entering). I cannot fix them. How now-what tidings? BERTUC.CIO FALIERO. VINCENZO. Patience, my dear uncle: I am charged to tell his highness that the court Why do you tremble thus?-nay, doubt not, all Has pass'd its resolution, and that, soon Will be as could be wish'd. As the due forms of judgment are gone through, DOGE. The sentence will be sent up to the Doge: Say on. In the mean time the Forty doth salute BERTUCCIO FALIERO (reading). The prince of the republic,.and entreat "Decreed His acceptation of their duty. In council, without one dissenting voice, DOGE. That Michel Steno, by his own confessJoni Yes- Guilty on the last night of carnival They are wondrous dutifil, and ever humble. Of having graven on the ducal throne Sentence is past, you say? The following words-" VINCENZO. DOGE, It is, your highness: Wouldst thou repeat h'l' The president was sealing it, when I Wouldst thou repeat them-t!olu, a Faliero, Was call'd in, that no moment might be lost Harp on the deep dishonour of our house, In forwarding the intimation due, Dishonour'd in its chief-that chief the prince Not only to the chief of the republic, Of Venice, first of cities?-To the sentence. But the complainant, both in one united. BERTUCCIO FALIRO. BERTUCCIO FALIERO. Forgive me, my good lord; I will obeyAre you aware, from aught you have perceived, (Reads) " That Michel Steno be detain'd a monwh Of their decision? In close arrest." 246 BYRON'S WORKS. DOGE. Will point the finger, and the haughty noble Proceed. May spit upon us: where is our redress? BERTUCCIO FALIERO. BERTUCCIO FALIERO. My lord,'t is finish'd. The law, my prince — DOGE. DOGE (interrupting him). H1w, say you?-finish'd! Do I dream?-'T is false- You see what it has done: Give me the paper-(Snatches the paper, and reads). I ask'd no remedy but from the law"'Tis decreed in council I sought no vengeance but redress by lawThat Michel Steno" Nephew, thine arm! I call'd no judges but those named by lawBERTUCCIO FALIERO. As sovereign, I appeal'd unto my subjects, Nay, The very subjects who had made me sovereign, Cheer up, be calm; this transport is uncall'd for- And gave me thus a double right to be so. Let me seek some assistance. The rights of place and choice, of birth and service, DOGE. Honours and years, these scars, these hoary hairs, Stop, sir-stir not- The travel, toil, the perils, the fatigues,'T is past. The blood and sweat of almost eighty years, BERTUCCIO FALIERO. Were weigh'd i' the balance,'gainst the foulest stain. I cannot but agree with you The grossest insult, most contemptuous crime The sentence is too slight for the offence: Of a rank, rash patrician-and found wanting! It is not honourable in the Forty And this is to be borne? To affix so slight a penalty to that BERTUCCIO FALIERO.. Which was a foul affront to you, and even I say not that: To them, as being your subjects; but'tis not In case your fresh appeal should be rejected, Yet without remedy; you can appeal We will find other means to make all even. To them once more,! or to the Avogadori, DOGE. Who, seeing that true justice is withheld, Appeal again! art thou my brother's son? Will now take up the cause they once declined, A scion of the house of Faliero? And do you right upon the bold delinquent. The nephew of a Doge? and of that blood Think you not thus, good uncle? why do you stand Which hath already given three dukes to Venice? So fix'd? you heed me not:-I pray you, hear me! But thou say'st well-we must be humble now. DOGE (dashing down the ducal bonnet, and offering BERTUCCIO FALIERO. to trample upon it, exclaims, as he is with- My princely uncle! you are too much moved:held by his nephew). I grant it was a gross offence; and grossly Oh, that the Saracen were in Saint Mark's! Left without fitting punishment; but still Thus would I do him homage. \ This fury doth exceed the provocation, BERTUCCIO FALIERO. Or any provocation: if we are wrong'd, For the sake We will ask justice; if it be denied, Of heaven and all its saints, my lord- We'11 take it; but may do all this in calmnessDOGE Deep vengeance is the daughter of deep silence. Away! I have yet scarce a third part of your years, Oh, that the Genoese were in the port! I love our house, I honour you, its chief, Oh that the Huns whom I o'erthrew at Zara The guardian of my youth,'and its instructorWere ranged' around the palace! But though I understand your grief, and enter BERTUCCIO FALIERO. In part of your disdain, it doth appal me'T is not well To see your anger, like our Adrian waves, In Venice Duke to say so. O'ersweep all bounds, and foam itself to air. DOGE. DOGE. Venice' Duke! I tell thee-must I tell thee-what thy father Who now is Duke in Venice? let me see him, Would have required no words to comprehend? That he may do me right. Hast thou no feeling save the external sense BERTUCCIO FALIERO. Of torture from the touch? hast thou no soulIf you forget No pride-no passion-no deep sense of honour? Your office, and its dignity and duty, BERTUCCIO FALIERO. Remember that of man, and curb this passion.'T is the first time that honour has been doubted, The Duke of Venice- And were the last, from any other sceptic. DOGE (interrupting him). DOGE. There is no such thing — You know the full offence of this born villain, it is a word-nay, worse-a worthless by-word: This creeping, coward, rank, acquitted felon, The most despised, wrong'd, outraged, helpless wretch, Who threw his sting into a poisonous libel, Who begs his bread, if'tis refused by one, And on the honour of-Oh, God!-my wife, May win it from another kinder heart; The nearest, dearest part of all men's honour, But he who is denied his right by those Left a base slur to pass from mouth to mouth Whose place it is to do no wrong, is poorer Of loose mechanics, with all coarse foul comments, Than tihe rejected beggar —he's a slave — And villanous jests, and blasphemies obscene; And that am I, and thou, and all our house, While sneering nobles, in more polish'd guise, Even from this hour; the meanest artisan Whisper'd the tale, and smiled upon the lie MARINO FALIERO. 217 Which made me look like them-a courteous wittol, The Forty hath decreed a month's arrestPatient-ay, proud, it may be, of dishonour. We must obey the Forty. BERTUCCIO FALIERO. BERTUCCIO FALIERO. But stil! it was a lie-you knew it false, Obey them! And so did all men. Who have forgot their duty to the sovereign I DOGE. DOGE. Nephew, the high Roman Why, yes;-boy, you perceive it then at last: Said " Caesar's wife must not even be suspected," Whether as fellow-citizen who sues And put her from him. For justice, or as sovereign who commands it, BERTUCCIO FALIERO. They have defrauded me of both my rights True-but in those days- (For here the sovereign is a citizen); DOGE. But, notwithstanding harm not thou a hair What is it that a Roman would not suffer, Of Steno's head-he shall not wear it long. That a Venetian prince must bear? Old Dandolo BERTUCCIO FALIERO. Refused the diadem of all the Caesars, Not twelve hours longer, had you left to me And wore the ducal cap I trample on, The mode and means: if you had calmly heard ms Because't is now degraded. I never meant this miscreant should escape, But wish'd you to repress such gusts of passion, is BERTUCC e FALE o. That we more surely might devise together'T is even so.'DOGE. en sHis taking off. It is-it is:-I did not visit on DOGE The innocent creature, thus most vilely slander'dNo, nephew, he must live; At least, just now-a life so vile as his Because she took an old tman for her lord, At leas, ustnow-a life so vile as his Becaus she took an old Tn for he' lord, Were nothing at this hour; in th' olden time For that he had been long her father's friend W n a t u i * *r 1cSome sacrifices ask'd a single victim; And patron of her house, as if there were ask a single victim,. * Great expiations had a hecatomb. No love in woman's heart but lust of youth Great expiations had a hecatomb. And beardless faces;-I did not for thisERTCCO FALIERO. Visit the villain's infamy on her, Your wishes are my law; and yet 1 fain Visit the villain's infamy on her, But craved my country's justice on his head, Would prove to you how near unto my heart But craved my country's justice on hs head, The justice due unto the humblest being The honour of our house must ever be. Who hath a wife whose faith is sweet to him, DOOE. RWho hiattl a home whose hearth is dear to him, Fear not; you shall have time and place of proof: Who hath a home whose hearth is dear to him, Who hath a name whose honour's all to him, But be not thou too rash, as I hav been. When these are tainted by the accursing breath I a ashamed of my own anger now; Of calumny and scorn. 1I pray you, pardon me. BERTUCCI0 FALIER~o BERTUCCIO FALIERO.BERTUCCIO FALIERO. And what redress Why, that's my uncle! Di4 you expect as his fit punishment? The leader, and the statesman, and the chief DOOepcahsfpu. t Of commonwealths, and sovereign of himself! DOGE. I wonder'd to perceive you so forget Death! Was I not the sovereign of the state — d' y All prudence in your fury, at these years, Insulted on his very throne, and madeh the cause IAlthough the cause A mockery to the men who should obey me? Was I not injured as a husband? scorn'd Ay, think upon the cause — As man? reviled, degraded, as a prince? Wa7 ntofcli hisX a. cmlao Forget it not:-when you lie down to rest, Was not offence like his a complication Of insult and of treason? atd he lives! ~Let it be black among your dreams; and when Of insult and of treason? and he lives! The morn returns, so let it stand between Had he, instead of on the Doge's throne, 0. s ~The sun and you, as an ill-omen'd cloud Stamp'd the same brand upon a peasant's stool, Upon a summer-day of festival: Hils blood had gilt the threshold, for the carle of festival: Had stabb'd haim ont the instant. So will it stand to me;-but speak not, stir not,Had stabb'd him on the instant. Leave all to me;-we shall have much to do, BERTUCCIO FALJERO. And you shall have a part.-But now retire, Do not doubt it:'T is fit I were alone. He shall not live till sunset-leave to me FALIRO. BERTUCCIO FALIER0o The means, and calm yourself. (Takitng up ead placing the ducal bonnet on the table) DOGE. - Ere I depart, Hold, nephew! this I pray you to resume what you have spurn'd, Would have sufficed but yesterday: at present Till you can change it hapy for a crown. I have no further wrath against this man. And now I take my leave, imploring you BERTUCCIO FALIERO. In all things to rely upon my duty What mean you? is not the offence redoubled As doth become your near and faithful kinsman, By this most rank-I will not say-acquittal, And not less loyal citizen and subject. For it is worse, being full acknowledgment [E;t BERTUCCIO FALIERO Of the offence, and leaving it unpunish'd? DOGE (so!us). DOGE. Adieu, my worthy nephew.-Hollow bauble! It is redoubled, but not now by him; [Taking up:he iucld e 248 BYRON'S WORKS. Beset with all the thorns that line a crown, Next moment with my sires; and, wanting thin, Without investing the insulted brow Better that sixty of my fourscore years With the all-swaying majesty of kings; Had been already where —how soon, I care not — Thou idle, gilded, and degraded toy, The whole must be extinguish'd; —better that Let me resume thee as I would a vizor. [Puts it on. They ne'er had been, than drag me on to be How my brain aches beneath thee I and my temples The thing these arch oppressors fain would make ne. Throb feverish under thy dishonest weight. Let me consider-of efficient troops Could I not turn thee to a diadem? There are three thousand posted atCould I not shatter the Briarean sceptre Enter VINCENZO and ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Which in this hundred-handed senate rules, VINCENZO. Making the people nothing, and the prince May it please A;pageant? In my life I have achieved Your highness, the same patron whom I spake of Tasks not less difficult-achieved for. them Is here to crave your patience. Who thus repay me!-Can I not requite them? DOGE. Oh, for one year! Oh, but for even a day Leave the chamber, Of my full youth, while yet my body served Vincenzo.My soul, as serves the generous steed his lord! [Exit VINCENZO. I would have dash'd amongst them, asking few Sir, you may advance-what would you 7 In aid to overthrow these swoln patricians; ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. But now I must look round for other hands Redress. To serve this hoary head; but it shall plan DOGE. In such a sort as will not leave the task Of whom? Herculean, though as yet't is but a chaos ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Of darkly-brooding thoughts: my fancy is Of God and of the Doge. In her first work, more nearly to the light DOGE. Holding the sleeping images of things, Alas! my friend, you seek it of the twain For the selection of the pausing judgment- Of least respect and interest in Venice. The troops are few in- You must address the council. Enter V] NCENZO. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. There is one without'T were in vain; Craves aud.nce of your highness. For he who injured me is one of them. DOGE. DOGE. I'm unwell — s nwell- There's blood upon thy face-how came it there? I can see no * ne, not even a patrician- ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Let him refer his business to the council. t hm r h b t t c.'T is mine, and not the first I've shed for Venice, ~YI~NCENZO. ~ But the first shed by a Venetian hand: My lord; I wvil deliver your reply; A noble smote me. It cannot much import-he's a plebeian, OGE. The master of a galley, I believe. Doth he live? DOOE, ^^ ~DOGE. IISRAEL BERTUCCIO. How! did you say the patron of a galley Not longThat is —I mean —a servant of the state: That is-I mean-a servant of the state: Bt't for the hope I had and have, that you, Admit him, he may be on public service. RMy prince, yourself a soldier, will redress DO[E;it VICENszo. Him, whom tie laws of discipline and Venice DOGE (solIU). Permit not to protect himself; if notThis patron may be sounded; I will try him, I know the people to be discontented I say no more. DOGE. They have cause, since Sapienza's adverse day, DOe But something you would doWhen Genoa conquer'd: they have further cause, s it not so Since they are nothing in the state, and in ISRAE- B'.n... 1. 1.- i — ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. The city worse than nothing-mere machines, ^,',,, ~ ~.~~.,'I am a man, my lord. -To serve the nobles' most patrician pleasure. DOGE. Ihe troops have long arrears of pay, oft promised hy so is he wo smote you And murmur deeply-any hope of change ISEL ET. Wifl draw them forward: they shall pay themselves i cl WVluh plunder:-but the priests-I doubt the priesthood e e e e in Vence Will not be with us; they have hated-me But since he hath forgotten that I am one, Since that rash hour, when, madden'd with the drone, th And treats me like a brute, the brute may turn — I smote the tardy bishop at Treviso,'T is said the worm wilt. Quickening his holy march: yet, nevertheless, DE. They may be won, atleast their chief at Reme, line Say his name and lineagt By some well-timed concessions; but, above IRAEL ETU'ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. AtI things, I must be speedy; at my hour tf twilight, little light of life remains. arar DOGE.:ould I free Venice, and avenge my wrongs, c~~~~adlve olog adilnwusepWhat wasv the cause, or the pretexi w vad rived too long, and willing;!j would sleep MARINO FALIERO. 249 ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. In the vile tune of every galley slave, I am the chief of the arsenal, employ'd Who, as he sung the merry stave, exulted At present in repairing certain galleys He was not a shamed dotard, like the Doge But roughly used by the Genoese last year. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO, This morning comes the noble Barbaro Is it possible? a month's imprisonment! Full of reproof, because our artisans No more for Steno? Had left some frivolous order of his house, DOGE. T') execute the state's decree: I dared You have heard the offence, Toa Jstify the men —he raised his hand;- And now you know his punishment; and then Behold my blood! the first time it c'er flow'd You ask redress of me! Go to the Forty, Dishonourably. Who pass'd the sentence upon Michel Steno; DOGE. They'ld o as much by Barbaro, no doubt. Have you long time served? ISRAEL BERTiTCCIO. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Ah! dared I speak my feelings! So long as to remember Zara's siege, DOGE. And fight beneath the chief who beat-the Huns there, Give them breath. Sometime my general, now the Doge Faliero.- Mine have no further outrage to endure. DOGE. DO'E..,,ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. How! are we comrades?-the state's ducal robes T Then, in a word, it rests but on your word Sit newly on me, and you were appointed To punish and avenge will not say To punish and avenge-r will not say Chief of the arsenal ere I came from Rome; My petty won for what is a mere blo So that I recognised you not. Who placed you? However vile, to such a thing as I am? ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. late Doge; ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.' But the base insult done your state and person. fhe late Doge; keeping still my old command DOGE. As pation of a galley: my new office D. You overrate my power, which is a pageant. Was given as the reward of certain scars..' i a p s was y p red or perae sca: This cap is not the monarch's crown; these robes (So was your predecessor pleased to say): Might move compassion, like a beggar's rags; I little thought his bounty would conduct me m, hse as, a* h s paiti~f Nay, more, a beggar's are his own, and these'To his successor as a helpless plaintiff, To h,~~~isn eucso aahepsslinifBut lent to the poor puppet, who must play At least, in such a cause. Atlat n uhacn e. Its part with a!l its empire in this ermine. DOGE. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Are you much hurt? -AE e yER c' Wouldst thou be king? ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. DOmE. Irreparably in my self-esteem. Do Yes-of a happy people. DO0E. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Speak out; fear nothing: being stung at heart, - ouldst thou be sovereign lord of Verice? What would you do to berevenged on this man? ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. DOGE. That which I dare not name, and yet will do. - y DOGE. - If that the people shared that sovereignty, Then wherefore came- you here? So that nor they nor I were further slaves ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. To this o'ergrown aristocratic hydra, I come for justice, The poisonous heads of whose envenom'd body Because my general is Doge, and will not Have breathed a pestilence upon us all. See his old soldier trampled on. Had any, ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Save Falicro, fill'd the ducal throne, Yet, thou wast born and still hast lived patrician. This blood had been wash'd out in other blood. DOGE. DOGE. In evil hour wvas I so born; my birth You come to me for justice-unto me! Hath made me Doge to be insulted: but The Doge of Venice, and I cannot give it; I lived and toil'd a soldier and a servan, I cannot even. obtain it —'twas denied Of Venice and her people, not the senate; To me most solemnly an hour ago. Their good and my own honour were my guerdon. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. I have fought and bled; commanded, ay, and conqur, a. How says your highness? Have made and marr'd peace oft in embassies, DOGE. ( As it might chance to be our country's'vantage; Steno is condemn'd Have traversed land and sea in constant duty, To a month's confinement. Through almost sixty years, and still for Venice, ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. My fathers' and my birth-place, whose'dear spite, What! the same who dared Rising at distance o'er the blue Lagoon, To stain the ducal throne with those foul words, It was reward enough for me to view That have cried shame to every ear in Venice? Once more; but not for any knot of men, DOGE. Nor sect, nor faction, did I bleed or sweat! Ay, doubtless they have echo'd o'er the arsenal, But would you know why I have done all this: Kee ping due time with every hammer's clink, Ask of the bleeding pelican why she As a good jest to jolly artisans; Hath ripp'd her bosom? Had the bird a voice, Or ma king chorus to the creaking oar, She'd tell thee't was for ad her little ones. Z 37 250 BYRON'S WORKS. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. DOGE. And vet they made thee Duke. For what then do they pause? DOGE. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. They made me so; An hour to strike. I sought it not; the flattering fetters met me DOGE (aside). Returning from my Roman embassy, Saint Mark's shall strike that hour! And never having hitherto refused ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Toil, charge, or duty for the state, I did not, I now have placed At these late years,: decline what was the highest My life, my honour, all my earthly hopes Of all in seeming, but of all most base Within thy power, but in the firm belief In what we have to do and to endure: That injuries like ours, sprung from one cause, Bear witness for me thou,.ly injured subject, Will generate one vengeance: should it be so, When Ican neither right myself nor thee. Be our chief now-our sovereign hereafter. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. DO DOGE. You shall do both, if you possess the will, How many are ye? And many thousands more not less oppress'd, RTCO. Who wait but for a signal-will you give it? I' not answer that DOGE. Till I am answer'd. You speak in riddles. DOGE. ISREL BERTU O. Iow, Sir! do you menace? Which shall soon be read, ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. At peril of my life, if you disdain not ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. To lend a patient ear. No; I affirm. I have betray'd myself; To lend a patient ear. But there's no torture in the mystic wells Dyon. Which undermine your palace, nor in those Not less appalling, cells, "the leaden roofs," ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Not thou, To force a single name from me of others. Not thou, Not thouX The Pozzi and the Piombi were in vain; Nor I alone, are injured and abused, Contemn'd and trampled on, but the whol people They might wring lood from e, ut trachery ne And I would pass the fearful'~ Bridge of Sighs," Groan with the strong conception of their wrongs: oous tht memut be the lt tht The foreign soldiers in the senate's pay st e the l ee pAre discontented for their lon arrears Would echo o'er the Stygian wave which flows Are discontented for their lonfi arrears; e natie mariners and ciic troos Between the murderers and the murder'd, washing The native mariners and civic troops Feel with their friends; for who is he amongst them The prison and the palace walls: there are Those who would live to think on't and avenge me, Whose brethren, parents, children, wives, or sisters, av e me Have not partook oppression, or pollution, DOGE. From the patricians? And the hopeless war If sl your power and purpose, why come here Against the Genoese, which is still maintain'd To sue f justice, being in the course With the plebeian blood, and treasure wrung To do yourself due right? From their hard earnings, has inflamed them further: ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Even now —but I foraet-that, speaking thus, Because the man l'erhaps I pass the seience of my death! Who claims protection from authority,'rTnOGE. Showing his confidence and his submission And, suffering what thoshast done, fear'st thou death? To that authority, can hardly be Be silent then, and live oi, to be beaten Suspected of combining to destroy it. By those for whom thou hast bled. Had I sate down too humbly with this blow, ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. A moody brow and mutter'd threats had made me No, I will speak A mark'd man to the Forty's inquisition? At every hazard; and if Venice' Doge But loud complaint, however angrily Shoald turn delator, be the shame on him, It shapes its phrase, is little to be fear'd, And sorrow too: for he will lose far more And less distrusted. But, besides all this,'I han 1. I had another reason. T'OOE - n~. T~DOGE.DGE kro.nr e fear nothing; out with it. What wasthat? ISRAEL BERTUCCtO. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Know, then, ihat there are met and sworn in secret Some rumours that the Doge was greatly moved A hand-of brethren, valiant hearts and true By the reference of the Avogadori Mllr, wvi, have proved all fortunes, and have long Of Michel Steno's sentence to the Forty Gru ved over that of Vence, arid have right Had reach'd me. I had served you, honour'd you, T'I' to so having served her in all climes, And felt that you were dangerously insulted, And having rescued her from foreign foes, Being of an order of such spirits as Would do the same from those within her walls. Requite tenfold both good and evil;'t was They ale not numerous, nor yet too few My wish to prove and urge you to redress. For the. great purpose; they have arms, and means, Now you know all; and that I speak the truth, -trd heaots and hopes. and faith and patient courage. My peril be the proof, MARINO FALIERO. 25 DOGE. Near to the church where sleep my sires; the same, You have deeply ventured; Twin-named frm the apostles John and Paul; Ilit all must do so who would greatly win: A gondola,2 with one oar only, will Thus far I'11 answer you-your secret's safe. Lurk in the narrow channel which glides by. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Be there. Arnl is this all? ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. DOGE. I will not fail. Unless with all entrusted, DOGE. What would you have me answer? And now retireISRAEL BERTUCCIO. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. I would have you In the full hope your highness will not falter Trust him who leaves his life in trust with you. In your great purpose. Prince, I take my leave. DOGE. [Exit ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. But I must know your plan, your names, and numbers; DOGE (solus). The last may then be doubled, and the former At midnight, by the church Saints John and Pau., Matured and strengthen'd. Where sleep my noble fathers, I repairISR^EL B~ERTCCI'O. To what? to hold a council in the dark We're enough already; With common ruffians leagued to ruin states! You are the sole ally we covet now. And will not my great sires leap from the vault, ID)~OGEO. tWhere lie two Doges who preceded me, liut bring me to the lnowledge of your chiefs.,I And pluck me down amongst them? lWould they could. But br'ng me to the knowledge of your chiefs. -" ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. For I should rest in honour with the honour'd. That shall be done, upon your formal pledge Alas I must not think of them, but those To keep the faith that we will pledge to you.ho have made me thus unworthy of a name, nD~~OGE~. Noble and brave as aught of consular When? where? On Roman marbles: but I will redeem it ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Back to its antique lustre in our annals, This night t11 bring to your apartment By sweet revenge on all that's base in Venice, Two of the principals; a greater number And freedom to the rest, or leave it black Were hazardous. To all the growing calumnies of time, DOGE. Which never spare the fame of him who fails; Stay, I must think of this. But try the Caesar, or the Catiline, What if I were to trust myself amongst you, By the true touchstone of desert-success. And leave the palace? ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. T You must come alone. DOGE. SCENE I. With but my nephew. An Apartment in the Ducal Palace. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. ANGIOLINA (wife of the Doge) and MARIANAS, Not were he your son. ANGIOLINA. DOGE. What was the Doge's answer? Wretch! darest thou name my son? He died in arms, BNNA. At Sapienza, for this faithless state. That he was Oh! that he were alive, and I in ashes! m a conference; That moment summon'd to a conference; Or that he were alive ere I be ashes! Or that he were aive r be ashes! But't is by this time ended. I perceived I should not need the dubious aid of strangers. Not lon ago the senators embarkin ISRAE L BERTUCCIO. ~~ISRAEL BER~~tTCCAnd the last gondola may now be seen Not one of all those strangers whom thou doubtest st g a my n b But will reard thee wih fl f, Gliding into the throng of barks which stud But will regard thee with a filial feeling, The glittering waters. So that thou keep'st a father's faith with them.e litng wa ANGIOLINA. DOGE. WVVould he were return'd! The die is cast. Where is the place of meeting? He has been much disquieted of late; ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. ISRAEL BERTUCCsO. And Time, which has not tamed his fiery spirit At midnight I will be alone and mask'di A dher'er, your hihnss plass to drect mem Nor yet enfeebled even his mortal frame, Where'er your highness pleases to di-rect me, Which seems to-be more noirishd by a soul. "? \ J L Which seems to-be more nolirish'd by a soul To wait your coning, and conduct you where Yuu shall receive our homae, So quick and restless that it would consume You shall receive our homage, ar1 pronounce Upon our llruject. Less hardy clay-Time has but little power o our projOect. F. On his resentments or his griefs. Unlike At what hcur arises To other spirits of his order, who, Fhe moon? In the first burst of passion, pour away ISR a4p BERTUCCIO. Their wrath or sorrow, all things wear in him Late oit the atmosphere is thick and dusky; An aspect of eternity: his thoughts, P s a sirocco. His feelings, passious, good or evil, all DOGE. Have nothing of old age; and his boii brow At tne midnight hour, then, Bears but the scars of mind, me tncugnts ef veai 252 BYRON'S WORKS. Not their decrepitude: and he of late And not the quality they prize; the first Has been more agitated than his wont. Have found it a hard task to hold their honour, Would he were come! for I alone have power If they require it to be blazon'd forth; Upon his troubled spirit. And those who have not kept it seek its seening MARIANNA. As they would look out for an ornament It is true, Of which they feel the want, but not because His highness has of late been greatly moved They think it so; they live in others' thoughts, By the affront of Steno, and with cause; And would seem honest as they must seem fair. But the offender doubtless even now MIARIANNA. Is doom'd to expiate his rash insult with You have strange thoughts for a patrician dame. Such chastisement as will enforce respect ANGIOLINA. To female virtue, and to noble blood. And yet they were my father's; with his name. ANGIOLINA. The sole inheritance he left.'T was a gross insult; but I heed it not MARIANNA. For the rash scorner's falsehood in itself, You want none; But for the effect, the deadly deep impression Wife to a prince, the chief of the republic. Which it has made upon Faliero's soul, ANGIOLINA. The proud, the fiery, the austere-austere I should have sought none, though a peasant's bride, To all save me: I tremble when I think But feel not less the love and gratitude To what it may conduct. Due to my father, who bestow'd my hand MARIANNA. Upon his early, tried, and trusted friend, Assuredly The Count Val di Marino, now our Doge. The Doge cannot suspect you? MARIANNA. ANGIOLINA. And with that hand did he bestow your heart? Suspect me! ANGIOLINA. Why Steno dared not: when he scrawl'd his lie, He did so, or it had not been bestow'd. Grovelling by stealth in the moon's glimmering light, MARIANNA. His own still conscience smote him for the act, Yet this strange disproportion in your years, And every shadow on the walls frown'd shame And, let me add, disparity of tempers, Upon his coward calumny. Might make the world doubt whether such an union MARIANNA. Could make you wisely, permanently happy.'T were fit ANGIOLINA. He should be punish'd grievously. The world will think with worldlings: but my heart ANGIOLINA. Has still been in my duties, which are many, He is so. But never difficult. MARIANNA. MARIANNA. What! is the sentence pass'd? is he condemn'd? And do you love him? ANGIOLINA. ANGIOLINA. I know not that, but he has been.detected. I love all noble qualities which merit MARIANNA. Love, and I loved my father, who first taught me And deem you this enough for such foul scorn? To single out what we should love in others, ANGIOLINA. And to subdue all tendency to lend l would not be a judge in my own cause, The best and purest feelings of our nature NJor do I know what sense of punishment To baser passions. He bestow'd my hand May reach the soul of ribalds such as Steno; Upon Falero: he had known him noble, But if his insults sink no deeper in Brave, generous, rich in all the qualities The minds of the inquisitors than they - Of soldier, citizen, and friend; in all Have ruffled mine, he will, for all acquittance, Such have I found him as my father said. Be left to his own shamelessness or shame. His faults are those that dwell in the high bosoms MARIANNA. Of men who have commanded; too much pride, Some sacrifice is due to slander'd virtue. And the deep passions fiercely foster'd by ANGIOLINA. The uses of patricians, and a life Why, what is virtue if it needs a victim? Spent in the storms of state and war; and also Or if it mast depend upon men's words? From the quick sense of honour, which becomes The dying Roman said, "'t was but a name:" A duty to a certain sign, a vice It were indeed no more, if human breath When overstrain'd, and this I fear in him. Could make or mar it. And then he has been rash from his youth upwards MARIANNA. Yet temper'd by redeeming nobleness Yet full many a dame, In such sort, that the wariest of republics Stainless and faithful, would feel all the wrong Has lavished all its chief employs upon him, Of such a slanders and less rigid ladies, From his first fight to his last embassy, Such as abound il Venice, would be loud From which on his return the dukedom met him. 4no arl-inexorable in their cry MARIANNA. vnr!lstic4. But, previous to this marriage, had your heart ANGIOLINA. Ne'er beat for any of the noble youth, This but proves it is the naine Such as in years had been more meet to match MARINO FALIERO. Beauty like yours? or since have you ne'er seen ANGIOLINA. One, who, if your fair hand were still to give, I thought the Duse had held command in Venice. Might now pretend to Loredano's daughter? DOGE. ANGIOLINA. He shall.-But let that pass.-We will be jocuna. I answer'd your first question when I said How fares it with you? have you been abroad? I married. The day is overcast, but the calm wave MARIANNA. Favours the gondolier's light skimming oar; And the second? Or have you hdld a levee of your friends? ANGIOLINA. Or has your music made you solitary? Needs no answer. Say-is there aught that you would will within MARIANNA. QThe little sway now left the Duke? or aught I pray you pardon, if I have offended. Of fitting splendour, or of honest pleasure, ANGIOLINA. Social or lonely, that would glad your heart, I feel no wrath, but some surprise: I knew not To compensate for many a dull hor, wasted That wedded bosoms could permit themselves On an old man oft movedwih many cares? To ponder upon what they now might choose, Speak, and'tis done. Or aught, save their past choice. ANOIOLINA. MARIANNA. You're ever kind to me-'T is their past choice Lave nothing to desire, or to request, That fay too often makes them deem they would Except to see you oener and calmer. Now choose more wisely, could they cancel it. DOGE. ANGIOLINA. Calmer? It may be so. I knew not of such thoughts. ANGIOLINA. MARIANNA. Ay, calmer, my good lord.-Ah, why Here comes the Doge-shall I retire? Do you still keep apart, and walk alone, ANGIOLINA. And let such strong emotions stamp your brow, It may As, not betraying their full import, yet Be better you should quit me; he seems wrapt Disclose too much? In thought.-How pensively he takes his way-! DOGE. {[Exwit MARIANNA. Disclose too much!-of what') Enter the DOGE aend PIETRO. What is there to disclose? DOGE (musing). ANGIOLINA. There is a certain Philip Calendaro A heart so ill Now in the arsenal, who holds command At ease. Of eighty men, and has great influence DOGE. Besides on all the spirits of his comrades.'T is nothing, child.-But in the state This man, I hear, is bold and popular, You know what daily cares oppress all those Sudden and daring, and yet secret:'t would Who govern this precarious commonwealth; Be well that he were won: I needs must hope Now suffering from the Genoese without, That Israel Bertuccio has secured him, And malcontents within-'t is this which makes ne But fain would be — More pensive ard less tranquil than my wont. PIETRO. ANGIOLINA. My lord, pray pardon me Yet this existed long before, and never For breaking in upon your meditation; Till in these late days did I see you thus. The Senator Bertuccio, your kinsman, Forgive me: there is something at your heart Charged me to follow and inquire your pleasure More than the mere discharge of public duties, To fix'an hour when he may speak with you. Which long use and a talent like to yours DOGE. Have rendered light, nay, a necessity, At sunset.-Stay a moment-let me see- To keep your mind from stagnating.'T is not Say in the second hour of night. [Exit PIETRO. In hostile states, nor perils, thus to shake you; ANGIOLINA. You, who have stood all storms and never sunk My lord! My lord! And climb'd up to the pinnacle of power, DOGE. My dearest child, forgive me-~why delay And never fainted by the way, and stand My dearest child, forgive me-why delay X^ i.- IT * Upon it, and can look down steadily So long approaching me?-I saw you not. Upon it, and can look down steadily ANGIOLINA. Along the depth beneath, and ne'er feel dizzy. Were Genoa's galleys riding in the port, You were absorb'd in thought, and he who now Genoa's galleys riding in the port, Has parted from you might have words of weight civil fury raging in Saint ark's To bear you from the senate. - You are not to be wrought on, but would fall, To bear you from the senate. DI)~OCGE. ^As you have risen, with an unalter'd brow: From the senate? Your feelings now are of a different kind; Fr om the senate? ANG1OLINA. Something has stung your pride, net patriotism. I would not interrupt him in his duty DOGE. Ald theirs. Pride! Angiolina? Alas! none is left me DOGE. ANCIOLINA. The senate's duty! you mistake; Yes-the same sin that overthrew the langels,'T is we who owe all service to the senate. And of all sins most easily besets z 2 "54 BYRON'S WORKS. Mortals the nearest to the angelic nature: In ours?-But let thenm ioo6 to it who have saved him. The vile are only vain; the great are proud. ANGIOLINA. DOGE. Heaven bids us to forgive our enemies. I had the pride of honour, of your honour, DOGE. Deep at my heart-But let us change the theme. Doth Heaven forgive her own? Is Satan saved ANGIOLINA. From wrath eternal? Ah no!-As I have ever shared your kindness ANGIOLINA. In all things else, let me not be shut out Do not speak thus wildlyFrom your distress: were it of public import, Heaven will alike forgive you and your foes. You know I never sought, would never seek DOGE. To win a word from you; but feeling now Amen! May Heaven forgive them. Your grief is private, it belongs to me ANGIOLINA. To lighten or divide it. Since the day And will you When foolish Steno's ribaldry, detected, DOGE. Yes, when they are in heaven I Unfix'd your quiet, you are greatly changed, NGIOINA. And I would soothe you back to what you were. And not till then?: DOGE. To what I was!-Have you heard Steno's sentence What matters my forgiveness? an old man's, No. - ANGJOLINA. Worn out, scorn'd, spurn'd, abused; what matters theo My pardon more than my resentment? both ADOGE. m' a Being weak and worthless? I have lived too long. A month's arrest. But let us change the argument.-My child! ANGIOLINA. My injured wife, the child of Loredano, Is it not enough T IDoes:it. eng The brave, the chivalrous, how little deem'd in!-Ys for a dru n g y s, Thy father, wedding thee unto his friend, Enough! —Yes, for a drunken galley slave, E. —.nough! efau nly e That he was linking thee to shame!-Alas Who, stung by stripes, may murmur at his master; amewithout sin, for thou art faultless. Hadst Shame without sin, for thou art faultless. Hadst:un. But not for a deliberate, false, cool villain, Buthaddifferenthusband, husband I ~ ho s iadsdpnsBut had a different husband, any husband Who stains a lady's and a prince's honour, Who s1.tains 1 a X ~ lad d pc's In Venice save the Doge, this blight, this brand, Even on the throne of his authority. This blasphemy had never fallen upon thee. ANGIOLINA. hAee s t' en IOLINA. t c So young, so beautiful, so good, so pure, There seems to be enough in the conviction.. - r ^i.. "To suffer this, and yet be unavenged! Of a patrician guilty of a falsehood: ANGIOLINA. All other punishment were light unto AJ Ni All other punishment were light unto I am too well avenged, for you still love me, His loss of honour. is loss of honoAnd trust, and honour me; and all men know DOesE. Suc mn hv n That you are just, and I am true: what more Such men have no honour; Could I require, or you command? They have but their vile lives-and these are spared. C I IOGE. ANGIOLINA. IT is well fou would not have him die for this offence? And may e better; but whateer betide, DOGE. Be thou at least kind to my memory. Not now:-being still alive, I'd have him live ANGIOLINA Long as he can; he has ceased to merit death; Why speak you thus? The guilty saved hath damn'd his hundred judges, DOGE. And he is pure, for now his crime is theirs. It is no matter why; ANGIOLINA. But I would still, whatever others think, O! had this false and flippant libeller Have your respect both now and in my grave. Shed his young blood for his absurd lampoon, ANGIOLINA. Ne'er from that moment could this breast have known Why should you doubt it? has it ever fail'd? A joyous hour, or dreamless slumber more. o DOGE. DOGE. Come hither, child; I would a word with you. Does not the law of Heaven say blood for blood? Your father was my friend; unequal fortune And he who taints kills more than he who sheds it. Made him my debtor for some courtesies, Is it the pain of blows, or shame of blows, Which bind the good more firmly: when opprew That makes such deadly to the, sense of man? With his last malady, he will'd our union: Do not the laws of man say blood for honour? ~ t was not to repay me, long repaid And less than honour, for a little gold? Before by his great loyalty in friendship; Say not the laws of nations blood for treason? His object was to place your orphan beauty Is't nothing to have fill'd these veins with poison In honourable safety from the perils For their once healthful current? is it nothing Which, in this scorpion nest of vice, assail To have stain'd your name and mine? the noblest names? A lonely and undower'd maid. I did not is't nothing to have brought into contempt Think with him, but would not oppose the thouglr A pnnce before his people 1 to have fail'd Which soothed his death-bed. In the respect accorded by mankind ANGIOLINA. io youth in woman, and old age in man? I have not forgottep To virtue in your sex, and dignity The nobleness with which you bade me sneak, MARINO FALIERO. 25 If my young heart held any preference And not a doting hormlage-friendship, faithWhich would have made me happier; nor your offer Such estimation in yotu eyes as these To make my dowry equal to the rank Might claim, I hoped for. Of aught in Venice, and forego all claim ANGIOLINA. My father's last injunction gave you. And have ever had. DOGE. DOGE. Thus, I think so. For the difference in our years, XT was not a foolish dotard's vile caprice, You knew it, choosing me, and chose: I trusted Nor the false edge of aged appetite, Not to my qualities, nor would have faith Which made me covetous of girlish beauty, In such, nor outward ornaments of nature, And a young bride; for in my fieriest youth Were I still in my five-and-twentieth spring: I sway'd such passions; nor was this my age, I trusted to the blood of Loredano, Infected with that leprosy of lust Pure in your veins; I trusted to the soul Which taints the hoariest years of vicious men, God gave you-to the truths your father taught vo — Making them ransack to the very last To your belief in heaven-to your mild virtuesThe dregs of pleasure for their vanish'd joys; To your own faith and honour, for my own. Or buy in selfish marriage some young victim, s ANGIOLINA. Too helpless to refuse a state that's honest, You have done well.-I thank you for that trust, Too feeling not to know herself a wretch. Which I have never for one moment ceased Our wedlock was not of this sort; you had To honour you the more for. Freedom from me to choose, and urged in answer DOGE. Your father's choice. Where is honour, ANGIOLINA. Innate and precept-strengthen'd,'tis the rock I did so; I would do so Of faith connubial; where it is not-where. In face of earth and heaven; for I have never Light thoughts are lurking or the vanities Repented for my sake; sometimes for yours, Of worldly pleasure rankle in the heart In pondering o'er your late disquietudes. Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know,D OGEv.'Twere hopeless for humanity to dream I knew my heart would never treat you harshly; Of honesty in such infected bloo X Of honesty in such infected blood, I knew my days could not disturb you long; Ind k en my day l notm d ri r leng, Although't were wed to him it covets most: And then the daughter of my earliest friend, incarnation of the poet's god ~..,.n iii ^ i ~ An incarnation of the poet's god His worthy daughter, free to choose again, r3. i,~~~~ b ~ In all his marble-chiseli'd beauty, or Wrealthier and wiser, in the ripest bloom Thedemi-deity,Alcides,in Of womanhood, more skilful to select His majesty of sueruman manhood, By passing these probationary years; By passing these probationary years; Would not suffice to bind where virtue is not; Inheriting a prince's name and riches; Z)rm a ~ nam and riches;It is consistency which forms and proves it Secured, by the short penance of enduring Vice cannot fix and virtue cannot change. An old man for some summers, against all T That law's chicane or envious kinsmen might must e v For vice must have variety, while virtue Have urged against her right: my best friend's child S l Stands like the sun, and all which rolls aroun]. Would choose more fitly in respect of years, ~ Would choose more fitly in respect of years, Drinks life, and light, and glory from her asl ect. And not less truly in a faithful heart. ANGIOLINA. ANGIOLINA. And seeing, feeling thus this truth in others. My lord, I look'd but to my father's wishes, (I pray you pardon me), but herere you (I pray you pardon me), but wherefore yicit you Hallow'd by his last words, and to my heart To the most fierce of ftal assons an For doing all its duties, and replying Disquiet your great thoughts, with restless hate With faith to him with whom I was affianced.? Ambitious hopes ne'er cross'd my dreams; and, should DOG E. The hour you speak of come, it will be seem so. You mistake me. DOGE. It is not Steno who could move me thus; I do believe you; and I know you true: - Had it been so, he should- but let that pass. For love, romantic love, which in my youth ANGIOL'NA. I knew to be illusion, and ne'er saw What is't you feed so deeply, then, even i ow " Lasting, but often fatal, it had been 1-OGE. No lure for me, in my most passionate days, The violated majesty of V enic\ And could not be so now, did such exist. At once insulted in her lord and laws. But such respect, and mildly paid regard ANGIOLINA. As a true feeling for. your welfare, and Alas! why will you thus consider it? A free compliance with all honest wishes; DOGE. A kindness to your virtues, watchfulness I have thought on't till-but let me lead vou bane Not shown, but shadowing o'er such little failings To what I urged' a'! these things being noted, As youth is apt in; so as not to check I wedded you; the world then did me justice Rashly, but win you from them ere you knew Upon the motive, and my conduct proved You had been won, but thought the change your choice; They did me right, while your was all to oraiso A pride not in your beauty, but your conduct.- You had all freedom- -all respect-all trust A trust in you-a patriarchal love, From me and mine; and, born of those wh.c. munao 056 BYRON'S WORKS. Princes at home, and swept kings from their thrones The state; then live to save her still. A day, On foreign shores, in all things you appear'd Another day like that wouldbe the best Worthy to be our first of native dames. Reproof to them, and sole revenge for you. ANGIOLINA. DOGE. To what does this conduct? But one such day occurs within an age, DOGE. My life is little less than one, and'tis To thus much-that Enough for Fortune to have granted once, A miscreant's angry breath may blast it all- That which scarce one more favour'd citizen A villain whom, for his unbridled bearing, May win in many states and years. But why Even In the midst of our great festival, Thus speak I? Venice has forgot that dayI caused to be conducted forth, and taught Then why should I remember it?-Farewell, Ilow to demean himself in ducal chambers; Sweet Angiolina! I must to my cabinet; A wretch like this may leave upon the wall There's much for me to do-and the hour hastens The blighting venom of his sweltering heart, ANGIOLINA. And this shall spread itself in general poison; Remember what you were. And woman's innocence, man's honour, pass DOGE. Into a by-word; and the doubly felon It were in vain; (Who first insulted virgin modesty Joy's recollection is no longer joy, By a gross affront to your attendant damsels, While sorrow's memory is a sorrow still.' Amidst the noblest of our dames in public) ANGIOLINA. Requite himself for his most just expulsion, At least, whate'er may urge, let me implore By blackening publicly his sovereign's consort, That you will take some little pause of rest: And be absolved by his upright compeers. Your sleep for many nights has been so turbid, ANGIOLINA. That it had been relief to have awaked you, But he has been condemn'd into captivity. Had I not hoped that nature would o'erpower DOGE. At length the thoughts which shook your slumbers thus. For such as him, a dungeon were acquittal; An hour of rest will give you to your, toils And his brief term of mock-arrest will pass With fitter thoughts and freshen'd strength. Within a palace. But I.'ve done with him; DOGE. The rest must be with you. I cannotANGIOLINA. I must not, if I could; for never was -With me, my lord? Such reason to be watchful: yet a fewDOGE. Yet a few days and dream-perturbed nights, Yes, Angiolina. Do not marvel; I And I shall slumber well-but where?-no matter. Have let this prey upon me till I feel Adieu, my Angiolina. My life ctnnot be long; and fain would have you ANGIOLINA. Regard the injunctions you will find within Let me be This scroll. ( Giving her a paper)-Fear not; they An instant-yet an instant your companion; are for your advantage: I cannot bear to leave you thus. Read them hereafter, at the fitting hour. DOGE. ANGIOLINA. Come then, My lord, in life, and after life, you shall My gentle child-forgive me; thou wert made Bie honour'd still by me: but may your days For better fortunes than to share in mine, Be many y(t-and happier than the present! Now darkling in their close toward the deep vale This passior will give way, and you will be Where Death sits robed in his all-sweeping shadow. Serene, and what you should be-what you were. When I am gone-it may be sooner than DOGE. Even these years warrant, for there is that stirring I will be what I should be, or be nothing; Within-above-around, that in this city But never more-oh! never, never more, Will make the cemeteries populous O'er the few days or hours which yet await As e'er they were by pestilence or war,The blighted old age of Faliero, shall When I am nothing, let that which I was Sweet quiet shed her sunset! Never more Be still, sometimes a name on thy sweet lips, Those summer shadows rising from the past A shadow in thy fancy, of a thing Of a not ill-spent nor inglorious life, Which would not have thee mourn it, but remember; Mellowing the last hours as the night approaches, Let us begone, my child-the time is pressing. Shall soothe me to my moment of long rest. [Exeunt. I had but little more to ask, or hope, Save the regards due to the blood and sweat, And the soul's labour through which I have toil'dSCENE II. To mIake mv country honour'd. As her servant- retired spot near'te Arsenal. Hfer servant, tnough her chief —Iwould have gone Down to my iatuers with a name serene ISRAEL BERTUCCIO and PHILIP CALENDARQ. And t(ire as theirs; but this has been denied me.- CALENDARO. Woull I lad diea at Zara! How sped you, Israel, in your late complaint? ARG IOLINA. ISRAEL PERTUCCIO. There you saved Why, well. MARINO FALIERO. 25" CALENDARO. CALENDARO. Is't possible? will he be punish'd? These brave words have breathed new life ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Into my veins; I am sick of these protracted Yes. And hesitating councils: day on day CALENDARO. Crawl'd on, and added but another link NVith what? a mulet or an arrest? To our long fetters, and some fresher wrong ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Inflicted on our brethren or ourselves, With death!- Helping to swell our tyrants' bloated strength. CALENDARO. Let us but deal upon them, and I care not Now you rave, or must intend revenge, For the result, which must be death or freedom! Such as I counsell'd you, with your own hand. I'm weary to the heart of finding neither. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Yes; and for one sole draught of hate, forego We will be free in life or death! the grave The great redress we meditate for Venice, Is chainless. Have you all the musters ready? And change a life of hope for one of exile; And are the sixteen companies completed Leaving one scorpion crush'd, and thousands stinging To sixty? My friends, my family, my countrymen! CALENDARO. No, Calendaro; these same drops of blood, All savetwo, in which there are Shed shamefully, shall have the whole of his Twenty-five wanting to make up the number. For their requital-but not only his; ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. We will not strike for private wrongs alone: No matter; we can do without. Whose are they? Such are for selfish passions and rash men, CALENDARO. But are unworthy a tyrannicide. Bertram's and old Soranzo's, both of whom CALENDARO. Appear less forwardin the cause than we are. You have more patience than I care to boast. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Had I been present when you bore this insult, Your fiery nature makes you deem all those I must have slain him, or expired myself Who are not restless, cold: but there exists In the vain effort to repress my wrath. Oft in concentred spirits not less daring ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Than in more loud avengers. Do not doubt them. Thank Heaven you were not-all had else been marr'd: CALENDARO. As'tis, our cause looks prosperous still. I do not doubt the elder; but in Bertram CALENDARO. There is a hesitating softness, fatal You saw To enterprise like ours: I've seen that man The Doge-what answer gave he? Weep like an infant o'er the misery ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Ot others, heedless of his own, though greater; That there was And, in a recent quarrel, I beheld him No punishment for such as Barbaro. Turn sick at sight of blood, although a villain's. CALENDARO. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. I toia you so before, and that't was idle The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, To think of justice from such hands. And feel for what their duty bids them do. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. I have known Bertram-long; there doth not breahe At least, A soul more full of honour. It lull'd suspicion, showing confidence. CALENDARO. IHad I been:t, not a sbirro but It may be so, Had kept mein his eye, as meditating I apprehend less treachery than weakness; A sitent, solitary, deep revenge. Yet, as he has no mistress, and no wife CALENDARO. To work upon his milkiness of spirit, But wherefore not address you to the Council? He may go through the ordeal; it is well The Doge is a mere puppet, who can scarce He is an orphan, friendless save in us: Obtain right for himself. Why speak to him? A woman or a child had made him less ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Than either in resolve. You shall know that hereafter. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. CALENDARO. Such ties are not Why not now? For those who are called to the high destinies ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Which purify corrupted commonwealths; Be patient but till midnight. Get your musters, We must forget all feelings save the oneAnd bid your friends prepare their companies:- We must resign all passions save our purpose- - Set all in readiness to strike the blow, We must behold no object save our countryPerhaps in a few hours-; we have long waited And only look on deah as beautiful, For a fit time-that hour is on the dial, So that the sacrifice ascend to heaven, It may be, of to-morrow's sun: delay And draw down freedom on her evermore, Beyond may breed us double danger. See CALENDARO. That all be punctual at our place of meeting, But, if we fail?And arm'd, excepting those of the Sixteen, ISRAEL BERTUCCIO Who will remain among the troops to wait They never fail who ale The signal. In a great cause: the block may soak their gotre 22. 253 BYRON'S WORKS. Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs CALENDARO., Be strung to city gates and castle walls- A stranger! doth he know the secret? But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Eiapse, and others share as dark a doom, Yes. They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts CALENDARO. Which o'erpower all others, and conduct And have you dared to peril your friends' lives The world at last to freedom. What were we, On a rash confidence in one we know not? If Brutus had not lived' He died in giving ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Rome liberty, but left a deathless lesson- I have risk'd no man's life except my ownA name which is a virtue, and a soul Of that be certain: he is one who may Which multiplies itself throughout all time, Make our assurance doubly sure, according When wicked men wax mighty, and a state His aid: and, if reluctant, he no less rurns servile: he and his high friend were styled Is in our power: he comes alone with me, " The last of Romans!" Let us be the first And cannot'scape us; but he will not swerve, Of true Venetians, sprung from Roman sires. CALENDARO. CALENDARO.'I cannotjudge of this until I know him: Our fathers did not fly from Attila Is he one of our order? Into these isles, where palaces have sprung ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. On banks redeem'd from the rude ocean's ooze, Ay, in spirit, To own a thousand despots in his place. Although a child of greatness; he is one Better bow down before the Hun, and call Who would become a throne, or overthrow oneA Tartar lord, than these swoln silk-worms masters! One who has done great deeds, and seen great changes, The first at least was man, and used his sword No tyrant, though bred up to tyranny; As sceptre: these unmanly creeping things Valiant in war, and sage in council; noble Command our swords, and rule us with a word In nature, although haughty; quick, yet wary: As with a spell. Yet, for all this, so full of certain passions, ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. ISRAEL BERTITCCI. That if once stirr'd and baffled, as he has been It shall be broken soon. Upon the tenderest points, there is no Fury You say that all things are in readiness; In Grecian story like to that which wrings Mo-nday I hlcave not been the usual round, His vitals with her burning hands, till he And why thou knowest; but thy vigilance Grows capable of all thi for revene Will better have supplied my care: these orders And add too that his mind is liberal In recent council to redouble now He sees and feels the people are oppress'd, Our efforts to repair the galleys, have And shares their sufferings. Take him all in all, Lent a fair colour to the introduction We have need of such, and such have need of us.')f many of our cause into the arsenal, CALENDARO. As new artificers for their equipment, CL:'' As new artificers for their equipment, And what part would you have him take with us? Or fresh recruits obtain'd in haste to man ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. The hoped-for fleet.-Are all supplied with arms? It m be, that of chefL It may be, that of chief. CALENDARO CALENDARO. Ab who were deem'd trust-worthy: there are some W r What! and resign Whom it were we. to keep in ignorance Y on c and as lad t. I -i i i. i i Your own command as leader? Till it be time to strike, and then supply them; ISRAEL EERTUCCIn. When nm the heat and hurry of the hour Even so. They have no opportunity to pause; They have no opportunity to pause;.My object is to make your cause end well, But needs must on with those who will surround them. I"S ~RAEL BERTUCC. And not to push myself to power. Experience, ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. wIS AvE you remk asI Some skill, and your own choice, had mark'd me cat Yiou have said well.-Have you remark'd all such?. To act in trust as your commander, till CALENDARO. C ALENDA.'c Some worthier should appear: if I have found suok I've noted most: and caused the other chiefs As you yourselves shall own more worthy, think yoes To use like caution in their companies. T I i r i That I would hesitate from selfishness, As far as I have seen, we are enough,, ^ -i -' And, covetous of brief authority, To make the enterprise secure, if't is To make the enterprise'sc, ifue. ifis Stake our deep interest on my single thoughts, Commenced to-morrow; but till'tis begun,.... 1...~ ~Rather than yield to one above me in Each hour is pregnant with a thousand perils. a a li o a in -t * ~ * All leading qualities? No, C alendaro, ISRAEL.BETRTJCCIO. IS L e t the wnte hu Know your friend better; but you all shall judge.Let the Sixteen meet at the wonted hour, Except Sorazo, Ncoletto Blondo,1 X Away! and let us meet at the fix'd hour. Except Soranzo, Nicoletto Blondo, Be vigilant, and all will yet go well. And Marco Giuda, who will keep their watch Be vlant and all wiet go well. Withil the arsenal, and hbld all ready, CALENDARO. Expectant of the signal we will fix on. Worthy Bertuccio, I have known you ever CALENDARo. Trusty and brave, with head and heart to plan We will lot fail What I have still been prompt to execute. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. For my own part, I seek no other chief; Let al the rest'be there: What the rest will decide I know not, but I hate. stranger to present to them. I am with YOU, as I have ever been, MARINO FALIERO. 2,,9 In all our undertakings. Now farewell, DOGE. Until the hour of midnight sees us meet. A friend to Venice. [Exeunt. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. ______________________'T is he, Welcome, my lord,-you are before the time. ACT III. DOGE. QSCENE IT I am ready to proceed to your assembly. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. bcene, the Space between the Canal and the Church of Have with you.-I am proud and pleased to see San Giovanni e San Paolo. An equestrian Statue Such confident alacrity. Your doubts jefore it.-A Gondola lies in the Canal at some dis- Since our last meeting, then, are all dispeli'd? tance. DOGE. Enter the DOGE alone, disguised. Not so-but I have set my little left DOGE (solus). Of life upon this cast: the die was thrown am before the hour the hour whose voice, When I first listen'd to your treason-Start not!.am bfr thlorohuor hs ocTat is the word; I cannot shape my tongue Pealing into the arch of night, might strike rhese palaces with ominous tottering And rock their marbles to the corner-stone, Though I be wrought on to commit them. When And rock their marbles to the corner-stone, Waking the sleepers from some hideous dream I heard you tempt your sovereign and forbore Of indistinct but awful augury To have you dragg'd to prison, I became Of indistinct but awful augury Your guiltiest accomplice: now you may, Of that which will befall them. Yes, proud city!. Yo guiltst accomplice: now you may, Thou mus-be cleansed of the black blood which makes If it so please you, do as much by me. eetj_^~~~~~~ IISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Alzar-hueotyranny: thtask Strange words, my lord, and most unmerited; A Iazar-house of tyranny: the task I am no spy, and neither are we traitors. Is forced upon me, I have sought it not s wetraitors. DOGE. And therefore was I punished, seeing this DOGE. Patrician pestilence spread on and ori, e-We-no matteryo have earn the n -Patrician pestilence spread on and o., To talk oe' us.-But to the point.-If this Until at length it smote me in my slumbers, At tempt suceeds, a nd Venice, renderf And I am tainted, and must wash away And I am *tainted, and must wash away And flourishing, when we are in our graves, The plague-spots in the healing wave. Tall fane! And oushin, when we are in our graves, Where sleep my fathers, whose dim statues shadow Conducts her generations to our tombs, The floor which doth divide us from the dead, And makes her children, with their little hands, The floor which doth divide us from the dead, X Where all the pregnant hearts of our bold blood, erers ashes, then Moulder'd into a mite of ashes, hold The consequence will sanctify the deed, Moulder'd into a mite of ashes, hold And we shall be like the two Bruti in In one shrunk heap what once made many heroes, A e l i I The annals of hereafter; but if not, When what is now a handfull shook the earth- iwe s f m bl e ans If we should fail, emoloying bloody means Fane of the tutelar saints who guard our house I w s fl e mPyg bo means Vault where two Doges rest-my sires! who died And secret plot, although to a good end, The one of toil, the other in the field, Still we are traitors, honest Israel;-thou No less than he who was thy sovereign With a long race of other lineal chiefs soverei And sages, whose great labours, wounds, and state Six hours ago, and now thy brother rebel. I have inherited,-let the graves gape, i ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.. 5 XIt X'T is not the moment to consider thus, Till all thine aisles be peopled with the dead, And pour them from thy portals to gaze on me! answer.-et us t the eeting, Or we may be observed in lingering here. I call them up, and them and thee to witness O g g here. What it hath been which put me to this task — DOGE. Their pure high blood, their blazon-roll of glories, have been. Their mighty name dishonour'd all in me, IRAL BRTUCCIO. Not by me, but by the ungrateful nobles We observed! We fought to make our equals, not our lords:- steel And chiefly thou, Ordelafo the brave, DOGE. Who perish'd in the field where I since conquer'd, Her are no uman witnesses Here are no human witnesses:-look thereBattling at Zara, did the hecatombs Of thine and Venice' foes, there offer'd up ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. By thy descendant, mL such acquittance? Only a tall warriors statue Spirits! smile down upon me, for my cause Bestriding a proud steed. in the dim light Is yours, in all life now can be of yours- Of the dull moon. Your fame, your name, all mingled up in mine, DOGE. And in the future fortunes of our race! That warrior was the she Let me but prosper, and I make this city Of my sire's fathers, and that statue was Free and immortal, and our house's name Decreed to him by the twice-rescued city:Worthier of what you were, now and hereafter! Think you that he looks down on us, or no' Enter ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. ISRAEL BERTUCC; O. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. My lord, these are mere phantasie2; there ar' Who goes there? No eyes in marble. 260 BYRON'S WORKS. DOGE. To punish some more dissolute young nobles But there are in death. Who have defied the law in their excesses; i tell thee, man, there is a spirit in But once drawn up, and their new swords well flesh'd Such things that acts and sees, unseen, though felt; In the rank hearts of the more odious senators, And, if there be a spell to stir the dead, They will not hesitate to follow up'T is in such deeds as we are now upon. Their blow upon the others, when they see Deem'st thou the souls of such a race as mine The example of their chiefs; and I for one Can rest, when he, their last descendant chief, Will set them such, that they for very shame Stands plotting on the brink of their pure graves And safety, will not pause till all have perish'd. With stung plebeians? BERTRAM. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. How say you? all? It had been as well CALENDARO. To iave ponder'd this before,-ere you embark'd Whom wouldst thou spare? In our great enterprise.-Do you repent? BERTRAM. DOGE. Ispare No-but Ifeel, and shall do to the last. I have no power to spare. I only question'd, I cannot quench a glorious life at once, Thinking that even amongst these wicked men, Nor dwindle to the thing I now must be, There might be some, whose age and qualities And take men's lives by stealth, without some pause: Might mark them out for pity. Yet doubt me not; it is this very feeling, CALENDARO. And knowing-what has wrung me to be thus, Yes, such pity W hich is your best security. There's not As when the viper hath been cut to pieces, A roused mechanic in your busy plot The separate fragments quivering in the sun So wrong'd as I, so fallen, so loudly call'dIn the last energy of venomous life, Tu his redress: the very means I am forced Deserve and have. Why, I should think as soon By these fell tyrants to adopt is such, Of pitying some particular fang which made That I abhor them doubly for the deeds One in the jaw of the swoln serpent, as Which I must do to pay them back for theirs. Of saving one of these: they form but links ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Of one long chain-one mass, one breath, one body, Lot us away!-hark!-the hour strikes. They eat, and drink, and live, and breed together, DOGE. Revel and lie, oppress, and kill in concert,On-on- So let them die as one! It is oui knell, or that of Venice.-On.- DAGOLINO. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Should one survive, Say, rather,'tis her freedom's rising peal He would be dangerous as the whole: it is not Of triumph-This way-we are near the place. Their number, be it'tens or thousands, but[Exeunt. The spirit of this aristocracy, Which must be rooted out; and?f there were SCENE II. A single shdot of the whole tree in life,'T would fasten in the soil, and spring again 77e House where the Conspirators meet. X.; H e w e t C To gloomy verdure and to bitter fruit. DAGOLINO, DORO, BERTRAM, FEDELE TREVISANO, Bertram, we must be firm! CALENDARO, ANTONIO DELLE BENpE, etc., etc CALENDARO. CALENDARO (entering). Look to it well, Are all here? Bertram; I have an eye upon thee. DAGOLINO.. BERTRAM. All with you: except the three, Who On duty, and our leader Israel, Distrusts me? CALENDARO. Who is expected momently.LENDAR ~C~~ALENDS~A~~RO. ~Not I; for if 1 did so, Where's Bertram? Thou wouldst not now be there to talk of trust: BERTRAM. It is thy softness, not thy want of faith, Here! Which makes thee to be doubted. CALENDARO. BERTRAM. Have you not been able to complete You should know, The number wanting in your company? Who hear me, who and what I am; a man BERTRAM. Roused like yourselves to overthrow oppression; I had marK'd out some; but I have not dared A kind man, I am apt to think, as some To trust them with the secret, till assured Of you have found me; and if brave or no, That they were worthy faith. You, Calendaro, can pronounce, who have seen me CALENDARO. Put to the proof; or, if you should have doubts, There is no need I'11 clear them on your person. Of trusting to their faith: who, save ourselves CALENDARO..nd our more chosen comrades, is aware You are welcome, v'ully of our intent? they think themselves When once our enterprise is o'er, which must not Engaged e m secret to the Sigriory, Be interrupted by a private brawl. MARINO FALIERO. 26 BERTRAM. You can: I care not.-Israel, are these men I am no brawler; but can bear myself The mighty hearts you spoke of? look upon them! As far among the foe as any he CALENDARO. Who hears me; else why have I been selected Faith! he hath shamed us, and deservedly. To be of your chief comrades? but no less Was this your trust in your true chief Bertuccio, I own my natural weakness: I have not To turn your swords against him and his guest? Yet learn'd to think of indiscriminate murder Sheathe them, and hear him. Without some sense of shuddering; and tne sight ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Of blood which spouts through hoary scalps is not I disdain to speak. To me a thing of triumph, nor the death They might and must have known a heart like minre Of men surprised a glory. Well-too well Incapable of treachery; and the power I know that we must do such things on those They gave me to adopt all fitting means Whose acts have raised up such avengers; but To further their design was ne'er abused. If there were some of those who could be saved They might be certain that whoe'er was brought From out this sweeping fate, for our own sakes By me into this council, had been led And for our honour, to take off some stain To take his choice-as brother, or as victim. Of massacre, which else pollutes it wholly, DOGE. I had been glad; and see no cause in this And which am I to be? your actions leave For sneer, nor for suspicion! Some cause to doubt the freedom of the choice. DAGOLINO.:ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Calm thee, Bertram; My lord, we would have perish'd here together, For we suspect thee not, and take good heart. Had these rash men proceeded; but, behold, t is the cause, and not our will, which asks They are ashamed of that mad moment's impulse, Such actions from our hands: we'll wash away And droop their heads; believe me, they are such All stains in Freedom's fountain! As I described then.-Speak to them. Enter ISRAEL BERTUCCIO and the DOGE, disguised. CALENDARO. Ay, speak DAGOLINO. DA ~o~Li'N~o. We are all listening in wonder. Welcome, Israel. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. CONSPIRATORS. (Addressing the Conspirators). Most welcome.-Brave Bertuccio, thou art late- You are safe, WVho is this stranger? -Nay, more, almost triumphant-listen then, CALENDARO. And know my words for truth. It is time to name him. DOGE. Our comrades are even now prepared to greet him You see me here In brotherhood, as I have made it known As one of you hath said, an old, unarm'd, that thou wouldst add a brother to our cause, Defenceless man; and yesterday you saw m Approved by thee, and thus approved by all, Presiding in the hall of ducal state Such is our trust in all thine actions. Now Apparent sovereign of our hundred isles Apparent sovereign of our hundred isles, Let him unfold himself. Robed in official purple, dealing out ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. The edicts of a power which is not mine, Stranger, step forth! Nor yours, but of our masters-the patricians. [The DOGE discovers himself. Why I was there you know, or think you know; CONSPIRATORS.th. Why I am here he who hath been most wrongd, To arms!-weare betay-it is the Doe He who among you hath been most insulted, Down with them both!, our traitorous captain, and Outraged and trodden on, until he doubt The cyrant he hath sold us to. If he be worm or no, may answer for me, CALENDARO (drawing his sword). Asking of his own heart what brought.lm here? Hold! Hold! You know my recent story, all men know it, Who moves a step against them dies. Hold! hear, And judge of it far differently from those Bertuccio.-What! are you appall'd to see Who sate in judgment to heap scorn on scorn. A lone, unguarded, weaponless old man Bpt spare me the recital-it is here, Amongstyou?-Israel, speak! whatmeansthis mystery? Here at my heart, the outrage-but my words, ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Already spent in unavailing plaints, Let them advance and strike at their own bosoms, Would only show my feebleness the more, Ungrateful suicides! for on our lives And I come here to strengthen even the strong, Depend their own, their fortunes, and their hopes. And urge them on to deeds, and not to wai DOGE. With woman's weapons; but I need not urge y(,o Strike!-If I dreaded death, a death more fearful Our private wrongs have sprung from public vices Than any your rash weapons can inflict, In this-I cannot call it commonwealth I should not now be here:-Oh, noble Courage! Nor kingdom, which hath neither prince nor peop.* The eldest born of Fear, which makes you brave But all the sins of the old Spartan state Against this solitary hoary head! Without its virtues-temperance and valour. See the bold chiefs, who would reform a state The lords of Lacedemon wtere true soldiers, And shake down senates, mad with wrath and dread But ours are Sybarites, while we are Helots, At sight of one patrician;-Butcher me. Of whom I am the lowest, mos enslaveu. 2 A 262 BYRON'S WORKS. Although drest out to head a pageant, as To lead a band of —-patriots: when I lay The Greeks of yore made drunk their slaves to form AsiJe the dignities wcich I have borne, A pastime for their children. You are met'T is not to put on others, but to be To overthrow this monster of a state, Mate to my fellows-but now to the point This mockery of a government, this spectre, Israel has stated to me your whole planWhich must be exorcised with blood, and then'Tis bold, but feasible if I assist it, We will renew the times-of truth and justice, And must be set in motion instantly. Condensing in a fair free commonwealth CALENDARO. Not rash equality, but equal rights, E'en when thou wilt-is it not so, my friends I Proportion'd like the columns to the temple, I have disposed all for a sudden blow Giving and taking strength reciprocal, When shall it be then? And making firm the whole with grace and beauty, DOGE. So that..o pai, could be removed without At sunrise. Infringement of the general symmetry. BERTRAM In operating this great change, I claim So soon " To be one of you-if you trust in me; DOGE. If not, strike home,-my life is compromised, So soon!-so late-each hour accumulates And I would rather fall by freemen's hands Peril on peril, and the more so now Than live another day to act the tyrant Since I have mingled with you; know you not As delegate of tyrants: such I am not, The Council, and " The Ten!" the spies, the eyes And never have been-read it in our annals: Of the patricians dubious of their slaves, I can appeal to my past government And now more dubious of the prince they have made one? In many lands and cities; they can tell you I tell you you must strike, and suddenly, If I were an oppressor, or a man Full to the hydra's heart-its heads will follow. Feeling and thinking for my fellow-men. CALENDARO. Haply had I been what the senate sought, all my soul and sword I yield assent; A thing of robes and trinkets, dizen'd out ur companiesare ready, sixty each, To sit in state as for a sovereign's picture; Ad all now under arms by Israel's order; A popular scourge, a ready sentence-signer, Each at their different place of rendezvous A stickler for the Senate and "The Forty," And vigilant, expectant of some blow A sceptic of all measures which had not Let each reair for actionto his post The sanction of " The Ten," a council fawner And now, y lord, the signal A tool, a fool, a puppet,-they had ne'erDO Foster'dthe wretch who stung me. What I suffer When you hear Has reach'd me through my pity for the people; ZDt~ X ~~~The great bell of Saint Mark's, which may not'e That many know, and they who know not yet Str withot s l r of the Doge X.r.~ ^' ^..,,, ^ Struck without special order of the Doge Will one day learn: meantime, I do devote, (The last poor privilege they leave their prince), Whate'er the issue, my last days of life- March on Saint Mark's! My present power, such as it is, not that ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. iISRAEL ERTruccIO. Of Doge, but of a man who has been great And there?. efore he was degraded to a Doge, DOGE. Ant still has individual means and mind; By different routes I stake my fame (and I had fame)-my breathet your march be directed, every sity (The least of all, for its last hours are nigh)- a s Entering a separate avenue, and still My heart-my hope-my soul-upon this cast U Upon the way let your cry be of war Such as I am, I offerAme to you And of the Genoese fleet, by the first dawn And to your chiefs, accept me or reject me,Discern'd before the port; form round the palace A prince who fain would be a citizen Within whose court will be drawn cut in arms Or nothing, and who has left his throne to be so. My nephew and the clients of our house, CALE:DARO. Ldn live Faiero nice sall be free Many and martial; while the bell tolls on, Ldng live Faliero!-Venice shall be free! ~ Shout ye, "Saint Mark!-the fbe is on our waters!" CONSPIRATORS. Long live Faliero! CALENDARO. ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. I see it now-but on, my noble lord. Comrades! did I well? DOGE. Is not this man a host in sllch a cause? All the patricians flocking to the Council, DOGE. (Which they dare not refuse, at the dread signal TAs is no time for eulogies, nor place Pealing from out their patron saint's proud tower) For exultation. Am I one of you.? Will then be gathered in unto the harvest, CALENDARO. And we will reap themi wit the sword for sickle. A y, and the first amongst us, as thou hast bean I some few should be tardy or absent then, Of Vemnce be our general and chief.'T will be but to be taken faint and single. DOnGE. When the majority are put to rest. Chlf!-General!-I was general at Zara, CALENDARO. Antd cluet in Rhodes and Cyprus, prince in Venice; Would that the hour were comut' s will not scotci, i,, llot stoou —that is, I am not fit But kill. MARINO FALIERO. 263 BERTRAM. We made alliances of blood and marriage; Once more, sir, with your pardons, I We grew in years and honours fairly, till WTould now repeat the question which I ask'd Their own desire, not iny ambition, made Before Bertuccio added to our cause Them choose me for their prince, and then farewell! This great ally who renders it more sure, Farewell all social memory! all thoughts And therefore safer, and as such admits In common! and sweet bonds which link old friend Some dawn of mercy to a portion of ships, Our victims-must all perish in this slatighter? When the survivors of long years and actiols, CALENDARO. Which now belong to history, soothe the days All who encounter me and mine, be sure, — Which yet remain by treasuring each other, The mercy they have shown, I show. And never meet, but each beholds the mirror CONSPIRATORS. Of half a century on his brother's brow, All! all! And sees a hundred beings, now in earth, is this a time to talk of pity? when Flit round them, whispering of the days gone by, Have they e'er shown, or felt, or feign'd it? And seeming not all dead, as long as two ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. Of the.brave, joyous, reckless, glorious band, Bertram, Which once were one and many, still retain This false compassion is a folly, and This false compasion is a folly, and A breath to sigh for them, a tongue to speak Injustice to thy comrades and thy cause! Injustice to thy comrades and thy causeOf deeds that else were silent, save on marbleDost thou not see, that if we single outime ime-and must I do this deed Some for escape, they live but to avenge ISRAEL ERTUCCIO The fallen? and how distinguish now the innocent My lord, you are much moved: it is not now From out the guilty? all their acts are one- That such things must e delt uon. A single emanation from one. body, O Together knit for our oppression!'T is Your aience Much that we let their children live; I doubt A moment-I recede not: mark with me If al! of these even should be set apart: The gloomy vices of this government. The hunter may reserve some single cub From the hour that made me Doge, the Doge THE f From out the tiger's litter, but who e'er made meWould seek to save the spotted sire or dam, Farewell the past! I died to all that had been, Unless to perish by their fangs? However, Or rather they to me: no friends, no kindness, { will abide by Doge Faliero's counsel: No privacy of life-all were cut off: Let him decide if any should be saved. They came not near me, such approach gave umbrage DOGE. They could not love me, such was not the law; Ask me not-tempt me not with such a question- They thwarted me,'t was the state's policy; Decide yourselves. They baffled me,'t was a patrician's duty; ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. They wrong'd me, for such was to right the stale; You know their private virtues They could not right me, that would give suspicion; Far better than we can, to whom alone So that I was a slave to my own subjects; Their public vices, and most foul oppression, So that I was a foe to my own friends; Have made them deadly; if there be amongst them Begirt with spies for guards-with robes for powe One who deserves to be repeal'd, pronounce. With pomp for freedom-gaolers for a councilDOGE. Inquisitors for friends-and hell for life! Dolfino's father was my friend, and Lando I had one only fount of quiet left, Fought by my side, and Marc Cornaro shared And that they poison'd! My pure household gold My Genoese embassy; I saved the life Were shiver'd on my hearth, and o'er their shrine Of Veniero-shall I save it twice? Sate grinning ribaldry and sneering scorn. Would that I could save them and Venice also! ISRAEL BERTUCCIO. All these men, or their fathers, were my friends You have been deeply wrong'd, and now shall be Till they became my subjects; then fell from me Nobly avenged before another night. As faithless leaves drop from the o'erbiown flower, DOGE. And left me a lone blighted thorny stalk, I had borne all-it hurt me, but I bore itWhich, in its solitude, can shelter nothing; Till this last running over of the cup So, as they let me wither, let them perish! Of bitterness-until this last loud insult, CALENDARO. Not only, unredress'd, but sanction'd; then They cannot co-exist with Venice' freedom! And thus, I cast all further feelings from me DOGE. The feelings which they crush'd for me, long, lor Ye, though you know and feel our mutual mass Before, even in their oath of false allegiance! Of many wrongs, even ye are ignorant Even in that very hour and vow, theyabjured What, fatal poison to the springs of life, Their friend, and made a sovereign, as boys makl. To human ties, and all that's good and dear, Playthings, to do their pleasure and be broken! Lurks in the present institutes of Venice. I from that hour have seen but senators All these men were my friends; I loved them, they In dark suspicious conflict with the Doge, Requited honourably my regards; Brooding with him in mutial hate and fear; We served and fought; we smiled and wept in concert; They dreading he should snatch the tyrann, We revell'd or we sorrow'd side by side; From out their grasp, and be abhorring tyran 264 BYRON'S WORKS. To me, then, these men have no private life, ISRAEL ERTUCCIO. Nor claim to ties they have cut off from others; We have them in the toi - -it cannot fail! As senators for arbitrary acts Now thou'rt indeed a sov, quiet honour, The signory of Venice! You betray'd meBut it must plot to overthrow your peers, You-you, who sit there, traitors as ye are! Who made you what you are, and quench in blood From my equality with you in birth, A city's glory-we have laid already And my superiority in action, Before you in your chamber at full length, You drew me from my honourable toils By the Avogadori, all the proofs In distant lands-on flood-in field-in citiesWhich have appear'd against you; and more ample You singled me out like a victim, to Ne'er rear'd their sanguinary shadows to Stand crown'd, but bound and helpless, at the altar Confront a traitor. What have you to say Where you alone could minister. I knew notIn your defence? I sought not-wish'd not-dream'd not the election, DOGE. Which reach'd me first at Rome, and I obey'd; What shall I say to ye, But found, on my arrival, that besides Since my defence must be your condemnation? The jealous vigilance which always led you You are at once offenders and accusers, To mock and mar your sovereign's best intents, Judges and executioners!-Proceed You had, even in the interregnum of Upon your power. My journey to the capital, curtail'd BENINTENDE. And mutilated the few privileges Your chief accomplices Yet left the duke: all this I bore, and would Having confess'd, there is no hope for you. Have borne, until my very hearth was stain'd DOGE. By the pollution of your ribaldry, And who be they? And he, the ribald, whom I see amongst youBENINTENDE. Fit judge in such tribunal! In number many; but BENINTENDE (interrupting him). The first now stands before you in the court, Michel Steno Bertram, of Bergamo,-would you question him? Is here in virtue of his office, as DOGE (looking at him contemptuously). One of the Forty; "The Ten" having craved No. A Giunta of patricians from the senate BENINTENDE. To aid our judgment in a trial arduous And two others, Israel Bertuccio, And novel as the present, he was set And Philip Calendaro, have admitted Free from the penalty pronounced upon him, Their fellowship in treason with the Doge! Because the Doge, who should protect the law DOGE. Seeking to abrogate all law, can claim And where are they? No punishment of others by the statutes BENINTENDE. Which he himself denies and violates! Gone to their place, and now D)OGE. Answering.to Heaven for what they did on earth. His PUNISHMENT! I rather see him there, DOGE. Where he now sits, to glut him with my death, Ah! the plebeian Brutus, is he gone? Than in the mockery of castigation, And the quici Cassius of the arsenal?- Which your foul, outward, juggling show of rustice How did they meet their doom? Decreed as sentence! Base as was his crime, BENINTENDE.'T was purity compared with your protection. Think of your own; BENINTENDE. It is approaching. You decline to plead, then? And can it be, that the great Doge of Venice, DOGE. With three parts of a century of years I cannot plead to my inferiors, nor And honours on his head, could thus allow Can recognise your legal power to try me: His fury, like an angry boy's, to master Show me the law! All feeling, wisdom, faith, and fear, on Puch BENINTENDE. A provocation as a young man's petulance? On great emergencies, DOGE. The law must be remodeli'd or amended: A spark creates the flame;'t is the last drop Our fathers had not fix'd the punishment Which makes the cup-runo'er, and mine was fil. Of such a crime, as on the old Roman tables Already: you oppress'd the prince and people; The sentence against parricide was left I would have freed both, and have fail'd in both: In pure forgetfulness; they could not render The price of such success would have been glory, That penal, which had neither name nor thought Vengeance, and victory, and such a name In their great bosoms: who would have foreseen As would have made Venetian history That nature could be filed to such a crime Rival to that of Greece and Syracuse, As sons'gainst sires, and princes'gainst their realms? When they were freed, and flourish'd ages after, Your sin hath made us make a law which will And mine to Gelon. and to Thrasybulus: Become a precedent'gainst such naught traitors, Failing, I know the penalty of failure As would with treason mount to tyranny; Is presentinfamy and death-the future Not even contented with a sceptre, till Will judge, when Venice is no more, or free; They can convert,t to a two-edged sword! Till then, the truth is in abeyance. Pause not; Was not the place of Doge sufficient for ye? I would have shown no mercy, and I seek none, What's nobler tnan the signory of Venice? My life was staked upon a mighty hazard, MARINO FALIERO. 27And being lost, taae what I would have taken! ALL. I would have stood alone amidst your tombs; It is. Now you may flock round mine, and trample on it, DOGE. As you have done upon my heart while living. Oh, admirable laws of Venice! BENINTENDE. Which would admit the wife, in the full hope You do ceofess then, and admit the justice That she might testify against the husband. Of our tribunal? What glory to the chaste Venetian dames! DOGE. But such blasphemers'gainst all honour, as I confess to have fail'd: Sit here, do well to act in their vocation. Fortune is female; from my youth her favours Now, villain Steno! if this woman fail, Were not withheld; the fault was mine to hope I'1 pardon thee thy lie, and thy escape. Her former smiles again at this late hour. The DUCHEss enters. BENINTENDE. BENINTENDE. You do not then in aught arraign our equity Lady! this just tribunal has resolved Lady,! this just tribunal has resolved, DOGE. Though the request be strange, to grant it, and, Noble Venetians! stir me not with questions. Whatever be its purport, to accord I am resign'd to the worst; but in me still patient hearing with the due respect Have something of the blood of brighter days, Have something of the blood of brighter days, Which fits your ancestry, your rank, and virtues And am not over-patient. Pray you, spare me But you turn pale- here, look to the ady Further interrogation, which boots nothing, Place a chair instantly. Except to turn a trial to debate. ANIOLIN ANGIOLINA. I shall but answer that which will offend you, A moment's faintnessAnd please your enemies-a host already: And please your enemies-a host already:'Tis past; I pray you pardon me, I sit not'T is true, these sullen walls should yield no echo; I presence of my prince, and of my husband But walls have ears-nay, more, they have tongues; While he is on his feet. and if BENINTENDE. There were no other way for truth to o'erleap them, pleasure lady You who condemn me, you who fear and slay me, ANGIOLINA. Yet could not bear in silence to your graves i a I Whayowoldear m o gd or evil; Strange rumours, but most true, if all I hear What you would hear from me of good or evil; A nd see be sooth, have reach'd me, and I come The secret were too mighty for your souls: Thes ct et were t mi you ou To know the worst; even at the worst; forgive Then let it sleep in mine, unless you court T a dangerwhichwoudoubletatyouescape The abruptness of my entrance and my bearing. A danger which would double that you escape. Is it-I cannot speak-I cannot shape Such my defence would be, had I full scope The question-but you answer it ere spoken, To make it famous; for true words are things, With eyes averted, and with gloomy browsX,, s i.- Xl~ TWilth eyes averted, and with gloomy brows — And dying men's are things which long outlive, i i i AdCievnehOh God! this is the silence of the grave! And oftentimes avenge them; bury mine, If ye would fain survive me: take this counsel, BENINTENDE (after apause). And though too oft ye made me live in wrath, re us and se th f te petition Let me die calmly; you iiay grant me this;- O w Duty to Heaven and man! I deny nothing-defend nothing-nothing Dy to H n a I ask of you, but silence for myself, ANGLINA. y. Yet speak; I cannotAnd sentence from the court BENINTENDE. I cannot-no-even now believe these things; This full admission Is he condemn'd? Spares us the harsh necessity of ordering BENINTENDE. Alas! The torture to elicit the whole truth. am~~~~DOGEx. ANGIOLINA. DOGE. The torture! you have put me there already And was he guilty Daily since I was Doge; but if you will BENINTENDE. Add the corporeal rack, you may; these limbs Lady! the natural distraction of Will yield with age to crushing iron; but Thy thoughts at such a moment makes the question there's that within my heart shall strain your engines. Merit forgiveness; else a doubt like this Enter an OFFICER. Against a just and paramount tribunal OFFICER. I Were deep offence. But question even the Doge; lN~oble Venetians! Duchess Faliero | And if he can deny the proofs, believe him Requests admission to the Giunta's presence. Guiltless as thy own bosom. BENINTENDE. ANGIOLINA. Say, conscript fathers,8 shall she be admitted? Is it so? ONE OF THE GIUNTA. My lord-my sovereign-my poor father's friena-. She may have revelations of importance The mighty in the field, the sage in council; Unto the state, to justify compliance Unsay the words of this man t-Thou art sinent. With her request. BENINTENDE. BENINTENDF. He hath already own'd to his own guilt. Is this the general will? Nor, as thou seest, doth he deny it now. 276 BYRON'S WORKS. ANGIOLINA. Sorrow, or shame, or penance on my part, Ay, but he must not die! Spare his few years, Could cancel the inexorable past! Which grief and shame will soon cut down to days! But since that cannot be, as Christians let us One day of baffled crime must not efface Say farewell, and in peace: with full contrition Near sixteen lustres crowded with brave acts. I crave, not pardon, but compassion from you, BENINTENDE. And give, however weak, my prayers for both, His doom must be fulfill'd without remission ANGIOLINA. Of time or penalty-'t is a decree. Sage Benintende, now chief judge of Venice, ANGIOLINA. I speak to thee in answer to yon signor, HIe hath been guilty, but there maybe mercy. Inform the ribald Steno, that his words BENINTENDE. Ne'er weigh'd in mind with Loredano's daughter Not in this case with justice. Further than to create'a moment's pity ANGIOLINA. For such as he is; would that others had Alas! signor, Despised him as I pity! I prefer He who is only just is cruel; who IMy honour to a thousand lives, could such He who is only j m is cruel; who sBe multiplied in mine, but would not have Upon the earth would live; were all judged justly? Be multiplied in mine, but would not have A single life of others lost for that BENINTENDE. ipBENINTENDE Which nothing human can impugn-the sense His punishment is safety to the state. His punish t is sy to te s. Of virtue, looking not to what is called ANGIOLINA. A good name for reward, but to itself. He was a subject, and hath served the state: To me the scorner's words were as the wind He was your general, and hath saved the state; Unto the rock: but as there are-alas! Ile is your sovereign, and hath ruled the state. Spirits more sensitive, on which such things ONE OF THE-COUNCIL. Light as the whirlwind on the waters; souls He is a traitor, and betray'd the state. To whom dishonour's shadow is a substance ANGIOLINA. More terrible than death here and hereafter; And, but for him, there now had been no state Men whose vice is, to start at vice's scoffing, To save or to destroy; and you, who sit And who, though proof against all blandishments There to pronounce the death of your deliverer, Of pleasure, and all pangs of pain, are feeble Had now been groaning at a Moslem oar, When the proud name on which they pinnacled Or digging in the Hunnish mines in fetters! Their hopes is breathed on, jealous as the eagle ONE OF THE COUNCIL. Of her high aiery; let what we now No, lady, there are others who would die Behold, and feel, and suffer, be a lesson Rather than breathe in slavery! To wretches how they tamper in their spleen ANGIOLINA. With beings of a higher order. Insects If there are so Have made the lion mad ere now; a shaft Within these walls, thou art not one of the number: I' the heel o'erthrew the bravest of the brave, The truly brave are generous to the fallen!- A wife's dishonour was the bane of Troy; Is there no hope? A wife's dishonour unking'd Rome for ever; BENINTENDE. An injured husband brought the Gauls to Clusium. Lady, it cannot be. And thence to Rome, which perish'd for a time; ANGIOLINA (turning to the DOGE). An obscene gesture cost Caligula Then die, Faliero! since it must be so; His life, while earth yet bore his cruelties; But with the spirit of my father's friend. A virgin's wrong made Spain a Moorish provirce; Thou hast been guilty of a great offence, And Steno's lie, couch'd in two worthless lines, Half-cancell'd by the harshness of these men. Hath decimated Venice, put in peril I would have sued to them-have pray'd to them- A senate which hath stood eight hundred years, Have begg'd as famish'd mendicants for bread- Discrown'd a prince, cut off his crownless head, Have wept as they will cry unto their God And forged new fetters for a groaning people! For mercy, and be answer'd as they answer- Let the poor wretch, like to the courtesan Had it been fitting for thy name or mine, Who fired Persepolis, be proud of this, And if the cruelty in their cold eyes If it so please him-'t were a pride fit for him! Had not announced the heartless wrath within. But let him not insult the last hours of Then, as a prince, address thee to thy doom! Him, who, whate'er he now is, was a hero, DOGE. By the intrusion of his very prayers; I have hi ed too long not to know how to die! Nothing of good can come from such a source, Thy suing to these men were but the bleating Nor would we aught with him, nor now, nor ever. Of the lamb to the butcher, or the cry We leave him to himself, that lowest depth Of seamen to the surge: I would not take Of human baseness. Pardon is for men, A life eternal, granted at the hands And not for reptiles-we have none for Steno, O" wretches, from whose monstrous villanies And no resentment; things like him must sting,. sought to free the groaning nations! And higher beings suffer;'t is the charter MICHEL STENO. Of life. The man who dies by the adder's fang Doge, May have the crawler crush'd, but feels no anger: A word with thee, and with this noble lady,'Twas the worm's nature; and some men are worms Whom I have grievously offended. Would In soul, more than the living things of tombs, MARINO FALIERO. 277 DOGE (to BENINTENDE). DOGE. Signor, complete that which you deem your duty. I am already; and my blood will rise BENINTENDE. To Heaven before the souls of those who shed it.Before we can proceed upon that duty, Are all my lands confiscated? We would request the princess to withdraw; BENINTENDE.'T will move her too much to be witness to it. They are: ANGIOLINA. And goods, and jewels, and all kind of treasure, I know it will, and yet I must endure it; Except two thousand ducats-these dispose of. For't is a part of mine-I will not quit, DOGE. Except by force, my husband's side.-Proceed! That's harsh-I would have fain reserved the lands Nay, fear not either shriek, or sigh, or tear! Near to Treviso, which I hold by investment Though my heart burst, it shall be silent. —Speak! From Laurence, the Count-bishop of Ceneda, I have that within which shall o'ermaster all. In fief perpetual to myself and heirs, BENINTENDE. PTo portion them (leaving my city spoil, Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice, My palace and my treasures, to your forfeit) Count of Val di Marino, Senator, Between my-consort and my kinsmen. And sometime General of the Fleet and Army, BENINTENDE. Noble Venetian, many times and oft These Entruased by the state with high employments, Lie under the state's ban, their chief, thy nephew Even to the highest, listen to the sentence. In peril of his own life; but the council Convict by many witnesses and proofs, Postpones his trial for the present. If And by thine own confession, of the guilt Thou will'st a state unto thy widow'd princess, Of treachery and treason, yet unheard of Fear not, for we will do her justice. Until this trial-the decree is death. ANGIOLINA. Thy goods are confiscate unto the state, Signors, Thy name is razed from out her records, save I share not in your spo From henceforth, I am devoted unto God alone, Upon a public day of thanksgiving For this our most miraculous deliverance, And take my efuge in the cloister When thou art noted in our calendars DOGE. Come! With earthquakes, pestilence, and foreign foes, The hour may be a hard one, but't will end. And the great enemy of man, as subject Have I aught else to undergo save death? Of grateful masses for Heaven's grace in snatching B Our liveS and country from thy wickedness. B IJ, Our liveand country fromhy wicke dness. You have nought to do except confess and die The place wherein as Doge thou shouldst be painted,The priest is robed, the scimitar is bare Writh thine illustrious predecesors is I lThe priest is robed, the scimitar is bare, With thine illustrious predecessors, isAnd both await without.-But, above all And both await without. —But, above all, To be left vacant, with a death-black veil Think notto speak unto the people they Think notto speak unto the people; they Flung over these dim words engraved beneath,- thousands swarming at e tes Are now by thousands swarming at the gates, c" This place is of Marino Faliero, "This place is of Marino Falero, But these are closed: the Ten, the Avogadori, Decapitated for his crimes." Decapitated for his crimes." The Giunta, and the chief men of the Forty, -TDOGE. ~iAlone will be beholders of thy doom, What crime? And they are ready to attend the Doge. Were it not better to record the facts, DO DOGE. So that the contemplator might approve, The Doge Or at the least learn whence the crimes arose? BENINTENDE. When the beholder knows a Doge conspired, Yes, Doge, thou hast lived and thou shalt die Let him be told the cause-it is your history. A sovereign; till the moment which precedes BENINTENDE. The separation of that head and trunk, Time must reply to that; our sons will judge That ducal crown and head shall be united. Their fathers' judgment, which I now pronounce. Thou hast forgot thy dignity in deigning As Doge, clad in the ducal robes and cap, To plot with petty traitors; not so we, Thou shalt be led hence to the Giant's Staircase, Who in the very punishment acknowledge Where thou and all our princes are invested; The prince. Thy vile accomplices have dieu And there, the ducal crown being first resumed The dog's death, and the wolf's; hut thou shalt fth Upon the spot where it was first assumed, As falls the lion by the hunters, girt Thy head shall be struck off; and Heaven have mercy By those who feel a proud compassion for thee, Upon thy soul And mourn even the inevitable death DOGE. Provoked by thy wild wrath and regal fierceness. Is this the Giunta's sentence? Now we remit thee to thy preparation: BENINTENDE. Let it be brief, and we ourselves will be It is. Thy guides to the place where first we were DOGE. United to thee as thy subjects, and I can endure it.-And the time? Thy senate; and must now be parted from tnhe BENINTENDE. As such for ever on the selfsame spot.Must be immediate.-Make thy peace with God; Guards! form the Doge's escort to his chamber Within an hour thou must be in his presence.''xets 2S 2 278 BYRON'S WORKS. SCENE II. On my return from Rome, a mist of such Unwonted density went on before The Doge's Apartment. The bucentaur, like the columnal cloud The DOGE as prisoner, and the DUCHESS attending him. Which usher'd Israel out of Egypt, till DOGE. The pilot was misled, and disembarked us Now that the priest is gone,'t were useless all Between the pillars of Saint Mark's, where'ti To linger out the miserable minutes; The custom of the state to put to death But one pang more, the pang of parting from thee, I criinals, instead of touching at And I will leave the few last grains of sand, The iva della Paglia, as the wont is, Which yet remain of the accorded hour, So that all Venice shudder'd at the omen. Still falling-I have done with Time. ANGIOLINA. ANGIOLINA. Ah! little boots it now to recollect Alas! Such things. And I have been the cause, the unconscious cause; DOGE. And for this funeral marriage, this black union, And yet I find a comfort in Which thou, compliant with my father's wish, The thought that these things are the wort of Fate; Didst promise at his death, thou hast seal'd thine own. For I would rather yield to gods than men, DOGE. Or cling to any creed of destiny, Not so: there was that in my spirit ever Rather than deem these mortals, most of whom Which shaped out for itself some great reverse; I know to be as worthless as the dust, The marvel is, it came not until now- And weak as worthless, more than instruments And yet it was foretold me. Of an o'er-ruling power; they in themselves ANGIOLINA. Were all incapable-they could not be How foretold you? Victors of him who oft had conquer'd for them! DOGE. ANGIOLINA. Long years ago-so long, they are a doubt Employ the minutes left in aspirations In memory, and yet they live in annals: Of a more healing nature, and in peace When 1 was in my youth, and served the senate Even with these wretches take thy flight to heaven. And signory as podesta and captain DOGE. Of the town of Treviso, on a day I am at peace: the peace of certainty Of festival, the sluggish bishop who That a sure hour will come, when their sons' sons, Convey'd the Host aroused my rash young anger, And this proud city, and these azure waters, By strange delay, and arrogant reply And all which makes them eminent and bright To my reproof; I raised my hand and smote him, Shall be a desolation and a curse, Until he reel'd beneath his holy burthen; A hissing and a scoff unto the nations, And, as he rose from earth again, he raised A Carthage, and a Tyre, an Ocean-Babel! His tremulous hands in pious wrath towards Heaven. ANGIOLINA. Thence pointing to the Host, which had fallen from him, Speak not thus now: the surge of passion still He turn'd to me, and said, " The hour will come Sweeps o'er thee to the last; thou dost deceive When He thou hast o'erthrown shall overthrow thee: Thyself and canst not injure them-be calmer. The glory shall depart from out thy house, DOGE. The wisdom shall be shaken from thy soul, I stand within eternity, and see And in thy best maturity of mind, Into eternity, and I beholdA madness of the heart shall seize upon thee; Ay, palpable as I see thy sweet face Passion shall tear thee when all passions cease For the last time-the days which I denounce In other men, or mellow into virtues; Unto all,time against these wave-girt walls, And majesty, which decks all other heads, And they who are indwellers. Shall crown to leave thee headless; honours shall GUARD (coming forward). But prove to thee the heralds of destruction, Doge of Venice, And hoary hairs of shame, and both of death, The Ten are in attendance on your highness. But not such death as fits an aged man." DOGE. Thus saying, he pass'd on.-That hour is come. Then farewell, Angiolina!-one embraceANGIOLINA. Forgive the old man who hath been to thee And with this warning couldst thou not have striven A fond but fatal husband-love my memoryTo avert the fatal moment, and atone I would not ask so much for me still living, / By penitence for that which thou hadst done? But thou canst judge of me more kindly now, DOGE. Seeing my evil feelings are at rest. I own the words went to my heart, so much Besides, of all the fruit of these long years, That I remember'd them amid the maze Glory, and wealth, and power, and fame, and name,.t' life, as if they form'd a spectral voice, Which generally leave some flowers to bloom Which shook me in a supernatural dream; Even o'er the grave, I have nothing left, not even And 1 repented; but'twas not for me A little love, or friendship, or esteem, To pull in resolution: wha, must be No, not enough to extract an epitaph' I could not change, and would not fear. Nay, more From ostentatious kinsmen; in one hour I'htu canst not have forgot what all remember, I have uprooted all my former ifThat on mv day of landing here as Doge, And outlived every thling except thy heart. MARINO FALIERO. 279 The pure, the good, the gentle, which will oft But recollect the people are without, With unimpair'd but not a clamorous grief Beyond the compass of the human voice. Still keep-Thou turn'st so pale-Alas! she faints, DOGE. She hath no breath, no pulse! Guards! lend your aid — I speak to Time and to Eternity, I cannot leave her thus, and yet't is better, Of which I grow a portion, not to man. Since every lifeless moment spares a pang. Ye elements! in which to be resolved When she shakes off this temporary death, I hasten, let my voice be as a spirit I shall be with the Eternal-Call her women- Upon you! Ye blue waves! which bore my banner! One look!-how cold her hand! as cold as mine Ye winds! which flutter'd o'er as if you loved it, Shall be ere she recovers.-Gently tend her, And fill'd my swelling sails as they were wafted And take my last thanks.-I am ready now. To many a triumph! Thou, my native earth, [The attendants of ANGIOLINA enter and sur- Which I have bled for, and thou foreign earth, round their mistress, who has fainted.- Which drank this willing blood from many a wound! Exeunt the DOGa, Guards, etc., etc. Z E axeunt the DOGEe, Guacrdls, etc, etc. Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but Reek up to Heaven! Ye skies, which will receive it! Thou sun! which shinest on these things, and Thou SCENE III. S ~CENE III. yWho kindlest and who quenchest suns!-Attest! The Court of the Ducal Palace: the outer gates are I am not innocent-but are these guiltless? shut against -the people.-The DOGE enters in his I perish, but not unavenged; far ages ducal robes, in procession with the Council of en lo up from the abyss of time to be, and other Patricians, attended by the Guards,' till And show these eyes, before they close, the doom they arrive at the top of the " Giant's Staircase" Of this proud city, and I leave my curse (where the Doges took the oaths); the Executioner is On her and hers for ever: Yes, the hours stationed there with his sword. On arriving, a Chief Are silently engendering of the day, of the Ten takes off the ducal cap from the Doge's When she who built'gainst Attila a bulwark, head. Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield DOGE. Unto a bastard Attila, without So, now the Doge is nothing, and at last Shedding so much blood in her last defence I am again Markio Faliero: As these old veins, oft drain'd in shielding her,'T is well to be so, though but for a moment. Shall pour in sacrifice.-She shall be bought Here was I crown'd, and here, bear witness, Heaven! And sold, and be an appanage to those With how much more contentment I resign Who shall despise her!-She shall stoop to be That shining mockery, the ducal bauble, A province for an empire, petty town Than I received the fatal ornament. In lieu of capital, with slaves for senates, ONE OF THE TEN. Beggars for nobles, panders for a people! Thou tremblest, Fallero! Then, when the Hebrew's in thy palaces,~' DOGE. The Hun in thy high places, and the Greek'T is with age, then.9 Walks o'er thy mart, and smiles on it for his! BENINTENDE. When thy patricians beg their bitter bread Faliero! hast thou aught further to commend, In narrow streets, and in their shameful need Compatible with justice, to the senate? Make their nobility a plea for pity! DOGE. Then, when the few who still retain a wreck I would commend my nephew to their mercy, Of their great fathers' heritage shall fawn My consort to their justice; for methinks Round a barbarian Vice of Kings' Vice-gerent My death, and such a death, might settle all Even in the palace where they sway'd as sovereigns, Between the state and me. Even in the palace where they slew their sovereign, BENINTENDE. Proud of some name they have disgraced, or sprui% They shall be cared for; From an adultress boastful of her guilt Even notwithstanding thine unheard-of crime. With some large gondolier or foreign soldier, DOGE. Shall bear about their bastardy in triumph Unheard-of! ay, there's not a history To the third spurious generation;-when But shows a thousand crown'd conspirators Thy sons are in the lowest scale of being, Against the people; but to set them free Slaves turn'd o'er to the vanquish'd by the victors, One sovereign only died, and one is dying. Despised by cowards for greater cowardice, BENINTENDE. And scorn'd even by the vicious for such vices And who are they who fell in such a cause? As in the monstrous grasp of tiheir conception DOGE. Defy all codes to image'or to name them; The King of Sparta, and the Doge of Venice- Then, when of Cyprus, now thy subject kingdom, Agis and Faliero! All thine inheritance shall be her shame BENINTENDE. Entail'd on thy less virtuous daughters, grown Hast thou more A wider proverb for worse prostitution;To utter or to do? When all the ills of conquer'd states shall cting thee DOGE. Vice without splendour, sin without relief May I speak? Even from the gloss of love to smooth it o'er, BENINTENDE. But in its stead coarse lusts of habitude, Thou may'st; Prurient yet passionless, cold studied lewdnass r -' I il n l 1.V..,.. _ ~. ^ _ ^ _ _.. I L, I.I... 1 _ 1 1 1 1 1 1. 11,.. IIIII. ~ H 1 1 1 1 1... 280 BYRON'S WORKS. Depraving nature's frailty to an art;- FIRST CITIZEN. When these and more are heavy on thee, when I saw the sword fall-Lo! what have we here? Smiles without mirth, and pastimes without pleasure, [Enter on the Balcony of the Palace which fronts Saint Youth without honour, age without respect, Mark's Place a CHIEF OF THE TEN,13 with a bloody Meanness and weakness, and a sense of woe sword. He waves it thrice before the people, and exclaims,'Gainst which thou wilt not strive, and dar'stnot murmur, eJustcle hath dealt upon the mighty traitorims, HIave made thee last and worst of peopled deserts; " dealt upon the mighty traitor!" hen mad thee last gasd wrs of t peopled deser [The gates are opened; the populace rush in towards Then, in the last gasp of thine agony, the "Giant's Staircase," where the execution has Amidst thy many murders, think of mine! taken place. The foremost of them claims to Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes!1 those behind Gehenna of the waters! thou sea Sodom! The gory head rolls down the "Giant's steps!" Thus I devote thee to the infernal gods! [The curtain f lls. Thee and thy serpent seed! ___________ [,Here the DOGE turns, and addresses the Executioner. N lt Slave, do thine office; INOTES. Strike as I struck the foe! Strike as I would Have struck those tyrants! Strike deep as my curse! Strike-and but once! 0 I Strike-and but once! Note 1. Page 248, line 59. [The DOGE throws hie p himsel s knees, I smote the tardy bishop at reviso. and as the Executioner raises his sword A historical fact. See Marin Sanuto's Lives of the the scene closes. Doges. -____~~-__ Note 2. Page 251, line 69. SCENE IV. A gondola with one oar only. A gondola is not like a common boat, but is as easily The Pinca and Piazzetta of Saint tle arkas.- tle Peo- rowed with one oar as with two (though of course not ple in crowds gathered round the grated gates of the so swiftly), and often is so from motives of privacy, and L)ucal Palace, which are shut. (since the decay of Venice) of economy. FIRST CITIZEN. I have gain'd the gate, and can discern the Ten, Note Page 260 line 65. Robed in their gowns of state, ranged round the Doge. They think themves X Engaged in secret to the Signory. SECOND CITIZEN. A historical fact. cannot reach thee with mine utmost effort. How is it' let us hear at least, since sight Note 4. Page 269, line 8. Is thus prohibited unto the people, Within our palace precincts at San Polo. Except the occupiers of those bars. The Doge's private family palace. FIRST CITIZEN. Note 5. Page 270, line 105. One has approach'd the Doge, and now they strip "Signor of the Night." The ducal bonnet from his head-and now "I Signori di Notte" held an important charge t He raises his keen eye to heaven. I see the old Republic. Them glitter, and his lips move-Hush! hush! No, ote 6. Page 27, line 43'T was but a murmur-Curse upon the distance!',- ~ i.i I, ~Festal Thursday. His words are inarticulate, but the voice..,,.,.i..........' "Glovedl Grasso," "fat or greasy Thursday," which Swells up like mutter'd thunder; would we could " o Bit gte a soeI cannot literally translate in the text, was the day. Bit gather a sole sentence! SECOND CITIZEN. Note 7. Page 273, line 57. Hush! we perhaps may catch the sound. Guards let their mouths be gagg'd, even in the act. FIRST CITIZEN. Historical fact. See Sanuto, in the appendix to this'T is vain. tra tragedy. cannot hear him.-How his hoary hair Note 8. Page 275, line 59. bt eams on the wind like foam upon the wave!, Now-nowhe kneelsand now ty fm cire Say, conscript fathers, shall she be admitted? Now —now —he kneels-and now they form a circle Round him, and all is hidden-but I see The Venetian senate took the same title as the RoThe lifted sword in air-Ah! hark I it falls! man, of "Conscript Fathers." [The people murmur. Note 9. Page 279, line 36. THIRD CITIZEN. i'Tis with age, then. Then they have murder'd him who would have freed us. This was the actual reply of Bailli, maire of Paris, to FOITRTH CITIZEN. a Frenchman who made him the same reproach on Iis He was a kind man to the commons ever. way to execution, in the earliest part of their revolution. FIFTH CITIZEN. I find in reading over (since the completion of this W isely tney did to keep their portals barr'd. tragedy), for the first time these six years, "Venice Would we had known the work they were preparing Preserved," a similar reply on a different occasion by Ei, we. were summon'd here; we would have brought Renault, and other coincidences arising from the subWeapons, and forced them! ject. I need hardly remind the gentlest reader, that SIXTH CITIZEN. such coincidences must be accidental, from the very Are you sure he's dead? facility of their detection by reference to so popular a MARINO FALIERO. 281 play on the stage and in the closet as Otway's chef- ne possano rispondere ad alcuno, se non saranno quattro d'ceuvre. Consiglieri e due Capi de' Quaranta. E che osservino Note 10. Page 279, line 35. la forma del suo Capitolare. E che Messer lo Dogo Beggars for nobles, panders for a people si metta nella miglior parte, quando i giudici tra loro Should the dramatic picture seem harsh, let the non fossero d'accordo. E ch' egli non possa far venreader look to the historical, of the period prophesied, dere i suoi imprestiti, salvo con legittima causa, e coi or rather of the few years preceding that period. Vol- voler di cinque Consiglieri, di due Capl de' Quaranta, taire calculated their "nostre benemerite Meretrici," e delle due parti del Consiglio de' Pregati. Item, che at twelve thousand of regulars, without including vol- in luogo di tre mila pelli di Conigli, che debbon dare i unteers and local militia, on what authority I know not; Zaratini per regalia al Doge, non trovandosi tante pelli, but it is perhaps the only part of the population not gli diano Ducati ottanta l'anno. E poi a di ll, detto, decreased. Venice once contained two hundred thou- misero etiam altre correzioni, che se il Doge, che sarh sand inhabitants; there are now about ninety thou- eletto, fosse fuori diVenezia, i savj possano provvedere sand, and THESE!! Few individuals can conceive, and del suo ritomo. E quando fosse il Doge atmmalato, sia none could describe the actual state into which the Vicedoge uno de' Consiglieri, da essere eletto tra loro. more than infernal tyranny of Austria has plunged this E che il detto sia nominato Viceluogotenente di Messer unhappy city. lo Doge, quando i giudici faranno i suoi atti. E nota, Note 11. Page 279, line 36. perchl fu fatto Doge uno, ch'era assente, che fu ViceThen, when the Hebrew's in thy palaces. doge Ser Marino Badoero pill vecchio de' Consiglieri. The chief palaces on the Brenta now belong to the Item, che il governo del Ducato sia commesso a' ConJews; who, in the earlier times of the Republic, were siglieri, e a' Capi de' Quaranta, quando vachera il only allowed to inhabit Mestri, and not to enter the Ducato finche sara eletto 1' altro Doge. E cosi a di 11 city of Venice. The whole commerce is in the hands'di Settembre fu creato il prefato Marino Faliero Doge. of the Jews and Greeks, and the Huns form the gar- E fu preso, che il governo del Ducato sia commesso a' rison. Consiglieri e a' Capi de' Quaranta. I quali stiano in Note 12. Page 280, ie 10. Palazzo di continuo, fino che verra il Doge. Sicch6 di Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes! continuo stiano in Palazzo due Consiglieri e un Capo Of the first fifty Doges, five abdicated-five were de' uaanta. subito fono spedite lettere al detto banished with their eyes put out-five were MASSACRE i quale era a Roma Ortore al Legato di Papa -and nine deposed; so that nineteen out of fifty lost Innoce,nzo VI. ch' era in Avignone. F preso nel gran the throne by violence, besides two who fell in battle: Consiglio de eredodii ambasciadoi incontro a this occurred long previous! to the reign of Marino Marin Faliero Doge, il quale veniva da Roma. E giFaliero. One of his more immediate predecessors, An- ut drea Dandolo, died of vexation. Marino Faliero him- o o o t o iniani suo fiealiuolo incontro, con quindici Ganzaruoli. E poI self perished as related. Amongst his successors, Fos- suo figluolo nontro, con qundc Ganzaruoi. self perished as related. Amongst hlssucsoso venuto a S. Clemente nel Bucintoro, venne un gran carl, after seeing his son repeatedly tortured and ban- venuo a S lemee l Bucintoro nonsi levare. Lande caligo, adeo che il Bucintoro non si pots levare. Laonde ished, was deposed, and died of breaking a blood- i e oenn di il Doue co' gentiluomini nelle piatte vennero di lungo vessel, on hearing the bell of Saint Mark's toll for the b154. E donvenou 0 _n... m questa Terra a' 5 d'Ottobre del 1354. E dovendo election of his successor. Morosini was impeached fora di r e d,,..^ v,,~ ~,~., i smontare alla riva della Paglia per lo caligo andarono lie loss of Candia; but this was previous to his duke- ad ismontare alla riva della Pgiaza in meo a e andarono doduringwhd ad ismontare alla riva della Piazza in mezzo alle due co- dom, during which he conquered the Morea, and was lonne dove si fi la Giustizia, che fu un malissimo austyled the Peloponnesian. Faliero might truly say, gurio. a 6 la mattina venne alla Chiesa di San Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes: Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes arco alla laudazione di quello. Era in questo tempo Note 13. Page 280, line 70. Canceilier Grande Messer Benintende. I quarantuno Chief of the Ten. Elettori furono, Ser Giovanni Contarini, Ser' Andrea "Un Capo de' Dieci" are the words of Sanuto's Giustiniani, Ser Michele Morossini, Ser Simone DanChronicle. dolo, Ser Pietro Lando, Ser Marino Gradenigo, Ser Marco Dolfino, Ser Nicolb Faliero, Ser Giovanni Qum^~APPENDIX.^ rini, Ser Lorenzo Soranzo, Ser Marco Bembo, Sere APPEiNDIX. Stefano Belegno, Ser Francesco Loredano, Ser Marino Veniero, Ser Giovanni Mocenigo, Ser Andrea I. Barbaro, Ser Lorenzo Barbarigo, Ser Bettino da MolMCCCLIV. lino, Ser' Andrea Arizzo Procuratore, Ser Marco Colsi, MARINO FALIERO, DOGE XLIX. Ser Paolo Donato, Ser Bertucci Grimani, Ser Pietro "Fu eletto da quarantuno Elettori, il quale era Cav- Steno, Ser Luca Duodo, Ser' Andrea Pisani, Ser Franalsere e conte di Valdemarino in Trivigiana, ed era cesco Caravello, Ser Jacopo Trivisano, Sere Schiavo ricco, e si trovava ambasciadore a Roma. E a di 9, di Marcello, Ser Maffeo Aimo, Ser Marco Capello, Set Settembre, dopo sepolto il suo predecessore, fu chiamato Pancrazio Giorgio, Ser Giovanni Foscarini, Ser Tomil gran Consiglio, e fu preso di fare il Doge giusta il so- maso Viadro, Sere Schiava Polani, Ser Marco Polo, lito. E furono fatti i cinque Correttori, Ser Bernard6 Ser Marino Sagredo, Sere Stefano Mariani, Ser FranGiustiniani Procuratore, Ser Paolo Loredano, Ser Fi- cesco Suriano, Ser Orio Pasqualigo, Ser' Anarea lippo Aurio, Ser Pietro Trivisano, e Ser Tommaso Gritti, Ser Buono da Mosto. Viadro. I quali a di 10, misero queste correzioni alla " Trattato di Messer IMarino Faliero Doge, tratto da promozione del Doge: che i Consiglieri non odano gli una Cronica antica. Essendo venuto il Gioved della Oratori e Nunzi de' Signori, senza i Capi de' quaranta, Caccia, fu fatta giusta il solito la Caccia. E a' quea 41 282 BYRON'S WORKS. tempi dopo fattala Caccia s'andava in Palazzo del Doge nipote, il quale stava con lui in Palazzo, e entrarono u una di quelle sale; e con donne facevasi una festic- in questa macchinazione. Ne si partirono di Il, che manciuola, dove si ballava fino alla prima campana, e ve- darono per Filippo Calendaro, uomo marittimo e di gran niva una coiazione; la quale spesa faceva Messer lo seguito, e per Bertuccio Israello, ingegnere e uomo astuDoge, quando v' era la Dogaressa. Eposcia tuttianda- tissimo. E consigliatisl insieme diede ordine di chiavano a casa sua. - Sopra la qual festa, pare, che Ser Mi- mare alcuni altri. E cosl per alcuni giorni la notte si chele Steno, molto giovane e povero gentiluomo, ma riducevano insieme in Palazzo incasa del Doge. Echiaardito e astuto, il quale era innamorato in certa donzella marono a parte a parte altri, videlicet Niccolb Fadella Dogaressa, essendo sul Solajo appresso le donne, giuolo, Giovanni da Corfu, Stefano Fagiano, Niccolb facesse cert' atto non conveniente, adeo che 1l Doge co- dalle Bende, Niccolb Biondo, e Stefano Trivisano. E mandb ch' e' fosse buttato gih dal Solajo. E cosi quegli ordinb di fare sedici o diciassette Capi in diversi luoghi scudieri del Doge lo spinsero giu di quel Solajo. Laonde della Terra, i quali avessero cadaun di loro quarant' uoa Ser Michele parve, che fossegli stata fatta troppo mini prowviglonati, preparati, non dicendo a' detti suoi grande ignominia. E non conslderando altramente il quaranta quello, che volessero fare. Ma che il giorno fine, ma sopra quella passione fornita la festa, e andati stabilito si mostrasse di far quistione tra loro in diversi tutti via, quella notte egli andb, e sulla cadrega, dove luoghi, acciocchi il Doge facesse sonare a San Marco le sedeva il Doge nella Sala dell' Udienza (perche allora i campane, le quali non si possono suonare, s' egli nol Dogi non tenevano panno di seta sopra la cadrega, ma comanda. E al suono delle campane questi sedici o sedevano in una cadrega di legno) scrisse alcune parole diciassette co' suoi uomini venissero a San Marco alle disoneste del Doge e della Dogaressa, cio6: Marin Fa- strade, che buttano in Piazza. E cosi i nobili e primarj liero dalla bella moglie: Altri la gode, ed egli la man- cittadini, che venissero in Piazza, per sapere del romore tiene. E la mattina furono vedute tali parole scritte. cib ch'era, li tagliassero a pezzi. E seguito questo, che E parve una brutta cosa. E per la Signoria fu com- fosse chiamato per Signore MesserMarino Faliero Doge. messa la cosa agli Avvogadori del Comune con grande E fermate le cose tra loro, stabilito fu, che questo doefficacia. I qualiAvvogadori subito diedero taglia grande vess' essere a' 15 d'Aprile del 1355 in giorno di Mercoper venire in chiaro della verita di chi avea scritto tal ledl. La quale macchinazione trattata fu tra loro tanto lettera. E tandem si seppe, che Michele Steno aveale segretamente, che mai n6 pure se ne sospettb, non che scritte. E fu per li Quaranta preso di ritenerlo; e ri- se ne sapesse cos' alcuna. Ma il Signor' Iddio, che ha tenuto confessb, che in quella passione d' essere stato sempre ajutato questa gloriosissima citth, e che per le spinto giu dal Solajo, presente la sua amante, egli aveale santimonie e giustizie sue mai non l'ha abbandonata, scritte. Onde poi fu placitato nel detto Consiglio, e ispirb a un Beltramo Bergamasco, il quale fu messo parve al Consiglio si per rispetto all' eta, come per la Capo di quarant' uolnini per uno de' detti congiurati caldezza d'amore, di condannarlo a compiere due mesi (il quale intese qualche parola, sicch6 comprese l'effeto, in prigione serrato, e poi ch' e' fosse bandito di Venezia che doveva succedere, e il qual era di casa di Ser Nice dal distretto per un' anno. Per la qual condennagione colb Lioni di Santo Stefano) di andare a di * ** d'Aprile tanto piccola il Doge ne prese grande sdegno, paren- a casa del detto Ser Niccolb Lioni. E gli disse ogni dogli che non fosse stata fatta quella estimazione della cosa dell' ordin dato. II quale intese le cose, rimase cosa, che ricercava la sua dignitha del Ducato. E diceva, come morto; e intese molte particolaritb, il detto Belch' eglino doveano averlo fatto appiccare per-la gola, o tramo il pregb che lo tenesse segreto, e glielo disse, saltem bandirlo in perpetuo da Venezia. E perch6 acciocchb il detto Ser Niccolb non si partisse di casa a (quando dee succedere un' effetto B necessario che vi di 15, acciocche egli non fosse morto. Ed egli volendo concorrala cangione a fare tal' effetto) era destinato, che partirsi, il fece ritenere a suoi di casa, e serrarlo in una a Messer Marino Doge fosse tagliata la testa, percib oc- camera. Ed esso andb a casa di M. Giovanni Gradenigo corse, che entrata la Quaresima il giorno dopo che fu Nasone, il quale fu poi Doge, che stava anch' egli a condannato il detto Ser Michele Steno, un gentiluomo Santo Stefano; e dissegli la cosa. La quale parenda C' Barbaro, di natura collerico, andasse all' Arsenale, dogli, com'era, d'una grandissima importanza, tutti e domandasse certe cose ai Padroni, ed era alla presenza due andarono a casa di Ser Marco Cornaro, che stava de' Signori l'Ammiraglio dell' Arsenale. II quale intesa a San Felice. E dettogli il tutto, tutti e tre deliberala domanda, disse, che non si poteva fare. Quel gen- rono di venire a casa del detto Ser Niccolb Lioni, ed tiluomo venne a parole coll' Ammiraglio, e diedegli un esaminare il detto Beltramo. E quello esaminato, inpugno su un'occhio. E perch. avea un'anello in dito, tese le cose, il fecero stare serrato. E andarono tutti e coll' anello gli ruppe la pelle, e fece sangue. E l'Ammi- tre a San Salvatore in sacristia, e mandorono i loro faraglio cosi battuto e insanguinato andb al Doge a lamen- migli a chiamare i Consiglieri, gli Avvogadori, i Capi tarsi, acciocche il Doge facesse fare gran punizione con- de' Dieci, e que' del Consiglio. E ridotti insieme dissero tra il detto da Ca aarbaro: Il Doge disse: Chevuoi che loro le cose. I quali rimasero morti. E deliberarono di tifaccia? Guarda le ignominiose parole scritte di me, e mandare pel detto Beltramo, e fattolo venire cautail modo c.'~ stato punito quel ribaldo di Michele Steno, mente, ed esaminatolo, e verificate le cose, ancorche ne che le scrtsse. E quale stima hanno i Quaranta fatto sentissero gran passione, pure pensarono la provvisione. della persona nostra? Laonde l'Ammiraglio gli disse: E mandarono pe' Capi de' Quaranta, pe' ~ignorl di llesser lo Doge, se voi volete farvi Signare, e fare ta- notte, pe Capi de' Sestieri, e p5 Cinque della Pace. E e iare tutti questi becchi gentiluomini a pezzi, mi basta ordinato, ch' eglino co' loro uomini trovassero deg!l:animo, dandomi voi ajuto, di farvi Signore di questa altrl buoni uomini, e mandassero a casa de' capi dei Ter;ra. E allora voi potrete castigare tutti costoro. In- congiurati, ut supra mettessero loro le mani addosso. t:sn qluest.-, 1i Doge disse, Come si pub fare una simile E tolsero i detti le Maestrerie dell' Arsenale, accioch6 ~css E cosi entrarono in ragionamento. provvisienati de' congiurati non potessero offenderll. "' 1 IJoge mand' a chiamere Ser Bertuccio Faliero suo E si ridussero in Palazzo verso la sera. Dove ridotts MARINO FALIERO. 283 fecero serrare le porte della corte del Palazzo. E man- verso il Canale. E altri presi furono lasciati, perchi darono a ordinare al campanaro, che non sonasse le sentirono il fatto, ma non vi furono tal che fu dato loro campane. E cosi fu eseguito, e messe le mani addosso ad intendere per questi capi, che venissero coll' arme,' a tutti i nominati di sopra, furono que' condotti al per prendere alcuni mafattori in servigio della Signoria, Palazzo. E vedendo il Consiglio de' Dieci, che il Doge na altro sapeano. Fu encoraliberato Nicoletto Alberto, era nella cospirazione, presero di eleggere venti de' il Guardiaga, e Bartolommeo Ciriuola, e suo figliuolo, primarj della Terra, di giunta al detto Consiglio a con- e molti altri, che non erano in colpa. sigliare, non perb che potessero mettere pallotta. E a di 16 d' Aprile, giorno di Venerdi, fu sentefiziato "I Consiglieri furono questi: Ser Giovanni Mocenigo, nel detto Consiglio de' Dieci, di tagliare la testa a Mesdel Sestiero di San Marco; Ser Almorb Veniero da Santa ser Marino Faliero Doge sul pato della scala di pietra, Marina, del Sestiero di Castello; Ser Tommaso Viadro, dove i Dogi giurano il primo sagramento, quando mondel Sestiero di Canereglo; Ser Giovanni Sanudo, del tano prima in Palazzo. E cosi serrato il Palazzo, la Sestiero di Santa Croce; Ser Pietro Trivisano, del Se- mattina seguente a ora di terza, fu tagliata la testa al stiero di San Paolo, Ser Pantalione Barbo il Grande, del detto Doge a di 17 d' Aprile. E prima la berretta fu Sestiero d'Ossoduro. Gli Avvogadori del Comune fu- tolta di testa al detto Doge, avanti cne venisse giu dalla rono Ser Zufredo Morosini, e Ser Orio Pasqualigo, e scala. E compiuta la giustizia, pare che un Capo de' questi non ballottarono. Que' del Consiglio de' Dieci; Dieci andasse alle Colonne del Palazzo sopra la Piazza, furono: Ser Giovanni Marcello, Ser Tommaso Sanudo, e mostrasse la spada insanguinata a tutti, dicendo: E e Ser Micheletto Dolfino, Capi del detto Consiglio de' statafatta la gran giustizia del Traditore. E aperta la Dieci; Ser Luca da Legge, e Ser Pietro da Mosto,Inqui- porta, tutti entrarono dentro con gran furia a vedereil sitori del detto Consiglio: Ser Marco Polani, Ser Marino Doge, ch' era stato giustiziato. E' da sapere, che a fare Veniero, Ser Lando Lombardo, Ser Nicoletto Trivisano la detta giustizia non fu Ser Giovanni Sanudo il Consida Sant' Angiolo. Questi elessero tra loro una Giunta, gliere, perch6 era andato a casa per difetto della persona, nella notte ridotti quasi sul romper del giorno, di venti sicche furono quattordici soli, che ballottarono, cio6 nobili di Venezia de' migliori, de' pit savj, e de' pit an- cinque Consiglieri, e nove del Consiglio de' Dieci. E fu tichi, per consultare, non perb che mettessero pallot- preso, che tutti i beni del Doge fossero cotrfiscati nel tola. E non vi vollero alcuno da CG Faliero. E cac- Comune, e cosi degli altri traditori. E fu conceduto ciarono fuori del Consiglio Niccolb Faliero, e un' altro al detto Doge pel detto Consiglio de Dieci, ch' egli poNiccolb Faliero da San Tommaso, per essere della ca- tesse ordinare del suo perducati due mila. Ancora fu sata del Doge. E questa provigione di chiamare i venti preso, che tutti i Consiglieri, e Avvogadori del Comune, della Giunta fu molto commendata per tutta la Terra. que' del Consiglio de' Dieci, e della Giunta, ch' erano Questi filrono i venti della Giunta, Ser Marco Giusti- stati a fare la detta sentenza del Doge, e d'altri, avessero niani, Procuratore, Ser' Andrea Erizzo, Procuratore, Ser licenza di portar' arme di di e di notte in Venezia e da Lionardo Giustiniani, Procuratore, Ser' Andrea Conta- Grado fino a Gavarzere, ch' 6 sotto il Dogatoj con due rini, Ser Sinone Dandolo, Ser Niccolb Volpe, Ser Gio- fanti in vita loro, stando i fanti con essi.in casa al suo vanni Loredano, Ser Marco Diedo, Ser Giovanni Gra- pane e al suo vino. E chi non avesse fanti, potesse dar denigo, Ser' Andrea Cornaro, Cavaliere, Ser Marco So- tal licenza a' suoi figliuoli ovvero fratelli, due perb e non ranzo, Ser Rinieri da Mosto, Ser Gazano Marcello, Ser pitl. Eziandio fu data licenza dell' arme a quattro Notaj Marino Morosino, Sere Stefano Belegno, Ser Niccolb della Cancelleria, cio6 della Corte Maggiore, che furono Lioni, Ser Filippo Orio, Ser Marco Trivisano, Ser Ja- a prendere le deposizioni e inquisizioni, in perpetuo a copoBragadino, Ser Giovanni Foscarini. E chiamati loro soli, i quali furono Amadio, Nicoletto di Loreno, questi venti nel Consiglio de' Dieci, fu mandato per Steffanello, e Pietro de' Compostelli, Scrivani de' SiMesser Marino Faliero Doge, il quale andava pel Pa- gnori di notte. Ed essendo stati impiccati i traditori, e lazzo con gran gente, gentiluomini, e altra buona gente, tagliata la testa al Doge, rimase la Terra in gran riposo che non sapeano ancora come il fatto stava. In questo e quiete. E come in una cronica ho trovato, fu portempo fu condotto, preso, e legato, Bertuccio Israello, tato il corpo del Doge in una barca con otto doppieri uno de' Capi del trattato per que' di Santa Croce, e an- a seppelire nella sua arca a San Giovanni e Paolo, la cora fu preso Zanello del Brin, Nicoletto di Rosa, e quale al presente 6 in quell' andito per mezzo la ChieNicoletto Alberto, il Guardiaga, e altri uomini da mare, suola di Santa Maria della Pace, fatta fare pel Vescovo e d' altre condizioni. I quali furono esaminati, e trovata Gabriello di Bergamo, e un cassone di pietra conqueste la verith del tradimento. A di 16 d'Aprile fu senten- lettere: Hicjaet Dominus Marinus Faletro Dux. E ziato pel detto Consiglio de' Dieci, che iltippo Calan- nel gran Consiglio non gli 6 stato fatto alcun brieve, ma dario. e Bertucci Israello fossero appiccati alle colonne il luogo vacuo con lettere, che dicono cosi: -Hic est locus rosse del balconate del Palazzo, nelle quali sta a vedere Marini Faletro, decapitati pro criminiblUs. E pare, che il Doge la festa della Caccia. E cosi furono appiccati la sua casa fosse data alla Chiesa di Sant' Apostolo, la con spranghe in bocca. E nel giorno seguente' questi qual era quella grande sul ponte. Tamen vedo il confurono condannati, Niccolb Zuccuolo, Nicoletto Blondo, trario che b pure di Ca Faliero, o che i Falieri la ricuNicoletto Doro, Marco Geuda, Jacomello Dagolino, Ni- perassero con danari dalla Chiesa. N voglio restar di coletto Fedele figliuolo di Filippo Calendaro, Marco To- scrivere alcuni, che volevano, che fosse messo nel suo rello, detto Israello, Stefano Trivisano, cambiatore di breve, cioe: Marinus Faletro Dux. Temeritas me cec; Santa Margherita, Antonio dalle Bende. Furono tutti Pcenas &ui decapitatus pro -riminibus. Altri vi fecezu presi a Chioggia, che fuggivano, e dipoi in diversi giorni un distico assai degno al suo merito, il quale b questi a due a due, ed a uno a uno, per sentenza fatta nel detto da cessere posto su la sua sepoltura: Consiglio de' Dieci, furono appiccati per la gola alle co- Dux Venetum jacet hic, patriam qui prodere tentam lonne, continuando dalle rosse del Palazzo, seguendo fin $ceptra, decus, censum, perdidit atque capt' 284 BYRON'S WOR " Non voglio restar di scrivere quello che ho letto in that such an affront was beyond all bearing; and when ana cronica, cio6, che Marino Faliero trovandosi Po- the feast was over, and all other persons had left the desti e Capitano a Treviso, e dovendosi fare una pro- palace, he, continuing heated with anger, went to the cessione, il vescovo stette troppo a far venire il Corpo hall of audience, andwrote certain unseemly words redi Cristo. I detto Faliero era di tanta superbia e ar- lating to the Duke and the Duchess, upon the chair in roganza, che diede un buffetto al prefato Vescovo, per which the Duke was used to sit; for in those days the modo ch' egli quasi cadde in terra. Perb fu permesso, Duke did not cover his chair with cloth of sendal, but che il Faliero perdette l'intelletto, e fece la mala morte, he sat in a chair of wood. Ser Michele wrote thereon: come ho scritto di sopra." -" Marin Falier, the husband of the fair wife; others, * * * * * * kiss her, but he keeps her." In the morning the words Cronica di Sanuto-Muratori S. S. Rerum Italicarum were seen, and the matter was considered to be very -~vol. xxii. 628-639. -scandalous; and the Senate commanded the Avvogadori of the Commonwealth to proceed therein with the II. greatest diligence. A largess of great amount was im-.,MCCCL^ V. mediately proffered by the Awogadori, in order to discover who had written these words. And at length it MARINO FALIERO, DOGE XLIX. was known that Michele Steno had written them. It ON the eleverflh day of September, in the year of our was resolved in the Council of Forty that he should be Lord 1354, Marino Faliero was elected and chosen to be arrested; and he then confessed, that in a fit of vexathe Duke of the Commonwealth of Venice. He was tion and spite, occasioned by his being thrust off the Count of Valdemarino, in the Marches of Treviso, and solajo in the presence of his mistress, he had written a Knight and a wealthy man to boot. As soon as the the words. Therefore the Council debated thereon. election was completed, it was resolved in the Great And the Council took his youth into consideration, and Council, that a deputation of twelve should be des- that he was a lover, and therefore they adjudged that patched to Marino Faliero, the Duki, who was then on he should be kept in close confinement during two his way from Rome; for, when he was chosen, he was months, and that afterwards he should be banished from ambassador at the court of the Holy Father, at Rome, Venice and the state during one year. In consequence -the Holy Father himself held his court at Avignon. of this merciful sentence the Duke became exceedingly When Messer Marino Faliero, the Duke, was about to wroth, it appearing to him that the Council had not land in this city, on the fifth day of October, 1354, a acted in such a manner as was required by the respect thick haze came on, and darkened the air; and he was due to his ducal dignity; and he said that they ought enforced to land on the place of Saint Mark, between to have condemned Ser Michele to be hanged by the the two columns, on'the spot where evil doers are put neck, or at least to be banished for life. to death; and all thought that this was the worst of Now it was fated that my Lord Duke Marino was to tokens.-Nor must I forget to write that which I have have his head cut off. And as it is necessary, when any read in a chronicle.-When Messer Marino Faliero was effect is to be brought about, that the cause of such ef podesta and Captain of Treviso, the bishop delayed feet must happen, it therefore came to pass, that on the coming in with the holy sacrament, on a day when~ a very day after sentence had been pronounced on Ser procession was to take place. Now the said Marino Fa- Michele Steno, being the first day of Lent, a gentleman fero was so very proud and wrathful, that he buffeted of the house of Barbaro, a choleric gentleman, went the bishop, and almost struck him to the ground. And to the arsenal and required certain things-of the masthereforc, Heaven allowed Marino Faliero to go out of ters of the galleys. This he did in the presence of the his right senses, in order that he might bring himself to admiral of the arsenal, and he, hearing the request, an evil death. answered,-No, it cannot be done.-High words arose When this Duke had held the dukedom during nine between the gentleman and the admiral, and the genmonths and six days, he being wicked and ambitious, tleman struck him with his fist just above the eye; and sought to make himself lord of Venice,- in the manner as he happened to have a ring on his finger, the ring which I have read in an ancient chronicle. When the cut the admiral and drew blood. The admiral, all Thursday arrived upon which they were wont to hunt bruised and bloody, ran straight to the Duke to comthe bull, the bull-hunt took place as usual; and, accord- plain, and with the intent of praying him to inflict mg to the usage of those times, after the bull-hunt had some heavy punishment upon the gentleman of Ca Barended, they all proceeded unto the palace of the Duke, baro.-"Wht wouldst thou have me do-for thee?" and assembled together in one of his halls; and they answered the Duke; —"think upon the shameful gibe disported themselves with the women. And until the which hath been written concerning me; and think on first bell tolled they danced, and then a banquet was the manner in which they have punished that ribald served up. My Lord the Duke paid the expenses there- Michele Steno, who wrote it; and see how the Council of, provided he nad a Ducliess, and after the banquet of Forty respect our person."-Upon this the admiral taev all returned to tneir homes. answered;-" My Lord Duke, ifyou would wish to make Now to this feast there came a certain Ser Michele yourself' a prince, and to cut-all those cuckoldy gentle. tenlo, a gentleman of poor estate and very young, but men to pieces, I have the heart, if you do but help me, crafty ain daring, and-who loved one of the damsels of to make you prince of all this state; and then you may the Duchess. Ser Michele stood amongst the women punishthem all."-Hearingthis,the Dukesaid;-"How'qon the solajo; and he behaved indiscreetly, so that can such a matter be brought about?"-and so they mny Lord tne Duke ordered that he snould be kicked off discoursed thereon. me solajo; and the esquires of the Duke flung him TheDukecalledforhisnephew,SerBertuccioFaliero, down fron the solajo accordingly. Ser Michele thought who lived with him in the palace. and they communed MARINO FALIERO. 280 about this plot. And, without leaving the place, they Quaranta, the Signori di Notte, the Capi de' Sestieri, sent for Philip Calendaro, a seaman of great repute, and and the Cinque della Pace; and they were ordered to "or Bertuccio Israello, who was exceedingly wily and associate to their men other good men and true, who cunning. Then, taking counsel amongst themselves, were to proceed to the houses of the ringleaders of the they agreed to call in some others; and so for several conspiracy and secure them. And they secured the nights successively, they met with the Duke at home in foreman of the arsenal, in order that the conspirators his palace. And the following men were called in singly; might not do mischief. Towards nightfall they assemto wit;-Niccolo Fagiuolo, Giovanni da Corfu, Stefano bled in the palace. When they were assembled in the Fagiano, Niccolo dalle Bende, Niccolo Biondo, and Ste- palace, they caused the gates of the quadrangle of the fano Trivisano. —It was concerted that sixteen or seven- palace to be shut. And they sent to the keeper of the teen leaders should be stationed in various parts of the bell-tower, and forbade the tolling of the bells. All th s city, each being at the head of forty men, armed and was carried into effect. The before-mentioned con. prepared; but the followers were not to know their des- spirators were secured, and they were brought to the tination. On the appointed day they were to make af- palace; and as the Council of Ten saw that the Duke frays amongst themselves here and there, in order that was in the plot, they resolved that twenty of the leadthe Duke might have a pretence for tolling the bells of ing men of the state should be associated to them, for San Marco: these bells are never rung but by the order the purpose of consultation and deliberation, but that of the Duke. And at the sound of the bells, these six- they should not be allowed to ballot. teen or seventeen, with their followers, were to come The counsellors were the following: Ser Giovanni to San Marco, through the streets which open upon the Mocenigo, of the Sestiero of San Marco; Ser Almoro Piazza. And when the noble and leading citizens should Veniero da Santa Marina, of the Sestiero of Castello; come into the Piazza, to know the cause of the riot, then Ser Tommaso Viadro, of the Sestiero of Caneregio; Ser the conspirators were to cut them in pieces; and this Giovanni Sanudo, of the Sestiero of Santa Croce; Ser work being finished, my Lord Marino Faliero the Duke Pietro Trivisano, of the Sestiero of San Paolo; Ser was to be proclaimed the Lord of Venice. Things Pantalione Barbo il Grande, of the Sestiero of Ossoduro. having been thus settled, they agreed to fulfil their in- The Avvogadori of the Commonwealth were Zufredo tent on Wednesday, the fifteenth day of April, in the Morosini, and Ser Orio Pasqualigo; and these did not year 1355. So covertly did they plot, that no one ever ballot. Those of the Council of Ten were Ser Giovanni dreamt of their machinations. Marcello, Ser Tommaso Sanudo, and Ser Micheletto But the Lord, who hath always helped this most Dolfino, the heads of the aforesaid Council of Ten. glorious city, and who, loving its righteousness and Ser Luca da Legge, and Ser Pietro da Mosto, inquisiholiness, hath never forsaken it, inspired one Beltramo tors of the aforesaid Council. And Ser-Marco Polam, Bergamasco to be the cause of bringing the plot to light Ser Marino Veniero, Ser Lando Lombardo, and Ser in the following manner. This Beltramo, who belonged Nicoletto Trivisano, of Sant' Angelo. to Ser Niccolo Lioni of Santo Stefano, had heard a word Late in the night, just before the dawning, they or two of what was to take place; and so, in the before- chose a junta of twenty noblemen of Venice from mentioned month of April, he went to the house of the amongst the wisest and the worthiest and the oldest. aforesaid Ser Niccolo Lioni, and told him all the partic- They were to give counsel, but not to ballot. And they ulars of the plot. Ser Niccolo, when he heard all would not admit any one of Ca Faliero. And Niccolo these things, was struck dead, as it were, with affright. Faliero, and another Niccolo Faliero, of San Tommaso, He heard all the particulars, and Beltramo prayed him were expelled from the Council, because they belonged to keep it all secret; and if he told Ser Niccolo, it was to the family of the Doge. And this resolution of in order that Ser Niccolo might stop at home on the creating the junta of twenty was much praised throughfifteenth of April, and thus save his life. Beltramo was out the state. The following were the members of the going, but Ser Niccolo ordered his servants to lay hands junta of twenty:-Ser Marco Giustiniani, Procuratore, upon him and lock him up. Ser Niccolo then went to Ser' Andrea Erizzo, Procuratore, Ser Lionardo Guis the house of Messer Giovanni Gradenigo Nasoni, who tiniani, Procuratore, Ser'Andrea Contarini, Sere Simone afterwards became Duke, and who also lived at Santo Dandolo, Ser Niccolo Volpe, Ser Giovanni Loredano, Stefano, and told him all. The matter seemed to him Ser MarcoDiedo, Ser Giovanni Gradenigo, Ser Andrea to be of the very greatest importance, as indeed it was; Cornaro, Cavaliere, Ser Marco Soranzo, Ser Rinieri and they two went to the house of Ser Marco Cornaro, da Mosto, Ser Gazano Marcello, Ser Marino Morosini, who lived at San Felice; and, having spoken with him, Ser Stefano Belegno, Ser Niccolo Lioni, Ser Filippo they all three then determined to go back to the house Orio, Ser Marco Trivisano, Ser Jacopo Bragadino, Ser of Ser Niccolo Lioni, to examine the said Beltramo; Giovanni Foscarini. and having questioned him, and heard all that he had to These twenty were accordingly called in to the say, they left him in confinement. And then they all Council of Ten; and they sent for my Lord Marino three went into the sacristy of San Salvatore, and sent Faliero the Duke; and my Lord Marino was then their men to summon the Councillors, the Avvogadori, consorting in the palace with people of great estate, the Capi de' Dieci, and those of the Great Council. gentlemen, and other good men, none of whom knew When all were assembled, the whole story was told yet how the fact stood. to them. They were struck dead, as it were, with At the same time Bertucclo Israello, who, as one ef affright. They determined to send for Beltramo. He the ringleaders, was to head the conspirators in Santa was brought in before them. They examined him, and Croce, was arrested and bound, and brought before thn ascertained that the matter was true; and, although Council. Zanello del Brin, Nicoletto di Rosa, Nicoiltro they were exceedingly troubled, yet they determined Alberto, and the Guardiaga, were also taken together, upon their measures. And they sent for the Capi de' with several seamen, and people of various ranKs. 2 C 286 BYRON'S WORKS. These were examined, and the truth of the plot was men living and boarding with them in their own houses. ascertained. And he who did not keep two footmen might transfer On the sixteenth of April, judgment was given in the the privilege to his sons or his brothers; (but only to Council of Ten, that Filippo Calendaro and Bertuccio two. Permission of carrying arms was also granted to Israello' should be hanged upon the red pillars of the the four Notaries of the Chancery, that is to say, of the balcony of the palace, from which the Duke is wont to Supreme Court, who took the depositions; and they look at the bull-hunt: and they were hanged with gags were Amedio, Nicoletto di Lorino, Steffanello, and in their mouths. Pietro de Compostelli, the secretaries of the Signori di The next day the following were condemned:-Nic- Notte. colo Zuccuolo, Nicoletto Blondo, Nicoletto Doro, Marco After the traitors had been hanged, and the Duke had Giuda, Jacomello Dagolino, NicolettoFidele, the son of had his head cut off, the state remained in great tranPhilip Calendaro, MarcoTorello, called Israello, Stefanp quillity and peace. And, as I have read in a chronicle, Trivisano, the money-changer of SantaMargllerita, and the corpse of the Duke was removed in a barge, with Antonio dalle Bende. These were all taken at Chiozza, eight torches, to his tomb in the church of San Giovanni for they were endeavouring to escape. Afterwards, by e Paolo, where it was buried. The tomb is now in virtue of the sentence which was passed upon them in that aisle in the middle of the little church of Santa the Council of Ten, they were hanged on successive Maria della Pace, which was built by Bishop Gabriel of days, some singly and some in couples, upon the col- Bergamo. It is a coffin of stone, with these words enumns of tne palace, beginning from the red columns, graved thereon: " HeicjacetDominusMarinusFaletro and so going onwards towards the canal. And other Du." —And they did not paint his portrait in the hall prisoners were discharged, because, although they had of the Great Council:-But in the place where it ought been involved in the conspiracy, yet they had not assist- to have been, you see these words:-" Hic est locus ed in it: for they were given to understand by some of Marini Faletro decapitati pro criminibus "-and it is the heads of the plot, that they were to come armed thought that his house was granted to the church of and prepared for the service of the state, and in order Sant' Apostolo; it was that great one near the bridge. to secure certain criminals, and they knew nothing else. Yet this could not be the case, or else the family bought Nicoletto Alberto, the Guardiaga, and Bartolommeo it back from the church; for it still belongs to Ca FaCiriuola and his son, and several others, who were not liero. I must not refrain from noting, that some wished guilty, were discharged. to write the following words in the place where his On Friday, the sixteenth day of April, judgment was portrait ought to have been, as aforesaid:-" Marinus also given, in the aforesaid Council of Ten, that my Faletro Dux, temeritas me cepit, poenas lui, decapitatua Lord Marino Faliero, the Duke, should have his head pro criminibus."-Others, also, indited a couplet, worthy cut off, and that the execution should be done on the of being inscribed upon his tomb. landing-place of the stone staircase, where the Dukes ", Dux Venetum jacet heic, patriam qui prodere tentans, take their oath when they first enter the palace. On Sceptra,decus,cesum,perddit,atquecaput." the following day, the seventeenth of April, the dors [I am obliged for this excellent translation of the old chronicle to Mr. vthe following day, the seventeenth of April, the doors. Cohen, to whom the reader will find himself indebted for a version of the palace being shut, the Duke had his head cut off, that I could not myself (though after many years' intercourse with Italian,) about the hour of noon. And the cap of estate was have given by any means so purely and so faithfully.] taken from the Duke's head before he came down stairs. When the execution was over, it is said that one of the III. Council of Ten went to the columns of the palace over "AL giovaneDoge Andrea Dandolo succedette un against the place of St. Mark, and that he showed the vecchio, il quale tardi si pose al timone della repubblica, oloody sword unto the people, crying out with a loud ma sempre prima di quel, che facead' uopo a lui, ed alla voice-" The terrible doom hath fallen upon the trai- patria: egli b Marino Faliero personnaggio a me noto tor!"-and the doors were opened, and the people all per antica dimestichezza. Falsa era 1' opinione intorno rushed in, to see the corpse of the Duke who had been a lui, giacch6 egli si mostrb fornito pih di coraggio beheaded. che di senno. Non pago della prima dignita, entrb con It must be known, that Ser Giovanni Sanudo, the sinistro piede nel pubblico Palazzo: imperciocch6 < ouncillor, was not present when the aforesaid sentence questo Doge dei Veneti, magistrato sacro, in tutti i sewas pronounced;.because he was unwell and remained coli, che dagli antichi fu sempre venerate qual nume in at home. So that only fourteen balloted; that is to quella citta 1' altr' jeri fu decollato nel vestibolo del' say, five councillors, and nine of the Council of Ten. istesso Palazzo. Discorrerei fin dal principio le cause And it was adjudged, that all the lands and chattels of di un tale evento, se cosi vario, ed ambiguo non ne the Duke, as well as of the other traitors, should be fosse il grido. Nessuno perb lo scusa, tutti affermano, forfeited to the state. And, as a grace to the Duke, it che egli abbia voluto cangiar qualche cosa nell' ordine was resolved in the Council of Ten, that he should be della repubblica a lui tramandato dai magglori. Che allowed to dispose of two thousand ducats out of his desiderava egli di pih? Io son d'avviso, che egli abbia own property. And it was resolved, that all the coun- ottenuto cib, che non si concedette a nessun altro: cilors and all the Avvogadori of the commonwealth, mentre adempiva gli ufficj di legato presso il Pontefice, those of the Council of Ten, and the members of the j sulle rive del Rodano trattava la pace, che io prima Junta who had assisted in passing sentence on the Duke di lui avevo indarno- tentato di conchiudere, gli fu con. and the other traitors, should have the privilege of car- ferito 1' onore del Ducato, che n6 chiedeva, n6 s' aspet*ving arms both by day and by night in Venice, and tava. Tomato in patria, pensb a quello, cui nesslno from Grado to Cavazere. And they were also to be non pose mente giammai, e soffrl quello che a niune, Mvowed! two footmen carrying arms,'the aforesaid foot- accade mai de soffrire: giacchf in quel luogo celeber MARINO FALIERO. 287 rimo, e chiarissimo, e bellissimo infra tutti quelli, che a hero; and that his passions were too violent. The io vidi, ove i suoi antenati avevano ricevuti grandissimi paltry and ignorant account of Dr. Moore falls to the onori in mezzo alle pompe trionfali, ivi egli fu trasci- ground. Petrarch says, " that there had been no nato in modo servile, e spogliato delle insegne. ducali, greater event in his times" (our times literally), "nostri perdette la testa, e macchib col proprio sangue le soglie tempi," in Italy. He also differs from the historian in del tempio, 1' atrio del Palazzo, e le scale marmoree ren- saying that Faliero was "on the banks of the Rhone," dute spesse volte illustri o dalle solenni festivita, o dalle instead of at Rome, when elected; the other accounts ostili spoglie. Ho notato il luogo, ora noto il tempo: say, that the deputation of the Venetian senate met 1' anno del Natale di Cristo 1355, fu il giorno 18 d'A- him at Ravenna. How this may have been, it is not prile. Si alto e il grido sparse, che se alcuno esaminera for me to decide, and is of no great importance. Had la disciplina, e le costumanze di quella citta, e quanto the man succeeded, he would have changed the face of mutamento di cose venga minacciato dalla morte di un Venice, and perhaps of Italy. As it is, what are they sol uomo (quantunque molti altri, come narrano, es- both? sendo complici, o subirono 1' istesso supplicio, o lo aspettano) si accorgera, che nulla di piu grande avenne IV ai nostri tempi nell' Italia. Tu forse qui attendi il Inio giudizio; assolvo il popolo, se credere alla fama, benche Extrait de!'ouvrage.-Histoire de la Rdpuhlique de abbia potuto e castigare piu mitamente, e con maggior Venise, par P. Daru, de l'.caddmie Francaise, dolcezza vendicare il suo dolore: ma non cosi facil- tom. v. liv. xxxv. p. 95, etc. Edition de Paris, mente, si modera un' ira giusta insieme, e grande in MDCCCXIX. un numeroso popolo principalmente, nel quale il pre- "A cES attaques si frequentes que le gouvernement cipitoso, ed instabile volgo aguzza gli stimoli dell' ira- dirigeait contre le clerge, a ces luttes 6tablies entre les condia con rapidi, e sconsigliati clamori. Compatisco, diff6rens corps constitu6s, a ces entreprises de la masse e nell' istesso tempo mi adiro con quell' infelice uomo, de la noblesse contre les d6positaires du pouvoir,' il quale adorno di un' insolito onore, non so che cosa toutes ces propositions d'innovation qui se terminaient si volesse negli estremi anni della sua vita: la cala- toujours par des coups d'etat; il faut ajouter une autre mita di lui diviene sempre piu grave, perche dalla cause, non moins propre a propager le m6pris des ansentenza contra di esso promulgata apparira, che egli fu ciennes doctrines, c'dtait l'exc~s de la corruption. non solo misero, ma insano, e demente, e che con vane " Cette liberte de mceurs, qu'on avait long-temps vanarti si usurpb per tanti anni una falsa fama di sapienza. t6e comme le charme principal de la societe de Venise, Ammonisce i Dogi, i quali gli succederanno, che questo dtait devenue un d6sordre scandaleux; le lien du mariage o un esempio posto innanzi ai loro occhi, quale specchio 6tait moins sacre dans ce pays catholiquc que dans ceux nel quale veggano di essere non Signori, ma Duci, anzi ou les lois civiles et religieuses permettent de le disnemmeno Duci, ma onorati servi della Repubblica. soudre. Faute de pouvoir rompre le contrat, on supTu sta sano; e giacch6 fluttuano le publicche cose, sfor- posait qu'il n'avait jamais existe, et les moyens de nulziamoci di governar modestissimamente i privati nostri lith, allegues avec impudeur par les 6poux, 6taient affarl." admis avec la meme facilite par des magistrats et par Levati. Viaggi di Petrarca, vol. iv. p. 323. des pretres egalement corrompus. Ces divorces colores The above Italian translation from the Latin epistles d'un autre nom devinrent si frequents, que l'acte le plus of Petrarch, proves — important de la soci6et civile se trouva de la competence Istly, That Marino Faliero was a personal friend of d'un tribunal d'exception, et que ce fut a la police de Petrarch's: "antica dimestichezza," old intimacy, is the reprimer le scandale. Le conseil des dix ordonna, en phrase of the poet. 1782, que toute femme qui intenterait une demande en 2dly, That Petrarch thought that he had more courage dissolution de mariage serait oblig6e d'en attendre le than conduct, " piuidi coraggio che di senno." jugement dans un couvent que le tribunal designerait.' Sdly, That there was some jealousy on the part of Bientot apres il 6voqua devant lui toutes les causes de Petrarch; for he says that Marino Faliero wastreating cette nature.2 Cet ernpi6tement sur la jurisdiction of the peace which he himself had " vainly attempted eccl6siastique ayant occasionne des r6clamations de la to conclude." part de la cour de Rome, le conseil se reserva le droit 4thly, That the honour of the dukedom was con- de d6bouter les dpoux de leur demande; et consentit B ferred upon him, which he neither sought nor expected, la renvoyer devant l'officialit6, toutes les foies qu'il ne " che n6 chiedeva nos' aspettava," and which-had never l'aurait pas rejetee.3 been granted to any other in like circumstances, "cib "Il y eut un moment ou sans doute le renversement che non si concedette a nessun alto;" " proof of the des fortunes, la perte des jeunes gens, les discordes dohigh esteen in which he must have been held."' mestiques, d6termintent ie gouvernement a s'ecarter 5thly, That he had a reputation for wisdom, only des, maximes qu'il s'etait faites sur la libert6 de moeurs forfeited by the last enterprise of his life, " si surpb qu'il permettait a ses sujets: on cnassa de V enlse toutes per tanti anni una falsa fama di sapienza."-" He had les courtisanes. Mais leur absence ne suffisalt pas pou usurped for so many years a false fame of wisdom;" ramener aux bonnes mceurs toute une population 6leven rather a difficult task, I should think. People are gene- dans la plus honteuse licence. Le d6sordre oenetil rally found out before eighty years of age, at least in a dans l'int6rieur des families, dans les cloitres; et i'on se republic. From these, and the other historical notes which I 1 Correspondance de M. Schlick, charg6 d'afilaites have collected, it may be inferred that Marino Faliero Francei. ddpche du 4 Aoit,178. possessed many of the ualities bu not the succes o 3 Ibid. Ddpcfhe du 31 Atmhre. possessed many of the qualities, but not the success of 3 Ibid. DWphbce du 3 S&iemhre. 1785 288 BYRON'S WORKS. crut oblihg de rappeler, d'indemniser mrme I des femmes every woman who should sue for a dissolution of her qui surprenaient quelquefois d'importants secrets, et marriage should be compelled to await the decision of qu'on pouvait employer utilement a ruiner des hommes the judges in some convent, to be named by the court.' que leur fortune aurait pu rsndre dangereux. Depuis, Soon afterwards the same council summoned all causes La licence est toqjours allee croissant, et l'on a vu non of that nature before itself.2 This infringement on seulement des mfres trafiquer de la virginite de leurs ecclesiastical jurisdiction having occasioned some refilles, mais la vendre par un contrat, dont l'authenticite monstrance from Rome, the council retained only the dtait garantie par la signature d'un officier public, et right of rejecting the petition of the married persons, l'execution mise sous la protection des lois.2 and consented to refer such causes to the holy office as " Lessparloirs des couvents oh dtaient renfermees les it should not previously have rejected.3 filles nobles, les maisons des courtisanes, quoique la "There was a moment in which, doubtless, the depolice y entretint soigneusement un grand nombre de struction of private fortunes, the ruin of youth, the do. surveillans, etaient les seuls points de rdunion de la so- mestic discord, occasioned by these abuses, determined cidet de Venise, et dans ces deux endroits si divers on the government to depart from its established maxims etait dgalement libre. La musique, les collations, la concerning the freedom of manners allowed the subject. galanterie, n'etaient pas plus interdites dans les parloirs All the courtesans were banished from Venice, but their que dans les casins. 11 y avait un grand nombre de absence was not enough to reclaim and bring back casins destinds aux reunions publiques, ou le jeu dtait good morals to a whole people brought up in the most la principale occupation de la societe. C'etait un sin- scandalous licentiousness. Depravity reached the very gulier spectacle de voir autour d'une table des personnes bosoms of private families, and even into the cloister; des deux sexes en masque, et de graves personnages en and they found themselves obliged to recall, and even robe de magistrature, implorant le hasard, passant des to indemnify4 women who sometimes gained possesangoisses du ddsespoir aux illusions de l'esperance, et sion of important secrets, and who might be usefully cela sans proferer une parole. employed in the ruin of men whose fortunes might "Les riches avaient des casins particuliers; mais ils have rendered them dangerous. Since that time liceny vivaient avec mystbre; leurs femmes delaissdes trou- tiousness has gone on increasing, and we have seen vaient un d6dommagement dans la libert6 dont elles mothers, not only selling the innocence of their daughjouissaient; la corruption des meurs les avait privbes ters, but selling it by a contract, authenticated by the de tout leur empire; on vient de parcourir toute l'his- signature of a public officer, and the performance of toire de Venise, et on ne les a pas vues une seule fois which was secured by the protection of the laws.5s exercer la moindre influence." " The parlours of the convents of noble ladies, and the houses of the courtesans, though the police carefully ~~V,~~. ~kept up a number of spies about them, were the only assemblies for society in Venice; and in these two Extract from the Iistory of the Republic of Venice, by places, so different from each other, there was equal freeP. Daru, llember of the French Academy, vol. v. dom. Music, collations, gallantry, were not more forbidb. xxxv. p. 95, etc. Paris Edit. 1819. den in the parlours than at the casinos. There were a "To these attacks, so frequently pointed by the number of casinos for the purpose of public assemblies, governr:nt against-the clergy,-to the continual strug- where gaming was the principal pursuit of the company. g!es between the different constituted bodies,-to these It was a strange sight to see persons of either sex, maskenterprises, carried on by the mass of the nobles against ed, or grave personages in their magisterial robes, round the depositaries of power,-to all those projects ofinno- a table, invoking chance, and giving way at one instant vation, which always ended by a stroke of state policy,-to the agonies of despair, at the next to the illusions of we must add a cause not less fitted to spread contempt hope and that without uttering a single word. for ancient doctrines; this was the excess of corruption. The rich hadprivate casinos but they lived incog"That freedom of manners, which had been lona nito in them; and the wives whom they abandoned boasted of as the principal charm of Venetian society, found compensation in the liberty they enjoyed. The had degenerated into scandalous licentiousness; the tie corruption of morals had deprived them of their emof marriage was less sacred in that Catholic country, pire. We have just reviewed the whole history of than among those nationswhere the laws and religion iceand we have not once seen them exercise the admit of its being dissolved. Because they could not slightest influence." break the contract, they feigned that it had not existed; From the present decay and degeneracy of Venice and the ground of nullity, immodestly alleged by the under the barbarians, there are some honourable indimarried pair, was admitted with equal facility by priests vidual exceptions. There is Pasqualigo, the last, and, and magistrates, alike col'rupt. These divorces, veiled alas!- posthumous son of the marriage of the Doges with under another name, became so frequent, that the most the Adriatic, who fought his frigate with far greater important act of civil society was discovered to be gallantry than any of his French coadjutors in the me amenable to a tribunal of exceptions; and to restrain'he ozpen scandl of such proceedings became the office 1 Correspondence of Mr. Schlick, French charg6 d'affaireg. Despatch of 24th August, 178S2. uf tile police. In 1782 the Council of Ten decreed, that 2 Ibid. Despatch, 31st August. 3 Ibid. Despatch, 3d September, 1785. 1 Le d6cret de rappe! les d6signait sous le nom de nostre 4 The decree for their recall designates them as nostre bene benemerite meretrici. On leur assigna un.fonds et des maisons merite meretrici. A fund and some houses called Case racm appelees Case rampane, d'ou vient la denomination injurieuse pane were assigned to them: hence the opprobrious appellation de Carampastl of' Carampane.'5 Mayer, Description de Venise, tom. ii. et M. Archenholtz 5 Mayer, Description of enice, vol. ii. and M. Archenhultz Tableau de l'Italie, tom. i. chap..' Picture o Italy, vol. i. chap. 2. MARINO FALIERO. 289 morable action off Lissa. I came home in the squadron liberty will not last till 1797.' Recollect, that Venice with the prizes in 1811, and recollect to have heard Sir ceased to be free in the year 1796, the fifth year of the William Hoste, and the other officers engaged in that French republic; and you will perceive that there never glorious conflict, speak in the highest terms of Pasqua- was prediction more pointed, or more exactly followed ligo's.behaviour. There is the Abbate Morelli. There by the event. You will, therefore, note as very remark. is Alvise Querini, who, after a long and honourable able the three lines of Alamanni, addressed to Venice, diplomatic career, finds some consolation for the wrongs which, however, no one has pointed out: of his country, in the pursuits of literature, with his'Se non cangi pensier, l'un secolsolo nephew, Vittor Benzon, the son of the celebrated beauty, Non centers sopra,' millesimo anno the heroine of" La Biondina in Gondoletta." There are Tua libertk, che vs fuggendo a volo.' the patrician poet Morosini, and the poet Lamberti, the Many prophecies have passed for such, and many me author of the "Biondina," etc. and many other estima- have been called prophets for much less." ole productions; and, not least in an Englishman's esti- If the Doge's prophecy seem remarkable, look to the above mation, Madame Michelli, the translator of Shakspeare. made by Alamanni two hundred and seventy years ago. There are the young Dandolo, and the improwisatore Carrer, and Giuseppe Albrizzi, the accomplished son THE author of" Sketches Descriptive of Italy," etc. of an accomplished mother. There is Aglietti, and, one of the hundred tours lately published, is extremely were there nothing else, there is the immortality of anxious to disclaim a possible charge of plagiarism Canova. Cicognara, Mustoxithi, Bucati; etc., etc. I do from " Childe Harold" and " Beppo." He adds, that not reckon, because tne one is a Greek, and the others still less could this presumed coincidence arise from were born at least a hundred miles off, which, through- " my conversation," as he had repeatedly declined an out Italy, constitutes, if not a foreigner, at least a introduction to me while in Italy. stranger (forestiere). Who this person may be, I know not; but he must have been deceived by all or any of those who " repeatVI. edly offered to introduce" him, as I have invariably Extrait de Pouvrage-Histoire litteraire d'Italie, par refused to receive any English with whom I was not P. L. Gingueng, tom. ix. chap. xxxvi. p. 144. Edi- previously acquainted, even when they had letters tion de Paris, MDCCCXIX. from England. If the whole assertion is not an inven"Irn y a une prediction fort singulibre sur Venise:'Si tion, I request this person not to sit down with the tu ne changes pas,' dit-elle a cette republique altihre,' ta notion that he COULD have been introduced, since there liberte, qui d6jk s'enfuit, ne comptera pas un sihcle apr/s has been nothing I have so carefully avoided as any a milli6me annde.' kind of intercourse with his countrymen,-excepting "En faisant remonter l'dpoque de la libert6 Veni- the very few who were a considerable time resident tienne jusqu'a l'etablissement du gouvernement sous le- in Venice, or had been of my previous acquaintance. quel la r6publique a fleuri, on trouvera que el'ection Whoever made him any such offer was possessed of du premier Doge date de 697, et si lon y ajoute un impudence equal to that of making such an assertion sibcle apres mille, c'est-h-dire onze cents ans, on trou- without having had it. The fact is, that I hold in utter vera encore que le sens de la prediction est litterale- abhorrence any contact with the travelling English, as ment celui-ci:'Ta liberte ne comptera pas jusqu1' Pan my friend the Consul-General Hoppner, and the Coun1797.' Rappelez-vous maintenant que Venise a cesse tess Benzoni (in whose house the Conversazione mostd'8tre libre en l'an cinq de la Republique frangaise, ou ly frequented by them is held), could amply testify, en 1799; vous verrez qu'il n'y eut jamais de prediction were it worth while. I was persecuted by these tourists plus precise et plus ponctuellement suivie de l'effet. even to my riding-ground at Lido, and reduced to the Vous noterez done comme trhs remarquables ces trois most disagreeable circuits to avoid them. At Madame vers de l'Alamani, adresses h Venise, que personne Benzoni's I repeatedly refused to be introduced to pourtant n'a remarquds: them;-of a thousand such presentations pressed upon'Se non cangi pensier, Pun secol solo me, I accepted two, and both were to Irish women. Non contork sopra'1 millesimo anno I should hardly have descended to speak of such Tua liberte, she va fuggendo a volo.' trifles publicly, if the impudence of this "sketcher" Bien des propheties ont passd pour telles, et bien des had not for6ed me to a refutation of a disingenuous gens ont ete appeles prophbtes a meilleur marche." and gratuitously impertinent assertion;-so meant to be, for what could it import to the reader to be told VII. that the author " had repeatedly declined an introducExtract from the Literary History of Italy, by P. L. tion," even had it been true, which, for the reasons I Ginguend, vol. ix. p., 144. Paris Edit. 1819. have above given, is scarcely possible. Except Lords " THERE is one very singular prophecy concerning Lansdowne, Jersey, and Lauderdale; Messrs. Scott, Venice:' If thou dost not change,' it says to that proud Hammond, Sir Humphry Davy, the late M. Lewis, W. republic,'thy liberty, which is already on the wing, will Bankes, Mr. Hoppner, Thomas Moore, Lord Kinnaird, not reckon a century more than the thousandth year.' his brother, Mr. Joy, and Mr. Hobhouse, I do not re"If we carry back the epocha of Venetian freedom to collect to have exchanged a word with another English the establishment of the government under which the re- man since I left their country; and almost all these I public flourished, we shall find that the date of the elec- had known before. The others-and God knows there tion of the first Doge is 697; and if we add one century were some hundreds-who bored me with letters or visto a thousand, that is, eleven hundred years, we shall its, I refused to have any communication with, and shab Id the sense of the prediction to be literaly this:' Thy be proud and happy when that wish becomes mutilo.; 2c2 42 ( 290 ) A HISTORICAL TRAGEDY. PREFACE. SARDANAPALUS. IN publishing the Tragedies of Sardanapalus, and of The Two Foscari, I have only to repeat that they were not composed with the most remote view to the stage. ACT I On the attempt made by the managers in a former instance, the public opinion has been already expressed. SCENE I With regard to my own private feelings, as it seems that they are to stand for nothing, I shall say nothing. A Hall in the Palace. For the historical foundation of the compositions in SALEMENES (sols). question, the reader is referred to the Notes. The author has in one instance attempted to pre- HE hath wrong'd his queen, but still he is her lord; serve, and in the other to approach the " unities;" con- He hath wrong'd my si'ter, still he is my brother; ceiving that, with any very distant departure from He hath wrong'd his people, still he is their sovereign, them, there may be poetry, but can be no drama. He And I must be his friend as well as subject; is aware of the unpopularity of this notion, in pre- He must not perish thus. I will not see sent English literature; but it is not a system of his The blood of Nirrod and Semiramis own, being merely an opinion which, not very longSink in the earth, and thirteen hundred years ago, was the law of literature throughout the world, Of empire ending like a shepherd's tale; and is still so in the more civilized parts of it. But He must be roused. In his effeminate heart " Nous avons change tout cela," and are reaping the There is a carelesscourage, which corruption advantages of the change. The writer is far from con- Has not all quenched, and latent energies, ceiving that any thing he can adduce by personal pre- eprest by circumstance, but not destroy'dcept or example can at all approach his regular, or even Steep'd but not drown'd, in deep voluptuousness. irregular predecessors: he is merely giving a reason why If born a peasant, he had been a man he preferred the more regular formation of a structure, To have reach'd an empire; to an empire born, however feeble, to an entire abandonment of all rules He will bequeath none; nothing but a name, whatsoever. Where he has failed, the failure is in the Which his sons will not prize in heritage: architect,-and not in the art. Yet, not all lost, even yet he may redeem _________ _ His sloth and shame, by only being that Which he should be, as easily as the thing ADVERTISEMENT. He should not be and is. Were it less toil To sway his nations than consume his life? Is this tragedy it has been my-intention to follow the To head an army than to rule a harem? account of Diodorus Siculus, reducing it, however, to He sweats in palling pleasures, dulls his soul, such dramatic regularity as I best could, and trying to And saps his goodly strength, in toils which yield not approach the unities. I therefore suppose the rebellion Health like the chase, nor gtory like the warto explode and succeed in one day by a sudden con- He must be roused. Alas! there is no sound spiracy, instead of the long war of the history. [Sound of soft music heardfrom within To rouse him, short of thunder. Hark! the lute, DRAMATIS PERSONAE. The lyre, the timbrel; the lascivious tinklings -^MEN. Of lulling instruments, the softening voices Of women, and of beings less than women, SARDANAPALUS, King of Nineveh and Assyria, etc. o ARBAcEs, the Mede who aspired to the Throne. hi the e i of e n o er BELESES, a Chaldean and Soothsayer. BELESES, a Chaldean and Soothsayer. While the great king of all we know of earth SAEME:nES, the IKing's Brother-in-law. Lolls crown'd with roses, and his diadem ALTA DA an Assyrian Officer of the Palace. ies negligently by, to be caught up PANIA. By the first manly hand which dares to snatch it. ZAMEs. Lo, where they come! already I perceive SFERO. SBALER, -The reeking odours of the perfumed trains, BAE, WOMREN. And see the bright gems of the glittering girls, Who are his comrades and his council, flash ZARttNA, the Queen. Along the gallery, and amidst the damsels, MYIKHA, an Ionian female slave, and the favouriteA t g a a t of SARDANAPALUS. As femininely garb'd, and scarce less female, Women composing the Harem of SARDANAPALUS, The grandson of Semiramis, the man-queen.Guards, Attendants, Chaldean Priests, He comes! Shall I await him? yes, and front him, lMedes, etc., etc. And tell him what all good men tell each other, -_.-~- ~ ~ ~~ ~ Speaking of him and his. They come, the slaves, Scene —a Hall in the Roval Palace. of Nineveh. Led by the monarch subject to his slaves. SARDANAPALUS. 291 SCENE II. MYRRHA. Enter SARDAINAPALUS, effeminately dressed, his lead Sire! your brothercrowned with Flowers, and his Robe negligentlyflow- SALEMENES. mg, attended by a Train of Women and young His consort' brother, minion of Ionia! Slaves. - How darest thou name me and not blush? SARDANAPALUS (speaking to some of his attendants). SARDANAPALUS. Let the pavilion over the Euphrates Let the pavilion overthe Euphrates Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her crimson Be garlanded, and lit, and furnish'd forth Lke to the dyg day on Caucasus, For an especial banquet; at the hour For an especial banquet; at the hour Where sunset tints the snow with rosy shadows, Of midnight we will sup there; see nought wanting, s s, Of midnight we will sup there; see nought wating, And then reproach her with thine own cold blindness, A4nd bid the galley be prepared. There is Which will not see it. What, in tears, my Myrrha? A cooling breeze which crisps the broad clear river: SALEMENES. We will embark anon. Fair nymphs, who deign SALEMENES. W e w em on F mSardanapalus, Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one, To share the soft hours of Sardanapalus,' T 1 sr e ain in th the sot hh or And is herself the cause of bitterer tears. We'll meet again in that the sweetest hour, SARDANAPALUS, When we shall gather like the stars above us, RDNAPA Cursed be he who caused those tears to flow! And you will form a heaven as bright as theirs; Till then, let each be mistress of her time, SALEMENES. And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha, choose, Cusenot thyself-millions do that already. SARDANAPALUS. Wilt thou alone with them or me SARD?NAPALUS. l thoualon. wthmreThou dost forget thee: make me not remember MYRRIHA. My lord-_ I am a monarch. SARDANAPALUS.SALEMENES. %ly lord, my life! why answerest thou so coldly! Would thou couldst! t is the curse of kings to be so answered. MYRRHA. Rtule thy own hours, thou rulest mine-say, wouldst thou y seen I pray, and thou too, prince, permit my absence. Accompany our guests, or charm away. v A The moments from me? SARDANAPALUS Since it must be so, and this churl has check'd MYRRIHA. The kin's choiceis mine.. Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect The kina's choice-is mine. RD AL. ~~~~That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose SARDANAPALUS. I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy An empire than thy presence. [Exit MYRRHA, I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy Is to contribute to thine every wish. SALEMENES. I do not dare to breath my own desire, t may be, Lest it should clash with thine; for thou art still T wl l b a b f Too prompt to sacrifice thy thoughts for others. ARDANAPALUS. M14~~~~~~~~~~~YRRHA. Brother, I would remain: I he no h s I can at least command myself, who listen I would remain: I have no happiness To language such as this; yet urge me not Save in beholding thine; yetBeyond my easy nature. SARDANAPALUS SALEENES. SALEiMENES. Yet! what YET? T is beyond Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier That easy, far too easy, idle nature, Which ever rises betwixt thee and me. Which I would urge thee. Oh thataI could rouse the, MYRRHA. Though't were against myself. I think the present is the wonted hour SARDANAPAs US. Of council; it were better I retire. By the god Baal By the god Baal! SALEMENES (comes forward, adsays). The man would make me tyrant. The Ionian slave says well; let her retire. SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS. 80 thou ar So thou art, Who answers? How now, brother? Who answers? EHow now, broterThink'st thou there is no tyranny but that T eSALEMENES. es Of blood and chains? The despotism of viceih v l royr, The weakness and the wickedness of luxuryAnd your most faithful vassal, royal lord. The negligence-theapathy-the evils The negligence-the apathy-the evils SARDANAPALUS (addressing his train). AsI esai a (addreossing train). sOf sensual sloth-produce ten thousand tyrants, As I have said, let all dispose their hours Whose delegated cruelty surpasses Whose delegated cruelty surpasses Till midnight, when again we pray your presence. T w a o The worst acts of one energetic master, [The court retiring. However harsh and hard in his own bearing. (lo MYaRRHA, who is going.) M irrha! I thought thou wouldst remain. The false and fond examples of thy lusts l ~rrha| I thought thou wouldst remain. MYRRHA Corrupt no less than they oppress, and sap Great king, In the same moment all thy pageant power, Ihoa didst not say so. And those who should sustain it; so that whetne SARDANAPALUS. A foreign foe invade, or civil broil But thou lookedst it; Distract within, both will alike prove fatal. f know each glance of those Ionic eyes, The first thy subjects have no heart to conquer, sUch aaid r j wouldst not leave me. fhe last they rather would assist than vanouisn. $92 BYRON'S WORKS. SARDANAPALUS. Who built up this vast empire, and wert made Why, what makes thee the mouth-piece of the people? A god, or at the least shinest like a god SALEMENES. Through the long centuries of thy renown, Forgiveness of the queen, my sister's wrongs; This, thy presumed descendant, ne'er beheld A natural love unto my infant nephews; As king the kingdoms thou didst leave as hero, Faith to the king, a faith he may need shortly, Won with thy blood, and toil, and time, and peril' In more than words; respect for Nimrod's line; For what? to furnish, him imposts for a revel Also, another thing thou knowest not. Or multiplied extortions for a minion. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. What's that? I understand thee-thou wouldst have me go SALEMENES. Forth as a conqueror. By all the stars To thee an unknown word. Which the Chaldeans read! the restless slaves SARDANAPALUS. Deserve that I should curse them with their wishes, Yet speak it, And lead them forth to glory. I love to learn.LEMENES. SALEMENES. SALEMENES..Wherefore not? Virtue. Semiramis-a woman only-led SARDANAPALUS. These our Assyrians to the solar shores Not know the word! Of Ganges. Never was word yet rung so in my ears- SARDANAPALUS. Worse than the rabble's shout, or splitting trumpet;'T is most true. And how returnd? I've heard thy sister talk of nothing else. SALEMENES. SALEMENES. Why, like a man —a hero; baffled, but To change the irksome theme, then, hear of vice. Not vanquish'd. With but twenty guards, she made SARDANAPALUS. Good her retreat to Bactria. From whom? SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. And how many Even from the winds, if thou couldst listen Left she behind in India to the vultures.? Unto the echoes of the nation's voice. SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS. Our annals say not. Come, I'm indulgent as thou knowest, patient SARDANAPALUS. As thou hast often proved-speak out, what moves thee? Then I will say for themSALEMENES. That she had better woven within her palace Thy peril. Some twenty garments, than with twenty guards SARDANAPALUS. Have fled to Bactria, leaving to the ravens, Say on. And wolves, and men-the fiercer of the three, SALEMENES. Her myriads of fond subjects. Is this glory? Thus, then: all the nations, Then let me live in ignominy ever. For they are many, whom thy father left SALEMENES. In heritage, are loud in wrath against thee. All warlike spirits have not the same fate. SARDANAPALUS. Semiramis, the glorious parent of'(ainst me! What would the slaves? A hundred kings, although she fail'd in India, SALEMENES. Brought Persia, Media, Bactria, to the realm A king. Which she once sway'd-and thou mightst sway. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. And what I sway themAm I then? She but subdued them. SALEMENES. SALEMENE SALEMENES. In their eyes a nothing; but It may be ere long In mine a man who might be something still. In mine aman who might be somethin still. That they will need her sword more than your sceptre SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. The railing drunkards! why, what would they have? There was a certain Bacchus, was there not? Have they not peace and plenty? I've heard my Greek girls speak of such-they say SALEMENES. He was a god, that is, a Grecian god, Of the first, An idol foreign to Assyria's worship, More han is glorious; of the last, far less Who conquer'd this same golden realm of Ind Than the king recks of. Thou pratest of, where Semiramis was vanquish'd. SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. Whose then is the crime, I have heard of such a man; and thou perceivest But the false satraps, who provide no better? That he is deem'd a god for what he did. SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS. And somewhat in the monarch who ne'er looks And in his godship I will honour himBeyond nis palace walls, or if he stirs Not much as man. What, ho! my cupbearer I Beyond them,'tis but to some mountain palace, SALEMENES. rill summer neais wear down. 0 glorious Baal! What means the king? SARDANAPALUS. 293 SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. To worship your new god Who should rebel? or why? what cause? pretext? And ancient conqueror. Some wine, I say. I am the lawful king, descended from Enter Cupbearer. A race of kings who knew no predecessors. What have I done to thee, or to the people, SAtDANAT ALUS (addressing the Cupbearer). That thou shouldst rail, or they rise up against me? Bring me the golden goblet thick with gems, Which bears the name of Nimrod's chalice. Hence, f what thou hast done to me, I speak not. Fill full, and hear it quickly. [Exit Cupbearer. sARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. But Is this moment Thou think'st that I have wrong'd the queen: is't nc- as A fitt;ng one for the resumption of SALEMENES. thy yet unslept-off revels? Think! Thou hast wrong'd her! Re-enter Cupbearer, with wine. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS (taking the cup from him). Patience, prince, and hear m* Noble kinsman, She has all power and splendour of her station,'f these barbarian Greeks of the far shores Respect, the tutelage of Assyria's heirs, And skirts of these our realms lie not, this Bacchus The homage and the appanage of sovereignty. Conquer'd the whole of India, did he not? I married her as monarchs wed-for state, ~s ~ALEMENES. ~ And loved her as most husbands love their wives, He dd, and thence was deem'd a deity If she or thou supposedst I could link me He did, and thence was deem'd a deity Like a Chaldean peasant to his mate, SARDANAPALUS. Ye knew nor me, nor monarchs, nor mankind. Not so:-of all his conquests & few columns, Which may be his, and might be mine, if I 8LM E Which may be his, and mightbe mine, if I a I pray thee, change the theme; my blood disdains Thought them worth purchase and conveyance, are Complaint, and Salemees' sister seeks not The landmarks of the seas of gore he shed, Reluctant love even from Assyrias lord Reluctant love even from Assyria's lord! The realms he wasted, and the hearts he broke. N w s d t Nor would she deign to accept divided passion But here, here in this goblet, is his title Wth foren strumpets and Ionian slaves. To immortality-the immortal grap The queen is silent. From which he first express'd the soul, and gave SARDANAPALUS. To gladden that of man, as some atonement why not her brother For the victorious mischiefs he had done.LEMENES. Had it not been for this, he would have been I o empires,' I only echo thee the voice of empires, A mortal still in name as in his grave; A mortal still in nam asin his grave; Which he who long neglects not long will govern. And, like my ancestor Semiramis, SARDANAPALUS. & sort of semi-glorious human monster. sortof semiglorious human monster. The ungrateful and ungracious slaves! they murmu THere's that which deified him-let it now Because I have not shed their blood, nor led them Humanize thee; my surly, chiding brother, To dry into the desert's dust by miads, Pledge me to the Greek god! Or whiten with theirbones the banks of Ganges; SALEMENES. Nor decimated them with savage laws, For all thy realms Nor sweated them to build up pyramids, I would not so blaspheme our country's creed. Or Babylonian walls. SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. That is to say, thou thinkest him a hero, Yet these are trophies rhat he shed blood by oceans; and no god, More worthy of a people and their prince Because he turn'd a fruit to an enchantment, Than songs, and lutes, and feasts, and concubines, Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires And lavish'd treasures, and contemned virtues. rhe young, makes Weariness forget his toil, SARDANAPALUS. And Fear her danger; opens a new world Or for my trophies I have founded cities: When this, the present, palls. Well, then I pledge thee, There's Tarsus and Anchialus, both built And him as a true man, who did his utmost In one day-what could that blood-loving beldamo In good or evil to surprise mankind. [Drinks. My martial grandam, chaste Semiramis, SALEMENES. Do more, except destroy them? Wilt thou resume a revel at this hour? SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS.'T is most true; And if I did,'t were better than a trophy, I own thy merit in those founded cities, Being bought without a tear. But that is not Built for a whim, recorded with a verse My present purpose: since thou wilt not pledge me, Which shames both them and thee to coming age Continue what thou pleasest. SARDANAPALUS. (To the Cupbearer). Boy, retire. Shame me! By Baal, the cities, though weil buii [Exit Cupbearer. Are not more goodly than the verse! Say what SALEMENES. Thou wilt'gainst me, my mode of life or rule would but have recall'd thee from thy dream: But nothing'gainst the truth of that brief recoro. Better by me awaken'd than rebellion. Why, those few lines contain the history 2'94 BYRON'S WORKS. Of all things human; hear-" Sardanapalus SARDANAPALUS. The king, and son of Anacyndaraxes, That's a hard question. —But, I answer Yes. In one day built Anchialus and Tarsus. Cannot the thing be done without? Who are they Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip." Whom thou suspectest?-Let them be arrested. SALEMENES. SALEMENES. A worthy moral, and a wise inscription, I would thou wouldst not ask me; the next moment For a king to put up before his subjects! Will send my answer through thy babbling troop SARDANAPALUS. Of paramours, and thence fly o'er the palace, Oh, thou wouldst have me doubtless set up edicts- Even to the city, and so baffle all." Obey the king-contribute to his treasure- Trust me. Recruit his phalanx-spill your blood at bidding- SARDANAPALUS. Fall down and worship, or get up and toil." Thou knowest I have done so ever; Or thus-" Sardanapalus on this spot Take thou the signet. [Gives the Signet. Slew fifty thousand of his enemies. SALEMENES. These are their sepulchres, and this his trophy." I have one more request.I leave such things to conquerors; enough SARDANAPALUS. For me, if I can make my subjects feel Name it. The weight of human misery less, andglide SALEMENES. Ungroaning to the tomb; I take no license That thou this night forbear the banquet Which I deny to them. We all are men. In the pavilion over the Euphrates. SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS. Thy sires have been revered as gods- Forbear the banquet! Not for all the plotters SARDANAPALUS. That ever shook a kingdom! Let them come, In dust And do their worst: I shall not blench for them; And death, where they are neither gods nor men. Nor rise the sooner nor forbear the goblet Talk not of such to me! the worms are gods; Nor crown me with a single rose the less; At least they banqueted upon your gods, Nor lose onejoyous hur.-I fear them not. And died for lack of farther nutriment. SALEMENES. Those gods were merely men; look to their issueThose gods were merely men; look to their issue But thou wouldst arm thee, wouldst thou not, if needful? I feel a thousand mortal things about me, SARDA NAPA LUS. But nothing godlike, unless it may be But~ nothing godike, unless it mayJbe Perhaps. I have the goodliest armour, and The thing which you condemn, a disposition te d, t.. Ic^ a'. A sword of such a temper; and a bow To love and to be merciful, to pardon To lv.. and. to, be. merl And javelin, which might furnish Nimrod forth: The follies of my species, and (that s human) A little heavy, but yet not unwieldy. To be indulgent to my own. To be indulgent to my own. And now I think on't,'t is long since I've used them, SALEMENES. ~SALEMENES. Even in the chase. Hast ever seen them, brother? Alas! I The doom of Nineveh is seal'd.-Woe-woe SALEMENES. ro the unrivaleld city! Is this a time for such fantastic trifling?SARDANAPALUS. If need be, wilt thou wear them? What dost dread? SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. Will I not?Thou art guarded by thy foes: in a few hours Oh! if it must be so, and these rash slaves The tempest may break out which overwhelms thee Will not be ruled with less, I'11 use the sword And thine and mine; and in another day Till they shall wish it turn'd into a distaff. What is shall be the past of Belus' race. SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS. They say, thy sceptre's turn'd to that already. What must we dread? SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. That's false! but let them say so: the old Greeks, Ambitious treachery, Of whom our captives often sing, related Winch has environ'd thee with snares; but yet The same of their chief hero, Hercules, There is resource: empower me with thy signet Because he loved a Lydian queen: thou seest To quell the machinations, anu I lay The populace of all the nations seize The heads of thy chief foes oefore thy feet. Each calumny they can to sink their sovereigns. SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. rh' heads-how many? They did not speak thus of thy fathers. ALEMENES.. SARDANAPALUS. Must I stay to number No; Wlen even nine own's in peril? Let me go; They dared not. They were kept to toil and combat, Give me thy signet-trust me with the rest. And never changed their chains but for their armour: SARDANAPALUS. Now they have peace and pastime, and the license I well trust no man with unlimited lives. To revel and to rail; it irks me not. When we take those from others, we nor know i would not give the smile of one fair girl What we have taken, nor the thing we give. For all the popular breath that e'er divided SALEMENES. A name from nothing. What! are the rank tongues WolLMS' thou not take their lives who seek for thine? Of this vile herd grown insolent with feeding, SARDANAPALUS. 095 That I should prize their noisy' praise, or dread Must I consume my life-this little lifeTheir noisome clamour? In guarding against all may make it less? SALEMENES. It is not worth so much't It were to die You have said they are men; Before my hour, t- live in dread of death, As such their hearts are something. Tracing revolts: stspecting all about me, SARDANAPALUS Because they are near; and all who are remote, So my dogs' are; Because they are afar. But if it should be soAnd better, as more faithful: —but, proceed; If they should sweep me off from earth and empire Thou hast my signet:-since they are tumultuous, Why, what is earth or empire of the earth? Let them be temper'd; yet not roughly, till I have loved, and lived, and multiplied my image; Necessity enforce it. I hate all pain, To die is no less natural than thoseGiven or received; we have. enough within us, Acts of this clay!'T is true I have not shed The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Blood, as I might have done, in oceans, till Not to add to each other's natural burthen My name became the synonyme of death — Of mortal misery, but rather lessen, A terror and a trophy. But for this By mild reciprocal alleviation, * I feel no penitence; my life is love: The fatal penalties imposed on life; If I must shed blood, it shall be by force. But this they know not, or they will not know. Till now no drop from an Assyrian vein I have, by Baal! done all I could to soothe them: Hath flowed for me, nor hath the smallest coin I made no wars, I added no new imposts, Of Nineveh's vast treasures e'er been lavish'd I interfered not with their civic lives, On objects which could cost her sons a tear: I let them pass their days as best might suit them, If then they hate me,'tis because I hate not; Passing my own as suited me. If they rebel, it is because I oppress not. SALEMENES. Oh, men! ye must be ruled-with scythes, not sceptres Thou stopp'st And mow'd down like grass, else all we reap Short of the duties of a king; and therefore Is rank abundance, and a rotten harvest They say thou art unfit to be a monarch. Of discontents infecting the fair soil, SARDANAPALUS. Making a desert of fertility.They lie.-Unhappily, I am unfit I'll think no more.- Wi~thin there, ho! To be aught save a monarch; else for me, Enter an ATTENDANT. The meanest Mede might be the king instead. SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. Slave, teE There is one Mede, at least, who seeks to be so. The Ionian Myrrha we would crave her presence. SARDANAPALUS. ATTENDANT. What mean'st thou?-'-is thy secret; thou desirest ing, she is here. Few questions, and I'm not of curious nature. MYRRHA enters. Take the fit steps, and since necessity SARDANAPALUS (apart to attendant). Requires, I sanction and support thee. Ne'er Away! Was man who more desired to rule in peace (Addessing MYRRHA.) Beautiful being The peaceful only; if they rouse me, better Thou dost almost anticipate my heart; They had conjured up stern Nimrod from his ashes, It throbb'd for thee, and here thou comest; let me 9" The mighty hunter." I will turn these realms Deem that some unknown influence, some sweet oracIa, To one wide desert chase of brutes, who were, Communicates between us, though unseen, But would no more, by their own choice, be human. In absence, and attracts us to each other. What they have found me, they belie; that which MYRRHA. They yet may find me-shall defy their wish There doth. To speak it worse; and let them thank themselves. SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. I know there doth; but not its name i Then thou at last canst feel? What is it? SARDANAPALUS. Feel! who feels not In my native land a god, Ingratitude? And in my heart a feeling like a god's, SALEMENES. Exalted; yet I own't is only mortal, I will notpause to answer For what I feel is humble, and yet happy — With words, but deeds. Keep thou awake that energy That is, it would be happy: butWhich sleeps at times, but is not dead within thee, [MVRRaA pauses And thou mayst yet be glorious in thy reign, SARDANAPALUS. As powerful in thy realm. Farewell! There come* [Exit SALEMENES. For ever something between us and what SARDANAPALUS (solus). We deem our happiness: let me remove Farewell I The barrier which that hesitating accent He's gone; and on his finger bears my signet, Proclaims to thine, ana mine is seal'd. Which is to him a sceptre. He is stern MaYRRHZA. As I am heedless; and the slaves deserve My lord'To feel a master. What may be the danger, SARDANAPALUS. I know not: —he hath found it, let him quell it. My lord-my king-sire-sovereign! thus tl is 296 BYRON'S WORKS. For ever thus, address'd with awe. I ne'er To think of aught save festivals. Thou hast not Can see a smile, unless in some broad banquet's Spurn'd his sage cautions? Intoxicating glare, when the buffoons SARDANAPALUS. Have gorged themselves up to equality, What!-and dost thou fear? Or I have quaff'd me down to their abasement. MYRRHA. Myrrha, I can hear all these things, these names, Fear!-I'm a Greek, and how should I fear death? Lord-king-sire-monarch-nay, time was I prized A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom? them, SARDANAPALUS. That is, I suffer'd them-from slaves and nobles; Then wherefore dost thou turn so pale? But when they falter from the lips I love, MYRRHA. The lips which have been press'd to mine, a chill I love. Comes o'er my heart, a cold sense of the falsehood SARDANAPALUb. Of this my station, which represses feelingdo not I?love thee farfar more In those for whom I have felt most, and makes me Than either the brief life or the wide realm Wish that I could lay down the dull tiara, Which it may be, are menaced:-yet I blench not. And share a cottage on the Caucasus ^YRRHA. With thee, and wear no crowns but those of flowers. That means thou lovest nor thyself nor me; MYRRHA. For he who loves another loves himself, Would that we could! Even for that other's sake. This is too rash.: SARPDANAPALUS. Kingdoms and lives are not to be so lost. And dost thou feel this?-Why? SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. Lost!-why, who is the aspiring chief who dared Then thou wouldst know what thou canst never know. Assume to win them? SARDANAPALUS- MYRRHA. And that is Who is he should dread MYRRHA. To try so much? When he who is their ruler The true value of a heart; Forgets himself, will they remember him? At least a woman's. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. Myrrha! I have proved a thousand- MYRRHA. Frown not upon me: you have smiled A thousand,and a thousand. Too often on me not to make those frowns MYRRKA. Bitterer to bear than any punishment Which they may augur.-King, I am your subject i SARDANAPALUS. RI think so. Master, I am your slave! Man, I have loved you!MYRPHA. Loved you, I know not by what fatal weakness, Not one! the time may come thou may'st. Although a Greek, and born a foe to monarchsSARDANAPALUS. s sARDANAPALUS. A slave, and hating fetters-an Ionian, It will. And, therefore, when I love a stranger, more Hear, Myrrha; Salemenes has declared- Degraded by that passion than by chains! Or why or how he hath divined it, Belus, Still I have loved you. If that love were strong Who founded our great realm, knows more than I- Enough to overcome all former nature,, But Salemenes hath declared my throne Shall it not claim the privilege to. save you? In peril. SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. Save me, my beauty! Thou art very fair, He did well. And what I seek of thee is love-not safety. SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. And say'st thou so? And without love where dwells security? Thou ahom he spurn'd so harshly, and now dared SARDANAPALUS. Drive from our presence with his savage jeers, I speak of woman's love. And made thee weep and blush? MYRRHA. MYBIHA. The very first I should do both Of human life must spring from woman's breast, Moie freauently, and he did well to call me Your first small words are taught you from her lips, Back to my duty. But thou speak'st of peril- Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs Peril to thee- Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, SARDANAPALUS. When men have shrunk from the ignoble care Ay, from dark plots and snares Of watching the last hour of him who led them. FromMedes-and discontented troops and nations. SARDANAPALUS. I know not what- a labyrinth of things — My eloquent Ionian! thou speak'st music, A maze of mutter'd threats and mysteries: The very chorus of the tragic song Thou snow'st the man-it is his usual custom. I have heard thee talk of as the favourite pastime But he is honest. Come, we'll think no more on't- Of thy far father-land. Nay, weep not-calm thee. Rut of the midnight festival. MYRRHA. MYRRHA. I weep not.-But I pray thee, do not speak'Tis time About my fathers or their land. SARDANAPALUS. 297 SARDANAPALUS. Who knew no brighter gems than summer wreaths, Yet oft And none but tearless triumphs. Let us on. 7hou speakest of them. MYRRHA. Enter PANIA. True-true: —constant thought Will overflow in words unconsciously: May the kng lve for ever! But when another speaks of Greece, it wounds me. SARDANAPALUS SARDANAPALUS. Not an hour Well, then, how wodldst thou save me, as thou saidst? Longer than he can love. How my soul hates MYRRHA. This language, which makes life itself a lie, By teaching thee to save thyself, and not Flattering dust with eternity. Well, Pania! Thyself alone, but these vast realms, from all Be brief The rage of the worst war-the war of brethren. PANIA. SARDANAPALUS. I am charged by Salemenes to Why, child, I loathe all war, and warriors: Reiterate his prayer unto the kin, I live in peace and pleasure: what can man ^^ I live in peace and pleasure: what can man That for this day, at least, he will not quit Do more? M1A The palace: when the general returns, He will adduce such reasons as will warrant Alas! my lord, with common men His daring, and perhaps obtain the pardon Fhere needs too oit the show of war to keep Of his presumption. The substance of sweet peace; and for a king, SARDANAPALUS.'T is sometimes better to be fear'd than loved. hen coop What! am I then coop'd? SARDANAPALUS. ~SARDANAPALUS. ~ Already captive? can I not even breathe And I have never sought but for the last. c d I he n r s t b f he breath of heaven? Tell prince Salemenes, MYRRHA. Were all Assyria raging round the walls And now art neither. In mutinous myriads, I would still go forth. SARDANAPALUS. PANIA. Dost thou say sd, Myrrha? I mA. a3YRRHA. I must obey, and yetMYRRHA. I speak of civic popular love, self-love, MYRRHA. Which means that men are kept in awe and law Oh, monarch, listen.Yet not oppress'd-at least they must not think so; How many a day and moon thou hast reclined Or if they think so, deem it necessary Within these palace walls in silken dalliance, To ward off wor;se oppression, their own passions. And never shown thee to thy people's longing; To ward off worse oppression, their own passions. L th se e ungrPtPfied g A king of feasts, and flowers, and wine, and revel Leaving thy subects' eyes ungratified, And love, and mirth, was never king of glory. The satraps uncontroll'd, the gods unworshipp'a, And love, and mirth, was never king of glory. A And all things in the anarchy of sloth, SARDANAPALUS. Till all, save evil, slumber'd through the realm! Glory: what's that? And wilt thou not now tarry for a day, MYRRHA. MYa^RHA. ^^ f A day which may redeem thee? Wilt thou not Ask of the gods thy fathers. - Ask of the gods thy fathers. - Yield to the few still faithful a few hours, SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. For them, for thee, for thy past fathers' race, They cannot answer; when the priests speak for them, And for thy sons' inheritance?'T is for some small addition to the temple. MYRRHA.PANIA.'T is true! Look to the annals of thine empire's founders.' tr SARDANAPALUS. From the deep urgency with which the prince They are so blotted o'er with blood, I cannot. Despatch'd me to your sacred presence, I But what wouldst have? the empire has been founded Must dare to add my feeble voice to tha I cannot go on multiplying empires. Which now has spoken. MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS. Preserve thine own. No, it must not be. SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. At least I will enjoy it. For the sake of thy realm? Come, Myrrha, let us on to the Euphrates; SARDANAPXLUS. The hour invites, the galley is prepared, Away! And the pavilion, deck'd for our return, PANIA. In fit adornment for the evening banquet, For that Shall blaze with beauty and with light, until Of all thy faithful subjects, who will rally It seems unto the stars which are above us Round thee and thine. Itself an opposite star; and we will sit SARDANAPALUS. Crown'd with fresh flowers like - These are mere phantasles MYRRHA. There is no peril: —'t is a sullen scheme Victims, Of Salemenes, to approve his zeal, SARDANAPALUS. And show himself more necessary to us. No, like sovereigns, MYRRHA. The shepherd kings of patriarchal times, By all that's good and glorious, take this counse 2D a3 21)iS BYRON'S WORKS. SARDANAPALUS. Ten thousand precious moments in vain words, Business to-morrow. And vainer fears. Within there!-Ye slaves, deck MYRRIIA. The hall of Nimrod for the evening revel: Ay, or death to-night. If I must make a prison of our palace, SARDANAPALUS. At least we'11 wear our fetters jocundly: WVhy, let it come, then, unexpectedly, If the Euphrates be forbid us, and'Midst joy and gentleness, and mirth and love; The summer dwelling on its beauteous border, So let me fall like the pluck'd rose!-far better Here we are still unmenaced. Ho! within there! Thus than be wither'd. [Exit SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. MYRRHA (soIUS). Then thou wilt not yield, Why do I love this man? My country's daughters Even for the sake of all that ever stirr'd Love none but heroes. But I have no country! A monarch into action, to forego The slave hath lost all save her bonds. I love him; A trifling revel. And that's the heaviest link of the long chainSARDANAPALUS. To love whom we esteem not. Be it so: No. The hour is coming when he'll need all love, MYRRHA. And find none. To fall from him now were baser Then yield for mine; Than to have stabb'd him on his throne when highest For my sake! For my ARDsaeAPALU. Would have been noble in my country's creed;.*ARDANAPALUS. I was not made for either. Could I save him, Thine, my Myrrha? I should not love him better, but myself; MYRRHA. frs'T is the first And I have need of the last, for I have fallen Boon which I e'er ask'd Assyria's king. In my own thoughts, by loving this soft stranger: S~ARDANAP~ALUS. And yet methinks I love him more, perceiving rhat's true; and, wer't my kingdom, must be granted. That he is hated of his own barbarians, We.llforthysake, I' yield' me. The natural foes of all the blood of Greece. Well, for thy sake, I yield me. Pania, hence! Wlfhou hear'staeIy me. Paa h e Could I but wake a single thought like those lnoubea r mPANIrA' m.Which even the Phrygians felt, when battling long And obey. [Ex;rit PANIA. TWit Ilion and the sea, within his heart, SARDANAPALUS. oHe would tread down the barbarous crowds, and triumph. I marvel at thee. He loves me, and I love him; the slave loves What is thy motive, Myrrha, thus to urge me? Her master, and would free him from his vices. MYRRH. If not, I have a means of freedom still, Thy safety; and the certainty that nought And if I cannot teach him how to reign,;ould urge the prince, thy kinsman, to require May show him ow alone a king can leave Thus much from thee, but some impending danger. s throne I must not lose him from my siht SARDANAPALUS. Et And if I do not dread it, why shouldst thou? MYRRHA. ACT TT Because thou dost not fear, I fear for thee. SARDANAPALUS. SCENE I.'o-morrow thou wilt smile at these vain fancies. 7The Portal of the same Hall of the Palace. MYRRHA. It' the worst come, I shall be where none weep, BELESES (solus). And that is better than the power to smile. The sun goes down; methinks he sets more slowly, And thou? Taking his last look of Assyria's empire. SARDANAPALUS. How red he glares amongst those deepening clouds I shall be king, as heretofore. Like the blood he predicts. If not in vain, MYRRHA. Thou sun that sinkest, and ye stars which rise, Wtiere? I have outwatch'd ye, reading ray by ray SARDANAPALUS. The edicts of your orbs, which make Time tremble With Baal, Nimrod, and Semiramis, For what he brings the nations,'t is the furthest Soie in Assyria, or with them elsewhere. Hour of Assyria's years. And yet how calm! Fate made me what I am —may make me nothing- An earthquake should announce so great a fallBut either that or nothing must I be: A summer's sun discloses it. Yon disk, I mll not live degraded. To the star-read Chaldean, bears upon MYRRHA. Its everlasting page the end of what Hadst thou felt Seem'd everlasting; but oh! thou true sun! T'I'.s al.vays, none would ever dare degrade thee. The burning oracle of all that live, SARDANAPALUS. As fountain of all life, and symbol of Ano who will do so now? Him who bestows it, wherefore dost thou limit MYRRHA. Thy lore unto calamity? Why not Dost thou suspect none? Unfold the rise of days more worthy thine SARDANAPALUS. All-glorious burst from ocean? why not dart Suispect!-that' s a spy's office. Oh we lose A beam of hope athwart the future's years, SARDANAPALUS. 299 As of wrath to its days? Hear me! oh! hear me! BELESES. I am thy worshipper, thy priest, thy servant- What seest thou? I have gazed on thee at thy rise and fall, ARBACES. And bow'd my head beneath thy mid-day beams, A fair summer's twilight, and When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watch'd The gathering of the stars. For thee, and after thee, and pray'd to thee, BELESES. And sacrificed to thee, and read, and fear'd thee, And midst them mark And ask'd of thee, and thou hast answer'd-but Yon earliest, and the brightest, which so quivers, Only to thus much: while I speak% he sinks- As it would quit its place in the blue ether. Is gone-and leaves his beauty; not his knowledge, ARBACES. To the delighted west, which revels in Well! Its hues of dying glory. Yet what is BELESES. Death, so it be but glorious?'T is a sunset; T is thy natal ruler-thy birth planet. And mortals may be happy to resemble ARBACES (touching his scabbard), The gods but in decay.. My star is in this scabbard: when it shines, It shall out-dazzle comets. Let us think Enter ARBACES, by an inner door. Enter ARBACES, by an iner door. Of what is to be done to justify ARBACES. Thy planets and their portents. When we conquer, Beleses, why They shall have temples-ay, and priests-and thou So wrapt in thy devotions? Dost thou stand Shalt e the pontiff of-what gods thou wiltI Gazing to trace thy disappearing god For I observe that they are ever just, Into some realm of undiscover'd day? And own the bravest for the most devout. Our business is with night-'t is come. BELE BELESES. BELESES. tAy, and the most devout for brave-thou hast not ^~~~Gone. - -"~But not Seen me turn back from battle. Gone. ARBACES. ARBACES. Let it roll on-we are ready. No; I own thee BELESES. As firm in fight as Babylonia's captain, Yes. As skilful in Chaldea's worship; now, TVould it were over! Will it but please thee to forget the priest, ARBACES. And be the warrior? Does the prophet doubt, BELESES. To whom the very stars shine victory? Why not both? BELESES. ARBACES. I do not doubt of victory-but the victor. The better; ARBACES. And yet it almost shames me, we shall have Well, let thy science settle that. Meantime, So little to effect. This woman's warfare I have prepared as many glittering spears Degrades the very conqueror. To have pluck'd As will out-sparkle our allies-your planets. A bold and bloody despot from his throne, There is no more to thwart us. The she-king, And grappled with him, clashing steel with steel, That less than woman, is even now upon That were heroic or to win or fall; The waters with his female mates. The order But to upraise my sword against this silkworm, Is issued for the feast in the pavilion. And hear him whine, it may be The first cup which he drains will be the last BELESES. Quaff'd by the line of Nimrod. Do not deem ii, BELESES. He has that in him which may make you strife yet''T was a brave one. And, were he all you think, his guards are hardy, ARBACES. And headed by the cool, stern Salemenes. And is a weak one-'t is worn out-we'll mend it. ARBACES. BELESES. They'll not resist. Art sure of that? BELESES. ARBACES. Why not? the)c are soldiers. ARAAECS. Its founder was a hunter- Aho tyelr am a soldier-what is there to fear? TiA u BELESES. ~~~BELESES. IAnd therefore need a soldier to command them. The soldier. ARBACES. BELESES. And the priest, it may be; but That Salemenes is. If you thought thus, or think, why not retain ARBACES. Your king of concubines? why stir me up? But not their king Why spur me to this enterprise? your own Besides, he hates the effeminate thing that governs No lesv than mine? For the queen's sake, his sister. Mark you not BELESES. He keeps aloof from all the revels? Look to the sky I BELESES. ARBACES. I look. Not from the council-there he is ever constant 300 BYRON'S WORKS. ARBACES. Methought the haughty soldier fear'd to mount And ever thwarted; what would you have more A throne too easily: does it disappoint thee To make a rebel out of? A fool reigning, To find there is a slipperier step or two His blood dishonour'd, and himself disdain'd; Than what was counted on? Why, it is his revenge we work for. ARBACES. BELESES. When the hour comed, Could Thou shalt perceive how far I fear or no. He but be brought to think so: this I doubt of. Thou hast seen my life at stake-and gaily play'd for. ARBACES. But here is more upon the die-a kingdom. What if we sound him? BELESES. BELESES. BRLESES. I have foretold already-thou wilt win it: Yes-if the time served. Then on, and prosper. Enter BALEA. ARBACES. BALEA. Now, were I a soothsayer, Satraps! the king commands your presence at I would have boded so much to myself. The feast to-night. But be the stars obey'd-I cannot quarrel BELESES. With them, nor their interpreter. Who's here? To hear is to obey. SALEMEES. Enter SALEMENES. In the pavilion? BALEA. 8ALEMENES. No; here in the palace. Satraps ARBACES. BELESES. How I in the palace? it was not thus order'd. My prince BD~~~~ALEA. ~SALEMIENES. It is so order'd now. Well met-I sought ye both, ARBACES. But elsewhere than the palace. And why? ARBACES. BALEA. Wherefore so? I know not. SALEMENES. May I retire?'T is not the hour. ARBACES.ARBACE. Stay. The hour-what hour? BELESES (to ARBACES aside). SALEMENES. Hush! let him go his way, Of midniglht (Alternatdy to BALEA.) BELESES. Yes, Balea, thank the monarch, kiss th'e hem Midnight, my lord! Of his imperial robe, and say, his slaves SALEMENES. Will take the crumbs he deigns to scatter from What, are you not invited? His royal table at the hour-was't midnight? BELESES. BALEA. Oh! yes-we had forgotten. It was; the place, the Hall of Nimrod. Lords, SALEMENES. I humble me before you, and depart. [Exit BALEA. I it usual ARBACES. Thus to forget a sovereign's invitation? I like not this same sudden change of place- ARBACES. There is some mystery; wherefore should he change it? Why-we but now receivedit. BELESES. B~ELESE~S~. ~SALEMENES. Dotk he not change a thousand times a-day? Then why here? Sloth is of all things the most fanciful- ARBACES. And moves more parasangs in its intents On duty. Than generals in their marches, when they seek SALEMENES. To leave their foe at fault.-Why dost thou muse? On what duty? ARBACES. BELESES. He loved that gay pavilion-it was ever On the state's. His summer dotage. We have the privilege to approach the presence, BELESES. But found the monarch absent. And he loved his queen- SAM And thrice a thousand harlotry besides- And I too And he has loved all things by turns, except Am upon duty Wisdom and giory. ARBACES. -ARBACES. Still-I like it not. May we crave its purport? If 1,e has changed-why so must we! the attack SALEMENES. ~ere easy, in the isolated bower, To arrest two traitors. Guards! within there! Beset with drowsy guards and drunken courtiers; Enter Guards. Beit in the Hill of Nimrod- SALEMENES (continuing). BELSESE. Satraps Is it so Your swords. SARDANAPALUS. S0 BELESES (delivering his). SALEMENES. My lord, behold my scimitar. I! ARBACES (drawing his sword). SARDANAPALUS. Take mine. Indeed! SALEMENES (advancing). Prince, you forget yourself. Upon what warrant? I will. BALEMENES (showing the signet). ARBACES. Thine. But in your heart the blade- RBACES (conf-sed). The hilt quits not this hand. The king's! SALEMENES (drawing.) SALEMTErES, How! dost thou brave me? SALEEIEES, How! dost thou brave me?; Yes! and let the king confirm it.'T is well-this saves a trial and false mercy. SARDANAPALUS. Solaiers, hew down the rebel! I parted not from this for such apurpose. ARBACES. Soldiers! Ay- You parted with it for your safety-I Alone you dare not. for your safety-I anSAyou darenot LEMENES. Employ'd it for the best. Pronounce in person. Alone foolish slave- Here I am but your slave-a moment past What is there in thee that a prince should shrink from I was your representative. Of open force? We dread thy treason, not SARDANAPALUS. Thy strength: thy tooth is nought without its venom- Then sheathe The serpent's not the lion's. Cut him down. Your swords. BELESES (interposing). [ARBACES and SALEMENES return their swords to the scabbards. Arbaces! are you mad? Have I not render'd t scabbards. My sword? Then trust like me our sovereign's justice. ALEMENVS. yARBACEES. Mine's sheath'd: I pray you sheathe not yours; No-I will sooner trust the stars thou prat'st of, Tis the solesceptre let you now with safety. SARDANAPAL.US. And this slight arm, and die a king at least ARDAAP Of my own breath and body-so far that. A heavy one the hilt, too, hurts my hand. None else shall chain them. (To a Guard.) Here, fellow, take thy weapon back, SALEMENES (to the Guards). Well, sirs, You hear him, and me. What doth this mean? Take him not-kill. BELESES. [The Guards attack ARBACES, who defends him The prince must answer that, self valiantly and dexterously till they waver. SALEMENES. SALEMENES. Truth upon my part, treason upon theirs. Is it even so; and must SARDANAPALUS. I do the hangman's office? Recreants! see Treason-Arbaces! treachery and Belses! How you should fell a traitor. That were an union I will not believe. [SALEMENES attacks ARBACES. BELESrS.' Where is the proof? Enter SARDANAPALUS and Train. SALEMENES. SARDANAPALVUS. I'1 answer that, if once Hold your hands- The king demands your fellow traitor's sword. Upon your lives, 1 say. What, deaf or drunken? ARBACES (o SALEMENES) My sword! oh fool, I wear no sword: here, fellow, A sword which hath been drawn as oft as thine Give me thy weapon. [To a Guard. Against his foes. [SARDANAPALUS snatches a swordfrom one of the SALEMENES.' soldiers, and makes between the -combatants-they And now against his brother, separate.^^~~~~~~~~~ ^'And now against his brother, separate. SARDANAPALUS. And in an hour or so against himself. In my very palace! SARDANAPALUS. What hinders me from cleaving you in twain, That is not possible: he dared not; noAudacious brawlers? No-I'11 not hear of such things. These vain bicienrni BELESES. Are spawn'd in courts by base intrigues and baser Sire, your justice. Hirelings, who live by lies on good men's lives. SALEMENES. You must have been deceived, my brother. Or- SALEMENES. Your weakness. First SARDANAPALUS (raising the sword). Let him deliver up his weapon, and How? Proclaim himself your subject by that duty, SALEMENES. And I will answer all. Strike! so the blow's repeated SARDANAPALUS. Upon yon traitor-whom you spare a moment, Why, if I thought soI trust, for torture-I'm content. But no, it cannot be; the Mede ArbacesSARDANAPALUS. The trusty, rough, true soldier-the best cantata What-him I Of all who discipline our nations No, Who dares absaL. Arbaces? I'll not insult him thus, to bid him render 2D2 S02 BYRON'S WORKS. The scimitar to me he never yielded I love to see their rays redoubled in Unto our enemies. Chief, keep your weapon. The tremulous silver of Euphrates' wave, SALEMENES (delivering back the signet). As the light breeze of midnight crisps the broad Monarch, take back your signet. And rolling water, sighing through the sedges SARDANAPALUS. Which fringe his banks: but whether they may be No, retain it; Gods, as some say, or the abodes of gods, But use it with more moderation. As others hold, or simply lamps of night, SALEMENES. Worlds or the lights of worlds, I know nor care not. Sire, There's something sweet in my uncertainty I used it for your honour, and restore it I would not change for your Chaldean lore; Because I cannot keep it with my own. Besides, I know of these all clay can know Bestow it on Arbaces. Of aught above it or below it-nothing. SARDANAPALUS. I see their brilliancy and feel their beautySo I should: When they shine on my grave, I shall know neither He never ask'd it. BELESES. SALEMENES. For neither, sire, say better. Doubt not, he will have it SARDANAPALUS. Without that hollow semblance of respect.I will wait, BELESES. If it so please you, pontiff, for that knowledge. I know not what hath prejudiced the prince In the meantime receive your sword, and know So strongly'gainst two subjects, than whom none That I prefer your service militant Have been more zealous for Assyria's weal. Unto yourministry-not loving either. SALEMENES. SALEMENES (aside). Peace, factious priest and faithless soldier! thou His lusts have made him mad. Then must I save hi, Unit'st in thy own person the worst vices Spite of himself. Of the most dangerous orders of mankind. SARDANAPALUS. reep thy smooth words and juggling homilies Please you to hear me, Satraps! For those who know thee not. Thy fellow's sin And chiefly thou, my priest, because I doubt thee Is, at the least, a bold one, and not temper'd More than the soldier, and would doubt thee all By the tricks taught thee in Chaldea. Wert thou not half a warrior: let us part BELESES. In peace-I'11 not say pardon-which must be Hear him, Earn'd by the guilty; this I'11 not pronounce ye, My liege-the son of Belus! he blasphemes Although upon this breath of mine depends The worship of the land which bows the knee Your own; and, deadlier for ye, on my fears. Before your fathers. But fear not-for that I am soft, not fearfulSARDANAPALUS. And so live on. Were I the thing some think me, Oh! for that I pray you Your heads would now be dripping the last drops Let him have absolution. I dispense with Of their attainted gore from the high gates The worship of dead men; feeling that I Of this our palace into the dry dust, Am mortal, and believing that the race Their only portion of the coveted kingdom From whence I sprung are-what I see them-ashes. They would be crown'd to reign o'er-let that pass. BELESES. As I have said, I will not deem ye guilty, King! do.not deem so: they are with the stars, Nor doom ye guiltless. Albeit, better men And — Than ye or I stand ready to arraign you; SARDANAPALUS. And should I leave your fate to sterner judges, You shall join them there ere they will rise, And proofs of all kinds, I might sacrifice It you preach further.-Why, this is rank treason. Two men, who, whatsoe'er they now are, were SALEMENES. Once honest. Ye are free, sirs. My lord! ARBACES. SA APA,ARBACES. ARIDANAPALUS. Sire, this clemencyTo school me in the worship of BELESES (interrupting him). Assyria's idols! Let him be released- Is worthy of yourself; and, although innocent, Give him his sword. We thank- - SALEMENES. -SARDANAPALUS. My lord, and king, and brother, Priest! keep your thanksgiving for Belus; I pray ye, pause. His offspring needs none. SARDANAPALUS.. BELESES. Yes, and be sermonized, BELESES. And dinn'd, and deafen'd with dead men and Baal, But, beg nocen And all Chaldea's starry mysteries. SARDANAPALUS. BELESES. Be silent-Guilt is loud. If ye are loyal, Monarch! respect them. Ye are injured men, and should be sad, not grateful. SARDANAPALUS. BELESES. Oh! for that-I love them; So we should be, were justice always done love to watch them in the deep blue vault, By earthly power omnipotent; but innocence ana to compare them with my Myrrha's eyes: Must oft receive her right as a mere favour SARDANAPALUS. 303 SARDANAPALUS. BELESES. That's a good sentence for a homily, And lose the world? Though not for this occasion. Prithee keep it ARBACES. To plead thy sovereign's cause before his people. Lose any thing, except my own esteem. BELESES. BELESES. I trust there is no cause. I blush that we should owe our lives to such SARDANAPALUS. A king of distaffs! No cause, perhaps; ARBACES. But many causers:-If ye meet with such But no less we owe them; In the exercise of your inquisitive function And I should blush far more to take the granter's! On earth, or should you read of it in heaven BELESES. In some mysterious twinkle of the stars, Thou may'st endure whate'er thou wilt, the stars Which are your chronicles, I pray you note, Have written otherwise. That there are worse things betwixt earth and heaven ARBACES. That him who ruleth many and slays none; Though they came down, And, hating not himself, yet loves his fellows And marshali'd me the way in all their brightness, Enough to spare even those who would not spare him, I would not follow. Were they once masters-but that's doubtful. Satraps! BELESES. Your swords and persons are at liberty This is weakness-worse To use them as ye will-but from this hour Than a scared beldam's dreaming of the dead, I have no call for either. Salemenes! And waking in the dark.-Go to-go to. Follow me. ARBACES. [Exeunt SARDANAPALUS, SALEMENES, and the Methought he look'd like Nimrod as he spoke, Train, etc., leaving ARBACES and BELESES. Even as the proud imperial statue stands, ARBACES. Looking the monarch of the kings around it, Beleses! And sways, while they but ornament, the templea BELESES. BELESES Now, what think you? I told you that you had too much despised him, ARBACES. And that there was some royalty within him. That we are lost. What then? he is the nobler foe. BELESES.,RBACES. That we have won the kingdom. ARBACE But we ARBACES. The meaner:-would he had not spared us! What! thus suspected-with the sword slung o'er us BELESES. But by a single hair, and that still wavering SoTo be blown down by his imperious breath, Wouldst thou be sacrificed thus readily? Which spared us-why, I know not. ARBACES. BELESES. No-but it had been better to have died Seek not why; Than live ungrateful. But let us profit by the interval. BELESES.'1 he hour is still our own-our power the same- Oh, the-souls of some men The night the same we destined. He hath changed Thou wouldst digest what some call treason, and Nothing, except our ignorance of all Fools treachery-and, behold, upon the sudden, Suspicion into such a certainty Because, for something or for nothing, this As must make madness of delay. Rash reveller steps, ostentatiously, ARBACES.'T wixt thee and Salemenes, thou art turn'd And yet- Into-what shall I say?-Sardanapalus! BELESES. I know no name more ignominious. What, doubting still! ARBACES. ARBACES. But He spared our lives-nay, more, An.hour ago, who dared to term me such Saved them from Salemenes. Had held his life but lightly-as it is, BELESES. I must forgive you, even as he forgave usAnd how long Semiramis herself would not have done it. Will he so spare? till the first drunken minute. BELESES. ARr':ES. No-the queen liked no sharers of the kingdom, Or sober, rather. Yet he did it nobly; Not even a husband. Gave royally what we had forfeited ARBACES. Basely I must serve him trulyBELESES. BELESES. Say, bravely. And humbly? ARBACES. ARBACES, Somewhat of both, perhaps. No, sir, proudly-being honest. But it has touch'd me, and whate'er betide, I shall be nearer thrones than you to heaven; I will no further on. And if not quite so haughty, yet more lofty. 304 BYRON'S WORKS. You may do your own deeming-you have codes, PANIA. And mysteries, and corollaries of My order is unto the satraps and Right and wrong, which I lack for my direction, Their household train. And must pursue but what a plain heart teaches. ARBACES. And now you know me. ButBELESES. BELESES. Have you finish'd? It must be obey', Say, we depart. ARBACES. Yes- PANIA. With you. My order is to see you BELESES. Depart, and not to bear your answer. And would, perhaps, betray as well BELESES (aside). As quit me? Ay ARBACES. Well, sir, we will accompany you hence. That's a sacerdotal thought, PANIA. And not a soldier's. I will retire to marshal forth the guard BELESES. Of honour which befits your rank, and wait Be it what you will- Your leisure, so that it the hour exceeds not. Truce with these wranglings, and but hear me. [Exit PANI BELESES. ARBACES. No Now then obey! There is more peril in your subtle spirit ARBACEs. Than n a phalanx. BELESES. BELESES. BlE;LESES. If it must be so- Yes, to the gates 1 I on alone. t soThat grate the palace, which is now our prison, nARBACaEoSn. No further. R.. ARnCES. Alonel! ARBACES. BELESES. Thou hast harp'd the truth indeed! Thrones hold but one. The realm itself, in all its wide extension, Yawns dungeons at each step for thee and me. ARBACES. BELESES. But this is fill'd. Graves! BELESES. ARBACES. With worse than vacancy- If I thought so, this good sword should dig A despised monarch. Look to it, Arbaces: One more than mine. I have still aided, cherish'd, loved, and urged you; BELESES. Was willing even to serve you, in the hope It shall have work enough: To serve and save Assyria. Heaven itself Let me hope better than thou augurest: Seem'd to consent, and all events were friendly, At present let us hence as best we may. Even to the last, till that your spirit shrunk Thou dost agree with me in understandin Into a shallow softness; but now, rather This order as a sentence Than see my country languish, I will be ARBACES. Her saviour or the victim of her tyrant, Why, what other Of one or both, for sometimes both are one Interpretation should it bear? it is And if I win, Arbaces is my servant. The very policy of orient monarchsARBACES. Pardon and poison-favours and a sword}'our servant! A distant voyage, and an eternal sleep. BELESES. How many satraps in his father's timeWhy not? better than be slave, For he I own is, or at least was, bloodlessThe pardon'd slave of she Sardanapalus. BELESES. Enter PANIA. But will not, can not be so now. ARBACES. PANIA. I doubt it. My lords, I bear an order from the king. How many satraps have I seen set out ARBACES. In his sire's day for mighty vice-royalties, It is oney'd ere spoken. Whose tombs are on their path! I know not how BELESES. But they all sicken'd by the way, it was Notwithstanding, So long and heavy. IJet's hear it. BELESES. PANIA. Let us but regain Forthwith, on this very night, The free air of the city, and we'11 shorten Repair to your respective satrapies The journey. Of Babylon and Media. ARBACES. BELESES.'T will be shorten'd at the gates, With our troos? It mav be. SARDANAPALUS 305 BELESES. SALEMENES. No: they hardly will risk that. You may know that hereafter; as it is, They mean us to die privately, but not I take my leave, to order forth the guard Within the palace or the city walls, SARDANAPALUS. Where we are known and may have partisans: And you will join us at the banquet? If they had meant to slay us here, we were SALEMENES. No longer with the living. Let us hence. Sire, ARBACES. Dispense with me-I am no wassailer: If I but thought he did not mean my life- Command me in all service save the Bacchant's. BELESES. SARDANAPALUS. Fool! hence-what else should despotism alarm'd Nay, but't is fit to revel now and then. Mean? Let us but rejoin our troops, and march. SALEMENES. ARBACES. And fit that some should watch for those who revel Towards our provinces? Too oft. Am I permitted to depart? BELESES. SARDANAPALUS. No; towards your kingdom. Yes-stay a moment, my good Salemenes, There's time, there's heart and hope, and power, and My brother, my best subject, better prince means Than I am king. You should have been the monai c Which their half measures leave us in full scope.- And I-I know not what, and care not but Away I Think not I am insensible to all ARBACES. Thine honest wisdom, and thy rough, yet kind, And I, even yet repenting, must Though oft-reproving, sufferance of my follies. Relapse to guilt! If I have spared these men against thy counsel, BELESES That is, their lives-it is not that I doubt Self-defence is a virtue, The advice was sound; but, let them live: we wll ant Sole bulwark of all right. Away! I say! Cavil about their lives-so let them mend them. Let's leave this place, the air grows thick and choking, Their banishment will leave me still sound sleep, And the walls have a scent of night-shade-hence! Which their death had not left me. Let us not leave them time for further council. SALEMENES. Our quick departure proves our civic zeal; Thus you run Our quick departure hinders our good escort, The risk to sleep for ever, to save traitorsThe worthy Pania, from anticipating A moment's pang now changed for years of crime. The orders of some parasangs from hence; Still let them be made quiet. Nay, there's no other choice but-hence, I say. SARDANAPALUS. [Exit with ARBACES, whofollows reluctantly. Tempt me not: Enter SARDANAPALUS and SALEMENES. My word is past. SARDANAPALUS.ALEMENE Well, all is remedied, and without bloodshed, But it may be recalld. That worst of mockeries of a remedy;'T is royal. D P. We are now secure by these men's exile. SALEMENES. S ILE~MENES. ~Yes,~ And should therefore be decisive. Yes, As he who treads on flowers is from the adder his half indulgence of an exile serves Twined round their roots. But to provoke-a pardon should be full, SARDANAPALUS. Oritis e. Why, what wouldstf have me do? SARDANAPALUS. ySALEMENES. And who persuaded me Undo what you haveALME done. After I had repeal'd them, or at least Undo what you have done. SARDANAPAI.uS. Only dismiss'd them from our presence, who Revoke my pardon? Urged me to send them to their satrapies? SALEMENES. SALEMENES. Replace the crown, now tottering on your temples. True; that I had forgotten; that is, sire, SARDANAPALUS. If they e'er reach their satrapies-why, then, That were tyrannical. Reprove me more for my advice. SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS. But sure. And if SARDANAPALUS. They do not reach them-look to it!-in safety, We are so. In safety, mark me-and securityWhat danger can they work upon the frontier? Look to thine own. SALEMENES. SALEMENEbS They are not there yet-never should they be so, Permit me to depan, Were I well listen'd to. Their safety shall be cared for. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. Nay, I have listen'd Get thee hence, thena Implrtiallv to thee-why not to them? And, prithee, think more gently of thy brother. 44 300 BYRON'S WORKS. SALEMENES. MYRRHA. Sire, I shall ever duly serve my sovereign. Not so; these walls [Exit SALEMENES. Are high and strong, and guarded. Treason has SARDANAPALUS (solus). To penetrate through many a winding way, That man is of a temper too severe: And massy portal! but in the pavilion Hard but as lofty as the rock, and free There is no bulwark. From all the taints of common earth-while I SARDANAPALUS. Am softer clay, impregnated with flowers. No, nor in the palace, But as our mould is, must the produce be. Nor in the fortress, nor upon the top If I have err'd this time, t is on the side Of cloud-fenced Caucasus, where the eagle sits Where error sits most lightly on that sense, Nested in pathless clefts, if treachery be: I know not what to call it; but it reckons Even as the arrow finds the airy king, With me oft-times for pain, and sometimes pleasure; The steel will reach the earthly. But be calm: A spirit which seems placed about my heart The men, or innocent or guilty, are To court its throbs, not quicken them, and ask Banish'd, and far upon their way. Questions which mortal never dared to ask me, MYRRIA. Nor Bqal, though an oracular deity- They live, thent Albeit his marble face majestical SARDANAPALUS. Frowns as the shadows of the evening dim So sanguinary? Thou His brows to changed expression, till at times MYRRHA. I think the statue looks in act to speak. I would not shrink Away with these vain thoughts, I will be joyous- From just infliction of due punishment And here comes Joy's true herald. On those who seek your life: wer't otherwise Enter MYRRHA. I should not merit mine. Besides, you heard MYRRHA. The princely Salemenes. King! the sky SARDANAPALUS. Is overcast, and musters muttering thunder, This is strange; In clouds that seem approaching fast, and show The gentle and the austere are both against me, In forked flashes a commanding tempest. And urge me to revenge. Will you then quit the palace? MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS.'T is a Greek virtue. Tempest, say'st thou? SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. But not a kingly pne-I'11 none on't; or, Ay, my good lord. If ever I indulge in't, it shall be S~ARDAKiAP.LUs. With kings-my equals. For my own part, I should be e YRRHA. Not ill content to vary the smooth scene, e mn s t b These men sought to be s~ And watch the warring elements, but this SARDANAPALS. Would little suit the silken garments and t i t ngs Smooth faces of our festive friends. Say, Myrrha, Fro f ea Art thou of those who dread the roar of clouds?7H ~~~~MYRRH.~A. ~MYRRHA.' MYRRH. - For you. In my own country we respect their voices RDA SARDANAPALUS. As auguries of Jove. ~~~~As au~~g~uries of Jove~. ~No matter-still't is fear. SARDANAPALUS. -SARDANyAPAoLUS. I have observed your sex, once roused to wrath, Jove —ay, your Baal — Are timidly vindictive to a pitch Ours also has a property in thunder, Ours also has a property in thunder, Of perseverance, which I would not copy. And ever and anon some falling bolt And ever and anon some falling bolt I thought you were exempt from this, as from Proves his divinity, and yet sometimes Asian women. The childish helplessness of Asian women. Strikes his own altars. MYRRHA. MYRRHA. That were a dread omen. My lord, I am no boaster of my love, ~SARDAINAPALUS. - Nor of my attributes; I have shared your splendour, Yes-for the priests. Well, we will not go forthunes. You may live Beyond the palace walls to-night, but make To find one slave more true than subject myriads; Beyond the palace walls to-night, but make Our feast within. But this the gods avert I am content MYRRHA. To be beloved on trust for what I feel, Now, Jove be praised! that he Rather than prove it to you in your griefs, Hath heaid the prayer thou wouldst not hear. The gods Which might not yield to any cares of mine. Are kinder to thee than thou to thyself, SARDANAPALUS. And flash this storm between thee and thy foes, Griefs cannot come where perfect love exists, To shield thee erom them. Except to heighten it, and vanish from SARDANAPALUS. That which it could not scare away. Let's inChild, if there be peril, The hour approaches, and we must prepare Dethinks t is the same within these walls To meet the invited guests, who grace our feast. on the river's brink. [Exeunt SARDANAPALUS. 307 ALTAD.. ACT III. ALTADA. BothSCENE I. Both you must ever be by all true subjects. The Hall of the Palace illuminated.-SARDANAPALUS SARDANAPALUS. and his Guests at Table.-A storm without, and Methmks the thunders still increase: it is Thunder occasionally heard during the Banquet. An awful night SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. Fill full! Why this is as it should be: here Oh yes, for those who have Is my true realm, amidst bright eyes and faces No palace to protect their worshippers. Happy as fair! Here sorrow cannot reach. SARDANAPALUS. ZAMES. That's true, my Myrrba; and could I convert Nor elsewhere-where the king is, pleasure sparkles. My realm to one wide shelter for the wretched, SARDANAPALUS. I'd do it. Is not this better now than Nimrod's huntings, MYRRHA. Or my wild grandam's chase in search of kingdoms Thou'rt no god, then, not to be She could not keep when conquerd? Able to work a will so good and general, ALTADA. As thy wish would imply. Mighty though SARDANAPALUS. They were, as all thy royal line have been, And your gods, then, Yet none of those who went before have reach'd Who can, and do not? The acme of Sardanapalus, who MYRRHA. Has placed his joy in peace-the sole true glory. Do not speak of that, OARDANAPALUS. Lest we provoke them. And pleasure, good Altada, to which glory SARDANAPALUS. Is but the path. What is it that we seek? True, they love not censure Enjoyment! We have cut the way short to it, Better than mortals. Friends, a thought has struck me And not gone tracking it through human ashes, Were there no temples, would there, think ye, be Making a grave with every footstep. Air-worshippers-that is, when it is angry, ZAMES. And pelting as even now? No; MYRRHA. All hearts are happy, and all voices bless The Persian prays The king of peace, who holds a world in jubilee. Upon his mountain. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. Art sure of that? I have heard otherwise; Yes, when the sun shines. Some say that there be traitors. MYRRHA. ZAMES. And I would ask if this your palace were Traitors they Unroof'd and desolate, how many flatterers Who dare to say so!-'Tis impossible. Would lick the dust in which the kmg lay low? What cause? ALTADA. SARDANAPALUS. The fair Ionian is too sarcastic What cause? true,-fill the goblet up; Upon a nation whom she knows not well; We will not think of them: there are none such, The Assyrians know no pleasure but their king's, Or if there be, they are gone. And homage is their pride. ALTADA. SARDANAPALUS. Guests, to.my pledge! Nay, pardon, guests, Down on your knees, and drink a measure to The fair Greek's readiness of speech. The safety of the king-the monarch, say I! ALTADA. The god Sardanapalus! Pardon! sire [ZAMES and the Guests kneel, and exclaim- We honour her of all things next to thee. Mightier than Hark! what was that? His father Baal, the god Sardanapalus! ZAMES. [It thunders as they kneel; some start up in That? nothing but the jas confusion. Of distant portals shaken by the wind. ZAMES. ALTADA. Why do ye rise, my friends?, In that strong peal It sounded like the clash of-hark again! His father gods consented. ZAMES. MYRRHA. The big rain pattering on the roof. Menaced, rather. SARDANAPALUS. Wing, wilt thou bear this mad impiety? No more. SARDANAPALUS. Myrrha, my love, hast thou thy shell in order! Impiety!-nay, if the sires who reign'd Sing me a song of Sappho, her, thou know's, Before me can be gods, I'll not disgrace Who in thy country threw-'~heir lineage. But arise, my pious friends, Hoard your devotion for the thunderer there: Enter PANIA, with his Sword and Garments bloody, aew I seek but to be loved, not worshipp'd. disordered. The guests rise m corfusion. 308 BYRON'S WORKS. PANIA (to the guards). PANIA. Look to the portals; Scarce a furlong's length And with your best speed to the wall without. From the outward wall, the fiercest conflict rages. Your arms! To arms! The king's in danger. Monarch! SARDANAPALUS. Excuse this haste,-'t is faith. Then I may charge on horseback. Sfero, ho! SARDANAPALUS. Order my horse out-There is space enough Speak on. Even in our courts, and by the outer gate, PANIA. To marshal half the horsemen of Arabia. It is [Exit SFEROfOr the armour, As Salemenes fear'd: the faithless satraps- MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS. How I do love thee! You are wounded-give some wine. Take breath, good SARDANAPALUS. Pania. I ne'er doubted it. PANIA. MYRRHA.'T is nothing-a mere flesh wound. I am worn But now I know thee. More with my speed to warn my sovereign, SARDANAPALUS (to his attendant). Than hurt in his defence. Bring down my spear, too.MYRRHA. Where's Salemenes? Well, sir, the rebels? PANIA. PANIA. Where a soldier should be, Soon as Arbaces and Beleses reach'd In the thick of the fight. Their stations in the city, they refused SARDANAPALUS. To march: and on my attempt to use the power Then hasten to him-Is Which I was delegated with, they call'd The path still open, and communication Upon their troops, who rose in fierce defiance. Left'twixt the palace and the phalanx? MYRRHA. PANIA. All'Twas Too miny PANNIA. When I late left him, and 1 have no fear: Too many. S ~ARDIA~NAPALUS. Our troops were steady, and the phalanx form'd. Spare not of thy free speech SARDANAPALUS. To spare mine ears the truth. Tell him to spare his person for the present, PANIA. And that I will not spare my own-and say, My own slight guard I come. Were faithful-and what's left of it is still so. PANIA. MYRRHA. There's victory in the very word. And are these all the force still faithful? [Exit PAnIA SARDANAPALUS. PNIA. Altada-Zames-forth and arm ye! There The Baca ow led on by Salem, Is all in readiness in the armory. ~~~The Bacnir~ans, n~'Salemenes, See that the women are hestow'd in safety Who even then was on his way, still urged In the ote arments: let a guard In the remote apartments: let a guard By strong suspicion of the Median chiefs, Be set before them, with strict charge to quit Are numerous, and make strong head against Th rb es.. ic by t i n fThe post but with their lives-command it, Zames. The rebels, fighting inch by inch, and forming An orb around the palace, where they mean Altada, arm yourself, and return here; To centre all their force, and save the king. Your post isnearourperson. He hesitat). I am c d t [Exeunt ZAMES, ALTADA, and all save MRRHA. (He hesitates). I am charged to MYRRHA. Enter SFERO and others, with the King's arms, etc.'T is no time for hesitation. SFERO. PANIA. King! your armour. Prince Salamenes doth implore the king SARDANAPALUS (arming himself). 1o arm himself, although but for a moment, Give me the cuirass-so: my baldric; now And show himself unto the soldiers: his My sword: I had forgot the helm, where is it? Sole presence in this instant might do more That's well-no,'t is too heavy: you mistake, tooThan hosts can do in his behalf It was not this Imeant, but that which bears SARDANAPALUS. A diadem around it. What, ho! SFERO. My armour there. Sire, I deem'd MYRRHA. That too conspicuous from the precious stones And wilt thou? To risk your sacred brow beneath-and, trust me, sARDANAPALUS. This is of better metal, though-less rich. Will I not? SARDANAPALUS. Ho, thebe'-But seek not for the buckler;'tie You deem'd! Are you too turn'd a rebel'? Fellow! Too hetravy:-a light cuirass and mv sword. Your part is to obey: return, and-noWVhere are the rebels? It is too late-I will go forth without it. SARDANARALUS. 309 SFERO. $FERO. At least wear this. Waiting, sire, SARDANAPALUS. Without: he has your shield in readiness, Wear Caucasus! why,'t is SARDANAPALUS. A mountain on my temples. True I forgot he is my shield-bearer SFERO. By right of blood, derived from age to age. Sire, the ieanest Myrrha, embrace me; yet once more-once moreSoldier goes not forth thus exposed to Dattle. Love me, whate'er betide. My chiefest glory All men will recognise you-for the storm Shall be to make me worthier of your love. Has ceased, and the moon breaks forth in her brightness. MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS. Go forth, and conquer!.ARDANAPALU. [Exit SARDANAPALUS una SFERO. I go forth to be recognised, and thus SA ANAPALUS a SFERO Shall be so sooner. Now-my spear! I'm arm'd. Now, I am alone. In going stops short, and turns to SFERO. All are gone forth, and of that all how few Perhaps return. Let him but vanquish, and Sfero-I had forgotten-bring the mirror.' SFEROi Me perish! If he vanquish not, I perish;'ER~O~.t* ~ For I will not outlive him. He has wound The mirror, sire? The mirror, siAreD? About my heart, I know not how nor why. Yes, sir, of polish'd brass, Not for that he is king; for now his kingdom Yes, sir, of polish'd brass, t fm the spils of Ii be speedy. Rocks underneath his throne, and the earth yawns Brought from the spoils of India-but be speedy. To yield him no more of it than a grave; [ES t SFERO, TO yield him no more of it than a grave; And yet I love him more. Oh, mighty Jove! Myrrha, retire unto a place of safety. Myrrh~aretire unto a place of safety. Forgive this monstrous love for a barbarian, Why went you.not forth with the other damsels? yes, love him Who knows not of Olympus: yes, I love him MYRRHA. Now, now, far more than- Hark-to the war shout! Because my place is here. Methinks it nears me. If it should be so, eARIDANAPALUS. [She draws forth a small tiba. And when I am gone~- This cunning Colchian poison, which my father MYRRHA. Learn'd to compound on Euxine shores, and taught me I follow. 1I^ ~ SA P follow..How to preserve, shall free me! It had freed me you! to bA^d ~PALUe. Long ere this hour,-but that I loved, until I half forgot I was a slave:-where all MYRRHA. itMYRR wereA. sAre slaves save one, and proud of servitude, If it were 0 So they are served in turn by something lower'T were not the first Greek girl had trod the path. In the degree of bondage, we forget I will await here your return. That shackles worn like ornaments no less SARDANAPALUS. Are chains. Again that shout! and now the clash The place Of arms-and now-and nowIs spacious, and the first to be sought out, Enter ALTADA. If they prevail; and, if it should be so, And I return not- ALTADA. MYRRHA. Ho, Sfero, ho! Still, we meet again. MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS. He is not here; what wouldst thou with him? How How? Goes on the conflict? MYRRHA. ALTADA. In the spet where all must meet at last- Dubiously and fiercely. In Hades! if there be, as I believe, MYRRHA. A shore beyond the Styx; and if there be not, And the king? In ashes. ALTADA. SARDANAPALUS. Like a king. I must find Sfero, Dar'st thou so much? And bring him a new spear and his own helmet, MYRRHA He fights till now bareheaded, and by far I dare all things, Too much exposed. The soldiers knew his face, Except survive what I have loved, to be And the foe too; and in the moon's broad light, A rebel's booty: forth, and do'your bravest. His silk tiara and his flowing. hair Re-enter SSERO with the mirror. Make him a mark too royal. Every arrow SARDAnAPALUS (loo.ing at h isef). Is pointed at the fair hair and fair featurt, SARDANAPALUS (looking at himself). And the broad fillet which crowns both. This cuirass fits me well, the baldric better, lwYRRHA. And the helm not at all. Methinks, I seem Ye gods, [Fings away the helmet, after trying it again. Who fulmine o'er my fathers' land, protect him Passing well in these toys; and now to prove them. Were you sent by the kig? Altada! Where's Altada? ALTADA. I " Such the mirror Otho held By Salemenes, In the Illyrian field "-See Juvenl. Who sent me privily upon this charge 2 E 310 BYRON'S WORKS. Without the knowledge of the careless sovereign. Never profaned by rebel echoes till The king! the king fights as he revels! ho! This fatal night. Farewell, Assyria's line! What, Sfero! I will seek the armory- Farewell to all of Nimrod! Even the name He must be there. [Exit ALTADA. IS now no more. MYRRHA. PANIA.'T is no dishonour-no- Away with. me-away.'T is. no dishonour to have loved this man. MYRRHA. I almost wish now, what I never wish'd No; I'1 die here!-Away, and tell your king Before, that he were Grecian. If Alcides I loved him to the last. Were shamed in wearing Lydian Omphale's [Enter SARDANAPALUS and SALEMENES, wttn She-garb, and wielding her vile distaff; surely Soldiers. PANIA quits MYRRHA, and ranges He, who springs up a Hercules at once, himself with them. Nursed in effeminate arts from youth to manhood, SARDANAPALUS. And rushes from the banquet to the battle, Since it is thus As though it were a bed of love, deserves We'1 die where we were born-in our own halls. That a Greek girl should be his paramour, Serry your ranks-stand firm. I have despatch'd And a Greek bard his minstrel, a Greek tomb A trustry satrap for the guard of Zames, His monument. How goes the strife, sir? All fresh and faithful; they'11 be here anon. Enter an OFFICER. All is not over.-Pania, look to Myrrha. OFFICER. [PANIA returns towards MYRRHL Lost, SALEMENES. Lost almost past recovery. Zames! Where We have breathing time: yet one more charge, my Is Zames?friendsMYRRHA. One for Assyria! Posted with the guard, appointed SARDANAPALUS. To watch before the apartment of the women. Rather say, for Bactria! [Exit OFFICER. My faithful Bactrians, I will henceforth be MYRRHA (solus). King of your nation, and we'11 hold together He's gone; and told no more than that all's lost! This realm as province. What need have I to know more? In those words, SALEMENES. Those little words, a kingdom and a king, Hark! they come-they come. A line of thirteen ages, and the lives Enter BEL*SES and ARBACES with the Rebels. Of thousands, and the fortune of all left ARBACES. With life, all merged: and I, too, with the great, eton, we have themin the toil. Charge! Charge! Like a small bubble breaking with the wave BELESES. Which bore it, shall be nothing. At the least On! on!-Heaven fights fqr us and with us-On! My fate is in my keeping: no proud victor r n Shall count me with his spoils. [They charge the King and SALEMENES with Shl c t me wh hs s. their Troops, who defend themselves till the Enter PANIA. Arrival of ZAMES with the Guard before PANIA. mentioned. The Rebels are then driven of, Away with me, and pursued by SALEMENES, etc. As the Myrrha, without delay; we must not lose King is going to join the pursuit, BELEXES A moment-all that's left us now. crosses him. MYRRHA. BELESES. The king? Ho! tyrant — will end this war. PANIA. SARDANAPALUS. Sent me here to conduct you hence, beyond Evn The river, by a secret passage. E ve so, The river, by a secret passage. My warlike priest, and precious prophet, and MYRRHA. Grateful and trusty subject:-yield, I pray thee. Then eThen ~ __I would reserve thee for a fitter doom, He lives-, PANIA. Rather than dip my hands in holy blood. And charged me to secure your life, BELESES. And beg you to live on for his sake, tillhine hour is come. He can reioin you. SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. No, thine.-I've lately read Wil! he then give way? Though but a young astrologer, the stars; PANIA. And ranging round the zodiac, found thy fate Not till the last. Still, still he does whate'er In the sign of the Scorpion, which proclaims Despair can do;' and step by step disputes That thou wilt now be crushed, The very palace BELESES. MYRRHA. But not by thee. They are here, then:-ay, [They fight: BELESES is wounded end (dt Then shouts vome ringing through the ancient halls, armed. SARDANAPALUS. 311 SARDANAPALUS (raising his sword to despatch him, All are the sons of circumstance: awayexclaims)- Let's seek the slave out, or prepare to be Now call upon thy planets; will they shoot Tortured for his infatuation, and From the sky, to preserve their seer and credit? Condemn'd without a crime. [Exeunt [A party of Rebels enter and rescue BELESES. nr S.Enter SALEMENES and Soldiers, etc. They assail the King, who, in turn, is rescued by a party of his Soldiers, who SALEMF JES. drive the Rebels off. The triumph is The villain was a prophet after all. Flattering: they are beaten backward from the palace Upon them-ho! there-victory is ours. And wb have open'd regular access [Exit in pursuit. To the troops station'd on the other side MYRRHA (to PANIA). Euphrates, who may still be true; nay, must be, Pursue! Why stand'st thou here, and leav'st the ranks When they hear of our victory. But where Of fellow-soldiers conquering without thee? Is the chief victor? where's the king? PANIA. Enter SARDANAPALUS, cum suis, etc. and MYRRHA The king's command was not to quit thee. SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. -.^^A Me! Here, brother. Think not of me-a single soldier's arm SALEMENES. Must not be wanting now. I ask no guard, Unhurt, I hope. I need no guard: what, with a world at stake, SARDANAPALUS. Keep watch upon a woman? Hence, I say, N Or thou art shamed! Nay, then, I will go forth, We've clear'd the palaceA feeble female,'midst their desperate strife, SALEMENES. And bid thee guard me there-where thou shouldst shield And, I trust, the city Thy sovereign. [Exit MYRRHA. Our numbers gather; and I have order'd onward PANIA. A cloud of Parthians, hitherto reserved, Yet stay, damsel! She is gone. YAll fresh and fiery, to be pour'd upon them If aught of ill betide her, better I In their retreat, which soon will be a flight. Had lost my life. Sardanapalus holds her SARDANAPALUS. Far dearer than his kingdom, yet he fights It is already, or at least they march'd For that too; and can I do less than him, Faster than I could follow with my Bactrians, Who neVer flash'd a scimetar till now? Who spared no speed. I am spent; give me a seat. Myrrha, return, and I obey you, though SALEMENES. In disobedience to the monarch. [Exit PANIA. There stands the throne, sire. Enter ALTADA and SFERO, by an opposite door. SARDANAPALUS. ALTADA'T is no place to rest on, Myrrha! For mind nor body: let me have a couch, What, gone! yet she was here when the fight raged, [They place a seat And Pania also. Can aught have befallen them? A peasant's stool, I care not what:-so-now SFERO. I breathe more freely. I saw both safe, when late the rebels fled: SALEMENES. They probably are but retired to make This great hour has proved Their way back to the harem. The brightest and most glorious of your life. ALTADA. SARDANAPALUS. If the king And the most tiresome. Where's my cup-bearer Prove victor, as it seems even now he must, Bring me some water. And' miss his own Ionian, we are doomed SALEMENES (smiling). To worse than captive rebels.'T is the first time he SFERO. Ever had such an order: even I, Let us trace them; Your most austere of counsellors, would now She cannot be fled far; and, found, she makes Suggest a purpler beverage. A richer prize to our soft sovereign SARDANAPALUS. Than bis recover'd kingdom. Blood-doubtless. ALTADA. But there's enough of that shed; as for wine, Baal himself I have learn'd to-night the price of the pure element Ne'er fought more fiercely to win empire, than Thrice have I drank of it, and thrice renew'd, His silken son to save it: he defies With greater strength than the grape ever gave me, All augury of foes or friends; and like My charge upon the rebels. Where's the soldier the close and sultry summer's day, which bodes Who gave-me water in his hemlet? A twilight tempest, bursts forth in such thunder ONE OF THE GUARDS. As sweeps the air and deluges the earth. Slain, sire The man's inscrutable. An arrow pierced his brain, while, scattering SFERO. The last drops from his helm, he stood in act Not more than others. To place it on his brows. 312 BYRON'S WORKS. SARDANAPALUS. Her seem unto the troops a prophetess Slain! unrewarded! Of victory, or Victory herself, And slain to serve my thirst: that's hard, poor slave! Come down to hail us hers. Ilad he but lived, I would have gorged him with SALEMENES (aside). Cold: all the gold of earth could ne'er repay This is too much; The pleasure of that draught; for I was parch'd Again the love-fit's on him, and all's lost, As I am now. [They bring water-he drinks. Unless we turn his thoughts. I live again-from henceforth (Aloud) But, pray thee, sire The goblet I reserve for hours of love, Think of your wound-you said even now't was painful But war on water. SARDANAPAIUS. SALEMENES. That's true, too; but I must not think of it. And that bandage, sire, SALEMENES. Which girds your arm? I have look'd to all things needful, and will nowv SARDA NAPALUS. Receive reports of progress made in such A scratch from brave Beleses. Orders as I had given, and then return MYRRHA. To hear your further pleasure. Oh! he is wounded! SARDANAPALUS SARDANAPALUS Be it so. Not too much of that; SALEMENES (in retiring). And yet it feels a little stiff and painful. Myrrha! Now I am cooler. MYRRHA. MYRRHA. Prince. You have bound it with- SALEMENES. SARDANA'PALUS. You have shown a soul to-nig^a The fillet of my diadem: the first time Which, were he not my sister's lord-But now That ornament was ever aught to me I have no time: thou lov'st the king? Save an encumbrance. MYRRHA. MYRRHA (to the attendants). I love Summon speedily Sardanapalus. A leech of the most skilful: pray, retire; SALEMENES. I will unbind your wound and tend it. But wouldst have him king still? SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. Do so, I would not have him less than what he should ba. For now it throbs sufficiently: but what SALEMENES. Know'st thou of wounds! yet wherefore do I ask? Well, then, to have him king, and yours, and ill Know'st thou, my brother, where I lighted on He should, or should not be; to have him liv.. Ths minion.? Let him not sink back into luxury. SALEMENES. You have more power upon his spirit than Herding with the other females, Wisdom within these walls, or fierce rebellion like frighten'd antelopes. Raging without: look well that he relapse not. SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. No: like the dam There needed not the voice of Salemenes Of the young lion, femininely raging To urge me on to this; I will not fail. (And femininely meaneth furiously, All that a woman's weakness canBecause all passions in excess are female) SALEMENES. Against the hunter flying with her cub, Is power She urged on with her voice and gesture, and Omnipotent o'er such a heart as his; Her floating hair and flashing eyes, the soldiers Exert it wisely. [Exit SALEMENB9. In the pursuit. SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. Myrrha! what, at whispers Indeed! With my stern brother? I shall soon be jealous. SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA (smiling). You see, this night You have cause, sire; for on the earth there breathes no M,.de warriors of more than me. I paused A man more worthy of a woman's loveTo look upon her, and her kindled cheek; A soldier's trust-a subject's reverenceHer large black eyes, that flash'd through her long hair A king's esteem-the whole world's admiration! As it stream'd o'er her; her blue veins that rose SARDANAPALUS. Along her most transparent brow; her nostril Praise him, but not so warmly. I must not Dilated from its symmetry; her lips Hear those sweet lips grow eloquent in aught Apart; her voice that clove through all the din, That throws me into shade; yet you speak truth. As a lute's pierceth through the cymbal's clash, MYRRHA. Jarr:d but not drown'd by the loud brattling; her And now retire, to have your wound look'd to. Waved arms, more dazzling with their own born white- Pray lean on me. ness SARDANAPALUS. Than the steel he. nand held, which she caught up Yes, love! but not from pain. lton a dead soldier's grasp; all these things made Exeunt omner SARDANAPALUS. 31S And kings are But I did not deem it so; ACT IV. I thought'twas nothing. MYRRHA. SCENE I. MYRRHA. So it is; except SARDANAPALUS discovered sleeping upon a couch, and Unto the timid, who anticipate occasionally disturbed in his slumbers, with MYRRHA That which may never be. watching. SA RDANAPALUS. MYRRHA (sola, gazing). Oh, Myrrha! if I have stolen upon his rest, if rest it be, Sleep shows such things, what may not death Aisclose. Wh ch thus convulses slumber: shall I wake him? MYRRHA. No, he seems calmer. Oh, thou God of Quiet! I know'no evil death can show, which life Whose reign is o'er seal'd eyelids and soft dreams, Has not already shown to those who live Or deep, deep sleep, so as to be unfathom'd, Embodied longest. If there be indeed Look like thy brother, Death-so still-so stirless- A shore, where mind survives,'twill be as mind, For then we are happiest, as it may be, we All unincorporate: or if there flits Are happiest of all within the realm, A shadow of this cumbrous clog of clay, Of thy stern, silent, and unawakening twin. Which stalks, methinks, between our souls and heaven, Again he moves-again the play of pain And fetters us to earth-at least the phantom, Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust Whate'er it have to fear, will not fear death. Crisps the reluctant lake that lay so calm SARDANAPALUS. Beneath the mountain shadow; or the blast I fear it not; but I have felt-have seenRuffles the autumn leaves, that drooping cling A legion of the dead. Fa;ntly and motionless to their loved boughs. MYRRH) I must awake him-yet not yet: who knows And so have 1. From what I rouse him? It seems pain; but if The dust we tread upon was once alive, I quicken him to heavier pain? The fever And wretched. But proceed: what hast thou seen? Of this tumultuous night, the grief too of Speak it,'t will lighten thy dimm'd mind. His wound, though slight, may cause all this, and shake SARDANAPALUS. Me more to see than him to suffer. No: MethoughtLet Nature use her own maternal means,- MYRRHA. And I await to second not disturb her. Yet pause, thou art tired-in pain-exhausted; all SARDANAPALUS (awakening). Which can impair both strength and spirit: seek Not so-although ye multiplied the stars, Rather to sleep again. And gave them to me as a realm to share SARDANAPALwUS. From you and with you! I would not so purchase Not now-I would not The empire of eternity.-Hence-hence- Dream; though I know it now to be a dream Old hunter of the earliest brutes! and ye, What I have dreamt:-and canst thou bear to hear it Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes, MYRRHA. Once bloody mortals-and now bloodier idols, I can bear all things, dreams of life or death, If your priests lie not! And thou, ghastly beldame! Which I participate with you, in semblance Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on Or full reality. The carcasses of Inde-away! away! SARDANAPALUS. Where am I? Where the spectres? Where-No-that And this look'd real, Is no false phantom: I should know it'midst I tell you: after that these eyes were open, All that the dead dare gloomily raise up I saw them in their flight-for then they fled. From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha MYRRIIA. MYRRHA. MYRRHA. " Say on. Alas! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops 8ARDANAPALUS. Gather like night-dew. My beloved, hush- I saw, that s, I dream'd myself Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world, Here-hereeven wherewe are, ests as we were, And thou art loved of this. Be of oodcheer; Myself a host that deem'd himself but guest, All will go well. Willing to equal all in social freedom; All will go well. SARDANAPALUS. But, on my right hand and my left, insteadl Thy hand-so-'tis thy hand; Of thee and Zames, and our accustom'd meeting,'T is flesh; grasp-clasp-yet closer, till I feel ranged on my left hand a haughty, dark Myself that which I was. And deadly face-I could not recognise it, M"YRRHA. Yet I had seen it, though I knew not where; At least know me The features were a giant's, and the eve For what I am, and ever must be-thine. Was still, yet lighted; his long locks curl'd down SARDANAPALUS. On his vast bust, whence a huge quiver rose I know it now. I know this life again. With shaft-heads feather'd from the eagle's wing, Ah, Myrrha! I have been where we shall be. That peep'd up bristling through his s, oent har MYRRHA. I invited him to fill the cup which stood My lord! Between us, but he answer'd not — fill'd.- SARDANAPALUS. He took it not-but stared upon me, till I've been i' the grave-where wonns are lords, I trembled at the fix'd glare o" ti ey:; 45 .314 BYRON'S WORKS. I frown'd upon him as a king should frown- MaYRRHA He frown'd not in his turn, but look'd upon me And was; the ancestors of heroes, too, With the same aspect, which appall'd me more, And thine no less. Because it changed not, and I turn'd for refuge SARDANAPALUS. To milder guests, and sought them on the right, Ay, Myrrha, but the woman Where thou wert wont to be. But- The female who remain'd, she flew upon me, [He pauses. And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses, MYRRHA. And, flinging down the goblets on each hand, What iwste,'d Methought their poisons flow'd around us, till SARDANAPALUS. Each form'd a hideous river. Still she clung: In thy own chair-thy own place in the banquet- The other phantoms, like a row of statues, sought thy sweet face in the circle-but Stood dull as in our temples, but she still Instead-a gray-hair'd, wither'd, bloody-eyed, Embraced me, while I shrunk from her, as if, And hloody-handed, glastly, ghostly thing, In lieu of her remote descendant, I Female in garb, and crown'd upon the brow, Had been the son who slew her for her incest. Furrow'd with years, yet sneering with the passion Thep-then-a chaos of all loathsome things Of vengeance, leering too with that of lust, Throng'd thick and shapeless: I was dead, yet feelingbate;-my veins curdled. Buried, and raised again-consumed by worms, MYRRHA. Purged by the flames, and wither'd in tle air; Is this all? I can fix nothing further of my thoughts, SARDANAPALUS. Save that I long'd for thee, and sought for thee, Upon In all these agonies, and woke and found thee. Her right hand-her lank, bird-like right hand-stood MYRRHHA. A goblet, bubbling o'er with blood; and on So shalt thou find me ever at thy side, Her left another, fill'd with-what I saw not, Hereand hereafter, if the last may be. But turn'd from it and her. But all along But think not of these things —the msre creatinc. The table sate a range of crowned wretches, Of late events acting upon a frame Of various aspects, but of one expression. Unused to toil, yet overwrought by toil, MYRRHA. Such as might try the sternest. And felt you not this a mere vision? SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. Now that I see thee once more, what was seen Seems nothing. It was so palpable, I could have touch'd them. Enter SALEMIENES. I turn'd from one face to another, in SALEMENES.'The hope to find at last one which I knewIs the kina so soon awake? Ere I saw theirs; but no-all turn'd upon me, SARAAPL SARDANAPALUS. And stared, but neith6r ate nor drank, but stared, Yes, brother, and I would I had not slept; Till I grew stone, as they seem'd half to be, For all the predecessors of our line Yet breathing stone, for I felt life in them, Rose up, methought, to drag me down to them And life in me: there was a horrid kind father was amonst them, too; but he Of sympathy between us, as if they I know not why, kept from me, leaving me Had lost a part of death 0t come to me, Between the hunter founder of our race And I the half of life to sit by them.nd her, the.homicide and husband-killer, We were in an existence all apart Whom you call glorious. From-heaven or earth-And rather let me seeSALEMENES. Death all than such; being! So I term you also, MYRRHA. Now you have shown a spirit like to hers. And the end? By day-break I propose that we set forth, SARDANAPALUTS. And charge once more the rebel crew, who still At last I sate marble as they, when rose Keep gathering head, repulsed, but not quite quell'd, The hunter and the crew; and smiling on me- SARDANAPALUS. Yes, the enlarged but noble aspect of How wears the night? The hunter smiled upon me-I should say, SALEMENES. His lips, for his eyes moved not-and the woman's There yet remain some hours'J'hin lips relax'd to something like a sinile. Of darkness: use them for your further rest. Both rose, and the crown'd figures on each hand SARDANAPALUS. Rose also, as it' aping their ciief shades- No, not to-night, if't is not gone: methought Mere mimics even in death-buti sate still: I pass'd hours in that vision. A desperate courage crept through every limb, MYRRHA. And at the last I fear'd them not, but laugh'd Scarcely one; Full in their phantom faces. But then-then Iwatch'd by you: it was a heavy hour, The hunter laid his hand on-mine: I took it, But an hour only. Ann grasp'd it-but it melted from my own, SARDANAPALUS. While he too vanish'd, and left nothing but Let us then hold council; Tho memory of a hero, for he look'd so. To-morrow we set forth. SARDANAPALUS. 315 SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS. But ere that time, We have lived asunder I had a grace to seek. Too long to meet again-and now to meet! SARDANAPALUS. Have I not cares enow, and pangs enow,'T is granted. To bear alone, that we must mingle sorrows, SALEMENES. Who have ceased to mingle love? Hear it, Re-enter SALEMENES and ZARINA. Ere you reply too readily; and't is SALEMENES. For your ear only. My sister coage MYRRHA. Shame not our blood with trembling, but remember Prince, I take my leave. rcetake e. From whence we sprung. The queen is present, sire. ZA[ExiMY A. SALEMENES. I pray thee brother, leave me. That slave deserves her freedom. I pray thee, brother, leave me. SALEMENES. SARDANAPALUS. Freedom only! Since you ask it. That slave deserves to share a throne. [Eit SALEMENES. ZARINA. SALEMENES. Your patience- Alone with him! How many a year has past, and'tis of its partner patience Though we are still so young, since we have met,'T is not yet vacant, and't is of its partner IT isme not ypetk vacant, Which I have worn in widowhood of heart. I come to speak with you. I " AR~aNA~~bLU. c s tHe loved me not: yet he seems little changedSARDANAPALUS. How! of the queen? Changed to me only-would the change were mutual. SALEMENES. He speaks not-scarce regards me-not a wordNor look-yet he was soft of voice and aspect, Even so. I judged it fitting for. their safety,he was soft of voice and aspect, That, ere the dawn, she sets forth with her children Indifferent, notaustere. Mylord! For Paphlagonia, where our kinsman Cotta SARDANAPALUS. Governs; and there at all events secure ZARINA. arina My nephews and your sons their lives, and with them Zarinado not sa Zarina, Their just pretensions to the crown, in case- ord-anniiat on ya XARANP S Thiat tone-that word-annihilate long years, SABRDANAPALUS. And things which make them longer. I perish-as is probable: well thought- RDNAPALUS SARDANAPALUS. Let them set forth with a sure escort.' i IT is too late SALEMENES. To think of these past dreams. Let's not reproach-,That That is, reproach me not-for the last time Is all provided, and the galley ready ZARINA. To drop down the Euphrates; but ere they Andfist. Ine'er reproachd you. Depart, will you not see SA.DANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS.'T is most true; My sons? It may And that reproof comes heavier on my heart Unman my heart, and the poor boys will weep; ThanBut pur hearts are not in our own power. And what can I reply to comfort them, ZARINA. Save with some hollow hopes, and ill-worn smiles Nor hands but I gave both You know I cannot feign. SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES, Your brother said, But you can feel; It was your will to see me, ere you went At least, I trust so: in a word, the queen From Nineveh with-(He hesitates). Requests to see you ere you part-for ever. ZARINA. SARDANAPALUS. Our children: it Is trtu Unto what end? what purpose? I will grant I wish'd to thank you that you have not divided Aught-all that she can ask-but such a meeting. My heart from all that's left it now to loveSALEMENES. Those who are yours and mine, who look like you, You know, or ought to know, enough of women, And look upon me as you look'd upon me Since you have studied them so steadily, Once-But they have not changed. That what they ask in aught that touches on SARDANAPALUS. The heart, is dearer to their feelings or Nor ever wilL Their fancy than the whole external world. I fain would have them dutiful. I think as you do of my sister's wish; ZARINA. But't was her wish-she is my sister-you I cherish Her husband-will you grant it? Those infants, not alone from the blind love SARDANAPALIS. Of a fond mother, but as a fond woman.'T will be useless: They are now the only tie between us. But let her come. SARDANAPALUS. SALEMENES. Deem noe I go. [Exit SALEMENES. I have not done you justice: rather maxe them 316 BYRON'S WORKS. Resemble your own line, than their own sire. ZARINA. I trust them with you-to you: fit them for Now blessings on thee for that word' A throne, or, if that be denied-You have heard I never thought to hear it more-from thee. Of this night's tumults? SARDANAPALUS. ZARINA. Oh! thou wilt hear it from my subjects YesI had half forgotten, The slaves, whom I have nurtured, pamper'd, fed, And could have welcomed any grief, save yours, And swoln with peace, and gorged with plenty, till Which gave me to behold your face again. They reign themselves-all monarchs in their man SARDANAPALUS. sionsThe throne-I say it riot in fear-but't is Now swarm forth in rebellion, and demand In peril; they perhaps may never mount it: His death, who made their lives a jubilee: But let them not for this lose sight of it. While the few upon whom I have no claim I will dare all things to bequeath it them; Are faithful. This is true, yet monstrous. But if I fail, then they must win it back ZARINA. Bravely-and, won, wear it wisely, not as I'T is Have wasted down my royalty. Perhaps too natural; for benefits ZARINA. Turn poison in bad minds. They ne'er SARDANA PALUS. Shall know from me of aught but what may honour And good ones make Their father's memory. Good out of evil. Happier than the bee, SARDANAPALUS. Which hives not but from wholesome flowers. Rather let them hear ZARINA. The truth from you than from a trampling world. Then reap If they be in adversity, they'11 learn The honey, nor inquire whence't is derived. Too soon the scorn of crowds for crownless princes, Be satisfied-you are not all abandon'd. And find that all their father's sins are theirs. RDANAPALUS. My boys!-I could have borne it were I childless. My life insures me tnat. How long, bethink you, ZARINA. Were not I yet a king, should I be mortal? Oh! do not say so-do not poison all That is, where mortals are, not where they must be? My peace left, by unwishing that thou wert ZARINA. A father. If thou conquerest, they shall reign, I know not. But yet live for my-that is, And honour him who saved the realm for them, Your children's sake! So little cared for as his own; and if- SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. My gentle, wrong'd Zarina!'T,s lost, all earth will cry out, thank your father! I am the very slave of circumstance Anid they will swell the echo with a curse. And impulse-borne away with every breath! ZARINA. Misplaced upon the throne-misplaced in life. That they shall never do; but rather honour I know not what I could have been, but feel The name of him, who, dying like a king, I am not what I should be-let it end. In his last hours did more for his own memory, But take this with thee: if I was not form'd Than many monarchs in a length of days, To prize a love like thine, a mind like thine, Which date the flight of time, but make no annals. Nor dote even on thy beauty-as I've doted SARDANAPALUS. On lesser charms, for no cause save that such Our annals draw perchance unto their close; Devotion was a duty, and I hated But at the least, whate'er the past, their end All that look'd like a chain for me or others Shall be like their beginning-memorable. (This even rebellion must avouch); yet hear ZARINA. These words, perhaps among my last-that none f'eL, be not rash-be careful of your life, Ere valued more thy virtues, though he knew not -ire but for those who love. To profit by them-as the miner lights SARDANAPALUS. Upon a veti of virgin ore, discovering And who are they? That which avails him nothing; he hath found it, A slave, who loves from passion-I'1 not say But't is not his-but some superior's, who Ambition-she has seen thrones shake, and loves; Placed him to dig, but not divide the wealth A few friends, who have revell'd till we are Which sparkles at his feet; nor dare he lift As one, for they are nothing if I fall; Nor poise it, but must grovel on upturning A brother I have injured-children whom The sullen earth. I have neglected, and a spouse ZARINA. ZARINA. Oh! if thou hast at length Who loves. Who love. Discover'd that my love is worth esteem, SARDANAPALU8S. A nnd'~oadon&sP IS I ask no more —but let us hence together, And oardons, ZARINA. And I-let me say we-shall yet be happy. I have never thought of this, Assyria is not all the earth-we'11 find Ancd canot pardon till I have condernnd. A world out of our own-and be more blest SARDlANAPA-LUr. Than I have ever been, or thou, with all Mv vwite An empire to indulge thee. SARDANAPALUS. 3 Enter SALEMENES. I may be worthier of you-and, if not, SALEMENES. Remember thatmy faults, though not atoned for,' L I must part v ~Are ended. Yet, I dread thy nature will The moments, which must not be lost, are passing. Grieve more above the blighted name and ashes ZARINA~. ~ -Which once were mightiest in Assyria-thanInhuman brother! wilt thou thus weigh out But I grow womanish again, and must not; I must learn sternness now. My sins have all Instants so high and blest X Been of the softer order-hide thy tears~5aBlE tM; 5I do not bid thee not to shed them-'t were Bl~est!.Easier to stop Euphrates at its source ZARINA. HeR har V nen Than one tear of a true and tender heartBut let me not behold them; they unman me So gentle with me, that I cannot think s Mybrothe~~~~~Of quitting. ~Here when I had remann'd myself. My brother. ^ ^~~Of quirtting. Lead her away. SALEMENES. ZARINA. So-this feminine farewell I n Oh, God! I never shall Ends as such partings end, in no departure. Behold him more I thought as much, and yielded against all SALEMENES (striving to conduct her). My better bodings. But it must not be. Nay, sister I must be obey'd. ZARINA. ZARINAo Ziot be,? o e SALEMERL. MI must remain-away! you shall not hold me. Remain, and perish~'- What, shall he die alone?-I live alone? ~ZAK~RINUA.B~ SALEMENES. With my husband- He shall not die alone; but lonely you SALEMENES. Have lived for years. 4nd children. ZARINA. ZARINA. That s false! I knew he iived, Alas! And lived upon his image-let me go! SALEMENES. SALEMENES (conducting her of the stage). Hear me, sister, like Nay, then, I must use some fraternal force, Mly sister — all's prepared to make your safety Which you will pardon. Certain, ard of the boys too, our last hopes. ZARINA. Tr is not a single question of mere feeling, Never. Help me! Oh Though that were much-but't is a point of state: Sardanapalus, wilt thou thus behold me The rebels would do more to seize upon Torn from thee? The offspring of their sovereign, and so crush- SALEMENES. ZARINA. Nay-then all is lost again, Ah! do not-name it. If that this moment is not gain'd. SALEMENES. ZARINA. Well, then, mark me: when My brain turnsThey are safe beyond the Median's grasp, the rebels My eyes fail-where is he? [Shefainut Have miss'd their chief aim-the extinction of SARDANAPALUS (advancing). The line of Nimrod. Though the present king No-set her downFall, his sons live for victory and vengeance. She's dead-and you have slain her. SALEMENES.'T is the mere But could not I, remain, alone?But could not I. remain, alone? Faintness of o'er-wrought passion: in the air SALEMENES. What LEMENSe She will recover. Pray, keep back.-[Aside.] I muix What!, leave Avail myself of this sole moment to Your children, with two parents and yet orphans- Aal mef of ths sole moent ba Bear her to where her children are embark'd, In a strange land-so young, so distant? I' the royal galley on the river. ZARINA N-. [SALEMENES bears her off My heart will break. SARDANAPALUS (solus). SALEMENES. This tooNow you know all-decide. And this too must I suffer-I, who never SARDANAPALUS. Inflicted purposely on human hearts Zarina, he hath spoken well, and we A voluntary pang! But that is falseMust yield awhile to this necessity. She loved me, and I loved her. Fatal passion Remaining here, you may lose all; departing, Why dost thou not expire at once in hearts You save the better part of what is left Which thou hast lighted up at once? Zarina! To both of us, and to such loyal hearts I must pay dearly for the desolation As yet beat in these kingdoms. Now brought upon thee. Had I never loved SALEMENES. But thee, I should have been an unopposed The time presses. Monarch of honouring nations. To what gulfs SARDANAPALUS. A single deviation from the track Go. then. If e'er we meet again, perhaps Of human duties, leaas even those who claim 1'8 BYRON'S WORKS The homage of mankind as their born due, SARDANAPALUrS. And find it, till they forfeit it themselves! In the hour Enter MYRRHA. Of man's adversity, all things grow daring Against the falling; but as I am not SAbRDANAPALUS. ~Quite fallen, nor now disposed to bear reprosches You here! Who call'd you? pPerhaps because I merit them too often, MYRRHA. Let us then part while peace is still between us No one-but I heard MrRRHA. Far off a voice of wail and lamentation, Part! And thought- SARDANAPALUS. SARIaANAPALUS. Have not all past human beings parted, It forms no portion of your duties And must not all the present one day part? To enter here till sought for. MYRRHA. MYRRHA. Why? Though I might, SARDANAPALUS. Perhaps, recall some softer words of yours For your safety, which I will have looke.o, (Although they too were chiding), which reproved me, With a strong escort to your native land; Because I ever dreaded to intrude; And such gifts as, if you have not been all Resisting my own wish and your injunction A queen, shall make your dowry worth a kingdom. To heed no time nor presence, but approach you MYRRHA. Uncall'd for: I retire. Uncall'd for: I retire. I pray you talk not thus. SARDANAPALUS. SARD A NAPA LUS. SARDANAPALUS. IThe queen is gone Yet, stay-being here. ^,, ^ "^ ^ Yet, stay-being here. You need not shame to follow. I would fatl I pray you pardon me: events have sour'd pe I s n p Alone —I seek ro partners but in pleasure. Till I wax peevish-heed it not: I shall MYRRHA. Soon be myself again. ~Soon be myself again^~. ~And I no pleasure but in parting not. IYRRaHA. I wait with patiYou shall not force me from you. I wait with patience, SAaDANAPALUS. What I shall see with pleasure. Think well of itSARDANAPALUS. It soon may be too late. Scarce a moment MYRRHA. Before your entrance in this hal., Zarina,So let it be; Queen of Assyria, departed hence. For then you cannot separate me from you. MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS. SARAh D AbNAPALUS. IAnd will not; but I thought you wish'd it. SARDANAPALUS. Wherefore do you start? MYRRHA. MYRRHA. A~MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS. Did I do so?] DidD I do so You spoke of your abasement. bARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. MYRRHA.'T was well you enter'd by another portal, And I fel it Else you had met. That pang at least is spared her! Deeply-more deeply than all things bit love. MYRaRHA. ~MYRRs~H~A.~ ~SARDANAPALUS. I know to feel for her. Then fly from it. SARDANAPALUS. MYRRHA. That is too much,'T will not recall the pastAnd beyond nature —'t is nor mutual,'Twill not restore my honour, nor my heart. Nor possible. You cannot pity her, No-here I stand or fall. If that you conquer, Nor she aught but- I live to joy in your great triumph; should MYRRHA. Your lot be different, I'11 not weep, but share it. Despise the favourite slave? You did not doubt me a few hours ago. N!t more than I have ever scorn'd myself. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. Your courage never-nor your love till now; Scurn'd! what, to be the envy of your sex, And none could make me doubt it, save yourself. And lord it o'er the heart of the world's lord? Those wordsIMYRRHA. -MYRHA. Were you the lord of twice ten thousand worlds- Were words. I pray you, let the proofs As you are like to lose the one you sway'd- Be in the past acts you were pleased to praise I did abase myself as much in being This very night, and in my further bearing, Your paramour, as though you were a peasant- Beside, wherever you are borne by fate, Nay, more, if that the peasant were a Greek. SARDANAPALJS. s8RDANAPALUS. I am content; and, trusting in my cause, You talk it well- Think we may yet be victors, and return MYRRHA. To peace-the only victory I covet. And truly. To me war is no glory-conquest no SARDANAPALUS. 319 Renown. To be forced thus to uphold my right, SALEMENES. Sits heavier on my heart than all the wrongs That were hardly pruden These men would bow me down with. Never, never Now, though it was our first intention. If Can I forget this night, even should I live By noon to-morrow we are join'd by those To add it to the memory of others. I've sent for by sure messengers, we shall be I thought to have made mine inoffensive rule In strength enough to venture an attack, An era of sweet peace'midst bloody annals, Ay, and pursuit too: but, till then, my voice A green spot anidst desert centuries, Is to await the onset. On which the future would turn back and smile, SARDANAPALUS. And cultivate, or sigh when it could not I detest Recall Sardanapalus' golden reign. That waiting; though it seems so safe to fight I thought to have made my realm a paradise, Behind high walls, and hurl down foes into And every moon an epoch of new pleasures. Deep fosses, or behold them sprawl on spikes I took the rabble's shouts for love-the breath Strew'd to receive them, still I like it notOf friends for truth-the lips of woman for My soul seems lukewarm; but when I set on them, My only guerdon-so they are, my Myrrha: Though they were piled on mountains, I would have [He kisses her. A pluck at them, or perish in hot blood!Kiss me. Now let them take my realm and life! Let me then charge! They shall have both, but never thee! SALEMENES. MYRRHA. You talk like a young soldier No, never! SARDANAPALUS. Man may despoil his brother man of all I am no soldier, but a man: speak not That s great or glittering: kingdoms fall-hosts yield- Of soldiership-I loathe the word, and those Friends fail-slaves fly-and all betray-and, more Who pride themselves upon it; but direct-me Than all, the most indebted-but a heart Where I may pour upon them. That loves without self-love!'T is here-now prove it. SALEMENES. Enter SALEMENES. You must spare To expose your life too hastily;'t is not SALEMENES. Like mine or any other subject's breath: I sought you.-How! she here again? I sought you.-How! she here again? The whole war turns upon it-with it; this SARDANAPALUS. Alone creates it, kindles, and may quench itReturn not Prolong it —end it. Now to reproof: methinks your aspect speaks P g i d SARDANAPALUS. Of higher matter than a woman's presence. Tn lt us ed SALEMENES..ALE MEE. S*,h.i I'T were better thus, perhaps, than prolong either; The only woman whom it much imports me I'm sick of one, perchance of both. At such a moment now is safe in absence — [A trurmpet srounds wioth. The queen's embark'd. $ALEMENESo SARDANAPALUS.SALEMENES. Hark! And well? say that much. SARDANAPALUS SALEMENES. i Yes. Let us Her transient weakness has past o'er; at least, Reply, not listen. It settled into tearless silence: her SALEMENES. Pale face and glittering eye, after a glance And your wound Upon her sleeping children, were still fix'd SARDANAPALUS. Upon the palace towers, as the swift galley T I boundStole down the hurrying strearq beneath the starlight;'T is heal'd-I had forgotten it. Away! But she said nothing. A leech's lancet would have scratch'd me deeper SARDANAPALUS. The slave that gave it might be well ashamed Would I[felt no more To have struck so weakly. Than she has said. SALEMENES. SALEMENES. N ww may none this hour'T is now too late to feel! Strike with a better aim! Your feelings cannot cancel a sole pang: SARDANAPALUS. To change them, my advices bring sure tidings Ay, if we conquer; That the rebellious Medes and Chaldees, marshall'd But if not, they will only leave to me By their two leaders, are already up A task they might have spared their king. Upon'hemn In arms again; and, serrying their ranks, [Trumpet sounds again Prepare to attack: they have apparently SALEMENES. Been join'd by other satraps. I am with you. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. What! more rebels? Ho, my arms! again, mv arms Let us be first, then. rEf eun" 320 BYRON'S WORKS. BALEA. ACT V. Surely he is a god! SCENE 1. MYRRHA. So we Greeks deem too; The same Hall of the Palace. And yet I sometimes think that gorgeous orb MYRRHA and BALEA. Must rather be the abode of gods than one MYRRHA (at a win~dow). Of the immortal sovereigns. Now he breaks The day at last has broken. What a night Through all the clouds, and fills my eyes with light Ilath usher'd it! How beautiful in heaven! That shuts the world out. I can look no more. Though varied with a transitory storm, BALEA. More beautiful in that variety! Hark! heard you not a sound? Hlow hideous upon earth! where peace and hope, MYRRHA. And love and revel, in an hour were trampled No,'t was mere fairyi By human passions to a human chaos, They battle it beyond the wall, and not Not yet resolved to separate elements. — As in late midnight conflict in the very'T is warring still! And can the sun so rise, Chambers; the palace has become a fortress So bright, so rolling back the clouds into Since that insidious hour; and here within Vapours more lovely than the unclouded sky, The very centre, girded by vast courts With golden pinnacles, and snowy mountains, And regal halls of pyramid proportions, And billows purpler than the ocean's, making Which must be carried one by one before hi heaven a glorious mockery of the earth, They penetrate to where they then arrived, So like, we almost deem it permanent; We are as much shut in even from the sound So fleeting, we can scarcely call it aught Of peril as from glory. Beyond a vision,'t is so transiently BALEA. Scatter'd along the eternal vault: and yet But they reach'd It dwells upon the soul, and soothes the soul, Thus far before. And blends itself into the soul, until MYRRHA. Sunrise and sunset form the haunted epoch Yes, by surprise, and were Of sorrow and of love; which they who mark not Beat back by valour; now at once we have Know not the realms where those twin genii Courage and vigilance to guard us. (Who chasten and who purify our hearts, BALEA. So that we would not change their sweet rebukes May they For all the boisterous joys that ever shook Prosper! The air with clamour) build the palaces MYRRHA. Where their fond votaries repose and breathe That is the prayer of many, and s trefly;-but in that brief cool calm inhale The dread of more: it is an anxious hour; Enough of heaven to enable them to bear I strive to keep it from my thoughts. Alas! The rest of common, heavy, human hours, How vainly! And dream them through in placid sufferance; BALEA. Though seemingly employ'd like all the rest It is said the king's demeanour Of toiling breathers in allotted tasks In the late action scarcely more appall'd Of pain or pleasure, two names for one feeling. The rebels than astonish'd his true subjects. Which our internal, restless agony MYRRHA. Would vary in the sound, although the sense'Tis easy to astonish or appal Escapes our highest efforts to be happy. The vulgar mass which moulds a horde of slamv BALEA. But he did bravely. You muse right calmly: and can you so watch BALEA. The sunrise which may be our last? Slew he not Beleses? MYRRHA. I heard the soldiers say he struck him down. It is MYRRHA. Therefore that I so watch it, and reproach The wretch was overthrown, but rescued to Those eyes, which never may behold it more, Triumph, perhaps, o'ertone who vanquish'd him For having look'd upon it oft, too oft, In fight, as he had spared him in his peril, Without the reverence and the rapture due And by that heedless pity risk'd a crown. To that which keeps all earth from being as fragile BALEA. As I am in this form.' Come, look upon it, Hark! The Chaldee's god, which, when I gaze upon, MYRRHA. I rrrow almost a convert to your Baal. You are right; some steps approach, but sl, ly. BALEA. Enter soldiers, bearing in SALEMENES wounded,.nith Us now ne reigns.n heaven, so once on earth a broken Javelin in his Side: t ey seat him upow one lin swayd. of the Couches which furnish the Apartment. MYRRHA. MYRRHA. He sways it now far more, then; never Oh, Jove! miad eqrthiv monarch half the peace and glory BALEA. Whici, centres in a single ray of his. Then all is over. SARDANAPALUS. 321 SALEMENES. So soon resign thee? That is false. SALEMENES. tiew aown the slave who says so, if a soldier. Gentle Myrrha,'t is MYRRHA. The end I would have chosen, had I saved Spare him-he's none: a mere court butterfly, The monarch or the monarchy by this; That flutters in the pageant of a monarch. As't is, I have not outlived them. SALEMENES. MYRRHA. Let him live on, then. You wax paler. MYRRHA. SALEMENES. So wilt thou, I trust. Your hand; this broken weapon but prolongs SALEMENES. My pangs, without sustaining life enough I fain would live this hour out, and the event, To make me useful: I would draw it forth, But doubt it. Wherefore did ye bear me here? And my life with it, could I but hear how SOLDIER. The fight goes. By the king's order. When the javelin struck you,Enter SARDANAPALU and Soldiers. You fell and fainted;'t was his strict command SARDANAPLU To bear you to this hall. My best brother SALEMENES.'T was not ill done: SALEMENES. And the battle For, seeming slain in that cold dizzy trance, Is The sight might shake our soldiers-but-'tis vain. SRDANAPALUS dendin.b,. iSARDANAPALUS (despondingly). I feel it ebbing I I feel it ebbing! You see me here. MYRRHA. SALEMENES. Let me see the wound; Let me see the wound; I'd rather see you thus! I am not quite skilless: in my native land d te w r the wound, and T is part of our instruction. War being constant, We are nerved to look on such things. SARDANAPAJ US. SOLDIER. And thus I will be soon, unless the succour, Best extract The last frail reed of our beleaguer'd hopes, The javelin. Arrive with Ofratanes. MYRRHA. MYRRHA. Hold! no, no, it cannot be. Did you not SALEMENES. Receive a token from your dying brother, I am sped, then! Appointing Zames chief? MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS. With the blood that fast must follow I did. The extracted weapon, I do fear thy life. MYRRHA. SALEMENES. Where's Zames I And I not death. Where was the king when you SARDANAPALUS. Convey'd me from the spot where I was stricken? Dead. SOLDIER. MYRRHA. Upon the same ground, and encouraging And Altada With voice and gesture the dispirited troops ARDAAPUS. Who had seen you fall, and falter'd back. Dying. SALEMENES. MYRRHA. Whom heard ye Pania? Sfero? Named next to the command? SARDAKAPALUS. SOLDIER. Palia yet lives; but Sfero's fled, or captive. I did not hear. I am alone. SALEMENES. MYRRIIA. Fly, then, and tell him,'t was my last request And is all lost? That Zames take my post until the junction, SARDANAPALUS. So hoped for, yet delay'd, of Ofratanes, Our walls, Satrap of Susa. Leave me here: our troops Though thinly mann'd, may still hold out against Are not so numerous as to spare your absence. Their present force, or aught save treachery: SOLDIER. But i' the fieldBut, prince- MYRRHA. SALEMENES. I thought'twas the intent Hence, I say! Here's a courtier and Of Salemenes not to risk a sally A woman, the best chamber company. Till ye were strengthen'd by the expected succoult As you would not permit me to expire SARDANAPALUS. Upon the field, I'11 have no idle soldiers I overruled him. About my sick couch. Hence! and do my bidding! MYRRHA. [Exeunt the Soldiers. Well, the fault's a brasv one. MYRRHA. SARDANAPALUS. Gallant and glorious epirit! must the eartu Bu taL Oh, my broter! I wouid give 2 F 46 322 BYRON'S WORKS. These realms, of which thou wert the ornament, That's strange. I pray thee break that loyal silence The sword and shield, the sole redeeming honour, Which loathes to shock its sovereign; we can hear To call back-But I will not weep for thee; Worse than thou hast to tell. Thou shalt be mourn'd for as thou wouldst be mourn'd. PANIA. It grieves me most that thou couldst quit this life Proceed, thou hearest. Believing that I could survive what thou OFFICER. Hast died for-our long royalty of race. The wall which skirted near the river's brink If I redeem it, I will give thee blood Is thrown down by the sudden inundation Of thousands, tears of millions, for atonement Of the Euphrates, which now rolling, swoln (The tears of all the good are thine already). From the enormous mountains where it rises, If not, we meet again soon, if the spirit By the late rains of that tempestuous region, Within us lives beyond:-thou readest mine, O'erfloods its banks, and hath destroy'd the bulwark And dost me justice now. Let me once clasp PANIA. That yet warm hand, and fold that throbless heart That's a black augury I It has been said [Embraces the body. For ages, "That the city ne'er should yield To this which beats so bitterly. Now, bear To man, until the river grew its foe.?' The body hence. SARDANAPALUS. SOLDIER. I can forgive the omen, not the ravage. Where? How much is swept down of the wall? SARDANAPALUS. OFFICER. To my proper chamber. About Place it beneath my canopy, as though Some twenty stadii. The king lay there: when this is done, we will SARDANAPALUS. Speak further of the rites due to such ashes. this is left [Exeunt Soldiers with the body of SALEMENES. Pervious to the assailants? OFFICER. Enter PANIA. OFFIER. A For the present SARDANAPALUS. The river's fury must impede the assault; Well, Pania! you have placed the guards, and issued h s channel, But when he shrinks into his wonted channel, The orders fixd on? And may be cross'd by the accustom'd barks, PANIA. PAN, I he o d. The palace is their own. Sire, I have obey'd.SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. That shall be never. And do the soldiers keep their hearts up? Though men, and gods, and elements, and omens, PANIA. IIave risen up'gainst one who ne'er provoked them, Sire? SA A*ireL My fathers' house shall never be a cave SARDANAPALUS. ~SARDANAPALUS~. For wolves to hoard and howl in. I'm answer'd! When a king asks twice, and has PANIA A question as an answer to his question, With your sanction It is a portent. What, they are dishearten'd? I will proceed to the spot, and take such measures PANIA. For the assurance of the vacant space The death of Salemenes, and the shouts As time and means permit. Of the exulting rebels on his fall, SARDANAPALUS. Have made them- About it straight, SARDANAPALUS. And bring me back, as speedily as full Rage-not droop-it should have been. And fair investigation may permit, We'11 find the means to rouse them. Report of the true state of this irruption PANIA. Of waters. [Exeunt PANIA and the Ofice Such a loss MYRRHA. Might sadden even a victory. Thus the very waves rise up S Ala SARaDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. as. They are not my subjects, girl, Who can so feel it as I feel? but yet, They are not my subjects, girl, W\ml~o caun~se feel it as ~ Arid may. be pardon'd, since they can't be punish'd. Thoughcoop'd within these walls, they are strong, andwe MYRRHe Have those without will break their way through hosts, MY I joy to see this portent shakes you not. To make their sovereign's dwelling what it was- SARDANAPALUS. A palace-not a prison nor a fortress. SAR ANAPALUS. I am past the fear of portents: they can tell ne Enter an officer hastily. Nothing I have not told myself since midnight. SARDANAPALUS. Despair anticipates such things. Thy face seents ominous. Speak! MYRRHA. OFFICER. Despair. I dare not. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. No, notdespair precisely. When we know Dare not? All that can come, and how to meet it, our Wnae millions dare. revolt with sword in hand! Resolves, if firm. may merit a more noble SARDANAPALUS. 323 Word than this is to give it utterance. SARDANAPALUS. But what are words to us? we have well nigh done Well, then, With them and all things. Swear that you will obey when I shall give MYRRHA. The signal. Save one deed-the last PANIA. And greatest to all mortals; crowning act With a heavy but true heart, Of all that was-or is-or is to be- I promise. The only thing common to all mankind, SARDANAPALUS. So different in their births, tongues, sexes, natures, is enough. Noworderhere Hues, features, climes, times, feelings, intellects, Fagots, pine-nuts, and wither'd leaves, and such Without one point of union, save in this, Things as catch fire and blaze with one sole spark; To which we tend, for which we're born, and thread Bring cedar, too, and precious drugs, and spices, The labyrinth of mystery call'd life. And mihty planks, to nourish a tall pile SARDANAPALUS. Bring frankincense and myrrh, too, for it is Our clew being well nigh wound out, let's be cheerful. F a great sacrifice I build the pyre; They who have nothing more to fear may well And heap them round yon throne. Indulge a smile at that which once appall'd; PANIA. As children at discover'd bugbears. My lord! SARDANAPALUS. Re-enter PANIA. I havesaid t, PANIA. And you have sworn.'T is PANIA. As was reported: I have order'd there And could keep my faith A double guard, withdrawing from the wall Without a vow. LExit PANIA Where it was strongest the required addition MYRRHA. To watch the breach occasion'd by the waters. What mean you? SARDANAPARDANAPALUS. You have done your duty faithfully, and as shall know My worthy Pania! further ties between us Anon-what the whole earth shall ne'er forget. Draw near a close. I pray you take this key: PANIA, returning with a Herald. [Gives a key. It opens to a secret chamber, placed PANIA. Behind the couch in my own chamber. (Now My king, in going forth upon my duty, Press'd by a nobler weight than e'er it bore- This herald has been brought before me, craving Press'd by a nobler weight than e'er it bore-S An audience. Though a long line of sovereigns have lain downaudience. long its golden frame-as bearing for- ARDANAPALUS. A time what-late was Salemenes). Searchm spea HERALD. fhe secret covert to which this will lead you;, ERALD T is full of treasure; take it for yourself SARDA e Arbace And your companions: there's enough to load ye, W c lRDANA-But d. Though ye be many. Lettheslavesbefreedtoo * What, crown'd already?-But, proceed. Though ye be many. Let the slaves be freed, too; HERALD. And all the inmates of the palace, of HERL Beleses, Whatever sex, now quit it in an hour. The anointed high priest- Thence launch the regal barks, once form'd for pleasure, SARDANAPALUS. And now to serve for safety, and embark. Of what god, or demon The river's broad and swoln, and uncommanded With new kings rise new altars. But, proceed; (More potent than a king) by these besiegers. You are sent to prate your master's will, and not Fly! and be happy! Reply to mine. PANIA. HERALD. Under your protection! And Satrap OfratanesSo you accompany your faithful guard. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. Why, he is ours. No, Pania! that must not be; get thee hence, HERALD (showing a ring). And leave me to my fate. Be sure that he is now PANIA. In the camp of the conquerors; behold'T is the first time His signet ring. I ever disobey'd: but now SARDANAPALUS SARDANAPALUS.'Tis his. A worthy triad! So all men Poor Salemenes! thou hast died in time Dare beard me now, and Insolence within To see one treachery the less: this man Apes Treason from without. Question no further; Was thy true friend and my most trusted subject.'T is my command, my last command. Wilt thou Proceed. Oppose it? thou! HERALD. PANIA. They offer thee thy life, and freedom But yet-not yet. Of choice to single out a residence 324 BYRON'S WORKS. In any of the further provinces, SARDANAPALUS. Guarded and watch'd, but not confined in person, Yes,-I ask Where thou shalt pass thy days in peace; but on An hour's truce to consider. Condition that the three young princes are HERALD. Given up as hostages. But an hour's? SARDANAPALUS (ionically). SARDANAPALUS. The generous victors I An hour's: if at the expiration of HERALD. That time your masters hear no further from me, I wait the answer. They are to deem that I reject their terms, SARDANAPALUS. And act befittingly. Answer, slave! How long HERALD. Have slaves decided on the doom of kings? I shall not fail HERALD. To be a faithful legate of your pleasure. Since they were free. SARDANAPALUS. SARDANAPALUS. And, hark! a word more. Mouth-piece of mutiny! HERALD. Thou at the least shalt learn the penalty I shall not forget it, Of treason, though its proxy only. Pania! Whate'er it be. Let his head be thrown from our walls within SARDANAPALUS. The rebels' lines, his carcass down the river. Commend me to Beleses; Away with him! And tell him, ere a year expire, I summon [PANIA and the Guards seizing him. Him hence to meet me. HERALD. PANIA. Where? I never yet obey'd ARDANAPALUS Your orders with more pleasure than the present. At Babylon. Hence with him, soldiers! do not soil this hall At least from thence he will depart to meet me. Of royalty with treasonable gore; HERALD Put him to rest without. I shall obey you to the letter. [Exit HerabL HERALD. HERALD. SARDANAPALUS. A single word: Pania!My office, king, is sacred. Now, my good Pania!-quick! with what I order'd. SARDANAPALUS. PANIA PANIA. And what's mine? My lord,-the soldiers are already charged. That thou shouldst come and dare to ask of me And, see! the enter. To lay it down? [Soldiers enter, and form a Pile about the HERALD. Throne, etc. I but obey'd my orders, SARDANAPALS. SARDANAPALUS. At the same peril, if refused, as now Higher, my good soldiers Incurred by my obedience. ^ i Incurr'd by my obedience. And thicker yet; and see that~ the foundation SARDANAPALUS. Besuch as will not speedily exhaust So, there are Its own too subtle flame; nor yet be quench'd New monarchs of an hour's growth as despotic With aught officious aid would bring to quell it. As sovereigns swathed in purple, and enthroned Let the throne form the core of it I would not From birth to manhood! Leave that, save fraught with fire unquenchable, HERALD. To the new comers. Frame the whole as if My life waits your breath.'T were to enkindle the strong tower of our Yours (I speak humbly)-but it may be-yours Inveterate enemies. Now it bears an aspect! May also be in danger scarce less imminent: How say you, Pania, will this pile suffice Would it then suit the last hours of a line For a king's obsequies? Such as is that of Nimrod, to destroy PANIA. A peaceful herald, unarm'd, in his office; Ay, for a kingdoms. And violate not only all that man I understand you now. Holds sacred between man and man-but that SARDANAPALUS. More holy tie which links us with the gods? And blame me? SARDANAPALUS. PANIA He's nght.-Let him go free.-My life's last act No-. Shall not be one of wrath. Here, fellow, take Let me but fire the pile and share it with you. [Gives him a golden cup from a table near. MYRRH. This golden goblet; let it hold your wine, That duty's mine. And think of ine; or melt it into ingots, PANIA. And think of nothing but their weight and value. A woman's! HERALD. MYRRHA. I thank you doubly for my life, and this'T is the soldier's Most goigeous gift, which renders it more precious. Part to die for his sovereign, and why not But must I bear no answer? The woman's with her lo\er l SARDANAPALUS. 325 PANIA. For yielding to thy nature: and there's time'T is most strange! Yet for thee to escape hence. MYRRHA. MYRRHA. But not so rare, my Pania, as thou think'st it. Shall I light In the meantime, live thou.-Farewell! the pile One of the torches which lie heap'd beneath Is ready. The ever-burning lamp that burns without, PANIA. Before Baal's shrine, in the adjoining hall I I should shame to leave my soiereign SARDANAPALUS. With but a single female to partake Do so. Is that thy answer? His death. MYRRHA.. ARDANAPALUS. Thou shalt see. Too many far have heralded [Eit MYRPRHA. Me to the dust already. Get thee hence SARDANAPALUS (solus). Enrich thee. She's firm. My fathers! whom I will rejoin, PANIA. It may be, purified by death from some And live wretched~! Of the gross stains of too material being, SARDANAPALUS. 0 b SARDANAPALrUS. I would not leave your ancient first abode Think upon To the defilement of usurping bondmen; Thy vow;-'t is sacred and irrevocable. yori ance If I have not kept your inheritance Since it is so, farewell. As ye bequeath'd it, this bright part of it, SARDANAPALUS. Your treasure, your abode, your sacred relics Search well my chamber, I Search well my chamber, Of arms, and records, monuments, and spoils, In which they would have revell'd, I bear with me Feel no remorse at bearing off the gold; Remember, what you leave you leave the slaves To you in that absorbing element, Who slew me: and when you, have borne away "Which most personifies the soul, as leaving All safe off to your boats, blow one long blast befr Upon the truxtipet as you quit the palace. Its fiery working:-and the light of this Upon the trumpet as you quit the palace. I Z ~ The river's brink is too remote, its stream Most yal of funereal pyres shall be Too loud at present to permit Ithe echo Not a mere pillar form'd of cloud and flame, Too loud at present to permit the echo A beacon in the horizon for a day, To reach distinctly from its banks. Then fly,- A i t h And then a mount of ashes, but a light And as you sail, turn back; but still keep ond then a mount of ashes, but alight Your way along the Euphrates: if you reachlessones, rebel nations, and The land of Paphlagonia, where the queen Voluptuous princes. Time shall quench full many Is safe with my three sons in Cotta's court, A people's records, and a hero's acts; Say what you saw at parting, and request Sweep empire after empire, like this first That she remember what I said at one Of empires, into nothing; but even then Parting more mournful still. Shall spare this deed of mine, and hold it up PANIA. A problem few dare imitate, and none That royal hana! Despise-but, it may be, avoid the life Which led to such a consummation. Let me then once more press it to my lips; Whch led to such a consummation. And these poor soldiers who throng round you, and MYRBHA returns with a lighted Torch in one Hand, Would fain die with you? and a Cup in the other. [The Soldiers and PANIA throng round him, MYRRHA. kissing his hand and the hem of his robe Lo! SARDANAPALUS. I've lit the lamp which lights us to the stars. My best! my last friends! SARDANAPALUS. Let's not unman each other-part at once: And the cup? All farewells should be sudden, when for ever, MYRRHA. Else they make an eternity of moments,'T is my country's custom to And clog the last sad sands of life with tears. Make a libation to the gods. Hence, and be happy: trust me, I am not SARDANAPALUS. Now to be pitied, or far more for what And mine Is past than present;-for the future,'tis To make libations amongst men. I've not In the hands of the deities, if such Forgot the custom; and, although alone, There be: I shall know soon. Farewell-farewell. Will drain one draught in memory of many rExeunt PANJA and the Soldiers. A joyous banquet past. MYRRHA. [SARDAN APALUS takes the cup, and after drins These men were honest: it is comfort still ing and tinkling the reversed cup, as a dr" That our last looks shall be on loving faces. falls, exclaimsSARDANAPALUS. And this libation And lovely ones, my beautiful!-but hear me! Is for the excellent Beleses. If at this moment, for we now are on MYRRHA. The brink, thou feel'st an inward shrinking from Why This leap through flame into the future, say it: Dwells thy mind rather upon hat man's naam I ihall not love thee less; nay, perhaps more, Than on his mate's invillany? 2X2 5^236 ~BYRON'S WORKS. SARDANAPALUS. I satiated thee with peace and joys; and this The one Is my reward! and now I owe thee nothing, Is a mere soldier, a mere tool, a kind Not even a grave. [He mounts the pna Of numan sword in a fiend's hand; the other Now, Myrrha! Is master-mover of his warlike puppet; MYRRHA. But I dismiss them from my mind.-Yet pause, Art thou ready My Myrrha! dost thou truly follow me, SARDANAPALUS. Freely and fearlessly? As the torch in thy grasp. MYRRHA. MYRRHA fires te pile And dost thou think MYRRHA. A Greek girl dare not do for love that which'T is fired! I come.,An Indian widow braves for custom? [AS2,MYRRHA springs forward to throw herself SARDANAPALUS. into the fames, the Curtain falls. Then We but await the signal. MYRRHA. It is long NOTES. In sounding. SARDANAPALUS. Now, farewell; one last embrace! Note 1. Page 291, line 19. MIY#RRHA. And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha. Embrace, but not the last; there is one more. "The Ionian name had been still more comprehen SARDANAPALUS. sive, having included the Achaians and the Bceotians, True, the commingling fire will mix our ashes. who, together with those to whom it was afterwards MYRRZIA. confined, would make nearly the whole of the Greek And pure as is my love to thee, shall they, nation, and among the orientals it was always the genPurged from the dross of earth, and earthly passion, eral name for the Greeks."-Mitford's Greece, vol. i Mix pale with thine. A single thought yet irks me. p. 199. SARDANAPALUS. Note 2. Page 294, line 1. Say it. " Sardanapalus, The king, and son of Anacyndaraxes, MYRRHA. In one day built Anchialus and Tarsus. It is that no kind hand will gather Eat, drink and love; the rest's not worth a fillip.' It is that no kind hand will gather The dust of both into one urn. "For this expedition, he took not only a small cnosen SARDANAPALUS. body of the phalanx, but all his light troops. In the The better I first day's march he reached Anchialus, a town said to Rather let them be borne abroad upon have been founded by the king of Assyria, Sardanapalus. The winds of heaven, and scatter'd into air, The fortifications, in their magnitude and extent, still Than be polluted more by human hands in Arrian's time, bore the character of greatness, which Of slaves and traitors; in this blazing palace, the Assyrians appear singularly to have affected in works And its enormous walls of reeking ruin, of the kind. A monument, representing Sardanapalus, We leave a nobler monument than Egypt was found there, warranted by an inscription in Assyrian Hath piled in her brick mountains o'er dead kings, characters, of course in the old Assyrian language, which Or kine, for none know whether those proud piles the Greeks, whether well or ill, interpreted thus: " SarBe for their monarch, or their ox-god Apis: danapalus, son of Anacyndaraxes, in one day founded So much for monuments that have forgotten Anchialus and Tarsus. Eat, drink, play: all other Their very record! human joys are not worth a fillip." Supposing this MYIRRHA. version nearly exact (for Arrian says it was not quite so) Then farewell, thou earth! whether the purpose has not been to invite to civil order And loveliest spot of earth! farewell, Ionia! a people disposed to turbulence, rather than to recom Be thou still free and beautiful, and far mend immoderate luxury, may perhaps reasonably be Aloof from desolation! My last prayer questioned. What, indeed, could be the object of a Was for thee, my last thoughts, save one, were of thee! king of Assyria in founding such towns in a country so SARDANAPALUS. distant from his capital, and so divided from it by an And that? immense extent of sandy deserts and lofty mountains, MYRRHA. and, still more, how the inhabitants could be at once ie Is yours. circumstances to abandon themselves to the intemperate [The trumpet of PANIA sounds without. joys which their prince has been supposed to have recomSARDANAPALUS. mended, is not obvious; but it may deserve observation Iark! that, in that line of coast, the southern of Lesser Asia, MYRRIIA. ruins of cities, evidently of an age after Alexander, yet Now! barely named in history, at this day astonish the advenSARDANAPALUS. turous traveller by their magnificence and elegance. Adieu, Assyria I Amid the desolation which, under a singularly barbarian l lovea thee well, my own, my father's land, government, has, for so many centuries, been daily And better as my country than my kingdom. spreading in the finest countries of the globe, whchea THE TWO FOSCAR1. 327 more from soil and climate, or from opportunities for by a revolution, obloquy on his memory would follow commerce, extraordinary means must have been found of course from the policy of his successors and their for communities to flourish there, whence it may seem partisans. that the measures of Sardanapalus were directed byjuster "The inconsistency of traditions concerning Sardaviews than have been commonly ascribed to him; but napalus is striking in Diodorus's account of him." — that monarch having been the last of a dynasty, ended Mitford's Greece, vol. ix. pp. 311, 312, and 313. aUte awo jecatri; A HISTORICAL TRAGEDY. The father softens, but the governor's resolved. CRITIC. DRAMATIS PERSONIEI. But the poor wretch has suffered beyond nature's Most stoical endurance. LOREDANO. MEN. Without owning FRANCIS FOSCARI, Doge of Venice. His crime. JACOPO FoSCARI, Son of the Doge. BARBARIGO. JAMES LOREDANO, a Patrician. Perhaps without committing any. MARCO MEMMO, a Chief of the Forty. But he avow'd the letter to the Duke BARBARIGO, a Senator. Of Milan, and his sufferings half atone for Other Senators, the Council of Ten, Guards, Attend- Such weakness. ants, etc., etc. LOhEDANO. WOMAN. We shall see. MARINA, Wife of young FOSCARI. BARBARIGO. You, Loredano, Scene-The Ducal Palace, Venice. Pursue hereditary hate too far. LOREDANO. How far? ABARBARIGO. THE -TWO FOSCARI To extermination. LOREDANO. ACT 1. When they are Extinct, you may say this.-Let's into council. SCENE I. BARBARIGO. A Hall in the Ducal Palace. Yet pause-tne number of our colleagues is not Complete yet; two are wanting ere we can Enter LOREDANO and BARBARIGO, meeting. Proceed LOREDANO. LOREDANO. WHERE is the prisoner? And the chief judge, the Doge? BARBARIGO, BARBARIGO. Reposing from No-he. The Question. With more. than Roman fortitude, is ever,LOREDANO. *pFirst at the board in this unhappy process The hour's past-fix'd yesterday Against his last and only son. For the resumption of his trial.-Let us Rejoin our colleagues in the council, and LOREDANO. True —true — Urge his recall. True-true BARBARIGO. Nay, let him profit by BARBARIGO. A few brief minutes for his tortured limbs; Will nothing move you? He was o'erwrought by the Question yesterday, LOREDANO. And may die under it if now repeated.eel e LOREDANO. BARBARIGO. Well! He shows it not. BARBARIGO. LOREDANO. I yield not to you in love of justice, I have mark'd that-the wretch Or hate of the ambitious Foscari, BARBARIGO. Father and son, and all their noxious race; But yesterday, I hear, on his return 328 BYRON'S WORKS.'Io the ducal chambers, as he pass'd the threshold, The waters through them; but this son and sire The old man fainted. Might move the elements to pause, and yet LOREDANO. Must I on hardily like them —Oh! would It begins to work, then. I could as blindly and remorselessly!BARBARIGO. Lo, where he comes!-Be still, my heart! they are The work is half your own. Thy foes, must be thy victims: wilt thou beat LOREDANO. For those who almost broke thee? And should be all mine- Enter Guards, with young FOSCARI as prisoner, ete My father and my uncle are no more. GUARD. BARBARIGO. Let him rest. I have read their epitaph, which says they died Signor, take time. By poison. JACOPO FOSCARI. LOREDANO. I thank thee, friend, I'm feeble; When the Doge declared that he But thou may'st stand reproved. Should never deem himself a sovereign tillUA The death of Peter Loredano, both stand the hanrc The brothers sicken'd shortly:-he is sovereign. JACOPO FOSCAR. BARBARIGOO. That's kind:-I lmeet some pity, but no mercy; 4, wretched one. ty) 4 wretched one. This is the first. LOREDANO. What should they be who make GUARD. hat should they be who make And might be the last, did they Orphans? BARBRGO.Who rule behold us. BARBARIGO. But did the Doge make you so? BARBARIGO (advancing to the guard). LOREDANO. There is one who does: Yes. Yet fear not; I will neither be thy judge BARBARIGO, Nor thy accuser; though the hour is past, What solid proofs? Wait their last summons-I am of " the Ten," LOREDANO And waiting for that summons, sanction you When princes set themselvesa Even by my presence: when the last call sounds To work in secret, proofs and process are in togeher ook well to the prisoner Alike made difficult; but I have such JACOPO rOSCARI. Of the first, as shall make the second needless. What voice Ois Ah What voice is that?-'t is Barbarigo's! Ah! BARBARIGO. Our house's foe, and one of my few judges. But you will move by law? BARBARIGO. LonREDAo 11.t laws To balance such a foe, if such there be, ~Which he would leave us. Thy father sits amongst thy judges. BARBARIGO. JACOPO FOSCARI. They are such in this True, Our state as render retribution easier He judges. Than'mongst remoter nations. Is it true BARBARIGO. That you have written in your books of commerce Then deem not the laws too harsh (The wealthy practice of our highest nobles), Which yield so much indulgence to a sire " Doge Foscari, my debtor for the deaths As to allow his voice in such high matter Of Marco and Pietro Loredano, As the state's safetyMy site and uncle?" JACOPO FOSCARI. LOREDANO. And his son's. I'm faints It is written thus. Let me approach, I pray you, for a breath BARBARIGO. Of air, yon window which o'erlooks the waters. Anat will you leave it unerased? Enter an Officer, who whispers BARBARIGO. LOREDANO. BARBARIGO (to the guard). Till balanced, Let him approach. I must not speak with him nBARBARIO. Further than thus; I have transgress'd my duty nd~ hSenatow? sovrteSaeaIn this brief parley, and must now redeem it ( wo Senators pass over the Stage, as mn their way to Within the Council Chamber. the Hall Qf the Council of Ten). [E BARBAIA. LOREDAN.( You sethenmertA [Guard conducting JACOPO FOSCARI to the window, You see the nuniber IS complete, fr oiot me. [Exit LORrDANO. GUARD. BARBARIGO (solus). There, sir,'tis Follow thee! I have follow'd long Open-How feel you? Thy path of desolation, as the wave 1ACOPO FOSCARI. Sweeps after that before it, alike whelming Like a boy-Oh Venice! The wreck that creaks to the wild winds, and wretch GUARD. WVho shrieks wAhin its riven ribs, as gush And your limbs? THE TWO FOSCARI. 329 JACOPO FOSCARI. I ask no more than a Venetian graveLimbs! how often have they borne me A dungeon, what they will, so it be here. Bounding o er yon blue tide, as I have skimm'd The gondola along in childish race, Oe. And, masqued as a young gondolier, amidst OFFICER. My gay competitors, noble as I, Bring in the prisoner! Raced for our pleasure in the pride of strength, GUARD. While tne fair populace of crowding beauties, Signor, you hear the order. Plebeian as patrician, cheer'd us on &. coPO FOSCARI. With dazzling smiles, and wishes audible, Ay, I am used to such a summons;'t is And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands, The third time they have tortured me:-then lend me Even to the goal!-How many a time have 1 Thine arm. [To the Guard Cloven, with arm still lustier, breast more daring, or FICER. The wave all roughen'd; with a swimmer's stroke Take mine, sir;'t is my duty to Flinging the billows back from my drench'd hair, Be nearest to your person. And laughing from my lip the audacious brine, JACOPO FOSCARI. Which kiss'd it like a wine-cup, rising o'er You!-you are he The waves as they arose, and prouder still Who yesterday presided o'er my pangsThe loftier they uplifted me; and oft, Away!-1'1 walk alone. In wantonness of spirit, plunging down OFFICER. Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making As you please, signor; My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen The sentence was not of my signing, but By those above, till they wax'd fearful; then I dared not disobey the Coancil, when Returning with my grasp full of such tokens TheyAs show'd that I had search'd the deep; exulting, JACOPO FOSCARI. With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep Bade thee stretch me on their horrid engine. The long-suspended breath, again I spurn'd I pray thee touch me not-that is, just now; The foam which broke around me, and pursued The time will come they will renew that order, My track like a sea-bird.-I was a boy then. But keep off from me till't is issued. As GUARD. I look upon thy hands, my curdling limbs Be a man now; there never was more need Quiver with the anticipated wrenching, Of manhood's strength. And the cold drops strain through my brow as if — JACOPO FOSCARI (looking from the lattice). But onward-I have borne it-I can bear it.My beautiful, my own, How looks my father? My only Venice-this is breath! Thy breeze, OFFICER. Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face I With his wonted aspect. The very winds feel native to my veins, JACOPO FOSCARI. And cool them into calmness! How unlike So doth the earth, and sky, the blue of ocean, The hot gales of the horrid Cyclades, The brightness of our city, and her domes, Which howl'd about my Candiote dungeon, and The mirth of her Piazza, even now Made my heart sick. Its merry hum of nations pierces here, GUARD. Even here, into these chambers of the unknown I see the colour comes Who govern, and the unknown and the unnumber'd Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear Judged and destroy'd in silence-all things wear What more may be imposed!-I dread to think o't The self-same aspect, to my very sire JACOPO FOSCARI. Nothing can sympathize with Foscari, They will not banish me again?-No-no, Not even a Foscari.-Sir, I attend you. Let them wring on; I am strong yet. [Exeunt JAcoPO FoscARI, Officer, es GUARD. CEnter MEMMO and another Senator. Confess, And the rack will be spared you. MEMMO. JACOPO FOSCARI He's gone-we are too late.:-think yoa "the Ten I confess'd Will sit for any length of time to-day? Once-twice before: both times they exiled me. SENATOR. GUARD. They say the prisoner is most obdurate, And the third time will slay you. Persisting in his first avowal; but JACOPO FOSCARI. More I know not. Let them do so, MEMMO. So I be buried in my birth-place: better And that is much; the secrets Be ashes here than aught that lives elsewhere. Of yon terrific chamber are as hidden GUARD. From us, the premier nobles of the state, And can you so much love the soil which hates you 7 As from the people. JACOPO FOSCARI. SENATOR. The soil!-Oh no, it is the seed of the soil Save the wonted rumourb, Which persecutes me; but my native earth Which (like the tales of spectres that are rie Will take me as a mother to her arms. Near ruin'd buildings) never have been proved, 47 330 BYRON'S WORKS. Nor wholly disbelieved: men know as little MEMMQ. Of the state's real acts as of the grave's 1 trust not. Unfathom'd mysteries. MARINA. MEMMO. But if But with length of time He does not, there are those will sentence botr. We gain a step in knowledge, and I look MEMM. Forward to be one day of the decemvirs. They can. SENATOR. MARINA. Or Doge? And with them power and will are one MEMMO In wickedness:-my husband's lost Why, no, not if I can avoid it. MEMMO. SENATOR. Not so'T is the first station of the state, and may Justice is judge in Venice. Be lawfully desired, and lawfully MARINA Attain'd by noble aspirants. If it were so MEMMO. There now would be no Venice. But let it To such Live on, so the good die not, till the hour I leave it; though born.noble, my ambition Of nature's summons; but "the Ten's " is quicker, Is limited: I'd rather be an unit And we must wait on't. Ah! a voice of wail! Of an united and imperial "Ten," A faint cry within Than shine a lonely, though a gilded cipher.- SENATOR. Whom have we here? the wife of Foscari? Hark! Enter MARINA, with a female attendant. MEMMO. MARINA.'T was a cry ofWhat, no one?-I am wrong, there still are two; MARINA. But they are senators. No, no; not my husband'sMEMMO. Not Foscari's. Most noble lady, MEMMO. Command us. The voice wasMARINA. MARINA. I command! Alas! my life Not his; no. lias been one long entreaty, and a vain one. He shriek! No; that should be his father's part. MEMMO. Not his-not his-he'11 die in silence. I understand thee, but I must not answer. [A faint groan again witiin. MARINA (fiercely). MEMMO. True-none dare answer here save on the rack, What! Or question save those Again? MEMMO (interrupting her). MARINA. Highborn dame! bethink thee His voice! it seem'd so: I will not Where thou now art. Believe it. Should he shrink, I cannot cease MARINA. To love; but-no-no-no-it must have been Where I now am!-It was A fearful pang which wrung a groan from him. My husband's father's palace. SENATOR. MEMMO. And feeling for thy husband's wrongs, wouldst thou The Duke's palace. Have him bear more than mortal pain in silence? MARINA. MARINA. And his son's prison;-true, I have not forgot it; We all must bear our tortures. I have not And if there were no other nearer, bitterer Left barren the great house of Foscari, Remembrances, would thank the illustrious Memmo Though they sweep both the Doge and son from fifes For pointing out the pleasures of the place. I have endured as much in giving life MEMMO. To those who will succeed them, as they can Be calm. 1 AIN calm (okn. ptoadhevIn leaving it: but mine were joyful pangs; MARINA (looking up towards heaven). IAnd yet they wrung me till I could have shriek'd, I am; but oh, thou eternal God! But did not, for my hope was to bring forth Canst thou continue so, with such a world? Heroes and would not welcome them with tears MEMMO. Thy husband yet may be absolved. Alls silent now. MM. MARINA. He is, MARINA. I, heaven. I pray ycu, signor senator, Perhaps all's over; but Speak ilot of that; you are a man of office, will not deem it: he hath nerved himself So is the Doge; he has a son at stake, And now defies them. Now, at this moment, and I have a husband, E Enter an Officer hastily. Or had: they are there within, or were at least An hour since, face to face, as judge and culprit: MEMMO. Will he condemn him? How now, friend, what seek yoa THE TWO FOSCARI. 33 OFFICER. Thought that "the Ten" had even this touch of pity, A leech. The prisoner has fainted. Or would permit assistance (o the sufferer. [Exit Officer. SEN TOR. MEMaO. Lady, Pity Is't pity to recall tofeeling'T were better to retire. The wretch too happy to escape to death SENATOR (oering to assist eBy the compassionate trance, poor nature's last I pray thee do so. Resource against the tyranny of pain? I pray thee do so. MARINA MEMMO. Of! I will tend him. I marvel they condemn him not at once. MEMMO. SENATOR. You! Remember, lady! That's not their policy: they'd have him live, Ingress is given to none within those chambers, Because he fears not death; and banish him, Except "the Ten," and their familiars. Because all earth, except his native land, MARINA. To him is one wide prison, and each breath Well, Of foreign air he draws seems a slow poison, I know that none who enter there return Consuming but not killing. As they have enter'd —many never; but MEMMO. They shall not balk my entrance. Circumstance MEMMO. Confirms his crimes, but he avows them not. Alas! this SENATOR. Is but to expose yourself to harsh repulse, Nose, save the letter, which he says was written, And worse suspense. Address'd to Milan's duke, in the full knowledge MARINA. That it would fall into the senate's hands Who shall oppose me? And thus he should be re-convey'd to Venice. MEMMO..MEMMO. They But as a culprit. Whose duty'tis to do so. SENATOR. MARINA. Yes, but to his country:'T is their duty And that was all he sought, so lie avouches. To trample on all human feelings, all MEMMO. Ties which bind man to man, to emulate The accusation of the bribes was proved. The fiends, who will one day requite them in SENATOR. Variety of torturing! Yet I'11 pass. Not clearly, and the charge of homicide MEMMO. Has been annull'd by the death-bed confession It is impossible. Of Nicholas Erizzo, who slew the late MARINA. Chief of "the Ten." That shall be tried. MEMMO. Despair defies even despotism: there is Then why not clear him? That in my heart would make its way through hosts SENATOR. With levell'd spears; and think you a few jailors Tha Shall put me from my path? Give me, then, way; They ought to answer; for it is well known This is the Doge's palace; I am wife That Almoro Donato, as I said, Of the Duke's son, the innocent Duke's son, Was slain by Erizzo for private vengeance. And they shall hear this! MEMMO. MEMMO. There must be more in this strange process than It will only serve The apparent crimes of the accused discloseMore to exasperate his judges. But here come two of " the Ten;" let us retire. MARINA. [Exeunt MEMMO and Senatos. What Enter LOREDANo and BARBARIGO. Are judges who give way to anger? they BRR adsin LOEDAO) r5 3BARBARIGO (addressing LOREDANO). Who do so are assassins. Give me way. That were too much: believe me,'t was not meet 1[Exit MARINA. The trial should go further at this moment. SENATOR. LOREDANO.. Poor lady! And so the Council must break up, and Justice MEMMO. Pause in her full career, because a woman'T is mere desperation; she Breaks in on our deliberations'! Will not be admitted o'er the threshold. BRBARICO. SENATOR. No, d That's not the cause; you saw the prisoner's slaw. Even if she be so, cannot save her husband. X LOREDANO. But, see, the officer returns. But, see, tneofficer returs. And had he not recover'd? [The oicer passes ovew the stage with another person. BAKBARTIO. MEMMO. To relapse I hardly Upon the least renewal. 332 BYRON'S WORKS. LOREDANO. His state descend to his children, as it must,'T was not tried. If he die unattainted? BARBARIGO. BARBARIOO. Tis vain to murmur; the majority War with them too? In council were against you. LOREDANO. LOREDANO, With all their house, till theirs or mine are nothing. Thanks to you, sir, IARBARIGO. And the old ducal dotard, who combined And the deep agony of his pale wife, The worthy voices which o'erruled my own. And the repress'd convulsion of the high BARBARIGO. And princely brow of his old father, which am a judge; but must confess that part Broke forth in a slight shuddering, though rarely, Of our stern duty, which prescribes the Question, Or in some clammy drops, soon wiped away And bids us sit and see its sharp infliction, In stern serenity; these moved you not? Makes me wish- [Exit LOREDANO LOREDANO. He's silent in his hate, as Foscari What? Was in his suffering; and the poor wretch moved me BARBARIGO. More by his silence than a thousand outcries That you would sometimes feel, Could have effected.'T was a dreadful sight As I do always. When his distracted wife broke through into LOREDANO. The hall of our tribunal, and beheld Go to, you're a child, What we could scarcely look upon, long used Infirm of feeling as of purpose, blown To such sights. I must think no more of this, About by every breath, shook by a sigh, Lest I forget in this compassion for And melted by a tear-a precious judge Our foes their former injuries, and lose For Venice! and a worthy statesman to The hold of vengeance Loredano plans Be partner in my policy! For him and me; but mine would be content BARBARIaO. With lesser retribution than he thirsts for, He shed And I would mitigate his deeper hatred No tears. To milder thoughts; but, for the present, Foscari LOREDANO. Has a short hourly respite, granted at He cried out twice. The instance of the elders of the Council, B ARARO. Moved doubtless by his wife's appearance in A saint had done so, The hall, and his own sufferings. —Lo! they come: Even with the crown of glory in his eye, How feeble and forlorn! I cannot bear At such inhuman artifice of pain To look on them again in this extremity: As was forced on him: but he did not cry I'll hence, and try to soften Loredano. For pity; not a word nor groan escaped him, [Exit BARBARIGO. And those two shrieks were not in supplication, But wrung from pangs, and followed by no prayers. LOREDANO. ACT II. fe muter'd many times between his teeth, But inarticulately. SCENE 1. BBARRIGO. A Hall in the DOGEx' Palace. That I heard not; The DOGE and a SENATOR. You stood more near him. LOREDANO. SENATOR. I did so. Is it your pleasure to sign the report BARBARIO. Now, or postpone it till to-morrow? Methought, DOGE. To my surprise too, you were touch'd with mercy, Now; And were the first to call out for assistance I overlook'd it yesterday: it wants When he was failing. Merely the signature. Give me the penLOREDANO. [2The DOGE sits down and signs the paper. I believed that swoon There, signor. His last. SENATOR (looking at the paper). BARBARIGO, You have forgot; it is not sign'd. And have I not oft heard thee name DOGE. Hrs and his father's death your nearest wish? Not sign'd? Ah, I perceive my eyes begin LOREDANO. To wax more weak with age. I did not see It,ie dies innocent, that is to say, That I had dipp'd the pen without effect. With his guilt unavow'd, he'1 be lamented. SENATOR (dipping the pen into the ink, and placing th, BARBARIaO. paper before the DOGE. W ha,, wouldst thou slay his memory? Your hand, too, shakes, my lord: allow me, thusLOREDASO. DOGE.' Wouldst thou have'T is done, I thank youi THE TWO FOSCARI. 333 SENATOR. The loss of an hour's time unto the state. Thus the act confirm'd Let them meet when they will, I shall be found By you and by "the Ten," gives peace to Venice. Where I should be, and what I have been ever. DOGE. [Exit SENATOR.'Tis long since she enjoy'd it: may it be [The DOGE remains in silence. As long ere she resume her arms! Enter an attendant. SENATOR.'T is almost ATTENDANT. Prince! Thirty-four years of nearly ceaseless warfare Prince With the Turk, or the powers of Italy; Say on. The state had need of some repose.TTENDANT. ATTENDANT. DOGE. DO oE. doubt: The illustrious lady Foscari No doubt: I found her queen of ocean, and I leave her Requests an audience. DOGE. Lady of Lombardy: it is a comfort B DOenr. That I have added to her diadem Bd r en.?.~~~ ~ ~Marina!. [Et Attendant. The gems of Brescia and Ravenna; Crema. [The DOGE remains in silence as before. And Bergamo no less are hers; her realm By land has grown by thus much in my reign, Enter MARINA. While her sea-sway has not shrunk. MARINA. SENATOR. I have ventured, father, oin'T is most true, Your privacy. And merits all our country's gratitude. DOGE. DOGE. I have none from you, my child. Perhaps so. Command my time, when not commanded by SENATOR. The state Which should be made manifest. MARINA. DOGE. I wish'd to speak to you of him. I have not complain'd, sir. DOGE. SENATOR. Your husband? My good lord, forgive me. MARINA. DOGE. And your son. For what? DOGE. SENATOR. Proceed, my taughter My heart bleeds for you. MARINA. DOGE. I had obtain'd permission from "the Ten" For me, signor? To attend my husband for a limited number SENATOR. Of hours. And for your- DOGE. DOGE. YUYou had so. Stop! MARINA. SENATOR. ~~~~~~~~~SENATOR. ~'T is revoked. It must have way, my lord: I have too many duties towards you DOGE. And all your house, for present kindness, w Not to feel deeply for your son. MARINA. "Not to feel dey The Ten."-When we had reach'd " the Bridge or DOGE. Was this Sighs," In your commission? Which I prepared to pass with Foscari, SENATOR. The gloomy guardian of that passage first What, my lord? Demurr'd; a messenger was sent back to DOoE. " The Ten;" but as the court no longer sate, This prattle And no permission had been given in writing, Of things you know not: but the treaty's sign'd; I was thrust back, with the assurance that Return with it to them who sent you. Until that high tribunal reassembled, SENATOR. The dungeon walls must still divide us. I DOGE. Obey. I had in charge, too, from the Council True, That you would fix an hour for their reunion. The form has been omitted in the haste DOGE. With which the court adjourned, and till it meets Say, when they will-now, even at this moment,'T is dubious. If it so please them: I am the state's servant. MARINA. SENATOR. Till it meets! and when it meets They would accord some time for your repose. They ll torture him again; and he and I DOGE. Must purchase by renewal of the rack I have no repose, that is, none which shall cause The interview of husband and of wife, 2 G 334 BYRON'S WORKS. The holiest tie beneath the heavens?-Oh God! And scanty hairs, and shaking hands, and heads Dost thou see this? As palsied as their hearts are hard, they council, ioasE. Cabal, and put men's lives out, as if life Child-child-~ Were no more than the feelings long extinguish'd MARINA (abruptly). In their accursed bosoms. Call me not "child!" DOGE. You soon will have no children-you deserve none- You know notYou, who can talk thus calmly of a son MARINA. in circumstances which would call forth tears I do-I do-and so should you, methinksOf blood from Spartans! Though these did not weep That these are demons; could it be else that Their boys who died in battle, is it writtn Men, who have been of women born and suckledThat they beheld them perish piecemeal, nor Who have loved, or talk'd at least of love-have given Strech'd forth a hand to save them? Their hands in sacred vows-have danced their babes DoGE. Upon their kneesi perlaps have mourned above them You behold me: In pain, in peril, or in death-who are, I cannot weep-I would I could; but if Or ere atleast iseemin human, could Each white hair on this head were a young life, as they have done b yous, a y yourself, This ducal cap the diadem of earth, You, who abet them? This ducal ring with which I wed the waves DOGE. A talisman to still them-I'd give all forgive thi, for For him. You know not what you say. MARINA. With less he surely might be saved. ow it well You know it well, DOGE. And feel it nothing. That answer only shows you know not Venice. DOGE. Alas! how should you? she knows not herself, have borne so much, In all her mystery. Hear me-they who aim That words have ceased to shake me. At Foscari, aim no less at his father; MARINA. rhe sire's destruction would not save' the son; Oh, no doubt! They work by different means to the same end, You have seen your son's blood flow, and your flesh And that is-but they have not conquer'd yet. shook not; MARINA. And, after that, what are a woman's words? But they have crush'd. No more than woman's tears, that they should shake DOGE. you. Nor crush'd as yet-I live, DOGE. MARINA. Woman, this clamorous grief of thine, I tell thee, And your son,-how long will he live? Is no more in the balance weigh'd with that DOGE. Which-but I pity thee, my poor Marina! I trust, MARINA. For all that yet is past, as many years Pity my husband, or I cast it from me; And happier than his father. The rash boy, Pity thy son I Thou pity!-'t is a word With womanish impatience to return, Strange to thy heart-how came it on thy lips? Ilath ruin'd all by that detected letter; DOGE. A high crime, which I neither can deny I must bear these reproaches, though they wrong me. Nor palliate, as parent or as duke: Couldst thou but read — Had he but borne a little, little longer MARINA. His Candiote exile, I had hopes-he has quench'd'Tis not upon thy brow them- Nor in thine eyes, nor in thine acts,-where then He must return. Should I behold this sympathy? or shall? MARIUiA. DOGE (pointing downwards). To exile? There! DOGE. MARINA. I have said it. In the earth? MARINA. DOGE. And can I not go with him? To which I am tending: whet DOGE. It lies upon this heart, far lightlier, though You well know Loaded with marble, than the thoughts which press it This prayer of yours was twice denied before Now, you will know me better. By the assembled "Ten," and hardly now MARINA. Will be accorded to a third request, Are you, then, Since aggravated errors on the part Indeed, thus to be pitied? Of your lord renders them still more austere. DOGE. MARINA. Pitied! None Austere? Atrocious! The old haman fiends, Shall ever use that base word, with which men With one foot in the grave, with dim eyes, strange Cloke their soul's hoarded triumph, as a fit or.e To tears save drops of dotage, with long white To mingle with my name; that name shall be, THE TWO FOSCARI. 335 As far as I have borne it, what it was MARINA. When I received it. Must I then retire? MARINA. DOGE. But for the poor children Perhaps it is not requisite, if this Of him thou canst not, or thou wilt not save: Concerns your husband, and if not Well, signor, You were the last to bear it. Your pleasure! [ To LOREDANO, entering. DOGE. LOREDANO. Would it were so! 1 bear that of "the Ten." Better for him he never had been born, DOGE. Better for me.-I have seen our house dishonour'd. They MARINA. Have chosen well their envoy. That's false! A truer, nobler, trustier heart, LOREDANO. More loving, or more loyal, never beat'T is their choice Within a human breast. I would not change Which leads me here. My exiled, persecuted, mangled husband, DOGE. Oppress'd, but not disgraced, crush'd, o'erwhelm'd, It does their wiuom honour, Alive, or dead, for prince or paladin And no less to their courtesy.-Proceed. In story or in fable, with a world LOREDANO. To back his suit. Dishonour'd!-he dishonour'd! We have decided. I tell thee, Doge,'t is Venice is dishonour'd; DOGE. His name shall be her foulest, worst reproach, We? For what he suffers, not for what he did. LOREDANO.'T is ye who are all traitors, tyrant!-ye! "The Ten" in council. Did you but love your country like this victim, DOGE. Who totters back in chains to tortures, and What! have they met again, and met without Submits to all things rather than to exile, Apprizing me? You'd fling yourselves before him, and implore LOREDANO. His grace for your enormous guilt. They wish'd to spare your feelings, DOGE. No less than age. He was DOGE. Indeed all you have said. I better bore That's new-when spared they either t The deaths of the two sons Heaven took from me I thank them, notwithstanding. Than Jacopo's disgrace. LOREDANO. MARINA. You know well That word again? That they have power to act at their discretion, DOGE, With or without the presence of the Doge. Has he not been condenn'd? DOGE. MARINA.'T is some years since I learn'd this, long before Is none but guilt so? I became Doge, or dream'd of such advancement. DOGE. You need not school me, signor: I sate in Time may restore his memory-I would hope so. That council when you were a young patrician. He was my pride, my-but't is useless now- LOREDANO. I am not given to tears, but wept for joy True, in my father's time; I have heard him and When he was born: those drops were ominous. The admiral, his brother, say as much. W ne so teMARINosA mu. Your highness may remember them: they both I say he's innocent: and, were he not so, Died suddenly. Is our own blood and kin to shrink from us OGE. *Infatal moments? And if they did so, better Infatal moments? DOGE. So die, than live on lingering'y in pain. I shrank not from him: LOEDANO But I have other duties than a father's; No doubt! yet most men like to live their days out. The state would not dispense me from those duties; And did not they? E. Twice I demanded it, but was refused; L LOREDANO. The} must then be fulfille'd. &O The grave knows best: they dieu Enter an attendant. As I said, suddenly. ATTENDANT. DOGE. A message from Is that so strange, " The Ten." That you repeat the word emphatically? DOGE. LOREDANO. Who bears it? So far from strange, that never was tnere deaui ATTENDANT. In my mind half so natural as theirs. Noble Loredano. Think you not so? DOGE. DOGE. lie'-but admit him. [Exit Attendant. What should I think of mortam 336 BYRON'S WORKS. LOREDANO. Avow'd his crime, in not denying that That they have mortal foes. The letter to the Duke of Milan's his), DOGE. James Foscari return to banishment, I understand you; And sail in the same galley which convey'd hin. Your sires were mine, and you are heir in all things. MARINA. LOREDANO. Thank God! At least they will not drag him more You uest know if I should be so. Before that horrible tribunal. Would he DOGE. But think so, to my mind the happiest doom, I do. Not he alone, but all who dwell here, could Your fathers were my foes, and I have heard Desire, were to escape from such a land. Foul rumours were abroad; I have also read DOGE Their epitaph, attributing their deaths That is not a Venetian thought, my daughter. To poison.'T is perhaps as true as most MARINA. Inscriptions upon tombs, and yet no less No,'t was too human. May I share his exile 7 A fable. LOREDANO. ~L ^^' LOREEDANO. LOREDA NO. Of this "the Ten " said nothing. Who dares say so? MARINA. Do — E. So I thought; 1. fh!-' wT is true That were too human, also.' But it was not Your fathers were mine enemies, as bitter Inhibited As their son e'er can be, and I no less LORED Was theirs; but I was openly their foe: It was not named I never work'd by plot in council, nor MARINA ( the D ). MARINA (to the DoGE). Cabal in commonwealth, nor secret means hen, father Of practise against life, by steel or drug. gn father, (Of practise against life,- by steel or drug. Surely you can obtain or grant me thus much: The proof is, your existence. LO LOREDAN[. To LOREDANO. LOREDANO. And you, sir, not oppose my prayer to be Permitted to accompany my husband. DOE.E i ou have no cause, being what I am but will endeavour That you would have me thought, you long ere now MARINA. \\ ere past the sense of fear. Hate on; I care not. And you, signor? LOREDANO. LOREDANO. I never yet knew that a noble's life Lady! In Venice had to dread a Doge's frown,'T is not for me to anticipate the pleasure That is, by open means. Of the tribunal. DOGE. MARINA. But I, good signor, Pleasure! what a word Am, or at least was, more than a mere duke, To use for the decrees ofIn blood, in mind, in means; and that they know DOGE. Who dreaded to elect rpe, and have since Daughter, know you Striven all they dare to weigh me down: be sure, In what a presence you pronounce these things? Before or since that period, had I held you MARINA. At so much price as to require your absence, A prince's and his subject's. A word of mine had set such spirits to work LOREDANO. As would have made you nothing. But in all things Subject? I have observed the strictest reverence; MARINA. Nor for the laws alone, for those you have strain'd Oh! (I do not speak of you but as a single It galls you:-well, you are his equal, as Voice of the many) somewhat beyond what You think, but that you are not, nor would be, I could enforce for my authority, Were he a peasant:-well, then, you're a prince, Were I disposed to brawl; but, as I said, A princely noble; and what then am I? I have observed with veneration, like LOREDANO. A priest's for the high altar, even unto The offspring of a noble house. The sacrifice of my own blood and quiet, MARINA. Satety, and all save honour, the decrees, And wedded The health, the pride, and welfare of the state. To one as noble. What or whose, then, is And now, sir, to your business. The presence that should silence my free thoughts? LOREDANO. LOREDANO.'T is decreed, The presence of your husband's judges. That, witnout farther repetition of DOGE. The Question, or continuance of the trial, And Wthch only tends to show how stuoborn guilt is, The deference due even to the lightest word (" The Ten," dispensing with the stricter law That falls from those who rule in Venice. Which still prescribes the Question, till a full MARINA. ColfessionI and the prisoner partly having Keep THE TWO FOSCAR1. 337 Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics, With as we may, and least in humblest stations, Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek slaves, Where hunger swallows all in one low want, Your tributaries, your dumb citizens, And the original ordinance, that man And mask'd nobility, your sbirri, and Must sweat for his poor pittance, keeps all passions Your spies, your galley and your other slaves, Aloof, save fear of famine!,All is low, To whom your midnight carryings-off and drownings, And false, and hollow-clay from first to last, Your dungeons next the palace roofs, or under The prince's arn no less than potter's vessel. The water's level; your mysterious meetings, Our fame is in men's breath, our lives upon And unknown dooms, and sudden executions, Less than their breath; our durance upon days, Your " Bridge of Sighs," your strangling chamber, and Our days on seasons; our whole being on Your torturing instruments, have made ye seem Something which is not us!-So, we are slaves, The beings of another and worse world! The greatest as the meanest-nothing rests Keep such for them: I fear ye not. I know ye; Upon our will; the will itself no less Have known and proved your worst, in the infernal Depends upon a straw than on a storm; Process of my poor husband! Treat me as And when we think we lead, we are most led, Ye treated him:-you did so, in so dealing And still towards death, a thing which comes as much, With him. Then what have I to fearfrom you, Without our act or choice, as birth; so that Even if I were of fearful nature, which Methinks we must have sinn'd in some old world, I trust I am not? And this is hell: the best is, that it is not DOGE. Eternal You hear, she speaks wildly. MARINA. MARINA. These are things we cannot judge Not wisely, yet not wildly. On earth. LOREDANO. DOGE. Lady X words And how then shall we judge each other, Utter'd within these walls, I bear no further Who are all earth, and I, who am call'd upon Than to the threshold, saving such as pass To judge my son? I have administer'd Between the Duke and me on the state's service. My country faithfully-victoriouslyDoge! have you aught in answer? I dare them to the proof-the chart of what DOGE. She was and is: my reign has doubled realms; Something from And, in reward, the gratitude of Venice The Doge; it may be also from a parent. Has left, or is about to leave, me single. LOREDANO. MARINA. My mission here is to the Doge, And Foscari? I do not think of such things, DOGE. So I be left with him. Then say DOGE. The Doge will choose his own ambassador, You shall be so Or state in person what is meet; and for Thus much they cannot well deny. The father —- MARINA. LOREDANO. And if I remember mine.-Farewell! They should, I will fly with him. I kiss the hands of the illustrious lady, DOGE. And bow me to the Duke. That can ne'er be. [Exit LOREDANO. And whither would you fly? MARINA. MARINA. Are you content? I know not, reck notDOGE. To Syria, Egypt, to the OttomanI am what you behold. Any where, where we might respire unfetter'd, MARINA. And live, nor girt by spies, nor liable And that's a mystery. To edicts of inquisitors of state. DOGE. DOGE. All things are so to mortals: who can read them What, wouldst thou have a renegade for husband, Save he who made? or, if they can, the few And turn him into traitor? And gifted spirits, who have studied long MARINA. That loathsome volume-man, and pored upon He is none: Those black and bloody leaves his heart and brain, The country is the traitress, which thrusts for:h But learn a magic which recoils upon Her best and bravest from her. Tyranny The adept who pursues it: all the sins Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem We find in others, nature made our own; None rebels except subjects? The prince who All our advantages are those of fortune; Neglects or violates his trust is more Birth, wealth, health, beauty, are her accidents, A brigand than the robber-chief. And when we cry out against fate,'t were well DOGE. We should remember fortune can take nought 1 cannot Save what she gave-the rest was nakedness, Charge me with such a breach of faith. And lusts, and appetites, and vanities, MARINA. The universal heritage, to battle No; thou 2 2 4P 338 BYRON'S WORKS. Observ'st, obey'st, such laws as make old Draco' MARINA. A code of mercy by comparison. And nothing more? Will you not see him DOGE. Ere he depart? It may be the last time. I found the law; I did not make it. Were I DOGE. A subject, still I might find parts and portions The last!-my boy!-The last time I shall see Fit for amendment; but, as prince, I never My last of children! Tell him I will come. Would change, for the sake of my house, the charter [Exeunt. Left by our fathers. MARINA. Did they make it for rhe ruin of their children? A T LDOGE. SCENE I. Under such laws, Venice Has risen to what she is-a state to rival The Prison of JACoPo FosCARI. It deeds, and days, and sway, and, let me add, JACOPO FOSCARI (solus). In glory (for we have had Roman spirits,l ( pirits. No light, save yon faint gleam, which shows me walls Amongst us), all that history has bequeath'd i T. t g s ^^n X^., ~.-i - i- Which never echo'd but to sorrow's sounds, Of Rome and Carthage in their best times, when,~, X,ii InThe sigh of long imprisonment, the step The people sway'd by senates.'rhe people sway'd by senates. Of feet on which the iron clank'd, the groan MA-RINA... RMARINA.r Of death, the imprecation of despair! Rather say, And yet for this I have return'd to Venice, Groan'd under the stern oligarchs. Groan'd under the sternolrchs. With some faint hope,'t is true, that time, which wears The marble down, had worn away the hate Perhaps so; B ysi Perhaps so; 0t Of men's hearts: but I knew them not, and here But yet subdued the world: in such a state Must I consume my own, which neverbeat An individual, b he r f Must I consume my own, which never beat An individual, be he richest of For Venicejbut with such a yearning as Such rank as is permitted, or the meanest, Such. rank.,,. as' is* pThe dove has for her distant nest, when wheeling Without a name, is alike nothing, when High in the air on her reurn to geet High in the air on her return to greet The policy, irrevocably tending The policy, irrevocably tendin..Her callow brood. What letters are these which To one great end, must be-maintain'd in vigour.ppoaching the [Approaching the wall. MARINA. MARINA. Are scrawl'd along the inexorable wall? This means that you are more a Doge than father. le e trac e t DOGE.. Will the gleam let me trace them? Ah! the names DOGE. Of my sad predecessors in this place, It means I am more citizen than either. The dates of their despair, the brief words of If we had not for many centuries A grief too great for many.'This stone page Had thousands of such citizens, and shall, Holds like an epitaph their hisory I trust, have still such, Venice were no city. And the poor captive's tale is graven on MARINA. AuidbtecywMARINA. p pHis dungeon barrier, like the lover's record Accursed be the city where the laws Accused sbfe the city where the laws Upon the bark of some tall tree, which bears Would stifle nature's I His own and his beloved's name. Alas! Had*OIamnsn I recognise some names familiar to me, Had I as many sons And blighted like to mine, which I will add, As I have years, I would have given them all, Fittest for such a chronicle as this, Not without feeling, but I would have given them Whch only can be read as writ, bywretches. Tc the state's service, to fulfil her wishes [He engraves his name. On the flood, in the field, or, if it must be, As it, alas! has been, to ostracism, Enter a FAMILIAR of "the Ten." Exile, or chains, or whatsoever worse FAMILIAR. She might decree, I bring you food. ~M ~ARS~INIA.X JACOPO FOSCARI. And this is patriotism! pray you set it down; To me it seems the worst barbarity. I am past hunger: but my lips are parch'dLet me seek out my husband: the sage "Ten," The water! With all its jealousy, will hardly war FAMILIAR. So far with a weak woman as deny me There. A moment's access to his dungeon J FOCAR (after lrinking). o atDGEr drinking). I'E 1 I thank you: I am better. FAMILIAR. So far take on myself, as order that commanded to i that I am commanded to inform you that You may be admitted. you may be d MARIamite. A. Your further trial is postponed. And what shall I say JACOPO FOSCARI. ro I oscari from his father? Till when? DOGE.. FAMILIAP That he obey I know not.-It is also in my orders The Laws That your illustrious lady be admitted THE TWO FOSCARI. 33 JACOPO FOSCARI. With the like answer-doubt arid dreadful surmise — Ah! they relent then —I had ceased to hope it: Unless thou tell'st my tale.'T was time. MARINA. Enter MARINA. I speak of thee! MARINA. JACO0PO FOSCARI. My best beloved! And wherefore not? All then shall speak of me: JACOPO FOSCARI (embracing her). The tyranny of silence is not lasting, JACOPO FOSCARI (mbr e ).ai inig7 her'" ml My true wife, And, though events be hidden, just men's groans And only friend! What happiness! Will burst all cerement, even a living grave's! I do not doubt my memory, but my life; o^^m^ Well phart And neither do I fear. No more. P MARINA. JACOPO FOSCARI. Thy life is safe. How! wouldst thou share a dungeon? JACOPO FOSCARI.. -MARINA. And liberty? TheA terea-MARINA. Ay, The rack, the grave, all-any thing with thee, The mind should make its own. But the tomb last of all, for there we shall JACOPO FOSCARI. Be ignorant of each other: yet I will That has a noble sound; but't is a - sound, Share that-all things except new separation A music most impressive, but too transient: It is too much to have survived the first. The mind is much, but is not all. The mind How dost thou? How are those worn limbs? Alas! Hath nerved me to endure the risk of death, Why do I ask? Thy paleness_- And torture positive, far worse than death JACOPO FOSCARI. (If death be a deep sleep), without a groan, RT is the joy Or with a cry which rather shamed my judges Than me; but't is not all, for there are things Of seeing thee againsso soon, and so X X ithout expectancy, has sent the blood More woful-such as this small dungeon, where Without expectancy, has sent the blood Back to my heart, and left my cheeks like thine, I may breathe many years. For thou art pale too, my Marina! MARINA. Alas! and this MARINA.' i Small dungeon is all that belongs to thee The gloom of this eternal cell, which never J FOCf P The gloom of this eternal cell, which never Of this wide realm, of which thy sire is prince. Knew sunbeam, and the sallow sullen glare JACOPO FOSCARI. Of the familiar's torch, which seems akin That thought would scarcely aid me to endure it. Of the familiar's torch, which seems akin To darkness more than light, by lending to My doom is common, many are in dungeons, Theduevpri btmnu sBut none like mine, so near'their father's palace. The dungeon vapours its bituminous smoke, But then my heart is sometimes high, and hope Which cloud whate'er we gaze on, even thine eyes- sometimes high, and hope No, not thine eyes-they sparkle-how they sparkle Will stream along those moted rays of lig JA~cOPO FOSCARI. Peopled with dusty atoms, which afford JACOPO FOSCARI. Ad thine -ut I am bin y te t. Our only day; for, save the jailor's torch, And thine! —bult I am blinded by the torch. And a strange fire-fly, which was quickly caught MARINsA. Last night in yon enormous spider's net, As I had been without it. Couldst thou see here? I neer saw aught here like a ray. Alas! JACOPO FOSCARI. I know if mind may bear us up, or no, Nothing at first; but use and time had taught me For I have such, and shown it before men; Familiarity with what was darkness; It sinks in solitude: my soul is social. And the gray twilight of such glimmerings as MARINA. Glide through the crevices, made by the winds, I will be with thee. Was kinder to mine eyes than the full sun, JACOPO FOSCARI. When gorgeously o'ergilding any towers, Ah! if it were so! Save those of Venice: but a moment ere But that they never g anted-nor will grant, Thou camest hither, I was busy writing. And I shall be alone: no men-no booksMARINA. Those lying likenesses of lying men. What? I ask'd for even those outlines of their kind, JACOPO FOSCARI. Which they term annals, history, what you will, My name: look,'t is there-recorded next Which men bequeath as portraits, and they were The name of him who here preceded me, Refused me; so these walls have been my study, If dungeon dates say true. More faithful pictures of Venetian story, MARINA. With all their blank, or dismal stains, than is And what of him? The hall not far from hence, which bears on high JACOPO FOSCARI. Hundreds of doges, and their deeds and dates. These walls are silent of men's ends; they only MARINA. Seem to hit shrewdly of them. Such stern walls I come to tell thee the result of thrir Were never piled on high save o'er the dead, Last council on thy doom. Or those who soon must be so. —What of him? JACOPO FOSCARI. Thou askest.-What of me? may soon be ask'd, I know iti-lood' 340 BYRON'S WORKS. [He points to his limbs, as referring to the JACOPO FOSCARI. tortures which he had undergone. Ay-we but hear MARINA. Of the survivors' toil in their new lands, No-no-no more of that: even they relent Their numbers and success; but who can number From that atrocity. The hearts which broke in silence of that parting, JACOPO FOSCARI. Or after their departure; of that malady What then? Which calls up green and native fields to view MARINA. From the rough deep, with such identity That you To the poor exile's fever'd eye, that he Return to Candia. Can scarcely be restrain'd from treading them? JACOPO FOSCAXI. That melody,2 which out of tones and tunes, Then my last hope's gone. Collects such pasture for the longing sorrow I could endure my dungeon, for't was Venice; Of the sad mountaineer, when far away I could support the torture, there was something From his snow canopy of cliffs and clouds, In my native air that buoy'd my spirits up, That he feeds on the sweet, but poisonous thought, Like a ship on the ocean tess'd by storms, And dies. You call this weakness! It is strength, But proudly still bestriding the high waves, I say,-the parent of all honest feeling. And holding on its course; but there, afar, He who loves not his country, can love nothing. In that accursed isle of slaves, and captives, MARINA. And unbelievers, like a stranded wreck, Obey her, then;'t is she that puts thee forth. My very soul seem'd mouldering in my bosom, JAcoro FOSCARI. And piecemeal I shall perish, if remanded. Ay, there it is:'t is like a mother's curse MARINA. Upon my soul-the mark is set upon me. And here? The exiles you speak of went forth by nations, JACOPO FOSCARI. Their hands upheld each other by the way, At once-by better means, as briefer. Their tents were pitched together-I'm alone. What! would they even deny me my sires' sepulchre, MARINA. As well as home and heritage? You shall be so no more-I will go with thee. MARINA. JACOPO FOSCARI. My husband! My best Marina!-and our children? I have sued to accompany thee hence, And not so hopelessly. This love of thine They For an ungrateful and tyrannic soil, For an ungateful and tyrannic soil, I fear, by the prevention of the state's Is passion, and not patriotism; for me, Abhorrent policy (which holds all ties Abhorrent policy (which holds all ties So I could see thee with a quiet aspect, So I could see thee with a quiet as As threads, which may be broken at her pleasure), And the sweet freedom of the earth and air, Will not be suffer'd to proceed with us. I would not cavil about climes or regions. JACOPO FOSCARI. This crowd of palaces and prisons is not And canst thou leave them? A paradise; its first inhabitants MARINA. Were wretched exiles.. ithmanypan Yes. With many a pan3 JACOPO FOSCARI. But-I can leave them, children as they are, Well I know how wretched! Well know wretched To teach you to be less a child. From this.MARINA. Learn you to sway your feelings, when exacted And yet you see how from their banishment By duties paramount nd't is our first Before the Tartar into these salt isles, On earth to bear. Their antique energy of mind, all that JAPO FoSCARI. Remain'd of Rome for their inheritance, Have I not borne? Created by degrees an ocean-Rome; And shall an evil, which so often leads Too much To good, depress thee thusc? To good, depress thee thus? - From tyrannous injustice, and enough JACOPO FOSCARI. To teach you not to shrink now from a lot Had I gone forth Which, as compared with what you have undergone From my own land, like the old patriarchs, seeking Of late is mercy. Another region, with their flocks and herds; JACOPO FOSCARI. Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion, Ah yo never yet Or like our fathers, driven by Attila Were far away from Venice never saw From fertile Italy to barren islets, Her beautiful towers in the receding distance, I would have given some tears to my late country, every furrow of the vesses track And many thoughts; but afterwards address'd And many thoughts; but afterwards address'd Seem'd ploughing deep into your heart; you never Myself, with those about me, to create g n yo pires'Saw day go down upon your native spires A new home and fresh state: perhap. I could So calmly with its gold and crimson glory, Have borne thisthough know not. And after dreaming a disturbed vision MARINA. MARINA Wherefore not? Of them and theirs, awoke and found them not. It was the lot of millions, and must be 1 The calenture. The fate of myriads more. 2 Alluding to the Swiss air, and its effects. THE TWO FOSCAR1. 341 MARYNA. MARINA. I will divide this with you. Let us think Nor would be Of our departure from this much-loved city The last, were all men's merits well rewarded. (Since you must love it, as it seems), and this Came you here to insult us, or remain Chamber of state her gratitude allots you. As spy upon us, or as hostage for us? Our children will be cared for by the Doge, LOREDANO. And by my uncles: we must sail ere night. Neither are of my office, noble lady! JACOPO FOSCARI. I am sent hither to your husband, to That's sudden. Shall I not behold my father? Announce "the Ten's" decree. MARINA. MARINA. You will. That tenderness JACOPO FOSCARl. JACOPher FCARI. Has been anticipated: it is known. Where? ^T,~MARINA. *LOREDANO. MARINA. ^ ^^ 1 Here or in the ducal chamber- Ashow MARINA. He said not which. I would that you could bear I have inform'd him, not so gently, Your exile as he bears it. Doubtless, as your nice feelings would prescribe, JACOPO FOSCARI. The indulgence of your colleagues; but he knew it Blame him not. If you come for our thanks, take ihem, and hence. I sometimes murmur for a moment; but The dungeon gloom is deep enough without you, He could not now act otherwise. A show And full of reptiles, not less loathsome, though Of feeling or compassion on his part Their sting is honester. Would have but drawn upon his aged head JACOPO FOSCARI. Suspicion from "the Ten," and upon mine I pray you, calm you: Accumulated ills.'What can avail such words? MARINA. Accumulated! ~~~~~~Accumulated ~! -To let him know Vhat pangs are those they have spared you? That he is known. JACOPO FOSCARI. LOREDANO. That of leaving Let the fair dame preserve Venice without beholding him or you, Her sex's privilege. Which might have been forbidden now. as't was MARINA. Upon my former exile. I have some sons, sir, MARINA. Will one day thank you better. That is true, LOREDANO. And thus far I am also the state's debtor, You do well And shall be more so when I see us both Foscari-youkno To nurse them wisely. Foscari-you know Floating on the free waves-away-away- Your sentence then Be it to the earth's end, from this abhorr'd, FOCARI. Unjust, and JACOPO FOSCARI. JACOPO FOSCARI. Return to Candia! Curse it not. If I am silent, IOREDANO. Who dares accuse my country? Fr True? For life. MARINA.:JACOPO FOSCARI. Men and angels! Not long. The blood of myriads reeking up to heaven, LOREDANO. The groans of slaves in chains, and men in dungeons, I said-for fi. Mothers, and wives, and sons, and sires, and subjects, ac FoScAI. Held in the bondage of ten bald-heads; and And I Though last, not least, thy silence. Couldst thou say Repeatnot ong. Aught in its favour, who would praise like thee LOREDAO. JACOPO FOSCARI. A year's imprisonment Let us address us then, since so it must be, In Canea-afterwards the freedom of To our departure. Who comes here? The whole isle. Enter LOREDANO, attended by Familiars. JACOPO FOSCARI. LOREDANO (to the Familiars). Both the same to rme: the aftft Retire, Freedom as is the first imprisonment. But leave the torch. [Exeunt the two Familiars. Is't true my wife accompanies me? JACOPO FOSCARI. LORED ANO. Most welcome, noble signor. Yes, I did not deem this poor place could have drawn If she so wills it. Such presence hither. MARINA. LOREDANO. Who obtain'd that justice 7'T is not the first time LOREDANO. I have visited these places. One who wars not with womer. 342 BYRON'S WORKS. MARINA. LOREDANO. But oppresses Let her go on; it irks not me. Men: howsoever, let him have my thanks MARINA. For the only boon I would have ask'd or taken That's false! From him or such as he is. You came here to enjoy a heartless triumph LOREDANO. Of cold looks upon manifold griefs! You came He receives them''To be sued to in vain-to mark our tears, As they are offer'd. And hoard our groans-to gaze upon the wreck MARINA. Which you have made a prince's son-my nusband; May they thrive with him In short, to trample on the fallen-an office So much!-no more. The hangman shrinks from, as all men from him! JACOPO FOSCARI. How have you sped? We are wretched, signor, as Is this, sir, your whole mission? Your plots could make, and vengeance could desire usBecause we have brief time for preparatio, And howfeel you? And you perceive your presence doth disquiet LOREDANO. This lady, of a house noble as yours. As rocks. MARINA. MARINA. Nobler! By thunder blasted: LOREDANO. They feel not, out no less are shiver'd. Come, How nobler? Foscari; now let us go, and leave this felon, MARINA. The sole fit habitant of such a cell, As more generous! Which he has peopled often, but ne'er fitly We say the "generous steed" to express the purity Till he himself shall brood in it alone. Of his high blood. Thus much I've learnt, although he DOGE Venetian (who see few steeds save of bronze), From those Venetians who have skimm'd the coasts JACOPO FOSCARI My father! Of Egypt, and her neighbour'Araby: (e g DOGE (embracing him). And why not say as soon " the generous man J y s?" Jacopo! my son-my son! If race be aught, it is in qualities 0H i.- J- i.- ^' it JACOPO FOSCARI. More than in years; and mine, which is as old My f s H oi i sic I As yours, is better in its product; nay — father stil w lonit i sine Look.ot''tern —but oHave heard thee name my name-our name! Look not so stern-but ret you back, and pore DO Upon your genealogic trees most green My boy Of leaves and most mature of fruits, and there Couldst thou but know Blush to find ancestors, who would have blushd JACOPO FOSCARI. For such a son-thou cold inveterate hater! I rarely, sir, have murmur'd. JACOPO FOSCARI. DOGE. Again, Marina! I feel too much thou hast not. MARINA. MARINA. Again! still, Marina. Doge, look there! See you not, he comes here to glut his hate [She points to LOREDANO With a last look upon our misery? DOGE. Let him partake it! I see the man-what mean'st thou? JACOPO FOSCARI. MARINA. That were difficult. Caution! LOREDANO. MARINA. B Nothing more easy. He partakes it now- The virtue which this noble lady most Ay, he may veil beneath a marble brow May practise, she doth well to recommend it. And sneering lip the pang, but he partakes it. MARINA. A few brief words of truth shame the devil's servants Wretch!'t is no virtue,, but the policy No less than master: I have probed his soul Of those who fain must deal perforce with vice: A moment, as the eternal fire, ere long, As such I recommend it, as I would Will reach it always. See how he shrinks from me! To one whose foot was on an adder's path. With death, and chains, and exile in his hand, DOGE. To scatter o'er his kind as he thinks fit: Daughter, it is superfluous; I have long They are his weapons, not his armour, for Known Loredano. I hive piercea him to the core of his cold heart. LOREDANO. t care not for his frowns! We can but die, You may know him better..And he out five, for him the very worst MARINA.'f destinies: each day secures him more Yes; worse he could not. tit tenipter's. JACOPO FOSCARI. JACOPO FOSCARX. Father, let not these This is mere insanity. Our parting hours be lost in listening to MARINA. Reproaches, which boot nothing. Is it-is it,'t may be so, anl uwho nath made us mad Indeed, our last of meetings? THE TWO FOSCARI. 343 DOGE. LCREDANO. You behold'T was so These white hairs! When I came here. The galley floats within JACOPO FOSCARI. A bow-shot of the "Riva di Schiavoni." Arid I feel, besides, that mine JACOPO FOSCARI. Will never be so white. Embrace me, father! Father! I pray you to precede me, and I loved you ever-never more than now. Prepare my children to behold their father. Look to my children-to your last child's children: DOG Let them be all to you which he was once, B firm my son! And never be to you what I am now. J CP FOSCAR. May I not see them also? I will do my endeavour. MARINA. MARINA. No —not here. No~-not here. Farewell! at least to this detested dungeon, JACOPO FOSCARI. And him to whose good offices you owe they might behold their parent any where. In part your past imprisonment. MARINA. I would that they beheld their father in LOREDAN And present A place which would not mingle fear with love, Liberation.'To freeze their young blood in its natural current. DOGE. They have fed well, slept soft, and knew not that He speaks truth. Their sire was a mere hunted outlaw. Well JACOPO FOSCARI. I know his fate may one day be their heritage, No doubt but t is But let it only be their heritage, But let it only be their hreritage, Exchange of chains for heavier chains I owe him. And not their present fee. Their senses, though o h And not their present fee. Their senses, though He knows this, or he had not sought to change themn. Alive to love, are yet awake to terror; But I reproach not. And these vile damps, too, and yon thick green waveO Which floats above the place where we now stand- - The time narrows, signor A cell so far below the water's level, Sending its pestilence through every crevice, JACOPO FOSCARI. Might strike them: this is not their atmosphere, I little thought so lingeringly To leave abodes like this: but when I feel However you-and you-and, most of all, However you-and you-and, most of.e all, That every step I take, even from this cell, As worthiest-you sir, noble Loredano ] May breathe it withoutble Loredae. Is one away from Venice, I look back May breathe it without prejudice. ~JCOPO F*oSCARI Even on these dull damp walls, andJACOPO FOSCARI. I had not DOGE. Boy! no teals Reflected upon this, but acquiesce.! n I shall depart, then, without meeting them? MARINA. X*OGE~''Let them flow on: he wept not on the rack To shame him, and they cannot shame him now. Not so: they shall await you in my chamber. a t c s h. They will relieve his heart-that too kind heartJACOPO FOSCARI.,And must I leave themA And I will find an hour to wipe away And must I leave them all? LOREDANO. Those tears, or add my own. I could weep now, You must. But would not gratify yon wretch so far. JACOPO FOSCARI.'Let us proceed. Doge, lead the way. Not one? LOREDANO (to the Familiar). LOREDANO. The torch, theie They are the state's. MARINA. MARINA. Yes, light us on, as to a funeral pyre, I thought they had been mine. With Loredano mourning like an heir. LOREDANO. DOGE. They are, in all maternal things. My son, you are feeble: take this hand. MARINA. JACOPO FOSCARI. That is, Alas: In all things painful. If they're sick, they will Must youth support itself on age, and I, Be left to me to tend them; should they die, Who ought to be the prop of yours? To me to bury and to mourn: but if LOREDANO. They live, they 11 make you soldiers, senators, Take nine. Slaves, exiles-what you will; or if they are MARINA. Females with portions, brides and bribes for nobles! Touch it not, Foscari;'t will sting you. Signor. Behold the state's care for its sons and mothers! Stand off! be sure that if a grasp of yours LOREDANO. Would raise us from the gulf wherein we are plungea. The hour approaches, and the wind is fair. No hand of ours would stretch itself to meet it. JACOPO FOSCARI. Come, Foscari, take the hand the altar gaye you. How know you that here, where the genial wind It could not save, but will support you ever. %eover blows in all its blustering freedom? [ExeuM. 344 BYRON'S WORKS. By our united influence in the council, ACT IV. It must be done with all the deference SCENE I. Due to his years, his station, and his deeds. LOREDANO. A HaIUl in the Ducal Palace. LOREDANO. As much of ceremony as you will, Enter LCREDANO and BARBARIGO. So that the thing be done. You may, for aught BARBARIGO. I care, depute the council on their knees And have you confidence in such a project? (Like Barbarossa to the Pope) to beg him LOREDANO. To have the courtesy to abdicate. I have. 1BARBARIGO. BARBARIGO. What, if he will not?'T is hard upon his years. LOREDANO. LOREDANO. We'll elect another, Say rather And make him null. Kind, to relieve him from the cares of state. BARB ARIGO. BARBARIGO. But will the laws uphold us? "I will break his heart. LOREDANO. LOREDANO. Whatlaws? —"The Ten" are laws; and if they were no, Age has no heart to break. I will be legislator in this business. [I. has seen his son's half broken, and, except BARBARIGO. A start of feeling in his dungeon, never At your own peril? Swerved. LOREDANO. BARBARIGO. There is none, l tell you, In his countenance, I grant you, never; Ou powers are such. But I have seen him sometimes in a calm BARBARIo. So desolate, that the most clamorous grief But he has twice already H:d nought to envy him within. Where is he? Solicited permission to retire, LOREDANO. And twice it was refused. In his own portion of the palace, with LOREDANO. His son, and the whole race of Foscaris. The better reason BARBARIGO. To grant it the third time. Bidding farewell. BARBARIGO. LOREDANO. Unask'd? A last. As soon he shall LOREDANO. Bid to his dukedom. It shows BARBARIGO. The impression of his former instances: When embarks the son? If they were from his heart, he may be thankful: LOREDANO. If not,'t will punish his hypocrisy. Forthwith-when this long leave is taken.'T is Come, they are met by this time; let us join them, Time to admonish them again. And be thou fix'd in purpose for this once. BARBARIGO. I have prepared such arguments as will not Forbear; Fail to move them, and remove him: since Retrench not from their moments. Their thoughts, their objects, have been sounded, do nw LOREDANO. You, with your wonted scruples, teach us pause, Not I, now And all will prosper. We have higher business for our own. This day BARBARIGO. Shall be the last of the old Doge's reign, Could I but be certain As the firs' of his son's last banishment — This is no prelude to such persecution And that is vengeance. Of the sire as has fallen upon the son, BARBARIGO. I would support you. In my mind, too deep. LOREDANO. LOREDANO. He is safe, I tell you;'Tis moderate-not even life for life, the rule His fourscore years and five may linger on Denounced of retribution from all time: As long as he can drag them:'t is his throne They owe me still my father's and my uncle's. Alone is aim'd at. BARBARIGO. lBARBARiGO. Vita not the Doge deny this strongly? But discarded princes LOREDANO. Are seldom long of life. Doubtless. LOREDANO. BARBARIGO. And men of eighty,na did not this shake your suspicion? More seldom still. LOREDANO. BARBARIGO. No. And why not wait these few vessn BARBARIGO. LOREDANO. ~ut i.this denosition should take place Because we have waited long enough, and lh THE TWO FOSCARI. 345 Lived longer than enough. -Ience! In to council! In earnest councils-we will not be least so. [Exeunt LOREDANO and BARBARIGO. [Exeuznt. Enter ME.MMO and a Senator. Enter the DOGE, JACOPO FOSCARI, and MARINA. SENATOR. JACOPO FOSCARI. A summons to " the Ten!" Why so? Ah, father! though I must and will depart, MeEMMO. Yet-yet-I pray you to obtain for me "' The Ten" That I once more return unto my home, Alone can answer; they are rarely wont Howe'er remote the period. Let there be To let their thoughts anticipate their purpose A point of time as beacon to my heart, By previous proclamation. We are summon'd- With any penalty annex'd they please, That is enough. But let me still return. SENATOR. DOGE. For them, but not for us; Son Jacopo, I would know why. Go and obey our country's will,'t is not MEMMO. For us to look beyond. You will know why anon, JACOPO FOSCARI. If you obey; and, if not, you no less But still I must Will know why you should have obey'd. Look back. I pray you thinlk of me. SENATOR. DOGE. I mean not Alas! To oppose them, bsut- You ever were my dearest offspring, when MEMMO. They were more numerous, nor can be loss so In Venice " But"'s a traitor. Now you are last; but did the state demand But me no" buts," unless you would pass o'er The exile of the disinterred ashes The Bridge which few repass. Of your three goodly brothers, now in earth, SENATOR. And their desponding shades came flitting round I am silent. To impede the act, I must no less obey MEMMO. A duty paramount to every duty. Why MARINA. Thus hesitate?-" The Ten" have call'd in aid My husband let us on: this but prolongs Of their deliberation five-and-twenty Our sorrow. Patricians of the senate-you are one, JACOPO FOSCARI. And I another; and it seems to me But we are not summon'd yet: Both honour'd by the choice or chance which leads us The galley's sails are not unfurl'd: —who knows? To mingle with a body so august. The wind may change. SENATOR. MARINA. Most true. I say no more. And if it do, it will not MEMMO. Change their hearts, or your lot; the galley's oars As we hope, signor, Will quickly clear the harbour. And all may honestly (that is, all those JACOPO FOSCARI. Of noble blood may), one day hope to be Oh, ye elements! Decemvir, it is surely for the senate's Where are your storms? Chosen delegates a school of wisdom, to MARINA. Be thus admitted, though as novices, In human breasts. Alas, To view the mysteries. Will nothing calm you. SENATOR. JACOPO FOSCARI. Let us view them; they, Never yet did mariner No doubt, are worth it. - Put up to patron saint such prayers for prosperous MEMMO. And pleasant breezes, as 1 call upon you, Being worth our lives Ye tutelar saints of my own city! which If we divulge them, doubtless they are worth Ye love not with more holy loye than I, Something, at least, to you or me. To lash up from the deep the Adrian waves, SENATOR. And waken Auster, sovereign of the tempest! I sought not Till the sea dash me back on my own shore A place within the sanctuary; but being A broken corse upon the barren Lido, Chosen, however reluctantly so chosen, Where I may mingle with the sands which skirt I shall fulfil my office. The land I love, and never shall see more! MEMMO. MARINO. Let us not And wish you this with me beside you? Be latest in obeying " the Ten's " summons. JACOPO FOSCAR1. SENATOR. NoAll are not met, but I am of your thought No-not for thee, too good, too kind! May'st heo, So far-let's in. Live long to be a mother to those children MEMMO. Thy fond fidelity for a time deprives The earliest are most welcome Of such support! But for myeif aone. 2 H 49 346 BYRON'S WORKS. Mlay all the winds of heaven howl down the gulf, JACOPO FOSCARI. And tear the vessel, till the mariners, And I to be attended. Once more, father, A ppall'd, turn their despairing eyes on me, Your hand! As the Phenicians did on Jonah, then DOGE. Cast me out from amongst them, as an offering Take it. Alas! how thine own trembles To appease the waves. The billow which destroys me JACOPO FOSCARI. Will be more merciful than man, and bear me, No-you mistake;'t is yours that shakl, my father. Dead, but still bear me to a native grave, Farewell! From fisher's hands upon the desolate strand, DOGE. Which, of its thousand wrecks, hath ne'er received Far reUl! Is there aught else? One lacerated like the heart which then JACOPO FOSCARI. Will be But wherefore breaks it not? why live I? No-nothing, MARINA. [To the Officer. ro man thyself, I trust, with time, to master T_'.e your arm, good signor. Such useless passion. Until now thou wert OFFICER. A sufferer, but not a loud one: why, You turn paleWhat is this to the things thou hast borne in.ence- Let me support you-paler-ho some aid there! Imprisonment and actual torture? Some water! MARINA. JACOPO FOSCARI. MARINA. I AEle, Ah, he is dying! Triple, and tenfo.d torture! B wyo. are right, JACOPO FOSCARI. It must be borne. Father, yca Plessing. Now, I'm ready — tDutObbrn. Ftey esnMy eyes swim strangely-where's the door? Woulld MARINA. It could avail the(! but no leis thou hast it. AwaL Let me support him-my best love! Oh God! JACOPO FV jCARI.. JACOPO- F's CARI.How faintly beats this heart-this pulse! ForliveFtorv JACOPO FOSCARI. DOG]E. What! The light! -OO FWhatA! Is it the light?-I am faint. JACOPO FOSCARI. [Oiflcer presents him with wats My poor mother for my birtlI And me for having lived, and you yourself OFFICER. (As I forgive you), for the gift of life, Perhapsintheair. Hewil etter, Which you bestow'd upon me as my sire. JACOPO FOSCARI. MARINA. MARINA.thoudone?, t, I doubt not. Fatner-wife — What hast thou done? Your hands! JACOPO FOSCARI. MARINA Nothing. I cannot charge Nothing I cannot chare There's death in that damp clammy grasp, My memory with much save sorrow: but Oh God -My Foscari, how fare you? I have been so beyond the common lot JACOPO FOSCARI. Chaasten'd and visited, I needs must think JACOPO FOSCAR. That I was wicked. If it be so, may He die What I have undergone here keep me from OFFICER. A'ike hereafter. He's gone. MARINA. DOGE. Fear not: that's reserved He's free. For your oppressors. MARINA. JACOPO FOSCARI. No —no, he is not dead; Let me hope not. There must be life yet in that heart-he could not MARINA. Thus leave me. Hope not? DOGE. JACOPO FOSCARI. Daughter I I cannot wish them all they have inflicted. MARINA. MARINA. Hold thy peace, old man' All! the con.ummate fiends! A thousand fold! I amno daughter now-thou hat no son. May the worm which ne'er dieth feed upon them! Oh Foscari! JACOPO FOSCARI. OFFICER. Tl,.y nmay renent VWe must remove the body. MARINA.MARINA And if they do, Heaven will not And if they do, Heaven will not Touch it not, dungeon miscreants! your base office A(-,p)t the tardy penitence of demons.. t te tardy penitence of demonsEnds with his life, and goes not beyond murder, Enter an Qfficer and Guards. Even by your murderous laws. Leave his remains OFFICER. To those who know to honour them. Sigior! the boat is at the shore-the wind OFFICER. Is rising —we are ready to attend you. I mnft THE TWO FOSCARI. 347 Inform the signory, and learn their pleasure. BARBARIGO. DOGE. It shall not be Inform the signory from me, the Doge, Just now, though Venice totter'd o'er the deep They have no further power upon those ashes: Like a frail vessel. I respect your griefs. While he lived, he was theirs, as fits a subject- DOGE. Now he is mine-my broken-hearted boy! I thank you. If the tidings which you bring [Eit Officer. Are evil, you may say them; nothing further MARINA. Can touch me more than him thou look'st on there: And I must live! If they be good, say on; you need not fear DOGE. That they can comfort me. Your children live, Marina. BARAIGO. MARINA. I would they could! My children! true-they live, and I must live DOGE. To bring them up to serve the state, and die I spoke.uta to you, but to Loredano. As died their father. Oh! what best of blessings He understands me. Were oarrenness in Venice! Would my mother MARINA. Had been so! Ah! I thought it would be so. DOGE. DOGE. My unhappy children! What mean you? MARINA. MARINA. What! Lo! there is the blood beginning You feel it then at last —you'!-Where is noW To flow through the dead lps of FoscariThe stoic of the state? The body bleeds in presence of the assassin. DOGE (throwing himself down by the body). [7o LOREDANO. Here! Thou cowardly murderer by law, behold MARINA. Iow death itself bears witness to thy deeds! Ay, weep on! DOGE. 1 thought you had no tears-you hoarded them My child! this is a phantasy of grief. Until they are useless; but weep on! he never Bear hence th body. ] To his attendants]. Signors, if Shall weep more-never, never more. it please you, Within an hour I'11 hear you. Enter LOREDANO nd BARBARIGO. [Eeut DOGE, MARINA, and attendants, with LOREDANO. the body.] What's here? Manent LOREDANO and BARBARICO MARINA. Ah! the devil come to insult the dead! Avaunt! BARBARIO. He must not Incarnate Lucifer!'t is holy ground. Be troubled now. A martyr's ashes now lie there, which make it LOREDANO. A shrine. Get thee back to thy place of torment! He said himself that nought BARBARIGO. Could give him trouble farther. Lady, we knew not of this sad event, BARBARIOO. But pass'd here merely on our path from council. These are words; MARINA. But grief is lonely, and the breaking in Pass on. Upon it barbarous. LOREDANOLOREDANO. LOREDANO. We sought the Doge. ps Sorrow preys upon MARINA (pointing to the DOGE, who is still on the ground Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it by his son's body).' by his son's body). From its sad visions of the other world He's busy, look, Than calling it at moments back to this. About the business you provided for him. The busy have no time for tears. Are ye content? BARBARIGO. BARBARICO. And therefore We will not interrupt You would deprive this old man of all business? A parent's sorrows. LOREDANO. MARINA.,The thing's decreed. The Giunta and " the Ten r No, ye only make theml, lzHave made it law: who shall oppose that law? Then leave them.ARBARI BARBARIGO. DOGE (rising). Humanity! Sirs, I am ready. LOREDANO. BARBARIGO. Because his son is dead? No-not now. BARBARIGO. LOREDANO. And yet unburied. Yet't was important. LOREDANO. DOGE. Had we known this when If't was so, I can The act was passing, it might have suspended Onl),eneat-I am ready. Its passage, but impedes it not —once past. 348 BYRON'S WORKS. -ARBARIQO. And the old Doge, who knew him doom'd, smiled on him Ill not consent. With deadly cozenage, eight long months beforehandLOREDANO. -Eight months of such hypocrisy as is You have consented to Learnt but in eighty years. Brave Carmagnuola All that's essential-leave the rest to me. Is dead; so are young Foscari and his brethrenBARBARIGO. I never smiled on them. Why press his abdication now? BARBARIGO. LOREDANO. Was Carmagnuola The feelings Your friend? Of private passion may not interrupt LOREDANO. The public benefit; and what the state He was the safeguard of the city. Decides to-day must not give way before In early life its foe, but, in his manhood, To-morrow for a natural accident. Its saviour first, then victim. BARBARIGO. BARBARIGO. You have a son. Ah! that seems LOREDANO. The penalty of saving cities. He I have- and had a father. Whom we now act against not only saved Still so inexorable? Our own, but added others to her sway. Still so inexorable? LOREDANO. LOREDANO. The Romans (and we ape them) gave a crown StBillA. To him who took a city; and they gave ~ ARBARIGO^. ~ A crown to him who saved a citizen But let him But let hm oi.In battle: the rewards are equal. Now, Inter his son before we press upon him Inter his tson before we press upon b* If we should measure forth the cities taken This edict. LOREDANO. By the Doge Foscari, with citizens Let him call up into life Destroy'd by him, or through him, the account My sire and uncle-I consent. Men may, Were fearfully against him, although narrow'd, Even aged men, be, or appear to be, To private havoc, such as between him Sires of a hundred sons, but cannot kindle And my dead father. An atom of their ancestors from earth. BARBARIGO. The victims are not equal: he has seen Are you then thus fix'd? His sons expire by natural deaths, and I LOREDANO. My sires by violent and mysterious maladies. Wh, what should change me I used no poison, bribed no subtle master BARBARIGO. Of the destructive art of healing, to That which changes me Shorten the path to the eternal cure. But you, I know, are marble to retain His sons, and he had four, are dead, without A feud. Butwhen all is accomplish', when AMy dabbling in vile drugs. The old man is deposed, his name degraded, BARBARIGO. His sons are dead, his family depress'd, And art thou sure And you and yours triumphant, shall you sleep? He dealt in such? LOREDANO. LOREDANO. More soundly. Most sure. BARBARIGO. BARBARIGO. That's an error, and you'11 find it And yet he seems Ere you sleep with your fathers. All openness. LOREDANO. LOREDANO. They sleep not And so he seem'd not long In their accelerated graves, nor will Ago to Carmagnuola. Till Foscari fills his. Each night I see them BARBARIGO. Stalk frowning round my couch, and, pointing towards The attainted The ducal palace, marshal me to vengeance And foreign traitor? BARBARIGO. LOREDANO. Fancy's distemperature! There is no passion Even so: when he, More spectral or fantastical than hate; After the very night in which " the Ten" Not even its opposite, love, so peoples air kJui'd with the Doge) decided his destruction, With phantoms, as this madness of the heart. Met the great Duke at day-break with a jest, Enter an Ofier. Demanding whether he should augur him LOREDANO. "The good day or good night?" his Doge-ship answer'd, OEA The good Where go you, sirrah? Fhat he in truth had pass'd a night of vigil, OFFICER. In which (he added with a gracious smile) By the ducal order There often has been question about you."' To forward the preparatory rites'T was true; the question was the death resolved For th late scaris intermnt. Uf Carnagnuola, eight months ere he died; RR I A historical fRt. TheirO I A historical fact. - Their THE TWO FOSCARI. 349 Vault has been often open'd of late years. CHIEF OF THE TEN. LOREDANO. In the first place, the Council doth condole'T will be full soon, and may be closed for ever. With the Doge, on his late and private grief. OFFICER. DOGE. May I pass on? No more-no more of that. LOREDANO. CHIEF OF THE TEN. You may. Will not the DuKe BARBARIGO. Accept the homage of respect? How bears the Doge DOGE. This last calamity? I do OFFICER. Accept it as't is given-proceed. With desperate firmness. CHIEF OF THE TEN. In presence of another he says little, " The Ten," But I perceive his lips move now and then; With a selected giunta from the senate And once or twice I heard him, from the adjoining Of twenty-five of the best born patricians, Apartment, mutter forth the words-" My son!" Having deliberated on the state Scarce audibly. I must proceed. Of the republic, and the o'erwhelming cares Exit Oce. Which, at this moment, doubly must oppress BARBARIGO. Your years, so long devoted to your country, This stroke Have judged it fitting, with all reverence, Will move all Venice in his favour. Now to solicit from your wisdom (which LOREDANO. Upon reflection must accord in this), Right! The resignation of the ducal ring, We must be speedy: let us call together Which you have worn so long and venerably; The delegates appointed to convey And, to prove that they are not ungrateful, nor The Council's resolution. Cold to your years and services, they add BARBARIGO. An appanage of twenty hundred golden I protest Ducats, to make retirement not less splendid Against it at this moment. Than should become a sovereign's retreat. LOREDANO. DOGE. As you please- Did I hear rightly? I'11 taKe their voices on it ne'ertheless, CHIEF OF THE TEN. And see whose most may sway them, yours or mine. Need I say again? [Exeunt BARBARIGO and LOREDANO. DOGE. No.-Have you done? CHIEF OF THE TEN. ACT V. I have spoken. Twenty'owi Hours are accorded you to give an answer. SCENE I. DOGE. The DOGE's Apartment. I shall not need so many seconds. THE DOGE and ATTENDANT. CHIEF OF THE TEN. We ATTENDANT. Will now retire. My lord, the deputation is in waiting; DOGE. But add, that if another hour would better Stay! Four and twenty hours Accord with your will, they will make it theirs. Will alter nothing which I have to say. DOGE. CHIEF OF THE TEN. To me all hours are like. Let them approach. Speak! [Exit Attendant. DO C. When I twice before reiterated PrinceA! I have done y. My wish to abdicate, it was refused me; Prince.! I have done your bidding. And not alone refused, but ye exacted DO WE. comm An oath from me that I would never more OFFICER. Renew this instance. I have sworn to die A melancholy one-to call the attendance In full exertion of the functions which Of-_ My country call'd me here to exercise, DOGE. According to my honour and my conscienceTrue-true-true; I crave your pardon. I I cannot break my oath. Begin to fail in apprehension, and CHIEF OF THE TEN. Reduce us not Wax very old-old almost as my years. Reduce us not Till now I fought them off, but they begin To the alternative of a decree, To overtake me. Instead of your compliance. DOGE. [Enter the Deputation, consisting of six of the Signory, Providence and the CHIEF OF THE TEN.] Prolongs my days, to prove and chasten me; Noble men, your pleasure! But ye have no right to reproach mv length 2 H 2 350 BYRON'S WORKS. Of days, since every hour has been the country's. At my too long worn diadem and ring. I am ready to lay down my life for her, Let them resume the gewgaws! As I have laid down dearer things than life; MARINA. But for my dignity-I hold it of Oh the tyrants! The whole republic; when the general will In such an hour too! Is manifest, then you shall be answer'd. DOGE. CHIEF OF THE TEN.'T is the fittest time: We grieve for such an answer; but it cannot An hour ago I should have felt it. Avail you aught. MARINA. DOGE. And I can submit to all things, Will you not now resent it?-Oh for vengeance! But nothing will advance; no, not a moment. But he, who, had he been enough protected, What you decree-decree. Might have repaid protection in this moment, Cannot assist his father. CHIEF OF THE TEN. DOGE. With this, then, must we DOGE. Nor should do so Return to those who sent us? Against his country, had he a thousand lives DOGE. Instead of thatYou have heard me. MARINA. CHIEF OF THE TEN. They tortured from him. This With all due reverence we retire. May be pure patriotism. I am a woman: [Exeunt the Deputation, etc. To me my husband and my children were Enter an ATTENDANT. Country and home. I loved him-how I loved him! ATTENDANT. I have seen him pass through such an ordeal, as My lord, The old martyrs would have shrunk from: he is gone, The noble dame Marina craves an audience. And I, who would have given my blood for him, ~DOCG~E. ~ Have nought to give but tears! But could I compass My time is hers. The retribution of his wrongs!-Well, well; -Enter MARINA. I have sons who shall be men. MARINA. MARINA. DOGE. My lord, if I intrude- Your grief distracts you. Perhaps you fain would be alone t MARINA. I thought I could have borne it, when I saw him Alone Bow'd down by such oppression; yes, I thought Alone, come all the world around me, I That I would rather look upon his corse Am now and evermore. But we wi bear it. J. P ^ Ain now and evermore. But we will bear it. Than his prolcng'd captivity:-I am punish'd For that thought now. Would I were in his grave! MARINA. We will; and for the sake of those who are, DOGE. Endeavour-Oh my husband! MARINA. Give it way! Come with me! I cannot comfort thee. DOGE. MARINA. Is he Is he MARINA. He might have lived, MARINA. Our bridal bed is now his bier. So form'd for gentle privacy of ife, So loving,-so beloved, thenative of And he is m his shroud? Another land, and who so blest and blessing As my poor Foscari? Nothing was wanting, o Come, come, old man! Unto his happiness and mine, save not e d M [Exeunt the DOGE and MARINA To be Venetian. DOGE. Enter BARBARIGO and LOREDANO. Or a prince's son. BARBARIGO (to an ATTENDANT). MARINA. Where is the Doge? Yes; all things which conduce to other men's ATTENDANT. Imperfect happiness or high ambition, This instant retired hence By some strange destiny, to him proved deadly. With the illustrious lady, his son's widow. The country and the people whom he loved, LOREDANO. The prince of whom he was the elder born, Where? prd ATTENDANT. DOGE. To the chamber where the body lies. Soon may be a prin.e no longer. BARBARIGO. MARINA. Let us return then. MARINA. How. LOREDANO. OoGE. You forget, you cannot. Whey have taken my son from me, and now aim We have the implicit order of the giunta THE TWO FOSCARI. 351 To await their coming here, and join them in LOREDANO (asidt to BARBARIGO). Their office: they'll be here soon after us. Now the rich man's hell-fire upon your tongue, BARBARIGO. Unquench'd, unquenchable! I'lI have it torn And will they press their answer on the Doge? From its vile babbling roots, till you shall utter LOREDANO. Nothing but sobs through blood, bor this! Sage signors,'T was his own wish that all should be done promptly. I pray ye be not hasty. [lloud;o the other.s He answer'd quickly, and must so be answer'd; BARBARIGO. His dignity is look'd to, his estate But be human! Cared for-what would he more? LOREDANO. BARBARIGO. See, the Duke comes! Die in his robes. Enter the DOGE. He could not have lived long; but I have done My best to save his honours, and opposed GE This proposition to the last, though vainly. I have obed yr Why would the general vote compel me hither CHIEF OF THE TEN. We come once more to urge our past request. LOREDANO.'T was fit that some one of such different thoughts And I to answer. From ours should be a witness, lest false tongues CHIEF OF THE TEN. Should whisper that a harsh majority ha Dreaded to have its acts beheld by others. oE DOGE. BARB.ARIGO. My only answer. And not less, I must needs think, for the sake You have heard it. Of humbling me for my vain opposition. CHIEF OF THE TEN. You are ingenious, Loredano, in Ilear you then the last decree Your modes of vengeance, nay, poetical, Definitive and absolute! A very Ovid in the art of hating; DOGE.'T is thus (although a secondary object, To the pointYet hate has microscopic eyes) to you To the point! I know of old the forms of office, I owe, by way of foil to the more zealous, And gentle preludes to strong acts-Go on! This undesired association in CHIEF OF THE TEN. Your giunta's duties. You are no longer Doge; you are released LOREDANO. From your imperial oath as sovereign; How!-my giunta! Your ducal robes must be put off; but for BARBARIGO. Your services, the state allots the appanage Yours Already mention'd in our former congress. They speak your language, watch your nod, approve Three days are left you to remove from-lience, Your plans, and do your work. Are they not yours? Under the penalty to see confiscated LOREDAN-O. All your own private fortune. You talk unwarily.'T were best they hear not DOGE This from you. That last clause, BARBARIGO. I am proud to say, would not enrich the treasury. Oh! they'll hear as much one day CHIEF OF THE TEN. From louder tongues than mine they have gone beyond Yur answer, Duke Even their exorbitance of power; and when LOREDANO. This happens in the most contemn'd and abject Your answer, Francis Foscari States, stung humanity will rise to check it. DOGE LOREDANO. If I could have foreseen that my old age You talk but idly. Was prejudicial to the state, the chief BARBARIGO. Of the republic never would have shown That remains for proof. Himself so far ungrateful as to place Here come our colleagues. His own high dignity before his country; Enter te D n as bore. But this life having been so many years Enter the Deputation as before. ^ Not useless to that country, I would fiain CHIEF OF THE TEN. Have consecrated my last moments to her. Is the Duke aware But the decree being render'd, I obey. We seek his presence? CHIEF OF THE TEN. ATTENDANT. If you would have the three days named extended, Ile shall be inform'd. We willingly will lengthen them to eight, [Exit Attendant. As sign of our esteem. BARBARIGO. DOGE. The Duke is with his son. Not eight hours signor, CHIEF OF THE TEN. Nor even eight minutes.-There's the ducal rln, If it be so, [Taking nof his r:ng and xwq We will remit him till the rites are over. And there the ducal diadem. And so Let us return.'T is time enough to-morrow. ^The Adriatic's tree to wed another. 352 BYRON'S WORKS. CHIEF OF iHE TEN. DOGE. Yet go not forth so quickly. v Not till I pass the threshold of these doors. DOGS. LOREDANO. I am old, sir, Saint Mark's great bell is soon about to toll And even to move but slowly must begin For his inauguration.''o move betimes. Methinks I see amongst you DOGE. A face I know not-Senator! your name, Earth and heaven! You, by your garb, Chief of the Forty. Ye will reverberate this peal; and I MEMMO. Live to hear this!-the first doge who e'er heard Signor, Such sound for his successor! Happier he, I am the son of Marco Memmo. My attainted predecessor, stern FalieroDOGE. This insult at the least was spared him. Alh! LOREDANO. Your father was my friend.-But sons and fathers! What! What, ho! my servants there! Do you regret a traitor? ATTENDANT. IDOOE. My prince! No-I merely DOGE. Envy the dead. No prince- CHIEF OF THO TEN. there are the princes of the prince! My lord, if you indeed [Pointing to the Ten's Deputation. Are bent upon this rash abandonment Prepare Of the state's palace, at the least retire ro part from hence upon the instant. By the private staircase, which conducts you towaor a CHIEF OF THE TEN. The landing-place of the canal. Why DOGE. So rashly?'t will give scandal. No. I DOGE. Will now descend the stairs by which I lmounted Answer that; To sovereignty-the Giant's Stairs, on whose [To the Ten. Broad eminence I was invested duke. It is your province.-Sirs, bestir'yourselves; My services have call'd me up those steps, [To the Servants. The malice of my foes will drive me down them. There is one burthen which I beg you bear There five and thirty years ago was I With care, although't is past all further harm- Install'd, and traversed these same halls from whici But I will look to that myself. I never thought to be divorced except BARBARIGO. A cprse-a corse, it might be, fighting for themHe means But not push'd hence by fellow-citizens. The body of his son. But, come; my son and I will go togetherDOGE. He to his grave, and I to pray for mine. And call Marina, CHIEF OF THE TEN. My daughter! What, thus in public? DOGE. Enter MARINA. DOE. I was publicly DOGE. Elected, and so will I be deposed. Get thee ready; we must mourn Marina! art thou willing? Elsewhere. MARINA. MARINA. Here's my arm! And every where. DOGE. DOGE. And here my staff: thus propp'd will I go forth. True; but in freedom, CHIEF OF THE TEN. Without these jealous spies upon the great. It must not be- the people will perceive it. Signors, you may depart: what would you more? DOGE. We are going: do you fear that we shall bear The people!-There's no people, you well know it, The palace with us? Its old walls, ten times Else you dare not deal thus by them or me. As old as I am, and I'm very old, There is a populace, perhaps, whose looks Have served you, so have I, and I and they May shame you; but they dare not groan nor curse you, Could tell a tale; but I invoke them not Save with their hearts and eyes. I o fall upon you! else they would, as erst CHIEF OF THE TEN. The pillers of stone Dagon's temple on You speak in p n,''ne Israelite and his Philistine foes. Else Such power I do believe there might exist DOGE. in such a curse as mine, provoked by such Youhavereason. Iavespoken much You have reason. I have spoken much AS you; but I curse not. Adieu, good signors! e than my wont it is a foible which More than my wont; it is a foible which May the next duke be better than the present Was not of mine but more excuses you, LOREDANO. Inasmuch as it shows that I approach'rI' present.luke is Pascal Maliliero. A dotage which may justify this deed THE TWO FOSCARI. 35L Of yours, although the law does not, nor will. LOREDANO. Farewell, sirs. Well, sir! BARI;ARIGO. DOGE. You shall not depart without Then it is false, or you are true. An escort fitting past and present rank. For my own part, I credit neither;'t is We will accompany, with due respect, An idle legend. The Doge unto his private palace. Say, MARINA. My brethren, will we not? You talk wildly, and DIFFERENT VOICES. Had better now be seated, nor as yet Ay!-Ay! Depart. Ah! now you look as look'd my husband DOGE. -DOGE. ]IBARBARIGO. You shall not He sinks!-supporthim!-quick-achair-supporthim! Stir —m my train, at least. I entered here DOGE. As sovereign-I go out as citizen The bell tolls on!-let's hence-my brain's on fire! By the same portals; but as citizen, BARBARIGO. All these vain ceremonies are base insults, I do beseech you, lean upon us! Which only ulcerate the heart the more, DOGE. No! Applying poisons there as antidotes. Pomp is for princes-I am none -That's false, A sovereign should die standing. My poor boy! I am, but only to these gates.-Ah! Off with your arms!-That bell! LOREDANO. [The DOGE drops down, and dies. HN~~~ark! ~IMARINA. kMy God! my God! [The great bell of Saint Mark's tolls. ARARIMy G! my Gd.eARBAR, BARBARIGO (to LOREDANO). The bell! BARBARIGO. Behold! your work's completed! CHIEF OF THE TEN. CHIEF OF THE TEN. Saint Mark's, which tolls for the election Is there then Of Malipiero. No aid? Call in assistance! DOGE. ATTENDANT. Well I recognise'Tis all over. the sound! I heard it once, but once before, CHIEFOF THE TEN. If it be so, at least his obsequies And that is five and thirty years ago; If it be so, at least his obsequies Even then I was not young. Shall be such as befits his name and nation, BARBARIGO. His rank and his devotion to the duties Sit down, my lord! Of the realm, while his age permitted him You tremble. To do himself and them full justice. Brethren, DOGE. Say, shall it not be so?'T is the knell of my poor boy! BARBARIGO. My heart aches bitterly. He has not had BARBARIGO. The misery to die a subject where I pray you sit. He reign'd: then let his funeral rites be princely. DOGE. CHIEF OF THE TEN. No; my seat here has been a throne till now. We are agreed, then? Marina! let us go. All, except LOREDANO, answer. MARINA. Yes. Most readily. CHIEF OF THE TEN. DOGE (walks a few steps, then stops). Heaven's peace be with hinm I feel a thirst-will no one bring me here MARINA. A cup of water? Signors, your pardon: this is mockery, BARBARIGO. Juggle no more with that poor remnant, which, I-~- A moment since, while yet it had a soul MARINA. (A soul by whom you have increased your empire, And I And made your power as proud as was his glory) LOREDANO. You banish'd from his palace, and tore down And I- From his high place with such relentless coldness: [The DOGE takes a gobletfrom the hand of LOREDANO. And now, when he can neither know these honours. DOGE. Nor would accept them if he could, you, signors, I take yours, Loredano, from the hand Purpose, with idle and superfluous pomp, Most fit for such an hour as this. To make a pageant over what you trampled. LORED&NO. A princely funeral will be your reproach, Why so? And not his honour. DOGE. CHIEF OF THE TEN.'T is said that our Venetian crystal has Lady, we revoke not Such pure antipatny to poisons, as Our purposes so readily. To burst if aught of venom touches it. MARINA. You bore this goblet, and it is not broken. I know it, 50 3-54 BYRON'S WORKS. As far as touches torturing the living. APPENDIX I thought the dead had been beyond even you, APPE Though (some, no doubt),consign'd to powers which may Resemble that you exercise on earth. Extrait de PHistoire de la Rdpubhque de Venise, pca Leave him to me; you would have done so for P. Daru, de l'Acaddmiefrancaise. Tom. 2. EIis dregs of life, which you have kindly shorten'd: DEPUIS trente ans, la republique n'avait pas depos6 It is my last of duties, and may prove les armes. Elle avait acquis les provinces de Brescia, A dreary comfort in my desolation. de Bergame, de Crbme, et la principaute de Ravenne. (Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, Mais ces guerres continuelles faisaient beaucoup de And the apparel of the grave. malheureux et de mecontents. Le doge Francois FosCIHIEF OF THE TEN. cari, a qui on ne pouvait pardonner d'en avoir ete le proDo vou moteur, manifesta une seconde fois, en 1442, et probable Pretend still to this office? ment avec plus de sinc6rit6 que la premibre, l'intention MARINA. d'abdiquer sa dignite. Le conseil s'y refusa encore. On I do, signor. avait exige de lui le serment de ne plus quitter le dogat. Though his possessions have been all consumed II etaitdeja avanc6 dans la vieillesse, conservant cepenIn the state's service, I have still my dowry, dant beaucoup de force de tete et de caractere, et jouisWhich shall be consecrated to his rites, sant de la gloire d'avoir vu la r6publique etendre au loin And those of- [She stops with agitation. les limites de ses domaines pendant son administration. CHIEF OF THE TEN. Au milieu de ces prosp6rites, de grands chagrins vinBest retain it for your children. rent mettre a l'6preuve la fermete de son ame. MARINA. Son fiis, Jacques Foscari, fut accuse, en 1445, d'avoir Ay, they are fatherless, I thank you. requ des prdsents de quelques princes ou seigneurs etranCHIEF OF THE TEN. gers, notamment, disait-on, du due de Milan, Philippe We Visconti. C'etait non seulement une bassesse, mais une Cannot comply with your request. His relics infraction des lois positives de la r6publique. Shall be exposed with wonted pomp, and follow'd Le conseil des dix traita cette affaire comme s'il se fut Unto their home by the new Doge, not clad agi d'un delit commis par un particulier obscur. L'acAs Doge, but simply as a senator. cuse fut amene devant ses juges, devant le doge, qui ne ~~~MARINA. ~ crut pas pouvoir s'abstenir de presider le tribunal. Lk, I have heard of murderers, who have interr'd i fut interroge, applique a la question,' d6clar6 coupable, Their victims; but ne'er heard, until this hour, et i entendit, da bouche de son p, l'arrt qu Of so much splendour in hypocrisy -condamnait a un banissement perpetuel, et le releguait O'er those they slew. I've heard of widows' tears- a Naples de Romanie, pour y finir ses jours. Alas! I have shed some-always thanks to you! Embarque sur une galere pour se rendre au heu de son I've heard of heirs in sables-you have left none exil, il tomba malade Trieste. Les solicitations du To the deceased, so you would act the part doge obtinrent, non sans difficulte, qu'on lui assignlt unc Of such. Well, sirs, your will be done! as one day, autre r6sidence. Enfin le conseil des dix lui permit de I trust, Heaven's will be done too! se retirer a Trevise, en lui imposant l'obligation d'y resCHIEF OF THE TEN. ter sous peine de mort, et de se presenter tous les jours.Know you, lady, devant le gouverneur. lTo wvhom ye speak, and perils of such speech? Il y etait depuis cinq ans,lorsqu'un des chefs du conseil MARINA. des dix fut assassine. Les soupqons se portbrent sur lui: I know the former better than yourselves; d ss domestiques qu'on avit Venisefut arrte The latter-like yourselyes; and can face both. et subit la torture. Les bourreauxnepurentlui arracher Wish. you. r funerals?'aucun aveu. Ce terrible tribunal se fit amener le maitre, VWish you more funerals? BARB ARIGO, le soumit aux memes dpreuves; il rdsista a tous les tourITeed not her rash words i ments, nle cessant d'attester son innocence; mais on ne Her circumstances must excuse her bearing. 1 E datagli la corda per avere da-lui la veritk; chiamato il CHIEF OF THE TEN. consiglio de' dieci colla giunta, nel quale fu messer lo doge, fu We will not note them down. sentenziato.-(Marin Sanuto Vite de' Duchi, F. Foscari.) BARBARIGO (turning to LOREDANO, who is writing upon 2 E fu tormentato nd mai confessb cosa alcuna, pure parve.IOur t L wo.s w p al consiglio de' dieci di confinarlo in vita alla Canea. (Ibid.) his tablets). Voici le texte du jugenent: " Cum Jacobus Foscari per ocWhat art thou writing, casioner percussionis et mortis Hermolai Donati fuit retentus With such an earnest brow, upon thy tablets? et examinatus, et propter significationes, testificationes, et *;LOREDANO (pointing to the* Do's body). scripturas quae habentur contra eum, dare apparet ipsum esso LOREDANO (pointing to the.OGES body), reum criminispredicti, sed propter incantationes, et verba qua3 That he has paid me!' sibi reperta sunt, de quibus existit indicia manifesta, videtur CHIEF OF THE TEN. propter obst inatam mentem suam, non esse possibile extrahere What debt did he owe you? sab ipso illam veritatem, quse clara est per scripturas et pet testificationes, quoniam in fune aliquam nec vocem, nec geni LOREDANO. turn, sd solum intra dentes voces ipse videtur et auditur infra A long and just one; nature's debt and mine. se loqui, etc.... Tamen non est standum in istis terminis, [Curtain falls. propter honorem status nostri et pro multis.respectibus, prasertim quod regimen nostrum occupatur in hac re et quia iti..."'~'~' ~ terdietum est amplius progredere: vadit pars quod dictus Jai "L'ha pagata." A historical fac' See the History of cobus Foscari, propter ea quma habentur de illo, mittatur in venice by P iaru page 411, vol. ii. confinium in civitate Caneee,"etc. Notice sur le procos ds THE TWO FOSCARI. 3 vit dans cette constance que de l'obstination; de ce meme fut accompagnee de cruaut6, par la s6vere cirqu'il taisait le fait, on conclut que ce fait existait: on conspection, qui retenait les epanchements de la douleur attribua sa fermete h la magie, et on le relegua h la paternelle et conjugale. Ce ne fut point dans l'int6rieur Canee. De cette terre lointaine, le banni, digne alors de leur appartement, ce fut dans une des grandes salles de quelque pitie, ne cessait d'ecrire a son pere,' ses du palais, qu'une femme, accompagnee de ses quatre amis, pour obtenir quelque adoucissement a sa depor- fils, vint faire les derniers adieux a son mari, qu'un pere tation. N'obtenant rien, et sachant que la terreur qu'in- octogenaire et la dogaresse accablee d'infirmitds, jouirspirait le conseil des dix ne lui permettait pas d'esperer ent un moment de la triste consolation de meler leurs de trouver dans Venise une seule voix qui s'elevat en larmes' celles de leur exile. II se jeta a leurs genoux, sa faveur, il fit une lettre pour le nouveau due de Milan, en leur tendant des mains disloquees par la torture, pour par laquelle, au nom des bons offices que Sforce avait les supplier de solliciter quelque adoucissement' la requs du chef de la republique, il implorait son inter- sentence qui venait d'atre prononcee contre lui. Son vention en faveur d'un innocent, du fils du doge. pdre eut le courage de lui repondre: "Non, mon fils, Cette lettre, selon quelques historiens, fut confide h respectez votre arret, et obeissez sans murmure h la un marchand qui avait promis de la faire parvenir au seigneurie." I A ces mots il se separa de l'infortun6, due, mais qui, trop averti de ce qu'il y avait a craindre qui fut sur-le-champ embarqud pour Candie. en se rendant l'intermediaire d'une pareille correspon- L'antiquit6 vit avec autant d'horreur que d'admiration dance, se hata, en debarquant a Venise, de la remettre un pere condamnant ses fils 6videmment coupables. au chef du tribunal. Une autre version, qui parait plus Elle hesita pour qualifier de vertu sublime ou de ferocite sure, rapporte que la lettre fut surprise par un espion, cet effort qui parait' au-dessus de la nature humaine; attache aux pas de l'exil.' mais ici, oh la premiere faute n'etait qu'une faiblesse, ou Ce fut un nouveau delit dont on eut a punir Jacques la seconde n'etait pas prouvee, oli la troisibme n'avait Foscari. Rdclamner la protection d'un prince etranger rien de criminel, comment concevoir la constance d'un etait un crime, dans un sujet de la r6publique. Une ga- pere, qui voit torturer trois fois son fils unique, qui l'enlre partit sur-le-champ pour l'amener dans les prisons tend condamner sans preuves, et qui n'eclate pas en de Venise. A son arrivee, il fut soumis a l'estrapade.2 plaintes; qui ne l'aborde que pour lui montrer un visage C'etait une singulibre destinee pour ie citoyen d'une re- plus austere qu'attendri, et qui, au moment de s'en sepublique et pour le fils d'un prince, d'etre trois fois dans parer pour jamais, lui interdit les murmures et jusqu'h sa vie applique a la question. Cette fois la torture etait l'espdrance? Comment expliquer une si cruelle circond'autant plus odieuse, qu'elle n'avait point d'objet, le spection, si ce n'est en avouant, h notre honte, que la fait qu'on avait a lui reprocher dtant incontestable, tyrannic peut obtenir de l'espece humaine les memes Quand on demanda a l'accuse, dans les intervalles que efforts que la vertu? La servitude aurait-elle son hles bourreaux lui accordaient, pourquoi il avait dcrit la roisme comme la libert6? lettre qu'on lui produisait, il repondit que c'etait precise- Quelque temps apres ce jugement, on decouvrit le vement parcequ'il ne doutait pas qu'elle ne tombat entre ritable auteur de l'assassinat, dont Jacques Foscari porles mains du tribunal, que toute autre voie lui avait det tait la peine; mais il n'etait plus temps de reparer cette fermee pour faire parvenir ses reclamations, qu'il s'at- atroce injustice, le malheureux etait mort dans sa prison. tendait bien qu'onle ferait amener a Venise, mais qu'il 11 me reste a raconter la suite des malheurs du pure. avait tout risque pour avoir la consolation de voir sa L'histoire les attribue l'impatience qu'avaient ses femme, son pbre, et sa mure, encore une fois. ennemis et ses rivaux de voir vaquer sa place. Elle Sur cette naive declaration, on confirma sa sentence accuse formellement Jacques Loredan, l'un des chefs d'exil; mais on l'aggrava, en y ajoutant qu'il seraitre- du conseil des dix, de s'8tre livre contre ce vieillard aux tenu en prison pendant un an. Cette rigueur, dont on conseils d'une haine hereditaire et qui depuis long-temps usait envers un malheureux 6tait sans doute odieuse; divisait leurs maisons.3 mais cette politique, qui ddfendait a tous les citoyens de Franqois Foscari avait essaye de la faire cesser, en faire intervenir les etrangers dans les affaires interieures offrant sa fille a l'illustre amiral Pierre Loredan, pour un de la sipublique, 6tait sage. Elle dtait chez eux une de ses fils. L'alliance avait 6et rejetee, et l'inimitie des maxime de gouvernement et une maxime inflexible. L'historien Paul Morosini3 a conte que l'empereur.L'historien Paul Morosini a cont quo l'emper eur * 1 Marin Sanuto, dans sa chronique, Vite de' Duchi, se sert Frederic III. pendant qu'il etait l'hfte des Venitiens, de- ici, sans en avoir eu l'intention, d'une expression assez enermanda comme une faveur particuliure, l'admission d'un gique: " I doge era vecchio in decrepitta ta e camminava con una mazzetta. E quando gli andb parlogli molto concitoyen dans le grand conseil, et la grace d'un ancien stantemente che parea che non fosse suo figliulo, licet fosso gouvernenur d Candie, gendre du doge, et banni pour figliulo unico, e Jacopo disse,'messer padre, vi prego che gouverneur c vanae, genure QU aoge, ei oannipu procuriate per me, acciocchd io torni a casa mia.' II doge sa mauvaise administration, sans pouvoir obtenir ni disse:'Jacopo, va e obbedisei a quello che vuole la terra, e Pl'~une~ ~ni~ l'autnre. non cercar piu oltre.'" f'nne ni l'autre. 2 Cela fut un acte que l'on ne scauroit ny suffissamment Cependant on ne put refuser au condamn6 la permis- louer, ny assez blasmer: car, ou c'estoit une excellence de sion de voir sa femme, ses enfants, ses parents, qu'il vertu, qui rendoit ainsi son coeur impassible, ou une violence *~..~*''s ode passion qui le rendoit insensible, dont ne l'une ne l'autre allait quitter pour toujours. Cette dernitre entrevue n'est chose-petite, ainsi surpassant l'ordinaire d'humaine na ture, et tenant ou de ia divinit6 on de la bestialite. Mais il est plus raisonnable que le jugement des hommes s'accorde o sa Jacques Foscari, dans un volume intitule, Raccolta di mem- gloire, que la faibesse deg jugeans fasse descroire sa vertu orie storiche e annedote, per formar la Storia dell' eccellen- Mais pour lors quand il se fut retire, tout le monde demoura tissimo consiglio di X, dalla sua prima instituzione sino a' sur la place, con.me transy d'horreur et de frayeur, par un giorni nostri, con le diverse variazioni e iforme nelle varie long temps sans mot dire, pour avoir veu ce qui avoit 6te fait. epoche successe. (Archives de Venise.) (Plutarque, Valerius Publicola.) 1 La notice citee ci-dessus qui rapporte les actes de cette 3 Je suis principalement dans ce r6cit une relation mann procedure. scrite de la deposition de Francois Foscari qui est dans la S2 Ebbe prima per sapere la verita trenta squassi di corda. volume intitul6: Raccolta di memorie storiche e annedote. lMarin Sanuto, Vito de' Duchi. F. Foscari.) per formar la Storia dell' eccellentissino consiglio di I 3 Historia di Venezia. lib. 23. (Archives de Venisc.) 356 BYRON'S WORKS. deux families s'en etait accrue. Dans tous les conseils, reclamer contre ce choix, on enferma ce senateur dans dans toutes les affaires, le doge trouvait toujours les une chambre separee, et on lui fit jurer de ne jamais Loredan prdts b combattre ses propositions ou ses in- parler de cette exclusion qu'il eprouvait, en lui decla. ter~ts. I1 lui echappa un jour de dire qu'il ne se croi- rant qu'il y allait de sa vie; ce qui n'empecha pas qu'on rait reellement prince que lorsque Pierre Loredan au- inscrivit son nom au bas du decret, comme s'il y eut rait cess6 de vivre. Cet amiral mourut quelque temps pris part.' apres d'une incommodite assez prompte qu'on ne put Quand on en vint h la deliberation, Loredan la provoexpliquer. I1 n'en fallut pas davantage aux malveillants qua en ces termes.2 " Si l'utilite publique doit imposer pour insinuer que Frangois Foscari, ayant desire cette silence i tous les int6erts prives, je ne doute pas que mort, pouvait bien l'avoir hatee. nous ne prenions aujourd'hui une mesure que la patrie Ces bruits s'accreditdrent encore lorsqu'on vit aussi reclame, que nous lui devons. Les etats ne peuvent perir subitement Marc Loredan, frlre de Pierre, et cela se maintenir dans un ordre de choses immuable: vous dans le moment ot, en sa qualite d'avogador, il instrui- n'avez qu't voir comme le notre est change, et combien sait un proces contre Andre Donate, gendre du doge, il le serait davantage s'il n'y avait une autorit6 assez accuse de peculat. On ecrivit sur la tombe de l'amiral ferme pour y porter remede. J'ai honte de vous faire qu'il avait 6et enleve a la patrie par le poison. remarquer la confusion qui regne dans les conseils, le I1 n'y avait aucune preuve, aucun indice contre Fran- desordre des deliberations, l'encombrement des affaires, qois Foscari, aucune raison mdme de le soupqonner. et la leg1ret6 avec laquelle les plus importantes sont Quand sa vie entikre n'aurait pas dementi une imputa- decid6es; la licence de notre jeunesse, le peu d'assition aussi odieuse, il savait que son rang ne lui promet- duite des magistrats, l'introduction de nouveautes dantait ni l'impunite ni meme l'indulgence. La mort tra- gereuses. Quel est l'effet de ces desordres? de comgique de l'un de ses predecesseurs l'en avertissait, et promettre notre consideration. Quelle en est la cause? dl n'avait que trop d'exemples domestiques du soin que l'absence d'un chef capable de moderer les uns, de dile ccnseil des dix prenait d'humilier le chef de la re- riger les autres, de donner l'exemple B tous, et de mainpublique. tenir la force des lois. Cependant, Jacques Lorddan, fils de Pierre, croyait ou " Ot est le temps ot nos decrets etaient aussitot exfeignait de croire avoir' venger les pertes de sa famille.' ecutes que rendus? oh Franqois Carrare se trouvait Dans ses livres de comptes (car il faisait le commerce, investi dans Padoue, avant de pouvoir 6tre seulement comme a cette epoque presque tous les patriciens), il informe que nous voulions lui faire la guerre? Nous avait inscrit de sa propre main le doge au nombre de ses avons vu tout le contraire dans la dernitre guerre condebiteurs, pour la mort, y etait-il dit, de mon pdre et de tre le duc de Milan. Malheureuse la republique qui mon oncle.2 De l'autre c6te du registre, il avait laisse est sans chef! une page en blanc, pour y faire mention du recouvre- "Je ne vous rappelle pas tous ces inconvenients et ment de cette dette, et en effet, aprds la perte du doge, il leurs suites deplorables, pour vous affliger, pour vous ecrivit sur son registre: il me l'a payee, l'ha pagata. effrayer, mais pour vous faire souvenir que vous 6tes Jacques Loredan fut elu membre du conseil des dix, les maitres, les conservateurs de cet etat fonde par vos en devint un des trois chefs, et se promit bien de profi- pereset de la liberte que nous devons h leurs travaux, ter de cette occasion pour accomplir la vengeance qu'il' leurs institutions. Ici, le mal indique le remede. meditait. Nous n'avons point de chef, il nous en faut un. Notre Le doge, en sortant de la terrible epreuve qu'il venait prince est notre ouvrage, nous avons done le droit de de subir, pendant le procs de son fils, s'etait retire au juger son m6rite quand il s'agit de l'elire, et son incafond de son palais: incapable de se livrer aux affaires, pacite quand elle se manifeste. J'ajouterai que le consume de chagrins, accable de vieillesse, il ne se mon- peuple, encore bien qu'il n'ait pas le droit de pronontrait plus en public, ni mdme dans les conseils. Cette cer sur les actions de ses maitres, apprendra ce chan-'etraite, si facile a expliquer dans un vieillard octoge- gement avec transport. C'est la Providence, je n'en naire si malheureux, deplut aux decemvirs, qui voulu- doute pas, qui lui inspire ellc-m6me ces dispositions, rent y voir un murmure contre leurs arr6ts. pour vous avertir que la republique reclame cette resoLoredan commenca par se plaindre devant ses col- lution, et que le sort de l'etat est en vos mains." *gues du tort que les infirmites du doge, son absence Ce discours n'eprouva que de timides contradictions; des conseils, apportaient a l'expedition des affaires; il cependant, la deliberation dura huitjours. L'assemblee, finit par hasarder et reussit a faire agreer la proposition ne se jugeant pas aussi sure de l'approbation univerde le deposer. Ce n'etait pas la premiere fois que Ven- selle que l'orateur voulait le lui faire croire, desirait que ise avait pour prince un homme dans la caducite: I'u- le doge donnat lui-mdme sa demission. II l'avait deja sage et les lois y avaient pourvu: dans ces circonstan- proposee deux fois, et on n'avait pas voulu l'accepter. ces le doge etait supplee par le plus ancien du conseil. Aucune loi ne portait que le prince ffit revocable: il Ici, cela ne suffisait pas aux ennemis de Foscari. Pour etait au contraire h vie, et les exemples qu'on pouvait lonner plusde solennit h. la deliberation, le conseil des citer de plusieurs doges deposes, prouvaient que de dix demanda une adjonction de vingt-cinq senateurs; telles revolutions avaient toujours ete le resultat d'un mnais comme on n'en 6nongait pas l'objet, et que le grand mouvement populaire. conseil etait loin de le soupconner, il se trouva que Marc Mais d'ailleurs, sile doge pouvait tre depose, ce n'etait Foscari, frrre du doge, leur fut donne pour l'un des ad- pas assurement par un tribunal compose d'un petit nomjoints. Au lieu de l'admettre a la deliberation, ou de bre de membres, institue pour punir les crimes, et nulle1 Hasce tamen injurias quamvis imaginarias non tam ad 1 II faut cependant remarquer que dans la notice ou I'on ansllinm revocaverat Jacobus Lautedanus defunctorum ne- raconte ce fait, la deliberation est rapport6e, que les vingtDo, quam in abecedarium vindictamn opportuna. (Palazzi cinq-adjoints y sent nommes, et que le nom de Mare Foscari Fasti ducales.) ne s'y trouve pas. I lbid. et l'Histoire Vdnitienne de Vianolo. 2 Cette harangue se lit dans la notice cit6e ci-dessus. THE TWO FOSCARI. 357 ment investi du droit de r6voquer ce que le corps souve- clamation du conseil des dix prescrivit le silence le plus rain de l'etat avait fait. absolu sur cette affaire, sous peine de mort. Cependant le tribunal arreta que les six conseillers de Avant de donner un successeur k Francois Foscar, ia seigneurie, et les chefs du conseil des dix, se trans- une nouvelle loi fut rendue, qui defendait au doge porteralent auprds du doge, pour lui signifier que l'ex- d'ouvrir et de lire, autrement qu'en presence de ses concellentissime conseil avaitjug6 convenable qu'il abdiquat sellers, les d6epches des ambassadeurs de la repubune dignit6 dont son age ne lui permettait plus de rem- lique, et les lettres des princes etrangers.' plir les fonctions. On lui donna 1500 dlcats d'or pour Les electeurs entrrrent au conclave, et nomm~rent an son entretien, et vingt-quatre heures pour se d6cider.' dogat Paschal Malipier, le 30 octobre 1457. La cloche Foscari r6pondit sur-le-champ avec beaucoup de gra- de Saint-Marc, qui annonqait a Venise son nouveau vite, que deux fois il avai' voulu se demettre de sa charge; prince, vint frapper l'oreille de Franqois Foscari; cette qu'au lieu de le lui permettre, on avait exige de lui le fois sa fermet6 l'abandonna, il eprouva un tel saisisseserment de ne plus reiterer cette demande; que la Pro- ment, qu'il mourut le lendemain.2 vidence avait prolonge ses jours pour l'eprouver et pour La republique arr~ta qu'on lui rendrait les m~mes honl'affliger; que cependant on n'etait pas en droit de re- neurs funebres que s'il fft mort dans l'exercice de sa procher sa longue vie' un homme qui avait employe dignite; mais lorsqu'on se presenta pour enlever ses quatre-vingt-quatre ans au service de la republique; restes, sa veuve, qui de son nom etait Marine Nani, dequ'il 6tait prat encore h lui sacrifier sa vie; mais que, clara qu'elle ne le souffrirait point; qu'on ne devait pas pour sa dignite, il la tenait de la republique entirre, et traiter en prince aprds sa mort celui que vivant on avait qu'il se reservait de repondre sur ce sujet, quand la ddpouille de la couronne, et que, puisqu'il avait consumd volonte generale se serait 16galement manifestee. ses biens au service de l'tat, elle saurait consacrer sa Le lendemain, i l'heure indiquee, les conseillers et les dot a lui faire rendre les derniers honneurs.3 On le tint chefs des dix se presentmrent. II ne voulut pas leur don- aucun compte de cette resistance, et malgre les protes. ner d'autre reponse. Le conseil s'assembla sur-le- tations de l'ancienne dogaresse, le corps fut enleve, rechamp, lui envoya demander encore une fois sa r6solu- vetu des ornemens ducaux, expose en public, et les ohtion, seance tenante, et, la reponse ayant ete la meme, seques furent celebrees avec la pompe accoutumee. Le on prononqa que le doge etait releve de son serment et nouveau doge assista au convoi en robe de senateur. depose de sa dignite: on lui assigna une pension de La pitie qu'avait inspiree le malheur de ce vieillard, 1500 ducats d'or, cn lui enjoignant de sortir du palais ne fut pas tout-a-fait sterile. Un an apres, on osa dire dans huit jours, sous peine de voir tous ses biens con- que le conseil des dix avait outrepasse ses pouvoirs, et fisques. il lui fut defendu par une loi du grand conseil de s'inLe lendemain, ce decret fut porte au doge, et ce fut gerer a l'avenir de juger le prince, a moins que ce ne'Jacques Loredan qui eut la cruelle joie de le lui presen- fut pour cause de felonie.4 ter. II repondit: "Si j'avais pu prevoir que ma vieil- Un acte d'autorite tel que la deposition d'un doge inlesse fut prejudiciable a l'etat, le chef de la republique amovible de sa nature, auroit pu exciter un soulevene se serait pas montre assez ingrat, pour preferer sa ment general, ou au moins occasioner une division dignite h la patrie; mais cette vie lui ayant ete utile dans une republique autrement constituee que Venise. pendant tant d'annees, je voulais lui en consacrer jus- Mais de puis trois ans, il existait dans celle-ci une qu'au dernier moment. Le decret est rendu, je m'y magistrature, ou plutot une autorite, devant laquelle conformerai." Apres avoir parle ainsi, il se d6pouilla tout devait se taire. des marques de sa dignite, remit l'anneau ducal qui fut L brioe en sa presence, et d's le jour suivant il quitta ce pa- Extrait de 1'Histoire des Rdpubliques Italiennes du mrnyen lais, qu'il avait habite pendant trente-cinq ans, accom- dge, par J. C. L. Simonde de Sismondi, tom. x. pagne de son frere, de ses parents, et de ses amis. Un LE doge de Venise, qui-avait prevenu par ce traite une secretaire, qui se trouva sur le perron, l'invita' des- guerre non moins dangereuse que celle qu'il avait tercendre par un escalier derobe, afin d'eviter la foule du mnee presque en meme temps par le traite de Lodi, peuple, qui s'etait rassemble dans les coors, mais il s'y etait alors parvenu k une extreme vieillesse. Franqois refusa, disant qu'il voulait descendre par oh il etait Fosoari occupait cette premiere dignite de l'etat ds le monte; et quand il fut au as de l'escalier des geants, il 15 avril 1423. Quoiqu'il flit deja age de plus de cinse retourna, appuye sur sa bequille, vers le palais, en quante-un ans h l'epoque de son election, il etait cepenproferant ces paroles: " Mes services m'y avaient ap- dant le plus jeune des quarante-un electeurs. Il avait pele, la malice de mes ennemis m'en fait sortir." eu beaucoup de peine' parvenir au rang qu'il convoiLa foule qui s'ouvrait sur son passage, et qui avait tait, et son election avait ete conduite avec beaucoup peut-etre desire sa mort, etait, emue de respect et d'at- d'adresse. Pendant plusieurs tours de scrutin ses amis tendrissement.3 Rentre dans sa maison, il recommanda les plus zeles s'etaient abstenus de lui donner leur slifh sa famille d'oublier les injures de ses ennemis. Per- frage, pour que les autres ne le considerassent pas comnle sonne dans les divers corps de l'etat ne se crut en droit un concurrent redoutable. 5 Le conseil des dix craignait ae s'etonner, qu'un princeinamovible eutett depose sans son credit parmi la noblesse pauvre, parcequ'il avait qu'on lui reprochat rien; que l'tat eut perdu son chef, cherche a se la rendre favorable, tandis qu'il etait pro h'insu du senat, et du corps souverain lui-mame. Le curateur de Saint-Marc, en faisant employer plus do peuple seul laissa echapper quelques regrets: une pro- trente mille ducats b doter des jeunes filles de bonne 1 Hist. di Venitia, di Paolo Morosini, lib.'3. 1 Ce decret est rapport6 textuellement dans la notice. 2 Hist. di Pietro Justiniani, lib. 8. 2 La notice rapporte aussi ce decret. 3 Hist. d'Egnatio, lib. 6. cap. 7. 3 On lit dans la notice ces propre mots; "Se fosse stato in 4 Ce d6cret est du 25 Octobre, 1458. La notice le rapport-. vro potere volentieri lo avrebbero restituito " 5 Marin Sanuto, Vite de' Duchi di Vene7ia, p. 967 21 358 BYRON'S WORKS. maison, ou' etablir des jeunes gentilshommes. On affreux tourmens, sans reussir h en tirer aucune con craignait encore sa nombreuse famille, car alors il etait fession. Malgre sa denegation, le conseil des dix le pbre de quatre enfans, et marie de nouveau; enfin on condamna'a etre transporte a la Cande, et accorda une redoutait son ambition et son goft pour la guerre. L'opi- recompense a son delateur. Mais les horribles douleurs nion que ses adversaires s'etaient formee de lui fut vdri- que Jacob Foscari avait eprouvees, avaient trouble sa fiee par les evenemens; pendant trente-quatre ans que raison; ses persecuteurs, touches de ce dernier malheur, Foscari fut' la trtedela republique, elle ne cessa point permirent qu'on le ramenat h Venise le 26 mai 1451. de combattre. Si les hostilites etaient suspendues du- II embrassa son pdre, il puisa dans ses exhortations rant quelques mois, c'etait pour recommencer bient6t quelque courage et quelque calme, et il fut reconduit avec plus de vigueur. Ce fut l'epoque oh Venise etendit immediatement a la Canee. Sur ces entrefaites, Nico. son empire sur Brescia, Bergame, Ravenne, et Crdme, las Erizzo, homme deja note pour un precedent crime, oh elle fonda sa domination de Lombardie, et parut confessa, en mourant, que c'etait lui qui avoit tue Alsans cesse sur le point d'asservir toute cette province. moro Donato.2 Profond, courageux, inebranlable, Foscari communiqua Le malheureux doge, Franqois Foscari, avait dija aux conseils son propre caractere, et ses talens lui firent cherche, a plusieurs reprises, a abdiquer une dignit6 si obtenir plus d'influence sur la republique, que n'avaient funeste a lui-meme et a sa famille. I1 lui semblait exerce la plupart de ses predecesseurs. Mais si son am- que, redescendu au rang de simple citoyen, comme il bition avait eu pour but l'agrandissement de sa famille, n'inspirerait plus de crainte ou de jalousie, on n'accaelle fut cruellement trompee: trois de ses fils moururent blerait plus son fils par ces effroyables persecutions. dans les huit annees qui suivirent son election: le qua- Abattu par la mort de ses premiers enfans, il avoit voutridme, Jacob, par lequel la maison Foscari s'est per- lIt, des le 26 juin, 1433, deposer une dignite, durant petuee, fut victime de la jalousie du conseil des dix, et l'exercice de laquelle sa patrie avait ete tourmentee par empoisonna par ses malheurs les jours de son pere.' la guerre, par la peste, et par des malheurs de tout Ek effet, le conseil des dix, redoublant de defiance genre.3 I1 renouvela cette proposition apres les jugeenvers le chef de l'etat, lorsqu'il le voyait plus fort par mens rendus contre son fils; mais le conseil des dix le ses talens et sa popularitY, veillait sans cesse sur Fos- retenait forcement sur le'trbne, comme il retenait son cari, pour le punir de son credit et de sa gloire. Au fils dans les fers. mois de fevrier 1445, Michel Bevilacqua, Florentin, En vain Jacob Foscari, oblige de se presenter chaque exilie Venise, accusa en secret Jacques Foscari auprds jour au gouverneur de la Canee, reclanmait contre'indes inquisiteurs d'etat, d'avoir recu du duc Philippe justice de sa dernidre sentence, sur laquelle la confession Visconti, des presens d'argent et de joyaux, par les d'Erizzo ne laissait plus de doutes. En vain il demanmains des gens de sa maison. Telle etait l'odieuse dait grace au farouche conseil des dix; il ne pouvait procedure adoptee a Venise, que sur cette'accusation obtenir aucune reponse. Le desir de revoir son pdre et secrete, le fils du doge, du representant de la majeste sa mere, arrivSs tous deux au dernier terme de la vieilde la republique, fut mise a la torture. On lui arracha lesse, le desir de revoir une patrie dont la cruaute ne par l'estrapade l'aveu des charges portees contre lui; meritait pas un si tendre amour, se changerent en lui il fut reldgue pour le reste de ses jours a Napoli de Ro- en une vraie fureur. Ne pouvant retourner a Venise manie, avec obligation de se presenter chaque matin au pour y vivre libre, il voulut du moins y aller chercher commandant de la place.2 Cependant, le vaisseau qui un supplice. II ecrivit au due de Milan h la fin de mai le portait ayant touche a Trieste, Jacob, grievement 1456, pour implorer sa protection auprds du senat: et malade des suites de la torture, et plus encore de l'hu- sachant qu'une telle lettre serait consideree comme un miliation qu'il avait eprouvee, demanda en grace au crime, il l'exposa lui-mmme dans un lieu oh il etait szr conseil des dix de n'etre pas envoye plus loin. II obtint qu'elle serait saisie par;es espions qui l'entouraient. cette faveur, par une deliberation du28 decembre 1446; En effet, la lettre etant deferee au conseil des dix, on il fut rappele a Trevise, et il cut la liberte d'habiter tout I'envoya chercher aussit6t, et il fut reconduit a Venise le Trevisan indiffdremment.3 le 19 juillet 1456.4 Ilvivaitenpaix aTrevise; etlafil':le LeonardCon- Jacob Foscari ne nia point'a lettre, il raconta en tarini, qu'il avait epousee le 10 fevrier 1441, etait venue meme temps dans quel but il'avait ecrite, et comment e joindre dans son exil, lorsque, le 5 novembre 1450, il lavait fait tomber entre les mains de son delateur. Almoro Donato, chef du conseil des dix, fut assassine. Malgre ces aveux, Foscari fut remis a la torture, et on Les deux autres inquisiteurs d'etat, Triadano Gritti et lui donna trente tours d'estrapade, pour voir s'il confirAntonio Venieri, porterent leur soupqons sur Jacob merait ensuite ses depositions. Quand on le detacha Foscari, parcequ'un domestique a lui, nomme Olivier, de la corde, on le trouva dechire par ces horribles seavait ete vu cc soir-la indme a Venise, et avait des pre- cousses. Les juges permirent alors h son pdre, i sa miers donne la nouvelle de cet assassinat. Olivier fut mere, a sa femme, et a ses fils, d'aller le voir dans sa mis a la torture, mais il nia jusqu'a la fin, avec un cour- prison. Le vieux Foscari, appuye sur son baton, ne se age minbranlable, le crime dont on l'accusait, quoique traina qu'avec peine dans la chambre oh son fils unique ses juges eussent ia barbarie de lui faire donner jusqui' etait panse de ses blessures. Ce fils demandait encore qiatre-vingt tours d'estrapade. Cependant, comme la grace de mourir dans sa maison.-" Retourne a ton Jacob Foscari avaitde puissans motifs d'inimitie contre exil, mon fils, puisque ta patrie l'ordonne," lui dit le e conseil des dix qui lavait condamne, et qui temoignait doge, " et soumets-toi H sa volonte." Mais en rentrafit de la haine au doge son pdre, on essaya de mettre a son fin Jacob aa torture, et l'on prolongea contre lui ces I Marin Sanuto, p. 1138.-M. Ant. Sabellico Deca 1II. L. IV. f. 187. I Marin Sanuto, p 968. 2 Ibid. 1139. 2 Ibid,. 968. 3 Ibid. p. 1032.' Ibid. Vite. p. 1123. 4 Ibid. p. 116. THE TWO FOSCARI. 35) dans son palais, ce malheureux vieillard s'evanouit, fit publier une defense de parler de cette revolution, epuis6 par la violence qu'il s'etait faite. Jacob devait sous peine d'8tre traduit devant les inquisiteurs d'etat. encore passer une annee en prison a la Cande, avant Le 20 octobre, Pasqual Malipieri, procurateur de Saintqu'on lui rendit la meme libert6 limitde a laquelle il Marc, fut dlu pour successeur de Foscari; celui-ci n'eut etait rdduit avant cet devnement; mais a peine fuit-i! pas neanmoins l'humiliation de vivre sujet, 1a oh il debarqu6 sur cette terre d'exil, quil y mourut de dou- avait rdgnd. En entendant le son des cloches, qui sonleur. I naient en actions de grace pour cette election, il mourut Des-lors, et pendant quinze mois, le vieux doge acca- subitement d'une hdmorragie causde par une veine quJ bl d'annees et de chagrins, ne recouvra plus la force s'eclata dans sa poitrine.' de son corps ou celle de son ame; il n'assistait plus a aucun des conseils, et il ne pouvait plus remplir aucune des fonctions de sa dignit6. I1 etait entr6 dans sa LE doge, blessd de trouver constamment un contraquatre-vingt-sixitme annee, et si le conseil des dix avait dicteur et un censeur si amer dans son fr/re, lui dit un ete susceptible de quelque pitid, il aurait attendu en jour en plein conseil:'Messire Augustin, vous faites silence la fin, sans doute prochaine, d'une carriere mar- tout votre possible pour hater ma mort; vous vous flatquee part tant de gloire et tant de malheurs. Mais le tez de me succeder; mais si les autres vous connaissent chef du conseil des dix etait alors Jacques Loredano, aussi bien que je vous connais, ils n'auront garde de fils de Marc, et neveu de Pierre, le grand amiral, qui vous elire.' La dessus il se leva, emu de colre, rentra toute leur vie avaient ete les ennemis acharnds du vieux dans son appartement, et mourut quelques jours aprds. doge. Ils avaient transmis leur haine a leurs enfants, Ce frrer contre lequel il s'etait emportd fut precisement et cette vieille rancune n'etait pas encore satisfaite.2 A le successeur qu'on lui donna. C'etait un rnmrite dont l'instigation de Loredano, Jerfme Barbarigo, inquisi- on aimait a tenir compte, surtout' un parent, de s'etre teur d'etat, proposa au conseil des dix, au mois d'oc- mis en opposition avec le chef de la rdpublique."2 Daru, tobre 1457, de soumettre Foscari a une nouvelle humi- Histoire de Venise, vol. ii. sec. xi. p. 533. liation. Dds que ce magistrat ne pouvait plus remplir ses fonctions, Barbarigo demanda qu'on nommat un IN Lady Morgan's fearless and excellent work upon autre doge. Le conseil, qui avait refusd par deux fois "Italy," I perceive the expression of " Rome of the l'abdication de Foscari, parceque la constitution ne Ocean" applied to Venice. The same phrase occurs in pouvait la permettre, hdsita avant de se mettre en con- the "Two Foscari." My publisher can vouch for me tradiction avec ses propres ddcrets. Les discussions that the tragedy was written and sent to England some dans le conseil et la junte se prolongerent pendant huit time before I had seen Lady Morgan's work, which I jours, jusque fort! avant dans la nuit. Cependant, on only received on the 16th of August. I hasten, however, fit entrer dans l'assemblee Marco Foscari, procurateur to notice the coincidence, and to yield the originality of db Saint-Marc, et frdre du doge, pour qu'il fut lie par the phrase to her who first placed it before the public. le redoutable serment du secret, et qu'il ne pot arrdter I am the more anxious to do this, as I am informed (for les mesures de ses ennemis. Enfin, le conseil se rendit I have seen but few of the specimens, and those accidentaupres du doge, et lui demanda d'abdiquer volontaire- ally) that there have been lately brought against me ment un emploi qu'il ne pouvait plus exercer. " J'ai charges of plagiarism. I have also had an anonymous jlire " rdpondit le vieillard, "de remplir jusqu'a ma sort of threatening intimation of the same kind, appamort, selon mon honneur et ma conscience, les fonc- rently with the intent of extorting money. To such tions auxquelles ma patrie m'a appel6. Je ne puis me charges I have no answer to make. One of them is ludelier moi-meme de mon serment; qu'un ordre des con- dicrous enough. I am reproached for having formed seils dispose de moi, je m'y soumettrai, mais je ne le the description of a shipwreck in verse from the narradevancerai pas." Alors une nouvelle delibdration du tives of many actual shipwrecks in prose, selecting such conseil delia Francois Foscari de son serment ducal, lui materials as were most striking. Gibbon makes it a assura une pensiond ddeux mille ducats pour le reste merit in Tasso "to have copied the minutest details of the de sa vie, et lui ordonna d'evacuer en trois jours le siege of Jerusalem from the Chronicles." In me it may palais, et de deposer les ornemens de sa dignite. Le be a demerit, I presume; let it remain so. Whilst I have doge ayant remarque parmi les conseillers qui lui por- been occupied in defending Pope's character, the lower terent cet ordre, un chefde la quarantie qu'il ne con- orders of Grub-street appear to have been assailing mine: naissait pas, demanda son nom: " Je suis le fils de Marco this is as it should be, both in them and in me. One of Memmo," lui dit le conseiller-" Ah! ton pere dtait the accusations in the nameless epistle alluded to is still mon ami," lui dit le vieux doge, en soupirant. II donna more laughable: it states seriously that I " received five aussitBt des ordres pour qu'on transportat ses effets hundred pounds for writing advertisements for Day dans une maison' lui; et le lendemain, 23 octobre, on and Martin's patent blacking!" This is the highest le vit, se soutenant a peine, et appuye sur son vieux compliment to my literary powers which I ever received. frere, redescendre ces mames escaliers sur lesquels, It states also " that a person has been trying to make trente-quatre ans auparavant, on l'avait vu installe avec tant de pompe, et traverser ces memes salles oh la repu- 1 Marin Sanuto, Vite de' Duchi di Venezia, p. 1164 - bllque avait recu ses sermens. Le peuple entier parut Chrolicur Eugubinum, T. XXI. p. 992.-Christdforo inin d tu d drt eedecnr nviladSoldo Istoria Bresciana, T. XXI. p. 891.-Naviger,) Storia indigne de tant de durete exercee contre un vieillard Veneziana, T. XXIII. p. 1120.-M. A. Sabellico. Doca li1. qu'il respectait et qu'il aimait; mais le conseil des dix L. VII, f. 201 2 The Venetians appear to have had a particular turn tfo breaking the hearts of their Doges; the above is another in1 Marin Sanuto, p. 1163.-Navagiero Stor. Verez. p. 1118. stance of the kind in the Doge Marco Barbarigo; he was suc-'2 Vettomr Sandi Storia civile di Veneziana, P. II. L. VIII. p. ceeded by his brother Agostino Barbarigo, whose chief mert 715. p. 71i is above-mentioned. 360 BYRON S WORKS. acquaintance with Mr. Townsend, a gentleman of the for a moment upheld their dogmaticnonsense oftheo philaw, who was with me on business in Venice three lanthropy. The church of England, if overthrown, will years ago, for the purpose of obtaining any defama- be swept away by the sectarians, and not by the sceptics. tory particulars of my life from this occasional visitor." People are too wise, too well-informed, too certain of Mr. Townsend is welcome to say what he knows. I men- their own immense importance in the realms of space, tion these particulars merely to show the world in gen- ever to submit to the impiety of doubt. There may be a eral what the literary lower world contains, and their few such diffident speculators, like water in the pale sunway of setting to work. Another charge made, I am beam of human reason, but they are very few; and their told, in the " Literary Gazette " is, that I wrote the notes opinions, without enthusiasm or appeal to the passions, to " Queen Mab;" a work which I never saw till some can never gain proselytes-unless, indeed, they are time after its publication, and which I recollect showing persecuted: that, to be sure, will increase any thing. to Mr. Sotheby as a poem of great power and imagi- Mr. S., with a cowardly ferocity, exults over the annation. I never wrote a line of the notes, nor ever saw ticipated " death-bed repentance" of the objects of his them except in their published form. No one knows dislike; and indulges himself in a pleasant " Vision of better than their real author, that his opinions and Judgment," in prose as well as verse, full of impious mine differ materially upon the metaphysical portion impudence. What Mr. S.'s sensations or ours may be of that work; though, in common with all who are not in the awful moment of leaving this state of existence, blinded by baseness and bigotry, I highly admire the neither he nor we can pretend to decide. In common, poetry of that and his other publications. I presume, with most men of any reflection, I have not Mr. Southey, too, m his pious preface to a poem whose waited for a "death-bed" to repent of many of my blasphemy is as harmless as the sedition of Wat Tyler, actions, notwithstanding the " diabolical pride" which because it is equally absurd with that sincere production, this pitiful renegado in his rancour would impute to calls upon the "legislature to look to it," as the tolera- those who scorn him. Whether, upon the whole, the tion of such writings led to the French Revolution: not good or evil of my deeds may preponderate, is not for such writings as Wat Tyler, but as those of the "Satanic me to ascertain; but, as my means and opportunities School." This is not true, and Mr. Southey knows it to be have been greater, I shall limit my present defence to an not true. Every French writer of any freedom was perse- assertion (easily proved, if necessary) that I, "in my de cuted; Voltaire and Rousseau were exiles, Marmontel gree," have done more real good in any one given year, and Diderot were sent to the Bastile, and a perpetualwar since I was twenty, than Mr. Southey in the whole was waged with the whole class by the existing despotism. course of his shifting and turncoat existence. There are In the next place, the French Revolution was not occa- several actions to which I can look back with an honest sioned by any writings whatsoever, but must have occur- pride, not to be damped by the calumnies of a hireling. red had no such writers ever existed. It is the fashion to There are others to which I recur with sorrow and reattribute every thing to the French Revolution, and the pentance; but the only act of my life of which Mr. French Revolution to every thing but its real cause. Southey can have any real knowledge, as it was one That cause is obvious-the government exacted too which brought me in contact with a near connexion of much, and the people could neither give nor bear more. his own, did no dishonour to that connexion nor to me. Without this, the Encyclopedists might have written I am not ignorant of Mr. Southey's calumnies on a diftheir fingers off without the occurrence of a single alter- ferent occasion, knowing them to be such, which he ation. And the English Revolution-(the first, 1 mean) scattered abroad, on his return from Switzerland, against what was it occasioned by? The Puritans were surely me and others: they have done him no good in this as pious and moral as Wesley or his biographer? Acts- world; and, if his creed be the right one, they will do acts on the part of government, and not writings against him less in the next. What his "death-bed " may be, them, have caused the past convulsions, and are tending it is not my province to predicate: let him settle it with to the future. his Maker, as I must do with mine. There is something I look upon such as inevitable, though no revolu- at once ludicrous and blasphemousin this arrogant scribtionist: I wish to see the English constitution restored, bler of all works sitting down to deal damnation and deand not destroyed. Born an aristocrat, and naturally struction upon his fellow-creatures, with Wat Tyler, the one by temper, with the greater part of my present prop- Apotheosis of George the Third, and the Elegy on Marerty in the funds, what have I to gain by a revolution? tin the regicide, all shuffled together in his writing-desk. Perhaps I havemore to lose in every way than Mr. Sou- One of his consolations appears to be a Latin note from they, with all his places and presents for panegyrics and a work of a Mr. Landor, the author of " Gebir," whose abuse into the bargain. But that a revolution is inevi- friendship for Robert Southey will, it seems, " be an table, 1 repeat. The government may exult over the honour to him when the ephemeral disputes and epherepression of petty tumults; these are but the receding meral reputations of the day are forgotten." I for one waves repulsed and broken for a moment on the shore, neither envy him "the friendship," nor the glory in while the great tide is still rolling on and gaining ground reversion which is to accrue from it, like Mr. Theluswith everybreaker. Mr. Southey accusesus ofattacking son's fortune in the third and fourth generation.the religion of the country; and is he abetting it by writ- This friendship will probably be as memorable as his ing lives of Wesley? One mode of worship is merely de- own epics, which (as I quoted to him ten or twelve years stroyed by another. There never was, nor ever will be,'a ago in English Bards) Porson said " would be rememcountry without a religion. We shall be told of France bered when Homer and Virgil are forgotten, and not tL again: but it was only Paris and a frantic party, which then." For the present, I leave him. ( 361 ) Cain; A MYSTERY. Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made.-Gen.'il 1. TO SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. THIS "MYSTERY OF CAIN" IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS OBLIGED FRIEND, AND FAITHFUL SERVANT, THE AUTHOER PREFACE. Old Testament. For a reason for this ex raordinary omission, he may consult "Warburton's Divine Legation;" whether satisfactory or not, no better has yet T;rIE followingscenes are intitled "aMystery," in con- been assigned. I have therefore supposed it new to formity with the ancient title annexed to dramas upon Cain, without, I hope, any perversion of Holy Writ. similar subjects, which were styled "Mysteries," or With regard to the language of Lucifer, it was diffi" Moralities." The author has by no means taken the cult for me to make him talk like a clergyman upon the same liberties with his subject which were common for- same subjects; but I have done what I could to restrain merly, as may be seen by any reader curious enough to him within the bounds of spiritual politeness. refer to those very profane productions, whether in If he disclaims having tempted Eve in the shape of English, French, Italian, or Spanish. The author has the Serpent, it is only because the book of Genesis has endeavoured to preserve the language adapted to his not the most distant allusion to any thing of the kind, characters; and where it is (and this is but rarely) taken but merely to the Serpent in his serpentine capacity. from actual Scripture, he has made as little alteration, even of words, as the rhythm would permit. The Note.-The reader will perceive that the author has reader will recollect that the book of Genesis does not partly adopted in this poem the notion of Cuvier, that state that Eve was tempted by a demon, but by "the the world had been destroyed several times before the Serpent;" and that only because he was "the most creation of man. This speculation, derived from the jubtil of all the beasts of the field." Whateverinterpre- different strata and the bones of enormous and unbation the Rabbins and the Fathers may have put upon known animals found in them, is not contrary to the uis, I must take the words as I find them, and reply Mosaic account, but rather confirms it; as no human with Bishop Watson upon similar occasions, when the ones have yet been discovered in those strata, alFathers were quoted to him, as Moderator in the Schools though those of many known animals are found near of Cambridge, "Behold the Book!"-holding up the the remains of the unknown. The assertion of Lucifer, Scripture. It is to be recollected that my present sub- that the Pre-Adamite world was also peopled by rational ject has nothing to do with the New Testament, to beings much more intelligent than man, and proprwhich no reference can be here made without ana- tionably powerful to the mammoth, etc., etc., is, of chronism. With the poems upon similar topics I have course, a poetical fiction, to help him to make out his not been recently familiar. Since I was twenty, I have case. never read Milton; but I had read him so frequently I ought to add, that there is a "Tramelogedia" of before, that this may make little difference. Gesner's Alfieri, called " Abel."-I have never read that nor any "Death of Abel" I have never read since I was eight other of the posthumous works of the writer, excep years of age, at Aberdeen. The general impression of his life. my recollection is delight; but of the contents, I remember only that Cain's wife was called Mahala, and Abel's DRAMATS Thirza.-In the following pages I have called them DRAMATS " Adah" and " Zillah," the earliest female names which occur in Genesis; they were those of Lamech's wives: MEN WOMiaN. those of Cain and Abel are not called by their names. AD. E E Whether, then, a coincidence of subject may have CAIN. ADH. caused the same in expression, I know nothing, and ABEL. ZLLAH. care as little. The reader will please to bear in mind (what few SPIRITS. choose to recollect) that there is no allusion to a future ANGEL OF THE LORD state in any of the books of Moses, nor indeed in the LUCIFER. 212 51 362 BYRON'S WORKS. ADAM. C A I N. Dost thou not live? CAIN. Must I not die? ACT I. EVE. Alas! SCENE I. The fruit of our forbidden tree begins The Land without Paradise.-Time, Sunrise. To fall. ADAM, EVE, CAIN, ABETl, ADAH, ZILLAH, offering ADAM. a Sacrifice. And we must gather it again. ~~~ADAM. ~ Oh, God! why didst thou plant the tree of knowledge GOD, the Eternal! Infinite! All-Wis!- CAIN. Who out of darkness on the deep didst make And herfore pluck ye not the tree of life Ye might have then defied him. Light on the waters with a word-all hail Y m h t. Jehovah, with returning light, all hail! ADAM. Oh! my son, dEVE. y Blaspheme not: these are serpents' words. God! who didst name the day, and separateIN. Morning from night, till then divided never- Why not? W\ho didst divide the wave from wave, and call Who didst divide the ave from wave, and call The snake spoke truth: it was the tree of knowledge; Part of thy work the firmament-all hail! It was the tree of life:-knowledge is good,'ABEL. And life is good; and how can both be evil? God! who didst call the elements into EVE. Earth-ocean-air-and fire, and with the day My boy thou speakest as I spoke in sin And night, and worlds which these illuminate thy birth: let me not see renew'd ()r shadow, madest beings to enjoy them, My miserinthine. I have repented. And love both them and thee-all hail! all hail! m n s m Let me not see my offspring fall into ADANH The snares beyond the walls of Paradise, God, the Eternal! Parent of all things! Which e'en in Paradise destroy'd his parents. Who didst create these best and beauteous beings, Content thee with what is. Had we been so, l'o.be beloved, more than all, save thee- Thou now hadst been contented.-Oh, my son! Let me love thee and them:-All hail! all hail A ADAM. ZILLAH. Our orisons completed, let us hence, Oh, God! who loving, making, blessing all, Each to his task of toil-not heavy, though Yet didst permit the serpent to creep in, Needful: the earth is young, and yields us kindly And drive my father forth from Paradise, Her fruits with little labour. Keep us from further evil:-Hail! all hail! EVE. ADAM. Cain, my son, Son Cain, my first-born, wherefore art thou silent? Behold thy father cheerful and resign'd, CAIN.. And do as he doth. Why should I speak? [Exit ADAM and Eva. ADAM. ZILLAH. To pray. Wilt thou not, my brother? CAIN. ABEL. Have ye not pray'd? Why wilt thou wear this gloom upon thy brow, ADAM. Which can avail thee nothing, save to rouse We have, most fervently. The Eternal anger? CAIN. ADAH. And loudly: I My beloved Cain, IHave heard you. ^Wilt thou frown even on me? ADA M. So will God, I trust. CAIN. No, Adah! no; ABEL. ABmL. A I fain would be tlone a little while. ADAM. Abel, I'm sick at heart; but it will pass: But thou, my eldest-born, art silent still Precede me,brother-I will follow shortly. CAIN. And you, too, sisters, tarry not behind; T is bettp" I should be so. Your gentleness must not be harshly met: ADAM. I'11 follow you anon. Wherefo.e so? ADAH. C.AIN. If not, I will I have nought to ask. Return to seek you here. ADAM. ABEL. Nor aught to thank for? The peace of God CAIN?. Be on your spirit, brother! No. [Exit ABEL, ZILLAH, and ADAn CAIN. 363 CAIN (solus). To make death hateful, save an innate clinging, And this is A loathsome and yet all invincible Life!-Toil! and wherefore should I toil? —because Instinct of life, which I abhor, as I My father could not keep his place in Eden. Despise myself, yet cannot overcomeWhat had I done in this?-I was unborn, And so I live. Would I had never lived! I sought not to be born; nor love the state LUCIFER. To which that birth has brought me. Why did he Thou livest, and must live for ever: think not Yield to the serpent and the woman? or, The earth, which is thine outward covering, is Yielding, why suffer? What was there in this? Existence-it will cease, and thou wilt be The tree was planted, and why not for him? No less than thou art now. If not, why place him near it, where it grew, CAIN. The fairest in the centre? They have but No less! and why One answer to all questions, "' t was his will, No more? And he'is good." How know Ithat? Because LUCIFER. He is all-powerful, must all-good, too, follow? It may be thou shalt be as we. I judge but by the fruits-and they are bitter- CAIN. Which I must feed on for a fault not mine. And ye? Whom have we here?-A shape like to the angels, LUCIFER. Yet of a sterner and a sadder aspect, Are everlasting. Of spiritual essence: why do I quake? CAIN. Why should I fear him more than other spirits, Are ye happy? Whom I see daily wave their fiery swords LUCIFER. Before the gates round which I linger oft, We are mighty. In twilight's hour, to catch a glimpse of those CAIN. Gardens which are my just inheritance, Are ye happy Ere the night closes o'er the inhibited walls, LUCIFER. And the immortal trees which overtop a u? The cherubim-defended battlements? CAIN. How should I be so? Look on me! If I shrink not from these, the fire-arm'd angels, Hoshould I be so? Look on me Why should I quail from him who now approaches? LUCIFER. Poor clay! Yet he seems mightier far than them, nor less pendest to bewretched Z3 sAnd thou pretendest to be wretched. Thou Beauteous, and yet not all as beautiful As he hath been, and might be: sorrow seems CAIN. alf of his immortality And is it I am:-and thou, with all thy might, what art thou I Half of his immortality. And is it So? and can aught grieve save humanity? LUCIFER. He cometh. One who aspired to be what made thee, and Enter LUCIFER. Would not have made thee what thou art., LUCIFER. CAIN. Mortal! Ab' CAIN. Thou look'st almost a god; andSpirit, who art thou? LUCIFER. LUCIFER. I am none: Master of spirits. And having fail'd to be one, would be nought CAIN. Save what I am. He conquer'd; let him reign i And being so, canst thou CAIN. Leave them, and walk with dust? Who? LUCIFER. LUCIFER. I know the thoughts Thy sire's Maker, and the earth's. Of dust, and feel for it, and with you. CAIN. CAIN. And heaven s. How,! ~* And all that in them is. So I have heard You know my-thoughts? LUCIFYou kw m? His seraphs sing; and so my father saith. LUCIFER.X They are the thoughts of all LUCIFER. Worthy of thought;-'t is your immortal part They say —what they must sing and say, on pain Which spes w n y. Of being that which I am-and thou artCAsN. Of spirits and of men. What immortal part? CAIN. This has not been reveal'd: the tree of life And what is that 1 Was withheld from us by.ny father's folly, LUCIFER. While that of knowledge, by my mother's haste, Souls dare use ther immortalityWas pluck'd too soon; and all the fruit is death! Souls who dare look the Omnipotent tyrant n LUCIFER. His everlasting face, and tell him, that They have deceived thee; thou shalt live. His evil is notgood! If he has made, CAIN. As he saith-which I know not, nor believeI live, But, if he made us-he cannot unmake, Rut live to die: and, living, see no thing We are immortal!-nay, he'd have us so. 364 BYRON'S WORKS That he may torture:-let him! He is great- In thunder. But, in his greatness, is no happier than LUCIFER. We in our conflict! Goodness would not make Then who was the demon? He Evil; and what else hath he made? But let him Who would not let ye live, or he who would Sit on his vast and solitary throne, Have made ye live for ever in the joy Creating worlds, to make eternity And power of knowledge? Less burthensome to his immense existence CAIN. And unparticipated solitude! Would they had snatch'd both Let him crowd orb on orb: he is alone, The fruits, or neither! Indefinite, indissoluble tyrant! LUCIFER. Could he but crush himself,'t were the best boon One is yours already, He ever granted: but let him reign on, The other may be still. And multiply himself in misery! CAIN. Spirits and men, at least we sympathize; How so, And, suffering in concert, make our pangs, LUCIFER. nnumerable, more endurable, By being By the unbounded sympathy of all- Yourselves, in your resistance. Nothing can With all! But He! so wretched in his height, Quench the mind, if the mind will be itself So restless in his wretchedness, must still And centre of surrounding things-'t is made create, and re-create To sway. CAIN. CAIN. Thou speak'st to me of things which long have swum But didst thou tempt my parents? In visions through my thought: I never could LUCIFER. Reconcile what I saw with what I heard. My father and my mother talk to me Poor clay! what should I tempt them for, or how? Of serpents, and of fruits and trees: I see CAIN. The gates of what they call their Paradise They say the serpent was a spirit. Guarded by fiery-sworded cherubim, LUCIFER Which shut them out, and me: I feel the weight Who Of daily toil, and constant thought: I look Saith that? It is not written so on high: Around a world where I seem nothing, with The proud One will not so far falsify Thoughts which arise within me, as if they Though man's vast fears and little vanity Could master all things:-but I thought alone Would make him cast upon the spiritual nature This misery was mine.-My father is His own low failing. The snake was the snakeTamed down; my mother has forgot the mind No more; and yet not less than those he tempted, Which made her thirst for knowledge at the risk In nature being earth also-more in wisdom, Of an eternal curse; my brother is Since he could overcome them, and foreknew A watching shepherd boys who offers up The knowledge fatal to their narrow joys. The firstlings of the flock to him who bids Thmk'st thou I'd take the shape of things that die; The earth yield nothing to us without sweat; AIN My sister Zillah sings an earlier hymn But the thing had a demon Than the bird's matins; and my Adah, my Own and beloved, she too understands not LUCIFER. He but woke one Thi, mind which overwhelms me: never till Now met I aught to sympathize with me. tiIn those he spake to with his forky tongue. Now met I aught to sympathize with me. o me I aught to sym e with me.. I tell thee that the serpent was no more r is well-I rather would consort with spirits. Than a mere serpent: ask the cherubim Ld h t tu nt bn ft by te on sl Who guard the tempting tree. When thousand ages And hadst thou not been fit by thine own soul'er such companionship, I would not now Have roll'd o'er your dead ashes and your seed's,'~'r such.~ The seed of the then world may thus array Have stood before thee as I am: a serpent ^e seed of the then ^ld may thus array Have stood before thee as I am: serpent Their earliest fault in fable, and attribute Had been enough to charm ye, as before. To me a shape I scorn, as I scorn all A! didst to C t At y mothr That bows to him who made things but to bend Ah ] didst thou tempt my mother? LUCIFER. Before his sullen sole eternity; I tempt none, But we, who see the truth, must speak it. Thy Save with the truth: was not the tree, the tree Fond parents listen'd to a creeping thing, Of knowledge? and was not the tree of life And fell. For what should spirits tempt them W What Still fruitful? Did I bid her pluck them not? Was there to envy in the narrow bounds 1)id I plant things prohibited within Of Paradise, that spirits who pervade The reach of beings innocent, and curious Space-but I speak to thee of what thou lknow'st not By their own innocence? I would have matee With all thy tree of knowledge. G ods; and even He who thrust ye forth so thrust ye CAIN. Because " ve should not eat the fruits of life, But thou canst not And become gods as we." Were those his words? Speak aught of knowledge which I would not know, CAIN. And do not thirst to know, aind bear a mind Fhby were. as t have heard from those who heard them To know. CAIN 365 LUCIFER. LUCIFER. And heart to look on? To be resolved into the earth. CAIN. CAIN. Be it proved. But shall I know it? LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Dar'st thou to look on Death? As I know not death, CAIN. I cannot answer. He has not yet CA^N Been seen. Were I quiet earth, LUCIFER. That were no evil: would I ne'er had been But must be undergone. Aught else but dust! CAIN. LUCIFER. My father That is a grov'ling wish, Says he is something dreadful,.and my mother Less than thy father's, for he wish'd to know. Weeps when he's named; and Abel lifts his eyes CAIN. To heaven, and Zillah casts hrs to the earth, But not to live, or wherefore pluck'd he not And sighs a prayer; and Adah looks on me, The life-tree? And speaks not. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. He was hinder'd. And thou? CAIN. CAIN. Deadly error Thoughts unspeakable Not to snatch first that fruit: but ere he pluck'a Crowd in my breast to burning, when I hear The knowledge, he was ignorant of death. Of this almighty Death, who is, it seems, Alas! I scarcely now know what itis, Inevitable. Could I wrestle with him? And yet I fear it-fear I know not what! I wrestled with a lion, when a boy, LUCIFER. In play, till he ran roaring from my gripe. And I, who know all things, fear nothing: see LUCIFER. What is true knowledge. It has no shape, but will absorb all things CATN. That bear the form of earth-born being. Wilt thou teach me all? ~~~~~~~~CAIN. LUCIFER. Ah! Ay, upon one condition. I thought it was a being: who could do CAINi Such evil things to beings save a being? Name it. LUCIFER. LUCIFR. Ask the Destroyer. That CAIN. Thou dost fall down and worship me-thy Lord. Who? CAIN. LUCIFER. Thou art not the Lord my father worships. The Maker-call him LUCIFER. Which name tnou wilt; he makes but to destroy. No. CAIN. C UN. His equal? I knew not that, yet thought it, since I heardequa LUCIFER. Of death: although I know not what it is, No;-I have nought in common with hun Yet it seems horrible. I have look'd out Nor would: I would be aught above-beneathIn the vast desolate night in search of him; Aught save a sharer or a servant of And, when I saw gigantic shadows in His power. I dwell apart; but I am great:The umbrage of the walls of Eden, chequer'd Many there are who worship me, and more By the far-flashing of the cherubs' swords, Who shall-be thou amongst the first. I watch'd for what I thought his coming; for With fear rose longing in my heart to know neer I never What't was which shook us all-but nothing came. As yet have bow' unto my fathers God And then I turn'd my weary eyes from off Although my brother Abel oft implores 9ur native and forbidden Paradise, That I would join with him in sacrifice:Up to the lights above us, in the azure, Why should I bow to thee? Which are so beautiful: shall they, too, die? UCIFER. LUCIFER. Hast thou ne'er bow a Perhaps-but long outlive both thine and thee. To him? CAIN. CAIN. I'm glad of that; I would not have them die, Have I not said it?-need I say it? They are so lovely. What is death? I fear, Could not thy mighty knowledge teach thee that' I feel, it is a dreadful thing; but what, LUCIFER. I cannot compass:'t is denounced against us, He who bows not to him has bow'd to me' Both them who sinn'd and sinn'd not, as an ill- - CAIN. What ill? But I will bend to neither 366 BYRON'S WORKS. UCIFER. To be our guests-will he? Ne'ertheless, CAIN (to Lucifer). Thou art my worshipper: not worshipping Wilt thou? Him makes thee mine the same. LUCIFER. CAIN. I ask And what is that? Thee to be mine. LUCIFER. CAIN. Thou'It know here-and hereafter. I must away with him. CAIN. DAH. Let me but And leave us? Be taught the mystery of my being. CAIN. LUCIFER. Follow ADAH. Where I will lead thee. And me? CAIN. CAIN. But I must retire Beloved Adah! To till the earth-for I had promised — ADAH. LUCIFER. Let me go with thee. What? LUCIFER. CAIN. No, she must not. ro cull some first fruits. ADAH. LUCIFER. Why? Art thou that steppest between heart and heart? CAIN. CAIN. To offer up He is a god. With Abel on an altar. ADAI. How know'st thou? LUCIFER. Saidst tnou not He speaks like Thou ne'er hadst bent to him that made thee? A god. CAIN. ADAH. Yes- So did the serpent, and it lied. But Abel's earnest prayer has wrought upon me; LUCIFER. The offering is more his than mine-ahd Adah- Thou errest, Adah!-was not the tree that LUCIFER. Of knowledge? Whv dost thou hesitate? ADAH. CAIN. Ay-to our eternal sorrow. She is my sister, LUCIFER. Burn on the same day, of the same womb; and And yet that grief is knowledge-so he lied not: She wrung from me, with tears, this promise, and And if he did betray you,'t was with truth; Rather than see her weep, I would, methinks, And truth in its own essence cannot be Bear all-and worship aught. But good. LUCIFER. ADAH. Then follow me! But all we know of it has gather'd CAIN. Evil on evil: expulsion from our home, I will. And dread, and toil, and sweat, and heaviness; Enter ADAH. Remorse of that which was, and hope of that ADAM. Which cometh not. Cain! walk not with this spirit. My brother, I have come for thee; Bear with what we have borne, and love me-I It is our hour of rest and joy-and we Love thee. Have less without thee. Thou hast labour'd not LUCIFER. This morn; but I have done thy task: the fruits More than thy mother and thy sire? Are ripe, and glowing as the light which ripens: ADAH. Come away. I do. Is that a sin, too? CAIN. LUCIFER. See'st thou not? No, not yet; ADAH. It one day will be in your children. I see an angel; ADAH. We have seen many: WL he share our hour What! Of rest?-he is welcome. Must not my daughter love her brother Enoch? CAIN. LUCIFER. But he is not like Not as thou lovest Cain! Tlhe angels we have seen. ADAH. ADAH. Oh, my God! Are there, then, others? Shall they not love, and bring forth things that love ltul he is welcome, as they were: they deign'd Out of their love? have they not drawn their irk CAIN. 367 Out of this bosom? was not he, their father, LUCIFER. Born of the same sole womb, in the same hour And still loftier than the archangels. With me? did we not love each other, and, ADAH. In multiplying our being, multiply Ay —-but not blessed. Things which will love each other as we love LUCIFER. Them?-And, as I love thee, my Cain! go not If the blessedness Forth with this spirit; lie is not of ours. Consists in slavery-no. LUCIFER. A DA H. The sin I speak of is not of my making, I have heard it said, And cannot be a sin in you-whate'er The seraphs love most-cherubim know mostIt seem in'those who will replace ye it And this should be a cherub-since he loves not. Mortality. LUCIFER. ADAH. And if the higher knowledge quenches love, What is the sin which is not What must he be you cannot love when known? Sin in itself? Can circumstance make sin Since the all-knowing cherubim love least, Or virtue?-if it doth, we are the slaves The seraphs' love can be but ignorance: Of- - That they are not compatible, the doom LUCIFER. Of thy fond parents, for their daring, proves. Higher things than ye are slaves: and higher Choose betwixt love and knowledge-since there is Than them or ye would be so, did they not No other choice: your sire hath chosen already: Prefer an independency of torture His worship is but fear. To the smooth agonies of adulation ADAH. In hymns and harpings, and self-seeking prayers choose love To that which is omnipotent, because -CAIN. It is omnipotent, and not from love, For thee, my Adah, I choose not-it was But terror and self-hope. Born with me-but I love nought else. ADAH ADAH. Omnipotence Our parents Must be all goodness. CA CAIN. sUCIFER. Did they love us when they snatch'd from the tree That which hath driven us all from Paradise? ADAH. ADAH. Fiend! tempt me not with beauty; thou art fairer i we h been Tawathss We were not born then-and if we had been, Than was the serpent, and as false. Than was the serpent, and as false. Should we not love them and our children, Cain? LUCIFER. As true. CAIN. Ask Eve, your mother; bears she not the knowledge My little Enoch! and his lisping sister! Of good and evil? Could I but deem them happy, I would half ADAH. Forget-but it can never be forgotten Oh, my mother! thou Through thrice a thousand generations! never Hast pluck'd a fruit more fatal to thine offspring Shall men ove the remembrance of the man Than to thyself; thou at the least hast past Who sow'd the seed of evil and mankind Thy youth in Paradise, in innocent T pl d the tree of science And happy intercourse with happy spirits; And sin-and, not content with their own sorrow, But we, thy children, ignorant of Eden, Begot me thee-and all the few that are, Are girt about by demons, who assume And all the unnumber'd and innumerable the wofds of God, and tempt us with our own Multitudes, millions, myriads, which may be, Dissatisfied and curious thoughts-as thou To inherit agonies accumulated Wert work'd on by the snake, in thy most flush'd B ages!-And I must be sire of such things And heedless, harmless wantonness of bliss. Thy beauty and thy love-my love and joy, I cannot answer this immortal thing The rapturous moment and the placid hour, Which stands before me: I cannot abhor him; Al we love in our children and each other, I look upon him with a pleasing fear, But lead them and ourselves through many yeari And yet I fly not from him: in his eye Of sin and pain-or few, but still of sorrow, There is a fastening attraction, which Intercheck'd with an instant of brief pleasure, Fixes my fluttering eyes on his; my heart To Death-the unknown! Methinks the tree of kno Beats quick; he awes me, and yet draws me near, ledge Nearer and nearer: -Cain-Cain-save me from him! Hath not fulfill'd its promise:-if they sinn'd, CAIN. At least they ought to have known all things thai au. What dreads my Adah? This is no ill spirit. O knowledge-and the mystery of death. ADAH. What do they know?-that they are miserable. He is not God-nor God's: I have beheld What need of snakes and fruits to teach us that t The cherubs and the seraphs: he looks not ADAH. Like them. I am not wretched, Cain, and if thou CAIN. Wert happyBut there are spirits loftier still- CAIN. The archangels. Be thou happy then alone /368 3?BYRON'S WORKS. I will have nought to do with happiness, ADAH. Which humbles me and mine. Yes-in his works. ADAH. LUCIFER. Alone I could not, But in his being? Nor would be happy: but with those around us, ADAH. [ think I could be so, despite of death, - Which, as I know it not, I dread not, though Save in my father, who is God's own image; It seems an awful shadow-if I may Or in his angels, who are like to theeJudge from what I have heard. And brighter, yet less beautiful and powerful LUCIFER. In seeming: as the silent sunny noon, And thou couldst not All light, they look upon us; but thou seem'st Alone, thou say'st, be happy? Like an ethereal night, where long white clou.6 ADAH. Streak the deep purple, and unnumber'd stars Alone! Oh, my God! Spangle the wonderful mysterious vault Who could be happy and alone, or good? With things that look as if they would be suns; To me my solitude seems sin; unless So beautiful, unnumber'd, and endearing, When I think how soon I shall see my brother, Not dazzling, and yet drawing us to them, His brother, and our children, and our parents. They fill my eyes with tears, and so dost thou. LUCIFER. Thou seem'st unhappy; do not make us so, Yet thy God is alone; and is he happy, And I ill weep for thee. Lonely and good? LUCIFER. ADAH. ADA!!. Alas! those tears! He is not so; he hath He is not so; he hath Couldst thou but know what oceans will be shedThe angels and the mortals to make happy, ADAH. And thus becomes so in diffusing joy: By me? LUCIFER. What else can joy be but the spreading joy? B LUCIF LUCIFER. ADAH. Ask of your sire, the exile fresh from Eden; What a Or of his first-born son; ask your own heart; LUCI LUCIFER. It is not tranquil. ~~~~~~~~~~~It is not tranquil. ^The million n.illions — ADA!H. Alas n;AH. youThe myriad myriads-the all-peopled earLhAlas! no; an you- The unpeopled earth-and the o'er-peopled hell, ~Are you of heaven ~? ^Of which thy bosom is the germ. LUCIFER. AD~AII. If I am not, inquire Oh Ca. The cause of this all-spreading happiness This spirit curseth us. (Which you proclaim) of the all-great and good CAIN. Maker of life and living things; it is Let him say on His secret, and he keeps it. We must bear, Him will I follow. And some of us resist, and both in vain, ADAH. Iis seraphs say; but it is worth the trial, Whither? Since better may not be without: there is LUCIFER. A wisdom in the spirit, which directs To a place To right, as in the dim blue air the eye Whence he Shall come back to thee in an hour; Of you, young mortals, lights at once upon But in that hour see things of many days. The star which watches, welcoming the morn. ADAH. ADAH. How can that be? It is a beautiful star; I love it for LUCIFER. Its beauty. Did not your Maker make LUCIFER. Out of old worlds this new one in few days? And why not adore? And cannot I, who aided in this work, ADAH. Show in an hour what he hath made in many, Our father Or hath destroy'd in few? Adores the Invisible only. CAIN. LUCIFER. Lead on. But the symbols ADAH. (if the Invisible are the loveliest Will he Of what is visible; and yon bright star In sooth return within an hour? l. leader of the host of heaven. LUCIFER. ADAH. He shall. Our father With us acts are exempt from time, and we Saith that he has beheld the God himself Can crowd eternity into an hour, WIl a made hin and our mother. Or stretch an hour into eternity: LUCIFER. We breathe not by a mortal measurementHast thou seen him? But that's a mystery. Cain, come on with m&. CAIN. 369 ADAH. The billows and be safe. I will not say Will he return? Believe in me, as a conditional creed LUCIFER. To save thee; but fly with me o'er the gulf Ay, woman! he alone Of space an equal flight, and I will show Of mortals from that place (the first and last What thou dar'st not deny, the history Who shall return, save ONE)-shall come back to thee, Of past, and present, and of future worlds. To make that silent and expectant world CAIN. As populous as this: at present there Oh, god, or demon, or whate'er thou art, Are few inhabitants. Is yon our earth? ADAH. LUCIFER. Where dwellest thou? Dost thou not recognise LUCIFER. The dust which form'd your father? Throughout all space. Where should I dwell? Where are CAIN. Thy God or Gods-there am I; all things are Can it be? Divided with me; life and death-and time~- Yon small blue circle, swinging in far ether, Eternity-and heaven and earth-and that With an inferior circlet near it still, Which is not heaven nor earth, but peopled with Which looks like that which lit our earthly night t Those who once peopled or shall people both- Is this our Paradise? Where are its walls, These are my realms! So that I do divide And they who guard them? Hii, and possess a kingdom which is not LUCIFER. His. If I were not that which I have said, Point me out the site Could I stand here? His angels are within Paradise. CAIN. Your vision. How should I? As we move So they werewhen the fair serpent Like sunbeams onward, it grows small and smallei Spoke with our mother first. And as it waxes little, and then less, Spoke with our mother first. So wt or o eLUCIFiER. Gathers a halo round it, like the light CainF thou hast heard. Which shone the roundest of the stars, when I Cain! thou hasthea. Beheld them from the skirts of Paradise: If thou dost long for knowledge, I can satiate eh the othe srts of That thirst: nor ask thee to partake of fruits Methinks they both, as we recede from them, Which shall deprive thee of a single good ar o on iurable stars The conqueror has left thee. Follow me. Which are around us; and, as we move on, ~CAXN. Increase their myriads. Spirit, I have said it. [Exeunt LUCIFER and CAIN. LUCIFER. And if there should be ADAH (follows, exclaming) And if there should be Cairn! my brother! Cain! Worlds greater than thine own, inhabited _______________ ___ By greater things, and they themselves far more In number than the dust of thy dull earth, ACT II. Though multiplied to animated atoms, ^^~SCENE I. ^All living, and all doom'd to death, and wretched, What wouldst thou think? The Abyss of Space. CAIN. CAIN. I should be proud of thought I tread on air, and sink not; yet I fear Which knew such things. To sink. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. But if that high thought weri Have faith in me, and thou shalt be Link'd to a servile mass of matter, and, Borne on the air, of which I am the prince. Knowing such things, aspiring tp such things, CAIN. And science still beyond them, were chain'd down Can I do so without impiety? To the most gross and petty paltry wants, LUCIFER. All foul and fulsome, and the very best Believe-and sink not! doubt-and perish! thus Of thine enjoyments a sweet degradation, Would run the edict of the other God, A most enervating and filthy cheat, Who names me demon to his angels; they To lure thee on to the renewal of Echo the sound to miserable things, Fresh souls and bodies, all foredoom'd to be Which, knowing nougnt oeyond their shallow senses, As frail, and few so happyWorship the word which strikes their ear, and deem CAIN. Evil or good what is proclaim'd to them Spirit! I In their abasement. I will have none such: Know nought of death, save as a dreadful thing, Worship or worship not, thou shalt behold Of which I have heard my parents speak, as of The worlds beyond thy little world, nor be A hideous heritage I owe to them Amerced, for doubts beyond thy little life, No less than life; a heritage not happy, With torture of my dooming. There will come If I may judge till now. But, spirit, if An hour, when, toss'd upon some water-drops, It be as thou hast said (and I within A man shall say to a man, " Believe in me, Feel the prophetic torture of its truth), And walk the waters;" and the man shall walk Here let me die: for to give birth to those 2K 52 370 BYRON'S WORKS. Who can but suffer many years, and die, Your works, or accidents, or whatsoc'er Methinks, is merely propagating death, They may be! Let me die, as atoms die And multiplying murder. (If that they die), or know ye in your might'LUCIFER. And knowledge! My thoughts are not in this hour Thou canst not Unworthy what I see, though my dust is:.ll die-there is what must survive. Spirit! let me expire, or see them nearer. CAIN. LUCIFER The Other Art thou not nearer? look back to thine earth! Spake not of this unto my father, when CAIN. He shut lim forth from Paradise, with death Where is it? I see nothing save a mass Written upon his forehead. But at least Of most innumerable lights. Let what is mortal of me perish, that LUCIFE. I may be in the rest as angels are. Look there! LUCIFER. CAIN. t am angelic: wouldst thou be as I am? I cannot see it. CAIN. LUCIFER. I know not what thou art: I see thy power, Yet it sparkles still. And ste thou show'st me things beyond my power, CAIN. Beyond all power of my born faculties, What, yonder? Although inferior still to my desires LUCIFER. And my conceptions. Yea. LUCIFER. CAIN. What are they, which dwell And wilt thou tell me so? So humbly in their pride, as to sojourn Why, I have seen the fire-flies and fire-worms With worms in clay? Sprinkle the dusky groves and the green banks CAIN. In the dim twilight, brighter than yon world And what art thou, who dwellest Which bears them. So haughtily.in spirit, and canst range LUCIFER. Nature and immortality, and yet Thou hast seen both worms and worlds, Seem'st sorrowful? Each bright and sparkling,-what dost think of them? LUCIFER. CAIN. I seem that which I am; That they are beautiful in their own sphere, And therefore do I ask of thee, if thou And that the night, which makes both beautiful, Wouldst be immortal? The little shining fire-fly in its flight, CAIN. And the immortal star in its great course, Thou hast said, I must be Must both be guided. Immortal in despite of me. I knew not LUCIFER. This until lately-but, since it must be, But by whom, or what? Let me, or happy or' unhappy, learn CAIN. ro anticipate my immortality. Show me. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. t'hou didst before I came upon thee. Dar'st thou behold? CAIN. CAIN. How? How know I what ufeig LUCIFER. II dare behold? as yet, thou hast shown nought ~R~v ~AN suffering. cI dare not gaze on further. CAIN. And must torture be immortal? LUCIFER. LUCIFER. On, then, with me. We and thy sons will try. But now, behold Wouldst thou behold things mortal or immortal? Is it not glorious? CAIN. CAIN Why, what are things? Oh, thou beautiful LUCIFER. And unimaginable ether! and Both partly: but what doth Ye multiplying masses of increased Sit next thy heart? And still-increasing lights! what are ye? what CAIN. Is this blue wilderness of interminable The things I see. Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen LUCIFER. The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? But what Is your course measured for ye! Or do ye Sate nearest it? Sweep on in your unbounaed revelry CAIN. Through an aerial universe of endless The things I have not seen, Expansion, at which my soul aches to think, Nor ever shall-the mysteries of death. Intoxicated with eternity? LUCIFER. Olh God! Oh Gods! or whatsoe'er ye are! What if I show to thee things which have died, How beautiful ye are t how beautiful As I have shown thee much which cannot die? CAIN. 371 CAIN. LUCIFER. Do so. And yet thou seest. LUCIFER. CAIN. Away, then! on our mighty wings,'T is a fearful light! CAIN. No sun, no moon, no lights innumerable. Oh! how we cleave the blue! The stars fade from us! The very blue of the empurpled night The earth! where is my earth? let me look on it, Fadesto a dreary twilight; yet I see For I was made of it. Huge dusky masses, but unlike the worlds LUCIFER. We were approaching, which, begirt with light,'T is now beyond thee, Seem'd full of life even when their atmosphere Less in the universe than thou in it: Of light gave way, and show'd them taking shapes Yet deem not that thou canst escape it; thou Unequal, of deep valleys and vast mountains; Shalt soon return to earth, and all its dust; And some emitting sparks, and some displaying'T is part of thy eternity, and nine. Enormous liquid plains, and some begirt CAIN. With luminous belts, and floating moons, which tool Where dost thou lead me? Like them the features of fair earth:-instead, LUCIFER. All here seems dark and dreadful. To what was before thee! LUCIFER. The phantasm of the world; of which thy world But distinct. Is but the wreck. Thou seekest to behold death, and dead things? CAIN. CAIN. What! is it not then new? Wh! is it nt tn n? I seek it not; but as I know there are LUCIFER. Such, and that my sire's sin makes him and me, No more than life is: and that was ere thou And all that we inherit, liable Or I were, or the things which seem to us To such, I would behold at once what I Greater than either: many things will have Must one day see perforce. No end, and some, which would pretend to have LUCIFER. Had no beginning, have had one as mean Behold! As thou; and mightier things have been extinct CAIN. To make way for much meaner than we can's dnes'T is darkness. Surmise; for moments only and the space LUCIFER. Have been and must be all unchangeable. And so it shall be ever; but we will But changes make not death, except to clay; Unfold its gates But thou art clay-and canst but comprehend CAIN. That which was clay, and such thou shalt behold. Enormous vapours roll CAIN. Apart —what's this? Clay, spirit! What thou wilt, I can survey. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Enter! Away, then! CAIN. CAIN. Can I return? But the lights fade from me fast, LUCIFER. And some till now grew larger as we approachd, Return! be sure: how else should death be people And wore the look of worlds. And wore the look of worlds, Its present realm is thin to what it will be, LUCIFER. Through thee and thine. And such they are. CAIN. CAIN. The clouds still open wide Aad Edens in them? And wider, and make widening circles round us. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. It may be. Advance! Advance! CAIN. CAIN. And men? And thou! LUCIFER. LUCIFER. VYa, or things higher. Fear not-without me thou CAIN. Couldst not have gone beyond thy world. On! on! Ay! and serpents too? [They disappear through the clous LUCIFER. Wculdst thou have men without them? must no reptile Breathe, save the erect ones? SCENE II. CAIN. Hades. How the lights recede! R Where fly we? Where fly we? Enter LUCIFER and CAIN. LUCIFER. CAIN. To the world of phantoms, which How silent and how vast are these dim worlds Are beings past, and shadows still to come. For they seem more than one, and yet more people CAIN. Than the huge brilliant luminous orbs which swunr But i' grc vs ua'k, and dark —the stars are gone! So thickly in the upper air, that I 372 BYRON'S WORKS. Had deem'd them rather the bright populace Round our regretted and unenter'd Eden, Of some all unimaginable heaven Nor wear the form of man as I have view'd it Than things to be inhabited themselves, In Adam's, and in Abel's, and in mine, But that on drawing near them I beheld Nor in my sister-bride's nor in my children's; Their swelling into palpable immensity And yet they have an aspect, which, though not Of matter, which seem'd made for life to dwell on, Of men nor angels, looks like something which, Rather than life itself. But here, all is If not the last, rose higher than the first, So shadowy and so full of twilight, that Haughty, and high, and beautiful, and full st speaks of a day past. Of seeming strength, but of inexplicable LUCIFER. Shape; for I never saw such. They bear not It is the realm The wing of seraph, nor the face of man, Of death.-Wouldst have it present? Nor form of mightiest brute, nor aught that is CAIN. Now breathing; mighty yet and beautiful Till I know As the most beautiful and mighty which That which it really is, I cannot answer. Live, and yet so unlike them, that I scarce But if it be as I have heard my father Can call them living. Deal out in his long homilies,'t is a thing- LUCIFER. Oh God! I dare not think on't! Cursed be Yet they lived. He who invented life that leads to death! CA Or the dull mass of life, that being life Where? Could not retain, but needs must forfeit it- LUCIFER. Even for the innocent! Whu e LUCIFER. Thou livest. Dost thou curse thy father? CAIN. CAIN. When? Cursed he not me in giving me my birth? LUCIFER. Cursed he not me before my birth, in daring On what thou callest earth To pluck the fruit forbidden? They did inhabit. CAIN. LUCIFER. CAIN. Thou say'st well: Adam is the first. Thou say'st well: The curse is mutual't wixt thy sire and thee- LUCIFER. But for thy sons and brother? Of thine, I grant thee-but too mean to be CAIN. The last of these. Let them share it CAIN. With me, their sire and brother! What else is And what are they? Bequeath'd to me? I leave them my inheritance. LUCIFER. Oh ye interminable gloomy realms That which Of swimming shadows and enormous shapes, CAIN. Some fully shown, some indistinct, and all But what were they Mighty and melancholy-what are ye? Live ye, or have ye lived? LUCIFER? ~~~~~~~~~~~LUCIFER. ~Living, high, SoCmewhat of both Intelligent, good, great, and glorious things, Somewhat of both. As much superior unto all thy sire, CA.hen what is death? Adam, could e'er have been in Eden, as Then what is death? LUCIFER. The sixty-thousandth generation shall be, What? Hath not He who made ye In its dull damp degeneracy, to Said't is another life? Thee and thy son;-and how weak they are, judge CAIN. By thy own flesh. CAIN. Ti: now He hath CAIN. Said nothing, save that all shall die. Ah me! and did they perish? LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Perhaps Yes, from their earth, as thou wilt fade from thine. He one day will unfold that further secret, CAIN. CAIN. But was mine theirs? Happy the day! LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Yes, happy! when unfolded It was. CAIN. Through agonies unspeakable, and clogg'd CAIN. With agonies eternal, to innumerable B Yet unborn myriads of unconscious atoms, It is too little and too lowly to All to be animated for this only! Sustain such creatures. CAIN. LUCIFER. WVhat are these mighty phantoms which I see True, it was more glorious. Floatin around me?-they wear not the form CAIN. 1f the intelligences I have seen And wherefore did it fall? CAIN. 372 LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Ask Him who fells. Their earth is gone for everCAIN. So changed by its convulsion, they would not But how? Be conscious to a single present spot LUCIFER. Of its new scarcely-harden'd surface-'t wasBy a most crushing and inexorable Oh, what a beautiful world it was! Destruction and disorder of the elements, CAIN. Which struck a world to chaos, as a cnaos And is Subsiding has struck out a world: such things, It is not with the earth, though I must till it, Though rare in time, are frequent in eternity.- I feel at wari but thatI may not profit Pass on, and gaze upon the past. By what it bears of beautiful, untoiling, CAIN. N-or gratify my thousand swelling thoughts'T is awful! With knowledge, nor allay my thousand fears LUCIFER. Of death and life. And true. Behold these phantoms! they were once LUCIFER. Material as thou art. What thy world is thou see'st, CAIN. But canst not comprehend the shadow of And must I be That which it was. Like them? CIN. LUCIFER. And those enormous creatures, Let Him who made thee answer that. Phantoms inferior in intelligence I show thee what thy predecessors are, (At least so seeming) to the things we have pass'd, And what they were thou feelest, in degree Resembling somewhat the wild habitants Inferior as thy petty feelings, and Of the deep woods of earth, the hugest which Thy pettier portion of the immortal part Roar nightly in the forest, but ten-fold Of high intelligence and earthly strength. In magnitude and terror; taller than What ye in common have with what they had The cherub-guarded walls of Eden, with Is life, and what ye shall have-death; the rest Eyes flashing like the fiery swords which fence thema Of your poor attributes is such as suits And tusks projecting like the trees stripped of Reptiles engender'd out of the subsiding Their bark and branches-what were they? Slime of a mighty universe, crush'd into LUCIFER. A scarcely-yet shaped planet, peopled with That whiei Things whose enjoyment was to be in blindness- The mammoth is in thy world-bu these lie A Paradise of Ignorance, from whicheath its surface. By myriads underneath its surface. Knowledge was barr'd as poison. But behold CAIN. What these superior beings are or were: But Or, if it irk thee, turn thee back and till The earth, thy task-I'11 waft thee there in safety. oneon LUCIFER. CAIN. No: for thy frail race to war No: I'II stay here. With them would render the curse on it uselessLUCIFER.'T would be destroy'd so early. How long? C CAINC CAIN. But why war? For ever Since I must one (lay return here from the earth, LUCIFER. I rather would remain; I am sick of all You have forgotten the denunciation That dust has shown me-let me dwell in shadows. Which drove your race from Eden-war with all things ~~~LUCIFER. ~ And death to all things, and disease to most things cannot be: thou now beholdest as And pangs, and bitterness; these were the fruits It cannot be: thou now beholdest as Of the fordden tree. It....~~~~..Of the forbidden tree. A vision that which is reality. To make thyself fit for this dwelling, thou CAIN. Must pass through what the things thou see'st have Did they too e at of it, thatnithey must die pass'd- Did they too eat of it, that they must die? pass'd — The gates of death. LUCIFER. CAIN. Your Maker told ye, they were made for you, By whatgate have we enter'd As you for him.-You would not have their doom Even now? Superior to your own? Had Adam not LUCIFER. Fallen, all had stood. By mine! But, plighted to return, CAIN. My spirit buoys thee up to breathe inregions Alas! the hopeless wretches Where all is breathless save thyself. Gaze on; They too must share my sire's fate, like his sons: But do not think to dwell here tin thine hour Like them, too, without having shared the apple, Is come. Like them, too, without the so dear-bought knowledg CAIN. It was a lying tree-for we know nothing. And these, too, can they ne'er repass At least it promised knowledge at the price Fo earth again? Of death-but knowledge etiH: but what knows nma 2 2 374 BYRON'S WORKS. LUCIFER. CAIN. It may be death leads to the highest knowledge; Many of the same kind (at least so call'd), And being of all things the sole thing certain, But never that precisely which persuaded At least leads to the surest science: therefore The fatal fruit, nor even of the same aspect. The tree was true, though deadly, LUCIFER. CAIN. Your father saw him not? These dim realms! CAIN. I see them, but I know them not. No;'t was my mother LUCIFER. Who tempted him-she tempted by the serpent. Because LUCIFER. Thy hour is yet afar, and matter cannot Good man! whene'er thy wife, or thy sons' wives Comprehend spirit wholly-but't is something Tempt thee or them to aught that's new or strange, To know there are such realms. Be sure thou see'st first who hath tempted them. IN. CAIN. WVe knew already Thy precept comes too late: there Is no more That there was death. For serpents to tempt woman to. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. But not what was beyond it.ut there CAIN. Are some things still which woman may tempt man to, Nor know I now. And man tempt woman:-let thy sons look to it! LUCIFER. My counsel is a kind one: for't is even Thou know'st that there is Given chiefly at my own expense:'t is true, A state, and many states beyond thine own-'T ill not be follow'd, so there's little lost. And this thou knewest not this morn. CAIN. I understand not this. CAIN. But allI LUCIFER. Seems dim and shadowy. The happier thou!Seems dimandhadoThe world and thou are still too young! Thou tliinkest LUCIFER. Be content it will Thyself most wicked and unhappy: is it Seem clearer to thine immortality. Not so? CAIN. CAIN. And yon imeasurabl ld s e For crime I know not; but for pain, And yon immeasurable liquid space I have felt much. Of glorious azure which floats on beyond us, LUCIFER Which looks like water, and which I should deem First-born of the first man I The river which flows out of Paradise m Thy present state of sin-and thou art evil, Past my own dwelling, but that it is bankless Ofsorrow-and thou suferest, are both Eden And boundless and of an ethereal hue- compared to what In all its innocence, compared to what ~What is it ~?'^'Thou shortly may'st be; and that state again, LUCIFER. In its redoubled wretchedness, a paradise There is still some such on earth, To what thy sons' sons' sons, accumulating Although inferior, and thy children shall In generations like to dust (which they Dwell near it-'t is the phantasm of an ocean. In fact but add to), shall enure and do.CAIN. Now let us back to earth!'T is like another world; a liquid sun- CAIN. And those inordinate creatures sporting o'er And wherefore didst thou Its shining surface? Lead me here only to inform me this? LUCIFER. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Are its habitants, Was not thy quest for knowledge? The past leviathans. CAIN. CAIN. Yes: as being And yon immense The road to happiness. Serpent, which rears his dripping mane and vasty LUCIFER. Ilead ten times higher than the haughtiest cedar If truth be so Forth from the abyss, looking as he could coil Thou hast it. Himself around the orbs we lately look'd on- CAIN. Is lie not of the kind which bask'd beneath Then my father's God did well The tree in Eden? When he prohibited the fatal tree. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Eve,. thy mother, best But had done better in not planting it. Cait tell what shape of serpent tempted her. But ignorance of evil doth not save CAIN. From evil; it must still roll on the same, I riis seems too terrible. No doubt the other A part of all things. Hld more of beau' CAIN. LUCIFER. Not of all things. Aio. Hast thou ne'er beheld him? I'11 not believe it-for I thirst for good. CAIN. 375 LUCIFER. This question of my father; and he said, And who and what doth not? Who covets evil Because this evil only was the path For its own bitter sake?-None-nothing!'t is To good. Strange good, that must arise from nut The leaven of all life and lifelessness. Its deadly opposite! I lately saw CAIN. A lamb stung by a reptile: the poor suckling Within those glorious orbs which we behold, Lay foaming on the earth, beneath the vain Distant and dazzling, and innumerable, And piteous bleating of its restless dan: Ere we came down into this phantom realm, My father pluck'd some herbs, and laid them to III cannot come; they are too beautiful. The wound; and by degrees the helpless wretch LUCIFER. Resumed its careless life, and rose to drain Thou hast seen them from afar. The mother's milk, who o'er it tremulous CAIN. Stood licking its reviving limbs with joy. And what of that? Behold, my son! said Adam, how from evil Distance can but diminish glory-they, Springs good! When nearer, must be more ineffable. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. What didst thou answdr? Approach the things of earth most beautiful, CAIN. And judge their beauty near. Nothirg fo CAIN. He is my father: but I thought, that't were I have done this- A better portion for the animal The loveliest thing I know is loveliest nearest. Never to have been stung at all, than to LUCIFER. Purchase renewal of its little life Then there must be delusion.-What is that, With agonies unutterable, though Which being nearest to thine eyes, is still Dispeli'd by antidotes. More beautiful than beauteous things remote? LUCIFER. CAIN. But as thou saidst, My sister Adah.-All the stars of heaven, Of all beloved things thou lovest her The deep blue noon of night, lit by an orb Who shared thy mother's milk, and giveth hers Which looks a spirits or a spirit's world- Unto thy childrenThe hues of twilight-the sun's gorgeous coming- CAIN. His setting indescribable, which fills Most assuredly: My eyes with pleasant tears as I behold What should I be without her? Him sink, and feel my heart float softly with him LUCIFER. Along that western paradise of clouds- What am I? The forest shade-the green bough-the bhrd's voice- CAIN. The vesper bird's, which seems to sing of love, Dost thou love nothing? And mingles with the song of cherubim, LUCIFER. As the day closes over Eden's walls;- What does thy God love? All these are nothing to my eyes and heart, CAIN. Like Adah's face: I turn from earth and heaven All things, my father says; but I confess To gaze on it. I see it not in their allotment here. LUCI LUCIFER.'T is frail as fair mortality, And therefore thou canst not see if I love In the first dawn and bloom of young creation Or no, except some vast and general purpose, Anrd earliest embraces of earth's parents, To which particular things must melt like snow, Can make its offspring; still it is delusion. CAIN. CAIN. Snows! what are they? You think so, being not her brother. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Be happier in not knowmQ Mortal! What thy remoter offspring must encounter; My brotherhood's with those who have no children. But bask beneath the clime which knows no winter CAIN. CAIN. Then thou canst have no fellowship with us. But dost thou not love something like thyself? LUCIFER. LUCIFER. It nmay be that thine own shall be for me. And dost thou love thyself? But if thou dost possess a beautiful CAIN. Being beyond all beauty in thine eyes, Yes, but love more Why art thou wretched? What makes my feelings more endurable, CAIN. And is more than myself, because I love it. Why do I exist? LUCIFER. Why art thou wretched? why are all things so? Thou lovest it, because'tis beautiful, Even He who made us must be as the maker As was the apple in thy mother's eye; Of things unhappy! To produce destruction And when it ceases to be so, thy love Can surely never be the task of joy, Will cease, like any other appetite. And yet my sire says He's omnipotent. CA r.a Then why is evil-Hebeing good? I ask'd Cease to be beautiful! how can that be' 376 BYRON'S WORKS. LUCIFER. I have thought, why recall a thought that- (hepauses, With time. as agitated)-Spirit! CAIN. Here we are in thy world; speak not of mine. But time has past, and hitherto Thou hast shown me wonders; thou hastshown methose Even Adam and my mother both are fair: Mighty Pre-Adamites who walk'd the earth Not fair like Adah and the seraphimu — - Not rfair like Adah and the seraphiOf which ours is the wreck: thou hast pointed out But very fair. Myriads of starry worlds, of which our own l LUCIFER. Is the dim and remote companion, in All that must pass away, All that must pass away- Infinity of life: thou hast shown me shadows In lemm and her. In them and her. Of that existence with the dreaded name CAIN. Im sorry for it but Which my sire brought us-death; thou hast shown me Cannot conceive my love for her the less. h m h hh Aii whe. her beut diapasmti But not all: show me where Jehovah dwells. And when her beauty disappears, methinks I e who creates all beauty will lose more In hs especal paradise-or ne Than me in seeing perish such awork. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Here, and o'er all space. I pity thee who lovest what must perish. CAIN. CAIN. But ye And I thee who lov'st nothing. Have some allotted dwelling-as all things; LUCIFER. Clay has its earth, and other worlds their tenants; And thy brother- All temporary breathing creatures their Sits he not near thy heart? Peculiar element; and things which have CAIN. Long ceased to breathe our breath have theirs, thou Why should he not? say'st; LUCIFER. And the Jehovah and thyself have thineThy father loves him well-so does thy God. Ye do not dwell together? CAIN. LUCIFER. And so do I. No, we reign LUCIFER. Together, but our dwellings are asunder.'T is well and meekly done. CAIN. CAIN. Would there were only one of ye! perchance Meekly! An unity of purpose might make union LUCIFER. In elements which seem now jarr'd in storms. He is the second born of flesh, How came ye, being spirits, wise and infinite, And is his mother's favourite. To separate? Are ye not as brethren in CAIN. Your essence, and your nature, and your glory? Let him keep LUCIFER. Her favour, since the serpent was the first Art thou not Abel's brother? To win it. LUCIFER. And his father's? We are brethren, ~CAIN~.'~ ~ And so we shall remain; but, were it not so, What is that Is spirit like to flesh? can it fall out? To me? should I not love that which all love? Infinity with immortality? LUCIFER. Jarring and turning space to miseryAnd the Jehovah-the indulgent Lord, LUCIFERF And beauteous planter of barr'd Paradise- To reign He, too, looks smilingly on Abel. CAIN. CAIN. CAIN Did ye not tell ime that Ye are both aternal? Neer saw Him, and I know not if He sniles. LUCIFER. LUCIFER. LUCR. LUCIFER. Yea! But vou have seen his angels. CA CAIN. C.A I,-N. And what I have seen, Rarely. Rare'y.' Yon blue immensity, is boundless? LVCIFEI.R But LUCIFER. Sufficiently to see they love your brother; Ay. Iii sacrifices are acceptable. CAIN. CAIN. And cannot ye both reign then?-is there not So be they! wherefore speak to me of this? Enough? why should ye differ? LUCIFER. LUCIFER. Because thou hast thought of this ere now. We both reign. CAIN. CAIN. Ard if But one of you makes evil. CAIN. 377 LUCIFER. Of worlds and life, which I hold with him-No! Which? I have a victor-true; but no superior. CAIN. Homage He has from all-but none from me: Thou! for I battle it against him, as I battled If thou canst do man good, why dost thou not? In highest heaven. Through all eternity, LUCIFER. And the unfathomable gulfs of Hades, And why not He who made? I made ye not; And the interminable realms of space, Ye are his creatures, and not mine. And the infinity of endless ages, CAIN. All, all, will I dispute! And world by world, Then leave us And star by star, and universe by universe, His creatures, as thou say'st we are, or show me Shall tremble in the balance, till the great Thy dwelling, or his dwelling. Conflict shall cease, if ever it shall cease, LUCIFER. Which it ne'er shall, till he or I be quench'd! I could show thee And what can quench our immortality, Both; but the time will come thou shalt see one Our mutual and irrevocable hate? Of them for evermore. He as a conqueror will call the conquer'd CAIN. Evil; but what will be the good He gives? And why not now? Were I the victor, his works would be deem'd LUCIFER. The only evil ones. And you, ye new Thy human mind hath scarcely grasp to gather And scarce-born mortals, what have been his gilts The little I have shown thee into calm To you already in your little world? And clear thought; and thou wouldst go on aspiring CAIN. To thegreat double mysteries! the two Principles! But few; and some of those but bittt, And gaze upon them on their secret thrones! LUCIFER. Dust! limit thy ambition, for to see Bacit Either of these, would be for thee to perish! With me, then, to thine earth, and try the resi CA IN. Of his celestial boons to ye and yours. And let me perish, so I see them! Evil and good are things in their own essence, LUCIFER. And not made good or evil by the giver; There But if he gives you good-so call him; if The son of her who snatch'd the apple spake! Evil springs from him, do not name it mine, But thou wouldst only perish, and not see them; Till ye know better its true fount; and judge That sight is for the other state. Not by words, though of spirits, but the fruits CAIN. Of your existence, such as it must be. Of death? One good gift has the fatal apple givenLUCIFER. Your reason:-let it not be oversway'd That is the prelude. By tyrannous threats to force you into faith CAIN.'Gainst all external sense and inward feeling; Then I dread it less, Think and endure,-and form afl inner world Now that I know it leads to something definite. In your own bosom-where the outward fails: LUCIFER. So shall you nearer be the spiritual And now I will convey thee to thy world, Nature, and war triumphant with your own. Where thou shalt multiply the race of Adam, [They disappe Eat, drink, toil, tremble, laugh, weep, sleep, and die. CAIN. And to what end have I beheld these things ACT- III. Which thou hast shown me? LUCIFER. SCENE I. Didst thou not require Knowledge? And have I not, in what I show'd, The Earth near Eden, as in Act I. Taught thee to know thyself? Enter CAIN and ADAR. CAIN. Alas! I seem ADAH. Ncthing. Hush! tread softly, Cain. LUCIFER. CAIN. And this should be the human sum I will; but wherefore X Of knowledge, to know mortal nature's nothingness; ADAH. Bequeath that science to thy children, and Our little Enoch sleeps upon yon bed T will spare them many tortures. Of leaves, beneath the cypress. CAIN. CAIN. Haughty spirit! Cypress!'t ts fhou speak'st it proudly; but thyself, though proud, A gloomy tree, which looks as if it mourn'd Hast a superior. O'er what it shadows; wherefore didst thou choose s, LUCIFER. For our child's canopy? No! By heaven, which He ADAH. Ilolds, and the abyss, and the immensity Because its branches 53 378 BYRON'S WORKS. Shut out the sun like night, and therefore seem'd To me, but only hours upon the sun. Fitting to shadow slumber. CAIN. CAIN. And yet I have approach'd that sun, and seen Ay, the last- Worlds which he once shone on, and never more And longest; but no matter-lead me to him. Shall light; and worlds he never lit: methought [They go up to thechild. Years had roll'd o'er my absence. How lovely he appears! his little checks, ADAH. In their pirre incarnation, vying with Hardly hours. The rose-leaves strewn beneath them. CAIN. ADAH. The mind then hath capacity of time, And his lips, too, And measures it by that which it beholds, Howbeautifully parted! No, you shall not Pleasing or painful, little or almighty. Kiss him, at least not now: he will awake soon- I h His hour of mid-day rest is nearly over, Of endless beings; skirr'd extinguish'd worlds: But it were pity to disturb him till And, g on eternityethought And, gazing on eternity, methought'T is closed. is clos. CAIN. I had borrow'd more by a few drops of ages said well; I will contain From its immensity; but now I feel You have said well; I will containaid the My heart till then. He smiles, and sleeps!-Sleep on My littleness aga. Well said the spirit That I was nothing! And smile, thou little, young inheritor ADAH. Of a world scarce less young: sleep on, and smile! ADAW r Wherefore said he so? Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering Jehovah said not that. And innocent! thou hast not pluck'd the fruit- CIN. rhou know'st not thou art naked! Must the time No he contents him Come thou shalt be amerced for sins unknown, With making us the nothing which we are; Which were not thine nor mine? But now sleep on! And after flattering dust with glimpses of His cheeks are reddening into deeper smiles, Eden and immortality, resolves And shining lids are trembling o'er his long It back to dust again-for what? Lashes, dark as the cypress which waves o'er them: Half open, from beneath them the clear blue Thou kn Laughs out, although in slumber. He must dream- -Thou know t, i t cn Even for our parents' error. Of what? Of Paradise!-Ay! dream of it, My disinherited boy!'T is but a dream; What is that What is that For never more thyself, thy sons, nor fathers, To us the sinn'd, then let them die Shall walk in that forbidden place of joy! -ADAHADAH. Deal Cain! Nay, do not whisper o'er our son Thou hast ospoken well, nor is that thought Such melancholy yearnings o'er the past; Thy own, but of the spirit who was with thee. AWhy wilt thou always mourn for Paradise? WVSould I could die for them, so they might live! Can we not make another? CAIN CAIN. Why, so say I-provided that one victim Where? Might satiate the insatiable of life, ADAH. And that our little rosy sleeper there Here, or Might never taste of death nor human sorrow, IVhere'er thou wilt: where'er thou art, I feel not Nor hand it down to those who spring from him. The want of this so much regretted Eden. ADAH. Have I not thee, our boy, our sire, and brother, How know we that some such atonement one day And Zillah-our sweet sister, and our Eve, May not redeem our race? To whom we owe so much besides our birth? CAIN. CAIN. By sacrificing Yes, death, too, is amongst the debts we owe her. The harmless for the guilty? what atonement ADAH. Were there? why, we are innocent: what have we Cain! that proud spirit, who withdrew thee hence, Done, that we must be victims for a deed Hath sadden'd thine still deeper. I had hoped Before our birth, or need hlave victims to The promised wonders which thou hast beheld, Atone for this mysterious, nameless sinVisions, thou say'st, of past and present worlds, If it be such a sin to seek for knowledge? Woutld have composed thy mind into the calm ADAH. Of a contented knowledge; but I see Alas! thou sinnest now, my Cain; thy words Thy guide hath done thee evil: still I thank him, Sound impious in mine ears. And can forgive him all, that he so sooi CAIN. Hlath given thee back to us. Then leave me CAIN. ADAH. So soon? Neve% ADAH. Though thy rood left thee.'T is scarcely CAIN. rwo hotlrs since ye departed: two long hours Say, what have we here? CATN. 379 ADAH. When thou art gentle. Love us, then, my Cain! Two altars, which our brother Abel made And love thyself for our sakes, for we love thee. During thine absence, whereupon to offer Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms, A sacrifice to God on thy return.'And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine, CAIN. To hail his father; while his little form And how knew he, that I would be so ready Flutters as wing'd with joy. Talk not of paii)! With the burnt-offerings, which he daily brings The childless cherubs well might envy thee With a meek brow, whose base humility The pleasures of a parent! Bless, him, Cain! Shows more of fear than worship, as a bribe As yet he hath no words to thank thee, but To the Creator? His heart will, and thine own too. ADAI. CAIN. Surely,'t is well done. Bless thee, boy i CAIN. If that a mortal blessingmay avail thee, One altar may suffice; I have no offering. To save thee from the serpent's curse! ADAH. ADAH. The fruits of the earth, the early, beautiful It shall. Blossom and bud, and bloom of flowers, and fruits; Surely a father's blessing may avert These are a goodly offering to the Lord, A reptile subtlety. Given with a gentle and a contrite spirit. CAIN. CAIN. Of that I doubt; I have toil'd, and till'd, and sweaten in the sun, But bless him nevertheless. According to the curse: —must I do more? ADAH. For what should I be gentle? for a war Our brother comes. With all the elements ere they will vieldCAIN. The bread we eat? For what must I be grateful Thy brother Abel. For being dust, and grovelling in the dust, Enter ABEL. Till I return to dust? If I am nothing- ABEL. For nothing shall I be a hypocrite, Welcome, Cain! My brother, And seem well pleased with pain? For what should I The peace of God be on thee! Be contrite? for my father's sin, already CAIN. Expiate with what we all have undergone, Abel! hail! And to be more than expiated by ABEL. The ages prophesied, upon our seed. Our sister tells me that thou hast been wandering, Little deems our young blooming sleeper, there, In high communion with a spirit, far The germs of an eternal misery Beyond our wonted range. Was he of those To myriads is within him! better't were We have seen and spoken with, like to our father? I snatch'd him in his sleep, and dash'd him'gainst CAIN. The rocks, than let him live to- No. ADAH, ABEL. Oh, my God! Why then commune with him? he my be Touch not the child-my child! thy child! Oh Cain! A foe to the Most High. CAIN. CAIN. Fear not! for all the stars, and all the power And friend to man. Which sways them, I would not accost yon infant Has the Most High been so-if so you term him? With ruder greeting than a father's kiss. ABEL. ADAH. Term him! your words are strange to-day, my brothes Then, why so awful in thy speech? My sister Adah, leave us for a whileCAIN. We mean to sacrifice. I said, ADAH.'I were better that he ceased to live, than give Farewell, my Cain; Life to so much of sorrow as he must But first embrace thy son. May his soft spirit, Endure, and, harder still, bequeath; but since And Abel's pious ministry, recall thee That saying jars you, let us only say- To peace and holiness!'T were better that he never had been born. [Exit ADAH, with he? chiald ADAH. ABEL. Oh, do not say so! Where were then the joys, Where hast thou been 7 The mother's joys of watching, nourishing, CAIN. And loving him? Soft! he awakes. Sweet Enoch! I know not. [She goes to the child. ABEL. Oh Cain! look on him; see how full of life, Nor what thou hast seen? Of strength, of bloom, of beauty, and of joy, CAIN. How like to me-how like to thee, when gentle, The dead. For then we are all alike; is't not so, Cain? The immortal, the unbounded, the omnipotent, Mother, and sire, and son, our features are The overpowering mysteries of spaceReflected in each other; as they'are The innumerable worlds that were and areIn the clear waters, when they are gentle, and A whirlwind of such overwhelming things. 80 BYRON'S WORKS. Suns, moons, and earths, upon their loud-voiced spheres A shepherd's humble offering. Singing in thunder round me, as have made me CAIN. Unfit for mortal converse: leave me, Abel. I have no flocks: ABEL. I am a tiller of the ground, and must Thine eyes are flashing with unnatural light- Yield what it yieldeth to my toil-its fruit: Thy cheek is flush'd with an unnatural hue- [He gathers fruits. Thy words are fraught with an unnatural sound- Behold them in their various bloom and ripeness. What may this mean? [They dress their altars, and kindle aflame upon CAIN. them. It means-I pray thee, leave me. ABEL. ABEL. My brother, as the elder, offer first Not till we have pray'd and sacrificed together. Thy prayer and thanksgiving with sacrifice. CA. CAIN. Abel, I pray thee, sacrifice alone- No-I am new to this; lead thou the way, Jehovah loves thee well. And I will follow-as I may. ABEL. ABEL (kneeling). Both well, I hope. Oh God! CBeth well, * I Who made us, and who breathed the breath of life CAIN. But thee the better: I care not for that; Within our nostrils, who hath blessed us, Thou art fitter for his worship than I am: And spared, despite our father's sin, to make Thou art fitter for his worship than I am: i then-but let it be alone- His children all lost, as they might have been, ARevere l with en let i be ae- Had not thy justice been so temper'd with tABEL. lt w t m. The mercy which is thy delight, as to Brother, I should ill Accord a pardon like a paradise, De ename of our gre father's son, Compared with our great crimes:-Sole Lord of light! Deserve the name of our great father's son, If as my elder I revered thee not, Of good, and glory, and eternity! And in the worship of our God calltd not Without whom all were evil, and with whom te w p of or Gd c n Nothing can err, except to some good end On thee to join me, and precede me in evolence Of thine omnipotent benevolenceOur priesthood-'tis thy place. Inscrutable, but still to be fulfill'dCAIN. But I have neer Accept from out thy humble first of shepherd's Asserted it. First of the first-born flocks-an offering, ABEL. In itself nothing-as what offering can be The more my grief; I pray thee Aught unto thee?-but yet accept it for The more my grief; I pray thee To do so now; thy soul seems labouring i thanksgiving of hil who spreads it in Some strong delusion; it will calm thee. The face of thy high heaven, bowing his own CXAIN. ~~Even to the dust, of which he iq, in honour CAIN. No; Of thee, and of thy name, for evermore! Nothing can calm me more. Calm! say I? Never CAIN (standing erect during this speech) Knew I what calm was in the soul, although Spirit whate'eror whosoe'er thou art, I have seen the elements still'd. My Abel, leave me! Omnipotent, it may be-and, if good, Or let me leave thee to thy pious purpose. Shown in the exemption of thy deeds from ev; ABEL. Jehovah upon earth! and Godin heaven! Neither; we must perform our task together. And it may be with other names, because Spurn ~me~ not. X Thine attributes seem many, as thy works: ~p t ~CAIN. If thou must be propitiated with prayers, If it must be so-well, then, Take them! If thou must be induced with altars, What shall I do? And soften'd with a sacrifice, receive them! ABEL. Two beings here erect them unto thee. Choose one of those two altars. Ifthoulovest blood, the shepherd's shrine, which smokes CAIN. On my right hand, hath shed it for thy service, Choose for me: they to me are so much turf Choose for me: they to me are so much turf In the first of his flock, whose limbs now reek And stone. In sanguinary incense to thy skies; ABEL. Or if the sweet and blooming fruits of earth, Choose thou! And milder seasons, which the unstain'd turf CAINu I spread them on, now offers in the face I have chosen Of the broad sun which ripen'd them, may seem ABEL. Good to thee, inasmuch as they have not'T is the highest, Suffer'd in limb or life, and rather form And suits thee, asthe elder. Now prepare A sample of thy works, than supplication Thine offerings. To look on ours! If a shrine without victim, CAIN. And altar without gore, may win thy favour, Where are thine 7 Look on it! and for him who dresseth it, ABEL. He is-such as thou mad'st him; and seeks nothing Behold them here- Which must be won by kneeling: if he's evil, Jhe fitlings of the flock, and fat thereof. Strike him! thou art omnipotent, and may'st, CAIN. 381 For what can he oppose? If he be good, A-BEL. Strike him, or spare him, as thou wilt! since all In his great name, Rests upon thee; and good and evil seem I stand between thee and the shrine wlhichhath To have no power themselves, save in thy will; Had his acceptance. And whether that be good or ill I know not, CAIN. Not being omnipotent, or fit to judge If thou lov'st thyself, Omnipotence, but merely to endure Stand back till I have strew'd this turf along Its mandate, which thus far I have endured_ Its native soil:-else[The fire upon the altar of ABEL kindles into a ABEL (opposing him). column of the brightest flame, and ascends I love God far more to heaven; while a whirlwind throws down Than life. the altar of CAIN, and scatters the fruits CAIN (striking him with a brand, on the temples, whuR abroad upon the earth. he snatchesfrom the altar). ABEL (kneeling). Then take thy life unto thy God, Oh, brother, pray! Jehovah's wroth with thee! Since he loves lives. CAIN. ABEL (falls). Why so? What hast thoa done, my brother? ABEL. CAIN. Thy fruits are scatter'd on the earth. Brother! CAIN. ABEL. From earth they came, to earth let them return; Oh, God! receive thy servant, and Their seed will bear fresh fruit there ere the summer: Forgive his slayer, for he knew not what Thy burnt flesh-offering prospers better; see He did.-Cain, give me-give me thy hand; anuatel How heaven licks up the flames, when thick with blood! Poor ZillahABEL. CAIN (after a moment's stupefaction). Think not upon my offering's acceptance, My hand!'tis all red, and withBut make another of thine own before What? It is too late. [. long pause.-Looking slowly round. CAIN. Where am I? alone! Where's Abel? where I will build no more altars, Cain? Can it be that I am he? My brother, Nor suffer any.- Awake!-why liest thou so on the green earth? ABEL (rising).'T is not the hour of slumber:-why so pale? Cain! what meanest thou? What hast thou?-thou wert full of life this morn CAIN. Abel! I pray thee, mock me not! I smote o cast down yon vile flatt'rer of the clouds, Too fiercely, but not fatally. Ah, why rhe smoky harbinger of thy dull prayers_- Wouldst thou oppose me? This is mockery; I'he smoky harbinger of thy dull prayers- * i rhine altar, with its blood of lambs and kids, And only don to daunt me:-'t was a lowWhich fed on milk, to be destroy'd in blood. Andbut blow. Stir-stir-nay, only stir! ABEL (opposinghtim). Why, so-that's well! —thou breath'st! breathe ugoa ABEL (opposing him). Thou shalt not:-add not impious works to impious m, Words! let that altar stand-'tis hallow'd now O By the immortal pleasure of Jehovah, ABEL (veryfaintly). In his acceptance of the victims. Whathe who speaks of God CAIN. CAIN. isC. Thy murderer. His pleasure what was his high pleasure in ABEL. Then may God forgive him! Cain, The fumes of scorching flesh and smoking blood, Comfort poor Zillah:-she has but one brother To the pain of the bleating mothers, which Now. [ABEL dies. Still yearn for their dead offspring? or the pangs CAIN. Of the sad ignorant victims underneath And I none! Who makes me brotherless? Thy pious knife? Give way! this bloody record His eyes are open! then he is not dead Shall not stand in the sun, to shame creation! Hi e o t h i n dead! Shall not stand in the sun, to shame creation! Death is like sleep; and sleep shuts down our lids. ABEL. His lips, too, are apart; why then he breathes! Brother, give back! thou shalt not touch my altar And yet I feel it not.-His heart — his heart't With violence: if that thou wiltadopt it, Let me see, doth it beat?-methinks No!-no! To try another sacrifice,'tis thine. This is a vision, else I am become CAIN. The native of another and worse world. Another sacrifice! Give way, or else The earth swims round me:-what is this?-'t is wet; That sa6rifice may be [Puts his hand to his brow, and then looks at it. ABEL. And yet there are no dews!'Tis blood-my blood — What meanest thou? My brother's and my own; and shed by me! CAIN. Then what have I further to do with life, Give- Since I have taken life from my own flesh? Give way! thy God loves blood!-then look to it:- But he cannot be dead!-Is silence death? Give way, ere he hath more! No; he will wake: then let me watch by him 2 L 382 BYRON'S WORKS. Life cannot be so slight, as to be. quench'd I see it now-he hangs his guilty head, Thus quickly!-he hath spoken to me since- And covers his ferocious eye with hands What shall I sav to him?-My brother!-No; Incarnadine. He will not answer to that name; for brethren ADAH. Smite not each other. Yet-yet-speak to me. Mother, thou dost him wrongOh! for a word more of that gentle voice, Cain! clear thee from this horrible accusal, That I may bear to hear my own again! Which grief wrings from our parent. Enter ZILLAH. VE. Hear, Jehah ZILLAH. May the eternal serpent's curse be on him! I heard a heavy sound: what can it be? For he was fitter for his seed than ours.'Tis Cain; and watching by mty husband. What May all his days be desolate! MayDost thou there, brother? Doth he sleep? Oh! heaven! ADAH. What means this paleness, and yon stream?-No! no! Hold! It is not blood; for who would shed his blood? Curse him not, mother, for he is thy sonAbel! what's this!-who hath done this? He moves Curse him not, mother, for he is my brother, not; And my betrothed. He breathes not: and his hands drop down from mine EVE. With stony lifelessness! Ah! cruel Cain! He hath left thee no brotherWhy cam'st thou not in time to save him from Zillah no husband-me no son! —for this This violence? Whatever hath assail'd him, I curse him from my sight for evermore! Thou wert the stronger, and should'st have stepp'd in All bonds I break between us, as he broke Between him and aggression! Father!-Eve!- That of his nature, in yon- Oh death! death! Adah!-come hither! Death is in the world! Why didst thou not take me, who first incurr'd thee? [Exit ZILLAH calling on her parents, etc. Why dost thou not so now? CAIN (solus). ADAM. And who hath brought him there?-I-who abhor Eve! let not this, The name of death so deeply, that the thought Thy natural grief, lead to impiety! Empoison'd all my life, before I knew A heavy doom was long forespoken to us; His aspect-I have led him here, and given And now that it begins, let it be borne My brother to his cold and still embrace, In such sort as may show our God, that we As if he would not have asserted his Are faithful servants to his holy will. Inexorable claim without my aid. EVE (pointing to CAIN). I am awake at last-a dreary dream His will! the will of yon incarnate spirit Iad madden'd me:-but he shall ne'er awake! Of death, whom I have brought upon the eartn To strew it with the dead. May all the curses Enter ADAM, EVE, ADAH, and ZILLAH. Of life be on him! and his agonies ADAM. Drive him forth o'er the wilderness, like us, A voice of woe from Zillah brings me here.- From Eden, till his children do by him What do I see?-'T is true!. —My son! As he did by his brother! May the swords Woman, behold the serpent's work, and thine! And wings of fiery cherubim pursue him [To EVE. By day and night-snakes spring up in his pathEVE. Earth's fruits be ashes in his mouth-the leaves Oh I speak not of it now: the serpent's fangs On which he lays his head to sleep be strew'd Are in my heart. My best beloved, Abe:! With scorpions! May his dreams be of his victim! Jehovah! this is punishment beyond His waking a continual dread of death! A mother's sin, to take him from me! May the clear rivers turn to blood, as he ADAM. Stoops down to stain them with his raging lip! Who, May every clement shun or change to him! Or what hath done this deed?-speak, Cain, since thou May he live in the pangs which others die with! Wert present: was it some more hostile angel, And death itself wax something worse than death Who walks not with Jehovah? or some wild To him who first acquainted him with man! Brute of the forest? Hence, fratricide! henceforth that word is Cain, EVE. Through all the coming myriads of mankind, Ah! a livid light Who shall abhor thee, though thou wert their sire I Breaks through, as from a thunder-cloud! yon brand, May the grass wither from thy feet! the woods Massy and bloody! snatch'd from off the altar, Deny thee shelter! earth a home! the dust And black with smoke, and red with- A grave! the sun his light! and heaven her God' ADAM. [Exit Eva. Speak, my son! ADAM. Speak, and assure us, wretched as we are, Cain! get thee forth; we dwell no more together.'lhat we are not more miserable still. Depart! and leave the dead to me-I am ADAH. \ Henceforth alone-we never must meet more. speak. Cain! and say it wad not thou! ADAH. EVE. Oh, part not with him thus, my father: do not It was. Add thy deep curse to Eve's upon his head I CAIN. 383 ADAM. Shall slay me? where are these on the lone earth curse him not: his spirit be his curse. As yet unpeopled? ome, Zillah! ANGEL. ZILLAH. Thou hast slain thy brother, I must watch my husband's corse. And who shall warrant thee against thy son? ADAM. ADAH. Angel of light! be merciful, nor say We will return again, when he is gone, ) Who hath provided for us this dread offnce. That this poor aching breast now nourishes Who hath provided for us this dread office. y a. Come, Z llah! A murdererin my boy, and of his father. ANGEL. ZILLAH. ANGEL. Then he would but be what his father is. Yet one kiss on yon pale clay, Yet one kiss on.yon.pale clay, Did not the milk of Eve give nutriment And those lips once so warm-my heart! my heart! Dno th e mk of Eve gve ntrient E xeunt ADAM a la, weeping. To him thou now see'st so besmear'd with Llood! [Exeunt ADAM and ZILLAH, weeping... The fratricide might well engender parricides.ADAH. But it shall not be so-the Lord thy God Cain! thou hast heard, we must go forth. I am ready; And mine commandeth me to set his seal So shall our children be. I will bear Enoch, n in o ta m o th s On Cain, so that he nlay go forth in safety. And you his sister. Ere the sun declines Who slayeth Cain, a sevenfold vengeance shall Let us depart, nor walk the wilderness Be taken on his head. Come hither! Under the cloud of night.-Nay, speak to me, C To me-thine own. WVhat CAIN. Wouldst thou with me? Leave me! ANGEI.. ADAH. To mark upon thy brow Why, all have left thee. Exemption from such deeds as thou hast done. CAIN. CAIN, And wherefore lingerest thou? Dost thou not fear No, let me die! To dwell with one who hath done this? ANGEL. It must not be. ADAH.. I fear Ig [The ANGEL sets the mark on CAIN's brow Nothing except to leave thee, much as I CAmN. Shrink from the deed which leaves thee brotherless. rn o thii is b. te My brow, but nought to that which is within it. [ must not speak of this —it is between thee [must not speak o ti. ibewntheIs there more? let me meet it as I may. And the great God. ANGEL. A Voicefrom within exclaims, Stern hast thou been and stubborn from the womb, Cain! Cain! Cain! Cami. As the ground thou must henceforth till; but he eDAH. Thou slew'st was gentle as the flocks he tended. Hear'st thou that voice? CAIN CAIN. The Voice within. The Voice within. After the fall too soon was I begotten; Camn! Cain! Ere yet my mother's mind subsided from ADAH. s ADAeh li,. a agl tn The serpent, and my sire still mourn'd for Eden. It soundeth like an angel's tone. t e Eo That which I am, I am; I did not seek Enter dte ANGEL OF THE LORD. For life, nor did I make:myself; but could I ANGEL. With my own death redeem him from the dust — Where is thy brother Abel? And why not so? let him return to day, CAIN. And I lie ghastly! so shall be restored Am I then By God the life to him he loved; and taken My brothe's keeper? From me a being I ne'er loved to bear. ANGEL. ANGEL. Cam! what hast thou done? Whoshall heal murder? what is done is done. The voice of thy slain brother's blood cries out, Go forth fulfil thy days and be thy deeds Even from the ground, unto the Lord!-Now art thou Unlike the last! [The ANGEL disappears Cursed from the earth, which opened late her mouth ADAH. To drink thy brother's blood from thy rash hand.'s gone, let us go forth; Henceforth, when thou shalt till the ground, it shall not I hear our little Enoch cry within Yield thee her strength; a fugitive shalt thou Our bower. Be from this day, and vagabond on earth! CAIN. ADAH. Ali! little knows he what he weeps fr' This punishment is more than he can bear. And I who have shed blood cannot shed tears I Behold, thou drivest him from the face of earth, But the four livers I would not cleanse my soul. And from the face of God shall he be hid. Thlink'st thou my boy will bear to look on me? A fugitive and vagabond on earth, ADAH.'T will come to pass, that whoso findeth him If I thought that he would not, I wouldShall slay him. 1 The "four rivers" which flowed round Eden, ana consa CAIN. quently the only waters with v hichsCain was acquainted upgs Would they could! but who are they the earth. 384 BYRON'S WORKS. CAIN (interrupting her). ADAH. No, A dreary, and an early doom, my brother, No more of threats: we have had too many of them: Has been thy lot! Of all who mourn for thee, Go to our children; I will follow thee. I alone must not weep. My office is ADAH. Henceforth to dry up tears, and not to shed them, I will not leave thee lonely with the dead; But yet, of all who mourn, none mourn like me, I Let us depart together. Not only for thyself, but him who slew thee. CAIN. Now, Cain! I will divide thy burden with thee. Oh! thou dead CAIN. And everlasting witness! whose unsinking Eastward from Eden will we take our way; Blood darkens earth and heaven! what thou now art,'T is the most desolate, and suits my steps. I know not! but if thou see'st what I am, ADAH. I think thou wilt forgive him, whom his God Lead! thou shalt be my guide, and may our God Can ne'er forgive, nor his own soul.-Farewell! Be thine! Now let us carry forth our children. I must not, dare not, touch what I have made thee. CAIN. I, who sprung from the same womb with thee, drain'd And he who lieth there was childless. The same breast, clasped thee often to my own, I have dried the fountain of a gentle race, In fondness brotherly and boyish, I Which might have graced his recent marriage couch, Can never meet thee more, nor even dare And might have temper'd this stern blood of mine, To do that for thee, which thou shouldst have done Uniting with our children Abel's offspring! For me-compose thy limbs into their grave- 0 Abel! The first grave yet dug for mortality. ADAH. But who hath dug that grave? Oh, earth! Oh, earth! Peace be with him! For all the fruits thou hast render'd to me, I CAIN. Give thee back this.-Now for the wilderness. But with me! [ADAH stoops down and kisses the body of ABEL. [Exeunt. Uerner; or, ue fnlerlitance; A TRAGEDY. TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOETHE, BY ONE OF HIS HUMBLEST ADMIRERS, THIS TRAGEDY IS DEDICATED. PREFACE. conception, rather than execution; for the story might, perhaps, have been more developed with greater advan. tage. Amongst those whose opinions agreed with mine THE following drama is taken entirely from the "Ger- upon this story, I could mention some very high names man's Tale, Kruitzner," published many years ago in but it is not necessary, nor indeed of any use; for every 4 Lee's Canterbury Tales;" written (I believe) by two one must judge according to their own feelings. I.isters, of whom one furnished only this story and merely refer the reader to the original story, that he may another, both of which are considered superior to the see to what extent I have borrowed from it; and am not remainder of the collection. I have adopted the char- unwilling that he should find much greater pleasure in acters, plan, and even the language, of many parts of perusing it than the drama which is founded upon its this story. Some of the characters are modified or contents. altered, a few of the names changed, and one character I had begun a drama upon this tale so far back as (Ida of Stralenheim) added by myself: but in the rest 1815 (the first I ever attempted, except one at thirteen the original is chiefly followed. When I was young years old, called " Ulric and Ilvina," which I had sense {about fourteen, I think) I first read this tale, which enough to burn), and had nearly completed an act, iiade a deep impression upon me; and may, indeed, be when I was interrupted by circumstances rhis is some-,Lid to contain the germ of much that I have since where amongst my papers in England; b'- -'-asnot written. I am not sure that it ever was very popular; or been found, I have re-written the first,..- --.d the at any rate its popularity has since been eclipsed by that subsequent acts. of other great writers in the sane department. But I The whole is neither intended, nor m any shape have generally found that those who had read it, agreed adapted, for the stage. with me in their estimate of the singular power of mind and conception which it developes. I shruld also add February, 1822. WERNER. 385 DR~AMNATIS PERC~SONS~. Thou knowest not: but still I love thee, nor Shall aught divide us. [WERNER walks on abruptly, and then ap. MEN. proaches JOSEPHINE. WERNER. HENRICK.The storm of the night, ULRI. ERIC. Perhaps, affects me: I'm a thing of feelings, STR LENHEIM. And have of late been sickly, as, alas! STRALENHEIM. ARNHEIM. IDENSTEIN. MEISTER. Thou know'st by sufferings more than mine, my love GABOR. RODOLPH. In watching me. FRITZ. LUDWIG. JOSEPHINE. To see thee well is muchWOMEN. To see thee happyJOSEPHINE. WERNER. IDA STRALENHEIM. Where hast thou seen such? Let me be wretched with the rest! Scene-partly on the frontier of Silesia, and partly in JOSEPHINE. Siegendorf Castle, near Prague. But think. e of te. How many in this hour of tempest shiver Time —the close of the thirty years' war. Beneath the biting wind and heavy rain, Whose every drop bows them down nearer earth, V Which hath no chamber for them save beneath WERNER. Her surface. WERNER. And that's not the worst: who cares ACT I. For chambers? rest is all. The wretches whom Thou namest-ay, the wind howls round them, and SCENE -I. The dull and dropping rain saps in their bones The Hall of a decayed Palace near a small Town on the The creeping marrow. I have been a soldier, northern Frontier of Silesia-the Night tempestuous. A hunter, and a traveller, and am A beggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of. WERNER and JOSEPHINE his Wrfoe. JOSEPHINE. Mloeb JOSce EPHINE. And art thou not now shelter'd from them all' My love, be calmer! WERNER. WERNER. *~WERNER. ~ Yes-and from these alone. I am calm. JOSEPHINE. JOSEPHINE. To me- And that is something. Yes, but not to thyself: thy pace is hurried, WERNER. And no one walks a chamber like to ours True-to a peasant. With steps like thine when his heart is at rest. JOSEPHINE. Were it a garden, I should deem thee happy, Should the nobly born And stepping with the bee from flower to flower; thankless for that refuge which their habits But here! Of early delicacy render more WERNER. Needful than to the peasant, when the ebb'T is chill; the tapestry lets through Of fortune leaves them on the shoals of life? The wind to which it waves: my blood is frozen. WERNER. JOSEPHINE. It is not that, thou know'st it is not: we Ah, no! Have borne all this, I'llnot say patiently, WERNER (smiling). Except in thee-but we have borne it. Why! wouldst thou have it so? JOSEPHINE. JOSEPHINE. Well! I would WERNER. Have it a healthful current. Something beyond our outward sufferings (though WERNER. These were enough to gnaw into our souls) Let it flow Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now Until't is spilt or check'd-how soon, I care not. When, but for this untoward sickness, which JOSEPHINE. Seized me upon this desolate frontier, and And am I nothing in thy heart? Hath wasted not alone my strength, but means, WERNER. And leaves us,-no! this is beyond me! but All-all. For this I had been happy-thou been happyJOSEPHINE. The splendour of my rank sustain'd-my nameThen canst thou wish for that which must break mine? My father's name-been still upheld; and, more WERNER (approaching her slowly). Than- thoseBut for thee I had been-no matter what, JOSEPHINE (abruptly). But much of good and evil; what I am, My son-our son-our Ulrlc, rhou knowest; what I might or should have been, Been clasp'd again in these long-empty arms. 2L 2 54 386 BYRON'S WORKS. And all a mother's hungei satisfied. By the snares of this avaricious fiend;Twelve years! he was but eight then: beautiful How do I know he hath not track'd us here? He was, and beautiful he must be now. JOSEPHINE. My Ulric! my adored! He d.ws not know thy person; and his spies, WERNER. Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Hamburgh. I have been full oft Our unexpected journey, and this change The chase of fortune; now she hath o'ertaken Of name, leave all discovery far behind: My spirit where it cannot turn at bay,- None hold us here for aught save what we seem. Sick, poor, and lonely. WERNER. JOSEPHINE. Save what we seem! save what we are-sick begg rs Lonely! my dear husband? Even to our very hopes.-Ha! ha! WERNER. JOSEPHINE. Or worse-involving all I love, in this Alas! Far worse tnan solitude. Alone, I had died, That bitter laugh t And all been over in a nameless grave. WERNER. JOSEPHINE. Who would read in this form And I had not outlived thee; but pray take The high soul of the son of a long line? Comfort! We have struggled long; and they who strive Who, in this garb, the heir of princely lands? With fortune win or weary her at last, Who, in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride So that they find the goal, or cease to feel Of rank and ancestry; in this worn cheek, Further. Take comfort,-we shall find our boy. And famine-hollow'd brow, the lord of halls, WERNER. Which daily feast a thousand vassals? We were in sight of him, of every thing JOSEPHINE. Which could bring compensation for past sorrow- You And to be baffled thus! Ponder'd not thus upon these worldly things, JOSEPHINE. My Werner! when you deign'd to choose for bride We are not baffled. The foreign daughter of a wandering exile. WERNER. WERNER. Are we not pennyless? An exile's daughter with an outcast son JOSEPHINE. Were a fit marriage; but I still had hopes We ne'er were wealthy. To lift thee to the state we both were born for. WERNER.. Your father's house was noble, though decay'd; But I was born to wealth, and rank, and power; And worthy by its birth to match with ours. Enjoy'd them, loved them, and, alas! abused them, JOSEPHINE. And forfeited them by my lather's wrath, Your father did not think so, though't was noble; In my n'er-fervent youth; but for the abuse But had my birth been all my claim to match Long sufferings have atoned. My father's death With thee, I should have deem'd it what it is. Left the path open, yet not without snares. WERNER.'This cold and creeping kinsman, who so long And what is that in thine eyes? Kept his eye on me, as the snake upon JOSEPHINE. The fluttering bird, hath ere this tine outstept me, All which it Become the master of my rights, and lord Has done in our behalf,-nothing. Of that which lifts him up to princes in WERNER. Dominion and domain. How,-nothing? JOSEPHINE JOSEPHINE. Who knows? our son Or worse; for it has been a canker in May have return'd back to his grandsire, and Thy heart from the beginning: but for this, Even now uphold thy rights for thee! We had not felt our poverty, but as WERNER. Millions of myriads feel it, cheerfully;'T is hopeless. But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers, Since his strange disappearance from my father's, Thou might'st have earn'd thy bread as thousands earn it, Entailing, as it were, my sins upon Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce, Himself, no tidings have reveal'd his course. Or other civic means, to mend thy fortunes. I parted with him to his grandsire, on WERNER (ironically). The promise that his anger would stop short And been an Hanseatic burgher? Excellent! Of the third generation; but Heaven seems JOSEPHINE. To claim her stern prerogative, and visit Whate'er thou might'st have been, to me thou art, Upon my boy his father's faults and follies. What no state, high or low, can ever change, JOSEPHINE. My heart's first choice;-which chose thee, knowing I must hope better still,-at least we have yet neither Bafflthd the long pursuit of Stralenheim, Thybirth,thyhopes,thy pride; nought,save thy sorrows' WERNER. While they last, let me comfort or divide them; We should have done, but for this fatal sickness, When they end, let mine end with them, or thee! More fatal than a mortal malady, WERNER. Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace: My better angel! such as I have ever found thee; Even now I feel ny spirit girt about This rashness, or this weakness of my temper, WERNER. 3 7 Ne'er raised a thought to injure thee or thine. Surgeon's assistant (hoping to be surgeon), Thou didst not mar my fortunes: my own nature And has done miracles i' the way of business. In youth was such as to unmake an empire, Perhaps you are related to my relative? Had such been my inheritance; but now, WERNER. Chasten'd, subdued, outworn, and taught to know To yours? Myself,-to lose this for our son and thee! JOSEPHINE. Trust me, when, in my two-and-twentieth spring, Oh, yes, we are, but distantly. My father barr'd me from my father's house, [Aside to WERNEK. The last sole scion of a thousand sires Cannot you humour the dull gossip, till (For I was then the last), it hurt me less We learn his purpose? Than to behold my boy and my boy's-,mother IDENST.IN. Excluded in their innocence from what Well, I'm glad of that; My faults deserved exclusion; although then I thought so all along; such natural yearnings My passions were all living serpents, and, Play'd round my heart-blood is not water, cousin; Twined like the gorgon's round me. And so let's have some wine, and drink unto [A knocking is heard. Our better acquaintance: relatives should be JOSEPHINE. Friends. Hark! WERNER. WERNER. You appear to have drunk enough already, A knocking! And if you had not, I've no wine to offer, JOSEPHINE. Else it were yours; but this you know, or should know Who can it be at this lone hour? we have You see I am poor and sick, and will not see Few visiters. That I would be alone; but to your business! WERNER. What brings you here? And poverty hath none, IDENSTEIN. Save those who come to make it poorer still. Why, what should bring me here Well, I am prepared. WERNER [WERNER puts his hand into his bosom as if to [WERNER puts his handI know not, though I think that I could guess search for some weapon. eh OrSomEaPoINE. That which will send you hence. JOSEPHINE. Oh! do not look so. I JOSEPHINE (asie). Patience, dear Wrernc Will to the door; it cannot be of import P, d IDENSTEIN. In this lofte spot of wintry desolation — ou don't know what has happen'd, then? The very desert saves man from mankind. I^She goes to the door. JOSEPIIINE. [She goes to the door.How should we? Enter IDENSTEIN, IDENSTEIN. IDENSTEIN. The river has o'erflow'd. A fair good evening to my fairer hostess JOSEPHINE. And worthy-what's your name, my friend? Alas! we have known WERNER. That to our sorrow, for these five days, since Are you It keeps us here. Not afraid to demand it? IDENSTEIN. IDENSTEIN. But what you don't know is, Not afraid! That a great personage, who fain would cro0s Egad! I am afraid. You look as if Against the stream, and three postilions' wishes, I ask'd for something better than your name, Is drown'd below the ford, with five post-horses, By the face you put on it. A monkey, and a mastiff, and a valet. WERNER. JOSEPHINE. Better, sir? Poor creatures! are you sure? IDENSTEIN. IDENSTEIN. Better or worse, like matrimony, what Yes, of the monkey Shall I say more? You have:been a guest this month And the valet, and the cattle; but as yet Here in the prince's palace-(to be sure, We know not if his excellency's dead His highness had resign'd it to the ghosts Or no; your noblemen are hard to drown, And rats these twelve years-but't is still a palace) - As it is fit that men in office should be I say you have been our lodger, and as yet But, what is certain is, that he has swallow'd We do not know your name. Enough of the Oder to have burst two peasants WERNER. And now a Saxon and Hungarian traveller, My name is Werner Who, at their proper peril, snatch'd him from IDENSTEIN. The whirling river, have sent on to crave A goodly name. a very worthy name, A lodging, or a grave, according as As e'er was gilt upon a trader's board; It ma, turn out with the live or dead bod, I have a cousin in the lazarotto JOSEPHINE. Of Hamburgh, who has got a wife who bore And whre w;ll you receive him? bhre, I. pe, The same. He is an officer of trust, If we can be of service-sav the worcL 388 BYRON'S WORKS. IDENSTEIN. IDENSTEIN. Here! no, but in the prince's own apartment, But are you sure As fits a noble guest:'tis damp, no doubt, His excellency —but his name, what is it? Not having been inhabited these twelve years; GABOR. Rut then he comes from a much damper place, I do not know. So scarcely will catch cold in't, if he be IDENSTEIN. Still liable to cold-and if not, why And yet you saved his life. He'11 be worse lodged to-morrow: ne'ertheless, GABOR. I have order'd fire and all appliances I help'd my friend to do so. To be got ready for the worst-that is, IDENSTEIN. In case he should survive. Well, that's strange JOSEPHINE. To save a man's life whom you do not know. Poor gentleman! OABOR. I hope he will, with all my heart. Not so; for there are some I know so well, WERNER. I scarce should give myself the trouble. Intendant, IDENSTEIN. Have you not learn'd his name? My Josephine, Pray [Aside to his wife. Good friend, and who may you be? Retire-I'11 sift this fool. [Exit JOSEPHINE. GABOR. IDENSTEIN. By my family, His name? oh Lord! Hungarian. Who knows if he hath now a name or no; IDENSTEIN.'T is time enough to ask it when he's able Which is call'd? To give an answer, or if not, to put GABOR. His heir's upon his epitaph. Methought, It matters little. Just now you chid me for demanding names? IDENSTEIt (aside). WERNER. I think that all the world are grown anonymous, Since no one cares to tell me what he's call'd! True, true, I did so; you say well and wisely., s Pray, has his excellency a large suite? Enter GABOR. GABOR. Sufficient. GABOR. IDENSTEIN. If I intrude, I crave — ow many IDENSTEIN. ABO GABOR. Oh! no intrusion! Oh! no intrusion! II did not count them. This is the palace; this a stranger like We came up by mere accident, ad just Yourself; I pray you make yourself at home: In time to drag him through his carriae window. But where's his excellency, and how fares he? IDENSTEIN. GANOR. WAEOly and, but ouWell, what would I give to save a great man! tly d wearily, but out of perilNo doubt you' have a swinging sum as recompense. He paused to change his garments in a cottage GABOR. (Where I doff'd mine for these, and came on hither), Perhaps. And h as almost recover'd from his drenching. IDENSTEIN. He will be here anon. Now, how much do you reckon on? IDENSTEIN. GABOR. What ho, there! bustle! I have not yet put up myself to sale: Without there, Herman, Weilburg, Peter, Conrad! In the mean time, my best reward would be [Gives directions to different servants who enter. A glass of your Hochheimer, a green glass, A nobleman sleeps here to-night-see that Wreathed with rich grapes and Bacchanal devices, All is in order in the damask chamber- O'erflowing with the oldest of your vintage; Keep up the stove-I will myself to the cellar- For which I promise you, in case you e'er And Madame Idenstein (my consort, stranger) Run hazard of being drown'd (although I own Shall furnish forth the bed-apparel; for, It seems, of all deaths, the least likely for you), To say the truth, they are marvellous scant of this I'1 pull you out for nothing. Quick, my friend, Within the palace precincts, since his highness And think, for every bumper I shall quaff, Left it some dozen years ago. And then A wave the less may roll above your head. His excellency will sup, doubtless? IDENSTEIN (aside). GABOR. I don't much like this fellow-ciose and dry Faith! He seems, two things which suit me not; however, I cannot tell; but I should think the pillow Wine he shall have; if that unlocks him not, Would please him better than the table, after I shall not sleep to-night for curiosity. His soaking in your river: but for fear [Exit IDENSTEIN. Your vianas should be thrown away, I mean GABOR (to WERNER.) To sup myself, and have a friend without This master of the ceremonies is Who will do honour to your good cheer with The intendant of the palace, I presume. A travelie.s appetite.'T is a fine building, but decay'd. WERNER. 389 WERNER.,V WERNER. The apartment I was. Design'd for him you rescued, will be found GABOR. in fitter order for a sickly guest. You look one still. All soldiers are GABOR. Or should be comrades, even though enemies. I wonder then you occupied it not, Our swords when drawn must cross, our engines aim For you seem delicate in health. (While levell'd) at each other's hearts; but when WERNER (quickly). A truce, a peace, or what you will, remits Sir! The steel into its scabbard, and lets sleep GABOR. The spark which lights the matchlock, we are brethren. Pray You are poor and sickly-I am not rich, but healthy, Excuse me: have I said aught to offend you? I want for nothing which I cannot want; WERNER.'Yoa seem devoid of this-wilt share it? Nothing: but we are strangers to each other. [GABOR pulls out his purse. GABOR. WERNER. And that's the reason I would have us less so! Who I thought our bustling guest without had said Told you I was a beggar? You were a chance and passing guest, the counterpart GABOR, Of me and my companions. You yourself, WERNER. In saying you were a soldier during peace time. Very true. WERNER (looking at him with suspicion). GABOR. You know me not? Then, as we never met before, and never, GABOR. It may be, may again encounter, why, I know no man, not even I thought to cheer up this old dungeon here Myself: how should I then know one I ne'er (At least to me) by asking you to share Beheld, till half an hour since? The fare of my companions and myself. WERNER. WERNER. WERNER, Sir, I thank you. Pray, pardon me; my health- Your offer's noble, were it to a friend, GABOR. And not unkind as to an unknown stranger, Even as you please. Though scarcely prudent; but no less I thank you. t have been a soldier, and perhaps am blunt I am a beggar in all save his trade, In bearing. And when I beg of any one, it shall be WERNER. Of him who was the first to offer what I have also served, and can Few can obtain by asking. Pardon me. Requite a soldier's greeting. [Eit WERNEP. GABOR. GABOR (solus). In what service? In what service A goodly fellow, by his looks, though worn, The Imperial? As most good fellows are, by pain or pleasure, WERNER (quickly, and then interrupting himself). Which tear life out of us before our time: I commanded-no-I mean I scarce know which most quickly; but he seems I served; but it is many years ago, To have seen better days, as who has not When first Bohemia raised her banner'gainst Who has seen yesterday?-But here approaches The Austrian. Our sage intendant, with the wine; however, GABOR. For the cup's sake, I'I1 bear the cup-bearer. Well, that's over, now, and peace Has turn'd Awe thousand gallant hearts adrift Ent IDNSTEIN. To live a. they best may: and, to say truth,'T is here! the supernaculum! twenty years Some take the shortest. Of age, if't is,a day. WERNER. GABOR. What is that? Which epoch makes GABOR. Young women and old wine, and't is great pity Whate'er Of two such excellent things, increase of years, They lay their hands on. All Silesia and Which still improves the one, should spoil the other. Lusatia's woods are tenanted by bands Fill full-Here's to our hostess-your fair wife. Of the late troops, who levy on the country [Takes the giass Their maintenance: the Chatelains must keep IDENSTEIN. Their castle walls-beyond them't is but doubtful Fair!-Well, I trust your taste in wine is equal Travel for your rich count or full-blown baron. To that you show for beauty; but I pledge you My comfort is that, wander where I may, Nevertheless. I'se little left to lose now. GABOR. WERNER. Is not the lovely woman And I-nothing. I met in the adjacent hall, who, with GABCR. An air, and port, and eye, which would have beuts, That's harder still. You say you were a soldier. Beseem'd this palace in its brightest days 390 BYRON'S W.ORKS. (Though in a garb adapted to its present IDENSTEIN. Abandonment), return'A my salutation- Like enough! Is not the same your spouse? But hark! a noise of wheels and voices, and IDENSTEIN. A blaze of torches from without. As sure I would she were! As destiny, his excellency's come. But you're mistaken-that's the stranger's wife. I must be at my post: will you not join me, GABOR. To help him from his carriage, and present And by her aspect she might be a prince's: Your humble duty at the door? Though time hath touch'd her too, she still retains GABOR. Much beauty, and more majesty. I dragg'd him IDENSTEIN. From out that carriage when he would have given And that His barony or county to repel Is more than I can say for Madame Idenstein, The rushing river from his gurgling throat. At least in beauty: as for majesty, He has valets now enough: they stood aloof then, She has some of its properties which might Shaking their dripping ears upon the shore, Be spared-but never mind! All roaring, "Help!" but offering none; and as GABOR. For duty (as you call it) I did mine then, I don't. But who Now do yours. Hence, and bow and cringe him here! May be this stranger. He too hath a bearing IDENSTEIN. Above his outward fortunes. I cringe!-but I shall lose the opportunityIDENSTEIN. Plague take it! he'll be here, and I not there! There I differ. [Exit IDENSTEIN, hastily. He's poor as Job, and not so patient; but Re-enter WERNER. Who he may be, or what, or aught of him,ERER (t himse). ~ M. ",,,-r i i i WERNER (to himself). Except his name (and that I only lear'd I heard a noise of wheels and voices. How To-night), I know not. All sounds now jar me All sounds now jar me! GABOR., * GABOR.w ~m h(Perceiving GABOR). Still here! Is he not But how came he here? A spy of my pursuer's? His frank offer, IDENSTEIN. most1 misTerableSo suddenly, and to a stranger, wore In a most miserable old caleche, Ia mostmi lold caleche,.The aspect of a secret enemy; About a month since, and immediately r ri r For friends are slow at such. Fell sick, almost to death. He should have died. GABOR. GABOR. You seem rapt, I'ender and true!-but why? You seem rapt, -edeadru!b twh And yet the time is not akin to thought. IDENSTEIN. Why, wt le These old walls will be noisy soon. The baron, WithoutaWliving? He hasnotasv Or count (or whatsoe'er this half-drown'd noble Without a living? He has not a stiver. - ~ ~GABOR. May be), for whom this desolate village, and GABOR. Its lone inhabitants, show more respect In that case, I much wonder that a person T e eeents, s come. Than did the elements, is come. Of your apparent prudence should admit Guests so forlorn into this noble mansion. TDENSTEN IDENSTEIN. That's true; but pity, as you know, does make This way, your excellence:-have a care, One's heart commit these follies; and besides, The staircase is a little gloomy, and They had some valuables left at that time, Somewhat decay'd; but if we had expected Which paid their way up to the present hour, guest-pray take my arm, m lord! And so I thought they might as well be lodged Enter STRALENHEIM, IDENSTEIN, and Attendants, Here as at the small tavern, and I gave them partly his own, and partly retainers of the domain et The run of some of the oldest palace rooms, which IDENSTEIN is Intendant. They served to air them, at the least as long STRALENHEIM. As they could pay for fire-wood. I 7' rest me here a moment. ~~~GAtLBOR.~ ~IDENSTEIN (to the servants). ^ ^~Poor souls!~~.Oh! a chair! IDENSTEIN. Instantly, knaves! [STRALENHEIM sits down. i,&x. ceding poor. WERNER (aside). GABOR.'Tis he! And yet unused to poverty, STRALENHEIM. f I mlsra.a, not. Whither were they going? I'm better now. IDENSTEIN. Who are these strangers? Ohb Heaven knows where, unless to heaven itself. IDENSTEIN. Soime days ago that look'd the likeliest journey Please you, my good lord, Foi Weer. One says he is no stranger. GABOR. WERNER (aloud and hastily). Werner! I have heard the name, Who says that? But it may be a feign'd one. [They look at him with surprise. WERNER. 391 IDENSTEIN. Pensive. Will it not please you to pass on? Why, no one spoke of you, or to you!-but STRALENHEIM. Here's one his excellency may be pleased'T is past fatigue which gives my weigh'd-down spirt To recognise. [Pointing to GABOR. An outward show of thought. I will to rest. GABOR. IDENSTEIN. I seek not to disturb The prince's chamber is prepared, with all His noble memory. The very furniture the prince used when STRALENHEIM. Last here, in its full splendour. I apprehend (Aside.) Somewhat tatter'd This is one of the strangers to whose aid And devilish damp, but fine enough by torch-light; I owe my rescue. Is not that the other? And that's enough for your right noble blood [Pointing to WERNER. Of twenty quarterings upon a hatchment; My state, when I was succour'd, must excuse So let their bearer sleep'neath something like one My uncertainty to whom I owe so much. Now, as he one day will for ever lie. IDENSTEIN. STRALENHEIM (rising and turning to GABOR, Ele!-no, my lord! he rather wants for rescue Good night, good people! Sir, I trust to-morrow Than can afford it.'T is a poor sick man, Will find me apter to requite your service. Travel-tired, and lately risen from a bed In the mean time, I crave your company From whence he never dream'd to rise. A moment n my chamber. STRALENHEIM. Methought I attend you. That there were two. I attend you. STRALENHEIM There were, in company; (After afew steps, pauses, and calls WERNER). But, m the service render'd to your lordship, Friend I needs must say but one, andhe is absent. WERNER. The chief part of whatever aid was render'd Was his: it was his fortune to be first. IDENSTEIN. My will was not inferior, but his strength Sir! Lor-oh, Lrd Why don't you sa And youth outstripp'd me; therefore do not waste orhip, or his excellency? Pray Your thanks on me. I was but a glad second My lord, excuse this poor man's want of breeding: Unto, a nobler principa* He hath not been accustom'd to admission Unto a nobler principal. STIRALENHE:IM. - To such a presence. STRALENHEIM. Where is he? STRALENHEIM (to IDENSTEIN). AN ATTENDANT. Peacintendant! My lord, he tarried in the cottage, where IDENSTEIN. Oh! Your excellency rested for an hour, I am dumb. And said he would be here to-morrow.STRALENHEIM to WERNER). STRALENHEIM (to WERNER). STRALENHEIM. STRALENHEIiM. Have you been long here? Till That hour arrives, I can but offer thanksi WERNER. And then ong? GABOR. STRALENHEIM. I seek no more, and scarce deserve I sought So much. An answer, not an echo. So much. My comrade may speak for himself. s WERNER. STRALENHEIM You may seek (Fixing his eyes upon WERNER, then asde). Both from the walls. I am not used to answer It cannot be! and yet he must be look'd to. Those who I know not.'T is twenty years since I beheld him with These eyes; and, though my agents still have kept STRALENHEIM. Theirs on him, policy has held aloof Indeed! ne'ertheless, My own from his, not to alarm him into You might reply with courtesy, to what My own from his, not to alarm him into. X ^ c.. p. ai~ J-....... T Is ask I d in kindness. Suspicion of my plan. Why did I leave At Hamburgh those who would have made assurance WERNER. When I know it such, If this be he or no I thought, ere now, Whn I know it such, To have been lord of Siegendorf, and parted I w r In haste, though even the elements appear STRALENHE iM. To fight against me, and this sudden flood The intendant said,you had been detain'd by sickness — May keep me prisoner here tll-~ If I could aid you-journeying the same way? [Ie pauses and looks at WERNER; then resumes. WERNER (quickly). This man must I am not journeying the same way. Be watch'd. If it is he, he is so changed, STRALENHEIM. His father, rising from his grave again, How know ye Would pass him by unknown. I must be wary; That, ere you know my route? An error would spoil all. WER NER. IDENSTEIN. Because there is Your lordship seems But one way that the rich and poor must tread 392 BYRON'S WORKS. Together. You diverged from that dread path How can I hope? An hour ago, methought Some hours ago, and I some days; henceforth My state beyond despair; and now,'t is such, Our roads must lie asunder, though they tend The past seems paradise. Another day, All to one home. And I'm detected,-on the very eve STRALENHEIM. Of honours, rights, and my inheritance, Your language is above When a few drops of gold might save me still Your station. In favouring an escape. WERNER (bitterly). Enter IDENSTEIN and FRITZ in conversation. Is it? FITZ. FRITZ. STRALENHEIM. Immediately. Or, at least, beyond IDENSTEIN. Your garb. I tell you,'t is impossible. WERNER. FRITZ.'T is well that it is not beneath it, It must As sometimes happens to the better clad. Be tried, however; and if one express But, in a word, what would you with me? Fail, you must send on others, till the answer STRALENHEIM (startled). Arrives from Frankfort, from the commandant. I! IDENSTEIN. WERNER. I will do what I can. Yes-you! You know me not, and question me, FRITZ. And wonder that I answer not-not knowing And recollect My inquisitor. Explain what you would have, To spare no trouble; you will be repaid And then I'11 satisfy yourself, or me. Tenfold. STRALENHEIM. IDENSTEIN. I knew not that you had reasons for reserve. The baron is retired to rest? WERNER. FRITZ. Many have such:-Have you none? He hath thrown himself into an easy chair STRALENHEIM. Beside the fire, and slumbers; and has order'd None which can He may not be disturb'd until eleven, Interest a mere stranger. When he will take himself to bed. WERNER. IDENSTEIN. Then forgive Before The same unknown and humble stranger, if An hour is past, I 11 do my best to serve him. He wishes to remain so to the man FRITZ. Who can have nought in common with him. Remember! [Exit FRITZ. STRALENHEIM. IDENSTEIN. Sir, The devil take these great men,! they I will not balk your humour, though untoward: Think all things made for them. Now here must I I only meant you service-but, good night! Rouse up some half a dozen shivering vassals Intendant, show the way! From their scant pallets, and, at peril of (to GABOR). Sir, you will with me? Their lives, despatch them o'er the river towards [Exeunt STRALENHEIM and Attendants, IDEN- Frankfort. Methinks the baron's own experience STEIN and GABOR. Some hours ago might teach him fellow-feeling: WERNER (solus). But no, "it must," and there's an end. How nw 7' is he! I'm taken in the toils. Before Are you there, Mynheer Werner? I quitted Hamburgh, Giulio, -his late steward, WERNER. Inform'd me, that he had obtain'd an order You have left From Brandenburgh's elector, for the arrest Your noble guest right quickly. Of Kruitzner (such the name I then bore), when IDENSTEIN. I came upon the frontier; the free city Yes-he's dozing Alone preserved my freedom-till I left And seems to like that none should sleep besides. Its walls-fool that I was to quit them! But Here is a packet for the commandant 1 deem'd this humble garb, and route obscure, Of Frankfort, at all risks and all expenses; Had baffled the slow hounds in their pursuit. But I must not lose time: good night! What's to be done? He knows me not by person; [Exit IDENSTEIN. Nor could aught, save the eye of apprehension, WERNER. Have recognised him, after twenty years, "To Frankfort " W e met so rarely and so coldly in So, so, it thickens! Ay, "the commandant." Our youth. But those about him! Now I can This tallies well with all the prior steps Divine the franlhess of the Hungarian, who, Of this cool calculating fiend, who walks No doubt, is a mere tool and spy of Stralenheim's Between me and my father's house. No doubt 1 o sound and to secure me. Without means! He writes for a detachment to convey me Sick, poor-begirt too with the flooding rivers, Into some secret fortress.-Sooner than Impassable even to the wealthy, with This All the appliances which purchase modes [WERNER looks around, and snatches up &, knif e'f overpowering peril with men's lives,- lying on a table in a recess. WERNER. 393 Now I am master of myself at least. With its own weight impedes more than protects. Hark!-footsteps! How do I know that Stralenheim Good night. I trust to meet with him at day-break. Will wait for even the show of that authority [Exit GABO R. Which is to overshadow usurpation? Re-enter IDENSTEIN and some peasants. JOSEPHri That he suspects me's certain. I'm alone; retires up the Hall. He with a numerous train. I weak; he strong T PE FIRST PEASANT. In g6ld, in numbers, rank, authority. But if I'm drown'd? I nameless, or involving in my name IDESTE IDENSTEIN. Destruction, till I reach my own domain; i p f He full-blown with his titles, which impose A thandrowning for as nucl, Still further on these obscure petty burghers I dobt not Than they could do elsewhere. Hark! nearer still! SECOND PEASANT. I'11 to the secret passage, which communicates. P. b. But our wives and families? With the-No! all is silent-'t was my fancy!IDENSTEIN. Still as the breathless interval between Cannot be worse off than they are, and may The flash and tnunder:-I must hush my soul Be better. Amidst its perils. Yet I will retire, TID PEASANT. ro see if still be unexplored the passage I have neither, and will venture. I wot of: it will serve me as a den IDENSTEIN. Of secrecy for some hours, at the worst. Of secrecy for some hours, at the worst. That's right. A gallant carle, and fit to be [WERNER draws a panel, and exit, closing it A soldier. I'll promote you to the ranks after him. In the prince's body-guard-if you succeed; Enter GABOR and JOSEPHINE. And you shall have besides in sparkling coin GABOR. Two thalers. Where is your husband? THIRD PEASANT. JOSEPHINE. No more? Here, I thought: I left him IDENSTEIN. Not long since in his chamber. But these rooms Out upon your avarice! Have many outlets, and he may be gone Can that low vice alloy so much ambition? To accompany the intendant. I tell thee, fellow, that two thalers in GABOR. Small change will subdivide into a treasure. Baron Stralenheim Do not five hundred thousand heroes daily Put many questions to the intendant on Risk lives and souls for the tithe of one thaler? The subject of your lord, and, to be plain, When had you half the sun? I have my doubts if he means well. TIIRD PEASANT. JOSEPHINE. Never-but ne bt Alas! The less I must have three. What can there be in common with the proud IDENSTEIN. And wealthy baron and the unknown Werner? Have you forgot GABOR. Whose vassal you were born, knave? That you know best. THIRD PEASANT. JOSEPHINE. No-the prne'o Or, if it were so, how And not the stranger's. Come you to stir yourself in his behalf, IDENSTEIN. Rather than that of him whose life you saved? Sirrah! in the prince's GABOR. Absence, I'm sovereign; and the baron is I help'd to save him, as in peril; but My intimate connexion;-" Cousin Idenstein! I did not pledge myself to serve him in (Quoth he) you'1 order out a dozen villains." Oppression. I know well these nobles, and And so, you villains! troop-march-march, I say Their thousand modes of trampling on the poor. And if a single dog's ear of this packet I have proved them; and my spirit boils up, when Be sprinkled by the Oder-look to it! I find them practising against the weak:- For every page of paper, shall a hide This is my only motive. Of yours be stretch'd as parchment on a drum, JOSEPHINE. Like Ziska's skin, to beat alarm to all It would be Refractory vassals, who cannot effect Not easy to persuade my consort of Impossibilities-Away, ye earth-worms! Your good intentions. [Exit, driving them on., GABOR. JOSEPHINE (coming forward). Is he so suspicious? I fain would shun these scenes, too oft repeated, JOSEPHINE. Of feudal tyranny o'er petty victims; He was not once; but time and troubles have I cannot aid, and will not witness such. Made him what you beheld. Even here, in this remote, unnamed, duii spoL GABOR. The dimmest in the district's map, exist I'm sorry for it. The insolence of wealth in poverty Suspicion is a heavy armour, and IO'er something poorer still-the uride of rang 2 M 55 394 BYRON'S WORKS. In servitude, o'er something still more servile; WERNER. And vice in misery, affecting still Hope! I make sure. A tatter'd splendour. What a state of being! But let us to our chamber. In Tuscany, my own dear sunny land, JOSEPHINE. Our nobles were but citizens and merchants, Yet one question! Like Cosmo. We had evils, but not such What hast thou done?. VERNER (fiercely). As these; and our all-ripe and gushing valleys WE R,,~~~~,' i fii vi^ ~~~~~Left one thing undone, which Made poverty more cheerful, where each herb et e thing u ne, whi Had made all well: let me not think of it. Was in itself a meal, and every vine A Rain'd, as it were, the beverage which makes glad JSEPHINE'I'he heart of man; and the ne'er unfelt sun Alas, that I should doubt of thee! (But rarely clouded, and when clouded, leaving [Ereunts His warmth behind in memory of his beams) Makes the worn mantle, and the thin robe, less ACT II Oppressive than an emperor's jewell'd purple. But, here! the despots of the north appear SCENE I. To imitate the ice-wind of their clime, A Hall in the same Palace. Searching the shivering vassal through his rags, Enter IrENSTEIN and others. To wring his soul-as the bleak elements:n ~IDENSTEIN. His form. And't is to be amongst these sovereigns doings! godly doings! honest doings My husband pants! and such his pride of birth- in a prins rn r 1 A baron pillaged in a prince's palace! That twenty years of usage, such as no That twenty years of usage, such as no Where, till this hour, such a sin ne'er was heard of. Father, born in an humble state, could nerve FRITZ His' soul to persecute a son withal, EH-is' soul to persecute a son withal, It hardly could, unless the rats despoil'd Hath changed no atom of his early nature; m The mice of a few shreds of tapestry. But I, born nobly also, from my father's IDENSTEIN. Kindness was taught a different lesson. Father th e s l t r_. Oh! that I ere should live to see this day! May thy long-tried and now rewarded spirit The honour of our ty's gone for eve Look down on us, and our so long-desired FRITZ. Ulric! I love my son, as thou didst me Well but now to discover thedelinqunt What's that? Thou, Werner! can it be: and thus determined not to lose The baron is determined not to lose Enter WERNER hastily, with the knife in his hand, by This sum without a search. the secret panel, which he closes hurriedly after him. IDENSTEIN. WERNER (not atfJrst recognising her). And so am I. Discover'd! then I'11 stab (recognising her). FRITZ. Ah! Josephine, But whom do you suspect? Vhy art thou not at rest? IDENSTEIN. JOSEPHINE. Suspect! all people What rest? My God! Without-within-above-below-Heaven help me I VWhat doth this mean? FRITZ. WERNER (showing a rouleau). Is there no other entrance to the chamber? Here's gold-gold, Josephine, IDENSTEIN. Will rescue us from this detested dungeon. None whatever. JOSEPHINE. FRITZ. And bow obtain'd?-that knife Are you sure of tha? IDENSTEIN. WERNER.'T is bloodless-yet. Certain. I have lived and served here since my blrtn, away —we must to our chamber. And if there were such, must have heard of such, ~JOSEPHINE'~. Or seen it. JOSEPHINE. FRITZ. But whence comrn'st thou? Then it must be some one who WEiRNER. hIlad access to the antechamber. Ask not! but let us think where we shall go- IDENSTEIN. This-this will make us way. (showing the gold)- Doubtless. 1'11 fit them now. FRITZ. JOSEPHINE. The man call'd WVerner's poor! dare not think thee guilty of dishonour. IDENSTEIN. WERNER. Poor as a miso, lishon.Rr-. But lodged so far off, in the other wing, JOSEPHINE. By which there's no communication with' I have said it. The baron's chamber, that it can't be he: WERNER. Besides, I bade him " good night" in the halt, Let us hence: Almost a mile off, and which only leads' is the last night, I trust, that we need pass here. To his own apartment, about the same time JOSEPHINE. When this burglarious, larcenous felony atin not the worst, I hope Appears to have been committed. WERNER. 395 FRITZ. Search empty pockets; also, to arrest There's another- All gypsies, and ill-clothed and sallow people. The stranger- Prisoners we ll have at least, if not the culprit, IDENSTEIN. And for the baron's gold-if't is not found, The Hungarian? At least he shall have the full satisfaction FRITZ. Of melting twice the substance in the raising He who help'd The ghost of this rouleau. Here's alchymy To fish the baron from the Oder. For your lord's losses IDENSTEIN. FRITZ. Not He hath found a better. Unlikely. But, hold-might it not have been IDENSTEIN. One of the suite Where? FRITZ. FRITZ How? We, Sir! In a most immense inheritance. IDENSTEIN. The late Count Siegendorf, his distant kinsman, No-not you, Is dead near Prague, in his castle, and my lord But some of the inferior knaves. You say Is on his way to take possession. The baron was asleep in the great chair — IDENSTEIN, The velvet chair-in his embroidered night-gown; Was the His toilet spread before him, and upon it No heir? A cabinet with letters, papers, and FRITZ. Several rouleaux of gold; of which one only Oh, yes; but he has disappear'd Has disappeared:-the door unbolted, with Long from the world's eye, and perhaps the worn No difficult access to any. A prodigal son, beneath his father's ban FRITZ. For the last twenty years; for whom his sire Good sir, Refused to kill the fatted calf; and, therefoe Be not so quick: the honour of the corps, If living he must chew the husks still. btt Which forms the baron's household,'s unimpeach'd, The baron would find meansito silence him, From steward to scullion, save in the fair way Were he to reappear: he's politic, Of peculation; such as in accompts, And has much influence with a certain court. Weights, measures, larder, cellar, buttery, IDENSTEIN. Where all men take their prey; as also in He's fortunate. Postage of letters, gathering of rents, FRITZ. Purveying feasts, and understanding with'T is true, there is a grandson, The honest trades who furnish noble masters: Whom the late count reclaim'd from his son's hands But for your petty, picking, downright thievery, And educated as his heir; but then We scorn it as we do board-wages: then His birth is doubtful. Had one of our folks done it, he would not IDENSTEIN. Have been so poor a spirit as to hazard How so? His neck for one rouleau, but have swoop'd all; FRITZ. Also the cabinet, if portable. His sire made IDENSTEIN. A left-hand love, imprudent sort of marriage, There is some sense in that- With an Italian exile's dark-eyed daughter: FRITZ. Noble, they say, too; but no match for such No, sir; be sure A house as Siegendorf's. The grandsire ill'T was none of our corps; but some petty, trivial Could brook the alliance; and could ne'erbe brougha Picker and stealer, without art or genius. To see the parents, though he took the son. The only question is-Who else could have IDENSTEIN. Access, save the Hungarian and yourself? If he's a lad of mettle, he may yet IDENSTEIN. - Dispute your claim, and weave a web that may You don't mean me? Puzzle your baron to unravel. FRITZ. FRITZ. No, sir; I honour more Why, Your talents- For mettle, he has quite enough: they say, IDENSTEIN. A IDENSTEIN. c, I h He forms a happy mixture of his sire And my principles, I hope. And grandsire's qualities,-impetuous as FRITZ. The former, and deep as the latter; but Ot course. But to the point: What's to be done? The strangest is, that he too disappear'd IDENSTEIN. Some months ago. Nothing-but there's a good deal to be said. IDENSTEIN. We'11 offer a reward; move heaven and earth, The devil he did! And the police (though there's none nearer than FRITZ. Frankfort); post notices in manuscript Why. ye,. (For we've no printer); and set by my clerk It must have been at his suggestion, at To read them (for few can, save he and I). An hour so critical as was the eve We'U1 end out villains to strip beg'gars, and Of the old man's death, whose heart was broken by f. 396 BYRON'S WORKS. IDENSTEIN. Have rank by birth and soldiership, and friends Was there no cause assign'd? Who shall be yours. T is true, this pause of peace FRITZ. Favours such views at present scantily; Plenty, no doubt, But'twill not last, men's spirits are too stirring; And none perhaps the true one. Some averr'd And, after thirty years of conflict, peace It was to seek his parents; some, because Is but a petty war, as the times show us The old man held his spirit in so strictly In every forest, or a mere arm'd truce. (But that could-scarce be, for he doted on him): War will reclaim his own; and, in the mean ume, A third believed he wish'd to serve in war, You might obtain a post, which would insure But peace being made soon after his departure, A higher soon, and, by my influence, fail not He might have since return'd, were that the motive; To rise. I speak of Brandenburgh, wherei, A fourth set charitably have surmised, I stand well with the elector; in Bohemia, As there was something strange and mystic in him, Like you, I am a stranger, and we are now That in the wild exuberance of his nature, Upon its frontier. He had join'd the black bands, who lay waste Lusatia, ULRIC. The mountains of Bohemia and Silesia, You perceive my garb Since the last years of war had dwindled into Is Saxon, and of course my service due A kind of general condottiero system To my own sovereign. If I must decline Of bandit warfare; each troop with its chief, Your offer,'tis with the same feeling which And all against mankind. Induced it. IDENSTEIN. STRALENHEIM. That cannot be. Why, this is mere usury! A young heir, bred to wealth and luxury, I owe my life to you, and you refuse To risk his life and honours with disbanded The acquittance of the interest of the debt, Soldiers and desperadoes! To heap more obligations on me, till FRITZ. I bow beneath them. Heaven best knows ULRIC. But there are human natures so allied You shall say so, when Unto the savage love of enterprise, I claim the payment. That they will seek for peril as a pleasure. STRALENHEIM. I've heard that nothing can reclaim your Indian, Well, sir, since you will ilot Or tame the tiger, though their infancy You are nobly born? Were fed on milk and honey. After all, ULRIC. Your Wallenstein, your Tilly and Gustavus, I've heard my kinsmen say so Your Bannier, and your Torstenson and Weimar, STRALENHEIM. Were but the same thing upon a grand scale; Your actions show it. Might I ask your name? And now that they are gone, and peace proclaim'd, LRIC They who would follow the same pastime must Ulric. Pursue it on their own account. Here comes STRALENHEIM. The baron, and the Saxon stranger, who Your house's? Was his chief aid in yesterday's escape, ULRIC. But did not leave the cottage by the Oder When I'm worthy of it, Until this morning. I'l answer you. Enter STRALENHEIM and ULRIC. STRALENHEIM (aside). STRALENHEIM. Most probably an Austrian, Since you have refused Whom these unsettled times forbid to boast All compensation, gentle stranger, save His lineage on these wild and dangerous frontiers, All compensation, gentle stranger, save Where the name of his country is abhorr'd. Inadequate thanks, you almost check even them, outr abhorr'd. Making me feel the worthlessness of words, [Aloud to FRITZ and IDENSTE1J. MAnd blush at my own barren gratitude, So, sirs! how have you sped in your researches? And blush at my own barren gratitude, They seem so niggardly, compared with what IDENSTEIN. Your courteous courage did in my behalf. Indifferent well, your excellency. ULRIC. STRALENHEIM. I pray you press the theme no further. Then STRALENHEIM. I am to deem the plunderer is caught? But IDENSTEIN. Can I not serve you? You are young, and of Humph!-not exactly. That mould which throws out heroes; fair in favour; STRALENHEIM. Brave, I know, by my living now to say so, Or at least suspected. And, doubtlessly, with such a form and heart, IDENSTEIN. Would look into the fiery eyes of war, Oh! for that matter, very much suspected. As ardently for glory as you dared STRALENHEIM. An obscure death to save an unknown stranger Who may he be? In al as perilous but opposite element. IDENSTEIN. YVn are made for the service: I have served; Why, don't you know, my lord 7 WERNER. 397 STRALENHEIM. A hundred golden ducats, which to find How snould I? I was fast asleep. I would be fain, and there's an end; perhaps IDENSTEIN. You (as I still am rather faint), vould add And'so To yesterday's great obligation, this, Was I, and that's the cause I know no more Though slighter, yet not slight, t o aid these men Than does your excellency. (Who seem but lukewarm) in r 3covering it? STRALENHEIM. ULRIC. Dolt! Most willingly, and without los i of timeIDENSTEIN. (To IDENSTEIN). Come hither, Mynheer! Why, if IDENSTEIN. Your lordship, being robb'd, don't recognise But so much haste bodes The rogue; how should I, not being robb'd, identify Right little speed, andThe thief among so many? In the crowd, ULRIC. May it please your excellency, your thief looks Standing motionless, Exactly like the rest, or rather better: None; so let's march, we'11 talk as we go on.'T is only at the bar and in the dungeon IDENSTEIN. That wise men know your felon by his features; ButBut I'11 engage, that if seen there but once, ULRIC. Whether he be found criminal or no, Show the spot, and then I answer you. FRITZ. His face shall be so. FIT STRALENHEIM (to FRITz).I I will, sir, with his excellency's leave. STRALENHEIM. Prithee, Fritz, inform me STRLENHEIM. What hath been done to trace the fellow? Do so and take yon old ass with you. FRITZ. FRITZ. Faith! Hence! My lord, not much as yet, except conjecture. ULRIC. M lrn TRAsLENHExIM. Come on, old oracle, expound thy riddle! Besides the loss (which, I must own, affects me [E ith IDENTEIN and FRITZ. Just now materially), I needs would find STRALENHEIM (solus). The villain out of public motives; for A stalwart, active, soldier-looking stripling. So dexterous a spoiler, who could creep Handsome as Hercules ere his first labour, Through my attendants, and so many peopled And with a brow of thought beyond his years And lighted chambers, on my rest, and snatch hen in repose, till his eye kindle up The gold before my scarce-closed eyes, would soon In answering yours. I wish I could engage him; Leave bare your borough, Sir Intendant! I have need of some such spirits near me now, ~I~~DENSTEIN~. For this inheritance is worth a struggle. True; And though I am not the man to yield without one, If there were aught to carry off, my lord. Neither are they who now rise up between me ULRIC. And my desire. The boy, they say,'s a bold one: What is all this? But he hath play'd the truant in some hour STRALENHEIM. Of freakish folly, leaving fortune to You join'd us but this morning, Champion his claims: that's well. The father, whom And have not heard that I was robb'd last night. For years I've track'd, as does the blood-hound, neveheoe ULrtatIC. ws latIn sight, but constantly in scent, had put me Some rumour of it reach'd me as I pass'dTo fault, but here I have him, and that's better. Some rumour of it reachd me as I pass'd, The outer chambers of the palace, but It must be he! All circumstance proclaims it;,I know no further. vAnd careless voices, knowing not the cause I know no further. I w STRnALENrHEIM. ^ Of my inquiries, still confirm it-Yes! It is a strange business: The man, his bearing, and the mystery The intendant can inform you of the facts. Of his arrival, and the time; the account, too, IDENSTEIN. The intendant gave (for I have not beheld her) Mostwillingly. You see- Of his wife's dignified but foreign aspect: Most willingly. You see - STRALENHEIM (impatiently). Besides the antipathy with which we met, (impau tale) As snakes and lions shrink back from each other Defer your tale, Till certain of the hearer's patience.. By secret instinct-that both must be foes IDENSTEIN. Deadly, without being natural prey to either; That All-all-confirm it to my mind: however, Can only be approved by proofs. You see- We'll grapple, ne'ertheless. In a few hours STRALENHEIM (againinterrupting him, and address- The order comes from Frankfort,; t*hese waters ing ULRIC). Rise not the higher (and the weather favours In short, I was asleep upon a chair, Their quick abatement), and I'11 have him sate My cabinet before me, with some gold Within a dungeon, where he may avouch Upon it (more than I much like to lose, His real estate and name; and there's no harm done Though in part only): some ingenious person Should he prove other than I deem. This robberv Contrived'to glide through all my own attendants (Save for the actual loss) is lucky also: Besides those of the place, and bore away He's poor, and that's suspicious-he's unKnown, 2x2 398 BYRON'S WORKS. And that's defenceless,-true, we have no proofs Because they love their lives too! Yet he's righi Of guilt, but what hath he of innocence?'T is strange they should, when such as he may put Were he a man indifferent to my prospects, them In other bearings, I should rather lay To hazard at his pleasure. Oh! thou world! The inculpation on the Hungarian, who Thou art indeed a melancholy jest! [Exit GABOR Hath something which I like not; and alone Of all around, except the intendant, and The prince's household and my own, had ingress SCENE II. Familiar to the chamber. The Apartment of WERNER, in the Palace. Enter GABOR. Enter JOSEPHINE and ULRIC. Friend, how fare you? JOSEPHINE. GABOR. Stand back, and let me look on thee again! As those who fare well every where, when they My Ulric!-my beloved!-can it beHave supp'd and slumber'd, no great matter how- After twelve years? And you, my lord? ULRIC. STRALENHEIM. My dearest mother! Better in rest than purse: JOSEPHINE. Mine inn is like to cost me dear. Yes! GABOR. My dream is realized-how beautifulI heard How more than all I sigh'd for! Heaven receive Of your late loss: but't is a trifle to A mother's thanks!-a mother's tears of joy! One of your order. This is indeed thy work!-At such an hour too, STRALENHEIM. He comes not only as a son but saviour. You would hardly think so ULRIC. Were the loss yours. If such joy await me, it must double GABOR. GABeOR. ha smuWhat I now feel, and lighten, from my heart, I never had so much (Atonce)in I never had thfso much n A part of the long debt of duty, not (At oncei in mv whole life, and therefore am not Of love (for that was ne'er withheld)-forgive me! Fit to decide. But I came here to seek you. This long delay was not my fault. Your couriers are turn'd back-I have outstript them, JOSEPHINE. In my return. I know it. STRALENHEIM. gBut cannot think of sorrow now, and doubt You!-Why? If I e'er felt it,'t is so dazzled from GABOR. My memory, by this oblivious transport'I went at day-break, My son To watch for the abatement of the river, Enter WERNER. As being anxious to resume my journey. WERNER. Your messengers were all check'd like myself; What have we here?more strangers? And, seeing the case hopeless, I await JOSEPHINE. The current's pleasure. No STRALENHEIM. Look upon him! What do you see? Would the dogs were in it! WERNER. Why dia mev not, at least, attempt the passage? A stripling, I order'a.ms at all risks. For the first time GABOR. ULRIC (kneeling). Could you order For twelve long years, my father The Oder to divide, as Moses did WERNER. The Red Sea (scarcely redderthan the flood Oh, God! Of the swoln stream), and be obey'd, perhaps JOSEPHINE. They might have ventured. He faints! STRALENHEIM. WERNER. I must see to it: No-I am better nowThe knaves! the slaves!-but they shall smart for this. Ulric! (Embraces him). [Exit STRALENHEIM. ULRIC. GABOR (so0us). My father, Siegendorf! There goes my noble, feudal, self-will'd baron! WERNER (starting). Epitome of what brave chivalry Hush! boyThe preux chevaliers of the good old times The walls may hear that name! Have left us. Yesterday he would have given ULRIC. His lands (if he hath any), and, still dearer, What then? Iis sixteen quarterings, for as much fresh air WERNER. As would have filled a bladder, while he lay Why, thenGurgling and foaming halfway through the window But we will talk of that anon. Remember, Of his o'erset and water-logg'd conveyance; I must be known here but as Werner. Come! And now he storms at half a dozen wretches Come to my arms again! Why, thou look'st all WERNER. 399 I should have been, and was not. Josephine I WERNER. Sure't is no father's fondness dazzles me; Ay, if at Prague: But had I seen that form amid ten thousand But here he is all-powerful; and has spread Youth of the choicest, my heart would have chosen Snares for thy father, which, if hitherto This for my son! He hath escaped them, is by fortune, not ULRIC. By favour And yet you knew me not! ULRIC. WVERNER. Doth he personally know you? Alas! I have had that upon my soul WERNER. Which makes me look on all men with an eye No; but he guesses shrewdly at my person, That only knows the evil at first glance. As he betray'd last night; and I, perhaps, ULRTC. But owe my temporary liberty My memory served me far more fondly: I To his uncertainty. Have not forgotten aught; and oft-times in ULRIC. The proud and princely halls of-(I'11 not name them, I think you wrong him, As you say that'tis perilous), but i' the pomp (Excuse me for the phrase); but Stralenheim Of your sire's feudal mansion, I look'd back Is not what you prejudge him, or, if so, To the Bohemian mountains many a sunset, He owes me something both for past and present; And wept to see another day go down I saved his life, he therefore trusts in me; O'er thee and me, with those huge hills between us. He hath been plunder'd too, since he came hither; They shall not part us more. Is sick; a stranger; and as such not now VERNER. Able to trace the villain who hath robb'd him; I know not that. I have pledged myself to do so; and the business Are you aware my father is no more? Which brought me here was chiefly that:, but I ULRIC, Have found, in searching for another's dross, Oh heavens! I left him in a green old age, My own whole treasure-you, my parents! And looking like the ouk, worn, but still steady WERNER (agitatedly). Amidst the elements, whilst younger trees Who Fell fast around him.'T was scarce three months since. Taught you to mouth that name of " villain?" WERNER. ULRIC. Why did you leave him? What JOSEPHINE (embracing ULRIC). More noble name belongs to common thieves? Can you ask that question? WERNER. Is he not here? Who taught you thus to brand an unknown being WERNER. With an infernal stigma? True; he hath sought his par nts, ULRIC. And found them; but, oh! how, and in what state? My own feelings ULRIC. Taught me to name a ruffian from his deeds. All shall be better'd What we have to do WERNER. Is to proceed, and to assert our rights, Who taught you, long-sought, and ill-found boy! tlha Or rather yours; for I waive all, unless It would be safe for my own son to insult me? Your father has disposed in such a sort ULRIC. Of his broad lands as to make mine the foremost, I named a villain. What is there in common So that I must prefer my claim for form: With such a being and my father? But I trust better, and that all is yours. WERNER. WERNER. Every thing! Have you not heard of Stralenheim? That ruffian is thy father! ULRIC. JOSEPHINE. I saved Oh, my son His life but yesterday: he's here. Believe him not-and yet! —(Her voice falters. WERNER. ULRIC (starts, looks earnestly at WERNER, and thua You saved says slowly). The serpent who will sting us all! And you avow it? ULRIC. WEReER. You speak Ulric! before you dare despise your father, Riddles: what is this Stralenheim to us? Learn to divine and judge his actions. Young, WERNER. Rash, new to life, and rear'd in luxury's lap, Every thing. One who claims our fathers' lands: Is it for you to measure passion's force Our distant kinsman, and our nearest foe. Or misery's temptation? Wait-(not long, ULRIC. I cometh like the night, and quickly)-Wai'I never heard his name till now. The count, Wait till, like me, your hopes are blighted-till Indeed, spoke sometimes of a kinsman, who, Sorrow and shame are handmaids of your cabin, If his own line should fail, might be remotely Famine and poverty your guests at table; Involved in the succession: but his titles Despair your bed-fellow-then rise, but not Were never named before me-and what then? From sleep, and judge! Should that day e'er arrvw. — His right must yield to ours. Should you see then the serpent, who hath coil'd 400 BYRON'S WORKS. Himself around all that is dear and noble Condemn him not from his own mouth, but trust Of you and yours, lie slumbering in your path, To me who have borne so much with him, and for him With but his folds between your steps and happiness, That this is but the surface of his soul, When he, who lives but to tear from you name, And that the depth is rich in better things. Lands, life itself, lies at your mercy, with ULRIC. Chance your conductor; midnight for your mantle; These then are but my father's principles! The bare knife in your hand, and earth asleep, My mother thinks not with him? Even to your deadliest foe; and he as'twere JOSEPHINE. Inviting death, by looking like it, while Nor doth he His death alone can save you:-Thank your God! Think as he speaks. Alas! long years of grief If then, like me, content with petty plunder, Have made him sometimes thus. You turn aside I did so. ULRIC. ULRIC. Explain to me But- More clearly, then, these claims of Stralenheim, WERNER (abruptly). That, when I see the subject in its bearings, Hear me! I may prepare to face him, or, at least, I will not brook a human voice-scarce dare To extricate you from your present perils. Listen to my own (if that be human still)- I pledge myself to accomplish this-but would Hear me! you do not know this man-I do. I had arrived a few hours sooner! He's mean, deceitful, avaricious. You JOSEPHINE. Deem yourself safe, as young and brave; but learn Ay! None are secure from desperation, fewdst thou but done so From subtilty. My worst foe, Stralenheim, Enter GABOR and IDENSTEIN, with Attendants. Housed in a prince's palace, couch'd within GABOR (to ULRIC). A prince's chamber, lay below my knife! I have sought you, comrade. An instant-a mere motion-the least impulse- So this is my reward! Had swept him and all fears of mine from earth. ULRIC He was within my power-my'knife was raised- What do you mean? Withdrawn-and I'm in his: are you not so? GABOR. Who tells you that he knows you not? Who says'S death! have I lived to these years, and for thrs? He hath not lured you here to end you, or (To IDENSTEIN). But for your age and folly, I wouldTo plunge you, with your parents, in a dungeon? IDENSTEIN. [He pauses. Hell ULRIC. Hands off! touch an intendant! Proceed-proceed! GABOR. WERNER. Do not think Me he hath ever known, I Il honour you so much as to save your throat And hunted through each change of time-name- From the Ravenstone,' by choking you myself: fortune- IDENSTEIN. And why not you? Are you more versed in men? I thank you for the respite; but there are He wound snares round me; flung along my path Those who have greater need of it than me. Reptiles, whom, in my youth, I would have spurn'd ULRIC. Even from my presence: but, in spurning now, Unriddle this vile wrangling, or —Fill only with fresh venom. Will you be GABOR. More patient? Ulric!-Ulric!-there are crimes At once, then, Made venial by the occasion, and temptations The baron has been robb'd, and upon me Which nature cannot master or forbear. This worthy personage has deign'd to fix ULRIC (looksfirst at him, and then at JOSEPHINE). His kind suspicions-me! whom he nieer saw My mother! Till yester evening. WERNER. IDENSTEIN. Ay! I thought so: you have now Wouldst have mn suspect Only one parent. I have lost alike My own acquaintances? You hi, to learn Father and son, and stand alone That I keep better company. ULRIC. GABOR. But stay! You shall [WERNER rushes out of the chamber. Keep the best shortly, and the last for all menJOSEPHINE (to ULRIC). The worms! you hound of malice! Follow him not, until this storm of passion [GABOR seizes on him. Abates. Think'st thou that were it well for him ULRIC (interfering), I had not follow'd? Nay, no violence: ULRIC Nay, no violence: ^^~ULRIC~ ~He's old, unarm'd-be temperate, Gabor! I obey you, mother, GABOR (letting go IDENSTEIN). Although reluctantly. My first act shall not True, Be one of disobedience.___ JOSEPHINE. 1 The Ravenstone, "Rabenstein," is the stone gibbet om Oh I he is goo! Germany, and so called from the ravens perching on it WERNER. 401 I am a fool to lose myself because I do not ask for hints, and surmises, Fools deem me knave: it is their homage. And circumstance, and- proofs; I know enough ULRIC (to IDENSTEIN). Of what I have done for you, and what you owe me, How To have at least waited your payment rather Fare you? Than paid myself, had 1 been eager of IDENSTEIN. Your gold. I also know that were I even Help! The villain I am deem'd, the service render'd ULRIC. So recently Would not permit you to I have help'd you. Pursue me to the death, except through shame, IDENSTEIN. Such as would leave your scutcheon but a blank. Kill him! then But this is nothing; I demand of you I'11 say so. Justice upon your unjust servants, and GABOR. From your own lips a disavowal of I am calm-live on! All sanction of their insolence: thus much IDENSTEIN. You owe to the unknown, who asks no more, That's more And never thought to have ask'd so much. Than you shall do, if there be judge or judgment STRALENHEIM. In Germany. The baron shall decide! This tone OABOR. May be of innocence. Does he abet you in your accusation? GABOR. IDENSTEIN.'S death! who dare doubt it, Does he not? Except such villains as ne'er had it? GABOR. STRALENHEIM. Then next time let him go sink, You Ere I go hang for snatching him from drowning. Are hot, sir. But here he comes! GABOR. Must I turn an icicle Enter Sf RALENHEIM. Enter S-IRALENHEIM. Before the breath of menials, and heir master? GABOR (goes up to him). STRALENHEIM. My noble lord, I'm here! Ulric! you know this man; I found him in STRALENHEIM. Your company. Well, sir! GABOR. GABOR. We found you in the Oder: Have you aught with me? Would we had left you there! STRALENHEIM. STRALENHEIM. What should I I give you thanks, sLi. Have with you? GABOR. GABOR. I've earn'd them; but might have earn'd more from You know best, if yesterday's others, Flood has not wash'd away your memory; Perchance, if I had left you to your fate. But that's a trifle. I stand here accused, STRALENHEIM. In phrases not equivocal, by yon Ulric! you know this man? Intendant, of the pillage of your person, GABOR. Or chamber-is the charge your own, or his? No more than you do, STRALENHEIM. If he avouches not my honour. I accuse no man. ULRIC. GABOR. I Then you acquit me, baron? Can avouch your courage, and, as far as my STRALENHEIM. Own brief connexion led me, honour. I know not whom to accuse or to acquit, STRALENHEIM. Or scarcely to suspect. Then GABOR. I'm satisfied. But you at least GABOR (ironically). Should know whom not to suspect. I am insulted- Right easily, methinks. Oppress'd here by these menials, and I look What is the spell in his asseveration To you for remedy-teach them their duty! More than in mine? To look for thieves at home were part of it, STRALENHEIM. If duly taught: but, in one word, if I I merely said that I Have an accuser, let it be a man Was satisfied-not that you were absolved. Worthy to be so of a man like me. GABOR. 1 am yout equal. Again! Am I accused or no? STRALENHEIM. STRALENHEIM. You! Go to! GABOR. You wax too insolent: if circumstance Ay, sir; and for And general suspicion be atainst you, Aught that you know, superior; but proceed- Is the fault mine? Is't not enough that I hM 402 BYRON'S WORKS Decline all question of your guilt or innocence? JOSEPHINE. GABOR. Without there! Ho! help! help!-Oh! God! here's My lord, my lord, this is mere cozenage; murder! [Exit JOSEPHINE, shrieking. A vile equivocation: you well know GABOR and ULRICfight. GABOR is disarmed just au Your doubts are certainties to all around you- STRALENHEIM, JOSEPHINE, IDENSTEIN, etc. reYour looks, a voice-your frowns, a sentence; you enter. Are practising your power on me-because JOSEPIINE. You have it; but beware, you know not whom Oh! glorious Heaven! he's safe! You strive to tread on. STRALENHEIM (to JOSEPHINE). STRALENHEIM. Who's safe? Threat'st thou? JOSEPHINE. My — GABOR. Not so much ULRIC (interrupting her with a stern look, and turning ^;^ ^.^^ lu~ afterwards to STRALENHEIM). As you accuse. You hint the basest injury,Both Both! And I retort it with an open warning.Here's no great harm done. STRALENHEIM. STRALENHEIM. As you have said,'t is true I owe you something, What hath caused all this? For which you seem disposed to pay yourself. ULRIC. GABOR. You, baron, I believe; but as the effect Not with your gold. Is harmless, let it not disturb you.-Gabor! STRALENHEIM. There is your sword; and when you bare it next, With bootless insolence. Let it not be against yourfriends. [To his Attendants and IDENSTEIN. [ULRIC pronounces the last words slowly and You need not further to molest this man, emphatically in a low voice to GABOR. But let him go his way. Ulric, good morrow! GABOR. [Exit STRALENHEIM, IDENSTEIN, and Attendants. I thank you GABOR (following). Less for my life than for your counsel. I'Il after him, and- STRALENHEIM. ULRIC (stopping him). These Not a steop. hm.Brawls must end here. GABOR (taking his sword). GABOR. They shall. You have wrong'd me, Ulric, Who shall mepp Wheo shall More with your unkind thoughts than sword; I would Oppose me? OppULoseIcm.The last were in my bosom rather than ULRIC. Your own reason, with a moment's The first in yours. I could have borne yon noble's thought. Absurd insinuations-Ignorance GABO~13~R.'And dull suspicion are a part of his Must I ber ts Entail will last him longer than his lands.-'ust ear is. ts But I may fit him yet:-you have yanquish'd me. PhULRICa. m s b ea I was the fool of passion to conceive Pshaw! we all must bear That I could cope with you, whom I had seen the arrogance of something higher than Already proved by greater perils than Ourselves-the highest cannot temper Satan, Rest in this arm. We may meet by and by, Nor the lowest his vicegerents upon earth. However-but in friendship. [Exit GABOR I've seen you brave the elements, and bear STRALENHEIM. Things which had made this silk-worm cast his skin- I will brook And shrink you from a few sharp sneers and words? o more! This outrage following up his insults, GABOR. Perhaps his guilt, has cancell'd all the little Must I bear to be deem'd a thief? If't were I owed him heretofore for the so vaunted A bandit of the woods, I could haVe borne it- Aid which he added to your abler succour. There's something daring in it-but to steal Ulric, yeu are not hurt? The moneys of a slumbering man!- ULRIC. ULRIC. Not even by a scratcn. It seems, then, STRALENHEIM (to IDENSTEIN). You are not guilty. Intendant! take your measures to secure GABOR. Yon fellow: I revoke my former lenity. Do I hear aright? He shall be sent to Frankfort with an escort, Fou, too! The instant that the waters have abated ULRIC. IDENSTEIN. I merely ask'd a simple question. I~ENSTEIN. ~In merety ask'd Secure him! he hath got his sword againGABOR. And seems to know the use on't;'t is his trade If tne judge ask'd me, I would answer "No "- Belike:-I'm a civilian. To you I answer thus. [He draws. STRALENHEIM. ULRIC'(drawing); Fool! are not With alJ my heart. Yon score of vassals dogging at vour heels WERNER. 403 Enough to seize a dozen such? Hence! after him! He must be made secure, ere twelve hours further. ULRIC. ULRIC. Baron, I do beseech you! And what have I to do with this? STRALENHEIMI. STRALENHEIM. I must be I have sent Obey'd No words! To Frankfort, to the governor, my friendIDENSTEIN. (I have the authority to do so by Well, if it must be so — An order of the house of Brandenburgh) March, vassals! I'm your leader-and will bring For a fit escoit-but this cursed flood The rear up: a wise general never should Bars all access, and may do for some hours. Expose his precious life-on which all rests. ULRIC. I like that article of war. It is abating. [Exit IDENSTEIN and Attendants. STRALENHEIM. STRALENHEIM. That is well. Come hither, ULRIC. Ulric:-what does that woman here? Oh! now But how I recognise her,'t is the stranger's wife Am I concern'd? Whom they name "Werner." STRALENHEIM.,ULRIC. As one who did so much'T is his name. For me, you cannot be indifferent to STRALENHEIM. That which is of more import to me than Indeed! The life you rescued.-Keep your eye on him! Is not your husband visible, fair dame? The man avoids me, knows that I now know him.JOSEPHINE. Watch him!-as you would watch the wild boar when Who seeks him? He makes against you in the hunter's gapSTRALENHEIM. IoSTRALENHEIM. pentbu Like him he must be spear'd. No one-for the present: butUC. I fain would parley, Ulric, with yourself Why so Alone. STRALENHEIM. ULRIC. He stands I will retire with you. Between me and a brave inheritance. JOSEPHINE. Oh! could you see it! But you shall. Not so. ULRIC. You are the latest stranger, and command I hope so. All places here. STRALENHEIM. (Aside to ULRIC as she goes out). Oh! Ulric, have a It is the richest of the rich Bohemia, care- Unscathed by scorching war. It lies so near Remember what depends on a rash word! The strongest city, Prague, that fire and sword ULRIC (to JOSEPHINE). Have skimm'd it lightly: so that now, besides Fear not!- Its own exuberance, it bears double value [Exit^ JOSEPHINE, Confronted with whole realms afar and near STRALENHEIM. Ulric, I think that I may trust you? Made d You saved my life-and acts like these beget de fai Unbounded confidence.,~~You describe it faithfully. Unbounded confidence. STRALENHEIM. ULaIC. Say on. Ay-could you see it, you would say so-but Say on. STRALENHEIM. As I have said, you shall. STRALENHEIM. Mysterious ULRIC. And long-engender'd circumstances (not I accept the omen. To be now fully enter'd on) have made STRALENHEIM. This man obnoxious-perhap fatal to me. Then claim a recompense from it and me, This man obnoxious-perhaps fatal to me. ULRIC. Such as both may make worthy your acceptance Who? Gabor, the Hungarian? And services to me and mine for ever.. Who? Gabor, the Hungarian?' ULRIC. STRALENHEIM. No-this,"Werner" And this sole, sick, and miserable wretch — Wth the falbe name and habit. This wayworn stranger-stands between you ahd With the falbe name and habit. ~ULRIC~~. This paradise?-(As Aaam did between How can this be? The devil and his.) —[Aside.] He is the poorest of the poor-and yellow STRALENHEIM. Sickness sits cavemr'd in his hollow eye: The mar is helpless. ULRIC. STRALENHEIM. Hath he no right, He is-'t is no matter- STRALENHEIM. But If he be the man I deem (and that Right! none. A disinherited prodigal, He is so, all around us here-and much Who for these twenty years disgraced his lineage That is not here-confirm my apprehension), In all his acts-but chiefly by his ma -iage, 404 BYRON'S WORKS. And living amidst commerce-fetching burghers, ULRIC. And dabbling merchants, in a mart of Jews. Ycu may be sure ULRIC. You yourself could not watch him more than I He has a wife, then? Will be his sentinel. STRALENHEIM. STRALENHEIM. You'd be sorry to By this you make me Call such your mother. You have seen the woman Yours, and for ever. He calls his wife. ULRIC. ULRIC. UI^sRC se?.Such is my intention. Is she not so??Exeun STRALENHEIM. No more Than he's your father:-an Italian girl, ACT III The daughter of a banish'd man, who lives SCENE I. On love and poverty with this same Werner. ULRIC. A Hall in the same Palace, from whence the secret They are childless, then? Passage leads. STRALENHEIM. wnter WERNER and GABOR. There is or was a bastard, Whom the old man —the grandsire (as old age'ABOR. Whom the old man-the grandsire (as old age Sir, I have told my tale; if it so please you Is ever doting) took to warm his bosom, Is ever doting) took to warm his bosom, To give me refuge for a few-hours, wellAs it went chilly downward to the grave: try my fortune elsewhere. But the imp stands not in my path-he has fled, No one knows whither; and if he had not, WERNER. His claims alone were too contemptible How To sad WydyuCan I, so wretched, give to misery To stand.-Why do you smile? A shelter?-wanting such myself as much ULRIC. AtyourvaURICin fearAs e'er the hunted deer a covert- At your vain fears: A poor man almost in his grasp-a child GABOR. Of doubtful birth-can startle a grandee! w l h r, The wounded lion his cool cave. Methinks STRALENHEIM. * STRALENHEM..You rather look like one would turn at bay, All's to be fear'd, where all is to be gain'd. Y ~ULRIC. And rip the hunter's entrails. ULRIC. True; and aught done to save or to obtain it. WERNER. STRALENHEIM. Ah! You have harp'd the very string next to my heart. GABOR. I care not I may depend upon you? I c n I may depend upon you? If it be so, being much disposed to do'T were too late The same myself; but will you shelter me? To doubt it.' weetoaeI am oppress'd like you-and poor like youSTRALENHEIM. DisgracedLet no foolish pity shake WERNER (abruptly). Your bosom (for the appearance of the man Who told you that I was disgraced? Is pitiful)-he is a wretch, as likely GABOR. To have robb'd me as the fellow more suspected, No one; nor did I say you were so: with Except that circumstance is less against him; Your poverty my likeness ended; but He being lodged far off, and in a chamber I said I was so-and would add, with truth, Without approach to mine; and, to say truth, As undeservedly as you. I think too well of blood allied to mine, WERNER. To deem he would descend to such an act; Again! Besides, he was a soldier, and a brave one As I? Once-though too rash. GABOR. ULRIC. Or any other honest man. And they, my lord, we know What the devil would you have? You don't believe Ihe By your experience, never plunder till Guilty of this base theft? They knock the brains out first-which makes them WERNER. heirs, No, no-I cannot. Not thiever The dead, who feel nought, can lose OABOR. notirng, Why, that's my heart of honour! yon young gallantNor e'er be robb'd: their spois are a bequest- Your miserly intendant, and dense nobleNo more. All-all suspected me; and why? because STRALENHEIM. I am the worst-clothed and least-named amongst them Go to: you are a wag. But say Although, were Momus' lattice in our breasts, i lmay he sure you'11 keep an' eye on this man, My soul might brook to open it more widely And let me know his slightest movement towards Than theirs; but thus it is-you poor and helpless"oneeplment or escape? Both still more than myself WERNER. 405 WERNER. GABOR. How know you that? No; and I am not used GABOR. Greatly to care. (A noise heard without). Bat haik fou're right; I ask for shelter at the hand they come! Which I call helpless; if you now deny it, WERNER. I were well paid. But you, who seem to have proved Who come? The wholesome bitterness of life, know well, GABOR. By sympathy, that all the outspread gold The intendant and his man-hounds after me. Of the New World, the Spaniard boasts about, I'd face them-but it were in vain to expect Could never tempt the man who knows its worth, Justice at hands like theirs. Where shall I go? Weigh'd at its proper value in the balance, But show me any place. I do assure you, Save in such guise (and there I grant its power, If there be faith in man, I am most guiltless: Because I feel it) as may leave no nightmare Think if it were your own case! Upon his heart o' nights. WERNER (aside). WERNER. Oh, just God! What do you mean? Thy hell is not hereafter! Am I dust still? GABOR. GABOR. Just what I say; I thought my speech was plain: I see you re moved; and it shows well in you: You are no thief-nor I-and, as true men, I may live to requite it. Should aid each other. WERNER. WERNER. Are you not It is a damn'd world, sir. A spy of Stralenheim's? GABOR. GABOR. Not I! and if So is the nearest of the two next, as N I d The priests say (and no doubt they should know best), I were, what is there to espy in you? Therefore I'll stick by this-as being loth Although I recollect his frequent question To suffer martyrdom, at least with such - About you and your spouse, might lead to some To suffer martyrdom, at least with such An epitaph as larceny upon my tomb. Suspicion; but you best know-what-and why: An epitaph as larceny upon my tomb.' It is but a night's lodging which I crave; I am his deadliest foe. To-morrow I will try the waters, as WERNER. The dove did, trusting that they have abated. You GABOR. WERNER. Aftersuch Abated? is there hope of that? A treatment for the service which in part ~GABOR. ~ JI render'd him-I am his enemy; There was t noontide. If you are not his friend, you will assist me. WERNWERNER I will. Then we may be safe. GABOR. GABOR. But how? Are you WERNER (showing the panel). In peril? WERNThere is a secret spring; WERNER. Poverty is ever so. Remember, I discover'd it by chance, Poverty is ever so. eABOR. And used it but for safety. GABOR.R That I know by long practice. Will you not ABR. Pronise to make mine less! AOpen it And I wil use it for the same. WERNER. WERNER. Your poverty? I found it, u dt lk a lh fr t d As I have said: it leads through winding walls, INonyou don't look a leech for that disorder; (So thick as to bear paths within their ribs, I meant my peril only: you've a roof, - Yet lose no jot of strength or stateliness) And I have none; I merely seek a covert. A And hollow cells, and obscure niches, to WERNER. I know not whither; you must not advance: Rightly; for how should such a wretch as I Give me your word. Have gold? GABOR. GABOR. It is unnecessary: Scarce honestly, to say the truth on't, How should I make my way in darkness, through Although I almost wish you had the baron's. A Gothic labyrinth of unknown windings? WERNER. WERNER. Dare you insinuate? Yes, but who knows to what place it may lead 7 GABOR. I know not-(mark you!)-but who knows it might inr What? Lead even into the chambers of your foe? WERNER. So strangely were contrived these galleries Are you aware By our Teutonic fathers in old days, ro whom you speak? When man built less against the elements 2N 406 BYRON'S WORKS. Than his next neighbour. You must not advance I have a question or two for yourself Beyond the two first windings; if you do, Hereafter; but we inuct continue now (Albeit I never pass'd them), I 11 not answer Our search for t' other. For what you may be led to. WERNER GABOR. You had best negin But I will. Your inquisition now; I may not be A thousand thanks! So patient always. WERNER. 7 IDENSTEIN. You'11 find the spring more obvious I should like to know, On the other side; and, when you would return, In good sooth, if you really are the man It yields to the least touch. That Stralenheim's m quest of? GABOR. WERNER. I'1l in-farewell! Insolent! [GABOR goes in by the secret panel. Said you not that he was not here? WERNER (solus). IDENSTEIN. What have I done? Alas! what had I done Yes, one: Before to make this fearful? Let it be But there's another whom he tracks more keenly, Still some atonement that I save the man, And soon, it may be, with authority Whose sacrifice had saved perhaps my own- Both paramount to his and mine. But, come! They come! to seek elsewhere what is before them! Bustle, my boys! we are at fault. Enter IDENSTEIN, and others. E IDENSTEIN and Attendant WERNER. IDENSTEIN. WER In what Is he not here? He must have vanish'd then wh Through the dim Gothic glass by pious aid Ad o e hath mdi destiny involved me t And one base sin hath done me less ill than Of pictured saints, upon the red and yellow T l. Casements, throughwhichthe sunsetstreamslike sunrise Th leaing undone ne far greater. Down, On long pearl-colour'd beads and crimson crosses, Thou y dil! rising in my hert And gilded crosiers, and cross'd arms, and cowls,'1 no t to do w And helms, and twisted armour, and long swords, Enter ULRIC. All the fantastic furniture of windows, ULRIC. Dim with brave knights and holy hermits, whose I sought you, father. WERNER. Likeness and fame alike rest on some panes Of crystal, which each rattling wind proclaimsnot da s ULRIC. As frail as any other life or glory. HNo; Stralenheim is ignorant of all He's gone, however. He's gone, however. Or any of the ties between us: moreWERNER. Whom do vou seek? He sends me here a spy upon your actions, Deeming me wholly his. IDENSTEIN. WERNER. A villain! EEA vi~llain! I cannot think it: WERNER. Whyneyoo WERNER.'T is but a snare he winds about us both, Why naed you come so far, then? need you come so far, t To swoop the sire and son at once. IDENSTEIN. In the search ULR C I cannot Of him who robb'd the baron. Of him who robbd the baron. Pause at each petty fear, and stumble at WERNER. The doubts that rise like briars in our path, Are you sure But must break through them as an unarm'd carte You have divined the man? You have divined the man? Would, though with naked limbs, were the wolf rustli IDENSTEIN. In the same thicket where he hew'd for bread: As sure as you Nets are for thrushes, eagles are not caught so; Stand there; but where's he gone? We overfly, or rend them. WERNER.ERNER. Who? oShow me how! IDENSTEIN. ULRIC. He we sought. Can you not guess? WERNER.WERNER fou see he is not here. I cannot. IDENSTEIN. ULR. And yet we traced him That is strange fJp to this hall: are you accomplices, T i strange., fip to this hall: are you accomplices, Came the thought ne'er into your mind last night I Or deal vou in the black art WERNER. WERNER. WERNER. I understand you not. I deal plainly, ULRIC. ro many men the blackest Then we shall never IDENSTEIN. More understand each other. But to change It may be The topic WERNER. 407 WERNER. ULRIC. You mean to pursue it, as I would have'T is of our safety. Spared you the trouble; but had I appear'd ULRIC. To take an interest in you, and still more Right; I stand corrected. By dabbling with a jewel in your favour, I see the subject now more clearly, and All had been known at once. Our general situation in its bearings. WERNER The waters are abating; a few hours My guardian angel! Will bring his summon'd myrmidons from Frankfort, This overpays the past! But how wilt thou When you will be a prisoner, perhaps worse, Fare in our absence? And I an outcast, bastardized by practice ULRIC. Of this same baron, to make way for him. Stralenheim knows nothing WERNER. Of me as aught of kindred with yourself. And now your remedy! I thought to escape I will but wait a day or two with him By means of this accursed gold, but now To lull all doubts, and then rejoin my father. I dare not use it, show it, scarce look on it. WERNER. Methinks it wears upon its face my guilt To part no more! ULRXC. For motto, not the mintage of the state; * And, for the sovereign's head, my own begirtI knoe not that; but at With hissing snakes, who curl around my temples, mt a o And cry to all beholders-lo! a villain! WERNER. My boy! ULRIC. My friend-my only child, and sole preserver! You must not use it, at least, now; but take Oh, do not hate me This ring. [He gives WERNER a jewel. ULRIC. WERNER. Hate my father! A gem! it was my father's. WERNER. ULRIC. Ay, And My father hated me: why not my son? As such is now your own. With this you must ULRIC. Bribe the intendant for his old caleche Your father knew you not as I do. And horses to pursue your route at sunrise, WERNER. Together with my mother. Scorpions WERNER. Are in thy words! Thou know me? In this guise And leave you, Thou canst not know me-I am not myselfSo lately found, in peril too? Yet (hate me not) I will be soon. ULRIC. ULRIC. Fear nothing! I'11 wait! The only fear were if we fled together, In the mean time be sure that all a son For that would make our ties beyond all doubt. Can do for parents shall be done for mine. The waters only lie in floods between WERNER. This burgh and Frankfort; so far's in our favour. I see it, and I feel it; yet I feel The route on to Bohemia, though encumbered, Further-that you despise me. Is not impassable; and when you gain ULRIC. A few hours' start, the difficulties will be Wherefore should I The same to your pursuers. Once beyond WERNER. The frontier, and you're safe. Must I repeat my humiliation? WERNER. ULRIC. My noble boy! No! ULRIC. I have fathom'd it, and you. But let us talk Hush! hush! no transports: we'11 indulge in them Of this no more. Or if it must be ever, In Castle Siegendorf! Display no gold: Not now; your error has redoubled all Show Idenstcin the gem (I know the man,: The present difficulties of our house, And have look'd through him): it will answer thus At secret war with that of Stralenheim; A double purpose. Stralenheim lost gold- All we have now to think of is to baffle No jewel: therefore, it could not be his; HIM. I have shown one way. And then, the mnan who was possess'd of this WERNER. Can hardly be suspected of abstracting The only one, The baroln's coin, when he could thus convert And I embrace it, as I did my son, This ring to more than Stralenheim has lost Who show'd himself and father's safety in By his last night's slumber. Be not over timid One day. In your address, nor yet too arrogant, ULRIC And Idenstcin will serve you. You shall be safe: let that suffice. WERNER. Would Stralenheim's appearance in Bonemia I will follow Disturb your right, or mine, if once we were In all things your direction. Admitted to our lands? 108 BYRON'S WORKS. WERNER. ULRIC. Assuredly, An old Bohemian-an imperial gipsy. Situate as we are now, although the first IDENSTEIN. Possessor might, as usual, prove the strongest, A gipsy or Bohemian,'t is the same, Especially the next in blood. For they pass by both names. And was he one? ULRIC. ULRIC. Blood!'t is I've heard so; but I must take leave. Intendant, A word of many meanings: in the veins Your servant!-Werner (to WERNER, slightly), if tha: And out of them it is a different thing- be your name, And so it should be, when the same in blood Yours. [Exit ULRIC. (As it is call'd) are aliens to each other, IDENSTEIN. Like Theban brethren: when a part is bad, A well-spoken, pretty-faced young man! A few spilt ounces purify the rest. And prettily behaved! He knows his station, WERNER. You see, sir: how he gave to each his due Precedence! I do not apprehend you. Precedence! WENER. ULRIC. I perceived it, and applaud That may be- His just discernment and your own. And should, perhaps,-and yet-but get ye ready; IDENSTEIN. You and my mother must away to-night. That's wellHere comes the intendant; sound him with the gem; Thats very well. You alskno your place, too,'T will sink into his venial soul like lead And yet 1 don't know that 1 know your place. Into the deep; and bring up slime, and mud, WERNER (showing the ring). And ooze, too, from the bottom, as the lead dth Would this assist your knowledge? With its greased understratum; but no less IDENSTEIN. Will serve to warn our vessels through these shoals. How!-What!-Eh The freight is rich, so heave the linein time! A jewel! Farewell! I scarce have time, but yet your hand, WERNER. My father!-'T is your own, on one condition. WERNER. IDENSTEIN. Let me embrace thee! Mine!-Name it! ULRIC. WERNER. We may be That hereafter you permit me Observed: subdue your nature to the hour! At thrice its value to redeem it:'t is Keep off from me as from your foe! A family ring. WERNER. IDENSTEIN. *'r~ ~ Accursed A family! yours! a gem! Be he who is the stifling cause, which smothers I'm breathless! The best aud sweetest feeling of our hearts, WERNER. At such an hour too! You must also furnish me, ULRIC. An hour ere daybreak, with all means to quit Yes, curse-it will ease you! This place. Htre is the intendant. IDENSTEIN. Enter IDENSTEIN But is it real? let me look on it: Master Idenstein, Diamond, by all that s glorious! How fare you in your purpose? Have you caught WERNER. The rogue? Come, I'll trust you; IDENSTEIN. You have guess'd, no doubt, that I was born above No, faith! My present seeming. ULRIC. IDENSTEIN. Well, there are plenty more: I can't say I did, You may have better luck another chase. Though this looks like it; this is the true breeding Where is the baron? Of gentle blood! IDENSTEIN. WERNER. Gone back to his chamber: I have important reasons And, now I think on't, asking after you For wishing to continue privily With nobly-born impatience. My journey hence. ULRIC. IDENSTEIN. Your great men So then you are the man Must be answer'd on the instant, as the bound Whom Stralenheim's in quest of! Of the stung steea replies unto the spur: WERNER.'T is well they have horses, too, for if they had not, I am not; I fear that men must draw their chariots, as But being taken for him might conduct Thev sav kings did Sesostris. So much embarrassment to me just now, IDENSTEIN. And to the baron's self hereafter-'t is Who was he? To spare both. that t would avoid all bustle. WERNER. 409 IDENSTEIN. FRITZ. Be you the man or no,'t is not my business; And wherefore fear? Besides, I never should obtain the half STRALENHEIM. From this proud niggardly noble, who would raise I know not why, and therefore do fear more, The country for some missing bits of coin, Because an undescribable- but't is And never offer a precise reward- All folly. Were the locks (as I desired), But this! Another look! Changed to-day, of this chamber? for last night's WERNER. Adventure makes it needful. Gaze on it freely; FRITZ. At day-dawn it is yours. Certainly, IDENSTEIN. According to your order, and beneath Oh, thou sweet sparkler! The inspection of myself and the young Saxon Thou more than stone of the philosopher! Who saved your life. I think they call him "Ulric." Thou touchstone of Philosophy herself! STRALENHEIM. Thou bright eye of the Mine! thou load-star of You think! you supercilious slave! what right The soul! the true magnetic pole to which Have you to tax your memory, which should be All hearts point duly north, like trembling needles! Quick, proud, and happy to retain the name Thou flaming spirit of the earth! which, sitting Of him who saved your master, as a litany High on the monarch's diadem, attractest Whose daily repetition marks your dutyMore worship than the majesty who sweats Get hence! "you think," indeed! you, who stood still Beneath the crown which makes his head ache, like Howling and dripping on the bank, whilst I Millions of hearts which bleed to lend it lustre! Lay dying, and the stranger dash'd aside Shalt thou be mine? I am, methinks, already The roaring torrent, and restored me to A little king, a lucky alchymist!- Thank him-and despise you. "You think!" and scarce A wise magician, who has bound the devil Can recollect his name! I will not waste Without the forfeit of his soul. But come, Mcre words onyou. Call me betimes. Werner, or what else? FRITZ. WERNER. Good night! Call me Werner still: I trust to-morrow will restore your lordship You may yet know me by a loftier title. To renov ted strength and temper. IDENSTEIN. [Th scene doses I do believe in thee! thou art the spirit Of whom I long have dream'd, in a low garb.But come, I'11 serve thee; thou shalt be as free SCENE III. As air, despite the waters: let us hence- The secret Passage. I'1 show thee I am honest —(oh, thou jewel!) Thou shalt be furnish'd, Werner, with such means GABOR (sous). Of flight, that if thou wert a snail, not birds FourShould overtake thee.-Let me gaze again! -Five-six hours have I counted, like the guard I have a foster-brother in the mart Of out-posts, on the never-merry clock: Of Hamburgh, skill'd in precious stones-how many That hollow tongue of time, which, even when Carats may itweigh?-Come,Werner, Iwillwing thee. It sounds for joy, takes something from enjoyment [Exeunt. With every clang.'T is a perpetual knell,. Though for a marriage feast it rings: each stroke Peals of a hope the less; the funeral note SCENE II. Of love deep-buried without resurrection STRALENHEIM'S Chamber. In the grave ofpossession; while the knoll STRLENHEIM ed FRITZ. Of long-lived parents finds a jovial echo Totriple time in the son's ear. FRITZ. I'm coldAll's ready, my good lord! I'm dark-I've blown my fingers —number'a o'er STRALENHEIM. And o'er my steps-and knock'd my head against I am not sleepy, Some fifty buttresses-and roused the rats And yet I must to bed; I fain would say And bats in general insurrection, till To rest, but something heavy on my spirit, Their cursed pattering feet and whirring wings Too dull for wakefulness, too quick for slumber, Leave me scarce hearing for another sound. Sits on me as a cloud along the sky, A light! It is at distance (if I can Which will not let the sunbeams through, nor yet Measure in darkness distance): but it blinks Descend in rain and end, but spreads itself As through a crevice or a key-hole, in'Twixt earth and heaven, like envy between man The inhibited direction; I must on, And man, an everlasting mist;-I will Nevertheless, from curiosity. Unto my pillow. A distant lamp-light is an incident FRITZ. In such a den as this. Pray Heaven it lead me May you rest there well! To nothing that may tempt me! Else Heaven aid lwe STRALENHEIM. To obtain or to escape it! Shining still I I fee', and fear, I shall. Were it the star of Lucifer himself, 2 2 57 410 BYRON'S WORKS. )r he himself girt with its beams, I could ULRIC. Contain no longer. Softly! mighty well! Reply, sir, as That corner's turn'd-soL-ah! no, right! it draws You prize your life, or mine! Nearer. Here is a darksome angle-so, WERNER. That's weather'd.-Let me pause.-Suppose it leads To what must I Into some greater danger than that which Answer? I have escaped?-no matter,'t is a new one; ULRIC. And novel perils, like fresh mistresses, Are you or are you not the assassin Wear more magnetic aspects: I will on, Of Stralenheim? And be it where it may-I have my dagger, WERNER. Which may protect me at a pinch.-Burn still, I never was as yet Thou little light! Thou art my ignisfatuus! The murderer of any man. What mean you? My stationary Will o' the wisp!-So! so! ULRIC. He hears my invocation, and fails not. Did you not this night (as the night before) [The scene closes. Retrace the secret passage? Did you not e______ Again revisit Stralenheim's chamber? and[ULRIC pause. SCENE IV. WERNER. Proceed. A Garden. ULRIC. Enter WERNER. Died he not by your hand? I could not sleep-and now the hour's at hand; WERNER. All's ready. Idenstein has kept his word: Great God! And, station'd in the outskirts of the town, ULRIC.'Upon the forest's edge, the vehicle You are innocent, then! my father's innocent! Awaits us. Now the dwindling stars begin Embrace me! Yes,-your tone-your look-yes, yesTo pale in heaven; and for the last time I Yet say so! Look on these horrible walls. Oh! never, never WERNER. Shall I forget them. Here I came most poor, If I e'er, in heart or mind, But not dishonour'd: and I leave them with Conceived deliberately such a thought, A stain,-if not upon my name, yet in But rather strove to trample back to hell My heart! A never-dying canker-worm, Such thoughts-if e'er they glared a moment thiough Which all the coming splendour of the lands, The irritation of my oppress'd spiritAnd rights, and sovereignty of Siegendorf, May Heaven be shut for ever from my hopes Can scarcely lull a moment: I must find As from mine eyes! Some means of restitution, which would ease ULRIC. My soul in part; but how, without discovery?- But Stralenheim is dead. It must be done, however; and I'11 pause WERNER. Upon the method the first hour of safety.'T is horrible!'t is hideous, as't is hateful!The madness of my miser y led to this But what have I to do with this? Base infamy; repentance must retrieve it: ULRIC. I will have nought of Stralenheim's upon No bolt My spirit, though he would grasp allof mine; Is forced no violence can be detected, Lands, freedom, life,-and yet he sleeps! as soundly, Save on his body. Part of his own household Perhaps, as infancy, with gorgeous curtains Have been larm'd but as the intendant is Spread for his canopy, o'er silken pillows, Absent, I took upon myself the care Such as when —Hark! what noise is that? Again! Of mustering the police. His chamber has, The branches shake; and some loose stones have fallen Past doubt, been enter'd secretly. Excuse me, From yonder terrace. If nature[ULRIC leaps down from the terrace. WERNER. Ulric! ever welcome! Oh, my boy! what unknown woes Thrirc welcome now! this filial- Of dark fatality, like clouds, are gathering ULRIC. Above our house! Stop! before ULRIC. We approach, tell me- My father, I acquit you! WERNER. But will the world do so? Will even the judge, Why look you so? If —— but you must away this instant. ULRIC. WERNER. DoI No!,iihbiil my fatter, o I'11 face it. Who-shall dare suspect me? WERNER. ULRIC. What? Yet ULRlv. You had no guests-no visitors-no life An assassin. Breathing around you, save my mother's? WERNER. WERNER. insane or insolent I Ah! WERNER. 411 The Hungarian! You, my son!-doubtedULRIC. ULRIC. He is gone! he disappear'd And do you doubt of him Ere sunset. The fugitive? WERNER. WERNER. No; I hid him in that very Boy! since I fell into Conceal'd and fatal gallery. The abyss of crime (though not of such crime), I, ULRIC. Having seen the innocent oppress'd for me, There I'11 find him. May doubt even of the guilty's guilt. Your heart [ULRIC is going. Is free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuse WERNER. Appearances; and views a criminal It is too late: he had left the palace ere In innocence's shadow, it may be, I quitted it. I found the secret panel Because't is dusky. Open, and the doors which lead from that hall ULRIC. Which masks it: I but thought he had snatch'd the silent And if I do so, And favourable moment to escape What will mankind, who know you not, or knew The myrmidons of Idenstein, who were But to oppress? You must not stand the hazard. Dogging him yester-even. Away!-I'11 make all easy. Idenstein ULRIC. Will, for his own sake and his jewel's, hold You re.closed His peace-he also is a partner in The panel? Your flight-moreoverWERNER. WERNER. Yes; and not without reproach Fly! and leave my name (And inner trembling for the avoided peril) Link'd with the Hungarian's, or preferr'd, as poorest At his dull heedlessness, in leaving thus To bear the brand of bloodshed? His shelterer's asylum to the risk ULRIC. Of a discovery. Pshaw! leave any thing ULRIC. Except our fathers' sovereignty and castles, You are sure you closed it? For which you have so long panted and in vain! WERNER. What name? You leave no name, since that you bea. Certain. Is feign'd. ULRIC. WERNER. That's well; but had been better if Most true; but still I would not have it Youne'er had turn'd it to a den for [He pauses. Engraved in crimson in men's memories, WERNER. Though in this most obscure abode of menThieves! Besides, the searchThou wouldst say: I must bear it, and deserve it; ULRIC. But not- I will provide against ULRIC. Aught that can touch you. No one knows you here No, father, do not speak of this; As heir of Siegendorf: if Idenstein This is no hour to think of petty crimes, Suspects,'t is but suspicion, and he is But to prevent the consequence of great ones. A fool: his folly shall have such employment, Why would you shelter this man? Too, that the unknown Werner shall give way WERNER. To nearer thoughts of self. The laws (if e'er Could I shun it? Laws reach'd this village) are all in abeyance A man pursued by my chief foe; disgraced With the late general war of thirty years, For my own crime; a victim to my safety, Or crush'd, or rising slowly from the dust, Imploring a few hours' concealment from To which the march of armies trampled them. The very wretch who was the cause he needed Stralenheim, although noble, is unheeded Such refuge. Had he been a wolf, I could not Here, save as such-without lands, influence, Have, in such circumstances, thrust him forth. Save what hath perish'd with him; few prolong ULRIC. A week beyond their funeral rites their sway And like the wolf he hath repaid you. But O'er men, unless by relatives, whose interest It is too late to ponder this: you must Is roused: such is not here the case; he died Set out ere dawn. I will remain here to Alone, unknown,-a solitary grave, Trace out the murderer, if't is possible. Obscure as his deserts, wivhout a scutcheon, WERNER. Is all he'II have, or wants. If I discover But this my sudden flight will give the Moloch The assassin,'t will be well-if not, believe me, Suspicion, two new victims, in the lieu None else, though all the full-fed train of menial: Of one, if I remain. The fled Hungarian, May howl above his ashes, as they did Who seems the culprit, and Around him in his danger on the Oder, ULRIC. Will no more stir a finger now than then. Who seems!;ho else Hence! hence! I must not hear your answer-r. 4o Can be so? The stars are almost faded, and the gray WERNER. Begins to grizzle the black hair of night. Not 1, though just now you doubted- You shall not answer-Pardon me. that I 412 BYRON'S WORKS. Am peremptory;'t is your son that speaks, And strong and beautiful as a young tiger. Your long-lost, late-found son-Let's call my mother! ERIC. Softly and swiftly step, and leave the rest That's not a faithful vassal's likeness. To me; I II answer for the event as far HENRICK. As regards you, and that is the chief point, But As my first duty, which shall be observed. Perhaps a true one. We'll meet in Castle Siegendorf-once piore ERIC. Our banners shall be glorious! Think of' that Pity, as I said, Alone, and leave all other thoughts to me, The wars are over: in the hall, who like Whose youth may better battle with them-Hence! Count Ulric for a well-supported pride, And may your age be happy!-I will kiss Which awes but yet offends not? in the field, My mother once more, then Heaven's speed be with you! Who like him with his spear in hand, when, gnashing WERNER. His tusks, and ripping up from right to left This counsel's safe-but is it honourable? The howling hounds, the boar makes for the thicket? ULRIC.' Who backs a horse, or bears a hawk, or wears To save a father is a child's chief honour. A sword like him? Whose plume nods knightlier? [Exeunt. HE'RICK. No one's, I grant you: do not fear, if war Be long in coming, he is of that kind ACT IV. Will make it for himself, if he hath not Already done as much. SCENE 1. ERIC. A Gothic Hall in the Castle of Siegendorf, near Prague, What do you mean? Enter ERIC and HENRICK, retainers of the Count. ENRICK. You can't deny his train of followers ERIC. (But few our fellow native vassals born So, better times are come at last; to these On the domain) are such asort of knaves )ld walls new masters and high wassail, both As-(pauses) A long desideratum. ERIC. HENRICK. What? Yes, for masters, HENRICK. It might be unto those who long for novelty, The war (you lore so much) leaves living; Though made by a new grave: but as for wassail, Like other parents, she spoils her worst children.'Methinks the old Count Siegendorf maintain'd ERIC His feudal hospitality as high Nonsense! they are all brave iron-visaged fellows, As e'er another prince of the empire. Such as old Tilly loved. ERIC. HENRICK. Why, And who loved Tilly? For the mere cup and trencher, we no doubt Ask that at Magdebourg-or, for that matter, Fared passing well; but as for merriment Wallenstein either-they are gone toAnd sport, without which salt and sauces season ERIC. The cheer but scantily, our sizings were Rest; Even of the narrowest. But what beyond,'t is not ours to pronounce. HENRICK. HENRICK. The old count loved not I wish they had left us something of their rest: The roar of revel; are you sure that this does? The country (nominally now at peace) ERIC. Is overrun with-God knows who-they fly As yet he hath been courteous as he's bounteous, By night, and disappear with sunrise; but And we all love him. Leave no less desolation, nay, even more HENRICK. Than the most open warfare. His reign is as yet ERIC. Hardly a year o'erpast its honey-moon, But Count UlricAnd the first year of sovereigns is bridal; What has all this to do with him? Anon, we shall perceive his real sway HENRICK. And moods of mind. With him! ERIC. He-might prevent it. As you say he's fond Pray Heaven he keep the present! Of war, why makes he it not on those marauders? Then his brave son, Count Ulric-there's a knight! ERIC. Pity the wars are o'er! You'd better ask himself. HENRICK. HIENRICK. Why so? I would as soon ERIC. Ask of the lion why he laps not mii. Look on him! ERIC And answer that yourself And here he comes! EENRICKR HNIENRICK. He's very youthful, The devil! you'll hold your tongue 7 WERNER. 13 ERIC. Is to be strengthen'd. I must join them soon. Why do you turn so pale? RODOLPH. HENRICK. Best wait for further and more sure advices.'T is nothing-but ULRIC. Be silent! I mean it-and indeed it could not well ERIC. Have fallen out at a time more opposite I will, upon what you have said. To all my plans. HENRICK. RODOLPH. I assure you I meant nothing, a mere sport It will be difficult Of words, no more; besides, had it been otherwise, To excuse your absence to the count, your father. He is to espouse the gentle baroness, ULRIC. Ida of Stralenheim, the late baron's heiress, Yes, but the unsettled state of our domain And she no doubt will soften whatsoe'er In High Silesia, will permit and cover Of fierceness the late long intestine wars My journey. In the mrean time, when we are Have given all natures; and most unto those Engaged in the chase, draw off the eighty men Who were born in them, and bred up upon Whom Wolffe leads-keep the forests on your route: The knees of homicide; sprinkled, as it were, You know it well? With blood even at their baptism. Prithee, peace, RODOLPH. On all that I have said! As well as on that night When weEnter ULRIC and RODOLPH. ULRIC. ULRIC. Good morrow, count! We will not speak of that until ULRIC. We can repeat the same with like success; Good morrow, worthy Henrick. Eric, is And when you have join'd, give Rosenberg this letter. All ready for the chase? [Gives a letter. ERIC. Add further, that I have sent this slight addition The dogs are order'd To our force with you and Wolffe, as herald of Down to the forest, and the vassals out My coming, though I could but spare them ill To beat the bushes, and the day looks promising. At this time, as my father loves to keep Shall I call forth your excellency's suite? Full numbers of retainers round the castle, What courser will you please to mount? Until this marriage, and its feasts and fooleries, ULRIC. Are rung out with its' peal of nuptial nonsense. The dun, RODOLPH. Walstein. I thought you loved the'lady Ida? ERIC. ULRIC. I fear he scarcely has recoveryd Why, The toils of Monday:'t was a noble chase- I do so-but it follows not from that You spear'd four with your own hand. I would bind in my youth and glorious years, ULRIC. So brief and burning, with a lady's zone, True, good Eric, Although't were that of Venus;-but I love her, I had forgotten-let it be the gray, then, As woman should be loved, fairly and solely. Old Ziska: he has not been out this fortnight. RODOLPH. ERIC. And constantly? He shall be straight caparison'd. How many ULRIC. Of your immediate retainers shall I think so; for I love Escort you? Nought else.-But I have not the time to pause ULRIC.:Upon these gewgaws of the heart. Great things I leave that to Weilburgh, our We have to do ere long. Speed! speed! good Rodo!ph' Master of the horse. [Exit ERIC. RODOLPH. Rodolph! On my return, however, I shall find RODOLPH. The Baroness Ida lost in Countess Siegendorf! My lord! ULRIC. ULRIC. Perhaps: my father wishes it, and sootns The news'T is no bad policy; this union with Is awkward from the-(RoDoLPH points toHENRICK.) The last bud of the rival branch at once How now, Henrick, why Unites the future and destroys the past. Loiter you here? RODOLPH. HENRICK. Adieu! For your commands, my lord. ULRIC. ULRIC. Yet hold-we had better keep.ogethct Go to my father, and present my duty, Until the chase begins; then draw thou off, And learn if he would aught with me before And do as I have said. I mount. [Exit HENRICK. RODOLPH. Rodolph, our friends have had a check I will. But to Upon the frontiers of Franconia, and Return-It was a most kind act in the count,'T is rumour'd that the column sent against them Your father, to send up to Konigsburg 414 BYRON'S WORKS. For this fair orphan of the baron, and Did I not echo your own wish? To hii her as his daughter. IDA. ULRIC. Yes, Ulric, Wondrous kind! But then I wish'd it not with such a glance, Especially as little kindness till And scarce knew what I said; but let me be Thea grew between them. Sister or cousin, what you will, so that RODOLPH. I still to you am something. The late baron died ULRIC. Of a fever, did he not? You shall be ULRIC. All-allHow should I know? IDA. RODOLPH. And you to me are so already; I have heard it whisper'd there was something strange But I can wait. About his death-and even the place of it ULRIC. Is scarcely known. Dear Ida! ULRIC. IDA. Some obscure village on Call me Ida, The Saxon or Silesian frontier. Your Ida, for I would be yours, none else'sRODOLPH. Indeed I have none else left, since my poor fatherHe [She pauses. Has left no testament-no farewell words! ULRIC. ULRIC. You have mine-you have me. I am neither confessor nor notary, IDA. So cannot say. Dear Ulric! how I wish RODOLPH. My father could but view our happiness, Ah! here's the lady Ida. Which wants but this! ULRIC. Enter IDA STRALENHEIM. ic Indeed! ULRIC. IDA. I u are early, my sweet cousin-! IDA Xu ar -I You would have loved him; IDA. Not too ea He you; for the brave ever love each other: His manner was a little cold, his spirit Dear Ulric, if I do not interrupt you. Dear Uric, if I do not interupt you. Proud (as is birth's prerogative), but under Why do you call me " cousin?" Why do you call me "cosi. This grave exterior-would you had known each other! UL Are we not s. Had such as you been near him on his journey, He had not died without a friend to soothe IDA., ~~~IDA. ~ His last and lonely moments. Yes, but I do not like the name; methinks & sounds so cold, as if you thought upon ULRIC. Our pedigree, and only weigh'd our blood. Who says that? Blood! ULRIC (starting). What? IDA. Blood! What3 IDA. ~ Why does yours start from your cheeks? That he died alone. ULRIC. IDA. Ay! doth it? The general rumour, IDA. And disappearance of his servants, who It doth-but no! it rushes like a torrent Have ne'er return'd: that fever was most deadly Even to your brow again. Which swept them all away. ULRIC (recovering himself). ULRIC. And if it fled, If they were near him, It only was because your presence sent it He could not die neglected or alone. Back to my heart, which beats for you, sweet cousin! IDA. IDA. Alas! what is a menial to a death-bed, " Cousin " again! When the dim eye rolls vainly round for what ULRaC. It loves?-they say he died of a fever. Nay, then I'11 call you sister. ULRIC. IDA.Say! A like that name still worse-would we Lad ne'er It was so.Say Been aught of kindred! IDA. ULRIC (gloomily). I sometimes dream otherwise. Would we never had! ULRI IDA. All dreams are fat ie. Oh Heaven i and can you wish that? IDA. ULRIC. And yet I see him as Dearest Ida! I see you. WERNER. 415 ULRIC. IDA. trhere? Except his prey, I hope. IDA. ULRIC. In sleep-I see him lie Sweet Ida, wish me a fair chase, and I Pale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knife Will bring you six boars' heads for trophies home Beside him. IDA. ULRIC. And will you not stay, then? You shall not go! But do you not see his face? Come! I will sing to you. IDA (looking at him). ULRIC. No I oh, my God! do you? Ida, you scarcely ULRIC. Will make a soldier's wife. Why do you ask? IDA. IDA. I do not wish Because you look as if you saw a murderer! To be so; for I trust these wars are over, ULRIC (agitatedly). And you will live in peace on your domains. Ida, this is mere childishness: your weakness Enter WERNER, as COUNT SIEGENDORF. Infects me, to my shame; but as all feelings Of yours are common to me, it affects me. LRI Prithee, sweet child, change- My father, I salute you, and it grieves me With such brief greeting.-You have heard our bugle IDA. The vassals wait. Child, indeed! I have T Full fifteen summers! [A bugle sounds. SIEGENDORF. So let them-you forget RODOLPH. HITar,'my lord, th bl To-morrow is the appointed festival Hark, my lord, the bugle! IA (peevishly to RODsOLPH). In Prague, for peace restored. You are apt to tolou IDA (peevishlyt7o RODOLPH). -.. ID.a.. yo ^ h i, ~ht Ca.e.nt.ea The chase with such an ardour as will scarce Why ceed you tell him that? Can he not hear it, Permit you to return to-day, or if WitLiout your echo? Return'd, too much fatigued to join to-morrow RODOLPH. Prdon mPe fa' b.The nobles in our marshall'd ranks. Pardon me, fair baroness! IDA. I will not pardon you, unless you earn it You, count, By aiding me in my dissuasion of A l of t Pagean-1ies. By aiding mne in my dissuasion of Will well supply the place of both-I am not Count Ulric from the chase to-day. A lover of these pageantries. RODOLPH. RODOLPH. SIEGENDORF. You will not, No, Ulric; uLadyJ, need aid of mine. It were not well that you alone of all ULRIC. Our young nobilityI must not now IDA. porego it. And far the noblest IDA. In aspect and demeanour. But you shall! SIEGENDORF (to IDA). ULRIC.! True, dear child, Shall i Though somewhat frankly said for a fair damsel.IDA. But, Ulric, recollect too our position, Yes, or be So lately reinstated in-our honours. No true knight.-Come, dear Ulric! yield to me Believe me,'t ould be mark'd in any house, In this, for this one day; the day looks heavy, But most in ours, that ONE should be found wanting And you are turn'd so pale and ill. At such a time and place. Besides, the Heaven ULRIC. Which gave us back our own, in the same moment You jest. It spread its peace o'er all, hath double claims IDA. On us for thanksgiving; first, for our country, Indeed I do not: ask of Rodolph. And next, that we are here to share its blessings. RODOLPH. ULRIC (aside). Truly, Devout, too! Well, sir, I obey at once. My lord, within this quarter of an hour, [Then aloud to a setvanm. You have changed more than I e'er saw you change Ludwig, dismiss the train without! In years. [Eit LUDWIG. ULRIC. IDA.'T is nothing; but if't were, the air And so Would soon restore me. I'm the true cameleon, You yield at once to him, what I for hours And live but on the atmosphere; your feasts Might supplicate in vain. In castle halls, and social banquets, r.ase not SIEGENDORF (sn iling). My spirit-I'm a forester, and breather You art not jealous Of the steep mountain-tops, where I love all Of me, I trust, my pretty rebel! who The eagle loves. Would sanction disobedience against al 101 BBYRON'S WORKS. Except thyself? But fear not, thou shalt rule him SIEGENDORF. Hereafter with a fonder sway and firmer. I talk not of his birth, IDA. But of his bearing. Men speak lightly of him. But I should like to govern now. ULRIC. SIEGENDORF. So they will do of most men. Even the monarch You shall, Is not fenced from his chamberlain's slander, or Yourharp; which, by the way, awaits you with The sneer of the last courtier whom he has made The countess in her chamber. She complains Great and ungrateful. That you are a sad truant to your music: SIEGENDORF. She attends you. If I must be plain, IDA. The world speaks more than lightly of this Rodolph; Then good morrow, my kind kinsmen! They say he is leagued with the " black bands" who stil Ulric, you'11 come and hear me? Ravage the frontier. ULRIC. ULRIC. By and by. And will you believe ~~~~IDA. The world? IDA. Be sure I'I sound it better than your bugles; SIEGENDOR. In this case-yes. Then pray you be as punctual to its notes: In t c.'11 play you King Gustavus' march. In any In any case, ULRIC. And why not I thought you knew it better than to take Old Tilly's. An accusation for a sentence. IDA. SIEGENDQRF. Not that monster's! I should think Son! My harp-strings rang with groans, and not with music, I understand you: you refer to-but Could aught of his sound on it;-but come quickly; My destiny has so involved about me Your mother will be eager to receive you. Her spider web, that I can only flutter [Exit IDA. Like the poor fly, but break it not. Take heed, SIEGENDORF. Ulric; you have seen to what the passions led me; Ulric, I wish to speak with you alone. Twenty long years of misery and famine ULRIC. Quench'd them not-twenty thousand more, perchance Bly time's your vassal.- [Aside to RODOLPH. Hereafter (or even here in moments which Rodolph, hence! and do Might date for years, did anguish make the dial), As I directed; and by his best speed May not obliterate or expiate And readiest means let Rosenberg reply. The madness and dishonour of an instant. RODOLPH. Ulric, be warn'd by a father!-I was not Count Siegendorf, command you aught? I am bound By mine, and you behold me! Upon a journey past the frontier. ULRIC. SIEGENDORF (starts). I behold Ah!- The prosperous and beloved Siegendorf, Where? on what frontier? Lord of a prince's appanage, and honour'd RODOLPH. By those he rules, and those he ranks with. The Silesian, on SIEGENDORF. My way-(aside to ULRIC). Where shall I say? Ah! ULRIC (aside, to RODOLPH). Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fear To Hamburgh. For thee? Beloved, when thou lovest me not! (Aside to himself). That All hearts but one may beat in kindness for meWord will, I think, put a firm padlock on But if my son's is cold!His further inquisition. ULRIC. RODOLPH. Who dare say that? Count, to Hamburgh. SIEGENDORF. SIEGENDORF (agitated). None else but I, who see it-fed it-keener Hamburgh! on, I have nought to do there, nor Than would your adversary, who dared say so, An aught connected with that city. Then Your sabre in his heart! But mine survives tod speed you! The wound. RODOLPH. ULRIC. Fare ye well, Count Siegendorf! You err. My nature is not given [Exit RODOLPH. To outward fondling; how should it be so, SIEGENDORF., After twelve years' divorcement from my parents T Jlric, this man, who has just departed, is SIEGENDORF. One of those strange companions, whom I fain And did not I too pass those twelve torn years Would reason with you on. In alike absence? But'tis vain to urge youULRIC. Nature was never call'd back by remonstrance. My lord, he is Let's change the theme. I wish you to consider Noble by birth, of one of the first houses That these young violent nobles of high name, In Saxony. But dark deeds (ay, the darkest, if all rumour WERNER. 417 Reports be true), with whom thou consortest, ULRIC. Will lead thee- The daughter of dead Stralenheim, your i oe' ULRIC (impatiently). I'11 wed her, ne'ertheless; though, to say truth, I'l be led by no man. Just now I am not violently transported SIEGI DORF. In favour of such unions. Nor SIEGENDORF. Be leader of such, I would hope: at once But she loves you. To wean thee from the perils of thy youth ULRIC. And haughty spirit, I have thought it well And I love her, and therefore would think twice. That thou should'st wed the lady Ida-more, SIEGENDORF. As thou appear'st to love her. Alas! Love never did so. ULRIC. ULRIC. I have said Then't is time I will obey your orders, were they to He should begin, and take the bandage from Unite with Hecate-can a son say more? His eyes, and look before he leaps: till now SIEGENDORF. He hath ta'en a jump i' the dark. He says too much in saying this. It is not SIEGENDORF. The nature of thine age, nor of thy blood, But you consent Nor of thy temperament, to talk so coolly, ULRIC. Or act so carelessly, in that which is I did and do. The bloom or blight of all men's happiness, SIEGENDORF. (For glory's pillow is but restless, if Then fix the day. Love lay not down his cheek there): some strong bias, ULRIC. Some master fiend, is in thy service, to T is usual, Misrule the mortal who believes him slave, And, certes, courteous, to leave that to the lady. And makes his every thought subservient; else SIEGENDORF. Thou'dst say at once, "I love young Ida, and I wil engage for her. Will wed her," or, "I love her not, and all ULRIC. So will not I Fhe powers of earth shall never make me."-So Would I have answerUd. For any woman; and as what I fix, WoulULRhave answerI'd. I fain would see unshaken, when she gives Sir, you wed for love. Her answer, I'll give mine. SIEGENDOiF. SIEGENDORF. I did, and it has been my only refuge But't is your office To woo. In many miseries. ULRIC. ULRIC. Which miseries Count,'tis a marriage of your making, Wd.ever been but for thichlove-t. So be it of your wooing; but to please you Had never been but for this love-match. I will now pay my duty to my mother, SIEGENDORF. Still With whom, you know, the lady Ida isAgainst your age and nature! who at twenty What would you have? You have forbid my stirring E'er answer'd thus till now? For manly sports beyond the castle walls, ULRIC. And I obey; you bid me turn a chamberer, Did you not warn me To pick up gloves, and fans, and knitting-needles, Against your own example? And list to songs and tunes, and watch for smiles, SIEGENDORF. And smile at pretty prattle, and look into Boyish sophist! The eyes of feminie, as though they were In a word, do you love, or love not, Ida? The stars receding early to our wish ULRIC. Upon the dawn of a world-winning battleWhat matters it, if I am ready to What can a son or man do more? [Exit ULRIJ. Obey you in espousing her? SIEGENDORF (SOlUS). SIEGENDORF. Too much!As far Too much of duty and too little love! As you feel, nothing, but all life for her. He pays me in the coin he owes me not: She's young-all-beautiful-adores you-is For such hath been my wayward fate, I could not Endow'd with qualities to give happiness, Fulfil a parent's duties by his side Such as rounds common life into a dream Till now; but love he owes me, for my thoughts Of something which your poets cannot paint, Ne'er left him, nor my eyes long'd without tears And (if it were not wisdom to love virtue) To see my child again, and now I have found hinm! For which philosophy might barter wisdom; But how? obedient, but with coldness; duteous And giving so much happiness deserves In my sight, but with carelessness; mysterious, A little in return. I would not have her Abstracted-distant-much given to long absence, Break her heart for a man who has none to break, And where-none know-in league with the most ritox, Or wither on her stalk like some pale rose Of our young nobles: though, to do him justice, Deserted by the bird she thought a nightingale, He never stoops down to their vulgar pleasures; According to the orient tale. She is - Yet there's some tie tetween them which I cannw 20 58 418 BYRON'S WORKS Umnavel. They look up to him-consult him- The largess shall be only dealt in alms, Throng round him as a leader: but with me And every mass no less sung for the dead. He hath no confidence! Ah! can I hope it Our house needs no donations, thanks to yours, After-what! doth my father's curse descend Which has of old endow'd it; but from you Even to my child? Or is the Hungarian near And yours in all meet things't is fit we obey. ro shed more blood, or-oh! if it should be! For whom shall mass be said? Spirit of Stralenheim, dost thou walk these walls SIEGENDORF (faltering). To wither him and his-who, though they slew not, For-for-the aead Unlatch'd the door of death for thee?'T was not PRIOR ALBERT. Our fault, nor is our sin: thou wert our foe, His name. And yet I spared thee when my own destruction SIEGENDORF. Slept with thee, to awake with thine awakening' is frm a soul, and not a name, And only took-accursed gold! thou liest I ould avert perdition. Like poison in my hands; I dare not use thee, PRIOR ALBERT. Nor part from thee; thou camest in such a guise, I meant not Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all hands To pry into your secret We will pray Like mine. Yet I have done, to atone for thee, For one unknown, the same as for the proudest. Thou villanous gold! and thy dead master's doom, SIEOENDORF. Though he died not by me or mine, as much M bqe Though he died not by me or mine, as much Secret! I have none; but, father, he who's gone As if he were my brother! I have ta'en Might heae one; or, in short, he did bequeathHis orphan Ida-cherish'd her as one No, not bequeath-but I besto this sum Who will be mine. For pious purposes. PRIOR ALBERT. Enter an ATTENDANT. A proper deed ATTENDANT. In the behalf of our departed friends. The abbot, if it please SIEGENDORF. Your excellency, whom you sent for, waits But he, who's gone, was not my friend, but foe, Upon you. [Exit ATTENDANT. The deadliest and the staunchest. Enter the PRIOR ALBERT. PRIOR ALBERT. PRYOR ALBERT. Better still! Peace be with these walls, and all To employ our means to obtain heaven for the soul Within them! Of our dead enemies, is worthy those SIEGENDORF. Who can forgive them living. Welcome, welcome, holy father! SIEGENDORF. And may thy prayer be heard!-all men have need But I did not Of such, and I_ Forgive this man. I loathed him to the last, PRIOR ALBERT. As he did me. I do not love him now, Have the first claim to all ButThe prayers of our community. Our convent, PRIOR ALBERT. Erected by your ancestors, is'still Best of all! for this is pure religion! Protected by their children. You fain would rescue him you hate from hellSIEGENDORF. An evangelical compassion!-with Yor o n go t oo SIECENDORF. Continue daily orisons for us SIEGE Father,'t is not my gold. In these dim days of heresies and blood, PRIOR ALBERT. Though the schismatic Swede, Gustavus, is? yu sd it ws n Golle home. Whose then? you said it was no legacy. Gone home. SIEGENDORF. PRIOR ALBERT. IEENDORF. To the endless home of unbelievers, No matter whose-of this be sure, that he Where there is everlasting wail and woe, Who own'd it never more will need it, save Gnashing of teeth, and tears of blood, and fire In that which it may purchase from your altars: Eternal, and the worm which dieth not!'T is yours, or theirs. PRIOR ALBERT. SIEGENDORF. Is there no blood upon it? True, father: and to avert those pangs from one, SIEGENDORF. Who, though of our most faultless,'holy church,: bt t w t b No: but there's worse than blood-eternal shaie! Yet dsea without its last and dearest offices, PRIOR PRIOR ALBERT. Which smooth the soul through purgatorial pains Did he who owd it die in his be I have to offer humbly this donation i,'p ^~~~~. e.. SIEGENDORF. In masses for his spirit.Alas Alas! ISIEGENDORF offers the gold which he had taken He did. from STRALENIEIM. PRIOR ALBERT. PRIOR ALBERT. Son! you relapse into revenge, Count, if I If you regret your enemy's bloodless death. Receive it,'t is because I know too well SIEGENDORF. Refusal would offend you. Be assured His death was fathomlessly deep in blood. WERNER. 419 PRIOR ALBERT. You said he died in his bed, not battle. ACT V. SIEGEND)ORF. SCENE I. He Died, I scarce Know-out-ne was stabb'd i' the dark, A large and magnificent Gothic Hall in the Castle of And now you have it-perish'd on his pillow Siegendorf, decorated uith Trophies, Banners, and By a cut-throat!-ay! you may look upon me! Arms of that Family. I am not the man. I'I1 meet your eye on that point, Enter ARNtIEIM and MEISTER, Attendants of COUNT As I can one day God's. SIEGENDORF. PRIOR ALBERT. ARNHEIM. Nor did he die Be quick! the count will soon return: the ladies By means, or men, or instrument of yours? Already are at the portal. Have you sent SIEGENDORF. The messengers in search of him he seeks for? No! by the God who sees and strikes! MEISTER. PRIOR- ALBERT. I have, in all directions, over Prague, Nor know you As far as the man's dress and figure could Who slew him? By your description track him. The devil take SIEGENDORF. These revels and processions! All the pleasure I could only guess at one, (If such there be) must fall to the spectators. And he to me a stranger, unconnected, I'm sure none doth to us who make the show. As unemploy'd. Except by one day's knowledge, ARNHEIM. I never saw the man who was suspected. Go to' my lady countess conies. PRIOR ALBERT. MEISTER. Then you are free from guilt.I'd rather SIEGENDORF (eagerly). Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade, Oh! am I?-say! Than follow in the train of a great man In these dull pageantries. PRIOR ALBERT. ARNHEIM. You have said so, and know best. ARNEIM. Begone, and rail SIEGENDORF. ~ 5IEGENDORF. Within. [Exeuntm. Father! I have spoken The truth, and nought but truth, if not the whole: COUNTESS JOSEPHINE, SIEGENDOR, an IDA STRALENnEIM. Yet say I am not guilty! for the blood Of this man weighs on me, as if I shed it, JOSEPHINE. though by the Power who abhorreth human blood, Well, Heavenbe praised, the show is over! I did not!-nay, once spared it, when I might IDA. And could-ay, perhaps should-(if our self-safety How can you say so! Never have I dreamt Be e'er excusable, in such defences Of aught so beautiful! The flowers, the boughs, Against the attacks of over-potent foes); The banners, and the nobles, and the knights, But pray for him, for me, and all my house; The gems, the robes, the plumes, the happy faces, For, as I said, though I be innocent, The coursers, and the incense, and the sun, I know not why, a like remorse is on me Streaming through the stain'd windows, even the tombs, As if he had fallen by me or mine. Pray for me, Which look'd so calm, and the celestial hymns, Father! I have pray'd myself in vain. Which seem'd as if they rather came from heaven PRIOR ALBERT. Than mounted there. The bursting organ's peal I will. Rolling on high like a harmonious thunder; Be comforted! You are innocent, and should The white robes, and the lifted eyes; the world Be calm as innocence. At peace! and all at peace with one anotner! SIEGENDORF. Oh, my sweet mother! [Embracing JOSEPHINIS But calmness is not JOSEPHINE. Always the attribute of innocence: My beloved child! I feel it is not. For such, I trust, thou shalt be shortly. PRIOR ALBERT. IDA. But it will be so, Oh! When the mind gathers up its truth within it. I am so already. Feel how my heart beats! Remember the great festival to-morrow, JOSEPIIINE. In which you rank amidst our chiefest nobles, It does, my love; and never may't throb As well as your brave son; and smooth your aspect; With aught more bitter! Nor in the general orison of thanks IDA. For bloodshed stopt, let blood, you shed not, rise Never shall it do so! A cloud upon your thoughts. This were to be How should it? What should make us grieve? I hate Too sensitive. Take comfort, and forget To hear of sorrow: how can we be sad, Such things, and leave remorse unto the guilty. Who love each other so entirely? You, [Exeunt. The count, and Ulric, and your daughter, Ida. 420 BYRON'S WORKS. JOSEPHINE. Aside these nodding plumes and dragging trains. Pot,l child! IDA. IDA. And, above all, these stiff and heavy jewels, Do you pity me? Which make my head and heart ache, as both throb JOSEPHINE. Beneath their glitter o'er my brow and zone. No; I but envy, Dear mother, I am with you. [Exeuan And that in sorrow, not in the world's sense Of the universal vice, if one vice be Enter COUNT SIEGENDORF infull dress, from the More general than another. solemnity, and LuDWIG. IDA. SIEGENDORF. I'1 not hear Is he not found? A word against a world which still contains LUDWIG. You and my Ulric. Did you ever see Strict search is making every where; and if Aught like him? How he tower'd amongst them all The man be in Prague, be sure he will be found. How all eyes follow'd him! The flowers fell faster- SIEGENDORF. Rain'd from each lattice at his feet, methought, Where's Uric? Than before all the rest, and where he trod LUDWIG. I dare be sworn that they grow still, nor e'er He rode round theother way, Will wither. With some young nobles; but he left them soon; JOSEPHINE And, if I err not, not a minute since You will spoil him, little flatterer, I heard his excellency, with his train, If he should hear you. Gallop o'er the west drawbridge. IDA. But he never will. Enter ULRIC, splendidly dressed. I dare not say so much to him-I fear him. SIEGENDORF (to LUDWIG). JOSEPHINE. See they cease not Vhy so? he loves you well. Their quest ofhimI havedescribed. [Exit Luwio. IDA. Oh! Ulric, But I can never How have I long'd for thee! Shape my thoughts of him into words to him. ULRIC. Besides, he sometimes frightens me. Your wish is grantedJOSEPHINE. Behold me! How so? SIEGENDORF. IDA.^ I have seen the murderer. A cloud comes o'er his blue eyes suddenly, LI Yet he says nothing. Whom? Where? JOSEPHINE. SIEGENDOR SIEGENDORF. It is nothing: all men, The Hungarian, who slew Stralenheinm Especially m these dark troublous times, Have much to think of. You dream.LRI You dream. IDA. SIEGENDORF. But I cannot thnk I live! and as I live, I saw himOf aught save him. Heard him! He dared to utter even my name. JOSEPHINE. UL ULRIC. Yet there are other men, What name? In the world's eye, as goodly. There's, for instance, SIEGENDORF. The young Count Waldorf, who scarce once withdrew Werner!'twas mine. His eyes from yours to-day. VLRC. IDA. It must be so I did not see him, No more: forget it. But Ulric. Did you not see at the moment SIEGENDORF. When all knelt, and I.wept? and yet methought Never! never! all Through my fast tears, though they were thick and My destinies were woven in that name. warm, It will not be engraved upon my tomb, I saw him smiling on me. But it may lead me there. JOSEPHINE. ULRIC. I could not To the point-the Hungarian? See aught save heaven, to which my eyes were raised SIEGENDORF. Together with the people's. Listen!-The church was throng'd; the hymn was raised. IDA. " Te Deum" peal'd frompations, rather than I thought too From choirs, in one great cry of "God be praised" tif heaven, although I look'd on Ulric. For one day's peace. after thrice ten dread years, JOSEPHINE. Each bloodier than the former; I arose, Come, With all the nobles, and as I look'd down Let us retire: they will be here anon, Along the lines of lifted faces,-from bxpectault of the banquet. We will lay Our banner'd and escutcheon'd gallery, I WERNER, 421 Saw, like a flash of lightning (for I saw What shall we do with him? A moment, and no more), what struck me sightless SIEGENDORF. To all else-the Hungarian's face; I grew I know not that. Sick; and when I recover'd from the mist ULRIC. Which curl'd about my senses, and again Then wherefore seek? Look'd down, I saw him not. The thanksgiving SIEGENDORF. Was over, and we march'd back in procession. Because I cannot rest ULRIC. Till he is found. His fate, and Stralenheim's, Continue. And ours, seem intertwisted; nor can be SIEGENDORF. Unravell'd, tillWhen we reach'd the Muldau's bridge, Ent ATENDANT. ~,n,.: _ _ _.,, ~~,'nter an ATTENDANT. The joyous crowd above, the numberless Barks mann'd with revellers in their best garbs, ATTENDANT. Which shot along the glancing tide below, Your Excellency stranger towait on The decorated street, the long array, SIENDORF. The clashing music, and the thundering Who Of far artillery, which seem'd to bid A long and loud farewell to its great doings, ATTENDANT. He gave no name. The standards o'er me, and the tramplings round, SIOENDORF. The roar of rushing thousands, all-all could not Adt, ne'erth'. ~.,,.Admit him, nevertheless. Chase this man from my mind; although my senses No longer held him palpable. terwarT s exit. trodu ULRIC. Ah! You saw him GABOR. No more, then?'T is, then, Werner! SIEGENDORF. IECENDORF. SIEGENDORF (haughtily). I look'd, as a dying soldier I lookd, as a dying soldier frThe same you knew, sir, by that name; and you? Looks at a draught of water, for this man; But still I saw him not; but in his stead- GABOR (looking round). ULRIC. I recognise you both; father and son, What in his stead? It seems. Count, I have heard that you, or yours, SIEGENDORF. Have lately been in search of me: I am here. My eye for ever fell SIEGENDORF. Upon your dancing crest; the loftiest, I have sought you, and have found you; you are charge. As on the loftiest and the loveliest head (Your own heart may inform you why) with such It rose the highest of the stream of plumes, A crime as- [He pause. Which overflow'd the glittering streets of Prague. GABOR. ULRIC. Give it utterance, and then What's this to the Hungarian? I'll meet the consequences. SGEGENDORF. SIEGENDORF. Much, for I You shall do soHad almost then forgot him in my son, Unless When just as the artillery ceased, and paused GABOR. The music, and the crowd embraced in lieu First, who accuses me? Of shouting, I heard in a deep, low voice, SIECGNDORF. Distinct and keener far upon my ear All things, Than thelate cannon's volume, this word-" Werner Pi If not all men: the universal rumourULRIC. My own presence on the spot-the place-the timeUtter'd by — And every speck of circumstance, unite SIEGENDORF. To fix the blot on you. HIM! I turn'd-and saw-and fell GABOR. ULRIC. And on me only? And wherefore? Were you seen? Pause ere you answer: is no other name, I8EGENDORF. Save mine, stain'd in this business? The officious care SIEGENDORF. Of those around me dragg'd me from the spot, Trifling villain. Seeing my faintness, ignorant of the cause; Who play'st with thine own guilt? Of all that breaths You, too, were too remote in the procession Thou best dost know the innocence of him (The old nobles being divided from their children)'Gainst whom thy breath would blow thy bloody slande.r To aid me. But I will talk no further with a wretch, ULRIC. Further than justice asks. Answer at once, But I'11 aid you now. And without quibbling, to my charge. SIEGENDORF. GABOR. In what? is tiam ULRIC. SIEGENDORF. In searching for this man, or-when he's found, Who says so? 2 o2 422 BYRON'S WORKS. GABOR. SISGENDORF. I. These hints, as vague as vain, attach no less SIEGENDORF. To me than to my son. And how disprove it? GABOR. GABOR. I can't help that. By But let the consequence alight on him The presence of the murderer. Who feels himself the guilty one amongst us. SIEGENDORF. I speak to you, Count Siegendorf, because Name him! I know you innocent, and deem you just. GABOR. But ere I can proceed-Dare you protect me'He Dare you command me? May have more names than one. Your lordship had so [SIEGENDORF first looks at the Hungarian, and Once on a time. then at ULRIC, who has unbuckled his sabre, and SIEGENDORF. is drawing lines with it on the floor-still in its If you mean me, I dare sheath. Your utmost. ULRIC (looks at hisfather, and says) GABOR, Let the man go on! You may do so, and in safety: GABOR. I know the assassin. I am unarm'd, count-bid your son lay down SIEGENDORF. His sabre. Where is he? ULRIC (offers it to him contemptuously). GABOR (painting to ULRIC). Take it. Beside you! GABOR. [ULRIC rushes forward to attack GABOR;No, sir;'t is enough SIEGENDORF interposes. That we are both unarm'd-I would not choose To wear a steel which may be stain'd with more SIEGENDORF. IBlood than came there in battle. Liar and fiend! but you shall not be slain; These walls are mine, and you are safe within them. s te sabrrom h comp). [He turns to ULRIC. It-or some,[He turnS to ULRC. Such other weapon, in my hands-spared yours' Ulric, repel this calumny, as I Will do. I avow it is a growth so monstrous, Once, when disarmd and at my mercy I could not deem it earth-born: but, be calm; GABO. TrueIt will refute itself. But touch him not. I h r r r I have not forgotten it: you spared me for [URICa endeeavours to compose himself. Your own especial purpose-to sustain GABOR* An ignominy not mine own. Look at him, and then hear me. ULRIC. SIEGENDORF. Proceed. (First to GABOR, and then looking at ULRIC). The tale is doubtless worthy the relater. I hear thee. But is it of my father to hear further? My God! you look - [T SIEGENDOI. LRIC. SIEGENDORF (takes his son by the hand). How? HIGNow?^r^ ~My son! I know mine own innocence-and doubt not SIEGENDORF. Of yours-but I have promised this man patience; As on that dread night Let him continue. When we met in the garden. GABOR. ULRIC (composes himself). I will not detain you It is nothing. By speaking of myself much; I began GABOR. Life early-and am what the world has made me. Count, you are bound to hear me. I came hither At Frankfort, on the Oder, where I pass'd Not seeking you, but sought. When I knelt down A winter in obscurity, it was Amidst the people in the church, I dream'd not My chance at several places of resort To find the beggar'd Werner in the seat (Which I frequented sometimes, but not often) Of senators and princes; but you have call'd me, To hear related a strange circumstance, And we have met. In February last. A martial force, SIEGENDORF. Sent by the state, had, after strong resistance Go on, sir. Secured a band of desperate men, supposed GABOR. Marauders from the hostile camp.-They proved, Ere I do so, However, not to be so-but banditti, Allow me to mnquire who profited Whom either accident or enterprise By Stralenheinm's death? Was't I-as poor as ever; Had carried from their usual haunt-the forests And poorer by suspicion on my name. Which skirt Bohemia-even into Lusatia. The baron lost in that last outrage neither Many amongst them were reported of Jewels nor gold; his life alone was sought- High rank-and martial law slept for a time. A life which stood between the claims of others At last they were escorted o'er the frontiers, To honours and estates, scarce less than princely. And placed beneath the civil jurisdiction WERNER. 423 Of the free town of Frankfort. Of their fate, My purse, though slender, with you-you refused it. I know no more. SIEGENDORF. SIEGENDORF. Doth my refusal make a debt to you, And what is this to Ulric? That thus you urge it? GABOR. GABOR. Amongst them there was said to be one man Still you owe me something, Of wonderful endowments:-birth and fortune, Though not for that-and I owed you my safety, Youth, strength, and bea'ity, almost superhuman, At least my seeming safety-when the slaves And courage as unrivall'd, were proclaim'd Of Stralenheim pursued me on the grounds His by the public rumour; and his sway, That I had robb'd him. Not only over his associates but SIEGENDORF. His judges, was attributed to witchcraft. I conceal'd you-I, Such was his influence:-I have no great faith Whom, and whose house, you arraign, reviving viper In any magic save that of the mine- GABOR. I therefore deem'd him wealthy.-But my soul I accuse no man-save in my defence. Was roused with various feelings to seek out You, count! have made yourself accuser-judgeThis prodigy, if only to behold him. Your hall's my court, your heart is my tribunal. SIEGENDORF. Be just, and I'11 be merciful. And did you so? SIEGENDORF. GABOR. You merciful! You'11 hear. Chance favour'd me: You! base calumniator! A popular affray in the public square GABOR. Drew crowds together-it was one of those I.'T will rest Occasions, where men's souls look out of them, With me at last to be so. You conceal'd meAnd show them as they are-even in their faces: In secret passages known to yourself, The moment my eye met his-I exclaim'd You said, and to none else. At dead of night, "This is the man!" though he was then, as since, Weary with watching in the dark, and dubious With the nobles of the city. I felt sure Of tracing back my wav-I saw a glimmer I had not err'd, and watch'd him long and nearly: Through distant crannies of a twinkling light. I noted down his form-his gesture-features, I follow'd it, and reach'd a door —a secret Stature and bearing-and amidst them all, Portal-which open'd to the chamber, where,'Midst every natural and acquired distinction, With cautious hand and slow, having first undone I could discern, methought, the assassin's eye As much as made a crevice of the fastening, And gladiator's heart. I look'd through, and beheld a purple bed, ULRIC (smiling). And on it Stralenheim!-, The tale sounds well. SIEGENDORF. GABOR. Asleep! And yet And may sound better.-He appear'd to me You slew him-wretch! One of those beings to whom Fortune bends GABOR. As she doth to the daring-and on whom He was already slain, The fates of others oft depend; besides, And bleeding like a sacrifice. My own An indescribable sensation drew me Blood became ice. Near to this man, as if my point of fortune SIEGENDORF. Was to be fix'd by him-There I was wrong. But he was all alone! SIEGENDORF. You saw none else! You did not see theAnd may not be right now. [He pauses fron agetatton. GABOR. GABOR. I follow'd him- No; Solicited his notice-and obtain'd it- He, whom you dare not name-nor even I Though not his friendship:-it was his intention Scarce dare to recollect-was not then in To leave the city privately-we left it The chamber. Together-and together we arrived SIEGENDORF (to ULRIC). In thbe poor town where Werner was concealed, Then, my boy! thou art guiltless stillAnd Stralenheim was suceour'd-Now we are on Thou bad'st me say I was so once-Oh! now The verge-dare you hear further? Do thou as much! SIEGENDORF. GABOR. I must do so- Be patient! I can not Or I have heard too much. Recede now, though it shake the very walls GABOR. Which frown above us. You remember, or I saw in you If not, your son does,-that the locks were changes A man above his station-and if not Beneath his chief inspection-on the morn So high, as now I find you, in my then Which led to this same night: how he had enter'd Conceptions-'t was that I had rarely seen He best knows-but within an antechamber, Men such as you appear'd in heignt of mind, The door of which was half ajar —I saw In the most high of worldly rank; you were A man who wash'd his bloody hands, and oft Poor-even to all save rags-I would have shared With stern and anxious glance gazed back uoon 424 BYRON'S WORKS.'he bleeding body-but it moved no more. Been somewhat damaged in my name to save SIEGENDORF. Yours and your son's. Weigh well what I have said. Oh! God of fathers! SIEGENDORF. GABOR. Dare you await the event of a few minutes' I beheld his features Deliberation? As I see yours-but yours they were not, though GABOR (casts his eye on ULRIC, who is leaning agansf Resembling them-behold them in Count Ulric's! a pillar). Distinct-as I beheld them-though the expression If I should do so? Is not now what it then was;-but it was se SIEGENDORF. When I first charged him with the crime:-so lately. I pledge my life for yours. Withdraw into SIEGENDORF. This tower. [Opens a turret door. This is so GABOR (hesitatingly). GABOR (interrupting him). This is the second safe asylum Nay-but hear me to the end! You have offer'd me. Now you must do so.-I conceived myself SIEGENDORF. Betray'd by you and him (for now I saw And was not the first so? There was some tie between you) into this GABOR. Pretended den of refuge, to become I know not that even now-but will approve The victim of your guilt and my first thought The second. I have still a further shield.Was vengeance: but.though arm'd with a short poniard I did not enter Prague alone-and should I (Having left my sword without), I was no match Be put to rest with Stralenheim-there are For him at any time, as had been proved Some tongues without will wag in my behalf. That morning-either in address or force. Be brief in your decision! I turn'd, and fled-i' the dark: chance, rather than SIEGENDORF. Skill, made me gain the secret door of the hall, I will be soAnd thence the chamber where you slept-if I My word is sacred and irrevocable Had found you waking, Heaven alone can tell Within these walls, but it extends no further. What vengeance and suspicion might have prompted; GABOR. But ne'er slept guilt as Werner slept that night. I'11 take it for so much. SIEGENDORF. SIEGENDORF (points to ULRIC'S sabre, still upon And yet I had horrid dreams! and such brief sleep- the ground). The stars had not gone down when I awoke- Take also thatWhy didst thou spare me? I dreamt of my father- I saw you eye it eagerly, and him And now my dream is out! Distrustfully. GABOR. GABOR (takes up the sabre).'T is not my fault, I will; and so provide If I have read it.-Well! I fled and hid me- To sell my life-not cheaply. Chance led me here after so many moons- [GABOR goes into the turret, which SIEGENDORF close*, And show'd me Werner in Count Siegendorf! SIEGENDORF (advances to ULRIC). Werner, whom I had sought in huts in vain, Now, Count Ulric! Inhabited the palace of a sovereign! For son I dare not call thee-What say'st thou 1 You sought me, and have found me-now you know ULRIC. My secret, and may weigh its worth. His tale is true. SIEGENDORF (after -a pause). SIEGENDORF. Indeed I True, monster! GABOR. ULRIC. is it revenge or justice which inspires Most true, father; Your meditation? And you did well to listen to it: what SIEGENDORF. We know, we can provide against. He must Neither-I was weighing Be silenced. The value of your secret. SIEGENDORF. GABOR. Ay, with half of my domains; You shall know it And with the other half, could he and thou At once-when you were poor, and I, though poor, Unsay this villany. Rich enough to relieve such poverty ULRIC. As might have envied mine, I offer'd you It is no time My puL se-you would not share it:-I'11 be franker For trifling or dissembling. I have said With you; -you are wealthy, noble, trusted by His story's true; and he too must be silenced. Thr, imperial powers-ycu understand me? SIEGENDORF. SIEGENDORF. How so? Yes.- ULRIC. GABOR. As Stralenheim is. Are you so dull Nol quite. You think me venal, and scarce true: As never to have hit on this before?'T is no less true, however, that my fortunes When we met in the garden, what except Have made me both at present; you shall aid me; Discovery in the act could make me know'would have aided you —and also have His death? or had the prince's household been WERNER. 42" Then summon'd, would the cry for the police No more to learn or hide: I know no fear, Been left to such a stranger? Or should I And have within these very walls men who Have loiter'd on the way? Or could you, Werner, (Although you know them not) dare venture all things' The object of the baron's hate and fears, You stand high with the state; what passes here Have fled-unless by many an hour before Will not excite her too grea.t curiosity: Suspicion woke? I sought and fathom'd you- Keep your own secret, keep a steady eye, Doubting if you were false or feeble; I Stir not, and speak not;-leave the rest to me: Perceived you were the latter; and yet so We must have no third babblers thrust between us. Confiding have I found you, that I doubted [Exit ULRIC. At times your weakness. SIEGENDORF (solus). SIEGENDORF. Am I awake? are these my father's halls? Parricide! no less And yon-my son? lMy son! mine who have ever Than common stabber! What deed of my life, Abhorr'd both mystery and blood, and yet Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fit Am plunged into the deepest hell of both! For your accomplice? I must be speedy, or more will be shedULRIC. The Hungarian's!-Ulric-he hath partisans, Father, do not raise It seems; I might have guess'd as much. Oh fool' The devil you cannot lay, between us. This Wolves prowl in company. He hath the key Is time for union and for action, not (As I too) of the opposite door which leads For family disputes. While you were tortured Into the turret. Now then! or once more Could I be ca'm? Think you that I have heard To be the father of fresh crimes-no less This fellow's tale without some feeling? you Than of the criminal! Ho! Gabor! Gabor! Have taught me feeling for you and myself; [Exit into the turret, closing the door after htm. For whom or what else did you ever teach it? SIEGENDORF. Oh! my dead father's curse!'t is working now. ULRIC. - SCENE II. Let it work on! the grave will keep it down! 7he Interior of the Turret. Ashes are feeble foes: it is more easy To baffle such, than countermine a mole, GABOR and SIEGENDORF. Which winds its blind but living path beneath you. GABOR. Yet hear me still!-If you condemn me, yet Who calls? Remember who hath taught me once too often SIEGENDORF. To listen to him! Who proclaim'd to me I-Siegendorf! Take these, and fly I That there were crimes made venial by the occasion? Lose not a moment! That passion was our nature? that the goods [Tears of a diamond star and other jewels, an.l Of heaven waited on the goods of fortune thrusts them into GABOR's hand. Who show'd me his humanity secured oABOR. By his nerves only? Who deprived me of What am I to do All power to vindicate myself and race With these? In open day? By his disgrace which stamp'd SIEGENDRF. (It might be) bastardy on me, and on Whate'er you will: sell them, or hoard, Himself-a felon's brand! The man who is And prosper; but delay not-or you are lost! At once both warm and weak, invites to deeds GABOR. He longs to do, but dare not. Is it strange You pledged your honour for my safety! That I should act what you could think? We have done SIEGENDORF. With right or wrong, and now must only ponder And Upon effects, not causes. Stralenheim, Must thus redeem it. Fly! I am not master, Whose life I saved, from impulse, as, unknown, It seems, of my own castle-of my own I would have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I slew, Retainers-nay, even of these very walls, Known as our foe-but not from vengeance. He Or I would bid them fall and crush me! Fly! Was a rock in our way, which I cut through, Or you'11 be slain byAs doth the bolt, because it stood between us GABOR. And our true destination-but not idly. Is it even so? As stranger I preserved him, and he owed me Farewell, then! Recollect, however, countt His life; when due, I but resumed the debt. You sought this fatal interview! He, you, and I stood o'er a gulf, wherein SIEQENDORF. [ have plunged our enemy. You kindled first I did: The torch-you show'd the path: now trace me that Let it not be more fatal still:-Begone' Of safety-or let me OABOR. SIEGENDORF. SIEGENDORF. By the same path I enter'd? I have done with life I SIEGENDORF. ULRIC. Let us have done with that which cankers life- Yes; that's safe tr. But loiter not in Prague;-you do a knfw Familiar feuds and vain recriminations;a..Wit-h whom you have to deal. Of things which cannot be undone. We have With whom you have to deaL 59 426 BYRON'S WORKS. GABOR. Where will you go? I would not send you forth I know too well- Without protection. And knew it ere yourself, unhappy sire! ULRIC. Fareweil [Exit GABOR. Leave that unto me. SIEGENDORF (solus and listenng). I am not alone; nor merely the vain heir He hath clear'd the staircase. Ah! I hear Of your domains: a thousand, ay, ten thousand The door sound loud behind him! he is safe! Swords, hearts, and hands, are mine. Safe!-Oh, my father's spirit!-I am faint- SIEGEN DORF. [He leans down upon a stone seat, near the wall The foresters! of the tower, in a drooping posture. With whom the Hungarian found you first at Frank Enter ULRI c, with others armed, and with weapons fort? drawn. ULRIC. ULRIC. Yes-men-who are worthy of the name! Go tell Despatch!-he's there! Your senators that they look well to Prague; LUDWIG. Their feast of peace was early for the times; The count, my lord! There are more spirits abroad than have been lh1 ULRIC (recognising SiEGENDORF). With Wallenstein! You here, sir! )SIEGENDOR'F. Enter JOSEPHINE and IDA, Yes: if you want another victim, strike! JOSEPHINE. ULRIC (seeing him stript of his jewels). What is't wehear My Siegeaorf Where is the ruffian who hath plunder'd you? Thank Heaven, I see you safe! Vassals, despatch in search of him! You see SIEGENDORF.'T was as I said, the wretch hath stript my father Safe Of jewels which might form a prince's heirloom! I Away! I'11 follow you forthwith. Yes, dear f r [Exeunt all but SIEGENDORF and ULRIC. SEEDOR. Where is the villain? Whatthis? No, no; I have no children: never more ~sIECGENDOIiF. ~ Call me by that worst name of parent. There are two, sir; which JOSEPHINE. 41e you in quest of? What ULRIC. Means my good lord? Let us hear no more' SIEGENDORF. Of this: he must be found. You have not let him That you have given'':i Escape? To a demon! SIEGENDORF. IDA (taking ULRICAS hand). He's gone. Who shall dare say this of U;., I ULRIC. SIEGENDORF. With your connivance? Ida, beware! there's blood upon that hard SIEGENDORF. With IDA (stooping to kiSS it). iMv fullest, freest aid. I'd kiss it off, though it were mine! ULRIC. SIEGENDORF. Then fare you well! It [ULRIC is going, ULRIC. SIEGENDORF. Away! it is your father's! ([ xit ULRIC..tlop! I command-entreat-implore! Oh, Ulric! IDA. Will you then leave me? Oh, great t-jd! ULRIC. And I have loved this man! What! remain to be [Iremain to be Afallts senseless-JOSEPHINE stands speechlee Denounced-dragg'd, it may be, in chains; and all th horro By your inherent weakness, half-humanity, Selfish remorse, and temporising pity, SIEGENDORF.'Tlat sacrifices your whole race to save The wretch hath slain A wretch to profit by our ruin! No, count, Them both!-my Josephine! we are now alone! Henceforth you have no son! Would we had ever been so!-All is over SILGENDORF. For me!-Now open wide, my sire, thy grave; I never had one; Thy curse hath dug it deeper for thy son Ahn would you ne'er had borne the useless name! In mine!-The race of Siegendorf is past! ( 427 ) llhe ectOermev Crvnormc;ttb A DRAMA. ADVERTISEMENT. I love, or at the least, I loved you: nothing, Save you, in nature, can love aught like me. This production is founded partly on the story of a You nursed me-do not kill me. Novel, called " The Three Brothers," published many BERTHA. years ago, from which M. G. Lewis's " Wood Demon" Yes-I nursed thee was also taken-and partly on the "Faust" of the great Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not Goethe. The present publication contains the first two If there would be another unlike thee, Parts only, and the opening chorus of the third. The That monstrous sport of nature. But get hence, rest may perhaps appear hereafter. And gather wood! ARNOLD. I will: but when I bring it, DRAMATIS PERSON.E. Speak to me kindly, Though my brothers are So beautiful and lusty, and as free As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me: Our milk has been the same. STRANGER, afterwards CEsAR. BERTHA. ARNOLD. As is the hedgehog's BOURBON. Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam PHILIBERT. Of the young bull, until the- milkmaid finds CELLINI. The nipple next day sore and udder dry. WOMEN. Call not thy brothers brethren! call me not BERTHA. Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was OLIMPIA. As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out! Spirits, Soldiers, Citizens of Rome, Priests, [Et BERTEA. Peasants, etc. ARNOLD (solus). Oh mother!- She is gone, and I must do Her bidding; —wearily but willingly THE I would fulfil it, could I only hope A kind word in return. What shall I do? DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. [ARNOLD begins to cut wood: in doing this he wounds one of his hands. My labour for the day is over now. ~~~PART I,~ ~ Accursed be this blood that flows so fast: PART I, For double curses will be my meed now SCENE I.-A Forest. At home.-What home? I have no home, no km, No kind-nor made like other creatures, or Enter ARNOLD and ads mother BERTHA. To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed too, BERTHA. Like them? Oh that each drop which falls to earth OUT, hunchback! Would rise a snake to sting them as they have stung mea ARNOLD. Or that the devil, to whom they liken me, I was born so, mother! Would aid his likeness! If I must partake BERTHA. His form, why not his power? Is it because Out! I have not his will too? For one kind word Thou incubus! Thou nightmare! Of seven sons From her ho bore me, would still reconcile me The sole abortion! Even to tis hateful aspect. Let me wash ARNOLD. The wound. Would that I had been so, [ARNOLD goes to a spring, and soops to wasn And never seen the light t his hand: he starts back. BERTHA. They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me I would so too! What she hath made me. I will not look on it But as thou hast-hence, hence-and do thy best. Again, and scarce dare think on't. Hideous wretcn That back of thine may bear its burthen;'tis That I am! The very waters mock me with More high, if not so broad as that of others. My horrid shadow-like a demon placed ARNOLD. Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle it bears its burthen;-but, my heart! will it From drinking therein.'He pausa Sustain that which you lay upon it, mother? And shall I live on. 428 BYRON'S WORKS. A burthen to the earth, myself, and shame STRANGER. Unto what brought me into life? Thou blood, Unless you keep company Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me With him (and you seem scarce used to such high Try if thou wilt not in a fuller stream Society), you can't tell how he approaches; Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself And for his aspect, look upon the fountain, On earth, to which I will restore at once And then on me, and judge which of us twain This hateful compound of her atoms, and Looks likest what the boors believe to bc Resolve back to her elements, and take Their cloven-footed terror. The shape of any reptile save myself, ARNOLD. And make a world for myriads of new worms'! Do you-dare y.n This knife! now let me prove if it will sever To taunt me with my born deformity? This wither'd slip of nature's nightshade-my STRANGER. Vile form-from the creation, as it hath Were I to taunt a buffalo with this The green bough from the forest. Cloven foot of thine, or the switt dromedary [ARNOLD places the knife in the ground, with With thy sublime of humps, the animals the point upwards. Would revel in the compliment. And yet Now't is set, Both beings are more swift, more strong, more mighty And 1 can fall upon it. Yet one glance In action and endurance than thyself, On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like And all the fierce and fair of the same kind Myself, and the sweet sun, which warm'd me, but With thee. Thy form is natural:'t was only In vain. The birds-how joyously they sing! Nature's mistaken largess to bestow Sc let them, for I would not be lamented: The gifts which are of others upon man. But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell; ARNOLD. The falling leaves my monument; the murmur Give me the strength then of the buffalo's foot, Of the near fountain my sole elegy. When he spurns high the dust, beholding his Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall! o l m h o [As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife, And patient swiftness of the desert-ship, his eye is suddenly caught by the fountain, The helmless dromedary:-and I'1 bear which seems in motion. The fountain moves without a wind: but shall Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience. The fountain moves without a wind: but shall The ripple of a spring change my resolve?.TRANGER. No. Yet it moves again! the waters stir, A D ( s. Not as with air, but by some subterrane A t s And rocking power of the internal world. TNanE? What's here? A mist! no more?- STRANGE. Perhaps. Would you aught else! [A cloud comes from thefountain. He stands gazing upon it: it is dispelled, and a tallARNOLD. black man comes towards him. Thou mockest me. STRANGER. ARNOLD. What would you? Speak! Not I. Why should I mock Spiri~Wa wot loSor man? Wa ol iopeak! What all are mocking? That's poor sport, methinks. Spirit or man? STRANOER. To talk to thee in human language (for As man is both, why not Thou canst not yet speak mine), the forester.~Say both in one ~? ~Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar, Say both in one? ARNOLD. Or wolf, or lion, leaving paltry game Your form is man's, and yet To petty burghers, who leave once a-year ~~~You r omi mayxs be d el. Their walls, to fill their household caldrons with Such scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee,STRANGER. SomTRaNyGmER. thNow I can mock the mightiest. So many men are that Which is so call'd or thought, that you n.ay add me ARNOLD. To which you please, without much wrong to either. Then waste not But come: you wish to kill yourself;-pursue Thy time on me: I seek thee not. STRANGER. Your purpose STRA ARNOLD. Your thoughts You have interrupted me. Are not far from me. Do not send me back: I am not so easily recall'd to do STRANGER. What is that resolution which can e'er Good service. ARNOLD. Ie interrupted? If I be the devil What wilt thou do or You deem, a single moment would have made youTRANGE Mine, and for ever, by your suicide; Change And yet my coming saves you. Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks yoi, ARNOLD. Or form you to your wish in any shape. I said not ARNOLD. You were the demon, Out.hat your approach Oh! then you are indeed the demon, for *as like one. Nought else would wittingly wear mine. THE DEFORMED TRANSFORYED. 429 STRANGER. Such his desire is, [Pointing to ARNOLD. I'11 show thee Such my command! The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give thee Demons heroicThy choice. Demons who wore ARNOLD. The form of the Stoic On what condition? Or Sophist of yoreSTRANGER. Or the shape of each victor, There's a question! From Macedon's boy An hour ago you would have given your soul To each high Roman's picture, To look like other men, and now you pause Who breathed to destroyTo wear the form of heroes. Shadows of beauty ARNOLD. Shadows of power! No; I will not. Up to your dutyI must not compromise my soul. This is the hour! STRANGER. [Various Phantoms arise from the waters, and What soul, pass in succession before the Stranger and ARNOLD. Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcass? ARNOLD. ARNOLD. What do I see?'T is an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement STRANGER In which it is mislodged. But name your compact: The black-eyed Roman, with Must It be sign'd in blood? The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'er STRANGER. Beheld a conqueror, or look'd along Not in your own. The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became ARNOLD. WhoeAR blOLDoo t His, and all theirs who heir'd his very name. Whose blood then? ARNOLD. STRANGER. We will talk of that. The phantom's bald; my quest is beauty. Could I We will talk of that hereafter, Inherit but his fame with his defects! But I'11 be moderate with you, for I see Great things within you. You shall have no bond His brow ore than hairs. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs. But your own will, no contract save your deeds. You see his aspect-choose it or reject. Are you content? I can but promise you his form; his fame ARNOLD. I take thee at thy word. Must be long sought and fought for. I take thee at thy word. ARNOLD. STRANGER. ANL Now then! - I will fight too. But not as a mock Caesar. Let him pass; [The Stranger approaches the fountain, and H a m b f b s m. turns to ARNOLD. H aspect ma be r, but st me not A little of your blood. STRANGER. ARNOLD. Then you are far more difficult to please For what? Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus' mother, STRANGER. Or Cleopatra at sixteen-an age ro mingle with the magic of the waters, When love is not less in the eye than heart. And make the charm effective. But be it so! Shadow, pass on! ARNOLD (holding out his wounded arm). [The Phantom of Julius Casar disappears Take it all. ARNOLD. STRANGER. And can it Not now A few drops will suffice for this. Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone Not now. A few drops will suffice for this. [The Stranger takes some of ARNOLD'S blood in d l n his hand, and casts it into the fountain. STRANGER. There you err. His substance Shadows of beauty! Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame Shadows of power! More than enough to track his memory; Rise to your duty- But for his shadow,'t is no more than yours, This is the hour! Except a little longer and less crooked Walk lovely and pliant! I' the sun. Behold another! From the depth of this fountain, [A second Phantom passe As the cloud-shapen giant A RNOLD. Bestrides the Hartz mountain.' Who he Who is he? Come as ye were, STRANGER. That our eyes may behold He was the faireit and the bravest of The model in air Athenians. Look upon him well. Of the form I will mould,ARNOLD. Bright as the Iris He is When ether is spann'd- More lovely than the last. How beautiful t 1 This is a well-known German superstition-a gigantic STRANGER. shallow prtuluced by reflection on the Brocken. Such was the curled son of Clinias;-wonlast'baw 2P 430 BYRON'S WORKS. Invest thee with his form? Which shines from him, and yet is but the flashing ARNOLD. Emanation of a thing more glorious still. Would that I had Was he e'er human only? Been born with it! But since I may choose further, STRANGER. I will look further. Let the earth speak, [The Shade of Alcibiades disappears. If there be atoms of him left, or even STRANqER. Of the more solid gold that form'd his urn. Lo! Behold again! ARNOLD. ARNOLD. Who was this glory of mankind? What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr, STRANGER. With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect, The shame The splay feet and low stature! I had better Of Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war-. Remain that which I am. Demetrius the Macedonian, and STRANGER. Taker of cities. And yet he was ARNOLD. The earth's perfection of all mental beauty, Yet one shadow more. And personification of all virtue. STRANGER (addressing the Shadow). %ut you reject him? Get thee to Lamia's lap! ARNOLD. [The Shade of Demetrius Poliorcetes vantsfie If his form could bring me another rises. That which redeem'd it-no. STRANGER. STRANGER. I'11 fit you still, I have no power Fear not, my hunchback. If the shadow of To promise that; but you may try, and find it That which existed please not your nice taste, Easier in such a form, or in your own. I'11 animate the ideal marble, till ARNOLD. Your soul be reconciled to her new garment. No. I was not born for philosophy. ARNOLD. Though I have that about me which has need on't. Content! I will fix here. Let him fleet on. STRANGER. STRANGER. I must commend Be air, thou hemlock-drinker! Your choice. The god-like son of the sea-goddess, (The Shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises. The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locks ARNOLD. As beautiful and clear as the amber waves What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard Of rich Pactolus roll'd o'er sands of gold, And manly aspect look like Hercules, Softened by intervening crystal, and Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus Rippled like flowing waters by the wind, Than the sad purger of the infernal world, All vow'd to Sperchius as they were-behold them I Leaning dejected on his club of conquest, And him-as he stood by Polyxena, As if he knew the worthlessness of those With sanction'd and with soften'd love, before For whom he had fought. The altar, gazing on his Trojan bride, STRANGER. With some remorse within for Hector slain It was the man who lost And Priam weeping, mingled with deep passion The ancient world for love. For the sweet downcast virgin, whose young hand ARNOLD. Trembled in his who slew her brother. So I cannot blame him, He stood i' the temple! Look upon him as Since I have risk'd my soul, because I find not Greece look'd her last upon her best, the instant That which he exchanged the earth for. Ere Paris' arrow flew. STRANGER. ARNOLD. Since so far I gaze upon him at You seem congenial, will you wear his features? As if 1 were his soul, whose form shall soon ARNOLD. Envelop mine. No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult, STRANGER. If but to see the heroes I should ne'erYouhave donewel. Thegreat Have seen else on this side of the dim shore Deformity should only barter with Whence they float back before us. The extremest beauty, if the proverb's true STRANGER. Of mortals, that extremes meet. Hence, Triumvir! ARNOLDi Tlv Cleopatra's waiting. Come! Be qv i [The Shade of Antony disappears: another rises. I am impatient. STRANGER. ARNOLD. AS a youthful beauty Who is this? Before her glass. You both see what is not, Who truly looketh like a demigod, But dream it is what must beBlooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature, ARNLD. If not more high than mortal, yet immortal Must I wait 7 In all that nameless bearing of his limbs, STRANGER. Which lie wears as the sun his rays-a something No; t at were pity. But a word or two THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. 4'1 I His stature is twelve cubits: would you so far Had she exposed me, like the Spartan, ere Outstep these times, and be a Titan? Or I knew the passionate part of life, I had (To talkcanonically) wax a son Been a clod of the valley,-happier nothing Of Anak? Than what I am. But even thus, tile lowest, ARNOLD. Ugliest, and meanest of mankind, what courage Why not? And perseverance could have doe, perchance, STRANGER. Had made me something-as it has made heroes Glorious ambition! Of the same mould as mine. You lately saw me I love thee most in dwarfs! A mortal of Master of my own life, anl quick to quit it; Philistine stature would have gladly pared And he who is so is the master of His own Goliath down to a slight David; Whatever dreads to die. But thou, my manikin, wouldst soar a show STS ANGER. Rather than hero. Thou shalt be indulged, Decide between If such be thy desire; and yet, by being What you have been, or will be. A little less removed from present men ARNOLD. In figure, thou canst sway them more; for all I have done so. Would rise against thee now, as if to hunt You have open'd brighter prospects to my eyes, A new-found mammoth; and their cursed engines, And sweeter to my heart. As I am now, Their culverins and so forth, would find way I might be fear'd, admired, respected, loved, Through our friend's armour there, with greater ease Of all save those next to me, of whom I Than the adulterer's arrow through his heel Would be beloved. As thou showest me Which Thetis had forgotten to baptize A choice of forms, I take the one I view. In Styx. Haste! haste! ARNOLD. STRANGER. Then let it be as thou deem'st best. And what shall I wear? STRANGER. ARNOLD. Thou shalt be beauteous as the thing thou see'st, Surely he And strong as what it was, and- Who can command all fo' ms, will choose the higher ARNOLD. Something superior even. o that which was I ask not Pelides now before us. Perhaps his For valour, since deformity is daring. Who slew him, that of Paris:-or-still higherIt is its essence to o'ertake mankind The poet's god, clothed in such limbs as are By heart and soul, and make itself the equal- Themselves a poetry. Ay, the superior of the rest. There is STRANGER. A spur in its halt movements, to become Less will content me All that the others cannot, in such things For I too love a change. As still are free to both, to compensate ARNOLD For stepdame Nature's avarice at first. Your aspect is They woo with fearless deeds the smiles of fortune, Dusky but not uncomely. And oft, like Timour the lame Tartar, win them. STRANGER. SRANGER. SRANGER. If I chose, Well spoken! And thou doubtless wilt remain I might be whiter but I have a pe nt I might be whiter; but I have a penchant Form'd as thou art. I may dismiss the mould For lack-it is so honest, and besides Of shadow, which must turn to flesh, to encase F bk is s he a besde Of shadow, which must turn to flesh, to encase Can neither blush with shame nor pale with fear This daring soul, which could achieve no less ButIhewornitlo gh of late, VWithout it? IAnd now I'11 take your figure. ARNOLD. ARNOLD. Had no power presented me ARNOL The possibility of change, I would Have done the best which spirit may, to make STRANGER. Yes. You Its way, with all deformity's dull, deadly, Dis ou raging' upon. ome, lienl amuti, Shall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha Discouraging weight upon me, like a mountain, In feeling on my heart as on my shoulders- Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes, In feeling, on my heart as on my shouldersYou have yours —I mine. A hatefil and unsightly mole-hill to The eyes of happier man. I would have look'd ARNOLD. On beauty in that sex which is the type Despatch! Jespatch! Of all we know or dream of beautiful STRANGER. Beyond the world they brighten, with a sigh- Even so. Not of love, but despair; nor sought to win, [The Stranger takes some earth and mnoue, though to a heart all love, what could not love me it along the turf; and then addresses u. In turn, because of this vile crooked clog, Phantom of Achiles. Which makes me lonely. Nay, I could have borne Beautiful shadow It all, had not my mother spurn'd me from her. Of Thetis's boy! The she-bear licks her cubs into a sort Who sleeps in the meadow Of shape:-mv dam beheld my shaDe was hopeless. Whose grass grows o er Troy: 132^ BYRON'S WORKS. From the red earth, like Adam,' Ithath sustain'd your soul full many a day. Thy likeness I shape, ARNOLD. As the Being who made him, Ay, as the dunghill may conceal a gem Whose actions I ape. Which is now set in gold, as jewels should be. Thou clay, be all glowing, STRANGER. Till the rose in his cheek But if I give another form, it must be Be as fair as, when blowing, By fair exchange, not robbery. For they It wears its first streak! Who make men without women's aid, have long Ye violets, I scatter, Had patents for the same, and do not love Now turn into eyes! Your interlopers. The devil may take men, And thou sunshiny water, Not make them,-though he reap the benefit Of blood take the guise! Of the original workmanship:-and therefore Let these hyacinth boughs Some one must be found to assume the shape Be his long, flowing hair, You have quitted. And wave o'er his brows, ARNOLD: As thou wavest in air! Who would do so? Let his heart be this marble STRANGER. I tear from the rock! That I know not, But his voice as the warble And therefore I must. Of birds on yon oak! ARNOLD. Let his flesh be the purest You! Of mould, in which grew STRANGER. The lily-root surest, I said it, ere And drank the best dew! You inhabited your present dome of beauty. Let his limbs be the lightest ARNOLD. Which clay can compound! True. I forget all things in the new joy And his aspect the brightest Of this immortal change. On earth to be found! STRANGER. Elements, near me, In a few moments Be mingled and stirr'd, I will be as you were, and you shall see Know me and hear me, Yourself for ever by you, as your shadow. And leap to my word! ARNOLD. Sunbeams, awaken I would be spared this. This earth's animation! STRANGER.'T is done! He hath taken But it cannot be. His stand in creation! What! shrink already, being what you are, [ARNOLD falls senseless; his soul passes into From seeing what you were? the shape of Achilles, which rises from the ARNOLD. ground; while the phantom has disappeared, Do as thou wilt. part by part, as the figure was formed from STRANGER (to the late form of ARNOLD, extended on the ethe earh the e ). ARNOLD (in his new form). Clay! not dead, but soulless! I love, and I shall be beloved! Oh life! Though no man would choose thee, At last I feel thee! Glorious spirit! An immortal no less STRANGER. Deigns not to refise thee. Stop! Clay thou art: and unto spirit What shall become of your abandon'd garment, All clay is of equal merit. Your hump, and lump, and clod of ugliness, Which late you wore, or were? w t w n c ~~ARNOID.~~ DFire! but in which nought can live, ARNOLD. i u Who cares? Let wolves Save the fabled salamander, And vulture,,ake it, if they will. 1Or immortal souls which wander, STRANGER. Praying what doth not forgive, And if Howling for a drop of water, I hey do, and are not scared by it, you'11 say Burning in a quenchless lot: It must be peace time, and no better fare Fire the only element Abroad i' the fields. Where nor fish, beast, bird, nor wornm, ARNOLD. Save the worm which dieth not, Let us but leave it there, Can preserve a moment's form, N.. matter what becomes on It. j"J.. matter what becomes on't. But must with thyself be blent: STRANGER. Fire! man's safeguard and his slaughte. That's ungracious, Fire! creation's first-born daughter, If not unaratetul. Whatsoe'er it be, And destruction's threaten'd son, When Heaven with the world hath done Fire! assist me to renew 1 Adam means "red earth," from which the first man wast ew bamt Life in what lies my view THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. 433 Stiff and cold! STRANGER. His resurrection rests with me aid you! And of One little marshy spark of flame- A nobler breed. Match me in Barbary, And he again shall seem the same; Or your Kochlani race of Araby, But I his spirit's place shall hold! With these! [An ignis-fatuus flits through the wood, and rests ARNOLD. on the brow of the body. The Stranger disap- The mighty stream, which volumes high pears: the body rises. From their proud nostrils, burns the very air; ARNOLD (in his new form). And sparks of flame, like dancing fire-flies, w^hel Oh! horrible! Around their manes, as common insects swarm STRANGER (in ARNOLD'S late shape). Round common steeds towards sunset. What! tremblest thou? STRANGER. ARNOLD. Mount, my lord, Not so- They and I are your servitors. I merely shudder. Where is fled the shape ARNOLD. Thou lately worest! And these, STRANGER. Our dark-eyed pages-what may be their names? To the world of shadows. STRANGER. But let us thread the present. Whither wilt thou? You shall baptize them. ARNOLD. ARNOLD. Must thou be my companion? What! in holy water? STRANGEEt. STR ANGER. Wherefore not? Why not? The deeper sinner, better saint. Your betters keep worse company. ARNOLD. ARNOLD. They are beautiful, and cannot, sure, be demons? My betters! STRANGER. STRANGER. True; the devil's always ugly; and your beauty Oh! you wax proud, I see, of your new form: Is never diabolical. I'm glad of that. Ungrateful too! That's well; ARNOLD. You improve apace:-two changes in an instant,' cl And you are old in the world's ways already. Who bears the golden horn, and wears such bright But bear with me: indeed you'11 find me useful And blooming aspect, Huon; for he looks Upon your pilgrimage. But come, pronounce to the lovely boy lost in the forest, Where shall we now be errant? And never found till now. And for the other ~~~ARNOLD. ~ And darker, and more thoughtful, who smiles not, Where the world But looks as serious though serene as night, Where the world He shall be Memnon, from the Ethiop king, Is thickest, that I may behold it-in non, from the Ethiop king, Its working. Whose statue turns a harper once a-day. Its working. STRANGER.Andyou? That's to say, where there is war STRANGER. And womanin activity. Let's see! I have ten thousand names, and twice Andwoman inac y. Let's s! As many attributes; but as I wear Spain —Italy-the new Atlantic world- I Spain-Italy-the new Atlantic world- A human shape, will take a human name. Afric with all its Moors. In very truth, A human There is small choice: the whole race are just now ARNOLD. Tugging as usual at each others' herearejts. More human than the shape (though it was mine once) Tugging as usual at each others' hearts. I trust. ARNOLD. STRANGER. I have heard great things of Rome. Then call me Cesar. STRANGER. ARNOLD. A goodly choice- Why, that name And scarce a better to be found on earth, Belongs to empires, and has been but borne Since Sodom was put out. The field is wide too; By the world's lords. For now the Frank, and Hun, and Spanish scion STRANGER. Of the old Vandals, are at play along And therefore fittest for The sunny shores of the world's garden. The devil in disguise-since so you deem me, ARNOLD. Unless you call me pope instead. How ARNOLD. Shall we proceed? Well then, STRANGER. Cesar thou shalt be. For myself, my name Like gallants on good coursers. Shall be plain Arnold still. What ho! my chargers! Never yet were better, CAESAR. Since Phaeton was upset into the Po. We 11 add a titleOur pages too! "Count Arnold:" it hath no ungracious sound Enter two Pages, with four coal-black Horses. And will look well upon a billet-doux. ARNOLD. ARNOLD* A noble sight! Or in an order for a battle-field. 2 0 60 4.34 BYRON'S WORKS. CESAR (sings). CAESAR. To horse! to horse! my coal-black steed Your obedient, humble servant. Paws the ground and snuffs the air! ARNOLD. there's not a foal of Arab's breed Say master rather. Thou hast lured me on, More knows whom he must bear! Through scenes of blood and lust, till I am here. On the hill he will not tire, CIESAR. Swifter as it waxes higher; And where wouldst thou be? In the marsh he will not slacken, ARNOLD. On the plain be overtaken; Oh, at peace —in peacel In the wave he will not sink, CJESAR. Nor pause at the brook's side to drink; And where is that which is so? From the star In the race he will not pant, To the winding worm, all life is motion, and In the combat he'11 not faint; In life commotion is the extremest point On the stones he will not stumble, Of life. The planet wheels till it becomes Time nor toil shall make him humble: A comet, and, destroying as it sweeps In the stall he will not stiffen, The stars, goes out. The poor worm winds its way But be winged as a griffin, Living upon the death of other things, Only flying with his feet: But still, like them, must live and die, the subject And will not such a voyage be sweet? Of something which has made it live and die. Merrily! merrily! never unsound, You must obey what all obey, the rule Shall our bonny black horses skim over the ground! Of fix'd necessity: against her' From the Alps to the Caucasus, ride we, or fly! Rebellion prospers not. Forwe'll leave them behind in the glance of an eye. ARNOLD. [They mount their horses, and disappear. And when it prospers — CF SAR.'T is no rebellion. SCENE II. ARNOLD. Will it prosper now? A Camp before the Walls of Rome. CESAR. ~AR~~NO~LD and CX. The Bourbon hath given orders for the assault, ARNOLD and CmSAR. And by the dawn there will be work. CA:SAR. ARNOLD. You are well enter'd now. Alas ARNOLD. And shall the city yield? I see the giant Ay; but my path Abode of the true God, and his true saint, Has been o'er carcasses: mine eyes are full Saint Peter, rear its dome and cross into Of blood. That sky whence Christ ascended from the cross, CESARi Which his blood made a badge of glory and Then wipe them, and see clearly. Why! Of joy (as once of torture unto him, Thou art a conqueror; the chosen knight God and God's son, man's sole and only refuge). And free companion of the gallant Bourbon, C^SAR. Late constable of France; and now to be'T is there, and shall be. Lord of the city which hath been earth's lord ARNOLD. Unrder its emperors, and-changing sex, What? Not sceptre, a hermaphrodite of empire- CESAR. lady of the world. The crucifix ARNOLD. Above, and many altar shrines below, How old? What are there Also some culverins upon the walls, New worlds? And harquebusses, and what not, besides CESAR. The men who are to kindle them to death To you. You'11 find there are such shortly, Of other men. By its rich harvests, new disease, and gold;, ARNOLD. From one half of the world named a whole new one, Andthose scarce mortal arches, Because you know no better than the dull Pile above pile of everlasting wall, And dubious notice of your eyes and ears. The theatre where emperors and their subjects ARNOLD. (Those subjects Romans) stood at gaze upon ['I trust them. The battles of the monarchs of the wild CAESAR. And wood, the lion and his tusky rebels Do! They will deceive you sweetly, Of the then untamed desert, brought to joust And that is better than the bitter truth! In the arena (as right well they might. When they had left no human foe uncuoq." ARNOLD. Made even the forest pay its tribute of CASAR. Life to their amphitheatre, as well Man As Dacia men to die the eternal death ARNOLD. For a sole instant's pastime, and "Pass or Devil To a new gladiator!"-Must it fall? THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. 430 C2ESAR CESAR. The city or the amphitheatre? It answers better to resolve the alphabet The church, or one, or all? for you confound Back into hieroglyphics. Like your statesman, Both them and me. And prophet, pontiff, doctor, alchymist, ARNOLD. Philosopher, and what not, they have built To-morrow sounds the assault More Babels without new dispersion, than With the first cock-crow. The stammering young ones of the flood's dull ooze, CESAR. Who fail'd and fled each other. Why? why, marry, Which, if it end with Because no man could understand his neighbour. The evening's first nightingale, will be They are wiser now, and will not separate. Something new in the annals of great sieges: For nonsense. Nay, it is their brotherhood, For men must have their prey after long toil. Their Shibboleth, their Koran, Talmud, their ARNOLD. Cabala; their best brick-work, wherewithal The sun goes down as calmly, and perhaps They build moreMore beautifully, than he did on Rome ARNOLD (interrupting him). On the day Remus leapt her wall. Oh! thou everlasting sneerer' CESAR. Be silent! How the soldiers' rough strain seems I saw him. Soften'd by distance to a hymn-like cadence! ARNOLD. Listen! You! C2ESAR. CtESAR. Yes. I have Heard the angels sing. Yes, sir. You forget I am or was ARNOLD. Spirit, till I took up with your cast shape And demons howl. And a worse name. I'm Caesar and a hunchback cEAR Now. Well! the first of Caesars was a bald-head, And man too. Let us listen. And loved his laurels better as a wig I love all music. (So history says) than as a glory. Thus iSong of the soldiers within. The world runs on, but we'11 be merry still. Song of the di within I saw your Romulus (simple as I am) The Black Bands came over Slay his own twin, quick-born of the same womb, The Alps and their snow, Because he leapt a ditch ('t was then no wall, With Bourbon, the rover, Whate'er it now be); and Rome's earliest cement They pass'd the broad Po. Was brother's blood; and if its native blood We have beaten all foemen, Be spilt till the choked Tiber be as red We have captured a king, As e'er't was yellow, it will never wear We have turn'd back on no men, The deep hue of the ocean and the earth, And so let us sing! Which the great robber sons of Fratricide Here's the Bourbon for eve'r! Have made their never-ceasing scene of slaughter Though penniless all, For ages. We'11 have one more endeavour ARNOLD. At yonder old wall. But what have these done, their far With the Bourbon we'11 gather Remote descendants, who have lived in peace, At day-dawn before The peace of heaven, and in her sunshine of The gates, and together Piety? Or break or climb o'er CESAR. The wall: on the ladder, And what had they done whom the old As mounts each firm foot, Romans o'erswept?-Hark! Our shout shall grow gladder, ARNOLD. And death only be mute. They are soldiers singing With the Bourbon we'll mount O'er A reckless roundelay, upon the eve The walls of old Rome, Of many deaths, it may be of their own. And who then shall count o'er CJESAR. The spoils of each dome? And why should they not sing as well as swans? Up! up! with the lily! They are black ones, to be sure. And down with the keys. ARNOLD. In old Rome, the Seven-hilly, So, you are learn'd, e'l revel at ease: see, too. Her streets shall be gory, CESAR. Her Tiber all red, In my grammar, certes. I And her temples so hoary rWa, educated for a monk of all times, Shall clang with our tread. And once I was well versed in the forgotten Oh! the Bourbon! the Bourbon' Etruscan letters, and-were I so minded- The Bourbon for aye! Could make their hieroglyphics plainer than Ot our song bear the burthen! Your alphabet. And fire, fire away! ARNOLD. With Spain for the vanguard, And wherefore do you not? Our varied host comes; 43b BYRON'S WORKS. And next to the Spaniard A guard in sight; they wisely keep below, Beat Germany's drums; Shelter'd by the gray parapet, from some And Italy's lances Stray bullet of our lansquenets, who mig.; Are couch'd at their mother; Practise in a cool twilight. But our leader from France is, BOURBON. Who warr'd with his brother. You are blind. Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbonl PHILIBERT. Sans country or home, If seeing nothing more than may be seen We'11 fbllow the Bourbon, Be so. To plunder old Rome. BOURBON. CAESAR. A thousand years have mann'd the walls An indifferent song With all their heroes,-the last Cato stands For those within the walls, methinks, to hear. And tears his bowels, rather than survive ARNOLD. The liberty of that I would enslave; Yes, if they keep to their chorus. But here comes And the first Casar with his triumphs flits The general with his chiefs and men of trust. From battlement to battlement. A goodly rebel! PHILIBERT. Enter the Constable BOURBON, "cn suis," etc., etc., etc. Then conquer PHILIBERT. The walls for which he conquer'd, and be greater! BOURBON. PHILIBERT. How now, noble prince, %ou.o.. You are not cheerful?- PLBERT. BOURBON. You can not. Why should I be so? In such an enterprise, to die is rather Uot e PHIon LIBERT. oThe dawn of an eternal day, than death. Upon the e) e of conquest, such as ours, Most men would be so. Court ARNOLD and CAESAR advance. BOURBON. C2ESAR. If I were secure! And the mere men-do they too sweat beneath PHILIBERT. The noon of this same ever-scorching glory? Doubt not our soldiers. Were the walls of adamant, BOURBON. They'd crack them. Hunger is a sharp artillery. Ah. BOURBON. Welcome the bitter hunchback! and his master, That they will falter, is my least of fears. The beauty of our host, and brave as beauteous, That they will be repulsed, with Bourbon for And generous as lovely. We shall find Their chief, and all their kindled appetites Work for you both ere morning. To marshal them on-were those hoary walls CAESAR. Mountains, and those who guard them like the gods You will find, Of the old fables, I would trust my Titans;- So please your highness, no less for yourself. But now- BOURBON. PHILIBERT. And if I do, there will not be a labourer They are but men who war with mortals. More forward hunchback! BOJRBON. CESAR. True: but those walls have girded in great ages, You may well say so, And sent forth mighty spirits. The past earth For you have seen that back-as general, And present phantom of imperious Rome Placed in the rear in action-but your foes Is peopled with those warriors; and methinks Have never seen it. They flit along the eternal city's rampart, BOURBON. And stretch their glorious, gory, shadowy hands, That's a fair retort, And beckon me away! For I provoked it:-but the Bourbon's breast PHILIBERT. Has been, and ever shall be, far advanced So let them! Wilt thou In danger's face as yours, were you the devil. Turn back from shadowy menaces of shadows? CLESAR. BOURBON. And if I were, I might have saved myself They do not menace me. I could have faced, The toil of comling here. Methinks, a SyUa's menace; but they clasp PHILIBERT. And raise, and wring their dim and deathlike hands, Why so? And with their thin aspen faces and fixed eyes CAESAR. Fascinate mine. Look there! One half PHILIBERT. Of your brave bands of their own bold accord I look upon Will go to him, the other half be sent, A loftv battlement. More swiftly, not less surely. BOURBON. BOURBON. And there Arnold, your PHILIBERT. Slight crooked friend's as snake-like in his words Not even As his deeds. THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. 437 CZESAR. BOURBON. Your highness much mistakes me. The world's The first snake was a flatterer-I am none; Great capital perchance is ours to-morrow. rid for my deeds, I only sting when stung. Through every change the seven-hill'd city liath BOURBON. Retain'd her sway o'er nations, and the C:esars You are brave, and that's enough for me: and quick But yielded to the Alarics, the Alarics In speech as sharp in action-and that's more. Unto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or priest, I am not alone a soldier, but the soldiers' Still the world's masters! Civilized, barbarian, Comrade. Or saintly, still the walls of Romulus' CESAR. Have been the circus of an empire. Well! They are but bad company, your highness;'T was their turn-now'tis ours; and let us hope And worse even for their friends than foes, as being That we will fight as well, and ule much better. More permanent acquaintance. C)ESAP. PHILIBERT. No doubt, the camp's the school of civic rights. How now, fellowv What would you make of Rome? Thou waxest insolent, beyond the privilege BOT'RBON. Of a buffoon. Of a buffoon. That wnich it was. CAESAR. CESAR. In Alaric's time? You mean, I speak the truth. In Alars time I'l lie —it is as easy; then you'11 praise mle BOURBON. F or.'allin / ya hero. Wo, slave! In the first Ca-sar's, For calling you a hero. BOURBON. Whose name you bear like other curs. Philibert! CESAR. Let nmm alone; he's brave, and ever has'T name for bl Been first with that swart face and mountain shoulder B N. BOURBON, In field or storm; and patient in starvation; There's a den And for his tongue, the camp is full of license, In thaterce rattle-snake thy tongue. Wilt never And the sharp stinging of a lively rogue Beserious? Is, to my mind, far preferable to CESAR. The gross, dull, heavy, gloomy execration the eve of battle, no Of a mere famish'd, sullen, grumbling slave, Tnat were not soldier-like.'T is for the general Whom nothing can convince save a full meal, ro be more pensive: we adventurers And wine, and sleep, and a lew maravedis, Must be more cheerful. Wherefore should we think? With which he deems him iich. Our tutelar deity, in a leader's shape, CESAR. Takes care of us. Keep thought aloof from hosts! It would be well If the knaves take to thinking, you will have If the earth's princes ask'd no more. To crack those walls alone. POURBON. BOURBON. Be siler!. You may sneer, since CESAR.'T is lucky for you that you fight no worse for't. Ay, but not idle. Work yourself with w,,rds! ClyS. R. You have few to seak. I thank you for the freedom;'t is the only 1- P5JIBERT. Pay I have taken in your highness' service. Wnat means the audacious prater? BOURBON. CESAR. Well, sir, to-morrow you shall pay yourself. To prate, like:lter prophets. Look on those towers; they hold my treasury. BOURBON. But, Philibert, we'11 in to council. Arnold! Pnilibert! e We would request your presence. Why will yuu vex him? Have we not enough ARNOLD. To think on? Arnold! I wi'. lead the attack Prince! my service To-morrr w. Is yours, as in the field. AB OLD. BOURBON. I have heaid as much, my lord. In both, we prize it, BOURBON. And yours will be a post of trust at day-break. Jid you will follow 7 CESAR. ARNOLD. And mine? Since I must not lead. BOURBON. BOURBON. To follow glory with the Bourbon.'' is necessary, for the further daring Good night! Of our too needy army, that their chief ARNOLD (to CJESAR). Plant the fi st foot upon the foremost ladder's Prepare our armour for the assault, FIirst step And wait within my tent. CESSAR. [Exeunt BOURBON, ARNOLD, PHILItB A. ia, Upon its topmost, let us hope ClESAR (solus). So shall he have his full deserts. Within thy tenst 438 BYRON'S WORKS. Think'st thou that I pass from thee with my presence? All the warlike gear of old, Or that this crooked coffer, which contain'd Mix'd with what we now behold, Thy principle of life, is aught to me In this strife'twixt old and new, Except a mask? And these are men, forsooth! Gather like a locust's crew. Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam's bastards! Shade of Remus!'t is a time This is the consequence of giving matter Awful as thy brother's crime! The power of thought. It is a stubborn substance, Christians war against Christ's shrine: — And thinks chaotically, as it acts, Must its lot be like to thine? Ever relapsing into its first elements. 4 Well! I must play with these poor puppets: t is Near-and near-nearer still, Near-and near-nearer still, The spirit's pastime in his idler hours. As the earthquake saps the ill, As the earthquake saps the hill, When I grow weary of it, I have business First with trembling, hollow motion, A mongst the stars, which these poor creatures deem Like a scarce-awan'docean, Were made for them to look at.'T were a jest now Then with stronger shock and louder, Then with stronger shock and louder, To bring one down amongst them, and set fire Till the rocks a crushd to powder,9 Till the rocks are crush'd to powder,Unto their ant-hill: how the pismires thenOnward seeps the rolling host Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing H o Heroes of the immortal boast! From tearing down each others' nests, pipe forth Mightychiefs Eternal shadows One universal orison!'Ha! ha! [Exit C AR. First floers f the boodymeadows Which encompass Rome, the mother Of a people without brother! PART II. Will you sleep when nations' quarrels Plough the root up of your laurels? SCENE I. Ye who wept o'er Carthage burning, Before the walls of Rome. The assault; the army. n Weep not-strike! for Rome is mourning I motion, with ladders to scale'the walls; BOURBON, 5. with a white scarf over his armour, foremost. Onward sweep the varied nations! Chorus of Spirits in the air. Famine long hath dealt their rations; To the wall, with hate and hunger, 1. Numerous as wolves, and stronger,'T is the morn, but dim and dark. On they sweep. Oh! glorious city, Whither flies the silent lark? Must thou be a theme for pity? Whiter shrinks the clouded sun? Fight, like your first sire, each Roman! Is the day indeed begun? Alaric was a gentle foeman, Nature's eye is melancholy Match'd with Bourbon's black banditti! O'er the city high and holy; Rouse thee, thou eternal city! But without there is a din Rouse thee! Rather give the porch Should arouse the saints within, With thy own hand to thy torch, And revive the heroic ashes Than behold such hosts pollute Round which yellow Tiber dashes. Your worst dwelling with their foot. Oh! ye seven hills! awaken, Ere your very base be shaken! 6. Ah! behold yon bleeding spectre! 2. Ilion's children find no Hector; H.earken to the steady stamp! Priam's offspring loved their brother; Mars is in their every tramp-. iach his celestial flattery For what is poesy but to create 462 BYRON'S WORKS. From overfeeling good or ill; and aim Wafting its native incense through the skies. At an external life beyond our fate, Sovereigns shall pause amid their sport of war, And be the new Prometheus of new men, Wean'd for an hour from blood, to turn and gaze Bestowing fire from heaven, and then, too late, On canvas or on stone; and they who mar Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain, All beauty upon earth, compell'd to praise, And vultures to the heart of the bestower, Shall feel the power of that which they destroy; Who, having lavish'd his high gift in vain, And art's mistaken.gratitude shall raise Lies chain'd to his lone rock by the sea-shore! To tyrants who but take her for a toy So be it; we can bear.-But thus all they, Emblems and monuments, and prostitute Whose intellect is an o'ermastering power, Her charms'to pontiffs proud,'6 who but employ Which still recoils from its encumbering clay, The man of genius as the meanest brute Or lightens it to splrit,.whatsoe'er To bear a burthen, and to serve a need, The form which their creations may essay, To sell his labours, and his soul to boot: Are bards; the kindled marble's bust may wear Who toils for nations may be poor indeed, More poesy upon its speaking brow But'free; who sweats for monarchs is no more Than aught less than the Homeric page may bear; Than the gilt chamberlain, who, clothed and fee'd, One noble stroke with a whole life may glow, Stands sleek and slavish bowing at his door. Or deify the canvas till it shine Oh, Power that rulest and inspirest! how With beauty so surpassing all below, Is it that they on earth,,whose earthly power That they who kneel to idols so divine Is likest thine in heaven in outward show, Break no commandment, for high heaven is there Least like to thee in attributes divine, Transfused, transfigurated: and the line Tread on the universal necks that bow, Of poesy which peoples but the air And then assure us that their rights are thine? With thought and beings of our thought reflected, And how is it that they, the sons of fame, Can do no more: then let the artist share Whose inspiration seems to them to shine The palm, he shares the peril, and dejected From high, they whom the nations oftest name, Faints o'er the labour unapproved-Alas! Must pass their days in penury or pain, Despair and genius are too oft connected. Or step to grandeur through the paths of shame, Within the ages which before me pass, And wear a deeper brand and gaudier chain? Art shall resume and equal even the sway Or if their destiny be borne aloof Which with Apelles and old Phidias From lowliness, or tempted thence in vain, She held in Hellas' unforgotten day. In their own souls sustain a harder proof, Ye shall be taught by ruin to revive The inner war of passions deep and fierce? The Grecian forms at least from their decay, Florence! when thy harsh sentence razed my rook And Roman souls at last again shall live I loved thee, but the vengeance of my verse, In Roman works wrought by Italian hands, The hate of injuries, which every year And temples loftier than the old temples, give Makes greater and accumulates my curse, New wonders to the world; and while still stands Shall live, outliving all thou holdest dear, The austere Pantheon, into heaven shall soar Thy pride, thy wealth, thy freedom, and even that, A dome,'2 its image, while the base expands The most infernal of all evils here, Into a fane surpassing all before, The sway of petty tyrants in a state; Such as all flesh shall flock to kneel in: ne'er For such sway is not limited to kings, Such sight hath been unfolded by a door And demagogues yield to them but in date As this, to which all nations shall repair, As swept off sooner; in all deadly things And lay their sins at this huge gate of heaven. Which make men hate themselves and one another And the bold architect unto whose, care In discord, cowardice, cruelty, all that springs.he daring charge to raise it shall be given, From Death, the Sin-born's incest with his mother, Whom all arts shall acknowledge as their lord, In rank oppression in its rudest shape, Whether into the marble chaos driven The faction chief is but the sultan's brother, His chisel bid the Hebrew,'3 at whose word And the worst despot's far less human ape: Israel left Egypt, stop the waves in stone, Florence! when this lone spirit which so long Or hues of hell be by his pencil pour'd Yearn'd as the captive toiling at escape, Over the damn'd before the Judgment throne,' To fly back to thee in despite of wrong, Such as I saw them, such as all shall see, An exile, saddest of all prisoners, Or fanes be built of grandeur yet unknown, Who has the whole world for a dungeon strong, rhe stream of his great thoughts shall spring from me,'5 Seas, mountains, and the horizon's verge for bars,.he Ghibelline, who traversed the three realms Which shut him from the sole small spot of earth Which form the empire of eternity. Where, whatsoe'er his fate-he still were hers, &imidst the clash of swords and clang of helms, His country's, and might die where he had birthThe age which I anticipate, no less Florence! when this lone spirit shall return Shall be the age of beauty, and while whelms To kindred spirits, thou wilt feel my worth, Calamity the nations with distress, And seek to honour with an empty urn The genius of my country shall arise, The ashes thou shalt ne'er obtain.-Alas! A cedar towering o'er the wilderness, " What have I done to thee, my people?"' Stemn jovely m all its branches to all eyes, Are all thy dealings, but in this they pass Fragrant as fair, and recognised afar, The limits of man's common malice, for THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 463 All that a citizen could be I was; Aristotle, are not the most felicitous. Tully's Terentia, Raised by thy will, all thine in peace or war, and Socrates' Xantippe, by no means contributed to And for this thou hast warr'd with me.-'T is done: their husbands' happiness, whatever they might do to I may not overleap the eternal bar their philosophy-Cato gave away his wife-of Varro's Built up between us, and will die alone, we know nothing —and of Seneca's, only that she was Beholding, with the dark eye of a seer, disposed to die with him, but recovered, and lived sev The evil days to gifted souls foreshown, eral years afterwards. But, says Lionardo, "L'uomo Foretelling them to those who will not hear, e animale civile, secondo piace a tutti i filosofi." And As in the old time, till the hour be come thence concludes that the greatest proof of the animal's'When truth shall strike their eyes through man ratear, civism is " la prima congiunzione, dalla quale multipliAn I make them own the prophet in his tomb. cata nasce la Citta." Note 6. Page 459, line 119. "N iO^.~jrTE~kr]T~S Nine moons shall rise o'er scenes like this and set. I-V 0O -TE- ES. s~See " Sacco di Roma," generally attributed to Guicciardini. There is another written by a Jacopo BuonaNote 1. Page 457, line 11. parte, Gentiluomo Samminiatese che vi si trovb pre-'Midst whom my own bright Beatric6 bless'd. sente. The reader is requested to adopt the Italian pronun- Note 7. Page 460, line 93. ciation of Beatrice, sounding all the syllables. Conquerors on foreign shores and the far wave. Note 2. Page 458, line 9. Alexander of Parma, Spinola, Pescara, Eugene of My paradise had still been incomplete. Savoy, Montecucco. Che sol per le belle opre'~he sol per le belle opreNote 8. Page 460, line 94. Che fanno in Cielo il sole e 1' altre stelle Dentro di lni' si crede il Paradiso, Discoverers of new worlds, which take their name. Cosi se guardi fiso Columbus, Americus Vespusius, Sebastian Caboi. Pensar ben dei ch'ogni terren' piacere." Canzone, in which Dante describes the person of Bea- Note 9. Page 461, line 1. trice, strophe third. He who once enters in a tyrant's hall, etc. A verse from the Greek tragedians, with which Pom Note 3. Page 458, line 41. pey took leave of Cornelia -on entering the boat i,, I would have had my Florence great and free. whih he was slain. " L' esilio che m' d dato onor mi tegno. * * * * * ~ Note 10. Page 461, line 4. " Cader tra buoni pur di lode degno. And the first day which sees the chain enthral, etc. Sonnet of Dante, m which he represents Right, Generosity, and Tem- The verse and sentiment are taken from Homer. perance, as banished from among m:-:j, and seeking Note 11. Page 461,line 21. refuge from Love, who inhabits his bos(or. And he their prince shall rank among my peers. Petrarch. Note 4. Page 458, line 57. Ptrarch. The dust she dooms to scatter. Note 12 Page 462, line 40. A dome, its image. "Ut si quis prtedictorum ullo tempore in fortiam cupola of St. Peter' dicti communis pervenerit, talis perveniens igne comburatur, sic quod moriatur." Note 13. Page 462, line 50. Second sentence of Florence against Dante and the Is chisel hid the Hebrew. fourteen accused with him.-The Latin is worthy of The statue of Moses on the monument o' Julius II. the sentence. SONETO. Note 5. Page 459, line 22. Diiovanni attistaZapi. Chi 6 eostui, che in dura pietra scolto, Where yet my boys are, and that fatal she. Siede gigante; e le piu illustri, e conte This lady, whose name was Gemma, sprung from one Prove dell' arte avanza, e ha vive, e pronte of the most powerful Guelf families, named Donati. Le labbia si, che l parole ascolto? Quest, e Mose: ben me'I dicera il folto Corso Donati was the principal adversary of the Ghibel- Onor del mento, e'1 doppio raggio in fronfe, lines. She is described as being " Admodum morosa, Quest' 6 Mosd, quando scendea del monte ut de Xantippe Socratis philosophi conjuge scriptum E gran parte del Nume avea nel volto, Tal era allor che le sonanti, e vaste esse leginus," according to Giannozzo Manetti. But Acque eia sospese ae d'intorno, e ale Lionardo Aretino is scandalized with Boccace, in his Quando il mar chiuse, e ne fd tomba altru life of Dante, for saying that literary men should not E voi sue turbe unrio vitello alzate' marry. "Qui il Boccaccio noinha pazienza, e dice, le Alta aveste imgo a este eale Ch' era men fallo 1' adorar costui. mogli esser contrarie agli studj; e non si ricorda che Socrate il pii nobile filosofo che mai fosse, ebbe moglieNote 14. Page462. line 53. e figliuoli e uffcj dela Repubblica nella sua Citt; e Over the damd before the ud throne Aristotele che, etc., etc. ebbe due mogli in varj tempi, The Last Judgment, in the Sistine chapel. ed ebbe figliuoli, e ricchezze assai.-E Marco Tullio- Note 15. Page 462, line 56. e Catone-e Varrone —e Seneca-ebbero moglie," etc., The stream of his great thoughts shall spring from me. etc. It is odd that honest Lionardo's examples, with I have read somewhere (if do not err, for I cannol the exception ot Seneca, and, for any thing I know, of recollect where) that Dante was so great a favounrte (t 464 BYRON'S WORKS. Michel Angiolo's, that he had designed the whole of Note 17. Page 462, line 130. the Divina Commedia; but that the volume containing "What have I done to thee, my people?" these studies was lost by sea. " E scrisse pih volte non solamente a particolari cit Note 16. Page 462, line 76. tadini del reggimento, ma ancora al popolo, e intra l' Her charms to pontiffs proud, who but employ, etc. altre una epistola assai lunga che cominca:-' Popule See the treatment of Michel Angiolo by Julius II., mi, quid feci tibi?' and his neglect by Leo X. Vita di Dante scritta da Lionardo Aretino. Ville 4Ftent, OR, CHRISTIAN AND HIS COMRADES. ADVERTISEQM-FiVENT. The gushing fruits that nature gave untill'd; The wood without a path but where they will'd; The field o'er which promiscuous plenty pour'd THE foundation of the following story will be found Her horn; the equal land without a lord; partly in the account of the Mutiny of the Bounty, in The wish-which ages have not yet subdued the South Sea, in 1789, and partly in Mariner's "Ac- In man-to have no master save his mood; count of the Tonga Islands." The earth, whose mine was on its face,'unsold, The glowing sun and produce all its gold; The freedom which can call each grot a home; The general garden, where all steps may roam, THE ISLAND. Where Nature owns a nation as her child, Exulting in the enjoyment of the wild; Their shells, their fruits, the only wealth they know; Their unexploring navy, the canoe; THE morning watch was come: the vessel lay Their sport, the dashing breakersand the chase; Her course, and gently made her liquid way; Their strangest sight, an European face:The cloven billow flash'd from off her prow Such was the country which these strangers yearn'd In furrows form'd by that majestic plough; see again-a sight they dearly earn'd. The waters with their world were all before; Behind, the South Sea's many an islet shore. III. The quiet night, now dappling,'gan to wane, Awake, bold Bligh! the foe is at the gate! Dividing darkness from the dawning main; Awake! awake!-Alas! it is too late! The dolphins, not unconscious of the day, Fiercely beside thy cot the mutineer Swam high, as eager of the coming ray; Stands, and proclaims the reign of rage and fear. The stars from broader beams began to creep, Thy limbs are bound, the bayonet at thy breast, And lift their shining eyelids from the deep; The hands, which trembled at thy voice, arrest: The sail resumed its lately-shadow'd white, Dragg'd o'er the deck, no more at thy command And the wind flutter'd with a freshening flight; The obedient helm shall veer, the sail expand; The purpling ocean owns the coming sun- That savage spirit, which would lull by wrath But, ere he break, a deed is to be done. Its desperate escape from duty's path, Glares round thee, in the scarce-believing eyes Of those who fear the chief they sacrifice; The gallant chief within his cabin slept,r ne'er can man his conscience all assuage Secure in those by whom the watch was kept: Unless he drain the wine of passion-rage. His dreams were of Old England's welcome shore, Of toils rewarded, and of dangers o'ex, IV. His name was added to the glorious roll In vain, not silenced by the eye of death, Of those who search the storm-surrounded pole. Thou call'st the loyal with thy menaced breath:The worst was o'er, and the rest seem'd sure, They come not; they are few, and, overawed, And why should not his slumber be secure? Must acquiesce while sterner hearts applaud. Alas: his deck was frod by unwilling feet, In vain thou dost demand the cause; a curse And wilder hands would hold the vessel's sheet; Is all the answer, with the threat of worse. Young hearts, which languish'd for some sunny isle, Full in thine eyes is waved the glittering blade, Where summer years and summer women smile; Close to thy throat the pointed bayonet laid, Men without country, who, too long estranged, The levell'd muskets circle round thy breast Had found no native home, or found it changed, In hands as steel'd to do the deadly rest. Aind, ialf-uncivilized, preferr'd the cave. Thou darest them to their worst, exclaiming, "Fire!'f some soft savage to the uncertain wave; But they who pitied not could yet admire; THE ISLAND. 465 Some lurking remnant of their former awe He, when the lightning-wing'd tornadoes sweep Restrain'd them longer than their broken law; The surge, is safe-his port is in the deepThey would not dip their souls at once in blood, And triumphs o'er the armadas of mankind, But left thee to the mercies of the flood. Which shake the world, yet crumble in the wind. V. VIII. ~ Hoist out the boat!" was now the leader's cry: When all was now prepared, the vessel clear And who dare answer " No" to mutiny, Which hail'd her master in the mutineerIn the first dawning of the drunken hour, A seaman, less obdurate than his mates, The Saturnalia of unhoped-for power? Show'd the vain pity which but irritates; The boat is lower'd with all the haste of hate, Watch'd his late chieftain with exploring eye, With its slight plank between thee and thy fate; And told in signs repentant sympathy; Her only cargo such a scant supply Held the moist shaddock to his parched mouth, As promises the death their hands deny; Which felt exhaustion's deep and bitter drouth. And just enough of water and of bread But, soon observed, this guardian was withdrawn, To keep, some days, the dying from the dead: Nor further mercy clouds rebellion's dawn. Some cordage, canvas, sails, and lines, and twine, Then forward stepp'd the bold and froward boy But treasures all to hermits of the brine, His chief had cherish'd only to destroy, Were added after, to the earnest prayer And, pointing to the hopeless prow beneath, Of those who saw no hope save sea and air; Exclaim'd, "Depart at once! delay is death!" And last, that trembling vassal of the pole, Yet then, even then, his feelings ceased not all: The feeling compass, navigation's soul. In that last moment could a word recall Remorse for the black deed, as yet half-done, VI. And, what he hid from many, show'd to one: And now the self-elected chief finds time When Bligh, in stern reproach, demanded where To stun the first sensation of his crime, Was now his grateful sense of former care?And raise it in his followers —" Ho! the bowl!" Where all his hopes to see his name aspire, Lest passion should return to reason's shoal. And blazon Britain's thousand glories higher? " Brandy for heroes!" Burke could once exclaim,- His feverish lips thus broke their gloomy spell, No doubt a liquid path to epic fame; "'T is that!'t is that! I am in hell! in hell!" And such the new-born heroes found it here, No more he said; but, urging to the bark And drain'd the draught with an applauding cheer. His chief, commits him to his fragile ark: " Huzza! for Otaheite!" was the cry; These the sole accents from his tongue that fell, How strange such shouts from sons of mutiny! But volumes lurk'd below his fierce farewell. The gentle island, and the genial soil, The friendly hearts, the feast without a toil, I The courteous manners but from nature caught, The arctic sun rose broad above the wave; The wealth unhoarded, and the love unbought; The breeze now sunk, now whisper'd from his cave, Could these have charms for rudest sea-boys, driven As on the ]Eolan harp, his fitful wings Before the mast by every wind of heaven? Now swell'd, now flutter'd o'er his ocean strings. And now, even now, prepared with others' woes With slow despairing oar, the abandon'd skiff To earn mild virtue's vain desire-repose? Ploughs its drear progress to the scarce-seen cliff, Alas! such is our nature! all but aim Which lifts its peak a cloud above the main: At the same end, by pathways not the same; That boat and ship shall never meet again! Our means, our birth, our nation, and our name, But'tis not mine to telltheirtaleof grief, Our fortune, temper, even our outward frame, Their constant peril, and their scant relief; Are far more potent over yielding clay Their days of danger, and their nights of pain; Than aught we know beyond our little day. Their manly courage, even when deem'd in vain: Yet still there whispers the small voice within, The sapping famine, rendering scarce a son Heard through gain's silence, and o'er glory's din: Known to his mother in the skeleton; Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, The ills that lessen'd still their little store, Man's conscience is the oracle of GOD! And starved even hunger till he wrung no more; The varying frowns and favours of the deep, VII. That now almost engulfs, then leaves to creep The launch is crowded with the faithful few With crazy oar and shatter'd strength along Who wait their chief, a melancholy crew: The tide, that yields reluctant to the strong; But some remain'd reluctant on the deck The incessant fever of that arid thirst Of that proud vessel-now a moral wreck- Which welcomes, as a well, the clouds that burst And view'd their captain's fate with piteous eyes; Above their naked bones, and feels delight While others scoff'd his augur'd miseries, In the cold drenching of the stormy night, Sneer'd at the prospect of his pigmy sail, And from the outspread canvas gladly wrings And the slight bark, so laden and so frail. A drop to moisten life's all-gaspingrsprings; The tender nautilus who steers his prow, The savage foe escaped, to seek again The sea-born sailor of his shell canoe, More hospitable shelter from the main; The ocean Mab, the fairy of the sea, The ghastly spectres which were doom'd at,a Seems far less fragile, and, alas! more free! To tell as true a tale of dangers past. 2 S 64 466 BYRON'S WORKS. As ever the dark annals of the deep Which spurn in columns back the baffled spray. Disclosed for man to dread or woman weep. How beautiful are these, how happy they, Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives, Steal to look down where nought but ocean strives t We leave them to their fate, but not unknown Even he too loves at times the blue laoon Nor unredress'd! Revenge may bWve her own: And smooths his ruffled mane beneath the moon. Roused discipline aloud proclaims their cause, And injured navies urge their.broken laws. II. Pursue we on his track the mutineer, Yes-from the sepulchre we'11 gather flowers, Whom distant vengeance had not taught to fear, Then feast like spirits in their promised bowers, Wide o'er the wave-away! away! away! Then plunge and revel in the rolling surf, Once more his eyes shall hail the welcome bay; Then lay our limbs along the tender turf, Once more the happy shores without a law And, wet and shining from the sportive toil, Receive the outlaws whom they lately saw; Anoint our bodies with the fragrant oil, Nature, and nature's goddess-Woman-woos And plait our garlands gather'd fi:om the grave, To lands where, save their conscience, none accuse; And wear the wreaths that sprung from out the brave Where all partake the earth without dispute, But lo! night comes, the Mooa woos us back, And bread itself is gather'd as a fruit;' The sound of mats is heard along our track; Where none contest the fields, the woods, the streams:- Anon the torchlight-dance shall fling its sheen The goldless age, where gold disturbs no dreams, In flashing mazes o'er the Marly's green; Inhabits or inhabited the shore, And we too will be there; we too recall Till Europe taught them better than before, The memory bright with many a festival, Bestow'd her customs, and amended theirs, Ere Fiji blew the shell of war, when foes But left her vices also to their heis. For the first time were wafted in canoes. Away with this! behold them as they were, Alas! for them the flower of mankind-bleeds; Do good with nature, or with nature err. Alas! for them our fields are rank with weeds: " Huzza! for Otaheite!" was the cry, Forgotten is the rapture, or unknown, As stately swept the gallant vessel by. Of wandering with the moon and love alone. The breeze springs up; the lately-flapping sail But be it so:-they taught us how to wield Extends its arch before the growing gale; The club, and rain our arrows o'er the field; In swifter ripples stream aside the seas, Now let them reap the harvest of their art! Which her bold bow flings off With dashing ease. But feast to-night! to-morrow we depart. Thus Argo plough'd the Euxine's virgin foam; Strike up the dance, the cava bowl fill high, But those she wafted still look'd back to home- Drain every drop!-to-morrow we-may die. These spurn their country with their rebel bark, In summer garments be our limbs array'd; A ud fly her as the raven fled the ark; Around our waist the Tappa's white display'd; A ad yet they seek to nestle with the dove, Thick wreaths shall form our coronal, like spring's, Aqd tame their fiery spirits down to love. And round our necks shall glance the HoGni strings; So shall their brighter hues contrast the glow Of the dusk bosoms that beat high below. CANTO II. IIi. But now the dance is o'er-yet stay awhile; I~T ~~. ~ Ah, pause! nor yet put out the social smile. How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai,2 To-morrow for the Mooa we depart, When summer's sun went down the coral bay! But not to-night —to-night is for the heart. Come, let us to the islet's softest shade, Again bestow the wreaths we gently woo, And hear the warbling birds! the damsels said: Ye young enchantresses of gay Licoo! The wood-dove from the forest depth shall coo, How lovely are your forms! how every sense Like voices of the gods from Bolotoo; Bows to your beauties, soften'd, but intense, We'll cull the flowers that grow above the dead, Like to the flowers on Mataloco's steep, For these most bloom where rests the warrior's head; Which fling their fragrance far athwart the deep: And we will sit in twilight's face, and see We too will see Licoo; but oh! my heartThe sweet moon dancing through the tooa tree, What do I say? to-morro we depart. The lofty accents of whose sighing bough I Shall sadly please us as we lean below; Or climb the steep, and view the surf in vain oe a son e harmony of times * psl 1t'ok *at Xe th.an Before the winds blew Europe o'er these climes. Wrestle with rocky giants o'er the main, Wrest.e___ with rockgiats nTrue, they had vices-such are nature's growth — But only the barbarian's-we have both; I The now celebrated bread-fruit, to transplant which Cap- But only the bbarian e he tain Bligh's expedition was undertaken. The sordor of civilization, mix'd 2 The first three sections are taken from an actual song of With all the savage which man's fall hath fix d. the Tonga Islanders, of which a prose translation is given in Who hath not seen dissimulation's reign, Mariner's.,ccount of the Tonga Islands. Toobonai is not The prayers of Abel link'd to deeds of Cain? however one of them; but was one of tuhse where Christian and the mutineers took refuge. I have altered and added, but Who such wolld see, may from his lattice view have retained as much as possible of the original' The old world more degraded than the new - THE ISLAND. 46" Now new no more, save where Columbia rears Yet full of life-for through her tropic cheek Twin giants, born by freedom to her spheres, The blush would make its way, and all but speak: Where Chimborazo, over air, earth, wave, The sun-born blood diffused her neck, and threw Glares with his Titan eye, and sees no slave. O'er her clear nut-brown skin a lucid hue, Like coral reddening through the darken'd wave, * ~~~V. ~ Which draws the diver to the crimson cave. Such was this ditty of tradition's days, Such was this daughter of the Southern Seas, Which to the dead a lingering fame conveys Herself a billow in her energies, In song, where fame as yet hath left no sign To bear the bark of others' happiness, Beyond the sound, whose charm is half divine; Nor feel a sorrow till their joy grew less: Which leaves no record to the sceptic eye, Her wild and warm, yet faithful bosom knew But yields young history all to harmony; No joy hke what it gave; her hopes ne'er drew A boy Achilles, with the Centaur's lyre Aught from experience, that chill touchstone, whose In hand, to teach him to surpass his sire: Sad proof reduces all things from their hues: For one long-cherish'd ballad's simple stave, She fear'd no ill, because she knew it not, Rung from the rock, or mingled with-the wave, Or what she knew was soon-too soon-forgot: Or from the bubbling streamlet's grassy side, Her smiles and tears had pass'd, as light winds pass Or gathering mountain echoes as they glide, O'er lakes, to ruffle, not destroy, their glass, Hath greater power o'er each true heart and ear, Whose depths unsearch'd, and fountains from the hiil, Than all the columns conquest's minions rear; Restore their surface, in itself so still, Invites, when hieroglyphics are a theme Until the earthquake tear the Naiad's cave, For sages' labours or the student's dream; Root up the spring, and trample on the wave, Attracts, when history's volumes are a toil,- And crush the living waters to a mass, The first, the freshest bud of feeling's soil. The amphibious desert of the dank morass! Such was this rude rhyme-rhyme is of the rude- And must their fate be hers? The eternal change But such inspired the Norseman's solitude, But grasps humanity with quicker range; Who came and conquer'd; such, wherever rise And they who fall, but fall as worlds will fall, Lands which no foes destroy or civilize, To rise, if just, a spirit o'er them all. Exist: and what can our accomplish'd art Of verse do more than reach the awaken'd heart? VIII VI. A:d who is he? the blue-eyed northern child And sweetly now those untaught melodies Of isles more known to man, but scarce less wild; Broke the luxurious silence of the skies, The fair-hair'd offspring of the Hebrides, The sweet siesta of a summer day, Where roars the Pentland with its whirling seas; The tropic afternoon of Toobonai, Rock'd in his cradle by the roaring wind, When every flower was bloom, and air was balm, The tempest-born in body and in mind, And the first breath began to stir the palm, His young eyes opening on the ocean foam, The first yet voiceless wind to urge the wave Had from that moment deem'd the deep his home, All gently to refresh the thirsty cave, The giant comrade of his pensive moods, Where sate the songstress with the stranger boy, The sharer of his craggy solitudes, Who taught her passion's desolating joy, The only Mentor of his youth, where'er Too powerful over every heart, but most His bark was borne, the spot of wave and air; O'er those who know not how it may be lost; A careless thing, who placed his choice in chance, O'er those who, burning in the new-born fire, Nursed by the legends of his land's romance; Like martyrs revel in their funeral pyre, Eager to hope, but not less firm to bear, With such devotion to their ecstasy, Acquainted with all feelings save despair. That life knows no such rapture as to die: Placed in the Arab's clime, he would have been And die they do; for earthly life has nought As bold a rover as the sands have seen, Match'd with that burst of nature, even in thought; And braved their thirst with as enduring lip And all our dreams of better life above As Ishmael wafted on his desert-ship; I But close in one eternal gush of love. Fix'd upon Chili's shore, a proud Cacique; On Hellas' mountains, a rebellious Greek; VII. Born in a tent, perhaps a Tamerlane; There sate the gentle savage of the wild, Bred to a throne, perhaps unfit to reign. In growth a woman, though in years a child, For the same soul that rends its path to sway, As childhood dates within our colder clime, If rear'd to such can find no firther prey Where nought is ripen'd rapidly save crime; Beyond itself, and must retrace its way,2 The infant of an infant world, as pure Plunging for pleasure into pain; the same Fiom nature —lovely, warm, and premature; Spirit which made a Nero, Rome's worst shame, Dusky like night, but night with all her stars, Or cavern sparkling with its native spars; rWith cave thatwrk i n ati vn a e spas 1 The "ship of the desert" is the oriental figure for mne With eyes at were a language an a sellcamel or dromedary; and they deserve the metaphor well; the A form like Aphrodite's in her shell; oIrmer for his endurance, the latter for his swiftness. With all her loves around her on the deep, 2 "Lucullus, when frugality could charm, Voluptuous as the first approach of sleep; Had wasted turnips in his Sabine farm.'-Pope 468 BYRON'S WORKS. An humbler state and discipline of heart Their union grew: the children of the storm Had formed his glorious namesake's counterpart:' Found beauty link'd with many a dusky form; But grant his vices, grant them all his own, While these in turn admired the paler glow, How small their theatre without a throne! Which seem'd so white in climes that knew no sn, IX. The chase, the race, the liberty to roam, Thou smilest,-these comparisons seem high The soil where every cottage show a home; The sea-spread net, the lightly-launch'd canoe, To those who scan all things with dazzled eye; Te s n t l Link'd with the unknown name of one whose doom hich stemm'd the studded Archipelago, O'er whose blue bosom rose the starry isles; Has nought to do with glory or with Rome, With nChilit Helias, or with Araby. The healthy slumber, earn'd by sportive toils; With Chili, Hellas, or with Araby. Thou smilest! —smile;'t is better thus than sigh; The palm, the loftiest Dryad of the woods, Within whose bosom infant Bacchus broods, Yet such he might have been; he was a man, YA soaring spirit hever in the van; hwWhile eagles scarce build higher than the crest A soaring spirit ever in the van, A p t ho o d Which shadows o'er the vineyard in her breast; A patriot hero or despotic chief, To form a nation's glory or its grief, The cava feast, the yam, the cocoa's root, To form a nation's glory or its grief,. Born under auspices which make, us more Which bears at once the cup, and milk, and fruit; Born under auspices which make us more Or less than we delight to ponder o'er. The bread-tree, which, without the ploughshare, yielus But these are visions; say, what was he here? The unreap'd harvest of unfurrow'd fields, And bakes its unadulterated loaves A blooming boy, a truant mutineer, [he fair-hair'd Torquil, free as ocean's spray, Wthout fur unpurchasedgroves,'rhe husband of the bride of Toobonai. And flings off famine from its fertile breast, Irhe husband of the bride of Toobonai. A priceless market for the gathering guest; X. These, with the luxuries of seas and woods, By Neuha's side he sate, and watch'd the waters,- The airy joys of social solitudes, Neuha, the sun-flower of the Island daughters, Tamed each rude wanderer to the sympathies High-born (a birth at which the herald smiles, Of those who were more happy if less wise, Without a'scutcheon for these secret isles) Did more than Europe's dicipline had done, Of a long race, the valiant and the free, And civilized civilization's son! The naked knights of savage chivalry, Whose grassy cairns ascend along the shore, XII. And thine,-I've seen,-Achilles! do no more.` Of these, and there was many a willing pair, She, when the thunder-bearing strangers came Neuha and Torquil were not the least fair: In vast canoes, begirt with bolts of flame, Both children of the isles, though distant far; Topp'd with tall trees, which, loftier than the palm, Both born beneath a sea-presiding star; Seem'd rooted in the deep amidst its calm; Both nourish'd amidst nature's native scenes, But, when the winds awaken'd shot forth wings Loved to the last, whatever intervenes Broad as the cloud along the horizon flings, Between us and our childhood's sympathy, And sway'd the waves, like cities of the sea, Which still reverts to what first caught the eye. Making the very billows look less free;- He who first met the Highlands' swelling blue, She, with her paddling oar and dancing prow, Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue, Shot through the surf, like reindeer through the snow, Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face, Swift gliding o'er the breaker's whitening edge, And clasp the mountain in his mind's embrace. Light as a Nereid in her ocean-sledge, Long have I roam'd through lands which are not mine, And gazed and wonder'd at the giant hulk Adored the Alp and loved the Apennine, Which heaved from wave to wave its trampling bulk: Revered Parnassus, and beheld the steep The anchor dropp'd, it lay along the deep, Jove's Ida and Olympus crown the deep: Like a huge lion in the sun asleep, But't was not all long ages' lore, nor all While round it swarm'd the proas' flitting chain, Their nature held me in their thrilling thrall; Like summer-bees that hum around his mane. The infant rapture still survived the boy, XI. And Loch-na-gar with Ida look'd o'er Tray,' The white man landed;-need the rest be told? Mix'd Celtic memories with the Phrygian mount, The New World stretch'd its dusk hand to the old; And Highland linns with Castalie's clear fount. Each was to each a marvel, and the tie Forgive me, Homer's universal shade! Of wonder warm'd to better sympathy. Forgive me, Phoebus! that my fancy stray'd; Kind was the welcome of the sun-born sires, The North and Nature taught me to adore And kinder still their daughters' gentler fires. Your scenes sublime from those beloved before. 1 The Consul Nero, who made the unequalled march which 1 When very young, about eight years of age, after an attack deceived Hannibal, and defeated Asdrubal; thereby accom- of the scarlet fever at Aberdee,,l was removed by medical plishing an achievement almost unrivalled in military annals. advice into the Highlands. Here I passed occasionally some The first intelligence of his return, to Hannibal, was the sight summers, and from this period I date my love of mountainous of AsdrubaPs head thrown into his camp. When Hannibal countries. I can never forget the effect a few years afterwards saw this, he exclaimed, with a sigh, that " Rome would now in England, of the only thing I had long seen, even in minbe the mistress of the world." And yet to this victory of Nero's iature, of a mountain, in the Malvern Hills. After I returned it might be owing that his imperial namesake reigned at all! to Cheltenham, I used to watch them every afternoon at sunBut tae infamy of one has eclipsed the glory of the other. set, with a sensation which I cannot describe. This was boyish When the name of " Nero " is neard, who thinks of the Con- enough; but I was then only thirteen year of age, and it was uai) But suca are human things in the holidays THE ISLAND. 469 XIII. The nightingale, their only vesper-bell, The love, which m,.n.A all things fond and fair, Sung sweetly to the rose the day's farewell;' The youth, which mak.'ue rainbow of the air, The broad sun set, but not with lingering sweep, The dangers past, that ma. ven man enjoy As in the north he mellows o'er the deep, The pause in which he ceases.o destroy, But fiery, full, and fierce, as if he left The mutual beauty, which the sternest feel The world for ever, earth of light bereft, Strike to their hearts like lightning to the steel, Plunged with red forehead down along the wave, United the half savage and the whole, As dives a hero headlong to his'grave. The maid and boy, in one absorbing soul. Then rose they, looking first along the skies, No more the thundering memory of the fight And then, for light, into each other's eyes, Wrapp'd his wean'd bosom in its dark delight; Wondering that summer show'd so brief a sun, No more the irksome restlessness of rest And asking if indeed the day were done'? Disturb'd him like the eagle in her nest, XVI. Whose whetted beak and far-pervading eye And let not this seem strange; the devotee Darts for a victim over all the sky; Darts for a victim over all the sky; Lives not in earth, but in his ecstasy; His heart was tamed to that voluptuous state, Lv n i e bu i ^i e His heart was tamed to that voluptuous state, Around him days and worlds are heedless driven, — At once elysian and effeminate, His soul is one before is ust to heaven. Which leaves no laurels o'er the hero's urn;- s le ls e t Is love less potent? No —his path is trod, These wither when fox aught save blood they burn; Alike uplifted gloiously to God Yet, when their ashes in their nook are laid, l t Or link'd to all we know of heaven below, Doth not the myrtle leave as sweet a shade? The other better self, whose joy or woe Had Cesar known but Cleopatra's kiss, Had Ctesar Iknown but Cleopatrla's kiss, Is more than ours; the all-absorbing flame Rome had been free, the world had not been his. Which, kindled by another, grows the same, And what have Caesar's deeds and Cesar's fame W k b g s Wrapt in one blaze; the pure, yet funeral pile, Done for the earth? We feel them in our shame: Bramins, sit and smile. Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile. Thre gory sanction of his glory stains How often we forget all time, when lone, The rust which tyrants cherish on our chains. Admiring nature's universal throne, Though glory, nature, reason, freedom, bid Though glory, nature, reason, freedom, bid Her woods, her wilds, her waters, the intense Roused millions do what single Brutus did,- Reply of s to our intellience Sweep these mere mock-birds of the despot's song Live not the stars and mountains A the aves From the tall bough where they have perch'd so long,- Without a spirit? Are the dropping caves Still are we hawk'd at by such mousing owls, Without a feeling in their silent tears? And take for falcons those ignoble fowls, And take for falcons tho igne fls, No, no:-they woo and clasp us to their spheres, When but a word of freedom would dispel Dissolve this clo and clod of cla before These bugbears, as their terrors show too well. I h, Its hour, and merge our soul in the great shore. Strip off this fond and false identity!Who thinks of self, when gazing on the sky? Rapt in the fond forgetfulness of life, And who, though gazing lower, ever thought, Neuha, the South Sea girl, was all a wife, In the young moments ere the heart is taught With no distracting world to call her off Time's lesson, of man's baseness or his own? From love; with no society to scoff All nature is his realm, and love his throne. At the new transient flame; no babbling crowd XVII. Of coxcombry in admiration loud, Or with" adulterous whisper to alloy twili Oer duty, and her glory, and her joy; Came sad and softly to their rocky bower, Her duty, and her glory, and her joy; With faith and feelings naked as her form,ch, kdlg by degrees dewy pars, Echo'd their dim light to the mustering stars. She stood as stands a rainbow in a storm, Changing its hues with bright variety, Slowly the pair, partaking nature's calm, But still expanding loyelier o'er the sky, Sought out their cottage, built beneath the palm; Howe'er its arch may swell, its colours move, Now smiling and no silent, as the scene; /.ow.s s li as novw-the spirit a when serene. The cloud-compelling harbinger of love. w. The Ocean scarce spoke louder with his swell XV. Than breathes his mimic murmurer in the shell,2 Here, in this grotto of the wave-worn shore, 1 The now well-known story of the loves of the nightingale They pass'd the tropic's red meridian o'er; and rose, need not be more than alluded to, being sufficiently Nor long the hours-,they never paused o'er time, familiar to the Western as to the Eastern reader. Nor long the hours-they never paused o'er time, n aroken by the clock's funereal chime, *2 If the reader will apply to his ear the sea-shell on his Tnroken by the clock s funereal chimney-piece, he will be aware of what is alluded to. If the Which deals the daily pittance of our span, text should appear obscure, he will find in' Gebir " the same And points and mocks with iron laugh at man. idea better expressed in two lines.-The poem I never rePd, What deerm'd they of the future or the past? but have heard the lines quoted by a more recondite reade.who seems to be of a different opinion from.he Editor of the The present, like a tyrant, held them fast; Quarterly Review, who qualified it, in his answer to the Their hour-glass was the sea-sand, and the tide, Critical Reviewer of his Journal, as hash of the worst and Like her smooth billow, saw their moments glide; most insane description. It is to Mr. Landor, the author Their clock the sun in his unbounded tower; of Gebir, so qualificd. and of some Latin poeme, which vle with Martial or Catullus in obscenity, that the immaculate rhey reckon'd not, whose day was but an hour; Mr. Southey addresses his declamation against impurity i 2s2 470 BYRON'S WORKS. As, far divided from his parent deep, And the rough Saturnalia of the tar The sea-born infant cries, and will not sleep, Flock o'er the deck, in Neptune's borrow'd car; Raising his little plaint in vain, to rave And, pleased, the god of ocean sees his name For the broad bosom of his nursing wave: Revive once more, though but in mimic game The woods droop'd darkly, as inclined to rest, Of his true sons, who riot m a breeze The tropic-bird wheel'd rock-ward to his nest, Undreamt of in his native Cyclades. And the blue sky spread round then like a lake Still the old god delights, from oUt the main, Of peace, where piety her thirst might slake. To snatch some glimpses of his ancient reign. Our sailor's jacket, though in ragged trim, XVIII. His constant pipe, which never yet burn'd dim. But through the palm and plantain, hark, a voice! His foremast air, and somewhat rolling gait, Not such as would have been a lover's choice Like his dear vessel, spoke his former state; In such an hour to break the air so still! But then a sort of kerchief round his head, No dying night-breeze, harping o'er the hill, Not over tightly bound, or nicely spread; Striking the strings of nature, rock and tree, And, stead of trowsers (ah! too early torn! Those best and earliest lyres of harmony, For even the mildest woods will have their thorn) With echo for their chorus; nor the alarm A curious sort of somewhat scanty mat Of the loud war-whoop to dispei the charm; Now served for inexpressibles and hat; Nor the soliloquy of the hermit owl, His naked feet and neck, and sunburnt face, Exhaling all his solitary soul, Perchance might suit alike with either race. The dim though large-eyed winged anchorite, His arms were all his own, our Europe's growth, Who peals his dreary paean o'er the night;- Which two worlds bless for civilizing both; But a loud, long, and naval whistle, shrill The musket swung behind his shoulders, broad As ever startled through a sea-bird's bill; And somewhat stoop'd by his marine abode, And then a pause, and then a hoarse " Hillo! But brawny as the boar's; and, hung beneath, Torquil! my boy! what cheer? Ho, brother, ho!" His cutlass droop'd, unconscious of a sheath, "Who hails?" cried Torquil, following with his eye Or lost or worn away; his pistols were The sound. "Here's one!" was all the brief reply. Link'd to his belt, a matrimonial pair~~XIX ~~. ~(Let not this metaphor appear a scoff, Though one miss'd fire, the other would go off); But here the herald of the self-same mouth These, with a bayonet, not so free from rust Came breathing o'er the aromatic south, As when the arm-chest held its brighter trust, No' lhke a " bed of violets " on the gale, Completed his accoutrements, as night But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale, Survey'd him in his garb heteroclite. Borne from.a short frail pipe, which yet had blown Its gentle odours over either zone, And, puff'd where'er winds rise or waters roll, " What cheer, Ben Bunting?" cried (when in full view Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole, Our new acquaintance) Torquil; "Aught of new?" Opposed its vapour as the lightning flash'd, " Ey, ey," quoth Ben, " not new, but news enow; And reek'd,'midst mountain billows unabash'd, A strange sail in the offing."-" Sail! and how? To JEolus a constant sacrifice, What! could you make her out? It cannot be; Through every change of all the varying skies. I've seen no rag of canvas on the sea." And what was he who bore it?-I may err, " Belike," said Ben, "you might not from the bay But deem him sailor or philosopher. But from the bluff-head, where I watch'd to-day, Sublime tobacco! which from.east to west I saw her in the doldrums; for the wind Cheers, the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest; Was light and baffling."-" When the sun declined Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides Where lay she? had she anchor'd?"-" No, but still His hours, and rivals opium and his brides; She bore down on us, till the wind grew still." Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, "Her flag?"-" I had no glass; but, fore and aft Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand; Egad, she seem'd a wicked-looking craft." Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, " Arm'd?"-" I expect so-sent on the look-out;When tipp'd with amber, yellow, rich, ard ripe;'T is time, belike, to put our helm about." Like other charmers, wooing the caress " About?-Whate'er may have us now in chase, More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; We'11 make no running fight, for that were base; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far We will die at our quarters, like true men." Thy naked beauties-Give me a cigar! " Ey, ey; for that,'t is all the same to Ben." "Does Christian know this?"~-"Ay; he's piped LI XX. hands Through the approaching darkness of the wood To quarters. They are furbishing the stands A human figure broke the solitude, Of arms; and we have got some guns to bear, Fantastically, it may be, array'd, And scaled them. You are wanted."-" That's but fair, A. seaman in a savage masquerade; And if it were not, mine is not the soul Such as appears to rise from out the deep, To leave my comrades helpless on the shoal. When o'er the Line the merry vessels sweep, __1 This rough but jovial ceremony, used in crossing the I Hobbes, the father of Locke's and other philosophy, was Line, has been so often and so well described, that it need no. oi inveterate smoker -even to pipes beyond computation. be more than alluded to. THE ISLAND. 471 My Neuha! ah! and must my fate pursue The magic of the thunder, which destroy'd Not me alone, but one so sweet and true? The warrior ere his strength could be employ'? But whatsoe'er betide, ah! Neuha, now Dug, like a spreading pestilence, the grave Unman me not; the hour will not allow No less of human bravery than the brave! A tear; I'm thine, whatever intervenes!" Their own scant numbers acted all the few Right," quoth Ben, "that will do for the marines."' Against the many oft will dare and do; But though the choice seems native to die free, Even Greece can boast but one Therrmopyle, CANTO III. Till now, when she has forged her broken chain Back to a sword, and dies and lives again! I. III. THE fight was o'er: the flashing through the gloom, Beside the jutting rock the few appear'd, Which robes the cannon as he wings a tomb, Like the last remnant of the red-deer's herd Had ceased; and sulphury vapours upwards driven Their eyes were feverish, and their aspect worn, HIad left the earth, and but polluted heaven: But still the hunter's blood was on their horn. The rattling roar which rung in every voiley A little stream came tumbling from the height, Had left the valleys to their melancholy; And straggling into ocean as it might, No more they shriek'd their horror, boom for boom; Its bounding crystal frolickd in the ray, The strife was done,. the vanquish'd had their doom; And gush'd from cleft to crag with saltless spray; The mutineers were crush'd, dispersed, or ta'en, Close on the wild wide ocean, yet as pure Or lived to deem the happiest were the slain. And fresh as innocence, and more secure, Few, few, escaped, and these were hunted o'er Its silver torrent glitter'd o'er the deep, The isle they loved beyond their native shore. As the shy chamois' eye o'erlooks the steep, No further home was theirs, it seem'd, on earth, While far below the vast and sullen swell Once renegades to that which gave them birth; Of ocean's Alpine azure rose and fell. Track'd like wild beasts, like them they sought the wild, To this young spring they rush'd,-all feelings first As to a mother's bosom flies the child; Absorb'd in passion's and in nature's thirst,But vainly wolves and lions seek their den, Drank as they do who drink their last, and threw And still more vainly men escape from men. Their arms aside to revel in its dew; II. Cool'd their scorch'd throats, and wash'd the gory stai s Beneath a rock whose jutting base protrudes From wounds whose only bandage might be chains; Far over ocean in his fiercest moods, Then, when their drought was quench'd, look'd sal When scaling his enormous crag, the wave round, Is hurl'd down headlong like the foremost brave, As wondering how so many still were found And falls back on the foaming crowd behind, Alive and fetterless:-but silent all, Which fight beneath the banneps of the wind, Each sought his fellow's eyes, as if to call But now at rest, a little remnant drew On him for language which his lips denied, Together, bleeding, thirsty, faint, and few; As though their voices with their cause had died. But still their weapons in their hands, and still I. With something of the pride of former will, Stern, and aloof a little from the rest As men not all unused to meditat.e, Stood Christian, with his arms across his chest. And strive much more than wonder at their fate. The ruddy, reckless, dauntless hue, once spread Their present lot was what they had foreseen, Along his cheek, was livid now as lead And dared as what was likely to have been; His light-brown locks, so graceful in their flow, Yet still the lingering hope, which deem'd their lot Now rose like startled vipers o'er his brow. Not pardon'd, but'unsought-for or forgot, Still as a statue, with his lips compress'd Or trusted that, if sought, their distant caves To stifle even the breath within his breast Might still be miss'd amidst that world of waves, Fast by the rock all menacing but mute, Had wean'd their thoughts in part from what they saw He stood and, save a slight beat of his foot, And felt-the vengeance of their country's law. Which deepen'd now and then the sandy dint Their sea-green isle, their guilt-won paradise, Beneath his heel, his form seem'd turn'd to in No more could shield their virtue or their vice: So ces he, Torl led his head Their better feelings, if such were, were thrown Against a bank, and spoke not, but he bled,Back on themselves,-their sins remain'd alone. No mortally-his worst wound was within Not mortally —his worst wound was within: Proscribed even in their second country, they Hisbr was pale, his ue eyes sunen n, Were lost; in vain the world before them lay; And blood-drops, sprinkled o'er his yellow hair, All outlets seem'd secured. -Their new allies Show'd that his faintness came not from despal, Had fought and bled in mutual sacrifice; But nature's ebb. Beside him was another, But what avail'd the club and spear and armh s ber, but willing s brother,3f Hercules, against the sulphury charm, 1 Archidamus, King of Sparta, and son of Agesilaus, wns. 1 " That will do for the marines, but the sailors won't be- he saw a machine invented for the casting of stones and lana,ieve it," is an old saying, and one of the few fragments of exclaimed that itwas "the grave of valour." The same ate:l former jealousies which still survive (in jest only) between has been told of some knights, on the first applicatili of gnM these gallant services. powder; but the original anecdote is in Plutare.h 472 BYRON'S WORKS. Ben Bunting, who essay'd to wash, and wipe, VII. And bind his wound-then calmly lit his pipe- Even as he spoke, around the promontory A trophy which survived a hundred fights, Which nodded o'er the billows high and hoary, A beacon which had cheer'd ten thousand nights. A-dark speck dotted ocean: on it flew, The fourth and last of this deserted group Like to the shadow of a roused sea-mew: Walk'd up and down-at times would stand, then stoop Onward it came-and, lo! a second follow'dTo pick a pebble up-then let it drop- Now seen-now hid-where ocean's vale was hollon'd, Then hurry as in haste-then quickly stop- And near, and nearer, till their dusky crew then cast his eyes on his companions-then Presented well-known aspects to the view, Half whistle half a tune, and pause again- Till on the surf their skimming paddles play, And then his former movements would redouble, Buoyant as wings, and flitting through the spray; With something between carelessness and trouble. Now perching on the wave's high curl, and now This is a long description, but applies Dash'd downward in the thundering foam below, To scarce five minutes past before the eyes; Which flings it broad and boiling, sheet on sheet, But yet what minutes! Moments like to these And slings its high flakes, shiver'd into sleet: Rend men's lives into immortalities. But floating still through surf and swell, drew nigh The barks, like small birds through a louring sky. V. Their art seem'd nature-such the skill to sweep The wave, of these born playmates of the deep. At length Jack Skyscrape, a mercurial man, playmates of the deep. Who flutter'd over all things like a fan, VIII. More brave than firm, and more disposed to dare And who the first that, springing on the strand, M e ae than r oe isp ar And whdie at one than wrestle withat, despringing on the strand, And die at once than wrestle with despair, Leap'd like a Nereid from her shell to land, Exclaim'd " God damn!" Those syllables intense,- i a b r a X nc With dark but brilliant skin, and dewy eye Nucleus of England's native eloquence, Shining with love, and hope, and constancy? As the Turk's "Allah!" or the Roman's more Nuh the, the faih, th constanc Neuha,-the fond, the faithful, the adored, Pagan " Proh Jupiter!" was wont of yore Pagan "ro Jupiter!" was wont f yore Her heart on Torquil's like a torrent pour'd; To give their first impressions such a vent, o give thei ft imprssi n. And smiled, and wept, and near and nearer clasp'd, By wav of echo to embarrassment. As if to be assured't was him she grasp'd; Jack was embarrass'd,-never hero more, Jack was embarrass'd,-never hero more, Shudder'd to see his yet warm wound, and then. And as he knew not what to say, he swore; i i ii ali we aga Nor swore in vain: the long congenial sound To find it trivial, smiled and wept again. Nor swore in vain the ln congenial sound She was a warrior's daughter, and could bear Revived Ben Bunting from his pipe profound; a a He drew it from his mouth, and look'd full wise, Such sights, and feel, and mourn, but not despa. Her lover lived,-nor foes nor fears could blight But merely added to the oath his eyes; That full-blown moment in its all delight: Fhus rendering the imperfect phrase complete — Joy trickled in her tears, joy fill'd the sob A peroration I need not repeat. r A peroration need not re. That rock'd her heart till almost HEARD to thr( VIV~. ~And paradise was breathing in the sigh BCiioa VIghe. oOf nature's child and nature's ecstacy. But Christian, of a higher order, stood Like an extinct volcano in his mood; IX. Silent, and sad, and savage,-with the trace The sterner spirits who beheld that meeting Of passion reeking from his clouded face; Were not unmoved; who are when hearts are g -* Till lifting up again his sombre eye, Even Christian gazed upon the maid and boy It glanced on Torquil who lean'd faintly by. With tearless eye, but yet a gloomy joy "And is it thus?" he cried, " unhappy boy! Mix'd with those bitter thoughts the soul arrays And thee, too, thee my madness must destroy." In hopeless visions of our better days, He said, and strode to where young Torquil stood, When all's gone-to the rainbow's latest ray. Yet dabbled with his lately-flowing blood; "And but for me!" he said, and turn'd away; Seized his hand wistfully, but did not press, Then gazed upon the pair, as in his den And shrunk as fearful of his own caress; A lion looks upon his cubs again; Inquired into his state, and, when he heard And then relapsed into his sullen guise, The wound was slighter than he deem'd or fear'd, As heedless of his further destinies. A moment's brightness pass'd along his brow, As much as such a moment would allow. X. "Yes," he exclaim'd, " we are taken in the toil, But brief their time for good or evil thought; But not a coward or a common spoil; The billows round the promontory brought Dearly they have bought us-dearly still may buy,- The plash of hostile oars-Alas! who made And I must fall; but have ypu strength to fly? That sound a dread? All round them seem'd array'd'T would be some comfort still, could you survive; Against them save the bride of Toobonal: Our dwindled band is now too few to strive. She, as she caught the first glimpse o'er the bay, Oh! for a sole canoe! though but a shell, Of the arm'd boats which hurried to complete To bear you hence to where a hope may dwell! The remnant's ruin with their flying feet,'o mine, my lot is what A sought; to be, Beckon'd the natives round her to their prows, It life or death, the fearless and the free."' Embark'd their guests, and launch'd their light canoesi THE ISLAND. 472 In one placed Christian and his comrades twain; And bade him " speed and prosper." She would takl But she and Torquil must not part again. The rest upon herself for Torquil's sake. She fix'd him in her own-Away! away! They parted with this added aid; afar They clear the breakers, dart along the bay, The proa darted like a shooting star, And towards a group of islets, such as bear And gain'd on the pursuers, who now steer'd The sea-bird's nest and seal's surf-hollow'd lair, Right on the rock which she and Torquil near'd. They skim the blue tops of the billows; fast They pull'd; her arm, though delicate, was free They flew, and fast their fierce pursuers chased. And firm as ever grappled with the sea, They gain upon them-now they lose again,- And yielded scarce to Torquil's manlier strength. Again make way and menace o'er the main; The prow now almost lay within its length And now the two canoes in chase divide, Of the crag's steep, inexorable face, And follow different courses o'er the tide, With nought but soundless waters for its base; To laffle the pursuit-Away! away! Within a hundred boats' length was the foe, As life is on each paddle's flight to-day, And now what refuge but their frail canoe? And more than life or lives to Neuha: love This Torquil ask'd with half-upbraiding eye, Freights the frail bark, and urges to the cove- Which said-" Has Neuha brought me here to die? And now the refuge and the foe are nigh- Is this a place of safety, or a grave, Yet. yet a moment!-Fly, thou light ark, fly! And yon huge, rock the tombstone of the wave?" IV. They rested on their paddles, and uprose CANTO IV Neuha, and, pointing to the approaching foes, Cried, " Torquil, follow me, and fearless follow!" ~~I.f~ ~ Then plunged at once into the ocean's hollow. There was no time to pause-the foes were nearWHITE as a white sail on a dusky sea, WHITE as a white sl on a dy s, Chains in his eye and menace in his ear: When half the horizon's clouded and half free, i ion n With vigour they pull'd on, and as they came, Fluttering between the dun wave and the sky, Fluttering between the dun wave and the sky, Hail'd him to yield, and by his forfeit name. Is hope's last gleam in man's extremity. hope's last gleam in extremity. Headlong he leap'd-to him the swimmer's skill Her anchor parts; but still her snowy sail native, and now all his hope from ill Attracts our eye amidst the rudest gale: At s or ee amidt te r t g: But how or where? He dived, and rose no more; Though every wave she climbs divides us more, t a o s a T L he boat's crew look'd amazed o'er sea a id shore The heart still follows from the loneliest shore. There as n landig on tt There was no landing on that precipice, II. Steep, harsh, and slippery as a berg of ice. Not distant from the isle of Toobonai, They watch'd awhile to see him float again, A black rock rears its bosom o'er the spray, But not a trace rebubbled from the main: The haunt of birds, a desert to mankind, The wave roll'd on, no ripple on its face, Where the rough seal reposes from the wind, Since their first plunge, recall'd a single trace; And sleeps unwieldy in his cavern dun, The little whirl which eddied, and slight foam, Or gambols with huge frolic in the sun; That whiten'd o'er what seem'd their latest home, There shrilly to the passing oar is heard White as a sepulchre above the pair, The startled echo of the ocean bird, Who left no marble (mournful as an heir), Who rears on its bare breast her callow brood, The quiet proa, wavering o'er the tide, The feather'd fishes of the solitude. Was all that told of Torquil and his bride; A narrow segment of the yellow sand And but for this alone, the whole might seem On one side forms the outline of a strand. The vanish'd phantom of a seaman's dream. Here the young turtle, crawling from his shell They paused and search'd in vain, then pull'd awa) Steals to the deep wherein his parents dwell; Even superstition now forbade their stay. Chipp'd by the beam, a nursling of the day, Some said he had not plunged into the wave, But hatch'd for ocean by the fostering ray; But vanish'd like a corpse-light from a gravL, The rest was one bleak precipice, as e'er Others, that something supernatural Gave mariners a shelter and despair, Glared in his figure, more than mortal tall; A spot to make the saved regret the deck While all agreed, that in his cheek and eye Which late went down, and envy the lost wreck. There was the dead hue of eternity. Such was the stern asylum Neuha chose Still as their oars receded from the crag, To shield her lover from his following foes; Round every weed a moment would they lag, But all its secret was not told; she knew Expectant of some token of their prey; In this a treasure hidden from the view. But no-he'd melted from them like the spray. III. V. Ere the canoes divided, near the spot, And where was he, the pilgrim of the deep. The men that mann'd what held her TorquiIs lot, Following the Nereid? Had they ceased to wers By her command removed, to strengthen more For ever? or, received in coral caves, The skiff which wafted Christian from the shore. Wrung life and pity from the softening waves? This he would have opposed: but with a smile Did they with ocean's hidden sovereigns dwell. She pointed calmly to the craggy isle, And sound with mermen the fantastic shell' 474 BYRON'S WORKS. Did Neuha with the mermaids comb her hair, There, with a little tinge of phantasy, Flowing o'er ocean as it stream'd in air? Fantastic faces moped and mow'd on high, Or had they perish'd, and in silence slept And then a mitre or a shrine would fix Beneath the gulf wherein they boldly ieap'd? The eye upon its seeming crucifix. Thus"Nature play'd with the stalactites, VI. And built herself a chapel of the seas Young Neuha plunged into the deep, and he Follow'd: her track beneath her native sea VIII. Was as a native's of the element, And Neuha took her Torquil by the hand, So smoothly, bravely, brilliantly she went, And waved along the vault her kindled brand, Leaving a streak of light behind her heel, And led him into each recess, and show'd Which struck and flash'd like an amphibious steel. The secret places of their new abode. Closely, and scarcely less expert to trace Nor these alone, for all had been prepared The depths where divers hold the pearl in chase, Before, to soothe the lover's lot she shared; Torquil, the nursling of the northern seas, The.mat for rest; for dress the fresh gnatoo, Pursued her liquid steps with art and ease. And sandal-oil to fence against the dew; Deep-deeper for an instant Neuha led For food the cocoa-nut, the yam, the bread The way-then upward soar'd-and, as she spread Born of the fruit; for board the plantain spread Her arms, and flung the foam from off her locks, With its broad leaf, or turtie-shell which bore Laugh'd, and the sound was answer'd by the rocks. A banquet in the flesh if cover'd o'er; They had gain'd a central realm of earth again, The gourd with water recent from the rill, But look'd for tree, and field, and sky, in vain. The ripe banana from the mellow hill; Around she pointed to a spacious cave, A pine-torch pile to keep undying light, Whose only portal was the keyless wave,' And she herself, as beautiful as night, (A hollow archway by the sun unseen, To fling her shadowy spirit o'er the scene Save through the billows' glassy veil of green, And make their subterranean world serene. In some transparent ocean holiday, She had foreseen, since first the stranger's sail When all the finny people are at play), Drew to their isle, that force or flight might fail, Wiped with her hair the brine from Torquil's eyes, And form'd a refuge of the rocky den And clapp'd her hands with joy at his surprise; For Torquil's safety from his countrymen. Led'tim to where the rock appear'd to jut Each dawn had wafted there her light canoe, And ftrm a something like a Triton's hut, Laden with all the golden fruits that grew; For al was darkness for a space, till day Each eve had seen her gliding through the hour Through clefts above let in a sober'd ray; With all could cheer or deck their sparry bower, As in some old cathedral's glimmering aisle And now she spread her little store with smiles, The dusty monuments from light recoil, The happiest daughter of the loving isles. Thus sadly in their refuge submarine the vault drew half her shadow from the scene. She, as he gazed with grateful wonder, press'd VII. Her shelter'd love to her impassion'd breast; Forth from her bosom the young savage drew And, suited to her soft caresses, told A pine torch, strongly girded with gnatoo; An elden tale of love,-for love is old, A plantain leaf o'er all, the more to keep Old as eternity, but not outworn Its latent sparkle from the sapping deep. With each new being born or to be born:' This mantle kept it dry; then from a nook How a young Chief, a thousand moons ago, Of the same plantain leaf, a flint she took, Diving for turtle in the depths below, A few shrunk wlther'd twigs, and from the blade Had risen, in tracking fast his ocean prey, Of Torquil's knife struck fire, and thus array'd Into the cave which round and o'er them lay; The grot with torchlight. Wide it was and high, How, in some desperate feud of after time, And sllow'd a self-born Gothic canopy; He shelter'd there a daughter of the clime, Tihe arch uprear'd by nature's architect, A foe beloved, and offspring of a foe, The architrave some earthquake might erect; Saved by his tribe but for a captive's woe; Thil buttress from some mountain's bosom hurl'd, How, when the storm of war was still, he led W hen the poles crash'd and water was the world; His island clan to where the waters spread Or- harlen'd from some earth-absorbing fire, Their deep green shadow o'er the rocky door, While yet the globe reek'd from its funeral pyre; Then dived-it seem'd as if to rise no more: The fretted pinnacle, thp aisle, the nave,2 His wondering mates, amazed within their bark Were Ihere, all scoop'd by darkness from her cave. Or deem'd him mad, or prey to the blue shark; I t t his cave (which is no fiction) the original will be found ii l ne 91 h chapter of Mariner's.ccount of the Tongsa Islands. (ifmy memory do ot err, for there are eight years since t read I have taken the poetical liberty to transplant it to Toobonai, the book) he mertions having met with a rock or mountain Ih last island where any distinct account is left of Christian so exactly resembling a Gothic cathedral, that only minute anid his'omrades. inspection could convince him that it was a work of nature.'Ihis may seem too minute for the general outline (in I The reader will recollect the epigram of the Greek Anthol Mariner's Account) from which it is taken. But few men have ogy, or its translation into most of the modern languages travehlled without seeing something of the kind-on land, that "Whoc'er thou art, thy master see. aVitimut cil dvertmg to Elora, in Mungo Park's last ournal tle was, or is, or is to be." THE ISLAND. 475 Row'd round in sorrow the sea-girded rock, However boldly their warm blood was spilt, Then paused upon their paddles from the shock, Their life was shame, their epitaph was guilt. When, fresh and springing from the deep, they saw And this they knew and felt, at least the one, A goddess rise-so deem'd they in their awe; The leader of the band he had undone; And their companion, glorious by her side, Who, born perchance for better things, had set Proud and exulting in his mermaid bride: His life upon a cast which linger'd yet: And how, when undeceived, the pair they bore, But now the die was to be thrown, and all With sounding conchs and joyous shouts to shore; The chances were in favour of his fall: How they had gladly lived and calmly died, And such a fall! But still he faced the shock, And why not alsoTorquil and his bride? Obdurate as a portion of the rock Not mine to tell the rapturous caress Whereon he stood, and fix'd his levell'd gun, Which follow'd wildly in that wild recess Dark as a sullen cloud before the sun. This tale; enough that all within that cave XII. Was love, though buried strong as in the grave Was love though buried strong as in the grave ^The boat drew nigh, well arm'd, and firm the cre w Where Abelard, through twenty years of death, C^.n Eloisa's ~ ~orm "as ~ To act whatever duty bade them do; When Eloisa's form was lower'd beneath Careless of danger, as the onward wind Their nuptial vault, his arms outstretch'd, and press'ds o s t i Is of the leaves it strews, nor looks behind: The kindling ashes to his kindled breast.' And yet perhaps they rather wish'd to go The waves without sang round their couch, their roar i i. v,~~~ i J ~?~Ag~ainst a nation's than a native foe, As much unheeded as if life were o'er; i i And felt that this poor victim of self-will, Within, their hearts made all their harmony, B n, d o ri ~r,~~~,, ~~ m,~ i. ~Briton no more, had once been Britain's still. Love's broken murmur and more broken sigh. They hail'd him to surrender-no reply; X. - "~~X. ~~Their arms were poised, and glitter'd in the sky. And they, the cause and sharers of the shock They hail'd again-no answer y once more Which left them exiles of the hollow rock, They offer'd quarter louder than before. Where were they? O'er the sea for life they plied, The echoesonly, from the rocks rebound, To seek from heaven the shelter men denied. Took hels frell of the dying sound. Another course had been their choice-but where?ell of the dying sound. Then flash'd the flint, and blazed the vlcleyina flame, The wave which bore them still, their foes would bear, And the smoke rose between them and their aim, Who, disappointed of their former chase, Who, disappointed of their former chase, While the rocks rattled with the bullets' knell, In search of Christian now renew'd their ra.ce. In search of Christian now renew'd their race. Which peal'd in vain, and flatten'd as they fell; Eager with anger, their strong arms made way, Then flew the only answer-to be given Like vultures baffled of their previous prey. T fe t o a t b given Like vultures baffled of their previous prey. By those who had lost all hope in earth or heaven. They gain'd upon them, all whose safety lay After the first fierce peal, as they pull'd nigher, In some bleak crag or deeply-hidden bay: They heard the voice of Christian shout, "Now fire!' No further chance or choice remain'd; and right nd, ere the word upon the echo died For the first further rock which met their sight Two fell; the rest assail'd the rock's rough side, They stcer'd, to take their latest view of land, And, furious at the madness of their foes And yield as victims, or die sword in hand; Disdain'd all further efforts, save to close. Disiniss'd the natives and their shallop, whot steep the crag, and all without a path Would still have battled for that scanty crew; Each step opposed a bastion to their wrath But Christian bade them seek their shore again, While placed'ridst clefts the least accessible, Nor add a sacrifice which were in vain; Which Christian's eye was train'd to mark full well, For what were simple bow and savage spear The three maintain'd a strife which must not yield, Against the arms which must be wielded here? In spots where eagles might have chosen to build. XI. Their every shot told; while the assailant fell, They landed on a wild but narrow scene, Dash'd on the shingles like the limpid shell; Where few but Nature's footsteps yet had been; But still enough survived, and mounted stili, Prepared their arms, and with that gloomy eye, Scattering their numbers here and there, until Stern and sustain'd, of man's extremity, Surrounded and commanded, though not nigh When hope is gone, nor glory's self remains Enough for seizure, near enough to die, To cheer resistance against death or chains,- The desperate trio held aloof their fate They stood, the three, as the three hundred stood But by a thread, like sharks who have gorged the bait, Who dyed Thermopylae with holy blood. Yet to the very last they battled well, But, ah! how different!'tis the cause makes, all, And not a groan inform'd their foes who fell. Degrades or hallows courage in its fall. Christian died last-twice wounded; and once nore O'er them no fame, eternal and intense, Mercy was offer'd when they saw his gore; Blazed through the clouds of death and beckon'd hence; Too late for life, but not too late to die, No grateful country, smiling through her tears, With though a hostile hand to close his eye. Begun the praises of a thousand years; A limb was broken, and he droop'd along No nation's eyes would on their tomb be bent, The crag, as doth a falcon reft of young. No heroes envy them their monument; The sound revived him, or appear'd to wake ~ Some passion which a weakly gesture spake,. I Ihe tradition is attached to the story of Eloisa. that when He beckon'd to the foremost who drew nigh her body was lowered into the grave of Abelard (who had been buried twenty years) he opened his arms to receive her. But, as they near'd. he rear'd his wcapoo hign — t76 BYRON'S WORKS. His last ball had been aim'd, but from his breast She gazed, and flung the sea-foam from her eyes, He tore the topmost button of his vest,' To watch as for a rainbow in the skies. Down the tube dash'd it, levell'd, fired, and smiled On the horizon verged the distant deck, As his foe fell; then, like a serpent, coil'd Diminish'd, dwindled to a very speckHis wounded, weary form, to where the steep Then vanish'd. All was ocean, all was joy! Look'd desperate as himself along the deep; Down plunged she through the cave to rouse her boy Cast one glance back, and clench'd his hand, and shook Told all she had seen, and all she hoped, and all HIM last rage'gainst the earth which he forsook; Thathappy love could augur or recall; Then plunged: the rock below received like glass Sprung forth again, with Torquil following free His body crush'd into one gory mass, His bounding Nereid over the broad sea; With scarce a shred to tell of human form, Swam-round the rock; to where a shallow cleft Or fragment for the sea-bird or the worm; Hid the canoe that Neuha there had left A fair-hair'd scalp, besmear'd with blood and weeds, Drifting along the tide, without an oar, Yet reek'd, the remnant of himself and deeds; That eve the strangers chased them from the shore; Some splinters of his weapons (to the last, But when these vanish'd, she pursued her prow, As long as hand could hold, he held them fast) Regain'd, and urged to where they found it -now: Yet glitter'd, but at distance-hurl'd away Nor ever did more love and joy embark, To rust beneath the dew and dashing spray. Than now was wafted in that slender ark. The rest was nothing-save a life mispent, XV. And soul-but who shall answer where it went? Again their own shore rises on the view,'T is ours to bear, not judge the dead; and they m p w a No more polluted with a hostile hue; Who doom to hell, themselves are on the way, sullen ship lay bristling oer the foam, Unless these bullies of eternal pains dungeon:-all was hope and home Are pardon'd their bad hearts for their worse brains. A thousand proas darted o'er the bay, A thousand proas darted o'er the bay, XIII. With sounding bells, and heralded their way; The deed was over! All were gone or ta'en, The chiefs came down, around the people pour'd, The fugitive, the captive, or the slain. And welcomed Torquil as a son restored; Chain'd on the deck, where once, a gallant crew, The women throg'd, embracing and embraced They stood with honour, were the wretched few By Neuha, asking where they had been chased, Survivors of the skirmish on the isle; * S And how escaped? The tale was told; and then Survivors of the skirmish on the isle; But the last rock left no surviving spoil. One acclamation rent the sky again; Cold lay they where they fell, and weltering, And from that hour a new tradition gave While o'er them flapp'd the sea-birds' dewy wing, Their sanctuary the name of Neuha's cave." Now wheeling nearer from the neighbouring surge A hundredfires, far flickeringfrom the height, And screaming high their harsh and hungry dirge: Blazed o'er the general revel of the night, But ca.m and careless heaved the wave below, The feast in honour of the guest, return'd Eternal with unsympathetic flow; To peace and pleasure, perilously earn'd; Far o'er its face the dolphins sported on, night succeeded by such happy days And sprung the flying-fish against the sun, only the yet infant world displays. Till its dried wing relapsed from its brief height, To gather moisture for another flight. I APPENDIX. xWv.'T was morn; and Neuha, who by dawn of dayTRAT FROM T VOYA Swam smoothly forth to catch the rising ray, BY CAPTAIN BLIGH. And watch if aught approach'd the amphibious lair CAPTAIN BLIGH Where lay her lover, saw a sail in air: OrN the 27th of December, it blew a severe storm of It flapp'd, it filled, and to the growing gale wind from the eastward, in the course of which we sufBent its broad arch: her breath began to fail fered greatly. One sea broke away the spare yards With fluttering fear, her heart beat thick and high, and spars out of the starboard main-chains; another While yet a doubt-sprung where its course might Ane broke into the ship, and stove all the boats. Several But no! it came not; fast and far away casks of beer that had been lashed on deck, broke loose, The shadow lessen'd as it clear'd the bay. and were washed overboard; and it was not without great risk and difficulty that we were able to secure the I In''hibault's Account of Frederick II. of Prussia, there boats from being washed away entirely. A great quanis a singular relation of a young Frenchman, who, with his tity of our bread was also damaged, and rendered usemistress, appeared to he of some rank. He enlisted, and de- for the sea had stove in our stern, and filled the serted at Scweidnitz; and, after a desperate resistance, wase our stern, and filled the cltaken, having killed an officer, who attempted to seize him cabin with water. after he was wounded, by the discharge of his musket loaded On the 5th of January, 1788, we saw the island of with a button of his uniform. Some circumstances on his Teneriffe about twelve leagues distant, and next day, comt-martiai raised a great interestamongst his judges, who wished to discover his real situation in life, w.hich he offered being Sunday, came to an anchor in the road of Santa to disclose, but to the King only, to whom he requested per- Cruz. There we took in? the necessary supplies, and, mission to write. This was refused, and Frederick was filled having finished our business, sailed on the 10th. with the greatest indignation, from baffled curiosity, or some w ther lmotiv, when he understood that his request h~ad been de- I now divided the people into three watches, and gave seIP -4'e Thibault's work, vol. ii.-(I quote from memory), the charge of the third watch to Mr. Fletcher Christian THE ISLAND. 471 one of the mates. I have always considered this a de- the Cape of Good Hope, to the great joy of every one sirable regulation wnen circumstances will admit of on board. it, and I am persuaded that unbroken rest not only con- We came to an anchor on Friday the 23d of May, in tributes much towards the health of the ship's company, Simon's Bay, at the Cape, after a tolerable run. The out enables them more readily to' exert themselves in ship required complete caulking, for she had become so cases of sudden emergency. leaky, that we were obliged to pump hourly in our pasAs I wished to proceed to Otaheite without stopping, sage from Cape Horn. The sails and rigging also reI reduced the allowance of bread to two-thirds, and quired repair, and, on examining the provisions, a concaused the water for drinking to be filtered through siderable quantity was found damaged. drip-stones, bought at Teneriffe for that purpose. I Having remained thirty-eight days at this place, and now acquainted the ship's company of the object of the my people having received all the advantage that could voyage, and gave assurances of certain promotion to be derived from refreshments of every kind that could every one whose endeavours should merit it. be met with, we sailed on the 1st of July. On Tuesday the 26th of February, being in south A gale of wind blew on the 20th, with a high sea; latitude 29~ 38', and 44~ 44' west longitude, we bent it increased after noon with such violence, that the ship new sails, and made other necessary preparations for was driven almost forecastle under before we could get encountering the weather that was to be expected in a the sails clewed up. The lower yards were lowered, nigh latitude. Our distance from the coast of Brazil and the top-gallant-mast got down upon deck, which rewas about 100 leagues. lieved her much. We lay-to all night, and in the mornOn the forenoon of Sunday, the 2d of March, after ing bore away under a reefed foresail. The sea still seeing that every person was clean, divine service was running high, in the afternoon it became very unsafe performed, according to my usual custom on this day: to stand on; we therefore lay-to all night, without any I gave to Mr. Fletcher Christian, whom I had before accident, exceptingthat a man at thesteerage wasthrown directed to take charge of the third watch, a written over the wheel and much bruised. Towards noon the order to act as lieutenant, violence of the storm abated, and we again bore away The change of temperature soon began to be sensi- under the reefed foresail. bly felt; and, that the people might not suffer from their In a few days we passed the island of St. Paul, where own negligence, I supplied them with thicker clothing, there is good fresh water, as I was informed by a Dutch as better suited to the climate. A great number of captain, and also a hot spring, which boils fish as comwhales of an immense size, with two spout-holes on pletely as if done by a fire. Approaching to Van Diethe back of the head, were seen on the 11th. men's land, we had much bad weather, with snow and On a complaint made to me by the master, I found it hail, but nothing was seen to indicate our vicinity, on necessary to punish Matthew Quintal, one of the sea- the 13th of August, except a seal, which appeared at men, with two dozen of lashes, for insolence and muti- the distance of twenty leagues from it. We anchored nous behaviour, which was the first time that there was in Adventure Bay on Wednesday the 20th. any occasion for punishment on board. In our passage hither from the Cape of Good Hope, We were off Cape St. Diego, the eastern part of the the winds were chiefly from the westward, with very Terre de Fuego, and the wind being unfavourable, I boisterous weather. The approach of strong southerly thought it more advisable to go round to the eastward winds is announced by many birds of the albatross or of Staten-land than to attempt passing through Straits peterel tribe; and the abatement of the gale, or a shift le Maire. WepassedNew Year's Harbour and Cape St. of wind to the northward, by their keeping away. The John, and on Monday the 31st were in latitude 60~ 1' thermometer also varies five or six degrees in its height, south. But the wind became variable, and we had bad when a change of these winds may be expected. weather. In the land surrounding Adventure Bay are many Storms, attended with a great sea, prevailed until the forest trees one hundred and fifty feet high; we saw 12th of April. The ship began to leak, and required one which measured above thirty-three feet in girth. pumping every hour, which was no more than we had We observed several eagles, some beautiful blue-plureason to expect from such*a continuance of gales of maged herons, and parroquets in great variety. wind and high seas. The decks also became so leaky The natives not appearing, we went in search of them that it was necessary to allot the great cabin, of which towards Cape Frederic-Henry. Soon after, coming to [ made little use except in fine weather, to those people a grapnel, close to the shore, for it was impossible to who had not births to hang their hammocks in, and by land, we heard their voices, like the cackling of geese, this means the space between decks was less crowded. and twenty persons came out of the woods. We threw With all this bad weather, we had the additional mor- trinkets ashore tied up in parcels, which they would not tifcation to find, at the end of every day, that we were open out until I made an appearance of leaving them: losing ground; for, notwithstanding our utmost exer- they then did so, and, taking the articles cut, put them on tions, and keeping on the most advantageous tacks, we their heads. On first coming in sight, they made a (lid little better than drift before the wind. On Tuesday prodigious clattering in thoir speech, and held their arms the 22d of April, we had eight down on the sick list, over their heads. They spoke so quick, that it was inland the rest of the people, though in good health, were possible to catch one single word they uttered. Then greatly fatigued; but I saw, with much concern, that it colour is of a dull black; their skin scarified about tlhi was impossible to make apassage this wayto the Society breast and shoulders. One was distinguished by his Islands, for we had now been thirty days in a tempes- body being coloured with red ochre, but all the other, tuous ocean. Thus the season was too far advanced for were painted black, with a kind of soot, so thickly laid us to expect better weather to enable us to double Cape over their faces and shoulders, that it was difficult lo Horn; and, from these and other considerations, I or- ascertain what they were like. dered the helm to be put a-weather, and bore away for On Thursday the 4th of September, we sailed out. of 2 T 478 BYRON'S WORKS. Adventure Bay, steering first towards the east-south- circumstances sufficiently proved; for to the friendly east and then to the northward of east, when, on the and endearing behaviour of these people may be as19th, we came in sight of a cluster of small rocky isl- cribed the motives inciting an event that effected the ands, which I named Bounty Isles. Soon afterwards ruin of our expedition, which there was every reason to we frequently observed the sea, in the night time, to be believe would have been attended with the most favourcovered by luminous spots, caused by amazing quanti- able issue. ties of small blubbers, or medusa, which emit a light, Next morning we got sight of the island Huaheine; like the blaze of a candle, from the strings or filaments and a double canoe soon coming alongside, containing extending from'them, while the rest of the body con- ten natives, I saw among them a young man who retinues perfectly dark. collected me, and called me by my name. I had been We discovered the island of Otaheite on the 25th, here in the year 1780, with Captain Cook, in the Resand, before casting anchor next morning in Matavai olution. A few days after sailing from this island, the Bay, such numbers of canoes had come off, that, after weather became squally, and a thick body of black the natives ascertained we were friends, they came on clouds collected in the east. A water-spout was in a short board, and crowded the deck so much, that in ten min- time seen at no great distance from us, which appeared utes I could scarce find my own people. The whole to great advantage from the darkness of the clouds bedistance which the ship had run, in direct and contrary hind it. As nearly as I could judge, the upper part was courses, from the time of leaving England until reach- about two feet in diameter, and the lower about eight ing Otaheite, was twenty-seven thousand and eighty- inches. Scarcely had I made these remarks, when I obsix miles, which, on an average, was one hundred and served that it was rapidly advancing towards the ship. eight miles each twenty-four hours. We immediately altered our course, and took in all the Here we lost our surgeon on the 9th of December. sails except the foresail; soon after which it passed Of late he had scarcely ever stirred out of the cabin, within ten yards of the stern, with a rustling noise, but though not apprehended to be in a dangerous state. without our feeling the least effect from its being so Nevertheless, appearing worse than usual in the even- near. It seemed to be travelling at the rate of about ing, he was removed where he could obtain more air, but ten miles an hour, in the direction of the wind, and it without any benefit, for he died in an hour afterwards. dispersed in a quarter of an hour after passing us. It This unfortunate man drank very hard, and was so is impossible to say what injury we should have reaverse to exercise, that he would never be prevailed on ceived had it passed directly over us. Masts, I imagine, to take half a dozen turns oh deck at a time, during all might have been carried away, but I do not apprehend the course of the voyage. He was buried on shore. that it would have endangered the loss of the ship. On Monday, the fifth of January, the small cutter was Passing several islands on the way, we anchored at missed, of which I was immediately apprized. The Annamooka, on the 23d of April; and an old lame ship's company being mustered, we found three men man called Tepa, whom I had known here in 1777, and absent, who had carried it off. They had taken with immediately recollected, came on board, along with them eight stand of arms and ammunition; but with others, from different islands in the vicinity. They regard to their plan, every one on board seemed to be were desirous to see the ship, and, on being taken quite ignorant. I therefore went on shore, and engaged below, where the bread-fruit plants were arranged. all the chiefs to assist in recovering both the boat and they testified great surprise. A few of these being the deserters. Accordingly, the former was brought decayed, we went on shore to procure some in their back in the course of the day, by five of the natives; place. but the men were not taken until nearly three weeks The natives exhibited numerous marks of the pecuafterwards. Learning the place where they were, in a liar mourning which they express on losing their reladifferent quarter of the island of Otaheite, I went thither tives; such as bloody temples, their heads being dein the cutter, thinking there would be no great difficulty prived of most of the hair, and, what was worse, al. in securing them with the assistance of the natives. most the whole of them had lost some of their fingers. However, they heard of my arrival; and when I was Several fine boys, not above six years old, had lost both sear a house in which they were, they came out want- their little fingers; and several of the men, besides ing their fire-arms, and delivered themselves up. Some these, had parted with the middle finger of the right of the chiefs had formerly seized and bound these de- hand. serters; but had been prevailed on, by fairpromises of The chiefs went off with me to dinner, and we car returning peaceably to the ship, to release them. But ried on a brisk trade for yams; we also got plantains finding an opportunity again to get possession of their and bread-fruit. But the yams were in great abundance, arms, they set the natives at defiance. and very fine and large. One of them weighed above The object of the voyage being now completed, all forty-five pounds. Sailing canoes came, some of which the bread-fruit plants, to the number of one thousand contained not less than ninety passengers. Such a numand fifteen, were got on board on Tuesday, the 31st of ber of them gradually arrived from different islands, March. Besides these, we had collected many other that it was impossible to get any thing done, the mulplants, some of them bearing the finest fruits in the titude became so great,'and there was no chief of sufworld; and valuable, from affording brilliant dyes, and ficient authority to command the whole. I therefore for various properties besides. At sunset of the 4th of ordered a watering party, then employed, to come on April, we made sail from Otaheite, bidding farewell to board, and sailed on Sunday, the 26th of April. an island where for twenty-three weeks we had been We kept near the island of Kotoo all the afternoon treated with mne utmost affection and regard, and which of Monday, in hopes that some canoes would come off stemed to increase in proportion to our stay. That to the ship, but in this we were disappointed. The we were not insensible to their kindness, the succeeding wind being northerly, we steered to the westward in the THE ISLAND. 479 evening, to pass south of Tofoa; and I gave directions Ion cask of water; and Mr. Samuel got 150 pounds of for this course to be continued during the night. The bread, with a small quantity of rum and wine; also a master had the first watch, the gunner the middle quadrant and compass; but he was prohibited, on pain watch, and Mr. Christian the morning watch. This of death, to touch any map or astronomical book, and was the turn of duty for the night. any instrument, or any of my surveys and drawings. Hitherto the voyage had advanced in a course of The mutineers having thus forced those of the seauninterrupted prosperity, and had been attended with men whom they wished to get rid of into the boat, circumstances equally pleasing and satisfactory. But Christian directed a dram to be served to each of his a very different scene was now to be disclosed; a con- crew. I then unhappily saw that nothing could be spiracy had been formed, which was to render all our done to recover the ship. The officers were next called past labour productive only of misery and distress; on deck, and forced over the ship's side into the boat, and it had been concerted with so much secrecy and while I was kept apart from every one abaft the mizencircumspection, that no one circumstance escaped to mast. Christian, armed with a bayonet, held the cord betray the impending calamity. fastening my hands, and the guard around me stood On the night of Monday, the watch was set as I have with their pieces cocked; but on my daring the undescribed. Just before sunrise, on Tuesday morning, grateful wretches to fire, they uncocked them. Isaac while I was yet asleep, Mr. Christian, with the master-. Martin, one of them, I saw, had an inclination to assist at-arms, gunner's mate, and Thomas Burkitt, seaman, me; and as he fed me with shaddock, my lips being came into my cabin, and, seizing me, tied my hands quite parched, we explained each other's sentiments by with a cord behind my back; threatening me with' looks. But this was observed, and he was removed. instant death if I spoke or made the least noise. I He then got into the boat, attempting to leave the ship; nevertheless called out as loud as I could, in hopes of however, he was compelled to return. Some others assistance; but the officers not of their party were were also kept contrary to their inclination. already secured by sentinels at their doors. At my It appeared to me, that Christian was some time in own cabin-door were three men, besides the four within: doubt whether he should keep the carpenter or his all except Christian had muskets and bayonets; he had mates. At length he determined for the latter, and the only a cutlass. I was dragged out of bed, and forced carpenter was ordered into the boat./ He was permitted, on deck in my shirt, suffering great pain in the mean though not without opposition, to take his tool-chest. time from the tightness with which my hands were Mr. Samuel secured myjournals and commission, with tied. On demanding the reason of such violence, the some important ship-papers; this he did with great resoonly answer was abuse for not holding my tongue. The lution, though strictly watched. He attempted to save master, the gunner, surgeon, master's mate, and Nelson the time-keeper, and a box with my surveys, drawings, the gardener, were kept confined below, and the fore- and remarks for fifteen years past, which were very hatchway was guarded by sentinels. The boatswain numerous, when he was hurried away with-" Damn and carpenter, and also the clerk, were allowed to your eyes, you are well off to get what you have." come on deck, where they saw me standing abaft the Much altercation took place among the mutinous crew mizen-mast, with my hands tied behind my back, under during the transaction of this whole affair. Some swdre, a guard, with Christian at their head. The boatswain "I'11 be damned if he does not find his way home, if he was then ordered to hoist cut the launch, accompanied gets any thing with him," meaning me; and when the by a threat, if he did not do it instantly, TO TAKE CARE carpenter's chest was carrying away, " Damn my eyes, OF HIMSELF. he will have avessel built in a month;" while others ridiThe boat being hoisted out, Mr. Hayward and Mr. culed the helpless situation of the boat, which was very Hallett, two of the midshipmen, and Mr. Samuel, the deep in the water, and had so little room for those who clerk, were ordered into it. I demanded the intention were in her. As for Christian, he seemed as if mediof giving this order, and endeavoured to persuade the tating destruction on himself and every one else. people near me not to persist in such acts of violence; I asked for arms, but the mutineers laughed at me, but it was to no effect; for the constant answer was, and said I was well acquainted with the people among " Hold your tongue, sir, or you are dead this moment." whom I was going; four cutlasses, however, were thrown The master had by this time sent, requesting that he into the boat, after we were veered astern. might come on deck, which was permitted; but he was The officers and men being in the boat, they only soon ordered back again to his cabin. My exertions waited for me, of which the master-at-arms informed to turn the tide of affairs were continued; when Chris- Christian, who then said, " Come, Captain Bligh, your tian, changing the cutlass he held for a bayonet, and, officers and men are now in the boat, and you must go holding me by the cord about my hands with a strong with them; if you attempt to make the least resistance, gripe, threatened me with immediate death if I would you will instantly be put to death;" and without further not be quiet; and the villains around me had their ceremony, I was forced overthe side by a tribe of armed pieces cocked and bayonets fixed. ruffians, where they untied my hands. Being in the Certain individuals were called on to, get into the boat, we were veered astern by a rope. A few pieces boat, and were hurried Jver the ship's side; whence I of pork were thrown to us, also the foulr cutlasses. The concluded, that along with them I was to be set adrift. armorer and carpenter then called out to me to remeni Another effort to bring about a change produced noth- ber that they had no hand in the transaction. Aftei ing but menaces of having my brains blown out. havingbeen kept some time to make sport for these The boatswain and those seamen who were to unfeeling wretches, and having undergone much rid, be put into the boat, were allowed to collect twine, cule, we were at length cast adrift in the open ocean. canvas, lines, sasls, cordage. an eight-and-twenty gal- Eighteen persons were with me in the boat, —th 480 BYRON'S WORKS master, acting surgeon, botanist, gunner, boatswain, completed. The remaining part had every prospetr of carpenter, master, and quarter-master's mate, two quar- success. ter-masters, the sail-maker, two cooks, my clerk, the It will naturally be asked, what could be the cause of butcher, and a boy. There remained on board, Fletcher such a revolt? In answer, I can only conjecture that the Christian, the master's mate; Peter Haywood, Edward mutineers had flattered themselves with the hope of a Young, George Stewart, midshipmen; the master-at- happier life among the Otaheitans than they could posarms, gunner's mate, boatswain's mate, gardener, ar- sibly enjoy in England; which, joined to some female morer, carpenter's mate, carpenter's crew, and four- connexions, most probably occasioned the whole transteen seamen, being altogether the most able men of the action. ship's company. The women of Otaheite are handsome, mild, and Having little or no wind, we rowed pretty fast towards cheerful in manners and conversation; possessed of the island of Tofoa, which bore north-east about ten great sensibility, and have sufficient delicacy to make leagues distant. The ship while in sight steered west- them be admired and beloved. The chiefs were so much north-west, but this I considered only as a feint, for attached to our people, that they rather encouraged when we were sent away, " Huzza for Otaheite!" was their stay among them than otherwise, and even made frequently heard among the mutineers. them promises of large possessions. Under these, and Christian, the chief of them, was of a respectable many other concomitant circumstances, it ought hardly family in the north of England. This was the third to be the subject of surprise that a set of sailors, most voyage he had made with me. Notwithstanding the of them void of connexions, should be led away, where roughness with which I was treated, the remembrance of they had the power of fixing themselves in the midst past kindness produced some remorse in him. While of plenty, in one of the finest islands in the world, where they were forcing me out of the ship, I asked him whether there was no necessity to labour, and where the allurethis was a proper return for the many instances he had ments of dissipation are beyond any conception that experienced of my friendship? He appeared disturbed can be formed of it. The utmost, however, that a comat the question, and answered, with much emotion, mander could have expected, was desertions, such as'That-Captain Bligh-that is the thing-I am in have already happened more or less in the South Seas, hell-I am in hell." His abilities to take charge of the and not an act of open mutiny. third watch, as I had so divided the ship's company, But the secrecy of this mutiny surpasses belief. Thirwere fully equal to the task. teen of the party who were now with me had always Haywood was also of a respectable family in the lived forward among the seamen; yet neither they, nor north of England, and a young man of abilities, as well the messmates of Christian, Stewart, Haywood, and as Christian. These two had been objects of my partic- Young, had ever observed any circumstance to excite ular regard and attention, and I had taken great pains suspicion of what was plotting; and it is not wonderful to instruct them, having entertained hopes that, as pro- if I fell a sacrifice to it, my mind being entirely free fessional men, they would have become a credit to their from suspicion. Perhaps, had marines been on board country. Young was well recommended; and Stewart a sentinel at my cabin-door might have prevented it; of creditable parents in the Orkneys, at which place, on for I constantly slept with the door open, that the officer the return of the Resolution from the South Seas in 1780, of the watch might have access to me on all occasions. we received so many civilities, that in consideration of If the mutiny had been occasioned by any grievances, these alone I should gladly have taken him with me. either real or imaginary, I must have discovered sympBut he had always borne a good character. toms of discontent, which would have put me on my When I had time to reflect, an inward satisfaction guard; but it was far otherwise. With Christian, m prevented the depression of my spirits. Yet, a few particular, I was on the most friendly terms; that very hours before, my situation had been peculiarly flatter- day he was engaged to have dined with me; and the ing; I had a ship in the most perfect order, stored with preceding night he excused himself from supping with every necessary, both for health and service; the object me on pretence of indisposition, for which I felt conot the voyage was attained, and two-thirds of it now cerned, having no suspicions of his honour or integrity. ^ie ae of v3on^; OR, CARMEN SECULARE ET ANNUS HAUD MIRABILIS. "Impar Congressus Achilli." I. I know not if the angels weep, but men fHE " good ( Id times"-all times, when old, ar'' good- Have wept enough-for what?-to weep again. Are gone; tLe present might be, if they would; II. Great things have been, and are, and greater still All is exploded-be it good or bad. Want latle of meremortals but their will: Reader! remember when thou wert a la.d, A wider space, a greener field is given, Then Pitt was all; or, if not all, so much, l'o those who olay their "tricks before high Heaven." His very rival almost deem'd him such. THE AGE OF BRONZE. 481 We, we have seen the intellectual race Vain his complaint-my lord presents his bill, Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face- His food and wine were doled out duly still: Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea Vain was his sickness,-never was a crime Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free, So free from homicide-to doubt's a crime; As the deep billows of the Aegean roar And the stiff surgeon, who maintain'd his cause, Betwixt the Hellenic and Phrygian shore. Hath lost his place, and gain'dthe world's applause, But where are they-the rivals? —a few feet But smile-though all the pangs of brain and heart Of sullen earth divide each winding-sheet. Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art; How peaceful and how powerful is the grave, Though, save the few fond friends, and imaged face Which hushes all! a calm, unstormy wave Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace, Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old None stand by his low bed-though even the mind Of " dust to dust," but half its tale untold. Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind,Time tempers not its terrors-still the worm Smile-for the fetter'd eagle breaks his chain, Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form- And higher worlds than this are his again. Varied above, but still alike below; IV. The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow. How, if that soaring spirit still retain Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea,. A conscious twilight of his blazing reign, O'er which from empire she lured Antony; How must he smile, on looking down, to see Though Alexander's urn a show be grown The little that he was and sought to be! On shores he wept to conquer, though unknown- What though his name a wider empire found How vain, how worse than vain, at leng'h appear Than his ambition, though with scarce a bound The madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear. Though first in glory, deepest in reverse, He wept for worlds to conquer-half the earth He tasted empire's blessins, and its curse; Knows not his name, or but his death and birth Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape And desolation; while his native Greece From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's ape: IHath all of desolation, save its peace. How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave, He " wept for worlds to conquer!" he who ne'er The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the wave! Conceived the globe he panted not to spare! What though his jailor, duteous to the last, With even the busy Ndorthern Isle unknown, Scarce deem'd the coffin's lead could keep him fast, Which holds his urn, and never knew his throne. Refusing one poor line along the lid To date the birth and death of all it hid, III. That name shall hallow the ignoble shore, But where is he, the modern, mightier far, A talisman to all save him who bore: Who, born no king, made monarchs draw his car; The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast The new Sesostris, whose unharness'd kings, Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast; Freed from the bit, believe themselves with wings When Victory's Gallic colunm shall but rise, And spurn the dust o'er which they crawl'd of late, Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skies, Chain'd to the chariot of the chieftain's state? The rocky isle that holds or held his dust Yes! where is he, the champion and the child Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust, Of all that's great or little, wise or wild? And mighty Nature o'er his obsequies Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were Do more than niggard Envy still denies. thrones; But what are these to him? Can glory's lust Whose table, earth-whose dice were humani bones? Touch the freed spirit of the fetter'd dust? Behold the grand result in yon lone isle, Small care hath he of what his tomb consists, And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile. Nought if he sleeps-nor more if he exists: Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage Alike the better-seeing shade will smile Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage; On the rude cavern of the rocky isle, Smile to survey the Queller of the Nations As if his ashes found their latest home Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations; In Rome's Pantheon, or Gaul's mimic dome. Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines, He wants not this; but France shall feel the want O'er curtail'd dishes and o'er stinted wines; Of this last consolation, though so scant; O'er petty quarrels upon petty things- Her honour, fame, and faith, demand his bones, Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings? To rear amid a pyramid of thrones; Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs, Or carried onward, in the battle's van, A surgeon's statement and an earl's harangues! To form, like Guesclin's' dust, her talisman. A bust delay'd, a book refused, can shake But be as itis, the time may come The sleep of him who kept the world awake. His name shall beat the alarm like Ziska's drum. Is this indeed the Tamer of the Great, V. Now slave of all could teaze or irritate- Oh, Heaven! of which he was in power a feature, The paltry jailor and the prying spy, Oh, earth! of which he was a noble creature; The staring stranger with his note-book nigh? Thou isle! to be remember'd long and well, Plunged in a dungeon, he had still been great; That saw'st the unfledged eaglet chip his shell! How low, how little, was this middle state, Between a prison and a palace where 1 Guesclin died during the siege of a city- it surrendered. wfew c l hrisonand ae, ha ear! and the keys were brought and laid upon his bier, - tuat tlb How few could feel for what he had to bear I place might appear rendered to nis ashes T 2 66 482 BYRON'S WORKS. Ye Alps, which view'd him in his dawning flights The conqueror's yet unbroken heart! Again Hover the victor of a hundred fights! The horn of Roland sounds, and not in vain. Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Caesar's deeds outdone! Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory, Alas! why pass'd he.too the Rubicon? Beholds him conquer, but, alas! not die: The Rubicon of man's awaken'd rights, Dresden surveys three despots fly once more To herd with vulgar kings and parasites? Before their sovereign,-sovereign, as be.ore; Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose But there exhausted Fortune quits their field, Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquish'd yield; And shook within her pyramids to hear The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side A new Cambyses thundering in their ear; To turn the bear's, and wolf's, and fox's guide; While the dark shades of forty ages stood And backward to the den of his despair Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood; The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair! Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle Oh ye! and each, and all! oh, France! who found Beheld the desert peopled, as from hell, Thy long fair fields plough'd up as hostile ground, With clashing hosts, who strew'd the barren sand Disputed foot by foot, till treason, still To re-manure the uncultivated land! His only victor, from Montmartre's hill Spain! which, a moment mindless of the Cid, Look'd down o'er trampled Paris, and thou, isle, Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid! Which see'st Etruriafrom thy ramparts smile, Austria! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital The momentary shelter of his pride, Twice spared, to-be the traitress of his fall! Till, woo'd by danger, his yet weeping bride; Ye race of Frederic!-Frederics but in name Oh, France! retaken by a single march, And falsehood-heirs to all except his fame; Whose path was through one long triumphal arch! Who, crush'd at Jena, crouch'd at Berlin, fell, Oh, bloody and most bootless Waterloo, First, and but rose to follow; ye who dwell Which prove how fools may have their fortune too, Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet Won, half by blunder, half by treachery; The unpaid amount of Catherine's bloody debt! Oh, dull Saint Helen! with thy jailor nighPoland! o'er which the avenging angel pass'd, Hear! hear! Prometheus' from his rock appeal But left thee as he found thee, still a waste: To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel Forgetting all thy still enduring claim, His power and glory, all who yet shall hear Thy lotted people and extinguish'd name; A name eternal as the rolling year; Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear He teaches them the lesson taught so long, That sound that crashes in the tyrant's ear: So oft, so vainly-learn to do no wrong! Kosciusko! on-on-on-the thirst of war A single step into the right had made Gasps for the gore of serfs and of their czar, This man the Washington of worlds betray'd The half-barbaric Moscow's minarets A single step into the wrong has given Gleam in the sun, but't is a sun that sets! His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven, Moscow! thou limit of his long career, The reed of fortune and of thrones the rod, For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear Of fame the Moloch or the demi-god; To see in vain-he saw thee-how! with spire His country's Caesar, Europe's Hannibal, And palace fuel to one common fire. Without their decent dignity of fall. To this the soldier lent his kindling match, Yet vanity herself had better taught To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch, A surer path even to the fame he sought, To this the merchant flung his hoarded store, By pointing out on history's fruitless page, The prince his hall —and Moscow was no more! Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage. Sublimest of volcanos! Etna's flame WThile Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven, Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla's tame; Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven, Vesuvius shows his blaze, an usual sight Or drawing from the no less kindled earth For gasping tourists, from his hackney'd height: Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth Thou stand'st alone unrivall'd, till the fire While Washington's a watch-word, such as ne'et To come, in which ail empires shall expire. Shall sink while there's an echo left to air Thou other element! as strong and stern While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn, Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar! Whose icy wing flapp'd o'er the faltering foe, Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave Till fell a hero with each flake of snow; Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave,How did thy numbing beak and silent fang The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave, Pierce, till hosts perish'd with a single pang! Who burst the chains of millions to renew In vain shall Seine look up along his banks The very fetters which his arm broke through, For the gay thousands of his dashing ranks; And crush'd the rights of Europe and his own In vain shall France recall beneath her vines To flit between a dungeon and a throne? 11cr youth-their blood flows faster than her wines,,Ir stagnant in their human ice remainswill not bt But't will not be-the spark's awaken'd-lo in frozen mummies on the polar plains.,In fon mITu es brod te p p The swarthy Spaniard feels his former' glow; In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken Hler offspring chill'd-its beams are now forsaken. ~IS~er~.off^sprig c t ~.. i i/ 1 I reter the reader to the first address of Prometheus iu Of al the trophies gather'd from the war,'Eschylus, when he is left alone by his attendants, and befo. 4 What shall return? The conqueror's broken car! the arrival of the Chorus of Sea-nymphs. THE AGE OF BRONZE. 483 The same high spirit which beat back the Moor That seed is sown and reap'd, as oft the Moor Through eight long ages of alternate gore, Sighs to remember on his dusky shore. Revives-and where? in that avenging clime Long in the peasant's song or poet's page Where Spain was once synonymous with crime, Has dwelt the memory of Abencerage, Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew, The Zegri, and the captive victors, flung The infant world redeems her name of " New." Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung.'T is the old aspiration breathed afresh, But these are gone-their faith, their swords, their sway ro kindle souls within degraded flesh, Yet left more anti-christian foes than they: Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore The bigot monarch and the butcher priest, Where Greece was-No! she still is Greece once more. The inquisition, with her burning feast, One common; cause makes myriads, of one breast! The faith's red "auto," fed with human fuel, Slaves of the east, or Helots of the west; While sat the Catholic Moloch, calmly cruel, On Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurl'd, Enjoying, with inexorable eye, The self-same standard streams o'er either world: That fiery festival of agony! The Athenian wears again Harmodius' sword; The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both The Chili chief abjures his foreign lord; By turns; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth; The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek; The long-degenerate noble; the debased Young Freedom plumes the crest of each Cacique; Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced Debating despots, hemm'd on either shore, But more degraded; the unpeopled realm; Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar: The once proud navy which forgot the helm; Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance, The once impervious phalanx disarray'd; Sweep lightly by the half-tamed land of France, The idle forge that form'd Toledo's blade; Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain The foreign wealth that flow'd on every shore, Unite Ausonia to the mighty main: Save hers who earn'd it with the natives' gore; But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye, The very language, which might vie with Rome's, Break o'er the 2Egean, mindful of the day And once was known to nations like their homes, Of Salamis-there, there the waves arise, Neglected or forgotten:-such was Spain; Not to be lull'd by tyrant victories. But such she is not, nor shall be again. Lone, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need These worst, these home invaders, felt and feel By Christians unto whom they gave their creed, The new Numantine soul of old Castile. the desolated lands, the ravaged isle, Up! up again! undaunted Tauridor! The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile, The bull of Phalaris renews his roar; The aid evaded, and the cold delay, Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo! not in vain Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey;- Revive the cry —" ago! and close Spain!"' These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can show Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round, rhe false friend worse than the infuriate foe. And form the barrier which Napoleon found,But this is well: Greeks only should free Greece, The exterminating war; the desert plain; Not the barbarian, with his mask of peace. The streets without a tenant, save the slain; How should the autocrat of bondage be The wild Sierra, with its wilder troop The king of serfs, and set the nations free? Of vulture-plumed guerillas, on the stoop Better still serve the haughty Mussulman, For their incessant prey; the desperate wall Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan; Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall; Better still toil for masters, than await, The man nerved to a spirit, and the maid The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,- Waving her more than Amazonian blade; Number'd by hordes, a human capital, The knife of Arragon,2 Toledo's steel; A live estate, existing but for thrall, The famous lance of chivalrous Castile; Lotted by thousands as a meet reward The unerring rifle of the Catalan; For the first courtier in the czar's regard; The Andalusian courser in the van; While their immediate owner never tastes The torch to make a Moscow of Madrid His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes; And in each heart the spirit of the Cid:Better succumb even to their own despair, Such have been, such shall be, such are. Advance, And drive the camel than purvey the bear. And win-not Spain, but thine own freedom, Franso VII. VIII. But not alone within the hoariest clime, But lo! a congress! What, that hallow'd name Where freedom dates her birth with that of time; Which freed the Atlantic? May we hope the same And not alone where plunged in night, a crowd For outworn Europe? With the sound arise, Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud, Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes, The dawn revives; renown'd, romantic Spain -The prophets of young freedom, summon'd far Holds back the invader from her soil again. From climes of Washigton and Boliva r; Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde, Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes, Demand her fields as lists to prove the sword; Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas; Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth' Pollute the plains, alike abhorrina both; 1 "St. Iago! and close Spain!" the old Spanish war cry M0r ^M Pelavn nn hi< X~ti er 2 The Arragonians are peculiarly dexterous in the use ou Nor old Pelayo on his mountain rears this weapon, and displayed it particularly in former Frenso The warlike fathers of a thousand years. wars. 4b4 BYRON'S WORKS And stoic Franklin's energetic shade, How nobly gave he back the Poles their Diet, Robed in the lightnings which his hand allay'd; Then told pugnacious Poland to be quiet! And Washington, the tyrant-tamer, wake, How kindly would he send the mild Ukraine, Fo bid us blush for these old chains, or break. With all her pleasant pulks, to lecture Spain; But who compose this senate of the few How royally show off in proud Madrid That should redeem the many? Who renew His goodly person, from the south long hid,This consecrated name, till now assign'd A blessing cheaply purchased, the world knows, To councils held to benefit mankind? By having Muscovites for friends or foes. Who now assemble at the holy call?- Proceed, thou namesake of great Philip's son The bless'd alliance which says three are all! La Harpe, thine Aristotle, beckons on; An earthly trinity! which wears the shape And that which Scythia was to him of yore, Of Heaven's, as man is mimick'd by the ape. Find with thy Scythians on Iberia's shore. A pious unity! in purpose one, Yet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth, To melt three fools to a Napoleon. Thy predecessor on the banks of Pruth: Why, Egypt's gods were rational to these; Thou hast to aid thee, should his lot be thine, Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees, Many an old woman, but no Catherine.l And, quiet in their kennel or their shed, Spain too hath rocks, and rivers, and defilesCared little, so that they were duly fed: The bear may rush into the lion's toils. But these, more hungry, must have something more- Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields; The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore. Think'st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields? Ah, how much happier were good ZEsop's frogs Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords Than we! for ours are animated logs, To ploughshares, shave and wash thy Bashkir hordes With ponderous malice swaying to and fro, Redeem thy realms from slavery and the knout, And crushing nations with a stupid blow, Than follow headlong in the fatal route, All dully anxious to leave little work To infest the clime, whose skies and laws are pure, Unto the revolutionary stork. With thy foul legions. Spain wants no manure; Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe; Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago: Thrice bless'd Verona! since the holy three And wouldst thou furnish them with fresher prey? With their imperial presence shine on thee; Alas thou wilt not conquer, but purvey. Honour'd by them, thy treacherous site forgets I am Dioenes, though Russ and Hun The vaunted tomb of " all the Capulets " Stand between mine and many a myriad's sun; Thy Scaligers-for what was " Dog the G rea I not Diogenes, I'd wander "Can' Grande" (which I venture to translate) Rather a worm than such an Alexander! To these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too, Be slaves who will, the Cynic shall be free; Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new; is tub hathtougher walls than Sinop: Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate; Still will he hold his lantern up to scan And Dante's exile, shelter'd by thy gate; The face of monarchs for an honest man." Thy good old man,' whose world was all within Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in: XI. Would that the royal guests it girds about And what doth Gaul, the all-prolific land Were so far like, as never to get out! Of ne plus ultra Ultras and their band Ay, shout! inscribe! rear monuments of shame, Of mercenaries? and her noisy Chambers, To tell oppression that the world is tame! And tribune which each orator first clambers, Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage- Before he finds a voice, and, when't is found, The comedy is not upon the stage; Hears " the lie" echo for his answer round? The show is rich in ribbonry and stars- Our British Commons sometimes deign to hear; Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars; A Gallic senate hath more tongue than ear; Clasp thy permitted palms, kind Italy, Even Constant, their sole master of debate, For thus much still thy fetter'd hands are free! Must fight next day, his speech to vindicate. X. But this costs little to true Franks, who had rather Combat than listen, were it to their father. Resplendent sight! behold the coxcomb czar, What is the simple standing of a shot, The atrowleWhat is the simple standing of a shot, The autocrat of waltzes and of war not As eefraldtsTo listening long and interrupting not? As eager for a plaudit as a realm, As eager for a plaudit as a realm, Though this was not the method of old Rome, And just as fit for flirting as the helm; AndJUSs When Tully fulmined o'er each vocal dome, A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit, A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit, Demosthenes has sanction'd the transaction. And generous spirit when't is not frost-bit; io ain In saying eloquence meant " Action,- action!" Now half-dissolving to a liberal thaw, But harden'd'back whene'er the morning's raw; XII. Wvith no objection to true liberty, But where's the monarch? hath he dined? or yet Except tnat it would make the nations free. Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt? 1Hcw well the imperial dandy prates of peace, I lowv fait., if Greeks would be his slaves, free Greece!:ow fai., if'Greeks would be his slaves, free Greece! 1 The dexterity of Catherine extricated Peter (called thb " _' ~'~- ~'~ o ab r.Great by courtesy) when surrounded by the Mussulmans og I The famous old mar of Verona, the banks of the river Pruth. THE AGE OF BRONZE. 485 Have revolutionary pates risen, The unwieldy old white horse is apt at last And turn'd the royal entrails to a prison? To stumble, kick, and now and then stick fast Have discontented movements stirr'd the troops? With his great self and rider in the mud; Or have no movements follow'd traitorous soups? But what of that? the animal shows blood. Have Carbonaro cooks not carbonadoed XIV. Each course enough? or doctors dire dissuaded Al the co Repletion? Ah! in thy dejected looks Bewail her now unc!-how s gentlemen o Bewail her now uncountry gentlemen? I read all -'s treason in her cooks i I read all s trason in hr coks The last to bid the cry of warfare cease, Good classic! is it, canst thou say, Good classic is it, canst thou say, The first to make a malady of peace. Desirable to be the "? For what were all these country patriots born? Why wouldst thou leave calm ~'s green abode, Why wouldst thou leave calm -' —— s green abode, To hunt and vote, and raise the price of corn? Apician table and Horatian ode, A uician table wand Horatian ode, But corn, like every mortal thing, must fallTo rule a people who will not be ruled, Kins, conquerors, and markets most of all. And love much rather to be scourged than school'd? must ye fll with every ear of grain Ah! thine was not the temper or the taste - ny would you trouble Buonaparte's reign? For thrones-the table sees thee better placed: He was your great Triptolemus; his vices A mild Epicurean, form'd, at best, A mild Epicurdon, form'd, at best, Destroy'd but realms, and still maintain'd your prt ce To be a kind host and as good a guest. He amplified to every lord's content, To talk of letters, and to know by heart e gran agrarian alchymy-high rent. One half the poet's, all the gourmand's art; Why did the Tyrant stumble on the Tartars, A scholar always, now and then a wit, And lower wheat to such despondin quarters And gentle when digestion may permit-. Why did you chain him on yon isle so lone? But not to govern lands enslaved or free; But not to govern lands enslaved or free; The man was worth much more upon his throne. The gout was martyrdom enough for thee! True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt, XIIi. But what of that? the Gaul may bear the guilt; Shall noble Albion pass without a phrase But bread was high, the farmer paid his way, From a bold Briton in her wonted praise? And acres told upon the appointed day. "Arts-arms-and George-and glory and the isles- But where is now the goodly audit ale? And happy Britain-wealth and freedom's smiles- The purse-proud tenant never known to fail? White cliffs, that held invasion far aloof- The farm which never yet was left on hand Contented subjects, all alike tax-proof- The marsh reclaimed to most improving land? Proud Wellington, with eagle beak so curl'd, The impatient hope of the expiring lease? That nose, the hook where he suspends the world! The doubling rental? What an evil's peace! And Waterloo-and trade-and- (hush! not yet In vain the prize excites the ploughman's skill, A syllable of imposts or of debt)- In vain the commons pass their patriot bill; And ne'er (enough) lamented Castlereagh, The landed interest-(you may understand Whose pen-knife slit a goose-quill't other day- The phrase much better leaving out the land) And " pilots who have weather'd every storm,- The land's self-interest groans from shore to splore (But no, not even for rhyme's sake, name reform)." For fear that plenty should attain the poor. These are the themes thus sung so oft before, Up up again: ye rents, exalt your notes, Methinks we need not sing them any more; Or else the ministry will lose their votes, Found in so many volumes far and near, And patriotism, so delicately nice, There's no occasion you should find them here. Her loaves will lower to the market price; Yet something may remain, perchance, to chime For ah! " the loaves and fishes," once so high, With reason, and, what's stranger still, with rhyme; Are gone-their oven closed, their ocean dry; Even this thy genius, Canning! may permit, And nought remains of all the millions spe.t, Who, bred a statesman, still was born a wit, Excepting to grow moderate and content. And never, even in that dull house, couldst tame They who are not so had their turn-and tuer To unleaven'd prose thine own poetic flame; About still flows from fortune's equal urn; Our last, our best, our only orator, Now let their virtue be its own reward, Even I can praise thee-Tories do no more, And share the blessings which themselves pri,ed. Nay, not so much; —they hate thee, man, because See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm, Thy spirit less upholds them than it awes.- Farmers of war, dictators of the farm! The hounds will gather to their huntsman's hollo, Their ploughshare was the sword in hireling tinus, And, where he leads, the duteous pack will follow: Their fields manured by gore of other lands; But not for love mistake their yelling cry, Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent Their yelp for game is not an eulogy; Their brethren out to battle-why? for rent! Less faithful far than the four-footed pack, Year after year they voted cent. per cent.. A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back. Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions-why? for rent' Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure, They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore theNor royal stallion's feet extremely sure; meant To die for England-why then live? for rent! The peace has made one general malcontent 1 "Naso suspendet adunco."-Horace. The Roman app iea it to one who merely was imperious to Of these high-market patriots; war was rent nis acquaintancer Their love of country, millions all mispent 486 BYRON'S WORKS. How reconcile?-by reconciling rent. Two Jews-but not Samaritans-direct And will they not repay the treasures lent? The world, with all the spirit of their sect. No: down with every thing, and up with rent! What is the happiness of earth to them? Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or discontent, A congress forms their "Now Jerusalem," Being, end, aim, religion-Rent, rent, rent! Where baronies and orders both inviteThou sold'st thy birthright, Esau! for a mess: Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight? Thou shouldst have gotten more or eaten less: Thy followers mingling with these royal swine, Now thou hast swill'd thy pottage, thy demands Who spit not " on their Jewish gaberdine,"' Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands. But honour them as portion of the showSuch, landlords, was your appetite for war, (Where now, oh, Pope! is thy forsaken toe? And, gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar! Could it not favour Judah with some kicks? What,would they spread their earthquake even o'er cash? Or has it ceased to "kick against the pricks?") And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash? On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh, So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall, To cut from nations' hearts their'" pound of flesh." and found on'Change a foundling hospital! XVI. Lo, mother church, while ail religion writhes, Strange sight this congress! destined to unite Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring, tithes; All that's incongruous, all that's opposite. The prelates go to-where the saints have gone, I speak not of the sovereigns-they're alike, And proud pluralities subside to one; A common coin as ever mint could strike: Church, state, and faction, wrestle in the dark, But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings, Toss'd by the deluge in their common ark. Have more of motley than their heavy kings. Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends, Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine, Another Babel soars-but Britain ends. While Europe wonders at the vast design: And why? to pamper the self-seeking wants, There Metternich, power's foremost parasite, And prop the hill of these agrarian ants. Cajoles; there Wellington forgets to fight; " Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise;" There Chateaubriand forms new books of martyrs' Admire their patience through each sacrifice, And subtle Greeks intrigue for stupid Tartars; Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride, There Montmorency, the sworn foe to charters, The price of taxes and of homicide; Turns a diplomatist of great eclat, Adnire their justice, which would fain deny fnish articles for the "Debats The debt of nations: pray, who made it high? Of war so certain-yet not quite so sure As his dismissal in the "Moniteur." XV. Alas! how could his cabinet thus err i Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks, Can peace be worth an ultra-minister? The new Symplegades-the crushing Stocks, He falls indeed,-perhaps to rise again, Where Midas might again his wish behold "Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain." In real paper or imagined gold. XVII. That magic palace of Alcina shows Enough of this-a sight more mournful woos More wealth than Britain ever had to lose, The averted eye of the reluctant muse. Were all her atoms of unleavened ore, The imperial daughter, the imperial bride, And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore. The imperial victim-sacrifice to pride There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the stake, mother of the hero's hope, the boy, And the world trembles to bid brokers break. The young Astyanax of modern Troy; How rich is Britain! not indeed in mines, The still pale shadow of the loftiest ueen Or peace, or plenty, corn, or oil, or wines; That arth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen: No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey, She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour, Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money: The theme of pity, and the wreck of power. But let us not to own the truth refuse, Oh, cruel mockery! could not Austria spare Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews? A daughter? What did France's widow there? Those parted with their teeth to good King John, Her fitter place was by St. Helen's waveAnd now, ye kings! they kindly draw your own; Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave. All states, all things, all sovereigns, they control, ut, no,-she still must hold a petty reig And waft a loan "from'Indus to the Pole." Flank'd by her formidable chamberlain; The banker-broker-baron-brethren, speed The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need. Must watch her through these paltry pageantries. Nor tnese alone; Columbia feels no less What though she share no more, and shared in vain, Fresh speculations follow each success; A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne, And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain Which swept firom Moscow to the Southern seas, Her mild per centage from exhausted Spain. Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese, Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march- ____'T,o gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch. 1 Monsieur Chateaubriand, who has not forgotten the authoi Two Jews, a chosen people, can command in the minister, received a handsome compliment at Verona In every realm their scripture-promised land: from a literary sovereign: " A! Monsieur C, are you Two Jews keep down the Ronans, and uphold related to that Chateaubriand who-who-who has written something (ecrit queelque chose)?" It is sLid that the Autho, The accursed Hun. more brutal itan of old: of Atala repented him for a moment of his legitimacy. THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 487 W here Parma views the traveller resort To note the trappings of her mimic court. XVIII.'But she appears! Verona sees her shorn But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home, Of all her beams-while nations gaze and mourn- And sketch the group-the picture's yet to come. Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time My Muse'gan weep, but, ere a tear was spilt, To chill in their inhospitable clime, She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt! (If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold- While throng'd the Chiefs of every Highland clan But no,-their embers soon will burst the mould); T hail their brother, Vich Ian Alderman! She comes!-the Andromache (but not Racine's, Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar, Nor Homer's); lo! on Pyrrhus' arm she leans! While all the Common Council cry, " Claymore!" Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo, To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt Which cut/her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre through, Gird the gross sirloin of a City Celt, Is offer'd and accepted! Could a slave She burst into a laughter so extreme, Do more? or less?-and he in his new grave! That I awoke-and lo! it was no dream! Her eye, her cheek, betray no inward strife, And the Ex-empress grows as Ex a wife! So much for human ties in royal breasts! Here, reader, will we pause:-if there's no harm in Why spare men's feelings, when their own are jests? This first-you'll have, perhaps, a second " Calneli,". BY QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS. SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR OF "WAT TYLER. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel! I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. I. IV. SAINT Peter sat by the celestial gate, His business so augmented of late years, His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, That he was forced, against his will, no doubt, So little trouble had been given of late; (Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers), Not that the place by any means was full, For some resource to turn himself about, But since the Gallic era" eighty-eight," And claim the help cf his celestial peers, The devils had taken a longer, stronger pull, To aid him ere he should be quite worn out And " a pull altogether," as they say By the increased demand for his remarks: At sea-which drew most souls another way. Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerka. II. V. The angels all were singing out of tune, This was a handsome board —at least for heaven, And hoarse with having little else to do, And yet they had even then enough to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, So many conquerors' cars were daily driven, Or curb a runaway young star or two, So many kingdoms fitted up anew; Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon Each day, too, slew its thousands six or seven, Broke out of bounds-o'er the ethereal blue, Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo, Splitting some planet with its playful tail, They threw their pens down in divine disgustAs boats are sometimes by a wanton whale. The page was so besmear'd with blood and dus, III. VI. The guardian seraphs had retired on high, This by the way;'t is not mine to record Finding their charges past all care below; What angels shrink from: even lle very devil Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky On this occasion his own work abhorr'd, Save the recording angel's black bureau; So surfeited with the infernal revel: Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply Though he himself had sharpen'd every 3vwor1, With such rapidity of vice and woe, It almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil. That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills, (Here Satan's sole good work deserves insertitiAnd yet was in arrear of human ills.'T is, that he has both generals in reversion). 488 BYRON'S WORKS. VII. XIV. Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace, I know this is unpopular; I know Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont,'T is blasphemous; I know one may be danin'd And heaven none-they form the tyrant's lease, For hoping no one else may e'er be so; With nothing but new names inscribed upon't; I know my catechism; I know we are cramm'd'T will one day finish: meantime they increase, With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow; "With seven heads and ten horns," and all in front, I know that all save England's church have shamm'd Like Saint John's foretold beasts; but ours are born And that the other twice two hundred churches Less formidable in the head than horn. And synagogues have made a damn'd bad purchase. VIII. XV. In the first year of freedom's second dawn God help us all! God help me, too! I am, Died George the Third; although no tyrant, one God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, Who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn And not a whit more difficult to damn Left him nor mental nor external sun: Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish, A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn, Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb; A worse king never left a realm undone! Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish He died-but left his subjects still behind, As one day will be that immortal fry One half as mad-and t' other no less blind. Of almost every body born to die. IX. XVT. lie died!-his death made no great stir on earth; Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, His burial made some pomp; there was profusion And nodded o'er his keys: when lo! there cant Of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth A wondrous noise he had not heard of lateOf aught but tears-save those shed by collusion; A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame; For these things may be bought at their true worth: In short, a roar of things extremely great, Of elegy there as th a e due infusion- Which would have made aught save a saint exclaim Bought also; and the torches, cloaks, and banners, But he, with first a start and then a wink, Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners, aid, "There's another star gone out, I think t" ^~X.~~~~ ~~~XVII. Form'd a sepulchral melo-drame. Of all But ere he could return to his repose, Fo a seplchralmelod. Of allA cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyesThe fools who flock'd to swell or see the show, WVho cared about the corpse? The funeral At which Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb'd his nose; Made the attraction, and the black the woe. Sant porter," sad the ange prithee rise! Therethrobb'd not there a thought which pierced thepall Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes: And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low It seem'd the morkery of hell to fold To which the saint replied, "Well, what's the matter? the rottenness of eighty years in gold. Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter?" The rottenness of eighty years in gold. XVIII. X "No," quoth the cherub; " George the Third is dead." So mix his body with the dust! It might "AoAnd who is George the Third?" replied the apostle; Return to what it must far sooner, were "What George what'Third?" "The King of Eng. The natural compound left alone to fight land," said Its way back into earth, and fire, and air; The anel. "Well he wont find kings to ostle The angel. "Well! he wont find kings to jostle But the unnatural balsams merely blight i nBtI the unnatural balsams merely blight Him on his way; but does he wear his head? What nature made him at his birth, as bare t e s h h a t,.n~ ^...~'J,. ~Because the last we saw here had a tussle, As the mere million's base unmummied clay~-,As the mere million's base unmummied clay-v And ne'er would have got into Heaven's good graces, Yet all his spices but prolong decay. Yet all his spices but prolong decay. EH-Iad he not flung his head in all our faces. XII. XIX. He's dead-and upper earth with him has done: "He was, if I remember, king of-: He's buried; save the undertaker's bill, That head of his, which could not keep a drown Or lapidary scrawl, the world is gone On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance For him, unless he left a German will; A claim to those of martyrs-like my own: But where's the proctor who will ask his son 7 If I had had my sword, as I had once In whom his qualities are reigning still, hen I cut ears of, I had cut him down; Except that household virtue, most uncommon, It having but my keys, and not my brand, Of constancy to a bad ugly woman. I only knock'd his head from out his hand. XIII. XX. * God save the king!" It is a large economy " And then he set up such a headless howl, In God to save the like; but if he will That all the saints came out and took him in; Be saving, all the better; for not one am I And there he sits by Saint Paul, cheek by jowl; Ot those who think damnation better still: That fellow, Paul-the parvenu! The skin I hardly know too if not quite alone am I Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his cowl In this small nope of bettering future ill In heaven, and upon earth redeem'd his sin By cirelmscribing, with some slight restriction, So as to make a martyr, never sped I'hte e-ermtv of hell's hot jurisdiction. Better than did this weak and wooden head. THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 48~ XXI. XXVIII. " But had it come up here unon its shoulders, And from the gate thrown open issued beaming There would have been a different tale to tell: A beautiful and mighty thing of light, The fellow-feeling in the saints beholders Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming Seems to have acted on them like a spell, Victorious from some world-o'erthrowing fight: And so this very foolish head Heaven solders My poor comparison must needs be teeming Back oni its trunk: it may be very well, With earthly likenesses, for here the night And seems the custom here to overthrow Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving Whatever has been wisely done below." Johanna Southcote, or Bob Southey raving. XXII. XXIX. The angel answer'd, "Peter! do not pout;'T was the archangel Michael: all men krow The king who comes has head and all entire, The make of angels and archangels, since And never knew much what it was about- There's scarce a scribbler has not one to show, He did as doth the puppet-by its wire, From the fiends' leader to the angels' prince. And will be judged like all the rest, no doubt: There also are some altar-pieces, though My business and your own is not to inquire I really can't say that they much evince Into such matters, but to mind our cue- One's inner notions of immortal spirits; Which is to act as we are bid to do." But let the connoisseurs explain their merits. XXIII. XXX. While thus they spake, the angelic caravan, Michael flew forth in glory and in good; Arriving like a rush of mighty wind, A goodly work of him from whom all glory Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan And good arise; the portal pass'd-he stood; Some silver stream (say Ganges, Nile, or Inde, Before him the young cherubs and saint hoary Or Thames, or Tweed), and'midst them an old man (I say young, begging to be understood With an old soul, and both extremely blind, By looks, not years; and should be very sorry Halted before the gate, and in his shroud To state, they were not older than Saint Peter, Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud. But merely that they seem'd a little, sweeter). XXIV. XXXI. But, bringing up the rear of this bright host,. The cherubs and the saint bow'd down before A spirit of a different aspect waved That arch-angelic hierarch, the first His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast Of essences angelical, who wore Whose barren beach witn frequent wrecks is paved; The aspect of a god; but this ne'er nursed His brow was like the deep when tempest-tost; Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved. No thought, save for his Maker's service, durst Eternal wrath on his immortal face, Intrude, however glorified and high; And where he gazed a gloom pervaded space. He knew him but the viceroy of the sky. XXV. XXXII. As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate, He and the sombre silent spirit metNe'er to be enter'd more by him or sin, They knew each other both for good and ill; With such a glance of supernatural hate, Such was their power, that neither could forget As made Saint Peter wish himself within; His former friend and future foe; but still He potter'd with his keys at a great rate, There was a high, immortal, proud regret And sweated through his apostolic slin: In either's eye, as if't were less their will Of course his perspiration was but ichor, Than destiny to make the eternal years Or some such other spiritual liquor. Their date ofwar, and their "Champ Clos" the spiez a*: XXVI. XXXIII. The very cherubs huddled altogether, But here they were in neutral space: we know Like birds when soars the falcon; and they felt From Job, that Sathan hath the power to pay A tingling to the tip of every feather, A heavenly visit thrice a year or so; And form'd a circle, like Orion's belt, And that " the sons of God," like those of clay, Around their poor old charge, who scarce knew whither Must keep him company; and we might show, His guards had led him, though they gently dealt From the same book, in how polite a way With royal manes (for, by many stories, The dialogue is held between the powers And true, we learn the angels all are Tories). Of good and evil-but't would take up hours. XXVII. XXXIV. As things were in this posture, the gate flew And this is not a theologic trp?', Asunder, and tne flashing of its hinges To prove with Hebrew and with Arabic Flung over space an universal hue If Job be allegory or a fict, Of many-colour'd flame, until its tinges But a true narrative; and thus I pitk Reach'd even our speck of earth, and made a new From out the whole but such and such an act Aurora borealis spread its fringes As sets aside the slightest thought of trirk. O'er the North Pole; the samei seen, when ice-bound,'T is every tittle true, beyond suspicion, By Captain Parry's crews, in "Melville's Sound." And accurate as any other visioi. 2 U 67 IllX~ ~ BYRON'S WORKS. XXXV. XLII. The spirits were in neutral space, before " Look to the earth, I said, and say again: The gate of heaven; like eastern thresholds is When this old, blind, mad, helpless, weak, poor worm The place where death's grand cause is argued o'er, Began in youth's first bloom and flush to reign, And souls despatch'd to that world or to this; The world and he both wore a different form, And therefore Michael and the other wore And much of earth and all the watery plain A civil aspect: though they did not kiss, Of ocean call'd him king: through many a storm Yet still between his Darkness and his Brightness His isles had floated on the abyss of time; There pass'd a mutual glance of great politeness. For the rough virtues chose them for their clime. XXXVI. XLIII. The archangel bow'd, not like a modern beau, " He came to his sceptre, young; he leaves it, old But with a graceful oriental bend, Look to the state in which he found his realm, Pressing one radiant arm just where below And left it; and his annals, too, behold, The heart in good men is supposed to tend. How to a minion first he gave the helm; He turn'd as to an equal, not too low, How grew upon his heart a thirst for gold, But kindly; Sathan met his ancient friend The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm With more hauteur, as might an old Castilian The meanest hearts; and, for the rest, but glanct, Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civilian. Thine eye along America and France! XXXVII. XLIV. He merely her diabolic brow " T is true, he was a tool from first to last An instant; and then, raising it, he stood {I have the workmen safe); but as a tool In act to assert his right or wrong, and show So let him be consumed! From out the past Cause why King George by no means could or should Of ages, since mankind have known the rule Make out a case to be exempt from woe Of monarchs-from the bloody rolls amass'd Eternal, more than other kings endued Of sin and slaughter —from the Caesar's school, With better sense and hearts, whom history mentions, Take the worst pupil, and produce a reign Who lung have " paved hell with their good intentions." More drench'd with gore, more cumber'd with the slam XXXVIII. XLV. Michael began: " What wouldst thou with this man, " He ever warr'd with freedom and the free: Now.dead, and brought before the Lord? What ill Nations as men, home subjects, foreign foes, Hath he wrought since his mortal race began, So that they utter'd the word' Liberty!' That thou canst claim him? Speak! and do thy will, Found George the Third their first opponent, Whose If it be just: if in this earthly span History was ever stain'd as his will be Ie hath been greatly failing to fulfil With national and individual woes 7 HIis duties as a king and mortal, say, I grant his household abstinence; I grant And he is thine; if not, let him have way." His neutral virtues, which most monarchs want; XXXIX. XLVI. " Michael!" replied the prince of air, " even here, "I know he was a constant consort; own Before the gate of Him thou servest, must He was a decent sire, and middling lord. I caim my subject; and will make appear All this is much, and most upon a throne;'That as he was my worshipper in dust, As temperance, if at Apicius' board, So shall he be in spirit, although dear Is more than at an anchorite's supper shown. To thee and thine, because nor wine nor lust I grant him all the kindest can accord; Were of his weaknesses! yet on the throne And this was well for him, but not for those Ih, reign'd o'er millions to serve me alone. Millions who found him what oppression chose. XL. XLVII. * Look to our earth, or rather mine; it was The new world shook him off; the old yet groans Once, more thy Master's: but I triumph not Beneath what he and his prepared, if not In this poor planet's conquest, nor, alas! Completed: he leaves heirs on many thrones Need he thou servest envy me my lot: To all his vices, without what begot With all the rmyriads of bright worlds which pass Compassion for him-his tame virtues; drones In worship round him, he may have forgot Who sleep, or despots who have now forgot Yon weak creation of such paltry things; A lesson which shall be re-taught them, wake I think few worth damnation save their kings, Upon the throne of earth; but let them quake! XLI. XLVIII. And these but as a kind of quit-rent, to "Five millions of the primitive, who hold Assert my right as lord; and even had The faith which makes ye great on eartn, implored I such an inclination,'t were (as you A part of that vast all they held of old,Well know) superfluous; thqy are grown so bad, Freedom to worship-not alone your Lord, Tllat hell has nothing better left to do Michael, but you, and you, Saint Peter! Cold'Than leave them to themselves: so much more mad Must be your souls, if you have not abhorr'd And ev! be their owr. internal curse, The foe to Catholic participation Heavei 4 annot make them better, nor I worse. In all the license of a Christian nation. TIE VISION OF JUDGMENT. lt XLIX. LVI.'True! he allow'd them to pray God; but, as I say that I- can tell-'t was half a minute; A consequence of prayer, refused the law I know the solar beams take up more time Which would have placed them upon the same base Ere, pack'd up for their journey, they begin it; With those who did not hold the saints in awe." But then their telegraph is less sublime, But here Saint Peter started from his place, And if they ran a race, they would not win it And cried, "You may the prisoner withdraw:'Gainst Sathan's couriers bound for their own clime Ere Heaven shall ope heV/portals to this Guelf, The sun takes up some years for every ray While I am guard, may I be damn'd miyself! To reach its goal-the devil not half a day. L. LVII. " Sooner will I with Cerberus exchange Upon the verge of space, about the size My office (and his is no sinecure) Of half-a-crown, a little speck appear'd Than see this royal Bedlam bigot range (I've seen a something like it in the skies The azure fields of heaven, of that be sure!" In the JEgean, ere a squall); it near'd, " Saint!" replied Sathan, "you do well to avenge And, growing bigger, took another guise; The wrongs he made your satellites endure; Like an aerial ship it tack'd, and steer'd And if to this exchange you should be given, Or was steer'd (I am doubtful of the/ grammar I'11 try to coax our Cerberus up to heaven." Of the last phrase, which makes the stanza stammer;LI. LVIII. Here Michael interposed: " Good saint! and devil! But take your choice); and then it grew a cloud, Pray, not so fast; you both outrun discretion. And so it was-a cloud of witnesses. Saint Peter! you were wont to be more civil: But such a cloud! No land e'er saw a crowd Sathan! excuse this warmth of his expression, Of locusts numerous as the heaven saw these; And condescension to the vulgar's level: They shadow'd with their myriads space; their loud Even saints sometimes forget themselves in session. And varied cries were like those of wild-gese Have you got more to say?"-"No'!"-" If you please, (If nations may be liken'd to a goose), I'l trouble you to call your witnesses." And realized the phrase of " hell broke loose." LII. LIX. Then Sathan turn'd and waved his swarthy hand, Here crash'd a sturdy oath of stout John Bull; Which stirr'd with its electric qualities Who damn'd away his eyes as heretofore: Clouds farther off than we can understand, Ther Paddy brogued "byJasus!" "What's yotrwu li?" Although we find him sometimes in our skies,-i' The temperate Scot exclaim'd: the French gho, ~woea Infernal thunder shook both sea and land In certain terms I sha'nt translate in full, In all the planets, and hell's batteries As the first coachman will; and'midst the n, Let off the artillery, which Milton mentions The voice of Jonathan was heard to express, As one of Sathan's most sublime inventions. "Our President is going to war, I guess." LIII. LX. This was a signal unto such damn'd souls Besides there were the Spaniard, Dutch, and C t, As have the privilege of their damnation In short an universal shoal of shades Extended far beyond the mere controls From Otaheite's Isle to Salisbury Plain, Of worlds pad, present, or to come; no station Of all climes and professions, years and trade, Is theirs particularly in the rolls Ready to swear against the good king's reign, Of hell assign'd; but where their inclination Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades: Or business carries them in search of game, All summon'd by this grand " subpoena," to They may range freely-being damn'd the same. Try if kings may n't be damn'd like me or you. LIV. LXI. They are proud of this-as very well they may, When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale, It being a sort of knighthood, or gilt key As angels can; next, like Italiad twilight, Stuck in their loins; or like to an " entree" He turn'd all colours-as a peacock's tail, Up the back stairs, or such free-masonry: Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylignt I borrow my comparisons from clay, In some old abbey, or a trout not stale, Being clay myself. Let not those spirits be Or distant lightning on: the horizon by night, Offended with such base low likenesses; Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review We know their posts are nobler far than these. Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue. LV. LXII. When the great signal ran from heaven to hell,- Then he address'd himself to Sathan: "Why About ten million times the distance reckon'd My good old friend, for such I deem you, thowgh From our sun to its earth, as we can tell Our different parties make us fight so shy, How much time it takes up, even to a second, I ne'er mistake you for a personal foe; For every ray that travels to dispel Our difference is political, and I The fogs of London; through which, dimly beacon'd, Trust that, whatever may occur below,'he weathercocks are gilt, some thrice a year, You know my great respect for you; and thus If that tne summer is not too severe:- Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss-. 492 BYRON'S WORKS. LXIII. LXX. " Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse "Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast My call for witnesses? I did not mean To urge against him," said the archangel. "Why,' That you should half of earth (nd hell produce; Replied the spirit, " since old scores are past,'T is even superfluous, since two honest, clean Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I. True testimonies are enough: we lose Besides, I beat him hollow at the last, Our time, nay, our eternity, between With all his Lords and Commons: in the sky The accusation and defence: if we I don't like ripping up old stories, since Hear both,'t will stretch our immortality." His conduct was but natural in a prince. LXIV. LXXI. Sathan replied, " To me the matter is " Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress Indifferent, in a personal point of view: A poor unlucky devil without a shilling; I can have fifty better souls than this But then I blame the man himself much less With far less trouble than we have gone through Than Bute and Grafton, and shall be unwilling Already; and I merely argued his To see him punish'd here for their excess, Late Majesty of Britain's case. ith you Since they were both damn'd long ago, and still in tp-'n a point of form: you may dispose Their place below; for me, I have forgiven, Of" i m; I've kings enough below, God knows!" And vote his' habeas corpus' into heaven." LXV. LXXII. Thus spoke the demon (late call'd "multi-faced" "Wilkes," said the devil, "I understand all this; By multo-scribbling Southey). "Then we'11 call You turn'd to half a courtier ere you died, One or two persons of the myriads placed And seem to think it would not be amiss Around our congress, and dispense with all To grow a whole one on the other side The rest," quoth Michael: " Who may be so graced Of Charon's ferry; you forget that his As to speak first? there's choice enough-who shall Reign is concluded; whatsoe'er betide, It be?" Then Sathan answer'd, "There are many; He won't be sovereign more: you've lost your labour But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as any." For at the best he will but be your neighbour. LXVI. LXXIII. 4 merry, cock-eyed, curious looking sprite " However, I knew what to think of it, Upon the instant started from the throng, When I beheld you, in your jesting way, Dress'd in a fashion now forgotten quite; Flitting and whispering round about the spit For all the fashions of the flesh stick long Where Belial, upon duty for the day, Bypeople in the next world; where unite With Fox's lard was basting William Pitt, All the costumes since Adam's right or wrong, His pupil; I knew what to think, I say: From Eve's fig-leaf down to the petticoat, That fellow even in hell breeds farther ills Almost as scanty, of days less remote. I'1 have him gagg'd-'t was one of his own bills. LXVII. LXXIV. The spirit look'd around upon the crowds " Call Junius!" From the crowd a shadow stalk'.. Assembled, and exclaim'd, "My friends of all And at the name there was a general squeeze, The spheres, we shall catch cold amongst these clouds; So that the very ghosts no longer walk'd So let's to business: why this general call? In comfort, at their own aerial ease, If those are freeholders I see in shrouds, But were all ramm'd, and jainm'd (but to be balk'd, And'tis for an election that they bawl, As we shall see) and jostled hands and knees, Behold a candidate with unturn'd-coat! Lile wind compress'd and pent within a bladder, Saint Peter, may I count upon your vote?" Or like a human colic, which is sadder. LXVIII. LXXV. " Sir," replied Michael, " you mistake: these things The shadow came! a tall, thin, gray-hair'd figure, Are of a former life, and what we do That look'd as it had been a shade on earth; Above is more august; to judge of kings Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour, Is the tribunal met; so now you know." But nought to mark its breeding or its birth: " Then I presume those gentlemen with wings," Now it wax'd little, then again grew bigger, Said Willes, " are cherubs; and that soul below With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth; Looks much like George the Third; but to my mind But asyou gazed upon its features, they A good deal older-Bless me! is he blind?" Changed every instant-to what none could say. LXIX. LXXVI. li e is what you behold hin, and his doom The more intently the ghosts gazed, the less Depends upon his deeds," the angel said. Could they distinguish whose the features were; "* If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb The devil himself seem'd puzzled even to guess; Gives license to the humblest beggar's head They varied like a dream-now here, now there To lift itself against the ioftiest."~-" Some," And several people swore from out the press, Saud Wilkes, "' don't wait to see them laid in lead, They knew him perfectly; and one could swear P'ot such a liberty-and I, for one,. He was his father; upon which another Havo told them what I thought beneath the sun." Was sure he was his mother's cousin's brother: THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 493 LXXVII. LXXXIV. Another, that he was a duke, or knight, "What I have written, I have written: let An orator, a lawyer, or a priest, The rest be on his head or mine!" So spoke A nabob, a man-midwife; but the wight Old "nominis umbra;" and, while speaking yet, Mysterious changed his countenance at least Away he melted in celestial smoke. As oft as they their minds: though in full sight Then Sathan said to Michael, " Don't forget He stood, the puzzle only was increased; To call George Washington, and John Home Tookc, The man was a phantasmagoria in And Franklin:"-but at this time there was heard Himself-he was so volatile and thin! A cry for room, though not a phantom stirr'd. LXXVIII. LXXXV. The moment that you had pronounced him one, At length, with jostling, elbowing, and the aid Presto! his face changed, and he was another; Of cherubim appointed to that post, And when that change was hardly well put on, The devil Asmodeus to the circle made It varied, till I don't think his own mother His way, and look'd as if his journey cost (If that he had a mother) would her son Some trouble. When his burden down he laid, Have known, he shifted so from one to t' other, "What's this?" cried Michael; "why,'tis not a Till guessing from a pleasure grew a task, ghost!" At this epistolary " iron mask." " I know it," quoth the incubus; "but he Shall be one, if you leave the affair to me. LXXIX. For sometimes he like Cerberus would seem- LXXXVI. " Three gentlemen at once " (as sagely says "Confound the renegado I havesprai'd Good Mrs. Malaprop); then you might deem My left wing, he's so heavy; one would think That he was not even one; now many rays That he was not even one; now many rays Some of his works about his neck were cha'in'd. Were flashing round him; and now a thick steam But to the point: while hovering o'er the brink Hid him from sight-like fogs on London days: Of Skiddaw (where, as usual, it still rain'd), Now Burke, now Tooke, he grew to people's fancies, I saw a taper far below me wink, And certes often like Sir Philip Francis. And, stooping, caught this fellow at a libelNo less on history than the holy bible. LXXX. LXX*X.~~~ TLXXXVII. I've an hypothesis-'t is quite my own; LXXXVII. I'e an hypothesis-'tis quite my own; "The former is the devil's scripture, and I never let it out till now, for fear, 0I' never let it out till now, for fear The latter yours, good Michael; so the affair Of doing people harm about the throne, Of doing people harm about the throne, Belongs to all of us, you understand. And injuring some minister or peer I snatch'd him up just as you see him there, On whom the stigma might perhaps be blown; Iti-ygntle public, lend thin. ear! And brought him off for sentence out of hand: It is —my gentle public, lend thine ear! I've scarcely been ten minutes in the air-'T is, that what Junius we are wont to call, At least a quarter it can hardly be: Was really, truly, nobody at all. I dare say that his wife is still at tea." LXXXI. LXXXI. -LXXXXVIII. I don't see wherefore letters should not be Here Sathan said, "I know this man of old, Written without hands, since we daily view And have expected him for some time here; Them written without heads; and books we see A sillier fellow you will scarce behold, Are fill'd as well without the latter too; Or more conceited in his petty sphere: And really, till we fix on somebody But surely it was not worth while to fold For certain sure to claim them- as his due, Such trash below your wing, Asmodeus dear! Their author, like the Niger's mouth, will bother We had the poor wretch safe (without being bored The world to say if there be mouth or author. With carriage) coming of his own accord. LXXXII. LXXXIX. "' And who and what art thou?" the archangel said. "But since he's here, let's see what he has done.' " For that, you may consult my title-page," "Done!" cried Asmodeus, " he anticipates Replied this mighty shadow of a shade: The very business you are now upon, "If I have kept my secret half an age, And scribbles as if head clerk to the Fates. I scarce shall tell it now."-" Canst thou upbraid," Who knows to what his ribaldry may run, Continued Michael, "George Rex, or allege When such an ass as this, like Balaam's, prates 2" Aught further?" Junius answer'd, "You had better " Let's hear," quoth Michael, "what he has to say i First ask him for his answer to my letter. You know we're bound to that in every way I" LXXXIII. XC. "My charges upon record will outlast Now the bard, glad to get an audience, whica The brass of both his epitaph and tomb." By no means often was his case below, "Repent'st thou not," said Michael, " of some past Began to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch Exaggeration? something which may doom His voice into that awful note of woe Thyself if false, as him if true? Thou wast To all unhappy hearers within reach Too bitter-is it not so? in thy gloom Of poets when the tide of rhyme's in flow; Of passion?" " Passion!" cried the phantom dim, But stuck fast with his first hexameter, "I loved my country, and I hated him. Not one of all whose gouty feet would stir. 2u2 494 BYRON'S WORKK. XCI. XCVIII. But ere the spavin'd dactyls could be spurr'd He had sung against all battles, and again Into recitative, in great dismay In their high praise and glory; lie had call'd Both cherubim and seraphim were heard Reviewing' "the ungentle craft," and then To murnmur loudly through their long array; Become as base a critic as e'er crawl'dAnd Michael rose ere he could get a word Fed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men Of all his founder'd verses under way, By whom his muse and morals had been- maul'd. And cried, "For God's sake stop, my friend!'twere He had written much blank verse, and blanker prose best — And more of both than any body knows. Non di, non homines, —' you know the rest." X X XCII. I He hsd written Wesley's life:-here, turning round A general bustle spread throughout the throng, To Sathan, "Sir, I'm ready to write yours Which seem'd to hold all verse in detestation; In two octavo volumes, nicely bound, The angels had of course enough of song The angels had of course enough of song With notes and preface, all that most allures When upon service; and the generation The pious purchaser and there's no ground Of ghosts had heard too much in life, not long For fear, for I can choose my wn reviewers: Before, to profit by a new occasion; So let me have the proper documets The monarch, mute till then, exclaim'd "What! what! hat I may add you to my othersaints." Pye come again? No more-no more of that!" XCIII. C. The tumult grew, an universal cough Sathan bow'd, and was silent. " Well, if you, Convulsed the skies, as during a debate, With amiable modesty, decline When Castlereagh has been up long enough My offer, what says Michael? There are few (Before he was first minister of state, Whose memoirs could be render'd more divine. I mean-the slaves hear now), some cried " off, off," Mine is a pen of all work; not so new As at a farce; till, grown quite desperate, As it was once, but I would make you shine The bard Saint Peter pray'd to interpose Like your own trumpet; by the way, my own (Himself an author) only for his prose. Has more brass in it, and is as well blown. XCIV. CI. The varlet was not an ill-favour'd knave; " But talking about trumpets, here's my Vision! A good deal like a vulture in the face, Now you shall judge, all people; yes, you snail With a hook nose and a hawk's eye, which gave Judge with my judgment, and by my decision A smart and sharper looking sort of grace Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall! To his whole aspect, which, though rather grave, I settle all these things by intuition, Was by no means so ugly as his case; Times present, past, to come, heaven, hell, and all, But that indeed was hopeless as can be, Like King Alfonso! 2 When I thus see double, -Quite a poetic felony, " de se." I save the deity some worlds of trouble." XCV. Then Michael blew his trump, and still'd the noise With one still greater, as is yet the mode He ceased, and drew forth an MS.; and no On earth besides; except some grumbling voice Persuasion on the part of devils, or saints, Which now and then will make a slight inroad Or angels, now could stop the torrent; so Upon decorous silence, few will twice He read the first three lines of the contents; Lift up their lungs when fairly overcrowd; But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show And now the bard could plead his own bad cause, Had vanish'd with variety of scents, With all the attitudes of self-applause. Ambrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang, Like lightning, off from his "melodious twang."3 XCVI. lie said.-(I only give the heads)-he said, CIII. He meant no harm in scribbling;'t was his way Those grand heroics acted as a spell: tpot all topics;'twas, besides, his bread, The angels stopp'd their ears, and plied their pinions: Of which he butter'd both sides;'t would delay The -devils ran howling, deafen'd, down to hell; Too long theassembly (he was pleased to dread), The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own dominions And take up rather more'time than a day, (For't is not yet decided where they dwell, To name his works-he would but cite a few- And I leave every man to his opinions); Wat Tyler-rhymes on Blenheim-Waterloo. Michael took refuge in his trump-but lo! XCVII. His teeth were set on edge,-he could not blow tie had written praises of a regicide; He had written praises of all kings whatever; See "Life of. re White." Hie had written for republics, far and wide, 2 King Alfonzo, speaking of the Ptolomean system, sain. And then against them, bitterer than ever; that "had he been consulted at the creation of the world, he For^miusotjcrq a a, loud laugh, a child no older than our Wilhelmina (a on a visit to London, I married a middle-age, maid name I never heard but in the Vicar of Wakefield, of honour. We lived happily at Hornem lall till though her mother would call her after the Princess last season, when my wife and I were invited by the of Swappenbach),said, "Lord,Mr. Hornem,can'tyou (Countess of Waltzaway (a distant relationofmyspouse) see they are valtzing," or waltzing (I forget which); and to pass the winter in town. Thinking no harm, and then up she got, and her mother and sister, and away our girls being come to a marriageable (or as they call they went, and round-abouted it till supper-time. Now it, mnarketable) age, and having besides a chancery suit that I know what it is, I like it of all things, and so invoterately entailed upon the family estate, we came does Mrs. H. (though I have broken my shins, and four up in our old chariot, of which, by the by, my wife times overturned Mrs. Hornem's maid in practising the grew so much ashamed in less than a week, that I was preliminary steps in the morning). Indeed, so much do bligcd~ to buy a second-hand barouche, of which 1 I like it, that having a turn for rhyme, tastily displayed 3bliged to buy a second-hand barouche, of which I. In mnght mount the box, Mrs. H. says, if I could dlivein some election ballads, and songs in honour of all the but never see the inside-that place being reserved victories (but till lately I have had little practice in that for the fionourable Augustus Tiptoe, her partner- way), I sat down, and with the aid of W. F. Esq., and general and opera-knight. Hearing great praises of a few hints from Dr. B. (whose recitations I attend, and MIrs. H.'s dancing (she was famous for birth-night min-am monstrous fond of Master B.'s manner of delivering uets in the latter end of the last century), I unbooted,his father's late successful D. L. address), I composed and went to a ball at the Countess's, expecting to se the following hymn, wherewithal to make my sentia country dance, or, at most, dotillons, reels, and all ments known to the public, whom, nevertheless, the old paces to the newest tunes. But, judge of my heartily despise as well as the critics. surprise, on arriving, to see poor dear Mrs. Hornem with her arms half round the loins of a huge hussar- a Sirours etc t looking gentleman I never set eyes on before; and his, 1t say trutn, rather more than half round her waist,'urning rotind, and round, and rouna, o a d- d see- HORACPE HORNEM. WALTZ. 503 Borne on the breath of hyperborean gales, VW ALT Z. IFrom Hamburg's port (while Hamburg yet had mail*) Ere yet unlucky fame-cornpell'd to creep MUSF, of the many-twinkling feet!3 whose charms To snowy Gottenburg-was chil!'d to sleep; Are now extended up from legs-to arms; X, Are now extended up from legsto arms; Or, starting from her slumbers, deign'd arise, TERPSICHORE -too long misdeem'd a maid- Heligoland! to stock thy mart with lies; TERYSICHORE!-too longi misdeem'd a maid- W v X Reproachful term-bestow'd but to upbraid- While unbnt oscow yet ad news to send, Henceforth in all the Bronze of brightness shine, Nor owed her fiery exit to a friend, The least a vestal ofthe virgin Nine. She came-Waltz came-and with her certain sets The least a vestal of the vwrgin Nine. Far be from thee and thine the name of prude; Of true despatches, and as true gazettes; Mock'd, yet triumphant; sneer'd at, unsubdued; Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch, Thy legs must move to conquer as they fly, Which Moniteur nor Morning Post can match; Thy legs must move to conquer as they fly, If but thy coats are reasonably high; And-almost crush'd beneath the glorious news. - n.'................. Ten plays, and forty tales of Kotzebue's; Thy breast-if bare enough-requires no shield; Ten ays, and forty tales of oee's Dance forth-sans armour thou shalt take the field One envoy's letters, six composers airs, And own-imprenableto st assaults, And loads from Frankfort and fiom Leipsic fairs; And own-impregnable to most assaults, X Thy not too lawfully begotten " Waltz."er's four volmes upon omankind, Like Lapland witches to insure a wind; Hail, nimble nymph! to whom the young hussar, Brunck's heaviest tome for ballast, and to back it, The whisker'd votary of waltz and war- Of Heyne, such as should not sink the packet. Iis night devotes, despite of spur and boots, Fraught ith this cargo-and her fairest freight, n?... -. Delightful Waltz, on tiptoe for a mate, A sight unniatch'd since Orpheus and his brutes: Delightful Waltz, on tiptoe for a mate, Hail, spirit-stirring Waltz!-beneath whose banners The welcome vessel reachd the genial strand, A modern hero foujght for modish manners; And round her flock'd the daughters of the land. On Hounslow's heath to rival Wellesley's 4 fame, Not decent David, when, before the ark, Cock'd-fired —and miss'd his man-but gain'd his aim: His grand passeu excited some remark Hail, moving muse! to whom the fair one's breast Not love-lorn Quixote, when his Sancho thought Gives all it can, and bids us take the rest. The knight's fandango friskier than it ought; Oh! for the flow of Busby, or of Fitz, Not soft Herodias, when with winning tread The latter's lovaltv, the former's wits, Her nimble feet danced off another's head; To " energize the object I pursue," Cleopatra on her galley's deck, To 11 energize the o ject I pursue," Display'd so much of leg, or more of neck, And give both Belial and his dance their due!- Display'd so much of leg, or more of neck, Than thou, ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon Imperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune! (Famed for the growth of pedigrees and wie), To you-ye husbands of ten years! whose brows Long be thine import from all duty free, Ache with the annual tributes of a spouse; And hock itself be less esteem'd than thee; you of nine years lesswho only ear In some few qualities alike-for hock The budding sprouts of those that you shall wear, Improves our cellar-thou our living stock. With added ornaments around them roll'd, The head to hock belongs-thy subtler art Of native brass, orla-awarded gold; Intoxicates alone the heedless heart: To you, ye matrons, ever on the watch Through the full veins thy gentler poison swims, To nar a son's, or make adaughter's match! And wakes to wantonness the willing limbs. To you, y children ofhom chance accordsAlways the ladies, and sometimes their lords; Oh, Germany! how much to thee we owe, To you-ye single gentlemen; who seek As heaven-born Pitt can testify below; Torments for life, or pleasures for a week; Ere cursed confederation made thee France's, As Love or Hymen your endeavours guide, And only left us thy d-d debts and daices; To gain your own, or snatch another's bride; Of subsidies and Hanover bereft, To one and'all the lovely stranger came, We bless thee still-for George the Third is left! And every ball-room echoes with her name. Of kings the best-and last, not least in worth, For graciously begetting George the Fourth. Endearing Waltz-to thy more melting tune To Germany, and highnesses serene, Bow, Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon;Who owe us millions-don't we owe the queen? Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance, forego To Germany, what owe we not besides? Your future claims to each fantastic toe; So oft bestowing Brunswickers and brides; Waltz-Waltz alone-both legs and arms demands. Who paid for vulgar, with her royal blood, Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands; Drawn from the stem of each Teutonic stud: Hands which may freely range in public sight Who sent us-so be pardon'd all her faults- Where ne'er before-but-pray " put out the light. A dozen dukes-some kings-a queen-and Waltz. Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier Shines much too far-or I am much too near; But peace to her-her emperor and diet, And true, though strange-Waltz whispers this remas Though now transferr'd to Buonaparte's "fiat;" " My slippery steps are safest in the dark!" Back to my theme-O Muse of motion! say, But here the muse with due decorum talts, How first to Albion found thy Waltz her way? And lends her longest petticoat to Waltz. 504 BYRON'S WORKS. Observant travellers! of every time; The ball begins-the honours of the house Ye quartos! publish'd upon every clime; First duly done by daughter or by spouse, O say, shall dull Romaika's heavy round, Some potentate-or royal or sereneFandango's wriggle, or Bolero's bound; With K-t's gay grace, or sapient G-st-r's mien, Can Egypt's Almas 6 —tantalizing group- Leads forth the ready dame, whose rising flush Columbia's caperers to the warlike whoop- Might once have been mistaken for a blush. (Can aught from cold Kamtschatka to Cape Horn From where the garb just leaves the bosom free, With Waltz compare, or after Waltz be borne? That spot where hearts 2 were once supposed to be; Ah, no! from Morier's pages down to Galt's, Round all the confines of the yielded waist, Each tourist pens a paragraph for " Waltz." The strangest hand may wander undisplaced; The lady's in return may grasp as much Shades of those belles, whose reign began of yore, As princely paunches offer to her touch. WVith George the Third's-and ended long before- Pleased round the chalky floor how well they trip, Though in.your daughters' daughters yet you thrive, One hand reposing on the royal hip; Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive! The other to the shoulder no less royal Back to the ball-room speed your spectred host: Ascending with affection truly loyal: Fool's Paradise is dull to that you lost. Thus front to front the partners move or stand, No treacherous powder bids conjecture quake; The foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand; No stiff starch'd stays make meddling fingers ache; And all in turn may follow in their rank, (Transferr'd to those ambiguous things that ape The Earl of-Asterisk-and Lady-Blank; Goats in their visage,7 women in their shape) Sir-such a one-with those of fashion's host, No damsel faints when rather closely press'd, or whose blest surnames-vide " Morning Post;" But more caressing seems when most caress'd; (Or if for that impartial print too late, Superfluous hartshorn, and reviving salts, Search Doctors' Commons six months from my dataBoth banish'd by the sovereign cordial "Waltz." Thus all and each, in movement swift or slow, The genial contact gently undergo; Till some might marvel, with the modest Turk, Seductive Waltz!-though on thy native shore. If "nothing follows all this palming work?-"13 Even Werter's self proclaim'd thee half a whore; - True, honest Mirza-you may trust my rhymeWerter-to decent vice though much inclined, h s I ill,, 1- Something does follow at a fitter time; Yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind — The breast thus publicly resign'd to man, Though gentle Genlis, in her strife with Stael,, *.1, f n ~ i. it In private may resist him- if it can. Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball; Fhe fashion hAils-from countesses to queens, 0 ye who loved our grandmothers of yore, And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes; F-tz-t-k, Sh-r-d-n, and many more! Wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads, And thou, my prince, whose sovereign taste and will And turns-if nothing else-at least our heads; It is to love the lovely beldames still-; With thee even clumsy cits attempt to bounce Thou, ghost of Q -! whose judging sprite And cockneys practise what they can't pronounce. Satan may spare to peep a single night, Gods! how the glorious theme my strain exalts, Pronounce-if ever in your days of blissAnd rh me finds partner rhyme inpraise of " Waltz." Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this; To teach the young ideas how to rise, Blost was the time Waltz chose for her debut; Flush in the cheek and languish in the eyes; The court, the R —t, like herself, were new;8 Rush to the heart and lighten through the frame, New face for friends, for foes some new rewards, With half-told wish and ill-dissembled flame; New ornaments for black and royal guards; For prurient nature still will storm the'breastNew laws to hang the rogues that roar'd for bread; W- ho, tempted thus, can answer for the rest? New coins (most new") to follow those that fled; New victories-nor can we prize them less, But ye-who never felt a single thought Though Jenky wonders at his own success; For what our morals are to be, or ought; New wars, because the old succeed so well, Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap, That most survivors envy those who fell; Say-would you make those beauties quite so cheap? New mistresses-no-old-and yet'tis true, Hot from the hands promiscuously applied, Though they be old, the thing is something new; Round the slight waist; or down the glowing side, Each new, quite new-(except some ancient tricks 1'), Where were the rapture then to clasp the form, New white-sticks, gold-sticks, broom-sticks, all new From this lewd grasp, and lawless contact warm sticks! At once love's most endearing thought resign, With vests or ribands-deck'd alike in hue, To press the hand so press'd by none but thine; New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue: To gaze upon that eye which never met 6's saith the muse-my-", what say you? Another's ardent look without regret' itich was the time when Waltz might best maintain Approach the lip which all, without restraint, Her new preferments in this novel reign; Come near enough-if not to touch —to taint; Slich was the time, nor ever yet was such, If such thou lovest-love her then no more, Hloops are no more, and petticoats not much; Or give-like her-caresses to a score; Morals and minuets. virtue and her stays,, Her mind with these is gone, and with it go And tIell-tale powder-all have had their days. The little left behind it to bestow. WALTZ. 505 Voluptuous Waltz! and dare I thus blaspheme? don himself would have nothing to object to such liberal Thy bard forgot thy praises were his theme. bastards of our Lady of Babylon. TERPSICHORE forgive!-at every bal Note 5.Page 503,line7. My wife now waltzes-and my daughters shall; M~y son (or stop-'t is needless to inquire — The patriotic arson of our amiable allies cannot be These little accidents should ne'er transpire sufficiently commended-nor subscribed for. Amongst Some ages hence our genealogic tree other details omitted in the various despatches of out Will wear as green a bough for him as me), eloquent ambassador, he did not state (being too much Waltzing shall rear, to make our name amends, occupied with the exploits of Colonel C-, in swimGrandsons for me-in heirs to all his friends.ing rivers frozen, and gallopin overroads impassable), that one entire province perished by famine in the most melancholy manner, as follows:-In General TNOTESI. Rostopchin's consummate conflagration, the consumption of tallow and train oil was so great, that the market was inadequate to the demand: and thus one hundred Note 1. Page 502, line 4. and thirty-three thousand persons were starved to death, State of the poll (last day) 5. by being reduced to wholesome diet! The lamplighters Note 2, Page 502, line 6. of London have since subscribed a pint (of oil) a-piece, My Latin is all forgotten, if a man can be said to have and the tallow-chandlers have unanimously voted a forgotten what he never remembered; but I bought quantity of best moulds (four to the pound) to the remy title-page motto of a Catholic priest for a three lief of the surviving Scythians-the scarcity will soon, shilling bank token, after much haggling for the even by such exertions, and a proper attention to the quality sixpence. I grudged tne money to a Papist, being all rather than the quantity of provision, be totally allefor the memory of Perceval, and " No Popery;" and viated. It is said, in return, that the untouched Ukraine quite regretting the downfall of the Pope, because we has subscribed sixty thousand beeves for a day's meal can't burn him any more. to our suffering manufacturers. Note 3. Page 503, line 1. Note 6. Page 504, line 5. "Glance their many-twinklingfeet."-Gray. Dancing girls-who do for hire what Waltz doth Note 4. Page 503, line 21. gratis.. To rival Lord W.'s, or his nephew's, as the reader ote 7 Page 504, line 20. pleases:-the one gained a pretty woman, whom he It cannot be complained now, as in the Lady Bausdeserved, by fighting for; and the other has been fight- siere's time, of the " Sieur de la Croix," that there be ing in the Peninsula many a long day, " by Shrewsbury' no whiskers;" but how far these are indications of clock," without gaining any thing in that country but valour in the field, or elsewhere, may still be questionthe title of" the Great Lord," and " the Lord," which able. Much may be and hath been avouched on both savours of profanation, having been hitherto applied sides. In the olden time philosophers had whiskers only to that Being, to whom " Te Deums" for carnage and soldiers none-Scipio himself was shaven-Hanare the rankest blasphemy.-It is to be presumed the nibal thought his one eye handsome enough without general will one day return to his Sabine farm, there a beard; but Adrian, the Emperor, wore a beard " To tame the genius of the stbborn plain, (having warts on his chin, which neither the Empress Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain!" Sabina, nor even the courtiers, could abide)-Turenne The Lord Peterborough conquered continents in a had whiskers, Marlborough none-Buonaparte is unsummer; we do more-we contrive both to conquer whiskered,the R -whiskered; "argal" greatness of and lose them in a shorter season. If the " great Lord's" mind and whiskers may or may not go together: but Cincinnatian progress in agriculture be no speedier certainly the different occurrences, since the growth of than the proportional average of time in Pope's couplet, the last-mentioned, go further in behalf of whiskers it will, according to the farmer's proverb, be "plough- than the anathema of Anselm did against long hair in ing with dogs." the reign of Henry I. By the by-one of this illustrious person's new titles Formerly, red was a favourite colour. See Lodowick is forgotten-it is, however, worth remnembering-" Sal- Barrey's comedy of ltam Alley, 1661, act I. scene 1. vador del mundo!" credite, posteri! If this be the "Taffeta. Now,for a wager-What colour'd beard appellation annexed by the inhabitants of the Peninsula comes next by the window? to the name of a man who has not yet saved them- "Adriana. A black man's, I think. query-are they worth saving even in this world? for, " Tafeta. I think not so: I think a red, tor that s according to the mildest modifications of any Christian most in fashion." creed, those three words make the odds much against There is "othing new under the sun;" but red, them in the next.-" Saviour of the world," quotha!- then a favourite, has now subsided into a favourites it were to be wished that he, or any one else, could save colour. a corner of it-his country. Yet this stupid misnomer, Note 8. Page 504, line 40. although it shows the near connexion between super- An anachronism-Waltz, and the battle of Austeritz stition and impiety, so far has its use, that it proves are before said to have opened the ball together: the there can be little to dread from those Catholics (in- bard means (if he means any thing) Waltz was not so quisitorial Catholics too) who can confer such an ap- much in vogue till the R-t attained the acme of pellation on a Protestant., I suppose next year he will his popularity. Waltz, the comet, whiskers, and ttlh be entitled the "Virgin Mary:" if so, Lord George Gor- new government, illuminated heaven and earth,, it 2y2 69 506 BYRON'S WORKS. their glory, much about the same time; of these the service (being already in the R-t's): it would not be crnet only has disappeared; the other three continue fair to back any peculiar initial against the alphabet, to astonish us still.-PRINTER'S DSVIL. as every month will add to the list now entered for the sweepstakes-a distinguished consonant is said to be Note 9. Page 504, line 44. the favourite, much against the wishes of the knowing Amongst others a new ninepence-a creditable coin ones. now forthcoming, worth a pound, in paper, at the fairest Note 12. Page 504, line 74. calculation. "We have changed all that," says the Mock Doctor, Note 10. Page 504, line 51. "'t is all gone-Asmodeus knowe where. After all, it h ts o m " W is of no great importance how women's hearts are dis" Oh that rightshould thus overcome might!" Who.. idoes not r hemember the delicate mnvesigaton" in the posed of; they have nature's privilege to distribute them does not remember the "delicate mvestigation" in the i But there are also some men "M lerry Wives of Windsor?" ras absurdly as possible. But there are also some men " Merry Wives of Windsor?"., J Fod. Pray you come ner: if I suspect with hearts so thoroughly bad, as to remind us of those cause, why then make sport at me; then let ie bephenomena often mentioned in natural history; viz. a e wy t m s a m t l m b mass of solid stone-only to be opened by force-and your jest; I deserve it. How now? whither bear you.. our jest; I deserve it. How nwhen divided, you discover a toad in the centre, lively, this? i~tflllS:~~~~~~ r iri - i and with the reputation of being venomous." " Mrs. Ford. What have you to do whither they bear a?-you were best meddle with buck-washing." Note 3. Page, line 9. In Turkey, a pertinent-here, an impertinent and Note 11. Page 504, line 56. superfluous question-literally put, as in the text, by The gentle, or ferocious reader, may fill up the blank a Persian to Morier, on seeing a waltz in Pera.-P lde as he pleases-there are several dissyllabic names at his Morier's Travels. mite anrment of Z#o ADVERTISEMENT. And tasteless food, which I have eat alone Till its unsocial bitterness is gone; And I can banquet like a beast of prey, AT Ferrara (in the library) are preserved the original Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave MSS. ofTasso's Gierusalemme and of Guarini's Pastor Which is my lair, and-it may be-my grave. Fido, with letters of Tasso, one from Titian to Ariosto; All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear, and the inkstand'and chair, the tomb and the house of But must be borne. I stoop not to despair; the latter. But as misfortune has a greater interest for For I have battled with mine agony, posterity, and little or none for the contemporary, the cell And made me wings wherewith to overfly where Tasso was confined in the hospital of St. Anna The narrow circus of my dungeon wall, attracts a more fixed attention than the residence or the And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall; monument of Ariosto-at least it had this effect cn me.And revel'd among men and things divine, There are two inscriptions, one on the outer gate, the And pour'd my spirit over Palestine, second over the cell itself, inviting, unnecessarily, the In henour of the sacred war for him,, wonder and the indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is The God who was on earth and is in heaven, much decayed and depopulated; the castle still exists en- For he hath strengthen'd me in heart and limb. tire; and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were That through this sufferance I might be forgiven, beheaded, according to the annal of Gibbon. I have employ'd my penance to record How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored. T'IHE LAMENT OF TASSO. But this is o'er-my pleasant task is done: I. My long-sustaining friend of many years!.sING years!-It tries the thrilling frame to bear If 1 do blot thy final page with tears, And eagle-spirit of a child of song- Know that my sorrows have wrung from me none. long years of outrage, calumny and wrong; But thou, my young creation! my soul's child! Imputed madness, prison'd solitude, Which ever playing round me came and smiled, And the mind's canker in its savage mood, And woo'd me from myself with thy sweet sight, When the impatient thirst of light and air Thou too art gone-and so is my delight: Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate, And therefore do I weep and inly bleed Mlarring the sunbeams with its hideous shade, With this last bruise upon a broken reed. Works through the throbbing eye-ball to the brain Thou too art ended-what is left me now? With a hot sense of heaviness and pain; For I have anguish yet to bear-and how? And bare, at once, captivity display'd I know not that-but in the innate force Stanas scoffing tnrougn the never-open'd gate, Of my own spirit shall be found resource. tWhrih nothing through its bars admits, save day I have not sunk, for I had no remorse, THE LAMENT OF TASSO. 507 Nor cause for such: they call'd me mad-and why? Thy brother hates-but I can not detest, Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply? Thou pitiest not-but I can not forsake. I was indeed delirious in my heart To lift my love so lofty as thou art; V. But still my frenzy was not of the mind; Look on a love which knows not to despair, I knew my fault, and feel my punishment But all unquench'd is still my better part, Not less because I suffer it unbent. Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind, As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud, Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind; Enconlpass'd with its dark and rolling shroud, But let them go, or torture as they will, Till struck,-forth flies the all-ethereal dart! My heart can multiply thine image still; And thus at the collision of thy name Successful love may sate itself away, The vivid thought still flashes through my frame, The wretched are the faithful;'t is their fate And for a moment all things as they were To have all feeling save the one decay, Flit by me; —they are gone-I am the same. And every passion into one dilate, And yet my love without ambition grew; As rapid rivers into ocean pour; I knew thy state, my station, and I knew But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore. A princess was no love-mate for a bard; I told it not, I breathed it not, it was ^" ~~III. ~ Sufficient to itself, its own reward; Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry And if my eyes reveal'd it, they, alas! Of minds and bodies in captivity. Were punish'd by the silentness of thine, And hark! the lash and the increasing howl, And yet I did not venture to repine. And the half-inarticulate blasphemy! Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine, There be some here with worse than frenzy foul, Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around Some who do still goad on the o'er-labour'd mind, Hallow'd and meekly kiss'd the saintly ground, And dim the little light that's left behind Not for thou wert a princess, but that love With needless torture, as their tyrant will Had robed thee with a glory, and array'd Is wound up to the lust of doing ill: Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay'dWith these and with their victims am I class'd, Oh! not dismay'd-but awed, like One above,'Mid sounds and sights like theselong years have pass'd; And in that sweet severity there was'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close: A something which all softness did surpassSo let it be-for then I shall repose. I know not how-thy genius master'd mineMy star stood still before thee:-if it were IV. Presumptuous thus to love without design, I have been patient, let me be so yet; That sad fatality hath cost me dear; I had forgotten half I would forget, But thou art dearest still, and I should be But it revives-oh! would it were my lot Fit for this cell, which wrongs me, but for thee. To be forgetful as I am forgot!- The very love which lock'd me to my chain Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell Hath lighten'd half its weight; and for the rest, In this vast lazar-house of many woes? Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain, Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind, And look to thee with undivided breast, Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind; And foil the ingenuity of pain. Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows, And each is tortured in his separate hell- V For we are crowded in our solitudes- It is no marvel-from my very birtn Many, but each divided by the wall, My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods;- And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth; While all can hear, none heed' his neighbour's call- Of objects all inanimate I made None! save that One, the veriest wretch of all, Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, Who was not made to be the mate of these, And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise, Nor bound between distraction and disease. Where I did lay me down within the shade Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here? Of waving trees, and drearn'd uncounted hours, Who have debased me in the minds of men, Though I was chid for wandering; and the wise Debarring me the -usage of my own, Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said Blighting my life in best of its career, Of such materials wretched men were made, Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear? And such a truant boy would end in woe, Would I not pay them back these pangs again, And that the only lesson was a blow; And teach them inward sorrow's stifled groan? And then they smote me, and I did not wee, The struggle to be calm, and cold distress, But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt Which undermines our stoical success? Return'd and wept alone, and dream'd again No!-still too proud to be vindictive-I The visions which arise without a sleep. Have pardon'd princes' insults, and would die. And with my years my soul began to pant Yes, sister of my sovereign i for thy sake With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain, I weed all bitterness from out my breast, And the whole heart exhaled into one want, It hath no business where thou art a guest; But undefined, and wandering, till the dav 508 BYRON'S WORKS. I found the thing I sought-and that was thee; IX. And then I lost my being all to be I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er;Absorb'd in thine-the world was past away- My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd Thou didst annihilate the earth to me! My brain against these bars as the sun flash'd VII. In mockery through them;-if I bear and bore *Til.~ i i*'The much I have recounted, and the more I loved all solitude-but little thought I oedalsoiue-ultltogt Which hath no words,'t is that I would not die To spend I know not what of life, remote To spend I know not what of life, remote And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie From all communion with existence, save The maniac and his tyrant; had I been Their fellow, many years ere this had seen S m And woo compassion to a blighted name, My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave; to a blighted name, But who hath-seen me writhe, or heard me rave Scalig the sentence which my foes proclaim. No-it shall be immortal!-and I make Perchance in such a cell we suffer more Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore; A future temple of my present cell, The world is all before him-mine is here, Which nations yet shall vsit for my sake. Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier. While thou, Ferrara! when no longer dwell What though he perish, he may lift his eye The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down, What though he perish, he may lift his eye And with a dying glance upbraid the sky-And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthless halls, And with a dying glance upbraid the skyI will not raise my own in such reproof, A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown, I will not raise my own in such reproof, Although't is clouded by my dungeon roof. A poet's dungeon thy most far renown, While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls! VIII. And thou, Leonora! thou-who wert ashamed Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, That such as I could love —who blush'd to hear But with a sense of its decay:-I see To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear, Unwonted lights along my prison shine, Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed And a strange demon, who is vexing me By grief, years, weariness-and it may be With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below A taint of that he would impute to me, The feeling of the healthful and the free; From long infection of a den like this, But much to one, who long hath suffer'd so, Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss, — Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, Adores thee still;-and add-that when the towers And all that may be borne, or can debase. And battlements which guard his joyous hours I thought mine enemies had been but man, Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot, But spirits may be leagued with them-all earth Or left untended in a dull repose, Abandons-Heaven forgets me;-in the dearth This-this shall be a consecrated spot! Of such defence the powers of evil can, But thou-when all that birth and beauty throws It may be, tempt me further, and prevail Of magic round thee is extinct-shalt have Against the outworn creature they assail. One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved No power in death can tear our names apart, Like steel in tempering fire? because I loved! As none in life could rend thee from my heart. Because I loved what not to love, and see, Yes, Leonora! it shall be ourtfate Was more or less than mortal, and than me. To be entwined for ever-but too late! ADVERTISEMENT. And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light THE subsequent poems were written at the request Which heaven to gaudy day denies. of my friend, the Hon. D. Kinnaird, for a selection of One shade the more, one ray the less, Hebrew Melodies, and have been pubhshed, with the Had half impair'd the nameless grace music, arranged by Mr. BRAHAM and Mr. NATHAN. Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express.f^-R-ir- / THnT. Q ~ How pdre, how dear their dwelling-place. RHEBREVW MVELODIES. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, SHE WVALRKS IN BEAUTY. But tell of days in goodness spent, SHY walks in beauty, like the night A mind at peace with all below, O)r loudless climes and starry skies; A heart whose love is innocent' HEBREW MELODIES. 509 THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL But we must wander witheringly, SWEPT. In other lands to die; And where our fathers' ashes be, THE harp the monarch minstrel swept,ur fathers' ashes be, The king of men, the loved of Heaven, Our own may never le: Which Music hallow'd while she wept Our temple hath not left a stone, O'er tones her heart of hearts had given. Mockery sits onSale throne. Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven I It soften'd men of iron mould, It gave them virtues not their own; OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. No ear so dull, no soul so cold, OH! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, That felt not, fired not to the tone, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne! Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell: It told the triumphs of our king, It told the triumphs of our king, Mourn-where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell' It wafted our glory to our God; And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? It made our gladden'd valleys ring, And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? The cedars bow, the mountains nod; And Judah's melody once more rejoice Its sound aspired to heaven, and there abode! The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice? Since then, though heard on earth no more, Devotion and her daughter Love Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, Still bid the bursting spirit soar How shall ye flee away and be at rest? To sounds that seem as from above, The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, In dreams that day's broad light can not remove. Mankind their country-Israel but the grave! IF THAT HIGH WORLD. ON JORDAN'S BANKS. IF that high world, which lies beyond ON Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray, Our own, surviving love endears; On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, If there the cherish'd heart be fond, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steepThe eye the same, except in tears- Yet there-even there-Oh God! thy thunders steep. How welcome those untrodden spheres! There-where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone How sweet this very hour to die! TThere-where thy shadow to thy people shone! To soar from earth, and find all fears Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: Lost in thy light-Eternity! Thyself-none living see and not expire! It must be so:'t is not for self That we so t remble on the brink; Oh! in the lightning let thy glance, appear! That we so tremble on the brink; D' V * * P Tha.dt westo tremble on the brink; Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's sIpear i And striving to o'erleap the gulf, And striving to o'serleap the gulf, How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod? Yet cling to being's severing link. YOht in tht futureb et us sthing k How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God? Oh! in that future let us think To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink, And soul in soul grow deathless theirs! JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. SINCE our country, our God-Oh! my sire Demand that thy daughter expire; THE WILD GAZELLE. Since thy triumph was bought by thy vowTHE wild gazelle on Judah's hills Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now t Exulting yet may bound, And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And drink from all the living rills And the mountains behold me no more; That gush on holy ground; If the hand that I love lay me low, Its airy step and glorious eye There cannot be pain in the blow! May glance in tameless transport by:And of this, oh, my father! be sureA step as fleet, an eye more bright, A step as fleet, an eye more brights That the blood of thy child is as pure Hath Judah witness'd there; As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And o'er her scenes of lost delight A t b I b er i fo And o'er her scenes of lost delight And the last thought that soothes me below Inhabitants more fair. The cedars wave on Lebanon, Though the virgins of Salem lament, But Judah's statelier mnids are gope! Be the judge and the hero unbent! I have won the great battle for thee, More blest each palm that shades those plains And my father and country are free! Than Israel's scatter'd race; For, taking root, it there remains When this blood of thy giving hath gush'al In solitary grace: When the voice that thou lovest is hush'a, It cannot quit its place of birth, Let my memory still be thy pride, It will not live in other earth. And forget not I smiled as I diedf. 5tO BYRON'S WORKS. OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S The triumphs of her chosen son, BLOOM. The slaughters of his sword! OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, the fields he won, The freedom he restored! On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Though thou art fall'n, while we are free Their leaves, the earliest of the year; Thou shalt not taste of death And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom The generous blood that fowd from thee Disdain'd to sink beneath: And oft by yon blue gushing stream Disdaind to sink beneath: Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, Within our veins its currents be, And feed deep thought with many a dream, Thy spirit on our breath: And lingering pause and lightly tread: Thy name, our charging hosts along Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! hy n ae, or charg hots alo, Shall be the battle-word! Away! we know that tears are vain, Thy fall, the theme of choral song That death nor heeds nor hears distress: From virgin voices pour'd! Will this unteach us to complain? To weep would do thy glory wrong; Or make one mourner weep the less? Thou shalt not be deplored. And thou-who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. MY SOUL IS DARK. WARRIORS and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword M soul is dark.-Oh! quickly string Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, The harp I yet can brook to hear; Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path: The harp I yet can brook to hear; A~nd let thy gentle fingers fling Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath! And let thy gentle fingers fling y Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, If in this heart a hope be dear, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, That sound shall charm it forth again; Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet! fr in these eyes there lurk a tear, Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.'T will flow, and cease to burn my brain: Farewell to others, but never we part, But bid the strain be wild and deep, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart Nor letthy notes of joy be first: Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep, < Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day! Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst, And ached in sleepless silence long; SAUL. And now't is doom'd to know the worst, c, THOU whose spell can raise the dead, And break at once-or yield to song. Bid the prophets form apear. Bid the prophet's form appear. " Samuel, raise thy buried head! King, behold the phantom seer!" I SAW THEE WEEP.? I SAW thee weep-the big briht tear Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud: I swL thee w e bight changed its hue, retiring from his shroud: Came o'er that eye of blue; Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye; 4nd then methought it did appear And then ethought it did appear His hand was wither'd and his veins were dry; A violeth dropping dew;-h ^' bHis foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze \ saw thee smie-ted saphire' bz Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare: Beside thee ceased to shine, From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, It could not match the livingd rays t ld tat te i Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came. That fill'd that glance of thine. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, As clouds from yonder sun receive At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. A deep and mellow die, ( "Why is my sleep disquieted? Which scarce the shade of coming eve Who is he hat calls the dead? Can banish from the sky, Can banish from the sky, Is it thou, oh king? Behold, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Bloodless are these limbs, and cold Bloodless are these limbs, and cold: Their own pure joy impart; Their owrn pure joy impart; Such are mine; atl such shall be Their sunshine leaves a glow behind Thine, to-morrow, when with me: That lightens o'er the heart. Ere the coming day is done, Such shalt thou be, such thy son. Fare thee well, but for a day;'HY DAYS ARE DCNE. Then we mix our mouldering clay. THY days are done, thy fame begun; Thou, thy race, lie pale and low, Th l ceuntry's strains record I lerced by shafts of many a bow: HEBREW MELODIES. 511 And the falchion by thy side An age shall fleet like earthly year; To thy heart, thy hand shall guide: Its years as moments shall endure. Crownless, breathless, headless fall, Away, away, without a wing, Son and sire, the house of Saul!" O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die. " ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER." FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine, X ISION OF BELSHAZZAR. And health and youth possess'd me; THE king was on his throne, My goblets blush'd from every vine, The satraps throng'd the hail; And lovely forms caress'd me; A thousand bright lamps shone I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes, O'er that high festival. And felt my soul grow tender; A thousand cups of gold, All earth can give, or mortal prize, In Judah deem'd divineWa's mine of regal splendour. Jehovah's vessels hold The godless heathen's wine! I strive to number o'er what days Remembrance can discover, In that same hour and hall, Which all that life or earth displays The fingers of a hand Would lure me to live over. Came forth against the wall, There rose no day, there roll'd no hour And wrote as if on sand: Of pleasure unembitter'd; The fingers of a man;And not a trapping deck'd my power A solitary hand That gall'd not while it glitter'd. Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wana. The serpent of the field, by art And spells, is won from harming; The monarch saw, and shook, But that which coils around the heart, And bade no more rejoice; Oh! who hath power of charming? All bloodless wax'd his look, It will not list to wisdom's lore, And tremulous his voice. Nor music's voice can lure it; "Let the men of lore appeal, But there it stings for evermore The wisest of the earth, The soul that must endure it. And expound the words of fear, Which mar our royal mirth." WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFER- Chaldea's seers are good, TING CLAY. But here they have no skill: And the unknown letters stood, WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, Untold and awful still. Ah, whither strays the immortal mind? And Babel's men of age It cannot die, it cannot stay, Are wise and deep in lore; But leaves its darken'd dust behind. But new they. were not sage, Then, unembodied, doth it trace They saw-but knew no more By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space, A captive in the land, A thing of eyes, that all survey? A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command, Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, He saw that writing's truth. A thought unseen, but seeing all, The lamps around were bright, All, all in earth, or skies display'd, The prophecy in view; Shall it survey, shall it recall: Ho read it on that night,Each fainter trace that memory holds, The morrow proved it true So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, " Belshazzar's grave is made, And all, that was, at once appears. His kingdom pass'd away, He in the balance weigh'd, Before creation peopled earth, Is light and worthless clay. Its eye shall roll through chaos back; The shroud, his robe of state, And where the furthest heaven had birth, His canopy, the stone; The spirit trace its rising track. The Mede is at his gate' And where the future mars or makes, The Persian on his throne!" Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quench'd or system breaks, Fix'd in its own eternity. SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS Above or love, hope, hate, or fear, SUN of the sleepless! melancholy star It lives all passicnless and pure: Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far 512 BYRON'S WORKS. That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel, On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed flow like art thou to joy remember'd well! Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed; So gleams the past, the light of other days, While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays; Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shnne, A night-beam sorrow watcheth to behold, A night-beam sorrow watchet~h to behold, And now on that mountain I stood on that day, Distinct, but distant-clear-but, oh how cold! But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away; Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead, And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head! WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane DEEM'ST IT TO BE. The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign; WERE my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be, And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people may be, I need not have wander'd from far Galilee; Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee. It was but abjuring my creed to efface The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race. If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee! BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free! DOWN AND WEPT. If the exile on earth is an outcast on high, sat down and wept by the waters Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die. Of abel, and thought of the day I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow, When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know; Made Salem's high places his prey; In his hand is my heart and my hope-and in thine And ye, oh her desolate daughters! The land and the life which for him I resign. Were scatter'd all weeping away. While sadly we gazed on the river Which roll'd on in freedom below, HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. They demanded the song; but, oh never OH, Mariamne! now for thee That triumph the stranger shall know! The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; May this right hand be witherd for ever, Revenge is lost in lagony, Ere it string our high harp for the foe! Revenge is lost in agony,,. And wild remorse to rage succeeding. On the willow that harp is suspended,Oh, Mariamne! where art thou? Oh Salem! its sound should be free; Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading: And the hour when thy glories were ended, Ah, couldst thou-thou wouldst pardon now, But left me that token of thee: Though Heave.n were to my prayer unheeding. And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended And is she dead?-and did they dare With the voice of the spoiler by me! Obey my frenzy's jealous raving? My wrath but doom'd my own despair: The sword that smote her's o'er me waving.- THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. But thou art cold, my murder'd love! THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And this dark heart is vainly craving And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; For her who soars alone above, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, And leaves my soul unworthy saving. When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. She's gone, who shared my diadem! Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, She sunk, with her my joys entombing; That host with their banners at sunset were seen: I swept that flower from Judah's stem Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, Whose leaves for me alone were blooming. That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell, And mine's the guilto and mine the hell, For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, This bosom's desolation dooming; This bosom's desolation dooming And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And I have earn'd those tortures well, And, I., have eX tX tAnd the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, Which unconsumed are still consuming! And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride: ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, JERUSALEM BY TITUS. And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome And there lay the rider distorted and'pale, I beheld thee, oh Sion! when render'd to Rome: With the dew on his brow-and the rust on his mail IT was thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, Plash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And to'got for a moment my bondage to come; And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Ari the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain. Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord I MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 51:3 FROM JOB. Is man more just than God? Is man more pure A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld Than he who deems even seraphs insecure? The face of immortality unveil'd- Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine- The moth survives you, and are ye more just? And there it stood,-all formless-but divine: Things of a day! you wither ere the night, Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake; Heedless and blind to wisdom's wasted light!" And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake: ODE The triumph and the vanity, The rapture of the strife-' TO The earthquake shout of Victory, To thee the breath of life; NZT'A LPO BLEONK ] BUOT'3NAPARTE'. The sword, the sceptre, and that sway Which man seem'd made but to obey,, Wherewith renown was rife"Expende Annibalem:-quot libras in duce summo All quell'd!-Dark spirit what must be Invenies 1" JUV;NAL, Sat. X. The madness of thy memory I The desolator desolate! "The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, The victor overthrown by the Italians, and by the provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues and military talents were loudly celebrated; and those The arbiter of others' fate who derived any private benefit from his government an- A suppliant for his own! nounced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity. Is it some yet imperial hope e S' That with such change can calmly cope?By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few Or dread of death alone? years, in a very ambiguous state, between an emperor and To die a prince-or live a slavean exile, till- 1 Thy choice is most ignobly brave! GIBBON'S Decline and Fall, vol. vi. p. 220. He who of old would rend the oak Dream'd not of the rebound; ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. Chain'd by the trunk he vainly broke,Alone-how look'd he round?XT is done-but yesterday a king! And armd with kings to strive- Thou, in the sternness of thy strength, And arm'd with kings to striveAnd now thou art a nameless thing, An equal deed hast done at length, And now thou art a nameless thing, And darker fate hast found: So abject —yet alive'! So abject-yet alive'! He fell, the forest-prowlers' prey; Is this the man of thousand thrones, the forestprowler prey; Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones? But thou must eat thy heart away! And can he thus survive? The Roman,3 when his burning heart Since he, miscall'd the morning star, Was slaked with blood of Rome, Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far. Threw down the dagger-dared departs Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind, In savage grandeur, home Who bow'd so low the knee? He dared depart, in utter scorn By gazing on thyself grown blind, Of men that such a yoke had borne, By gazing on thyself grown blind, Yet left him such a doom! Thou taught'st the rest to see. With might unquestion'd,-power to save- His only glory was thathour Of self-upheld abandon'd power. Thine only gift hath been the grave self-upheldabandond power. To thosethat worshipp'd thee; The Spaniard,4 when the lust of sway Nor, till thy fall, could mortals guess Had lost its quickening spell, Ambition's less than littleness! Cast crowns for rosaries away, An empire for a cell; Thanks for that lesson-it will teach An e for a c A strict accountant of his beads, To after-warriors more ~~To after-warriors more -A subtle disputant on creeds, Than high philosophy can preach, His dotage tried well: And vainly preach'd before. That spell upon the minds of men That sell upon the nds of men 1 Certaminis gaudia, the expression of Attila, im b ab Breaks never to unite again, rangue to his army, previous to the battle of Chalona pveY That led them to adore in Cassiodorus. Those paged things of sabre-sway, 2 Milo. 3 Sylla. With fronts of brass, and feet of clay. 4 Charles V 2W 7C 514 BYRON'S WORKS. Yet better had he never known Unless, like he of Babylon, A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne. All sense is with thy sceptre gone, Life will not long confine But thou-from thy reluctant hand Life will not long confine That spirit pour'd so widely forthThe thunderbolt is wrung — So long obey'd-so little worth! Too late thou leavest the high command S l o To which thy weakness clung; Or like the thief of fire from heaven, All evil spirit as thou art, Wilt thou withstand the shock? It Is enough to grieve the heart, And share with him, the unforgiven, To see thine own unstrung; His vulture and his rock? To think that God's fair world hath been Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, The footstool of a thing so mean; And that last act, though not thy worst, The very fiend's arch mock; And earth hath spilt her blood for him, in his fall preserved his prde, Who thus can hoard his own! Who thus can hoard his own!.And, if a mortal, had as proudly died! And monarchs bow'd the trembling limb, And thank'd him for a throne! Fair freedom! we may hold thee dear, MONODY When thus thy mightiest foes their fear ON THE In humblest guise have shown. DEATH OF THE RIGIT HON. R. B. SxihRIDAN Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind A brighter name to lure mankind SPOKEN AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE. WHEN the last sunshine of expiring day Thine evil deeds are writ in gore, In summer's twilight weeps itself away..Nor written thus in vain- Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Thy triumphs tell of fame no more, Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower? Or deepen every stain. With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes If thou hadst died as honour dies, While Nature makes that melancholy pause, Some new Napoleon might arise, Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time To shame the work,.gain — To shame the worl gain- Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime, ut who would soar the solar height, Wh'o hath not shared that calm so still and deep, To set in such a starless night' The voiceless thought which would not speak but weep Weigh'din the balance, hero dust A holy concord-and a bright regret, Is vile as vulgar clay; A glorious sympathy with suns that set? Thy scales, mortality! are just'T is not harsh sorrow-but a tenderer woe, To all that pass away; Nameless, but.dear to gentle hearts below, But yet, methought, the living great Felt without bitterness-but full and clear, Some higher sparks should animate A sweet dejection-a transparent tear, To dazzle and dismay; Unmix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain, Nor deem'd contempt could thus make mirth Shed without shame-and secret without pain. Of these, the conquerors of the earth. Even as the tenderness that hour instils And she, proud Austria's mournful flower, When summer's day declines along the hills, Thy still imperial bride; So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes How bears her breast the torturing hour? When all of genius which can perish dies. Still clings she to thy side? A mighty spirit is eclipsed-a power Must she too bend, must she too share Hath pass'd from day to darkness-to whose hour Thy late repentance, long despair, Of light no likeness is bequeath'd-no name, Thou throneless homicide? Focus at once of all the rays of fame! If still she loves thee, hoard that gem, The flash of wit-the bright intelligence,'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem! The beam of song-the blaze of eloquence, Set with their sun-but still have left behind Then haste thee to thy sullen isle, The enduring produce of immortal Mind; And gaze upon the sea; Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon, That element may meet thy smile, A deathless part of him who died too soon. It ne'er was ruled by thee! But small that portion of the wondrous whole, Or trace with thme all idle hand, These sparkling segments of that circling soul, In loitering mood, upon the sand, Which all embraced-and lighten'd over all, That earth is now as free! To cheer-to pierce-to please-or to appal. that Corinth's pedagogue hath now From the charm'd council to the festive board Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow. Of human feelings the unbounded lord; Thou Timor! in his captive's cage' ^In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied. What thoughts will there be thine, The praised, the proud, who inade his praise thei- pride. wVhile brooding in thy prison'd rage? 1 Promeheus. BuL one-" The world was mine:" 2 "The fiend's arch mock-.- -. To lip a wanton, and suppose her chaste." Thp oago of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane. Shakspfar MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 515 Wnen the loud cry of trampled Hindostan Ye orators! whom yet our council yield, Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man, Mourn for the veteran hero of your field! tis was the thunder-his the avenging rod, The worthy rival of the wondrous Three! rhe wrath-the delegated voice of God! Whose words were sparks of immortality! Which shook the nations through hi's lips-and blazed Ye bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear Till vanquish'd senates trembled as they praised. He was your master-emulate him here! And here, oh! here, where, yet all young and warm, Ye men of wit and social eloquence! The gay creations of his spirit charm, He was your brother-bear his ashes hence! The matchless dialogue-the deathless wit, While powers of mind almost of boundless range, Which knew not what it was to intermit; Which knew not what it was to intermit; Complete in kind-as various in their change, While eloquence-wit-poesy-and mirth, The glowing portraits, fresh from life that bring While eloquence-wit-poesy-and mirth, Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring; That humblerharmonist of care on earth These wondrous beings of his fancy, wrought rie witm or souls-while livesour sense Of pride in merit's proud pre-emit.ence, To fulness by the fiat of his thought, we seek his likeness-long in vain, Here in their first abode you still may meet, likeness-long in vain, Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat; And turn to all of him which may remain, A halo of the light of other days, - Sighing that Nature form'd but one such man, Which still the splendour of its orb betrays. Andbrokethedie- mouldingSheridan But should there be to whom the fatal blight Of failing wisdom yields a base delight, Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone THE IRISH AVATAR. Jar in the music which was born their own, ERE the Daughter of Brunswick is cold in her giave, Still let them pause-Ah! little do they know And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide, That what to them seem'd vise might be but woe. Lo GEORGE the triumphant speeds over the wave, Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze To the long-cherish'd Isle which he loved like his — Is fix'd for ever to detract or praise; bride. Repose denies her requiem to his name, And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. True, the great of her bright and brief era are gone, The secret enemy, whose sleepless eye The rainbow-like epoch where Freedom could pause Stands sentine) accuser-judge-and spy, For the few little years, out of centuries won, The foe-the fool-the jealous-and the vain, Which betray'd not, or crush'd not, or wept not he, The envious who but breathe in others' pain- cause. Behold the host! delighting to deprave, True, the chains of the Catholic clank o'er his rags, Who track the steps of glory to the grave, The castle still stands, and the senate's no more, Watch every fault that daring genius owes And the famine, which dwelt on her freedomless crags Half to the ardour which its birth bestows, Is extending its steps to her desolate shore. Distort the truth, accumulate the lie, And pile the tpyramid of calumny t To her desolate shore-where the emigriant stands And pile the pyramid of calumny! For a moment to gaze ere he flies from his hearth: These are his portion-but if join'd to these Tsaret hisv portishonutd ifu h d se, Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hands, Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease, For the dungeonhe quits is the place of his birth. If the high spirit must forget to soar, And stoop to strive with misery at the door, But he comes! the Messiah of royalty comes! To soothe indignity-and face to face Like a goodly Leviathan roll'd from the waves! Meet sordid rage-and wrestle with disgrace, Then receive him as best such an advent becomes, To find in hope but the renew'd caress, With a legion of cooks, and an army of slaves! The serpent-fold of further faithlessness,- three-scor He comes in the promise and bloom of three-score, If such may be the ills which men assail, If such may be the ills which men assail, To perform in the pageant the sovereign's partWhat marvel if at last the mightiest fail? Butlong live the Shamrock which shadows him o'er! Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling given B l l the S w h eer, ZB~reasts to who~m all the strength of feeling given Could the Green in his hat be transferr'd to his heart I Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from heaven, Black with the rude collision, inly torn, Could that long-wither'd spot but be verdant again, By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, And a new spring of noble affections ariseDriven o'er the louring atmosphere that nurst Then might Freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain, Thoughts which have turn'd to thunder-scorch-and And this shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies. burst. Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee now? But far from us and from our mimic scene Were he God-as he is but the commonest clay, Such things should be-if such have ever been; With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his browOurs be the gentler wish, the kinder task, Such servile devotion might shame him away. To give the tribute Glory need not ask, To mourn the vanish'd beam-and add our mite Ay, roar in his train! let thine orators lash Of praise in payment of a long delight. Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pridt — Not thus did thy GRATTAN indignantly flasn 1 See Fox, Burke, and Pitt's eulogy on Mr. Sheridan's speech His soul o'er the freedom implored and denied on the charges exhibited against Mr. lHastings in the House of Commons. Mr. Pitt entreated the House to adjourn, to give ______ time for a calmer consideration of the question than could hen occur after the immediate effect of that oration. tFox, Pitt, Burke 516 BYRON'S WORKS. Ever glorious GRATTAN! the best of the good! Till now, when the Isle which should blush for his births So simple in heart, so sublime in the rest! Deep, deep as the gore which he shed on her soil, With all which Demosthenes wanted, endued, Seems proud of the reptile which crawl'd from her earth, And his rival or victor in all he possess'd. And for murder repays him with shouts and a smile 1 Ere TULLY arose in the zenith of Rome, Without one single ray of her genius, without Though unequall'd, preceded, the task was begun- The fancy, the manhood, the fire of ner raceBut GRATTAN sprung up like a god from the tomb The miscreant who well mignt p.unge ERIN in doubt Of ages, the first, last, the saviour, the One! If she ever gave Dirtn so a being so base. With the skill of an Orpheus, to soften the brute; If she did-let her ong-boastea proverb be hush'd, With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind; Which proclams that from ERIN no reptile can Even Tyranny listening sate melted or mute, springAnd corruption shrunk scorch'd from the glance of See the cold-blooded serpent, with venom full flush'd, his mind. Still warming its folds in the breast of a King! But back to our theme! Back to despots and slaves! But back to our theme! Back to despots and slaves t Shout, drink, feast, and flatter! Oh! ERIN, how low Feasts furnish'd by Famine! rejoicings by Pain! ert thou sunk by misfortuneand tyranny, till True Freedom but welcomes, while slavery still raves, Thy welcome of trants hathplunged thee below When a week's Saturnalia hath loosen'd her chain. The depth of thy deep m a deeper gulf still, ~ My voice, though but humble, was raised for thy right, Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afford My vote, as a freeman's, still voted thee free, (As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would hide) This hand, though but feeble, would arm, in thy fight, Gild over the palace, Lo! ERIN, thy lord! Gild over the palace, Lo! ERiN, thy lord! And this heart, though outworn, had a throb still Kiss his foot with thy blessings denied! for thee Or if freedom, past hope be extorted at last, Yes, I loved thee and thine, though thou art not my If the Idol of Brass find his feet are of clay, land Must what terror or policy wring forth be class'd' land Must what terror or policy wring forth be class'd- I have known noble hearts and great souls in thy sons, With what monarchs ne'er give, but as wolves yield And I wept with the world o'er the patriot band their prey? Who are gone, but I weep them no longer as once. Each brute hath its nature, a king's is to reign,- For happy are they now reposing afar,To reign!) in that word see, ye ages, comprised Thy GRATTAN, thy CURRAN, thy SHERIDAN, all The cause of the curses all annals contain, Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war, From CJESAR the dreaded, to GEORGE the despised! And redeem'd, if they have not retarded, thy fall. Wear, FINGAL, thy trapping! O'CONNEL, proclaim Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves! His accomplishments! His i! and thy country Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-day,convince Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves Half an age's contempt was an error of Fame, Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay. And that "Hal is the rascaliest sweetest young Prince!" Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore, Though their virtues were hunted, their liberties fled, Will thy yard of blue riband, poor FINGAL, recall There was something so warm and sublime in the core The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs? Of an Irishman's heart, that I envy-thy dead. Or, has it not bound thee the fastest of all The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with hymns? Or, if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour My contempt for a nation so servile, though sore, Ay! "Build him a dwelling!" let each give his mite! Which though trod like the worm will not turn upon Till, like Babel, the new royal dome hath arisen! Power, Let thy beggars and Helots their pittance unite-'T is the glory of GRATTAN, and genius of MooRE! And a palace bestow for a poor-house and prison!. 16th, 1821 Spread-spread, for VITELLIUS, the royal repast, Till the gluttonous despot be stuff'd to the gorge! And the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at last THE DREAM. The Fourth of the fools and oppressors call'd "GEoRGE!" I. OUR life is twofold: sleep hath its own world, Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan O life is twofold: sleep hath its own world, Till they groan like thy people, through ages of woe! Deah nd etween see things misnae d Let the wine flow around the old Bacchanal's throne, Death and existence; sleep hath its o wld And a wide realm of wild reality,. Like their blood which has flow'd, and which yet has And de ream of wild reait, to flow. And dreams in their developement have breath, ^^^~~to flow ~~~And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; But let not his name be thine maol alone- They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, On his right hand behold a SEJANUS appears! They take a weight from off our waking toils, Thine own CASTLEREAGH! let him still be thine own! They do divide our being; they become & wretch, never named but with curses and jeers! A portion of ourselves as of our time, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And look like heralds of eternity: III. They pass like spirits of the past,-they speak A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Like sibyls of the future; they have power- There was an ancient mansion, and before The tyranny of pleasure and of pain; Its walls there was a steed caparison'd: They make us what we were not-what they will, Within an antique oratory stood And shake us with the vision that's gone by, The boy of whom I spake;-he was alone, The dread of vanish'd shadows-Are they so? And pale, and pacing to and fro; anon Is not the past all shadow? What are they? He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced Creations of the mind?-The mind can make Words which I could not guess of: then he lean'd Substance, and people planets of its own His bow'd head on his hands, and shook as't were With beings brighter than have been, and give With a convulsion-then arose again, A breath to'forms which can outlive all flesh. And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear I would recall a vision which I dream'd What he had written, but he shed no tears. Perchance in sleep-for in itself a thought, And he did calm himself, and fix his brow A slumbering thought, is capable of years, Into a kind of quiet: as he paused, And curdles a long life into one hour. The lady of his love re-enter'd there; She was serene and smiling then, and yet I* a to bg i h She knew she was by him beloved,-she knew, I saw two beings in the hues of youth. For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill, Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill, Was darken'd with her shadow, and she saw Green and of mild declivity, the last Green and of iddeliv, te lt That he was wretched, but she saw not all. As't were the cape of a long ridge of such, He e a wthcold and gente gas c, T. i. i He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp Save that there was no sea to lave its base, H a o e r He took her hand; a moment o'er his. face But a most living landscape, and the wave -A tablet of unutterable thoughts Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men tr tu'a int1- 1as an wreathing i'.. Was traced, and then it faded as it came; Scatter'd at intervals, and wreathing smoke cAtterd. t in suv ruasi and we thi 1 silmk He dropp'd the hand he held, and with slow steps Arising from such rustic roofs;-the hill Was c wit a peculiar diadm Retired, but not as bidding her adieu, Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem. Watrees, on witc ar d, so, For they did part with mutual smiles: he pass'd Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd, *Ofb tee, in circula natur, s*o fin', From out the massy gate of that old hall, Not by the sport of nature, but of man: ^ -s ~ ~ ^.J J. ^And mounting on his steed he went his way, These two, a maiden and a youth, were there Gazing-the one on all that was beneath And ne'er repass'd that hoary threshold more. Gazing-the one on all that was beneath Fair as herself-but the boy gazed on her; IV. And both were young, and one was beautiful: A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. And both were young, yet not alike in youth. The boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge, Of fiery climes he made himself a home, rhe maid was on the eve of womanhood; And his soul drank their sunbeams; he was girt the boy had fewer summers, but his heart With strange and dusky aspects; he was not Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye Himself like what he had been; on the sea There was but one beloved face on earth, And on the shore he was a wanderer. And that was shining on him; he had look'd There was a mass of many images Upon it till it could not pass away; Crowded like waves upon me, but he was He had no breath, no being, but in her's; A part of all; and in the last he lay She was his voice; he did not speak to her, Reposing from the noontide sultriness, But trembled on her words; she was his sight, Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade For his eye follow'd hers, and saw with hers, Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names Which colour'd all his objects;-he had ceased Of those who rear'd them; by his sleeping side To live within himself; she was his life, Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds The ocean to the river of his thoughts, Were fasten'd near a fountain and a man Which terminated all: upon a tone, Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while, A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, While many of his tribe slumber'd around: And his cheek change tempestuously-his heart And they were canopied by the blue sky, Unknowing of its cause of agony. So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, But she in these fond feelings had no share: That God alone was to be seen in heaven. Her sighs were not for him; to her he was Even as a brother-but no more;'t was much, V. For brotherless she was, save in the name A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Her infant friendship had bestow'd on him; The lady of his love was wed with one Herself the solitary scion left Who did not love her better: in her home, Of a time-honour'd race.-It was a name A thousand leagues from his,-her native home, Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not-and why? She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy, Time taught hiln a deep answer-when she loved Daughters and sons of beauty,-but behold' Another; even now she loved another, Upon her face there was the tint of grief, And on the summit of that hill she stood The settled shadow of an inward strife, Looking afar if yet her lover's steed And an unquiet drooping of the eye, Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. As if its lid were charged with unshed rears. 2 w 2 ; 18 BYRON'S WORKS. What could her grief be?-she had all she loved, And the quick spirit of the universe And he who had so loved her was not there He held his dialogues; and they did teach To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish, To him the magic of their mysteries; Or ill-repress'd affliction, her pure thoughts. To him the book of night was open'd wide, What could her grief be?-she had loved him not, And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved, A marvel and a secret-Be it so. Noi could he be a part of that which prey'd IX. Upon her mind-a spectre of the past. My dream was past; it had no further change. VI. It was of a strange order, that the doom A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Of these two creatures should be thus traced out The wanderer was return'd.-I saw him stand Almost like a reality-the one Before an altar-with a gentle bride; To end in madness-both in misery. Her face was fair, but was not that which made The star-light of his boyhood;-as he stood Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came ODE. The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock I. That in the antique oratory shook OH Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls His bosom in its solitude; and then- Are level with the waters, there shall be As in that hour-a moment o'er his face A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls, The tablet of unutterable thoughts A loud lament along the sweeping sea! Was traced,-and then it faded as it came, If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee, And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke What should thy sons do?-any thing but weep: The fitting vows, but heard not his own words, And yet they only murmur in their sleep. And all things reel'd around him; he could see In contrast with their fathers-as the slime, Not that which was, nor that which should have been- The dull green ooze of the receding deep, But the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall, Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam, And the remembered chambers, and the place, That drives the sailor shipless to his home, The day, the hour, the sunshine and the shade, Are they to those that were; and thus they creep. All things pertaining to that place and hour, Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping street. And her who was his destiny came back, Oh! agony-that centuries should reap And thrust themselves between him and the light: No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years What business had they there at such a time? Of wealth and glory turn'd to dust and tears; VII. And every monument the stranger meets, A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets; The lady of his love;-oh! she was changed And even the Lion all subdued appears, As by the sickness of the soul; her mind And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum, Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes, With dull and daily dissonance, repeats They had not their own lustre, but the look The echo of thy tyrant's voice along Which is not of the earth; she was become The soft waves, once all musical to song, The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng Were combinations of disjointed things; Of gondolas-and to the busy hum And forms, impalpable and unperceived Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds Of others' sight, familiar were to hers. Were but the overheating of the heart, And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise And flow of too much happiness, which needs Have a far deeper madness, and the glance The aid of age to turn its course apart Of melancholy is a fearful gift; From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood What is it but the telescope of truth? Of sweet sensations battling with the blood. Which strips the distance of its phantasies, But these are better than the gloomy errors, And brings life near in utter nakedness, The weeds of nations in their last decay, Making the cold reality too real! When vice walks forth with her unsoften'd terrors, VIII. -And mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay; And hope is nothing but a false delay, A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. h i e wanderer was alone as heetofore, The sick man's lightning half an hour ere death, When faintness, the last mortal birth of pain, The beings which surrounded him were gone, mortal birth of pain, 0 And apathy of limb, the dull beginning Or were at war with him; he was a mark d apathy of limb, the dull beginning For blight and desolation, compass'd round Of the cold staggering race which death is winning, th hatred and contention; pain was mid Steals vein by vein and pulse by pulse away; W-th hatred and contention; pain was mix'd which was served up to him, until, LYet so relieving the o'ertortured clay, In all which was served up to him, until,..In all which was served up to him until, To him appears renewal of his breath, Like to the Pontic monarch of old daysP Hie tel on poisons, and they had no power, And freedom the mere numbness of his chain - He fe l on poisons, and they had no power, And then he talks of life, and how agair. But were a kind of nutriment; he lived.. * v 3ut.were a kind of nutrim' t; he livedHe feels his spirit soaring-albeit weax, Through that which had been death to many men, w - *~ A - a" >'p *t ~' t And of the fresher air, which he would seek; AMd nodde him friends of mountains: with the stars whi o And as he whispers knows not that he gasps, 1 Mttnrndates of Pontua. That his thin finger feels not what it clasps. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 51 9 And so the film comes o'er him —and the dizzy Were of the softer order-born of love Chamber swims round and round-and shadows busy, She drank no blood, nor fatten'd on the deas., At which he vainly catches, flit and gleam, But gladden'd where her harmless conquests spread, Till the last rattle chokes the strangled scream, For these restored the cross, that from above And all is ice and blackness,-and the earth Hallow'd her sheltering banners, which incessant That which it was the moment ere our birth. Flew between earth and the unholy crescent, Which, if it waned and dwindled, earth may thanlk II. The city it has clothed in chains, whicn clank There is no hope for nations! Search the page Now, creaking in the ears of those who owe Of many thousand years-the daily scene, The name of freedom to her glorious struggles; The flow and ebb of each recurring age, Yet she but shares with them a common woe, The everlasting to be which hath been, And call'd the " kingdom" of a conquering foe,Hath taught us nought or little: still we lean But knows what all-and; most of all, we knowOn things that rot beneath our weight, and wear With what set gilded terms a tyrant juggles! Our strength away in wrestling with the air; IV. For't is our nature strikes us down: the beasts Slaughter'd in hourly hecatombs for feasts The name of commonwealth is past and gone Are of as high an order-they must go O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe; Even wheretheir driver goadsthem,though to slaughter. Venice is crush'd, and Holland deigns to own Ye men, who pour your blood for kings as water, A sceptre, and endures the purple robe; What have they given your children in return If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone A heritage of servitude and woes, His chainless mountains,'t is but for a time, A blindfold bondage where your hire is blows. For tyranny of late is cunning grown, What? do not yet the red-hot ploughshares burn, And in its own good season tramples down O'er which you stumble in a false ordeal, The sparkles of our ashes. One great clime, And deem this proof of loyalty the real; Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean Kissing the hand that guides you to your scars, Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion And glorying as you tread the glowing bars? Of freedom, which their fathers fought for, ana All that your sires have left you, all that time Bequeath'd-a heritage of heart and hand, Bequeaths of free, and history of sublime, And proud distinction from each other land, Spring from a different theme!-Ye see and read, Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's motion, Admire and sigh, and then succumb and bleed! As if his senseless sceptre were a wand Save the few spirits, who, despite of all, Full of the magic of exploded scienceAnd worse than all, the sudden crimes engenderd Still one great ime, in full and free defiance, By the down-thundering of the prison-wall, Yet rears her crest unconquer'd and sublime, And thirst to swallow the sweet waters tender'd, Above the far AtlanticShe has taught Gushing from freedom's fountains-when the crowd, Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag, Madden'd with centuries of drought, are loud, The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag, And trample on each other to obtain May strike to those whose red right hands have bought The cup which brings oblivion of a chain Rights cheaply earn'd with blood. Still, still, for ever Heavy and sore,-in which long yoked they plough'd Better, though each man's life-blood were a river, The sand,-or if there sprung the yellow grain That it should flow, and overflow, than creep'T was not for them, their necks were too much bow'd, Through thousand lazy channels in our veins, And their dead palates chew'd the cud of pain:- Damm'd like the dull canal with locks and chains, Yes! the few spirits-who, despite of deeds And moving, as a sick man in his sleep, Which they abhor, confound not with the cause Three paces, and then faltering:-better be Those momentary starts fronm Nature's laws, Where the extinguish'd Spartans still are free, Which, like the pestilence and earthquake, smite In their proud charnel of Thermopye, But for a term, then pass, and leave the earth Than stagnate in our marsh,-or o'er the deep With all her seasons to repair the blight Fly, and one current to the ocean add, With a few summers, and again put forth One spirit to the souls our fathers had, Cities and generations-fair, when free- One freeman ore, America, to thee! For, tyranny, there blooms no bud for thee! III. WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. Glory and empire! once upon these towers As o'r te cd s r With freedom-godlike triad! how ye sate! Some name arrests the passer-by; The league of mightiest nations, in those hours Thus, when thou view'st this page alone, When Venice was an envy, might abate, Ma m But did not quench, her spirit-in her fate All were enwrapp'd: the feasted monarchs knew And wnen by thee tb..it name is read, And loved their hostess, nor could learn to hate, Perchance in some succeeding yea, Although they humbled-with the kingly few Reflect on me as on the dead, The many felt, for from all days and climes And think my heart is buried nerw She was the voyager's worship;-even her crimes September 14th 1809. !.0R ~ BYRON'S WORKS. ROMANCE MUY DOLOROSO A VERY MOURNFUL BALLAD ON THE DEL, SIEGE AND CONQUEST OF ALHAMA, SITIO Y TOMA DE ALHAMA, Which, in the Arabic language, is to the following purport. EL CUAL DECIA EN ARABIGO ASI. [The effect of the original ballad (which existed both in Spanish and Arabic) was such that it was forbidden to be sung by the Moors, op pain of death, within Granada.] PASEABASE el Rey more THE Moorish king rides up and down Por la ciudad de Granada, Through Granada's royal town; Desde la puerta do Elvira From Elvira's gates to those Hasta la de Bivarambla. Of Bivarambla on he goes. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Cartas le fueron venidas Letters to the monarch tell Que Alhama era ganada. How Alhama's city fell; Las cartas ech6 en el fuego, In the fire the scroll he threw, Y al mensagero matara. And the messenger he slew. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Descavalga de una mula,p He quits his mule, and mounts his horse, Y en un caballo cavalga. And through the street directs his course; Por el Zacatin arriba Through the street of Zacatin Subido se habia al Alhambra. To the Alhambra spurring in. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Como en el Alhambra estuvo, When the Alhambra walls he gain'd, Al mismo punto mandaba On the moment he ordain'd Que se toquen las trompetas That the trumpet straight should sound Con anafiles de plata. With the silver clarion round. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Y que atambores de guerra And when the hollow drums of war Apriesa toquen alarma; Beat the loud alarm afar, Por que lo origan sus Moros, That the Moors of town and plain Los de la Vega y Granada. Might answer to the martial strain, Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Los Moros que el son oyeron, Then the Moors, by this aware Que al sangriento Marte llama, That bloody Mars recall'd them there, Uno & uno, y dos 6t dos, One by one, and two by two, Lrn gran escuadron formaban. To a mighty squadron grew. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Alli habl6 un Moro viejo; Out then spake an aged Moor De esta manera hablaba:- In these words the king before, " Para que nos llamas, Rey? " Wherefore call on us, oh king? I Para que es esta llamada?" What may mean this gathering?" Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! " Habeis de saber, amigos, "Friends! ye have, alas! to know lna nueva desdichada: Of a most disastrous blow, Que cristianos, con braveza, That the Christians, stern and bold, Ya nos han tomado Alhama." Have obtain'd Alhama's hold." Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Alli nabl6 un v;^jo Alfaqui, Out then spake old Alfaqui, De barba crecida y cana:- With his beard so white to see, -Bien se e emplea, buen Rey; " Good king, thou art justly served, -Buen Rey, bien se te empleaba. Good king, this thou has', deserved. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! " Mataste Los Bencerrages, " By thee were slain, in evil hour, Que e'an la " > ae Granada; The Abencerrage, Granada's flower; t.ogiste los tornadizos And strangers were received by thee et C6rdova aa nombrada. Of Cordova the chivalry. Av de mi, Alhama Woe is me, Alhama! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS- 52' Por eso mereces, Rey, "And for this, oh king! is sent Una pena bien doblada; On thee a double chastisement, Que te pierdas td y el reino, Thee and thine, thy crown and realm, Y que se pierda Granada. One last wreck shall overwhelm. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Si no se respetan leyes, " He who holds no laws in awe, Es ley que todo se pierda; He must perish by the law; Y que se pierda Granada, And Granada must be won, Y que te pierdas en ella. And thyself with her undone." Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Fuego por los ojos vierte, Fire flash'd from out the old Moor's eyes, El Rey que esto oyera, The monarch's wrath began to rise, Y como el otro de leyes Because he answer'd, and because De leyes tambien hablaba. He spake exceeding well of laws. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Sabe un Rey que no hay leyes "There is no law to say such things De darle i Reyes disgusto.- As may disgust the ear of kings:"Eso dice el Rey moro Thus, snorting with his choler, said Relinchando de c61era. The Moorish king, and doom'd him dead. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama Moro Alfaqui, Moro Alfaqui, Moor Alfaqui! MoorAlfaqui! El de la vellida barba, Though thy beard so hoary be, El Rey te manda prender, The king hath sent to have thee seized, nor la perdida de Alhama. For Alhama's loss displeased. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Y cortarte la cabeza, And to fix thy head upon Y ponerla en el Alhambra, High Alhambra's loftiest stone; Por que & ti castigo sea, That this for thee should be the law, Y otros tiemblen en miralla. And others tremble when they saw. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Caballeros, hombres buenos, " Cavalier! and man of worth! Decid de mi parte al Rey, Let these words of mine go forth; Al Rey moro de Granada, Let the Moorish monarch know, Como no le devo nada. That to him I nothing owe: Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! De aberse Alhama perdido "But on my soul Alhama weighs, A mi me pesa en el alma; And on my inmost spirit preys; Que si el Rey perdi6 su tierra And if the king his land hath lost, Otro mucho mas perdiera. Yet others may have lost the most. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Perdieran hijos padres, "Sires have lost their children, wives Y casados las casadas: Their lords, and valiant men their lives, Las cosas que mas amara One what best his love might claim Perdi6 uno y otro fama, Hath lost, another wealth or fame. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Perdi una hija doncella "I lost a damsel in that hour, Que era la flor d' esta tierra; Of all the land the loveliest flower, Cien doblas daba por ella, Doubloons a hundred I would pay, No me las estimo en nada. And think her ransom cheap that day." Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Diciendo asi al hacen Alfaqui, And as these things the old Moor said, Le cortaron la cabera, They sever'd from the trunk his head; Y la elevan al Alhambra, 4nd to the Alhambra's wail with speen Asi como el Rey lo manda. T was carried, as the king decreed. Ay de mi,-Alhama! - Woe is me, Alhama! 7, 522 BYRON'S WORKS. Hombres, ninos y mugeres, And men and infants therein weep Lloran tan grande p6rdida. Their loss, so heavy and so deep; Lloraban todas las damas Granada's ladies, all she rears Cuantas en Granada habia. Within her walls, burst into tears. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! Por las calles y ventanas And from the windows o'er the walls Mucho luto parecia; The sabte web of mourning falls! Llora el Rey como fembra, The king weeps as a woman o'er Qu' es mucho lo que perdia. His loss, for it is much and sore. Ay de mi, Alhama! Woe is me, Alhama! SONETTO DI VITTORELLI. TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELLI. PER MONACA. ON A NUN. pnetto compcsto in nome di un genitore, a cui era morta Sonnet composed in the name of a father, whose daughtel poco innanzi una figlia appena maritata; e diretto al geni- had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed t.re della sacra sposa. to the father of her who had lately taken the veil. Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte OF two fair virgins, modest though admired, Lieti e miseri padri il ciel ne fco; Heaven made us happy, and now, wretched sires, II ciel, che degne di piii nobil sorte, Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires, L' una e 1' altra veggendo, ambo chiedo And gazing upon either, both required. La mia fu tolta da veloce morte Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired A le fumanti tede d' Imeneo: Becomes extinguish'd, soon-too soon expires. La tua, Francesco, in sugellate porte But thine, within the closing grate retired, Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo. Eternal captive, to her God aspires. Ma tu almeno potrai de la gelosa But thou at least from out the jealous door, Irremeabil soglia, ove s' asconde Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes, La sua tenera udir voce pietosa. May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more: lo verso un flume d' amarissim' onda, I to the marble, where my daughter lies, Co rro a quel marmo in cui la figlia or posa, Rush,-the swoln flood of bitterness I pour, Batto e ribatto, ma nessun risponde. And knock, and knock, and knock-but none replies. STANZAS, STANZAS, WRIT'TEN IN PASSING THE AMBRACIAN GULF, Composed October 11th, 1809, during the night, in a thunder storm, when the guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the NOVEMBER 14, 1809. range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast, Full beams the moon on Actiuln's coast, Where Pindus' mountains rise, And on these waves, for Egypt's queen, And angry clouds are pouring fast The ancient world was won and lost. The vengeance of the skies. And now upon the scene I look, Our guides are gone, our hope is lost, The azure grave of many a Roman; And lightnings, as they play, Where stern Ambition once forsook But show where rocks our path have crost, His wavering crown to follow woman. Or gild the torrent's spray. Florence! whom I will love as well Is yon a cot I saw, though low? As ever yet was said or sung When lightning broke the gloom(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell), How welcome were its shade!-ah! no t Whilst thou art fair and I am young;'T is but a Turkish tomb. Sweet Florence! those were.pleasant times, Through sounds of foaming water-falls, When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes: I hear a voice exclaim1lail Iards as many realms as rhynies, My way-worn countryman, who calls Thy charms might raise new Antonies. On distant England's name. Though Fate forbids such things to be, A shot is fired-by foe or friend? Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd! Another-'t is to tell I cannot lose a world for thee, The mountain peasants to descend, U1' wrvild not lose thee Cor a world. And lead us where they dwell. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 5; Oh! who in such a night will dare Yet here, amidst this barren isle, To tempt the wilderness? Where panting nature droops the head, And who'mid thinder-peals can hear Where only thou art seen to smile, Our signal of distress? I view my parting hour with dread. Though far from Albin's craggy shore, And who that heard our shouts would rise Though far f Albins cragy Divided by the dark-blue main; To try the dubious road? To try ther deemu s roam n y cs A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er, Nor rather deem from nightly cries Perchance Ivie her cliffs aain: Perchance I view her cliffs again: That outlaws were abroad. But wheresoe'er I now may roam, Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour! Through scorching clime and varied sea, More fiercely pours the storm! Though time restore me to my home, Yet here one thought has still the power I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee: To keep my bosom warm. On thee, in whom at once conspire All charms which heedless hearts can move, While wandering through each broken path, Oebread ragg5 brow:. Whom but to see is to admire, O'er brake and craggy brow:.'r brake and craggy broAnd, oh! forgive the word-to love. While elements exhaust their wrath, orgive the word -o love. Sweet Florence, where art thou Forgive the word, in one who ne'er Sweet Florence, where art thou? With such a word can more offend; Not on the sea, not on the sea,- And since thy heart I cannot share, Thy bark hath long been gone: Believe me, what I am, thy friend. Oh, may the storm that pours on me And who so cold as look on thee, Bow down my head alone!'Thou lovely wanderer, and be less? Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc Nor be, what man should ever be, When last I press'd thy lip; The friend of beauty in distress? And long ere now, with foaming shock, Ah who would think that form had past Impell'd thy gallant ship. Through danger's most destructive path, Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blasts Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now And sapeda tyrant'sfiercer wrath Hast trod the shore of Spain: Lady! when I shall view the walls'T were hard if aught so fair as thouhere free Byzantium once arose Should linger on the main. And Stamboul's oriental halls And since I now remember thee The Turkish tyrants now enclose; In darkness and in dread, Though mightiest in the lists of fame As in those hours of revelry That glorious city still shall be; Which mirth and music sped; On me't will hold a dearer claim As spot of thy nativity: Do thou amidst the fair white walls,And though I bid thee now farewell, If Cadiz yet be free, -When I behold that wondrous scene, At times from out her latticed halls Since where thou art I may not dwell, Look o'er the dark-blue sea;'T will soothe to be where thou hast been. Then think upon Calypso's isles, September, 1809. Endear'd by days gone by; To others give a thousand smiles, WRITTEN AT ATHENS To me a single sigh. JANUARY 16, 1810. And when the admiring circle mark. * And when the admiring circle-'mark THE spell is broke, the charm is flown! The paleness of thy face, Thus is it with life's fitful fever! A half-form'd tear, a transient spark We madly smile when we should groan; Of melancholy grace, Delirium is our best deceiver. Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun Each lucid interval of thought Some coxcomb's raillery; Recalls the woes of Nature's charter, Nor own for once thou thought'st of one, And he that acts as wise men ought Who ever thinks on thee. But lives, as-saints have died, a martyr. Though smile and sigh alike are vain, When sever'd hearts repine;RITTENBE TH PICTUR My spirit flies o'er mount and main, And mourns in search of thine. Dear object of defeated care! Though now of love and thee bereft, To reconcile me with despair TO * * * Thine image and my tears are left. OH Lady! when I left the shore,'Tis said with sorrow time can cope, The distant shore which gave me birth, But this, I feel, can ne'er be true; I hardly thought to grieve once more, For by the death-blow of my hope, To quit another spot on erth: My memory immortal grew. 624 BYRON'S WORKS. WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS By those tresses unconfined, TO ABYDOS,I MAY 9, 1810. Woo'd by each lEgean wind; IF, in the month of dark December, By those lids whose jetty fringe Leander, who was nightly wont Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge, (What maid will not the tale remember?) By those wild eyes like the roe, To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont! Z/ IPoi, O-as aya7rw. If, when the wintry tempest roar'd, By that lip I long to taste; He sped to Hero, nothing loth, *1~ ~.J~ L~ *c~ ~ 1-11By that zone-encircled waist; And thus of old thy current pour'd, a n ni a By all the token-flowers' that tell Fair Venus! how I pity both! Fair s hw I py What words can never speak so well; For me, degenerate modern wretch, alternate joy and woe, By love's alternate joy and woe, Though in the genial month of May, Z, yar. My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, And think I've done a feat to-day. Maid of Athens! I am gone: But since he cross'd the rapid tide, Think of me, sweet! when alone.According to the doubtful story, Though I fly to Istambol,2 To woo,-and-Lord knows what beside, Athens holds my heart and soul: And swam for love, as I for glory; Can I cease to love thee? No!'T were hard to say who fared the best: Zt57 pivi, cra ayanri. Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you! He lost his labour, I my jest, For he was drown'd, and I've the ague. TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR-SONG, ZAjt, s2 ~ AiErE vatiSls T rv'EXX4vwv, Zm7 pov, raig ayarro.. 10t-~in ~ ~ Written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to revolutionize ATHENS, 1810. Greece. The following translation is as literal as the authoi MAID of Athens, ere we part, could make it in verse; it is of the same measure as that o the original. Give, oh, give me back iny heart! Or, since that has left my breast, SONS of the Greeks, arise! Keep it now, and take the rest! The glorious hour's gone forth, Hear my vow before I go, And, worthy of such ties, Zrn Fpol, a si ayarw. Display who gave us birth. 1 Onthe3d of May,1810,while the Salsette (Captain Bathurst)CHORU was lying in the Dardanelles, Lieutenant Ekenhead of that Sons of Greeks, let us go frigate and the writer of these rhymes swam from the Euro- In arms against the foe, peart shore to the Asiatic-by-the-by, from Abydos to Sestos Till their hated blood shall fow would have been more correct. The whole distance from the place whence we started to our landing on the other side, in- In a river past our feet. eluding the length we were carried by the current, was computed by those on board the frigate at upwards of four Eng- Then manfully despising lish miles; though the actual breadth is barely one. The The Turkish tyrant's yoke rapidity of the current is such that no boat can row directly y r across, and it may in some measure be estimated from the cir-ur country see you rsng, cumstance of the whole distance being accomplished by one And all her chains are broke. of the parties in an hour and five, and by the other in an hour Brave shades of chiefs and sages, and ten minutes. The water was extremely cold, from the Behold the coming strife melting of the mountain-snows. About three weeks before, in April, we had made an attempt, but having ridden all the Hellenes of past ages, way from the Troad the same morning, and the water being Oh, start again to life! of an icy chillness, we found it necessary to postpone the At the sound of my trumpet, breaking completion till the frigate anchored below the castles, when Your slee ohoin with me we swam the straits, as just stated, entering a considerable s it se way above the European, and landing below the Asiatic fort. And the seven-hill'd city seeking, Chevalier says that a young Jew swam the same distance for Fight, conquer, till we're free. his mistress; and Oliver mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither ree of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us ftom the attempt. A number of the Salsette's crew were known to have Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers accomplished a greater distance; and the only thing that sur- Lethargic dost thou lie? prised me was, that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth Awake, and join thy numbe of Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain its practicability. With Athens, old ally! 2 Zoe mou, sas agapo, or Z(Itl poV, cls lya7iTo, a Romaic..... expression of tenderness: if I translate it I shall affront the 1 In the East (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they gentlemen, as it may seem that I supposed they could not; and should scribble assignations) flowers, cinders, pebles, etc., if I do not, I may affront the ladies. For fear of any micon- convey the sentiments of the parties by that universal deputy struction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging of Mercury-an old woman. A cinder says, " I burn for thee;' pardon of the learned. It means. "My life, I love you!" a bunch of flowers tied with hair, "Take me and fly;' but which sounds very prettily in all languages, and is as much pebble dclares-what nothing else can. in fashion in Greece at this day as, Juvenal tells us, the two rest words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic ex- 2 Constantinople. presious were ail Hellenized. 3 Constantinople. 4'Errahoo." MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 525 Leonidas recalling, Till happier hours restore the gift That chief of ancient song, Untainted back to thine. Who saved ye once from falling, The terrible, the strong! The terrible, the strong! ^Thy parting glance, which fondly beams Who made that bold diversion An equal love may see: In old Thermopyle, In old Thermopylae, The tear that from thine eyelid stream And warring with the Persian Can weep no change in me. To keep his country free; I ask no pledge to make me blest, With his three hundred waging In gazing when alone The battle, long he stood, The battle, long he stood, Nor one memorial for a breast, And, ike a lion raging, Whose thoughts are all thine own. Expired in seas of blood. Sons of Greeks, etc. Nor need I write-to tell the tale My pen were doubly weak: Oh! what can idle words avail, TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG, Unless the heart could speak? " M'~vco ~Eg'rt' 7rlpt6o0L Mipaiorarrlv Xa7' 7iT etc.XL By day or night, in weal or woe,.Qa~ es Xas', etc..That heart, no longer free, The song from which this is taken is a great favourite with the Must bear the love it cannot show, young girls of Athens of all classes. Their manner of sing- b t ing it is by verses in rotation, the whole number present join- And silent ache for thee. ing in the chorus. I have heard it frequently at our "X6pos" in the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty. I ENTER thy garden of roses, Beloved and fair Haidee, TO THYRZA. Each morning when Flora reposes, Each morning when Flora reposes, WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot, For surely I see her in thee. r srely I see her in thee. And say, what truth might well have said Oh, lovely! thus low I implore thee, -O-,lovely.'thus bowl implore thee, sBy all, save one, perchance forgot, Receive this fond truth from my tongue,, wherefore thoulowly laid? Ah, wherefore art thou lowly laid? Which utters its song to adore thee,y many a shoreand mana sea Yet trembles for what it has sung: Divided, yet beloved in vain; As the branch, at the bidding of nature, Thepastthefuturefledtothee Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree, To bid us meet-no-ne'er again! Through her eyes, through her every feature, been-aword look, Could this have been-a word, a look, Shines the soul of the young Haidee. That softly said, "We part in:peace," But the loveliest garden grows hateful, Had taught my bosom how to brook, When love has abandon'd the bowers; With fainter sighs, thy soul's release. Bring me hemlock-since mine is ungrateful, And didst thou not, since death for thee That herb is more fragrant than flowers. Prepared a light and pangless dart, The poison, when pour'd from the chalice, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see, Will deeply embitter the bowl; Who held, and holds thee in his heart? But when drunk to escape from thy malice, Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here? The draught shall be sweet to my soul. Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, Too cruel! in vain I implore thee In that dread hour ere death appear, My heart from these horrors to save: When silent sorrow fears to sigh, Will nought to my bosom restore thee? Till all was past? But when no more Then open the gates of the grave.'T was thine to reck of human woe, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er, As the chief who to combat advances, ow as fast-as now they flow Had flow'd as fast —as now they flow Secure of his conquest before, Secure of his conquest before, Shall they not flow, when many a day Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances, In these, to ne, desrted toers Hast pierced through my heart to its core. Ere call'd but fora time away Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish Affection's mingling tears were ours By pangs which a smile would dispel? Affection's mingling tears were ours? By pangs which a smile would dispel? Ours too the glance none saw beside; Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish, The smile none else miht understand For torture repay me too well? F ir torture grepay me too well? The whisper'd thought of hearts allied, Now sad is the garden of roses, The pressure of the thrilling hand; Beloved but false Haidee! The kiss so guiltless and refined, There Flora all wither'd reposes, That love each warmer wish forbore - And mourns o'er thine absence with me. Those eyes proclaimd so pure a mind, Even passion blush'd to plead for mote The tone, that taught me to rejoice, ON PARTING. When prone, unlike thee, to repine, rHE kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left, The song celestial from thy voice, Shall never part from mine, But sweet. to me from none but thiin 2X 526 -BYRON'S WORKS. The pledge we wore-I wear it still, Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; But where is thine?-ah, where art thou? Man was not form'd to live alone: Oft have I borne the weight of ill, I'1 be that light unmeaning tb:ng But never bent beneath till now! That smiles with all and weeps with none. Well hast thou left in life's best bloom It was not thus in days more dear, The cup of woe for me to drain. It never would have been, but thou If rest alone be in the tomb, Hast fled, and left me lonely here; I would not wish thee here again; Thou'rt nothing, all are nothing now. But if in worlds more blest than this Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! Impart some portion of thy bliss, The smile that sorrow fain would wear, To wean me from mine anguish here. But mocks the woe that lurks beneath, Teach me-too early taught by thee! Like roses o'er a sepulchre. To bear, forgiving and forgiven: Though gay companions o'er the bowl On earth thy love was such to me, Dispel a while the sense of ill; It fain would form my hope in heaven! Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, The heart-the heart is lonely still! On many a lone and lovely night STANZAS. It soothed to gaze upon the sky; AWAY, away, ye notes of woe! For then I deem'd the heavenly light Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye; Or I must flee from hence, for, oh! And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, I dare not trust those sounds again. When sailing o'er the AEgean wave, To me they speak of brighter days- "Now Thyrza gazes on that moon-" But lull the chords, for now, alas! Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave! I must not think, I may not gaze On what I am, on what I was. When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, The voice that made those sounds more sweet "' IT is comfort still," I faintly said, Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled; "That Thyrza cannot know my pains And now their softest notes repeat Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead! A boon't is idle then to give, Yes, Thyrza! ye, they breathe of thee, Relenting Nature vainly gave Beloved dust! since dust thou art; My life when Thyrza ceased to live! And all that once was harmony Is worse than discord to my heart! My Thyrza's pledge in better days, When love and life alike were new, ~T is silent all!-but on my ear How different now thou meet'st my gaze! The well-remember'd echoes thrill; How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! I hear a voice I would not hear, The heart that gave itself with thee A voice that now might well be still; Is silent-ah, were mine as still! Yet oft my doubting soul't will shake: Though cold as even the dead can be, Even slumber owns its gentle tone, It feels, it sickens with the chill. Till consciousness will vainly wake To listen, though the dream be flown. Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! Though painful, welcome to my breast! Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, Still, still, preserve that love unbroken, Thou art but now a lovely dream; Thou art but now a lovely dream; Or break the heart to which thou'rt prest' A star that trembled o'er the deep, Time tempers love, but not removes Then turn'd from earth its tender beam. More hallow'd when its hope is fled: But he who through life's dreary way Oh what are thousand living loves Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath, To that which cannot quit the dead Will long lament the vanish'd ray That scatter'd gladness o'er his path. ~*~ _EUTHANASIA. TO THYRZA. WHER time, or soon or late, shall bring ONr struggle more, and I am free The dreamless sleep that lulls the deae From pangs that rend my heart in twain, Oblivion! may thy languid wing One lastlong sigh to love and thee, Wave gently o'er my dying bed! Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle no No band of friends or heirs be there, Wth things that never pleased before: To weep or wish the coming blow; 1lough every joy is fled below, No maiden, with dishevell'd hair, What future grief can touch me more? To feel, or feign, decorous woe. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But silent let me sink to earth, The better days of life were ours; With no officious mourners near:'I he worst can be but mine; I would not mar one hour of mirth, The sun that cheers, the storm that lours. Nor startle friendship with a fear. Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep Yet Love, if Love in such an hour I envy now too much to weep; Could nobly check its useless sighs, Nor need I to repine Might then exert its latest power That all those charms have pass'd away, In her who lives and him who dies. I might have watch'd through long decay.'T were sweet, my Psyche, to the last The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Thy features still serene to see: Must fall the earliest prey; Forgetful of its struggles past, Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, Even Pain itself should smile on thee. The leaves must drop away: And yet it were a greater grief But vain the wish-for Beauty still To watch it witheringleaf by leaf, Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; Than see it plclk'd to-day; And woman's tears, produced at will, Since earthy ee but ill can bear Deceive in life, unman in death. To trace the change to foul from fair. Then lonely be my latest hour, I know not if I could have borne Without regret, without a groan! To see thy beauties fade For thousands death hath ceased to lour,The night that follow'dsuch a morn And paia been transient or unknown. Had worn a deeper shade: " Ay, but to die, and go," alas! Thy day without a cloud hath past, "~~~~~~~ ~~And thou wert lovelto thdie, and go," alast;! Where all have gone, and all must go! And thou wert lovely to the last Extinguish'd, not decay'd; To be the nothing that I was Extdecay.obe thnotlifehand lIvi wo!.As stars that shoot along the sky. Ere boin to life and living woe! Shine brightest as they fall from high. Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, As once I wept, if I could weep, Count o'er thy days from anguish free, we My tears might well be shed, And know, whatever thou hast been, To tIwas mit well be shkd To think I was not near to keep'T is something better not to be. One vigil o'er thy bed; ~_"=~~S —— ~ ~ To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, STANZAS. To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head; de l quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse And show that love, however vain, AND thou art dead, as young and fair Nor thou nor I can feel again. As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so rare, Yet how much less it wyre to gain, Too soon return'd to earth! Though thou hast left me free, Though Earth received them in her bed, The loveliest th things that still remain, And o'er the spot the crowd may tread Than thus remember thee! In carelessness or mirth, The all of thine that cannot die There is an eye which could not brook Through dark and dread eternity, A moment on that grave to look. Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears I will not ask where thou liest low, An mr th b l g ener I will not ask where thou liest low, \ Than aught, except its living years. Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not: It is enough for me to prove STANZAS. That what I loved, and long must ove,ometimes in the haunts of men IF sometimes in the haunts of men Like common earth can rot; Thine image from my breast may fade, To me there needs no stone to tell, The lonely hour presens'T is nothing that I loved so wed. The lonely hourpresent le sha dein The semblance of thy gentle shade - Yet did I love thee to the last And now that sad and silent hour As fervently as thou, Thus much of thee can still restore, Who didst not change through all the past, And sorrow unobserved may pour And canst not alter now. The plaint she dare not speak beiour The love where death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Oh, pardon thatin crowds awhile, Nor falsehood disavow: I waste one' thought I owe to thee, And what were worse, thou canst not see And, self-condemn'd, appear to sm;le, Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. Unfaithful to thy memory! 178 BYRON'S WORKS. Nor deem that memory less dear, If so, it never shall be mine That then I seem not to repine; To mourn the loss of such a heart; I would not fools should overhear The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, One sigh that should be wholly thine. Which made thee fickle as thou art. If not the goblet pass unquaff'd, As rolls the ocean's changing tide, It is not drain'd to banish care, So human feelings ebb and flow; The cup must hold a deadlier draught And who would in a breast confide That brings a Lethe for despair. Where stormy passions ever glow ZAnd could oblivion set my soul From all her troubled visions free, It boots not that, together bred, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl Our childish days were days of joy; That drown'd a single thought of thee. My spring of life has quickly fled; Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy. For wert thou banish'd from my mind, Where could my vacant bosom turn? And when we bid adieu to youth, And who would then remain behind Slaves to the specious world's control To honour thine abandon'd urn? We sigh a long farewell to truth; No, no-it is my sorrow's pride That world corrupts the noblest soul. That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside, Ah, joyous season.! when the mind'T is meet that I remember still. Dares all things boldly but to lie; When thought, ere spoke, is unconfined, For well I know, that such had been And sparkles in the placid eye. Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene, Not so in man's maturer years, Where none regarded him, but thou: When man himself is but a tool And, oh! I feel in that was given And, oh! I feel in that was given When interest sways our hopes and fears, A blessing never meant for me; A blessing never meant for me; And all must love or hate by rule. Thou wert too like a dream of heaven, For earthly love to merit thee. For earty le to m t te With fools in kindred vice the same, 5March 14th, 1812. We learn at length our faults to blend, And those, and those alone, may claim ~_^*~-oL —-~ ~ The prostituted name of friend. ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN. Such is the common lot of man: *L.Dheart! -and can it be Can we then'scape froni folly free? ILL-FATED heart! and can it be Can we reverse the general plan, That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain? N b Have years of care for thine and thee Alike been all employ'd in vain? No, for myself, so dark my fate i-..,~~~~~. ^ ^ Through every turn of life hath been; Yet precious seems each shatter'd part, Throgh every r hat bee And every fragment dearer growMan and the world I so much hate, And every fragment dearer grown, I care not when I quit the scene. Since he who wears thee feels thou art I A fitter emblem of his own. But thou, with spirit frail and light, Wilt shine awhile, and pass away; As glow-worms sparkle through the night TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. But dare not stand the test of day. This poem and the following were written some years ago.] Alas! whenever folly calls FEW years have pass'd since thou and I Where parasites and princes meet, Were firmest friends, at least in name, (For cherishd first in royal halls And childhood's gay sincerity' And childhood's gay sincerity The welcome vices kindly greet), Preserved our feelings long the same. But new, like me, too well thou know'st Even now tnou'rt nightly seen to add What trifles oft the heart recall; One insect to the fluttering crowd; And those who once have loved the most And still thy trifling heart isglad, Too soon forget they loved at all To join the vain and court the proud, Too soon forget they loved at all. P And such the change the heart displays, There dost thou glide from fair to fair, So frail is early friendship's reign, Still simpering on with eager haste, A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, As flies along the gay parterre, Will view thy mmd estranged again. That taint the flowers they scarcely taste MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 529 But say, what nymph will prize the flame To death even hours like these must rol.; Which seems, as marshy vapours move, Ah! then repeat those accents never; To flit along from dame to dame, Or change "my life" into " my soul!" An ignis-fatuus gleam of love? Which, like my love, exists for ever. What friend for thee, howe'er inclined, Will deign to own a kindred care? Who will debase his manly mind, IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND. For friendship every fool may share? WHEN from the heart where Sorrow sits, In time forbear; amidst the throng Her dusky shadow mounts too high, No more so base a thing be seen; And o'er the changing aspect flits, No more so idly pass along: And clouds the brow, or fills the eye; Be something, any thing, but-mean. Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink: My thoughts their dungeon know too well; Back to my breast the wanderers shrink - TO ****** And droop within their silent cell. WELL! thou art happy, and I feel That I should thus be happy too; ADDRESS For still my heart regards thy weal ADDRESS, Warmly, as it was wont to do. SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE Thy husband's blest-and't will impart THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812. Some pangs to view his happier lot: IN one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, But let them pass-Oh! how my heart Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride: Would hate him, if he loved thee not! In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, n le I saw ty furite cil, Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign. When late I saw thy favourite child, I thought my jealous heart would break; Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourn'd, But when the unconscious infant smiled, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!) I kiss'd it, for its mother's sake. Through clouds of fire, the massy fragments riven, I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs, Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven; Its father in its face to see Saw the long column of revolving flames Its father in its face to see; But then it had its mother's eyes, But then it had its mother's eyes, Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames, And they were all to love and me. While thousands, throng'd around the burning donle Shrank back appall'd, and trembled for their home, Mary, adieu! I must away: As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone While thou art blest, I'11 not repine; The skies with lightnings awful as their own, But near thee I can never stay; Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall My heart would soon again be thine. Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall; Say-shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride Rear'd where once rose the mightiest in our isle, Had quenoh'd at length my boyish flame; Know the same favour which the former knew, Nor knew, till seated by thy side, A shrine for Shakspeare-worthy him and you? My heart in all, save hope, the same. Yes-it shall be-the magic of that name Yet was I calm: I knew the time Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame; My breast would thrill before thy look; My breast woul thrill before thy look; On the same spot still consecrates the scene, But now to tremble were a crime — t m, a otr aerve wa si. And bids the Drama be where she hath been: We met, and not a nerve was shook. We met, and not a nerve was shook. This fabric's birth attests the potent spellI saw thee gaze upon my face, Indulge our honest pride, and say, How well! Yet meet with no confusion there: ne only fmeeling couldst thou trace- As soars this fane to emulate the last, Ace only feeling couldst thou trace-. Cne onlyrfeelin g c ul dts tho u s. trace-Oh! might we draw our omens from the past /,e sullen calmness of despair... Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast &4tey! away! my early dream Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. remembrance never must awake: On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? O'erwhelm'dthe gentlest, storm'd the sternest ertt. My foolish heart, be still, or break. On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew; Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew, ~_ —^~~~ ~ Sigh'd his last thanks, and wept his last adieu FROIM THE PORT'TT ~ETT~ But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom FROO UGUSE. That only waste their odours o'er the tomb. IN moments to delight devoted, Such Drury claim'd and claims-nor you refuse "My life!" with tenderest tone, you cry; One tribute to. ^vive his slumbering muse; Dear words on which my heart had doted, With garlands deck your own Menander's head I If youth could neither fade nor die. Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead 2x2 72 530 BYRON'S WORKS. Dear are the days which made our annals bright, That beam hath sunk; and now thou art Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write.. A blank; a thing to count and curse Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs, Through each dull, tedious trifling part, Vain of our ancestry, as they of theirs; Which all regret, yet all rehearse. While thus remembrance borrows Banquo's glass, One scene even thou canst not deform; To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass, The limit of thy sloth or speed, And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine When future wanderers bear the storm Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line, Which we shall sleep too. sound to heed: Pause-ere their feebler offspring you condemn, And I can smile to think how weak Reflect how hard the task to rival them! Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, When all the vengeance thou canst wreak Friends of the stage! to whom both players and plays Must fall upon-a nameless stone! Must sue alike for pardon or for praise, Whose judging voice and eye alone direct The boundless power to cherish or reject; If e'er frivolity has led to fame, If e'er frivolity has led to fame, TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG And made us blush that you forbore to blame; AI! Love was never yet without If e'er the sinking stage could condescend The pang, the agony, the doubt, To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend, Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, AH past reproach may present scenes refute, While day and night roll darkling by. And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute! Oh! since your fiat stamps the drama's laws, Without one friend to hear my woe, Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause; I faint, I die beneath the blow. So pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers, That Love had arrows, well I knew: And reason's voice be echo'd back by ours! Alas! I find them poison'd too. Tils greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd, Birds, yet in freedom, shunthe net, The Drama's homage by her herald paid, Which Love around your haunts hath se Receive our welcome too, whose every tone Or, circled by his fatal fire, Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own. Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire. The curtain rises-may our stage unfold A bird of free and careless wing A bird of free and careless wing Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old! Was I, throuh many a smiling spring; Britons our judges, Nature for our guide, But caught within the subtle snare Still may we please-long, long may you preside! I burn, and feebly flutter there. Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain, TO TIME. Can neither feel nor pity pain, The cold repulse, the look askance, TIME! on whose arbitrary wing The lightning of love's angry glance. The varying hours must flag or fly, Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine; But drag or drive us on to die- Now hope, and he who hoped, decline; Hail thou! who on my birth bestow'd Like melting wax, or withering flower, Those boons to all that know thee known; I feel my passion, and thy power. Yet better I sustain thy load, My light of life! ah, tell me why For now I bear the weight alone. For now I bear the weight alone. That pouting lip, and alter'd eye? I would not one fond heart should share My bird of love my beauteous mate! t.he bitter moments thou hast given; And art thou changed, and canst thou hate? And pardon thee, since thou couldst spare, All that I loved, to peace orheaven. Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow: To them be joy or rest, on me What wretch with me would barter woe? Thy future ills shall press in vain; My bird! relent: one note could give I nothing owe but years to thee, A charm, to bid thy lover live. A debt already paid in pain. My curdling blood, my maddening brain, Yet e'en that pain was some relief; In silent anguish I sustain! It felt, but stiil forgot thy power: And still thy heart, without partaking Fhe active agony of grief One pang, exults-while mine is breaking. Retards, but never counts the hour. Il joy I've sigh'd to think thy flightson; fear not thou Wouid soon subside from swift to slow; Thou canst not murder more than now: Would soon subside from swift to slow;''hv cloud could overcast the light, I've lived to curse my nata da But could not add a night to woe:; And love, that thus can lingering slay. But could not add a night to woe; For then, however drear and dark, My wounded soul, my bleeding breast, My soul was suited to thy sky; Can patience preach thee into rest? tine star alone shot forth a spaik Alas! too late I dearly know, To prove thee —not Eternity. That joy is harbinger of woe. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 531 A SONG. Think that, whate'er to others, thou Hast seen each selfish thought subdued; Thou art not false, but thou art fickle, I bless thy purer soul eve now To those thyself so fondly sought;htsolitude The tears that thou hast forced to trickle Are doubly bitter from that thought: Oh, God! that we nad met in time, IT is this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free; Too well thou lov'st-too soon thou leavest. When thou hadst loved without a crime, And I been less unworthy thee t The wholly false the heart despises, And spurns deceiver and deceit; Far may thy days, as heretofore, But she who not a thought disguises, From this our gaudy world be past! Whose love is as sincere as sweet,- And, that too bitter moment o'er, When she can change who loved so truly, Oh! may such trial be thy last! It feels what mine has felt so newly. This heart, alas! perverted long, To dream of joy and wake to sorrow Itself destroy'd might there destroy, Is doom'd to all who love or live; To meet thee in the glittering throng, And if, when conscious'on the morrow, Would wake presumption's hope of joy. We scarce our fancy can forgive, That cheated us in slumber only, Then to the things whose bliss or woe, To leave the waking soul more lonely. Like mine, is wild and worthless all, That world resign-such scenes forego, What must they feel whom no false vision, Where those who feel must surely fall. But truest, tenderest passion warm'd? Sincere, but swift in sad transition, Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness, As if a dream alone had charm'd? Thy soul from long seclusion pure, Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, From what even here hath past, may guess, And all thy change can be but dreaming! What there thy bosom must endure. Oh! pardon that imploring tear, Since not by virtue shed in vain, My frenzy drew from eyes so dear; ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE For me they shall not weep again. "ORIGIN OF LOVE?" THE " Oriin of Love!"-Ah, why Though long and mournful must it be, Origi Love.!-Ah, why~ The thought that we no more may meet; That cruel question ask of me, re may me That cruel question ask of me, Yet I deserve the stern decree, When thou may'st read in many an eye the s And almost deem the sentence sweet. He starts to life on seeing thee? Still, had I loved thee less, my heart And shouldst thou seek his end to know:till, had I loved thee less, my heart My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, Had then less sacrificed to thine He linger long in silent woe; It felt not half so much to part, He'11 linger long in silent woe; But live-~until I cease to be. As if its guilt had made thee mine. LINES REMEMBER HIM, ETC. INSCRIBED UPON A cuP FORMED FROM A SKTUL. REMEMBER him, whom passion's power START not-nor deem my spirit fled: Severely, deeply, vainly proved: In me behold the only skull Remember thou that dangerous hour From which, unlike a living head, When neither fell, though both were loved. Whatever flows is never dull. That yielding breast, that melting eye, I lived, I loved, I quaffd, like thee; Too much invited to be blest: I died; let earth my bones resign: That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh, Fill up-thou canst not injure me; The wilder wish reproved, represt. The worm hath fouler lips than thine. Oh! let me feel that all I lost, Better to hold the sparkling grape, But saved thee all that conscience fears; Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy broou - And blush for every pang it cost And circle in the goblet's shape To spare the vain remorse of years. The drink of gods, than reptiles' food. Yet think of this when many a tongue, Where once my wit, perchance, hatn shone Whose busy accents whisper blame, In aid of others' let me shine; Would do the heart that loved thee wrongt And when, alas! our brains are gone, And brand a nearly blighted name. What nobler substitute than wine? S32 BYRON'S WORKS. Quaff while thou canst-another race, FROM THE TURKISH. When thou and thine like me are sped, THE chain I gave was fair to view, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, The lute I added sweet in sound, And rhyme and revel with the dead. The heart that offer'd both was true, Why not? since through life's little day And ill deserved the fate it found, Our heads such sad effects produce;These gifts were charmd by secret spel Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay, Thy truth in absence to divine; This chance is theirs, to be of use. And they have done their duty well, Newstead Abbey, 1808. Alas! they could not teach thee thine. That chain was firm in every link, ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, Bt t to bear a stranger's touch; BAR^T. That lute was sweet-till thou couldst think In other hands its notes were such. THERE IS a tear for all that die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave; Let him, who from thy neck unbound But nations swell the funeral cry, The chain which shiver'd in his grasp, And triumph weeps above the brave. Who saw that lute refuse to sound, Restring the chords, renew the clasp. For them is sorrow's purest sigh O'er ocean's heaving bosom sent: When thou wert changed, they alter'd too; In vain their bones unburied lie, The chain is broke, the music mute: All earth becomes their monument!'T is past-to them and thee adieuFalse heart, frail chain, and silent lute. A tomb is theirs on every page, An epitaph on every tongue. The present hours, the future age, SONNET. For them bewail, to them belong. TO GENEVRA. For them the voice of festal mirth THINE eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair, Grows hush'd, their name the only sound; And the wan lustre of thy features-caught While deep remembrance pours to worth From contemplation-where serenely wrought, The goblet's tributary round. Seems sorrow's softness charm'd from its despairHave thrown such speaking sadness in thine air, A theme to crowds that knew them not,.La tmented by admiring foeso d That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught Lamented by admiring foes, Who would not share their glorious, lot? With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thoughtWho would not share their glorious lot? " Who would not die the death they chose? I should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent, And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined When from his beauty-breathing pencil corn, Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be; (Except that thou hast nothing to repent) And early valour, glowing, find The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornA model in thy memory. Such seem'st thou-but how much more excellent! But there are breasts that bleed with thee With nought remorse can claim-nor virtue scorn In woe, that glory cannot quell; And shuddering hear of victory, S T Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell. O NE TO GENEVRA. Where shall they turn to mourn thee less? THY cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, When cease to hear thy cherish'd name? And yetso lovely, that if mirth could flush Time cannot teach forgetfulness, Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, While grief's full heart is fed by fame. My heart would wish away that ruder glow:Alas! -for them, though not for thee, And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes-but oh! They cannot choose but weep the more; While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, Ueep for the dead the grief must be And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before. Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow. For, through thy long dark lashes low depending The soul of melancholy gentleness TO A LADY WEEPING. Gleams like aseraph from the sky descending, WEEP, daughter of a royal line, Above all pain, yet pitying all distress; A sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; At once such majesty with sweetness blending, Ah, happy! if each tear of thine I worship more, but cannot love thee less. Could wash a father's fault away! Weep-for thy tears are virtue's tears — Auspicious to these suffering isles; INSCRIPTION And be each drop, in future years, ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DoaG Repaid thee by thy neople's smiles! WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, March. 1812. Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, WHEN we two parted And storied urns record who rests below; In silence and tears, When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Half broken-hearted Not what he was, but what he should have been: To sever for years, But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Colder thy kiss; Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Truly that hour foretold Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Sorrow to this. Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, The dew of the morning Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: Sunk chill on my brow — While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, It lt like the warning And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. O Of what I feel now. Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Thy vows are all broken, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, And light is thy fame; Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, I hear thy name spoken, Degraded mass of animated dust! And share in its shame. Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! They name thee before me, By nature vile, ennobled but by name, A knell to mine ear; Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. A shudder comes o'er meYe! who perchance behold this simple urn, Why wert thou so dear? Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn: They know not I knew thee, To mark a friend's remains these stones arise- Who knew thee too well:I never knew but one, and here he lies. Long, long shall I rue thee, Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808. Too deeply to tell. In secret we met~""~~~- ~ In silence I grieve, FAREWELL. That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer If I should meet thee For other's weal avail'd on high, After long years, Mine will not all be lost in air, How should I greet thee? But waft thy name beyond the sky. With silence and tears.'T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh: 1808. Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell! STANZAS FOR MUSIC.' These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; But in my breast, and in my brain, OLacrymarmn fons, tenero sacros But in my breast, and in my brain, Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater Awake the pangs that pass not by, Felix! in imo qui scatentem The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, GRAY'S POEMATA Though grief and passion, there rebel; only know we loved in vain- TIIERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes [ only know we loved in vain — I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell! away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, BRIGHT be the place of thy soul! which fades so fast, No lovelier spirit than thine But the tender bloom of heat is gone, ere youth itself E'er burst from its mortal control, be past. In the orbs of the blessed to shine. On earth thou wert all but divine, Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of As thy soul shall immortally be; happiness And our sorrow may cease to repine, Are driven o'er the shoals or guik or ocean of excess; When we know that thy God is with thee. The magnet of their course i gone, or only points in When we know that thy God is with thee, vain Light be the turf of thy tomb! The shore to which their shihe'd sail shall never st, etch May its verdure like emeralds be: aain There should not be the shadow of gloom In aught that reminds us of thee. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself Young flowers and an evergreen tree comes down, May spring from the spot of thy rest. It cannot feelfor others' woes, it dare not dream its own; But nor cypress nor yew let us see; For why should we mourn for the blest? 1 These Verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr Power Strand, who has punlished them, with very beavttiful muZIN t Sir John Stevenson O34 BYRON'S WORKS. That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our While that placid sleep came o'er thee tears,'Which thou ne'er canst know again: And though the eye may sparkle still,'t is where the Would that breast, by thee glanced over, ice appears. Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth dis- w tract the breast, was not well to spurn it so. Through midnight hours that yield no more their for- Though the world for this commend tn mer hope of rest; Though it smile upon the blow, mer hope of rest; p P hee,'T is but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woeAl green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray s m hbenea.k & Though my many faults defaced me, Could no other arm be found Oh could I feet as I nave felt,-or be what I have been, Than the one which once embraced me, Or weep, as I could once have wept, o'er many a van- To inflict a cureless wound? ish'd scene: Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not, As springs, in deserts found, seem sweet-all brackish Love may sink by slow decay, though they be,- But by sudden wrench, believe not bo,'midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would Hearts can thus be torn away: flow to me. Still thine own its life retaineth1815. Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth Is-that we no more may meet. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. These are words of deeper sorrow THERE be none of beauty's daughters Than the wail above the dead; With a magic like thee; Both shall live, but every morrow And like music on the waters Wake us from a widow bd. Is thy sweet voice to me: And when thou wouldst solace gather, When, as if its sound were causing When our child's first accents flow, The charm'd ocean's pausing, Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!" The waves lie still and gleaming, Though his care she must forego? And the lull'd winds seem dreaming. When her little hands shall press thee, Wherx her lip to thine is prest, And the midnight moon is weaving Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, Her bright chain o'er the deep; Think of him thy love had bless'd! Whose breast is gently heaving, Should her lineaments resemble As an infant's asleep: Those thou never more may'st see, So the spirit bows before thee, Then thy heart will softly tremble To listen-and adore thee; With a pulse yet true to me. With a full but soft emotion, All my faults perchance thou knowest, Like the swell of summer's ocean. All my madness none can know; All my hopes, where'er thou goest, Wither-yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken; FARE THEE WELL. Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee-by thee forsaken, Alas! they had beenfriends in youth; Even my soul forsakes me now; But whispering tongues can poison truth; But't is done-all words are idleAnd constancy lives in realms above: Words from me are vainer still And life is thorny and youth is vain: And to be wroth with one we love, Is vaBut the thoughts we cannot bridle Doth work like madness in the brain. Force their way without the will.-. * * * * t * Fare thee well!-thus disunited, But. never either found another Torn from every nearer tie, To free the hollow heart from paining- -n h n i. They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blightedLike cliffs, which had been rent asunder; More than this I scarce can die. A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frcst, nor thunder Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been. COLERIDGE'S Christabel WHEN all around grew drear and dark,......a~ ~ And reason half withheld her rayK ARE thee well! and if for ever, And hope but shed a dying spark Still for ever, fare thee well Which more misled my lonely way; 9lven though unforgiving, never In that deep midnight of the mind, "Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. And that internal strife of heart, Would that oreast were bared before thee When, dreading to be deem'd too kind, Where thy head so oft hath lain, The weak despair-the cold depart: MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 535 When fortune changed-and love fled far, Showering down a fiery h1od, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Turning rivers into blooc. Thou wert the solitary star Which rose and set not to the last. The chief has fallen, but not by you, Vanquishers of Waterloo! Oh! blest be thine unbroken light! When the soldier citizen That watch'd me as a seraph's eye, Sway'd not o'er his fellow-menAnd stood between me and the night, Save in deeds that led them on For ever shining sweetly nigh. Where glory smiled on freedom's sonWho, of all the despots banded, And when the cloud upon us came, Ad n te cd With that youthful chief competed? Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray- o cd b o F Who could boast o'er France defeated, Then purer spread its gentle flame, Till lone tyranny commanded? And dash'd the darkness all away.by ambi s Till, goaded by ambition's sting, Still may thy spirit dwell on mine, The hero sunk into the king? And teach it what to brave or brook- Then he fell;-so perish all, There's more in one soft word of thine, Who would men by man enthral! Than in the world's defied rebuke. And thou too of the snow-white plume! Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree, Whose realm refused thee even a tomb 2 That still unbroke, though gently bent, Better hadst thou still been leading Still waves with fond fidelity France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding, Its boughs above a monument. Than sold thyself to death and shame For a meanly royal name; The winds might rend, the skies might pour, Such as he of Naples wears But there thou wert-and still wouldst be blood-bought title bears. Who thy blood-bought title bears. Devoted in the stormiest hour Devoted in the stormiest hour Little didst thou deem, when dashing To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. On thy war-horse through the ranks But tho', and thine shall know no blight, Like a stream which burst its banks, Whatever fate on me may fall; While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, For heaven in sunshine will requite Shone and shiver'd fast around theeThe kind-and thee the most of all Of the fate at last which found thee: Was that haughty plume laid low then let the ties of baffled love By a slave's dishonest blow? Be broken-thine will never break; Once as the moan sways o'er the tide, Thy heart can feel-but will not move; It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide; Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. Through the smoke-created night Of the black and sulphurous fight, And these, when all was lost beside, The soldier raised his seeking eye Were found, and still are fixed, in thee- To catch that crest's ascendency,And bearing still a breast so tried, And as it onward rolling rose Earth is no desert-even to me. So moved his heart upon our foes. There, where death's brief pang was quickes' And the battle's wreck lay thickest, ODE. Strew'd beneath the advancing banner Of the eagle's burning crest[FROM THE FRENCH.]J (There with thunder-clouds to fan her We do not curse thee, Waterloo! Who could then her wing arrestThough freedonm's blood thy plain bedew; Victory beaming from her breast?) There't was shed, but is not sunk- While the broken line enlarging Rising from each gory trunk, Fell, or fled along the plain: Like the water-spout from ocean, There be sure was MURAT charging! With a strong and growing motion- There he ne'er shall charge again! It soars and mingles in the air, With that of lost LABEDOYERE- 1 See Rev. chap. viii. verse 7, etc. " The first angel sounded With that of him whose honour'd grave and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood," etc. Contains the "bravest of the braveVerse 8. "And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with lre was cast into the sea; and A crimson cloud it spreads and glows, the third part of the sea became blood," etc. But shall return to whence it rose; Verse 10. "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a When'tis full,'t will burst asunder- great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fel Xev yet was heard such thunder upon a third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains ot Never yet was heard such thunder." As then shall shake the world with wonder- Verse 11. "And the name of the star is called Wormwood Never yet was seen such lightning, and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning! many men died of the waters,'because they were made As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning. bte"' " Like the Wormwood star, foretold ~ike' the Wormwood star, foretold 2 Murat'sremains are said to have been tom from the r,aw. By the sainted seer of old, and burnt. 536 BYRON'S WORKS. O'er glories gone the invaders march, Would that I were cold with those, Weeps triumph o'er each levell'd arch- Since this hour I live to see; But let Freedom rejoice, When the doubts of coward foes With her heart in her voice; Scarce dare trust a man with thee, Put her hand on her sword, Dreading each should set thee free. Doubly shall she be adored; Oh! although in dungeons pent, France hath twice too well bedn taught All their chains were light to me, The " moral lesson" dearly bought- Gazing on thy soul unbent. Her safety sits not on a throne, With CAPET or NAPOLEON! Would the sycophants of him But in equal rights and laws, Now so deaf to duty's prayer, Hearts and hands in one great cause- Were his borrow'd glories dim, Freedom, such as God hath given In his native darkness share? Unto all beneath his heaven, Were that world this hour his own, With their breath, and from their birth, All thou calmly dost resign, Though guilt would sweep it from the earth; Could he purchase with that throne With a fierce and lavish hand Hearts like those which still are thine? Scattering nations' wealth like sand; Pouring nations' blood like water, My chief, my king, my friend, adieu! Pouring nations' blood like water, bfr Never did I droop before; In imperial seas of slaughter! N r r Never to my sovereign sue, But the heart and the mind, As his foes I now implore, And the voice of mankind, All I ask is to divide Shall arise in communion- Every peril he must brave, And who shall resist that proud union? Sharing by the hero's side The time is past when swords subdued- His fall, his exile, and his grave. Man may die-the soul's renew'd: Even in this low world of care, Freedom ne'er shall want an heir; ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HIONOUR Millions breathe but to inheritROM THE FRENCH Her for-ever bounding spiritWhen once more her hosts assemble, STAR of the brave!-whose beam hath shed Tyrants shall believe and tremble- Such glory'er the quick and deadSmile they at this idle threat? Thou radiant and adored deceit! Crimson tears will follow yet. Which millions rush'd in arms to greet,Wild meteor of immortal birth! ~*=s*~~~ —~ ~ Why rise in heaven to set on earth? [FROM THE FRENCH.] Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays; AH wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who Eternity flash'd through thy blaze! had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung The music of thy martial sphere to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreat- Was fame on high and honour here; ing permission to accompany him, even in the most menial And thy light broke on human eyes capacity, which could not be admitted." thy light broke on human eyes Like a volcano of the skies. MUST thou go, my glorious chief, Sever'd from thy faithful few? Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood, Who can tell thy warrior's grief, And swept down empires with its flood; Maddening o'er that long adieu? Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base, Woman's love and friendship's zeal- As thou didst lighten through all space; Dear as both have been to me- And the shorn sun grew dim in air, What are they to all I feel, And set while thou wert dwelling there. With a soldier's faith, for thee? Before thee rose, and with thee grew, Idol of the soldier's soul. A rainbow of the loveliest hue, First in fight, but mightiest now: Of three bright colours,' each divine, Many could a world control: And fit for that celestial sign; Thee alone no doom can bow. For freedom's hand had blended them By thy side for years I dared Like tints in an immortal gem. Death, and envied those who fell, When their dying shout was heard One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes; Blessing him they served so well.' One, the blue depth of seraphs' eyes; One, the pure spirit's veil of white At Waterloo, one man was seen, whose left arm was shat- Had robed in radiance of its light; ered by a cannon-ball, to wrench it off with the other, and, The three so mingled did beseem throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades,'Vive The texture of a heavenly dream.'Empereur jusqu'h la mort.' There were many other instances of the like; this you may, however, depend on as tue A. private Letter from Brussels. 1 The tri-colour. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 537 Star of the brave! thy ray is pale, WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF "THE And darkness must again prevail! PLEASURES OF MEMORY." But, oh thou rainbow of the free! ABSENT or present, still to thee, Our tears and blood must flow for thee.'My friend, what magic spell belong! When thy bright promise fades away, As all can tell, who share, like me, Our life is but a load of clay. In turn, thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall come, And freedom hallows with her tread By friendship ever deem'd too nigh, The silent cities of the dead; And EMORY" o'er her Druid's tomb And " MEMORY" o'er her Druid's tomb For beautiful in death are they For beautifual in death are they Shall weep that aught of thee can die, Who proudly fall in her array; ill she thenrepay How fondly will she then repay And soon, oh goddess! may we be *D ~,,n,oh,ods m w Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, For evermore with them or thee! And blend, while ages roll away, l er name immortally with thine! April 19, 1812. NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. [FROM TIIE FnENCH.] STANZAS TO *** F.aI EW:ELL to the land where the gloom of my glory THOUGH the day of my destiny's over, Arc..* and o'ershadow'd the earth with her name- And the star of my fate hath declined, She a.bandons me now,-but the page of her story, Thy soft heart refused to discover The brightest or blackest,,is fill'd with my fame. The faults which so many could find; I have warr'd with a world which vanquish'd me only Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; It shrunk not to share it with me I have coped with the nations which dread me thus And the love which my spirit hath painted lonely, It never hath found but in thee. The last single captive to millions in war! Then when nature around me is smiling Fai ewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown'd me, The last mile which arswers to mine, [ made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,- I do not believe it beguiling, But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee, Because it reminds me of thine; Decay'd in thy glory and sunk in thy worth. And when winds are at war with the ocean, Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted As the breasts I believed in with me, In strife with the storm, when their battles were won- If their billows excite an emotion, Then the eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted, It is that they bear me from thee. Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on Victcry's sun! Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, Farewell to thee, France!-but when liberty rallies And its fragments are sunk in the wave, Once more in thy regions, remember me then- Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys; To pain-it shall not be its slave. Though wither'd, thy tears will unfold it again: There is many a pang to pursue me: Yet, yet I may baffle the hosts that surround us, They may crush, but they shall not contemnAnd yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice- They may torture, but shall not subdue meThere are links which must break in the chain that has'T is of thee that I think-not of them. bound us,,~,~~~bound us,, ~,.~, ~IThough human, thou didst not deceive me, Then turn thee, and call on the chief of thy choice! Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Thotgh loved, thou forborest to grieve me, Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake,. SONNET. Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, RoussEs AU-Voltaire-our Gibbon-and de Stael- Though parted, it was not to fly, Though watchful,'t was not to defame me, Leman!' these names are worthy of thy shore, was not to defame m Thy shore of names like these; wert thou no more, or mute that the world might belie Their memory thy remembrance would recall: Yet I blame not the world, nor despise il, To them thy banks were lovely as to all; Nor the war of the many with oneBut they have made them lovelier, for the lore It my soul was not fitted to prize it, Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core'T was folly not sooner to shun. Of human hearts the ruin of a wall And if dearly that error hath cost me, Where dwelt the wise and wond'rous; but by thee And more than I once could foresee, low much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel, I have found that, whatever it lost me, In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea, It could not deprive me of thee. 1' wild glow of that not ungentle zeal,'hich of the heirs of immo'tality higch of the heirs of immortality From the wreck of the past, whah hath perish e Is p.,ud, and makes the breath of glory real! Thus much I at least may recall, ______________________________ It hath taught me that what I most cherishe' 1 Geneva, Ferney, Coppet, Lausannie. Deserved to be dearest of all: 2Y 73 538 BYRON'S WORKS. In the desert a fountain is springing, Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things In the wide waste there still is a tree, For an unholy usage; they raked up, And a bird in the solitude singing, And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands Which speaks to my spirit of thee. The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame DAIRKNESS. XWhich was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld I H A D a dream, which was not all a dream. The briht sun was etinguish'd, and the stars Each others' aspects-saw, and shriek'd, and diedrts ws, andhEven of their mutual hideousness they died, Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Unknon w ho he was upon whose brow Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Rayless, an' p, an te Famine had written fiend. The world was void, Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came, and went-and came, and brought no day. The populous and the poerfl was a lup, And men for.ot their passions in the dread Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifelessf0 this theira A lump desath-a chaos of and all heaclay. The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still, Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light: Wee no efshp e fr lighAnd nothing stirr'd within their silent depths; Apd they did live by watch-fires-and the thrones, d n g sd w t s The palaces of crowned kings-the huts, Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, The habitations,of all thinas which dwell, And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropped, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed, They slept on he abyss itout a surgeAnd men were gatherd round their blazin homes The waveswere dead; the tides were in their grave, And men were gather'l round their blazing homes To k once more into eac oter'sface: The moon their mistress had expired before; To look once more into each other's face:.' Tolokocemreitoeach othe'sThe winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, Happy were those who dwelt within the eye in the stagnant air, Ofp the volcanos and dheir mountaintorch: And the clouds perish'd; darkness -had no need Of the volcanos and their mountain-torch: a f t w t Of aid from them-she was the universe. A fearful hope was all the world contain'd; Forests were set on fire-but hour by hour They fell and faded-and the crackling trunks CHURCHILL'S GRAVE. Extinguish'd with a crash-and all was black. A FACT LITERALLY RENDERED. The brows of men by the despairing light I S TOOD b e te ge of hm wo Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits -I STOOD beside the grave of him who blazed The flashes fell upon'hem; some lay down The comet of a season, and I saw And hid their eyes and wept; and saie did rest The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled; With not the less of sorrow than of awe And others hurried to and fro, and fed On that neglected turf and quiet stone, Their funeral piles with fuel, and lool'd up With name no clearer than the names unknown, With mad disquietude on the dull sky, Wh:ch iay unread around it; and I ask' The pall of a past world; and then again The gardener of that ground, why it might be With curses cast them down upon the dust, Tnat for this plant strangers his memory task'd And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds lhrough the thick deaths of half a century; shriek'd, And thus he answer'd-"VWell, I do not know And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, Wh frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so; And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes ie died before my day of sextonship, Calne tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd And I had not the digging of this grave." And twined themselves among the multitude, And is tins all? I thought,-and do we rip Hissing, but stingless-they were slain for food: The veil of immortality, and crave And war, which for a momnent was no more. I Know not what of honour and of light I)id glut himself again-a meal was bought Through unborn ages, to endure this blight? With blood, and each sate sullenly apart, So soon and so successless? As I said, Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; The architect of all on which we tread, All earth was but one thought-and that was death, For earth is but a tombstone, did essay Immediate and inglorious; and the pang To extricate remembrance from the clay, Of famine fed upon all entrails-men Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thougn~ Diea, and their bones Nere tombless as their flesh; Were it not that all life must end in one, The meagre by the meagre were devour'd, Of which we are but dreamers;-as he caugh: Egen dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, As't were the twilight of a former sun, And he was faithful to a corse and k.pt Thus spoke he,-" I believe the man of whom The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, You wot, who lies in this selected tomb, rFil hunger'clhng them, or the dropping dead Was a most famous writer in nls day, Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, And therefore travellers step from out their way But. wmh a piteous and perpetual moan - To pay him honour,-and myself whate'er Ana. a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Your honour pleases"-then most pleased I shook VV nch answer'd not with a caress-he died. From out' my pocket's avaricious nck The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two Some certain coins of silver, which as't were Of an enormous city did survive,' Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare And thev were enemies; they met beside So much but inconveniently;-ye smile, rhe.dving embers of an altar-place, I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.' Because my homely phrase the truth would tell. And a firm will, and a deep sense, You are the fools, not I-for I did dwell Which even in torture can descry With a deep thought, and with a soften'd eye, Its own concentred recompense, On that old sexton's natural homily, Triumphant where it dares defy, In which there was obscurity and fame, And making death a victory. I'ti glory and the nothing of a name. ODE. PROMETHEUS. OH shame to thee, land of the Gaul! TITAN! to whose immortal eyes Oh shame to thy children anti thee! The sufferings of mortality, Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall, Seen in their sad reality, How wretched thy portion shall be! Were not as things that gods despise;erision snl strike thee forlorn, \WNhat was thy pity's recompense? A mockery that never shall die; A silent suffering, and intense; Therock, the vulture, and the chaThe curses of hate, and the hisses of scorn, The rock, the vulture, and the chain, Shall burden the winds of thy sky All that the proud can feel of pain, And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurl'd The agony they do not show, T laud The agony they do not show, The laughter of triumph, the jeers of the world' The suffocating sense of woe, Which speaks but in its loneliness, O whe is thy spirit yore, And then is jealous lest the sky The spirit that breathed in thy dead, Should have a listener, nor will sigh When gallantry's star was the beacon before, Until its voice is echoless. And honour the passion that led? Thy storms have awaken'd their sleep, Titan! to thee the strife was given Titan! to theen the strinfe was gven They groan frbm the place of their rest, Between thoe suffering and the aoill, And wrathfully murmur, and sullenly weep, Which torture where they cannot kill; To see the foul stain on thy breast; And the inexorable heaven, And the dinexoarayble heaven, For where is the glory they left thee in trust? Alnd the deaf tyranny of fate,'T is scatter'd in darkness,'t is trampled in dust! The ruling principle of hate, Which for its pleasure doth create Go, look to the kingdoms of earth, The things it may annihilate, From Indus all round to. the pole, Refused thee even the boon to die And something of goodness, of honour, and worth, The wretched gift eternity The wretched gift eternity b i w Shall brighten the sins of the soul. Was thine-and thou hast borne it well. s But thou art alone in thy shame, All that the Thunderer- wrung from thee The world cannot liken thee there Was but the menace which flung back Abhorrence and vice have disfigured thy name On him the torments of thy rack; t l The fate thou didst so well foresee, Beyond the low reach of compare; The fate thou didst so well foresee, Stupendous in guilt, thou shalt lend us through time Rut would not to appease him tell:n A proverb, a by-word, for treachery and crime! And in thy silence was his sentence, And in his soul a vain repentance, While conquest illumined his sword, And evil dread so ill dissembled While yet in his prowess he stood, That in his hand the lightnings trembled. Thy praises still follow'd the steps of thv lord And welcomed the torrent of blood: Thy godlike crime was to be kind, tyranny sat on his crown To render with thy precepts less And wither'd the nations afar, The sum of human wretchedness, Yet bright in thy view was that despot's renown, And strengthen man with his own mind; Till fortune deserted his car; But baffled as thou wert from high, Then back from the chieftain thou slunkest awav, Still in thy patient energy, Still n thy patient energy,,The foremost to insult, the first to betray! In the endurance, and repulse Of thine impenetrable spirit, Forgot were the feats he had done, Which earth and heaven could not convulse, The toils he had borne in thy cause; A mighty lesson we inherit: Tnoiu turned'st to worship a new rising sun, Theu art a symbol and a sign And waft other songs of applause. To mortals of their late and force; But the storm was beginning to lour, Like thee, man is il part divine, Adversity clouded his beam; A troubled stream from a pure source; And honour and faith were the brag of an hoi'. And man in portions can foresee And loyalty's self but a dream:His own funereal destiny; To him thou hadst banish'd thy vows wete restoe4, His wretchedness, and his resistance, And the first that had scoff'd were the first that atl\ red. And his sad unallied existence: To which' his spirit may oppose What tumult thus burthens the air? Itself-an equal to all woes, Wlat throng thus encircles his throne 7 40 BYRON'S WORKS. r is the shout of delight,'t is the millions that swear Next-for some gracious service unex -rest, His sceptre shall rule them alone. And from its wages only to be guess' — Reverses shall brighten their zeal, Raised from the toilet to the table, where Misfortune shall hallow his name, Her wondering betters wait behind her chai: And the world that pursues him shall mournfully feel With eye unmoved, and forehead unatash'd, How quenchless the spirit and flame She dines from off the plate she lately wa? 1. That Frenchmen will breathe, when their hearts Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie, are on fire, The genial confidante and general spy; For the hero they love, and the chief they admire! Who could, ye gods! her next employment * less? An only infant's earliest governess! Their hero has rush'd to the field; His laurels are cover'd with shade- She taught the child to read, and taught so sell, -that never should yield, *That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to spel.. But where is the spirit that never should yield, BuT w~here~ is. th spiri An adept next in penmanship she grows, The loyalty never to fade? As many a nameless slander deftly showr: In a moment desertion and guile i In a momentdesertim on and guile What she had made the pupil of her art, Abandon'd him up to the foe; Abandon'd hrnl up to the foe;.None know-but that high soul secured the hert, The dastards that flourish'd and grew in his smile t h s Forsook and renounced him in woe; And panted for the truth it could not hear, Forsook and renounced him in woe;.. And the millions that swore they would perish to save, With longig breast and undeluded ear. Beheld h.m a fugitive, captive, and slave! Foil'd was perversion by that youthful minld, The savage, all wild in his glen, Which flattery fool'd not, baseness could not blirl,Is nobler and better than thou; Deceit infect not, near contagion soil, Thou standest a wonder, a marvel to men, Indlgence weaken, nor example spoil, Such perfidy blackens thy brow! Nor master'd science tempt. her to look down If thou wert the place of my birth, On humbler talents with a pitying frown, At once from thy arms would I seve; Nor genius swell, nor beauty render vain, I'd fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, Nor envy ruffle to retaliate pain, And quit thee for ever and ever; Nor fortune change, pride raise, nor passion bow, And thinking of thee in my long after-years, Nor virtue teach austerity-till now. Should but kindle my blushes and waken my tears. Serenely purest of her sex that live, But wanting one sweet weakness-to forgive; Oh, shame to thee, land of the Gaul! Too shock'd at faults her soul can never know, Oh, shame to thy children and thee! She deems that all could be like her below: Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall, Foe to all vice, yet hardly virtue's friendHow wretched thy portion shall be! For virtue pardons those she would amend. Derision shall strike thee forlorn, And mockery that never shall die; But to the theme-now laid aside too long, And * that'neve shall d; The baleful burthen of this honest songThe curses of hate, and the hisses of scorn, nest songShall burthen the winds of thy sky; Though all her former functions are no more, Shall burthen the winds of thy sky; She rules the circle whichshe served before. And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurldshe served before. The laughter of triumph, the jeers of the world If mothers-none know why-before her quake, If daughters dread her for the mother's sake; If early habits-those false links which bind, At times, the loftiest to the meanest mindWINDSOR POETICS. Have given her power too deeply to instil Lines composed on the occasion of H. R. H. the P-e The angry essence of her deadly will; R-g-t being seen standing betwixt the coffins of Henry If like a snake she steal within your walls, IIlI. and Charles 1. in the royal vault at Windsor. Till the black slime betray her as she crawls FAME D for contemptuous breach of sacred ties, If like a viper to the heart she wind, By headless Charles, see heartless Henry lies; And leave the venom there she did not find; Between them stands another sceptred thing- What marvel that this hag of hatred works It moves, it reigns-in all but name, a king: Eternal evil latent as she lurks, Charles to his people, Henry to his wife- To make a Pandemonium where she dwells, In him the double tyrant starts to life: And reign the Hecate of domestic hells! Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain,, Skili'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints, Each royal vampyre wakes to life again: - ~.. * i. a-l With all the kind mendacity of hints, Ah! what can tombs avail-since these disgorge ith all the kind mendacity of hints, Ihe blood and dut o o m d a G e While mingling truth with falsehood, sneers with smiles, The blood and dust of both - to mould a G...ge.. A thread of candour with a web of wiles; 3 A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming, To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd scheming; A SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LIFE. A lip of lies, a face form'd to conceal, tloHest-honest ago! And, without feeling, mock at all who feel; it that thou be'st a devil. I cannot kill thee! With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown, SHAKSPEARE. A cheek of parchment, and an eye of stone.!olrsw in,the garret, in the kitchen bred, Mark how the channels of her yellow blood Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head; Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mnwi MISCELIANEOUS POEMS. 541 Cased like the centipede in saffron mail, Though the ocean roar around me, Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale, Yet it still shall bear me on; (Fur drawn from reptiles only may we trace Though a desert should surround me, Congenial colours in that soul or face). It hath springs that may be won. Look on her features! and behold her mind, As in the mirror of itself defined: Wer't the last drop in the wel', Look on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged- And I gasping on the brink, There is no trait which might not be enlarged; Ere my fainting spirit fell, Yet true to " Nature's journeymen," who made'T is to thee that I would drink. rhis monster when their mistress left off trade,This female dog-star of her little sky, In that water, as this wine, Where all beneath her influence droop or die. The libation would pour Should be-Peace to thine and mine, Oh! wretch without a tear-without a thought, And a health to thee, TOM MOORE! Save joy above the ruin thou hast wroughtThe time shall come, nor long remote, when thou Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now; Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain, "ON THS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY And turn thee howling in' unpitied pain. SIXTH YEAR." May the strong curse of crush'd affections light January 22 1824, Missolonght Back on thy bosom with reflected blight! And make thee, in thy leprosy of mind,e s s umove As loathsome to thyself as to mankind! Since others it hath ceased to move Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate, Yet though I cannot be beloved, Black as thy will for others would create: S ill thy hard heart be calcined into dust, My days are in the yellow leaf; And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. The flowers and fiuits of love are gone; Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed, The worm, the canker, and the grief, The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast spread! Are mine alone! Then,when thou fain wouldstwearyHeavenwithprayer, Look on thine earthly victims-and despair! The fire that on my bosom preys Down to the dust!-and, as thou rott'st away, lone as some volcanic isle; Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay. No torch is kindled at its blazebut for the love I bore, and still must bear, A fneral pile! lo her thy malice from all ties would tear, The hope, the fear, the jealous care, Fhy name-thy human name-to every eye The exalted portion of the pain rhe climax of all scorn, should hang on high, And power of love, I cannot share, Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers, But wear the chain. And festering in the infamy of years. _March 30, 1816. But't is not thus, and'tis not here Such thoughts should shake my soul; no a no ~~==~- maWhere glory decks the hero's bier, Or binds his brow. CARMINA BYRONIS IN C. ELGIN. The sword, the banner,' and the field, ASPICE, quos Scoto Pallas concedit honores, Glory and Greece around me see! Subter stat' nomen, facta superque vide. The Spartan, borne upon his shield, Scote miser! quamvis nocuisti Palladis aedi, Was not more free. Infandum facinus vindicat ipsa Venus. Pygmalion statuam pro sponsa arsisse refertur; wake! not reece-she is awake!) In statuam rapias, Scote, sed uxor abest. wake, my spirit! think through whom Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, ~;=~ I And then strike home! LINES TO MR. MOORE. Tread those reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood! Unto thee, I he following lines were addressed extempore by LordnByron Indifferent should the smile or frown to his friend Mr. Moore, on the latter's last visit to Italy.] Of beauty be. MY boat is on the shore, If thou regrett'st thy youth) why live? And my bark is on the sea; The land of honourable enath But, before I go, TOM MOORE, Is here-up to the field, and give Here's a double health to thee. Away thy breath! Here's a sigh to those who love me, Seek out, less often sought than found, And a smile to those who hate; A soldier's grave-for thee the best; And, whatever sky's above me, Then look around, and choose thy groun& Here's a heart for every fate. And take thy rest. 2Y2 ( 54 ) Bettter TO, ON THE REV. W. L. BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF POPE. I'll play at Bowls with the sun and moon. OLD HONG. My mither's auld, sir, and she has rather forgotten hersell in speaking to my Leddy, that canna weel bide to be contradickit (as I ken naebody likes it if they could help themsells). TALES OF MY LANDLORD, Old JMortality, vol. ii I;ETTER.- he with accuracy. Of "the tone of seriousness" I cer tainly recollect nothing: on the contrary, I thought Mr. Bowles rather disposed to treat the subject lightly; for Ravenna, February 7th, 1821. he said (I have no objection to be contradicted if incorDEAR SIR, rect) that some of his good-natured friends had come to IN the different pamphlets which you have had the him and exclaimed, " Eh! Bowles! how came you to goodness to send me, on the Pope and Bowles' contro- make the Woods of Madeira," etc. etc. and that he had versy, I perceive that my name is occasionally introduc- been at some pains and pulling down of the poem to ed by both parties. Mr. Bowlesrefers more than once to convince them that he had never made "the Woods" what he is pleased to consider "a remarkable circum- do any thing of the kind. He was right, and I was stance," not only in his letter to Mr. Campbell, but in wrong, and have been wrong still up to this acknowhis reply to the Quarterly. The Quarterly also and Mr. ledgment; for I ought to have looked twice before I Gilchrist have conferred on me the dangerous honour of wrote that which involved an inaccuracy capable of giva quotation; and Mr. Bowles indirectly makes a kind ing pain. The fact was, that although I had certainly of appeal to me personally, by saying, "Lord Byron, before read "the Spirit of Discovery," I took the quoif he remembers the circumstance, will witness-(wit- tation from the review. But the mistake was mine, and neTs IN ITALIC, an ominous character for a testimony not the review's, which quoted the passage correctly at present.) enough, I believe. I blundered-God knows how-into I shall not avail myself of a "non mi ricordo" even attributing the tremors of the lovers to the " Woods of after so long a residence in Italy;-I do "remember Madeira," by which they were surrounded. And I the circumstance"-and haveno reluctance to relate it hereby do fully and freely declare and asseverate, that (since called upon so to do) as correctly as the distance the Woods did not tremble to a kiss, and that the lovers of time and the impression of intervening events will did. I quote from memorypeimit me. In the year 1812, more than three years A kiss after the publication of " English Bards and Scotch Stole on the list'ning silence, etc. etc. Reviewers," I had the honour of meeting Mr. Bowles They (the lovers) trembled, even as if the power, etc. in the house of ourvenerable host of" Human Life, etc." And if I had been aware that this declaration would the last Argonaut of Classic English poetry, and the have been in the smallest degree satisfactory to Mr. Nestor of our inferior race of living poets. Mr. Bowles Bowles, I should not have waited nine years to make it, calls this "soon after" the publication; but to me three notwithstanding that " English Bards and Scotch Reyears appear a considerable segment of the immortality viewers" had been suppressed some time previously to of a modern poem. I recollect nothing of "the rest of my meeting him at Mr. Rogers's. Our worthy host the company going into another room"-nor, though I might indeed have told him as much, as it was at his well remember the topography of our host's elegant and representation that I suppressed it. A new edition of classically-furnished mansion, could I swear to the very that lampoon was preparing for the press, when Mr. room where the conversation occurred, though the, Rogers represented to me, that "I was now acquainted "taking down the poem" seems to fix it in the library. with many of the persons mentioned in it, and with Had it been "taken up," it would probably have been some on terms of intimacy;" and that he knew " one m the drawing-room. I presume also that the "re- family in particular to whom its suppression would mnarkable circumstance" took place after dinner, as I give pleasure." I did not hesitate one moment; it was conceive that neither Mr. Bowles's politeness nor appe- cancelled instantly; and it is no fault of mine that uI tite would have allowed him to detain " the rest of the has ever been republished. When I left England, in company" standing round their chairs in the "other April, 1816, with no very violent intentions of troubling room" while we were discussing" the Woods of Ma- that country again, and amidst scenes of various kinds deira" instead ofcirculatingits vintage. Of Mr. Bowles's to distract my attention-almost my last act, I believe "* good-humour" I have a full and not ungrateful recol- was to sign a power of attorney, to yourself, to prevent Saction; as also of his gentlemanly manners and agree- or suppress any attempts (of which several had been able conversation. I speak of the whole, and not of par- made in Ireland) at a republication. It is proper that I ticulars; for whether he did or did not use the precise should state, that the persons with whom I was subseworis printed in the pamphlet, I cannot say, nor could quently acquainted, whose names had occurred in that LETTER ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 543 publication, were made my acquaintances at their own day in the week: but of "his character" I know nothdesire, or through the unsought intervention of others. ing personally; I can only speak of his manners, and I never, to the best of my knowledge, sought a personal these have my warmest approbation. But I never judge introduction to any. Some of them to this day I know from manners, for I once had my pocket picked by the only by correspondence; and with one of those it was civilest gentleman I ever met with; and one of the mildbegun by myself, in consequence, however, of a polite est persons I ever saw was Ali Pacha. Of Mr. Bowles's verbal communication from a third person. "character" I will not do him the injustice to judge I have dwelt for an instant on these circumstances, from the edition of Pope, if he prepared it heedlessly; because it has sometimes been made a subject of bitter nor the justice, should it be otherwise, because I would reproach to me to have endeavoured to suppress that neither become a literary executioner, nor a personal satire. I never shrunk, as those who know me know, cue. Mr. Bowles the individual, and Mr. Bowles the from any personal consequences which could be attached editor, appear the two most opposite things imaginable. io its publication. Of its subsequent suppression, as I "And he himself one antithesis." possessed the copyright, I was the best judge and the- w s " I won't say "vile," because it is harsh; nor "missole master. The circumstances which occasioned the too many; taken," because it has two syllables too many; out suppression I have now stated; of the motives, each ustjudaccordingtohiscandouroraliy. -. every one must fill up the blank as he pleases. mustjudgeaccor o hs or malign. What I saw of Mr' Bowles increased my surprise and Bowles does me the honour to talk of "noble mind,'. onour to talk of "noble mindregret that he should ever have lent his talents to such and "generous magnanimity;" and all this because a task. If he had been a fool, there would have been " the circumstance would have been explained had not 6"the circumstance would have been explained had not some excuse for him; if he had been a needy or a bad the book been suppressed." I see no "nobility of man, his conduct would have been intelligible; but he mind" in an act of simple justice; a I hate the word is the opposite of all these; and thinkine and feeling as " magtanimity," because I have sometimes seen it ap- I do of Pope, to me the whole thing is unaccountable. plied to the grossest of impostors by the greatest of However, I must call things by their right names. I fools; but I would have "explained the circumstance," cannot call his edit of Pope a candid" work and notwithstanding "the suppression of the book," if Mr. I still tiink that there is alt affectation of that quality Bowles had expressed any desire that I should. As the not only in th volumes but in the pamphlets lately " gallant Galbraith" says to "Baillie Jarvie," "Well, the published. devil take the mistake and all that occasioned it." I "Why yet he doth deny his prisoners." nave had as great and greater mistakes made about me personally and poetically, once a month for these last Mr. Bowles says, that " he has seen passages in his ten years, and never cared very much about correcting letters to Martha Blount, which were never published by one or the other, at least after the first eight-and-forty me, and I hope never will be by others; which are so gross hours had gone over them. as to imply the grossest licentiousness." Is this fair I must now, however, say a word or two about Pope, play? It may, or it may not be, that such passages exist; of whom you have my opinion more at large in the un- and that Pope, who was not a monk, although a catholic, published letter on or to (for I forget which) the editor of may have occasionally sinned in word and in deedwith "Blackwoods EdinburghMagazine;"-and here I doubt woman in his youth; but is this a sufficient ground for that Mr. Bowles will not approve of my sentiments. such a sweeping denunciation? Where is the unmarAlthough I regret having published "English Bards ried Englishman of a certain rank of life, who (proand ScotchReviewers," the part which I regret the least vided he has not taken orders) has not to reproach is that which regards Mr. Bowles with reference to Pope. himself between the ages of sixteen and thirty with far Whilst I was writing that publication, in 1807 and 1808, more licentiousness than has ever yet been traced to Mr. Hobhouse was desirous that I should express our Pope? Pope lived in the public eye from his youth upmutual opinion of Pope, and of Mr. Bowles's edition of wards; he had all the dunces of his own time for his his works. As I had completed my outline, and felt enemies, and, I am sorry to say, some, who have not lazy, I requested that he would do so. He did it. His the apology of dulness fot detraction, since his death; fourteen lines on Bowles's Pope are in the first edition and yet to what do all their accumulated hints and of"English Bards and Scotch Reviewers;" and ate quite charges amount;-to an equivocal liaisonwith Martha as severe and much more poetical than my own in the Blount, which might arise as much from his infirmities second. On reprinting the work, as I put my name to as from his passions; to a hopeless flirtation with Lady it, I omitted Mr. Hobhouse's lines, and replaced them Mary W. Montagu; to a story of Cibber's; and to two with my own, by which the work gained less than Mr. or three coarse passages in his works. Who could come Bowles. I have stated this in the preface to the second forth clearer from an invidious inquest on a life of fift~fbdition. It is many years since I have read that poem; six years? Why are we to be officiously reminded of but the Quarterly Review, Mr. Octavius Gilchrist, and such passages in his letters, provided that they exist? Is Mr. Bowles himself, have been so obliging as to refresh Mr. Bowles aware to what such rummaging among my memory, and that of the public. I am grieved to "letters" and " stories" might lead? I have myself seen say, that in reading over those lines, I repent of their a collection of letters of another eminent, nay, prehaving so far fallen short of what I meant to express eminent, deceased poet, so abominably gross, and elabupon the subject of Bowles's edition of Pope's Works. orately coarse, that I do not believe that they could be Mr. Bowles says that " Lord Byron knows he does not paralleled in our language. What is more strange, is, deserve this character." I know no such thing. I have that some of these are couched as postscripts to nis met Mr. Bowles occasionally, in the best society in Lon- serious and sentimental letters, to which are tacked don; he appeared to me an amiable, well-informed, either a piece of prose, or some verses, of the most and extremely able man. I desire nothing better than hyperbolical indecency. He himself says, that it "ohto dine m company with such a mannered man every scenity (using a much coarser words be the sin agamin 544 BYRON'S WORKS. the Holy Ghost, he most certainly cannot be saved." to them in their youth, must laugh at such a ludicrous These letters are in existence, and have been seen by foundation of the charge of a "libertine sort of 1 ve;" many besides myself; but would his editor have been while the more serious will. look upon those who bring candid " in even alluding to them? Nothing would forward such charges upon an insulated fact, as fanatics have even provoked me, an indifferent spectator, to or hypocrites, perhaps both. The two are sometimes allude-to them, but this further attempt.at the deprecia- compounded in a happy mixture. lion of Pope. Mr. Octavius Gilchrist speaks rather irreverently of What should we say to an editor of Addison, who a " second tumbler of hot white-wine' negus.' What cited the following passage from Walpole's letters to does he mean? Is there any harm in negus? or is it Geeorge Montagu? "Dr.Young has published anewbook, the worse for being hot? or does Mr. Bowles drink neetc. Mr. Addison sent for the young Earl of Warwick, gus? I had a better opinion of him. I hoped that as he was dying, to show him in what peace a Christian whatever wine he drank was neat; or at least that, like could die; unluckily he died of brandy: nothing makes the ordinary in Jonathan Wild, " he preferred punch, a Christian die in peace like being maudlin! but don't the rather as there was nothing against it in scripture." say this in Gath where you are." Suppose the editor I should be sorry to believe that Mr. Bowles was fond introduced it with this preface: " One circumstance is of negus; it is such a " candid" liquor, so like a wishymentioned by Horace Walpole, which, iftrue, was indeed washy compromise between the passion for wine and flagitious. Walpole informs Montagu that Addison sent the propriety of water. But different writers have fir the young Earl of Warwick, when' dying, to show divers tastes. Judge Blackstone composed his " Comhin in what peace a Christian could die; but unluckily mentaries" (he was a poet too in his youth), with a he died drunk, etc., etc." Now, although there might bottle of port before him. Addison's conversation was uccur on the subsequent, or on the same page, a faint not good for much till he had taken a similar dose. show of disbelief, seasoned with the expression of "the Perhaps the prescription of these two great men was same candour" (the same exactly as throughout the not inferior to the very different one of a soi-disant book), I should say that this editor was either foolish or poet of this day, who, after wandering amongst the hills, false to his trust; such a story ought not to have been returns, goes to bed. and dictates his verses, being fed admitted, except for one brief mark of crushing in- by a by-stander with bread and butter, during the operadignation, unless it were completely proved. Why the tion. words iftrue?" That " if" is not a peace-maker. Why I now come to Mr. Bowles's " invariable principles of talk of "Cibber's testimony" to his licentiousness? To poetry." These Mr. Bowles and some of his correspondwhat does this amount? that Pope, when very young, cnts pronounce " unanswerable;" and they are " unanwas once decoyed by some noblemen and the player to swered," at least by Campbell, who seems to have been a house ofcarnal recreation. Mr. Bowles was not always astounded by the title. The sultan of the time being, a clergyman; and when he was a very young man, was offered to ally himself to the king of France, because he never seduced into as much? If I were in the humour "he hated the word league:" which proves that the for story-tellin,, and relating little anecdotes, I could Padishan understood French. Mr. Campbell has no tell a much better story of Mr. Bowles than Cibber's, up- need of my alliance, nor shall I presume to offer it; on much better authority, viz. that of Mr. Bowles him- but I do hate that word " invariable." What is there self. It was not related by him in my presence, but in of human, be it poetry, philosophy, wit, wisdom, science, that of a third person, whom Mr. Bowles names oftener power, glory, mind, matter, life or death, which is than once in the course of his replies. This gentleman "invariable?" Of course I put things divine out of related it to me as a humorous and witty anecdote; the question. Of all arrogant baptisms of a book, this and so it was, wh.tever its othercharacteristics might be. title to a pamphlet appears the most complacently conBut should I, froni a youthful frolic, brand Mr. Bowles ceited. It is Mr. Campbell's part to answer the contents with a "libertine sort of love," or with "licentious- of this performance, and especially to vindicate his own ness?" is he the less now a pious or a good man for "Ship," which Mr. Bowles most triumphantly proclaims not having always been a priest? No such thing; I am to have struck to his very first fire. willing to believe him a good man, almost as good a man " Quoth he, there was a Ship; as Pope, but no better. Now let me go, thou gray-hair'd loon, The truth is, that in these days the grand "primum Or my staff shall make thee sip;" mobile " of England is cant; cant political, cant poetical, It is no affair of mine, but having once begun (certainly cant religious, cant moral; but always cant, multiplied not by my own wish, but called upon by the fiequent through all the varieties of life. It is the fashion, and recurrence to my name in the pamphlets), I am like an while it lasts will be too powerful for those who can Irishman in a "row," "any body's customer." I shall only exist by taking the tone of the time. I say cant, therefore say a word or two on the " Ship." because it is a thing of words, without the smallest in- Mr. Bowles asserts that Canmpbell's "Ship ofthe Line" fluence upon human actions; the English being no derives all its poetry not from "art" but fiom " nature." wiser, no better, and much poorer, and more divided "Take away the waves, the winds, the sun, etc., etc. one amongst themselves, as well as far less moral, than they will become a stripe of blue bunting; and the other a %vere before the prevalence of this verbal decorum. piece of coarse canvas on three tall poles." Very true; This hysterical horror of poor Pope's not very well take away "the waves," "the winds," and there will ascertained, and never fully proved amours (for even be no ship at all, not only for poetical, but for any Cibber owns that he prevented the somewhat perilous other purpose; and take away "the sun," and we must adventure in which Pope was embarking) sounds very read Mr. Bowles's pamphlet by candle-light. But the virtuous in a controversial pamphlet; but all men of "poetry" of the "Ship" does not depend on "the waves," tdie world who know what life is, or at least what it was etc.; on the contrary, the " Ship of the Line" confers LETTER ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 5 ns own poetry upon the waters, and heightens theirs. I and Turkish craft, which were obliged to " cut and run " Jo not deny, that the " waves and winds," and above before the wind, from their unsafe anchorage, some for all " the sun," are highly poetical; we know it to our Tenedos, some for other isles, some for the main, and cost, by the many descriptions of them m verse: but some it might be for eternity. The sight of these little if the waves bore only t'he foam upon their bosoms, if scudding vessels, darting over the foam in the twilight, the winds wafted only the sea-weed to the shore, if the now appearing and now disappearingbetween the waves sun shone neither upon pyramids, nor fleets, nor for- in the cloud of night, with their peculiarly white sails tresses, would its beams be equally poetical? I think (the Levant sails not being of " coarse canvas," but of not: the poetry is at least reciprocal. Take away "the white cotton), skimming along as quickly, but less safely ship of the line " " swinging round " the " calm water," than the sea-mews which hovered over them; their eviand the calm water becomes a somewhat monotonous dent distress, their reduction to fluttering specks in the thing to look at, particu irly if not transparently clear; distance, their crowded succession, their littleness, as witness the thousands who pass by without looking on contending with the giant element, which made our it at all. What was it attracted the thousands to the stout forty-four's teak timbers (she was built in India) launch? they might have seen the poetical "calm water," creak again; their aspect and their motion, all struck at Wapping, or in the " London Dock," or in the Pad- me as something far more " poetical" than the mere dington Canal, or in a horse-pond, or in a slop-basin, or broad, brawling, shipless sea, and the sullen winds, in any other vase. They might have heard the poetical could possibly have been without them. winds howling through the chinks of a pig-sty, or the The Euxine is a noble sea to look upon, and the port garret-window; they might have seen the sun shining of Constantinople the most beautiful of harbours, and on a footman's livery, or on a brass warming-pan; but yet I cannot but think that he twenty sail of the line, could the " calm water," or the " wind," or the " sun," some of one hundred and.:orty guns, rendered it more make all, or any of these, "poetical?" I think not. "poetical" by day in the sun, and by night perhaps still Mr. Bowles admits " the ship " to be poetical, but only more, for the Turks illuminate their vessels of war in a from those accessories: now if they confer poetry so as manner the most picturesque-and yet all this is artiJito make one thing poetical, they would make other ciu. As for the Euxine, I stood upon the Symplegades things poetical; the more so, as Mr. Bowles calls a " ship -I see od by the broken altar still exposed to the winds of the line" without them, that is to say, its " masts and upon one of them-I felt all the " poetry "" of the situasails and streamers," " blue bunting," and " coarse can- tion, as I repeated the first lines of Medea; but would vas," and " tall poles." So they are; and porcelain is not that " pdetry " have been heightened by the Argo? clay, and man is dust, and flesh is grass, and yet the It was so even by the appearance of any merchant two latter at least are the subjects of much poesy. vessel arriving from Odessa. But Mr. Bowles says, Did Mr. Bowles ever gaze upon the sea? I presume "why bring your ship off the stocks?" for no reason hat he has, at least upon a sea-piece. Did any painter that I know, except that ships are built to be launched. ever paint the sea only, without the addition of a ship, The water, etc., undoubtedly HEIGHTENS the poetical boat, wreck, or some such adjunct? Is the sea itself a associations, but it does not make them; and the ship more attractive, a more moral, a more poetical object amply repays the obligation: they aid each other; the with or without a vessel, breaking its vast but fatiguing water is more poetical with the ship-the ship less so monotony? Is a storm more poetical without a ship? without the water. But even a ship, laid up in dock, is or, in the poem of the Shipwreck, is it the storm or the a grand and poetical sight. Even an old boat, keel upship which most interests? both much, undoubtedly; but wards, wrecked upon the barren sand, is a " poetical " without the vessel, what should we care for the tempest? object (and Wordsworth, who made a poem about a It would sink into mere descriptive poetry, which in washing-tub and a blind boy, may tell you so as wel itself was never esteemed a high order of that art. as I); whilst a long extent of sand and unbroken water I look upon myself as entitled to talk of naval mat- without the boat, would be as like dull prose as any ters, at least to poets:-with the exception of Walter pamphlet lately published. Scott, Moore, and Southey, perhaps (who have been What makes the poetry in the image of the "marble voyagers), I have swum more miles than all the rest of waste of Tadmor," or Grainger's " Ode to Solitude," them together now living ever sailed, and have lived so much admired by Johnson? Is it the " marble," or for months and months on ship-board; and during the the " waste," the artificial or the natural object? The whole period of my life abroad, have scarcely ever passed " waste " is like all other wastes; but the " marble" ot a month out of sight of the ocean: besides being brought Palmyra makes the poetry of the passage as of the up from two years till ten on the brink of it. I recol- place. lect, when anchored off Cape Sigaeum, in 1810, in an The beautiful but barren Hymettus, the whole coast English frigate, a violent squall coming on at sunset, so of Attica, her hills and mountains, Pentelicus, Anchesviolent as to make us imagine that the ship would part mus, Philopappus, etc., etc., are in themselves poetical, cable, or drive from her' anchorage. Mr. Hobhouse and and would be so if the name of Athens, of Athenians, myself, and some officers, had been up the Dardanelles and her very ruins, were swept from the earth. But to Abydos, and were just returned in time. The aspect am I to be told that the " nature" of Attica would be of a storm in the Archipelago is as poetical as need be, more poetical without the " art" of the Acropolis? of the sea being particularly short, dashing, and dangerous, the Temple of Theseus? and of the still all Greek and and tre navigation intricate and broken by the isles and glorious monuments of her exquisitely artificial genius? currents. Cape Sigaeum, the tumuli of the Troad, Lem- Ask the traveller what strikes him as most poetical, nos, Tenedos, all added to the associations of the time. the Parthenon, or the rock on which it stands? The But what seemed the most "poetical" of all at the mo- COLUMNS of Cape Colonna, or the Cape itself? The ment were the numbers (about two hundred) of Greek rocks, at the foot of it, or the recollertion that Faconer' 74 546 BYRON'S WORKS. ship was bulged upon them. There are a thousand sea, and the innumerable islands which constitute the rocks and capes, far more picturesque than those of site of this extraordinary city. the Acropolis and Cape Sunium in themselves; what The very Cloacse of Tarquin at Rome are as poare they to a thousand scenes in the wilder parts of etical as Richmond Hill; many will think more so. Greece, of Asia Minor, Switzerland, or even of Cintra Take away Rome, and leave the Tiber and the seven in Portugal, or to many scenes of Italy, and the Sierras hills, in the nature of Evander's time; let Mr. Bowles, of Spain? But it is the "art," the columns, the term- or Mr. Wordsworth, or Mr. Southey, or any of the pies, the wrecked vessel, which give them their antique other " naturals," make a poem upon them, and then and their modern poetry, and not the spots themselves. see which is most poetical, their production, or the Without them, the spots of earth would be unnoticed commonest guide-book which tells you the road from and unknown; buried, like Babylon and Nineveh, in St. Peter's to the Coliseum, and informs you what you indistinct confusion, without poetry,-as without exist- will see by the way. The ground interests in Virgil, ence: but to whatever spot of earth these ruins were because it wil be Rome, and not because it is Evantransported, if they were capable of transportation, der's rural domain. like the obelisk, and the sphinx, and the Memnon's Mr. Bowles then proceeds to press Homer into his head, there they would still exist in the perfection of service, in answer to a remark of Mr. Campbell's, that their beauty, and in the pride of their poetry. I opposed, " Homer was a great describer of works of art." Mr. and will ever oppose, the robbery of ruins from Athens, Bowles contends, that all his great power, even in this, to instruct the English in sculpture; but why did I so? depends upon their connexion with nature. The rhe ruins are as poetical in Piccadilly as they were in " shield of Achilles derives its poetical interest from the the Parthenon; but the Parthenon and its rock are less subjects described on it." And from what does the spear so without them. Such is the poetry of art. of Achilles derive its interest? and the helmet and the Mr. Bowles contends, again, that the pyramids of mail worn by Patroclus, and the celestial armour, and Egypt are poetical, because of "the association with the very brazen greaves of the well-booted Greeks? Is boundless deserts," and that a "pyramid of the same it solely from the legs, and the back, and the breast, and dimensions" would not be sublime in "Lincoln's Inn the human body, which they inclose? In that case, it Fields;" not so poetical, certainly; but take away the would have been more poetical to have made them fight " pyramids," and what is the "desert?" Take away naked; and Gulley and Gregson, as being nearer to a Stone-henge from Salisbury plain, and it is nothing state of nature, are more poetical, boxing in a pair of more than Hounslow Heath, or any other uninclosed drawers, than Hector and Achilles in radiant armour, down. It appears to me that St. Peter's, the Coliseum, and with heroic weapons. the Pantheon, the Palatine, the Apollo, the Laocoon, Instead of the clash of helmets, and the rushing of the Venus di Medicis, the Hercules, the dying Gladiator, chariots, and the whizzing of spears, and the glancing the Moses of Michel Angelo, and all the higher works of swords, and the cleaving of shields, and the piercing of Canova (I have already spoken of those of ancient of breast-plates, why not represent the Greeks and Greece, still extant in that country, or transported to Trojans like two savage tribes, tugging and tearing, and England), are as poetical asMont Blanc or Mount; Etna, kicking, and biting, and gnashing, foaming, grinning, and perhaps still more so, as they are direct manifestations gouging, in all the poetry of martial nature, unencumof mind, and presuppose poetry in their very concep- bered with gross, prosaic, artificial arms, an equal sution; and have, moreover, as being such, a something perfluity to the natural warrior, and his natural poet? of actual life, which cannot belong to any part of inani- Is there any thing unpoetical in Ulysses striking the rite nature, unless we adopt the system of Spinosa, horses of Rhesus with his bow (having forgotten his that the world is the deity. There can be nothing more thong), or would Mr. Bowles have had him kick them poetical in its aspect than the city of Venice: does this with his foot, or smack them with his hand, as being depend upon the sea, or the canals?- more unsophisticated? " The dirt and sea-weed whence proud Venice rose " In Gray's Elegy, is there an image more striking than his "shapeless sculpture?" Of sculpture in general, Is it the canal which runs between the palace' and the it may be observed, that it is more poetical than nature prison, or the "Bridge of Sighs " which connects them, itself, inasmuch as it represents and bodies forth that that render it poetical? Is it the " Canal Grande,'" or ideal beauty and sublimity which is never to be found the Rialto which arches it, the churches which tower in actual nature. This at least is the general opinion over it, the palaces which line, and the gondolas which but, always excepting the Venus di Medicis, I differ glide over the waters, that render this city more poetical from that opinion, at least as far as regards female than Rome itself? Mr. Bowles will say, perhaps, that beauty, for the head of Lady Charlemont (when I first the Rialto is but marble, the palaces and churches only saw her, nine years ago) seemed to possess all that stone, and the gondolas a " coarse" black cloth, thrown sculpture could require for its ideal. I recollect seeing over some planks of carved wood, with a shining bit of something of the same kind in the head of an Albanian hbntastically-formed iron at the prow, "without" the girl, who was actually employed in mending a road in water. And I tell him that without these the water the mountains, and in some Greek, and one or two would be nothing but a clay-coloured ditch, and who- Italian faces. But of sublimity, I have never seen any ever says the contrary, deserves to be at the bottom of thing in human nature at all to approach the expression that where Pope's heroes are embraced by the mud- of sculpture, either in the Apollo, the Moses, or other vympns. There would be nothing to make the canal of the sterner works of ancient or modern art. ir' Venice more poetical tnan that of Paddington, were Let us examine a little further this " babble of green ia not for the artificial adjuncts above mentioned, al- fields," and of bare nature in general, as superior to bough it is a perfectly natural canal, formed by the artificial imagery, for the Poetical purposes of the fine LETTER ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 547 arts. In landscape painting, the great artist does not length, but of its symmetry; and, making allowance for give you a literal copy of a country, but he invents and eastern hyperbole and the difficulty of finding a discreet composes one. Nature, in her actual aspect, does not image for a female nose in nature, it is perhaps as gooo furnish him with such existing scenes as he' requires. a figure as any other. Even where he presents you with some famous city, or Art is not inferior to nature for poetical purposes. celebrated scene from mountain or other nature, it What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble objec must be taken from some particular point of view, and of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, thei with such light, and shade, and distance, etc. as serve dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial sym not only to heighten its beauties, but to shadow its de- metry of their position and movements. A Highland formities. The poetry of nature alone, exactly as she er's plaid, a Mussulman's turban, and a Roman toga appears, is not sufficient to bear him out. The very sky are more poetical than the tattooed or untattooed butof his painting is not the portrait of the sky of nature; tocks of a New-Sandwich savage, although they were it is a composition of different skies, observed at dif- described by William Wordsworth himself like the ferent times, and not the whole copied from anyparticu'" idiot in his glory." lar day. And why? Because Nature is not lavish of I have seen as many mountains as most men, and more her beauties; they are widely scattered, and occasionally fleets than the generality of landsmen: and, to my mind, displayed, to be selected with care, and gathered with a large convoy, with a few sail of the line to conduct difficulty. them, is as noble and as pdetical a prospect as all that Of sculpture I have just spoken. It is the great inanimate nature can produce. I prefer the "mast of scope of the sculptor to heighten nature into heroic some great ammiral," with all its tackle, to the Scotch fir beauty. i. e. in plain English, to surpass his model. or the Alpine tannen: and think that more poetry has been When Canova forms a statue, he takes a limb from one, made out of it. In what does the infinite superiority of a hand from another, a feature from a third, and a "Falconer's Shipwreck,"%over all other shipwrecks, conshape, it may be, from a fourth, probably at the same sist? In his admirable application of the terms of his time improving upon all, as the Greek of old did in art; in a poet-sailor's description of the sailor's fate. embodying his Venus. These very terms, by his applicationi make the strength Ask a portrait painter to describe his agonies in ac- and reality of his poem. Why? because he was a poet, commodating the faces with which Nature and his sit- and in the hands of a poet art will not be found less ters have crowded his painting-room to the principles of ornamental than nature. It is precisely in general nahis art; with the exception of perhaps ten faces in as ture, and in stepping out of his element, that Falconer many millions, there is not one which he can venture to fails; where he digresses to speak of ancient Greece, give without shading much and adding more. Nature and " such branches of learning." exactly, simply, barely nature, will make no great artist In Dyer's Grongar Hill, upon which his fame rests, of any kind, and least of all a poet-the most artificial, the very appearance of Nature herself is moralized into perhaps, of all artists in his very essence. With regard an artificial image: to natural imagery, the poets are obliged to take some of "Thus is Nature's vesture wrought, their best illustrations from art. You say that " a foun- To instruct our wandering thought; tain is as clear or clearer than glass," to express its Thus she sses reen nd ga To disperse our cares away." beauty- And here also we have the telescope, the,ilsuse of "O fons Bandusi3e, splendidior vitro!" which, from Milton, has rendered Mr. Bowles so iri In the speech of Mark Antony, the body of Caesar is umphant over Mr. Campbell: displayed, but so also is his mantle- "So we mistake the future's face. Eyed through Hope's deluding glass."'You all do know this mantle," etc. And here a word, en passant, to Mr. Campbell *'Look in this place ran Cassius' dagger through." " As yon summits, soft and fair, Clad in colours of the air, If the poet had said that Cassius had run his ist Which, to those who journey near, Barren, brown, and rough appear, through the rent of the mantle, it would have had more Still we tread the same coarse wayof Mr.Bowles's "nature" to help it; but the artificial The present's still a cloudy day." dagger is more poetical than any natural hand without it. Is not this the original of the far-famed In the sublime of sacred poetry, " Who is this that cometh "T is distance lends enchantment to the view, from Edom? with dyed garments from Bozrah?" Would And robes the mountain in its azure hue?" " the comer" be poetical without his " dyed garments?" To return once more to the sea. Let any one loo o which strike and startle the spectator, and identify tth the long wall o Malamocco, which curbs the Adriatic approaching object. and pronounce between the sea and its master. Surely The mother of Sisera is represented listening for the that Roman work (I mean Roman in conception and "wheels of his chariot." Solomcn, in his Song, com- performance) which says to the ocean, "thus far shah pares the nose of his beloved to a " tower," which to us thou come, and no further," and is obeyed, is not less appears an eastern exaggeration. If he had said, that sublime and poetical than the angry aves which vainly her statue was like that of " a tower," it would have break beneath it. een as poetical as if he had compared her to a tree. Mr. Bowles makes the chiefpart of a ship's poesy de"The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex," peid on the " wind:" then why is a ship unuer sai' more s an instance of an artificial image to express a moral poetical than a hog in a high wind? The hog is all superiority. But Solomon, it is probable, did not com- nature, the ship is all art, "coarse canvas," "blue pare his beloved's nose to a " tower" on account of its bunting," and " tall poles;" both are violentlv actf 548 BYRON'S WORKS. upon by the wind, tossed here and there, to and fro; est, whatever his department, and will ever be so rated and yet nothing but excess of hunger could make me in the world's esteem. look upon the pig as the more poetical of the two, and Had Gray written nothing but his Elegy, high as he then only in the shape of a griskin. stands, I am not sure that he would not stand higher; Will Mr. Bowles tell us thatthe poetry of an aqueduct it is the corner-stone of his glory; without it, his odes consists in the water which it conveys?'Let him look would be insufficient for his fame. The depreciation on that of Justinian, on those of Rome, Constantinople, of Pope is partly founded upon a false idea of the Lisbon, and Elvas, or even at the remains of that in dignity of his order of poetry, to which he has partly Attica. contributed by the ingenuous boast, We are asked " what makes the venerable towers of "That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long. Westminster Abbey more poetical, as objects, than the But stoop'd to truth, and moralized his song." tower for the manufactory of patent shot, surrounded He should have written "rose to truth." In my mind, by the same scenery?' I will answer-the architecture. the highest of all poetry is ethical poetry, as the high Turn Westminster Abbey, or Saint Paul's, into a powder est of all earthly objects must be moral truth. Religion magazine, their poetry, as objects, remains the same; does not make a part of my subject; it is something the Parthenon was actually converted into one by the beyond human powers, and has failed in all human Turks, during Morosini's Venetian siege, and part of it hands except Milton's and Dante's, and even Dante's destroyed in consequence. Cromwell's dragoons stalled powers are involved in the delineation of human pastheir steeds in Worcester cathedral; was it tess poeti- sions, though in supernatural circumstances. What calb as an object, than before? Ask a foreigner on his ap- made Socrates the greatest of men? His moral truthproach to London, what strikes him as the most poetical his ethics. What proved Jesus Christ the Son of God of the towers before him; he will point out St. Paul's and hardly less than his miracles? His moral precepts. Westminster Abbey, without, perhaps, knowing the And if ethics have made a philosopher the first of men, names or associations of either, and pass over the "tower and have not been disdained as an adjunct to his gospel for patent shot," not that, for any thing he knows to by the Deity himself, are we to be told that ethical the contrary, it might not be the mausoleum of a mon- poetry, or didactic poetry, or by whatever name you arch, or a Waterloo column, or a Trafalgar monument, term it, whose object is to make men better and wiser, but because its architecture is obviously inferior. is not the very first order of poetry? and are we to be To the question," whether the description of a game told this too by one of the priesthood? It requires of cards be as poetical, supposing the execution of the more mind, more wisdom, more power, than all the artists equal, as a description of a walk in a forest?" " forests" that ever were " walked" for their " descripit may be answered, that the materials are certainly tion," and all the epics that ever were founded upon not equal; but that "the artist," who has rendered fields of battle. The Georgics are indisputably, and, the "game of cards poetical," is byfar the greater of I believe, undisputedly, even a finer poem than the the two. But all this "ordering" of poets is purely ar- ZEneid. Virgil knew this; he did not order them to be bitrary on the part of Mr. Bowles. There may or may burnt. not be, in fact, different "orders" of poetry, but the "The proper study of mankind is man." poet is always ranked according to his execution, and It is the fashion of the day to lay great stress upon not according to his branch of the art. what they call " imagination" and "invention," the two Tragedy is one of the highest presumed orders. commonest of qualities: an Irish peasant, with a little Hughes has written a tragedy, and avery successful one; whiskey in his head, will imagine and invent more Fenton another; and Pope none. Did any man, how- than would furnish forth a modern poem. If' Lucretius ever,-will even Mr. Bowles himself rank Hughes and had not been spoiled by the Epicurean system, we Fenton as poets above Pope? Was even Addison (the should have had a far superior poem to any now in author of Cato), or Rowe (one of the higher order of existence. As mere poetry, it is the first of Latin dramatists, as far as success goes), or Young, or even poems. What then has ruined it? His ethics. Pope Otway and Southerne, ever raised for a moment to the has not this defect; his moral is as pure as his poetry sane rank with Pope in the estimation of the reader is glorious. In speaking of artificial objects, I have or the critic, before his death or since? If Mr. Bowles omitted to touch upon one which I will now mention. will contend for classifications of this kind, let him re- Cannon may be presumed to be as highly poetical as collect that descriptive poetry has been ranked as among art can make her objects. Mr. Bowles will, perhaps, the lowest branches of the art, and description as a mere tell me that this is because they resemble that grand ornament, but which should never form "the subject" natural article of sound in heaven, and simile upon of a poem. The Italians, with the most poetical lan- earth-thunder. I shall be told triumphantly, that guage, and the most fastidious taste in Europe, possess Milton made sad work with his artillery, when he armed now live great poets, they say, Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, his devils therewithal. He did so; and this artificial rasso, and lastly Alfieri; and whom do they esteem one object must have had much of the sublime to attract Jt the highest of these, and some of them the very his attention for such a conflict. He has made an highest? Petrarcn, the sonnetteer: it is true that some of absurd use of it; but the absurdity consists net in his Canzoni are not less esteemed, but not more; who using cannon against the angels of God, but any ever dreams of his Latin Africa? material weapon. The thunder of the clouds would Were Petrarch to be ranked according to the " order" have been as ridiculous and vain in the hands of the ot' his compositions, where would the best of sonnets devils, as the "villanous saltpetre:" the angels were as place him? with Dante and the others? No: but, as I impervious to the one as to the other. The thundertsavu befre said, the noet who executes best is the high- bolts became sublime in the hands of the Almighty, not LETTER ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE..549 as sltch, but because he deigns to use them as a means tation of Milton's style, as burlesque as the Splendid of repelling the rebel spirits; but no one can attribute Shilling." These two writers (for Cowper is no poet) their defeat to this grand piece of natural electricity: come into comparison in one great work-the transthe Almigity willed; and they fell; his word would have lation of Homer. Now, with all the great, and manlbeen enough; and Milton is as absurd (and in fact, fest, and manifold, and reproved, and acknowledged, blasphemous) in putting material lightnings into the and uncontroverted faults of Pope's translation, and hands of the Godhead as in giving him hands at all. all the scholarship, and pains, and time, and trouble, and The artillery of the demons was but the first step of blank verse of the other, who can ever read Cowper? his mistake, the thunder the next, and it is astep lower. and who will ever lay down Pope, unless for the It would have been fit for Jove, but not for Jehovah. original? Pope's Was - not Homer, it was Spondanls;" The subject altogether was essentially unpoetical; he but Cowper's is not Homer, either, it is not even Cowhas made more of it than another could, but it is be- per. As a.child I first read Pope's Homer with a rap. yond him and all men. ture which no subsequent work could ever afford; and In a portion of his reply, Mr. Bowles asserts that children are not the wors: judges of their own lai!Pope " envied Phillips" because he quizzed his pastorals guage. As a boy I read Homer in the original, as we in the Guardian in that most admirable model of have all done, some of us by force, and a few by irony, his paper on the subject. If there was any favour; under which description I come is nothing to thing enviable about Phillips, it could hardly be his the purpose, it is enough that I read him. As a man oastorals. They were despicable, and Pope expressed I have tried to read Cowper's version, and I found it his contempt. If Mr. Fitzgerald published a volume of impossible. Has any human reader ever succeeded? sonnets, or a" Spirit of Discovery," or a " Missionary," And now that we have heard the C atholic reproached and Mr. Bowles wrote in any periodical journal an with envy, duplicity, licentiousness, avarice-what was ironical paper upon them, would this be "envy?" The the Calvinist? He attempted the most atrocious of authors of the "Rejected Addresses" have ridiculed the crimes in the Christian code, viz. suicide-and why? sixteen or twenty first living poets" of the day; but Because he was to be examined whether he was fit for do they " envy " them? " Envy " writhes, it don't laugh. an office which he seems to wish to have made a sineThe authors of the " Rejected Addresses " may despise cure. His connexion with Mrs. Unwin was pure enough, some, but they can hardly " envy" any of the persons for the old lady was devout, and he was deranged; but whom they have parodied: and Pope could have no why then is the infirm and then elderly Pope to be remore envied Phillips than he did Welsted, or Theobalds, proved for his connexion with Martha Blount? Cowor Smedley, or any other given hero of the Dunciad. per was the almoner of Mrs. Throgmlorton; but Pope's He could not have envied him, even had he himself not charities were his own, and they were noble and exbeen the greatest poet of his age. Did Mr. Ings " envy" tensive, far beyond his fortune's warrant. Pope was Mr. Phillips, when he asked him, "how came your Pyrrhus to drive oxen, and say,,I am goaded on by contain a simple, household, "indoor," artificial, and ordi love?" This question silenced poor Phillips; but it no nary image. I refer Mr. Bowles to the stanza, and ask if these more proceeded from " envy" than did Pope's ridicule. three line about "teedles" ar e npt worth all the boasted twaddling about trees, so triumphantly re-quoted? and yet Did he envy Swift? Did he envy Bolingbroke? Did he in fact what do they convey? A homely collection of images envy Gay the unparalleled success of his "Beggar's and ideas associated with the darning of stockings, and the Opera?" We may be answered that these we heseerehis heming of shirts, and the mending of breeches; butwillany one deny that they are eminently poetical and pathetic as adfriends-true; but does friendship prevent envy? dressed by Cowper to his nurse? The trash of trees remindls Study the first woman you meet with, or the first scrib- me of a saying of Sheridan's. Soon after the "Rejected Adbler, let Mr. Bowles himself (whom I acquit fully of dress" scene, in 1812, I met Sheridan. In the course of dinsuch an odious quality) study some of his own poetical ner, he said, "-Lord Byron. did you know that amongst the such- an diusquait) tud smewriters of addresses was Whitbread himselfi" I answered intimates: the most envious man I ever heard of is a by an inquiry of what sort of an address he had made. " Of poet, and a high one; besides it is an eniversal passion. that," replied Sheridan, "I remember little, except that there Goldsmith envied not only the puppets for their danc- was a phonisz in it." " A phlonix! WVell, how did he de-, -,.,..~... i. scribe it?" "Like a poulterer," answered Sheridan " it was ing, and broke his shins in the attempt at rivalry, but green, and yellow, and red, and blue: he did not let us off was seriously angry because two pretty women re- for a single feather." And just such as this poulterer's acceived more attention than he did. This ts envy; but count of aphcenix, is Cowper's stick-picker's detail of a wood, where does Pope show a sign of the passion? In that with all its petty minutia of this, that, and the other. One'more poetical instance of the power of art, and even case, Dryden envied the hero of his Mac Flecknoe. Mr. its superiority over nature, in poetry, and I have done: —the Bowles compares, when and where he can, Pope with bust of Jlntinouts! Is there any thing in nature like this Cowper (the same Cowper whon, in his edition of Pope, marble, excepting the Venus Can there be more poetry gathered into existence than in that wonderful creation of perhe laughs at for his attachment to an old woman, Mrs. feet beauty? But the poetry of this bust is in no respect deUnwin: search and you will find it; I remember the rived from nature, nor from any association of moral exalted passage, though not the page); in particular he re-' ness; for what is there in common with moral n ture and the quotes Cowper's Dutch delineation of a wood, drawn male minion of Adrian? The very execution is not natural but super-natural, or rather super-artificial, for nature has up like a seedsman's catalogue,' with an affected imi- never done so much. Away, then, with this cant about nature and "invariane 1 1 will submit to Mr. Bowles's own judgment a passage principles of poetry!" A great artist will make a block of from another poem of Cowper's, to be compared with the stone as sublime as a mountain, and a good poet can imbuo same writer's Sylvan Sampler. In the.ines to Mary, a pack of cards with more poetry than inhabits the forests ot "Thy needles, once a shining store, America. It is the business and the proof of a poet to give For my sake restless heretofore, the lie to the proverb, and sometimes to "make a silken purse Now rust disused, and shine no more, out of a sow's ear;" and to conclude with another honwel' My Mary," proverb, "a good workman will not find fault with his teoli, 2Z 550 BYRON'S WORKS. the tolerant yet steady adherent of the most bigoted of will not. You, sir, know how far I am sincere, and sects; and Cowper tle most bigoted and despondent whether my opinion, not only in the short work insectary that ever anticipated damnation to himself or -tended for publication, and in private letters which others. Is this harsh? I know it is, and I do not assert can never be published, has or has not been the same. tt as my opinion of Cowper personally, but to show I look upon this as the declining age of English poetry; what might be said, with just as great an appearance of no regard for others, no selfish feeling, can prevent me truth and candour, as all the odium which has been from seeing this, and expressing the truth. There can accumulated upon Pope in similar speculations. Cow- be no worse sign for the taste of the times than the per was a good man, and lived at a fortunate time for depreciation of Pope. It would he better to receive for his works. proof Mr. Cobbet's rough but strong attack upon Mr. Bowles, apparently not relying entirely upon his Shakspeare and Milton, than to allow this smooth and own arguments, has, in person or by proxy, brought "candid" undermining of the reputation of the most forward the names ofSouthey and Moore. Mr. Southey perfect of our poets and the purest of our moralists. "agrees entirely with Mr. Bowles in his invariable ()f his power in the passions, in description, in the principles of poetry." The least that Mr. Bowles can mock-heroic, I leave others to descant. I take him on do in return is to approve the "invariable principles of his strong ground, as an ethical poet: in the former Mr. Southey." I should have thought that the word none excel, in the mock-heroic and the ethical none " invariable" might have stuck in Southey's throat, like equal him; and, in my mind, the latter is the highest Macbeth's "Amen!" I am sure it did in mine, and I of all poetry, because it does that in verse, which the am not the least consistent of the two, at least as a greatest of men have wished to accomplish in prose. voter. Moore (et tu Brute!) also approves, and a Mr. If the essence of poetry must be a lie, throw it to the J. Scott. There is a letter also of two lines from a dogs, or banish it from your republic, as Plato would gentleman in asterisks, who, it seems, is a poet of "the have done. He who can reconcile poetry with truth highest rank "-who can this be? not my friend, Sir and wisdom, is the only true "poet" in its real sense; Walter, surely: Campbell it can't be; Rogers it won't "the maker," "the creator "-why must this mean the be. "liar," the " feigner," "the tale-teller?" A man may make and create better things than these. "You have hit the nail in the head, and **** [Pope, I n n presume] on the head also." I shall not presume to say that Pope is as high a I remain, yours, affectionately,, poet as Shakspeare and Milton, though his enemy, (Four Asterisks.) Warton, places him immediately under them. I would And in asterisks let him remain. Whoever this person no more say this than I would assert in the mosque may be, he deserves, for such a judgment of Midas, (once St. Sophia's), that Socrates was a greater man that "the nail" which Mr. Bowles has hit in the than Mahomet. But if I say that he is very near them, head should be driven through his own ears; I am it is no more than has been asserted of Burns, who is sure that they are long enough. supposed The attention of the poetical populace of the present "To rival all but Shakspeare's name below." day to obtain an ostracism against Pope is as easily ac- I say nothing against this opinion. But of what " order," counted for as the Athenian's shell against Aristides; according to the poetical aristocracy,are Burns's poems? they are tired of hearing him always called " the Just." These are his opus magnum, "Tam O'Shanter," a tale; They are also fighting for life; for if he maintains his the " Cotter's Saturday Night," a descriptive sketch; station, they will reach their own falling. They have some others in the same style; the rest are songs. So raised a mosque by the side of a Grecian temple of the much for the rank of his productions; the rank of purest architecture; and, more barbarous than the Burns is the very first of his art. Of Pope I have exbarbarians from whose practice I have borrowed the pressed my opinion elsewhere, as also of the effect figure, they are not contented with their own grotesque which the present attempts at poetry have had upon edifice, unless they destroy the prior and purely beauti- our literature. If any great national or natural conful fabric which preceded, and which shames them and vulsion could or should overwhelm your country, in theirs for ever and ever. I shall be told that amongst SUh sort as to sweep Great Britain from the kingdoms those I have been (or it maybe still am) conspicuous- of the earth, and leave only that, after all the most tute, and I am ashamed of it. I have been amongstliving of human things, a dead language, to be studied the builders of this Babel, attended by a confusion of and read, and imitated, by the wise of future and far tongues, but never amongst the envious destroyers of generations upon foreign shores; if your literature'he classic temple of our predecessor. - I have loved should become the learning of mankind, divested of and honoured the fame and name of that illustrious party cabals, temporary fashions, and national pride and unrivalled man, far more than my own paltry and prejudice; an Englishman, anxious that the posrenown, and the trashy jingle of the crowd of terity of strangers should know that there had been, schools" and upstarts, who pretend to rival, or even such a thing as a British Epic and Tragedy, might wish surpass him. Sooner than a single leaf should be fo the preservation of Shakspeare and Milton but torn fiom his laurel, it were better that all which these the surviving world would snatch Pope from the wreck, mlen, and that I, as one of their set, have ever written, d let the rest sink ith he people. He is the moral gshould witnpoet of all civilization, and, as such, let us hope that he will one day be the national poet of mankind. He Line trunks, clothe spice, or, fluttering in a row, is the only poet that never shocks; the only poet whose Betiingo the rails of Bedlam or Soho." faultlessness has been made his reproach. Cast your fnere are those who will believe this, and those who eye over his productions; consider their extent, and LETTER ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. b51 contemplate their variety:-pastoral, passion, mock- while the virtues he omitted from his catalogue-are heroic, translation, satire, ethics,-all excellent, and essential to the justice due to a man. often perfect. If his great charm be his melody, how Mr. Buwles appears, indeed, to be susceptible beyond comes it that foreigners adore him even in their diluted the privilege of authorship. There is a plaintive dedicatranslation? But I have made this letter too long. tion to Mr. Gifford, in which he is made responsible for Give my compliments to Mr. Bowles. all the articles of the Quarterly. Mr. Southey, it seems, Yours ever, very truly, "the most able and eloquent writer in that Review," BYRQN. approves of Mr. Bowles's publication. Now, it seems To.1. Murray, Esq. to me the more impartial, that, notwithstanding that the Post sc.iptum.-Long as this letter has grown, I great writer of the Quarterly entertains opinions opfind it necessary to append a postscript,-if possible, a posite to the able article on Spence, nevertheless that short one. Mr. Bowles denies that he has accused Pope essay was permitted to appear. Is a review to be deof "a sordid money-getting passion;" but he adds "if voted to the opinions of any one man? Must it not I had ever done so, I should be glad to find any testi- vary according to circumstances, and according to the mony that might show me he was not so." This testi- subjects to be criticised? I fear that writers must take mony he may find to his heart's content in Spence the sweets and bitters of the public journals as they and elsewhere. First, there is Martha Blount, who, occur, and an author of so long a standing as Mr. Bowles Mr. Bowles charitably says, "probably thought he did might have become accustomed to such incidents; he not save enough for her as legatee." Whatever she might be angry, but not astonished. I have been rethought upon this point, her words are in Pope's favour. viewed in the Quarterly almost as often as Mr. Bowles, Then there is Alderman Barber-see Spence's Anec- and have had as pleasant things said, and some as undotes. There is Pope's cold answer to Halifax, whenhe pleasant, as could well be pronounced. In the review proposed a pension; his behaviour to Craggs and to of " The Fall of Jerusalem," it is stated that I have deAddison upon like occasions; and his own two lines- voted " my powers, etc. to the worst parts of mani"And, thanks to Homer, since I live and thrive, cheism," which, being interpreted, means that I worIndebted to no prince or peer alive-" ship the devil. Now, I have neither written a reply, nor written when princes would have been proud to pen- complained to Gifford. I believe that I observed in a sion, and peers to promote him, and when the whole letter to you, that I thought "that the critic might have army of dunces were in array against him, and would praised Milman without finding it necessary to abuse have been but too happy to deprive him of this boast me;" but did I not add at the same time, or soon after of independence. But there is something a little more (apropos, of the note in the book of travels), that I serious in Mr. Bowles's declaration, that he "would have would not, if it were even in my power, have a single spoken" of his "noble generosity to the outcast, Richard line cancelled on my account in that nor in any other Savage," and other instances of a compassionate and publication?-Of course, I reserve to myself the privigenerous heart, "had they occurred to his recollectionwhen lege of response when necessary. Mr. Bowles seems in he wrote." What! is it come to this? Does Mr. Bowles a whimsical state about the article on Spence. You sit down to write a minute and laboured life and edition know very well that I am not in your confidence, nor of a great poet? Does he anatomize his character, in that of the conductor of the journal. The moment moral and poetical? Does he present us with his faults I saw that article, I was morally certain that I knew the and with his foibles? Does he sneer at his feelings, and author " by his style." You will tell me that I do not doubt of his sincerity?' Does he unfold his vanity and know him: that is all as it should be; keep the secret, duplicity? and' then omit the good qualities which so shall I, though no one has ever entrusted it to me. might, in part, have "covered this multitude of sins?" He is not the person whom Mr. Bowles denounces. Mr. and then plead that "they did not occur to his recollection?" Bowles's extreme sensibility reminds me of a circumnIs this the frame of mind and of memory with which the stance which occurred on board of a frigate, in which illustrious dead are to be approached? If Mr. Bowles, I was a passenger and guest of the captain's for a conwho must have had access to all the means of refreshing siderable time. The surgeon on board, a very gentle his memory, did not recollect these facts, he is unfit for manly young man, and remarkably able in his profes his task; but if he did recollect, and omit them, I know sion, wore a wig. Upon this ornament he was extremely not what he is fit for, but I know what would be fit tenacious. As naval jests are sometimes a little rough, for him. Is the plea of not recollecting" such promi- his brother-officers made occasional allusions to this nent facts to be admitted? Mr. Bowles has been at a delicate appendage to the doctor's person. One day a public school, and, as I have been publicly educated young lieutenant, in the course of a facetious discusalso, I can sympathize with his predilection. When we sion, said, "Suppose, now, doctor, I should take off were in the third form even, had we pleaded on the your hat." "Sir," replied the doctor, " I shall talk no Monday morning, that we had not brought up the Satur- longer with you; you grow scurrilous." He would not day's exercise because " we had forgotten it," what even admit so near an approach as to the hat which would have been the reply? And is an excuse, which protected it. In like manner, if any body approaches would not be pardoned to a school-boy, to pass current Mr. Bowles's laurels, even in his outside capacity of an in a matter which so nearly concerns the fame of the editor, " they grow scurrilous." You say that you are first poet of his age, if not of his country? If Mr. Bowles about to prepare an edition of Pope; you cannot d so readily forgets the virtues of others, why complain better for your own credit as a publisher, nor for the ri;* so grievously that others have a better memory for his demption of Pope from Mr. Bowles, and of the public own faults? They are but the faults of an author; taste from rapid degeneracy. ( 55c2 ) June 17, 1816. duct of my intended journey. It was my secret wisn IN the year 17-. having for some time determined that he might be prevailed on to accompany me: it was on a journey through countries not hitherto much fre- also a probable hope, founded upon the shadowy restuluented by travellers, I set out, accompanied by a friend lessness which I had observed in him, and to which the whom I shall designate by the name of Augustus Dar- animation which he appeared to feel on such subjects, veil. He was a few years my elder, and a man of con- and his apparent indifference to all by which he was siderable fortune and ancient family-advantages which more immediately surrounded, gave fresh strength. an extensive capacity prevented him alike from under- This wish I first hinted, and then expressed: his answer, valuing or overrating. Some peculiar circumstances in though I had partly expected it, gave me all the pleasure his private history had rendered him to me an object of surprise-he consented; and, after the requisite arof attention, of interest, and even of regard, which rangements,wecommencedourvoyages. Afterjourneyneither the reserve of his manners, nor occasional indi- ing through various countries of the south of Europe, cations of an inquietude at times-nearly approaching to our attention was turned towards the east, according alienation of mind, could extinguish. to our original destination; and it was in my progress I was yet young in life, which I had begun early; through those regions that the incident occurred upon but my intimacy with him was of a recent date: we had which will turn what I may have to relate. been educated at the same schools and university; but The constitution of Darvell, which must, from his his progress through these had preceded mine, and he appearance, have been in early life more than usually had been deeply initiated into what is called the world, robust, had been for some time gradually giving way, while I was yet in my noviciate. While thus engaged, I without the intervention of any apparent disease: he had heard much both of his past and present life; and, had neither cough nor hectic, yet he became daily although in these accounts there were many and irre- more enfeebled: his habits were temperate, and he concilable contradictions, I could still gather from the neither declined nor complained of fatigue, yet he was whole that he was a being of no common order, and evidently wasting away: he became more and more one who, whatever pains lie might take to- avoid re- silent and sleepless, and at length so seriously altered, mark, would still be remarkable. I had cultivated his that my alarm grew proportionate to what I conceived acquaintance subsequently, and endeavoured to obtain to be his danger. his friendship, but this last appeared to be unattainable; We had determined, on our arrival at Smyrna, on whatever affections he might have possessed'seemed an excursion to the ruins of Ephesus and Sardis, from now, some to have been extinguished, and others to be which I endeavoured to dissuade him, in his present concentred: that his feelings were acute, I had suffi- state of indisposition-but in vain: there appeared to be cient opportunities of observing; for, although he could an oppression on his mind, and a solemnity in his mancontrol, he could not altogether disguise them: still he ner, which ill corresponded with his eagerness to proceed had a power of giving to one passion the appearance of on what I regarded as a mere party of pleasure, little another in such a manner that it was difficult to define suited to a valetudinarian; but I opposed him no longer the nature of what was working within him; and the -and in a few days we set off together, accompanied expressions of his features would vary so rapidly, though only by a serrugee and a single janizary. slightly, that it was useless to trace them to their sources. We had passed half-way towards the remains of It was evident that he was a prey to some cureless dis- Ephesus, leaving behind us the more fertile environs otf quiet; but whether it arose from ambition, love, re- Smyrna, and were entering upon that wild and tenmorse, grief, from one or all of these, or merely from antless track through the marshes and defiles which a morbid temperament akin to disease, I could not dis- lead to the few huts yet lingering over the broken colcover: there were circumstances alleged which might umns of Diana-the roofless walls of expelled Christihave justified the application to each of these causes; anity, and the still more recent but complete desolation but, as I have before said, these were so contradictory of abandoned mosques-when the sudden and rapid illand contradicted, that none could be fixed upon with ness of my companion obliged us to halt at a Turkish accuracy. Where there is mystery, it is generally sup- cemetery, the turbaned tombstones of which were the posed that there fiust also be evil: I know not how this sole indication that human life had ever been a sojourner may be, but in him there certainly was the one, though in this wilderness. The only caravansera we had seen I could not ascertain the extent of the other-and felt was left some hours behind us; not a vestige of a town loth, as far as regarded himself, to believe in its exist- or even cottage, was within sight or hope, and this "city once. My advances were received with sufficient cold- of the dead" appeared to be the sole refuge for my unness; but I was young, and not easily discouraged, and fortunate friend, who seemed on the verge of becoming at length &u-eeeded in obtaining, to a certain degree, the last of its inhabitants. that commonplace intercourse and moderate confidence In this situation, I looked round for a place where he of common and every-day concerns, created and ce- might most conveniently repose:-contrary to the usual mented by similarity of pursuit and frequency of meet- aspect of Mahometan burial-grounds, the' cypresses mg, which is called intimacy, or friendship, according to were in this few in number, ard these thinly scattered the ideas of him who uses those words to express them. over its extent: the tombstones were mostly fallen, ar.d Oarvell had already travelled extensively, and to him worn with age: upon one of the most considerable. t I ihai applied for informration with regard to the con- these, and beneath one of the most soreading tr.es PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES. 553 Parvell supported himself, in a half-reclining posture, "Why?" with great difficulty. He asked for water. I had some "You will see." doubts of our being able to find any, and prepared to go "The ninth day of the month, you say?" in search of it with hesitating despondency-but he "The ninth." desired me to remain; and, turning to Suleipnan, our As I observed that the present was the ninth day of janizary, who stood by us smoking with great tranquil- the month, his countenance changed, and he paused. As lity, he said, "Suleiman, verbana su," (i. e. bring some he sate, evidently becoming more feeble, a stork, with a water), and went on describing the spot where it was to snake in her beak, perched upon a tombstone near us; be found with great minuteness, at a small well for and, without devouring her prey, appeared to be stedcamels, a few hundred yards to the right: the janizary fastly regarding us. I know not what impelled me to obeyed. I said to Darvell, " How did you know this?" drive it away, but the attempt was useless; she made a -He replied, " From our situation; you must perceive few circles in the air, and returned exactly to the same that this place was once inhabited, and could not have spot. Darvell pointed to it, and smiled: he spoke-i been so without springs: I have also been here before." know not whether to himself or to me-but the words " You have been here before — How came you never were only, "'T is well!" to mention this to me? and what could you be doing in "What is well? what do you mean?" a place where no one would remain a moment longer- " No matter: you must bury me here this evening, than they could help it?" and exactly where that bird is now perched. You know To this question I received no answer. In the mean- the rest of my injunctions." time, Suleiman returned with the water, leaving the ser- He then proceeded to give me several directions as rugee and the horses at the fountain. The quenching of to the manner in which his death might be best con his thirst had the appearance of reviving him for a mo- cealed. After these were finished, he exclaimed, " You ment; and I conceived hopes of his being able to pro- perceive that bird?" eeed, or at least to return, and I urged the attempt. He " Certainly." was silent-and appeared to be collecting his spirits for " And the serpent writhing in her beak?" an effort to speak. He began. " Doubtless: there is nothing uncommon m it; it is "This is the end of my journey, and of my life-I her natural prey. But it is odd that she does not decame here to die: but I have a request to make, a vour it." conmmand-for such my last words must be.-You will He smiled in a ghastly manner, and said,.aintly, " It observe it?" is not yet time!" As he spoke, the stork flew away. "Most certainly; but have better hopes." My eyes followed it for a moment; it could hardly be " I have no hopes, nor wishes, but this-conceal my longer than ten might be counted. I felt Darvell's death from every human being." weight, as it were, increase upon my shoulder, and, "I hope there Will be no occasion; that you will re- turning to look upon his face, perceived that he was cver, and-" dead! " Peace! it must be so: promise this." I was shocked with the sudden certainty which could "I do.-' not be mistaken-his countenance in a few minutes "Swear it by all ist" —-He here dictated an oath became nearly black. I should have attributed so rapid of great solemnity. a change to poison, had I not been aware that he had " There is no occasion for this —1 w;!' observe your no opportunity of receiving it unperceived. The day request; and to doubt me is-" was declining, the body was rapidly altering, and "It cannot be helped, you must swear." nothing remained but to fulfil his request. With the aid I took the oath: it appeared to relieve him. He re- of Suleiman's ataghan and my own sabre, we scooped moved a seal-ring from his finger, on which were some a shallow grave upon the spot which Darvell had indi Arabic characters, and presented it to me. He pro- cated: the earth easily gave way, having alreadyreceived ceeded- some Mahometan tenant. We dug as deeply as the "On the ninth day of the month, at noon precisely time permitted us, and throwing the dry earth upon all (what month you please, but this must be the day), you that remained of the singular being so lately departed, must fling this ring into the salt springs which run into we cut a few sods of greener turf from the less withered the Bay of Eleusis: the day after, at the same hour, soil around us, and laid them upon his sepulchre. you must repair to the ruins of the temple of Ceres, Between astonishment and grief, I was tearless. and wait one hour." * * * * * DEBATE ON THE FRAME-WORK BILL, IN THE MY LoRDs-the subject now submitted to your lor-. HOUSE OF LORDS, FEBRUARY 27, 1812. ships for the first time, though new u, the House, is by no means new to the country. I believe it had occur THE order of the day for the second reading of this pied the serious thoughts of all descriptions of persons, bill being read, long before its introduction to the notice of that iegiso LORD BYRON rose, and (for the first time) ad- lature, whose interference alone could be of real siw dressed their lordships, as follows: vice. As a person in some degree connected with the 2z2 75 554 BYRON'S WORKS. suffering county, though a stranger not only to this chinery, in that state of our commerce which the counHouse in general, but to almost every individualwhose try once boasted, might have been beneficial to the attention I presume to solicit, I must claim some por- master without being detrimental to the servant; yet, tion of your lordships' indulgence whilst I offer a few in the present situation of our manufactures, rotting in observations on a question in which I confess myself warehouses, without a prospect of exportation, with deeply interested, the demand for work and workmen equally diminished; To enter into any detail of the riots would be super- frames of this description tend materially to aggravate fluous: the House is already aware that every outrage the distress and discontent of the disappointed sufferers. short of actual bloodshed has been perpetrated, and But the real cause of these distresses and consequent that the proprietors of the frames obnoxious to the disturbances lies deeper. When we are told that these rioters, and all persons supposed to be connected men are leagued together not only for the destruction with them, have been liable to insult and violence. of their own comfort, but of their very means of subDuring the short time I recently passed in Nottingham- sistence, can we forget that it is the bitter policy, the shire, not twelve hours elapsed without some fresh act destructive warfare of the last eighteen years, which of violence; and on the day I left the county, I was in- has destroyed their comfort, your comfort, all men's formed that forty frames had been broken the preced- comfort? That policy which, originating with " great ing evening, as usual, without resistance and without statesmen now no more," has survived the dead to be. detection. come a curse on the living, unto the third and fourth Such was then the state of that county, and such I generation! These men never destroyed their looms have reason to believe it to be at this moment. But till they were become useless, worse than useless; till whilst these outrages must be admitted to exist to an they were become actual impediments to their exertions alarming extent, it cannot be denied that they have in obtaining their daily bread. Can you, then, wonder arisen from circumstances of the most unparalleled that in times like these, when bankruptcy, convicted distress. The perseverance of these miserable men in fraud, and imputed felony are found in a station not their proceedings, tends to prove that nothing but abso- far beneath that of your lbrdships, the lowest, though lute want could have driven a large, and once honest once most useful portion of the people, should forget and industrious, body of the people, into the commission their duty in their distresses, and become only less of excesses so hazardous to themselves, their families, guilty than one of their representatives? But while the and the community. At the time to which I allude, exalted offender can find means to baffle the law, new the town and county were burthened with large detach- capital punishments must be devised, new snares of ments of the military; the police was in motion, the death must be spread for the wretched mechanic, who magistrates assembled; yet all the movements, civil and is famished into guilt. These men were willing to dig, military, had led to-nothing. Not a single instance but the spade was in other, hands: they were not had occurred of the apprehension of any real delinquent ashamed to beg, but there was none to relieve them: actually taken in the fact, against whom there existed their own means of subsistence were cut off, all other legal evidence sufficient for conviction. But the police, employments pre-occupied, and their excesses, however however useless, were by no means idle: several noto- to be deplored and condemned, can hardly be subject rious delinquents had been detected; men, liable to of surprise. conviction, on the clearest evidence, of the capital crime It has been stated that the persons in the temporary of poverty; men who had been nefariously guilty of possession of frames connive at their destruction; if lawfully begetting several children, whom, thanks to this be proved upon inquiry, it were necessary that such the times! they were unable to maintain. Considerable material accessaries to the crime should be principals injury has been done to the proprietors of the improved in the punishmerrt. But I did hope, that any measure frames. These machines were to them an advantage, proposed by his majesty's government, for your lordinasmuch as they superseded the necessity of employing ship's decision, would have had conciliation for its basis; a number of workmen, who were left in consequence or, if that were hopeless, that some previous inquiry, to starve. By the adoption of one species of frame in some deliberation would have been deemed requisite; particular, one man performed the work of many, and not that we should have been called at once withthe superfluous labourers were thrown out of employ- out examination, and without cause, to pass sentences inent. Yet it is to be observed, that the work thus by wholesale, and sign death-warrants blindfold. But executed was inferior in quality; not marketable at admitting that these men had no cause of complaint; home, and merely hurried over with a view to exporta- that the grievances of them and their employers were tion. It was called, in the cant of the trade, by the alike groundless; that they deserved the worst; what name of " Spider work." The rejected workmen, in inefficiency, what imbecility has been evinced in the the blindness of their ignorance, instead of rejoicing at method chosen to reduce them! Why were the military these improvements in arts so beneficial to mankind, called out to be made a mockery of, if,hey were to be conceived themselves to be sacrificed to improvements called out at all? As far as the difference of seasons m mechanism. In the foolishness of their hearts they would permit, they have merely parodied the summer Imagined, that the maintenance and well-doing of the campaign of Major Sturgeon; and, indeed, the whole Industrious poor were objects of greater consequence proceedings, civil and nmilitary, seemed on the model oi than the enrichment of a few individuals by any im- those of the Major and Corporation of Garratt.-Such provement, in the implements of trade, which threw marchings and counter-marchings! from Nottingham the workmen out of employment, and rendered the to Bullwell, from Bullwell to Banford, from Banford to l:,hourer unworthy of his hire. And it must be con- Mansfield and when at length the detachments arrived 1,:1wed tila although the adoption of the enlarged ma- at their destinations, in all "the pride, pomp, and cir PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES. 555:unmstance of glorious war," they came just in time to such objects demand it. I have traversed the seat of witness the mischief which had been done, and ascertain war in the Peninsula, I have been in some of the most the escape of the perpetrators, to collect the " spolia oppressed provinces of Turkey, but never under the opima" in the fragments of broken fiames, and return most despotic of infidel governments did I behold such to their quarters amidst the derision of old women, and squalid wretchedness as I have seen since my return the hootings of children. Now, though in a free country, in the very heart of a Christian country. And what it were to be wished that our military should never be too are your remedies? After months of inaction, and formidable, at least to ourselves, I cannot see the policy of months of action worse than inactivity, at length comes placing them in situations where they can only be made forth the grand specific, the never-failing nostrum of ridiculous. As the sword is the worst argument that can all state physicians, from the days of Draco to the be used, so should it be the last. In this instance it has present time. After feeling the pulse and shaking the been the first; but providentially as yet only in the head over the patient, prescribing the usual course of scabbard. The present measure will, indeed, pluck it warm water and bleeding, the warm water of your from the sheath; yet had proper meetings been held in maukish police, and the lancets of your military, these the earlier stages of these riots,-had the grievances of convulsions must terminate in death, the sure consumthese men and their masters (for they also had their mation of the prescriptions of all political Sangrados. grievances) been fairly weighed and justly examined, I Setting aside the palpable injustice, and the certain do think that means might have been devised to restore inefficiency of the bill, are there not capital punishthese workmen to their avocations, and tranquillity to ments sufficient in your statutes? Is there not blood the county. At present the county suffers from the enough upon your penal code, that more must be poured double infliction of an idle military, and a starving forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against you? population. In what state of apathy have we been How will you carry the bill into effect? Can you complunged so long, that now for the first time the House mit a whole county to their own prison? Will you has been officially apprized of these disturbances! All erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like this has been transacting within 130 miles of London, scarecrows? or will you proceed (as you must, to and yet we, " good easy men, have deemed full sure bring this measure into effect) by decimation? place our greatness was a-ripening," and have sat down to the country under martial law? depopulate and lay enjoy our foreign triumphs in the midst of domestic waste all around you? and restore Sherwood Forest calamity. But all the cities you have taken, all the as an acceptable gift to the crown, in its former condiarmies which have retreated before your leaders, are tion of a royal chase and an asylum for outlaws? Are but paltry subjects of self-congratulation, if your land these the remedies for a starving and desperate popudivides against itself, and your dragoons and your exe- lace? Will the famished wretch who has braved your cutioners must be let loose against your fellow-citizens. bayonets, be appalled by your gibbets? When death -You call these men a mob, desperate, dangerous, is a relief, and the only relief it appears that you will and ignorant; and seem to think that the only way to afford him, will he be dragooned into tranquillity? quiet the " Bellua multorumcapitum " is to lop off a Will that which could not be effected by your grenafew of its superfluous heads. But even a mob may diers be accomplished by your executioners? If you be better reduced to reason by a mixture of concilia- proceed by the forms of law, where is your evidence? tion and firmness, than by additional irritation and re- Those who have refused to impeach their accomplices, doubled penalties. Are we aware of our obligations when transportation only was the punishment, will to a mob? It is the mob that labour in your fields, and hardly be tempted to witness against them when death serve in your houses,-that man your navy, and recruit is the penalty. With all due deference to the noble your army,-that have enabled you to defy all the lords opposite, I think a little investigation, some preworld, and can also defy you when neglect and ca- vious inquiry, would induce even them to change their lamity have driven them to despair. You may call the purpose. That most favourite state measure, so marpeople a mob; but do not forget, that a mob too often vellously efficacious in many and recent instances, speaks the sentiments of the people. And here I temporizing, would not be without its advantages in must remark, with what alacrity you are accustomed this. When a proposal is made to emancipate or reto fly to the succour of your distressed allies, leaving lieve, you hesitate, you deliberate for years, you temthe distressed of your own country to the care of Provi- porize and tamper with the minds of men; but a deathdence, or-the parish. When the Portuguese suffered bill must be passed off hand, without a-thought of the under the retreat of the French, every arm was stretch- consequences. Sure I am, from what I have heard, ed out, every hand was opened, from the rich man's and fiom what I have seen, that to pass the Bill under largess to the widow's mite, all was bestowed to enable all the existing circumstances, without inquiry, without them to rebuild their villages and replenish their gran- deliberation, would only be to add injustice to irritation aries. And at this moment, when thousands of misguided and barbarity to neglect. The framers of such a Bit but most unfortunate fellow-countrymen are strug- must be content to inherit the honours of that Athe. gling with the extremes of hardships and'hunger, as nian lawgiver whose edicts were said to be written not your charity began abroad, it should end at home. A in ink, but in blood. But suppose it past; suppose much less sum, a tithe of thebounty bestowed on Por- one of these men, as I have seen them,-meagre with tugal, even if those men (which I cannot admit with- famine, sullen with despair, careless of a life whitic out inquiry) could not-have been restored to their em- your lordships are perhaps about to value at someploymients, would have rendered unnecessary the ten- thing less than the price of a stocking-frame —supder mercies of the bayonet and the gibbet. But pose this man surrounded by the children for whom doubtless our friends have too many foreign claims to he is unable to procure bread at the hazard of his extdmit a orosoect of domestic' relief; though never did istence, about to be torn'or ev er from a family whicB 556 BYRON'S WORKS. ne lately supported in peaceful industry, and which it The interval of a century has not weakened the force is not his fault that he can no longer so support-sup- of the remark. It is indeed time that we should leave Dose this man, and there are ten thousand such from off these petty cavils on frivolous points, these Liliwhom you may select your victims, dragged into putian sophistries, whether our " eggs arb best broken court, to be tried for this new offence, by this new at the broad or narrow-end." law; still, there are two things wanting to convict The opponents of the Catholics may be divided into and condemn him; and these are, in my opinion,- two classes;' those who assert that the Catholics have twelve Butchers for a Jury, and a Jefferies for a too much already, and those who allege that the lower Judge! orders, at least, have nothing more to require. We are told by the former, that the Catholics never will be contented: by the latter, that they are already too nappy. DEBATE ON THE EARL OF DONOUGHMORE'S The last paradox is sufficiently refuted by the present, MOTION FOR A COMMITTEE ON THE ROMAN as by all past petitions: it might as well be said, that CATHOLIC CLAIMS; APRIL 21, 1812. the negroes did not desire to be emancipated-but this is an unfortunate comparison, for you have already deMY LoRDs-the question before the House has been livered them out of the house of bondage without any so frequently, fully, and ably discussed, and never petition on their part, but many from their task-masters perhaps more ably than on this night, that it would to a contrary effect and for myself, when I consider be difficult to adduce new arguments for or against it. this, I pity the Catholic peasantry for not having the But with each discussion difficulties have been removed, good fortune to be born black. But the Catholics are objections have been canvassed and refuted, and some contented, or at least ought to be, as we are told: I shall of the former opponents of Catholic Emancipation therefore proceed to touch on a few of those circumhave at length conceded to the expediency of relieving stances which so marvellously contribute to their exthe petitioners. In conceding thus much, however, a ceeding contentment. They are not allowed the free new objection is started; it is not the time, say they, exercise of their religion in the regular army; the or it is an improper time, or there is time enough yet. Catholic soldier cannot absent himself from the service In some degree I concur with those who say it is not the of the Protestant clergyman, and, unless he is quartered time exactly; that time is passed; better had it been in Ireland, or in Spain, where can he find eligible opfor the country, that the Catholics possessed at this portunities of attending his own? The permission of moment their proportion of our privileges, that their Catholic chaplains to the Irish militia regiments was nobles held their due weight in our councils, than that conceded as a special favour, and not till after years of we should be assembled to discuss their claims. It had remonstrance, although an act, passed in 1793, estabindeed been better lished it as a right. But are the Catholics properly "Non tempore tali protected in Ireland? Can the church purchase a rood Cogere concilium cum muros obsidet hostis." of land whereon to erect a chapel? No; all the places The enemy is without, and distress within. It is too late of worship are built on leases of trust or sufferance from to cavil on doctrinal points, when we must unite in de- the laity, easily broken and often betrayed. The moment fence of things more important than the mere ceremo- any irregular wish, any casual caprice of the benevolent nies of religion. It is indeed singular, that we are called landlord meets with opposition, the doors are barred together to deliberate, not on the God we adore, for in against the congregation. This has happened continualthat we are agreed; not about the king we obey, for to ly, but in no instance more glaringly, than at the town him we are loyal; but how far a difference in the of Newtown Barry, in the county of Wexford. The ceremonials of worship, how far believing not too little, Catholics, enjoying no regular chapel, as a temporary exbut too much (the worst that can be imputed to the pedient, hired two barns, which, being thrown into one, Catholics), how far too much devotion to their God, served for public worship. At this time, there was qlarmay incapacitate our fellow-subjects from effectually tered opposite to the spot an officer, whose mind appears serving their king. to have been deeply imbued with those prejudices which Much has been said, within and without doors, of the Protestant petitions, now on the table, prove to Church and State, and although those venerable words have been fortunately eradicated from the more rational leave been too often prostituted to the most despica- portion of the people; and when the Catholics were ble of party purposes, we cannot hear them too often; assembled on the Sabbath as usual, in peace and goodall, I presume, are the advocates of Church and State, will towards men, for the worship of their God and t(e Church of Christ, and the State of Great Britain; yours, they found the chapel door closed, and were but not a state of exclusion and despotism; not an in- told that if they did not immediately retire (and they tolerant church; not a church militant, which renders were told this by a yeoman officer and a magistrate), itself liable to the very objection urged against the the riot act should be read, and the assembly dispersed Romish communion, and in- a greater degree, for the at the point of the bayonet! This was complained of to Catholic merely withholds its spiritual benediction the middle-man of government, the secretary at the (and even that is doubtful), but our church, or rather Castle in 1806, and the answer was (in lieu of redress) our churchmen, not only refuse to the Catholic their that he would cause a letter to be written to the colonel, lpiritual grace, but all temporal blessings whatsoever. to prevent, if possible, the recurrence of similar dis. I' was an observation of the great Lord Peterborough, turbances. Upon this fact, no very great stress need be amade within these walls, or within the walls where the laid; but it tends to prove that while the Catholic church Lords then assembled, that he was for a " parliamen- has not power to purchase land for its chapels to stand Lary king and a parliamentary constitution, but not a upon, the laws for its protection are of no avail. In the onarliamentary God and a nariiamentary religion.": mean time, the Catholics are at the mercy of every PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES. 557 " pelting petty officer," who may choose to play his lawn, the fat and tallow of the beef and mutton allowed, " fantastic tricks before high heaven," to insult his God, must be paid for and accounted upon oath. It is true, and injure his fellow-creatures. this economy in miniature cannot be sufficiently conmEvery school-boy, any foot-boy (such have held com- mended, particularly at a time when only the insect missions in our service), any foot-boy who can exchange defaulters of the Treasury, your Hunts and your his shoulder-knot for an epaulet, may perform all this Chinnerys, when only these " gilded bugs" can escape and more against the Catholic, by virtue of that very the microscopic eye of ministers. But when you come authority delegated to him by his sovereign, for the forward session after session, as your paltry pittance is express purpose of defending his fellow-subjects to the wrung from you with wrangling and reluctance, to last drop of his blood, without discrimination or dis- boast of your liberality, well might the Catholic extinction between Catholic and Protestant. claim, in the words of Prior,Have the Irish Catholics the full benefit of trial by "T John I owe some obligation, jury? They have not; they never can have until they But John unluckily thinks fit are permitted to share the privilege of serving as To publish it to all the nation, sheriffs and under-sheriffs. Of this a striking example So John and I are more than quit." occurred at the last Enniskillen assizes. A yeoman was Some persons have compared the Catholics to the arraigned for the murder of a Catholic named Mac- beggar in GilBlas. Who made them beggars? Who are vournagh: three respectable uncontradicted witnesses enriched with the spoils of their ancestors? And cannot deposed that they saw the prisoner load, take aim, fire you relieve the beggar when your fathers have made at, and kill the said Macvournagh. This was properly him such? If you are disposed to relieve him at all, commented on by the judge; but, to the astonishment cannot you do it without flinging your-farthings in his of the bar, and indignation of the court, the Protestant face? As a contrast, however, to this beggarly benevjuiy acquitted the accused. So glaring was the par- olence, let us look at the Protestant Charter Schools; tlality, that Mr. Justice Osborne felt it his duty to bind to them you have lately granted 41,0001.: thus are they over the acquitted, but not absolved' assassin, in large supported, and how are they recruited? Montesquieu recognizances, thus for a time taking away his license observes, on the English constitution, that the model to kill Catholics. may be found in Tacitus, where the historian describes Are the very laws passed in their favour observed? the policy of the Germans, and adds, " this beautiful They are rendered nugatoryin trivial as in serious cases. system was taken from the woods;" so in speaking of By a late act, Catholic chaplains are permitted in jails, the charter schools, it may be observed, that this beau but in Fermanagh county the grand jury lately persisted tiful system was taken from the gypsies. These schools in presenting a suspended clergyman for the office, are recruited in the same manner as the Janizaries at thereby evading the statute, notwithstanding the most the time of their enrolment under Amurath, and the pressing remonstrances ofa most respectable magistrate, gypsies of the present day with stolen children, with named Fletcher, to the contrary. Such is law, such is children decoyed and kidnapped from their Catholic justice, for the happy, free, contented Catholic! connexions by their rich and powerful Protestant neiglIt has been asked in another place, why do not the bours: this is notorious, and one instance may suffice rich Catholics enrow foundations for the education of to show in what manner. The sister of a Mr. Carthy (a the priesthood? Why do you not permit them to do so? Catholic gentleman of very considerable property) died, Why are all such bequests subject to the interference, leaving two girls, who were immediately marked out as the vexatious, arbitrary, peculating interference of the proselytes, and conveyed to the charter school of CoolOrange commissioners for charitable donations? greny. Their uncle, on being apprized of the fact, which As to Maynooth college, in no instance, except at the took place during his absence, applied for the restitution time of its foundation, when a noble Lord (Camden), at of his nieces, offering to settle an independence on the head of the Irish administration, did appear to in- these relations; his request was refused, and not till terest himself in its advancement; and during the gov- after five years' struggle, and the interference of very ernment of a noble Duke (Bedford), who, like his high authority, could this Catholic gentleman obtain ancestors, has ever been the friend of freedom and back his nearest of kindred from a charity charter mankind, and who has not so far adopted the selfish school. In this manner are proselytes obtained, and policy of the day as to exclude the Catholics from the mingled with the offspring of such Protestants as may number of his fellow-creatures; with these exceptions, avail themselves of the institution. And how are they in no instance has that institution been properly en- taught? A catechism is put into their hands consisting couraged. There was indeed a time when the Catholic of, I believe, forty-five pages, in which are three quesclergy were conciliated, while the Union was pending, tions relative to the Protestant religion; one of these that Union which could not be carried without them, queries is, ".Where was the Protestant religion before while their assistance was requisite in procuring ad- Luther?" Answer, "In the Gospel." The remaining dresses from the Catholic counties; then they were forty-four pages and a half regard the damnable idola cajoled and caressed, feared and flattered, and given to try of Papists! understand that "the Union would do every thing;" Allow me to ask our spiritual pastors and masters, is but, the moment it was passed, they were driven back this training up a child in the way which he should go? with contempt into their former obscurity. Is this the religion of the gospel before the time of In the contempt pursued towards Maynooth college, Luther? that religion which preaches " Peace on earth, every thing is done to irritate and perplex-every thing and glory to God?" Is it bringing up infants to be men is done to efface the slightest impression of gratitude or devils? Better would it be to send them any where from the Catholic mind;. the very hay made upon the than teach them such doctrines; better send thenm to 558 BYRON'S WORKS. those islands in the South Seas, where they might more exclaiming, " the devil burn you, there's no pleasing humanely learn to become cannibals; it would be less you,'flog where one will!" Thus it is, you have flogged disgusting that they were brought up to devour the the Catholic, high, low, here, there, and every where, dead,-than persecute the living. Schools do you call and then you wonder he is not pleased. It is true, that them? call them rather dunghills, where the viper of time, experience, and that weariness which attends intolerance deposits her young, that, when their teeth even the exercise of barbarity, have taught you to flog are cut and their poison is mature, they may issue forth, a little more gently, but still you continue to lay on the filthy'and venomous, to sting the Catholic. But are lash, and will so continue, till perhaps the rod may be these the doctrines of the Church of England, or of wrested from your hands, and applied to the backs of churchmen? No; the most enlightened churchmen are yourselves and your posterity. of a different opinion. What says Paley? " I perceive It was said by somebody in a former debate (I forget no reason why men of different religious persuasions, by whom, and am not very anxious to remember), if the should not sit upon the same bench, deliberate in the Catholics are emancipated, why not the Jews? If this same council, or fight in the same ranks, as well as men sentiment was dictated by compassion for the Jews, it of various religious opinions, upon any controverted might deserve attention, but as a sneer against the Cathtopic of natural history, philosophy, or ethics." It may olic, what is it but the language of Shylock transferred be answered that Paley was not strictly orthodox; I from his daughter'smarriageto Catholid emancipationknow nothing of his orthodoxy, but who will deny that Would any of the tribe of Barrabbas he was an ornament to the church, to human nature, Should have it rather than a Christian." to Christianity? I presume a Catholic is a Christian, even in the I shall not dwell upon the grievance of tithes, so opinion of him whose taste only can be called in ques severely felt by the peasantry, but it may be proper to tio for his preference of the Jews. ooserve that there is an addition to the burthen, a per- Its a remark often quoted of Dr. Johnson (whom I centage to the gatherer, whose interest it thus becomes take to be almost as good authority as the gentle apostle to rate them as highly as possible, and we know that in intolerance, Duigenan), that e who could enterof intolerance, Dr. Duigenan), that lie who could entermany large livings in Ireland, the only resident Prot- apprehensions of danger to te Church in estantsarethetithepoctor and his familtamn serious apprehensions of danger to the Church in estants are the tithe proctor and his family. these times, would have " cried fire in the deluge." Among many causes of irritation, too numerous for This is more than a metaphor, for a remnant of these recapitulation, there is one in the militia not to be antediluvians appear actually to have come down to us, passed over, I mean the existence of Orange lodges with fire in their mouths and water in their brains, to amongst the privates; can the officers deny this? And disturb and perplex mankind with their whimsical outif such lodges do exist, do they, can they tend to pro- cries. And as it is an infallible symptom of that dismote harmony amongst the men, who are thus indi- tressg malady with whichI conceive them to be vidually separated in society, although mingled in the afflicted (so any doctor will inform your Lordships) for ranks? And is this general system of persecution to be the unhappy invalids to perceive a flame perpetually permitted, or is it to be believed that with such a system flashing before their eyes, particularly when their eyes the Catholics can or ought to be contented? If they are, are shut as those of the persons to whom I allude have they belie human nature; they are then, indeed, un- long been), it is impossible to convince these poor creaworthy to be any thing but the slaves you have made tures, that the fire against which they are perpetualy them. The facts stated are from most respectable au- warning us and themselves, is nothing but an ignis thority, or I should not have dared in this place, or any f their own drivelling imaginations. What place, to hazard this avowal. If exaggerated,'there are rhubarb, senna,or "what purgative drug can scur plenty, as willing as I believe them to be unable, to that fancy thence?"-t is impossible, they are given disprove them. Shoulditbeobjected that I neverwasin rsis the true Ireland, I beg leave to observe, that it is as easy to knows something of Ireland without having been there, as it ap-" put isanaile tribus Antiyris." pears with some to have been born, bred, and cherished These are your true Protestants. Like Bayle, who prothere, and yet remain ignorant of its best interests. tested against all sects whatsoever, so do they protest But there are, who assert that the Catholics have against Catholic petitions, Protestant petitions, all reaiready been too much indulged: see (cry they) what dress, all that reason, humanity, policy, justice, and has been done: we have given them one entire college. common sense, can urge against the delusions of their ~ve allow them food ana raiment, the full enjoyment of absurd delirium. These are the persons who reverse the elements, and leave to fight for us as long as they the fable of the mountain that brought forth a mouse; have limros and lives to offer; and yet they are never to they are the mice who conceive themselves in labour be satisfied! Generous and just declaimers! To this, with mountains. and to this only, amount the whole of your arguments, To return to the Catholics, suppose the Irish were when stript of their sophistry. These personages re- actually contented under their disabilities, suppose them mind me of the story of a certain drummer, who being capable of such a bull as not to desire deliverance, ought called upon in the course of duty to administer punish- we not to wish it for ourselves? Have we nothing to ment to a friend tied to the halberts, was requested to gain by their emancipation? What resources have been flog high; he did —to flog low, he did —to flog in the wasted! What talents have been lost by the selfish middle, he did-high, low, down the middle, and up system of exclusion! You already know the value of again, but all in vain, the patient continued his com- Irish aid; at this moment the defence of England is aamnts with the most provoking pertinacity, until the entrusted to the Irish militia; at this moment, while drumner, exhausted and angry, flung down his scourge, the starving people are rising in the fierceness of de PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES. 5b3 spair, the Irish are faithful to their trust. But till equal esty's ministers permit me to say a few words, not on energy is imparted throughout by the extension of free- their merits, for that would be superfluous, but on the dom, you cannot enjoy the full benefit of the strength degree of estimation in which they are held by the which you are glad to interpose between you and de- people of these realms. The esteem in which they are struction. Ireland has done much, but will do more. held has been boasted of in a triumphant tone on a At this moment the only triumph obtained through late occasion within these walls, and a comparison mlong years of continental disaster has been achieved stituted between their conduct, and that of noble lords by an Irish general; it is true he is not a Catholic; had on this side of the house. he been so, we'should have been deprived of his exer- What portion of popularity may have fallen to the tions; but I presume no one will assert that his religion share of my noble friends (if such I may presume to would have impaired his talents or diminished his pa- call them), I shall not pretend to ascertain but that triotism, though in that case he must have conquered of his majesty's ministers it were vain to deny. It is, in the ranks, for he never could have commanded an to be sure, a little like the wind, " no one knows whence army. it cometh or whither it goeth," but they feel it, they But while he is fighting the battles of the Catholics enjoy it, they boast of it. Indeed, modest and unosabroad, his noble brother has this night advocated tentatious as they are, to what part of the kingdom, their cause, with an eloquence which I shall not depre- even the most remote, can they flee to avoid the triciate by the humble tribute of my panegyric, whilst a umph which pursues them? If they plunge into the third of his kindred, as unlike as unequal, has been midland counties, there they will be greeted by the combating against his Catholic brethren in Dublin, with manufacturers, with spurned petitions in their hands, circular letters, edicts, proclamations, arrests, and dis- and those halters round their necks recently voted in persions-all the vexatious implements of petty war- their behalf, imploring blessings on the heads of those fare that could be wielded by the mercenary guerillas who so simply, yet ingeniously contrived to remove of government, clad in the rusty armour of their obso- them fiom their miseries in this to a better world. If lete statutes. Your lordships will, doubtless, divide new they journey on to Scotland, from Glasgow to Johnny honours between the saviour of Portugal, and the dis- Groat's, every where will they receive similar marks of penser of delegates. It is singular, indeed, to observe approbation. If they take a trip from Portpatrick to the difference between our foreign and donestic poli- Donaghadee, there will they rush at once into, the emcy; if Catholic Spain, faithful Portugal, or the no less braces of four Catholic millions, to whom their vote Catholic and faithful king of the one Sicily (of which, of this night is about to endear them for ever. When by the by, you have lately deprived him), stand in they return to the metropolis, if they can pass undei need of succour, away goes a fleet and an army, an Temple Bar without unpleasant sensations at the sighi ambassador and a subsidy, sometimes to fight pretty of the greedy niches over that ominous gateway, thej hardly, generally to negotiate very badly, and always cannot escape the acclamations of the livery, and the to pay very dearly for our Popish allies. But let four more tremulous, but not less sincere, applause, the millions of fellow-subjects pray for relief, who fight blessings "not loud but deep" of bankrupt merchants and pay and labour in your behalf, they must be treated and doubting stockholders. If they look to the army, as aliens, and although their " father's house has many what wreaths, not of laurel, but of nightshade, are mansions," there is no resting-place for them. Allow preparing for the heroes of Walcheren! It is true there me to ask, are you not fighting for the emancipation are few living deponents left to testify to their merits of Ferdinand the Seventh, who certainly is a fool, and on that occasion; but a " cloud of witnesses" are gone consequently, in all probability, a bigot; and have you above from that gallant army which they so generously more regard for a foreign sovereign than your own and piously despatched, to recruit the "noble army of fellow-subjects, who are not fools, for they know your martyrs." interest better than you know your own; who are not What if, in the course of this triumphal career (in bigots, for they return you good for evil; but who are which they will gather as many pebbles as Caligula's ill worse durance than the prison of an usurper, inas- armydidon asimilartriumph,theprototypeoftheir own), much as the fetters of the mind are more galling than they do not perceive any of those memorials which a those of the body. grateful people erect in honour of their benefactors; what Upon the consequences of your not acceding to the although not even a sign-post will condescend to depose claims of the petitioners, I shall not expatiate; you the Saraceh's head in favour of the likeness of the conknow them, you will feel them, and your children's querors of Walcheren, they will not want a picture children when you are passed away. Adieu to that who can always have a caricature; or regret the omisUnion so called, as " Luus a non lucendo," a Union sion of a statue who will so often see themselves exalted from never uniting, which, in its first operation, gave in effigy. But their popularity is not limited to the 6a death-blow to the independence of Ireland, and in narrow bounds of an island; there are other countries its last may be the cause of her eternal separation from where their measures, and, above all, their conduct to this country. If it must be called a Union, it is the the Catholics, must render them pre-eminently popular. union of the shark with his prey; the spoiler swallows If they are beloved here, in France they must be adored up his victim, and thus they become one and indivis- There is no measure more repugnant to the designs and ble. Thus has Great Britain swallowed up the par- feelings of Buonaparte than Catholic emancipation; no tiament, the constitution, the independence of Ireland, line of conduct more propitious to his projects, than and refuses to disgorge even a single privilege, although that which has been pursued, is puisuing, and, I fea,, lor the relief of her swollen and distempered body will be pursued, towards Ireland. What is England politic. without Ireland, and what is Ireland without the Ca And now, my lords, before I sit down, will his maj- tholics? It is. on the basis of your tyraonr Napoleon 560 BYRON'S WORKS. hopes to build his own. So grateful must oppression equally mindful of the deference to be paid to this of the Catholics be to his mind, that doubtless (as he House. The petitioner states, amongst other matter nas lately permitted some renewal of intercourse) the of equal, if not greater importance, to all who are next cartel will convey to this country cargoes of S6vres British in their feelings, as well as blood and birth, china and blue ribands (things in great request, and of that on the 21st January, 1813, at Huddersfield, himequal value at this moment), blue ribands of the legion self and six other persons, who, on hearing of his arof honour for Dr. Duigenan and his ministerial disciples. rival, had waited on him merely as a testimony of reSuch is that well-earned popularity, the result of those spect, were seized by a military and civil force, and extraordinary expeditions, so expensive to ourselves, kept in close custody for several hours, subjected to gross and so useless to our allies; of those singular inquiries, and abusive insinuations from the commanding officer so exculpatory to the accused, and so dissatisfactory to relative to the character of the petitioner; that he (the the people; of those paradoxical victories, so honour- petitioner) was finally carried before a magistrate; and able, as we are told, to the British name, and so de- not released till an examination of his papers proved structive to the best interests of the British nation: that there was not only no just, but not even statutaabove all, such is the reward of a conduct pursued by ble charge against him; and that, notwithstanding the ministers towards the Catholics. promise and order from the presiding magistrates of a 1 have to apologize to the House, who will, I trust, copy of the warrant against your petitioner, it was afterpardon one, not often in the habit of intruding upon wards withheld on divers pretexts, and has never their indulgence, for so long attempting to engage their until this hour been granted. The names and condiattention. My most decided opinion is, as my vote will:tion of the parties will be found in the petition. To be, in favour of the motion. the other topics touched upon in the petition, I shall not now advert, from a wish not to encroach upon the time of the House; but I do most sincerely call the attention of your lordships to its general contents-it is DEBT E ON MAJOR CARTWRIGHT'S PETITION,813. in the cause of the parliament and people that the JUNE 1, 1813. rights of this venerable freeman have been violated, LORD BYRON rose and said: and it is, in my opinion, the highest mark of respect that could be paid to the House, that to your justice, MY LoRDS, the Petition which I now hold for the rather than by appeal to any inferior court, he now purpose of presenting to the House, is one which I commits himself. Whatever may be the fate of his rehumbly conceive requires the particular attention of monstrance, it is some satisfaction to me, though mixyour lordships, inasmuch as, though signed but by a ed with regret for the occasion, that I have this opporsingle individual, it contains statements which (if not tunity of publicly stating the obstruction to which the disproved) demand most serious investigation. The subject is liable, in the prosecution of the most lawful grievance of which the petitioner complains is neither and imperious of his duties, the obtaining by petition selfish nor imaginary. It is not his own only, for it reform in parliament. I have shortly stated his conhas been, and is still felt by numbers. No one with- plaint; the petitioner has more fully expressed it. out these walls, nor indeed within, but may to-morrow Your lordships will, I hope, adopt some measure fully be made liable to the same insult and obstruction, in the to protect and redress him, and not him alone, but the discharge of an imperious duty for the restoration of the whole body of the people insulted and aggrieved in his true constitution of these realms by petitioning for reform person by the interposition of an abused civil, and unin parliament. The petitioner, my Lords, is a man whose lawful military force between them and their right of long life has been spent in one unceasing struggle for petition to their own representatives. the liberty of the subject, against that undue influence His lordship then presented the petition from Major which has increased, is increasing, and ought to be Cartwright, which was read, complaining of the circunldiminished; and, whatever difference of opinion may stances at Huddersfield, and of interruptions given to the exist as to his political tenets, few will be found to right of petitioning, in several places in the northern question the integrity of his intentions. Even now, parts of the kingdom, and which his lordship moved oppressed with years, and not exempt from the infirm- should be laid on the table. ities attendant on his age, but still unimpaired in tal- Several Lords having spoken on the question, ent, and unshaken in spirit-"frangas non f.ectes"- LORD BYRON replied, that he had, from motives lie has received many a wound in the combat against of duty, presented this petition to their lordships' concorruption; and the new grievance, the fresh insult of sideration. The noble Earl had contended that it was wllch he complains, may inflict another scar, but no not a petition but a speech; and that, as it contained dishonour. The petition is signed by John Cartwright, no prayer, it should not be received. What was the and it was in behalf of the people and parliament, in necessity of a prayer? If that word were to be used in, the lawful pursuit of that reform in the representation its proper sense, their lordships could not expect that which is the best service to be rendered both to parlia- any man should pray to others. He had only to say ment and people, that he encountered the wanton out- that the petition, though in some parts expressed strongly rage which forms the subject matter of his petition to perhaps, did not contain any improper mode of address, >/ur lordships. It is couched in firm, yet respectful but was couched in respectful language towards their.rnguage-in the language of a man, not regardless lordships; he should therefore trust their lordships oi what is cue to himself, but at the same time, I trust, would allew the petition to be received. ( 561 ) Difficile est proprie communia dicere. HOR. Epist. ad Pison. Oost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more Cakes and Ale?-Yes, by St. Anne; and Ginger shall be hot i' the mouth, too.-Twelfth.Night; or What you- Will.SHAKSPEARE. VI. Most epic poets plunge in "medias res" (Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road) And then your hero tells, whene'er you please, What went before-by way of episode, CANTO I. While seated after dinner at his ease, Beside his mistress in some soft abode, Palace or garden, paradise or cavern, Which serves the happy couple for a tavern. I. VII. I WANT a hero:-an uncommon want, That is the usual method, but not mineWhen every year and month sends forth a new one, My way is to begin with the beginning; Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, The regularity of my design The age discovers he is not the true one; Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning, Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, And therefore I shall open with a line I'l therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan; (Although it cost me half an hour in spinning) We all have seen him in the pantomime Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father, Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time. And also of his mother, if you'd rather. II. VIII. Vernon, the butcher, Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke, In Seville was he born, a pleasant city, Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne,Keppel, Howe, Famous for oranges and women-he Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk, Who has not seen it will be much to pity, And fill'd their sign-posts then, like WVellesley now; So says the proverb-and I quite agree; Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk, Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty, Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow: Cadiz perhaps, but that you soon may see:France, too, had Buonapart6 and Dumourier, Don Juan's parents lived beside the river, Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier. A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir. III. IX. Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau, His father's name was Jose-Don, of course, Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette, A true Hidalgo, free from every stain Were French, and famous people, as we know; Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source And there were others, scarce forgotten yet, Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain, Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Dessaix, Moreau, A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse, With many of the military set, Or, being mounted, e'er got down again, Exceedingly remarkable at times, Than Jose, who begot our hero, who But not at all adapted to my rhymes. Begot-but that's to come-Well, to renew: IV. X. Nelson was once Britannia's god of war, His mother was a learned lady, amed And. still should be so, but the tide is turn'd; For every branch of every science knownThere's no more to be said of Trafalgar, In every Christian language ever named,'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd; With virtues equalled by her wit alone, Because the army's grown more popular, She made the cleverest people quite ashamed, At which the naval people are concern'd: And even the good with inward envy groan, Besides, the prince is all for the land-service, Finding themselves so very much exceeded Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis. In their own way by all the things that she did. V. XI. Brave men were living before Agamemnon,' Her memory was a mine: she knew by heart And since, exceeding valorous and sage, All Calderon and greater part of Lope, A good deal like him too, though quite the same none, So that if any actor miss'd his part, But then they shone not on the poet's page, She could have served him for the prompter's cop, And so have been forgotten:-I condemn none, For her Feinagle's were an useless art, But can't find any in the present age And he himself obliged to shut up shop -ho Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one); Could never make a memor; so fine as So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan. That which adorn'd the brain of Donna Inlz. 3A 7f 562 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO I XII. XIX. Her favourite science was the mathematical, He was a mortal of the careless kind, Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity, With no great love for learning, or the learn'd, Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all, Who chose to go where'er he had a mind, Ier serious sayings darken'd to sublimity; And never dream'd his lady was concern'd; In short, in all things she was fairly what I call The world, as usual, wickedly inclined A prodigy-her morning dress was dimity, To see a kingdom or a house o'erturn'd, Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin, Whisper'd he had a mistress, some said two, And other stuffs, with which I won't stay puzzling. But for domestic quarrels one will do. XIII. XX. She l new the Latin-that is, "the Lord's prayer," Now Donna Inez had, with all her merit, And Greek, the alphalet, I'm nearly sure; A great opinion of her own good qualities; She read some French romances here and there, Neglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it, Although her mode of speaking was not pure: And such indeed she was in her moralities; For native Spanish she had no great care, But then she had a devil of a spiritj At least her conversation was obscure; And sometimes mix'd up fancies with realities, Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem, And let few opportunities escape As if she deem'd that mystery would ennoble'em. Of getting her liege lord into a scrape. XIV. XXI. She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue, This was an easy matter with a man And said there was analogy between'em; Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard; She proved it somehow out of sacred song, And even the wisest, do the best they can, But I must leave the proofs to those who've seen'em; Have moments, hours, and days, so unprepared, But this I've heard her say, and can't be wrong, That you might "brain them with their lady's fan;' Arid all may thinkwhichway their judgments lean'cm, And sometimes ladies hit exceeding hard,''Tis strange-the Hebrew noun which means'Iam,' And fans turn into falchions in fair hands, t'h English always use to govern d-n." And why and wherefore no one understands' XV. XXII. * * * * * *'T is pity learned virgins ever wed * * * * * * With persons of no sort of education, Or gentlemen who, though well-born and bred, Grow tired of scientific conversation: I don't choose to say much upon this head, I'm a plain man, and in a single station, But-oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all? XVI. XXIII. In short, she was a walking calculation, Don Jose and his lady quarrell'd-why Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their covers, Not any of the many could divine, Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education, Though several thousand people chose to try, Or "Ccelebs' Wife" set out in quest of lovers,'Twas surely no concern of theirs nor mine: Morality's prim personification, I loathe that low vice curiosity:: In which not Envy's self a flaw discoversj But if there's any thing in which I shine, To others' share let "female errors fall,"'T is in arranging all my friends' affairs, F.r she had not even one-the worst of all. Not having, of my own, domestic cares. XVII. XXIV. Oh! she was perfect past all parallel- And so I interfered, and with the best Of any modern female saint's comparison; Intentions, but their treatment was not kind; So far above the cunninlg powers of hell, I think the foolish people were possess'd, Her guardian angel had given up his garrison; For neither of them could I ever find, Even her minutest motions went as well Although their porter afterwards confess'dAs those of the best time-piece made by Harrison: But that's'no matter, and the worst's behind. In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, For little Juan o'er me threw, down stairs, Save thmne "incomparable oil," Macassar!2 A pail of housemaid7s water unawares. XVIII. XXV. Perfect she was, but as perfection is A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing, Insipid in this naughty world of ours, And mischief-making monkey-from his birth; Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss His parents ne'er agreed except in doting Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers, Upon the most unquiet imp on earth; W*here all was peace, and innocence, and bliss < Instead of quarrelling, had they been but bnth in (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours), Their senses, they'd have sent young master forth linte lose, ike a lineal son of Eve, To school, or had him whipp'd at home, %Vent plucking various fruit without her leave. To teach him manners for the time to come. (CANTO I DON JUAN. 563 XXVI. XXXIII. Don Jose and the Donna Inez..ed He died: and most unluckily, because, Fo;i some time an unhappy sort of life, According to all hints I could collect Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead; From counsel learned in those kinds of laws They lived respectably as man and wife, (Although their talk's obscure and circumspect) Their conduct was exceedingly well-bred, His death contrived to spoil a charming cause; And gave no outward signs of inward strife, A thousand pities also with respect Until at length the smother'd fire broke out, To public feeling, which on this occasion And put the business past all kind of doubt. Was manifested in a great sensation. XXVII. XXXIV. For Inez call'd some druggists and physicians, But ah! he died; and buried with him lay And tried to prove her loving lord was mad, The public feeling and the lawyers' fees: But as he had some lucid intermissions, His house was sold, his servants sent away, She next decided he was only bad; A Jew took one of his two mistresses, Yet when they ask'd her for her depositions, A priest the other-at least so they say: No sort of explanation could be had, I ask'd the doctors after his diseaseSave that her duty both to man and God He died of the slow fever called the tertian, Required this conduct-which seem'd very odd. And left his widow to her own aversion. XXVIII. XXXV. She kept a journal, where his faults wcte noted, Yet Jose was an honourable man, And open'd certain trunks of books and letters, That I must say, who knew him very well; All which might, if occasion served, be quoted; Therefore his frailties I'11 no further scan, And then she had all Seville for abettors, Indeed there were not many more to tell; Besides her good old grandmother (who doted); And if his passions now and then outran The hearers of her case became repeaters, Discretion, and were not so peaceable Then advocates, inquisitors, and judges, As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius), Some for amusement, others for old grudges. He had been ill brought up, and was born bilious. XXIX. XXXVI. And. then this best and meekest woman bore Whate'er might be his worthlessness or worth, With such serenity her husband's woes, Poor fellow! he had many things to wound him, Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore, Let's own, since it can do no good on earth; Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly chose It was a trying moment that which found him, Never to say a word about them more- Standing alone beside his desolate hearth, Calmly she heard each calumny that rose, Where all his household gods lay shiver'd round him, And saw his agonies with such sublimity, No choice was left his feelings or his pride That all the world exclaim'd, " What magnanimity!" Save death or Doctors' Commons-so he died. XXX. XXXVII. No doubt, this patience, when the world is damning us, Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir Is philosophic in our former friends; To a chancery-suit, and messuages, and lands, T is also pleasant to be deemed magnanimous, Which, with a long minority and care, The more so in obtaining our own ends; Promised to turn out well in proper hands: And what the lawyers call a "malus animus," Inez became sole guardian, which was fair, Conduct like this by no means comprehends; And answer'd but to nature's just demands; Revenge in person's certainly no virtue, An only son left with an only mother But then't is not my fault if others hurt you. Is brought up much more wisely than another. XXXI. XXXVIII. And if our quarrels should rip up old stories, Sagest of women, even of widows, she And help them with a lie or two additional, Resolved that Juan should be quite a paragon, I'm'not to blame, as you well know, no more is And worthy of the noblest _pedigree Any one else-they were become traditional; (His sire was of Castile, his dam from Arragoni Besides, their resurrection aids our glories Then for accomplishments of chivalry, By contrast, which is what we just were wishing all; In case our lord the king should go to war ago.tn And science profits by this resurrection- He learn'd the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection. And how to scale a fortress-or a nunnery. XXXII. XXXIX. i'heir friends had tried at reconciliation, But that which Donna Inez most desired, Then their relations, who made matters worse And saw into herself each day before atl ('T were hard to tell upon a like occasion The learned tutors whom for him she hired, To whom it may be best to have recourse- Was that his breeding should be strictly nlora: can't say much for friend or yet relation): Much into all his studies she inquired, The lawyers did their utmost for divorce, And so they were submitted first to her, all, But scarce a fee was paid on either side Arts, sciences, no branch was made a mystery Before, unluckily, Don Jose died. To Juan's eyes, excepting natural histol v. 564 BYRON'S WORKS. CANIO 1. XL. XLVII. The languages, especially the dead, Sermons he read, and lectures he endured, The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, And homilies, and lives of all the saints; The arts, at least all such as could be said To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured, To be the most remote from common use, He did not take such studies for restraints: In all these he was much and deeply read; But how faith is acquired, and then insured, But not a page of any thing ^that's loose, So well not one of the aforesaid paints Or hints continuation of the species, As Saint Augustine, in his fine Confessions, Was ever suffer'd, lest he should grow vicious. Which make the reader envy his transgressions. XLI. XLVIII. His classic studies made a little puzzle, This, too, was a seal'd book to little JuanBecause of filthy loves of gods and goddesses, I can't but say that his mamma was right, Who in the earlier ages raised a bustle, If such an education was the true one. But never put on pantaloons or boddices; She scarcely trusted him from out her sight; His reverend tutors had at times a tussle, Her maids were old, and if she took a new one And for their JEneids, Iliads, and Odysseys, You might be sure she was a perfect fright; Were forced to make an odd sort of apology, She did this during even her husband's lifeFor Donna Inez dreaded the mythology. I recommend as much to every wife. XLII. XLIX. Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him; Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace: Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample; At six a charming child, and at eleven Catullus scarcely has a decent poem; With all the promise of as fine a face 1 don't think Sappho's Ode a good example, As e'er to man's maturer growth was given: Although3 Longinus tells us there is no hymn He studied steadily and grew apace, Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample; And seem'd, at least, in the right road to heaven But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one For half his days were pass'd at church, the other Beginning with'"Formosum pastor Corydon." Between his tutors, confessor, and mother. XLIII. L. Lucretius' irreligion is too strong At six, I said he was a charming child, For early stomachs, to prove wholesome food, At twelve, he was a fine, but quiet boy; t can't help thinking Juvenal was wrong, Although in infancy a little wild, Although no doubt his real intent was good, They tamed him down amongst them: to destroy I tr speaking out so plainly in his song, His natural spirit not in vain they toil'd, So much indeed as to be downright rude; At least at seem'd so; and his mother's joy And then what proper person can be partial Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady, To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial? Her young philosopher was grown already. XLIV. LI. Juan was taught from out the best edition, I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still, Expurgated by learned men, who place, But what I say is neither here nor there; Judiciously, from out the school-boy's vision, I knew his father well, and have some skill The grosser parts; but, fearful to deface In character-but it would not be fair Too much their modest bard by this omission, From sire to son to augur good or ill: And pitying sore his mutilated case, He and his wife were an ill-sorted pairThey only add them all in an appendix,4 But scandal's my aversion-I protest Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index; Against all evil speaking, even in jest. XLV. LII. For there we have them all " at one fell swoop," For my part I say nothing-nothing-but Instead of being scatter'd through the pages; This I will say-my reasons are my ownThey stand forth minshall'd in a handsome troop, That if I had an only son to put To meav the ingenuous youth of future ages, To school (as God be praised that I have none)'ill some less rigid editor shall stoop'T is not with Donna Inez I would shut To call them back into their separate cages, Him up to learn his catechism alone; Instead of standing staring altogether, No-no-I'd send him out betimes to college, Like garden gods-and not so decent, either. For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge. XLVI. LIII. 7 he Mi.ssal too (it was -the family Missal) For there one learns-'tis not for me to boast, Was ornamented in a sort of way Though I acquired-but I pass over that, Which ancient mass-books often are, and this all As well as all the Greek I since have lost: Kinds of grotesques illumined; and how they I say that there's the place-but " Verbum satWho saw tiiuse figuies on the margin kiss all, I think I pick'd up, too, as well as most, Could turn their optics to the text and pray Knowledge of matters-but, no matter whatIs more than 1r aow-but Don Juan's mother I never married-but I think, I know, Kept this herself, aind gave her son another. That sons should not be educated so. 'A'NTO I. DON JUAN. 565 LIV. LXI. Young Juan now was sixteen years of age, Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit; he seem'd Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Active, though not so sprightly, as a page; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow, And every body but his mother deem'd Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Him almost man; but she flew in a rage, Mounting at times to a transparent glow, And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd) As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth, If any said so, for to be precocious Possess'd an air and graceby no means common: Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious. Ier stature tall-I hate a dumpy woman. LV. LXII. Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all Wedded she was some years, and to a man Selected for discretion and devotion, Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty; There was the Donna Julia, whom to call And yet, I think, instead of such a ONE, Pretty were but to give a feeble notion'T were better to have two of five-and-twenty, Of many charms, in her as natural Especially in countries near the sun: As sweetness to the flower, or salt to ocean, And now I think on't, " mi vien in mente," Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cupid Ladies, even of the most uneasy virtue, (But this last simile is trite and stupid). Prefer a spouse whose age is short of thirty. LVI. LXIII. The darkness of her oriental eye'T is a sad thing, I cannot choose but say, Accorded with her Moorish origin: And all the fault of that indecent sun (Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by; Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay, In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin). But will keep baking, broiling, burning on, When proud Grenada fell, and, forced to fly, That, howsoever people fast and pray, Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone: Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain, What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, Her great-great-grandmamma chose to remain. Is much more common where the climate's sultry, LVII. LXIV. She married (I forget the pedigree) Iappy the nations of the moral north! With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down Where all is virtue, and the winter season His blood less noble than such blood should be: Sends sin without a rag on, shivering forth At such alliances his sires would frown, ('T was snow that brought Saint Anthony to reason 1 In that point so precise in each degree Where juries cast up what a wife is worth, That they bred in and in, as might be shown, By laying whate'er sum, in mulct, they please on Marrying their cousins-nay, their aunts and nieces, The lover, who must pay a handsome price, Which always spoils the breed, if it increases. Because it is a marketable vioe. LVIII. LXV. This heathenish cross restored the breed again, Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord, Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh; A man well looking for his years, and who For, from a root, the ugliest in Old Spain, Was neither much beloved nor yet abhorr'd: Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh; They lived together as most people do, The sons no more were short, the daughters plain: Suffering each others' foibles by accord, But there's a rumour which I fain would hush- And not exactly either one or two;'T is said that Donna Julia's grandmamma Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, Produced her Don more heirs at love than law. For jealousy dislikes the world to know it. LIX. LXVI. However this might be, the race went on Julia was-yet I never could see whyImproving still through every generation, With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend: Until it center'd in an only son, Between their tastes there was small sympathy, Who left'an only daughter; my narration For not a line had Julia ever penn'd: May have suggested that this single one Some people whisper (but no doubt they lie, Could be but Julia (whom on this occasion For malice still imputes some private end) I shall have much to speak about), and she That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage, Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three. Forgot with him her very prudent carriage; LX. LXVII. Her eye (I'in very fond of handsome eyes) And that, still keeping up the old connexion, Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire Which time had lately render'd much more chaste Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise She took his lady also in affection, Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire, And certainly this course was much the best. And love than either; and there would arise She flatter'd Julia with her sage protection, A somthing in them which was not desire, And complimented Don Alfonso's taste; But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul And if she could not (who can?) silence scandal Which struggled through and chasten'd down the whole. At least she left it a more slender handle. 3A 2 566 BYRON'S WORKS. CAN'TO. LXVIII. LXXV. can't tell whether Julia saw the affair Poor Julia's heart was In an awkward state: With other people's eyes, or if her own She felt it going, and resolved to make Discoveries made, but none could be aware The noblest efforts for herself and mate, Of this, at least no symptom e'er was shown; For honour's, pride's, religion's, virtue's sake: Perhaps she did not know, or did not care, Her resolutions were most truly great, Indifferent from the first or callous grown: And almost might have made a Tarquih quake I'm really puzzled what to think or say, She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace, She kept her counsel in so close a way. As being the best judge of a lady's case. LXIX. LXXVI. Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child, She vow'd she never would bee Juan more, Caress'd him often, such a thing might be And next day paid a visit to his mother, Quite innocently done, and harmless styled And look'd extremely at the opening door, When she had twenty years, and thirteen he; Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in another; But I am not so sure I should have smiled Grateful she was, and yet a little soreWhen he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three: Again it opens, it can be no other, These few short years make wondrous alterations,'T is surely Juan now-No! I'm afraid Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations. That night the Virgin was no further pray'd. LXX. LXXVII. Whlateer the cause might be, they had become She now determined that a virtuous woman Changed; for the dame grew distant, the youth shy, Should rather face and overcome temptation; Their looks cast down, their greetings almost dumb, That flight was base and dastardly, and no man And much embarrassment in either eye; Should ever give her heart the least sensation; There surely will be little doubt with some That is to say a thought, beyond the common That Donna Julia knew the reason why, Preference that we must feel upon occasion But as for Juan, he had no more notion For people who are pleasanter than others, Then he who never saw the sea of ocean. But then they only seem so many brothers. LXXI. LXXVIII. Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind, And even if by chance-and who can tell? And tremulously gentle her small hand The devil's so very sly-she should discover Withdrew itself from his, but left behind That all within was not so very well, A little pressure, thrillingand so bland And if, still frie, that such or such a lover And slight, so very slight, that'tA the mind Might please perhaps, a virtuous wife can quell'T was but a doubt; but ne'er magician's wand Such thoughts, and be the better when they're over Wrought change with all Armida's fiery art And, if the man should ask,'t4s but denial. Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart. I recommend young ladies to make trial. LXXII. LXXIX. And if she met him, though she smiled no more, And then there are such things as love divine, She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile, Bright and immaculate, unmix'd and pure, As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store Such as the angels think so very fine, She must not own, but cherish d more the while, And matrons, who would be no less secure, For that compression in its burning core; Platonic, perfect, "just such love as mine;" Even innocence itself has many a wile, Thus Julia said-and thought so, to be sure, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And so I'd have her think, were i the man And love is taught hypocrisy from youth. On whom her reveries celestial ran. LXXIII. LXXX. But passion most dissembles, yet betrays Such love is innocent, and may exist Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky Between young persons without any danger; Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays A hand may first, and then a lip be kiss'd; Its workings through the vainly-guarded eye, For my part, to such doings I'm a stranger, And in whatever aspect it arrays But hear these fieedoms for the utmost list Itself,'tis still the same hypocrisy; Of all o'er which such love may be a ranger: Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate, If people go beyond,'t is quite a crime, Aie masks it often wears, and still too late. But not my fault-I tell them all in time. LXXIV. LXXXI. rhen there were sighs, the deeper for suppression, Love, then, but love within its proper limits, And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft, Was Julia's innocent determination And burning blushes, though for no transgression, In young Don Juan's favour, and to hirr. its Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left: Exertion might be useful or occasion A.l these are little preludes to possession, And, lighted at too pure a shrine to dim ts Of which young passion cannot be bereft, Etherial lustre, with what sweet persuasion And mnerey end to show how greatly love is He might be taught, by love and her togetherEsmba;rws'd at first starting with a novice. I really don't know what, nor Julia either. cANTO I. DON JUAN. 567 LXXXII. LXXXIX. Fraught with this fine intention, and well fenced The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals In mail of proof-her purity of soul, To the good sense and senses of mankino, She, for the future, of her strength convinced, The very thing which every body feels, And that her honour was a rock, or mole, As all have found on trial, or may find, Exceeding sagely from that hour dispensed That no one likes to be disturb'd at meals With any kind of troublesome control. Or love:-I von't say more about "entwined" But whether Julia to the task was equal Or "transport," as we know all that before, is that which must be mention'd in the sequel. But beg "security" will bolt the door. LXXXIII. XC. Her plan she deem'd both innocent and feasible, Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks, And, surely, with a stripling of sixteen Thinking unutterable things: he threw Not scandals fangs could fix on much that's seizable; Himself at length within the leafy nooks Or, if they did so,, satisfied to mean Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew Nothing but what was good, her breast was peaceable- There poets find materials for their books, A quiet conscience makes one so serene! And every now and then we tead them through, Christians have burned each other, quite persuaded So that their plan and prosody are eligible, That all the apostles would have done as they did. Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unintelligible. LXXXIV. XCI. And if, in the mean time, her husband died, He, Juan, (and not Wordsworth), so pursued But Heaven forbid that such a thought should cross His self-communion with his own high soul, Her brain, though in a dream, (and then she sigh'd!) Until his mighty heart, in its great mood, Never could she survive that common loss; Had mitigated part, though not the whole But just suppose that moment should betide, Of its disease; he did the best he could I only say suppose it-inter nos With things not very subject to control, (This should be entre nous, for Julia thought And turn'd, without perceiving his condition, In French, but then the rhyme would go for nought). Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician. LXXXV. XCII. I only say suppose this supposition: He thought about himself, and the whole earth, Juan, being then grown up to man's estate, Of man the wonderful, and of the stars, Would fully suit a widow of condition; And how the deuce they ever could have birth; Even seven years hence it would not be too late; And then he thought of earthquakes and of wars. And in the interim (to pursue this vision) How many miles the moon might have in girth, The mischief, after all, could not be great, Of air-balloons, and of the many bars For he would learn the rudiments of love, To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies; I mean the seraph way of those above. And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes. LXXXVI. XCIII. So much for Julia. Now we'l turn to Juan. In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern Poor little fellow! he had no idea Longings sublime, and aspirations high, Of his own dase, and never hit the true one; Which some are born with, but the most part iearr In feelings quick as Ovid's Miss Medea, To plague themselves withal, they know not why: He puzzled over what he found a new one,'T was strange that one so young should thus concern But not as yet imagined it could be a His brain about the action of the sky; Thing quite in course, and not at all alarming, If you think'twas philosophy that this did, WVhich,, with a little patience, might grow charming. I can't help thinking puberty assisted. LXXXVII. XCIV. Silent and pensive, idle, restless, slow, lHe pored upon the leaves, and on the flowers, His home deserted for the lonely wood, And heard a voice in all the winds; and then Tormented with a wound he could not know, He thought of wood-nymphs and immortal bowers, His, like all deep grief, plunged in solitude. And how the goddesses came down to men. I'm fond myself of solitude or so, He miss'd the pathway, he forgot the hours, But then I beg it may be understood And, when he look'd upon his watch again, By solitude I mean a sultan's, not He found how much old Time had been a winner - A hermit's, with a haram for a grot. He also found that he had lost his dinner. LXXXVIII. XCV. Oh love! in such a wilderness as this, Sometimes he turn'd to gaze upon his book, Where transport and security entwine, Boscan, or Garcilasso;-by the wind Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, Even as the page is rustled while we look. And here thou art a god indeed divine." So by the poesy of his own mind The bard I quote from does not sing amiss, Over the mystic leaf his soul was shook, With the exception of the second line, As if'twere one whereon magicians bind For that same twining "transport and security" Their spells, and give them to the passing gale, Are twisted to a thrase of some obscurity. According to some good old woman's teae. 568 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XCVI. CIII. Thus would he while his lonely hours away'T was on a summer's day-the sixth of June: Dissatisfied, nor knowing what he wanted; I like to be particular in dates, Nor glowing reverie, nor poet's lay, Not only of the age, and year, but moon; Could yield his spirit that for which it panted,- They are a sort of post-house, where the Fates A bosom whereon he his head might lay, Change horses, making history change its tune, And hear the heart beat with the love it granted, Then spur away o'er empires and o'er states, With-several other things, which I forget, Leaving at last not much besides chronology, Or which, at least, I need not mention yet. Excepting the post-obits of theology. XCVII. CIV. Those lonely walks and lengthening reveries'Twas on the sixth of June, about the hour Could not escape the gentle Julia's eyes; Of half-past six-perhaps still nearer seven, She saw that Juan was not at his ease; When Julia sate within as pretty a bower But that which chiefly may and must surprise, As ere held houri in that heathenish heaven Is, that the Donna Inez did not tease Described by Mahomet, and Anacreon Moore, Her only son with question or surmise; To whorn the lyre and laurels have been given, Whether it was she did not see, or would not, With all the trophies of triumphant songOr, like all very clever people, could not. He won then well, and may he wear them long. XCVIII. CV. This may seem strange, but yet't is very common; She sate, but not. alone; I know not well For instance-gentlemen, whose ladies take How this same interview had taken placer Leave to o'erstep the written rights of woman, d even if I knew, should not tellAndbreakthe-Whichcommandmentis'ttheybreak? p And break the-nhichcommandmentis'tthey break? People should hold their tongues in any case; (I have forgot the number, and think no man No matter how or why the thing befell, Should -rashly quote, for fear of a mistake). But there were she and Juan face to faceI say, when these same gentlemen are jealous, hen two such faces are so,would e wise They make some blunder, which their ladies tell us. But very difficult, to shut their eyes. XCIX. & real husband always is suspicious, CVI. stilnolessuspecs in the wrou pae How beautiful she look'd! her conscious heart But still no less suspects in the wrong place, But stillno less suspe th wr ae, IGlow'd in her cheek, and yet she felt no wrong: Jealous of some one who had no such wishes, Oh love! how perfect is thy mystic art, Oh love! how perfect is thy mystic art, Or pandering blindly to his own disgrace, Or pandeng bi nd r thiswndigrae, i Strengthening the weak and trampling on the strong, By harbouring some dear friend extremely vicious; How self-deceitful is the sagest part The last indeed's infallibly the case: Of mortals whom thy lure hath led along: And when the spouse and friend are gone off wholly, ii i The precipice she stood on was immense — He wonders at their vice, and not his folly. So was her creed in her own innocence. ~' ~So was her creed in her own innocence. C. Thus parents also are at times short-sighted;. Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er discover, She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth. Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er discover, o t h f o a p d fe a rs Young Hopeful's mistress, or Miss Fanny's lover, Victorious virtue, and domestic truth, lill some confounded escapade has blighted And then of Don Alfonso's fifty years: The plan of twenty years, and all is over; I wish these last had not occurr'd, in sooth, Because that number rarely much endears, And then the mother cries, the father swears, Because that number rarely much endears, And wonders why the devil he got heirs. And through all climes, the snowy and the sunny, CI.. Sounds ill in love, whate'er it may in money. but Inez was so anxious, and so clear CVIII. Of sight, that I must think on this occasion, When people say, "I've told you fifty times," She had some other motive much more near They mean to scold, and very often do; For leaving Juan to this new temptation; When poets say "I've written fifty rhymes," But what that motive was, I shan't say here; They make you dread that they'll recite them too; Perhaps to finish Juan's education, In gaugs of fifty, thieves comnit their crimes; Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes, At fifty, love for love is rare,'tis true; In case he thought his wife too great a prize. But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, (I.iA good deal may be bought for fifty Louis. It was upon a day, a summer's day; CIX. Summer's indeed a very dangerous season, Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love And so is spring about the end of May; ivor DonAlfonso; and she inly swore, The sun, no doubt, is the prevailing reason; By all the vows below to powers above, But whatsoe'er the cause is, one may say, She never would disgrace the ring she wore, Ad stand convicted of more truth than treason, Nor leave a wish which wisdom might reprove: Th'J there are months which nature grows more And while she ponder'd this, besides much more, merry ir- - One hand on Juan's carelessly was thrown, March nas Ats hares, and May must have its heroine. Quite by mistake-she thougbltit was her own; CANTO i. DON JUAN. 569 CX. CXVI. Unconsciously she lean'd upon the other, And Julia's voice was lost, except in sighs, Which play'd within the tangles of her hair; Until too late for useful conversation; And to contend with thoughts she could not smother, The tears were gushing from her gentle eyes, She seem'd, by the distraction of her air. I wish, indeed, they had not had occasion;'Twas surely very wrong in Juan's mother But who, alas! can love, and then be wise? To leave together this imprudent pair, Not that remorse did not oppose temptation, She who for many years had watch'd her son so- A little still she strove, and much repented, I'm veay certain mine would not have done so. And whispering "I will ne'er consent"-consented. CXI. CXVIII. The hand which still held Juan's, by degrees'Tis said that Xerxes offer'd a reward Gently, but palpably, confirm'd its grasp, To those who could invent him a new pleasure, As if it sai " detain me, if you please;" Methinks the requisition's rather hard, Yet there's no doubt she only meant to clasp And must have cost his majesty a treasure: His fingers with a pure Platonic squeeze: For my part, I'm a moderate-minded bard, She would have shrunk as from a toad or asp, Fond of a little love (which I call leisure); lead she imagined such a thing could rouse I care not for new pleasures, as the old A feeling dangerous to a prudent spouse. Are quite enough for me, so they but hold. CXII. CXIX. I cannot know what Juan thought of this, Oh Pleasure! you're indeed a pleasant thing, But what he did is much what you would do; Although one must be damn'd for you, no doubt. His young lip thank'd it with a grateful kiss, I make a resolution every spring And then, abash'd at his own joy, withdrew Of reformation ere the year run out, In deep despair, lest he had done amissf But, somehow, this my vestal vow takes wing, Love is so very timid when'tis new: Yet still, I trust, it may be kept throughout: She blush'd and frown'd not, but she strove to speak, I'm very sorry, very much ashamed, And held her tongue, her voice was grown so weak. And mean, next winter, to be quite reclaim'd. CXIII. CXX. The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon: Here my chaste muse a liberty must takeThe devil's in the moon for mischief; they Start not! still chaster reader,-she'll be nice hence. Who call'd her CHASTE, methinks, began too soon Forward, and there is no great cause to quake: Their nomenclature: there is not a day, This liberty is a poetic license The longest, not the twenty-first of June, Which some irregularity may make Sees half the business in a wicked way In the design, and as I have a high sense On which three single hours of moonshine smile- Of Aristotle and the Rules,'tis fit And then she looks so modest all the while. To beg his pardon when I err a bit. CXIV. CXXI. There is a dangerous silence in that hour, This license is to hope the reader will A stillness which leaves room for the full soul Suppose from June the sixth (the fatal day, To open all itself, without the power Without whose epoch my poetic skill, Of calling wholly back its self-control; For want of facts, would all be thrown away', The silver light which, hallowing tree and tower, But keeping Julia and Don Juan still Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole, In sight, that several months have pass'd; we'll sa Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws'Twas in November, but I'm not so sure A loving languor, which is not repose. About the day-the era's more obscure. CXV. CXXII. And Julia sate with- Juan, half embraced, We'll talk of that anon.-'Tis sweet to hear, And half retiring from the glowing arm, At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep, Which trembled like the bosom where'twas placed: The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, Yet still she must have thought there was no harm, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep, Or else't were easy to withdraw her waist;'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; But then the situation had its charm,'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep And then-God knows what next-I can't go on; From leaf to leaf;'tis sweet to view on high I'm almost sorry that I e'er begun. The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky; CXVI. CXXIII. Oh, Plato! Plato! you have paved the way,'Tis sweet to hear the watchl-dog's honest bark With your confounded fantasies, to more Bay d'eep-mouth'd welcone as we draw neat- Ict.. Immoral conduct by the fancied sway'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Your system feigns o'er the controlless core Our coming, and look brighter when we come. Of human hearts, than all the long array'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Of poets and romancers:-You're a bore, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hnum A charlatan, a coxcomb-and have been, Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birOs, At best, no better than a go-between. The lisp of children, and their earliest wvorib 77 570 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO CXXIV. CXXXI. Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes * * * * In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth * * * * Purple and gushing; sweet are our escapes From civic revelry to rural mirth; Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps; Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth; Sweet is revenge-especially to women, Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. CXXV. CXXXII. Sweet is a legacy; and passing sweet This is the patent age of new inventions The unexpected.death of some old lady For killing bodies and for saving souls, Or gentleman of seventy years complete, All propagated with the best intentions: Who've made "us youth" wait too-too long already Sir Humphry Davy's lantern, by which coals For an estate, or cash or country-seat, Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, Timbuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles That all the Israelites are fit to mob its Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Next owner, for their double-damn'd post-obits. Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo. CXXVI. CXXXIII.'T is sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels Man's a phenomenon,;one knows not what, By blood or ink;'tis sweet to put an end And wonderful beyond all wondrous measuie, To strife;'t is sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,'T is pity though, in this sublime world, that Particularly with a tiresome friend; Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure, Sweet is old wine in bottles- ale in barrels; Few mortals know what end they'would be at, Dear is the helpless crea lure we defend But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure, Against the world; and dear the school-boy spot The path is through perplexing ways, and when WVe ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. The goal is gain'd, we die, you know-and thenCXXVII. CXXXIV. But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, What then?-I do not know, no more do youIs first and passionate love-it stands alone, And so good night.-Return we to our story: Like Adam's recollection of his fall;'Twas in November, when fine days are few, The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd-all's known- And the far mountains wax a little hoary, And life yields nothing further -to recall And clap a white cape on their mantles blue; Worthy of this an brosial sin so shown, And the sea dashes round the promontory, No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven And the loud breaker boils against the rock, Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven. And sober suns must set at five o'clock. CXXVIII. CXXXV. Man's a strange animal, and makes strange use'Twas, as the watchmen say, a cloudy night; Of his own nature and the various arts, No moon, no stars, the wind was low or loud And likes particularly to produce By gusts, and many a sparkling hearth was bright Some new experiment to show his parts: With the piled wood, round which the family crowd This is the age of oddities let loose, There's something cheerful in that sort of light, Where different talents find their different marts; Even as a summer sky's without a cloud: You'd best begin with truth, and when you've lost your I'm fond of fire, and crickets, and all that, 1 abour, there's a sure market for imposture. A lobster salad, and champagne, and chat CXXIX. CXXpIJX What opposite discoveries we have seen!'Twas midnight-Donna Julia was in bed, (Signs of true genius, and of empty pockets:) Sleeping, most probably,-when at her door One makes new noses, one a guillotine, Arose a clatter might awake the dead, One breaks your bones, one sets them in their sockets; If they had never been awoke beforeBut vaccination certainly has been And that they have been so we all have read, A kind antithesis to Congreve's rockets, And are to be so, at the least, once more* > * * * * The door was fasten'd, but, with voice and fist,' * * * * Firstknockswere heard,then "Madam-IMadam-hist! CXXX. CXXXVII. Pread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes, "For God's sake, Madam —Madam-here's my master And galvanism has set some. corpses grinning, With more than half the city at his backBimt has not answer'd like the apparatus Was ever heard of such a cursed disaster! Of the Humane Society's beginning,'T is not my fault-I kept good wateh-Alaclk 1Bv which men are unsuffocated gratis;- Do, pray, undo the bolt a little fasterV hat wondrous new machines have late been spinning They're on the stair just now, and in a cracs * * * * * Will all be here; perhaps he yet may fly — * *, * * Surely the window's not so very high"' CANTO I. DON JUAN. 571 CXXXVIII. CXLV. By this time Don Alfonso was arrived, During this inquisition Julia's tongue With torches, friends, and servants in great number; Was not asleep-4"Yes,search andsearch," she cried, The major part of them had long been wived, "Insult on insult heap, and wrong on wrong! And therefore paused not to disturb the slumber It was for this that I became a bride! Of any wicked woman, who contrived For this in silence I have suffer'd long By stealth her husband's temples to encumber:. A husband like Alfonso at my side; Examples of this kind are so contagious, But now I'1 bear no more, nor here remain, Were one not punish'd, all would be outrageous. If there be law, or lawyers, in all Spain. CXXXIX.' CXLVI. I can't tell how, or why, or what suspicion " Yes, Don Alfonso, husband now no more, Could enter into Don Alfonso's head, If ever you indeed deserved the name, But for a cavalier of his condition Is't worthy of your years?-you have threescore, It surely was exceedingly ill-bred, Fifty, or sixty-it is all the same — Without a word of previous admonition, Is't wise or fitting causeless to explore To hold a levee round his lady's bed, For facts against a virtuous woman's fame? And summon lackeys, arm'd with fire and sword, Ungrateful, perjured, barbarous Don Alfonso! To prove himself the thing he most abhorr'd. How dare you think your lady would go on so? CXL. CXLVII. Poor Donna Julia! starting as from sleep "Is it for this I'have disdain'd to hold (Mind-that I do not say-she had not slept), The common privileges of my sex? Began at once to scream, and yawn, and weep; That I have chosen a confessor so old Her maid Antonia, who was an adept, And deaf, that any other it would vex, Contrived to fling the bed-clothes in a heap, And never once he has had cause to scold, As if she had just now from out them crept: But found my very innocence perplex I can't tell why she should take all this trouble So much, he always doubted I was marriedTo prove her mistress had been sleeping double. How sorry you will be when I've miscarried! CXLI. CXLVIII. But Julia mistress, and Antonia maid, "Was it for this that no Cortejo ere Appear'd like two poor harmless women, who I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville Of goblins, but still more of men, afraid, Is it for this I scarce went any where, Had thought one man might be deterr'd by two, Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel? And therefore side by side were gently laid, Is it for this, whate'er my siiitors were, Until the hours of absence should run through, I favour'd none-nay, was almost uncivil'? And truant husband should return, and say, Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly, "My dear, I was the first who came away." Who took Algiers, declares I used him vilely?6 CXLII. CXLIX. Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried, "Did not the Italian Musico Cazzani "In Heaven's name, Don Alfonso, what d' ye mean? Sing at my heart six months at least in vain? Has madness seized you? would that I had died Did not his countryman, Count Corniani, Ere such a monster's victim I had been! Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain? What may this midnight violence betide, Were there not also Russians, English, many? A sudden fit of drunkenness or spleen? The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain, Dare you suspect me, whom the thought would kill? And Lord Mount Coffeehouse, the Irish peer, Search, then, the room!"-Alfonso said, " I will." Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year. CXLIII. CL. He search'dthey search'd, and rummaged every where, "Have. I not had two bishops at my feet,. Closet and clothes'-press, chest and window-seat, The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fernan Nunez? And found much linen, lace, and several pair And is it thus a faithful wife you treat? Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete, I wonder in what quarter now the moon is. With other articles of ladies fair, I praise your vast forbearance not to beat To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat: Me also, since the time so opportune isArras they prick'd and curtains with their swords, Oh, valiant man! with. sword drawn and cock'd triggea And wounded several shutters, and some boards. Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure? CXLIV. CLI. Under the bed they search'd, and there they found- "Was it for this you took your sudden joulnite No matter what-it was not that they sought, Under pretence of business indispensable, rhey open'd windows, gazing if the ground With that sublime of rascals your attorney, Had signs or foot-marks, but the earth said nought:- Whom I see standing there, and looking sensible And then they stared each other's faces round: Of having play'd the fool? though both I spurn, he'T is odd,hot one of all these seekers thought, Deserves the worst, his conduct's less defensibl. And seems to me almost a sort of blunder, Because, no doubt,'t was for his dirty fee. Of looking in the bed as well as under. And not for any love to you or me. 572 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO 1 CLII., CLIX. sIf he comes here to take a deposition, The SenhorDonAlfonso stood confused; By all means let the gentleman proceed; Antonia bustled round the ransack'd room, You've made the apartment in a fit condition: And, turning up her nose, with looks abused There's pen and ink for you, sir, when you need- Her master, and his myrmidons, of whom Let every thing be noted with precision, Not one, except the attorney, was amused; I would not you for nothing should be fee'd- He, like Achates, faithful to the tomb, But, as my maid's undress'd, pray turn your spies out." So there were quarrels, cared not for the cause, "Oh!" sobb'd Antonia, "I could tear their eyes out." Knowing they must be settled by the laws. CLIII. CLX. "There is the closet, there the toilet, there With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he stood The ante-chamber-search them under, over: Following Antonia's motions here and there, There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair, With much suspicion in his attitude; The chimney-which would reallIhold a lover. For reputation he had little care: I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care So that a suit or action were made good, And make no further noise till you discover Small pity had he for the young and fair, The secret cavern of this lurking treasure- And ne'er believed in negatives, till these And,'when't is found, let me, too, have that pleasure. Were proved by competent false witnesses. CLIV. CLXI. " And now, Hidalgo! now that you have thrown But Don Alfonso stood with downcast looks, Doubt upon me, confusion over all, And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure; Pray have the courtesy to make it known When, after searching in five hundred nooks, Who is the man you search for? how d' ye call And treating a young wife with so much rigour, Him? what's his lineage? let him but be shown- He gain'd no point, except some self rebukes, I hope he's young and handsome-is he tall? Added to those his lady with such vigour Tell me-and be assured, that since you stain Had pour'd upon him for the last half hour, My honour thus, it shall not be in vain. Quick, thick, and heavy-as a thunder-shower. CLV. CLXII. "At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years- At first he tried to hammer an excuse, At that age he would be too old for slaughter, To which the sole reply were tears and sobs, Or for so young a husband's jealous fears- And indications of hysterics, whose (Antonia! let me have a glass of water). Prologue is always certain throes and throbs, I am ashamed of having shed these tears, Gasps, and whatever else the owners choose:They are unworthy of my father's daughter; Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's; My mother dream'd not in my natal hour He saw, too, in perspective, her relations, That I should fall into a monster's power. And then he tried to muster all his patience. CLVI. CLXIII.." Perhaps't is of Antonia you are'jealous, IHe stood in act to speak, or rather stammer, You saw that she was sleeping by my side But sage Antonia cut him short before When you broke in upon us with your fellows: The anvil of his speech received the hammer, Look where you please-we've nothing, sir, to hide; With " Pray, sir, leave the room, and say no murt, Only another time, I trust, you'11 tell us, Or madam dies."-Alfonso mutter'd " D-n her." Or for the sake of decency abide But nothing else, the time of words was o'er; A monent at the door, that we may be He cast a rueful look or two, and did, Dress'd to receive so much good company. He knew not wherefore, that which he was bid. CLVII. C LXIV. "And now, sir, I have done, and say no more; With him retired his "posse comitatus," The little I have said may serve to show The attorney last, who linger'd near the door, The guileless heart in silence may grieve o'er Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow:.- Antonia let him-not a little sore I leave you to your conscience as before, At this most strange and unexplam'd "hiatus" 1' will one day ask you why you used me so? In Don Alfonso's facts, which just now wore God grant you feel not then the bitterest grief!- An awkward look; as he revolved the case, Aw'onia! where's my pocket-handkerchief?" The door was fasten'd in his legal face. CLVIII. CLXV. She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; pale No sooner was it bolted, than-Oh shame! She lay. her dark eyes flashing through their tears, Oh sin! oh sorrow! and oh womankind! LiKe skies that rain and lighten; as a veil How can you do such things and keep your faine, Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears Unless this world, and t' other too, be blind?!t r streaming hair; the black curls strive, but fail, Nothing so dear as an unfilch'd good name! ro hide tne glossy shoulder which uprears But to proceed-for there is more behind: Its issow through all; —ho" soft lips lie apart, With much heart-felt reluctance be it said, an' louder than her breathing beats her heart. Young Juan slipp'd, half-smother'd, from the bed CANTO. DON JUAN. 573 CLXVI. C LXXIII. He had been hid-I don't pretend to say Now, Don Alfonso entering, but alone, How, nor can I indeed describe the where- Closed the oration of the trusty maid: Young, slender, and pack'd easily, he lay, She loiter'd, and he told her to be gone, No doubt, in little compass, round or square; An order somewhat sullenly obey'd; But pity him I neither must nor may However, present remedy was none, His suffocation by that pretty pair; And no great good seem'd answer'd if she stay'd'T were better, sure, to die so, than be shut, Regarding both with slow and sidelong view, With maudlin Clarence, in his Malmsev butt. She snuff'd the candle, curtsied, and withdrew. CLXVII. CLXXIV. And, secondly, I pity not, because Alfonso paused a minute-then begun He had no business to commit a sin, Some strange excuses for his late proceeding; Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws, —, He would not justify what he had done, At least'twas rather early to begin; To saythe-best, itwas extreme ill-breeding: But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws But there were ample reasons for it, none So much as when we call our old debts in Of which he specified in this this pleading: At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil, His speech was a fine sample, on the whole, And find a deuced balance with the devil. Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call " rigmarole." CLXVIII. CLXXV. Of his position I can give no notion: Julia said nought; though all the while there rose'T is written in the Hebrew Chronicle, A ready answer, which at once enables How the physicians, leaving pill and potion, A matron, who her husband's foible knows, Prescribed, by way of blister, a young belle, By a few timely words to turn the tables, When old King David's blood grew dull in motion, Which, if it does not silence, still must pose, And that the medicine answer'd very well; Even if it should comprise a pack of fables; Perhaps't was in a different way applied, -'T is to retort with firmness, and when he For David lived, but Juan nearly died. Suspects with one, do you reproach with three. CLXIX. CLXXVI. What's to be done? Alfonso will be back Julia, in fact, had tolerable grounds, The moment he has sent his fools away. Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known; Antonia's skill was put upon the rack, But whether'twas that one's own guilt confoundsBut no device could be brought into play- But that can't be, as has been often shown; And how to parry the renew'd attack? A lady with apologies abounds: Besides, it wanted but few hours of day: It might be that her silence sprang alone Antonia puzzled; Julia did not speak, From delicacy to Don Juan's ear, But press'd her bloodless lip to- Juan's cheek. To whom she knew his mother's fame was dear. CLXX. CLXXVII. He turn'd his lip to hers, and with his hand There might be one more motive, which makes two Call'd back the tangles of her wandering hair: Alfonso ne'er to Juan had alluded, Even thenthir. e fieyYcfouold not all command, Mention'd his jealousy, but never who And half forgot their danger and despair: Had been the happy lover, he concluded, Antonia's patience now was at a stand- Conceal'd amongst his premises;'t is true, "Come, come,'t is no time now for fooling there," His mind the more o'er this its mystery broodea She whisper'd in great wrath-" I must deposit To speak of Inez now were, one may say, This pretty gentleman within the closet: Like throwing Juan in Alfonso's way. CLXXI. CLXXVIII. "Pray keep your nonsense for some luckier night- A hint, in tender cases, is enough; Who can have put my master in this mood? Silence is best, besides there is a tact What will become on't?-I'm in such a. fright! (That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff, The devil's in the urchin, and no good- But it will serve to keep my verse compact) Is this a time for giggling? this a plight? Which keeps, when push'd by questions rather rough Why, don't you know that it may end in blood? A lady always distant from the factYou ll lose your life, and I shall lose my place, The charming creatures lie with such a grace, My mistress all, for. that half-girlish face. There's nothing so becoming to the face. CLXXI. CLXXIX. "Had it but been for a stout cavalier They blush, and we believe hem; at least I Of twenty-five or thirty-(come, make haste) Have always done so;'t a of no great use, But for a child, what piece of work is here! In any case, attempting a reply, I really, madam, wonder at your taste- For then their eloquence grows quite profuse. (Come, sir, get in)-my master must be near. And when at length they're out of breath, they sign, There, for the present at the least he's fast, And cast theil languid eyes down, and let loose And, if we can but till the morning keep A tear or two, and then we make it up; Ollr counsel-(Juan, mind you must not sleep).'? And then-and then —nd then-sit down and sso 3B 574 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO 1. CLXXX. CLXXXVII. Alfonso closed his speech, and begg'd her pardon, L ights came at length, and men and maids, who found Which Julia half withheld, and then half granted, An awkward spectacle their eyes before; And laid conditions, he thought, very hard on, Antonia in hysterics, Julia swoon'd, Denying several little things he wanted: Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door; He stood, like Adam, lingering near his garden, Some half-torn drapery scatter'd on the ground, With useless penitence perplex'd and haunted, Some blood, and several footsteps, but no more: Beseeching she no further would refuse, Juan the gate gain'd, turn'd the key about, When lo! he stumbled o'er a pair of shoes. And, liking not the inside, lock'd the out. CLXXXI. CLXXXVIII. A pair of shoes!-what then? not much, if they Here ends this Canto.-Need I sing or say, Are such as fit with lady's feet, but these How Juan, naked, favour'd by the night (No one can tell how' much I grieve to say) (Who favours what she should not), found his wv.y Were masculine: to see them and to seize And reach'd his home in an unseemly plight I Was but a moment's act.-Ah! well-a-day! The pleasant scandal which arose next day, My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze- The nine days' wonder which was brought to lighl, Alfonso first examined well their fashion, And how Alfonso sued for a divorce, And then flew out into another passion. Were in the English newspapers, of course. CLXXXII. CLXXXIX. He left the room for his relinquish'd sword, If you would like to see the whole proceedings, And Julia instant to the closet flew; The depositions, and the cause at full, " Fly, Juan, fly! for Heaven's sake —not a word- The names of all the witnesses, the pleadings The door is open-you may yet slip through Of counsel to nonsuit or to annul,'he passage you so often have explored- There's more than one edition, and the readings Here is the garden-key-fly-fly-adieu! Are various, but they none of them are dull, Haste-haste!-I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet- The best is that in short-hand, ta'en by Gurney, Day has not broke-there's no one in the street." Who to Madrid on purpose made a journey. CLXXXIII. CXC. None can say that this was not good advice, But Donna Inez, to divert the train The only mischief was, it came too late; Of oneof the most circulating scandals Of all experience't is the usual price, That had for centuries been known in Spain, A sort of income-tax laid on by fate: At least since the retirement of the Vandals, Juan had reach'd the room-door in a trice, First vow'd (and never had she vow'd in vain) And might have done so by the garden-gate, To Virgin Mary several pounds of candles; But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown, And then, by the advice of some old ladies, Who threaten'd death-so Juan knock'd him down. She sent her son to be shipp'd off from Cadiz. CLXXXIV. CXCI. Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light,. She had resolved that he should travel through Antonia cried out "Rape!" and Julia "Fire!" All European climes by land or sea, But not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight. To mend his former morals, and get new, Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire, Especially in France and Italy, Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night; (At least this is the thing most people do-. And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave higher; Julia was sent into a convent; she His blood was up; though young, he was a Tartar, Grieved, but perhaps, her feelings may be better And not at all disposed to prove a martyr. Shown in the following copy of her letter: CLXXXV.. CXCII. Alfonso's sword had dropp'd ere he could draw it, " They tell me't is decided, you depart: And they continued battling hand to hand,'T is wise-'t is well, but not the less a pain For Juan very luckily ne'erl saw it; I have no further claim on your young heart, His temper not being under great command, Mine is the victim, and would be again: If at that moment he had chanced to claw it, To love too much has been the only art Alfonso's days had not been in the land I used;-I write in haste, and if a stain Much longer.-Think of husbands', lovers' lives Be on this sheet,'t is not what it appearsAnd how you may be doubly widows-wives! My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears CLXXXVI. CXCIII. Alfonso grappled to detain the foe, " I loved, I love you; for this love have lost And Juan throttled him to get away, State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own esi.,is And blood ('twas from the nose) began to flow; And yet cannot regret what it hath cost, At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay, So dear is still the memory of that dream; Juan contrived to give an awkward blow, Yet, if I name my guilt,'tis not to boast,And then his only garment quite gave way; None can deem harshlier of me than I deem. le fled, like Joseph, leaving it-but there, I trace this scrawl because I cannot restI doubt, all likeness ends between the pair. I've nothing to reproach or to request. CANTO L DON JUAN. 575 CXCIV. CCI. "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, All these things will be specified in time,'T is woman's whole existence; man may range With strict regard to Aristotle's Rules, The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart; The vade mecum of the true sublime, Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Which makes so many poets and some fools; Pride, fame. ambition, to fill up his heart, Prose poets like blank-verse-I'm fond of rhymeAnd few there are whom these cannot estrange: Good workmen never quarrel with their tools; Men have all these resources, we but one- I've got new mythological machinery, To love again, and be again undone. And very handsome supernatural scenery. CXCV. CCII. "You will proceed in pleasure and in pride, There's only one slight difference between Beloved and loving many; all is o'er Me and my epic brethren gone before, For me on earth, except some years to hide And here the advantage is my own, I ween, My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core: (Not that I have not several merits more); These I could bear, but cannot cast aside But this will more peculiarly be seen; The passion, which still rages as before, They so embellish, that'tis quite a bore And so farewell-forgive me, love me-No, Their labyrinth of fables to thread through, That word is idle now-but let it go. Whereas this story's actually true. CXCVI. CCIII. "My breast has been all weakness, is so yet; If any person doubt it, I appeal But still, I think, I can collect my mind; To history, tradition, and to facts, My blood still rushes where my spirit's set, To newspapers, whose truth all know and feel, As roll the waves before the settled wind; To plays in five, and operas in three acts; My heart is feminine, nor can forget- All these confirm my statement a good deal, To all, except one image, madly blind: But that which more completely faith exacts So shakes tne needle, and so stands the pole, Is, that myself, and several now in Seville, As vibrates my fond heart to my fix'd soul. Saw Juan's last elopement with the devil. CXCVII. CCIV. "I have no more to say, but linger still, If ever I should condescend to prose, And dare not set my seal upon this sheet, I'11 write poetical commandments, which And yet I may as well the task fulfil, Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those My misery. can scarce be more complete: That went before; in these I shall enrich I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill; My text with many things that no one knows, Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet. And carry precept to the highest pitch: And I must even survive this last adieu, I'll call the work "Longinus o'er a Bottle, And bear with life, to love and pray for you!" Or, Every Poet his own Aristotle." CXCVIII. CCV. This note was written upon gilt-edged paper, Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope: With a neat little crow-quill, slight and new: Thoushaltnot setupWordsworth,Coleridge,Southley Her small white hand could hardly reach the taper, Because the first is crazed beyond all hope, It trembled as magnetic needles do, The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthey And yet she did not let one tear escape her; With Crabbe it may be difficult to cope, The seal a sun-flower; "Elle vous suit partout," And Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy: The motto cut upon a white cornelian, Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor The wax was superfine, its hue vermilion. Commit-flirtation with the muse of Moore: CXCIX. CCVI. This was Don Juan's earliest scrape; but whether Thou shalt not covet Mr. Sotheby's Muse, I shall proceed with his adventure is His Pegasus, nor any thing that's his: Dependent on the public altogether: Thou shalt not bear false witness, like " the Blues," We'll see, however, what they say tb this (There's one, at least, is very fond of this): (Their favour in an author's cap's a feather, Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose: And no great mischief's done by their caprice); This is true criticism, and you may kissAnd, if their approbation we experience, Exactly as you please, or not-the rod, Perhaps they'11 have some more about a year hence. But if you don't, I'11 lay it on, by G —! CC. CCVII. My poem's epic, and is meant to be If any person should presume to assert Divided in twelve books; each book containing, The story is not moral, first, I pray With love, and war, a heavy gale at sea, That they will not cry out before they're hult. A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning, Then that they'll read it o'er again, and say New characters; the episodes are three: (But, doubtless, nobody will be so pert) A panorama view of hell's in training, That this is not a moral tale, though gay After the style of Virgil and of Homer, Besides, in canto twelfth, I mean to show So that my name of Epic's no misnomer. The very place where wicked people go, 576 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO L CCVIII. CCXV. If, after all, there should be some so blind No more-no more-Oh! never more, my heart, To their own good this warning to,despise, Canst thou be my sole world, my universe! Led by some tortuosity of mind, Once all in all, but now a thing apart, Not to believe my verse and their own eyes, Thou canst not be my blessing or my curser And cry that they "the moral cannot find," The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies-. Insensible, I trust, but none the worse; Should captains the remark, or critics, make, And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, They also lie too-under a mistake. Though Heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment. CCIX. CCXVI. The public approbation I expect, My days of love are over-me no more And beg they'll take my word about the moral, The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow, Which I with their amusement,will connect Can make the fool of which they made before(So children cutting teeth receive a coral); In short, I must not lead the life I did do: Meantime, they'll doubtless please to recollect The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er; My epical pretensions to the laurel: The copious use of claret is forbid, too; For fear some prudish reader should grow skittish, So, for a good old gentlemanly vice, I've bribed my grandmother's review-the British. I think I must take up with avarice. CCX. CCXVII. I sent it in a letter to the editor, Ambition was my idol, which was broken Who thank'd me duly by return of post- Before the shrines of Sorrow and of Pleasure; I'm for a handsome article his creditor; And the two last have left me many a token Yet, if my gentle Muse he please to roast, O'er which reflection may be made at leisure: And break a promise after having made it her, Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken, Denying the receipt of what it cost, "Time is, time was, time's past," a chymic treasure And smear his page with gall instead of honey, Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimesAll I can say is-that he had the money. My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. CCXI. CCXVIII. I think that with this, holy new alliance What is the end of fame?'t is but to fill I may insure the public, and defy A certain portion of uncertain paper; All Other magazines of art or science, Some liken it to climbing sip a hill, Daily, or monthly, or three-monthly; I Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; Have not essay'd to multiply their clients, For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill; Because they tell me'twere in vain to try, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," And that the Edinburgh Review and Quarterly To have, when the original is dust, Treat a dissenting author very martyrly. A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. CCXII. CCXIX. Nqp ego hoc ferrem calida juventa What are the hopes ot man? old Egypt's king, Consule Planco," Horace said, and so Cheops, erected the first pyramid Say I, by which quotation there is meant a And largest, thinking it was just the thing Hint that some six or seven good years ago To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid; (Long ere I dreamt of dating from the Brenta), But somebody or other, rummaging, I was most ready to return a blow, Burglariously broke his coffin's lid; And would not brook at all this sort of thing Let not a monument give you or me hopes, Ii my hot youth-when George the Third was King. Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops. CCXIII. CCXX. But now, at thirty years, my hair is gray- But I, being fond of true philosophy, (I wonder what it will be like at forty? Say very often to myself,." Alas! I h'n,ht of a peruke the other day,) All things that have been born were born to die, ieart is not much greener; and, in short, I And flesh (which death mows down to hay) is grass; Have squander'd my whole summer while't was May, You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly, And feel no more the spirit to retort; I And if you had it o'er again-'twould passHave spent my life, both interest and principal, So thank your stars that matters are no worse, And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible. And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse." CCXIV. CCXXI. No more-no more-Oh! never more on me But for the present, gentle reader! and The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Still gentler purchaser! the bard-that's 1 — \Whicn out of all the lovely things we see Must, with permission, shake you by the hand, Extracts emotions beautiful and new, And so your humble servant, and good bye! Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee: We meet again, if we should understand /Think's' thou the honey with those objects grew? Each other; and if not, I shall not try Alas!'t was not in them, but in thy power, Your patience further than bythis short samplef3 double even the sweetness of a flower.'T were well if others follow'd my example. CANTO II. DON JUAN. 57 CCXXII, VI. " Go, little book, from this my solitude! An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb I cast thee on the waters, go thy ways! New broke, a cameleopard, a gazelle, And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, No-none of these will do;-and then their garb! The world will find thee after many days."- Their veil and petticoat-Alas! to dwell When Southey's read, and Wordswolth understood, Upon such things would very near absorb I can't help putting in my claim to praise- A canto-then their feet and ancles -well, The four first rhymes are Southey's, every line: Thank Heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready, For God's sake, reader! take them not for mine. (And so, my sober Muse-come let's be steadyVII. ~-' ~'~~"~~~ Chaste Muse!-well, if you must, you must)-the veil Thrown back a moment with the glancing hand, While the o'erpowering eye, that turns you pale, Flashes into the heart:-all sunny land Of love! when I forget you, may I fail OCAINTO II. To- say my prayers-but never was there plann'd A dress through which the eyes give such a volley, Excepting the Venetian Fazzioli. I. VIII. OH ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, But to our tale: the Donna Inez sent Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain, Her son to Cadiz only to embark; I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, To stay there had not answer'd her intent, It mends their morals; never mind the pain: But why?-we leave the reader in the darkThe best of mothers and of educations,'T was for a voyage that the young man was meant, In Juan's case, were but employ'd in vain, As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark, Since in a way, that's rather of the oddest, he To wean him from the wickedness of earth, Became divested of his native modesty. And send him like a dove' of promise forth. II. IX. H[ad he but been placed at a public school, Don Juan bade his valet pack his things In the third form, or even in the fourth, According to direction, then received His daily task had kept his fancy cool, A lecture and some money: for four springs At least had he been nurtured in the north; He was to travel; and, though Inez grieved Spain may prove an exception to the rule, (As every kind of parting has its stings), But thenp Xe:ptliw alw y-s ove itsworth — She hoped he would improv- prhaps believed: A lad of sixteen causing aiVtior' A letter, too, she gave (he never-tead it) Puzzled his tutors very much, of course. Of good advice-and two or three of credit. III. X. I can't say that it puzzles me at all, In the mean time, to pass her hours away, If all things be consider'd: first, there was Brave Inez now set up a Sunday-school His lady mother, mathematical, For naughty children, who would rather play A -, never mind; his tutor, an old ass; (Like truant rogues) the devil or the fool; A pretty woman-(that's quite natural, Infants of three years old were taught that day, Or else the thing had hardly come to pass); Dunces were whipp'd or set upon a stool: A husband rather old, not much in unity The great success of Juan's education With his young wife-a time, and opportunity. Spurr'd her to teach another generation. IV. XI. Well-well, the world must turn upon its axis, Juan embark'd-the ship got under weigh, And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, The wind was fair, the water passing rough; And live and die, make love, and pay our taxes, A devil of a sea rolls in that bay, And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails; As I, who've cross'd it oft, know well enough' The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us, And, standing upon deck, the dashing spray The priest instructs, and so our life exhales. Flies in one's face, and makes it weather-tough, A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame, And there ie stood to take, and take again, Fighting, devotion, dust-perhaps a name. His first-perhaps his last-farewell of Spain. V. XII. I said, that Juan had been sent to Cadiz- I can't but say it is an awkward sight A pretty town, I recollect it well- To see one's native land receding through'Tis there the mart of the colonial trade is The growing waters-it unmans one quite; (Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel); Especially when life is rather new: And such sweet girls-I mean such graceful ladies, I recollect Great Britain's coast looks whit. Their very walk would make your bosom swell; But almost every other country's blue, I can't describe it, though so much it strike, When, gazing on them, mystified by distance. Nor liken it-I never saw the like: We enter on our nautical existence 3 B2 78 578 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO ll XIII. XX. So Juan stood be^ ilder'd on the deck: "Sooner shall heaven kiss earth-(here he fell sickeri The wind sung, cordage strain'd, and sailors swore, Oh, Julia! what is every other woe!And the ship creak'd, the town became a speck, (For God's sake, let me have a glass of liquorFrom which away so fair and fast they bore. Pedro! Battista! help me down below). The best of remedies is a beef-steak Julia, my love!-(you rascal, Pedro, quicker) Against sea-sickness; try it, sir, before Oh, Julia!-(this cursed vessel pitches' so)You sneer, and I assure you this is true, Beloved Julia! hear me still beseechingFor I have found it answer-so may you. (Here he grew inarticulate with retching). XIV. XXI. Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stern, He felt that chilling heaviness of heart, Beheld his native Spain receding far: Or rather stomach, which, alas! attends, First patingaform a'lesson hard to learn, Beyond the best apothecary's art, Kven nations feel this when they go to war; The loss of love, the treachery of friends, There is a sort of unexpress'd concern, Or death of those we doat on, when a part A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar: Of us dies with them, as each fond hope ends: At leaving even the most unpleasant people No doubt he would have been much more pathetic, And places, one keeps looking at the steeple. But the sea acted as a strong emetic. XV. XXII. But Juan had got many things to leave- Love's a capricious power; I've known it hold His mother, and a mistress, and no wife, Out through a fever caused by its own heat, So that he had much better cause to grieve But be much puzzled by a cough and cold, Than many persons more advanced in life; And find a quinsy very hard to treat; And, if we now and then a sigh must heave Against all noble maladies he's bold, At quitting even those we quit in strife, But vulgar illnesses don't like to meet, No doubt we weep for those the heart endears- Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh; Chat is, till deeper griefs'congeal our tears. Nor inflammations redden his blind eye. XVI. XXIII. So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews But worst of all is nausea, or a pain By Babel's water, still remembering Sion: About the lower region of the bowels; I'd weep, but mine is not a weeping muse, Love, who heroically breathes a vein, And such light griefs are not a thing to die on; Shrinks from the application of hot towels, Young men should travel, if but to amuse And purgatives are dangerous to his reign, Themselves; and the next time their servants tie on Sea-sickness death: his love was perfect, how Ce,. Behind their carriages their new portmanteau, Could Juan's passion, while the billows roar, Perhaps it may be lined with this-my canto. Resist his stomach, ne'er at sea before? XVII. XXIV. And Juan wept, and much he sigh'd, and thought, The ship, called the most holy "Trinidada," While his salt tears dropt into the salt sea, Was steering duly for the port Leghorn; " Sweets to the sweet;" (I like so much to quote: For there the Spanish family Moncada You must excuse this extract,'t is where she, Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born: The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought They were relations, and for them he had a Flowers to the grave,) and sobbing often, he Letter of introduction, which the morn Reflected on his present situation, Of his departure had been sent him by And seriously resolved on reformation. His Spanish friends for those in Italy. XVIII. XXV. " Farewell, my Spain! a long farewell!" he cried, His suite consisted of three servants and "Perhaps I may revisit thee no more, A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo, But die, as many an exiled heart hath died, Who several languages did understand, Of its own thirst to see again thy shore: But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow, Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide! And, rocking in his hammock, long'd for land, Farewell, my mother! and, since all is o'er, His head-ache being increased by every billow; Farewell, too, dearest Julia!"-(here he drew And the waves oozing through the port-hole made iler letter out again, and read it through.) His birth a little damp, and him afraid. XIX. XXVI. " And h h! if e'er I should forget, I swear-'T was not without some reason, for the wind But that's impossible, and cannot be- Increased at night, until it blew a gale; Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air, And though't was not much to a naval mind, Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea, Some landsmen would have look'd e little pale, Than I resign thine image, oh! my fair! For sailors are, in fact, a different kind: Or think of any thing, excepting thee; At sunset they beganf to take in sa;l, A mind diseased no remedy cap physic"- For the sky show'd it would come on to blow, Here the ship gave a lurck, and he grew sea-sick). And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so. CAINTO Ii. DON JUAN. 579 XXVII. XXXIV. At one o'clock, thd wind with sudden shift There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea, As rum and true religion; thus it was, Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift, Some plundered, some drank spirits, some sung psalms, Started the stern-post, also shatter'd the The high wind made the treble, and as bass Whole of her stern-frame, and, ere she could lift The hoarse harsh waves kept time; fright cured the Herself from out her present jeopardy, qualms The rudder tore away:'twas time to sound Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws: The pumps, ana there were four feet water found. Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, XXVIII. Clamour'd in chorus to the roaring ocean. One gang of people instantly was put XXXV. Upon the pumps, and the remainder set Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for To get up part of the cargo, and what not, Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years, But they could not come at the leak as yet; Got to the spirit-room, and stood before At last they did get at it really, but It with a pair of pistols; and their fears, Still their salvation was an even bet: As if Death were more dreadful by his door The water rush'd through in a way quite puzzling, Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears, While they thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of muslin, Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk, XXIX. Thought it would be becoming to die drunk, Into the opening; but all such ingredients XXXVI. Would have been vain, and they must have gone down "Give us more grog," they cried, "for it will be Despite of all their efforts and expedients, All one an hour hence." Juan answer'd, "No' But for the pumps: I'm glad to make them known'Tis true that death awaits both you and me, To all the brother-tars who may have need hence, But let us die like men, not sink below For fifty tons of water were upthrown Like brutes:"-and thus his dangerous post kept he, By them per hour, and they had all been undone And none liked to anticipate the blow; But for the maker, Mr. Man, of London. And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor, ~y~XXX.v- (Was for some rum a disappointed suitor. XXX. As day advanced, the weather seem'd to abate, XXXVII. AndThe good oud gentleman was quite aghast And then the leak they reckon'd to reduce, The good old gentleman was quite aghast, And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet An made a loud and pious lamentation Kept two hand and one chain pump still in use. Repented all his sins, and made a last The wind blew fresh again: as it grew late Irrevocable vol of reformation; A squall came on, and, while some guns broke loose, Nothing should'tempt him more this peril past) A gust-which all descriptive power transcends- To quit his academic occupation, Laid with one blast the ship on her beam-ends. In cloisters of the classic Salamanca, To follow Juan's wake like Sancho Panca. XXXI. ~~~~~XXXI. ~XXXVIII. There she lay motionless, and seem'd upset: I There she lay motionless, and seem'd upset: But now there came a flash of hope once more; The water left the hold, and wash'd the decks, ae ene hold, and-wash'd decks, Day broke, and the wind lull'd: the masts were gone And made a scene men do not soon forget; thereem tmen do not soon forget; The leak increased; shoals round her, but no shore, For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks, The vessel swam, yet stil she held her own. Or any other thing that brings regret, Or any other thing tat brins regret, They tried the pumps again, and though before Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads, or necks: Their desperate efforts seem'd all useless grown, Thus drownings are much talk'd of by the divers li sunshe some hnds tp bale- t3 t' A glimpse of sunshine set some, hands tp baleAnd swimmers who may chance to be survivors. a sail. The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a Sal. XXXII. XXXIX. Immediately the masts were cut away, Under the vessel's keel the sail was pass'd, Both main and mizen; first the mizen went, And for the moment it had some effect; The main-mast foilow'd: but the ship still lay But with a leak, and not a stick of mast Like a mere log, and baffled our intent. Nor rag of canvas, what could they expect? Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and they But still'tis best to struggle to the last, Eased her at last (although we never meant'Tis never too late to be wholly wreck'd: To part with all till every hope was blighted), And though'tis true that man can -nly die once, And then with violence the old ship righted.'T is not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons. XXXIII. XL. It may be easily supposed, while this There winds and waves had hurl'd them,and from thenre, Was going on. some people were unquiet; Without their will, they carried them away; That passengers would find it much amiss For they were forced with steering to dispense, To lose their lives, as well as spoil their diet; And never had as yet a quiet day That even the able seamen, deeming his On which they might repose, or even commence Days nearly o'er, might be disposed to riot, A jury-mast or rudder, or could say As upon such occasions tars will ask, The ship would swim an hour, which, by good ucn. F or grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask. Still swam-though not exactly like a duck. ,80 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO i XLI. XLViII. The wind, in fact, perhaps was rather less, The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could hope Been stove in the beginning of the gale; To weather out much longer; the distress And the long-boat's condition was but bad, Was also great with which they had to cope, As there were but two blankets for a sail, For want of water, and their solid mess And one oar for a mast, which a young lad Was scant enough; in vain the telescope Threw m by good luck over the ship's rail; Was used-nor sail nor shore appear'd in sight, And two boats could not hold, far less be stored, Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night. To save one half the people then on board. XLII. XLIX. Again the weather threaten'd,-again blew'T was twilight, for the sunless day went down A gale, and in the fore and after hold Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Water appear'd; yet, though the people knew Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown All this, the most were patient, and some bold, Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail; Until the chains and leathers were worn through Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown, Of all our- pumps:-a wreck complete she roll'd, And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are And the dim desolate deep; twelve days had Fear Like human beings during civil war. Been their familiar, and now Death was here. XLIII. L. Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears Some trial had been making at a raft, In his rough eyes, and told the captain he With little hope in such a rolling sea, Could do no more; he was a man in years, A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd, And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea, If any laughter at such times could be, And if he wept at length, they were not fears Unless with people who too much have quaff'd, That made his eyelids as a woman's be, And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children, Half epileptical, and half hysterical: Two things for dying people quite bewildering. Their preservation would have been a miracle. XLIV. LI. The ship was evidently settling now At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hen-coops, spars, Fast by the head; and,Jall distinction gone, And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, Some went to prayers again, and made a vow That still could keep afloat the struggling tars, Of candles to their saints-but.there were none For yet they strove, although of no great use: To pay them with; and some look'd o'er the bow; There was no light in heaven but a few stars; Some hoisted out the boats: and there was one The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews; That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution, She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, Who told him to be damn'd-in his confusion. And, going down head-foremost-sunk, in short. XLV. LII. Some lash'd them in their hammocks, some put on Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell! Their best clothes as if going to a fair; Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave; Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun, Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, And gnash'd their teeth, and, howling, tore their hair; As eager to anticipate their grave;, And others went on, as they had begun, And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell, Getting the beats out, being well aware And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave. lTat a tight boat will live in a rough sea, Like one who grapples with his enemy, Unless with breakers close beneath her lee. And strives to strangle him before he die. XLVI. LIII. The worst of all was, that in their condition, And first one universal shriek there rush'd, Having been several days in great distress, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash'T was difficult to get out such provision Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd, As now might render their long suffering less: Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Men, even when dying, dislike inanition; Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd, Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress: Accompanied with a convulsive splash, Two casks of biscuit and a keg of butter A solitary shriek-the bubbling cry Were all that could be thrown into the cutter. Of some strong swimmer in his agony. XLVII. LIV. But in the long-boat they contrived to stow The boats, as stated, had got off before, Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet; And in them crowded several of the crew; Water, a twenty-gallon cask or so; And yet their present hope was hardly more Six flasks of wine and they contrived to get Than what it had been, for so strong it blew, t portion of their oeef up from below, There was slight chance of reaching any shore; And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, And then they were too many, though so fewBut scarce enough to serve them for a luncheon; Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat, Then there was rum, eight gallons in a puncheon. Were counted in them when they got afloat. (tAN1O IL. DON JUAN. 581 LV. LXII. All the rest perish'd; near two hundred souls The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign Had left their bodies; and, what's worse, alas! Of the continuance of the gale: to run When over Catholics the ocean rolls, Before the sea, until it should grow fine, They must wait several weeks, before a mass Was all tha't for the present could be done Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals, - ""';' A few tea-spoonfuls of their rum and wine Because, till people know what's come to pass, Was served out to the people, who begun They won't lay out their money on the dead- To faint, and damaged bread wet through the bags, It costs three francs for every mass that's said. And most of them had little clothes but rags. LVI. LXIII. Juan got into the long-boat, and there They counted thirty, crowded in a space Contrived to help Pedrillo to a place; Which left scarce room for motion or exertion: It seem'd as if they had exchanged their care, They did their best to modify their case, For Juan wore the magisterial face One half sate up, though numb'd with the immersion, Which courage gives, while poor Pedrillo's pair While t'other half were laid down in their place, Of eyes were crying for their owner's case; At watch and watch; thus, shivering like the tertian Battista (though a name call'd shortly Tita) Ague in its cold fit, they fill'd their boat, Was lost by getting at some aqua-vita. With nothing but the sky for a great-coat. LVII. LXIV. Pedro, his valet, too, he tried to save;'T is very certain the desire of life But the same cause, conducive to his loss, Prolongs it; this is obvious to physicians, Left him so drunk, he jump'd into the wave, When patients, neither plagued with friends nor wife, As o'er the cutter's edge he tried to cross, Survive through very desperate conditions, And so he found a wine-and-watery grave: -Because they still can hope, nor shines the knife They could not rescue him, although so close, Nor shears of Atropos before their visions: Because the sea ran higher every minute, Despair of all recovery spoils longevity, And for the boat-the crew kept crowding in it. And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity. LVIII. LXV. A small old spaniel,-which had been Don Jose's,'Tis said that persons living on annuities His father's, whom he loved, as ye may think, Are longer lived than others,-God knows why, For on such things the' memory reposes Unless to plague the grantors,-yet so true it is, With tenderness,-stood howling on the brink, That some, I really think, do never die; Knowing, (dogs have such intellectual noses!) Of any creditors the worst a Jew it is, No doubt, the vessel was about to sink; And that's their mode of furnishing supply: And Juan caught him up, and, ere he stepp'd In my young days they lent me cash that way, Off, threw him in, then after him he leap'd. Which I found very troublesome to pay. LIX. LXVI. He also stuff'd his money where he could'T is thus with people in an open boat, About his person, and Pedrillo's too, They live upon the love of life, and bear Who let him do, in fact, whate'er he would, More than can be believed, or even thought, Not knowing what himself to say or do, And stand, like rocks, the tempest's wear and tear As every rising wave his dread renew'd And hardship still has been the sailor's lot, But Juan, trusting they might still get through, Since Noah's ark went cruising here and there — And deeming there were remedies for any ill, She had a curious crew as well as cargo, Thus re-embark'd his tutor and his spaniel. Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo. LX. LXVII.'T was a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet, But man is a carnivorous production, That the sail was becalm'd between tle seas, And must have meals, at least one meal a day Though on the wave's high top too much to set, He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, They dared not take it in for all the breeze; But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey; Each sea curl'd o'er the stern, and kept them wet, Although his anatomical construction And made them bale without a moment's ease, Bears vegetables in a grumbling way, So that themselves as well as hopes were damp'd, Your labouring people think,.beyond all question, And the pour little cutter quickly swamp'd. Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion. LXI. LXVIII. Nine souls more went in -her: the long-boat still And thus it was with this our hapless crew; Kept above water, with an oar for mast, For on the third day there came on a cann, Two blankets stitch'd together, answering ill And though at first their strength it might renew Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast; And, lying on their weariness like balm, Though every wave roll'd menacing to fill, Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the blue And present peril all before surpass'd, Of ocean, when they woke they ielt a qualm, They grieved for those who perish'd with the cutter, And fell all ravenously on their provision, And also for the biscuit-casks and butter. Instead of hoarding it with due precision )82 BYRON'S WORKS. cANTO II. LXIX. LXXVI. rhe consequence was easily foreseen-. He but requested to be bled to death: They ate up all they had, and drank their wine, The surgeon had his instruments and bled In spite of all remonstrances, and then Pedrillo, and so gently ebb'd his breath, On what, in fact, next day were they to dine? You hardly could perceive when he was dead. They hoped the wind would rise, these foolish men! He died as born, a Catholic in faith, And carry them to shore; these hopes were fine, Like most in the belief in which they're breci, But, as they had but one oar, and that brittle, And first a little crucifix he kiss'd, It would have been more wise to save their victual. And then held out his jugular and wrist. LXX. LXXVII. The fourth day came, but. not a breath of air, The surgeon, as there was no other fee, And ocean slulnber'd like an unwean'd child: Had his first choice of morsels for his pains; The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there, But being thirstiest at the moment, he The sea and sky were blue, and clear, andniild- Preferr'd a draught from the fast-flowing veins: With their one oar (I wish they had.had a pair) Part was divided, part thrown in the sea, What could they do? and hunger's rage grew wild: And such things as the entrails and the brains So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating, Regaled two sharks, who follow'd o'er the billowWas kill'd, and portion'd out for present eating. The sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo. LXXI. LXXVIII. On the sixth day they fed upon his hide, The sailors ate him, all save three or four,'And Juan, who had still refused, because Who were not quite so fond of animal food; The creature was his father's dog that died, To these was added Juan, who, before Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws, Refusing his own spaniel, hardly could With some remorse received (though first denied), Feel now his appetite increased much more; As a great favour, one of the fore-paws,'T was not to be expected that he should, Which he divided with Pedrillo, who Even in extremity of their disaster, Devour'd,t, longing for the other too. Dine with them on his pastor and his master. LXXII. LXXIX. The seventh day, and no wind-the burning sun'T was better that he did not; for, in fact, Blister'd and scorch'd; and, stagnant on the sea, The consequence was awful in the extreme: rheylay like carcasses; and hope was none, For they, who were most ravenous in the act, Save in the breeze that came not; savagely Wentraging mad-Lord! how they did blaspheme! They glared upon each other-all was done, And foam and roll, with strange convulsions rack'd, Water, and wine, and food,-and you might see Drinking salt water like a mountain-stream, The longings of the cannibal arise Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, swearing, (Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes. And, with hyaena laughter, died despairing. LXXIII. LXXX. At length one whisper'd his companion, who Their numbers were much thinn'd by this infliction, Whisper'd another, and thus it went round, And all the rest were thin enough, Heaven knows; And then into a hoarser murmur grew, And some of them had lost their recollection,.An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound; Happier than they who still perceived their woes; And when his comrade's thought each sufferer knew, But others ponder'd on a new dissection,'T was but his own, suppress'd till now, he found: As if not warn'd sufficiently by those And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood, Who had already perish'd, suffering madly, And who should die to be his fellows' food. For having used their appetites so sadly. LXXIV. LXXXI. 1Bu. ere they came to this, they that day shared And next they thought upon the master's mate, Some leathern caps, and what remain'd of shoes; As fattest; but he saved himself, because, And then they look'd around them, and despair'd, Besides being much averse from such a fate, And none to be. the sacrifice would choose; There were some other reasons: the first was, At length the lots were torn up and prepared, He had been rather indisposed of late, But of materials that must shock the muse- And that which chiefly proved his saving clause, Having no paper, for the want of better, Was a small present made to him at Cadiz, They took by force from Juan Julia's letter. By general subscription of the ladies. LXXV. LXXXII. The lots were made, and mark'd, and mix'd, and handed Of poor Pedrillo something still remain'd, In silent horror, arid their distribution. But it was used sparingly,-sorne were afraid, Lull'd even the savage nunger which demanded, And others still their appetites constrain'd, Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution; Or but at times a little supper made; Nor.e in particular hau sought or plann'd it, All except Juan, who throughout abstain'd,'Twas nature gnaw'd them to this resolution, Chewing a piece of bamboo, and some lead. By which none weie permitted to be neuter- At length they caught two boobies and a noddy Ann tie lot fell on Juan's luckless tutor. And then they left off eating the dead body. C(A7'o0 I. IDON JUAN. 58c LXXXIII. XC. And if Pedrillo's fate should shocking be, The boy expired-the father held the clay, Remember Ugolino condescends And iook'd upon it long, and when at last To ea. mae head of his arch-enemy Death left no doubt, and the (lead burthen lay The moment after he politely ends Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past His tale; if foes be food in hell, at sea He watched it wistfully, until away'T is surely fair to dine upon our friends,'T was borne by the rude wave wherein't was cast When shipwreck's short allowance grows too scanty, Then he himself sunk down, all dumb and shivering Without being much more horrible than Dante. And gave no signs of life, save his limbs quivering. LXXXIV. XCI. And the same night there fell a shower of rain, Now over-head a rainbow, bursting through For which their mouths gaped, like the cracks of earth The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sea, When dried to summer dust; till taught by pain, Resting its bright base on the quivering blue: Men really know not what good water's worth: And all within its arch appear'd to be If you had been in Turkey or in Spain, Clearer than that without, and its wide hue Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your birth, Wax'd broad and waving like a banner free, Or in the desert heard the camel's bell, Then changed like to a bow that's bent, and then You'd wish yourself where Truth is-in a well. Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men. LXXXV. XCII. It pour'd down torrents, but they were no richer, It changed, of course; a heavenly chameleon, Until they found a ragged piece of sheet, The airy child of vapour and the sun, Which served them as a sort of spongy pitcher, Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion, And when they deem'd its moisture was complete; Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun, They wrung it out, and, though a thirsty ditcher Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion, Might not have thought the scanty draught so sweet And blending every colour into one, As a full pot of porter, to their thinking Just like a black eye in a recent scuffle They ne'er till now had known the joys of drinking. (For sometimes we must box without the muffle). LXXXVI. XCIII. And their baked lips, with many a bloody crack, Our shipwreck'd seamen thought it a good omenSuck'd in the moisture, which like nectar stream'd; It is as well to think so, now and then; Their throats wereovens, theirswoln tongues wereblack,'T was an old custom of the Greek and Roman, As the rich man's in hell, who vainly scream'd And may become of great advantage when To beg the beggar, who could not rain back Folks are discouraged; and most surely no men A drop of dew, when every drop had seem'd Had greater need to nerve themselves again To taste of heaven-if this be true, indeed, Than these, and so this rainbow looked like hopeSome Christians have a comfortable creed. Quite a celestial kaleidoscope. LXXXVII. XCIV. There were two fathers in this ghastly crew, About this time, a beautiful white bird, And with them their two sons, of whom the one Web-footed, not unlike a dove in size Was more robust and hardy to the view, And plumage (probably it might have err'd But he died early; and when he was gone, Upon its course), pass'd oft before their, eyes, His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw Anrd tried to perch, although it saw and heard One glance on him, and said, " Heaven's will be done! The men within the boat, and in this guise I can do nothing!" and he saw him thrown It came and went, and flutter'd round them till Into the deep, without a tear or groan. Night fell:-this seem'd a better omen still. LXXXVIII. XCV. The other father had a weaklier child, But in this case I also must remark, Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate;'T was well this bird of promise did not perch, But the boy bore up long, and with a mild Because the tackle of our shatter'd bark And patient spirit, held aloof his fate; Was not so safe for roosting as a church; Little he said, and now and then he smiled, And had it been the dove from Noah's ark, As if to win a part from off the-weight Returning there from her successful search, He saw increasing on his father's heart, Which in their way that moment chanced to fall, VWith the deep deadly thought, that they must part. They would have eat her, olive-branch and all. LXXXIX. XCVI. Anrid o'er him bent his sire, and never raised With twilight it again came on to blow, His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam But not with violence; the stars shone out, From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed;' The boat made way; yet now they were so low And when the wish'd-for shower at length was come, They knew not where nor what they were aboat, And the bcy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed, Some fancied they saw land, and some said "No'' Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam, The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubtHe sqoeezed from ouLt a rag some drops of rain Some swore that they heard breakers, others gtuln Into his dying c!aldTs mouth-but in vain. And all mistook about the latter once. 584 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO 11 XCVII. CIV. As morning broke, the light wind died away, The shore look'd wild, without the trace of map, When he who had the watch sung out,.and swore And girt by formidable waves; but they If'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray Were maAl for land, and thus their course they ran, He wish'd that land he never might see more: Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay* And the rest rubb'd their eyes, and saw a bay, A reef between them also now began Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for To show its boiling surf and bounding spray, shore; But, finding no place for their landing better, For shore it was, and gradually grew They ran the boat for shore, and overset her. Distinct and high, and palpable to view. CV. XCVIII. But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir, And then of these some part burst into tears, Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont;, And others, looking with a stupid stare, And, having learn'd to swim in that sweet river, Could not yet separate their hopes from fears, Had often turn'd the art to some account. And seem'd as if they had no further care; Abetter swimmer you could scarce see ever While a few pray'd-(the first time for some years)- He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont, And at the bottom of the boat three were As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided) Asleep; they shook them by the hand and head, Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did. And tried to awaken them, but found them dead. CVI XCIX. -'~XCIX.So, here, though faint, emaciated, and stark, The day before, fast sleeping on the water, The day before, fast sleeping on the water, He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to ply They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind,. J. J.. ^ ^ They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind, \With the quick wave, and gain, ere it was dark, And by good fortune, gliding softly, caught her, The beach which lay befre him high and dry: Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind The greatest danger here was from a shark, Proved even still a more nutritious matter, neighbour by the thigh; Beca.se.X1 Xeft encouragement behi~d:That carried off his neighbour by the thigh; Because it left encouragement behind:ey could not swim, As for the other two, they could not swim, They thought that in such perils, more than chance So nobody arrived on shore but him. Had sent them this for their deliverance. ^~C.~~~~ ~~~CVII.,*^,,, ^^'Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar, The land ar.pear'd, a high and rocky coast, Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar, The.land appearld, a high and rocky coast, Which, providentially for him, was wash'd And higher grew the mountains as they drew, r him, ws Just as his feeble arms could strike no more, Set by a current, toward it: they were lost And the hard wave o'erwhelm'd him as't was da.hl'd In various conjectures, for none knew Within his grasp; he clung to it, and sore To what part of the earth they had been toss'd, thi hs grasp; he clung to t, and sore c a 1.1 l,~ X i^ *i ~ LI The waters beat while he thereto was lash'd; So changeable had been the winds that blew; At last, with swimming, wading, scrambling, he Some thought it was Mount lEtna, some the highlands At last, with sw ng, wading, scrambng, he Roll'd on the beach, half senseless from the sea: Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other islands. CI. CVIII. Meantime the current, with a rising gale, There, breathless, with his digging nails he clung Still.set them onwards to the welcome shore, Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave, Like Charbns bark of spectres, dull and pale: Fr whose reluctant roar his life he wrung, Their living freight was now reduced to four; Should suck him back to her insatiate grave: And three dead, whom their strength could not avail And there he lay, full-length, where he was flung, To heave into the deep with those before, Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave, Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd With just enough of life to feel its pain, The spray into their faces as they splash'd. And deem that it was saved, perhaps in vain. CII. CIX. Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat had done With slow and staggering effort he arose, Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to But sunk again upon his bleeding knee Such things, a mother had not known her son And quivering hand; and then he look'd for those Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew; Who long had been his mates upon the sea, By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by one But none of them appear'd to share his woes, They perish'd, until wither'd to these few, Save one, a corpse from out the famish'd three, But chiefly by a species of self-slaughter, Who died two days before, and now had found In washing down Pedrillo with salt water. An unknown barren beach for burial ground. CIII. C. As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen, Asid, as he gaged, his dizzy brain spun fast, Unequal in its aspect here and there, And down he sunk, and, as lie sunk, the sand They felt the freshness of its.gowing green, Swam round and round, and all his senses pass'd: That waved- in forest tops, and smooth'd the air, He fell upon his side, and his stretch'd hand Aud fell upon their glazed eyes as a screen Droop'd dripping on the oar (their jury-mast), From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bare- And, like a wither'd lily, on the land,Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep His slender frame and pallid aspect lay, A wv,- the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep. As fair a thing as e'er was form'd of clay. CANTO 11. DON JUAN. 585 CXI. CXVIII. How long in his damp trance young Juan lay Her brow was white and low, her cheeks' pure eye He knew not, for the earth was gone for him, Like twilight rosy still with the sat sun; And time had nothing more of night nor day Short upper lip-sweet lips! that make us sigh For his congealing blood, and senses dim: Ever to have seen such; for she was one And how this heavy faintness pass'd away Fit for the model of a statuary He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb, (A race of mere impostors, when all's doneAnd tingling vein, seem'd throbbing back to life, I've seen much finer women, ripe and real, F:ar Death, though vanquish'd, still retired with strife. Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal). CXII. CXIX. His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed, I'11 tell you why I say so, for'tis just For all was doubt, and dizziness: he thought One should not rail without a decent cause: He still was in the boat, and had but dozed, There was an Irish lady, to whose bust And felt again with his despair o'erwrought, I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was And wish'd it death in which he had reposed;- A frequentmodel; and if e'er she must And then once more his feelings back were brought, Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling laws, And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen They will destroy a face which mortal thought A lovely female face of seventeen. Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel wrought. CXIII. CXX.'T was bending close o'er his, and the small mouth And such was she, the lady of the cave: Seem'd almost prying into his for breath; Her dress was very different from the Spanish, And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth Simpler, and yet of colours not so grave; Recall his answering spirits back from death: For, as you know, the Spanish women banish And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, while wave Each pulse to animation, till beneath Around them (what I hope will nevei vanish) Vts gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh The basquina and the mantilla, they to these kind efforts made a low reply. Seem at the same time mystical and gay. CXIV. CXXI. Phen was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung But with our damsel this was not the case: Around his scarce-clad limbs; and the fair arm Her dress was many-colour'd, finely spun; Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung; Her locks curl'd negligently round her face, And hae transparent cheek, all pure and warm, But through them gold and gems profusely shone Pillow'd h:' death-like- forehead; then she wrung Her girdle sparkled, and the richest lace His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm; Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious stone And watch'd with eagerness each throb that drew Flash'd on her little hand; but, what was shocking, A sigh from his heaved bosom-and hers too. Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking. CXV. CXXII. And lifting him with care into the cave, The other female's dress was not unlike, The gentle girl, and her attendant,-one But of inferior materials: she Young yet her elder, and of brow less grave, Had not so many ornaments to strike: And more robust Gf figure —then begun Her hair had silver only, bound to be To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave Her dowry; and her veil, in form alike, Light to the rocks which roof'd them, which the sun Was coarser; and her air, though firm, less free; Had never seen, the maid, or whatsoever Her hair was thicker, but less long; her eyes She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair. As black, but quicker, and of smaller size. CXVI. CXXII. Her brow was overhung with coins of gold, And these two tended him, and cheer'd him both That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair, With food and raient, and those soft attentions, Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd Which are (as I mdt own) of female growth, In braids behind, and, though her stature were And have ten thousand delicate inventions; Even of the highest for a female mould, They made a most superior mess of broth, They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air A thing which poesy but seldom mentions, There was a something which bespoke command, But the best dish that e'er was cook'd since Homer's As one who was a lady in the land. Achilles order'd dinner for new comers. CXVII. CXX1V. Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes I'11 tell you who they were, this female pan, Were black as death, their lashes the same hue, Lest they should seem princesses in disguise, Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies Besides I hate all mystery, and that air Deepest attraction, for when to the view Of clap-trap, which your recent poets prize Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies, And so, in short, the girls they really were Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew; They shall appear before your curious eyed.'Tis as the snake, late coil'd, who pours his length, Mistress and maid; the first was only daughter And hurls at once his venom and his strength. Of an old man who lived upon the water 3C 79 586 BYRON'S WORKS. CA NTO- II CXXV. CXXXII. A fisherman he had been in his youth, They made a fire, but such a fire as they And still a sort of fisherman was he; Upon the moment could contrive with such But other speculations were, in sooth, Materials as were cast up round the bay, Added to his connexion with the sea, Some broken planks and oars, that to the touch Perhaps, not so respectable, in truth: Were nearly tinder, since so long they lay, A little smuggling, and some piracy, A mast was almost crumbled to a crutch; Left him, at last, the sole of many masters But, by God's grace, here wrecks were in such plenty Of an ill-gotten million of piastres. That there was fuel to have furnish'd twenty. CXXVI. CXXXIII. A fisher, therefore, was he-though of men, He had a bed of furs and a pelisse, Like Peter the Apostle,-and he fish'd For Haidee stripp'd her sables off to make For wandering merchant-vessels, now and then, His couch; and that he might be more at ease, And sometimes caught as many as he wish'd; And warm, in case by chance he should awake, The cargoes he confiscated, and gain They also gave a petticoat apiece, He sought in the slave-market too, and dish'd She and her maid, and promised by day-break Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade, To pay him a fresh visit, with a dish, By which, no doubt, a good deal may be made. For breakfast, of eggs, coffee, bread, and fish. CXXVII. CXXXIV. He was a Greek, and on his isle had built And thus they left him to his lone repose: (One of the wild and smaller Cyclades) Juan slept like a top, or like the dead, A very handsome house from out his guilt, Who sleep at last, perhaps (God only knows), And there he lived exceedingly at ease; Just for the present, and in his lull'd head Heaven knows what cash he got, or blood he spilt, Not even a vision of his former woes A sad old fellow was he, if you please, Throbb'd in accursed dreams, which sometimes spread But this I know, it was a spacious building, Unwelcome visions of our former years, Full of barbaric carving, paint, and gilding. Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears. CXXVIII. CXXXV. lie had an only daughter call'd Haidee, Young Juan slept alldreamless:-but the maid lThe greatest heiress of the Eastern isles; Who smooth'd his pillow, as she left the den, Besides so very beautiful was she, Look'd back upon him, and a moment stay'd, Her dowry was as nothing to her smiles: And turn'd, believing that he call'd again. Still in her teens, and like a lovely tree He slumber'd; yet she thought, at least she said So grew to womanhood, and between whiles (The heart will slip even as the tongue and pen), Rejected several suitors, just to learn He had pronounced her name-but she forgot How to accept a better in his turn. That at this moment Juan knew it not. CXXIX. CXXXVI. And walking out upon the beach below And pensive to her father's house she went, The cliff, towards sunset, on that day she found, Enjoining silence strict to Zoe, who Insensible,-not dead, but nearly so;- Better than her knew what, in fact, she meant, Don Juan, almost famish'd, and half drown'd; She being wiser by a year or two: But, being naked, she was shock'd, you know, A year or two's an age when rightly spent, Yet deemnl herself in common pity bound, And Zod spent hers as most women do, As far as in her lay, "to take him in, In gaining all that useful sort of knowledge A stranger," dying, with so white a skin. Which is acquired in nature's good old college. CXXX. CXXXVII. iBnt taking him into her father's house The morn broke, and found Juan slumbering still Was not exactly the. best way to save, Fast in his cave, and nothing clash'd upon But like conveying to the cat the mouse, His rest; the rushing of the neigbouring rill, Or people in a trance into their grave; And the young beams of the excluded sun, Iecause the good old man had so much "vovs," Troubled him not, and he might sleep his fill; Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave, And need he had of slumber yet, for none {Ie would have hospitably cured the stranger, Had suffer'd more-his hardships were comparative And sold him instantly when out of danger. To those related in my grand-dad's narrative. CXXXI. CXXXVIII. And therefore, with het maid, she thought it best Not so Haidee; she sadly toss'd and tumbled, (A virgin always on her maid relies) And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er, 1'o place him in the cave for present rest: Dream'd of a thousand wrecks, o'er which she stumbled And when, at last, he open'd his black eyes, And handsome corpses strcw'd upon the shore; Their charity increased about their guest: And woke her maid so early that she grunbled, And.their compassion grew to such a size, And call'd her father's old slaves up, who swore it open'd half the turniike gates to heaven- In several oaths-Armenian, Turk, and Greek,Sa il' Pl'u says't s the toll which must be given) They knew not what to think of such a freak. /~~~~~~~ I~~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~ i.i::: kj L........\ CANTO II. DON JUAN. 587 CXXXIX. CXLVI. But up she got, and up she made them get, And Zoe, when the eggs were ready, and With some pretence about the sun, that makes The coffee made, would fain have waken'd Juan; Sweet skies just when he rises, or is set; But Haidee stopp'd her with her quick small nand, And't is, no doubt, a sight to see when breaks And without word, a sign her finger drew on Bright Phcebus, while the mountains still are wet Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand; With mist, and every bird with him awakes, And, the first breakfast spoil'd, prepared a new one, And night is flung off like a mourning suit Because her mistress would not let her break Worn for a husband, or some other brute. That sleep which seemn'd as it would ne'er awake. CXL. CXLVII. I say, the sun is a most glorious sight, For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek, I've seen him rise full oft, indeed of late A purple hectic play'd, like dying day I have sat up on purpose all the night, On the snow tops of distant hills; the streak Which hastens, as physicians say, one's fate; Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay, And so all ye, who would be in the right Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, and weak; In health and purse, begin your day to date And his black curls were dewy with the spray, From day-break, and when coffin'd at fourscore, Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and salt, Engrave upon the plate, you rose at four. Mix'd with the stony vapours of the vault. CXLI. CXLVIII. And Haidee met the morning face to face; And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath, Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush Hush'd as- the babe upon its mother's breast, Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race Droop'd as the willow when no winds can breathe, From heart to cheek is curb'd into a blush. Lull'd like the depth of ocean when at rest, Like to a torrentwhich a mountain's base, Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath, That overpowers some Alpine river's rush, Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest; Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread, In short, he was a very pretty fellow, Or the Red Sea-but the sea is not red. Although his woes had turn'd him rather yellow. CXLII. CXLIX. And down the cliff the island virgin came, lIe woke and gazed, and would have slept again, And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew, But the fair face which met his eyes, forbade While the sun smiled on her with his first flame, Those eyes to-close, though weariness and pain And young Aurora kiss'd her lips with dew, Had further sleep a further pleasure made; Taking her for a sister; just the same For woman's face was never form'd in vain Mistake you would have made on seeing the two, For Juan, so that even when he pray'd, Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair, He turn'd from grisly saints, and martyrs hairy, Had all the advantage too of not being air. To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary. CXLIII. CL. And when into the cavern Haidee stepp'd, And thus upon his elbow he arose, All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw And look'd upon the lady in whose cheek That like an infant Juan sweetly slept: The pale contended with the purple rose, And then she stopp'd, and stood as if in awe As with an effort she began to speak; (For sleep is awful), and on tiptoe crept Her eyes were eloquent, her words would pose, And wrapp'd him closer, lest the air, too raw, Although she told him in good modern Greek Should reach his blood; then o'er him, still as death, With an Ionian accent, low and sweet, Bentwith hush'd lipsthatdrank hisscarce-drawn breath. That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat. CXLIV. - CLI. And thus, like to an angel o'er the dying Now Juan could not understand a word, Who die in righteousness, she lean'd; and there Being no Grecian; but he had an ear, All tranquilly the shipwreck'd boy was lying, And her voice was the warble of a bird, As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air: So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear, But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying, That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard; Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair The sort of sound we echo with a tear, Must breakfast, and betimes-lest they should ask it, Without knowing why-an overpowering tone,, She drew out her provision from the basket. Whence melody descends, as from a throne. CXLV. CLII. She knew that the best feelings must have victual, And Juan gazed, as one who is awoke And that a shipwreck'd youth would hungry be; By a distant organ, doubte if he ha Besides, being less in love, she yawn'd a little, Not yet a dreamer, till the speli is broke And felt her veins chill'd by the neighbouring sea; By the watchman, or some such reality, And so, she cook'd their breakfast to a tittle; Or by one's early valet's cursed knock, I can't say that she gave them any tea, At least it is a heavy sound to me, But, there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, honey, Who like a morning slumber-for the night With Scio wine,-and all for love, not money. Shows stars and womon in a better light. 588 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTo CLIII. CLX. And Juan, too, was help'd out from his dream, Next they-he being naked, sa-wf, "atter'r Or sleep, or whatsoe'er it was, by feeling Pair of scarce decent trowsei - wont to work, A most prodigious appetite: the steam And in the fire his recent rags'hey scatter'd, Of Zoe's cookery no doubt was stealing And dress'd him, for the present, like a Turk, Upon his senses, and the kindling beam Or Greek-that is, although it not much matter'd, Of the new fire which Zoe kept up, kneeling Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk,To stir her viands, made him quite awake They furnish'd him, entire except some stitches, And long for food, but chiefly a beef-steak. With a clean shirt, and very spacious breeches. CLIV. CLXI. But beef is rare within these oxless isles; And then fair Haidee tried her tongue at speaking Goats' flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton, But not a word could Juan comprehend, And when a holiday upon them smiles, Although he listen'd so that the young Greek in A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on: Her earnestness would ne'er have made an end* But this occurs but seldom, between whiles, And, as he interrupted not, went eking For some of these are rocks with scarce a hut on, Her speech out to her protege and friend, Others are fair and fertile, among which, Till, pausing at the last her breath to take, This, though not large, was one of the most rich. She saw he did not understand Romaic. CLV. CLXII. I say that beef is rare, and can't help thinking And then she had recourse to nods, and signs, That the old fable of the Minotaur- And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye, From which our modern morals, rightly shrinking, And read (the only book she could) the lines Condemn the royal lady's taste who wore Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy, A cow's shape for a mask-was only (sinking The answer eloquent, where the soul shines The allegory) a mere type, no more, And darts in one quick glance a long reply; That Pasiphad promoted breeding cattle, And thus in every look she saw express'd To make the Cretans bloodier in battle. A world of words, and things at which she guess'd. CLVI. CLXlII. For we all know that English people are And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes, Fed upon beef-I won't say much of beer, And words repeated after her, he took Because'tis liquor only, and being far A lesson in her tongue; but by surmise, From this my subject, has no business here:- No doubt, less of her language than her look: We know, too, they are very fond of war, As he who studies fervently the skies A pleasure-like all pleasures-rather dear; Turns oftener to the stars than to his book, So were the Cretans-from which I infer Thus Juan learn'd his alpha beta better That beef and battles both were owing to her. From Haidee's glance than any graven letter. CLVII. CLXIV. But to resume. The languid Juan raised'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue His head upon his elbow, and he; saw By female lips and eyes-that is, I mean, A sight on which he had not lately gazed, When both the-teacher and the taught are young, As all his latter meals had been quite raw, As was the case, at least, where I have been; Three or four things for which the Lord he praised, They smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong And, feeling still the famish'd vulture gnaw, They smi:e still more, and then there intervene He fell upon whate'er was offer'd, like Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss;A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike. I learn'd the little that I know by this: CLVIII. CLXV. He ate, and lie was well supplied; and she, That is, some words of Spanish, Turk, or Greek, Who watch'd him like a mother, would have fed Italian not at all, having no teachers, Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see Much English I cannot pretend to speak, Such appetite in one she had deem'd dead: Learning that language chiefly from its preachers, But Zoe, being older than Haidee, Barrow, South, Tillotson, whom every week Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read) I study, also Blair, the highest reachers That famish'd people must be slowly nursed, Of eloquence in piety and proseAnd fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst. I hate your poets, so read none of those. CLIX. CLXVI. And so she took the liberty to state, As for the ladies, I have nought to say, Rather by deeds than words, because the case A wanderer from the British world of fashion, Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate Where I, like other " dogs, have had my day," Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace Like other men, too, may have had my passionThe sea-shore at this hour, must leave his plate, But that, like other things, has pass'd away: Unless he wish'd to die upon the place- And all her fools whom I could lay the lash on, She snatched it, and refused another morsel, Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me Saying. ho hal gorged enough to make a horse ill. But dreams of what has been. no more to be. dANTO I. DON JUAN. 589 CLXVII. CLXXIV. Return we to Don Juan. He begun And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidee To hear new words, and to repeat them; but Paid daily visits to her boy, and took Some feelings, universal as the sun, Such plentiful precautions, that still he Were such as could not in his breast be shut Remain'd unknown within his craggy nook: More than within the bosom of a nun: At last her father's prows put out to sea, He was in love-as you would be, no doubt, For certain merchantmen upon the look, With a young benefactress,-so was she Not as of yore to carry off an Io, Just in the way we very often see. But three RagusanVessels, bound for Scio. CLXVIII. CLXXV. And every day by day-break-rather early Then came her freedom, for she had no mother, For Juan,,who was somewhat fond of rest- So that, her father being at sea, she was She came into the cave, but it was merely Free as a married woman, or such other To see her bird reposing in his nest; Female, as where she likes may freely pass, And she would softly stir his locks so curly, Without even the encumbrance of a brother, Without disturbing her yet slumbering guest, The freest she that ever gazed on glass: Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth, I speak of Christian lands in this comparison, As oMer a bed of roses the sweet south. Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in garrison. CLXIX. CLXXVI. And every morn his colour freshlier came, Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk And every day help'd on his convalescence, (For they must talk), and he had learnt to say'Twas well, because health in the human frame So much as to propose to take a walk,Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence, For little had he wander'd since the day For health and idleness to passion's flame On which, like a young flower snapp'd from the stall Are oil and gunpowder; and some good lessons Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay,Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus, And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon, Without whom Venus will not long attack us. And saw the sun set opposite the moon. CLXX CLXXVII. WVhile Venus fills the heart (without heart really It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast, Love, though good always, is not quite so good), With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore, Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli, Guarded by shoals and rocks as by a host, For love must be sustain'd like flesh and blood. — With here and there a creek, whose aspect wore While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly: A better welcome to the tempest-toss'd; Eggs, oysters too, are amatory food; And rarely ceased the haughty billows' roar, But who is their purveyor from above Save on the dead long summer days, which make Heaven knows,-it may be Neptune, Pan, or Jove. The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake. CLXXI. CLXXVIII. When Juan woke, he found some good things ready, And the small ripple spilt upon the beach A bath, a breakfast, and the finest eyes Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne, That ever made a youthful heart less steady, When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, Besides her maid's, as pretty for their size; That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain! But I have spoken of all this already- Few things surpass old wine: and they may preach And repetition's tiresome and unwise,-' Who please,-the more because they preach in vain,Well-Juan, after bathing in the sea, Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Came always back to coffee and Haidee. Sermons and soda-water the day after. CLXXII. CLXXIX. Both were so young, and one so innocent, Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; That bathing pass'd for nothing; Juan seem'd The best of life is but intoxication: To her, as't were the kind of being sent, Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd, The hopes of all men, and of every nation; A something to be loved, a creature meant Without their sap, how branchiess were the trunk To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd 0O life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion: [o render happy; all who joy would win But to return,-get very drunk; and when Must share it,-happiness was born a twin. You wake with head-ache, you shall see what thten CLXXIII. CLXXX. It was such pleasure to behold him, such Ring for your valet-bid him quickly bring Enlargement of existence to partake Some hock and soda-water, then yu l11 kinow Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch, A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king; To wetch him slumbring, and to see him wake. For not the blest sherbet, sublimed with snow. Fo live with him for ever wre too irmuch; Nor the first sparkle of the desert-spring, But then the thought of parting made her quake: Nor Burgundy in all its sunset glow, He was her owe, her ocean treasure, cast After long travel, ennui, love, or slaughter, Like a rich wreck-heL first iove and her.last. Vie with that draught of hock and -soda-watfi, 3 c2 590 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO ). CLXXXI. CLXXXVIII. 1 he coast-I think it was the coast that 1 They were alone, yet not alone as they Was just describing-Yes, it was the coast- Who, shut in chambers, think it loneliness; Lay at this period quiet as the sky, The silent ocean, and the star-light bay, The sands untumbled, the blue waves untoss'd, The twilight glow, which momently grew less, And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry, The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay And dolphin's leap, and little billow cross'd Around them, made them to each other press, By some low rock or shelve that made it fret As if there were no life beneath the sky Against the boundary it-scarcely wet. Save theirs, and that their life could never die. CLXXXII. CLXXXIX. And forth they wander'd, her sire being gone, They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone beach, As I have said, upon an expedition; They felt no terrors from the night, they were And mother, brother, guardian, she had none, All in all to each other: though their speech Save Zoe, who, although with due precision. Was broken words, they thought a language there,She waited on her lady with the sun, And all the burning tongues the passions teach Though daily service was her only mission, Found in one sigh the best interpreter Bringing warm water, wreathing her long tresses, Of nature's oracle-first love,-that all And asking now and then for cast-off dresses. Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall. CLXXXIII. CXC, It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded Haidee spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows, Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill, Nor offer'd any she had never heard Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded, Of plight and promises to be a spouse, Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still, Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd; With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded She as allwhich pure ignorance allows, On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill And flew to her young mate like a young bird; Upon the other, and the rosy sky, Upon the other, and the rosy sky, And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she With one star sparkling through it like an eye. Had not one word to say of constancy. CLXXXIV. C And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand, She loved, and was beloved-she adored, She loved, and was beloved-she adored, Over the shining pebbles and the shells, Over t hining pebe ad t s And she was worshipp'd; after nature's fashion, Glided along the smooth and harden'd sand, TGlided alog te s h ad h d s heir intense souls, into each other pour'd, And in the worn and wild receptacles And,in the worn andt wild receptacles, w, If souls could die, had perish'd in that passion, — Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd, But by degrees their senses were restored,.' e L n -^ c i ^ But by degrees their senses were restored, In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells, A Iru * f3 t t J u ^ -il. Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on; They turn'd to rest; and, each clasped by an arm, And beating gainst hs bosom Haidee's heart Yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm. Fet as if neer e t be a & V Felt as if never more to beat apart. CLXXXV. They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow CXCII. Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright; Alas! they were so young, so beautiful, They gazed upon the glittering sea below, So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight; Was that in which the heart, is always full, They heard the waves splash, and the wind so low, And, having o'er itself no further power, And saw each other's dark eyes darting light Prompts deeds eternity cannot annul, Into each other-and, beholding this, But pays off moments in an endless shower Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss; Of hell-fire-all prepared for people giving CLXXXVI. Pleasure or pain to one another living. & long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love, CXCIII. And beauty, all concentrating, like rays Alas! for Juan and Haidee! they were Into one focus kindled from above; So loving and so lovely —till then never, Such kisses as belong to early days, Excepting our first parents, such a pair.Where neart, and soul, and sense, in concert move, Had run the risk of being damn'd for ever; And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze, And Haidee, being devout as well as fair, Each kiss a heart-quake,-for a kiss's strength, Had, doubtless, heard about the Stygian river, I think it must be reckon'd by its length. And hell and purgatory-but forgot CLXXXVII. Just in the very crisis she should not. By length I mean duration; theirs endured CXCIV. Heaven knows how long-no doubt they never They look upon each other, and their eyes reckon'd; Gleam in the moon-light; and her white arm clsps And if they had, they could not have secured Round Juan's head, and his around hers lies'The sum of their sensations to a second: Half buried in the tresses which it grasps; They had not spoken; but they felt allured, She sits upon his knee, and drinks his sighs, As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd, He hers until they end in broken gasps; Which, being jom'd, like swarming bees they clung- And thus they form a group that's quite antique, Their hearts tne flowers from whence the honey sprung. Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek. CANTO II. DON JUAN. 591 CXCV. CCII. And when those deep and burning moments pass'd, Haidee was nature's bride, and knew not this; And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms, Haidee was passion's child, born where the sun She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast, Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charns, Of his gazelle-eyed daughters; she was one And now and then her eye to heaven is cast, Made but to love, to feel that she was his And then on the pale cheek her breast now warms, Who was her chosen: what was said or done Pillow'd on her o'erflowing neart, which pants Elsewhere was nothing —She had nought to fear, With all it granted, and with all it grants. Hope, care, nor love beyond, her heart beat here. CXCVI. CCIII. An infant when it gazes on a light, And oh! that quickening of the heart, that beat! A child the moment when it drains the breast, How much it costs us! yet each rising tlrob A devotee when soars the host in sight, Is in its cause as its effect so sweet, An Arab with a stranger for a guest, That wisdom, ever on the watch to rob A sailor, when the prize has struck in fight, Joy of its alchymy, and to repeat A miser filling his most hoarded chest, Fine truths; even conscience, too, has a tough job Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping To make us understand each good old maxim, As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping. So good-I wonder Castlereagh don't tax'em. CXCVII. CCIV. For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved, And now't was done-on the lone shore were plighted All that it hath of life with us is living; Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved, Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted: And all unconscious of the joy't is giving, Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed, All it hath felt, inflicted, passed, and proved, By their own feelings hallow'd and united, Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving; Their priest was solitude, and they were wed: There lies the thing we love with all its errors, And they were happy, for to their young eyes And all its charms, like death without its terrors. Each was an angel, and earth paradise. CXCVIII. CCV. rhe lady watch'd her lover-and that hour Oh love! of whom great Caesar was the suitor, Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude, Titus the master, Antony the slave, O'erflow'd her soul with their united power; Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovid tutor, Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose grave She and her wave-worn love had made their bower, All those may leap who rather would be neuterWhere nought upon their passion could intrude, (Leucadia's rock still overlooks the wave)And all the stars that crowded the blue space Oh Love! thou art the very god of evil, Saw nothing happier than her glowing face. For, after all, we cannot call thee devil. CXCIX. CCVI. Alas! the love of women! it is known Thou makest the chaste connubial state precarious, To be a lovely and a fearful thing; And jestest with the brows of mightiest men: For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, Caesar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius, And if't is lost, life hath no more to bring Have much employ'd the muse of history's pen; To them but mockeries of the past alone, Their lives and fortunes were extremely various,And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, Such worthies time will never see again:Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet as real Yet to these four in three things the same luck holds, Torture is theirs-what they inflict they feel. They all were heroes, conquerors, and cuckolds. CC. CCVII. They're right; for man, to man so oft unjust, Thou makest philosophers: there's Epicurus Is always so to women; one sole bond And Aristippus, a material crew! Awaits them, treachery is all their trust; Who to immoral courses would allure us Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond By theories, quite practicable too; Over their idol, till some wealthier lust If only from the devil they would insure us Buys them in marriage-and what rests beyond? How pleasant were the maxim (not quite nev). A thankless husband, next a faithless lover, " Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail us tI Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's over. So said the royal sage, Sardanapalus. CCI. CCVIII. Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers, But Juan! had he quite forgotten Julia? Some mind their household, others dissipation, And should he have forgotten her so soon? Some run away, and but exchange their cares, I can't but say it seems t) me most truly a Losing the advantage of a virtuous station; Perplexing question; but, no doubt, the mnoon Few changes e'er can better their affairs, Does these th'ngs for us, and whenever new.y a Theirs being an unnatural situation, Palpitation rises,'t is her boon, From the dull palace to the dirty hovel: IElse how the devil;s;t that fiesh features Some play the devil, and then write a novel. Have such a charm for u, aoor hurran reatalre s 5)2 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO 11. CCIX. CCXVI. I hate inconstancy-I loathe, detest, In the mean time, without proceeding more Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made In this anatomy, I've finish'd now Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast Two hundred and odd stanzas as before, No permanent foundation can be laid; That being about the number I'll allow Love, constant love, has been my constant guest, Each canto of the twelve, or twenty-four; And yet last night, being at a masquerade, And, laying down my pen, I make my bow, I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan, Leaving Don Juan and Haidee, to plead Which gave me some sensations like a villain. For them and theirs with all who deign to read. CCX. But soon philosophy came to my aid, __ And whisper'd, " think of every sacred tie!" " I will, my dear philosophy!" I said, "But then her teeth, and then, oh heaven! her eye! 1'11 just inquire if she be wife or maid, Or neither-out of curiosity." CANTO III "Stop!" cried philosophy, with air so Grecian (Though she was mask'd then as a fair Venetian)CCXI. I. "Stop!" so I stopp'd.-But to return: that which HAIL, Muse! et ccatera.-We left Juan sleeping, Men call inconstancy is nothing more Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast, Than admiration due where nature's rich And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping, Profusion with young beauty covers o'er And loved by a young heart too deeply bless'd Some favour'd object; and as in the niche To feel the poison through her spirit creeping, A lovely statue we almost adore, Or knew who rested there; a foe to rest This sort of adoration of the r al Had soil'd the current of her sinless years, Is but a heightening of the "beau ideal." And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears. CCXII. II.'T is the perception of the beautiful, Oh, love! what is it in this world of ours A fine extension of the faculties, Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, why Platonic, universal, wonderful, With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers Drawn from the stars, and filter'd through the skies, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? Without which life would be extremely dull; As those who doat on odours pluck the flowers, In short, it is the use of our own eyes, And place them on their breast-but place to dieWrith one or two small senses added, just Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust. Are laid within our bosoms but to perish. CCXIII. III. Yet'tis a painful feeling, and unwilling, In her first passion woman loves her lover, For surely if we always could perceive In all the others all she loves is love, In the same object graces quite as killing Which grows a habit she can rie'er get over, As when she rose upon us like an Eve, And fits her loosely-like an easy glove,'T would save us many a heart-ache, many a shilling As you may find, whene'er you like to prove her: (For we must get them any how, or grieve), One man alone at first her heart can move; Whereas, if one sole lady pleased for ever, She then prefers him in the plural number, How pleasant for the heart, as well as liver! Not finding that the additions much encumber. CCXIV. IV. The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven, I know not if the fault be men's or theirs; But changes night and day too, like the sky; But one thing's pretty sure; a woman planted Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, (Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers), And darkness and destruction as on high; After a decent time must be gallanted; But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced, and riven, Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye Is that to which her heart is wholly granted; Pours forth at last tne heart's blood turn'd to tears, Yet there are some, they say, who have had none, Which make the English climate of our years. But those who have ne'er end with only one. CCXV. V. The liver is the lazaret of bile,'T is melancholy, and a fearful sign But very rarely executes its function, Of human frailty, folly, also crime, For the first passion stays there such a while That love and marriage rarely can combine, That all the. rest creep in and form a junction, Although they both are born in the same clime, Like knois of vipers on a dunghill's soil, Marriage from love, like vinegar from wineRage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction, A sad, sour, sober beverage-by time So that all mischief. spring up from this entrail, Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour tike.earthquakes from the hidden fire call'd "central." Down to a very homely household savour. C'ANTO III. DON JUAN. 59 VI. XIII. There's something of antipathy, as't were, Yet they were happy,-happy in the illicit Between their present and their future state; Indulgence of their innocent desires; A kind of flattery that's hardly fair But, more imprudent grown with every visit, Is used, until the truth arrives too late- Haidee forgot the island was her sire's; Yet what can people do, except despair? When we have what we like,'tis hard to miss it, The same things change their names at such a rate; At least in the beginning, ere one tires; For instance-passion in a lover's glorious, Thus she came often, not a moment losing, But in a husband is pronounced uxorious. Whilst her piratical papa was cruising. VII. XIV. Men grow ashamed of being so very fond; Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange, They sometimes also get a little tired Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, (But that, of course, is rare), and then despond: For into a prime minister but change The same things cannot always be admired, His title, and'tis nothing but taxation; Yet'tis "so nominated in the bond," But he, more modest, took an humbler range That both are tied till one shall have expired. Of life, and in an honester vocation Sad thought! to lose the spouse that was adorning Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey, Our days, and put one's servants into mourning. And merely practised as a sea-attorney. VIII. XV. There's doubtless something in domestic doings The good old gentleman had been detain'd Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis; By winds and waves, and some important captures; Romances paint at full length people's wooings, And, in the hope of more, at sea remain'd, But only give a bust of marriages; Although a squall or two had damped his raptures For no one cares for matrimonial cooings, By swamping one of the prizes; he had chain'd There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss: His prisoners, dividing them like chapters, Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's'wife, In number'd lots; they all had cuffs and collars, He would have written sonnets all his life? And averaged each from ten to a hundred dollars. IX. XVI., All tragedies are finish'd by a death, Some he disposed of off Cape Matapaii, All comedies are ended by a marriage; Among his friends the Mainots; some he sold The future states of both are left to faith, To his Tunis correspondents, save one man For authors fear description might disparage Toss'd overboard unsaleable (being old); The worlds to come of both, or fall beneath, The rest-save here and there some richer one, And then both worlds would punish their miscarriage, Reserved for future ransom in the hold,So leaving each their priest and prayer-book ready, Were link'd alike, as for the common people, he They say no more of Death or of the Lady. Had a large order from the Dey of Tripoli. X. XVII. The only two that in my recollection The merchandise was served in the same way, Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriage, are Pieced out for different marts in the Levant, Dante and Milton, and of both the affection Except some certain portions of the prey, Was hapless in their nuptials, for some bar Light classic articles of female want, Of fault pr temper ruin'd the connexion- French stuffs, lace, tweezers, toothpicks, teapot tray,'Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to mar);; Guitars and castanets from Alicant, But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve All which selected from the spoil he gathers, Were not drawn from their spouses, you conceive. Robb'd for his daughter by the best of fathers. XI. XVIII. Some persons say that Dante meant theology A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw, By Beatrice, and not a mistress-I, Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittena Although my opinion may require apology, He chose from several animals he sawDeem this a commentator's phantasy, A terrier too, which once had been a Briton's, Unless indeed it was from his own knowledge hq Who dying on the coast of Ithaca, Decided thus, and show'd good\ reason why; The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance; I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics These to secure in this strong blowing weather, Meant to personify the mathematics. He caged in one huge hamper altogether. XII. XIX. Haidee and Juan were not married, but Then having settled his marine affairs, The fault was theirs, not mine: it is not fair, Despatching single cruisers here ana there, Chaste reader, then, in any way to put His vessel having need of some repairs, The blame on me, unless you wish they were; He shaped his course to where his daughter fair Then, if you'd have them wedded, please fo shut Continued still her hospitable cares; The book which treats of this erroneoub pair, But that part of the coast being shoal and hare, Before the consequences grow too awful — And rough with reefs which ran out many a mile,'T is dangerous to read of loves unlawful. His port lay on the other side o' the isl. 80 594 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO 11J XX. XXVII. And there he went ashore without delay, He saw his white walls shining in the sun, Having no custom-house or quarantine His garden trees all shadowy and green; To ask him awkward questions on the way He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run, About the time and place where he had been: The distant dog-bark; and perceived between He left his ship-to be hove down next day, The umbrage of the wood, so cool and dun, With orders to the people to careen; The moving figures and the sparkling sheen bo that all hands were busy beyond measure, Of arms (in the East all arm), and various dyes In getting out goods, ballast, guns, and treasure. Of colour'd garbs, as bright as butterflies. XXI. XXVIII. Arriving at the summit of a hill And as the spot where they appear he nears, Which overlook'd the white walls of his home, Surprised at these unwonted sighs of idling, He stopp'd.-What singular emotions fill He hears-alas! no music of the spheres, Their'bosoms who have been induced to roam! But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling! With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill- A melody which made him doubt his ears, With love for many, and with fears for some; The cause being past his guessing or unriddling; All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost, A pipe too and a drum, and, shortly after, And bring our hearts back to their starting-post. A most unoriental roar of laughter. XXII. XXIX. The approach of home to husbands and to sires, And still more nearly to the place advancing, After long travelling by land or water, Descending rather quickly the declivity, Most naturallysome small doubt inspires- Through the waved branches, o'er the greensward A female family's a serious matter; glancing, (None trusts the sex more, or so much admires-'Midst other indications of festivity, But they hate flattery, so I never flatter); Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler, Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he And daughters sometimes run off with the butler. Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance so martial, XXIII. To which the Levantines are very partial. An honest gentleman at his return XXX. May not have the good fortune of Ulysses: And further on a group of Grecian girls, Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn, The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, Or show the same dislike to suitors' kisses; Wer strung together like a row of pearls; The odds are that he finds a handsome urn Link'd hand in hand, and dancing; each too having To his memory, and two or three young misses Down her white neck long floating auburn curlsBorn to some friend, who holds his wife and riches, (The least of which would set ten poets raving), And that his Argus bites him by-the breeches. Thei leader sang-and bounded to her song, With coral step and voice, the virgin throng. XXIV. If single, probably his plighted fair X If single, probably his plighted fair And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their trays, Has in his absence wedded some rich miser; Small social parties just beun to dine; Small social parties just begun to dine; But all the better, for the happy pair t all the betterqu, for the happy pair Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze, May quarrel, and the lady growing wiser, And flasks of Szmian and of Chian vine, IIe may resume his amatory care. lIe may resume his armatory care And sherbet cooling in the porous vase; As cavalier servente, or despise her;. X As cavalier servente, or despise her; Above thlem their desert grew on its vine, And, that his sorrow may not be a dumb one, The orange and omeanate nodding o'er Write odes on the inconstancy of woman. Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow store. XXV. XXXII. And oh! ye gentlemen who have already A band of children, round a snow-white ram, Some chaste liaison of the kind-I mean There wreathe his venerable horns with flowers; An honest friendship with a married lady- While peaceful as if still an unwean'd lamb, The only thing' of this sort ever seen The patriarch of the flock all gently cowers To last-of all, connexions the most steady, His sober head majestically tame, And the true Hymen (the first's but a screen)-'Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers Yet for all that keep not too long away i His brow as if in act to butt, and then, I've known the absent wrong'd four times a-day. Yielding to their small hands, draws back again. XXVI. XXXIII. Lambro, our sea-solicitor, who had Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses, Much less experience of dr land than ocean, Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic cheeks, On seeing his own chimney smoke, felt glad; Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses, But not knowing metaphysics, had no notion The gesture which enchants, the eye that speaks, t) tne true reason of his not being sad, The innocence which happy childhood blesses, Or that of any other strong emotion; Made quite a picture of these little Greeks; lie loved his child, and would have wept the loss of her, So that the philosophical beholder tUt Knew the cause no more than a philosopher. Sigh'd for their sakes-that they should e'er grow uoler. CANTO III. DON. JUAN 595 XXXIV. XLI. Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales You're wrong.-He was the mildest-manner'd man To a sedate gray circle of old smokers, That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat; Of secret treasures found in hidden vales, With such true.breeding of a gentleman, Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, You never could divine his real thought; Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails, No co irtier could, and scarcely woman can Of rocks bewitched that open to the knockers, Gird more deceit within a petticoat; Of magic ladies, who, by one sole act, Pity he loved adventurous life's variety,'rransform'd their lords to beasts (but that's a fact). He was so great a loss to good society. XXXV. XLII. Here was no lack of innocent diversion Advancing to the nearest dinner-tray, For the imagination or the senses, Tapping the shoulder of the nighest guest, Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the Persian, With a peculiar smile, which, by the way, All pretty pastime in which no offence is; Boded no good, whatever it express'd, But Lambro saw all these things with aversion, He ask'd the meaning of this holiday? Perceiving in his absence such expenses, The vinous Greek to whom he had address'd Dreading that climax of all human ills, His question, much too merry to divine The inflammation of his weekly bills. The questioner, fill'd up a glass of wine, XXXVI. XLIII. Ah! what is nian? what perils still environ And, without turning his facetious head, The happiest mortals even after dinner- Over his shoulder, with 4 Bacchant air, A day of gold from out an age of iron Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said, Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner; "Talking's dry work, I have no time to spare." Pleasure (whene'er she sings, at least)'s a siren, A second hiccup'd, "Our old master's dead, That lures to flay alive the young beginner; You'd better ask our mistress, who's his heir." Lambro's reception at his people's banquet " Our mistress!" quoth a third: "Our mistress!-pooh' Was such as fire accords to a wet blanket. You mean our master-not the old; but new." XXXVII. XLIV. lie-being a man who seldom used a word These rascals, being new comers, knew not whom Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise They thus address'd-and Lambro's visage fell(In general he surprised men with the sword) And o'er his eye a momentary gloom His daughter-had not sent before to advise Pass'd, but he strove quite courteously to quell Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd; The expression, and, endeavouring to resume And long he paused to reassure his eyes, H is smile, requested one of them to tell In fact much more astonish'd than delighted The name and quality of his new patron, To find so much good company invited. Who seem'd to have turn'd Haidee into a ma.tron. XXXVIII. XLV. He did not know-(alas! how men will lie)- "I know not," quoth the fellow, "who or what That a report-(especially the Greeks)- He is, nor whence he came-and little care; Avouch'd his death (such people never die), But this I know, that this roast capon's fat, And put his house in mourning several weqks. And that good wine ne'er wash'd down better fare; But now their eyes and also lips were dry; And if you are not satisfied with that, The bloom too had return'd to Haidee's cheeks; Direct your questions to my neighbour there; Her tears too being return'd into their fount, He'l1 answer all for better or for worse, She now kepg house upon her own account. For none likes more to hear himself converse."' XXXIX. XLVI. Hence all this rice, meat, dancing, wine, and fiddling, I said that Lambro was a man of patience, Which turn'd the isle into a place of pleasure; And certainly he show'd the best of breeding, The servants all were getting drunk or idling, Which scarce even France, the paragon of nations, A life which made them happy beyond measure. E'er saw her most polite of soils exceeding; Her father's hospitality seem'd middling, He bore these sneere against his near relations, Compared with what Haidee did with his treasure; His own anxiety, his heart too bleeding,'Twas wonderful how things went on improving, The insults too of everyservile glutton, While she had not one hour to spare from loving. Who all the time were eating up his mutton. XL. XLVII. I'erhaps you think, in stumbling on this feast Now in a person used to much commandHe flew into a passion, and in fact To bid men come, and go, and cone again - There was no mighty reason to be pleased; To see his orders done too out of handPerhaps you prophesy some sudden act, Whether the word was death, or but the chainThe whip, the rack, or dungeon at the least, It may seem strange to find his' manners blandTo teach his people to be more exact, Yet such things are, vhich I cannot explain, And that, proceeding at a very high rate, Though doubtless he who can command himself AIl show'd the royal penchants of a pirate. Is good to govern-almost as a GueL, 596 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO III XLVIII. LV. Not that he was not sometimes rash or so, But something of the spirit of old Greece But never in his real and serious mood; Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays, Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow, Such as lit onward to the golden fleece He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood; His predecessors in the Colchian days: With him it never was a word and blow.'T is true he had no ardent love for peace; His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood, Alas! his country show'd no path to praise: But in his silence there was much to rue, Hate to the world and war with every nation And his one blow left little work for two. He waged, in vengeance of her degradation. XLIX. LVI. lie ask'd no further questions, and proceeded Still o'er his mind the influence of the clime On to the house, but by a private way, Shed its Ionian elegance, which show'd So that the few who met him hardly heeded, Its power unconsciously full many a time,So little they expected him that day; A taste seen in the choice of his abode, If love paternal in his bosom pleaded A love of music and of-scenes sublime, For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say, A pleasure in the gentle stream that flow'd But certainly to one, deem'd dead, returning, Past him in crystals, and a joy in flowers, This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning. Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours. L. LVII. If all the dead could now return to life, But whatsoe'er he had of love, reposed (Which God forbid!) or some, or a great many; On that beloved daughter; she had been For instance, if a husband or his wife The only thing which kept his heart unclosed (Nuptial examples are as good as any), Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen, No doubt whate'er might be their former strife, A lonely pure affection unopposed: The present weather would be much more rainy- There wanted but the loss of this to wean Tears shed into the grave of the connexion His feelings from all milk of human kindness, Would share most probably its resurrection. And turn him, like the Cyclops, mad with blindness. LI. LVIII. He enter'd in the house no more his home, The cubless tigress in her jungle raging A thing to human feeiings the most trying, Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock; And harder for the heart to overcome The ocean when its yeasty war is waging Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying; Is awful to the vessel near the rock: To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb, But violent things will sooner bear assuagingAnd round its once warm precincts palely lying Their fury being sopr my its own shock,The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief, Than the stern, single, aeep, and wordless ire Beyond a single gentleman's belief. Of a strong human heart, and in a sire. LII. LIX. He enter'd in the house-his home no more, It 1s a hard, although a common case, For without hearts there is no home-and felt To find our children running restive-they The solitude of passing his own door In whom our brightest days we would retrace, Without a welcome; there he long had dwelt, Our little selves reform'd in finer clay; There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er, Just as old age is creeping on apace, There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day Over the innocence of that sweet child, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, His only shrine of feelings undefiled. But in good company-the gout and stone. LIII. LX. lie was a man of a strange temperament, Yet a fine family is a fine thing, Of mild demeanour though of savage mood, (Provided they don't come in after dinner); Moderate in all his habits, and content'T is beautiful to see a matron bring With temperance in pleasure as in food, Her children up (if nursing them don't thin Imp.' Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and meant Like cherubs round an altar-piece they cling For something better, if not wholly good; To the fireside (a sight. to touch a sinner). His country's wrongs and his despair to save her A lady with her daughter or her nieces Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver. Shine like a guinea and seven-shilling pieces. LIV. LXI. Ilie,ove of power, and rapid gain of gold, Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate, The hardness by long habitude produced. And stood within his hall at eventide; The dangerous life in which he had grown old, Meantime the lady and her lover sate The mercy he had granted oft abused, At wassail in their beauty and their pride: The sights he was accustom'd to behold, An ivory inlaid table spread with state The wild seas and wila men with whom he cruised, Before them, and fair slaves on every side; Had cost his enemies a long repentance, Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service mostly Anl made nim a good friends but bad acquaintance. Mother-of-pearl and coral the less costly. CANTO III. DON JUAN. 597 LXII. LXIX. The dinner made about a hundred dishes; There was no want of lofty mirrors, and Lamb ana pistachio-nuts-in short, all meats, The tables, most of ebony inlaid And saffron soups, and sweetbreads; and the fishes With mother-of-pearl or ivory, stood at hand, Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets, Or were of tortoise-shell or rare woods made, Dress'd to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes; Fretted with gold or silver: by command, The beverage was various sherbets The greater part of these were ready spread Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice, With viands, and sherbets in ice, and wineSqueexed through the rind, which makes it best for use. Kept for all comers, at all hours to dine. LXIII. LXX. These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer, Of all the dresses I select Haidee's: And fruits and date-bread loaves closed the repast, She wore two jelicks-one was of pale yelloev; And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure, Of azure, pink, and white, was her chemiseIn small fine China cups came in at last-'Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow Gold cups of filigree, made to secure With buttons form'd of pearls as large as peas, The hand from burning, underneath them placed; All gold and crimson shone her jelick's fellow, Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too, were boil'd And the striped white gauze baracan that bound her, Up with the coffee, which (I think) they spoil'd. Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flow'd round her. LXIV. LXXI. The hangings of the room were tapestry, made One large gold bracelet clasp'd each lovely arm, Of velvet panels, each of different hue, Lockless-so pliable from the pure gold And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid: That the hand stretch'd and shut it without harm, And round them ran a yellow border too; The limb whidh it adorn'd its only mould; The upper border, richly wrought, display'd, So beautiful-its very shape would charm, Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue, And clinging as if loth to lose its hold, Soft Persian sentences, in lilac letters, The purest ore inclosed the whitest skin From poets, or the moralists their betters. That e'er by precious metal was held in.2 LXV. LXXII. These oriental writings on the wall, Around, as princess of her father's land, Quite common in those countries, are a kind A like gold bar, above her instep roll'd,3 Of monitors, adapted to recall, Announced her rank; twelve rings were on her hnl; Like skulls at Memphian banquets, to the mind. Her hair was starr'd with gems; her veil's fine fold The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall, Below her breast was fasten'd with a band And took his kingdom from him.-You will find, Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told; Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, Her orange silk full Turkish trowsers furl'd There is no sterner moralist than pleasure. About the prettiest ankle in the world. LXVI. LXXIII. A beauty at the season's close grown hectic, Her hair's long auburn waves down to her heel A genius who has drunk himself to death, Flow'd like an Alpine torrent which the sun A rake turn'd methodistic or eclectic- Dyes with his morning light,-and would conreca (For that's the name they like to pray beneath)- Her person 4 if allow'd at large to run; But most, an alderman struck apoplectic, - And still they seem resentfully to feel Are things that really take away the breath, The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shult And show that late hours, wine, and love, are able Their bonds whene'er some zephyr caught began To do not much less damage than the table. To offer his young pinion as her fan. LXVII. LXXIV. Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet Round her she made an atmosphere of itse, On crimson satin, border'd with pale blue; The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes, Their sofa occupied three parts complete They were so soft and beautiful, and rife Of the apartment-and appear'd quite new; With all we can imagine of the skies, The velvet cushions-(for a throne more meet)- And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wifeWere scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew Too pure even for the purest human ties A sun emboss'd in gold, whose rays of tissue, Her overpowering presence made -':u feel Meridian-like, were seen all light-to issue. It would not oe idolatry to kneel. LXVIII. LXXV. Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain, Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were tingte Had done their work of splendour, Indian mats (It is the country's custom), but in vain; And Persian carpets, which the heart bled to stain, F',r those large black eyes were so blackly friing., Over the floors were spread; gazelles and cats, The glossy rebels mock'd the jetty stain, And dwarfs and blacks, and such like things, that gain And in their native beauty stood avenged. Their bread as ministers and favourites-(that s Her nails were touch'd with henna; but agaio To say, by degradation)-mingled there The power of art was turn'd to nothing, for As plentiful as in a court or fai-. They could not look more rosy tbhni before 3D 598 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO 11i LXXVI. LXXXII, The henna should be deeply dyed to make But now being lifted into high sctty, The skin relieved appear more fairly fair: And having pick'd up seeere.l Jdds and ends She had no need of this-day ne'er will break Of free thoughts in his travels, for variety, On mountain tops more heavenly white than her: He deem'd, being in a lone isle among friends, The eye might doubt if it were well awake, That without any danger of a riot, hShe was so like a vision; I might err, Might for long lying make himself amends; But Shakspeare also says'tis very silly And, singing as he sung in his warm youth, "To gild refined gold, or paint the lily." Agree to a short armistice with truth. LXXVII. LXXXIV. Juan had on a shawl of black and gold, He had travell'd'mongstthe Arabs, Turks, anid Fra;.ks, But a white baracan, and so transparent, And knew the self-loves of the different nations The sparkling gems beneath you might behold, And, having lived with people of all ranks, Like small stars through the milky way appare.t; Had something ready upon most occasions — His turban, furl'd in many a graceful fold, Which got him a few presents and some thanks. An emerald aigrette with Haidee's hair in't He varied with some skill his adulations; Surmounted as its clasp-a glowing crescent, To "do at Rome as Romans do," a piece Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant. Of conduct was which he observed in Greece. LXXVIII. LXXXV. And now they were diverted by their suite, Thus, usually, when he was ask'd to sing, Dwarfs, dancing girls, black eunuchs, and a poet, He gave the different nations something national; Which made their new establishment complete;'T was all the same to him-" God save the King," The last was of great fame, and liked to show it: Or " Ca ira," according to the fashion all; His verses rarely wanted their due feet- His muse made increment of any thing, And for his theme-he seldom sung below it, From the high lyrical to the low rational: He being paid to satirize or flatter, If Pindar sang horse-races, what should hinder As the psalm says, " inditing a good matter." Himself from being as pliable as Pindar? LXXIX. LXXXVI. lie praised the present and abused the past, In France, for instance, he would write a chanson; Reversing the good custom of old days, In England, a six-canto quarto tale; An eastern anti-jacobin at last In Spain, he'd make a ballad or romance on He turn'd, preferring pudding to no praise- The last war-much the same in Portugal; For some few years his lot had been o'ercast In Germany, the Pegasus he'd prance on By his seeming independent in his lays, Vould be old Goethe's —(see what says de Stadel But now he sung the Sultan and the Pacha, In Italy, he'd ape the "Trecentisti;" With truth like Southey, and with verse like Crashaw. In Greece, he'd sing some sort of hymn like this t' ye LXXX. He was a- man who had seen many changes, The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! And always changed as true as any needle, Where burning Sappho loved andsrung,His polar star being one which rather ranges, Where grew the arts of war and peace,And not the fix'd-he knew the way to wheedle: Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung! So vile he'scaped the doom which oft avenges; Eternal sunmmer gilds them yet, And being fluent (save indeed when fee'd ill), But all, except their sun, is set. He lied with such a fervour of intentionThere was no doubt he earn'd his laureate pension. The Scian and the Teian muse, LXXXI. The hero's harp, the lover's lute, But he had genius-wen a turncoat-. Have found the fame your shores refuse; But he had genius-when a turncoat has it, i The ".ates irritabilis" takes care Their place of birth alone is mute The "vates irritabilis" takes care s r To sounds which echo further west That without notice few full moons shall pass it; Than your sires' "Islands of the Blessed." Even good nen like to make the public stare:But to my subject-let me see-what was it? arathonOh!-the third canto-and the pretty pair-n aaton looks on th sea; Tnoir loves, and feasts, and house, and dress, and mode And musing there an hour alone t)i livng in their insular abode. D I dream'd that Greece might still be free -; LXXXII. For, standing on the Persians' grave, Thber poet. a sad trimmer, but no less I could not deem myself a slave. in company a very pleasant fellow, riai been the favourite of full many a mess A king sate on the rocky brow Of men, and made them speeches when half mellow; Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis And though his meaning they could rarely guess, And ships, by thousands, lay below, Yet sii they deign'd to hiccup. or to bellow And men in nations;-all were his! I'lic glorious meed of popular applause, He counted tnem at break of day-,if which the first ne'er knows the second cause. And when the sun set, where were they? CNZvT1O III. DON JUAN. And where are they? and where art thou, But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, My country? On thy voiceless shore Would break your shield, however breast. Tht heroic lay is tuneless nowTile heroic bosom beats no more! Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Our virgins dance beneath the shade Degenerate into hands like mine? I see their glorious black eyes shiner But, gazing on each glowing maid, Tis something, in the dearth of fame, My own the burning tear-drop laves, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; Place me on Suniumr's marbled steepFor what is left the poet here? Where nothing, save the waves and I, For Greeks a blush-for Greece a tear. May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die. i Must we but weep o'er days more bless'd? A land of slaves shall ne'er be mineMust we but blush?-Our fathers bled. Dash down yon cup of Samian wine! Earth! render back from' out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, ro make a new Thermopyla. LXXXVII. at, silent still? and silent al? Thus sung, or would, or could, or should have sung, What, silent still? and silent all? The modern Greek, in tolerable verse; Ah! no; —the voices of the dead Sound.ike a distant torrent's fall, If not like Orpheus quite, when Greece was young, is fa, YVet in these times he might have done much worse: And answer, "Let one living head,.But one arise,-we com'e, we, come! His strain display'd some feeling-right or wrong; But one arise,-we come, we come!" " And feeling, in a poet, is the source'T is but the living who are dumb. Of others' feeling; but they are such liars, Invainin vain strike other chords; And take all colours-like the hands of dyers. In vain-in vain: strike other chords; Fill high the cup with Sanian wine! LXXXVIII. Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, But words are things, and a small drop of ink And shed the blood of Scio's vine! Falling like dew upon a thought, produces Hark! rising to the ignoble call- That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think, flow answers each bold bacchanal!'T is strange, the shortest letter which man uses, Instead of speech, may form a lasting link You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Frail man, when paper-even a rag like this, Of two such lessons, why forget Survives himself, his tomb, and all that's his. The nobler and the manlier one? LXXXIX. You have the letters Cadmus gave-. And when his bones are dust, his grave a blank, Think ye he meant them for a slave? His station, generation, even his nation, Fill high the owlwith Samian wine Become a thing, or nothing, save to rank Fill high the bowl with Samtan wine! We will not think of themes like these! In chronological commemoration, It made Anareon's song divine: Some dull MS. oblivion long has sank, Hme served-but served Polycrates- Or graven stone found in a barrack's station, A tyrante; but our mastervs then In digging the foundation of a closet, A tyrant; but our masters then a W'ere still, at least, our countrymen.' May turn his name up as a rare deposit. XC. The tyrant of the Chersonese And glory long has made the sages smile; Was freedom's best and bravest friend;'T is something, nothing, words, illusion, windThdt tyrant was Miltiades! Depending more upon the historian's style Oh! that the present hour would lend Than on the name a person leaves behind: Another despot of the kind! Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyie; Such chains as his were sure to bind. The present century was growing blind To the great Marlborough's skill in giving knncks, Fillhigh the bowl with Samian wine! Until his late Life by Archdeacon Coxe. On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, Exists the remnant of a line X Such as the Doric mothers bore; Milton's the prince of poets-so we say; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, Alittle heavy, but no less divine; The Heracleidan blood might own. An independent being in nis dayLearn'd, pious, temperate in love and wine, Trust not for freedom to the Franks- But his life falling into Johnson's way, They have a king who buys and sells. We're told this great high priest of ail the NMrm In native swords, and native ranks, Was whipt at college-a harsh sire-odd spouse, The only hope of courage dwells; For the first Mrs. Milton leit his house. (00 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO lb XCI. XCIX. All th3se are, certes, entertaining facts, If he must fain sweep o'er the ethereal plain, Like Shakspeare's stealing deer, LordBacon's bribes; And Pegasus runs restive in his "waggon," Like Titus' youth, and Caesar's earliest acts; Could he not beg the loan of Charles's wain? Like Burns (whom Doctor Currie well describes); Or pray Medea for a single dragon? Like Cropiwell's pranks;-but although truth exacts Or if, too classic for his vulgar brain, These amiable descriptions from the scribes, He fear'd his neck to venture such a nag on, As most essential to their hero's story, And he must needs mount nearer to the moon, They do not much contribute to his glory. Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon? XCIII. C. All are not moralists like Southey, when "Pedlars," and "boats," and "lvaggons!" Oh! yeshades He prated to the world of "Pantisocracy;" Of Pope and Dryden, are we come to this? Or Wordsworth unexcised, unhired, who then That trash of such sort not alone evades Season'd his pedlar poems with democracy; Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss Or Coleridge, long before his flighty pen Floats scum-like uppermost, and these Jack Cades Let to the Morning Post its aristocracy; Of sense and song above your graves may hissWhen he and Southey, following the same path, The "little boatman" and his "Peter Bell" Espoused two partners (milliners of Bath). Can sneer at him who drew "Achitophel!" XCIV. CI. Such names at present cut a convict figure, T' our tale.-The feast was over, the slaves gone, Tne very Botany Bay in moral geography; The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired; Their loyal treason, renegade vigour, The Arab lore and poet's song were done, Are good manure for their more bare biography. And every sound of revelry expired; Wordsworth's last quarto, by the way, is bigger The lady and her -lover, left alone, Than any since the birth-day of typography: The rosy flood of twilight sky admired;A clumsy frowzy poem, call'd the "Excursion," Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea, Writ in a manner which is my aversion. That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee XCV. CII. He there builds up a formidable dyke Ave Maria! blessed be the hour! Between his own and others' intellect; The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft But Wordsworth's poem, and his followers, like Have felt that moment in its fullest power Joanna Southcote's Shiloh and her sect, Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, Are things which in this century don't strike While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, The public mind, so few are the elect; Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And the new births of both their stale virginities And not a breath crept through the rosy air, Have proved but dropsies taken for divinities. And yet the forest leaves seem stirr'd with prayer XCVI. CIII. But let me to my story: I must own, Ave Maria!'tis the hour of prayer! If I have any fault, it is digression; Ave Maria!'tis the hour of love! Leaving my people to proceed alone,. Ave Maria! may our spirits dare While I soliloquize beyond expression; Look up to thine and to thy Son's above! Rut these are my addresses from the throne, Ave Maria! oh that face so fair! Which put off business to the ensuing session: Those downcast eyes beneath the almighty doveForgetting each omission is a loss to What though't is but a pictured image strikeThe world, not quite so great as Ariosto. That painting is no idol,'tis too like. XCVII. CIV. I kilow that what our neighbours call " longueurs" Some kinder casuists are pleased to say, (We've not so good a word, but have the thing In nameless print-that I have no devotion; In that complete perfection which insures But set those persons down with me to pray, An epic from Bob Southey every spring)- And you shall see who has the properest notion Form not the true temptation which allures Of getting into heaven the shortest way; The reader; but'twould not be hard to bring My altars are the mountains and the ocean, Some fine examples of the dpopee, Earth, air, stars,-all that springs from the great whole, lo prove its grand ingredient is ennui. Who hath produced, and will receive the soul. XCVIII. CV. We learn from Horace, Homer sometimes sleeps; Sweet hour of twilight!-in the solitude We feel without him, Wordsworth sometimes wakes, Of the pine forest, and the silent shore To show with what complacency he creeps, Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood, With his dear " Waggoners," around his lakes; Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er, He wishes for "a boat" to sail the deeps- To where the last Caesarean fortress stood, Of ocean?-no, of air; and then he makes Ever-green forest! which Boccaccio's lore Another outcrv for "a little boat," And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to mea And arivels seas to set it well afloat. flow have I loved the twilight hour and thee! ;JVt o III. DON JUAN. 601 CVI. The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine, CANTO IV. And vesper-bell's that rose the boughs along; The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng, Which learn'd from this example not to fly From a true lover, shadow'd my mind's eye. CVII. I. Oh Hesperus! thou bringest all good things- NOTHING so difficult as a beginning Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, In poesy,unless perhaps the end: To the young bird the parent's brooding wings, For oftentimes wlken Pegasus seems winning The welcome stall to the o'eabour'd steer; The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend, WVhate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings, Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sinning; Whate'er our household godi protect of dear, Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend, Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest; Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too far, Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.Till our own weakness shows us what we are. CVIII. Soft hour!6 which wakes the wish and melts the heart t time, which brings all beings to their level, Of'those who sail the seas, on the first day And sharp adversity, will teach at last Of those who sail the seasonthMan,-and, as we would hope,-perhaps the devil, When they from their sweet friends are torn apart; hat ndeiher would hope,-l perhaps r te deva That neither of their intellects are vast: Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel, As the far bell of vesper makes him start, kow ot is-he bood fos on too fs *~eeming *o weep,he dying'ay's decay; rWe know not this —the blood flows on too fast, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay; Is this a fancy which our reason scornsBut as the torrent widens towards the ocean, Is this a fancy which our reason scorns? We ponder deeply on each past emotion. Ah! surely nothing dies but something mourns e p r d o e p III. CIX. r, T CIX. -As boy, I thought myself a clever fellow, When Nero perish'd by the justest doom And wish'd that others held the same opinion Which ever the destroyer yet destroy'd, They took it up when my days grew more mellow, Amidst the roar of liberated Rome, Andother minds acknowledged my dominion: Of nations freed, and the world overjoy'd, Now my sere fancy -" falls into the yellow Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb: Leaf," and imagination droops her pinion, Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk Of feeling for some kindness done, when power r r,,,.* fTurns what was once romantic to burlesque. Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour. IV. CX. And if I laugh at any mortal thing, But I'm digressing: what on earth has Nero,'T is that I may not weep; and if I weep, Or any such like sovereign buffoons, IT i t I my n w ~Or any such like sovereign buffoons,'T is that our nature cannot always bring To do with the transactions of my hero, Itself to apathy, which we must steep More than such madmen's fellow-man-the moon's? First in the icy depths of Lethe's spring, Sure my invention must be down at zero, Ere what we least wish to behold will sleep, And I grown one of many " wooden spoons " Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx; Of verse (the name with which we Cantabs please A mortal mother would on Lethe fix. To dub the last.of honours in degrees). CXI. Some have accused me of a strange design I feel this tediousness will never do- Against the creed and morals of the land,'Tis being too epic, and I must cut down And trace it in this poem every line: (In copying) this long canto into two: I don't pretend that I quite understand They'll never find it out, unless I own My own meaning when I would be very fine; The fact, excepting some experienced few; The fact, excepting some experienced few; But the fact is that I have nothing plann'd, And then as an improvement'twill be shown: Unless it was to be a moment mery I'll prove that such the opinion of the critic is, A novel word in my vocabulary. From Aristotle passim.-See lloLisCKn. I. To the kind reader of our sober clime This way of writing will appear exotic; Pulci was sire of the half-serious rhyme, Who sung when chivalry was more Quixotic,:****:**:g^ And reveli'd in the fancies of the time, True knights, chaste dames, huge giants, kings potic; But all these, save the last, being obsolete, ~31o~ b3 Q~~ 1 chose a modern subject as more meet. 3X2 2 1 802 BYRON'S WORKS. CAN7 0 IO t. VII. XIV. How I have treated it, I do not know- The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch, Perhaps no better than they have treated me The least glance better understood than words, Who have imputed such designs as show, Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much; Not what they saw, but what they wish'd to see; A language, too, but like to that of birds, But if it gives them pleasure, be it so,- Known but to them, at least appearing sucn This is a liberal age, and thoughts are free: As but to lovers a true sense affords; Meantime Apollo plucks me by the ear, Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd And tells me to resume my story here. To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne'er heard VIII. XV. Young Juan and his lady-love were left All these were theirs, for they were children still, To their own hearts' most sweet society; And children still they should have ever been; Even Time the pitiless in sorrow cleft They were not made in the real world to fill With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms; he A busy character in the dull scene; Sialh'd to behold them of their hours bereft, But like two beings born from out a rill, Though foe to love; and yet they could not be A nymph and her beloved, all unseen Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring, To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers, Before one charm or hope had taken wing. And never know the weight of human hours. IX. XVI. Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their Moons changing had roll'd on, and changeless found Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to fail; Those their bright rise had lighted to such joys J lie blank gray was not made to blast their hair, As rarely they beheld throughout their round: But, like the climes that know nor snow nor hail, And these were not of the vain kind which cloy;. They were all summer: lightning might assail For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bound And shiver them to ashes, but to trail By the mere senses; and that which destroys A long and snake-like life of dull decay Most love, possession, unto them appear:d Was not for them-they had too little clay. A thing which each endearment more endear'd. X. XVII. They were alone once more; for them to be Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful! Thus was another Eden; they were never But theirs was love in which the mind delights Weary, unless when separate: the tree To lose itself, when the whole world grows dull, Cut from its forest root of years-the river And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights, Damm'd from its fountain —the child from the knee'* ntrigues, adventures of the common school, And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever, Its petty passions, marriages, and flights, Would wither less than these two torn apart; Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet more, Alas! there is no instinct like the heart- Whose husband only knows her not a wh-re. XI. XVIII. The heart-which may be broken: happy they! Hard words; harsh truth; a truth which many know. Thrice fortunate! who, of that fragile mould, Enough.-The faithful and the fairy pair, The precious porcelain of human clay, Who never found a single hour too slow, Break with the first fall: they can ne'er behold What was it made them thus exempt from care?'1he long year link'd with heavy day on day, Young innate feelings all have felt below, And all which must be borne, and never told; Which perish in the rest, but in them were While life's strange principle will often lie Inherent; what we mortals call romantic, Deepest in, those who long, the most to die. And always envy, though we deen! it frantic. XII. XIX. " Whom the gods love die young," was said of yore,' This is in others a factitious state, And many deaths do they escape by this: An opium dream of too much youth and reading, The death of friends, and, that which slays even more- But was in them their nature or their fate; The death of friendship, love, yotth, all that is, No novels e'er had set their young hearts bleeding, Except mere breath; and since the silent shore For Haidee's knowledge was by no means great, Awaits at last even those whom longest miss And Juan was a boy of saintly breeding,'Ile old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave So that there was no reason for their loves, Which men weep over may be meant to save. More than for those of nightingales or doves. XIII. XX. tiaidee and Juarv thought not of the dead; They gazed upon the sunset;'tis an hour'he heavens,tnd earth,andair,seein'dmadeforthOm: Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes, They found no fault with time, save that he fled; For it had made them what they were: the powem They sew not in themselves aught to condemn: Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such skies iP.ach was toe other's mirror, and but read When happiness had been their only dower, Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem,. And twilight saw them link'd in passion's ties; And knew such brightness was but the reflection Charm'd with each other, all things charm'd that brought O4' tt.cr exchanging glances Gf affection. The past still welcome as the present thought. CANTO IV. DON JUAN. 60. XXI. XXVIII. I know not why, but in that hour to-night, They should have lived together deep in woods, Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came, Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were And swept, as'twere, across their hearts' delight, Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame, Call'd social, where all vice and hatred are: When one is shoak in sound, and one in sight; How lonely every freeborn creature broods! And thus some boding flash'd through either frame, The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair; And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh, The eag'e soars alone; the gull and crow While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye. Flock o'er their carrion, just as mortals do. XXII. XXIX. That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate Now pillow'd, cheek to cheek, in loving sleep, And follow far the disappearing sun, Haidee and Juan their slesta took, As if their last day of a happy date A gentle slumber, but it was not deep, With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone; For ever and anon a something shook Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate- Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would creep; He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none, And Haidee's sweet lips murmur'd like a brook His glance inquired of hers for some excuse A wordless music, and her face so fair For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse. Stirr'd with her dream as rose-leaves with the air: XXX. XXIII. X She turn'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort Or as the stirring of a dee clear stream Which makes not others smile; then Lurn'd aside: ithin an Alpine hollow, when the wind Walks over it, was she shaken by the dream, Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short,, als er it as she s byhe drea, And master'd by her wisdom or her pride; The mystical usurper of the mindWhen Juan spoke,rin us too-it might be in pot- be whate'er may seem Of this their mutual feeling, she replied- soulich we no more can bind "If it should be, so,-but-it cannot be- Strange state of being! (for'tis still to be) "If it should be so,-but-it cannot be- 7D Or I at least snail not survive to see." Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see. XXXI.,XXIV.','She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore, Juan would question further but she press'd se o h b Chain'd to a rock; she knew not how, but sti, His lips to hers, and silenced him with this, he could not fom the spotand the loud roar She could not from the spot, and the loud roar And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast, De* fy* i r with that fo *'Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her; Defying augury with that fond kiss; And no doubt of al eo ise b: And o'er her upper lip they seem'd to pour, And no doubt of all methods'tis the best: d n d i. t. Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were Some people prefer wine-'t is not amiss:,, ii^ i ii i r~~Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and high I have tried both; so those who would a part take i o, i i May choose between the head-ache nd e. Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die. May choose between the head-ache and the heart-ache. XXXII. XXV. Anon-she was released, and then she stray'd O)ne of the two, according to your choice, O'er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet, Women or wine, you'll have to undergo; nd stumbed almost every step she made; Both maladies are taxes on our joys: And something roll before her in a sheet But which to choose I really hardly know; hich she must still pursue howeer afraid Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid; And if I had to give a casting voice,'T was white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to men For both sides I could many reasons show, For both sides I could many reasons showv, Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and grasp'd, And then decide, without great wrong to either, ran, ut it escaped her as she clasp'd. It were much better to have both than neither.. XXXIII. XXVI. The dream changed: in a cave she stood, its walls Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other, Were hung with marble icicles; the work With swimming looks of speechless tenderness, Of ages on its water-fretted halls, Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother, Where waves might wash, anc seals might breed and All that the best can mingle and express, lurk; When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another, Her hair was dripping, and the very balls And love too much, and yet can not love less; Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and muat But almost sanctify the sweet excess The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caught, By the immnortal wish and power to bless. Which froze to marble as' it feli, she thought. XXVII. XXXIV. Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart, And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet, Why did they not then die?-theybad lived too long, Pale as the foam that fioth'd on his dead brow, Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart; Which she essay'd in vain to clear, (how sweet Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong, Were once her cares, how idle seem'd they now t't The world was not for them, nor the world's art Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat For beings passionate as Sappho's song; Of his quench'd heart; and the sea-dirges low Love was born with them, in them, so intense, Rati in her sad ears like a mermaid's song, It was their very spirit-not a sense. And that brief dream appcar'd a life too isil. 604 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO 1 XXXV. XLII. And gazing on the dead, she thought his face Lambro-presented, and one instant nore Faded, or alter'd into something new- Had stopp'd this canto, and Don Juan's breath, Like to her father's features, till each trace When Haidee threw herself her boy before, More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew- Stern as her sire: "On me," she cried, "let death With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace; Descend-the fault is mine; this fatal shore And starting, she awoke, and what to view! He found-but sought not. I have pledged my faith; Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there? I love him-I will die with him: I knew'Tis-'tis her father's-fix'd upon the pair! Your nature's firmness-know your daughter's too." XXXVI. XLIII. Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell, A minute past, and she had been all tears, With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see And tenderness, and infancy: but now Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwell She stood as one who champion'd human fearsThe ocean-buried, risen from death, to be Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the blow; Perchance the death of one she loved too well; And tall beyond her sex and their compeers, Dear as her father had been to Haidee, She drew up to her height, as if to show It was a moment of that awful kind- A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye scann'd I have seen such-but must not call to mind. Her father's face-but never stopp'd his hand. XXXVII. XLIV. Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek, He gazed on her, and she on him;'t was strange And caught her falling, and from off the wall How like they look'd! the expression was the same; Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak Serenely savage, with a little change Vengeance on him who was the cause of all: In the large dark eye's mutual-darted flame; Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak, For she too was as one who could avenge, Smiled scornfully, and said, " Within my call If cause should be-a lioness, though tame: A thousand scimitars await the word; Her father's blood before her father's face Put up, young man, put up your silly sword." Boil'd up, and proved her truly of his race. XXXVIII. XLV. And Haidee clung around* him; "Juan,'tis- I said they were alike, their features and'T is Lambro-'tis my father! Kneel with me- Their stature differing but in sex and years; He will forgive us-yes-it must be-yes. Even to the delicacy of their hands Oh! dearest father, in this agony There was resemblance, such as true blood wears; Of pleasure and of pain-even while I kiss And now to see them, thus divided, stand Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears, That doubt should mingle with my filial joy? And sweet sensations, should have welcomed both, Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy." Show what the passions are in their full growth. XXXIX. XLVI. IHigh and inscrutable the old man stood, The father paused a moment, then withdrew Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye- His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still, Not always signs with him of calmest mood: And looking on her, as to look her through, He look'd upon her, but gave no reply; "Not I," he said, "have sought this stranger's ill; Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood Not I have made this desolation: few Oft came and went, as there resolved to die; Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill; In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring But I must do my duty-how thou hast On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring. Done thine, the present vouches for the past. XL. XLVII. "Young man, your sword;" so Lambro once more said: "Let him disarm; or, by my father's head, Juan replied, "Not while this arm is fiee." His own shall roll before you like a ball!" The old man's cheek grew pale, but not with dread, He raised his whistle, as the word he said, And drawing from his belt a pistol, he And blew; another answer'd to the call, Replied, "Your blood be then on your own head." And rushing in disorderly, though led, Ther look'd close at the flint, as if to see And arm'd from boot to turban, one and all,'Twas fresh-for he had lately used the lock- Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank; And next proceeded quietly to cock. He gave the word, "Arrest or slay the Frank." XLI. XLVIII. It has a strange quick jar upon the ear, Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew That cocking of a pistol, when you know His daughter; while compress'd within his grasp, A moment more will bring the sight to bear'Twixt her and Juan -interposed the crew; Upon vour person, twelve vards off, or so; In vain she struggled in her father's grasp,A gentlemanly distance, not tbv near, His arms were like a;serpent's coil: then flew If you have got a former friend for foe; Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp, linlt after being fired at once or twice, The file of pirates; save the foremost, who The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice. Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through. CANTO IV. DON JUAN. 605 XLIX. LVI. The second had his cheek laid open; but Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took Her human clay is kindled: full of power The blows upon his cutlass, and then put For good or evil, burning from its birth, His own well in: so well, ere you could look, The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, His man was floor'd, and helpless at his foot, And like the soil beneath it will bring forth: With the blood running like a little brook Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower: From two smart sabre gashes, deep and red- But her large dark eye show'd.deep passion's force, One on the arm, the other on the head. Though sleeping like a lion near a source. L. LVII. And then they bound him where he fell, and bore Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray, Juan from the apartment: with a sign Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore, Till slowly charged with thunder they display Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine. Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar. Had held till now her soft and milky way;, Until they reach'd some galliots, placed in line; But, overwrought with passion and despair, On board of one of these, and under hatches, The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins, They stow'd him, with strict orders to the watches. Even as the simoom sweeps the blasted plains. LI. LVIII. The world is full of strange vicissitudes, The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore, And here was one exceedingly unpleasant: And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down; A gentleman so rich in the world's goods, His blood was running a.- the very floor Handsome and young, enjoying all the present, Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own: Just at the very time when he least broods Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,On such a thing, is suddenly to sea sent, Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan; Wounded and chain'd, so that he cannot move, On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held And all because a lady fell in love. Her writhing, fell she like a cedar felI'd. LII. LIX. Here I must leave him, for I grow pathetic, A vein had burst,2 and her sweet lips' pure dyes Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, green tea! Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er; Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic; And her head droop'd as when the lily lies For if my pure libations exceed three, O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaidsbore I feel my heart become so sympathetic, Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes; That I must have recourse to black Bohea: Of herbs and cordials they produced their store.'T is pity wine should be so deleterious, But she defied all means they could employ, For tea and coffee leave us much more serious. Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy. LIII. LX. Unless when qualified with thee, Cognac! Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill, Sweet Naiad of the Phlegethontic rill! With nothing livid, still her lips were red; Ah! why the liver wilt thou thus attack, She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still; And make, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill? No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead; I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack Corruption came not in each mind to kill (In each sense of the word), whene'er I fill All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred My mild and midnight beakers to the brim, New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul, Wakes me next morning with its synonym. She had so much, earth could not claim the whole. LIV. LXI. I leave Don Juan for the present safe- The ruling passion, such as marble shows Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded; When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there, Yet could his corporal' pangs amount to half But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws Of those with which his Haidee's bosom bounded? O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair; She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe, O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes, And then give way, subdued because surrounded; And ever-dying Gladiator's air, Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez, Their energy like life forms all their fame, Where all is Eden, or a wilderness. Yet looks not life, for they are still the same. LV. LXII. there the large olive rains its amber store She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake. In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit, Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new, Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er; A strange sensation which she must partake But there- too many a poison-tree has root, Perforce, since whatsoever met her view And midnight listens to the lion's roar, Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache And long, lcng deserts scorch the camel's foot, Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan, Brought back the sense of pain without the causs. And as the soil is, so the heart of mar. For, for a while, the furies made a pause. 606 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO V. LXII. LXX. She look'd on many a facewith vacant eye, She died, but not alone; she held within On many a token without knowing what; A second principle of life, which might She saw them watch her without asking why, Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin: And reck'd not who around her pillow sat; But closed its little being without light, Not speechless, though shle spoke not: not a sigh And went down to the grave unborn, wherein Reveal'd her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat Blossom and bough lie wither'd with one blight; Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave In vain the dews of heaven descend above No sign, save breath, of having left the grave. The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love. LXIV. LXXI. Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; Thus lived-thus died she: never more on her, Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away; Shall sorrow light or shame. She was not made She recognised no being, and no spot, Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, However dear or cherish'd in their day; Which colder hearts endure till they are laid They changed from room to room, but all forgot, By age in earth; her days and pleasures were Gentle, but without memory, she lay; Brief, but delightful-such as had not stay'd And yet those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well Back to old thoughts, seem'd full of fearful meaning. By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell. LXV, LXXII. At last a slave bethought her of a harp; That isle is now all desolate and bare, The harper came, and tuned his instrument; Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away, At the first notes, irregular and sharp, None but her own and father's grave is there, On him her flashing eyes a moment bent, And nothing outward tells of human clay: fhen to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair, Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent, No stone is there to show, no tongue to say And he began a long low island song What was; no dirge, except the hollow sea's, Of ancient days, ere tyranny.grew strong. Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades. LXVI. LXXIII. Anon her thin wan fingers, beat the wall But many a Greek maid in a loving song In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, Sighs o'er her name, and many an islander And sung of love-the fierce name struck through all With her sire's story makes the night less long; Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her; )f what she, was, and is, if ye could call If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrongto be so being; in a gushing stream A heavy price must all pay who thus err, The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain, In some shape; let none think to fly the danger, Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain. For soon or late Love is his own avenger. LXVII. LXXIV. Short solace, vain relief!-thought came too quick, But let me change this theme, which grows too sad, And whirl'd her brain to madness; she arose And lay this sheet of sorrow on the shelf; As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick, I don't much like describing people mad, And flew at all she met, as on her foes; For fear of seeming Father touch'd myselfBut no one ever heard her speak or shriek, Besides, I've no more on this head to add: Although her paroxysm drew towards its close: And as my Muse is a capricious elf, Hers was a frenzy which disdain'd to rave, We'll put about and try another tack Even when they smote her, in the hope to save. With Juan, left half-kill'd some stanzas back. LXVIII. LXXV. Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense; Wounded and fetter'd, "-cabin'd, cribb'd, confined," Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Some days and nights elapsed before that he Though on all other things with looks intense Could altogether call the past to mind; She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; And when he did, he found himself at sea, Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence Sailing six knots an hour before the wind; Avail'd for either; neither change of place, The shores of Ilion lay beneath their leeNor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her Another time he might have liked to see'em, Senses to sleep-the power seem'd' gone for ever. But now was not much pleased with Cape Sigaeum LXIX. LXXVI. Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last, There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show (Flank'd by the Hellespont and by the sea) A parting pang, the spirit from her pass'd: Entomb'd the bravest of the brave, Achilles: And they who watch'd her nearest could not know They say so-(Bryant says the contrary): t',, very instant, till the change that cast And further downward, tall and towering, still is llir sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, The tumulus-of whom? Heaven knows;'t may be Glhled o'er her eyes-the beautiful, the black- Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus,Ok., oossess such lustre-and then lack! All heroes, who if living still would slay us. CANTO IV. DON JUAN. 607 LXXVII. LXXXIV. High barrows, without marble or a name, "And then there are the dancers; there's the Ninl, A vast; untill'd, and mountain-skirted plain, With more than one profession, gains by all; &nd Ida in the distance, still the same, Then there's that laughing slut, the Pellegrini, And old Scamander (if'tis he), remain; She too was fortunate last carnival, The situation seems still form'd for fame- And made at least five hundred good zecchini, A hundred thousand men might fight again But spends so fast, she has not now a paul; With ease; but where I sought for Ilion's walls. And then there's the Grotesca-such a dancer! The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls; Where men have souls or bodies, she must answer. LXXVIII. LXXXN. Troops of untended horses; here and there " As for the figuranti, they are like Some little hamlets, with new names uncouth; The rest of all that tribe; with here and there Some shepherds (unlike Paris), led to stare A pretty person, which perhaps may strike, A moment at the European youth The rest are hardly fitted for a fair; Whom to the spot their school-boy feelings bear; There's one, though tall, and stiffer than a pike, A Turk, with beads in hand and pipe in mouth, Yet has a sentimental kind of air, Extremely taken with his own religion, Which might go far, but she don't dance with vigouf Are what I found there-but the devil a Phrygian. The more's the pity, with her face and figure. LXXIX. LXXXVI. Don Juan, here permitted to emerge "As for the men, they are a middling set; From his dull cabin, found himself a slave; The, Musico is but a crack'd o.d basin, Forlorn, and gazing on the deep-blue surge, But, being qualifed in one way yet, O'ershadow'd there by many a hero's grave: May the seraglio do to set his face in, Weak still with loss of blood, he scarce could urge And as a servant some preferment get; A few brief questions; and the answers gave His singing I no further trust can place in: No very satisfactory information From all the pope 4 makes yearly,'t would perplex About his past or present situation. To find three perfect pipes of the third sex. LXXX. LXXXVII. He saw some fellow-captives, who appear'd "The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation, To be Italians-as they were, in fact; And for the bass, the beast can only bellow; From them, at least, their destiny he heard, In fact, he had no singing education, Which was an odd one; a troop going to act An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow, In Sicily-all singers, duly rear'd But being the prima donna's near relation, In their vocation,-had not been attack'd, Who swore his voice was very rich and mellow, In sailing from Livorno, by the pirate, They hired him, though to hear him you'd believe But sold by the impresario at no high rate.3 An ass was practising recitative. LXXXI. LXXXVIII. By one of these, the buffo of the party, "'T would not become myself to dwell upon Juan was told about their curious case; My own merits, and though young-I see, sir-yoyw For, although destined to the Turkish mart, he Have got a travell'd air, which shows you one Still kept his spirits up-at least his face; To whom the opera is by no means new: The little fellow really look'd quite hearty, You've heard of Raucocanti?-I'm the man; And bore him with some gaiety and grace, The time may come when you may hear me too Showing a much more reconciled demeanour You was not last year at the fair of Lugo, Than did the prima donna and the tenor.'But next, when I'm engaged to sing there-do go. LXXXII. LXXXIX. In a few words he told their hapless story, "Our barytone I almost had forgot, Saying, "Our Machiavelian impresario, A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit; Making a signal off some promontory, With graceful action, science not a jot, Hail'd a strange brig; Corpo di Caio Mario! A voice of no great compass, and not sweet, We were transferr'd on board her in a hurry, He always is complaining of his lot, Without a single scudo of salario; Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street; But, if the sultan has a taste for song, In lovers' parts, his passion more to breathe. We will revive our fortunes before long. Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth." LXXXIII. XC. " The prima donna, though a little old, Here Raucocanti's eloquent reciial And haggard with a dissipated life, Was interrupted by the pirate crew, And subject, when the house is thin, to cold, Who came at stated moments to invite all Has some good notes; and then the tenor's wife, The captives back to their sad births; each threw With no great voice, is pleasing to behold; A rueful glance upon the waves (which bright ai. Last carnival she made a deal of strife, From the blue skies derived a d'ouble blue. By carrymg off Count Caesar C.iogna, Dancing all free and happy in the sun), From an old Roman princess at Bologna. And then went down the hatchway one bv one (08 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO IV XCI. XCVIII. They heard, next day, that in the Dardanelles,'T is all the same to me, I'm fond of yielding, Waiting for his sublimity's' firman- And therefore leave them to the purer page The most imperative of sovereign spells, Of Smollet, Prior, Ariosto, Fielding, Which every body does without who can, — Who say strange things for so correct an age; More to secure them in their naval cells, I once had great alacrity in wielding Lady to lady, well as man to man, My pen, and liked poetic war to wage, Were to be chained and lotted out per couple And recollect the time when all this cant For the slave-market of Constantinople. Would have provoked remarks which now it shanr XCI1. XCIX. It seems when this allotment was made out, As boys love rows, my boyhood liked a squabble, There chanced to be an odd male and odd female, But at this hour I wish to part in peace, Who (after some discussion and some doubt Leaving such to the literary rabble. If the soprano might be doom'd to be male, Whether my verse's fame be doom'd to cease They placed him o'er the women as a scout) While the right hand which wrote it still is able, Were link'd together, and it happen'd the male Or of some centuries to take a lease, Was Juan, who-an awkward thing at his age- The grass upon my grave will grow as long, Pair'd off with a Bacchante's blooming visage. And sigh to midnight winds, but not to song. XCIII. C. With Raucocanti lucklessly was chain'd Of poets, who come down to us through distance The tenor; these two hated with a hate Of time and tongues, the foster-babes of fame, Found only on the stage, and each more pain'd Life seems the smallest portion of existence; With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate; Where twenty ages gather o'er a name, Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grain'd,'T is as a snowball which derives assistance Instead of bearing up without debate, From every flake, and yet rolls on the same, That each pull'd different ways with many an oath, Even till an iceberg it may chance to grow,Arcades ambo," id est —blackguards both. But after all't is nothing but cold snow. XCIV. CI. Juan's companion was a Romagnole, And so great names are nothing more than nominal, But bred within the March of old Ancona, And love of glory's but an airy lust, With eyes that look'd into the very soul, Too often in its fury overcoming all (And othdr chief points of a "bella donna"), Who would, as't were, identify their dust Bright-and as black and burning as a coal; From out the wide destruction, which, entombing al And through her clear brunette complexion shone a Leaves nothing till the coming of the justGreat wish to please-a most attractive dower, Save change: I've stood upon Achilles' tomb, Especially when added to the power. And heard Troy doubted; time will doubt of Rome. XCV. CII. But all that power was wasted upon him, The very generations of the dead For sorrow o'er each sense held stern command; Are swept away, and tomb inherits tomb, Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim; Until the memory of an age is fled, And though thus chain'd, as natural her hand And, buried, sinks beneath its offspring's doom: rouch'd his, nor that-nor any handsome limb Where are the epitaphs our fathers read? (And she had some not easy to withstand) Save a few glean'd from the sepulchral gloom, Could stir his pulse, or make his faith feel brittle; Which once-named myriads nameless lie beneath, Perhaps his recent wounds might help a little. And lose their own in universal death. XCVI. CIII. No matter; we should ne'er too much inquire, I canter by the spot each afternoon But facts are facts,-no knight could be more true, Where perish'd in his fame the hero-boy, And firmer faith no ladye-love desire'; Who lived too long for men, but died too soon We will omit the proofs, save one or two. For human vanity, the young De Foix! "'is said no one in hand "can hold a fire A broken pillar not uncouthly hewn, By thought of frosty Caucasus," but few But which neglect is hastening to destroy, I really think; yet Juan's then ordeal Records Ravenna's carnage on its face, Was more triumphant, and not much less real. While weeds and ordure rankle round the base., XCVII. CIV. Ittre; might enter on a chaste description, I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid; lIaving withstood temptation in my youth, A little cupola, more neat than solemn, But hear that several people take exception Protects his dust, but reverence here is paid At the first two books having too much truth; To the bard's tomb, and not the warrior's column, Therefore I'" make Don Juan leave the ship soon, The time must come when both, alike decay'd, Because the publisher declares, in sooth, The chieftain's trophy and the poet's volume, lirouah needles' eyes it easier for the camel is Will sink where lie the songs and wars of earth, lo pass, than those two cantos into families. Before Pelides' death or Homer's birth. CANTO IV. DON JUAN. 609 CV. CXII. With human blood that column was cemented, Humboldt, "the first of travellers," but not With human filth that column is defiled, The last, if late accounts be accurate, As if the peasant's coarse contempt were vented, Invented, by some name I have forgot, To show his loathing of the spot he spoil'd; As well as the sublime discovery's date, Thus is the trophy used, and thus lamented An airy instrument, with which he sought Should ever be those blood-hounds, from whose wild To ascertain the atmospheric state, Instinct of gore and glory earth has known By measuring " the intensity of blue:" Those sufferings Dante saw in hell alone. Oh, Lady Daphne! let me measure you! CVI. CXIII. Yet there will still be bards; though fame is smoke, But to the narrative.-The vessel bound Its fumes are frankincense to human thought; With slaves to sell off in the capital, And the unquiet feelings, which first woke After the usual process, might be found Song in the world, will seek what then they sought; At anchor under the seraglio wall; As on the beach the waves at last are broke, Her cargo, from the plague being safe and sound, Thus to their extreme verge the passions brought, Were landed in the market, one and all, Dash into poetry, which is but passion, And there, with Georgians, Russians, and Circassians, Or at least was so ere it grew a fashion. Bought up for different purposes and passions. CVII. CXIV. If in the course of such a life as was Some went off dearly: fifteen hundred dollars At once adventurous and contemplative, For one Circassian, a sweet girl, were given, Men who partake all passions as they pass, Warranted virgin; beauty's brightest colours Acquire the deep and bitter power to give Had deck'd her out in all the hues of heaven: Their images again, as in a glass, Her sale sent home some disappointed bawlers, And in such colours that, they seem to live; Who bade on till the hundreds reach'd eleven; You may do right forbidding them to show'em, But when the offer went beyond, they knew But spoil (I think) a very pretty poem.'T was for the sultan, and at once withdrew. CVIII. CXV. Oh! ye, who make the fortunes of all books! Twelve negresses from Nubia brought a price Benign ceruleans of the second sex! Which the West-Indian market scarce would bring; Who advertise new poems by your looks, Though Wilberforce, at last, has made it twice Your "imprimatur" will ye not annex?- What'twas ere abolition; and the thing What, must I go to the oblivious cooks,- Need not seem very wonderful, for vice Those Cornish plunderers of Parnassian wrecks? Is always much more splendid than a king: Ah! must I then the only minstrel be The virtues, even the most exalted, charity, Proscribed from tasting your Castalian tea? Are saving-vice spares nothing for a rarity. CIX. CXVI. What, can I prove "a lion" then no more? But for the destiny of this young troop, A ball-room bard, a foolscap, hot-press darling, How some were bought by pachas, some by Jews, To bear the compliments of many a bore, How some to burdens were obliged to stoop, And sigh "I can't get out," like Yorick's starling. And others rose to the command of crews Why then I'1 swear, as poet Wordy swore As renegadoes; while in hapless group, (Because the world won't read him, always snarling), Hoping no very old vizier might choose, That taste is gone, that fame is but a lottery, The females stood, as one by one they pick'd'emn Drawn by the blue-coat misses of a coterie. To make a mistress, or fourth wife, or victim. CX. CXVII. Oh! "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue," All this must be reserved for further song; As some one somewhere sings about the sky, Also our hero's lot, howe'er unpleasant, And I, ye learned ladies, say of you; (Because this canto has become too long), They say your stockings are so (Heaven knows why, Must be postponed discreetly for the present; I have examined few pair of that hue); I':n sensible redundancy is wrong, Blue as the garters which serenely lie But could not for the muse of me put less;i. t' Round the patrician left-ilgs, which adorn And now delay the progress of Don Juan, The festal midnight and the levee morn. Till what is call'd in Ossian the fifth Duan. CXI. Ye, done of you are most seraphic creaturesBut times are alter'd since, a rhyming lover, You read my stanzas, and I read your features: And-but no matter, all those things are over;:*:**:* Still I have no dislike to learned natures, For sometimes such a world of virtues cover; I know-one woman of that purple school, The loveliest, chastest, best, but-quite a-fool. 3E 82 610 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO V. VII. A crowd (f shivering slaves of every nation, And age, and sex, were in the market ranged; Each bevy with the merchant in his station: CANT(O V Poor creatures! their good looks were sadly changed. All save the blacks seem'd jaded with vexation, From friends, and home, and freedom far estranged The negroes more philosophy display'd,Used to it, no doubt, as eels are to be flay'd. I. VIII. WHEN amatory poets sing their loves Juan was juvenile, and thus was full, In liquid lines mellifluously bland, As most at his age are, of hope, and health; And praise their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves, Yet I must own he look'd a little dull, They little think what mischief is in hand; And now and then a tear stole down by stealth;'he greater their success the worse it proves, Perhaps his recent loss of blood might pull As Ovid's verse may make you understand; His spirit down; and then the loss of wealth, Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity, A mistress, and such comfortable quarters, Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity. To be put up for auction amongst Tartars, II. IX. I therefore do denounce all amorous writing, Were things to shake a stoic; ne'ertheless, Except in such a way as not to attract; Upon the whole his carriage was serene: Plain-simple-short, and by no means inviting, His figure, and the splendour of his dress, But with a moral to each error tack'd, Of which some gilded remnants still were seen, Form'd rather for instructing than delighting, Drew all eyes on him, giving them to guess And with all passions in their turn attack'd; He was above the vulgar by his mien; Now, if my Pegasus.should not be shod ill, And then, though pale, he was so very handsome; This poem will become a moral model. And then-they calculated on his ransom. III. X. The European with the Asian shore Like a backgammon-board the place was dotted Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream,' With whites and blacks, in groups on show for sale, Here and there studded with a seventy-four; Though rather more irregularly spotted: Sophia's cupola with golden gleam; Some bought the jet, while others chose the pale. T'le cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar; It chanced, amongst the other people lotted, The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream, A man of thirty, rather stout and hale, Far less describe, present the very view With resolution in his dark-gray eye, Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu. Next Juan stood, till some might choose to buy. IV. XI. I have a passion for the name of "Mary," Ie had an English ioo; that is, was square For once it was a magic sound to me, In make, of a complexion white and ruddy, And still it half calls up the realms of fairy, Good teeth, with curling rather dark-brown hair, Where I beheld what never was to be; And it might be from thought, or toil, or study, Ail feelings changed, but this was last to vary, An open brow a little mark'd with care: A spell from which even yet I am not quite free: One arm had on a bandage rather bloody; But I grow sad-and let a tale grow cold, And there he stood with such sang-froid, that greater Which must not be pathetically told. Could scarce be shown even by a mere spectator. V. XII. The wind swept down the Euxine and the wave But seeing at his elbow a mere lad, Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades, Of a high spirit evidently, though "1' is a grand sight, from off " the Giant's Grave,"2 At present weigh'd down by a doom which had To watch the progress of those r'olling seas O'erthrown even men, he soon began to show Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave A kind of blunt compassion for the sad Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease; Lot of so young a partner in the woe, There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in Which for himself he seem'd to deem no worse Turns up more dangerous breakers than the'Euxine. Than any other scrape, a thing of course. VI. XIII.'I' was a raw day of Autumn's bleak beginning, "My boy!"-said he, "amidst this motley crew When nights are equal, but not so the days; Of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and what not, I'he Parcae then cut short the further spinning All ragamuffins differing but in hue, Of seamen's fates, and the loud tempests raise With whom it is our luck to cast our lot, The waters, and repentance for past sinning The only gentlemen seem I and you, In all who o-er the great deep take their ways: So let us be acquainted,-as we ought: They vow to amend their lives, and yet they don't; If I could yield you any consolation, Because if drown'd, they can't-if spared, they won't.'T would give me pleasure.-Pray, whatis your natio,7" CAN~O V. DON JUAN. 611 XIV, XXI. When Juan answer'd "Spanish!" he replied, "You take things coolly, sir," said Juan. "Why," "I thought, in fact, you could not be a Greek; Replied the other, "what can a man do? Those servile dogs are not so proudly eyed: There still are many rainbows in-your sky, Fortune has play'd you here a pretty freak, But mine have vanish'd. All, when life is new, But that's her way with all men till they're tried: Commence with feelings warm and prospects highi But never mind,-she'11 turn, perhaps, next week; But time strips our illusions of their hue, She has served me also much the same as you, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Except that I have found it nothing new." Casts off its bright skin yearly, like the snake. XV. XXII. " Pray, sir," said Juan, "if I may presume, "'T is true, it gets another bright and fresh, What brought you here?"- "Oh! nothingvery rare- Or fresher, brighter; but, the year gone through, Six Tartars and a drag-chain-"-" To this doom This skin must go the way too of all flesh, By what conducted, if the question's fair, Or sometimes only wear a week or two;Is that which I would learn."-" I served for some Love's the first net which spreads its deadly mesh, Months with the Russian army here and there, Ambition, avarice, vengeance, glory, glue And taking lately, by Suwarrow's bidding, The glittering lime-twigs of our latter days, A town, was ta'en myself instead of Widin." Where still we flutter on for pence or praise." XVI. XXIII. UHave younofriends?"-"'I had-but,by God'sblessing, " All this is very fine, and may be true," Have not been troubled with them lately. Now Said Juan; " but I really don't see how [ have answer'd all your questions without pressing, betters present times with me or you." And you an equal courtesy should show."-!" quoth the other; "yet youwill allow, "Alas!" said Juan, "'t were a tale distressing, By setting things in their right point of view, And long besides."-" Oh! if'tis really so, Knowledge, at least, is gain'd; for instance, now, You're right on both accounts to hold your tongue'; We know what slavery is, and our disasters A sad tale saddens doubly when't is long.ay teach us better to behave when masters." XXIV. XVII XXIV. *u droo.XVII.r " Would we were masters now, if but to try " But droop not: Fortune, at your time of life, Although a female moderately fickle, Their present lessons on our pagan friends here," Although a female moderately fickle, Said Juan-swallowing a heart-burning sigh: Will hardly leave you (as she's not your wife) S i For any length of days in such a pickle. "Heav'n help the scholar whom his fortune sends For any length of days in such a pickle. ^, ro strive too with our fate were such a strifee, As if the corn-sheaf should oppose the sickle: Perhaps we shall be one day, by and by, Rejoin'd the other, " when our bad luck mends here, Men are the sport of circumstances, when The circumstances seem the sport of men." Meantime (yon old black eunuch seems to eye us) I wish to G-d that somebody would buy us! XVIII. XXV. I'Tis not," said Juan, "for my present doom "But after all, what is our present state? I mourn, but for the past;-I loved a maid:"'Tis bad, and may be better-all men's lot. He paused, and his dark eye grew full of gloom; Most men are slaves, none more so than the grea, A single tear upon his eyelash staid To their own whims and passions, and what not; A moment, and then dropp'd; "but to resume, Society itself, which should create'T is not my present lot, as I have said, Kindness, destroys what little we had got: Which I deplore so much; for I have borne To feel for none is the true social art Hardships which have the hardiest overworn, Of the world's stoics-men without a heart" XIX. XXVI. "On the rough deep. But this last blow —" and here Just now a black old neutral personage He stopp'd again, and turn'd away his face. Of the third sex stepp'd up, and peering over "Ay," quoth his friend, "I thought it would appear The captives, seem'd to mark their looks, and age, That there had been a lady in the case; And capabilities, as to discover And these are things which ask a tender tear, If they were fitted for the purposed cage: Such as I too would shed, if in your place: No lady e'er is ogled by a lover, I cried upon my fiist wife's dying day, Horse by a blackleg, broadcloth by a tailor, And also when my second ran away: Fee by a counsel, felon by a jailor, XX. XXVII.'"iy third"-"Your third! quoth Juan,turning round; As is a slave by his intended bidder. " You scarcely can be thirty: have you three?"'T is pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures, "No-only two at present above ground: And all are to be sold, if you consider Surely't is nothing wonderful to see Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by featjre One person thrice in holy wedlock bound!" Are bought up, others by a warlike leader," Well, then, your third," said Juan'; "what did she? Some by a place-as tend their years or natures, She did not lun away, too, did she, sir?" The most by ready cash-but all have prices, uNo, faith."-" What then?"-"I ran away from her," From crowns to kicks, according to their vices. 612 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO V. XXVIII. XXXV. The eunuch having eyed them o'er with care, I gazed upon him, for I knew him well; Turn'd to the merchant, and began to bid And, though I have seen many corpses, never First but for one, and after for the pair; Saw one, whom such an accident befell, They haggled, wrangled, swore, too-so they did! So calm; though pierced through stomach, heart, As though they were in a mere Christian fair, and liver, Cheapening an ox, an ass, a lamb, or kid; He seem'd to sleep, for you could scarcely tell So that their bargain sounded like a battle (As he bled inwardly, no hideous river For this superior yoke of human cattle. Of gore divulged the cause) that he was dead:-.XXIX. So as I gazed on him, I thought or saidAt last they settled into simple grumbling, XXXVI. And. pulling out reluctant purses, and "Can this be death? then what is life or death? turning each piece of silver o'er, and tumbling Speak!" but he spoke not: "wake!" but still he slept: Some down, and weighing others in their hand, But yesterday, and who had mightier breath? And by mistake sequins with paras jumbling, A thousand warriors by his word were kept Until the sum was accurately scann'd, In awe: he said, as the centurion saith, And then the merchant, giving change and signing'Go,' and he goeth;'come,' and forth he stepp'd. Receipts in full, began to think of dining. The trump and bugle till he spake were dumbb ~XXX. And now nought left him but the muffled drum." XXX. I wonder if his appetite was good; XXXVI. Or, if it were, if also his digestion. And they who waited once and worshipp'd-they Iethinks at meals some odd thoughts might intrude, With their rough faces throng'd about the bed, And conscience ask a curious sort of question, To gaze once more on the commanding clay About the right divine how far we should About the right divine how far we should Which for the last though not the first time bled; Sell flesh and blood. When dinner has oppress'd one, And such an end! that he who many aday I think it is perhaps the gloomiest hour Had faced Napoleon's foes until they fled,Which turns up out of the sad twenty-four. The foremost in the charge or in the sally, Should now be butcher'd in a civic alley. XXXI. XXI.XXVIII. Voltaire says "No;" he tells you thatCandide X VI Voutaire says "to; he tells you that Cande The scars of his old wounds were near his new, Found life most tolerable after meals HeT's wog -ne'man w *1as a 1 pg Those honourable scars which brought him fame; He's wrong-unless man was a pig, indeed, indett aw he feed, And horrid was the contrast to the viewRepletion rather adds to what he feels; But let me quit the theme, as such things claim Unless he's drunk, and then no doubt he's freed Perhaps even more attention than is due From his own brain's oppression while it reels. Perhaps even more attention than is due Orf food-i think wih PI hi. l1 son, or ratherFrom me: I gazed (as oft I have gazed the same) Of food I think with Philip's son, or rather,,1 1- i l, To try if I could wrench aught out of death, Ammon's (ill pleased with one world and one father); Whh ould confir sh, or m a faith; Which should confirm, or shake, or make a faith; XXXII. XXXIX. I think with Alexander, that the act But it was all a mystery. Here we are, Of eating, with another act or two, And there we go: —but where? five bits of lead, Makes us feel our mortality in fact Or three, or two, or one, send very far! Redoubled; when a roast and a ragout, And is this blood, then, form'd but to be shed? And fish and soup, by some side dishes back'd, Can every element our elements mar? Can give us either pain or pleasure, who And air-earth-water-fire live-and we dead? Would pique himself on intellects, whose use We, whose minds comprehend all things? No more. Depends so much upon the gastric juice? But let us to the story as before. XXXIII. -XL. The other evening ('twas on Friday last)- The purchaser of Juan and acquaintance This is a fact, and no poetic fable- Bore off his bargains to a gilded boat, Just as my great coat was about me cast, Embark'd himself and them, and off they went thence My hat and gloves still lying on the table, As fast as oars could pull and water float; I heard a shot-'twas eight o'clock scarce past- They look'd like persons being led to sentence, And running out-as fast as I was able,3 Wondering what next, till the caique was brought I lound the military commandant Up in a little creek below a wall btretch'd in tne street, and able scarce to pant. O'ertopp'd with cypresses dark-green and tall. XXXIV. XLI. Poor fellow! for some reason, surely bad, Here their conductor tapping at the wicket They had slain him with five slugs; and left him there Of a small iron door,'t was open'd, and 1'o perish on the pavement: so I had He led them onward, first through a low thicket Him borne into the house and up the stair, Flank'd by large groves which tower'd on either hand' And stripp'd, and look'd to-But why should I add They almost lost their way, and had to pick itMore circumstances? vain was every care; For night was closing ere they came to lana. The man was gone: in some Italian quarrel The eunuch made a sign to those on board, KiUld by five buliets from an old gun-barrel.* Who row'd off, leaving them without a word. SANTO V. DON JUAN. 613' XLII. XLIX. As they were plodding on their winding way, But I digress: of all appeals,-although Through orange bowers, and jasmine, and so forth, I grant the power of pathos, and of gold, (Of which I might have a good deal to say, Of beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling,,-no There being no such profusion in the North Method's more sure at moments to take hold Of oriental plants, " et caetera," Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow But that of late your scribblers think it worth More tender, as we every day behold, Their while to rear whole hotbeds in their works, Than that all-softening, o'erpowering knell, Because one poet travell'd'mongst the Turks): The tocsin of the soul-the dinner-bell. XLIII. L. As they were threading on their way, there came Turkey contains no bells, and yet men dine: Into Don Juan's head a thought, which he And Juan and his friend, albeit they heard Whisper'd to his companion:-'t was the same No Christian knoll to table, saw no line Which might have then occurr'd to you or me. Of lacqueys usher to the feast prepared,'Methinks,"-said he-" it would be no great shame Yet smelt roast-meat, beheld a huge fire shine, If we should strike a stroke to set us free; And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared, Let's knock that old black fellow oh the head, And gazed around them to the left and right And march away-'twere easier done than said." With the prophetic eye of appetite. XLIV. LI.' Yes," said the other, " and when done, what then? And giving up all notions of resistance, How get out? how the devil got we in? Theyfollow'd close behind their sable guide, And when we once were fairly out, and when Who little thought that his own cract'd existence From Saint Bartholomew we have saved our skin, Was on the point of being set aside: To-morrow'd see us in some other den, He motion'd them to stop at some small distance, And worse off than we hitherto have been; And knocking at the gate,'t was opcn'd wxde, Besides, I'm hungry, and just now would take, And a magnificent large hall display'd Like Esau, for my birthright, a beef-steak. The Asian pomp of Ottoman parade. XLV. LII. "We must be near some place of man's abode; I won't describe; description is my forte, For the old negro's confidence in creeping, But every fool describes in these bright days With his two captives, by so queer a road, His wond'rous journey to some foreign court, Showsthathethinkshisfriendshavenol.beensleeping; And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise - A single cry would bring them all abroad: Death to his publisher, to him'tis sport'T is therefore better looking before leaping- While nature, tortured twenty thousand ways, And there, you see, this turn has brought us through. Resigns herself with exemplary patience By Jove, a noble palace!-lighted too." To guide-books, rhymes, tours, sketches, illustrations XLVI. LIII. It was indeed a wide extensive building Along this hall, and up and down, some, squatted Which open'd on their view, and o'er the front Upon their hams, were occupied at chess; There seem'd to be besprent a deal of gilding Others in monosyllable talk chatted, And various hues, as is the Turkish wont,- And some seem'd much in love with their own dress, A gaudy taste; for they are little skill'd in And divers smoked superb pipes decorated The arts of which these lands were once the font: With amber mouths of greater price or less; Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screen And several strutted, others slept, and some New painted, or a pretty opera-scene. Prepared for supper with a glass of rum. XLVII. LIV. And nearer as they came, a genial savour As the black eunuch enter'd with'his brace Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus, Of purchased infidels, some raised their eyes Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour, A moment without slackening from their pace; Made Juan in his harsh intentions pause, But those who sate ne'er stirr'd in any wise: And put himself upon his good behaviour: One or two stared the captives in the face, His friend, too, adding a new saving clause, Just as one views a horse to guess his price; Said, " In Heaven's name let's get some supper now, Some nodded to the negro from their station, And then I'm with you, if you're for a row." But no one troubled him with conversation. XLVIII. LV. Some talk of an appeal unto some passion, He leads them through the hall, and, without stolping Some to men's feelings, others to their reason.; On through a farther range of goodly rooms, The last of these was never much the fashion, Splendid but silent, save in one, where, dropping, For reason thinks all reasoning out of season. A marble fountain echoes through the glooms Some speakers whine, and others lay the lash on, Of night, which robe the chamber, or where ponDDln But more or less continue still to tease on, Some fenmae head most curiously p esumes With arguments according to their "forte;" To thrust its black eyes through the door or.attie, But no one ever dreams of being short. As wondering what the devil noise:hat is. 3 E 2 014 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO V. LVI. LXIII. Some faint lamps gleaming from the lofty walls Yet let them think that Horace has express'd. Gave light enough to hint their farther way, Shortly and sweetly the masonic folly But not enough to'show the impenal halls Of those, forgetting the great place of rest, In all the flashing of their full array; Who give themselves to architecture wholly; Perhaps there s nothing- I'II not say appals, We know where things and men must end at last; But saddens more by night as well as day, A moral (like all morals) melancholy, Than an enormous room without a soul And " Et sepulcri immemor struis dornos" To break the lifeless splendour of the whole. Shows that we build when we should but entomb us. LVII. LXIV. Two or three seem so little, one seems nothing: At last they reach'd a quarter most retired, In deserts, forests, crowds, or by the shore, Where echo woke as if from a long slumber: There solitude, we know, has her full growth im Though full of all things which could be desired, The spots which were her realms for evermore: One wonder'd what to do with such a number But in a mighty hall or gallery, both in Of articles which nobody required; More modern buildings and those built of yore, Here wealth had done its utmost to encumber A kind of death,comes o'er us all alone,. With furniture an exquisite apartment, Seeing what's meant for many with but one. Which puzzled nature much to know what art meant. LVIII. LXV. A neat,-snug study on a winter's night,- It seem'd however, but to open on A book, friend, single lady, or a glass A range or suite of further chambers, which Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite, Might lead to heaven knows where; but in this one Are things which make an English evening pass; The moveables were prodigally rich; Though cetes by no means so grand a sight Sofas't was half a sin to sit upon, As is a theatre lit up by. gas. So costly were they; carpets every stitch I pass my evenings in long galleries solely, Of workmanship so rare, that made you wish And that's the reason I'm so melancholy. You could glide o'er them like a golden fish. LIX. LXVI. Alas! man makes that great which makes him little: The black, however, without hardly deigning I grant you in a church'tis very well: A glance at that which wrapt the slaves in wonaer, What speaks of Heaven should by no means be brittle, Trampled. what they scarce trod for fear of staining, But strong and lasting, till no tongue can tell As if the milky way their feet was under Their names who rear'd it; but huge houses fit ill — With all its stars: and with a stretch attaining And huge tombs worse-mankind, since Adam fell: A certain press or cupboard, niched in yonder Methinks the story of the tower of Babel In that remote recess which you may seeMight teach them this much better than I'm able. Or if you don't, the fault is not in me: LX. LXVII. Babel was Nimrod's hunting-seat, and then I wish to be perspicuous: and the black, A town of gardens, walls, and wealth amazing, I say, unlocking the recess, pull'd forth Where Nabuchadonosor, king of men, A quantity of clothes fit for the back Reign'd, till one summer's day he took to grazing, Of any Mussulman, whate'er his worth; And Daniel taned the lions in their den, And of variety there was no lackThe people's awe and admiration raising; And yet, though I have said there was no dearth IT was famous, too, for Thisbe and for Pyramus, He chose himself to point out what he thought And the calumniated Queen Semiramis. Most proper for the Christians he had bought. LXI. LXVIII. * * * * *.The suit he thought most suitable to each Was, for the elder and the stouter, first A Candiote cloak, which to the knee might reach, And trowsers not so tight that they would burst But such as fit an Asiatic breech; A shawl, whose folds in.Cashmire had been nurat Slippers of saffron, dagger rich and handy; * * * * In short, all things which form a Turkish dandy. LXII. LXIX. Aut to resume,-should there be (what may not While he was dressing, Baba, their black friend, Be in these days?) some infidels, who don't, Hinted the vast advantages which they Because they can't find out the very spot Might probably attain both in the end. Of that same Babel, or because thev won't If they would but pursue the proper way IThough CGaudius Rich, esquire, some bricks has get. Which fortune plainly seem'd to recommend; And written lately two memoirs upon't), And then he added, that he needs must say, Believe the Jews, those unbelievers, who "'T would greatly tend to better their condition, M'ust be be.ieved, though they believe not you:- If they would condescend to circumcision. CANTO V. DON JUAN. 61 LXX. LXXVII. "For his own part, he really should rejoice And then he swore; and, sighing, on he slipp d To see them true believers, but no less A pair of trowsers of flesh-colour'd silk; Would leave his proposition to their choice." Next with a virgin zone he was equipp'd, The other, thanking him for this excess Which girt a slight chemise as white as milk; Of goodness in thus leaving them a voice But, tugging on his petticoat, he tripp'd, In such a trifle, scarcely could express Which-as we say-or as the Scotch say, whilk " Sufficiently (he said) his approbation (The rhyme obliges me to this:-sometimes Of all the customs of this polish'd nation. Kings are not more imperative than rhymes)LXXI. LXXVIII. "For his own share-he saw but small objection Whilk, which (or what you please) was owing to To so respectable an ancient rite, His garment's novelty, and his being awkward; And after swallowing down a slight refection, And yet at last he managed to get through For which he owned a present appetite, His toilet, though no doubt a little backward; He doubted not a few hours of reflection The negro Baba help'd a little too, Would reconcile him to the business quite." — When some untoward part of raiment stuck hard "Will it?" said Juan, sharply; "Strike me dead, And, wrestling both his arms into a gown, But they as soon shall circumcise my head- He paused and took a survey up and down. LXXII. LXXIX. "Cut off a thousand heads, before -"-" Now pray," One difficulty still remain'd,-his hair Replied the other, "du not interrupt: Was hardly long enough; but Baba found You put me out in what I had to say. So many false long tresses all to spare, Sir!-as I said, as soon as I have supp'd, That soon his head was most completely cic-vn'd, I shall perpend if your proposals may After the manner then in fashion there; B'e such as I can properly accept: And this addition with such gems was bound Provided always your great goodness still As suited the ensemble of his toilet, Remits the matter to our own free-will." While Baba made him comb his head and oil it. LXXIII. LXXX. Baba eyed Juan, and said "Be so good And now being femininely all array'd, As dress yourself-" and pointed out a suit With some small aid from scissors, paint, and In which a princess with great pleasure would tweezers, Array her limbs; but Juan standing mute, He look'd in almost all respects a maid, As not being in a masquerading mood, And Baba smilingly exclaim'd,'"You see, sl.s, Gave it a slight kick with his Christian foot; A perfect transformation here display'd; And when the old negro told him to "Get ready," And now, then, you must come along with me, sirs, Replied, "Old gentleman, I'm not a lady." That is-the lady:"-clapping his hands twice, LXXIV. Four blacks were at his elbow in a trice. "What you maybe, I neither know nor care," LXXXI. Said Baba, "but pray do as I desire, "You, sir," said Baba, nodding to the one, I have no more time nor many words to spare." "Will please to accompany those gentlemen "At least," said Juan, " sure I may inquire To supper; but you, worthy Christian nun, The cause of this odd travesty?"-"Forbear," Will follow me: no trifling, sir: for when Said Baba, "to be curious:'twill transpire, I say a thing, it must at once be done. No doubt, in proper place, and time, and season: What fear you? think you this a lion's deni I have no authority to tell the reason." Why'tis a palace, where the truly wise LXXV. Anticipate the Prophet's paradise. Then if I do,' said Juan, " I'11 be-" " Hold!" LXXXII.'Rejoin'd the negro, "pray be not provoking; "You fool! I tell you no one means you harm.' This spirit's well, but it may wax too bold, " So much the better," Juan said, "for them: And you will find us not too fond of joking." Else they shall feel the weight of this my arm, "What, sir," said Juan, "shall it e'er be-told Which is not quite so light as you may deem. That I unsex'd my dress?" But Baba, stroking I yield thus far; but soon will break the charm, The things down, said-"Incense me, and I call If any take me for that which I seem; Those who will leave you of no sex at all. So that I trust, for every body's sake, LXXVI. That this disguise may lead to no mistake.' "I offer you a handsome suit of clothes: LXXXIII. A woman's, true; but then there is a cause "Blockhead! come on, and see," quoth Baba; wihu Why you should wear them."-" What, though my Don Juan, turning to his comrade, who, soul loathes Though somewhat grieved, could scarce forbear a Sroa" The effeminate garb?"-Thus, after a short pause, Upon the metamorphosis in view, Sigh'd Juan, muttering also some slight oaths, "Farewell!" they mutually exclaim'd: "this soil,"What the devil shall I do with all this gauze?" Seems fertile in adventures strange and new; Thus he profanely term'd the finest lace One's turn'd half Mussulman, and one a maid, Which e'er set off a marriage-morning face. By this old black enchanter's unsought aid." 616 BYROIN'S WORKS. CANTO V. LXXXIV. XCI. "Farewell!" said Juan; "should we meet no more, Before they enter'd, Baba paused to hint I wish you a good appetite." —" Farewell " To Juan some slight lessons as his guide: Replied the other; "though it grieves me sore; "If you could just contrive," he'said, "to stint When we next meet we'Il have a tale to tell; That somewhat manly majesty of stride, We needs must follow when Fate puts from shore.'T would be as well, and-(though there's not much Keep your good name; though Eve herself once fell." in't) — *'Nay,"quoththemaid,"theSultan'sselfshan'tcarryme, To swing a little less from side to side, Unless his highness promises to marry me." Which has at times an aspect of the oddest; LXXXV. And also, could you look a little modest, And thus they parted, each by separate doors; XCII. Baba led Juan onward, room by room, *'Twould be convenient; for these mutes have eyes Through glittering galleries and o'er marble floors, Like needles, which might pierce those petticoats; Till a gigantic portal through the gloom, And if they should discover your disguise, Haughty and huge, along the distance towers; You know how near us the deep Bosphorus floats; And wafted far arose a rich perfume: And you and I may chance, ere morning rise, It seem'd as though they came upon a shrine, To find our way to Marmora without boats, For all was vast, still, fragrant, and divine. Stitch'd up in sacks-a mode of navigation LXXXVI. A good deal practised here upon occasion." The giant door was broad, and bright and high, XCIII. Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious guise; With this encouragement, he led the way Warriors thereon-were battling furiously; Into a room still nobler than the last; Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish'd lies; Arich confusion form'd a disarray There captives led in triumph droop the eye, In such sort, that the eye along it cast And in perspective many a squadron flies: Could hardly carry any thing away, It seems the work of times before the line Object on object flash'd so bright and fast; Of Rome transplanted fell with Constantine. A dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and glitter, Magnificently mingled in a litter. LX.XXVII. This massy portal stood at the wide close XCIV. Of a huge hall, and on its either side Wealth had done wonders-taste not mucn; such things Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose, Occur in orient palaces, and even Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied n the more chasten'd domes of western kings, In mockery to the enormous gate which rose Where I - t sa or g o dm)i In mockery to the enormous gate which rose (Of which I've also seen some six or seven), O'er them in almost pyramidic pride: Mc I te i m t be flin; O'er them in almost pyramidic pride: Where I can't say or gold or diamond flings The gate so splendid was in all its features, Much lustre, there is much to be forgiven; You never thought about these little creatures, Groups of bad statues, tables, chairs, and pictures, On which I cannot pause to make my strictures. LXXXVIII. XCV Until you nearly trod on them, and thenl h a d In this imperial hall, at distance lay You started back in horror to survey U a c a The wondrous hideousness of those small men, Qui a confdential ueenly way, Whose colour was not black, nor white, nor gray, A lady. Baba stopped, and kneeling, slga'd But an extraneous mixture, which no pen. But an extraneous mixture, which no pen To Juan, who, though not much used to pray, Can trace, although perhaps the pencil may; Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind Knelt down by instinct, wondering in his mind They were misshapen pigmies, deaf and dumb- What all this meant: while Baba bow'd, and bended Monsters, who cost a no less monstrous sum. His head, until the ceremony ended. LXXXIX. XCVI. Their duty was-for they were strong, and though The lady, rising up with such an air They look'd so little, did strong things at times- As Venus rose with from the wave, on them Tc ope this door, which they could really do, Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' rhymes; Of eyes, which pit out each surrounding gem: And now and then, with tough strings of the bow, And, raising up an arm as moonlight fair, As is the custom of those eastern climes, She sign'd to Baba, who first kiss'd the hem'o give some rebel Pacha a cravat; Of her deep-purple robe, and, speaking low, For mutes are generally used for that. Pointed to Juan, who remain'd below. XC. XCVII. I'hey spoke by signs-that is, not spoke at all: Her presence was as lofty as her state; And. looking like two incubi, they glared Her beauty of that overpowering kind, As Baba with his fingers made them fall Whose force description only would abate: To heaving back the portal folds: it scared I'd rather leave it much to your own mind, Juan a moment, as this pair so small Than lessen it by what I could relate With shrinking serpent optics on him stared; Of forms and features; it would strike you blind. It was as if their little looks could poison Could I do justice to the full detail; DO fascinate whome'er they fix'd their eyes on. So, luckily for both, my phrases fail. C.ANT'O V. DON JUAN. 617 XCVIII. (. This much however I may add-her years Here was an honourable compromise, Were ripe, they might make six and twenty springs, A half-way house of diplomatic rest, But there are forms which Time to touch forbears, Where they might meet in much more peaceful guise, And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things, And Juan now his willingness express'd Such as was Mary's, Queen of Scots; true-tears To use all fit and proper courtesies, And love destroy\; and sapping sorrow wrings Adding, that this was commonest and best, Charms from the charmer-yet some never grow For through the South the custom still commands Ugly; for instance-Ninon de l'Enclos. The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands. XCIX. CVI. She spake some words to her attendants, who And he advanced, though with but a bad grace, Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen, Though on more thorough-bred 8 or fairer fingers And were all clad alike; like Juan, too, No lips ere left their transitory trace: Who wore their uniform, by Baba chosen: On such as these the lip too fondly lingers, They form'd a very nymph-like looking crew, And for one kiss would fain imprint a brace, Which might have call'd Diana's chorus " cousin," As you will see, if she you love will bring hers As far as outward show may correspond; In contact; and sometimes even a fair stranger's I won't be bail for any thing beyond. An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers. C. CVII. They bow'd obeisance and withdrew, retiring The lady eyed him o'er and o'er, and bade But not by the same door through which came in Baba retire, which he obey'd in style, Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring, As if well used to the retreating trade; At some small distance, all he saw within And taking hints in good past all the while, This strange saloon, much fitted for inspiring He whisper'd Juan not to be afraid, Marvel and praise: for both or none things win; And, looking on him with a sort of smile, And I must say I ne'er could see the very Took leave with such a face of satisfaction, Great happiness of the "Nil admirari." As good men wear who have done a virtuous action CI. CVIII. "Not to admire is all the art I know, When he was gone, there was a sudden change: (Plain truth, dearMurray, needsfew flowers ofspeech) I know not what might be the lady's thought, To make men happy, or to keep them sc;" But o'er her bright brow flash'd a tumult strange, (So take it in the very words of Creech.) A.d into her clear cheek the blood was brought, Thus Horaca wrote, we all know, long ago; Blood-red as sunset summer clouds which range And thus Pope quotes the precept, to re-teach The verge of heaven; and in her large eyes wrought From his translation; but had none admired, A mixture of sensations might be scann'd, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired? Of half voluptuousness and half command. CI. CIX. Baba, when all the damsels were withdrawn, Her form had all the softness of her sex, Motion'd to Juan to approach, and then Her features all the sweetness of the devil, A second time desired him to kneel down When he put on the cherub to perplex And kiss the lady's foot, which maxim when Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road to evil He heard repeated, Juan with a frown The sun himself was scarce more free from specks Drew himself up to his full height again, Than she from aught at which the eye could cavil, And said "It grieved him, but he could not stoop Yet somehow there was something somewhere wanting To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope." As if she rather order'd than was granting.CIII. CX. Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride, Something imperial, or imperious, threw Made fierce remonstrances, and then a threat A chain o'er all she did; that is, a chain He mutter'd (but the last was given aside) Was thrown, as'twere, about the neck of you, - About a bowstring-quite in vain,; not yet And rapture's self will seem almost a pain Would Juan stoop, though'twere to Mahomet's bride: With aught which looks like despotism in view: There's nothing in the world like etiquette, Our souls at least are free, and't is in vain In kingly chambers or imperial halls, We would against them make the flesh obtyAs also at the race and county balls. The spirit in the end will have its way. CIV.' CXI. IIe stood like Atlas, with a world of words Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet, About,is ears, and nathless would not bend; Her very nod was not an inclination; The blood of all his line's Castilian lords There was a self-will even in her small feet Boil'd in his veins, and rather than descend As though they were quite conscious of her statiot To stain his pedigree, a thousand swords They trod as upon necks; and to complete A thousand times of him had made an end; Her state (it is the custom of her nation). At length perceiving the "foot" could not stand, A poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand. She was a sultan's bride (thank Heaven, not nnaet. 83 b 18 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO V. CXII. CXIX. t,'ro hear and to obey" had been from birth And she would have consoled, but knew not how; The law of all around her; to fulfil Having no equals, nothing which had e'er All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth, Infected her with sympathy till now, Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her will; And never having dreamt what't was to bear Her blood was high, her becuty scarce of earth: Aught of a serious so:rowing kind, although Judge, then, if her caprices eer stood still; There might arise some pouting petty care Ilad she but been a Christian, I've a notion To cross her brow, she wonder'd how so near We should have found out the "perpetual motion." Her eyes another's eye could shed a tear. CXIII. CXX. Whate'er she saw and coveted was brought; But nature teaches more than power can spoil, Whate'er she did not see, if she supposed And when a strong although a strange sensatio It might be seen, with diligence was sought, Moves-female hearts are such a genial soil And when't was found straightway the bargain closed: For kinder feelings, whatsoe'er their nation, There was no end unto the things she bought, They naturally pour the "wine and oil," Nor to the trouble which her fancies caused; Samaritans in every situation; Yet even her tyranny had such a grace; And thus Gulbeyaz, though she knew not why The women pardon'd all except her face. Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye. CXIV. CXXI. Juan, the latest of her whims, had caught But tears must stop like all things else; and soon Her eye in passing on his way to sale; Juan, who for an instant had been moved She order'd him directly to be bought, To such a sorrow by the intrusive tone And Baba, who had ne'er been known to fail Of one who dared to ask if " he had loved," In any kind of mischief to be wrought, Call'd back the stoic to his eyes, which shone Had his instructions where and how to deal: Bright with the very weakness he reproved; ShQ had no prudence, but he had; and this And although sensitive to beauty, he Explains the garb which Juan took amiss. Felt most indignant still at not being free. CXV. CXXII.'His youth and features favour'd the disguise, Gulbeyaz, for the first time in her days, And should you ask how she, a sultan's bride, Was much embarrass'd, never having met Could risk or compass such strange phantasies, In all her life with aught save prayers and praise i This I must leave sultanas to decide: And as she also risk'd her life to get Emperors are only husbands in wives' eyes, Him whom she meant to tutor in love's ways And kings and consorts oft are mystified, Into a comfortable tate-h-tate, As we may ascertain with due precision, To lose the hour would make her quite a martyr Some by experience, others by tradition. And they had wasted now almost a quarter. CXVI. CXXIII. But to the main point, where we have been tending:- I also would suggest the fitting time, She now conceived all difficulties past, To gentlemen in any such like case, And deem'd herself extremely condescending That is to say-in a meridian clime; When being made her property at last, With us there is mere law given to the case, Without more preface, in her blue eyes blending But here a small delay forms a great crime: Passion and power, a glance on him she cast, So recollect that the extremest grace And merely saying, " Christian, canst thou love?" Is just two minutes for your declarationConceived that phrase was quite enough to move. A moment more would hurt your reputation. CXVII. CXXIV. And so it was, mi proper time and place; Juan's was good; and might have been still bett.e But Juan, who had still his mind o'erflowing But he had got Haidee into his head: Witn Fiaidee's isle and soft Ionian face, However strange, he could not yet forget her, Felt the warm blood, which in his face was glowing, Which made him seem exceedingly ill-bred. Rush back upon his heart, which fill'd apace, Gulbeyaz, who look'd on him as her debtor And left his cheeks as pale as snow-drops blowing: For having had him to the palace led, These words went through his soul like Arab spears, Began to blush up to the eyes, and then So that he spoke not, but burst into tears. Grow deadly pale, and then blush back again. C XVIII. CXXV. Shle was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears, At length, in an imperial way, she laid For women shed and use them at their liking; Her hand on his, and bending on his eyes, Blit there is something when man's eye appears Which needed not an empire to persuade, WVet, still more disagreeable and striking: Look'd into his for love, where none replies: A ivonan's *ear-drop melts, a man half sears, Her brow grew black, but she would not upbraid, Itko molten lead, as if you thrust a pike in That being the last thing a proud woman tries I1.. heart, to force it out, for (to be shorter) She rose, and, pausing one chaste moment, threw Tr. ther't is a relief, to us a torture. Herself' upon his breast, and there she grew. CANTO V. DON JUAN. 619 XXVI. CXXXIII. This was an awkward test, as Jilan found, The love of offspring's nature's general law, But he was steel'd by sorrow, wrath, and pride; From tigresses and cubs to ducks and ducklings, With gentle force her white arms he unwound, There's nothing whets the beak or arms the claw And seated her all drooping by his side. Like an invasion of their babes and sucklings, Then rising haughtily he glanced around, And all who have seen a human nursery, saw And looking coldly in her face, he cried, How mothers love their children's squalls and chuck "The prison'd eagle will not pair, nor I hings; Serve a sultana's sensual phantasy. This strong extreme effect (to tire no longer YCXXVII. Your patience) shows thecause.must.stillbe strong& "Thou ask'st if I can love? be this the proof CXXXIV. How much I have loved-that I love not thee! If I said fire fashd from Gulbeyaz' eyes,'T were nothing-for her eyes flash'd always fire [n this vile garb, the distaff's web and woof T were nothing- her eyes flshd always fre Were fitter for me: love is for the free! Or said her cheeks assumed the leepest dyes, Ir should but bring disgracs upbn the dyers, I am not dazzled by this splendid roof. the dyer, Whate'er thy power, and great it seems to be-So supernatural was her passion's rise; For ne'er till now she knew a check'd desire: Heads bow, knees bend, eyes watch around a throne, For ne'er till now she knew a chek'd desire: And hands obey-our hearts are still our own." Even you know what a check'd woman s, (Enough, God knows!) would much fall short of ths. CXXVIII. This was a truth to us extremely trite, Her rage was but a nfinute's, and'twas well — Not so to her who ne'er had heard such things; ws b a i, A moment's more had slamin her; but the while She deem'd her least command must yield delight, et's e a s hr t the whsli It lasted,'t was like a short gimpse of hell: Earth being only made for queens and kings. last, ws e a shtlipse of he f iNought's more sublime than energetic bile, If hearts lay on the left side or the right She hay kw to sh perftion brins Though horrible to see yet grand to tell, She hardly knew, to such perfection brings is Le.itimacy its horn votaries, when Like ocean warring'gainst a rocky isle; Legitimacy its born votaries, when. Aware of their du ryligt oe mAnd the deep passions flashing through her form Aware of their due royal rights o'er men. tl oylrVr. Made her a beautiful embodied storm. CXXIX.XXXV CXXXVI. Besides, as has been said, she was so fair vular tempest t were to a Typhoon As even in a much humbler lot had made m a c f w To match a common fury with her rage, A kingdom or confusion any where; A kinlgdom or confusion any where; And yet she did not want to reach the moon, Anrd also, as may be presumned, she laid Like moderate Hotspur on -the immortal page; Some stress upon those charms which seldom are er aner pith'd into a lower tune By the possessors thrown into the shade;- p By the ossessors thrown into the shade Perhaps the fault of her soft sex and ageShe thought hers gave a double "right divine," er i as but to "kill,kill kill," like Lear's, And half of that opinion's also mine.'c And hall of that opinion's also mine.:) And then her thirst of blood was quench'd in teanm CXXX. CXXXVII. Remember, or (if you cannot) imagine, A storm it raged, and like the storm it pass'd, Ye! who have kept your chastity when young, Pass'd without words-nm fact she could not speak, While some more desperate dowager has been waging And then her sex's shame broke in at last, Love with you, and been in the dog-days stung A sentiment till then in her but weak, By vour refusal, recollect her raging! But now it flow'd in natural and fast, Or recollect all that was said or sung As water through an unexpected leak, On such a. subject; then suppose the face For she felt humbled-and humiliation Of a young downright beauty in this case. Is sometimes good for people in her station. CXXXI. CXXXVIII. Suppose, but you already have supposed, It teaches them that they are flesh and blood, The spouse of Potiphar, the Lady Booby, It also gently hints to them that others, Phedra, and all which story has disclosed Although of clay, are not yet quite of mud; Of good examples; pity that so few by That urns and pipkins are but fragile brothers, Poets and private tutors are exposed, And works of the same pottery, bad or good, To eaucate-ye youtlh of Europe-you by! Though not all born of the same sires and mothers But when you have supposed the few we know, It teaches-Heaven knows only what it teaches, You can't suppose Gulbeyaz' angry brow. But sometimes it may mend, and often reaches. CXXXII. CXXXIX. 4 tigress robb'd of young, a lioness, Her first thought was to cut off Juan's head; Or any interesting beast of prey, Her second, to cut only his-acquaintance;,re similes at hand for the distress Her third, to ask him where he had been oved, Of ladies who cannot have their own way;' Her fourth, to rally him into repentance; But though my turn will not be served with less, Her fifth, to call her maids and. go to bed; These don't express one half what I should say: Her sixth, to stab herself; her seventh, to sentleuc For what is stealing young ones, few or many, The lash to Baba;-but her grand resource To cuttilig short their hopes of having any?' Was to sit dcwn again, and cry of course 620 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO V CXL. CXLVII. fhe thought to stab herself, but then she had His highness was a man of solemn port, The dagger close at hand, which made it awkward; Shawl'd to the nose, and bearded to the eyes, For eastern stays are little made to pad, Snatch'd from a prison to preside at court, So that a poniard pierces if'tis stuck hard; His lately bowstrung brother caused his rise,; She thought of killing Juan-but, poor lad! He was as good a sovereign of the sort Though he deserved it well for being so backward, As any mention'd in the histories The cutting off his head was not the art Of Cantemir, or Knolles, where few shine Most likely to attain her aim —his heart. Save Solyman, the glory of their line.9 CXLI. CXLVIII. Juan was moved: he had made up his mind He went to mosque in state, and said his prayers To be impaled, or quarter'd as a dish With more than "oriental scrupulosity;" For dogs, or to be slain with pangs refined, He left to his vizier all state affairs, Or thrown to lions, or made baits for fish, And show'd but little royal curiosity: And thus heroically stood resign'd, I know not if he had domestic caresRather than sin-except to his own wish: No process proved connubial animosity; But all his great preparatives for dying Four wives and twice five hundred maids, unseen, Dissolved like snow before a woman crying. Were ruled as calmly as a Christian queen. CXLII. CXLIX. As through his palms Bob Acres' valour oozed, If now and then there happen'd a slight slip, So Juan's virtue ebb'd, I know not how; Little was heard of criminal or crimne; And first he wonder'd why he had refused; The story scarcely pass'd a single lipAnd then, if matters could be made up now; The sack and sea had settled all in time, And next his savage virtue he accused, From which the secret nobody could rip: Just as a friar may accuse his vow, The public knew no more than does this rhvme Or as a dame repents her of her oath, No scandals made the daily press a curseWhich mostly ends in some small breach of both. Morals were better, and the fish no worse. CXLIII. CL. So he began to stammer some excuses; I-e saw with his own eyes the moon was round, But words are not enough in such a matter, Was also certain that the earth was square, Although you borrow'd all that e'er the muses Because ne had journey'd fifty miles, and found Have sung, or even a dandy's dandiest chatter, No sign that it was circular any where: Or all the figures Castlereagh abuses; IEis empire also was without a bound: Just as a languid smile began to flatter'Tis true, a little troubled here and there. His peace was making, but before he ventured By rebel pachas, and encroaching giouis, further, old Baba rather briskly enter'd. But then they never came to "tbt. Sven Toweat, CXLIV. CLI. Bride of the Sun! and Sister of the Moon!" Except in shape of envoys, who were sent ('T was thus he spake) "and Empress of the Earth! To lodge there when a war broke out, according Whose frown would put the spheres all out of tune, To the true law of na;^or., which ne'er meant Whose smile makes all the planets dance with mirth, Those scoundrels "tno have never had a sword in Your slave brings tidings-he. hopes not too soon — Their dirty diploaadic hands, to vent Which your sublime attention may be worth, Their spleen i; rnmaking strife, and safely wording The Sun himself has sent me like a ray Their lies, ycGoPt despatches, without risk or To hint that he is coming up this way." The singeing of a single inky whisker. CXLV. CLII. "*Is it," exclaim'd Gulbeyaz, "as you say? He had fty daughters and four dozen sons, I wish to heaven he would not shine till morning! Of whom all such as came of-age were stow'd, B it bid my women form the milky way. The fi,,oer in a palace, where like nuns Hence, my old comet! give the stars due warning- They lived till some bashaw was sent abroad, And, Christian! mingle with them as you may; Whet she, whose turn it was, wedded at once, And, as you'd have me pardon your past scorning-" 5Sometimes at six years old-though this seenis odd, here they were interrupted by a humming,' is true; the reason is, that the bashaw Sound, and Lnen by a cry, "the Sultan's coming!" Must make a present to his sire in law. CXLVI. CLIII. vr u came her damsels, a decorous file, His sons were kept in prison till they grew And then his highness' eunuchs, black and white, Of years to fill a bowstring or the throne, the train might reach a quarter of a mile: One or the other, but which of the two His najesty was always so polite Could yet be known unto the fates alone; as to announce his visits a long while Meantime the education they went through Before he came, especially at night; Was princely, as the proofs have always shown F4',r being the last wife of the emperor, So that the heir apparent still was found Aige wve of course the favourite of the four. No less deserving to be hang'd than crown'd. CANTO V. DON' JUAN. 621 CLIV. cantos, a stanza or two will be found relative to the His majesty saluted his fourth spouse late Marquis of Londonderry, but written some time With all the ceremonies of his rank, before his decease. Had that person's oligarchy died Who clear'd her sparkling eyes and smooth'd her brows, with him, they would have been suppressed; as it is, I As suits a matron who has play'd a prank: am aware of nothing in the manner of his death or of These must seem doubly mindful of their vows, his life to prevent the free expression of the opinions To save the credit of their breaking bank; of all whom his whole existence was consumed in enTo no men are such cordial greetings given deavouring to enslave. That he was an amiable man As those whose wives have made them fit for heaven. in private life, may or may not be true; but with this CLV. the public have nothing to do: and as to lamenting his His highness cast around his great black eyes, death, it will be time enough when Ireland has ceased And looking, as he always look'd, perceived to mourn for his birth. As a minister, I, for one of Juan amongst the damsels in disguise, millions, looked upon him as the most despotic in inAt which he seem'd no whit surprised, nor grieved, tention, and the weakest in intellect, that ever tyranBut just remarkd with air sedate and wise, nized over a country. It is the first time indeed since While still a fluttering sigh Gulbeyaz heaved, the Normans, that England has been insulted by a minsee you've bought another girl tis pity ister (at least) who could not speak English, and that That a mere Christian should be half so pretty." Parliament permitted itself to be dictated to in the lant a me C n s b guage of Mrs. Malaprop. CLI." Of the manner of his death little need be said, exThis compliment, which drew all eyes upon cept that if a poor radical, such as Waddington or The new-bought virgin, made her blush and shake. Watson, had cut his throat, he would have been buried Her comrades, also, thought themselves undone: in a cross-road, with the usual appurtenances of the Oh, Mahomet! that his majesty should take stake and mallet. But the minister was an elegant eudi notice of a giaour, while scarce to one lunatic-a sentimental suicide-he merely cut the Of them his lips imperial ever spake! "carotid artery" (blessings on their learning!)-and There was a general whisper, toss, and wriggle, lo! the pageant, and the abbey, and "the syllables But etiquette forbade them all to giggle. of dolour yelled forth" by the newspapers-and the CLVII. harangue of the coroner in an eulogy over the bleedThe Turks do well to shut-at least, sometimes- ing body of the deceased-(an Antony worthy of such The women up-because, in sad reality, a Caesar)-and the nauseous and atrocious cant of a 1 heir chastity in these unhappy climes degraded crew of conspirators against all that is sincere Is not a thing of that astringent quality, or honourable. In his death he was necessarily one of Which in the north prevents precocious crimes, two things by the law-a felon or a madman-and in And makes our snow less pure than our morality; either case no great subject for panegyric.' In his life The sun, which yearly melts the polar ice, he was-what all the world knows, and half of it will feei Has quite the contrary effect on vice. for years to come, unless his death prove a "moral lesCLVIII. son" to the surviving Sejani2 of Europe. It may atleasl Thus far our chronicle; and now we pause, serve as some consolation to the nations, that their opThough not for want of matter; but'tis time, pressors are not happy, and in some instances judge so According to the ancient epic laws, justly of their own actions as to anticipate the sentence To slacken sail, and anchor with our rhyme. of mankind.-Let us hear no more of this man, and let Let this fifth canto meet with due applause, Ireland remove the ashes of her Grattan from the sancThe sixth shall have a touch of the sublime; tuary of Westminster. Shall the Patriot of Humanity Meanwhile, as Homer sometimes sleeps, perhaps repose by the-Werther of Politics!!! You'll pardon to my muse a few short naps. With regard to the objections which have been made on another score to the already published cantos of.'~_________ _________'~~ ~this poem, I shall content myself with two quotations from Voltaire:~- TPR~EFACE T "La pudeur s'est enfuie des cceurs, et s'est refugiee sur les levres." TO I Plus les mceurs sont deprav6esb plus les expressions CANTOS VTTI. ~VII. VIII. deviennent mesurdes; on croit regagner en langage ce qu'on a perdu en vertu." This is the real fact, as applicable to the degraded and. ft... p hypocritical mass which leavens the present Englih THE details of the siege of Ismail in two of the fol- hptia as hh ens the present En glh - generation, and is the only answer they deserve. The lowing cantos (i. e. the 7th and eighth) are taken from a g raton and is he only r the eere. The French work, entitled " Histoire de la Nouvelle Russie." hackneyed and lavished title of blasphemer-which Some of the incidents attributed to Don Juan really 1' say by the law ofthetand —the laws of humanity judae occurred, particularly the circumstance of his saving I gentay but as the l atshe lwas t ihe sum any more gently; but as the legitimates have always the taw in the infant, which was the actual case of the late Duc their mouths, let them here make the most of it. de Richelieu, then a young volunteer in the Russian 2 From this number must be excepted Canning. Canning is a service, and afterwards the founder and benefactor of genius, almost a universal one: an orator, a wit, a poet, s Odessa, where his name and memory can never cease statesman; and no man of talent can long pursue the path o. his late predecessor, Lord C. If everiman saved his country to be regarded with reverence. In the course of these Canning can; but will he? I, for one, hone so. 3F 622 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO VI with radical, liberal, jacobin, reformer, etc., are the IV. changes which the hirelings are daily ringing in the Thrones, worlds, et cetera, are so oft upset ears of those who will listen-should be welcome to By commonest ambition, that when passion all who recollect on whom it was originally bestowed. O'erthrows the same, we readily forget, Socrates and Jesus Christ were put to death publicly Or at the least forgive, the loving rash one. as blasphemers, and so have been and may be many If Antony be well remember'd yet, who dare to oppose the most notorious abuses of the'T is not his conquests keep his name in fashion name of God and the mind of man. But persecution But Actium, lost for Cleopatra's eyes, is not refutation, nor even triumph: the wretched infi- Outbalance all the Caesars' victories. del, as he is called, is probably happier in his prison V. than the proudest of his assailants. With his opinions He died at fifty for a queen of forty; I have nothing to do-they may be right or wrong- I wish their years had been fifteen and twenty, but he has suffered for them, and that very suffering For then wealth, kingdoms, worlds, are but a sport-I for conscience sake will make more proselytes to Deism Remember When, though I had no great plenty than the example of heterodox' prelates to Christianity, Of worlds to lose, yet still, to pay my court, I suicide statesmen to oppression, or overpensioned hom- Gave what I had-a heart: as the world went, I icides to the impious alliance which insults the world Gave what was worth a world; for worlds could nevel with the name of " Holy!" I have no wish to trample Restore me those pure feelings, gone for ever, on the dishonoured or the dead; but it would be well V if the adherents to the classes from whence those per- T t b's i,luu,....'T was the boy's " mite," and, like the " widow's," may sons sprung should abate a little of the cant which is the s bew ereafter if not now" Perhaps be weigh'd hereafter, if not now; crying sin of this double-dealing and false-speaking time crying sin of this double-dealing But whether such things do, or do not, weigh, of selfish spoilers, and-but enough for the present. Allwho have loved, or love, will still allow All who have loved, or love, will still allow Life has nought like it. God is love, they say, I When Lord Sandwich said " he did not know the differ- And Love's a god or was before the brow ence between orthodoxy and heterodoxy,"-Warburton, the bishop, replied, " Orthodoxy, my lord, is my doxy, and hete- Of Earth was wrinkled by the sins and tears rodoxy is another man's doxy."-A prelate of the present day Of-but chronology best knows the years. has discovered, it seems, a third kind of doxy, which has not greatly exalted in the eyes of the elect, that which Bentham V calls "Church-of-Englandism.' We left our hero and third heroine in A kind of state more awkward than uncommon, For gentlemen must sometimes risk their skin For that sad tempter, a forbidden woman fCANT'fO VIT Sultans too much abhor this sort of sin, And don't agree at all with the wise Roman, Heroic, stoic Cato, the sententious, Who lent his lady to his friend Hortensius. I. VIII. THEREx is a tide in the affairs of men I know Gulbeyaz was extremely wrong; Which, taken at the flood"-you know the rest, I own t, I deplore it, I condemn it; And most of us have found it, now and then; Bu I detest all fiction, even in song, At least we think so, though but few have guess'd And so must tell the truth, howe'er you blame it The moment, till too late to come again. Her reason g weak, her passions strong But no doubt every thing is for the best- Shethoughtthat herlord's heart(even couldshe claim Of which the surest sign is in the end: it) When things are at the worst, they sometimes mend. Was scarce enough; for he had fifty-nine II. Years, and a fifteen-hundredth concubine. There is a tide in the affairs of women IX. "Which, taken at the flood, leads"-God knows I am not, like Cassio, "an arithmetician," where: But by "the bookish theoric" it appears, Those navigators must be able seamen If'tis summ'd up with feminine precision, Whose charts lay down its currents to a hair; That, adding to the account his Highness' years, Not all the reveries of Jacob Behmen The fair Sultana err'd from inanition; With its strange whirls and eddies can compare: For, were the Sultan just to all his dears, Men, with their heads, reflect on this and that- She could but claim the fifteen-hundredth part But women, with their hearts, on Heaven knows what! Of what should be monopoly-the heart. III. X. And yet a headlong, headstrong, downright she, It is observed that ladies are litigious Young, beautiful, and daring-who would risk i Upon all legal objects of possession, throne, the world, the universe, to be And not the least so when they are religious, Beloved m her own way, and rather whisk Which doubles what they think of the transgression The stars from out the sky, than not be free With suits and prosecution they besiege us, As are the billows when the breeze is brisk- As the tribunals show through many a sessin, Though such a she's a devil (if that there be one), When they suspect that anv one goes shares V'at she would make full many a Manichean. In that to which the law mraes them sole heirs. CAN10 VI. DON JUAN. 623 XI. XVIII. Now, if this holds good in a Christian land, The " tu"'s too much,-but let it stand-the verse The heathens also, though with lesser latitude, Requires it, that's to say, the English rhyme, Are apt to carry things with a high hand, And not the pink of old Hexameters; And take what kings call " an imposing attitude;" But, after all, there's neither tune nor time And for their rights connubial make a stand, In the last line, which cannot well be worse, When theirliege husbands treat them with ingratitude; And was thrust in to close the octave's chitleAnd as four wives must have quadruple claims, I own no prosody can ever rate it The Tigris has its jealousies like Thames. As a rule, but Truth may, if you translate it. XII. XIX. Gulbeyaz was the fourth, and (as I said) If fair Gulbeyaz overdid her part, The favourite; but what's favour amongst four?. I know not-it succeeded, and success Polygamy may well be held in dread, Is much in most things, not less in the heart Not only as a sin, but as a. bore: Than other articles of female dress. Most wise men, with one moderate woman wed, Self-love in man too beats all female art; Will scarcely find philosophy for more; They lie, we lie, all lie, but love no less: And all (except Mahometans) forbear ^.nd no one virtue yet, except starvation, To make the nuptial couch a " Bed of Ware." would stop that worst of vices-propagation. XIII. XX. His highness, the sublimest of mankind,- We leave this royal couple to repose; So styled according to the usual forms A bed is not a throne, and they may sleep, Of every monarch, till they are consigned Whate'er their dreams be, if of joys or woes; To those sad hungry jacobins, the worms, Yet disappointed joys are woes as deep Who on the very loftiest kings have dined,- As any man's clay mixture undergoes. His highness gazed upon Gulbeyaz' charms, Our least of sorrows are such as we weep; Expecting all the welcome of a lover,'T is the vile daily drop on drop which wears (A "Highland welcome" all the wide world over). The soul out (like the stone) with petty cares. XIV. XXI. Now here we should distinguish; for howe'er A scolding wife, a sullen son, a bill Kisses, sweet words, embraces, and all that, To pay, unpaid, protested, or discounted May look like what is-neither here nor there: At a per-centage; a child cross, dog ill, They are put on as easily as a hat, A favourite horse fallen lame just as he's mounted; Or rather bonnet, which the fair sex wear, A bad old woman making a worse will, Trimm'd either heads or hearts to decorate, Which leaves you minus of the cash you counted Which form an ornament, but no more part As certain;-these are paltry things, and yet Of heads, than their caresses of the heart. I've rarely seen the man they did not fret. XV. XXII. A slight blush, a soft tremor, a calm kind I'm a philosopher; confound them all! Of gentle feminine delight, and shown Bills, beasts, and men, and-no! not womankind! More in the eyelids than the eyes, resign'd With one good hearty curse I vent my gall,.Rather to hide what pleases most unknown, And then my stoicism leaves nought behind Are the best tokens (to a modest mind) Which it can either pain or evil call, Of love, when seated on his loveliest throne, And I can give my whole soul up to mind; A sincere woman's breasts-for over warm jThough what is soul or mind, their birth or growth Or over cold annihilates the charm. Is more than I know-the deuce take them both. XVI. XXIII. For over warmth, if false, is worse than truth; So now all things are d-n'd, one feels at ease, If true,'t is no great lease of its own fire; As after reading Athanasius' curse, Foi no one, save in very early youth, Which doth your true believer. so much please: Would like (I think) to trust all to desire, I doubt if any now could make it worse Which is but a precarious bond, in sooth, O'er his worst enemy when at his knees, And apt to be transferr'd to the first buyer'Tis so sententious, positive, and terse, At a sad discount: while your over chilly And decorates the book of Common Prayet Women, on t' other hand, seem somewhat silly. - As doth a rainbow the just clearing air. XVII. XXIV. That is, we cannot pardon their bad taste, Gulbeyaz and her lord were sleeping, or For so it seems to lovers swift or slow, At least one of them-Oh the heavy night Who fain would have a mutual flame confess'd, When wicked wives who love some bachelor And see a sentimental passion glow, Lie down in dudgeon to sigh for the light Even were St. Francis' paranour their guest, Of the gray morning, and look vainly for In his Monastic Concubine of Snow;- Its twinkle through the lattice dusky quite. In short, the maxim for the amorous tribe is To toss, to tumble, doze, revive, and quake, Horatian, "Medio tu tutissimus ibis." Lest their too lawful bed-fellow should wake. 624 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO Vl. XXV. XXXII. These are beneath the canopy of heaven, A goodly sinecure, no doubt! but made Also beneath the canopy of beds, More easy by the absence of all men Four-posted and silk-curtain'd, which are given' Except his Majesty, who, with her aid, For rich men' and their brides to lay their heads And guards, and bolts, and walls, and now and then Upon, in sheets white as what bards call "driven A slight example, just to cast a shade Snow." Well!'t is all hap-hazard when one weds. Along the rest, contrived to keep this den Gulbeyaz was an empress, but had been Of beauties cool as an Italian convent, Perhaps as wretched if a peasant's quean, Where all the passions have, alas! but one vent. XXVI. XXXIII. Don Juan, in his feminine disguise, And what is that? Devotion, doubtless-how With all the damsels in their long array, Could you ask such a question?-but we will Had bow'd themselves before the imperial eyes, Continue. As I said, this goodly row And, at the usual signal, ta'en their way Of ladies of all countries at the will Back to their chambers, those long galleries Of one good man, with stately march and slow, In the seraglio, where the ladies lay Like water-lilies floating down a rill, Their delicate limbs; a thousand bosoms there Or rather lake-for rills do not run slowly,Beating for love, as the caged bird's for air. Paced on most maiden-like and melancholy. XXVII. XXXIV. I love the sex, and sometimes would reverse But when they reach'd their own apartments, there, The tyrant's wish " that mankind only had Like birds, or boys, or bedlamites broke loose, One neck, which he with one fell stroke might pierce:" Waves at spring-tide, or women any where My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad, When fieed from bonds (which are of no great use And much more tender on the whole than fierce: After all), or like Irish at a fair, It being (not now, but only while a lad) Their guards being gone, and, as it were, a truce That womankind had but one rosy mouth, Establish'd between them and bondage, they To kiss them all at once from North to South. Began to sing, dance, chatter, smile, and play. XXVIII. XXXV. Oh enviable Briareus! with thy hands Their talk of course ran most on the new comer, And heads, if thou hadst all things multiplied Her shape, her air, her hair, her every thing: In such proportion!-But my muse withstands Some thought her dress did not so much become her The giant thought of being a Titan's bride, Or wonder'd at her ears without a ring; Or travelling in Patagonian lands; Some said her years were getting nigh their summer So let us back to Lllliput, and guide Others contended they were but in spring; Our hero through the labyrinth of love Some thought her rather masculine in height, In which we left him several lines above. While others wish'd that she had been so quite. XXIX. XXXVI. le went forth with the lovely Odalisques, But no one doubted, on the whole, that she At the given signal join'd to their array; Was what her dress bespoke, a damsel fair, And though he certainly ran many risks, And fresh, and "beautiful exceedingly," Yet he could not at times keep by the way, Who with the brightest Georgians might compare. I Although the consequences of such frisks They wonder'd how Gulbeyaz too could be Are worse than the worst damages men pay So silly as to buy slaves who might share in moral England, where the thing's a tax), (If that his Highness wearied of his bride)'rom ogling all their charms from breasts to backs. Her throne and power, and every thing beside. XXX. XXXVII. S.ill he Forgot not his disguise:-along But what was strangest in this virgin crew,:'he galleries from room to room they walk'd, Although her beauty was enough to vex, A virgin-like and edifying throng, After the first investigating view, By eunuchs flank'd; while at their head there stalk'd They all found out as few, or fewer, specks,. A dame who kept up discipline among In the fair form of their companion new, The female ranks, so that none stirr'd or talk'd Than is the custom of the gentle sex, Without her sanction on their she-parades: When they slrvey, with Christian eyes or Heathen, ler title was "the Mother of the Maids." In a new face "the ugliest creature breathing." XXXI. XXXVIII. lWhether she was a "mother," I know not, And yet they had their little jealousies, Or whether they were "maids" who call'd her mother; Like all the rest; but upon this occasion, But this is her seraglio title, got Whether there are such things as sympathies 1 kn,,w not how, but good as any other; Without our knowledge or our approbation, So Cantemir can tell you, or De Tott: Although they could not see through his disguise, Her office was to keep aloof or smother All felt a soft kind of concatenation, All bad propensities in fifteen hundred Like magnetism, or devilism, or what Young women, and correct them when they blunder'd. You please-we will not quarrel about that: CANTO VI. DON JUAN, 625 XXXIX. XLVI. But certain't is, they all felt for their new But here the Mother of the Maids drew near, Companion something newer still, as'tweie With "Ladies, it is time to go to rest. A sentimental friendship through and through, I'm puzzled what to do with you, my dear," Extremely pure, which made them all concur She added to Juanna, their new guest: In wishing her their sister, save a few "Your coming has been unexpected here, Who wish'd they had a brother just like her, And every couch is occupied; you had best Whom, if they were at home in sweet Circassia, Partake of mine; but by to-morrow early They would prefer to Padisha or Pacha. We will have all things settled for you fairly.' XL. XLVII. Of those who had most genius for this sort Here Lolah interposed-" Mamma, you know Of sentimental friendship, there were three, You don't sleep soundly, and I cannot bear Lolah, Katirka, and Dudh;-in short, That any body should disturb you; so (To save description), fair as fair can be I'll take Juanna; we're a slenderer pair Were they, according to the best report, Tbh, you would make the half of;-don't say no, Though differing in stature and degree, And I of your young charge will take due care." And clime and time; and country and complexion; But here Katinka interfered and said, They all alike admired their new connexion. "She also had compassion and a' bed." XLI. XLVIII. Lolah was dusk as India, and as warm; " Besides, I hate to sleep alone," quoth she. Katinka was a Georgian, white and red, The matron frown'd: "Why so?"-"For fear o With great blue eyes, a lovely hand and arm, ghosts," And feet so small they scarce seem'd made to tread, Replied Katinka; "I am sure I see But rather skim the earth; while Dudu's form A phantom upon each of the four posts; Look'd more adapted to be put to bed, And then I have the worst dreams that can be, Being somewhat large and languishing and lazy, Of Guebres, Giaours, and Ginns, and Gouls in hosts." Yet of a beauty that would drive you crazy. The dame replied, "Between your dreams and you, XLII. I fear Juanna's dreams would be but few. A kind of sleepy Venus seem'd Dudu, XLIX. Yet very fit to "murder sleep" in those "You, Lolah, must continue still to lie Who gazed upon her cheek's transcendent hue, Alone, for reasons which don't matter; you Her Attic forehead, and her Phidian nose: The same, Katinka, until by and by; Few angles were therein her form,'tis true, And I shall place Juanna with Dudiu, Thinner she might have been, and yet scarce lose; Who's quiet, inoffensive, silent, shy, Yet, after all,'twould puzzle to say where And will not toss and chatter the night through. It would not spoil some separate charm to pare. What say you, child?"-Dudti said nothing, as XLIII. Her talents were of the more silent class; She was not violently lively, but L. Stole on your spirit like a May-day breaking; But she rose up and kiss'd the matron's brow Her eyes were not too sparkling, yet, half shut, Between the eyes, and Lolah on both cheeks, They put beholders in a tender taking; Katinka too; and with a gentle bow She look'd (this simile's quite new) just cut (Curtsies are neither used by Turks nor Greeks), From marble, like Pygmalion's statue waking, She took Juanna by the hand to show The m9rtal and the marble still at strife; Their place of rest, and left to both their piques, And timidly expanding into life. The others pouting at the matron's preference XLIV. Of Dudt,though they held their tongues from deference. Lolah demanded the new damsel's name- LI. "Juanna."-Well, a pretty name enough. It was a spacious chamber (Oda is Katinka ask'd her also whence she came- The Turkish title), and ranged round the wall "From Spain."-"Butwhere is Spain?" —"Don't ask Were couches, toilets-and much more than this such stuff, I might describe, as I have seen it all, Nor show your Georgian ignorance-for shame!" But it suffices-little was amiss; Said Lolah, with an accent rather rough,'T was on the whole a nobly furnish'd hall, To poor Katinka: " Spain's an island near With all things ladies want, save one or two, Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier." And even those were nearer than they knew. XLV. LII. Duau said nothing, but sat down beside Dudu, as has been said, was a sweet creature. Juanna, playing with her veil or hair; Not very dashing, but extremely winning, And, looking at her stedfastly, she sigh'd, With the most regulated charms of feature, As if she pitied her for being there, Which painters cannot catch like faces stnnimn A pretty stranger, without friend or guide, Against proportion-the wild strokes of nature And all abash'd too at the general stare Which they hit off at once in the beginning, Which welcomes hapless strangers in all places, Full of expression, right or wrong, that strike, With kind remarks upon their mien and faces. And, pleasing or unpleasing, still are like. 3s2 84 6O26 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO ri LX. LIII. LX. But she was a soft landscape of mild earth, In perfect innocence she then unmade Where all was harmony and calm and quiet, Her toilet, which cost little, for she was Luxuriant, budding; cheerful without mirth, A child of nature, carelessly array'd; Which, if not happiness, is much more nigh it If fond of a chance ogle at her glass, Than are your mighty passions and so forth,'T was like the fawn which, in the lake display'd, Which some call " the sublime:" I wish they'd try it: Beholds her own shy shadowy image pass, I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, When first she starts, and then returns to peep, And pity lovers rather more than seamen. Admiring this new native of the deep. LIV. LXI. But she was pensive more than melancholy, And one by one her articles of dress And serious more than pensive, and serene, Were laid aside; but not before she offer'd It may be, more than either-not unholy Het aid to fair Juanna, whose excess Her thoughts, at least till now, appear to have been. Of modesty declined the assistance proffer'dThe strangest thing was, beauteous, she was wholly Which pass'd well off-as she could do no less: Unconscious, albeit turn'd of quick seventeen, Though by this politesse she rather suffer'd, That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall; Pricking her fingers with those cursed pins, She never thought about herself at all. Which surely were invented for our sins,LV. LXiI. And therefore was she kind and gentle as Making a woman like a porcupine, The Age of Gold (when gold was yet unknown, Not to be rashly touch'd. But still more dread, By which its nomenclature came to pass; Oh ye! whose fate it is, as once't was mine, Thus most appropriately has been shown In early youth, to turn a lady's maid;"Lucus a non Lucendo," not what was, I did my very boyish best to shine But what was not; a sort of style that's grown In tricking her out for a masquerade: Extremely common in this age, whose metal The pins were placed sufficiently, but not The devil may decompose but never settle: Stuck all exactly in the proper spot. LVI. LXIII. I think it may be of "Corinthian Brass," But these are foolish things to all the wiseWhich was a mixture of all metals, but And I love Wisdom more than she loves me; The brazen uppermost). Kind reader! pass My tendency is to philosophize This long parenthesis: I could not shut On most things, from a tyrant to a tree; It sooner for the soul of me, and class But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies. My faults even with your own! which meaneth, put What are we? and whence came we? what shall be A kind construction upon them and me: Our ultimate existence? what's our present? But that you won't-then don't-I am not less free. Are questions answerless, and yet incessant. LVII. LXIV.'T is time we should return to plain narration, There was deep silence in the chamber: dim And thus my narrative proceeds:-Dudl And distant from each other burn'd the lights, With every kindness short of ostentation, And Slumber hover'd o'er each lovely limb Show'd Juan, or Juanna, through and through Of the fair occupants: if there be sprites, This labyrinth of females, and each station They should have walk'd there in their spriteliest trim, Described-what's strange, in words extremely few:' By way of change from their sepulchral sites, 1 have but one simile, and that's a blunder, And shown themselves as ghosts of better taste, For wordless women, which is silent thunder. Thami haunting some old ruin or wild waste. LVIII. LXV. And next she gave her (I say her, because Many and beautiful lay those around, The gender still was epicene, at least Like flowers of different hue and clime and root In outward show, which is a saving clause) In some exotic garden sometimes found, An outline of the customs of the East, With cost and care and warmth induced to shoot. With all their chaste integrity of laws, One, with her auburn tresses lightly bound, By which the more a haram is increased, And fair brows gently drooping, as the fruit The stricter doubtless grow the vestal duties Nods from the tree, was slumbering with soft breath Of any supernumerary beauties. And lips apart, which show'd the pearls beneath. LIX. LXVI. Aind then she gave Juanna a chaste kiss: One, with her flush'd cheek laid on her white arm, l)udil was fond of kissing-which I'm sure And raven ringlets gather'd in dark crowd That nobody car. ever take amiss, Above her brow, lay dreaming soft and warm; Because't is pleasant, so that it be pure, And, smiling through,her dream, as through a cloud And between females means nc more than this- The moon breaks, half unveil'd each further charm, That they have nothing better near, or newer. As, slightly stirring in her snowy shroud, Kitss" rnymes to "bliss" in fact as well as verse- Her beauties seized the unconscious hour of n.iit wsb it never led to something worse. All bashfully to struggle into light. CANTO VI. DON JUAN. 6-27 LXVII. LXXIV. rhis is no bull, although it sounds so; for And now commenced a strict investigation,'T was night, but there were lamps, as hath been said. Which, as all spoke at once, and more than once A third's all-pallid aspect offer'd more Conjecturing, wondering, asking a narration, The traits of sleeping Sorrow, and betray'd Alike might puzzle either wit or dunce Through the heaved breast the dream of some far shore To answer in a very clear oration. Beloved and deplored: while slowly stray'd Dudh had never pass'd for wanting sense, (As night dew, on a cypress glittering,.tinges But, being "no orator, as Brutus is," The black bough) tear-drops thro' her eyes' dark fringes. Could not at first expound what was amiss. LXVIII. LXXV. A fourth, as marble, statue-like and still, At length she said, that, in a slumber sound, Lay in a breathless, hush'd, and stony sleep; She dream'd a dream of walking in a woodWhite, cold, and pure, as looks a frozen rill, A "wood obscure." like that where Dante found I Or the snow minaret on an Alpine steep, Himself in at the age when all grow good; Or Lot's wife done in salt,-or what you will;- Life's half-way house,where dames with virtue crown'd My similes are gather'd in a heap, Run much less risk of lovers turning rude;So pick and choose-perhaps you'11 be content And that this wood was full of pleasant fruits, With a carved lady on a monument. And trees of goodly growth and spreading roots; LXIX. LXXVI. And lo! a fifth appears;-and what is she? And in the midst a golden apple grew,A lady of " a certain age," which means A most prodigious pippin-but it hung Certainly aged-what her years might be Rather too high and distant; that she threw I know not, never counting past their teens; Her glances on it, and then, longing, flung But there she slept, not quite so fair to see Stones, and whatever she could pick up, to As ere that awful period intervenes, Bring down tle fruit, which still perversely clung Which lays both men. and women on the shelf, To its own bough, and dangled yet in sight, To meditate upon their sins and self. But always at a most provoking height:LXX. LXXVII. But all this time how slept or dream'd Dudt, That on a sudden, when she least had hope, With strict inquiry I could ne'er discover, It fell down of its own accord, before And scorn to add a syllable untrue; Her feet; that her first movement was to stoop But ere the middle watch was hardly over, And pick it up, and bite it to the core; Just when the fading lamps waned dim and blue, That just as her young lip began to ope And phantoms hover'd, or might seem to hover, Upon the golden fruit the vision bore, To those who like their company, about A bee f~ w out and stung her to the heart, The apartment, on a sudden she scream'd out: And so-she awoke with a great scream and start LXXI. LXXVIII. And that so loudly, that upstarted all All this she told with some confusion and The Oda, in a general commotion: Dismay, the usual consequence of dreams Matron and maids, and those whom you may call Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand Neither, came crowding like the waves of ocean, To expound their vain and visionary gleams. One on the other, throughout the whole hall, I've known some odd ones which seem'd really plann'c All trembling, wondering, without the least notion, Prophetically, or that which one deems More than I have myself, of what could make "A strange coincidence," to use a phrase The calm Dud4 so turbulently wake. By which such things are settled now-a-days. LXXII. LXXIX. But wide awake she was, and round her bed, The damsels, who had thoughts of some great harm, With floating draperies and with flying hair, Began, as is the consequence of fear, With eager eyes, and light but hurried tread, To scold a little at the false alarm And bosoms, arms, and ancles glancing bare, That broke for nothing on their sleeping ear. And bright as any meteor ever bred The matron too was wroth to leave her warm By the North Pole,-they sought her cause of care, Bed for the dream she had been obliged to heam, For she seem'd agitated, flush'd, and frighten'd, And chafed at poor Dudu, who only sigh'd, Her eye dilated and. her colour heighten'd. And said that she was sorry she had cried. LXXIII. LXXX. But what is strange-and a strong proof how great "I've heard of stories of a cock and bull; A blessing is sound sleep, Juanna ley But visions of an apple and a bee, As fast as ever husband by his mate To take us from our natural rest, and pull In holy matrimony snores away. The whole Oda from their beds at half-past thre*. Not all the clamour broke her happy state Would make us think the moon is at its full. Of slumber, ere they shook her,-so they say, You surely are unwell, child! we must see. At least,-and then she too unclosed her eyes, To-morrow, what his highness's physician And yawn'd a good deal with discreet surprise. Will say to this hysteric of a vision. 628 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO FV LXXXI. LXXXVIII. And poor Juanna, too! the child's first night And that's the moral of this composition, Within these walls, to be broke in upon If people would but see its real drift;With such a clamour-I had thought it right But that they will not do without suspicion, That the young stranger should not lie alone, Because all gentle readers have the gift And, as the quietest of all, she might Of closing'gainst the light their orbs of vision; With yo', Dudu, a good night's rest have known; While gentle writers also love to lift But now 1 must transfer her to the charge Their voices'gainst each other, which is naturalOf Lolah-though her couch is not so large." The numbers are too great for them to flatter all LXXXII. LXXXIX. Iolah's eyes sparkled at the proposition; Rose the sultana from a bed of splendour,But poor Dudh, with large drops in her own, Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried Resulting from the scolding or the vision, Aloud because his feelings were too tender Implored that present pardon might be shown To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side,For this first fault, and "that on no condition So beautiful that art could little mend her, (She added in a soft and piteous tone), Though pale with conflicts betweenlove and pride:Juanna should be taken from her, and So agitated was she with' her error, Her future dreams should all be kept in hand. She did not even look into the mirror. LXXXIII. XC. She promised never more to have a dream, Also arose about the self-same time, At least to dream so loudly as just now; Perhaps a little later, her great lord, She wonder'd at herself how she could scream- Master of thirty kingdoms so sublime,'T was foolish, nervous, as she must allow, And of a wife by whom he was abhorr'd; A fond hallucination, and a theme A thing of much less import in that climeFor laughter-but she felt her spirits low, At least to those of incomes which afford And begg'd they would excuse her; she'd get over The filling up their whole connubial cargoThis weakness in a few hours, and recover. Than where two wives are under an embargo. LXXXIV. XCI. And here Juanna kindly interposed, He did not think much on the matter, nor And said the felt herself extremely well Indeed on any other: as a man, Where she then was, as her sound sleep disclosed He liked to have a handsome paramour When all around rang like a tocsin-bell: At hand, as one may like to have a fan, She did not find herself the least disposed And therefore of Circassians had good store, To quit her gentle partner, and to dwell As an amusement after the Divan; Apart from one who had no sin to show-C Though an unusual fit of love, or duty, Save that of dreaming once "mal-a-propos." Had made him lately bask in his bride's beauty. LXXXV. XCII. As thus Juanna spoke, Dudu turn'd round; And now he rose: and after due ablutions, And hid her face within Juanna's breast; Exacted by the customs of the East, Her neck alone was seen, but that was found And prayers, and other pious evolutions, The colour of a budding rose's crest. He drank six cups of coffee at the least, I can't tell why she blush'd, nor can expound And then withdrew to hear about the Russians, The mystery of this rupture of their rest; Whose victories had recently increased, All that I know is, that the facts I state In Catherine's reign, whom glory still adores Are true as truth has ever been of late. As greatest of all sovereigns and w-s. LXXXVI. XCIII. And so good night to them,-or, if you will, But oh, thou grand legitimate Alexander! Good morrow-for the cock had crown, and light Her son's son, let not this last phrase offend Began to clothe each Asiatic hill, Thine ear, if it should reach,-and now rhymes wander And the mosque crescent struggled into sight Almost as far as Petersburgh, and lend Of the long caravan, which in the chill A dreadful impulse to each loud meander Of dewy dawn wound slowly round each height Of murmuring Liberty's wide waves, which bleslThat stretches to the stony belt which girds Their roar even with the Baltic's,-so you be Asia, where Kaff looks down upon the Kurds. Your father's son,'t is quite enough for me. LXXXVII. XCIV. With tne first ray, or rather gray of morn, To call men love-begotten, or proclaim Gulbeyaz rose from restlessness; and pale Their mothers as the antipodes of Timon, As Passion rises, with its bosom worn, That hater of mankind, would be a shame, Array'd herself with mantle, gem, and veil: A libel, or whate'er you please to rhyme on' I he nightingale that sings with the deep thorn, But people's ancestors are history's game; \, h,'h Fable places in her breast of wail, And if one lady's slip could leave a crime on Is lighter far of heart and voice than those All generations, I should l'ke to know Whose headlong passions form their proper woes. What pedigree the best would have to show? CANTO VI. DON JUAN. 629 XCV. CII. Had Catherine and the sultan understood When Baba saw these symptoms, which he knew Their own true interest, which kings rarely know, To bode him no great good, lie deprecated Until't is taught by lessons rather rude, Her anger, and beseech'd she'd hear him throughThere was a way to end their strife, although He could not help the thing which lie related: Perhaps precarious, had they but thought good, Then out it came at length, that to Dudih Without the aid of prince or plenipo: Juan was given in charge, as hath been stated, She to dismiss her guards, and he his haram, But not by Baba's fault, he said, and swore on'And for their other matters, meet and share'em. The holy camel's hump, besides the Koran. XCVI. CIII. But as it was, his Highness had to hold The chief dame of the Oda, upon whom His daily council upon ways and means, The discipline of the whole haram bore, How to encounter with this martial scold, As soon as they re-enter'd their own room, This modern Amazon and Queen of queans; For Baba's function stopp'd short at the door, And the perplexity could not be told Had settled all; nor could he then presume Of all the pillars of the state, which leans (The aforesaid Baba) just then to. do more, Sometimes a little heavy on the backs Without exciting such suspicion as Of those who cannot lay on a new tax. Might make the matter still worse than it was. XCVII. CIV. Meantime Gulbeyaz, when her king was gone, He hoped, indeed he thought he could be sure, Retired into her boudoir, a sweet place Juan had not betray'd himself; in fact, For love or breakfast; private, pleasing, lonle,'Twas certain that his conduct had been pure, And rich with all contrivances which grace Because a foolish or imprudent act Those gay recesses:-many a precious stone Would not alone have made him insecure, Sparkled along its roof, and many a vase But ended in his being found out and sack'd Of porcelain held in the fetter'd flowers, And thrown into the sea.-Thus Baba spoke Those captive soothers of a captive's hours. Of all save Dudh's dream, which was no joke. XCVIII. CV. Mother-of-pearl, and porphyry, and marble, This he discreetly kept in the back ground, Vied with each other on this costly spot; And talk'd away-and might have talk'd till now, And singing-birds without were heard to warble; For any further answer that he found, And the stain'd glass which lighted this fair grot So deep an anguish wrung Gulbeyaz' brow; Varied each ray;-but all descriptions garble Her cheek turn'd ashes, ears rung, brain wnirl'd round, The true effect, and so we had better not As if she had received a sudden blow, Be too minute; an outline is the best,- And the heart's dew of pain sprang fast and chilly 4 lively reader's fancy does the rest. O'er her fair front, like morning's on a lily. XCIX. CVI. 4nd here she summon'd Baba, and required Although she was not of the fainting sort, Don Juan at his hands, and information Baba thought she would faint, but there he err'd-. Of what had pass'd since all the slaves retired, It was but a convulsion, which, though short, And whether he had occupied their station; Can never be described; we all have heard, If matters had been managed as desired, And some of us have felt thus "all amort," And his disguise with due consideration When things beyond the common have occurr'd; Kept up; and, above all, the where and how Gulbeyaz proved in that brief agony He had pass'd the night, was what she wish'd to know. What she could ne'er express-then how should I? C. CVII. Baba, with some embarrassment, replied She stood a moment, as a Pythoness To this long catechism of questions ask'd Stands on her tripod, agonized, and full More easily than answer'd,-that he had tried Of inspiration gather'd.from distress, His best to obey in what he had been task'd; When all the heart-strings like wild horses pull But there seem'd something that he wish'd to hide, The heart asunder;-then, as more or less Which hesitation more betray'd than mask'd; Their speed abated, or their strength grew dull, He scratch'd his ear, the infallible resource She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees, ro which embarrass'd people have recourse. And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling knee. CI. CVIII. Gulbeyaz was no model of true patience, Her face declined, and was unseen; her hair Nor much disposed-to wait in word or deed; Fell in long tresses like the weeping willow, She liked quick answers in all conversations; Sweeping the marble underneath her chair, And when she saw him stumbling like a steed Or rather sofa (for it was all pilloWv, — In his replies, she puzzled him for fresh ones; A low, soft ottoman), and black despair And as his speech grew still more broker-knee'd, Stirr'd up and down her bosom like a billow Her cheek began to flush, her eyes to sparkle, Which rushes to some shore, whose shingles cnree 4nd her proud brow's blue veins to swell and darkle. Its farther course, but must receive:ts wreca. 630 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTo VI CIX. CXVI. Hler head hung down, and her -long hair in stooping " What dost thou know of love or feeling?-wretch! Conceal'd her features better than a veil; Begone!" she cried, with kindling eyes, " and do And one hand o'er the ottoman lay drooping, My bidding!" Baba vanish'd; for to stretch White, waxen, and as alabaster pale: His own remonstrance further, he well knew, Would that I were a painter! to be grouping Might end in acting as his own "Jack Ketch;" All that a poet drags into detail! And, though he wish'd extremely to get through Oh that my- words were colours! but their tints This awkward business without harm to others, May serve perhaps as outlines or slight hints. He still preferr'd his own neck to another's. CX. CXVII. Baba, who knew by experience when to talk Away he went then upon his commission, And when to hold his tongue, now held it till Growling and grumbling in good Turkish phrase This passion might blow o'er, nor dared to balk Against all women, of whate'er condition, Gulbeyaz' taciturn or speaking will. Especially sultanas and their ways; At length she rose up, and began to walk Their obstinacy, pride, and indecision, Slowly along the room, but silent still, Their never knowing their own mind two days, And her brow clear'd, but not her troubled eye- The trouble that they gave, their immorality, The wind was down, but still the sea ran high. Which made him daily bless his own neutrality. CXI. CXVIII. She stopp'd, and raised her head to speak-but paused, And then he call'd his brethren to his aid, And then moved on again with rapid pace; And sent one on a summons to the pair, Then slacken'd it, which is the march most caused That they must instantly be well array'd, By deep emotion:-you may sometimes trace And, above all, be comb'd even to a hair, A feeling in each footstep, as disclosed And brought before the empress, who had made By Sallust in his Catiline, who, chased Inquiries after them with kindest care: By all the demons of all passions, show'd At which Dudh look'd strange, and Juan silly; Their work even by the way in which he trode. But go they must at once, and will I-nill 1. CXII. CXIX. Gulbeyaz stopp'd and beckon'd Baba:-" Slave! And here I leave them at their preparation Bring the two slaves!" she said, in a low tone, For the imperial presence, wherein whether But one which Baba did not like to brave, Gulbeyaz show'd them both commiseration, And yet he shudder'd, and seem'd rather prone Or got rid of the parties altogetherTo prove reluctant, and begg'd leave to crave Like other angry ladies of her nation,(Though he well knew the meaning) to be shown Are things the turning of a hair or feather What slaves her highness wish'd to indicate, Mav settle; but far be't from me to anticipate For fear of any error like the late. In wnat way feminine caprice may dissipate. CXIII. CXX. "The Georgian and her paramour," replied I leave them for the present, with good wishes, The imperial bride-and added, "Let the boat Though doubts of their well-doing, to arrange Be ready by the secret portal's side: Another part of history; for the dishes You know the rest." The words stuck in her throat, Of this our banquet we must sometimes change Despite her injured love and fiery pride; And, trusting Juan may escape the fishes, And of this Baba willingly took note, Although his situation now seems strange And begg'd, by every hair of Mahomet's beard, And scarce secure, as such digressions are fair She would revoke the order he had heard. The muse will take a little touch at warfare. CXIV. *'To hear is to obey," he said; "but still, Sultana, think upon the consequence: It is not that I shall not all fulfil Your orders, even in their severest sense; But such precipia-tion may end ill, CANIrTO VII. Even at your own imperative expense; I do not mean destruction and exposure, In case of any premature disclosure; CXV. I.' But your own feelings.-Even sinuld all the rest OH love! Oh glory! what are ye? who fly Be. hidden by the rolling waves, which hide Around us ever, rarely to alight: A:reidy many a once love-beaten breast There's not a meteor in the polar sky Deep in the caverns of the deadly tide — 4f such transcendent and more fleeting flight. You love this boyish, new seraglio guest, Chill, and chain'd to cold earth, we lift on high And-if this violent remedy be tried- Our eyes in search of either lovely light; excuse my freedom, when I here assure you, A theirand and a thousand colours they Vhat killing him is not the way to cure you." Assume, then leave us on our freezing way. CANTO Vit. DON JUAN. G31 II. IX. And such as they are, such my present tale i, The fortress is call'd Ismail, and is placed A non-descript and ever-varying rhyme, Upon the Danube's left branch and left bank, A versified Aurora Borealis, With buildings in the oriental taste, Which flashes o'er a waste and icy clime. But still a fortress of the foremost rank, When we know what all are, we must bewail us, Or was, at least, unless't is since defaced, But ne'ertheless, I hope it is no crime Which with your-conquerors is a common prank To l"ugh at all things: for I wish to know It stands some eighty versts from the high sea, TVhat, after all, are all things-but a show? And measures round of toises thousands three. III. X. They accuse me-me-the present writer of Within the extent of this fortification The present poem, of-I know not what,- A borough is comprised, along the height A tendency to underrate and scoff Upon the left, which, from its loftier station, At human power and virtue, and all that; Commands the city, and upon its site And this they say in language rather rough. A Greek had raised around this elevation Good God! I wonder what they would be at? A quantity of palisades upright, I say no more than has been said in Dante's So placed as to impede the fire of those Verse, and by Solomon, and by Cervantes; Who held the place, and to assist the foe's. IV. XI. By Swift, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault, This circumstance may serve to give a notion By Fenelon, by Luthcr, and by Plato; Of the high talents of this new Vauban; By Tillotson, and Wesley, and Rousseau, But the town ditch below was deep as ocean, Who knew this life was not worth a potato. The rampart higher than you'd wish to hang:'T is not their fault, nor mine, if this be so- But then there was a great want of precaution, For my part, I pretend not to be Cato. (Prithee, excuse this engineering slang), Nor even Diogenes. —We live and die, Nor work advanced, nor cover'd way was there, But which is best, you know no more than 1. To hint at least " Here is no thoroughfare." V. XII. Socrates said, our only knowledge was, But a stone bastion, with a narrow gorge, "To know that nothing could be known;" a pleasant And walls as thick as most skulls born as yet Science enough, which levels to an ass Two batteries, cap-a-pie, as our Saint George, Each man of wisdom, future, past, or present. Case-mated one, and't other a "barbette," Newton (that proverb of the mind), alas! Of Danube's bank took formidable charge; Declared, with all his grand discoveries recent, While two-and-twenty cannon, duly set, That he himself felt only "like a youth Rose o'er the town's right side, in bristling tier, Picking up shells by the great ocean-truth." Forty feet high, upon a cavalier. VI. XIII. Ecclesiastes said, that all is vanity- But from the river the town's open quite, Most modern preachers say the same, or show it Because the Turks could never be persuaded By their examples of true Christianity; A Russian vessel e'er would heave in sight; In short, all know, or very soon may know it: And such their creed was, till they were invaded, And in this scene of all-confess'd inanity, When it grew rather late to set things right. By saint, by sage, by preacher, and by poet, But as the Danube could not well be waded, Must I restrain me, through the fear of strife, They look'd upon the Muscovite flotilla, From holding up the nothingness of life? And only shouted, "Alla!" and "Bis Millah!' VII. XIV. Dogs, or men! (for I flatter you in saying The Russians now were ready to attack; Tnat ye are dogs-your betters far) ye may But oh, ye goddesses of war and glory! Read, or read not, what I am now essaying How shall I spell the name of each Cossack To show ye what ye are in every way. Who were immortal, could one tell their story? As little as the moon stops for the baying Alas! what to their memory can lack?' Of wolves, will the bright Muse withdraw one ray Achilles self was not more grim and gory From out her skies;-then howl your idle wrath! Than thousands of this new and polish'd nation, While she still silvers o'er your gloomy path. Whose names want nothing but-pronunciation. VIII. XV. Fierce loves and faithless wars"-I am not sure Still I'1l record a few, if but to increase If this be the right reading-'t is no matter; Our euphony-there was Strongenoff, and St okonotfH The fact's about the same; I am secure;- Meknop, Serge Lwdw, Arseniew of modern Greece, I sing them both, and am about to batter And Tschitsshakoff, and Roguenoff, and CLhokenofl, A town which did a famous siege endure, And others of twelve consonants apiece: And was beleaguer'd both by land and water And more might be found out, ifI could poke enough By Suvaroff, or anglic6 Suwarrow, Into gazettes; but Fame (capricious strumpet!) Who loved blood as an alderman loves marrow. It seems, has got an ear as well as trunnet, 632 BYRON'S WORKS. CA2NTO VI. XVI. XXIII. And cannot tune those discords of narration, The RsFsians, having built two batteries on Which may be names at Moscow, into rhyme. An isle near Ismail, had two ends m view; Yet there were several worth commemoration, The first was to bombard it, and knock down As e'er was virgin of a nuptial chime; The public buildings, and the private too, Soft words too, fitted for the peroration No matter what poor souls might be undone. Of Londonderry, drawling against time, The city's shape suggested this,'t is true; Ending in"ischskin,"."onsckin," "iffskchy," "ouskif' Form'd like an amphitheatre, each dwelling Of whoml we can insert but Rousamouski, Presented a fine mark to throw a shell in. XVII. XXIV. Scherematoff and Chrematoff, Koklophti, The second object was to profit by Koclobski, Kourakin, and Mouskin Pollskin, The moment of the general consternation, Ail proper men of weapons, as e'er scoff'd high To attack the Turk's flotilla, which lay nigh, Against a foe, or ran a sabre through skin: Extremely tranquil, anchor'd at its station: Little cared they for Mahomet or Mufti, But a third motive was as probably Unless to make their kettle-drums a new skin To frighten them into capitulation; Out of their hides, if parchment had grown dear, A phantasy which sometimes seizes warriors, And no more handy substitute been near. Unless they are game as bull-dogs and fox-terriers XVIII. XXV. Then there were foreigners of much renown, A habit rather blameable, which is Of various nations, and all volunteers; That of despising those we combat with, Not fighting for their country or its crown, Common in many cases, was in this But wishing to be one day brigadiers; The cause of killing Tchitchitzkoff and Smith; Also to have the sackin of a town- One of the valorous "Smiths" whom we shall miss A pleasant thing to young men at their years. Out of those nineteen who late rhymed to " pith;10'Mongst them were several Englishmen of pith, But't is a name so spread o'er" Sir" and "Madam,', Sixteen call'd Thompson, and nineteen named Smith. That one would think the FIRST who bore it "ADAM." XIX. XXVI. Jack Thompson and Bill Thompson;-all the rest The Russian batteries were incomplete, Had been cali'd "Jcemmy," after the great bard; Because they were constructed in a hurry. I don't know whether they had arms or crest, Thus, the same cause which makes a verse want feet, But such a godfather's as good a card. And throws a cloud o'er Longman and John Murray Three of the Smiths were Peters; but the best When the sale of new books is not so fleet Amongst them all, hard blows to inflict or ward, As they who print them think is necessary, Was he, since so renown'd' in country quarters May likewise put off for a time what story At Halifax;" but now he, served the Tartars. Sometimes calls "murder," and at others "glory." XX. XXVII. The rest were Jacks and Gills, and Wills and Bills; Whether it was their engineers' stupidity, But when I've added that the elder Jack Smith Their haste, or waste, I neither know nor care, Was born in Cumberland among the hills, Or some contractor's personal cupidity, And that his father was an honest blacksmith, Saving his soul by cheating in the ware I've said all I know of a name that fills Of homicide; but there was no solidity Three lines of the despatch in taking "Schmacsmith," In the new batteries erected there; A village of Moldavia's waste, wherein They either miss'd, or they were never miss'd, He fell, immortal in a bulletin. And added greatly to the missing list. XXI. XXVIII. I wonder (although Mars no doubt's a god I A sad miscalculation about distance Praise) if a man's name in a bulletin Made all their naval matters incorrect; May make up for a bullet in his:body? Three fire-ships lost their amiable existence, I hope this little question is no sin, Before they reach'd a spot to take effect: Because, though I am but a simple noddy, The match was lit too soon, and no assistance I think one Shakspeare puts the same thought in Could remedy this lubberly defect; The mouth of some one in his plays so doating, Tbey blew up in the middle of the river, Which many people pass for wits by quoting. While, though't was dawn, the Turks slept fast as eaa XXII. XXIX. Then' there were Frenchmen, gallant, young, and gay: At seven they rose, however, and survey'd But I'in too great a patriot to record The Russ flotilla getting under way; Their gallic names upon a glorious day;'T was nine, when still advancing undismay'd, I'd rather teL ten.ies than say a word Within a cable's length their vessels lay Of trulh;-such tiaths are treason: they betray Off Ismail, and commenced a cannonade, Their coentry. and, as traitors are abhorr'd, Which was return'd with interest, I may say, Who name the French and English, save to show And by a fire of musketry and grape, flow peace should make John Bull the Frenchman's foe. And shells and shot of every size and shape. CANTO VII. DON JUAN. 633 XXX. XXXVII. For six hJurs bore they without intermission This was Potemkin-a great thing in days The Turkish fire; and, aided by their own When homicide and harlotry made great, Land batterits, worl'd their guns with great precision: If stars and titles could entail long praise, At length they found mere cannonade alone His glory might half equal his estate. By no means would produce the town's submission, This fellow, being six foot high, could raise And made a signal to retreat at one. A kind of phantasy proportionate )ne bark blew up; a second, near the works In the then sovereign of the Russian people, Running aground, was taken by the Turks. Who measured men as you would do a steeple. XXXI. XXXVIII. The Moslem too had lost both ships and men; While things were in abeyance, Ribas sent But when they saw the enemy retire, A courier to the prince, and he succeeded Their Delhis mann'd some boats, and sail'd again, In ordering matters after his own bent. And gall'd the Russians with a heavy fire, I cannot tell the way in which he pleaded, And tried to make a landing on the main. But shortly he had cause to be content. But here the effect fell short of their desire: In the mean time the batteries proceeded, Count Damas drove them back into the water And fourscore cannon on the Danube's border Pell-mell, and with a whole gazette of slaughter. Were briskly fired and answer'd in due order. XXXII. XXXIX. "If" (says the historian here), "I could report But on the thirteenth, when already part All that the Russians did upon this day, Of the troops were embark'd, the siege to raise, I think that several volumes would fall short, A courier on the spur inspired new heart And I should still have many things to say;" Into all panters for newspaper praise, And so he says no more-but pays his court As well as dilettanti in war's art, To some distinguish'd strangers in that fray, By his despatches couch'd in pithy phrase, The Prince de Ligne, and Langeron, and Damas, Announcing the appointment of that lover of Names great as any that the roll of fame has. Battles to the command, Field-Marshal Suvaroff. XXXIII. XL. This being the case, may show us what fame is: The letter of the prince to the same marshal For out of three "preux chevaliers," how Was worthy of a Spartan, had the cause Many of common readers give a guess Been one to which a good heart could be partial,That such existed? (and they may live now Defence of freedom, country, or of laws; For aught we know). Renown's all hit or miss; But as it was mere lust of power to o'er-arch all There's fortune even in fame, we must allow. With its proud brow, it merits slight applause,'T is true the Memoirs of the Prince de Ligne Save for its style, which said, all in a trice, Have half withdrawn from him oblivion's skreen. "You will take Ismail, at whatever price." XXXIV. XLI. But here are men who fought in gallant actions " Let there be light!" said God, "and there was light!" As gallantly as ever heroes fought, "Let there be blood!" says man, and there's a sea! But buried in the heap of such transactions- The fiat of this spoil'd child of the night Their names are seldom found, nor often sought. (For day ne'er saw his merits) could decree Thus even good fame may suffer sad contractions, More evil in an hour, than thirty bright And is extinguish'd sooner than she ought: Summers could renovate, though they should be Of all our modern battles, I will bet Lovely as those which ripen'd Eden's fruitYou can't repeat nine names from each gazette. For war cuts up not only branch but root. XXXV. XLII. In short, this last attack, though rich in glory, Our friends the Turks, who with loud "Allas" new Show'd that somewhere, somehow, there was a fault; Began to signalize the Russ retreat, And Admiral Ribas (known in Russian story) Were damnably mistaken; few are slow Most strongly recommended an assault; In tninking that their enemy is beat In which he was opposed by young and hoary, (Or beaten, if you insist on grammar, though Which made a long debate:-but I must halt; I never think about it in a heat); For if I wrote down every warrior's speech, But here I say the Turks were much mistaken. I doubt few readers e'er would mount the breach. Who, hating hogs, yet wish'd to save their bacon. XXXVI. XLIII. There was a man, if that he was a man,- For, on the sixteenth, at full gallop drew Not that his manhood could be call'd in question, In sight two horsemen, who were deem'd CossackP For, had he not been Hercules, his span For some time, till they came in nearer view. Had been as short in youth as indigestion They had but little baggage at their backs, Made his last illness, when, all worn and wan, For there were but three shirts between the twu He died beneath a tree, as much unbless'd on But on they rode upon two Ukraine hacks, The soil of the green province he had wasted, Till, in approaching, were at length descried As e'er was locust on the land it blasted;- In this plain pair, Suwarrow and his gull 3 G 85 634 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO VII. XLIV. LI * Great joy to Loniaon now!" says some great fool, New batteries were erected; and was held When London had a grand illumination, A general council, in which unanimity, Which, to that bottle-conjuror, John Bull, That stranger to most councils, here prevail'd, Is of all dreams the first hallucination; As sometimes happens in a great extremity; So that the streets of colour'd lamps are full, And, every difficulty being expelld, That sage (said John) surrenders at discretion Glory began to dawn with due sublimity, His purse, his soul, his sense, and even his nonsense, While Suvaroff, determined to obtain it,'1I gratify, like a huge moth, this one sense. Was teaching his recruits to use the bayonet.' XLV. LII.'T is strange that he should further "damn his eyes," It is an actual fact, that he, commanderFor they are damn'd: that once all-famous oath In-chief, in proper person deign'd to drill Is to the devil now no further prize, The awkward squad, and could afford to squander Since John has lately lost the use of both. His time, a corporal's duties to fulfil: Debt he calls wealth, and taxes, paradise; Just as you'd break a sucking salamander And famine, with her gaunt and bony growth, To swallow flame, and never take it ill; Which stares him in the face, he won't examine, He show'd them how to mount a ladder (which Or swears that Ceres hath begotten Famine. Was not like Jacob's) or to cross a ditch. XLVI. LIII. But to the tale. Great joy unto the camp! Also he dress'd up, for the nonce, fascines To Russian, Tartar, English, French, Cossack, Like men, with turbans, scimitars, and dirks, O'er whom Suwarrow shone like a gas-lamp, And made them charge with bayonets these machines Presaging a most luminous attack; By way of lesson against actual Turks. Or, like a wisp along the marsh so damp, And, when well practised in these mimic scenes, Which leads beholders on a boggy walk, He judged them proper to assail the works; He flitted to and fro, a dancing light, At which your wise men sneer'd, in phrases witty:Which all who saw it follow'd, wrong or right. He made no answer; but he took the city. XLVII. LIV. But, certcs, matters took a different face; Most things were in this posture.on the eve There was enthusiasm and much applause, Of the assault, and all the camp was in The fleet and camp saluted with great grace, A stern repose; which you would scarce conceive: And all presaged good fortune to their cause. Yet men, resolved to dasl through thick and thin, Within a cannon-shot length of the place Are very silent when they once believe They drew, constructed ladders, repair'd flaws That all is settled:-there was little din, In former works, made new, prepared fascines, For some were thinking of their home and friends, And all kinds of benevolent machines. And others of themselves and latter ends. XLVIII. LV.'Tis thus the spirit of a single mind Suwarrow chiefly was on the alert, Makes that of multitudes take one direction, Surveying, drilling, ordering, jesting, pondering: As roll the waters to the breathing wind, For the man was, we safely may assert, Or roams the herd beneath the bull's protection: A thing to wonder at beyond most wondering; Or as a little dog will lead the blind, Hero, buffoon, half-demon, and half dirt, Or a bellweather form the flock's connexion Praying, instructing, desolating, blundering; By inkling sounds when they go forth to victual: Now Mars, no.w Momus; and when bent to storm Such is the sway of your great men o'er little. A fortress, Harlequin in uniform. XLIX. LVI. The whole camp rung with joy; you would have thought The day before the assault, while upon drillThat they were going to a marriage-feast, For this great conqueror play'd the corporal(This metaphor, I think, holds good as aught, Some Cossacks, hovering like hawks round a hill, Since there is discord after both at least), Had met a party, towards the twilight's fall, There was not now a luggage-boy but sought One of whom spoke their tongue, or well or illDanger and spoil with ardour much increased;'Twas much that he was understood at all; And why? because a little, odd, old man, But whether from his voice, or speech, or manner, Stript to his shirt, was come to lead the van. They found that he had fought beneath their banner. L. LVII. isut so it was; and every preparation Whereon, immediately at his request, Was made with all alacrity; the first Theybrought him and his comrades to head-quarters: Detachment of three columns took its station, Their dress was Moslem, but you might have guess'd And waited but the signal's voice to burst That these were merely masquerading Tartars,.'pon the foe: the second's ordination And that beneath each Turkish-fashion'd vest Was also in three columns, with a thirst Lurk'd Christianity; who sometimes barters I'm glnav gaping o'er a sea of slaughter: Her inward grace for outward show, and makes'1!. third, in columns two, attack'd by water. It difficult to shun some stranger mistakes. CAN1TO VI. DON JUAN. 635 LVIII. LXV. Suwarrow, who was standing in his shirt, Johnson, who knew by this long colloquy Before a company of Calmucks, drilling, Himself a favourite, ventured to address Exclaiming, fooling, swearing at the inert, Suwarrow, though engaged with accents high And lecturing on the noble art of killing,- In his resumed amusement. " I confess For, deeming human clay but common dirt, My debt, in being thus allow'd to die This great philosopher was thus instilling Among the foremost; but if you'd express His maxims, which, to martial comprehension, Explicitly our several posts, my friend Proved death in battle equal to a pension;- And self would know what duty to attend." — LIX. LXVI. Suwarrow, when he saw this company "Right! I was busy, and forgot. Why, you Of Cossacks and their prey, turn'd round and cast Will join your former regiment, which should be Upon them his slow brow and piercing eye:- Now under arms. Ho! Katskoff, take him to — "Whence come ye?"-"FromConstantinople last, (Here he call'd up a Polish orderly)Captives just now escaped," was the reply. His post, I mean the regiment Nikolaiew. "What are ye?"-"Whatyou see us." Briefly past The stranger stripling may remain with me; This dialogue; for he who answer'd knew He's a fine boy. The women may be sent To whom he spoke, and made his words but few. To the other baggage, or to the sick tent." LX. " Your names?" —"Mine s Johnson, and my comrade'sLXVII. TJuan;' JhsnanmycrdeBut here a sort of scene began to ensue: The other two are women, and te third The ladies,-who by no means had been bred Is neither man nor woman." The chief threw on To be disposed of in away so new, The party a slight glance, then said: "I have heard Although their haram education led Your name before, the second is a new one; Doubtless to that of doctrines the most true, Passive obedience, —now raised up the head, To bring the other three here was absurd; Passive obedience,-now raised up the head, But let that pass;-I think I've heard your name With flasing eyes and starting tears, and fung In the Nikolaiew regiment?"-" The same."- Their arms, as hens their wings about their young, LXI. LXVIII. "You served at Widin?"'tYes." "You led the attack?" O'er the promoted couple of brave men " I did."-" What next?"-" I really hardly know." Who were thus honour'd by the greatest chief " You were the first i' the breach?"-" I was not slack, That ever peopled hell with heroes slain, At least, to follow those who might be so."- Or plunged a province or a realm in grief. " What follow'd?"-" A shot laid me on my back, Oh, foolish mortals! always taught in vain! And I became a prisoner to the foe."- Oh, glorious laurel!'since for one sole leaf " You shall have vengeance, for the town surrounded Of thine imaginary deathless tree, Is twice as strong as that where you were wounded. Of blood and tears must flow the unebbing sea. LXII. LXIX' Where will you serve?"-" Where'er you please."- Suwarrow, who had small regard for tears, "I know YouI know be the hopeAnd not much sympathy for blood, survey'd You like to be the hope of the forlorn, #.. v ou lie to be the hope of the forlorn, The women with their hair about their ears, And doubtless would be foremost on the foe wh a s And natural agonies, with a slight shade After the hardships you've already borne. O f, And this young fellow? say what can he do?- *nd hio ~tln.ellow? say what can Men's hearts against whole millions, when their trade He with the beardless chin, and garments torn."-Is butchery, sometimes a single sorrow "Why, general, if he hath no greater fault l tn even heroes-and such was Suwa Will touch even heroes-and such was Suwaivow. In war than love, he had better lead the assault."LXIII. LXX. He shall, if that he dare." Here Juan bow'd He saidand in the kindest Calmuck toneLow as the compliment deserved. Suwarrow "Why, Johnson, what the devil do yot mean Continued: "Your old regiment's allow'd, By bringing women here? They shall be shown By special providence, to lead to-morrow, All the attention possible, and seen Or it may be to-night, the assault: I've vow'd In safety to the wagons, where alone To several saints, that shortly plough or harrow I fact they can be safe. You should have Shall pass o'er what was Ismail, and its tusk Aware this kind of baggage never thrives: Be unimpeded by the proudest mosque. Save wed a year, I hate recruits with wives.' LXIV. LXXI. "So now, my lads, for glory!"-Here he turn'd, "May it please your excellency," thus repied Ard drill'd away in the most classic Russian, Our British friend, " these are the wives of others Until each high, heroic bosom burn'd And not our own. I am too qualified For cash and conquest, as if from a cushion By service with my military brothers, A preacher had held forth (who nobly spurn'd To break the rules by bringing one's own brine All earthly goods save tithes) and bade them push on Into a camp; I know that nought so bothers To slay the Pagans who resisted, battering The hearts of'*e heroin on a charge, The armies of the Christian Empress Catherine. As leaving a small family at iarge. 636 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO VII. LXXII. LXXIX. "But these are but two Turkish ladies, who Oh, thou eternal Homer! who couldst charm With their attendant aided our escape, All ears, tiough long-all ages, though so short, And afterwards accompanied us through By merely wielding with poetic arm A thousand perils in this dubious shape. Arms to which men will never more resort; To me this kind of life is not so new; Unless gunpowder should be found to harm To them, poor things! it is an awkward step; Much less than is the hope of every court, I therefore, if you wish me to fight freely, Which now is leagued young Freedom to annoy;. Request that they may both be used genteelly." But they will not find Liberty a Troy: LXXIII. LXXX. Meantime, these two poor girls, with swimming eyes, Oh, thou eternal Homer! I have now Look'd on as if in doubt if they could trust To paint a siege, wherein more men were slain, Their own protectors; nor was their surprise With deadlier engines and a speedier blow, Less than their grief (and truly not less just) Than in thy Greek gazette of that campaign; To see an old man, rather wild than wise And yet, like all men else, I must allow, In aspect, plainly clad, besmear'd with dust, To vie with thee would be about as vain Stript to his waistcoat, and that not too clean, As for a brook to cope with ocean's flood; More fear'd.than all the sultans ever seen. But still we inoderns equal you in bloodLXXIV. LXXXI. LXXXI. For every thing seem'd resting on his nod, If not in poetry, at least in fact: As they could read in all eyes. Now, to them, And fact is truth, the grand deideratum! Who were accustom'd, as'a sort of god, (Of which, howe'er the Muse describes each act, To see the sultan, rich in many a gem, There should be, ne'ertheless, a slight substratum. Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad But now the town is going to be attack'd; (That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem), Great deeds are doing-how shall I relate'em? With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt Souls of immortal generals! Phmbus watches How power could condescend to do without. To colour up his rays from your despatches. LXXV. LXXXII Johq-Johnson, seeing their extreme dismay, ye gt b s o Oh, ye great bulletins of Bonaparte! Though little versed in feelings oriental, Though little versd in flins orie, Oh, ye less grand long lists of kill'd and wounded suggested some slight comfort in his wely. i ~ v i r c_ Su ggested some slight comfort in his w'sy. Shade of Leonidas! who fought so hearty, Don Juan, who was much more sentimental, Don Juan, who was much more sentimental, When my poor Greece was once, as now, surronided Swore they should see him by tht dawn of day, h, Csars Commentaries! now impart ye Oh, Caesar's Commentariest now impart ye, Or that the Russian army should repent all:! (t I be Shadows of glory! (lest I be confounded) And, strange to say, they found some consolation'I. thi-f femaeA,. A portion of your fading twilight hues, In this —for females like exaggeration. So beautiful, so fleeting to the Muse. LXXVI. And then, with tears, and sighs, and some slight kisses, LXXXIII. They parted for the present-these to await,ading" artial immortality, According to the artillery's hits or misses, I mean, that every age and every year, What sages call Chance, Providence, or Fate- And -almost every day, in sad reality, (Uncertainty is one of many blisses,Some sucking hero is compell'd to rear, A mortgage on Humanity's estate)- Who, when we come to sum up the totality A mortgage on Humanity's estate)- Of deeds to human h ost dear, While their beloved friends began to arm, human happiness most dear, To burn a town which never did them harm. ITurns out to be a butcher in great business, To'burn a town which never did them harm. LXXVII. Afflicting young folks with a sort of dizziness. Suwarrow, who but saw things in the gross- LXXXIV. Being much too gross to see them in detail; Medals, ranks, ribbons, lace, embroidery, scarlet, Who calculated life as so much dross, Are things immortal to immortal man, And as the wind a widow'd nation's wail, As purple to the Babylonian harlot: And cared as little for his army's loss An uniform to boys is like a fan (So that their efforts should at length prevail) To women; there is scarce a crimson varlet, As wife and friends did for the boils of Job;- But deems himself the first in glory's van. WW+ was't to him to hear two women sob? But glory's glory; and if you would find LXX~v-III. - ^ What that is-ask the pig who sees the wind. LXXVIII. Nothing. The work of glory still went on, LXXXV. In preparations for a cannonade At least he feels it, and some say he sees, As terrible as that of Ilion, Because he runs before it like a pig; If Homer haa found mortars ready made; Or, if that simple sentence should displease, But now, instead of slaying Priam's son, Say that he scuds before it like a brig, We only can but talk of escalade, A schooner, or-but it' is time to ease rlomos, drums, guns, bastions, batteries, bayonets, This canto, ere my Muse perceives fatigue. bullets, The next shall ring a peal to shake all people, Hard words which stick in the soft Muses' gullets. Like a bob-major from a village-steeple. CANTO VIIi. DON JUAN. 637 LXXXVI. V. Hark! through the silence of the cold dull night, And such they are-and such they will be found. The hum of armies gathering rank on rank! Not so Leonidas and Washington, Lo! dusky masses steal in dubious sight Whose every battle-field is holy ground, Along the leaguer'd wall and bristling bank Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone, Of the arm'd river, while with straggling light How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound! The stars peep through the vapours dim and dank, While the mere victors may appal or stun Which curl in curious wreaths-*-How soon the smoke The servile and the vain, such names will be Of hell shall pall them in a deeper cloak! A watchword till the future shall be free. LXXXVII. VI. Here pause we for the present-as even then The night was dark, and the thick mist allow'd That awful pause, dividing life from death, Nought to be seen save the artillery's flame, Struck for an instant on the hearts of men, Which arch'd the horizon like a fiery cloud, Thousands of whomwere drawing their last breath! And in the Danube's waters shone the same, A moment-and all will be life again! A mirror'd hell! The volleying roar, and loud The march! the charge! the shouts of either faith! Long booming of each peal on peal, o'ercame Hurra! and Allah! and-one moment more- The ear far more than thunder; for Heaven's flashes The death-cry drowning in the battle's roar. Spare, or smite rarely-Man's make millions ashes! VII. The column order'd on the assault scarce pass'd Beyond the Russian batteries a few toises, When up the bristling Moslem rose at last, Answering the Christian thunders with like voices; (^CANTO VTIIITT Then one vast fire, air, earth, and stream embraced, Which rock'd as't were beneath the mighty noises; While the whole rampart blazed like Etna, when The restless Titan hiccups in his den. ~I.~~~~~ ~~~VIII. OH blood and thunder! and oh blood and wounds! And one enormous shoutofAlh! rose These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem, n the roar Too gentle reader! and most shocking sounds: Of war's most mortal engines, to their foes And so they are; yet thus is Glory's dream, stream, and shore nri, ad as my true M e Resounded "Allah!" and the clouds, which close Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds At present such things, since they are her theme, thickenin caopy the conict o'er, So be they her inspirers! Call them Mars, Vibrate to the Eternal Name. Hark throug Bellona, what you will-they mean but wars. All sounds it pierceth, "Allah! Allah! Hu!"' Bellona, what you will-they mean but wars. IX. II. The columns were in movement, one and all: All was prepared-the fire, the sword, the men But, of the portion which attack'd by water, To wield them in their terrible array. Thicker than leaves the lives began to fall, The army, like a lion from his den, The army, like lion from his den, hough led by Arseniew, that great son of slaughter March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay- As brave as ever faced both boom and ball. A human Hydra, issuing from its fen "Carnage (so Wordsworth tells you) is God's To breathe destruction on its winding way, daughter:" Whose heads were heroes, which, cut off in vain, If he speak truth, she is Christ's sister, and Immediately in, others grew again. Just now behaved as in the Holy Land. III. X. History can only take things in the gross; The Prince de Ligne was wounded in the knee; But could we know them in detail, perchance Count Chapeau-Bras too had a ball between In balancing the profit and the loss, His cap and head, which proves the head to be War's merit it by no means might enhance, Aristocratic as was ever seen, To waste so much gold for a little dross, Because it then received no injury As hath been done, mere conquest to advance, More than the cap; in fact the ball could mean The drying up a single tear has more No harm unto a right legitimate head: Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore. "Ashes to ashes "-why not lead to lead? IV. XI. And why? because it brings self-approbation; Also the General Markow, Brigadier, Whereas the other, after all its glare, Insisting on removal of the prince, Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a ration- Amidst some groaning thousands dying neat, Which (it may be) has not much left to spare- All common fellows, who might writhe and vwmle, A higher title, or a loftier station, And shriek for water into a deaf ear,Though they may make corruption gape or stare, The General Markow, who could thus evince Yet, in the end, except in freedom's battles, His sympathy for rank, by the same token, Are nothing but a child of murder's rattles. To teach him greater, had his own leg broken. 3 G2 638 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO Vlll. XII. XIX. Three hundred cannon threw up their emetic, Juan and Johnson join'd a certain corps, And thirty thousand muskets flung their pills And fought away with might and main, not knowing Like hail, to make a bloody diuretic. The way which they had never trod before, Mortality! thou hast thy monthly bills; And still less guessing where they might be going Thy plagues, thy famines, thy physicians, yet tick, But on they march'd, dead bodies trampling o'er, Like the death-watch, within our ears the ills Firing, and thrusting, slashing, sweating, glowing Past, present, and to come;-but all may yield But fighting thoughtlessly enough to win, To the true portrait of one battle-field. To their two selves, one whole bright bulletin. XIII. XX. There the still varying pangs, which multiply Thus on they wallow'd in the bloody mire Until their very number makes men hard Of dead and dying thousands,-sometimes gaining By the infinities of agony, A yard or two of ground, which brought them nigher Which meet the gaze, whate'er it may regarid- To some odd angle for which all were straining; The groan, the roll in dust, the all-white eye l At other times, repulsed by the close fire, Turn'd back within its socket,-these reward Which really pour'd as if all hell were raining, Your rank and file bythousands, while the reit Instead of heaven, they stumbled backwards o'er May win, perhaps, a ribbon at the breast! A wounded comrade, sprawling in his gore. XIV. XXI. Yet I love glory; glory's a great thing; Though't was Don Juan's first of fields, and though Think what it is to be in your old age The nightly muster and the silent march Maintain'd at the expense of your good king: In the chill dark, when courage does not glow A moderate pension shakes full many a sage, So much as under a triumphal arch, And heroes are but made for bards to sing, Perhaps might make him shiver, yawn, or throw Which is still better; thus in verse to wage A glance on the dull clouds (as thick as starch, Your wars eternally, besides enjoying Which stiffen'd heaven) as if he wish'd for day;Half-pay for life, make mankind worth destroying. Yet for all this lie did not run away. XV. XXII. The troops already disembark'd push'd on Indeed he could not. But what if he had? To take a battery on the right; the others, There have been and are heroes who begun Who landed lower down, their landing done, With something not much better, or as bad: Had set to work as briskly as their brothers: Frederic the Great from Molwitz deign'd to run, Being grenadiers, they mounted, one by one, For the first and last time; for, like a pad, Cheerful as children climb the breasts of mothers,- Or hawk, or bride, most mortals, after one O'er the entrenchment and the palisade, Warm bout, are broken into their new tricks, Quite orderly, as if upon parade. And fight like fiends for pay or politics. XVI. XXIII. And this was admirable; for so hot He was what Erin calls, in her sublime The fire was, that were red Vesuvius loaded, Old Erse or Irish, or it may be Punic, Besides its lava, with all sorts of shot (The antiquarians who can settle time, And shells or hells, it could not more have goaded. Which settles all things, Roman, Greek, or Runic, Of officers a third fell on the spot, Swear that Pat's language sprung from the same cliiwe A thing which victory by no means boded With Hannibal, and wears the Tyrian tunic To gentlemen engaged in the assault: Of Dido's alphabet; and this is rational Hounds, when the huntsman tumbles, are at fault. As any other notion, and not national);-4 XVII. XXIV. But here I leave the general concern, But Juan was quite "a broth of a boy," To track our hero on his path of fame: A thing of impulse and a child of song: Be must his laurels separately earn; Now swin'iifiginthi sentim ent-of joy, For fifty thousand heroes, name by name, Or the sensation (if that phrase seem wrong), Though all deserving equally to turn And afterwards, if he must —needs destroy, A couplet, or an elegy to claim, In such good company as always throng Would form a lengthy lexicon of glory, To battles, sieges, and that kind of pleasure, And, what is worse still, a much longer story: No less delighted to employ his leisure; XVIII. XXXV And therefore we must give the greater number But always without malice. If he warr'd To the gazette-which doubtless fairly dealt Oiloved, itwas with what we call "the best By the deceased, who lie in famous slumber Intentions," which form all mankind's trump-card, In ditches, fields, or wheresoe'er they felt To be produced when brought up to the test. l'heir ciay for the last time their souls encumber;- The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer-ward Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt Off each attack when people are in quest In the despatch; I knew a man whose loss Of their designs, by saying they meant well; Vvts nrinted Grove, although his name was Grose.3'T is pity "that such meanings should pave nell." CANTO VIII. DON JUAN. 633 XXVI. XXXIII. I almost lately have begun to doubt He knew not where he was, nor greatly cared, Whether hell's pavement-if it be so paved- For he was diz.y, busy, and his veins Must not have latterly been quite worn out, Fill'd as with lightning-for his spirit shared Not by the numbers good intent hath saved, The hour, as is the case with lively brains; But by the mass who go below without And, where the hottest fire was seen and'heard, Those ancient good intentions, which once shaved And the loud cannon peal'd its hoarsest strains, And smooth'd the brimstone of that street of hell He rush'd, while earth and air were sadly shaken Which bears the greatest likeness to Pall Mall. By thy humane discovery, friar Bacon!6 XXVII. XXXIV. Juan, by some strange chance, which oft divides And, as he rush'd along, it came to pass he Warrior from warrior in their grim career, Fell in with what was late the second column, Like chastest wives from constant husbands' sides, Under the orders of the general Lascy, Just at the close of the first bridal year, But now reduced, as is a bulky volurpe, By one of those odd turns of fortune's tides, Into an elegant extract' (much less massy) Was on a sudden rather puzzled here, Of heroism, and took his place with solemn When, after a good deal of heavy firing, Air,'midst the rest, who kept their valiant faces, He found himself alone, and friends retiring. And levell'd weapons, still against the glacis. XXVIII. XXV. I don't know how the thing occurr'd-it might Just at this crisis up came Johnson too, Be that the greater part were kill'd or wounded, Who had retreated," as the phrase is, when And that the rest had faced unto the right Men run away much rather than go through About; a circumstance which has confounded Destruction's jaws into the devil's den; Caesar himself, who, in the very sight But Johnson was a clever fellow, who Of his whole army, which so much abounded Knew when and how'to cut and come again," In courage, was obliged to snatch a shield And never ran away, except when running And rally back his Romans to the field. Was nothing but a valorous kind of cunning. XXXVI. XXIX. XXXVI Juan, ho had no shield to snatch, ad ws And so, when all his corps were dead or dying, Juan, who had no shield to snatch, and was _.^ ^......~. ^. Except Don Juan-a mere novice, whose No Caesar, but a fine young lad, who foughta mere novice, whose e knew not w ng lat tho p, More virgin valour never dreamt of flying, He knew not why, arriving at this pass, From ignorance of danger, which indues Stopp'd for a minute, as perhaps he ought From ignorance of danger, which indes Its votaries, like innocence relying For a much longer time; then, like an ass- Its votaries, like innocence relying Fo>.a.uh.oe'ie.h.e a On its own strength, with careless nerves and thewN(Start not, kind reader; since great Homer thought Joh nstregtd a itthe, just to rally This simile enough for Ajax, Juanohnson retired a e, t to rally find it better than a new one) Those who catch cold in " shadows of death's valley." Perhaps may find it better than a new one:)XXXVII. XXX. And there, a little shelter'd from the shot, Then, like an ass, he went upon his way, Which raind from bastionbattery parapet And, what was straner, never lookd behind Rampart, wall, casement, house-for there was not But seeing, flashing forward, like the day In this etensive city, sore be t) ~'.1 >' 1. In this extensive city, sore beset Over the hills, a fire enough to blind By Christian soldiery, a single spot Those who dislike to look upon a fray, Those who dislike to look upon a fray, Which did not combat like the devil as yet, He stumbled on, to try if he could find He stumbled on,.to try if he could find He found a number of chasseulrs, all scatter'd A path, to add his own slight arm and forces resistance ofe chase they batter s: By-the resistance of the chase they batter'd. To corps, the greater part of which were corses. XXXVIII. XXXI. And these he call'd on; and, what's strange, they came Perceiving then no more the commandant Unto his call, unlike "the spirits from Of his own corps, nor even the corps, which had The vasty deep," to whom you may exclaim, Quite disappear'd-the gods know how! (I can't Says Hotspur, long ere they will leave their holme. Account for every thing which may look bad Their reasons were uncertainty, or shame In history; but we at least may grant At shrinking from a bullet or a bomb, It was not marvellous that a mere lad, And that odd impulse, which, in wars or creeds, In search of glory, should look on before, - Makes men, like cattle, follow him who leads. Nor care a pinch of snuff about his corps:)- -XXXIX. XXXII. By Jove! he was a noble fellow, Johnson, Perceiving nor commander nor commanded, And though his name than Ajax or Achilles And left at large, like a young heir, to make Sounds less harmonious, underneath' the sun sooin His way to-where he knew not-single-handed; We shall not see his likeness: he could kil hli As travellers follow over bog and brake Man quite as quietly as blows the monsoon An "'gnis fatuus," or as sailors stranded Her steady breath (which some months the sawm Unto the nearest hut themselves betake, still is;) Fo Juan, following honour and his nose, Seldom he varied feature, hue, or muscle, Rush'd where the thickest fire announced most foes. And could be very busy without bustle; 640 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO Vlll. XL. XLVII. And therefore, when he ran away, he did so So that on either side some nine or ten Upon reflection, knowing that behind Paces were left, whereon you could contrive lie would find others who would fain be rid so To march; a great convenience to our men Of idle apprehensions, which, like wind, At least to all those who were left alive, Trouble heroic stomachs. Though their lids so Who thus could form a line and fight again; Oft are soon closed, all heroes are not blind, And that which further aided them to strive But when they light upon immediate death, Was, that they could kick down the palisades, Retire a little, merely to take breath. Which scarcely rose much higher than grass blades, XLI. XLVIII. But Johnson only ran off to return Among the first,-I will not say the first, With many dther warriors, as we said, For such precedence upon such occasions Unto that rather somewhat misty bourn, Will oftentimes make deadly quarrels burst Which Hamlet tells us is a pass of dread. Out between friends as well as allied nations; To Jack, howe'er, this gave but slight concern: The Briton must be bold who really durst His soul (like galvanism upon the dead) Put to such trial John Bull's partial patience, Acted upon the living as on wire, As say that Wellington at Waterloo And led them back into the heaviest fire. Was beaten,-though the Prussians say so too;XLII. XLIX. Egad! they found the second time what they And that if Blucher, Bulow, Gneisenau, The first time thought quite terrible enough And God knows who besides in "au" and "ou," To fly from, malgre all which people say Had not cone up in time to cast an awe Of glory, and all that immortal stuff Into the hearts.of those who fought till now Which fills a regiment (besides their pay, As tigers combat with an empty craw, That daily shilling which makes warriors tough)- The Duke of Wellington had ceased to show They found on their return the self-same welcome, His orders, also to receive his pensions, Which made some think, and others know, a hell come. Which are the heaviest that our history mentions. XLIII. L. They fell as thick as harvests beneath hail, pBut never mind; —" God save the king!" and kings Grass before scythes, or corn below the sickle, i For if he don't, I doubt if men will longer.Proving that trite old truth, that life's as frail I think I hear a little bird, who sings, As any other boon for which men stickle. The people by and by will be the stronger: The Turkish batteries thrash'd them like a flail, The veriest jade will wince whose harness wrings Or a good boxer, into a sad pickle So much into the raw as quite to wrong her Putting the very bravest, who were knock'd Beyond the rules of posting,-and the mob Upon the head before their guns were cock'd. At last fall sick of imitating Job. XLIV. LI. The Turks, behind the traverses and flanks At first it grumbles, then it swears, and then, Of the next bastion, fired away like devils, Like David, flings smooth pebbles'gainst a giant, And swept, as gales sweep foam away, whole ranks: At last it takes to weapons, such as men However, Heaven knows how, the Fate who levels Snatch when despairmakes human hearts less pliant. Towns, nations, worlds, in her revolving pranks, Then'l comes the tug of war;"-'t will come again, So order'd it, amidst these sulphury revels, I rather doubt; and I would fain say "fie on't,' That Johnson, and some few who had not scamper'd, If I had not perceived that revalation Reach'd the interior talus of the rampart. Alone can save the:'earitf' from hell's pollution. XLV. LII. First one or two, then five, six, and a dozen, But to continue:-I say not the first, Came mounting quickly up, for it was now But of the first, our little friend Don Juan All neck or nothing, as, like pitch or rosin, Walk'd o'er the walls of Ismail, as if nursed Flame was shower'd forth above as well's below, Amidst such scenes-though this was quite a new one So that you scarce could say who best had chosen,- To him, and I should hope to most. The thirst The gentlemen that were the first to show Of glory, which so pierces through and through one, rheir martial faces on the parapet, Pervaded him-although a generous creature, Or these who thought it brave to wait as yet. As warm in heart as feminine in feature. XLVI. LIII. Slut those who scaled found out that their advance And here he was-who, upon woman's breast, Was favour'd by an accident or blunder: Even from a child, felt like a child; howe'er ihe Greek or Turkish Cohorn's ignorance The man in all the rest might be confess'd; Had paiisadoed in a way you'd wonder To him it was Elysium to be there; rF see in forts of Netherlands or France- And he could even withstand that awkward test (Though these to our Gioraltar must knock under)- Which Rousseau points out to the dubious fair, Right in the middle of the parapet "Observe your lover when he leaves your arms; Just named, these palisades were primly set: But Juan never left them while they'd charns, CANTO VIII. DON JUAN. 64J LIV. LXI. Unless compell'd by fate, or wave or wind, Of all men, saving Sylla the man-slayer, Or near relations, who are much the same. Who passes for in life and death most lucky, But here he was!-where each tie that can bind Of the great names, which in our faces stare, Humanity must yield to steel and flame: The General Boon, back-woodsman of Kentucky And he, whose very body was all mind,- Was happiest amongst mortals any where; Flung here by fate or circumstance, which tame For killing nothing but a bear or buck, he The loftiest, —hurried by the time and place,- Enjoy'd the lonely, vigorous, harmless days, Dash'd on like a spurr'd blood-horse in a race. Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze. LV. LXII. So was his blood stirr'd while he found resistance, Crime came not near him-she is not the child As is the hunter's at the five-bar gate, Of solitude; health shrank not from him-for Or double post and rail, where the existence Her home is in the rarely-trodden wild, Of Britain's youth depends upon their weight, Where if men seek her not, and death be more The lightest being the safest: at a distance Their choice than life, forgive them, as beguiled He hated cruelty, as all men hate By habit to what their own hearts abhorBlood, until heated-and even there his own In cities caged. The present case in point I At times would curdle o'er some heavy groan. Cite is, that Boon lived hunting up to ninety; LVI. LXIII. fhe General Lascy, who had been hard press'd, And what's still stranger, left behind a nameSeeing arrive an aid so opportune For which men vainly decimate the throng,As were some hundred youngsters all abreast, Not only famous, but of that good fame Who came as if just dropp'd down from the moon, Without which glory's but a tavern songT, Juan, who was nearest him, address'd Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame, His thanks, and hopes to take the city soon, Which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with wlong; Not reckoning him to be a "base Bezonian" An active hermit, even in age the child (As Pistol calls it), but a young Livonian. Of nature, or the Man of Ross run wild. LVII. LXIV. Juan, to whom he spoke in German, knew'Tis true he shrank from men, even of his nation, As much of German as of Sanscrit, and When they built up unto his darling trees,In answer made an inclination to He moved some hundred miles off, for a station The general who held him in command; Where there were fewer houses and more easeFor, seeing one with ribbons black and blue, The inconvenience of civilization Stars, medals, and a bloody sword in hand, Is, that you neither can be pleased nor please;Addressing him in tones which seem'd to thank, But, where he met the individual man, He recognised an officer of rank. He show'd himself as kind as mortal can. LVII. LXV. Short speeches pass between two men who speak He was not all alone: around him grew No common language; and besides, in time A sylvan tribe of children of the chase, Of war and taking towns, when many a shriek Whose young, unwaken'd world was ever new, Rings o'er the dialogue, and many a crime Nor sword nor sorrow yet had left a trace Is perpetrated ere a word can break On her unwrinkled brow, nor could you view Upon the ear, and sounds of horror chime A frown on nature's or on human face; — In, like church-bells, with sigh, howl, groan, yell, prayer, The free-born forest found and kept them free, There cannot be much conversation there. And fresh as is a torrent or a tree. LIX. LXVI. And therefore all we have -related in And tall and strong and swift of foot were they Two long octaves, pass'd in a little minute; Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions, But in the same small minute, every sin Because their thoughts had never been the prey Contrived to get itself comprised within it. Of care or gain: the green woods were their portions i The very cannon, deafen'd by the din, No sinking spirits told them they grew gray; Grew dumb, for you might almost hear a linnet, No fashion made them apes of her distortions; As soon as thunder,'midst the general-noise Simple they were, not savage; and their rifles, Of human nature's agonizing voice! Though very true, were not yet used for trifles. LX. LXVII. The town was enter'd. Oh eternity!- Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbeis, "God made the country, and man made the town," And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil; So Cowper says-and I begin to be Nor yet too many nor too few their numbers; Of his opinion, when I see cast down Corruption could not make their hearts her soil. Rome, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh- The lust which stings, the splendour which encumber, All walls men know, and many never known; With the free foresters divide no spoil And, pondering on the present and the past, Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes To deem the woods shall be our home at last. Of this unsighing people i)f the woods 86 642 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO VIII. LXVIII. LXXV. So much for nature:-by way of variety, Their column, though the Turkish batteries thunder'd Now back to thy great joys, civilization! Upon them, ne'ertheless had reach'd the rampart, And the sweet consequence of large society,- And naturally thought they could have plunder'd War, pestilence, the despot's desolation, The city, without being further hamper'd; The kingly scourge, the lust of notoriety, But, as it happens to brave men, they blunder'dThe millions slain by soldiers for their ration, The Turks at first pretended to have scamper'd, The scenes like Catherine's boudoir at threescore, Only to draw them'twixt two bastion corners, With Ismail's storm to soften it the more. From whence they sallied on those Christian scorners. LXIX. LXXVI. The town was enter'd: first one column made Then being taken by the tail-a taking Its sanguinary way good-then another; Fatal to bishops as to soldiers-these The reeking bayonet and the flashing blade Cossacks were all cut off as day was breaking, Clash'd'gainst the scimitar, and babe and mother And found their lives were let at a short leaseWith distant shrieks were heard heaven to upbraid — But perish'd without shivering or shaking, Still closer sulphury clouds began to smother Leaving as ladders their heap'd carcasses, The breath of morn and man, where, foot by foot, O'er which Lieutenant-Colonel Yesouskoi The madden'd Turks their city still dispute. March'd with the brave battalion of Polouzki:LXX. LXXVII. Koutousow, he who afterwards beat back This valiant man kill'd all the Turks he met, (With some assistance from the frost and snow) But could not eat them, being in his turn Napoleon on his bold and bloody track, Slain by some Mussulmans, who would not yet, It happen'd was himself beat back just now. Without resistance, see their city burn. He was a jolly fellow, and could crack The walls were won, but't.was an even bet His jest alike in face of friend or foe, Which of the armies would have cause to mournm Trough life, and death, and victory, were at stake-'T was blow for blow, disputing inch by inch, But here it seem'd his jokes had ceased to take: For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch. LXXI. LXXVIII. For, having thrown himself into a ditch, Another column also suffer'd much: Follovw'd in haste by various grenadiers, And here we may remark with the historian, Whose blood the puddle greatly did enrich, You should but give few cartridges to such He climb'd to where the parapet appears; Troops as are meant to march with greatest glory on: But there his project reach'd its utmost pitch- When matters must be carried by the touch ('Mongst other deaths the General Ribaupierre's Of the bright bayonet, and they all should hurry on. Was much regretted)-for the Moslem men They sometimes, with a hankering for existence, Threw them all down into the ditch again: Keep merely firing at a foolish distance. LXXII. LXXIX. And, had it not been for some stray troops, landing A junction of the General Meknop's men They knew not where, —being carried by the stream (Without the General, who had fallen some time To some spot, where they lost their understanding, Before, being badly seconded just then) And wander'd up and down as in a dream, Was made at length, with those who dared, to climb Until they reach'd, as day-break was expanding, The death-disgorging rampart once again; That which a portal to their eyes did seem, — And, though the Turk's resistance was sublime, The great and gay Koutousow might have lain They took the bastion, which the Seraskier Where three parts of his column yet remain. Defended at a price extremely dear. LXXIII. LXXX. And, scrambling round the rampart, these same troops, Juan and Johnson and some volunteers, After the taking of the " cavalier," Among the foremost, offer'd him good quarter, Just as Koutousow's most "forlorn" of "hopes" A word which little suits with Seraskiers, Took, like chameleons, some slight tinge of fear, Or at least suited not this valiant Tartar.Open'd the gate call'd "Kilia" to the, groups He died, deserving well his country's tears, Of baffled heroes who stood shyly near, A savage sort of military martyr. Sliding knee-deep in lately-frozen mud, An English naval officer, who wish'd Now thaw'd into a marsh of human blood. To make him prisoner, was also dish'd. LXXIV. LXXXI. 1'he Kozaks, or if so you please, Cossacks- For all the answer to his proposition (I don't much pique myself upon orthography, Was from a pistol-shot that laid him dead; io that I do not grossly err in facts, On which the rest, without more intermission, Statistics, tactics, politics, and geography)- Began to lay about with steel and.lead, — Having been used to serve on horses' backs, The pious, metals most in requisition And no great dilettanti in topography On such occasions: not a single head Of fortresses, but fighting where it pleases Was spared,-three thousand Moslems perish'd hero Then chiefs to i.der,-were as cut to pieces. And sixteen bayonets pierced the Seraskier. CANTO VIII. DON JUAN. 643 LXXXII. LXXXIX. IThe city's taken —only part by part- It is an awful topic-but't is not And death is drunk with gore: there's not a street My cue for any time to be terrific: Where fights not to the last some desperate heart For chequer'd as it seems our human lot For those for whom it soon shall cease to beat. With good, and bad, and worse, alike prolific Here War forgot his own destructive art Of melancholy merriment, to quote In more destroying nature; and the heat Too much of one sort would be soporific; Of carnage, like the Nile's sun-sodden slime, Without or with, offence to friends or foes, Engender'd monstrous shapes of every crime. I sketch your world exactly as it goes. LXXXIII. XC. A Russian officer, in martial tread And one good action in the midst of crimes Over a heap of bodies, felt his heel Is "quite refreshing"-in the affected phrase Seized fast, as if't were by the serpent's head, Of these ambrosial, Pharisaic times, Whose fangs Eve taught her human seed to feel. With all their pretty milk-and-water ways,In vain he kick'd, and swore, and writhed, and bled, And may serve therefore to bedew these rhymes, And howl'd for help as wolves do for a meal- A little scorch'd at present with the blaze The teeth still kept their gratifying hold, Of conquest and its consequences, which As do the subtle snakes described of old. Make epic poesy so rare and rich. LXXXIV. XCI. A dying Moslem, who had felt the foot Upon a taken bastion, where there lay Of a foe o'er him, snatch'd at it, and bit Thousands of slaughter'd mer, a yet warm group The very tendon which is most acute- Of murder'd women, who had found their way (That which some ancient Muse or modern wit To this vain refuge, made the good heart droop Named after thee, Achilles) and quite through't And shudder;-while, as beautiful as May, He made the teeth meet, nor relinquish'd it A female child of ten years tried to stoop Even with his life-for (but they lie)'tis said And hide her little palpitating breast To the live leg still. clung the sever'd head. Amidst the bodies lull'd in bloody rest. LXXXV. XCII. However this may be,'t is pretty sure Two villanous Cossacks pursued the child The Russian officer for life was lamed, With flashing eyes and weapons: match'd with them, For the Turk's teeth stuck faster than a skewer, The rudest brute that roams Siberia's wild And left him'midst the invalid and maim'd: Has feelings pure and polish'd as a gem,rhe regimental surgeon could not cure The bear is civilized, the wolf is mild: His patient, and perhaps was to be blamed And whom for this at last must we condemn? More than the head of the inveterate foe, Their natures, or their sovereigns, who employ Which was cut off, and sca:ce even then let go. All'arts to teach their subjects to destroy? LXXXVI. XCIII. But then the fact's a fact-and'tis the part Their sabres glitter'd o'er her little head, Of a true poet to escape from fiction Whence her fair hair rose twining with affright, Whene'er he can; for there is little art Her hidden face was plunged amidst the dead: In leaving verse more free from the restriction When Juan caught a glimpse of this sad sight. Of truth than prose, unless to suit the mart I shall not say exactly what he said, For what is sometimes call'd poetic diction, Because it might not solace "ears polite;" And that outrageous appetite for lies But what he did, was to lay on their backs,Which Satan angles with for souls like flies. The readiest way of reasoning with Cossacks. LXXXIVII. XCIV. The city's taken, but not render'd!-No! One's hip he slash'd, and split the other's shouldt There's not a Moslem that hath yielded sword: And drove them with their brutal yells to seek The blood may gush out, as the Danube's flow If there might be chirurgeons who could solder Rolls by the city wall; but deed nor word The wounds they richly merited, and shriek Acknowledge aught of dread of death or foe: Their baffled rage and pain; while waxing colder In vain the yell of victory is roar'd As he turn'd o'er each pale and gory cheek, By the advancing Muscovite-the groan Don Juan raised his.little captive from Of the last foe is echoed by his own. The heap a moment more had made her tomb. LXXXVIII. XCV. The bayonet pierces and the sabre cleaves, And she was chill as they, and on her face And human lives are iavish'd every where, A slender streak of blood announced how near As the year closing whirls the scarlet leaves, Her fate had been to that of all her race; When the stripp'd forest bows to the bleak air, For the same blow which laid her mother here 4nd groans; and thus the peopled city grieves, Had scarr'd her brow, and left its crimson trace Shorn of its best and loveliest, and left bare; As the last link with all she had held dear; But still it falls with vast and awful splinters, But else unhurt, she open'd her large eyes, As oaks blown down with all their thousand winters. And gazed on Juan with a wild surprise. 644 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO VIII. XCVI. CIII. Just at this instant, while their eyes were fix'd And all allowances besides of plunder Upon each other, with dilated glance, In fair proportion with their comrades;-then In Juan's look, pain, pleasure, hope, fear, mix'd Juan consented to march on through thunder, With joy to save, and dread of some mischance Which thinn'd at every step their ranks of men.'Jnto his protege; while hers, transfix'd And yet the rest rush'd eagerly-no wonder, With infant terrors, glared as from a trance, For they were heated by the hope of gain,. pure, transparent, pale, yet radiant face, A thing which happens every where each dayLike to a lighted alabaster vase; — No hero trusteth wholly to half-pay. XCVII. CIV. Up came John Johnson-(I will not say'Jack," And such is victory, and such is man! For that were vulgar, cold, and commonplace At least nine-tenths of what we call so;-God On great occasions, such as an attack May have another name for half we scan On cities, as hath been the present case) — As human beings, or his ways are odd. Up Johnson came, with hundreds at his back, But to our subject: a brave Tartar Khan,Exclaiming:-"Juan! Juan! On, boy! brace Or "sultan," as the author (to whose nod Your arm, and I'11 bet Moscow to a dollar, In prose I bend my humble verse) doth call That you and I will win Saint George's collar.8 This chieftain-somehow would not yield at all: XCVIII. C. The Seraskier is knock'd' upon the head, But, flank'd by.five brave sons (such is polygamy, But the stone bastion still remains, wherein That she spawns warriors by the score, where none The old pacha sits among some hundreds dead, Are prosecuted for that false crime bigamy) Smoking his pipe quite calmly,'midst the din He never would believe the city won, Of our artillery and his own:'t is said While courage clung but to a single twig.-Am I Our kill'd already piled up to the chin, Describing Priam's, Peleus', or Jove's son? Lie round the battery; but still it batters, Neither,-but a good, plain, old, temperate man, And grape in volleys, like a vineyard, scatters. Who fought with his five children in the van. XCIX. CVI. eThe up with me!"-But Juan answer'd, "Look CV To take him was the point. The truly brave, Upon this'child-I saved her-must not leave When they behold the brave oppress'd with odds, Her life to chance; but point me out some nook touchdwith a desire to shield or save Are touch'd with a desire to shield or save;Of safety, where she less may shriek and grieve, mixture of wild beasts and demigods And I am with you."-Whereon Johnson took A they-now furious as the sweeping wave, Are they-now furious as the sweeping wave, A glance around-and shrugg'd-and twitch'd his Now moved with pity even as sometimes nods sleeve sleeve,,,,,. J -ir i ~' ^6The rugged tree unto the summer wind, And black silk neckcloth-and replied, "You're right; Comp n ree n the s e mind * Compassion breathes along the savage mind. Poor thing! what's to be done? I'm puzzled quite." C. CVII. Said Juan-" Whatsoever is to be But he would not be taken, and replied Done, I'll not quit her till she seems secure all the propositions of surrender Of present life a good deal more than we."- By mowing Christians down on every side, Quoth Johnson-" Neither will I quite insure; As obstinate as Swedish Charles at BendeBut at the least you may die gloriously." His five brave boys no less the foe defied: Juan replied-" At least I will endure Whereon the Russian pathos grew less tender, Whate'er is to be borne-but not resign As being a virtue, like terrestrial patience, This child, who's parentless, and therefore mine." Apt to wear out on trifling provocations. CI. CVIII. Johnson said-"Juan, we've no time to lose; And spite of Johnson and of Juan, who The child's a pretty child-a very pretty- Expended all their eastern phraseology I never saw such eyes-but hark! now choose In begging him, for God's sake, just to show Between your fame and feelings, pride and pity: So much less fight as might form an apology Hark! how the roar increases!-no excuse For them in saving such a desperate foeWill serve when there is plunder in a city;- He hew'd away, like doctors of theology I should be loth to march without you, but, When they dispute with sceptics; and with curses By God! we'll be too late for the first cut." Struck at his friends, as babies beat their nurses. CII. CIX. But Juan was immoveable; until Nay, he had wounded, though but slightly, both Johnson, who really loved him in his way, Juan and Johnson, whereupon they fellPick'd out amongst his followers with some skill The first with sighs, the second with an oathSuch as he thought the least given up to prey: Upon his angry sultanship, pell-mell, And swearing if the infant came to ill And all around were grown exceeding wrotn That they should all be shot on the next day, At such a pertinacious infidel, But if she were devsar'd safe ard sound, And pour'd upon him and his sons like rain, Thev should at least have fifty roubles round, Which they resisted like a sandy plain, VANrTO Vif. DON JUAN. 64b CX. CXVII. That drinks and still is dry. At last they perish'd:- The soldiers, who beheld him drop his point, His second son was levell'd by a shot; Stopp'd as if once more willing to concede His third was sabred; and the fourth, most cherish'd Quarter, in case he bade them not " aroint!" Of all the five, on bayonets met his lot; As he before had done. He did not heed The fifth, who, by a Christian mother nourish'd, Their pause nor signs: his heart was out of joint, Had been neglected, ill-used, and what not, And shook (till now unshaken) like a reed, Because deform'd, yet died all game and bottom, As he look'd down upon his children gone, To save a sire who blush'd that he begot him. And felt-though done with life-he was alone. CXI. CXVIII. The eldest was a true and tameless Tartar, But'twas a transient tremor:-with a spring As great a scorner of the Nazarene Upon the Russian steel his breast he flung, As ever Mahomet pick'd out for a martyr, As carelessly as hurls the moth her wing Who only saw the black-eyed girls in green, Against the light wherein she dies: he clung Who make the beds of those who won't take quarter Closer, that all the deadlier they might wring, On earth, in Paradise; and, when once seen, Unto the bayonets which had pierced his young, Those Houris, like all other pretty creatures, And, throwing back a dim look on his sons, Do just whate'er they please, by dint of features. In one wide wound pour'd forth his soul at once. CXII. CXIX. And what they pleased to do with the young Khan'T is strange enough-the rough, tough soldiers, who In heaven, I know not, nor pretend to guess; Spared neither sex nor age in their career But doubtless they prefer a fine young man Of carnage, when this old man was pierced through, To tough old heroes, and can do no less; And lay before them with his children near, And that's the cause, no doubt, why, if we scan Touch'd by the heroism of him they slew, A field of battle's ghastly wilderness, Were melted for a moment; though no tear For one rough, weather-beaten, veteran body, Flow'd from their blood-shot eyes, all red with strife, You'11 find ten thousand handsome coxcombs bloody. They honour'd such determined scorn of life. CXIII. CXX. Your Houris also have a natural pleasure But the stone bastion still kept up its fire, In lopping off your lately married men Where the chief Pacha calmly held his post: Before the bridal hours have danced their measure, Some twenty times he made the Russ retire, And the sad second moon grows dim again, And baffled the assaults of all their host; Or dull Repentance hath had' dreary leisure At length he condescended to inquire To wish him back a bachelor now and then. If yet the city's rest were won or lost; And thus your Houri (it may be) disputes And, being told the latter, sent a Bey Of these brief blossoms the immediate fruits. To answer Ribas' summons to give way. CXIV. CXXI. Thus the young-;Khan, with Houris in his sight, In the mean time, cross-legg'd, with great sang-froid, Thought not upon the charms of four young brides, Among the scorching ruins he sat smoking But bravely rush'd on his first heavenly night. Tobacco on a little carpet;-Troy In short, howe'er our better faith derides, Saw nothing like the scene around;-yet, looking These black-eyed virgins make the Moslems fight, With martial stoicism, nought seem'd to annoy As though there were one heaven and none besides,- His stern philosophy: but gently stroking Whereas, if all be true we hear of heaven His beard, he puff'd his pipe's ambrosial gales, And hell, there must at least be six or seven. As if he had three lives, as well as tails. CXV. CXXII. So fully flash'd the phantom on his eyes, The town was taken-whether he might yield That when the very lance was in his heart, Himself or bastion, little matter'd now; He shouted, "Allah!" and saw Paradise His stubborn valour was no future shield. With all its veil of mystery drawn apart, Ismail's no more! X The crescent's silver bow And bright eternity without disguise Sunk, and the crimson cross glared o'er the field, On his soul, like a ceaseless sunrise, dart,- But red with no redeeming gore: the glow With prophets, houris, angels, saints, descried Of burning streets, like moonlight on the water, In one voluptuous blaze,-and then he died: Was imaged back in blood, the sea of slaughter. CXVI. CXXIII. But, with a heavenly rapture' on his face, All that the mind would shrink from of excesses, The good oid Khan-who long had ceased to see All that the body perpetrates of bad; Houris, or aught except his florid race, All that we read, hear. dream, of man's distresses i Who grew like cedars round him gloriously- All that the devil would do if run stark mad; When he beheld his latest hero grace All that defies the worst which pen expresses; The earth, which he became like a fell'd tree, All by which hell is peopled, or as sad caused for a moment from the fight, and cast As hell-mere mortals who their power abuse,A glance on that slain son, his first and last. Was here (as heretofore and since lest.oosm 3H 646 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO VII. CXXIV. CXXXI. If here and there some transient trait of pity, But on the whole their continence was great; Was shown, and some more noble heart broke through So that some disappointment there ensued Its bloody bond, and saved perhaps some pretty To those who had felt the\ inconvenient state Child, or an aged helpless man or two- Of "single blessedness," and thought it good What's this in one annihilated city, (Since it was not their fault, but only fate, Where thousand loves, and ties, and duties grow? To bear these crosses) for each waning prude Cockneys of London! Muscadins of Paris! To make a Roman sort of Sabine wedding, Just ponder what a pious pastime war is. Without the expens& and the suspense of bedding. CXXV. CXXXII. Think how the joys of reading a gazette Some voices of the buxom middle-aged Are purchased by all agonies and crimes: Were also heard to wonder in the din Or, if these do not move you, don't forget (Widows of forty were these buids long caged) Such doom may be your own in after times. "Wherefore the ravishing did not begin!" Meantime the taxes, Castlereagh, and debt, But, while the thirst for gore and plunder raged, Are hints as good as sermons, or as rhymes. There was small leisure for superfluous sin; Read your own hearts and Ireland's present story, But whether they escaped or no, lies hid Then feed her famine fat with Wellesley's glory, In darkness-I can only hope they did. CXXVI. CXXXIII. But still there is unto a patriot nation, Suwarrow now was conqueror-a match Which loves so well- its country and its king, For Timor or for Zighis in his trade. A subject of sublimest exultation- While mosques and streets, beneath his eyes, like thatch Bear it, ye Muses, on your brightest wing! Blazed, and the cannon's roar was scarce allay'd, Howe'er the mighty locust, Desolation, ~With bloody hands he wrote his first despatch; Strip your green fields, and to your harvests cling, And here exactly follows what he said:Gaunt Famine never shall approach the throne- "Glory to God and to the Empress" (Powers Tho' Ireland starve, great George weighs twenty stone. Eternal! such names mingled!) "Ismail's ours!" CXXVII.XXXIV CXXXIV. But let me put an end unto my theme: But let me put an end unto my theme: Methinks these are the most tremendous words, There was an end of Ismail-hapless town! Since "e ad Far flash'd her burning towers o'er Danube's stream, Wince " end, en, Tekel, ad' U rs Which hands or pens have ever traced of swords. And redly ran his blushing waters down. And redly ran his blushing waters down. Heaven help me! I'mn but little of a parson: The horrid war-whoop and the shriller screamn but little of a parson: What Daniel read was short-hand of the Lord's, Rose still; but fainter were the thunders grown: te o r, Of forty thousand who had mann'd the wall, Severe, sublime; the prophet wrote no farce on Of forty thousand who had mann'd the wall, The fate of nations';-but this Russ, so witty, Some hundreds breathed-the rest were silent all! nations ut this Rus, so witty, Could rhyme, like Nero, o'er a burning city. CXXVIII. CXXXV. In one thing ne'ertheless'tis fit to praise He wrote this polar melody, and se iXXXV. The Russian army upon this occasion, and se it, A virtue much in fashion now-a-days, Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans, And therefore worthy of commemoration: TWhich few will sing, I trust, but none forget itThe topic's tender, so shall be my phrase- For I wil. teach, if possible, the stones Perhaps the season's chill, and their long station To rise against earth's tyrants. Never let it In winter's depth, or want of rest and victual, Be said, that e still truckle unto thrones;Had made them chaste;-they ravish'd very little. But ye-our children's children! think how we CXXIX. Show'd what things twere before the world was free' Much did they slay, more plunder, and no less CXXXVI. Might here and there occur some violation That hour is not for us, but'tis for you; In the other line;-but not to such excess And as, in the great joy of your millennium, As when the French, that dissipated nation, You hardly will believe such things were true Take towns by storm: no causes can I guess, As now occur, I thought that I would pen you'em; Except: cold weather and commiseration; - But may their very memory perish too!lut all the ladies, save some twenty score, Yet, if perchance remember'd, still disdain you'emn Were almost as much virgins as before. More than you scorn the savages of yore, CXXX. Who painted their bare limbs, but not with gore. Some odd mistakes too happen'd in the dark, CXXXVII. Which show'd a want of lanterns, or of taste- And when you hear historians talk of thrones, Indeed tne smoke was such they scarce could mark And those that sate upon them, let it be Their friends from foes,-besides such things from As we now gaze upon the Mammoth's bones, haste And wonder what old world such things could see Occur, though rarely, when there is a spark Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian stones, 01 hight to save the venerably chaste:- The pleasant riddles of fiturityBut six )ld damsels, each of seventy years, Guessing at what shall happily be hid Were all deflower'd by difeIrent grenadiers. As the real purpose of a pyramid. CANTO 1X. DON JUAN. 647 CXXXVIII. III. Reader. I have kept my word,-at least so far Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so mucn As the first canto promised. You have now Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more: Had sketches of love, tempest, travel, war- You have repair'd legitimacy's crutchAll very accurate, you must allow, A prop not quite so certain as before: And epic, if plain truth should prove no bar; The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch, For I have drawn much less with a long bow Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore; Than my forerunners. Carelessly I sing, And Waterloo has made the world your debtor — But Phoebus lends me now and then a string, (I wish your bards would sing it rather better). CXXXIX. IV. With which I still can harp, and carp, and fiddle. You are "the best of cut-throats:"-do not start; What further hath befallen or may befall The phrase is Shakspeare's, and not misapplied: The hero of this grand poetic riddle, War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art, I by' and by may tell you, if at all: Unless her cause by right be sanctified. But now I choose to break off in the middle, If you have acted once a generous part, Worn out with battering Ismail's stubborn wall, The world, not the world's masters, will decide, While Juan is sent off with the despatch, And I shall be delighted to learn who, For which all Petersburgh is on the watch. Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo? CXL. V. This special honour was conferr'd, because I am no flatterer-you've supp'd full of flattery: He had behaved with courage and humanity;- They say you like it too-'tis no great wonder Which last men like, when they have time to pause He whose whole life has been assault and battery From their ferocities produced by vanity. At last may get a little tired of thunder; His little captive gain'd him some applause, And, swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he For saving her amidst the wild insanity May like being praised for every lucky blunder: Of carnage, and I think he was more glad in her Call'd "' Saviour of the Nations"-not yet saved, Safety, than his new order of St. Vladimir. And "Europe's Liberator"-still enslaved. CXLI. VI. the Moslem orphan went with her protector, I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate For she was homeless, houseless, helpless: all Presented by the Prince of the Brazils, Her friends, like the sad family of Hector, And send the sentinel before your gate,2 Hid perish'd in the field or by the wall: A slice or two from your luxurious meals: Her very place of birth was but a spectre He fought, but has not fed so well of late, Of what it had been; there the Muezzin's call Some hunger too they say the people feels:'o prayer was heard no more!-and Juan wept, There is no doubt that you deserve your ration-. d made a vow to shield her, which he kept. But pray give back a little to the nation. VII. I don't mean to reflect-a man so great as You, my Lord Duke! is far above reflebtion. The high Roman fashion too of Cincinnatus Nob^ AE "uTr TV ~ With modern history has but small connexion; CA1NTO IX Though as an Irishman you love potatoes, You need rit take them under your direction; And half a million for your Sabine farm Is rather dear!-I' sure I mean no harm. I. VIII. OH, Wellington! (or "Vilainton"~-for fame Great men have always scorn'd great recompenses, Sounds the heroic syllables both ways; Epaminondas saved his Thebes, and died, France could not even conquer your great name, Not leaving even his funeral expenses: But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase — George Washington had thanks and nought besido, Beating or beaten she will laugh the same)- Except the all-clQudless glory (which few men's ist You have obtain'd great pensions and much praise) To free his country: Pitt too had his pride, Glory like yours should any dare gainsay, And, as a. high-soul'd minister of state, is Humanity would rise, and thunder " Nay!" Renown'd for ruining Great Britain, gratis. II. IX. I don't think that you used K-n-rd quite well Never had mortal man such opportunity, In Marinet's affair-in fact'twas shabby, Except Napoleon, or abused it more: And, like some other things, won't do to tell You might have freed fall'n Europe from the unity Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey. Of tyrants, and been bless'd from shore to shore,. Upon the rest'tis not worth while to dwell, And now-what is your fame? Shall the muse tune it ye I Such tales being for the tea hours of some tabby; Now-that the rabble's first vain shouts are o'eo But though your years as man tend fast to zero, Go, hear it in your famish'd country's cries! In fact your grace is still but a young hero. Behold the world! and curse your victories 648 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO IX. X. XVII. As these new cantos touch on warlike feats, "Que sais-je?" was the motto of Montaigne, To you the unflattering Muse deigns to inscribe As also of the first academicians: Truths that you will not read in the gazettes, That all is dubious which man may attain, But which,'tis time to teach the hireling tribe Was'one of their most favourite positions. Who fatten on their country's gore and debts, There's no such thing as certainty, that's plain Must be recited, and-without a bribe. As any of mortality's conditions: You did great things; but, not being great in mind, So little do we know what we're about in Have left undone the greatest-and mankind. This world, I doubt if doubt itself be doubting. XI. XVIII. Death laughs-Go ponder o'er the skeleton It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float, With which men image out the unknown thing Like Pyrrho, on a sea of speculation; That hides the past world, like to a set sun But what if carrying sail capsize the boat? Which still elsewhere may rouse a brighter spring: Your wise men don't know much of navigation, Death laughs at all you weep for; —look upon And swimming long in the abyss of thought This hourly dread of all whose threaten'd sting Is apt to tire: a calm and shallow station Turns life to terror, even though in its sheath! Well nigh the slore, where one stoops down and gathers Mark! how its lipless mouth grins without breath! Some pretty shell, is best for moderate bathers. XIX. XII. "But heaven," as Cassio says, " is above all.Mark! how it laughs and scorns at all you are! " ee s Cassio sas, s above all.And yet was what you are: from ear to ear No more of this then,-letus pray!" We have And yet was what you are: from e ar to ear Souls to save, since Eve's slip and Adam's fall, It laughs not-there is now no fleshy bar It laughs not-there is now no fleshy bar Which tumbled all mankind into the grave, So call'd; the antic long hath ceased to hear Whch tumbled all mankind into the grave, So calld the antic long hath ceased to hear, Besides fish, beasts, and birds. "The sparrow's fall But still he smiles; and whether near or far, He strips from man that mantle-(far more dear Is special providence, though how it gave Than even the tailor's)-his incarnate skin, ence, e ow no; po ly t perch'd...'t.'............ Upon the tree which Eve so fondly search'd. White, black, or copper-the dead bones will grin. XX. XIII. Oh, ye immortal gods! what is theogony? And thus Death laughs,-it is sad merriment, Oh, thou too mrtal man! what is philanthropy Oh, thou too mortal man! what is philanthropy? But still it is so; and with such example Oh, world, which was and is! what is cosmogony Why should not Life be equally content, Some people have accused me of misanthropy; With his superior, in a smile to trample And yet I know no more than the mahogany Upon the nothings which are daily spent That forms this desk, of what they mean:-Lykan Like bubbles on an ocean much less ample thropy Than the eternal deluge, which devours I comprehend; for, without transformation, Suns as rays-worlds like atoms-years like ours? Men become wolves on any slight occasion. XIV. XXI. "To be, or not to be! that is the question," But I, the mildest, meekest of mankind, Says Shakspeare, who just now is much in fashion. Like Moses, or Melancthon, who have ne'er I am neither Alexander nor Hephsestion, Done any thing exceedingly unkind,Nor ever had for abstract fame much passion; And (though I could not now and then forbear But would much rather have a sound digestion, Following the bent of body or of mind) Than Bonaparte's cancer:-could I dash on Have always had a tendency to spare,Through fifty victories to shame or fame, Why do they call me misanthrope? Because Without a stomach-what were a good name? Tley hate me, not I them:-And here we'll pause. XXII. "Oh, dura ilia XV.'Tis time we should proceed with our good poem, -Oh, dura ilia messorum!" —"Oh, " Oh, uraT ilia messorumi!"-" Ohf For I maintain that it is really good, Ye rigid guts of reapers!"-I translateot only in the body, but the proem Not only in the body, but the proem, Flor the great benefit of those who know However little both are understood Whai indigestion is-that Inward fate However little both are understood What indigestion is-that inward fate Just now,-but by and by the truth will show'em Which makes all Styx through one small liver flow. Herself in her sublimest attitude: A peasant's sweat.is worth his lord's estate:, And till she doth, I fain must be content Let this one ton for bread-that rack for rent,- To share her beauty and her banishment LTo share her beauty and her banishment. i e who sleeps best may be the most content. XX XXIII. XVI. Our hero (and, I trust- kind reader! yours)-'To oe, or not to be!"-Ere I decide, Was left upon his way to the chief city I should be glad to know that which is being. Of the immortal Peter's polish'd boors,'is true we speculate both far and wide, Who still have shown themselves more brave than And deem, because we see, we are all-seeing: witty; For my part, 1'1l enlist on neither side, I know its mighty empire now allures Until I see both sides for once agreeing, Much flattery-even Voltaire's, and that's a pity. IFor me, I sometimes think that life is death, For me, I deem an absolute autocrat Rather than life a mere affair of breath..Not a barbarian, but much worse than that. CANTO AX. DON JUAN. 64L XXIV. XXXI. And I will war, at least in words (and-should At every jolt-and there were many-still My chance so happen-deeds) with all who war He turn'd his eyes upon his little charge, With thought;-and of thought's foes by farmost rude, As if he wish'd that she should fare less ill Tyrants and sycophants have been and are. Than he, in these sad highways left at large 1 know not who may conquer: if I could To ruts and flints, and lovely nature's skill, Have such a prescience, it should be no bar Who is no paviour, nor admits a barge To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation On her canals, where God takes sea and land, Of every despotism in every nation. Fishery and farm, both into his own hand. XXV. XXXII. It is not that I adulate the people: At least he pays no rent, and has best right Without me there are demagogues enough, To be the first of what we used to calT And infidels to pull down every steeple, "Gentlemen farmers"-a race worn out quite, And set up in their stead some proper stuff. Since lately there have been no rents at all, Whether they may sow scepticism to reap hell, And "gentlemen" are in a piteous plight, As is the Christian dogma rather rough, And "farmers" can't raise Ceres from her fald. I do not know;-I wish men to be free She fell with Bonaparte:-What strange thoughts As much from mobs'as-"kgi~fit'fr-y'ou as me. Arise, when we see emperors fall with oats XXVI. XXXXII.'hie consequence is, being of no party, But Juan turn'd his eyes on the sweet child -'I shall iffled all parties:-never mind! Whom he had saved from slaughter-what a trophy My words, at least, are more sincere and hearty Oh! ye who build up monuments, defiled Than if sought to sail before the wind. With gore, like Nadir Shah, that costive Sophi, He who has nought to gain can have small art: he Who, after leaving Hindostan a wild,'Whlo-'either wishes —to -?be bSound nor bind And scarce to the Mogul, a cup of coffee May still expatiate freely, as will I,; To soothe his woes withal, was slain, the sinner! Nor give my voice to slavery's jackal cry. Because he could no more digest his dinner:-' XXVII. XXXIV. That's an appropriate simile, that jackal; Oh ye! or we! or she! or he! reflect, I've heard them in the Ephesian ruins howl That one life saved, especially if young By night, as do that mercenary pack all, Or pretty, is a thing to recollect Power's base purveyors, who for pickings prowl, Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung And scent the prey their masters would attack all. From the manure of human clay, though deck'd However the poor jackals are less foul.With all the praises ever said or sung: (As being the brave lions' keen'providers) Though hymn'd by every harp, unless within Than human insects, catering for spiders. Your heart joins chorus, fame is but a din. XXVIII. XXXV. Raise but an arm!'twill brush their web away, Oh, ye great authors luminous, voluminous! And without that, their poison and their claws Yet twice ten hundred thousand daily scribes! Are useless. Mind, good people! what I say- Whose pamphlets, volumes, newspapers illumine us i (Or rather peoples)-go on without pause! Whether you're paid by government in bribes, The web of these tarantulas each day To prove the public debt is not consuming usIncreases, till you shall make common cause: Or, roughly treading on the "courtier's kibes" None, save the Spanish fly and Attic bee, With clownish heel, your popular circulation As yet are strongly stinging to be free. Feeds you by printing half the realm's starvation:.XXIX. XXXVI. Don Juan, who had shone in the late slaughter, Oh, ye great authors!-" A-propos de'bottes"Was left upon his way with the despatch, I have forgotten what I meant to say, Where blood was talk'd of as we would of water; As sometimes have been greater sages' lots. And carcasses that lay as thick as thatch'Twas something calculated to allay O'er silenced cities, merely served to flatter All wrath in barracks, palaces, or cots: Fair Catherine's pastime-who look'd on the match Certes it would have been but thrown away, Between these nations as a main of cocks, And that's one comfort for my lost advice, Vherein she liked her own to stand like rocks. Although no doubt it was beyond all price. XXX. XXXVII. And there in a kibitka here roll'd on But let it go —it will one day be found (A cursed sort of carriage without springs, With other relics of "a former world," Which on rough roads leaves scarcely a whole bone), When this world shall be former, underground, Pondering on glory, chivalry,,and kings, Thrown topsy-turvy, twisted, crisp'd, and curl'u, And orders, and on all that he had done- Baked, fried, or burnt, turn'd inside out, or d:roen'4t, And wishing that post-horses had the wings Like all the world's before, which have been hurl'O Of Pegasus, or at the least post-chaises First out of and then back again to chaos, Had feathers, when a traveller on deep ways is. The superstratum whil. will overlay us. 3 a2 87' 650 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO IX. XXXVIII. XLV. So Cuvier says;-and then shall come again His bandage sl.p'd down into a cravat; Unto the new creation, rising out His wings subdued to epaulets; his quiver From our old crash, some mystic, ancient strain Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at Of things destroy'd and left in airy doubt: His side as a small-sword, but sharp as ever; Like to the notions we now entertain His bow converted into a cock'd hat; Of Titans, giants, fellows of about But still so like, that Psyche were more clever Some hundred feet in height, not to say miles, Than some wives (who make blunders no less stupid) And mammoths, and your winged crocodiles. If she had not mistaken him for Cupid. XXXIX. XLVI. Think if then George the Fourth should be dug up! The courtiers stared, the ladies whisper'd, and How the new worldlings of the then new east The empress smiled; the reigning favourite frown'dWVll wonder where such animals could sup! I quite forget which of them was in hand (For they themselves will be but of the least: Just then, as they are rather numerous found, E^ en worlds miscarry, when too oft they pup, Who tool by turns that difficult command, And every new creation hath decreased Since first her majesty was singly crown'd: In size, from overworking the material- But they were mostly nervous six-foot fellows, Men are but maggots of some huge earth's burial).- All fit to make a Patagonian jealous. XL. XLVII. t[ow will-to these young people, just thrust out Juan was none of these, but slight and slim, From some fresh paradise, and set to plough,' Blushing and beardless; and yet ne'ertheless And dig, and sweat, and turn themselves about, There was a something in his turn of limb, And plant, and reap, and spin, and grind, and sow, And still more in his eye, which seem'd to express, Till all the arts at length are brought about, That though he look'd one of the seraphim, Especially of war and taxing,-how, There lurk'd a man beneath the spirit's dress. I say, will these great relics, when they see'em, Besides, the empress sometimes liked a boy, Look like the monsters of a new museum! And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi:4 XLI. XLVIII. But I am apt to grow too metaphysical: Nowonder.then that Yermoloff, or Momonoff, "IThe time is out of joint,"-and so am I; Or Scherbatoff, or any other off, I quite forget this poem's merely quizzical, Or on, might dread her majesty had not room enough And deviate into matters rather dry. Within her bosom (which was not too tough) I ne'er decide what I shall say, and this I call For a new flame; a thought to cast of gloom enough Much too poetical: men should know why Along the aspect, whether smooth or rough, They write, and for what end; but, note or text, Of him who, in the language of his station, I never k..ow the word which will come next. Then held that "high official situation." XLII. XLIX. So on I ramble, now and then narrating, Oh, gentle ladies! should you seek to know Now pondeiing:-it is time we should narrate: The import of this diplomatic phrase, I left Don Juan with his horses baiting- Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess show Now we'll get o'er the ground at a great rate. His parts of speech; and in the strange displays I shall not be particular in stating Of that odd string of words all in a row, His journey, we've so many tours of late: Which none divine, and every one obeys, Suppose him then at Petersburgh; suppose Perhaps you may pick out some queer no-meaning, That pleasant capital of painted snows; Of that weals wordy harvest the sole gleaning. XLIII. L. Suppose him in a handsome uniform; I think I can explain myself without A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume, That sad inexplicable beast of preyWaving, like sails new shiver'd in a storm, That sphinx, whose words would ever be a doubt, Over a cock'd hat, in a crowded room, Did not his deeds unriddle them each dayAnd brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn Gormne, That monstrous hieroglyphic-that long spout Of yellow kerseymere we may presume, Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh! White stockings drawn, uncurdled as new milk, And here I must an anecdote relate, O'er limbs whose symmetry set off the silk: But luckily of no great length or-weight. XLIV. LI. Sw'ppose him, sword by side, and hat in hand, An English lady ask'd of an Italian, Made up by youth, fame, and an army tailor- What were the actual and official duties That great enchanter, at whose rod's command Of the strange thing some-women set a value on, Beauty springs forth, and nature's self turns paler, Which hovers oft about some married beauties, Seeing how art can make her work more grand, Call'd " Cavalier Servente?"-a Pygmalion (When she don't pin men's limbs in like a jailor)- Whose statues warm (I fear, alas! too true'tis) 3celioit him nlaced as if upon a pillar! He Beneath his art. The dame, press'd to disclose them, Se'm. Love turn'd a lieutenant of artillery? Said-" Lady, I beseech you to suppose them." CANTO IX. DON JUAN. 65 LI. LIX. And thus I supplicate your supposition, Great Joy was hers, or rather joys; the first And mildest, matron-like interpretation Was a ta'en city, thirty thousand slain. Of the imperial favourite's condition. Glory and triumph o'er her aspect burst,'Twas a high place, the highest in the nation As an East-Indian sunrise on the main. in fact, if not in rank; and the suspicion These quench'd a moment her ambition's thirstOf any one's attaining to his station, So Arab deserts drink in summer's rain: No doubt gave pain, where each new pair of shoulders, In vain!-As fall the dews on quenchless sands, If rather broad, made stocks rise and their holders. Blood only serves to wash ambition's hands! LIII. LX. Juan, I said, was a most beauteous boy, Her next amusement was more fanciful; And had retain'd his boyish look beyond She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who threw The usual hirsute seasons, which destroy, Into a Russian couplet, rather dull, With beards and whiskers and the like, the fond The whole gazette of thousands whom he slew. Parisian aspect which upset old Troy Her third was feminine enough to annul And founded Doctor's Commons: — have conn'd The shudder which runs naturally through The history of divorces, which, though chequer'd, Our veins, when things called sovereigns think it best Calls Ilion's the first damages on record. To kill, and generals turn it into jest. LIV. LXI. And Catherine, who loved all things (save her lord, The two first feelings ran their course complete, Who was gone to his place), and pass'd for much, And lighted first her eye and then her mouth: Admiring those (by dainty dames abhorr'd) The whole court look'd immediately most sweet, Gigantic gentlemen, yet had a touch Like flowers well water'd after a long drouth:Of sentiment; and he she most adored But when on the lieutenant, at her feet, Was the lamented Lanskoi, who was such Her majesty-who liked to gaze on youth A lover as had cost her many a tear, Almost as much as on a new despatchAnd yet but made a middling grenadier. Glanced mildly, all the. world was on the watch. LV. LXII. Oh, thou " teterrinia causa" of all "belli!"- Though somewhat large, exuberant, and truculent, Thou gate of life and death!-thou nondescript! Wl.en wroth; while pleastd, she was as fine a figure Whence is our exit and our entrance,-well I As those who like things iosy, ripe, Lnd succulent, May pause in pondering how all souls are dipp'd Would wish to look on, while they are in vigour. In thy perennial fountain!-how man fell, I She could repay each amatory look you lent Know not, since knowledge saw her branches stripp'd With interest, and in turn was wont with rigour Of her first fruit; but hbw he falls and rises To exact of Cupid's bills the full amount Since, thou hast settled beyond all surmises. At sight, nor would permit you to discount. LVI. LXIII. Some call thee "the worst cause of war," but I With her the latter, though at times convenient, Maintain thou art the best: for, after all,' Was not so necessary: for they tell From thee we come, to thee we go; and why, That she was handsome, and, tho' fierce, look'd lenien, To get at thee, not batter down a wall, And always used her favourites too well. Or waste a world? Since no one can deny If once beyond her boudoir's precincts in ye went, Thou dost replenish worlds both great and small: Your "fortune" was in a fair way' "to swell With, or without thee, all things at a stand A man," as Giles says;6 for, tho' she would widow al Are, or would be, thou sea of life's dry land! Nations, she liked man as an individual. LVII. LXIV. Catherine, who was the grand epitome What a strange thing is man'! and what a stranger Gf that great cause of war, or peace, or what Is woman? What a whirlwind is her head, You please (it causes all the things which be, And what a whirlpool full of depth ana danger So you may take your choice of this or that)- Is a!l the rest about her! whether wed, Catherine, I say, was very glad to see Or widow, maid, or mother, she can change her The handsone herald, on whose plumage sat Mind like the wind; whatever she has said Victory; and, pausing as she saw him kneel Or done, is light to what she'll say or do;With his despatch, forgot to break the seal. The oldest thing on record, and yet new! LVIII. LXV. Then recollecting the whole empress, nor Oh, Catherine! (for of all interjections Forgetting quite the woman (which composed To thee both oh! and ah! belong of right At least three parts of this great whole), she tore In love and war), how odd are the connexions The letter open with an air' which posed Of human thoughts, which jostle in their flight The court, that watch'd each look her visage wore, Just now yours were cut out in different sections Until a royal smile at length disclosed First, Ismail's capture caught your fancy quite, Fair weather for the day. Though rather spacious, Next, of new knights the fresh and glorious batch, Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gracious. And thirdly, he who brought you the despatcht t,52 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO 1_ LXVI. LXXIII. Shakspeare talks of "the herald Mercury And that's enough, for love is vanity New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;" Selfish in its beginning as its end, And some such visions ctoss'd her majesty, Except where't is a mere insanity, While her young herald knelt before her still. A maddening spirit which would strive to blend'T is very true the hill seem'd rather high Itself with beauty's frail inanity, For a lieutenant to climb up; but skill On which the passion's self seems to depend: Smooth'd even the Simplon's steep, and,by God's bless- And hence some heathenish philosophers ing, Make love the mainspring of the universe. With youth and health all kisses are "heaven-kissing." XXIV LXVII. Besides Platonic love, besides the love Her majesty look'd down, the youth look'd up- Of God, the love of sentiment, the loving And so they fell in love;-she with his face, Of faithful pairs-(I needs must rhyme with dove, His grace, his God-knows-what: for Cupid's cup That good old steam-boat which keeps verses moving With the first draught intoxicates apace,'Gainst reason-reason ne'er was hand-and-glove A quintessential laudanum or "black drop," With rhyme, but always lean'd less to improving Which makes one drunk at once, without the base The sound than sense)-besides all these pretences Expedient of full bumpers; for the eye To love, there are those things which words name senses; In love drinks all life's fountains (save tears) dry. LXXV. LXVIII. ~Li~~XVIII. ^Those movements, those improvements in our bodies, Ile, on the other hand, if not in love, Which make all bodies anxious to get out Fell into that no less imperious passion, goddessOf their own sand-pits to mix with a goddessSelf-love-which, when some sort of thing above For such allwomen are at first, nodout. Ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in fashion, ow eautiful that moment! and how odd is Or duchess, princess, empress, " deigns to prove, fever which precedes the languid rout ('T is Pope's phrase) a great longing, tho' a rash one, Of our sensations! What a curious way For one especial person out of many, For one especial person out of many, aThe whole thing is of clothing souls in clay! Makes us believe ourselves as good as any. LXXVI. LXIX. The noblest kind of love. is love Platonical, Pesides, he was of that delighted age th.h mks at de'alighted agequal-e To end or to begin with; the next grand Which makes all female ages equal-when,. Which makes all female ages equal-when Is that which may be christen'd love canonical, We don't much care with whom we may engage, Bcas th c e the thing in hano As bold as Daniel in the lions' den, e ing in and The third sort to be noted in our chronicle, So that we can our native sun assuage As flourishing in every Christian land, In the next ocean, which may flow just then, o make a twilight in-just as Sol's heat is Is, when chaste matrons to their other ties'To make a twilight in-just as Sol's heat is Quench'd in the lap of the salt sea, or Thetis. Add what maybe call'd marrage i disise. LXX. i LXXVII. And Catherine (we must say thus much for Catherine), Well, we won't analyze-our story must Though bold and bloody, was the kind of thing Tell for itself: the sovereign was smitten, Whose temporary passion was quite flattering, much flatter'd by her love, or lust;Because each lover look'd a sort of king, I cannot stop to alter words once written, Made up upon an amatory pattern- And the two are so mix'd with human dust, A royal husband in all save the ring- That he who names one, both perchance may hit on Which being the damn'dest part of matrimony, t in sch matters Russia's mighty empress Seen'd taking out the sting to leave the honey Behaved no.better than a common sempstress. LXXI. LXXVIII. And when you add to this, her womanhood The whole court melted into one wide whisper, In its meridian, her blue eyes, or gray- And all lips were applied unto all ears! (The last, if they have soul, are quite as good, The elder ladies' wrinkles curl'd much crisper Ot better, as the best examples say: As they beheld; the younger cast some leers Napoleon's, Mary's (Queen of Scotland) should On one another, and each lovely lisper Lend to that colour a transcendent ray; Smiled as she talk'd the matter o'er; but tears And Pallas also sanctions the same hue — Of rivalship rose in each clouded eye Too wise to look through optics black or blue)- Of all the standing army who stood by. LXXII. LXXIX. lHer sweet smile, and her then majestic figure, All the ambassadors of all the powers Her plumpness, her imperial condescension, Inquired, who was this very new young man, ller preference of a boy to men much bigger Who promised to be great in some few hours? (Fellows whom'Messalina's self would pension), Which is full soon (though life is but a span). Her prime of lifa, just now in juicy vigour, Already they beheld the silver showers With other extras which we need not mention,- Of roubles rain, as fast as specie can, AU these, or any one of these, explain Upon his cabinet, besides the presents Eninugll to make a stripling very vain. Of several ribbons and some thousand peasants CANVTO X. DON JUAN. 6b3 LXXX. Catherine was generous,-all such ladies are: Lpve, that great opener of the heart and all The ways that lead there, be they near or far: Above, below, by turnpikes great or small,- CANTO X. Love-(though she had a cursed taste for war, And was not the best wife, unless we call Such Clytemnestra; though perhaps't is better That one should die, than two drag on the fetter)LXXXI. 1. Love had made Catherine make each lover's fortune, WHEN Newton saw an apple fall, he found Unlike our own half-chaste Elizabeth, In that slight startle from his contemplationWhose avarice all disbursements did importune,'T is said (for I'll not answer above ground If history, the. grand liar, ever saith For any sage's creed or calculation)The truth; and though grief her old age might shorten, A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round Because she put a favourite to death, In a most natural whirl, cail'd "gravitaton;" Her vile ambiguous method of flirtation, And thus is the sole mortal who could grapple, And stinginess, disgrace her sex and station. Since Adam, with a fall or with an apple. LXXXII. II. But when the levee rose, and all was bustle Man fell with apples, and with apples rose, In the dissolving circle, all the nations' If this be true; for we must deem the moA. Ambassadors began as't were to hustle In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose, Round the young man with their congratulations. Through the then unpaved stars, the turnpike road Also the softer silks were heard to rustle A thing to counterbalance human woes; Of gentle dames, among whose recreations For, ever since, immortal man hath glow'd It is to speculate on handsome faces, With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon Especially when such lead to high places. Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon. LXXXIII. IiI. Juan, who found himself, he knew not how, And wherefore this exordium?-Why, just now A general object of attention, made In taking up this paltry sheet of paper, His answers with a very graceful bow, My bosom underwent a glorious glow, As if born for the ministerial trade. And my internal spirit cut a caper: Though modest, on his unembarrass'd brow And though so much inferior, as I know, Nature had written "Gentleman." He said To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour, Little, but to the purpose; and his manner Discover stars, and sail in the wind's eye, Flung hovering graces o'er him like a banner. I wish to do as much by poesy. LXXXIV. IV. An order from her majesty consign'd In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for Our young lieutenant to the genial care The stars, I own my telescope is dim; Of those in office: all the world look'd kind, But at the least I've shunn'd the common shore, (As it will look sometimes with the first stare, And, leaving land far out of sight, would skim Which youth would not act ill to keep in mind); The ocean of eternity: the roar As also did Miss Protosoff then there, Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim, Named, from her mystic office, "l'Eprouveuse," But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float A term inexplicable to the Muse. Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat. LXXXV. V. With her then, as in humble duty bound, We left our hero Juan in the bloom Juan retired,-and so will I, until Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush; My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground. And far be it from my Muses to presume We have just lit on a "heaven-kissing hill," (For I have more than one Muse at a push) So lofty that I feel my brain turn round, To follow him beyond the. drawing-room: And all my fancies whirling like a mill; It is enough that fortune found him flush Which is a signal to my nerves and brain Of youth and vigour, beauty, and those things To take a quiet ride m some green lane. Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings. VI. But soon they grow again, and leave their nest. "Oh!" saith the Psalmist, "that I had a dove a Pinions, to flee away and be at rest!",+**c F*.. ^ - And who, that recollects young years and loves,Though hoary now, and with a withering breast, And palsied fapcy, which no longer roves Beyond its dimm'd eye's sphere,-but would mucn'ithe. Sigh like his son, than cough like his grandfather' 554 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO X VII. XIV. But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink The lawyer and the critic but behold Like Arno, in the summer, to a shallow, The baser sides of literature and life, So narrow as to shame their wintry brink, And nought remains unseen, but much untold, Which threatens inundations deep and yellow! By those who scour those double vales of strife. Such difference doth a few months make. You'd think While common men grow ignorantly old, Grief a rich field which never would lie fallow; The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knife, No more it doth, its ploughs but change their boys, Dissecting the whole inside of a question, Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys. And with it all the process of digestion. VIII. XV. But coughs will come when sighs depart-and now A legai broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And then before sighs cease; for oft the one And that's the reason he himself's so dirty; Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow The endless soot2 bestows a tint far deeper Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sun Than can be hid by altering his shirt; he Of life reach ten o'clock: and, while a glow, Retains the sable stains of the dark creeperHectic and brief as summer's day nigh done, At least some twenty-nine do out of thirty O'erspreads the cheek which seems too pure for clay, In all their habits: not so you, I own; Thousands blaze, love, hope, die-how happy they!- As Ctesar wore his robe you wear your gown. XVI. IX. XV~ But Juan was not meant to die so soon. But Juan was not meant to die so soon. And all our little feuds, at least all mine, We left him in the focus of such glory Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe, As may be won by favour of the moon, (As far as rhyme and criticism combine Or ladies' fancies-rather transitory Or ladies' fancies-rather transitory To make such puppets of us things below), Perhaps: but who would scorn the month of June, Are over: ere's a health to "AulLangSyne! Because December, with his breath so hoary, I do not know you, an may never know Your face,-but you have acted on the whole Must come? Much rather should he court the ray, Yor f,but you have acted on the whole To hoard up warmth against a wintry day. XVII. X. d es,.. he h And when I use the phrase of "Auld Lang Syne!" Besides, he had some qualities which fix le-e as qlities which fix'Tis not address'd to you-the more's the pity Middle-aged ladies even more than young: for I would rather take my wine For me, for I would rather take my wine The formerknow what's what; while new-fledged chicks. Kf sun r i.t v'With you,than aught (save Scott) in your proud city, Know little more of love than what is sung But somehow, —it may seem a school-boy's whine, In rhymes, or dream'd (for fancy will play tricks), t t And yet I seek not to be grand nor witty, In visions of those skies from whence love sprung. t I ot b and But I am half a Scot by birth, and bred Some reckon women by their suns or years — a r -.,.,, iiJ i t JA whole one, and my heart flies to my head: — I rather think the moon should date the dears. XVIII. XI. As "Auld Lang Syne" brings Scotland one and all, And why? because she's changeable and chaste. Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills, and clear I know no other reason, whatsoe'er streams Suspicious people, who find fault in haste, The Dee, the Don, Balgounie's Brig's black wall,3 May choose to tax me with; which is not fair, All my boy feelings, all my gentler dreams Nor flattering to "their temper or their taste," 3N!or flattering to " their temper or their taste," Of what I then dreamt, clothed in their own pall, As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air: Like Banquo's offspring-floating past me seems However, I forgive him, and I trust My childhood in this childishness of mine: He will forgive himself;-if not, I must. He will forgive hirmself;-if not, I must. I care not-'t is a. glimpse of "iAuld Lang Sync." XII. XIX. Old enemies who have become new friends And though, as you remember, in a fit Should so continue-'t is a point of honour; Of wrath and rhyme, when juvenile and curly, And I know nothing which could make amends I rail'd at Scots to show my wrath and wit, For a return to hatred: I would shun her Which must be own'd was sensitive and surly, Like garlic, howsoever she extends Yet'tis in vain such sallies to permitHer hundred arms and legs, and fain outrun her. They cannot quench young feelings fresh and early: Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest foes- I "scotch'd, not kill'd," the Scotchman in my blood, Converted foes should scorn to join with those. And love the land of "mountain and of flood." XIII. XX.'J'his were the worst desertion: renegadoes, Don Juan, who was real or ideal,Even shuffling Southey-that incarnate lie- For both are much the same, since what men think WVould scarcely join again the "reformadoes,"' Exists when the once thinkers are less real Whom he forsook to fill the laureate's sty: Than what they thought, for mind can never sink, And honest men, from Iceland to Barbadoes, And'gainst the body makes a strong appeal; Whether in Caledon or Italy, And yet't is very puzzling on the brink bhould not veer round with every breath, nor seize, Of what is call'd eternity, to stare, I'- pain, the moment when you cease to please. And know no more of what is here than the're CANTO X. DON JUAN. 65b XXI. XXVIII. Don Juan grew a very poli3h'd Russian- I won't describe-that is, if I can help How we won't mention, why we need not say: Description: and I won't reflect-that is, Few youthful minds can stand the strong concussion If I can stave off thought, which-as a whelp Of any slight temptation in their way; Clings to its teat-sticks to me through the abyss But his just now were spread as is a cushion Of this odd labyrinth; or as the kelp Smooth'd for a monarch's seat of honour: gay Holds by the rock; or as a lover's kiss Damsels, and dances, revels, ready money, Drains its first draught of lips: but, as I said, Made ice seem paradise, and winter sunny. I won't philosophize, and will be read. XXII. XXIX. The favour of the empress was agreeable; Juan, instead of courting courts, was courted, And though the duty wax'd a little hard, A thing which happens rarely; this he owed Young people at his time of life should be able Much to his youth, and much to his reported To come off handsomely in that regard. Valour; much also to the blood he show'd, He now was growing up like a green tree, able Like a race-horse; much to each dress he sported For love, war, or ambition, which reward Which set the beauty off in which he glow'd, Their luckier votaries, till old age's tedium As purple clouds befringe the sun; but most Make some prefer the circulating medium. He owed to an old woman and his post. XXIII. XXX. About this time, as might have been anticipated, He wrote to Spain:-and all his near relations, Seduced by youth and dangerous examples, Perceiving he was in a handsome way Don Juan grew, I fear, a little dissipated; Of getting on himself, and finding stations Which is a sad thing, and not only tramples For cousins also, answer'd the same day. On oulr fresh feelings, but-as being participated Several prepared themselves for emigrations; With all kinds of incorrigible samples And, eating ices, were o'erheard to say, Of frail humanity-must make us selfish, That with the addition of a slight pelisse, And shut our souls up in us like a shell-fish. Madrid's and Moscow's climes were of a-piece. XXIV. XXXI. This we pass over. We will also pass His mother, Donna Inez, finding too The usual progress of intrigues between That in the lieu of drawing on his banker, Unequal matches, such as are, alas! Where his assets were waxing rather few, A young lieutenant's with a not old queen, He had brought his spending to a handsome anchor,But one who is not so youthful as she was Replied, "lthat she was glad to see him through in all the royalty of sweet seventeen. Those pleasures after which wild youth will hanker Sovereigns may sway materials, but not matter, As the sole sign of man's being in his senses And wrinkles (the d-d democrats) won't flatter. Is, learning to reduce his past expenses. XXV. XXXII. And Death, the sovereigns' sovereign, though the great "She also recommended him to God, Gracchus of all mortality, who levels And no less to God's Son, as well as Mother, With his Agrarian laws, the high estate Warn'd him against Greek worship, which looks odd Of him who feasts, and fights, and roars, and revels, In Catholic eyes; but told him too to smother To one small grass-grown patch (which must awgat Outward dislike, which don't look well abroad: Corruption for its crop) with the poor devils Inform'd him that he had a little brother Who never had a foot of land till now,- Born in a second wedlock; and above Death's a reformer, all men must allow. All, praised the empress's maternal love. XXVI. XXXIII. He lived (not Death, but Juan) in a hurry'' She could not too much give her approbation Of waste, and haste, and glare, and gloss, and glitter, Unto an empress, who preferr'd young men In this gay clime of bear-skins black and furry- Whose age, and, what was better still, whose natict Which (though I hate to say a thing that's bitters And climate, stopp'd all scandal (now and then):Peep out sometimes, when things are in a flurry, At home it might have given her some vexation, Through all the "purple and fine linen," fitter But where thermometers sunk down to ten, For Babylon's than Russia's royal harlot- Or five, or one, or zero, she could never And neutralize her outward show of scarlet. Believe that virtue thaw'd before the river." XXVII. XXXIV. And this same state we won't describe: we would Oh for a forty-parson power 4 to chaunt Perhaps from hearsay, or from recollection; Thy praise, hypocrisy! Oh for a hymn But getting nigh grim Dante's "obscure wood," Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt, That horrid equinox, that hateful section Not practise! Oh for trumps of cherubim Of human years, that half-way house, that rude Or the ear-trumpet of my good old aunt, Hut, whence wise travellers drive with circumspection Who, though her spectacles at last grew.oi4 Life's sad post-horses o'er the dreary frontier Drew quiet consolation thro"gh'ts hint, Of age, and, looking hack to youth, give one tear;- When she no more could read the oious prnnt (s6 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO X XXXV. XLII. She was no hypocrite, at least, poor soul! This is the way physicians mend or end us, But went to heaven in as sincere a way Secundum artem: but although we sneer As any body on the elected roll, In health-when ill, we call them to attend us, Which portions out upon the judgment day Without the least propensity to jeer: Heaven's freeholds, in a sort of doomsday scroll, While that "hiatus maxime deflendus," Such as the conqueror William did repay To be fill'd up by spade or mattock,'s near, Iis knights with, lotting others' properties Instead of gliding graciously down Lethe, Into some sixty thousand new knights' fees. We tease mild Baillie, or soft Abernethy. XXXVI. XLIII. I can't complain, whose ancestors are there, Juan demurr'd at this first notice to Erneis, Radulphus —eight-and-forty manors Quit; and, though dea'h had threaten'd an ejection,,If that my memory doth not greatly err) His youth and constitution bore him through, Were their reward for following Billy's banners; And sent the doctors in a new direction. And, though I can't help thinking'twas scarce fair But still his state was delicate: the hue To strip- the Saxons of their hydes,5 like tanners, Of health but flicker'd with a faint reflection Yet as they founded churches with the produce, Along his wasted cheek, and seem'd to gravel You'11 deem, no doubt, they put it to a good use. The faculty-who said that he must travel. XXXVII. XLIV. The gentle Juan flourish'd, though at times The climate was too cold, they said, for him, He felt like other plants-call'd sensitive, Meridian-born, to bloom in. This opinion Which shrink from touch, as monarchs do from rhymes, Made the chaste Catherine look a little grim, Save such as Southey can afford to give. Who did not like at first to lose her minion: Perhaps he long'd, in bitter frosts, for climes But when she saw his dazzling eye wax dim, In which the Neva's ice would cease to live And drooping- like an eagle's with clipp'd pinion, Before May-day: perhaps, despite his duty, She then resolved to send him on a mission, In royalty's vast arms he sigh'd for beauty: But in a style becoming his condition. XXXVIII. XLV. Perhaps,-but, sans perhaps, we need to seek There was just then a kind of a discussion, For causes young or old: the canker-worm A sort of treaty or negotiation Will feed upon the fairest, freshest cheek, Between the British cabinet and Russian, As well as further drain the wither'd form: Maintain'd with all the due prevarication Care, like a housekeeper, brings every week With which great states such things are apt to push on; His bills in, and, however we may storm, Something about the Baltic's navigation, They must be paid: though six days smoothly run, Hides, train-oil, tallow, and the rights of Thetis, The seventh will bring blue devils or a dun. Which Britons deem their "uti possidetis." XXXIX. XLVI. I don't know how it was, but he grew sick: So Catherine, who had a! handsome way The empress was alarm'd, and her physician Of fitting out her favourites, conferr'd (The same who physick'd Peter) found the tick This secret charge on Juan, to display Of his fierce pulse betoken a condition At once her royal splendour, and reward Which augur'd of the dead, however quick His services. He kiss'd hands the next day, Itself, and show'd a feverish disposition; Received instructions how to play his card, At which the whole court was extremely troubled, Was laden with all kinds of gifts and honours, Fhe sovereign shock'd, and all his medicines doubled. Which show'dwhat great discernment was the donor's. XL. XLVII. Low were the whispers, manifold the rumours: But she was lucky, and luck's all. Your queens Some said he had been poison'd by Potemkin; Are generally prosperous in reigning; Others talk'd learnedly of certain tuinours, Which puzzles us to know what fortune means. Exhaustion, or disorders of the same kin; But to continue: though her years were waning, Some said't was a concoction of the humours, Her climacteric teased her like her teens; Which with the blood too readily will claim kin; And though her dignitybrook'd no complaining, Others again were ready to maintain, So much did Juan's setting off distress her, "'Twas only the fatigue of last campaign." She could not find at first a fit successor. XLI. XLVIII. But here is one prescription out of many: But time, the comforter, will come at last; " Sodse-sulphat. S. vi. 3. s. Mannae optim. And four-and-twenty hours, and twice that number Aq. fervent. F. 3. iss. 3. ij. tinct. Sennae Of candidates requesting to be placed, Haustus' (and here thesurgeon came andcupp'dhin) Made Catherine taste next night a quiet slumber,"R. Pulv. Com. gr. iii. Ipecacuanha" Not that she meant to fix again in haste, (With more beside, if Juan had not stopp'd'em). Nor did she find the quantity encumber, Boltis potassse sulphuret. slumenrdus, But, always choosing with deliberation, Et hatstus rer in die capiendus." Kept the place open for their emulation. CANTO X. DON JUAN. 657 XLIX. LVI. While this high post of honour's in abeyance,'T was strange enough she should retain the impression For one or two days, reader, we request Through such a scene of change, and dread, and You'11 mount with our young hero the conveyance slaughter; Which wafted him from Petersburgh; the best But, though three bishops told her the transgression, Barouche, which had the glory to display once She show'd a great dislike to holy water: The fair Czarina's autocratic crest, She also had no passion for confession; (When, a new Iphigene, she went to Tauris), Perhaps she had nothing to confess;-no matter; Was given to her favourite,6 and now bore his. Whate'er the cause, the church made little of itL. She still held out that Mahomet was a prophet. A bull-dog, and a'bull-finch, and an ermine, LVII. All private favourites of Don Juan; for In fact, the only Christian she could bear (Let deeper sages the true cause determine) Was Juan, whom she seemd to have selected He had a kind of inclination, or In place of what her home and friends once were. Weakness, for what most people deem mere vermin- He naturally loved wha he protected; Jive' animals:-an old maid of threescore And thus they form'd a rather curious pair: For cats and birds more penchant ne'er display'd, A guardian green in years, a ward connected Although he was not old, nor even a maid. In neither clime, time, blood, with her defender; And yet this want of ties made theirs more tender, LI.^~~~~~~~ ~LVIII. The animals aforesaid occupied LVI Their station: there were valets, secretaries, They journey'd on through Poland and through Warsaw n other vehicles; but at his side Famous for mines of salt and yokes of iron: In other vehicles; but at his side Through Courland also, which that famous farce saw Sat little Leila, who survived the parries He made'gainst Cossack sabres, in the wide Which gave her dukes' the graceless name of"Biron." He made'gainst Cossack sabres, in the wide' Slaughter of Ismail. i Though my wild Muse varies the same landscape which the modern Mars saw, Her not forget the infant girl Who march'd to Moscow, led by-fame, the syren I Her note, she don't forget the infant girl Whom nhe presered pure ad lg To lose, by one month's frost, some twenty years Whom he preserved, a pure and living pearl. Of conquest, and his guard of grenadiers. LII. LI LIX. Poor little thing! She was as fair as docile, t nt ts s a a: h! Let not this seem an anti-climax: —" Oh! And with that gentle, serious character, My guard! myold guard!" exclaim'dthatgodofclayAs rare in living beings as a fossile Think of the thunderer's falling down below Man,'midst thy mouldy mammoths, "grand Cuvier!" Carotid-artery-cutting Castlereah! II fitted with her ignorance to jostle Alas! that glory should be chill'd by snow! With this o'erwhelming world, where all must err: B s w w But she was yet but ten years old, and'therefore Through Poland, thee is tosciusko's name Was tranquil, though she knew not why or wherefore. Might scatter fire through ice, like Hecla's flame. LIII. LX. Don Juan loved her, and she loved him, as From Poland they came on through Prussia Proper, Nor brother, father, sister, daughter love. And Konigsberg the capital, whose vaunt, I cannot tell exactly what it was; Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper, He was not yet quite old enough to prove Has lately been the great Professor Kant. Parental feelings, and the other class, Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper Call'd brotherly affection, could not move About philosophy, pursued his' jaunt His bosom-for he never had a sister:' To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions Ah! if he had, how much he would have miss'd her! Have princes who spur more than their postilions. LIV. LXI. And still less was^ it sensual; for besides And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the like, That he was not an ancient debauchee, Until he reach'd the castellated Rhine:(Who like sour fruit to stir their veins' salt tides, Ye glorious Gothic scenes! how much ye strike As acids rouse a dormant alkali), All phantasies, not even excepting mine: Although ('t will happen as our planet guides) A gray wall, a green ruin, rusty pike, His youth was not the chastest that might be, Make my soul pass the equinoctial line There was the purest platonism at bottom Between the present and past worlds, and hovel Of all his feelings-only he forgot'em. Upon their airy confine, half-seas-over. LV. LXII. Just now there was no peril of temptation; But Juan posted on through Manheim, Bonn, He loved the infant orphan he had saved, Which Drachenfels frowns o'er, like a spectra As patriots (now and then) may love a nation; Of the good' feudal times for ever gone, His pride too felt that she was not enslaved, On which I have not time just now to lecture. Owing to him;-as also her salvation, From thence he was drawn onwards to Cologne. Through his means and the church's, might be paved. A city which presents to the inspector But one thing's odd, which here must be inserted- Eleven thousand maidenheads of bone, The little Turk refused to be converted. The greatest number flesh hath ever koown.* 31 83 658 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO I LXIII. LXX. From thence to Holland's Hague and Helvoetsluys, Juan, though careless, young, and magnifique, That water land- of Dutchmen and of ditches, And rich in roubles, diamonds, cash, and credit, Where Juniper expresses its best juice- Who did not limit much his bills per week, The,poor man's sparkling substitute for riches. Yet stared at this a little, though he paid it — Senates and sages have condemn'd its use- (His maggior duomo, a smart subtle Greek, But to deny the mob a cordial which is Before him summ'd the awful scroll and read it,) Too often all the clothing, meat, or fuel, But doubtless as the air, though seldom sunny, Good government has left them, seems but cruel. Is free, the respiration's worth the money. LXIV.LXXI. Here he embark'd, and, with a flowing sail, On with the horses! Off to Canterbury! Went bounding for the island of the free, Tramp, tramp o'er pebble, and splash, splash through Towards which the impatient wind blew half a gale; puddle; High dash'd the spray, the bows dipp'd in the sea, Hurrah! how swiftly speeds the post so merry! And sea-sick passengers turned somewhat pale: Not like slow Germany, wherein they muddle But Juan, season'd, as he well might be Along the road, as if they went to bury By former voyages, stood to watch the skiffs Their fare; and also pause, besides, to fuddle Which pass'd, or catch the first glimpse of the cliffs. With schnapps"-sad dogs! whom"Hundsfot" or " Ferflucter" ~ LXV. Affect no more than lightning a conductor. At length they rose, like a white wall along LXX The blue sea's border; and Don Juan felt- L I I The blue sea's border; and Don Juan flt- Now, there is nothing gives a man such spirits, What even young strangers feel a little strong Leavening his blood as Cayenne doth a curry, At the first sight of Albion's chalky belt- As going at full speed-no matter where its A kind of pride that he should be among Direction be, so'tbut in a hurry, Direction be, so It is but in a hurry, Those ~haughty shop-keepels, who sternly dealt Ihose haughty shnpkper, whc steroy dealt And merely for the sake of its own merits: Their goods and edicts out from pole to pole, A s Their goods and edicts out from pole to po, For the less cause there is for all this flurry, And made the very billows pay them toll. The greater is the pleasure in arriving LXVI. At the great end of travel-which is driving. I have no great cause to love that spot of earth, LXXIII. Which holds what might have been the noblest nation: They saw at Canterbury the Cathedral; But, though I owe it little but my birth, Black Edward's heln, and Becket's bloody stone, I feel a mix'd regret and veneration Were pointed out as usual by the bedrai, For its decaying fame and former worth. In the same quaint, uninterested tone: Seven years (the usual term of transportation) There's glory again for you, gentle reader! all Of absence lay one's old resentments level, Ends in a rusty casque and dubious bone, When a man's country's going to the devil. Half-solved into those sodas or magnesias, LXVII. Which form that bitter draught, the himan species. LXXIV. Alas! could she but fully, truly, know LXXIV....., z The effect on Juan was of course sublime: How her great name is now throughout abherr'd; How eager all the earth is for the blow He breathed a thousand Crssys, as he saw Which shall lay bare her bosom to the sword; That casque, which never stoop'd, except to Time. Which shall lay bare her bosom to the sword, Even the bold churchman's tomb excited awe, How all the nations deem her their worst foe, Even the churchman's tomb excited awe, That worse than worst ffes-the once adored Who died in the then great attempt to climb That worse than worst of foes-the once adored TFhase tiendt who held out freedom~.to mankind O'er kings, who now at least must talk of law, F rise friend, who held out freedom, to mankind, FAnd now, would chain them to the very mnnd Before they butcher. Little Leila gazed, And ask'd why such a structure had been raised: LXVIII. LXXV. Would she be proud, or boast herself the free, And being told it was "God's house," she said Who is but first of slaves? The nations are He was well lodged, but only wonder'd how In prison; but the jailor, what is he? Hesuffer'd infidels in his homestead, No -less a victim to the bolt and bar. The cruel Nazarenes, who had laid low Is the poor privilege to turn the key His holy temples in the lands which bred Upon the captive, freedom? He's as far The true believers;-and her infant brow From the enjoyment of the earth and air Was bent with grief that Mahomet should resign Whto watches o'er the chain, as they who wear. A mosque so noble, flung like pearls to swine. LXIX. LXXVI. Dli n Juan now saw Albion's earliest beauties- On, on! through meadows, managed like a garden, Thy cliffs, dear Dover! harbour, and hotel; A paradise of hops and high production Thy custom-house with all its delicate duties; For, after years of travel by a bard in Thy waiters running mucks at every bell; Countries of greater heat but lesser suction, Thy packets, all whose passengers are booties A green field is a sight which makes him pardon Tc thosewho upon land or water dwell; The absence of that more sublime construction And last, not least, to strangers uninstructed, Which mixes up vines, olives, precipices, flq,:ore. long bills, whence nothing is deducted. Glaciers, volcanos, oranges, and ices. t INTO X. DON JUAN. 659 LXXVII. LXXXIV. A d when I think upon a pot of beer- He paused-and so will I-as doth a crew But I won't weep!-and so, drive on, postilions! Before they give their broadside. By and by, AJ the smart boys spurr'd fast in their career, My gentle countrymen, we will renew Juan admired these highways of free millions; Our old acquaintance, and at least I'll try A country il all senses the most dear To tell you truths you will not take as true, To foreigner or. native, save some silly ones, Because they are so,-a male Mrs. Fry, Who "kick against the pricks" just at this juncture, With a soft besom will I sweep your ha.ls, And for their pains get only a fresh puncture. And brush a web or two from off the walls. LXXVIII. LXXXV. What a delightful thing's a turnpike road! Oh, Mrs. Fry! why go to Newgate? Why So smooth, so level, such a mode of shaving Preach to poor rogues? And wherefore not begin The earth, as scarce the eagle in the broad With C-lt-n, or with other houses Try Air can accomplish, with his wide wings waving. Your hand at harden'd and imperial sin. Had such been cut in Phaeton's time, the god To mend the people's an absurdity, Had told his son to satisfy his craving A jargon, a mere philanthropic din, With the York mail;-but, onward as we roll, Unless you make their betters better:-Fie! "Surgit amari aliquid"-the toll! I thought you had more religion, Mrs. Fry. LXXIX. Alas! how deeply painfill is all payment! h d s o XXXVIg'.Teach them the decencies of good threescore: Take lives, take wives, take aught except mens Cure them of tours, Hussar an Highland dress purses..Tell them that youth once gone returns no more; As Machiavel shows those in purple raiment, That hired huzzas redeem no land's distresses: Such is the shortest way to general curses.m C s i a They hate a murderer much less than a claimait Tell them S C-rt-s is a bore, Too dull even for the dullest of excessesOn that sweet ore, which every body nurses:- The witless Falstaff ofa hoary Hal, Kill a man's family, and he may brook ithil a man's family, and he may brook it- A fool whose bells have ceased to ring at all;But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket. LXXX. LXXXVII. So said the Florentine: ye monarchs, hearken Tell them, though it may be perhaps too late, To your instructor. Juan now was borne, On life's worn confine, jaded, bloated, sated, Just as the day began to wane and darken, To set up vain pretences of being great, O'er the high hill which looks with pride or scorn'Tis not so to be good; and be it stated, toward the great city:-ye who have a spark in The worthiest kings have ever loved least state; Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn, And tell them-but you won't, and I have prated According as you take things well or ill- Just now enough; but by and by I'll prattle Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill! Like' Roland's horn in Roncesvalles' battle. LXXXI.'he sun went down, the smoke rose up, as from A half-unquench'd volcano, o'er a space Which well beseem'd the "Devil's drawing-room," As some have qualified that wondrous place. AN O But Juan felt, though not approaching home, As one who, though he were not of the race, Revered the soil, of those true sons the mother, Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied t' other 1. LXXXII. WHEN Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter' A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, And proved it-'twas no matter what he said: Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye They say his system'tis in vain to batter, Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping Too subtle for the airiest human head; In sight, then lost amidst the forestry And yet who can believe it? I would shatter, Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping Gladly, all matters down to stone or lead, On tiptoe, through their sea-coal canopy; Or adamant, to find the woild a spirit, A huge dun cupola, like a foolscap crown And wear my head, denying that I wear it. On a fool's head-and there is London town! II. LXXXIII. What a sublime discovery'twas, to make the But Juan saw not this: each wreath of smoke Universe universal egotism! Appear'd to him but as the magic vapour That all's ideal —all ourselves? I'1 stake the Of some alchymic furnace, from whence broke World (be it what you will) that that's no scsnm The wealth of worlds (a wealth of tax and paper); Oh, doubt!-if thou beist doubt, for which some wKe The gloomy clouds, which o'er it as a yoke thee, Are bow'd, and put the sun out like a taper, But which I doubt extremelv-thou sole prism Were nothing but the natural atmosphere- Of the truth's rays, spoil not my draught of spinr i Extremely wholesome, though but rarely clear. Heaven's brandy-though our brain can hardly beam t 660 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XI. III. X. For, ever and anon comes indigestion "Here are chaste wives, pure lives; here people pay (Not the most "dainty Ariel"), and perplexes But what they please; and if that things be dear, Our soarings with another sort of question:'Tis only that they love to throw away. And that which, after all, my spirit vexes Their cash, to show how much they have a-year. Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on, Here laws are all inviolate; none lay Without confusion of the sorts and sexes, Traps for the traveller, every highway's clear: Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder, Here-" he was interrupted by a knife, The world, which at the worst's a glorious blunder- With " Damn your eyes! your money or your life." IV. XI. If it be chance; or if it be according These free-born sounds proceeded from four pads, To the old text, still better! lest it should In ambush laid, who had perceived him loiter Turn out so; we'll say nothing'gainst the wording, Behind his carriage; and, like handy lads, As several people think such hazards rude: Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre, They're right; our days are too brief for affording In which the heedless gentleman who gads Space to dispute what no one ever could Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter, Decide, and every body one day will May find himself, within that isle of riches, Know very clearly-or at least lie still. Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches. V. XII. And therefore will I leave off metaphysical Juan, who did not understand a word Discussion, which is neither here nor there: Of English, save their shibboleth, "God damn!" If I agree that what is, is-then this I call And even that he had so rarely heard, Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair. He sometimes thought'twas only their "salam," The truth is, I've grown lately rather phthisical: Or "God be with you,"-and'tis not absurd I don't know what the reason is-the air To think so; for, half English as I am Perhaps; but as I suffer from the shocks (To my misfortune), never can I say Of illness, I grow much more orthodox. I heard them wish "God with you," save that way:VI. XIII. The first attack at once proved the divinity Juan yet quickly understood their gesture, (But that I never doubted, nor the devil); And, being somewhat choleric and sudden, The next, the Virgin's mystical virginity; Drew forth a pocket-pistol from his vesture, The third, the usual origin of evil; And fired it into one assailant's puddingThe fourth at once establish'd the whole Trinity Who fell, as rolls an ox o'er in his pasture, On so incontrovertible a level, And roar'd out, as he writhed his native mud in. That I devoutly wish the three were four, Unto his nearest follower or henchman, On purpose to believe so much the more. "Oh Jack! I'm floor'd by that'ere bloody Frenchman!" VII. XIV. Toourtheme:-ThemanwhohasstoodontheAcropolis, On which Jack and his train set off at speed, And look'd down over Attica; or he And Juan's suite, late scatter'd at a distance, Who has sail'd where picturesque Constantinople is, Came up, all marvelling at such a deed, Or seenTombuctoo, or hath taken tea And offering, as usual, late assistance. In small-eyed China's crockery-ware metropolis, Juan, who saw the moon's late minion bleed jOr sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh, As if his veins would pour out his existence, May not think much of London's first appearance- Stood calling out for bandages and lint, But ask him what he thinks of it a year hence? And wish'd he'd been less hasty with his flint. VIII. XV. Don Juan had got out on Shooter's Hill- " Perhaps," thought he, " it is the country's wont Sunset the time, the place the same declivity To welcome foreigners in this way: now Which looks along that vale of good and ill I recollect some innkeepers who don't Where London streets ferment in full activity; Differ, except in robbing with a bow, While every thing around was calm and still, In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front. Except tire creak of wheels, which on their pivot he But what is to be done? I can't allow Heard-and that bee-like, bubbling, busy hum The fellow to lie groaning on the road: Of cities, that boils over with their scum:- So take him up; I'11 help you with the load." IX. XVI. I say. Don Juan, wrapt in contemplation, But, ere they could perform this pious duty, Walk'd on behind his carriage, o'er the summit, The dying man cried, "Hold! I've got my gruel And, lost in wonder of so great a nation, Oh! for a glass of max! We've miss'd our booty; Gave way to't, since he could not overcome it. Let me die where I am!" And, as the fuel * And here," he cried, "is Freedom's chosen station; Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty Rere peals the people's voice, nor can entomb it The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill RacKs, prisons. inquisitions; resurrection His breath, he from his swelling throat untied AwTais n, eacn new meeting or election. A kerchief, crying "Give Sal that!"-and died. CANTO XI. DON JUAN 661 XVII. XXIV. The cravat, stain'd with bloody drops, fell down That's rather fine, the gentle sound of ThamisBefore Don Juan's feet: he could not tell Who vindicates a moment too his stream — Exactly why itwas before him thrown, Though hardly heard through multifarious "dam'mes." Nor what the meaning of the man's farewell. The lamps of Westminster's more regular gleam, Poor Tom was once a kiddy upon town, The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine where Fame is A thorough varmint, and a real swell, A spectral resident-whose pallid beam Full flash, all fancy, until fairly diddled- In shape of moonshine hovers o'er the pileHis pockets first, and then his body riddled. Make this a sacred part of Albion's isle. XVIII. XXV. Don Juan, having done the best he could The Druids' groves are gone —so much the better: In all the circumstances of the case, Stone-Henge is not —but what the devil is it?As soon as "crowner's quest" allow'd, pursued But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter, His travels to the capital apace; — That madmen may not bite you on a visit; Esteeming it a little hard he should The Bench too seats or suits full many a debtor; In twelve hours' time, a very little space, The Mansion-house, too (though some people qliz it), Have been obliged to slay a free-born native To me appears a stiff yet grand erection; In self-defence: this made him meditative. But then the Abbey's worth the whole collection. XIX. XXVI. He from the world had cut off a great man, The line of lights too up to Charing-Cross, Who in his time had made heroic bustle. Pall-Mall, and so forth, have a coruscation, Who in a row like Tom could lead the van, Like gold as in comparison to dross, Booze in the ken, or at the spellken hustle? Match'd with the continent's illumination, Who queer a flat? Who (spite of Bow-street's ban) Whose cities night by no means deigns to gloss: On the high toby-spice so flash the muzzle? The French were not yet a lamp-lighting nation, Who on a lark, with black-eyed Sal (his blowing), And when they grew so-on their new-found lanternt So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing?t Instead of wicks, they made' a wicke.d man turn. XX. XXVII. But Tom's no more-and so no more of Tom. A row of gentlemen along the stretts Heroes must die; and by God's blessing,'t is Suspended, may illuminate mankind, Not long before the most of them go home.- As also bonfires made of country-seats; Hail! Thamis, hail! Upon thy verge it is But the old way is best for the purblind: That Juan's chariot, rolling like a drum The other looks like phosphorus on sheets, In thunder, holds the way it can't well miss, A sort of ignis fatuus to the mind, Through Kennington and all the other " tons," Which, though't is certain to perplex and frighten, WVhich make us wish ourselves in town at once; Must burn more mildly ere it can enlighten. XXI. XXVIII.'rhrough groves, so call'd as being void of trees, But London's so well lit, that if Diogenes (Like lucus from no light); through prospects named Could recommence to hunt his honest man, Mount Pleasant, as containing nought to please, And found him not amidst the various progenies Nor much to climb; through little boxes framed Of this enormous city's spreading spawn, Of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease,'Twas not for want of lamps to aid his dodging his With " To be let," upon their doors proclaim'd; Yet undiscover'd treasure. What I can, Through "rows" most modestly call'd "Paradise," I've done to find the same throughout life's journey, Which Eve might quit without much sacrifice;- But see the world is only one attorney. XXII. XXIX. Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and a whirl Over the stones still rattling, up Pall-Mall, Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion; Through crowds and carriages —but waxing thinne Here taverns wooing to a pint of "purl," As thunder'd knockers broke the long-scal'd. spell There mails fast flying off like a delusion; Of doors'gainst duns, and to an early dinner There barbers' blocks with periwigs in curl Admitted a small party as night fell,In windows; here the lamp-lighter's infusion Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinnei, Slowly distill'd into the glimmering glass-. Pursued his path, and drove past some hotels (For in those days we had not got to gas): St. James's Palace and St. James's "Hells."* XXIII. XXX. Through this, and much and more, is the approach They reach'd the hotel: forth stream'd from the front aone Of travellers to mighty Babylon: A tide of well-clad waiters, and around Whether they come by horse, or chaise, or coach, The mob stood, and as usual several score With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one. Of those pedestrian Paphians whe aboundl I could say more, but do not choose to encroach In decent London when the daylight's o'er, Upon the guide-book's privilege. The sun Commodious but immortal, they are found Had set some time, and night was on the ridge Useful, like Malthus, in promoting marriage: Of twilight, as the party cross'd the bridge. But Juan now is stepping from his carrtage. 312 662 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XM XXXI. XXXVIII. Into one of the sweetest of hotels, Praised be all liars and all lies! Who now Especially for foreigners-and mostly Can tax my mild Muse with misanthropy? For those whom favour or whom fortune swells, She rings the world's "Te Deuln," and her brow And cannot find a bill's small items costly. Blushes for those who will not:-but to sigh There many an envoy either dwelt or dwells Is idle; let us, like most others, bow, (The den of many a diplomatic lost lie), Kiss hands, feet-any part of Majesty, Until to some conspicuous square they pass, After the good example of " Green Erin," And blazon o'er the door their names in brass. Whose shamrock now seems rather worse for wearihir XXXII. XXXIX. Juan, whose was a delicate commission, Don Juan was presented, and his dress Private, though publicly important, bore And mien excited general admirationNo title to point out with due precision I don't know which was most admired or less: The exact affair on which he was sent o'er. One monstrous diamond drew much observation, IT was merely known that on a secret mission Which Catherine, in a moment of "ivresse" A foreigner of rank had graced our shore, (In love or brandy's fervent fermentation), Young, handsome, and accomplish'd, who was said Bestow'd upon him as the public learn'd; (In whispers) to have turn'd his sovereign's head. And, to say truth, it had been fairly earn'd. XL. XXXIII. XL Some rumour also of some strange adventures Besides the miiste's and underlings, Had gone before him, and his wars and loves; Who must be courteous to the accredited And as romantic heads are pretty painters, Diplomatists of rather wavering kings, And above all, an Englishwoman's roves Until their royal riddle's fully read, Into the excursive, breaking the indentures The very clerks-those somehat dirty springs Of sober reason, wheresoe'er it moves, Of office, or the house of office, fed Re found himself extremely in the fashion, By foul corruption into streams-even they Which serves our thinking people for a passion. Were hardly rude enough to earn their pay: XL. XXXIVXLI. And insolence no doubt is what they are I don't mean that they are passionless, but quitene t is The contrary; but then'tis in the head; Employ'd for, since it is their daily labour, In the dear offices of peace or war; Yet, as the consequences are as bright As if they acted with the heart instead, And should you doubt, pray ask of your next neighAs if they acted with the heart instead, * # S v hour, What after all can signify the site bour, Of ladies' lucubrations? So they lead When for a passport, or some other bar Of, ladies' lucubratio? So they lead 4To freedom, he applied (a grief and a bore) In safety to the place for which they start, To freedom, he applied (a grief and a bore) hat matters if the road be head or heart? If he found not this spawn of tax-born riches, What matters if the road be head or heart? Like lap-dogs, the least civil sons of b-s. XXXV. XLII. Juan presented in the proper place, uan presented in the proper place, But Juan was received with much empressement:"To proper p.acemen, every Russ credential; borrow These phrases of refinement I must borrow And was received with all the due grimace, From our next neighbour's land, where, like a chessman By those who govern in the mood potential, X By those who govern in the mood potential, There is a move set down for joy or sorrow, Who, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth facemere talking, but the press. an, Thought (what in state affairs is most essential) island, downright and thorough, That they as easily might do the youngster, Morethanoncontinents-asifthesea More than on continents-as if the sea As hawks may pounce upon a woodland songster. (See Billingsgate) made even the tongue more free. XXXVI.XLIII. They err'd, as aged men will do; but by And yet the British "dam'me"'s rather Attic: And by we'11 tal of that; and if we don't, Your continental oaths are but incontinent, T will be because our notion is not high And turn on things which no aristocratic Of politicians and the n double front, Spirit would name, and therefore even I won't anent3 Who lives bylies, yet dare not boldly lie:- This subject quote, as it would be schismatic Now what I love in women is, they won't In politesse, and have a sound affronting in't:Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it But " dam'me''s quite ethereal, though too daringSo well, the very truth seems falsehood to it. Platonic blasphemy, the soul of swearing. XXXVII. XLIV. And, after all, what is a lie?'T is but For downright rudeness, ye may stay at home; The truth in masquerade; and I defy For true or false politeness (and scarce that Historians, heroes, lawyeis, priests, to put.Now) you may cross the blue deep and white foamA fact without some leaven of a lie. The first the emblem (rarely though) of what The very shadow of true truth would shut You leave behind, the next of much you cornm Up annals, revelations, ~oesy, To meet. However,'tis no time to chat And prophecy-except it should be dated On general topics: poems must confine Some years befoie the incidents related. Themselves to unity, like this of mine. ,'ANTO Xi. DON JUAN. 663 XLV. LII. in the great world,-which, being interpreted, However, he replied at hazard, with Meaneth the west or worst end of the city, A modest confidence and calm assurance, And about twice two thousand people bred Which lent his learned lucubrations pith, By no means to be very wise or witty, And pass'd for arguments of good endurance. But to sit up while others lie in bed, That prodigy, Miss Araminta Smith, And look down on the universe with pity- (Who at sixteen, translated "Hercules Furens' Juan, as an inveterate patrician, Into as furious English), with her best look, Was well received by persons of condition. Set down his sayings in her commonplace book. XLVI. LILHe was a bachelor, which is a matter Juan knew several languages-as well Of import both to virgin and to bride, He might-and brought them up with skill, in time The fornmer's hymeneal hopes to flatter; To save his fame with each accomplish'd belle, And (should she not hold fast by love or pride) Who still regretted that he did not rhyme. rT is also of some moment to the latter: There wanted but this requisite to swell A rib's a thorn in a wed gallant's side, His qualities (with them) into sublime: Requires decorum, and is apt to double Lady Fitz-Frisky, and Miss Mavia Mannish, The horrid sin-and, what's still worse, the trouble. Both long'd extremely to be sung'm —Spianish. XLVII. LIV. But Juan was a bachelor-of arts, However he did pretty well, and was And parts, and hearts: he danced and sung, and had Admitted as an aspirant to all An air as sentimental as Mozart's The coteries, and, as in Banquo's glass, Softest of melodies; and could be sad At great assemblies or in parties smar, Or cheerful, without any "flaws or starts," He saw ten thousand living authors pass, Just at the proper time; and, though a lad, That being about their average numeral; Had seen the world-which is a curious sight, Also the eighty "greatest living poets," And very much unlike what people write. As every paltry magazine can show its. XLVIII. LV. Fair virgins blush'd upon him; wedded dames In twice five years the "greatest living poet," Bloom'd also in less transitory hues; Like to the champion in the fisty ring, For both commodities dwell by the Thames, Is call'd on to support his claim, or show it, The painting and the painted; youth, ceruse, Although'tis an imaginary thing. Against his heart preferr'd their usual claims, Even I-albeit I'm sure I did not know it, Such as no gentleman can quite refuse.; Nor sought of foolscap subjects to be kingDaughters admired his dress, and pious mothers Was reckon'd, a considerable time, Inquired his income, and if he had brothers. The grand Napoleon of the realns of rhyme. XLIX. LVI. The milliners who furnish "drapery misses"4 But Juan was my Moscow, and Falicro Throughout the season, upon speculation My Leipsic, and my Mont-Saint-Jean seems Cain Of payment ere the honeymoon's last kisses "La Belle Alliance" of dunces down at zero, Have waned into a crescent's coruscation, Now that the lion's fall'n, may rise again' Thought such an opportunity as this is, But I will fall at least as fell my hero; Of a rich foreigner's initiation, Nor reign at all, or as a monarch reign; Not to be overlook'd, and gave such credit, Or to some lonely isle of jailors go, That future bridegrooms swore, and sigh'd, and paid it. With turncoat Southey for my turnkey Lowe. L. LVII. 3IeeBlues, that tender tribe, who sigh o'er sonnets, Sir Walter reign'd before me; Moore and Campbef And wit-h th-pagses of the last review Before and after; but now, grown more holy, Line the interior of their heads or bonnets, The Muses upon Sion's hill must ramble Advanced in all their azure's highest hue: With poets almost clergymen, or wholly; They talk'd bad-French of Spanish, and upon its * * * Late authors ask'd him for a hint or two; * * * * And which was softest, Russian or Castilian? * * * * * And whether in his travels hewsa-llion? * * * * LI. LVIII. Juan, who was a little superficial, * * * * * And not in literature a great Drawcansir, * * * *, Examined by this learned and especial * * * * * Jury of matrons, scarce knew what to answer: * * * * His duties warlike, loving, or official, * * * 4 * His steady application as a dancer, * * * * Hall kept hin from the brink of Hippocrene, * * * * * Which now he found was blue instead of green. * * 064 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO X, LIX. LXVI. Then there's my gentle ~Euphues, who, they say, His afternoons he pass'd in visits, luncheons, Sets up for being a sort of moral me; Lounging and boxing i ianb-tffe-twilight.ho4r He'll find it rather difficult some day In riding round those vegetable puncheons, To turn out both, or either, it may be. — Call'd "Parks," where there isneitherfruitnorflowe, Some persons think that Coleridge hath the sway Enough to'gratify a bee's slight munchings; And Wordsworth has supporters, two or three; But after all, it is the only "bower" And that deep-mouth'd Bceotian, " Savage Landor," (In Moore's phrase) where the fashionable fair Has taken for a swan rogue Southey's gander. Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air. LX. LXVII. John Keats-who was kill'd off by one critique, Then dress, then dinner, then awakes the world! Just as he really promised something great, Then glare the lamps, then whirl the wheels, then roa If not intelligible, without Greek Through street and square fast-flashing chariots, hurl'( Contrived to talk about the gods of late, Like harness'd meteors! then along the floor Much as they might have been supposed to speak. Chalk'd mimics painting; then festoons are twirl'd, Poor fellow! his was an untoward fate: Then roll the brazen thunders of the door,'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,' Which opens to the thousand happy few Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article. An earthly paradise of "or molu." LXI. LXVIII. l'he list grows long of live and dead pretenders There stands the noble hostess, nor shall sink To that which none will gain-or none will know With the three-thousandth curtsy; there the waltz — The conqueror at least; who, ere Time renders The only dance which teaches girls to thinkHis last award, will have the long grass grow Makes one in love even with its very faults. Above his burnt-out brain and sapless cinders. Saloon, room, all o'erflow beyond their brink, If I might augur, I should rate but low And long the latest of arrivals halts, Their chances; they're too numerous, like the thirty'Midst royal dukes and dames condemn'd to climb Mock tyrants, when Rome's annals wax'd but dirty. And gain an inch of staircase at a time. LXII. LXIX. This is the literary lower empire, Thrice happy he who, after a survey Where the Praetorian bands take up the matter;- Of the good company, can win a corner, A "dreadful trade," like his who "gathers samphire," A door that's in, or boudoir out of the way, The insolent soldiery to soothe and flatter, Where he may fix himself, like small " Jack Horner, With the same feelings as you'd coax a vampire. And let the-Babel round run as it may, Now, were I once at home, and in good satire, And look on as a mourner, or a scorner, I'd try conclusions with those janizaries, Or an approver, or a mere spectator, And show them what an intellectual war is. Yawning a little as the night grows later. LXIII. LXX. I think I know a trick or two, would turn But this won't do, save by and by; and he Their flanks;-but it is hardly worth my while Who, like Don Juan, takes an active share, With such small gear to give myself concern: Must steer with care through all that glittering sea Indeed I've not the necessary bile; Of gems and plumes, and pearls and silks, to where My natural temper's really aught but stern,- He deems it is his proper place to be; And even my Muse's worst reproof's a smile; Dissolving in the waltz to some soft air, And then she drops a brief and modest curtsy, Or proudlier prancing with mercurial skill And glides away, assured she never hurts ye. Where science marshals forth her own quadrile. LXIV. LXXI. My Juan, whom I left in deadly peril Or, if he dance not, but hath higher views Amongst.live poets and blue ladies, pass'd Upon an heiress, or his neighbour's bride, With some small prcfit through that field so sterile. Let him take care that that which he pursues Being tired in time, and neither leastfior last, Is not at once too palpably descried. Left it before he had been treated very ill; Full many an eager gentleman oft rues And henceforth found himself more gaily class'd His haste: impatience is a blundering guide, Amongst the higher spirits of the day, Amongst a people famous for reflection, The sun's true son-no vapour, but a ray. Who like to play the fool with circumspection. LXV. LXXII. His morns he pass'd in business-which, dissected, But, if you can contrive, get next at supper; Was like all business, a laborious nothing, Or, if forestall'd, get opposite and ogle:Nhat.eaas to lassitude, th^most infected Oh, ye ambrosial moments! always upper And Centaur Nessus garb of mortal clothing, In mind, a sort of sentimental bogle, And on our sofas makes us lie dejected, Which sits for ever upon memory's crupper, And talk in tender horrors of our loathing The ghost of vanish'd pleasures once in vogut All kinds ot toil, save for our country's good- Can tender souls relate the rise and fall,Ilhuc grows no better, though'.La time it shodld Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball. CANTO XI. DON JUAN. 665 LXXIII. LXXX. But these precautionary hints can touch Where are the Lady Carolines and Franceses? Only the common run, who must pursue, Divorced or doing thereanent. Ye annals And watch, and ward; whose plans a word too much So brilliant, where the list of routs and dances isOr little overturns; and not the few Thou Morning Post, sole record of the panels Or many (for, the number's sometimes such) Broken in carriages, and all the phantasies Whom a good mien, especially if new, Of fashion-say what streams now fill those channels? Or fame, or name, for wit, war, sense, or nonsense, Some die, some fly, some languish on the continent, Permits whate'er they please, or did not long since. Because the times have hardly left them one tenant. LXXIV. LXXXI. Our hero, as a hero, young and handsome, Some who once set their cap at cautious dukes, Noble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger, Have taken up at length with younger brothers Like other slaves of course must pay his ransom Some heiresses have bit at sharpers' hooks Before he can escape from so much danger Some maids have been made wives-some merely As will environ a conspicuous man. Some mothers Talk about poetry, and "rack and manger," Others have lost their fresh and fairy looks: And ugliness, disease, as toil and trouble;- In short, the list of alterations bothers. I wish they knew the life of a young noble. There's little strange in this, but something strange is LXXV. The unusual quickness of these common changes. They are young, but know not youth-it is anticipated; LXX' -Hrands-iei; bu t wasted, richwithout a sous;,..d. w asted.. w. - - Talk not of seventy years as age; in seven Their vigour in a thousand arms is dissipated; T Trheir cash. i ma ta walt gs taew I have seen more changes, down from monarchs to Their cash comesfrom, their wealth goes to, a Jew;.. i The humblest individual under heaven, Both senates see their nightly votes participated T might suffice a moderate century throug Than might suffice a moderate century through. Between the tyrant's and the tribune's crew; I knew that nought was lasting, but now even And, having voead, dined, drank, gamed, and whored, family vateivsnother lrd JChange grows too changeable, without being new ric family vault ryceives.-another.lord. LXX~. VI.-^ Nought's permanent among the human race, LXXVI. Except the Whigs not getting into place. *' Where is the world," criesYoung, " at eighty? Where The world in which a man was born?" Alas! LXXXIII. Where is the world ofeight years past?'Twas there- I have seen Napoleon, who seem'd quite a Jupiter, I look for it-'t is gone, a globe of glass! Shrink to a Saturn. I have seen a duke Crack'd, shiver'd, vanish'd, scarcely gazed on ere (No matter which) turn politician stupider, A silent change dissolves the glittering mass. If that can well be, than his wooden look. Statesmen, chiefs, orators, queens, patriots, kings, But it is time that I should hoist my "blue Peter,-' And dandies, all are gone on the wind's wings. And sail for a new theme: I have seen-and shook LXXVII. To see it-the king hiss'd, and then caress'd; Where is Napoleon the Grand? God knows: But don't pretend to settle which was best. Where little Castlereagh? The devil can tell: LXXXIV. Where Grattan, Curran, Sheridan, all those I have seen the landholders without a rapWho bound the bar or senate in their spell? I have seen Johanna Southcote-I have seen Where is the unhappy queen, with all her woes? The House of Commons turn'd to a tax-trapAnd where the daughter, whom the isles loved well? I have seen that sad affair of the late queenWhere are those martyr'd saints, the five per cents? I have seen crowns worn instead of a fool's-calpAnd where-oh, where the devil are the rents? I have seen a Congress doing all that's meanLXXVIII. I have seen some nations like o'erloaded asses Where's Brummel? Dish'd. Where's Long Pole Kick off their burthens-meaning the high classes. Wellesley? Diddled. LXXXV. Where'sWhitbread? Romilly? Where's George I have seen small poets, and grea't prosers, and the Third? Interminable-not eternal-speakersWhere is his will'? (That's not so soon unriddled). I have seen the funds at war with house and landAnd where is "Fum" the Fourth, our "royal bird?" I've seen the country gentlemen turn squeakersGone down it seems to Scotland, to be fiddled I've seen the people-ridden- o'er like sand.. Unto by Sawney's violin, we, have heard: By slaves on horseback-I have seen malt liquots "Caw me, cawthee"-for six months hathbeen hatching Exchanged for-'thin potations" by John Bull — This scene of royal itch and loyal scratching. I've seen John half detect himself a fool. LXXIX. LXXXVI. Where is Lord This? And where my Lady That.? But "carpe diem," Juan, "carpe, carpe!" The Honourable Mistresses and Misses? To-morrow sees another race is gay Some laid aside like an old opera-hat, Ard transient, and devour'd by the same harp". Married, unmarried, and remarried-(this is "Life's a poor player "-then " pay out the pia An evolution oft perform'd of late). Ye villains!" and, above all, ketp a, sharp eye Where are the Dublin shouts-and London hisses? - Much less on what you do than what you sat - Where are the Grenvilles? Turn'd, as usual. Where Be hypocritical, be cautious, be Mv friends the Whigs? Exactly where they were. Not what you seem. but always what vua sem. 89 666 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XIL LXXXVII. III. But how shall I relate in other cantos Oh gold! why call we misers miserable? Of what befell our hero, in the land Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall; Which'tis the common cry and lie to vaunt as Theirs is the best bower-anchor, the chain-cable A moral country? But I hold my hand- Which holds fast other pleasures great and small For I disdain to write an Atalantis; Ye who but see the saving man at table, But't is as well at; once to understand, And scorn his temperate board, as none at all, You are not a moral people, and you know it, And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing, Without the aid of too sincere a poet. Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring. LXXXVIII. IV. What Juan saw and underwent shall be Love or lust makes man sick, and wine much sicker My topic, with of course the due restriction Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss; Which is required by proper courtesy; But making money, slowly first, then quicker, And recollect the work is only fiction, And adding still a little through each cross And that I sing of neither mine nor me. (Which will come over things), beats love or liquor, Though every scribe, in some slight turn of diction, The gamester's counter, or the statesman's dross Wiil hint allusions never meant. Ne'er doubt Oh gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, This-when I speak, I don't hint, but speak out. Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour. LXXXIX. V. Whether he married with the third or fourth Who hold the balance of the world? ho reign Offspring of some sage, husband-hunting countess, O'e Congress, whether royalist or liberal? Or whether with some virgin of more worth ho rouse the rtless patriots of Spain (I mean in fortune's matrimonial bounties)That make old urope's journals squeak and gi IHe took to regularly peopling earth, er all) Of which your lawful awful wedlock fount is- Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain Or whether he was taken in for damages, Or pleasure? Who make politics run glibber ally For being too excursive in his homages- The shade of Bonaparte's noble daring XC.reo~ -Jew Rothschild, and his fellow, Christian Baring. XC. VI. Is yet within the unread events of time. Thus far, go forth, thou lay, which I will back T e the truly lieral Lfie'.' v'. Are the true lords of Europe. Every loan Against the same given quantity of rhyme, speculative hit, Is not a merely speculative hit, — For being as much the subject of attack But seats a nation or upsets a trone. As ever yet was any work sublime, Reubs also get involved a bit By those who love to say that white is black. l s s Colombia's stock hath holders not unknown So much the better!-I nlay stand alone, silr soil, Peru, On'Change; and even thy silver soil, Peru, But would not change my free thoughts for a three t get itself discounted by a Jew. VII. -_ Why call the miser miserable? as I said before: the frugal life is'his, Which in a saint'or cynic ever was The theme of praise: a hermit would not miss CANTO XII. Canonization for the self-same cause, And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's austerities? Because, you'11 say, nought calls for such a trial;Then there's more merit in his self-denial. I. VIII. O)F at the barbarous middle ages, that fie is your only poet;-passion, pure Which is most barbarous is the middle age And sparkling on from heap to heap, displa s, Of man; it is-I really scarce know what; Posses'd, tIe ore, of which mere hopes allure But when we hover between fool and sage, Nations athwa. t the deep: the golden rayl And don't know justly what we would be at- Flash up in ingots frem the mine obscure; A period something like a printed page, On him the diarnord pours its brilliant bla, Hack-letter upon foolscap, while our hair While the mild emerald'^ beam shades down th'.ve X owws grizzled, ana we are not what we were; — Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes. 1I IX. I oo old for youth-too young, at thirty-five, The lands on either side are his: the ship To herd with boys, or hoard with good threescore- From Ceylon, Inde, or far Cathay, unloads I wonder people should be left alive; For him the fragrant produce of each trip; But, since they are, that epocii is a bore: Beneath his cars of Ceres groan the road] Love lingers still, although'twere late to wive; And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip; Anrd as for other love, the illusion's o'er; His very cellars might be kings' abodes; And( money, that most pure imagination, While he, despising every sensual call, fleanini only tnr ugan the dawn of its creation. Commands-the intellectual lord of all. CANTO XII. DON JUAN. 667 X. X. XVIl. Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind, Well, if I don't succeed, I have succeeded, To build a college, or to found a race, And that's enough; succeeded in my youths A hospital, a church,-and leave behind The only time when much success is needed: Some dome surmounted by his meagre face: And my success produced what I in sooth Perhaps he fain would liberate mankind Cared most about; it need not now be pleadedEven with the very ore which makes them base; Whate'er it was,'t was mine; I've paid, in truth, Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation, Of late, the penalty of such success, Or revel in the joys of calculation. But have not learn'd to wish it any less. Xl. XVIII. But whether all, or each, or none of these That suit in Chancery,-which some persons plead May be the hoarder's principle of action, In an appeal to the unborn, whom they, The fool will cali such mania a disease:- In the faith of their procreative creed, What is his own? Go -look at each transaction, Baptize posterity, or future clay,Wars, revels, loves-do these bring men more ease To me seems but a dubious kind of reed Than the mere plodding thro' each "' vulgar fraction?" To lean on for support in any way; Or do they benefit mankind? Lean miser! Since odds are that posterity will know Let spendthrifts' heirs inquire of yours-who's wiser? No more of them, than they of her, I trow. XII. XIX. How beauteous are rouleaus! how charming chests Why, I'm posterity-and so are you; Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins And whom do we remember? Not a hundred. (Not of old victors, all whose heads and crests Were every memory written down all true, Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines, The tenth or twentieth name would be but blunder'd: But) of fine unclipp'd gold, where dully rests Even Plutarch's Lives have but pick'd out a few, Some likeness which the glittering cirque confines, And'gainst those few your annalists have thunder'd; Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp:- And Mitford, in the nineteenth century, Yes! ready money is Aladdin's lamp. Gives, with Greek truth, the good old Greek the lie.* XIII. XX. "' Love rules the camp, the court, the grove,"-" for love Good people all, of every degree, Is heaven, and heaven is love:"-so sings the bard.; Ye gentle readers and ungentle writers, Which it were rather difficult to prove, In this twelfth canto't is my wish to be (A thing with poetry in general hard). As serious as if I had for inditers Perhaps there may be. something in "the grove," Malthus and Wilberforce: the last set free At least it rhymes to "love;" but I'm prepared The negroes, and is worth a million fighters; To doubt (no less than landlords of their rental) While Wellington has but enslaved the whites, If "courts" and "camps" be quite so sentimental. And Malthus does the thing'gainst which he writes XIV. XXI. But if love don't, cash does, and cash alone: I'm serious-so are all men upon paper: Cash rules the grove, and fells it too besides; And why should I not form my speculation, Without cash, camps were thin, and courts were none; And hold up to the sun my little taper? Without cash, Malthus tells you-" take no brides." Mankind just now seem wrapt in meditation So cash rules love the ruler, on his own On constitutions and steam-boats of vapour; High ground, as Virgin Cynthia sways the tides; While sages write against all procreation, And, as for "heaven" being "love," why not say honey Unless a man can calculate his means Is wax? Heaven is not love,'tis matrimony. Of feeding brats the moment his wife weans. XV. XXII. Is not all love prohibited whatever, That's noble! that's romantic! For my part, Excepting marriage? which is love, no doubt, I think that "philo-genitiveness" isAfter a sort; but somehow people never (Now here's a word quite after my own heart, With the same thought the two words have help'd out: Though there's a shorter a good deal than this Love may exist with marriage, and should ever, If that politeness set it not apart; And marriage also may exist without, But I'm resolved to say nought that's amiss) But love sans bans is both a sin and shame, I say, methinks that "philo-genitiveness" And ought to go by quite another name. Might meet from men a little more forgiveness XVI. XXIII. Now if the "court" and "camp" and "grove" be not And now to business. Oh, my gentle Juan! Recruited all with constant married men, Thou art in London-in that pleasant place Who nevei coveted their neighbour's lot, Where every kind of mischief's daily brewing, I say that me's a lapsus of the pen; — Which can await warm youth in its wild race. Strange too in my "buon camerado" Scott,'Tis true, that thy career is not a new one; So celebrated for his morals, when Thou art no novice in the headlong chase My Jeffrey held him up as an example Of early life; but this is a new land, To me;-of which these morals are a sample. Which foreigners can never understand. 668 BYRON'S WORKS.!4NTOXII. XXIV. XXXI. What with a small diversity of climate, And one or two sad, separate wives, without Of hot or cold, mercurial or sedate, A fruit to bloom upon their withering boughI could send forth my mandate like a primate, Begg'd to bring up the little girl, and "out,"Upon the rest of Europe's social state; For that's the phrase that settles all things now, But thou art the most difficult to rhyme at, Meaning a virgin's first blush. at a rout, Great Britain, which the Muse may penetrate: And all her points as thorough-bred to show: All countries have their "lions," but in thee And I assure you, that like virgin honey There is but one superb menagerie. Tastes their first season (mostly if they have money). XXV. XXXII. But I am sick of politics. Begin, How all the needy honourable misters, "Paulo majora." Juan, undecided Each out-at-elbow peer, or desperate dandy, Amongst the paths of being "taken in," The watchful mothers and the careful sisters, Above the ice had like a skaiter glided: (Who, by the by, when clever, are more handy When tired of play, he flirted without sin" At making matches, where "'t is gold that glisters,' With some of those fair creatures who have prided Than their he relatives), like flies o'er candy, Themselves on innocent tantalization, Buzz round "the Fortune" with their busy battery, And hate all vice except its reputation. To turn her head with waltzing and with flattery! XXVI. XXXIII. But these are few, and in the end they make Each aunt, each cousin hath her speculation Some devilish escapade or stir, which shows Nay, married dames will now and then discover rhat even the purest people may mistake Such pure disinterestedness of passion, Their way through virtue's primrose paths of snows; I'e known them court an heiress for their lover. And en men tare, a a "Tntne" Schthen men stare virtues of high station, To Balaam, and from tongue to ear o'erflows Even in the hopeful isle, whose outlet's "Dover!' Quicksilver small-talk, ending (if you note it) While the poor rich wretch, object of these cares, With the kind world's amen-" Who would have Has cause to wish her sire had had male heirs. thought it?" XXVII. XXXIV. rhe little Leila, with her orient eyes Some are soon bagg'd, but some reject three dozen, And taciturn Asiatic disposition,'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals Which saw all western things with small surprise, And wild dismay o'er every angry cousin To the surprise of people of condition, (Friends of the party), who begin accusals'.-ho think that novelties are butterflies Such as-" Unless Miss (Blank) meant to lave chosen To be pursued as food for inanition), Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals Her charming figure and romantic history, To his billets? Why waltz with him Why, I pray Became a kind of fashionable mystery. Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day? XXVIII. XXXV. The women much divided-as is usual "Why?-Why?-Besides, Fred. really was attach'd; Amongst the sex in little things or great.'T was not her fortune-he has enough without: Think not, fair creatures,-that I mean to abuse you all- The time will come she'l wish that she had snatch'd I have always liked you better than I state, So good an opportunity, no doubt:Since I've grown moral: still I must accuse you all But the old marchioness some plan had hatch'd, Of being apt to talk at a great rate; As I'll tell Aurea at to-morrow's rout: And nov there was a general sensation And after all poor Frederick may do betterAmongst you, about Leila's education. Pray, did you see her answer to his letter?" XXIX. XXXVI. in one point only were you settled-and Smart uniforms and sparkling coronets You had reason;'t was that a young child of grace, Are spurn'd in turn, until her turn arrives, As beautiful as her own native land, After mal, loss of time, and hearts, and bets And far away, the last bud of her race, Upon the sweep-stakes for substantial wives: Howe'er our friend Don Juan might command And when at least'the pretty creature gets Himself for five, four, three, or two years' space, Some gentleman who fights, or writes, or drives, Would be much better taught beneath the eye It soothes the awkward squad of the rejected ('f peeresses whose follies had run dry. To find how very badly she selected. XXX. XXXVII. K. i.rst there was a generous emulation, For sometimes they accept some long pursuer, And then there was a general competition Worn out with importunity; or fall To undertake the orphan's, education. (But here perhaps the instances are fewer) As Juan was a person of condition, To the lot of him who scarce pursued at all. It had been an affront on this occasion A hazy widower turn'd of forty's sure 2'To talk of a subscription or petition; (If'tis not vain examples to recall) But sixteen dowagers, ten unwed she sages, To draw a high prize: now, howe'er he got her, I Wbras taie belongs to " Hallam's Middle Ages,' See nought more strange in this than t' other lottery CANTO XII. DON JUAN. 669 XXXVIII. XLV. I, for my part-(one "modern instance" more) While the harsh prude indemniies her virtue "True,'t is a pity-pity't is,'t is true "- By railing at the unknown and envied passion, Was chosen from out an amatory score, Seeking far less to save you than to hurt you. Albeit'my years were less discreet than few; Or what's still worse, to put you out of fashion,But though I also had reform'd before The kinder veteran with calm words will court you, Those became one who soon were to be two, Entreating you to pause before you dash on; I'll not gainsay the generous public's voice- )Expounding and illustrating the riddle That the young lady made a monstrous choice. Of epic Love's beginning, end, and middle. XXXIX. XLVI. Oh, pardon me digression-or at least Now, whether it be thus, or that they are stricter, Peruse!'T is always with a moral end As better knowing why they should be so, That I dissert, like -grace before a feast: I think you'll find from many a family picture, For like an aged aunt, or tiresome friend, That daughters of such mothers as may know A rigid guardian, or a zealous priest, The world by experience rather than by lecture, My Muse by exhortation means to mend Turn out much better for the Smithfield show All people, at all times, and in most places, Of vestals brought into the marriage mart, Which puts my Pegasus to these grave paces. Than those bred up by prudes without a heart. XL. XLVII. But now I'm going to be immoral; now I said that Lady Pinchbeck had been'talk'd aboutI mean to show things really as; they are, As who has not, if female, young, and pretty? Not as they ought to be: for I avow, But now no more the ghost of scandal stalk'd about; That till we see what's what in fact, we re far She merely was, deem'd amiable and witty, From much improvement with that virtuous plough And several of her best bon-mots were hawk'd about; Which skims the surface, leaving scarce a scar Then she was given to charity and pity, Upon the black loam long manured by Vice, And pass'd (at least the latter years of life) Only to keep its corn at the old price. For being a most exemplary wife. XLI. XLVIII. But first of little Leila we'11 dispose; High in high circles, gentle in her own, For, like a day-dawn, she was young and pure,.She was the mild reprover of the young, Or like the old comparison of snows Whenever-which means every day-they'd shown Which are more pure than pleasant to be sure, An awkward inclination to go wrong. Like many people every body knows: The quantity of good she did's unknown, Don Juan was delighted to secure Or, at the least, would lengthen out my song:A goodly guardian for his infant charge, In brief, the little orphan of the east Who might not profit much by being at large. Had raised an interest in her which increased. XLII. XLIX. Besides, he had found out he was no tutor, Juan too was a sort of favourite with her, (I wish that others would find out the same): Because she thought him a good heart at bottom, And rather wish'd in such things to stand neuter, A little spoil'd, but not so altogether; For silly wards will bring their guardians blame: Which was a wonder, if you think who got him, So, when he saw each ancient dame a suitor, And how he had been toss'd, he scarce knew whither: To make his little wild Asiatic tame, Though this might ruin others, it did not him, Consulting the "Society for Vice At least entirely-for he had seen too many Suppression," Lady Pinchbeck was his choice. Changes in youith, to be surprised at any. XLIII. L. Olden she was-but had been very young: And these iclssitudes tell best in youth; Virtuous she was-and had been, I believe- * For when they happen at a riper age, Although the world has such an evil tongue People are apt to blame the fates, forsooth, That-but my chaster ear will not receive And wonder Providence is not more sage. An echo of a syllable that's wrong: Adversity is the first path to truth: In fact, there's nothing makes me so much grieve "' m "th piovedwar, stoim ii rwoman's rage, As that abominable tittle-tattle, Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty, Which is the cud eschew'd by human cattle. Hath won the experience which is deem'd so weights XLIV. LI. Moreover I've remark'd (and I was once How far it profits is another matter,A slight observer in a modest way), Our hero gladly saw his little charge And so may every one except a dunce, Safe with a lady, whose last grown-up daugntcr That ladies in their youth a little gay, Being long married, and thus set at large, Besides their knowledge of the world, and sens6 Had left all the accomplishments she taught liei Of the sad consequence of going astray, To be transmitted, like the lord mayor's barge Are wiser in their warnings'gainst the woe To the next comer; or-as it will tell V' hlch the mere passionless can never know. More muse-like —like Cytherea's shell. 3K 670 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO Xll LII. LIX. I call such things transmission; for there is I don't mean this as general, but particular A floating balance of accomplishment Examples may be found of such pursuits: Which forms a pedigree from Miss to Miss, Though several also keep their perpendicular According as their minds or backs are bent. Like poplars, with good principles for roots; Some waltz; some draw; some fathom the abyss Yet many have a method more reticularOf metaphysics; others are content " Fishers for men," like sirens with soft lutes; With music; the most moderate shine as wits, For talk six times with the same single lady, While others have a genius turn'd for fits. And you may get the wedding-dresses ready. LIII. LX. But whether fits, or wits, or harpsichords, Perhaps you'll have a letter from the mother, Theology, fine arts, or finer stays, To say her daughter's feelings are trepann'c; May be the baits for gentlemen or lords Perhaps you'll have a visit from the brcther, With regular descent, in these our days All strut, and stays, and whiskers, to demand The last year to the new transfers its hoards; What "your intentions are?"-One way or other New vestals claim men's eyes with the same praise It seems the virgin's heart expects your hand; Of " elegant," et cetera, in fresh batches- And between pity for her case and yours, All matchless creatures, and yet bent on matches. You'l1 add to matrimony's list of cures. LIV. LXI. But now I will begin my poem.'Tis I've known a dozen weddings made even thus, Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new, And some of them high names: I have also ki ivn That from the first of cantos up to this Young men who-though they hated to discuss I've not begun what we have to go through. Pretensions which they never dream'd to have shov - These first twelve books are merely flourishes, Yet neither frighten'd by a female fuss, Preludios, trying just a string or two Nor by mustachios moved, were let alone, Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure; And lived, as did the broken-hearted fair, And when so, you shall have the overture. In happier plight than if they form'd a pair. LV. LXII. My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin There's also nightly, to the uninitiated, About what's call'd success, or not succeeding: A peril-not indeed like love or marriage, Such thoughts are quite below the strain they've chosen; But not the less for this to be depreciated:'T is a "great moral lesson" they are reading. It is-I meant and mean not to disparage I thought, at setting off, about two dozen The show of virtue even in the vitiatedCantos would do; but, at Apollo's pleading, It adds an outward grace unto their carriageIf that my Pegasus should not be founder'd, But to denounce the amphibious sort of harlot, I think to canter gently through a hundred. "Couleur de rose," who's neither white nor scarlet LVI. LXIII. Don Juan saw that microcosm on stilts, Such is your old coquette, who can't say "No," Yclept the great world; for it is the least, And won't say " Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing Although the highest: but as swords have hilts On a iee shore,-till it begins to blowBy which their power of mischief is increased, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing; When man in battle or in quarrel tilts, This works a world of sentimental woe, Thus the low world, north, south, or west, or east, And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin; Must still obey the high-which is their handle, But yet is merely innocent flirtation, Their moon,.their sun, their gas, their farthing candle. Not quite adultery, but adulteration. LVII. LXIV. He had many friends who had many wives, and was " Ye gods, I grow a talker!" Let us prate. Well look'd upon by both, to that extent The next of perils, though I place it sternest, Of friendship which you may accept or pass; Is when, without regard to "Church or State," It does nor good nor harm, being merely meant A wife makes or takes love in upright earnest. To keep the wheels going of the higher class, Abroad, such things decide few women's fateAnd draw them nightly when a ticket's sent: (Such, early traveller! is the truth thou learnest)And what with masquerades, and fetes, and balls, But in old England when a young bride errs, For the firs season such a life scarce palls. Poor thing! Eve's was a trifling case to hers; LVIII. LXV. A )oung unmarried man, with a good name For't is a low, newspaper, humdrum, lawsuit And fortune, has an awkward part to play; Country, where a young couple of the same ages For good society is but a game, Can't form a friendship but the world o'erawes it. "The royal game of goose," as I may say, Then there's the vulgar trick of those d-d damages t Where every body nas some separate aim, A verdict-grievous foe to those who cause it!An end to answer, or a plan to lay- Forms a sad climax to romantic homages; The single ladies wishing to be double, Besides those soothing speeches of the pleaders, ThA married ones to save the virgins irouble. And evidences which regale all readers! CANTO XIL. DON JUAN. 671 LXVI. LXXIII. But they who blunder thus are raw beginners; Or say they are like virtuous mermaids, whose A little genial sprinkling of hypocrisy Beginnings are fair faces, ends mere fishes; — Has saved the fame of thousand splendid sinners, Not that there's not a quantity of those Tile loveliest oligarchs of our gynocracy; Who have a due respect for their own wishI!es You may see such at all the balls and dinners, Like Russians rushing from hot baths to snows3 Among the proudest of our aristocracy, Are they, at bottom virtuous even when vicious: So gentle, charming, charitable, chaste- They warm into a scrape, but keep of course, And all by having tact as well as taste. As a reserve, a plunge into remorse. LXVI-. LXXIV. Juan, who did not stand in the predicament But this has nought to do with their outsides. Of a mere novice, had one safeguard more;.I said that Juan did not think'-them- pretty For he was.sick-no,'t was not the word sick I meant- At the first blush; for a fair Briton hides But he had seen so much good love before, Half her attractions-probably from pityThat he was not in heart so very wealk;-I meant And rather calmly into the heart glides, But thus much, and no sneer against the shore Than storms it as a foe would take a city; Of white cliffs, white necks, blue eyes, bluer stockings, But once there (if you doubt. this, prithee try) Tithes, taxes, duns, and doors with double knockings. She keeps it for you like a true ally. LXVIII. LXXV. But coming young from lands and scenes romantic, She cannot step as does an Arab barb, Where lives, not lawsuits, must be risk'd for passion, Or Andalusian girl fiom mass returning, And passion's self must have a spice of frantic, Nor wear as gracefully as Gauls her garb, Into a country where't is half a fashion, Nor in her eye Ausonia's glance is burning; Seem'd to him half commercial, half pedantic, Her voice, though sweet, is not so fit to warbHowe'er he might esteem this moral nation; le those bravuras (which I still am learning Besides (alas! his taste-forgive and pity!) To like, though I have been seven years in Italy, At first he did not think the women pretty. And have, or had, an ear that served me prettily);LXIX. LXXVI. I say at first-for he found out at last, She cannot do these things, nor one or two But by degrees, that they were fairer far Others, in that off-hand and dashing style I han the more glowing dames whose lot is cast Which takes so much-to give the devil his due; Beneath.,he influence of the eastern star- Nor is she quite so ready with her smile, k further proof we should not judge in haste; Nor settles all things in one interview, Yet inexperience could not be his bar (A thing approved as saving time and toil);[o taste:-the truth is, if men would confess, But though the soil may give you'time and trouble, that novelties please less than they impress. Well cultivated, it will render double. LXX. LXXVII. Though travell'd, I have never had the luck to And if in fact she takes to a "grande passion," Trace up those shuffling negroes, Nile or Niger, It is a very serious thing indeed; To that impracticable place, Tombuctoo, Nine times in ten't is but caprice or fashion, Where geography finds no one to oblige her Coquetry, or a wish to take the lead, With such a chart as may be safely stuck to- The pride of a mere child with a new sash on, For Europe ploughs in Afric;like "bos piger:" Or wish to make a rival's bosom bleed; But if I had been at Tornbuctoo, there But the tenth instance will be a tornado, No doubt I should be told that black is fair. For there's no saying what they will or may do. LXXI. LXXVIII. It is. I will not swear that black is white;. The reason's obvious: if there's an eclat, But I suspect in fact that white is black, - They lose their caste at once, as do the Parias, And the whole matter rests upon my eye-sight. And when the delicacies of the law Ask a blind man, the best judge. You'11 attack Have fill'd their papers with their comments various Perhaps this new position-but I'm right;' Society, that china without flaw, Or if I'm wrong, I'll not be ta'en aback:- (The hypocrite!) will banish them like Marius, He hath no morn nor night, but all is dark To sit amidst the ruins of their guilt: Within; and what see'st thou? A dubious spark.'For Fame's a Carthage not so soon rebuilt. LXXII. LXXIX. But I'm relapsing into metaphysics, Perhaps this is as it should be;-it is That labyrinth, whose clue is of the same A comment on the Gospel's "Sin no more, Construction as your cures for hectic phthisics, And be thy sins forgiven:"-but upon this Those bright moths fluttering round a dying flame: I leave the saints to settle their own score. And this reflection brings me to plain physics, Abroad, though doubtless they do much amiss. And to the beauties of a foreign dame, An erring woman finds an open door Compared with those of our pure pearls of price, For her return to virtue-~as a t 1hose Polar summers, aU sun, and some ice. The lady who shoul home t h iom 1 672 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XIII LXXX. LXXXVII. For me, l leave the matter where I find it, Here the twelfth canto of our introduction Knowing that such uneasy virtue leads Ends. When the body of the book's begun, People some ten times less in fact to mind it, You'll find it of a different construction And care but for discoveries and not deeds. From what some people say'twill be when done And as for chastity, you'11 never bind it The plan at present's simply in concoction. By all the laws the strictest lawyer pleads, I can't oblige you, reader! to read on; But aggravate the crime you have not prevented, That's your affair, not mine: a real spirit By rendering desperate those who had else repented. Should neither court neglect, nor dread to bear it. LXXXI. LXXXVIII. But Juan was no casuist, nor had ponder'd And if my thunderbolt not always rattles, Upon the moral lessons of mankind: Remember, reader! you have had before Besides, he had not seen, of several hundred, The worst of tempests and the best of battles A lady altogether to his mind. That e'er were brew'd from elements of gore, A little "blas6"-'tis not to be wonder'd Besides the most sublime of-Heaven knows what else At, that his heart had got a tougher rind: An usurer could scarce expect much more — And though not vainer from his past success, But my best canto, save one on astronomy, No doubt his sensibilities were less. Will turn upon "political economy." LXXXII. LXXXIX. He also had been busy seeing sights- That is your present theme for popularity: The parliament and all the other houses; Now that the public hedge hath scarce a stakes Had sate beneath the galleries at night, It grows an act of patriotic charity, To hear debates whose thunder roused (not rouses) To show the people the best way to break. The world to gaze upon those northern-lights4 My plan (but I, if but for singularity, Which flash'd as far as where the musk-bull browses: Reserve it) will be very sure to take. lie had also stood at times behind the throne- Meantime read all the national debt-sinkers, But Grey was not arrived, and Chatham gone. And tell me what you think of your great thinkers LXXXIII. lfe saw, however, at the closing session, That noble sight, when really free the nation, A king in constitutional possession Of such a throne as is the proudest station, CANTO XIII. Though despots know it not-till the progression Of freedom shall complete their education.'T is not mere splendour makes the show august To eye or heart-it is the people's trust. LXXXIV. I.'here too he saw (whate'er he may be now) I Now mean to be serious;-it is time, A prince, the prince of princes, at the time Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious With fascination in his very bow, A jest at vice by virtue's call'd a crime, And full of promise, as the spring of prime. And critically held as deleterious: Though royalty was written on his brow, Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime, He had then the grace too, rare in every clime, Although when long a little apt to weary us Of being, without alloy of fop or beau, And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn, A finish'd gentleman from top to toe. As an old temple dwindled to a column. LXXXV. II. And Juan was received, as hath been said, The Lady Adeline Amundeville Into the best society: and there'Tis an old Norman name, and to be found (tccurr'd what often happens, I'm afraid, In pedigrees by those who wander still However disciplined and debonnaire: Along the last fields of that Gothic ground) The talent and good humour he display'd, Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will, - Besides the mark'd distinction of his air, And beauteous, even where beauties most abound Exposed him, as was natural, to temptation, In Britain-which of course true patriots find Even though himself avoided the occasion. The goodliest soil of body and of mind. LXXXVI. III. But what, and where, with whom, and when, and why, I'11 not gainsay them; it is not my cue: Is not to be put hastily together; I leave them to their taste, no doubt the best: And as my object is morality An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue, (Whatever people say), I don't know whether Is no great matter, so'tis in request: I'll leave a single reader's eyelid dry,'Tis nonsense to dispute about a hueBut harrow up his feelings till they wither, The kindest may be taken as a test. And hew out a huge monument or pathos, The fair sex should be always fair; and no man, m Pbiip's son proposed to do with Athos. Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman. CANTO XII. DON JUAN. 673 IV. XI. And after that serene and somewhat dull Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; Epoch, that awkward corner turn'd for days A single laugh demolish'd the right arm More quiet, when our moon's no more at full, Of his own country;-seldom since that day We may presume to criticise or praise; Has Spain had heroes. While Romance could charm, Because indifference begins to lull The world gave ground before her bright array; Our passions, and we walk in wisdom's ways; And therefore have his volumes done such harm, Also because the figure and the face That all their glory as a composition Hint, that'tis time to give the younger place. Was dearly purchased by his land's perdition. V. XII. I know that some would fain postpone this era, I'm "at my old Lunes"-digression, and forget Reluctant as all placemen to resign The Lady Adeline Amundeville; Their post; but theirs is merely a chimera, The fair most fatal Juan ever "met, For they have pass'd life's equinoctial line; Although she was not evil nor meant ill; But then they have their claret and madeira But Destiny and Passion spread the net, To irrigate the dryness of decline; (Fat -od excuse for our own will), And county meetings and the Parliament, An caughtthem; wEiatrdoteynot catch, methinks? And debt, and what not, for their solace sent. But I'm not (Edipus, and life's a'sphinx. VI. XIII. And is there not religion and reform, I tell the tale as it is told, nor dare Peace, war, the taxes, and what's call'd the "nation? To venture a solution: "Davus sum The struggle to be pilots in a storm? And now I will proceed upon the pair. The landed and the moneyed speculation? Sweet Adeline, amidst the gay world's hum, The joys of mutual hate to keep them warm, the een bee, the glass of all that's fair; Instead of love, that mere hallucination? Whose charms made all men speak, and women Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; dumb, Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. The last a miracle, andsuchwas reckon'd, And since that time there has not been a secono. VII. XIV. Rough Johnson, the great moralist, profess'd, Ad 9,. \ i,.,J i i. ~ iChaste was she to detraction's desperation, Right honestly, "he liked an honest hater " — w u ^ t t "And wedded unto one she had loved wellThe only truth that yet has been confess'd - A man known in the councils of the nation, Within these latest thousand years or later., n i n, Perhaps the fine old fellow spoke in jest; Cool, a-nd quite -nglish imperturbable, Though apt to act with fire upon occasion, For my part, I am but a mere spectator, FormypatImut r sp, Proud of himself and her; the world could tell And gaze where'er the palace or the hovel is, rou o himself and her; the world could tell And gaze where'er the palace or the hovel s, Nought against either, and both seem'd secureMuch in the mode of Goethe's Mephistopheles: She in her virtue, he in his hauteur. She in her virtue, he in his hauteur. VIII. XV. But neither love nor hate in much excess; It chanced some diplomatical relations, Though't was not once so. If I sneer sometimes, Arising out of business, often brought It is because I cannot well do less, It is because I cannot well do less, Himself and Juan in their mutual stations And now and then it also suits my rhymes. Into close contact. Though reserved, nor caught I shouRll be very willing to redress By specious seeming, Juan's youth, and patience, Men's wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, talent, on his haughty spirit wrought Had not Cervantes, in that too true tale And form'd a basis of esteem, which ends Of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail. In making men what courtesy calls friends. IX. XVI. Of all tales,'t is the saddest-and more sad, And thus Lord Henry, who was cautious as Because it makes us smile; his hero's right, Reserve and pride could make him, and full slow And still pursues the right; —cubLthelar In judging men-when once his judgment was.igonl obetrandgainsto.dsto fight Determined, right orwrong, on friend or foe, His guerdon:'tis his virtue makes him mad! Had all the pertinacity pride has, ^T-iut his adventures form a sorry sight;-~. Which knows no ebb to its imperious flow, A sorrier still is the great moral taught And loves or hates, disdaining to be guided, By that real epic unto all who have thought. Because its own good pleasure hath decided. X. XVII. Redressing injury, revenging wrong, His friendships, therefore, and no less aveisions, To aid the damsel and destroy the caitiff; Though ofl well founded, which confirm'd but more Opposing singly the united strong, His prepossessions, like the laws of Persians From foreign yoke to free the helpless native;- And Medes, would ne'er revoke what went before Alas! must noblest views, like an old song, His feelings had not those strange fits, like tertianr. Be for mere fancy's sport a thing creative? Of common likings, which make some deplore A jest, a riddle, fame through thin and thick sought? What they should laugh at-the mere ague stitl And Socrates himself but Wisdom's Quixote? Of men's regard, the fever or the chill. 3 K 2 90 674 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XIIl. XVIII. XXV. "'T is not in mortals to command success; At Blank- Blank Square; —for we will break no squares But do you more, Sempronius-don't deserve it." By naming streets: since men are so censorious, And take my word, you won't have any less: And apt to sow an author's wheat with tares, Be wary, watch the time, and always serve it; Reaping allusions private and inglorious, Give gently way, where there's too great a press; Where none were dreamt of, into love's affairs, And for your conscience, only learn to nerve it,- Which were, or are, or are to be notorious, For, like a racer or a boxer training, That therefore do I previously declare,'T will make, if proved, vast efforts without paining. Lord Henry's mansion was in Blank-Blank Square, XIX. XXVI. Lord Henry also liked to be superior, Also there bin2 another pious reason As most men do, the little or the great; For making squares and streets anonymous; rhe very lowest find out an inferior, Which is, that there is scarce a single season At least they think so, to exert their state Which doth not shake some very splendid house Upon: for there are very few things wearier With some slight heart-quake of domestic treasonThan solitary pride's oppressive weight, A topic scandal doth delight to rouse: Which mortals generously would divide, Such I might stumble over unawares, By bidding others carry while they ride. Unless I knew the very chastest squares. XX. XXVII. In birth, in rank, in fortune likewise equal,'T is true, I might have chosen Piccadiliy, O'er Juan he could no distinction claim; A place where peccadilloes are unknown; In years he had the advantage of time's sequel; But I have motives, whether wise or silly, And, as he thought, in country much the same- For letting that pure sanctuary alone. Because bold Britons have a tongue and free quill, Therefore I name not square, street, place, until I At which all modern nations vainly aim; Find one where nothing naughty can be shown, And the Lord Henry was a great debater, A vestal shrine of innocence of heart: So that few members kept the House up later. Such are-but I have lost the London chart. XXI. XXVIII. These were advantages: and then he thought- At Ilenry's mansion then in Blank-Blank Square, It was his foible, but by.no means sinister- XVas Juan a recherch6, welcome guest, That few or none more than himself had caught As many other noble scions were; Court mysteries, having been himself a minister: And some who had but talent for their crest; He liked to teach that which he had been taught, Or wealth, which is a passport everywhere; And greatly shone whenever there had been a stir; Or even mere fashion, which indeed's the best And reconciled all qualities which grace man, Recommendation, and to be well dress's Always a patriot, and sometimes a placeman. Will very often supersede the rest. XXII. XXIX. He liked the gentle Spaniard for his gravity; And since "there's safety in a multitude He almost honour'd him for his docility, Of counsellors," as Solomon has said, Because, though young, he acquiesced with suavity, Or some one for him, in some sage grave mood:Or contradicted but with proud humility. Indeed we see the daily proof display'd He knew the world, and would not see depravity In senates, at the bar, in wordy feud, In faults which sometimes show the soil's fertility, Where'er collective wisdom can parade, If that the weeds o'er-live not the first crop,- Which is the only cause that we can guess For then they are very difficult to stop. Of Britain's present wealth and happiness;XXIII. XXX. And then he talk'd with him about Madrid, But as "there's safety grafted in the number Constantinople, and suc.h distant places; Of counsellors" for men,-thus for the sex Where people always did as they were bid, A large acquaintance lets not virtue slumber; Or did what they should not with foreign graces. Or, should it shake, the choice will more perplextt coursers also spake they: Henry rid Variety itself will more encumber. Well, like most Englishmen, and loved the races:'Midst many rocks we guard more against wrecks; And Juan, like a true-born Andalusian, And thus with women: howsoe'er it shock some's Could, oack a horse, as despots ride a Russian. Self-love, there's safety in a crowd of coxcombs. XXIV. XXXI. And thus acquaintance grew, at noble routs, But Adeline had not the least occasion And diplomatic dinners, or at other- For such a shield, which leaves but little merit )"or Juan stood well both with Ins and Outs, To virtue proper, or good education. As in Freemasonry a higher brother. Her chief resource was in her own high spirit (TTon his tlent Henry had no doubts, Which judged mankind at their due estimation; His manner snow'd him sprung from a high mother; And for coquetry, she disdain'd to wear it: Atlo ar men like to show their hospitality Secure of admiration, its impression To ian whose breeding marches with his quality. Was faint, as of an every-day possession. CANTIO XIII. DON JUAN. 675 XXXII. XXXIX. To all she was polite without parade; But after all they are a North-West passage To some she show'd attention of that kind Unto the glowing India of the soul; Which flatters, but is flattery convey'd And as the good ships sent upon that message In such a sort as cannot leave behind Have not exactly ascertain'd the Pole, A trace unworthy either wife or maid;- (Though Parry's efforts look a lucky presage), A gentle genial courtesy of mind, Thus gentlemen may run upon a shoal; To those who were, or pass'd for, meritorious, For if the Pole's not open, but all frost, Just to console sad Glory for being glorious: (A chance still),'tis a voyage or vessel lost. XXXIII. XL. Which is in all respects, save now and then, And young beginners may as well commence A dull and desolate appendage. Gaze With quiet cruising o'er the ocean woman; Upon the shades of those distinguish'd men While those who're not beginners, should have sense Who were or are the puppet-shows of praise, Enough to make for'port, ere Time shall summon The praise of persecution. Gaze again With his gray signal-flag; and the past tense, On the mostfavour'd; and, amidst the blaze The dreary "fuimus" of all things human, Of sunset halos o'er the laurel-brow'd, Must be declined, whilst life's thin thread's spun ou What can ye recognise?-A gilded cloud. Between the gaping heir and gnawing gout. XXXIV. XLI. There also was of course in Adeline But heaven must be diverted: its diversion That calm patrician polish in the address, Is sometimes truculent-but never mind: Which ne'er can pass the equinoctial line The world upon the whole is worth the assertion Of any thing which Nature would express: (If but for comfort) that all things are kind: Just as a Mandarin finds nothing fine, — And that same devilish doctrine of the Persian, At least his manner suffers not to guess Of the two principles, but leaves behind That any thing he views can greatly please. As many doubts as any other doctrine Perhaps we have borrow'd this from the Chinese- Has ever puzzled Faith withal, or yoked her in. XXXV. XLII. Perhaps from Horace: his "'Ntl admirari" The English winter-ending in July Was what he call'd the "Art of Happiness;" To recommence in August-now was done. An art on which the artists greatly vary,'Tis the postilion's paradise: wheels fly; And have not yet attain'd to much success. On roads east, south, north, west, there is a run. However,'tis expedient to be wary: But for post-horses who finds sympathy? Indifference certes don't produce distress; Man's pity's for himself, or for his son, And rash enthusiasm in good society Always premising that said son at college Were nothing but a moral inebriety. Has not contracted much more debt than knowledge. XXXVI. XLIII. But Adeline was not indifferent: for, The London winter's ended in July(Now for a commonplace!) beneath the snow, Sometimes a little later. I don't err As a volcano holds the lava more In tljs: whatever other blunders lie Within-et cetera. Shall I go on?-No! Upon my shoulders, here I must aver I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor: My Muse a glass of Weatherology, So let the often-used volcano go. For Parliament is our barometer; Poor thing! how frequently, by me and others, Let Radicals its other acts attack, It hath been stirr'd up, till its smoke quite smothers! Its sessions form our only almanac. XXXVII. XLIV. I'11 have another figure in a trice: When its quicksilver's down at zero,-lo! What say you to a bottle of champagne? Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage! Frozen into a very vinous ice, Wheels whirl from Carlton Palace to Soho, Which leaves few drops of that immortal rain, And happiest they who horses can engage; Yet in the very centre, past all price, The turnpikes glow with dust, and Rotten Row About a liquid glassful will remain; Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age: And this is stronger than the strongest grape And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces, Could e'er express in its expanded shape: Sigh, as the post-boys fasten on the traces. XXXVIII. XLV.'Tis the whole spirit brought to a quintessence; They and their bills, "Arcadians both,"3 are left And thus the chilliest aspects may concentre To the Greek kalends of another session. A hidden nectar under a cold presence, Alas! to them of ready cash bereft, And such are many-though I only meant her What hope remains? Of hope the full possession. From whom I now deduce these moral lessons, Or generous draft, conceded as a gift, On which the Muse has always sought to enter:- At a long date-till they can get a fresh one, And your cold people are beyond all price, Hawk'd about at a discount, smiall or large;Whcen once vou've broken their confounded ice. Also the solace of an overcharge, 676 BYRON'S WORKS. CAN2 0 Xlll. XLVI. LIII. But these are trifles. Downward flies my Lord, And thus we see-who doubts the Morning Post? Nodding beside my Lady in his carriage. (Whose articles are like the "thirty-nine," Away! away! "Fresh horses!" are the word, Which those most swear to who believe them most)And changed as quickly as hearts after marriage; Our gay Russ Spaniard was ordain'd to shine, The obsequious landlord hath the change restored; Deck'd by the rays reflected from his host, The post-boys have no reason to disparage With those who, Pope says, " greatly daring dine.' Their fee; but, ere the water'd wheels may hiss hence,'Tis odd, but true,-last war, the news abounded The ostler pleads for a reminiscence. More with these dinners than the kill'd or wounded.XLVII. T is granted and the valet mounts the dickey- Tis granted; and the valet mounts the dickey- As thus: " On Thursday there was a grand dinner; That gentleman of lords and gentlemen; v That gentleman of lords and gentlemen; Present, lords A. B. C.".-Earls, dukes, by name Also my Lady's gentlewoman, tricky, Announced with no less pomp than victory's winner: Trick'd out, but modest lore than poet's pen Then underneath, and in the very same Can paint, " Cosi viaggino i ricchi!, Can paint, "Ci viagino i ricchi Column: "Date, Falmouth, There has lately been here (Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then, The slap-dash regiment, so well known to fame: If but to show I'e travell'd; and what's travel, Whose loss in the late action we regret: Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?) The vacancies are fill'd up-see Gazette." XLVIII. The London winter and the country summer LV. Were well nigh over.'T is perhaps a pity, To Norman Abbey whirld the noble pair, When Nature wears the gown that doth become her, An old, old monastery once, and now To lose those best months in a sweaty city, Still older mansion, of a rich and rare And wait until the nightingale grows dumber, Mix' Gothic, suchas artists all allow Listening debater not very wise or witty, Few specimens yet left us can compare Ere patriots their true country can remember; — Withal: it lies perhaps a little low, But there's no shooting (save grouse) till September. Because the monks preferr'd a hill behind, XLIX. -To shelter their devotion from the wind. I've done with my tirade. The world was gone; LVI. The twice two thousand for whom earth was made, It stood embosom'd in a happy valley, Were vanish'd to be what they call alone,- Crown'd by high woodlands, where the Druid cal That is, with thirty servants for parade, Stood like Caractacus in act to rally As many guests or more; before whom groan His host, with broad arms'gainst the thunder-stroke; As many covers, duly, daily, laid. And from beneath his boughs were seen to sally Let none accuse old England's hospitality- The dappled foresters-as day awoke, Its quantity is but condensed to quality. The branching stag swept down with all his herd, L. To quaff a brook which murmur'd like a bird. Lord Henry and the Lady Adeline LVII Departed, like the rest of their compeers, Before the mansion lay a lucid lake, The peerage, to'a mansion very fine; Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed The Gothic Babel of a thousand years. By a river, which its soften'd way did take None than themselves could boast a longer line, In currents through the calmer water spread Where time through heroes and through beauties Around: the wild fowl nestled in the brake steers; Adosteers; ole sterpdgeAnd sedges, brooding in their liquid bed: And oaks, as olden as their pedigree, d oks, as on as tr p The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stood Told of their sires, a tomb in every tree. Told of their sires, a tomb in every tree. With their green faces fix'd upon the flood. LI. A paragraph in every paper told LVIII Of their departure: such is modern fame: Its outlet dash'd into a deep caade,'Tis pity that it takes no further hold Sparkling with foam, until again subsiding Than an advertisement, or much the same; Its shriller echoeslike an infant made When, ere the ink be dry, the sound grows cold. Quiet-sank into softer ripples, gliding The Morning Post was foremost to proclaim- Into a rivulet; and, thus alay'd, "Departure. for his country-seat to-day, Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hiding Lord H. Amundeville and Lad" A. Its windings through the woods; now clear, now blue, LI1. According as the skies their shadows threw. v' We undersand the splendid host intends LIX. I'o entertain, this autumn, a select A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile And numerous party of his noble friends; (While yet the church was Rome's) stood half apart'Midst whom, we have heard from sources quite In a grand arch, which once screen'd many an aisle. correct, These last had disappear'd-a loss to art: The Duke of D — the shooting season spends, The first yet frown'd superbly o'er the soi, With many nmore by rank and fashion deck'd; And kindled feelings in the roughest heart, Also a foreigner of high condition, Which mourn'd the power of time's or tempest's march, The envoy of the secret Russian mission. In gazing on that venerable arch. CANTO XIII. DON JUAN. 677 LX. LXVII Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle, Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, join'd Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone: By no quite lawful marriage of the arts, But these had fallen, not when the friars fell, Might shock a connoisseur: but, when combined, But in the war which struck Charles from his throne, Form'd a whole which, irregular in parts, When each house was a fortalice-as tell Yet left a grand impression on the mind, The annals of full many a line undone,- At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts. The gallant cavaliers, who fought in vain We gaze upon a giant for his stature, For those who knew not to resign or reign. Nor judge at first if all be true to nature. LXI. LXVIII. But in a higher niche, alone, but crown'd, Steel barons, molten the next generation The Virgin Mother of the God-born child, To silken rows of gay and garter'd earls, With her son in her bless'd arms, look'd round, Glanced from the walls in goodly preservation; Spared by some chance when all beside was spoil'd; And Lady Marys, blooming into girls, She made the earth below seem holy ground. With fair long locks, had also kept their station; This may be superstition, weak or wild, And countesses mature in robes and pearls: But even the faintest relics of a shrine Also some beauties of Sir Peter Lely, Of any worship wake some thoughts divine. Whose drapery hints we may admire them freely: LXII. LXIX. A mighty window, hollow in the centre, Judges,in very formidable ermine, Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings, Were there, with brows that did not much invite Through which the deepen'd glories once could enter, The accused to think their lordships would determine Streaming from off the sun like seraph's wings, His cause by leaning much from might to right: Now yawns all desolate: now loud, now fainter, Bishops, who had not left a single sermon; The gale sweeps thrtough its fretwork, and oft sings Attorneys-general, awful to the sight, The owl his anthem, where the silenced quire As hinting more (unless our judgments warp us) Lie with their hallelujahs quench'd like fire. Of the "Star Chamber" than of "Habeas Corpus." LXIII. LXX. But in the noontide of the moon, and when Generals, some all in armour, of the old The wind is winged from one point of heaven, And iron time, ere lead had ta'en the lead; There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then Others in wigs of Marlborough's martial fold, Is musical-a dying accent driven Huger than twelve of our degenerate breed: Through the huge arch, which soars and sinks again. Lordlings, with staves of white or keys of gold: Some deem it but the distant echo given Nimrods, whose canvas scarce contain'd the stee l; Back to the night-wind by the waterfall, And here and there some stern high patriot stood, And harmonized by the old chorall wall: Who could not get the place for which he sued. LXIV. LXXI. Others, that some original shape or form, But, ever and anon, to soothe your vision, Shaped by decay perchance, hath given the power Fatigued with these hereditary glories, (Though less than that of Memnon's statue, warm There rose a Carlo Dolce or a Titian, In Egypt's rays, to harp at a fix'd hour) Or wilder group of savage Salvatore's:4 To this gray ruin, with a voice to charm. Here danced Albano's boys, and here the sea shone Sad, but serene, it sweeps o'er tree or tower: In Vernet's ocean lights; and there the stories The cause I know not, nor can solve; but such Of martyrs awed, as Spagnoletto tainted The fact:-I've heard it,-once perhaps too much. His brush with all the blood of all the sainted. LXV. LXXII. Amidst the court a Gothic fountain play'd, Here sweetly spread a landscape of Lorraine; Symmetrical, but deck'd with carvings quaint- There Rembrandt made his darkness equal light, Strange faces, like to men in masquerade, Or gloomy Caravaggio's gloomier stain And here perhaps a monster, there a saint: Bronzed o'er some lean and stoic anchorite:The spring rush'd through grim mouths, of granite made, But lo! a Teniers woos, and not in vain, And sparkled into basins, where it spent Your eyes to revel in a livelier sight: Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles, Her bell-mouth'd goblet makes me feel quite Danish Like man's vain glory, and his vainer troubles. Or Dutch with thirst-Wha. ho! a flask of Rhenist. LXVI. LXXII. The mansion's self was vast and venerable, Oh, reader! if that thou canst read,-and know With more of the monastic than haa been'Tis not enough to spell, or even to read, Elsewhere preserved: the cloisters still were stable, To constitute a reader; there must go The cells too and refectory, I ween: -Virtues of which both you and I have need. &n exquisie small chapel had been able, firstly, begin with the beginning (though Still unimpair'd, to decorate the scene; That clause is hard), and secondly, proceen rhe rest had been reformed, replaced, or sunk, Thirdly, commence not with the end-or, sinning And spoke more of the baron than the monk. In this sort, end at least with the beginning. 678 BYRON'S WORKS. CANIO.II LXXIV. LXXXI. But, reader, thou hast patient been of late, That is, up to a certain point; which point While I, without remorse of rhyme, or fear, Forms the most difficult in punctuation. Have built and laid out ground at such a rate, Appearances appear to form the joint Dan Phoebus takes me for an auctioneer. On which it hinges in a higher station; That poets were so from their earliest date, And so that no explosion cry "aroint By Homer's "Catalogue of Ships" is clear; Thee, witch!" or each Medea has her Jason. But a mere modern must be moderate- Or (to the point with Horace and with Pulci), I spare you, then, the furniture and plate. " Omne tulit punctum, quoe miscuit utile dulci." LXXV. LXXXII. The mellow autumn came, and with it came I can't exactly trace their rule of right, The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. Which hath a little leaning to a lottery; The corn is cut, the manor full of game; I've seen a virtuous woman put down quite The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats By the mere combination of a coterie: In russet jacket:-lynx-like is his aim, Also a so-so matron boldly fight Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. Her way back to the world by dint of plottery, Ah, nut-brown partridges! ah, brilliant pheasants! And shine the very Siria of the spheres, And ah, ye poachers!-'T is no sport for peasants. Escaping with a few slight scarless sneers. LXXVI. LXXXIII. An English autumn, though it hath no vines, I've seen more than I'll say,:-but we will see Blushing with Bacchant coronals along How our villeggiatura will get on. The paths, o'er which the fair festoon entwines The party might consist of thirty-three The red grape in the sunny lands of song, Of highest caste-the Bramins of the ton. Hath yet a purchased choice of choicest wines; I've named a few, not foremost in degree, The claret light, and the madeira strong. But ta'cn at hazard as the rhyme may run. If Britain mourn her bleakness, we can tell her, By way of sprinkling, scatter'd amongst these, The very best of vineyards is the cellar. There also were some Irish absentees. LXXVII. LXXXIV. Then, if she hath not that serene decline There was Parolles, too, the legal bully, Which makes the southern autumn's day appear Who limits all his battles to the bar As if'twould to a second spring resign And senate: when invited elsewhere, truly, The season, rather than to winter drear,- He shows more appetite for words than war, Of in-door comforts still she hath a mine,- There was the young bard Rackrhyme, who had nevwi The sea-coal fires, the earliest of the year; Come out and glimmer'd as a six-weeks' star. Without doors too she may compete in mellow, There was Lord Pyrrho, too, the great free-thinker; As what is lost in green is gain'd in yellow. And Sir John Pottledeep, the inighty drinker. LXXVIII. LXXXV. And for the effeminate villeggiatura- There was the Duke of Dash, who was a-duke, Rife with more horns than hounds-she hath the chase, "Ay, every inch a" duke; there were twelve peers So animated that it might allure a Like Charlemagne's-and all such peers in look Saint from his beads to join the jocund race; And intellect, that neither eyes nor ears Even Nimrod's self might leave the plains of Dura,' For commoners had ever them mistook. Aid wear the Melton jacket for a space:- There were the six Miss Rawbolds-pretty dears I If she hath no wild boars, she hath a tame All song and sentiment; whose hearts were set Preserve of bores, who ought to be made game. Less on a convent than a coronet. LXXIX. LXXXVI. The noble guests, assembled at the Abbey, There were four Honourable Misters, whss' Consisted of-we give the sex the pas- Honour was more before their names tna'r,err; The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke; the Countess Crabbey; There was the preux Chevalier de la Ruse, The Ladies, Scilly, Busey; Miss Eclat, Whom France and Fortune lately deign'd to waft oftb Miss Bombazeen, Miss Mackstay, Miss O'Tabby, Whose chiefly harmless talent was to amuse; And Mrs. Rabbi, the rich banker's squaw: But the Clubs found it rather serious laughter, Also the Honourable Mrs. Sleep, Because-such was his magic power to please,Who look'd a white lamb, yet was a black sheep. The dice seem'd charm'd too with his repartees LXXX. LXXXVII. Witn other countesses of Blank-but rank; There was Dick Dubious, the metaphysician, At once the "lie" and the "elite" of crowds; Who loved philosophy and a good dinner; hVhi, pass like water filter'd in a tank, Angle, the soi-disant mathematician; All puiged and pious from their native clouds; Sir Henry Silver-cup the great race-winner; Or paper turn'd to money by the Bank: There was the Reverend Rodomont Precisian; No matter how or why, the passport shrouds Who did not hate so much the sin as sirner, The "'passde" and the past; for good society And Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet, Is nt es, famed for tolerance than piety: Good at all things, but better at P bet. CANTO XIIT. DON JUAN. G79 LXXXVIII. XCV. There was Jack Jargon, the gigantic guardsman; Our ridicules are kept in the back ground, And General Fireface, famous in the field, Ridiculous enough, but also dull; A great tactician, and no less a swordsman, Professions too are no more to be found Who ate, last war, more Yankees than he kill'd. Professional; and there is nought to cull There was the waggish Welsh Judge, Jefferies Hards- Of folly's fruit; for though your fools abound, man, They're barren, and not worth the pains to pull. In his grave office so completely Skill'd, Society is now one polish'd horde, That when a culprit came for condemnation,' Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored. He had his judge's joke for consolation. LXXXIX. Good company's a chess-board-there are kins, But from being farmers, we turn gleaners, gleaning Good company's a chess-board-there are kings, The scanty but right well thresh'd ears of truth; Queens, bishops, knights, rooks, pawns; the world's And, gentle reader! when you gather meaning, a game; WYou may be Boaz, and I-modest Ruth. Save that the puppets pull at their own strings; Further I'd quote, but Scripture, intervening, Methinks gay Punch hath something of the same. Forbids. A great impression in my youth -/./r *? v a L Li. i- - Forbids. A great impression in my youth My Muse, the butterfly, hath but her wings,. w s i Was made by Mrs. Adams, where she cries Not stings, and flits through ether without aim, T srir r r. - i. " That scriptures out of church are blasphemies."' Alighting rarely: were she but a hornet, Perhaps there might be vices which would mourn it. XCVII. XC. But when we can, we glean in this vile age I had forgotten-but must not forget- Of chaff, although our gleanings be not grist. An orator, the latest of the session, I must not quite omit the talking sage, Who had deliver'd well a very set Kit-Cat, the famous conversationist, Smooth speech, his first and maidenly transgression Who, in his commonplace book, had a page Upon debate: the papers echoed yet Prepared each morn for evenings. " List, oh list!"With this debft, which made a strong impression, " Alas, poor ghost!"-What unexpected woes And rank'd with what is every day display'd- Await those who have studied their bons-mots! "The best first speech that ever yet was made." CVIII. XCVIII. XCI. Firstly, they must allure the conversation Proud of his " Hear hims!" proud too of his vote, Bymany windings to their clever clinch And lost virginity of oratory, And secondly, must let slip no occasion, Proud of his learning (just enough to quote), Nor bate (abate) their hearers of an inch He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory: But take an ell-and make a great sensation, With memory excellent to get by rote, If possible and thirdly, never flinch With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story, GWith wit to hatch a pun or tell aestory, When some smart talker puts them to the test, Graced with some merit and with more effrontery, But seize the last word, which no doubt's the best. "His country's pride," he came down to the country. XCII. XCIX. There also were two wits by acclamation, Lord Henry and his lady were the hosts; Longbow from Ireland, Strongbow from the Tweed, The party-we have touch'd on were the guests Both lawyers, and both men of education; Their table was a board to tempt even ghosts But Strongbow's wit was of more polish'd breed: To pass the Styx for more substantial feasts. Longbow was rich in an imagination I will not dwell upon ragofits or roasts, As beautifill and bounding as a steed, Albeit all human history attests But sometimes stumbling over a potatoe, — That happiness for man-the hungry sinner -- While Strongbow's best things might have come from Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner Cato. C XCIII. S wwas like a new-tuned. harpsichord Witness the lands which "flow'd with milk and honey.' Strongbow was like a new-tuned harpsichord; Held out unto the hungry Israelites: But Longbow wild as an Ai'olian harp, To this we've added since the love of money, With which the winds of heaven can claim accord, n i i. The only sort of pleasure which requites. And make a music, whether flat or sharp. OAnd make a musict, yi whether flat or sharp.n Youth fades, and leaves our days no longer sunny; Of Strongbow's talk you would net change a word;.', We tire of mistresses and parasites: At Lonogbow's phrases ou might,sometimes carp: But oh, ambrosial cash! ah! who would lose hnee? Both wits —one born so, and the other bred, Both wits-one born so, and the other bd, When we no more can use, or even abuse thee! This by his heart-his rival by his head. XCIV. CI. If all these seem a heterogeneous mass, The gentlemen got in betimes to shoot, To be assembled at a country-seat, Or hunt; the young because theyliked the sport Yet think a soecimen of every class The first thing boys like after play and fruit: Is better than a humdrum tete-a-tdte. The middle-aged, to make the day more short, The days of comedy are gone, alas! For ennui is a growth of English root, When Congreve's fool could vie with Moliere's bate. Though nameless in our language; we retoit Society is smoothed to that excess, The fact for words, and let the French transiate That manners hardly differ more than dress. That awful yawn which sleep carnot abate 680 BYRON'S WORKS. CANiO XIV. CII. CIX. The elderly walk'd through the library, The politicians, in a nook apart, And tumbled books, or criticised the pictures, Discuss'd the world, and settled all the spheres; Or saunter'd through the gardens piteously, The wits watch'd every loop-hole for their art, And made upon the hothouse several strictures, To introduce a bon-mot head and ears; Or rode a nag which trotted not too high, Small is the rest of those who would be smartOr on the morning papers read their lectures, A moment's good thing may have cost them years Or on the watch their longing eyes would fix, Before they find an hour to introduce it, Longing, at sixty, for the hour of six. And then, even then, some bore may make them lose it, CIII. CX. But none were "gene:" the great hour of union But all was gentle and aristocratic Was rung by dinner's knell; till then all were In this our party; polish'd, smooth, and cold, Masters of their own time-or in communion, As Phidian forms cut out of marble Attic, Or solitary, as they chose to bear There now are no Squire Westerns, as of old; The hours, which how to pass is but to few known. And our Sophias are not so emphatic, Each rose up at his own, and had to spare But fair as then, or fairer to behold. What time he chose for dress, and broke his fast,We've no accomplish'd blackguards, like Tom Jones, Where, lwhen, and how he chose for that repast. But gentlemen in stays, as stiff as stones. CIV. CXI. The ladies-some rouged, some a little pale-'rhey separated at an early hour; Met the morn as they might. If fine, they rode, That is, ere midnight-which is London's noon: Or walked; if foul, they read, or told a tale; But in the country, ladies seek their bower Sung, or rehearsed the last dance from abroad; A little earlier than the waning moon. Discuss'd the fashion which might next prevail; Peace to the slumbers of each folded flowerAnd settled bonnets by the newest code; May the rose call back its true colours soon! Or cramm'd twelve sheets into one little letter, Good hours of fair cheeks are the fairest tinters, To make each correspondent a new debtor. And lower the price of rouge-at least some winters CV. For some had absent lovers, all had friends. The earth has nothing like a she epistle, And hardly heaven-because it never ends. I love the mystery of a female missal,T'Which, like a creed, ne'er says all it intends, CANTO XIV. But full of cunning as Ulysses' whistle, When he allured poor Dolon:-you had better Take care what you reply to such a letter. CVI.. Then there weie billiards; cards too, but no dice; IF from great Nature's, or our own abyss Save in the ChlIbs no nan of honour plays;- Of thought, we could but snatch a certainty, Boats when't was-water, skaiting when'twas ice, Perhaps mankind might find the path they missAnd the hard frosts destroy'd the'scenting days: But then'twould spoil much good philosophy. And angling too, that solitary vice, One system eats another up, and this Whatever Isaac Walton sings or says: Much as old Saturn ate his progeny; The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet For when his pious consort gave him stones Shouid have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.8 In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones. CVII. II. Witti evening came the banquet and the wine; But system doth reverse the Titan's breakfast, The conversazione; the duet, And eats her parents, albeit the digestion Attuned by voices more or less divine, Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast, (My heart or head aches with the memory yet). After due search, your faith to any question? The four Miss Rawbolds in a glee would shine; Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast But the two youngest loved more to be set You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one. Down to the harp-because to music's charms Nothing more true than not to trust your senses; They added graceful necks, white hands and arms. And yet what are your other evidences? C VIII. III. Sometimes a dance (though rarely on field days, For me, I know nought; nothing I deny, For then the gentlemen were rather tired) Admit, reject, contemni; and what know you, l)splay'd some sylph-like figures in its maze: Except perhaps that you were born to die? Then there was small-talk ready when required; And both may after all turn out untrue.';irtation-but decorous; the mere praise An age may come, font of eternity, Of charms that should or should not be admired; When nothing shall be either old or new.'The hunters fought their fox-hunt o'er again, Death, so call'd, is a thing which makes men weep, ind bhen retreated soberly-at ten. And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep. CANTO XIv. DON JUAN. 681 IV. XI, A sleep without dreams, after a rough day But "why then publish?"-There are no rewards Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet Of fame or profit, when the world grows weary. How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay! I ask in turns-why do.you play at cards? The very suicide that pays his debt Why drink? Why read?-To make some hour less At once without instalments (an old way dreary. Of paying debts, which creditors regret) It occupies me to turn back regards Lets out impatiently his rushing breath, On what I've seen or ponder'd, sad or cheery; Less from disgust of life than dread of death. And what I write I cast upon the stream, V. To swim or sink-I have had at least my dream.'Tis round him, near him, here, there, every where; XII. And there's a courage which grows out of fear, I think that were I certain of success, Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare I I hardly could compose another line: The worst to know it:-when the mountains rear So long I've battled either more or less, Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there That no defeat can drive me from the Nine. You look down o'er the precipice, and drear This feeling't is not easy to express, The gulf of rock yawns,-you can't gaze.a minute And yet'tis not affected, I opine. Without an awful wish to plunge within it. In play, there are two pleasures for your choosingVI. The one is winning, and the other losing.'T is true, you don't-but, pale and struck with terror, XIII. Retire: but look into your past impression! Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction: And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror She gathers a repertory of facts, Of your own thoughts, in all their self-confession, Of course with some reserve and slight restriction, rhe lurking bias, be it truth or error, But mostly sings of human things and actsTo the unknown; a secret prepossession, And that's one cause she meets with contradiction; To plunge with allyourfears-butwhere? Youknownot, For too much truth, at first sight, ne'er attracts, And that's the reason why you do-or do not. And were her object only what's call'd glory, VII. With more ease too, she'd tell a different story. But what's this to the purpose? you will say. XIV. Gent. reader, nothing; a mere speculation, Love, war, a tempest-surely there's variety; For which my sole excuse is-'tis my way. Also a seasoning slight of lucubration; Sometimes with and sometimes without occasion, A bird's-eye view too of that wild, Society; I write what's uppermost, without delay; A slight glance thrown on men of every station. This narrative is not meant for narration, If you have -nought else, here's at least satiety But a mere airy and. fantastic basis, Both in performance and in preparation; To build up common things with commonplaces. And though these lines should only line pormanteaus, VIII. Trade will be all the better for these cantos. You know,, or don't know, that great Bacon saith, XV. "Fling up a straw,'t will show the way the wind The portion of this world which I at present blows;" Have taken up to fill the following sermon, And such a straw, borne on by human breath, Is one of which there's no description recent. Is poesy, according as the mind glows; The reason why, is easy to determine: A paper kite which flies'twixt life and death, Although it seems both prominent and pleasant, A shadow which the onward soul behind throws: There is a sameness in its gems and ermine, And mine's a bubble not blown up for praise, A dull and family likeness through all ages, But just to play with, as an infant plays. Of no great promise for poetic pages. IX. XVI. The world is all before me-or behind; With much to excite, there's little to exalt~ For I have seen a portion of that same, -N etlfhigit t ksotmnerlitd' times; And quite enough for me to keep in mind;- A sort of varnish over every fault; Of passions, too, I've proved enough to blame, A kind of commonplace, even in their crimes; To the great pleasure of our friends, mankind, Factitious passions, wit without much salt, Who like to mix some slight alloy with fame: A want of that true nature which sublimes For I was rather famous in my time, Whate'er it shows with truth; a smooth monotony Until I fairly knock'd it up with rhyme. Of charmctep, in those at least who have got any. X. XVII. I have brought this world about my ears, and eke "Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade, The other: that's to say, the clergy-who They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill, Upon my head have bid their thunders break But then the roll-call draws them back afraid, In pious libels by no means a few, And they must be or seem what they were: stiH And yet I can't help scribbling once a week, Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade; Tiring old readers, nor discovering new. But when of the first sight you have had youe iT In youth I wrote because my mind was full, It palls-at least it did so upon me, And now because I feel it growing dull. This paradise of pleasure ana Pnnui. 3L 91 682 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XIP' XVIII. XXV. When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming, All this were very well, and can't be better; Dress'd, voted, shone, and, may be, something more; But even this is difficult, Heaven knows! With dandies dined; heard senators declaiming; So many troubles from her birth beset her, Seen beauties'brought to market by the score; Such small distinction between friends and foes, Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming; The gilding wears so soon from off her fetter, There's little left but to be bored or bore. That-but ask any woman if she'd choose Witness those "ci-devant jeunes hommes" who stem (Take her at thirty, that is) to have been The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them. Female or male? a school-boy or a queen? XIX. XXVI.'Tis said-indeed a general complaint- "Petticoat influence" is a great reproach, That no one has succeeded in describing Which even those who obey would fain be thought The monde exactly as they ought to paint. To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach; Some say, that authors only snatch, by bribing But, since beneath it upon earth we are brought The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint, By various joltings of life's hackney-coach, To furnish matter for their moral gibing; I for one venerate a petticoatAnd that their books have but one style in common- A garment of a mystical sublimity, My lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman. No matter whether russet, silk, or dimity. XX. XXVII. But this can't well be true, just now; for writers Much I respect, and much I have adored, Are grown of the beau monde a part potential: In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil, I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters, Which holds a treasure, like a miser's hoard, Especially when young, for that's essential. And more attracts by all it doth concealWhy'do their sketches fail them as inditers A golden scabbard on a Damasque sword, Of, what they deem themselves most consequential, A loving letter with a mystic seal, The real portrait of the highest tribe? A cure for grief-for what can ever rankle "r is that, in fact, there's little to describe. Before a petticoat and peeping ancle? XXI. XXVIII. "Ifaud ignara loquor:" these are nugge, "quarum And when upon a silent, sullen day, Pars parva fui," but still art and part. With a Sirocco, for example, blowing,Now I could much more easily sketch a haram, When even the sea looks dim with all its spray A battle, wreck, or history of the heart, And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing, Than these things; and besides, I wish to spare'em, And the sky shows that very ancient gray, For reasons-which I choose to keep apart. The sober, sad antithesis to glowing," Vetabo Cereris sacrum qui vulgarit,"'T is pleasant, if then any thing is pleasant, Which means, that vulgar people must not share it. To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant. XXII. XXIX. And therefore what I throw off is ideal- We left our heroes and our heroines Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of Freemasons; In that fair clime which don't depend on clinmte Which bears the same relation to the real. Quite independent of the Zodiac's signs, As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's. Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at, The grand Arcanum's not for men to see all; Because the sun and stars, and aught that shines My music has some mystic diapasons; Mountains, and all we can be most sublime at, And there is much which could not be appreciated Are there oft dull and dreary as a dunIn any manner by the uninitiated. Whether a sky's or tradesman's, is all one. XXIII. XXX. Alas! worlds fall-and woman, since she fell'd And in-door life is less poetical; The world (as, since that history, less polite And out-of-door hath showers, and mists, and sleet Than true, hath been a creed so strictly held), With which I could not brew a pastoral. Has not yet given up the practice quite. But be it as it may, a bard must meet Poor thing of usages! coerced, compell'd, All difficulties, whether great or small, Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right, To spoil his undertaking or complete, Condemn'd to child-bed, as men, for their sins, And work away like spirit upon matter, Have shaving too entail'd upon their chins,- Embarrass'd somewhat both with fire and water. XXIV. XXXI. A daily plague which, in the aggregate, Juan-in this respect at least like saintsMay average on the whole with parturition. Was all things unto people of all sorts, Itlt as to women, who can penetrate And lived contentedly, without complaints, The real sufferings of their she condition? In camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts — Man's very sympathy with their estate Born with that happy soul which seldom faints, IRas much of selfishness and more suspicion. And mingling modestly in toils or sports. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, He likewise could be most things to all women. tits Coirm good housekeepers, to breed a nation. Without the coxcombry of certain she men. CANTO XIV. DON JUAN. 68. XXXII. XXXIX. A fox-hunt to a foreigner is strange; Chaste were his steps, each kept within due bound,'T is also subject to the double danger And elegance was sprinkled o'er his figure; Of tumbling first, and having in exchange Like swift Camilla, he scarce skimm'd the ground, Some pleasant jesting at the awkward stranger; And rather held in than put forth his vigour; But Juan had been early taught to range And then he had an ear for music's sound, The wilds, as doth an Arab turn'd avenger, Which might defy a crotchet-critic's rigour. So that his horse, or charger, hunter, hack, Such classic pas-sans flaws-set off our hero, Knew that he had a rider on his back. He glanced like a personified bolero; XXXIII. XL. And now in this new field, with some applause, Or, like a flying hour before Aurora, He clear'd hedge, ditch, and double post, and rail, In Guido's famous fresco, which alone And never craned,' and made but few "faux pas," Is worth a tour to Rome, although no more a And only fretted when the scent'gan fail. Remnant were there of the old world's sole throne. He broke,'tis true, some statutes of the laws The " tout ensemble" of his movements wore a Of hunting-for the sagest youth is frail; Grace of the soft ideal, seldom shown, Rode o'er-the hounds, it may be, now and then, And ne'er to be described; for, to the dolour And once o'er several country gentlemen. Of bards and prosers, words are void of colour. XXXIV. XLI. But, on the whole, to general admiration No marvel then he was a favourite He acquitted both himself and horse: the squires A full-grown Cupid, very much admired; Marvell'd at merit of another nation: A little spoil'd, but by no means so quite; The boors cried "Dang it! who'd have thought At least he kept his vanity retired. it "-Sires, Such was his tact, he could alike delight The Nestors of the sporting'generation, The chaste, and those who are not so much inspireo. Swore praises, and recall'd their former fires; The Duchess of Fit7-Fulke, who loved "tracasserie, The huntsman's self relented to a grin, Began to treat him with some small agacerie." And rated him almost a whipper-in. XLII. XXXV. wrXXXV..,i.. She was a fine and somewhat full-blown blonde, Such were his trophies;-not of spear and shield, Desirable, distinguish'd, celeb, ated But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' brushes; the grand,gran mone. For several winters in the grand, grand monde. Yet I must own,-although in this I yield I'd rather not say what might be related To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes,- Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground; (le thought at heart like courtly Ch6sterfield, - I He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield, Besides there might be falsehood in what's stated: Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes, Her late performance had been a dead set knd what not, though he rode beyond all price, At Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. Ask'd, next day, "if men ever hunted twice 7" XXXVI. XLII. He also had a quality uncommon This noble personage began to look To early risers after a long chase, A little black upon this new flirtation; Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon But such small liceses must lovers brook, December's drowsy day to his dull race,- Mere freedoms of the female corporation. A quality agreeable to woman, Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke! When her soft liquid words run on apace,'Twill but precipitate a situation Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner,- Extremely disagreeable, but common He did not fall asleep just after dinner. To calculators, when they count on woman. XXXVII. XLIV. But, light and airy, stood on the alert, The circle smiled, then whisper'd, and then sneer'd; And shone in the best part of dialogue, The Misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd; By humouring always what they might assert, Some hoped things might not turn out as they fear't t And listening to the topics most in vogue; Some would not deem such women could be found; Now grave, now gay, but never dull or pert; Some ne'er believed one-half of what they heard; And smiling but in secret-cunning rogue! Some look'd perplex'd, and others look'd profound; He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer; And several pitied with sincere regret In short, thoce never was a better hearer. Poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. XXXVIII. XLV. And then he danced;-all foreigners excel But, what is odd, none ever named the duke, The serious Angles in the eloquence Who, one might think, was something in the affair. Of pantomime;-he danced, I say, right well, True, he was absent, and,'twas rumour'd, took With emphasis, and also with good sense- But small concern about the when, or where, A thing in footing indispensable: Or what his consort did: if he could brook He danced without theatrical pretence, Her gayeties, none had a right to stare Not like a ballet-master in the van Theirs was that best of unions, past all doubt, Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman. Which never inits.nd therefore can't fall out. 684 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XIV XLVI. LIII. But, oh that I should ever pen so sad a line! This may be fix'd at somewhere before thirtyFired with an abstract love of virtue, she, Say seven-and-twenty; for I never knew My Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline, The strictest in chronology and virtue Began to think the duchess' conduct free; Advance beyond, while they could pass for new. Regretting much that she had chosen so bad a line, Oh, Time! why dost not pause! Thy scythe, so dirty And waxing chiller in her courtesy, With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew. Look'd grave and pale to see her friend's fragility, Reset it; shave more smoothly, also slower, For which most friends reserve their sensibility. If but to keep thy credit as a mower. XLVII. LIV. There's nought in this bad world like sympathy: But Adeline was far from that ripe age,'Tis so becoming to the soul and face; Whose ripeness is but bitter at the best: Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,'T was rather her experience made her sage, And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace. For she had seen the world, and stood its test, Without a friend, what were humanity, As I have said in-I forget what page; To hunt our errors up with a good grace? My Muse despises reference, as you have guess'd Consoling us with-" Would you had thought twice! By this time;-but strike six from seven-and-twenty Ah! if you had but follow'd my advice!" And you will find her sum of years in plenty. XLVIII. * LV. Oh, Job! you had two friends: one's quite enough, At sixteen she came out; presented, vaunted, Especially when we are ill at ease; She put all coronets into commotion: They're but bad pilots when the weather's rough, At seventeen too the world was still enchanted )octors less famous for their cures than fees. With the new Venus of their brilliant ocean: Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, At eighteen, though below her feet still panted As they will do like leaves at the first breeze: A hecatomb of suitors with devotion, When your affairs come round, one way or t' other, She had consented to create again Go to the coffee-house, and take another.2 That Adam, call'd "the happiest of men." XLIX. LVI. But this is not my maxim: had it been, Since then she had sparkled through three glowing Some heart-aches had been spared me; yet I care winters, not- Admired, adored; but also so correct, I would not be a tortoise'in his screen That she had puzzled all the acutest hinters, Of stubborn shell, which waves and weather wear not: Without the apparel of being circumspect;'T is better on the whole to have felt and seen They could not even glean the slightest splinters That which humanity may bear, or bear not: From off the marble, which had no defect.'T will teach discernment to the sensitive, She had also snatch'd a moment since her marriage And not to pour their ocean in a sieve. To bear a son and heir-and bne miscarriage. L. LVII. Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast, Those little glitterers of the London night; Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so,"'But none of these possess'd a sting to wound herUtter'd by friends, those prophets of the past, She was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight. Who,'stead of saying what you now should do, Perhaps she wish'd an aspirant profounder; Own they foresaw that you would fall at last, But, whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right; And solace your slight lapse'gainst "bonos mores,'- And whether coldness, pride, or virtue, dignify With a long memorandum of old stories. A woman, so she's good, what does it signify? LI. LTIII. Ihe Lady Adeline's serene severity I hate a motive like a lingering bottle, Was not confined to feeling for her friend, Which with the landlord makes too long a stand, Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity, Leaving all claretlese the unmoisten'd throttle, Unless her habits"should begin to mend; Especially with politics on hand; But Juan also shared in her austerity, I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle, iBut mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was penn'd: Who whirl the dust as Simooms whirl the sana, His inexperience moved her gentle ruth, I hate it, as I hate an argument, And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth. A laureate's ode, or servile peer's " content." LII. LIX. These forty days' advantage of her years-'Tis sad to hack into the roots of things, And hers were those which can face calculation, They are so much intertwisted with the earth: Boldly referring to the list of peers, So that the branch a goodly verdure flings, And noble births, nor dread the enumeration- I reck not if an acorn gave it birth. Gave her a right to have maternal fears To trace all actions to their secret springs For a young gentleman's fit education, Would make indeed some melancholy mirth: Tnolugr she was far from that leap-year, whose leap, But this is not at present my oencern, female dates, striaes ume all of a heap. And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern.3 CANTO XIv. DON JUAN. 685 LX. LXVII. With the kind view of saving an eclat, And, therefore, doubtless, to approve the truth Both to the duchess and diplomatist, Of the last axiom, he advised his spouse The Lady Adeline, as soon's she saw To leave the parties to themselves, forsooth, That Juari was unlikely to resist- At least as far as biensdance allows: (For foreigners don't know that a faux pas That time would temper Juan's faults of youth; In England ranks quite on a different list That young men rarely made menastic vows, From those of other lands, unbless'd with juries, That opposition only more attaeoesWhose verdict for such sin a certain cure is)- But here a messenger brought in despatches: LXI. LXVIII. The Lady Adeline resolved to take And being of the council call'd "the privy," Such measures as she thought might best impede Lord Henry walk'd into his cabinet, The further progress of this sad mistake. To furnish matter for some future Livy She thought with some simplicity indeed; To tell how he reduced the nation's debt; But innocence is bold even at the stake, And if their full contents I do not give ye, And simple in the world, and doth not need It is because I do not know them yet: Nor use those palisades by dames erected, But I shall add them in a brief appendix, Whose virtue lies in never being detected.'To come between mine epic and its index. LXII. LXIX. It was not that she fear'd the very worst: But ere he went, he added a slight hint, His grace ivas an enduring, married man, Another gentle commonplace or two, Andwas not likely all at once to burst Such as are coin'd in conversation's mint, Into a scene, and swell the clients' clan And pass, for want of better, though not new: Of Doctors' Commons; but she dreaded first Then broke his packet, to see what was in't, The magic of her grace's talisman, And having casually glanced it through, And next a quarrel (as he seem'd to fret) Retired; and, as he went out, calmly kiss'd her, With Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. Less like a young wife than an aged sister. LXIII. LXX. Her grace too pass'd for being an intrigante, He was a cold, good, honourable man, And somewhat mgchante in her amorous sphere; Proud of his birth, and proud of every thing, One of those pretty, precious plagues, which haunt A goodly spirit for a state divan, A lover with caprices soft and dear, A figure fit to walk before a king; That like to make a quarrel, when they can't Tall, stately, form'd to lead the courtly van Find one, each day of the delightful year; On birth-days, glorious with a star and strin, Bewitching, torturing, as they freeze or glow, The very model of a chamberlainAnd-what is worst of all-won't let you go: And such I mean to make him when I reign. LXIV. LXXI. The sort of thing to turn a young man's head, But there was something wanting on the whole- - Or make a Werter of him in the end. I don't know what, and therefore cannot tell — No wonder then a purer soul should dread Which pretty women-the sweet souls!-call sou. This sort of chaste liaison for a friend; Certes it was not body, he was well It were much better to be wed or dead, Proportion'd, as a poplai or a pole, Than wear a heart a woman loves to rend. A handsome man, that human miracle;'T is best to pause, and think, ere you rush on, And in each circumstance of love or war, If that a "bonne-fortune" be really "bonne." Had still preserved his perpendicular. LXV. LXXII. And first, in the o'erflowing of her heart, Still there was something wanting, as I've said — Which really knew or thought it knew no guile, That undefinable "je ne sais quoi," She call'd her husband now and then apart, Which, for what I know, may of yore have led And bade him counsel Juan. With a smile, To Homer's Iliad, since it drew to Troy Lord Henry heard her plans of artless art The Greek Eve, Helen, from the Spartan's bed, To wean Don Juan from the siren's wile; Though on the whole, no doubt, the Dardan boy And anSwer'd, like a statesman or a prophet, Was much inferior to King Menelaus,In such guise that she could make nothing of it. But thus it is some women will betray us. LXVI. LXXIII. Firstly, he said, "he never interfered There is an awkward thing-which much perplexes. In any body's business but- the king's:" Unless like wise Tiresias we had proved Next, that " he never judged from what appear'd, By turns the difference of the several sexes: Without strong reason, of those sorts of things:" Neither can show quite how they would be loveoA Thirdly, that "Juan had more brain than beard, The sensual for a short time but connects'.sAnd was not to be held in leading-strings;" The sentimental boasts to be unmoved; And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice, But both together form a kind of centaur'That good but rarely came from good advice." Upon whose back'tis better not *o venture. 31;2 686 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XIV LXXIV. LXXXI. A something all-sufficient for the heart "An oyster may be cross'd in love,"-and whi * Is that for which the sex are always seeking; Because he mopeth idly in his shell, But how to fill up that same vacant part- And heaves a lonely subterraqueous sigh, There lies the rub-and this they are but weak in. Much as a monk may do within his cell: Frail mariners afloat without a chart, And A propos of monks, their piety They run before the wind through high seas breaking; With sloth hath found it difficult to dwell; Andwhentheyhave madetheshore,througheveryshock, Those vegetables of the Catholic creed'T is odd, or odds, it may turn out a rock. Are apt exceedingly to run to seed. LXXV. LXXXIII. There is a flower call'd "love in idleness," Oh, Wilberforce! thou man of black renown, For which see Shakspeare's ever-blooming garden;- Whose merit none enough can sing or say, I will not make his great description less, Thou hast struck one immense colossus down, And beg his British godship's humble pardon, Thou moral Washington of Africa! If, in my extremity of rhyme's distress, But there's another little thing, I own, I touch a single leaf where he is warden; Which you should perpetrate some summer's day, But though the flower is different, with the French And set the other half of earth to rights: Or Swiss Rousseau, cry, " voil la pervenche!" You have freed the blacks-now pray shut up the whites. LXXVI. LXXXIII. Eureka! I have found it! What I mean Shut up the bald-coot bully Alexander; To say is, not that love is idleness, Ship off the holy three to Senegal; But that in love such idleness has been Teach them that " sauce for goose is sauce for gander," An accessory, as I have cause to guess. And ask them how they like to be in thrall. Hard labour's an indifferent go-between; Shut up each high heroic salamander, Your men of business are not apt to express Who eats fire gratis (since the pay's but small)* Much passion, since the merchant-ship, the Argo, Shut up-no, not the king, but the pavilion, Convey'd Medea as her supercargo. Or else'twill cost us all another million. LXXVII. LXXXIV. 4"Beatus ille procul!" from "'negotiis," Shut up the world at large; let Bedlam out, Saith Horace; the great little poet's wrong; And you will be perhaps surprised to find His other maxim, "Noscitur a sociis, All things pursue exactly the same route, Is much more to the purpose of his song; As now with those of soi-disant sound mind. Though even that were sometimes too ferocious, This I could prove beyond a single doubt, Unless good company he kept too long; Were there a jot of sense among mankind; But, in his teeth, whate'er their state or station, But till that point d' appui is found, alas! Thrice happy they who have an occupation! Like Archimedes, I leave earth as't was. LXXVIII. LXXXV. Adam exchanged his paradise for ploughing; Our gentle Adeline had one defectEve made up millinery with fig-leaves- Her heart was vacant, though a splendid mansion; The earliest knowledge from the tree so knowing, Her conduct had been perfectly correct, As far as I know, that the church receives: As she had seen nought claiming its expansion. And'since that time, it need not cost much showing, A wavering spirit may be easier wreck'd, That many of the ills o'er which man grieves, Because'tis frailer, doubtless, than a staunch one; And still more women, spring from not employing But when the latter works its own undoing, Some hours to make the remnant worth enjoying. Its inner crash is like an earthquake's ruin. LXXIX. LXXVI. And hence nigh life is oft a dreary void, She loved her lord, or thought so; but that love A rack of pleasures, where we must invent Cost her an effort, which is a sad toil, A something wherewithal to be annoy'd. The stone of Sysiphus, if once we move Bards may sing what they please about content; Our feelings'gainst the nature of the soil. Contented, when translated, means but cloy'd; She had nothing to complain of, or reprove, And hence arise the woes of sentiment, No bickerings, no connubial turmoil: Blue devils, and blue-stockings, and romances Their union was, a model to behold, Reduced to practice, and perform'd like dances. Serene and noble,-conjugal but,cold. LXXX. LXXXVII. I do declare, upon an affidavit, There was no great disparity of years, Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen; Though much in temper; but they never clash'd: Nor if unto the world I ever gave it, They moved like stars united in their spheres, Woula some believe that such a tale had been: Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd. iBut such intent I never had, nor have it; Where mingled and yet separate appears Some truths are better kept behind a screen, The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd Especially when they would l'; I e lies; Through the serene and placid glassy deep, I therefore deal in oeneralities. Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep. CANTO XIV. DUN JUAN. 687 LXXXVIII. XCV. Now, when she once had ta'en an interest Alas! by all experience, seldom yet In any thing, however she might flatter (I merely quote what I have heard from many) Herself that her intentions were the best, Had lovers not some reason to regret Intense intentions are a dangerous matter: The passion which made Solomon a Zany. Impressions were much stronger than she guess'd, I've also seen some wives (not to forget And gather'd as they run, like growing water, The marriage state, the best or worst of any) Upon her mind; the more so, as her breast Who were the very paragons of wives, Was not at first too readily impress'd. Yet made the misery of at least two lives. LXXXIX. XCVI. But when it was, she had that lurking demon I've also seen some female friends ('tis odd, Of double nature, and thus doubly named- But true-as, if expedient, I could prove) Firmness yclept in heroes, kings, and seamen, That faithful were, through thick and thin, abroad, That is, when they succeed; but greatly blamed At home, far more than ever yet was loveAs obstinacy, both in men and women, Who did not quit me when oppression trod Whene'er their triumph Dales, or star is taned:- Upon me; whom no scandal could remove; And'twill perplex the casuists in morality, Who fought, and fight, in absence too, my battles, To fix the due bounds of this dangerous quality. Despite the snake society's loud rattles. XC. XCVII. Had Bonaparte won at Waterloo, Whether Don Juan -and chaste Adeline It had been firmness; now'tis pertinacity: Grew fiiends in this or any other sense, Must the event decide between the two? Will be discuss'd hereafter, I opine: I leave it to your people of sagacity At present I am glad of a pretence To draw the line between the false and true, To leave them hovering, as the effect is fine, If such can e'er be drawn by man's capacity: And keeps the atrocious reader in suspense; Mv business is with Lady Adeline, The surest way for ladies and for books Who in her way too was a heroine. To bait their tender or their tenter hooks. XCI. XCVIII. She knew not her own heart; then how should I? Whether they rode, or walk'd, or studied Spanish, I think not she was then in love with Juan: To read Don Quixote in the original, If so, she would have had the strength to fly A pleasure before which all others vanish; The wild sensation, unto her a new one: Whether their talk was of the kind call'd " small,' She merely felt a common sympathy Or serious, are the topics I must banish (I will not say it was a false or true one) To the next canto; where, perhaps, I shall In him, because she thought he was in danger? Say something to the purpose, and display Her husband's friend, her own, young, and a stranger. Considerable talent in my way. XCII. XCIX. She was, or thought she was, his friend-and this Above all, I beg all men to forbear Without the farce of friendship, or romance Anticipating aught about the matter: Of Platonism, which leads so oft amiss They'11 only make mistakes about the fair, Ladies who have studied friendship but in France, And Juan, too, especially the latter. Or Germany, where people purely kiss. And I shall take a much more serious air To thus much Adeline would not advance; Than I have yet done in this epic satire. But of such friendship as man's may to man be, It is not clear that Adeline and Juan She was as capable as woman can be. Will fall; but if they do,'t will be their ruin. XCIII. C. No doubt the secret influence of the sex But great things spring from little:-would you think, Will there, as also in the ties of blood, That, in our youth, as dangerous a passion An innocent predominance annex, As e'er brought man and woman to the brink And tune the concord to a finer mood. Of ruin, rose from such a slight occasion If free from passion, which all friendship checks, As few would ever dream could form the link And your true feelings fully understood, Of such a sentimental situation? No friend like to a woman earth discovers, You ll never guess, I'll bet you millions, milliard — So that you have'not been not will be lovers. It all sprung from a harmless game at billiards. XCIV. CI. Love bears within its breast the very germ'T is strange-hut true; for truth is always strtang Of change; and how should this be otherwise? Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, That violent things more quickly find a term How much would novels gain by the exchange Is shown through Nature's whole analogies: Iow differently the world would men beho'a. And how should the most fierce of all be firm? How oft would vice and virtue olaces change Would you have endless lightning in the skies? The new world would be nothing to the old Methinks love's very title says enough: If some Columbus of the moral seas How should " the tender passion" e'er be tough? Would show mankind their souls' antipoaes 688 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XV CII. VI. What "antres vast and deserts idle" then The Lady Adeline, right honourable, Would be discover'd in the human soul! And honour'd, ran a risk of growing less so; What ice-bergs in the hearts of mighty men, For few of the soft sex are very stable With self-love in the centre as their pole! In their resolves-alas! that I should say so! What Anthropophagi are nine of ten They differ as wine differs from its label, Of those who hold the kingdoms in control! When once decanted;-I presume to guess so, Were things but only call'd by their right name, But will not swear: yet both upon occasion, Caesar himself would be ashamed of fame. Till old, may undergo adulteration. VII. But Adeline was of the purest vintage, The unmingled essence of the grape; and yet Bright as a new Napoleon from its mintage, Or glorious as a diamond richly set; CANTlO IXV~*. A page where Time should hesitate to print age, And for which Nature might forego her debtSole creditor whose process doth involve in't The luck of finding every body solvent. I. VIII. AH!-what should follow slips from my reflection: Oh, Death! thou dunnest of all duns! tnou daily Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be Knockest at doors, at first with modest tap, As a propos of hope or retrospection, Like a meek tradesman when approaching palely As though the lurking thought had follow'd free. Some splendid debtor he would take by sap: All present life is but an interjection, But oft denied, as patience'gins to fail, he An "Oh!" or "Ah!" of joy or misery, Advances with exasperated rap, Or a " Ha! ha!" or "Bah!"-a yawn, or "Pooh!" And (if let in) insists, in terms unhandsome, Of which perhaps the latter is most true. On ready money, or " a draft on Ransom." II. IX. But, more or less, the whole's a synocope, Whate'er thou takest, spare awhile poor Beauty! Or a singultus-emblems of emotion, She is so rare, and thou hast so much prey. I'he grand,antithesis to great ennui, What though she now and then may slip from duty, Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean, The more's the reason why you ought to stay. That watery outline of eternity, Gaunt Gourmand! with whole nations for your booty Or miniature at least, as is my notion, You should be civil in a modest way: Which ministers unto the soul's delight, Suppress then some slight feminine diseases, In seeing matters which are out of sight. And take as many heroes as Heaven pleases. III. X. But all are better than the sigh supprest, Fair Adeline, the more ingenuous Corroding in the cavern of the heart, Where she was interested (as was said), Making the countenance a mask of rest, Because she was not apt, like some of us, And turning human nature to an art. To like too readily, or too high bred Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best.; To show it-points we need not now discussDissimulation always sets apart Would give up artlessly both heart and head A corner for herself; and therefore fiction Unto such feelings as seem'd innocent, Is that which passes with least contradiction. For objects worthy of the sentiment. IV. XI. Ah! who can tell? Or, rather, who can not Some parts of Juan's history, which rumour, Remember, without telling, passion's errors? That live gazette, had scatter'd to disfigure, The drainer of ob.ivion, even the sot, She had heard; but women hear with more good humour Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors: Such aberrations than we men of rigour. What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float, Besides his conduct, since in England, grew more He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors; Strict, and his mind assumed a manlier vigour; The ruby glass that shakes within his hand, Because he had, like Alcibiades, Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand. The art of living in all climes with ease. V. XII. And as for love-Oh, Love!- We will proceed. His manner was perhaps the more seductive,'he Lady Adeline Amundeville, Because he ne'er seemed anxious to seduce; A pretty name as one would wish to read, Nothing affected, studied, or constructive Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill. Of-coxcombry or conquest: no abuse Jhere's music in the sighing of a reed; Of his attractions marr'd the fair perspective, Theie's music in the gushing of a rill; To indicate a Cupidon broke, loose, There s music in all things, if men had ears: And seem to say, "resist us if you can"Their earLk -s but an echo of the sDhe"eqs Which makes a dandy while it spoils a man. CANTO XV. DON JUAN. 689 XIII. XX. They are wrong-that's not the way to set about it; I don't know that there may be much ability As, if they told the truth, could well be shown. Shown in this sort of desultory rhyme; But, right or wrong, Don Juan was without it; But there's a conversational facility, In fact, his manner was his own alone: Which may round off an hour upon a time. Sincere he was-at least you could not doubt it, Of this I'm sure at least, there's no servility In listening merely to his voice's tone. In mine irregularity of chime, The devil hath not in all his quiver's choice Which rings what's uppermost of new or hoary, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice. Just as I feel the "improvvisatore." XIV. XXI. By nature soft, his whole address held off " Omnia vult belle Matho dicere-die aliquando Suspicion: though not timid, his regard Et bene, die neutrum, die aliquando male." Was such as rather seem'd to keep aloof, The first is rather more than mortal can do; To shield himself, than put you on your guard: The second may be sadly done or gaily; Perhaps't was hardly quite assured enough, The third is still more difficult to stand to;' But modesty's at times its own reward, The fourth we hear, and see, and say too, daily: Like virtue; and the absence of pretension The whole together is what I could wish Will go much further than there's need to mention. To serve in this conundrum of a dish. XV. XXII. Serene, accomplish'd, cheerful, but not loud; A modest hope-but modesty's my forte, Insinuating without insinuation; And pride my foible:-let us ramble on. Observant of the foibles of the crowd, I meant to make this poem very short, Yet ne'er betraying this in conversation; But now I can't tell where it may not run. Proud with the proud, yet courteously proud, No doubt, if I had wish'd to pay my court So as to make them feel he knew his station To critics, or to hail the setting sun And theirs;-without a struggle for priority, Of tyranny of all kinds, my concision He neither brook'd nor claim'd superiority. Were more;-but I was born for opposition. XVI. XXIII. That is, with men: with women, he was what But then't is mostly on the weaker side: They pleased to make or take him for; and their So that I verily believe if they Imagination's quite enough for that: Who now are basking in their full-blown pride, So that the outline's tolerably fair, Were shaken down, and " dogs had had their day,*' rhey fill the canvas up-and " verbum sat," Though at the first I might by chance deride If once their phantasies be brought to bear Their tumble, I should turn the other way, Upon an object, whether sad or playful, And wax an ultra-royalist in loyalty, They can transfigure brighter than a Raphael. Because I hate even democratic royalty. XVII. XXIV. Adeline, no deep judge of character, I think I should have made a decent spouse, Was apt to add a colouring from her own. If I had never proved the soft condition;'T is thus the good will amiably err, I think I should have made monastic vows, And eke the wise, as has been often shown. But for my own peculiar superstition: Experience is the chief philosopher,'Gainst rhyme I never should have knock'd my brows, But saddest when his science is well known: Nor broken my own head, nor that of Priscian, And persecuted sages teach the schools Nor worn the motley mantle of a poet, Their folly in forgetting there are fools. If some one had not told me to forego it. XVIII. XXV. Was it not so, great Locke? and greater Bacon? But "laissez aller"-knights and dames I sing, Great Socrates? And thou, diviner still,' Such as the times may furnish.'T is a flight Whose lot it is by man to be mistaken, Which seems at first to need no lofty wing, And thy pure creed made sanction of all ill? Plumed by Longinus or the Stagyrite: Redeeming worlds to be by bigots shaken, The difficulty lies in colouring How was thy toil rewarded? We might fill (Keeping the due proportions still in sight) Volumes with similar sad illustrations, With nature manners which are artificial, But leave them to the conscience of the nations. And rendering general that which is especial. XIX. XXVI. I perch upon an humbler promontory, The difference is, that in the days of old Amidst life's infinite variety: Men made the manners; manners now make menWith no great care for what is nicknamed glory, Pinn'd like a flock, and fleeced too in'their fold, But speculating as I cast mine eye At least nine, and a ninth beside of ten. On what may suit or may not suit my story, Now this at all events must render cold And never straining hard to versify Your writers, who must either draw again I rattle on exactly as I'd talk Days better drawn before, or else assume With any body in a ride or walk. The present, with their commonplace costunie 92 690 BYRON'S WORKS.- CANTO XV. XXVII. XXXIV. We'11 do our best to make the best on't:-March! From these they will be careful to select, March, my Muse! If you cannot fly, yet flutter; For this an heiress, and for that a beauty; And when you may not be sublime, be arch, For one a songstress who hath no defect, Or starch, as are the edicts statesmen utter. For t' other one who promises much duty; We surely shall find something worth research: For this a lady no one can reject, Columbus found a new world in a cutter, Whose sole accomplishments were quite a booty; Or brigantine, or pink, of no great tonnage, A second for her excellent connexions; While yet America was in her non-age. A third, because there can be no objections. XXVIII. XXXV. When Adeline, in all her growing sense When Rapp the harmonist embargo'd marriage2 Of Juan's merits and his situation, In his harmonious settlement-(which flourishes Felt on the whole an interest intense- Strangely enough as yet without miscarriage, Partly perhaps because a fresh sensation, Because it breeds no more mouths than it nourishes, Or that he had an air of innocence, Without those sad expenses which disparage Which is for innocence a sad temptation,- What Nature naturally most encourages)As women hate half measures, on the whole, Why call'd, he "Harmony" a state sans wedlock? She'gan to ponder how to save his soul. Now here I have got the preacher at a dead lock. XXIX. XXXVI. She had a good opinion of advice, Because he either meant to sneer at harmony Like all who give and eke receive it gratis, Or marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly. For which small thanks are still the market price, Bt whether reverend Rapp learn'd this in Germany Even where the article at highest rate is. Or no,is said his sect is rich and godly, She thought upon the subject twice or thrice, Pious and pure, beyond what I can term any And morally decided, the best state is, Of ours, although they propagate more broadly. For morals, marriage; and, this question carried, My objection's to his title, not his ritual, She seriously advised him to get married. Although Iwonder how it grew habitual. XXX. ~~~~~~XXXVII. But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons, Juan replied, with all becoming deference, He had a predilection for that tie; Who favour, malgrd Malthus, generationHe had a predilection for that tie; But that at present, with immediate reference Professors of that genial art, and patrons To his own circumstances, there might lie Of all the modest part of propagation,' Which after all at such a desperate rate runs, Some difficulties, as in his own preference, T h That half its produce tends to emigration, Or that of her to whom he might apply; ha lt te to atio That sad result of passions and potatoes — That still he'd wed with such or such a lady, T d wi p oatos Two weeds which pose our economic Catos. If that they were not married all already. XXXVIII. XXXVIII. XXXI. Had Adeline read Malthus? I can't tell; Next to the making matches for herself, I wish she had: his book's the eleventh commandment And daughters, brothers, sisters, kith or kin, Which says, "thou shalt not marry"-unless well: Arranging them like books on the same shelf, This he (as far as I can understand) meant: There's nothing women love to dabble in'Tis not my purpose on his views to dwell, More (like a stockholder in growing pelf) Nor canvass what "so eminent a hand" meant;3 Than match-making in general:'t is no sin But certes it coducts to lives ascetic, Certes, but a preventative, and therefore Or turning marriage into arithmetic. That is, no doubt, the only reason wherefore. XXXIX XXXII. But Adeline, who probably presumed But never yet (except of course a miss That Juan had enough of maintenance, Unwed, or mistress never to be wed, Or separate maintenance, in case't was doom'dOr wed already, who object to this) As on the whole it is an even chance Was there chaste dame who had not in her head That bridegrooms, after they are fairly groom'd, Some drama of the marriage unities, May retrograde a little in the danoe Observed as strictly both at board and bed, Of marriage-(which might form a painter's fame, As those of Aristotle, though sometimes Like Holbein's "Dance of Death — but't is the same): They turn out melodrames or pantomimes. XL. XXXIII. But Adeline determined Juan's wedding, They generally have some only son, In her own mind, and that's enough for woman. Some heir to a large property, some friend But then,with whom? There was the sage Miss Reading, Of an old family, some gay Sir John, Miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and Miss Or grave Lord George, with whom perhaps might end Knowman, A;ae, and leave poste ity undone, And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding. Unlesa a marriage was applied to mend She deem'd his merits something more than common. The prospect and their morsa: and besides, All these were unobjectionable matches, Thev have at hand as blooming glut of brides. And might go on, if well wound up, like watchea. vANTO XV. DON JUAN. 691 XLI. XLVIII. There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer's sea, Now it so happsn'd, in the catalogue That usual paragon, an only daughter, Of Adeline, Aurora was omitted, Who seem'd the cream of equanimity, Although her birth and wealth had given her vogue Till skimm'd-and then there was some milk and Beyond the charmers we have already cited: water, Her beauty also seem'd to form no clog With a slight shade of Blue too it might be, Against her being mention'd as well fitted Beneath the surface; but what did it matter? By many virtues, to be worth the trouble Love's riotous, but marriage should have quiet, Of single gentlemen who would be double. And, being consumptive, live on a milk diet. XLIX. XLII. And this omission, like that of the bust And then there was the Miss Audacia Shoestring, Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius, A dashing demoiselle of good estate, Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must. Whose heart was fix'd upon a star of bluestring; This he express'd half smiling and half serious, But whether English dukes grew rare of late, When Adeline replied with some disgust, Or that she nad not harp'd upon the true string, And with an air, to say the least, imperious, By which such sirens can attract our great, She marvell'd "what he saw in such a baby She took up with some foreign younger brother, As that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby?" A Russ or Turk-the one's as good as t' other.L. XLIII. Juan rejoin'd —" She was a Catholic, And then there was-but why should I go on, And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion; Unless the ladies should go off?-there was Since he was sure his mother would fall sick, Indeed a certain fair and fairy one, And the Pope thunder excommunication, Of the best class, and better than her class,- If-" But here Adeline, who seem'd to pique Aurora Raby, a young star who shone Herself extremely on the inoculation O'er life, too sweet an image for such glass, Of others with her own opinions, statedA lovely being, scarcely form'd or moulded, As usual-the same reason which she late di. A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded; LI. XLIV. ~.~XL, V. ^,*,And wherefore not? A reasonable reason, Rich, noble, but an orphan left an only -. Rich, noble, but an orphan; left an only. If good, is none the worse for repetition; Child to the care of guardians good and kind; s c y t t If bad, the best way's certainly to tease on But still her aspect had an air so lonely! concision Blood is not water; and where shall we find Whereas insisting in or out of season Whereas insisting in or out of season Feelings of youth like those which overthrown lie Convinces all n, even a politician; Convinces all men, even a politician; By death, when we are left, alas! behind, Or-what is just the same-it wearies out. To feel, in friendless palaces, a home So the end's gain'd, what signifies the route? Is wanting, and. our best ties in the tomb? XLV. LII Early in years, and yet more infantine Ihy Adeline had this slight prejudiceIn figure, she had something of sublime For prejudice it was-against a creature In eyes which sadly shone, as seraphs' shine. As pure as sanctity itself from vice, All youth-but with an aspect beyond time; ith all the added charm of form and feature, Radiant and grave-as pitying man's decline; For me appears a question fr too nice, Mournful-but mournful of another's crime, Since Adeline was libera bynature; She look'd as if she sat by Eden's door, But nature's nature, and has more caprices And grieved for those who could return no more. Than I have time, or will, to take to pieces. XLVI. LIII. She was a Catholic too, sincere, austere, Perhaps she did not like the quiet way As far as her own gentle heart allow'd, With which Aurora on those baubles look'd, And deem'd that fallen worship far more dear, Which charm most people in their earlier day: Perhaps because't was fallen: her sires were proud For there are few things by mankind less brook Of deeds and days when they had fill'd the ear And womankind too, if we so may say, Of nations, and had never bent or bow'd Than finding thus their genius stand rebuked, To novel power; and as she was the last, Like "Antony's by Caesar," by the few She held their old faith and old feelings fast. Who look upon them as they ought to do. XLVII. LIV. She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew, It was not envy-Adeline had none; As seeking not to know it; silentf lone, Her place was far beyond it, and her mnld. As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew, It was not scorn-which could not light on one And kept her heart serene within its zone. Whose greatest fault was leaving few to find. There was awe in the homage which she drew; It was not jealousy, I think: but shun Her spirit seem'd as seated on a, throne Following the "ignes fatui" of mankind, Apart from the surrounding world, and strong It was not — but't is easier far, alas? In its own, strength-most strange in one so young. To say what it was not, than what it was 692 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO X? LV. LXII. Little Aurora deem'd she was the theme Great things were now to be achieved at table, Of such discussion. She was there a guest, With massy plate for armour, knives and forks A beauteous ripple of the brilliant stream For weapons; but what Muse since Homer's able Of rank and youth, though purer than the rest, (His feasts are not the worst part of his works) Which flow'd on for a moment in the beam To draw up in array a single day-bill Time sheds a moment o'er each sparkling crest. Of modern dinners? where more mystery lurks Had she known this, she would have calmly smiled- In soups or sauces, or a sole ragout, She had so much, or little, of the child. Than witches, b-ches, or physicians brew. LVI. LXIII. The dashing and proud air of Adeline There was a goodly "soupe t la bonne femme," Imposed not upon her: she saw her blaze Though God knows whence it came from; there was too Much as she would have seen a glow-worm shine, A turbot for relief of those who cram, Then turn'd unto the stars for loftier rays. Relieved with dindon i la Perigueux; Juan was something she could not divine, There also was-the sinner that I am! Being no sibyl in the new world's ways; How shall I get this gourmand stanza through? Yet she was nothing dazzled by the meteor, Soupe h la Beauveau, whose relief was dory, Because she did not pin her faith on feature. Relieved itself by pork, for greater glory. LVII. LXIV. His fame too,-for he had that kind of fame But I must crowd all into one grand mess Which sometimes plays the deuce with womankind, Or mass; for should I stretch into detail, A heterogeneous mass of glorious blame, My Muse would run much more into excess, Half virtues and whole vices being combined? Than when soYne squeamish people deem her frail. Faults which attract because they are not tame; But, though a " bonne vivante," I must confess Follies trick'd out so brightly that they blind:- Her stomach's not her peccant part: this tale These seals upon her wax made no impression, However doth require some slighlt refection, Such was her coldness or her self-possession. Just to relieve her spirits from dejection. LVIII. LXV. Juan knew nought of such a character- Fowls h la Conde, slices eke of salmon, High, yet resembling not his lost Haidee; With sauces Genevoise, and haunch of venison; Yet each was radiant in her proper sphere: Wines too which might again have slain young Ammon, The island girl, bred up by the lone sea, A man like whom I hope we sha'n't see many soon; More warm, as lovely, and not less sincere, They also set a glazed Westphalian ham on, Was nature's all: Aurora could not be Whereon Apicius would bestow his benison; Nor would be thus;-the difference in them And then there was champagne with foaming whirls, Was such as lies between.a flower and gem. As white as Cleopatra's melted pearls. LIX. LXVI. Having wound up with this sublime comparison, Then there was God knows what "' l'Allemande," Methinks we may proceed upon our narrative, "A l'Espagnole," "timballe," and Salpicon"And, as my friend Scott says, "I sound my Warison;" With things I can't withstand or understand, Scott, the superlative of my comparative- Though swallow'd with much zest upon the whole; Scott, who can paint your Christian knight or Saracen, And "entremets" to piddle with at hand, Serf, lord, man, with such skill as none would share Gently to lull down the subsiding soul; it, if While great Lucullus' robe triomphale muffles there had not been one Shakspeare and Voltaire, (There's fame)-young partridge fillets, deck'd with Of one or both of whom he seems the heir. truffles.4 LX. LXVII. I say, in my slight way I may proceed What are the fillets on the victor's brow To play upon the surface of humanity. To these? They are rags or dust. Where is the arch I write the world, nor care if the world read, Which nodded to the nation's spoils below? At least for this I cannot spare its vanity. Where the triumphal chariot's haughty march? My Muse hath bred, and still perhaps may breed Gone to where victories must like dinners go. More foes by this same scroll::hen I began it, I Further I shall not follow the research: Thought that it might turn out so-now I know it, But oh! ye modern heroes with your cartridges, But still I am, or was, a pretty poet. When will your names lend lustre even to partridges? LXI. LXVIII. The conference or congress (for it ended Those truffles too are no bad accessaries, As congresses of late do) of the Lady Follow'd by "petits puits d'amour,"-a dish A,'eline and Don Juan rather blended Of which perhaps the cookery rather varies, Some acids with the sweets-for she was heady; So every one may dress it to his wish, But. ere tne matter coula oe marr'd or mended, According to the best of dictionaries, The silvery bell rung, not for "dinner ready," Which encyclopaedise both flesh and fish; But for that hour, call'd half-hour, given to dress, But even sans "confitures," it no less true is, though ladies' robes seem scant enough for less. There's pretty picking m those "petits puits."' CANTO XV. DON JUAN. 693 LXIX.'LXXVI. rhe mind is lost in mighty contemplation I sometimes almost think that eyes have ears: Of intellect expended on two courses; This much is sure, that, out of ear-shot, things And indigestion's. grand multiplication Are somehow echoed to the pretty dears, Requires arithmetic beyond my forces. Of which I can't tell whence their knowledge springs; Who would suppose, from Adam's simple ration, Like that same mystic music of the spheres, That cookery could have call'd fqrth such resources, Which no one hears so loudly though it rings. As form a science and a nomenclature' T is wonderful how oft the sex have heard From out the commonest demands of nature? Long dialogues which pass'd without a word! LXX. LXXVII. The glasses jingled, and the palates tingled; Aurora sat with that indifference The diners of celebrity dined well; Which piques a preux chevalier-as it ought: The ladies with more moderation mingled Of all offences that's the worst offence, In the feast, pecking less than I can tell; Which seems to hint you are not worth a thought. Also the younger men too; for a springald. Now Juan, though no coxcomb in pretence, Can't like ripe age in gourmandise excel, Was not exactly pleased to be so caught But thinks less of good eating than the whisper Like a good ship entangled among ice,< (When seated next him) of some pretty lisper. And after so much excellent advice. LXXI. LXXVIII. Alas! I must leave undescribed the gibier, To his gay nothings, nothing was replied, The salmi, the consommee, the pure, Or something which was nothing, as urbanity All which I use to make my rhymes run glibber Required. Aurora scarcely look'd aside, Than could roast beef in our rough John Bull way: Nor even smiled enough for any vanity. I must not introduce even a spare rib here, The devil was in the girl! Could it be pride, "Bubble and squeak" would spoil my liquid lay; Or modesty, or absence, or inanity? But I have dined, and must forego, alas! Heaven knows! But Adeline's malicious eyes The chaste description even of a "becasse," Sparkled with her successful prophecies, LXXI. LXXIX. And fruits, and ice, and all that art refines And look'd as much as if to say, "I said it;" — From nature for the service of the gofit,- A kind of triumph I'11 not recommend, Taste or the godu,-pronounce it as inclines Because it sometimes, as I've seen or read it, Your stomach. Ere you dine, the French will do; Both in the case of lover and of friend, But after, there are sometimes certain signs Will pique a gentleman, for his own credit, Which prove plain English truer of the two. To bring what was a jest to a serious end; fHast ever had the gout? I have not had it- For all men prophesy what is or was, But I may have, and you too, reader, dread it. And hate those who won't let them come to pass. LXXIII. -LXXX. The simple olives, best allies of wine, Juan was drawn thus into some attentions, Must I pass over in my bill of fare? Slight but select, and just enough to express, I must, although a favourite "plat" of mine To females of perspicuous comprehensions, In Spain,'and Lucca, Athens, every where: That he would rather.make them more than less. On them and bread't was oft my luck to dine, Aurora at the last (so history mentions, The grass my table-cloth, in open air, Though probably much less a fact than guess) On Sunium or Hymettus, like Diogenes, So fa relax'd her thoughts from their sweet prison, Of whom half my philosophythe progeny is. As once or twice to smile, if not to listen.. LXXIV. LXXXI. Amidst this tumult of fish, flesh, and fowl, From answering, she began to question: this And vegetables, all in masquerade, With her was rare; and Adeline, who as yet The guests were placed according to their roll, Thought her predictions went not much amiss, But various as the various meats display'd: Began to dread she'd thaw to a coquetteDon Juan sate next an "a l'Espagnole "- So very difficult, they say, it is No damsel, but a dish, as hath been said; To keep extremes from meeting, when once mA But so far like a lady, that'twas drest In motion; but she here too much refinedSuperbly, and contain'd a world of zest. Aurora's spirit was not of that kind. LXXV.. LXXXII. By some odd chance too he was placed between But Juan had a sort of winning way, Aurora and the Lady Adeline- A proud humility, if ich there be, A situation difficult, I ween, Which show'd such deferenoe to what females say For man therein, with eyes and heart, to dine. As if each charming word were a decree. Also the conference which we have seen His tact too temper'd him from grave to gay, Was not such as to encourage him to. shine; And taught him when to be reserved or free: For Adeline, addressing few words to him, He had the art of drawing people out, With two transcendent eyes seem'd to look through him. Without their seeing what he was about 8M 694 BYRON'S WORKS. CANi7 O Xt; LXXXIII. XC. Aurora, who in her indifference Some millions must be wrong, that's pretty clear Confounded him in common with the crowd Perhaps it may turn out that all were right. (f flutterers, though she deem'd he had more sense God help us! Since we've need on our career Than whispering foplings, or than wintmgs.oud,- To keep our no.y beacons always oright, Commenced (from such slight things will great com-'Tis time that some new prophet should appea mence) Or old indulge man with a second-sight. To feel that flattery which attracts the proud Opinions wear out in some thousand years, Rather by deference than compliment, Without a small refreshment from the spheres And wins even by a delicate dissent. C LXXXIV. EBut here again, why will I thus entangle And then he had good looks;-that point was carried Myself with metaphysics? None can hate N1em. con. amongst the women, which I grieve So much as I do any kind of wrangle; To say, leads oft to crim. con. with the married- Ad yet such is my folly, or my fate, A case which to the juries we may leave, I always knock my head against some angle Since with digressions we too long have tarried. About the present, past, and future state Now though we know of old that looks deceive, Yet I wish well to Trojan and to Tyrian, And always have done, somehow these good looks For Iwas bred a moderate Presbyterian. Make more impression than the best of books. LXXXV. XCII. But though I am a temperate theologian, Aurora, who look'd more on books than faces, And also meek as a metaphysician, Was very young, although so very sage, Admiring more Minerva than the G0races, IImpartial between Tyrian and Trojan, Especally uon a printed page. As Eldon on a lunatic commission,Especially upon a printed page. But virtue's self, with all her tightest laces, In politics, my duty to show Joh Has t the natural stays ofstrictold age Bull something of the lower world's condition. Has -ot the natural stays of strict old age; And Socrates, that model of- all duty, It makes my blood boil like the springs of Hecla, Own'd to a penchant, though discreet, for beauty. To see men let these scoundrel sovereins brea law LXXXVI. XCIII. And girls of sixteen are thus far Socratic, But politics, and policy, and piety, But innocently so, as Socrates: - Are topics which I sometimes introduce, And really, if the sage sublime and Attic Not only for the sake of their variety, At seventy years had phantasies like these, But as subservient to a moral use; Which Plato in his dialogues dramatic Because my business is to dress society, Has shown, I know not why they should displease And stuff with sage that very verdant goose. In virgins-always in a modest way, And now, that we may furnish with some matter all Observe; for that with me's a "sine qua."s Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural. LXXXVII. XCIV. Also observe, that like the great Lord Coke, And now I will give up all argument: (See Littleton) whene'er I have express'd And positively henceforth no tempation Opinions two, which at first sight may look Shall "fool me. to the top up of my bent; Twin opposites, the second is the best. Yes, I'll begin a thorough reformation. Perhaps I have a third too in a nook, Indeed I never knew what people meant Or none at all-which seems a sorry jest; By deeming that my Muse's conversation But if a writer should be quite consistent, Was dangerous;-I think she is as harmless How could he possibly show things existent? As some who labour more and yet may charm less. LXXXVIII. XCV. If people contradict themselves, can I XCV. Help contradicting them, and every body, Grim reader! did you ever see a ghost? Even my veracious self?-but that's a lie; but you've heard-I understand-be dumb I never did so, never will-how should I? And don't regret the time you may have lost, IHe who doubts all things, nothing can deny; For you have got that pleasure still to come; Ho who doubts all things, -nothing can deny; truth's fountains may be clear-her streams are And do not think I mean to sneer at most Jmuddy, Of these things, or by ridicule benumb And cut through such canals of contradiction, That source of the sublime and the mysterious'That she must often navigate o'er fiction. For certain reasons my belief is serious. LXXXIX. XCVI. Apologue, fable, poesy, and parable, Serious? You laugh:-you may; that will I not Are false, but may be render'd also true My smiles must be sincere or not at all. By those wno sow them in a land that's arable. I say I do believe a haunted spot T is wonderful what fable will not do! Exists-and where? That shall I not recall,'T is said it makes reality more bearable: Because I'd rather it should be forgot. B st what's reality? Who has its clue? " Shadows the soul of Richard" may appal: Philosophy? No; she too much rejects. In short, upon that subject I've some qualms, v"ry Religion7? Yes* but which of all her sects? Like those of the philosopher of Malmsburv.' IASVTO XVI. DON JUAN. 690 XCVII. IV. [he night (I sing by night-sometimes an owl, But of all truths which she has told, the most And now and then a nightingale)-is dim, True is that which she is about to tell. And the loud shriek of sage Minerva's fowl I said it was a story of a ghostRattles around me her discordant hymn: What then? I only know it so befell. Old portraits from old walls upon me scowl- Have you explored the limits of the coast I wish to heaven they would not look so grim; Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell The dying embers dwindle in the grate —'T is time to strike such puny doubters dumb as I think too that I have sate up too late: The sceptics who would not believe Columbus. XCVIII. V. And therefore, though't is by no means my way Some people would Impose now with authority, To rhyme at noon-when I have other things Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle; To think'of, if I ever think,-I say Men whose historical superiority I feel some chilly midnight shudderings, Is always greatest at a miracle. And prudently postpone, until mid-day, But Saint Augustine has the great priority, Treating a topic which, alas! but brings Who bids all men believe the impossible, Shadows;-but you must be in my condition Because't is so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he Before you learn to call this superstition. Quiets at once with "quia impossibile." XCIX. VI. Between two worlds life hovers like a star, And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all; "'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge: Believe: —if'tis improbable you must; How little do we know that which we are! And if it is impossible, you shall: How less what we may be! The eternal surge'T is always best to take things upon trust. Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar I do not speak profanely to recall Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge, Those holier mysteries, which the wise and just Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves Receive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, Of empires heave but like some passing waves. As all truths must, the more they are disputed. VII. I merely mean to say what Johnson said, That in the course of some six thousand years, All nations have believed that from the dead CANXT^~O'~TI~ ^A visitant at intervals appears; ^ ~CANTO XVI. "And what is strangest upon this strange head, Is that whatever bar the reason rears'Gainst such belief, there's something stronger stiA In its behalf, let those deny who will. I., VIII. THE antique Persians taught three useful things,- The dinner and the soirde too were done, To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth. The supper too discuss'd, the dames admired, This was the mode of Cyrus-best of kings- The banqueters had dropp'd off one by oneA mode adopted since by modern youth. The song was silent, and the dance expired: Bows have they, generally with two strings; The last thin petticoats were vanish'd, gone, Horses they ride without remorse or ruth; Like fleecy clouds into the sky retired, At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever, And nothing brighter gleam'd through the saloon But draw the long bow oetter now than ever. Than dying tapers-and the peeping moon. II. IX. The cause of this effect, or this defect, The evaporation of a joyous day "For this effect defective comes by cause,"- Is like the last glass of champagne, without Is what I have not leisure to inspect; The foam which made its virgin bumper gay; But this I must say in my own applause, Or like a system coupled with a doubt; Of all the Muses that I recollect, Or like a soda-bottle, when its spray Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws Has sparkled and let half its spirit out; In some things, mine's beyond all contradictio i Or like a billow left by storms behind, The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction. Without the animation of the wind; III. X. And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats Or like an opiate which brings troubled rest, From any thing, this Epic will contain Or none; or like-like nothing that I knJw A wilderness of the most rare conceits, Except itself;-such is the human breast; Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain. A thing, of which similitudes can show'Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets, No real likeness,-like the ota Tyrian ves Yet mix'd so slightly that you can't complain, Dyed purple, none at presert can tell how But wonder they so few are, since my tale is If from a shell-fish or from cocnineal. " De rebus cunctis et quiblusdam alils." So perish every tyrant's'obe piecemeal' 696 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XVI XI. XVIII. But next to dressing' for a rout or ball, The forms, of the grim knights and pictured saints Undressing is a woe; our robe-de-chambre Look living in the moon; and as you turn May sit like that of Nessus, and recall Backward and forward to the echoes faint Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber. Of your own footsteps-voices from the urn Titus exclaim'd, "I've lost a dav!" Of all Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint The nights and days most peop.e can remember, Start from the frames which fence their aspects step (I have had of both, some not to be disdain'd), As if to ask how can you dare to keep I wish they'd state how many they have gain'd. A vigil there, where all but death should sleep. XII. XIX. And Juan, on retiring for the night, And the pale smile of beauties in the grave, Felt restless and perplex'd, and compromised; The charms of other days, in starlight gleams He thought Aurora Raby's eyes more bright Glimmer on high; their buried locks still wave Than Adeline (such is advice) advised; Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams If he had known exactly his own plight, On ours, or spars within some dusky cave, He probably would have philosophized; But death is imaged in their shadowy beams. A great resource to all, and ne'er denied A picture is the past; even ere its frame Till wanted; therefore Juan only sigh'd. Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same. XIII. XX. He sigh'd;-the next resource is the full moon, As Juan mused on mutability, Where all sighs are deposited; and now, Or on his mistress-terms synonymousIt happend luckily, the chaste orb shone No sound except the echo of his sigh As clear as such a climate will allow;'Or step ran sadly through that antique house, And Juan's mind was in the proper tone When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh, To hail her With the apostrophe-" Oh, thou!" A supernatural agent-or a mouse, Of amatory egotism the tuism, Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass Which further to explain would be a truism. Most people, as it plays' along the arras. XIV. XXI. But lover, poet, or astronomer, It was no mouse, but lo! a monk, array'd Shepherd, or swain, whoever may behold, In cowl and beads and dusky garb, appear'd, Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her: Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade, Great thoughts we catch from thence (besides a cold With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard; Sometimes, unless my feelings rather err); His garments only a slight murmur made; Deep secrets to her rolling light are told; He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, 1 he ocean's tides and mortals' brains she sways, But slowly; and as he pass'd Juan by, And also hearts, if there be truth in lays. Glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye. XV. XXII. Juian felt somewhat pensive, and disposed Juan was petrified; he had heard a hint For contemplation rather than his pillow; Of such a spirit in these halls of old,' The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed, But thought, like most men, there was nothing im Let in the rippling sound of the lake's billow, Beyond the rumour which such spots unfold, With all the mystery by midnight caused; Coin'd from surviving superstition's mint, Below his window waved (of course) a willow; Which passes ghosts in currency like gold, And he stood gazing out on the cascade But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper. That flash'd and after darken'd in the shade. And did he see this? or was it a vapour? XVI. XXIII. Upon his table or his toilet-which Once, twice, thrice pass'd, repass'd-the thing of ail Of these is not exactly ascertain'd- Or earth beneath, or heaven, or't other place; (I state this, for I am cautious to a pitch And Juan gazed upon it with a stare, Of nicety, where a fact is to be gain'd) Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base A lamp burn'd high, while he leant from a niche, As stands a statue, stood: he felt his hair Where many a Gothic ornament remain'd, Twine like a knot of snakes around his face; In chisell'd stone and painted glass, and all He tax'd his tongue for words, which were not granted That time has left our fathers of their hall To ask the reverend person what he wanted. XVII. XXIV. Then, as the night was clear, though cold, he threw The third time, after a still longer pause, His chamber-door wide open-and went forth The shadow pass'd away-but where? the hall Into a gallery, of a sombre hue, Was long, and thus far there was no great cause Long, filrnish'd with old pictures of great worth, To think his vanishing unnatural: Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too, Doors there were many, through which, by the laws As doubtless should be people of high birth. Of physics, bodies, whether short or tall, But by dim lignts the portraits of the dead Might come or go; but Juan could not state Have sometbing thastly, desolate, and' dread. Through which the spectre seen'd to evaporate. CANTO XVl. DON JUAN. 697 XXV. XXXII. He stood, how long he knew not, but it seem'd But seeing him all cold and silent stili, An age-expectant, powerless, with his eyes And every body wondering' more or less, Strain'd on the spot where first the figure gleam'd; Fair Adeline inquired if he were ill? Then by degrees recall'd his energies, He stalted, and said, "Yes-no-rather-yes." And would have pass'd the whole off as a dream, The family physician had great skill, But could not wake; he was, he did surmise, And, being present, now began to express Waking already, and return'd at length His readiness to feel his pulse, and tell Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength. The cause, but Juan said, "he was quite well." XXVI. XXXIII. All there was as he left it; still his taper J" Quite well; yes, no."-These answers were myste Burnt, and not blue, as modest tapers use, rious, Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour; And yet his looks appear'd to sanction both, He rubb'd his eyes, and they did not refuse However they might savour of delirious; Their office; he took up an old newspaper; Something like illness of a sudden growth The paper was right easy to peruse; Weigh'd on his spirit, though by no means serious. He read an article the king attacking, But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth And a long eulogy of "Patent Blacking." To state the case, it might be ta'en for granted, ~~~XXVII. ~ It was not the physician that he wanted. This savour'd of this world; but his hand shook- XXXIV. He shut his door, and after having read Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his chocolate, A paragraph, I think about Home Tooke, Also the muffin, whereof he complained, Undress'd, and rather slowly went to bed. Undress'd, and rather slowly-went to bed. Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate, There, couch'd all snugly on his pillow's nook, At which he marvell'd, since it had not rain'd; With what he'd seen his phantasy he fed, Then ask'd her grace what news were of the duke of late? And though it was no opiate, slumber crept Her grace replied, h grace as rather pain'd Upon him by degrees, and so he slept. With some slight, light, hereditary twinges Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges. XXVIII. XXXV XXXV. He woke betimes; and, as may be supposed, Then eny turn' to Juanand addressed Ponder'd upon his visitant or vision, A few words of condolence on his state: And whether it ought not to be disclosed, "You look," quoth he, " as if you'd had your rest At risk of being quizz'd for superstition. Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late." The more he thought, the more his mind was posed; hat frir?" said Juan e d In the mean time his valet, whose precision'o put ith an air sedae To put the question With an air sedate, Was great, because his master brook'd no less, Or careess but the effrt was not valid Knock'd to inform him it was time to dress. To hinder himn from growing still more pallid. XXIX. XXXVI. He dress'd; and, like young people, he was wont " Oh! have you never heard of the Black Friar? To take some trouble with his toilet, but The spirit of these walls?"-"In truth not I." This morning rather spent less time upon't; " "Why fame-but fame you know sometime's a liarAside his very mirror soon was put: Tells an odd story, of which by the by: His curls fell negligently o'er his front, Whether with time the spectre has grown shyer, His clothes were not curb'd to their usual cut, Or that our sies h re had a more gifted eye His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied For such sights, though the tale is half believed, Almost a hair's breadth too much on one side. The friar of late has not been oft perceived. XXX. XXXVII. And when he walk'd down into the saloon, "The last time was-" "I pray," said AdelineHe sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea, (Who watch'd the changes of Don Juan's brow, Which he perhaps had not discover'd soon, And from its context thought she could divine Had it not happen'd scalding hot to be, Connexions stronger than he chose to avow Which made him have recourse unto his spoon; With this same legend),-" if you but design So much distrait he was, that all could see To jest, you'11 choose some other theme just now, That something was the matter-Adeline Because the present tale has oft been told, The first-but what she could not well divine. And is not much improved by growing old." XXXI. XXXVIII. She look'd and saw him pale, and turn'd as pale "Jest!" quoth Milor, "Why, Adeline, you know Herself; then hastily look'd down and mutter'd That we ourselves-'twas in the honey-moonSomething, but what's not stated in my tale. Saw-" "Well, no matter,'twas so long ago; Lord Henry said, his muffin was ill butter'd; But come, I'll set your story to a tune." The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke play'd with her veil, Graceful as Dian when she draws her bow, And look'd at Juan hard, but nothing utter'd. She seized her harp, whose strings were kindled wu, Aurora Raby, with her large dark eyes, As touch'd, and plaintively began to play Survey'd him with' a kind of calm surprise. The air of "'T was a Friar of Orders Griy." 3 e2 9 098 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XV[ XXXIX. 6. " But add [he words," cried Henry, "which you made, Say nought to him as he walks the hall, For Adeline is half a poetess," And he'll say nought to you: 1 tirning round to the rest, he smiling said. He sweeps along in his dusky pall, Of course the others could not but express As o'er the grass the dew. In courtesy their wish to see display'd Then gramercy! for the Black Friar; By one three talents, for there were no less- Heaven sain him! fair or foul, The voice, the words, the harper's skill, at once And whatsoe'er may be his prayer, Could hardly be united by a dunce. Let ours be for his soul. XL. XLI. After some fascinating hesitation,- The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling wires The charming of these charmers, who seem bound, Died from the touch that kindled them to sound, I can't tell why, to this dissimulation- And the pause follow'd, which, when song expires, Fair Adeline, with eyes fix'd on the ground Pervades a moment those who listen round; At first, then kindling into animation, And then of course the circle much admires, Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound, Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound, And sang with much simplicity,-a merit The tones, the feeling, and the execution, Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it. To the performer's diffident confusion. 1. XLII. Beware! beware! of the Black Friar, Fair Adeline, though in a careless way, Who sitteth by Norman stone, As if she rated such accomplishment For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air, As the mere pastime of an idle day, And his mass of the days that are gone. Pursued an instant for her own content, When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville, Would now and then as'twere without display, Made Norman Church his prey, Yet with display in fact, at times relent And expell'd the friars, one friar still To such performances with haughty smile, Would not be driven away. To show she could, if it were worth her while. 2. XLIII. Though he came in his might, with King Henry's right, Now this (but we will whisper it aside) To turn church lands to lay, Was-pardon the pedantic illustrationWith sword in hand, and torch to light Trampling on Plato's pride with greater pride, Their walls, if they said nay, As did the Cynic on some like occasion; A monk remain'd, unchased, unchain'd, Deeming the sage would be much mortified, And he did not seem form'd of clay, Or thrown into a philosophic passion, For he's seen in the porch, and he's seen in the church, For a spoil'd carpet-but the "Attic Bee" Though he is not seen by day. Was much consoled by his own repartee.2 3. XLIV. And whether for good, or whether for ill, Thus Adeline would throw into the shade It is not mine to say; (By doing easily, whene'er she chose, But still to the house of Amundeville, What dilettanti do with vast parade), He abideth night and day. Their sort of half profession: for it grow Bly the marriage-bed of their lords,'t is said, To something like this when too oft display'd, He flits on the bridal eve; And that it is so every body knows And'tis held as faith, to their bed of death Who've heard Miss That or This, or Lady T' other He comes-but not to grieve. Show off —to please their company or mother. 4. XLV. When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn, Oh! the long evenings of duets and trios! And when aught is to befall The admirations and the speculations; That ancient line, in the pale moonshine The "Mamma Mias!" and the "Amor Mios!" He wals from hall to hall. The "Tanti Palpitis" on such occasions: His firm you may trace, but not his face, The "Lasciamis," and quavering "Addios!"'Tis shadow'd by h;s cowl; Amongst our own most musical of nations; lBit his eyes maybe seen from the folds between, With "Tu mi chamases" from Portingale, And they seem of a parted soul. To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail.3 5. XLVI. itnt oeware! beware of the Black Friar, In Babylon's bravuras-as the home fie still retains his sway, Heart-ballads of Green Erin or GrayHighlands, For he is yet the church's heir, That bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam Whoever may be the lay. O'er far Atlantic continents or islands, Amunaeville is lord by day, The calentures of music w*nich o'ercome But the monk is lord by night, All mountaineers with dreams that they are nigh lands, Nor wine not wassail could raise a vassal No more to be beheld but in such visions, —'to question that friar's right. Was Adeline well versed as compositions. SANTO XVI. DON JUAN. 699 XLVII. LIV. She also had a twilight tinge of "Blue," Of these few could say more than has been said; Couldwriterhymes, andcomposemorethanshewrote; They pass'd, as such things do, for superstition Made epigrams occasionally too With some, while others, who had more in dread Upon her friends, as every body ought. The theme, half credited the strange tradition; But still from that sublimer azure hue, And much was talk'd on all sides on that head; So much the present dye, she was remote; But Juan, when cross-question'd on the vision, Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet, Which some supposed (though he had not avow'd it And, what was worse, was not ashamed to show it. Had stirr'd him, answer'd in a way to cloud it. XLVIII. LV. Aurora-since we are touching upon taste, And then, the mid-day having worn to one, Which now-a-days is the thermometer The company prepared to separate: By whose degrees all characters are class'd- Some to their several pastimes, or to none; Was more Shakspearian, if I do not err. Some wondering't was so early, some so late. The worlds beyond this world's perplexing waste There was a goodly match, too, to be run Had more of her existence, for in her Between some grayhounds on my lord's estate, There was a depth of feeling to embrace And a young race-horse of old pedigree, Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as space. Match'd for the spring, whom several went to see. LVI. XLIX. LVI. Not so her gracious, graceful, graceless grace, There was a picture-dealer, who had brought The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose mind, A special Titian, warranted original, If she had any, was upon her face, So precious that it was not to be bought, And that was of a fascinating kind. Though princes the possessor were besieging all. The king himself had cheapen'd it, but thought A little turn for mischief you might traced cheapen it, but thought Also thereon,-but that's not much; we find- The civil list (he deigns to accept, obliging,all Also thereon,-but that's not much; we find Few females without some such gentle leaven, His subjctsbyhis gracious acceptation) For fear we should suppose us quite in heaven. Too scanty, in these times of low taxation. LVII.,, i l L.' Bl~But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur, — I have not heard she was at all poetic, d The friend of artists, if not arts,-the owner, Though once she was seen reading the " Bath Guide," "Hayley's Triumphs" which With motives the most classical and pure, And "Hayley's Triumphs," which she deem'd pathetic, And Trump hshe deem'd pathetii, So that he would have been the very donor Because, she said, her temper had been tried Because, she said, her temper had een t Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer, So much, the bard had really been prophetic u ^c., i. i. ~. ~ ~So much he deem'd his patronage an honour, Of what she had gone through with,-since a bride. t c d r l Had brought the capo d'opera, not for sale, But of all verse what most insured her praise c dr r But for his'udgment,-never known to fail. Were sonnets to herself, or "bouts rim6s." LVIII. LI. There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic'Twere difficult to say what was the object Bricklayer of Babel, call'd an architect, Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay Brought to survey these gray walls, which, though so To bear on what appear'd to her the subject thick Of Juan's nervous feelings on that day. Might have from time acquired some slight defect Perhaps she merely had the simple project Who, after rummaging the Abbey through thick To laugh him out of his supposed dismay; And thin, produced a plan, whereby to erect Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it, Ne buildings of correctest conformation Though why I cannot say-at least this minute. Ad throw down old-which he call'd restortin. LII. LIX. But so far the immediate effect The cost would be a trifle-an "old song," Was to restore hin to his self-propriety, Set to some thousands ('tis the usual burthen A thing quite necessary to the elect, Of that same tune, when people hum it long)Who wish to take the tone of their society; The price would speedily repay its worth in In which you cannot be too circumspect, An edifice no less sublime than strong, Whether the mode be persiflage or piety, By which Lord Henry's good taste would go forth is But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy, Its glory, through all ages shining sunny, Orip'aiins of much displeasing the gynocracy. For Gothic daring shown in English money.4 LIII. LX. And therefore Juan now began to rally There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage His spirits, and, without more explanation, Lord Henry wish'd to raise for a new purchase; ro jest upon such themes in many a sally. Also a lawsuit upon terares burgage, Her grace too also seized the same occasion, And one on tithes which sure are discord's torches With various similar remarks to tally, Kindling Religion till she throws down her gage. But wish'd for a still more detail'd narration "Untying" squires" to hght against the cnurches:" Of this same mystic friar's curious doings, There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and plougnman About the present family's deaths and wooings. For Henrv was a sort of Sabine showman. '00 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XVI LXI. LXVIII. I here were two poachers caught in a steel trap, You see here was enough of occupation Ready for jail, their place of convalescence; For the Lord Henry, link'd with dogs and horses, There was a country girl in a close cap There was much bustle too and preparation And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since- Below stairs on the score of second courses, Since-since-in youth I had the sad mishap- Because, as suits their rank and situation, But luckily I've paid few parish fees since). Those who in counties have great land resources, That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with rigour, Have "public days," when all men may carouse, Presents the problem of a double figure. Though not exactly what's call'd " open house"LXII. LXIX. A reel within a bottle is a mystery, But once a week or fortnight, uninvited One can't tell how it e'er got in or out, (Thus we translate a general invitation), Therefore the present piece of natural history All country gentlemen, esquired or knighted, I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt, May drop in without cards, and take their station Ard merely state, though not for the consistory, At the full board, and sit alike delighted Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout With fashionable wines and conversation; The constable, beneath a warrant's banner, And, as the isthmus of the grand connexion, Had bagg'd this poacher upon Nature's manor. Talk o'er themselves, the past and next election. LXIII. LXX. Now justices of peace must judge all pieces Lord Henry was a great electioneerer, Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game Burrowing for boroughs like a rat or rabbit, And morals of the country from caprices But country contests cost him rather dearer, Of those who've not a license for the same; Because the neighbouring Scotch Earl of Giftgabbil And of all things, excepting tithes and leases, Had English influence in the self-same sphere here Perhaps these are most difficult to tame: His son, the Honourable Dick Dice-drabbit, Preserving partridges and pretty wenches Was member for "the other interest" (meaning Are puzzles to the most precautious benches. The self-same interest, with a different leaning). LXIV. LXXI. The present culprit was extremely pale, Courteous and cautious therefore in his county, Pale as if painted so; -her cheek being red He was all things to all men, and dispensed By nature, as in higher dames less hale, To some civility, to others bounty,'T is white, at least when they just rise from bed. And promises to all —which last commenced Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail,'To gather to a somewhat large amount, he Poor soul! for she was country born and bred, Not calculating how much they -condensed; And knew no better in her immorality But, what with keeping some and breaking others, Than to wax white-for blushes are for quality. His word had the same value- as another's. LXy. LXXII. Her black, bright, downcast, yet espibgle eye A friend to freedom and freeholders-yet Had gather'd a large tear into its corner, No less a friend to government-he held Which the poor thing at times essay'd to dry, That he exactly the just medium hit For she was not a sentimental mourner,'Twixt place and patriotism-albeit compell'd, Parading all her sensibility, Such was his sovereign's pleasure (though unfit, Nor insolent enough to scorn the scorner, He added modestly, when rebels rail'd), But stood in trembling, patient tribulation, To hold some sinecures he wish'd abolish'd, To be call'd up for her examination. But that with them all law would be demolish'd. LXVI. LXXIII. Of course these groups were scatter'd here and there, He was "free to confess"-(whence comes this phrase? Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent. Is't English? No-'t is only parliamentary) The lawyers in the study; and in air That innovation's spirit now-a-days The prize pig, ploughman, poachers; the nien sent Had made more progress than for the last century. From town, viz. architect and dealer, were He would not tread a factious path to praise, Both busy (as a general in his tent Though for the public weal disposed to venture high; Writing despatches) in their several stations, As for his place, he could but say this of it, Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations. That the fatigue was greater than the profit. LXVII. LXXIV. But this poor gir' was left in the great hall, Heaven and his friends knew that a private life While Scout, the parish guardian of the. frail, Had ever been his sole and whole ambition; Pilscuss'. (he hated beer yclept the "small") But could he quit his king in times of strife A mighty mug of moral double ale: Which threaten'd the whole country with perditido? bike waited until Justice could recall When demagogues would with a butcher's knife Its kind attentions to their proper pale, Cut through and through (oh! damnable incision!) Tn ranme a thing in nomenclature rather The Gordian or the Geordian knot, whose strings Pe',i exisg'fo most virgins-a child's father. Have tied together Commons, Lords, and Kings CANTO AV. DON JUAN. 701 bXXV. LXXXII. Sooner "come place,ato the civil list, I knew him in his livelier London days, And champion him to the utmost "-he would keep it, A brilliant diner-out, though but a curate; Till duly disappointed or dismiss'd: And not a joke he cut but earn'd its praise, Profit he cared not for, let others reap it; Until preferment, coming at a sure rate, But should the day come when place ceased to exist, (Oh, Providence! how wondrous are thy ways, The country would have far more cause to weep it; Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes obdurats?) For how could it go on? Explain who can! Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o'er Lincoln, He gloried in the name of Englishman. A fat fen vicarage, and nought to think on. LXXVI. LXXXIII. He was as mdependent-ay, much more- His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes; Than those who were not paid for independence, But both were thrown away amongst the fens 4 As common soldiers, or a common-shore For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks. Have in their several arts or parts ascendance No longer ready ears and short-hand pens O'er the irregulars in lust or gore Imbibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax: Who do not give professional attendance. The poor priest was reduced to common sense, Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager Or to coarse efforts very loud and long, To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar. To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng. LXXVII. LXXXIV. All this (save the last stanza) Henry said, There is a difference, says the song, "between And thought. I say no more-I've said too much; A beggar and a queen," or was (of late For all of us have either heard or read The latter worse used of the two we've seen — Of-or upon the hustings-some slight such But we'll say nothing of affairs of state)Hints from the independent heart or head A difference "'twixt a bishop and a dean," Of the official candidate. I'll touch A difference between crockery-ware and plate, No more on this-the dinner-bell hath rung, As between English beef and Spartan brothAnd grace is said; the grace I should have sung- And yet great heroes have been bred by both. LXXVIII. IXXXV. But I'm too late, and therefore must make play. But of all Nature's discrepancies, none'T was a great banquet, such as Albion old Upon the whole is greater than the difference Was wont to boast-as if a glutton's tray Beheld between the country and te town Were something very glorious to behold. Of which the latter merits every preference But't was a public feast and public day,-e But't vwas a public feast and public day,- From those who've few resources of their own, Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold, And only think, or act, or feel with reference Great plenty, much formality, small cheer, To some small plan of interest or ambitionAnd every body out of their own sphere. Both which are limited to no condition LXXIX. The squires familiarly formal, and XXXVI. My lords and ladies proudly condescending; My lords and ladies proudly condescending; But "en avant!" The light loves languish o'er The very servants puzzling how to hand Long banquets and too many guests, although Their plates-without it might be too much bending Aslight repast makes people love much more, From their high places by the sideboard's stand- Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know, Yet, like their masters, fearful of offendingn from our grammar upwards, friends of yore For any deviation from the graces'With vivifying Venus, who doth owe Might cost both men and masters too-their places. To these the invention of champagne and truffles Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles. LXXX. There were some hunters bold, and coursers keen, LXXXVII. Whose hounds ne'er err'd, nor grayhounds deign'd Dully pass'd o'er the dinner of the day; to lurch; And Juan took his place he knew not where, Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers, seen Confused, in the confusion, and distrait, Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search And sitting as if nail'd upon his chair; Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen. Though knives and forks clang'd round as in a fray There were some massy members of the church, He seem'd unconscious of all passing there, Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches, Till some one, with a groan, express'd a wish And several who sung fewer psalms than catches. (Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish. LXXXI. LXXXVIII. There were some country wags, too,-and, alas! On which, at the third asking of the bans, Some exiles from the town, who had been driven He started; and, perceiving smiles around To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass, Broadening to grins, he coloured more than onct, And rise at nine, in lieu of long eleven. And hastily-as nothing can confound And lo! upon that day it came to pass, A wise man more than laughter from a dunce* I sate next that o'erwhelming son of Heaven, Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound, The very powerful parson, Peter Pith, And with such hurry that, eie he could curb.t The loudest wit I e'er was deaf-n'd w;t He'd paid his neighbour's prayer'with half a turoob 02 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XVI LXXXIX. XCVI. This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd, Though this was most expedient on the whole, The supplicator being an amateur; And usual-Juan, when he cast a glance But others, who were left with scarce a third, On Adeline while playing her grand role, Were angry-as they well might, to be sure. Which she went through as though it were a dance'hey wonder'd how a young man so absurd (Betraying only now and then her soul Lord Henry at his table should endure; By a look scarce perceptibly askance And this, and his not knowing how much oats Of weariness or scorn), began to feel Haa fallen last market, cost his host three votes. Some doubt how much of Adeline was real; XC. XCVII. They little knew, or might have sympathized, So well she acted all and every part That he the night before had seen a ghost; By turns-with that vivacious versatility, A prologue, which but slightly harmonized Which many people take for want of heart. With the substantial company engross'd They err —'t is merely what is call'd mobility,6 By matter, and so much materialized, A thing of temperament, and not of art, That one scarce knew at what to marvel most Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; Of two things-how (the question rather odd is) And false-though true; for surely they're sincerest, Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies. Who're strongly acted on by what is nearest. XCI. XCVIII. But what confused him more than smile or stare This makes your actors, artists, and romancers, From all the'squires and'squiresses around, Heroes sometimes, though seldom-sages never; Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air, But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers, Especially as he had been renown'd Little that's great, but much of what is clever; For some vivacity among the fair, Most orators, but very few financiers, Even in the country circle's narrow bound- Though all Exchequer Chancellors endeavour, (For little things upon my lord's estate Of late years, to dispense with Cocker's rigours, Were good small-talk for others still less great)- And grow quite figurative with their figures. XCII. XCIX. Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his, The poets of arithmetic are they, And something like a smile upon her cheek. Who, though they prove not two and two to be Now this he really rather took amiss: Five, as they would do in a modest way, In those who rarely smile, their smile bespeaks Have plainly made it out that four are three, A strong external motive; and in this Judging by what they take and what they pay. Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique, The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea, Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles That most unliquidating liquid, leaves Which some pretend to. trace in ladies' smiles. The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives. XCIII. C.'T was a mere quiet smile of contemplation, While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces, Indicative of some surprise and pity; The fair Fitz-Fulke seem'd very much at ease; And Juan grew carnation with vexation, Though too well-bred to quiz men to their faces, Which was not very wise and still less witty, Her laughing blue eyes with a glance evuld see, Since he had gain'd at least her observation, The ridicules of people in all placesA most important outwork of the city- That honey of your fashionable beesAs Juan should have known, had not his senses And store it up for mischievous enjoyment; By last night's ghost been driven from their defences. And this at present was her kind employment. XCIV. CI. But, what was bad, she did not blush in turn, However, the day closed, as days must close; Nor seem embarrass'd-quite the contrary; The evening also waned-and coffee came. Her aspect was, as usual, still —not stern- Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose, And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye, And curtsying off, as curtsies country dame, Yet grew a little pale-with what? concern? Retired: with most unfashionable bows 1 know not; but her colour ne'er was high- Their docile esquires also did the same, Though sometimes faintly flush'd-and always clear Delighted with the dinner and their host, As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere. But with the lady Adeline the most. XCV. CIr. But Adeline was occupied by fame Some praised her beauty; others her great grace; This day; and watching, witching, condescending The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game, Was obvious in each feature of her face, And dignity with courtesy so blending, Whose traits were radiant with the rays of ver;ty, As all must blend whose part it is to aim Yes: she was truly worthy her high place! Especially as the sixth year is ending' No one could envy her deserved prosperity: Alt Ieir lord's, son's, and similar connexions' And'then her dress-what beautiful simplicity Safe conduct through the rocks of re-elections. Draperied her form with curious felicity!' CANTO XVI. DON JUAN. 703 CIII. CX. Meanwhile sweet Adeline deserved their praises, And full of sentiments, sublime as billows By an impartial indemnification Heaving between this world and worlds beyond, For all her past exertion and soft phrases, Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows In a most edifying conversation, Arrived, retired to his; but to despond Which turn'd upon their late guests' miens and faces, Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows And families, even to the last relation; Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses, Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep, And truculent distortion of their tresses. And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep. CIV. CXI. True, she said little-'t was the rest that broke The night was as before: he was undrest, Forth into universal epigram: Saving his night-gown, which is an undress: But then't was to the purpose what she spoke: Completely "sans culotte," and without vest; Like Addison's "faint praise" so wont to damn In short, he hardly could be clothed with less; Her own but served to set off every joke, But, apprehensive of his spectral guest, As music chimes in with a melodrame. He sate, with feelings awkward to express How sweet the task to shield an absent friend! (By those who have not had such visitations), I ask but this of mine, to-not defend. Expectant of the ghost's fresh operations. CV. CXII. There were but two exceptions to this keen And not in vain he listen'd-Hush! what's that? Skirmish of wits o'er the departed; one, I see-I see-Ah, no!'t is not-yet'tisAurora, with her pure and placid mien; Ye powers! it is the-the-the-Pooh! the cat! And Juan too, in general behind none The devil may take that stealthy pace of his! In gay remark on what he'd heard or seen, So like a spiritual pit-a-pat, Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone: Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss, In vain he heard the others rail or rally, Gliding the first time to a rendezvous, He would not join them in a single sally. And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe. CVI. CXII. IT is true he saw Aurora look as though Again what is't? The wind? No, no;h-this timne She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook It is the sable fiiar as before, Its motive for that charity we owe With awful footsteps, regular as rhyme, But seldom pay the absent, nor would look Or (as rhymes may be in these days) nmuch more. Further; it might or it might not be so: Again, through shadows of the night sublime, But Juan, sitting silent in his nook, When deep sleep fell on men, and the world woru Observing little in his reverie, The starry darkness round her like a girdle Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see. Spangled with gems-the monk made his blood curdle. CVII. CXIV. The ghost at least had done him this much good, A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass,8 In making him as silent as a ghost, Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter If in the circumstances which ensued Like showers which on the midnight guests will pass He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most. Sounding iike very supernatural water,And certainly Aurora had renew'd Came over Juan's ear, which throbb'd, alas! In him some feelings he had lately lost For immaterialism's a serious matter: Or harden'd; feelings which, perhaps ideal, So that even those whose faith is the most great Are so divine, that I must deem them real:- In souls immortal, shun them tete-a-thte. CVIII. CXV. The love of higher things and better days; VTere his eyes open?-Yes! and his mouth too. The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance Surprise has this effect-to make one dumb, Of what is call'd the world, and the world's ways; Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips throrgh The moments when we gather from a glance As wide as if a long speech were to come. More joy than from all future pride or praise, Nigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew, Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance Tremendous to a mortal tympanum: The heart in an existence of its own, His eyes were open, and (as was before Of which another's bosom is the zone. Stated) his mouth. What open'd next?-the doe CIX. CXVI. Who would not sigh At at Tav KveOlpetav It open'd with a most infernal creak, That hath a memory, or that had a heart? Like that of hell. "Lasciate oge speranza, Alas! her star nmust wane like that of Dian, Vio che entrate!" The hinge seem'd to speak, Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart. Dreadful as Dante's rima, or this stanza; Anacreon only had the soul to tie on Or-but allwords upon such themes are weaK: Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart A single shade's sufficient to entrance Of Eros; but, though thou hast play'd us many tricks, Hero-for what is substance to a spilit? Still we respect thee, "Alma Venus Genitrix!" Or how is't matter trembles to come near'/ 704 BYRON'S WORKS. CANTO XVI CXVII. The door flew wide, not swiftly-but, as fly The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight- NOTES. And then swung back; nor close-but stood awry, Half letting in long shadows on the light, Which still in Juan's candlesticks burn'd high, For he had two, both tolerably bright,- CANTO I. And in the door-way, darkening darkness, stood Note 1. Stanza v The sable friar in his solemn hood. Brave men were living before Agamemnon. CXVIII. "Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona," etc.-Horace. Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken Note 2. Stanza xvii. The night before; but, being sick of shaking, Save thine "incomparable oil," Macassar! He first inclined to think he had been mistaken, And then to be ashamed of such mistaking; "Description des vertus incomparables de l'huile de His own internal ghost began to awaken Macassar."-See the advertisement. Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking- Note S. Stanzaxlii. Hinting, that soul and body on the whole *~n J t.~1.d iy.n i~ i~ ~ Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn WVere odds against a disembodied soul. Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample. CXIX. See Longinus, Section 10, iva?i~ iv ri nrept abrhv And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce; I7daOo ftaivnrrai, raeiv ie a6voSos. And he arose-advanced-the shade retreated; But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce, Note 4. Stanza xliv. Follow'd; his veins no longer cold, but heated, They only add them all in an appendix. Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce, Fact. There is, or was, such an edition, with all the At whatsoever risk of being defeated: obnoxious epigrams of Martial placed by themselves at The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until the end. He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone still. Note 5. Stanza lxxxviii. (^~~~CXX.~^~ ~The hard I quote from does not sing amiss, Juan put forth one arm-Eternal Powers! Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming; (I think) the It touch'd no soul, nor body, but the wall, peng f Canto II. but quote from memory. On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers Note 6. Stanza cxlviii. Chequcr'd with ah the tracery of the hall: Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly, He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers Who took Algiers, declares I used him vilely? When he can't tell what't is that doth appal. Donna Julia here made a mistake. Count O'Reilly flow odd, a single hobgoblin's nonentity did not take Algiers-but Algiers very nearly took him; Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity.9 he and his army and fleet retreated with great loss, and CXXI. not much credit, from before that city, in the year 17-. But still the shade remain'd; the blue eyes glared, Note 7. Stanza ccxvi And rather variably for stony death; My days of love are o'er me no more. ~ \, 1, li ~>^My days of love are o'er, me no more. Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared- "Me nec femina, nec puer The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath. Jam, nec spes animi cledula mutui; A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair'd; Nec certare juvat mero, A red lip, with two rows of pearl beneath, Ne vincire novis tempra orus" Gleam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud rhe moon peep'd, just escaped from a gray cloud. CXXIL CXXII. CANTO III. And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust His other arm forth-Wonder upon wonder! Note 1. Stanza xlv. It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust, For none likes more to hear himself converse. Which beat as if there was a warm heart under. Rispose allor Margutte: adirtel tosto, HIe found, as people on most trials must, lo non credo piu al nero, ch' a l'azzurro; That he had made at fitr a silly blunder, Manel cappone, olesso, o vuogli arrosto; he-,, he. maa ught illlne, E credo alcuna volta anco nel burro, And that in his confusion he.d caught Ne la cervogia, e quando' io n' ho nel mosto; Only the wall instead of what he sought. E molto piu ne'aspro che il mangurro; CYXXIII. Ma sopra tutto nel buon vino ho fede;.~~~~~CXXIII. ^-E credo che sia salvo chi gli crede. The ghost, if ghost it were, seem'd a sweet soul, PULCI, JIorgante.Maggiore, Canto 18, Stanza 115 As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood: A dimpled chin, a neck of ivory, stole Note 2. Stanza lxxi. Forth into something much like flesh and blood; That e'er by precious metal was held in. Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl, This dress is Moorish, and the bracelets and bar are And they reveal'd (alas! that e'er they should!) worn in the manner described. The reader will per In htl! vo'uptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk, ceive hereafter, that, as the mother of Haidee was of The phantom of her frolic grace-Fitz-Fulke! Fez, her daughter wore the garb of the country. DON JUAN. 705 Note 3. Stanza lxxii. company for some foreign theatre; embarked them at A like gold bar, above her instep roll'd. an Italian port, and, carrying them to Algiers, sold The bar of gold above the instep is a mark of sov- them all. One of the women, returned from her capereign rank in the women of the families of the Deys, tivity, I heard sing, by a strange coincidence, in Rosand is worn as such by their female relatives. sini's opera of "L'Italiana in Algieri," at Venice, in ^ ^ ^~... the beginning of 1817. Note 4. Stanza lxxiii. he beginning of 1817. Her person if allow'd at large to run. Note 4. Stanza lxxxvi. This is no exaggeration; there were four women From all the pope makes yearly,'t would perplex, whom I remember to have seen, wno possessed their To find three perfect pipes of the third sex hair in this profusion; of these, three were English, the It is strange that it should be the pope and the sultan other was a Levantine. Their hair was of that length who are the chief encouragers of this branch of tradeand quantity that, when let down, it almost entirely women being prohibited as singers at St. Peter's, and shaded the person, so as nearly to render dress a su- notdeemed trustworthy as guardians of the haram. perfluity. Of these, only one had dark hair; the Ori- Note 5. Stanza ciii. ental's had, perhaps, the lightest colour of the four. While weeds and ordure rankle round the base e 5. S z c. The pillar which records the battle of Ravenna, is Note 5. Stanza evii. about two miles from the city, on the opposite side of Oh Hesperus thou brlngest all good things. Oh *Hesperus: thoura bringest alotis the river to the road towards Forli. Gaston de Foix,'E4a-pg, onavra ( pceS, who gained the battle, was killed in it; there fell on repcs r OveOv, EcP^S aeya, both sides twenty thousand men. The present state sEPELpg paTEPL 7ratla. Fragment of Sappho. of the pillar and its site is described in the text. Note 6. Stanza cviii. Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart. "Era gi 1' ora che volge'I disio, A' naviganti e'ntenerisce il cuore CANTO V. Lo di ch' ban detto a' dolci amici addio, E che lo nuovo peregrin d' amore Punge, se ode Squilla di lontanoNote 1. Stanza iii. Che paja'1 giorno pianger che si muore." The ocean stream. DANTE'S Purgatory, Canto viii. THIS expression of Homer has been much criticised. This last line is the first of Gray's Elegy, taken by It hardly answers to our Atlantic ideas of the ocean, him without acknowledgement. but is sufficiently applicable to the Hellespont, and the Note 7. Stanza cix. Bosphorus, with the ZEgean, intersected with islands. Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb. Note 2. Stanza v. See Suetonius for this fact. "The Giant's Grave." "The Giant's Grave" is a height on the Asiatic shore of the Bosphorus, much frequented by holiday parties; like Harrow and Highgate. CANTO IV. Note 3. Stanza xxxiii. And running out as fast I was able. Note 1. Stanza xii. The assassination alluded to took place on the eighth of December, 1820. min the streets of R ~, not a "Whom the gods love, die young," was said of yore. of December, 1820. the streets of not a hundred paces from the residence of the writer. The See Herodotus. circumstances were as described. Note 2. Stanza lix. NAot. hStad nr lstlx. Note 4. Stanza xxxiv. A vein had burst. A veinhad s.t. Kill'd by five bullets from an old gun-barrel. This is no very uncommon effect of the violence of There was found close by him an old gun-barrel, conflicting and different passions. The Doge Francis. I sawn half off: it had just been discharged, and was Foscari, on his deposition, in 1457, hearing the bell still warm. of St. Mark announce the election of his successor, e 5 a lii Note 5. Stanza liii. "mourut subitement d'une hemorrhagie causee par une Prepared for supper with a glass of rum. veine qui s'dclata dans as poitrine," (see Sismondi and Daru, vols. i. tnd ii.) at tha age of eighty years, when In Turkey, nothing is more common, than for the. who would haos thought the old man had so much blood Mussulmans to take several glasses of strong spirits by an him?" Before I was sixteen years of age, I was way of appetizer. I have seen them take as many as witness to a melancholy instance of the same effect six of raki before dinner, and swear that they dined of mixed passions upon a young person; who, how- the better for it; I tried the experiment, but was lke ever, did not die in consequence, at tat time, but fell the Scotchman, who having heard that the birds called ever, did not die in consequence, at that time, but foil kittiewiaks were admirable whets, ate six of them,, anti a victim some years afterwards to a seizure of the same kittiew kind, arising from causes intimately connected with complained that he was no hungrier than he n agitation of mind. egn. Note 6. Sanza lv. Note 3. Stanza lxxx. Splendid but silent, save in one, where, dropping But sold by the impresario at no high rate. A marble fountain echoes. This is a fict. A few years ago, a man engaged a A common furniture.-I recollect being received bw 3N 94 706 BYRON'S WORKS. Ali Pacha, in a room containing a marble basin and brother of that dangerous charge "borrowing:" a fountain, etc., etc., etc. poet had better borrow any thing (excepting money) Note 7. Stanza Ixxxvii. than the thoughts of another- they are always sure to be reclaimed: but it is very hard, having been the The gate so splendid was in all its Jeatures. The gate so splendid was all its features. ender, to be denounced as the debtor, as is the case of Features of a gate-a ministerial metaphor; "the Anstey versus Smollett. feature upon which this question hinges."-See the As there is "honour amongst thieves," let there be "Fudge Family," or hear Castlereagh. some amongst poets, and give each his due,-none can Note 8. Stanza cvi. afford to give it more than Mr. Camobell himself, who, Though on morethorough-bred fairer fingers with a high reputation for originality, and a fame which Though on more thorough-bred or fairer fingers. T cannot be shaken, is the only poet of the times (except There is perhaps nothing more distinctive of birth ro d in him it is inRogers) who can be reproached (aind in him iti iL than the hand: it is almost the only sign of blood ee reroch) withhaving witten too litle. i deed a reproach) with having written too little. which aristocracy can generate. Note 9. Stanza cxlvii. Save Solyman, the glory of their line. It may not be unworthy of remark, that Bacon, in CANTO VI. his essay on " Empire," hints that Solyman was the last of his line; on what authority, I know not. These Stanza lxxv. are his words: "The destruction of Mustapha was so A "wood obscure," like that where Dante found. fatal to Solyman's line, as the succession of the Turks "Nel mezzo del cammin' di nostra vita from Solyman, until this day, is suspected to be untrue, Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura," etc., etc., etc. and of strange blood; for that Solymus the Second was thought to be supposititious." But Bacon, in his historical authorities, is often inaccurate. I could give half a dozen instances from his apophthegms only. CANTO VII. Being in the humour of criticism, I shall proceed, after has ing ventured upon the slips of Bacon, to touch on one or two as trifling in the edition of the British Was tea g Staa,Was teaching his recruits to use the bayonet. Poets, by the justly-celebrated Campbell.-But I do t o this in good will, and trust it will be so taken.-If any Souaroffd this person. thing could add to my opinion of the talents and true feeling of that gentleman, it would be his classical, honest, and triumphant defence of Pope, against the vulgar cant of the day, and its existing Grub-street. CANTO VIII The inadvertencies to which I allude, are,Firstly, in speaking of Anstey, whom lie accuses of Note L~ Stanza viii. having taken "his leading characters from Smollett." Note i Stanza vii All sounds it pierceth, "Allah! Allah! Hu!" Anstey's Bath Guide was published in 1766. Smollett's Humphry Clinker (the only work of Smollett's from "Allah u!" is properly the war-cry of the Mus which Tabitha, etc., etc. could have been taken) was sulmans, and they dwell long on the last syllable, which written during Smollett's last residence at Leghorn, in gives it a very wild and peculiar effect. 1770.-" Argal," if there has been any borrowing, Note 2. Stanza ix. Anstey must be the creditor, and not the debtor. I "Carnage (so Wordsworth tells you) is God's daughter." rerer Mr. Campbell to his own data in his lives of Smol- "But thy most dreaded instrument lett and Anstey. In working out a pure intent, Secondly, Mr. Campbell says, in the life of Cowper In man array'd for mutual slaughter Yea, Carnage is thy daughter I" (note to page 358, vol. 7), that " he knows not to whom WORDSWORTH'S Thanksgiving Ode. C owper alludes in these lines: To wit, the deity's. This is perhaps as pretty a "Nor he who, for the bane of thousands born, pedigree for murder as ever was found out by GarterBuilt God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn." Kig-at-arms.-What would have been said, had any The Calvinist meant Voltaire, and the church of Fer- free-spoken people discovered such a lineage? ney, with its inscription, " Deo erexit Voltaire." Note 3. Stanza, xviii.'Thirdiy, in the life of Burns, Mr. C. quotes Shak- Was printed Grove, although his name was Grose. speare thus.~- A fact; see the Waterloo Gazettes. I recollect rc"*To gild refined gold, to paint the rose, - marking at the time to a friend:" There is fame! a Or add fresh perfume to the violet." manis killed-his name is Grose, and they print it This version by no means improves the original, Grove." I was at college with the deceased, who wruen is as follows: was a very amiable and clever man, and his society in To gild refined gi d, to paint the lily, great request for his wit, gayety, and " chansons L To tfirow a perfume on the violet," etc. boire." King John. Note 4. Stanza xxiii. A great p~et, quoting another, should be correct; he A any other notion, and not national. utould also e accurate when he accuses a Parnassian See Maji Vallanry and Sir Lawrence Parsons. DON JUAN. 707 Note 5. Stanza xxv. Note 6. Stanza lxiii.'T i pity "that such meanings should pave hell." Your "fortune " was in a fair way to swell The Portuguese proverb says that " Hell is paved with A man," as Giles says. good intentions." "His fortune swells him, it is rank, he's married."Sir Giles Overreach; MASSINGER.-See "A Neuw ary Note 6. Stanza xxxiii. P Ol es to Pay Old Debts." By thy humane discovery, Friar Bacon! Gunpowder is said to have been discovered by this friar. Note 7. Stanza xlvii. Which scarcely rose much higher than grass blades. CANTO X. They were but two feet high above the level. Note 8. Stanza xcvii. Note 1. Stanza xiii. That you and I will win Saint George's collar. Would scarcely join again the "formados." Would scarcely join again the " reformadoes." The Russian military order. " Reformers," or rather "Reformed." The Baron Note 9. Stanza cxxxiii. Bradwardine, in Waverley, is authority for the woid. o(Po9ers Note 2. Stanza xv. Eternal! such names mingled!) "Ismail's ours!" T'he endless soot bestows a tint far deeper In the original Russian- Than can be hid by altering his shirt. " Slava bogu! slava vam! Query, suzt? —PRINTER'S DEVIL. Krepost Vzala, y ia tam." A kind of couplet; for he was a poet. Note 3. Stanza xviii. Balgounie's Brig's black wall. The brig of Don, near the " auld toun" of Aberdeen, with its one arch andits black deep salmon stream below, is in my memory as yesterday. I still remember, thouga CANTO IX. perhaps I may misquote, the awful proverb which made me pause to cross it, and yet lean over it with a childish delight, being an only son, at least by the mother's side. The saying, as recollected by me, was this-but I have Note 1. Stanza i. never heard or seen it since I was nine years of age;Humanity would rise, and thunder "Nay!" "Brig of Balgounie, black's your wa'; -PsQuery,-ey ~PRINTER'S DEVIL. Wi' a wife's ae son and a mear's ae foal, Query, ^Ney?-PRINTER.s DEVIL. Down ye shall fa'!" Note 2. Stanza vi. Note 4. Stanza xxxiv. And send the sentinel before your gate Oh, for a forty-parson power to chaunt A slice or two from your luxurious meals. Thy praise, hypocrisy " I at this time got a post, being for fatigue, with four A metaphor taken from the "forty-horse power" of others.-We were sent to break biscuit, and make a a steam-engine. That mad wag, the Reverend S. S., mess for Lord Wellington's hounds. I was very hungry, sitting by a brother-clergyman at dinner, observed after and thought it a good job at the time, as we got our own wards that his dull neighbour had a "twelve-parson fill while we broke the biscuit,-a thing I had not got power" of conversation. for some days. When thus engaged, the Prodigal Son was never once out of my mind; and I sighed, as I fed Note 5. Stanza xxxvi. the dogs, over my humble situation and my ruined To strip the Saxons of their hydes, like tanners. hopes."-Journal of a Soldier of the 71st Regt. during "Hyde."-I believe a hyde of land to be a legitimate the war in Spain. word, and as such subject to the tax of a quibble. Note 3. Stanza xxxiii. Note 6. Stanza xlix. Because he could no more digest his dinner. Was given to her favourite, and now bore s. He was killed in a conspiracy, after his temper had The Empress went to the Crimea, accompanied b seen exasperated, by his extreme costivity, to a degree the Emperor Joseph, in the year-I forget which. of insanity. Note 4. StaNote 4. Stanza xlviiviii. And had just buried the fair-faced Lanekoi. Which gave her dukes the graceless name of "Biron." He was the "grande passion" of the grande Cathe- In the Enmpress Anne's time, Biren her favourite as He was the 44 grande passion" of the grande C at sumed the name and arms of the "Birons" of France, rine.-See her Lives, under the head of "Lanskoi." sumed the name and ars of th "rons of Frace, which families are yet extant with that of England. Note 5. Stanza xlix. There are still the daughters of Courland of that name; Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess show one of them I remember seeing in England in the blesses His parts of speech. year of the Allies-the Duchess of S.-to whom the This was written long before the suicide of that English Duchess of S t presented me as a namoperson. sake, 708 BYRON'S WORKS. Note 8. Stanza lxiL ing the "drapery" of an " untochered" but "pretty virEleven thousand maidenheads of bone, ginities" (like Mrs. Anne Page) of the then day, which The greatest number flesh hath ever known. has now been some years yesterday:-she assured me St. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins were still that the thing was common in London; and as her own extant in 1816, and may be so yet as much as ever. thousands, and blooming looks, and rich simplicity of array, put any suspicion in her own case out of the Note 9. Stanza lxxxi. question, I confess I gave some credit to the allegation. Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied t' other. If necessary, authorities might be cited, in which case I India. America. could quote both "drapery" and the wearers. Let us hope, however, that it is now obsolete. Note 5. Stanza lx.'T is strange the mind, that very fiery particle, CANTO XI. Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article. "Divinae particulam aura." Note 1. Stanza xix. Who on a lark, with black-eyed Sal (his blowing) So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing CANTO XII. The advance of science and of language has rendered it unnecessary to translate the above good and true English, spoken in its original purity by the select Note 1. Stanza xix. mobility and their patrons. The following is a stanza Gives, with Greek truth, the good old Greek the lie. of a song which was very popular, at least in my early See MITFORDS Greece. "Graecia Vera." Hisgreat iays:- pleasure consists in praising tyrants, abusing Plutarch, " On the high toby-spice flash the muzzle, spelling oddly, and writing quaintly; and, what is strange'In spite of each gallows old scout; If you at the spelken can't hustle, after all, his is the best modern histry of Greece in any You'll be hobbled in making a Clout. language, and he is perhaps the best of all modem hisThen your blowing will wax gallows haughty, torians whatsoever. Having named his sins, it is but When she hears of your scaly mistake, fair to state his virtues-learning, labour, research, She'11 surely turn snitch for the forty, wrath, and partiality. I call the latter virtues in a That her Jack may be regular weight." ThatherJackmayberegularweight." writer, because they make him write in earnest. If there be any gem'man so ignorant as to require a traduction, I refer him to my old friend and corporeal Note 2 Stanza xxxvii pastor and master, John Jackson, Esq., Professor of A hazy widower turn'd of forty's sure. Pugilism; who I trust still retains the strength and This line may puzzle the commentators more tnan the symmetry of his model of a form, together with his present generation. good humour, and athletic as well as mental accom-Note 3 Stanza lxxiil Note 3. Stanza lxxii.. [plishments. Note 2. Stanza xxix. Like Russians rushing from hot baths to snows. St. James's Palace and St. arns's Hells." The Russians, as is well known, run out from then St. James's Palace and St.'s "Hes." hot baths to plunge into the Neva: a pleasant practica "Hells," gaming-houses. What their number may antithesis, which it seems does them no harm. now be in this life, I know not. Before I was of age I knew them pretty accurately, both "gold" and Note 4. Stanza lxxxii. "silver." I was once nearly called out by an acquaint- The world to gaze upon those northern lights. ance, because when he asked me where I thought that Fora description and print of this inhabitant of the his soul would be found hereafter, I answered, "In polar region and native country of the aurora borealis Silver Hell." see PARRY'S Voyage in search of a North- West Pas Note 3. Stanza xliii. sage. - and therefore even I won't anent Note 5. Stanza lxxxvi. This subject quote. As Philip's son proposed to do with Athos. "Anent" was a Scotch phrase, meaning "concerning," on e a nd i withregardto tasbeenmadeEnglshbyhe sculptor projected to hew Mount Athos into a statue eotch Novels; and, as the Frenchman said" If it be oe der, with a city in one hand, and, I believe, a -n aght to be English." river in his pocket, with various other similar devices. no'. ought to be English." io. oDgh ~ *s beEnglish."But Alexander's gone, and Athos remains, I trust, ere Note 4. Stanza xlix. long, to look over a nation of freemen. The milliners who furnish ",drapery misses.' __ " Drapery misses "-This term is probably any thing now but a mystery. It was however almost so to me CANTO XII. when I first returned from the East in 1811-1812. kI nmeans a Jretty, a high-born, a fashionable young female, well instructed by her friends, and furnished by 1 S her milliner with a wardrobe upon credit, to be repaid, Right honestly, "he liked an honest hater." when married, by the husband. The riddle was' first "Sir, I like a good hater."-See the Life of Dr M a.l to me by a young and pretty heiress, on my praise Johnson, etc. DON JUAN. e0) Note 2. Stanza xxvi. hedge, "to look before he leaped:"-a pause in his Also there bin another pious reason. " vaulting ambition," which in the field doth occasion ~ With every thing that pretty bin, some delay and execration in those who may be immeMy lady sweet arise."-Shakspeare. diately behind the equestrian sceptic. "Sir, if you don't choose to take the leap, let me"-was a phrase which Note S. Stanza xlv. generally sent the aspirant on again; and to good purThey and their bills, "Arcadians both," are left. They and theirbs,"Arcadpose: for though "the horse and rider" might fall, they "6 Arcades ambo."1 made a gap, through which, and over him and his steed, - Note4. Stanzalxxi. the field might follow. Or wilder group of savage Salvatore's. Note 2. Stanza xlviii. Salvator Rosa. Go to the coffee-house, and take another. In SWIFT'S or HORACE WALPOLE'S Letters, I think Note 5. Stanza lxxii. Note 5. Stanza xxii. t is mentioned that somebody regretting the loss of a His bell-mouth'd goblet makes me feel quite Danish. iend, was answered by a universal Pylades: hen If I err not, "Your Dane" is one of Iago's Catalogue I lose one, 1 go to the Saint James's Coffee-house, and of Nations "exquisite in their drinking." take another." Note 6. a. I recollect having heard an anecdote of the same kind. Sir W. D. was agreat gamester. Coming in one day to Even Nimrod's self might leave the plains of Dura. the club of which he was a member, he was observed to In Assyria. look melancholy. "What is the matter, Sir William?" Note 7. Stanza xcvi. cried Hare, of facetious memory. "Ah!" replied Sir W. "That Scriptures out of church are blasphemies." " I have just lost poor Lady D." " Lost! What! at"Mrs. Adams answered Mr. Adams, that it was blas- Quinze or Hazard?" was the consolatory rejoinder of phemous to talk of Scripture out of church." This the querist. dogma was broached to her husband-the best Chris- Note Stanzalix tian in any book. See Joseph Andrews, in the latter And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern. chapters. The famous Chancellor Oxenstiern said to his son, on Note 8. Stanza cvi. the latter expressing his surprise upon the great effects The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet arising from petty causes in the presumed mystery of Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it. politics: " You see by this, my son, with how little wisIt would have taught him humanity at least. This dom the kingdoms of the world are governed." sentimental savage, whom it is a mode to quote (amongst the novelists) to show their sympathy for innocent sports and old songs, teaches how to sew up frogs, and break their legs by way of experiment, in addition to the art O of angling, the cruellest, the coldest, and the stupidest CA XV. of pretended sports. They may talk about the beauties of nature, but the angler merely thinks of his dish of Note 1. Stanza xviii. fish; he has no leisure to take his eyes from off the And thou, Diviner still streams, and a single bite is wor.. to him more than all Whose lot it is by man to be mistaken the scenery around. Besides, some fish bite best on a As it is necessary in these times to avoid ambiguity, rainy day. The whale, the shark, and the tunny fishery I say, that I mean, by " Diviner still," C HRIST. If ever have somewhat of noble and perilous in them; even net- God was Man-or Man God-he was both. I never arfishing, trawling, etc., are more humane and useful-but raigned his creed, but the use-or abuse-made of it. angling!-No angler can be a good man. Mr. Canning one day quoted Christianity to sanction " One of the best men I ever knew-as'humane, del- Nero Slavery, and Mr. Wilberforce had little to say in icate-minded, generous, and excellent a creature as any reply. And was Christ crucified, that black men might in the world-was an angler: true, he angled with be scourged? If so, he had better been born a Mulatto, painted flies, and would have been incapable of the to give both colours an equal chance of freedom, or at extravagances of I. Walton." least salvation. The above addition was made by a friend in reading Note 2. Stanza xxxv. over the MS.-" Audi alteram partem "-I leave it to P-,,'. When Rapp the Harmonist embargoed marriage counterbalance my own observation. In his harmonious settlement. This extraordinary and flourishing German colony in America does not entirely exclude matrimony, as the "Shakers" do; but lays such restrictions upon it as prevent more than a certain quantum of births within a CANTO XIV. certain number of years; which births (as Mr. Hulme observes) generally arrive " in a little flock like those of a farmer's lambs, all within the same month perhaps." Note 1. Stanza xxxiii. These Harmonists (so called from the name of their setAnd never craned, and made but few "faux pas.".tlement) are represented as a remarkably flourishing, Craning.-"To crane" is, or was, an expression used pious, and quiet people. See the various recent writer to denote a gentleman's stretching out his neck over a on America. 3 2 710 BYRON'S WORKS Note 3. Stanza xxxviii. somewhat surfeited with a similar display from foreign Nor canvass what "so eminent a hand" meant. parts, did rasher indecoroaslf break thrcugh the apJacob Tonson, according to Mr. Pope, was accustomed plauses of r.n ir.teiigerA,uriieco-itlelligent, I mean, to call his writers " able pens "-"persons of honour," as to music,-for the wcrds, besider being in recondite and especially "eminent hands." Vide correspond- languages (it was some years before the peace, ere all ence, etc., etc. the world had travelled, and while I was a collegian)Note 4. Stanza lxvi. were rorely disguised by the performers;-this mayoress, While great Lucullus' robe triomphale muffles- I say, broke out with, "Rot your Italianos! for my (There's fame)-young partridge fillets, deck'd with truffles part, I loves a simple ballat!"? Rossini will go a good A dish "a la Lucullus." Thishero, who conquered way to bring most people to the same opinion some the East, has left his more extended celebrity to the day. Who would imagine that he was to be the suctransplantation of cherries (which he first brought into cessor of Mozart? However, I state this with diffidence, Europe) and the nomenclature of some very good dishes; as a liege and loyal admirer of Italian music in general, -and I am not sure that (barring indigestion) he has and of much of Rossini's: but we may say, as the connot done more service to mankind by his cookery than noisseur did of painting, in the Vicar of Wakefield, by his conquests. A cherry-tree may weigh against a " that the picture would be better painted if the painter bloody laurel; besides, he has contrived to earn celeb- had taken more pains." rity from both. ii. Note 5. Stanza lxviiiix. But even sans " confitures," it no less true is, For Gothic daring shown in English money. There's pretty picking in those " petits puits." " Ausu Romano, aere Veneto " is the inscription (and "Petits puits d'amour garnis de confitures," a classical well inscribed in this instance) on thesea walls between and well-known dish for part of the flank of a second the Adriatic and Venice. The walls were a republican course, work of the Venetians; the inscription, I believe, inm Note 6. Stanza lxxxvi. perial, and inscribed by Napoleon. For that with me's a "sine qua." Subauditur " Non," omitted for the sake of euphony. Note 5. Stanza lx. "Untying" squires "to fight against the churches." Note 7. Stanza xcvi. "Note 7. Stanza xcvi. Though ye untie the winds, and bid them fight In short, upon that subject I've some qualms very Against the churches."-JMacbeth. Like those of the Philosopher of Malmsbury. IIobbes; who, doubting of his own soul, paid that Note 6. Stanza xcvii. compliment to the souls of other people as to decline They err-'t is merely what is call'd mobility. their visits, of which he had some apprehension.. e that mobity In French "mobilitY." I am not sure that mobility is English; but it is expressive of a quality which rather belongs to other climates, though it is sometimes seen CANTO XVI. to a great extent in our own. It may be defined as an excessive susceptibility of immediate impressions-at Note 1. Stanxa x. the same time without losing the past; and is, though If from a shell-fish or from cochineal. sometimes apparently useful to the possessor, a most The composition of the old Tyrian purple, whether painful and unhappy attribute. from a shell-fish, or from cochineal, or from kermes, Is still an article of dispute; and even its colour-some Ne 7 S say purple, others scarlet: I say nothing. Draperied her form with curious felicity. "Curiosa felicitas."-PETRoNIus ARBITER. Note 2. Stanza xliii. For a spoil'd carpet-but the "Attic Bee" Note 8. Stanza cxiv. Was much consoled by his own repartee. A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass. I think that it was a carpet on which Diogenes trod, I thnk that i s I t rapl e on the pride of Pl t rod, See the account of the ghost of the uncle of Prince with-" Thus I trample on the pride ofPlato! "-"With \.., ~', i. Ipi- rt! Charles of Saxony' raised by Schroepfer —" Karl —Karl greater pride," as the other replied. But as carpets Ias —wat wo mich are meant to be trodden upon, my memory probably waswat olt mi misgives me, and it might be a robe, or tapestry, or a Note 9. Stanza cxx. table-cloth, or some other expensive and uncynical piece How odd, a single hobgoblin's nonentity of furniture. Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity! Note 3. Stanza xv. "Shadows to-night With "Tu mi chamases" from Portingale, S/sde s to-night With mi ases " from Portina Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail. To soohe our ears, lest taly soulThan can the substance of ten thousand soldiers," etc., et, I remember that thie mayoress of a provincial town, -Sec Richard III. 711 [The following productions of Lord Byron's pen were not published during his life; and, with the exception of two or three of them which were attributed to him upon uncertain grounds, they have made their appearance, for the first time, in Mr. Murray's recent and authoritative edition of the Life and Writings of Byron. From that work they have been carefully selected, and added to the present volume, with a view of rendering it in e.e'y respect a complete edition of Byron's Poetical Works.] t2f~a; from oin srate. BEING AN ALLUSION IN ENGLISH VERSE TO THE EPISTLE " AD PISONES, DE ARTE POETICA,* AND INTENDED AS A SEQUEL TO. "ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCI REVIEWERS." " Ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum Reddere quae ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi." HOR. De Iqrte Poet. 304, 305. " Rhymes are difficult things —they are stubborn things, sir." FIELDING'S lAmelia, Vol. iii. Book 5. Chap. 5. Athens. Capuchin Convent, March 12th, 1i11. The groves of Granta, and her gothic halls, WHO would not laugh, if Lawrence, hired to grace King's Coil., Cam's stream, stain'd windows, and oid His costly canvas with each flatter'd face, walls: Abused his art, till Nature, with a blush, Or, in advent'rous numbers, neatly aims Saw cits grow centaurs underneath his brushi? To paint a rainbow, or the river Thames.t Or, should some limner join, for show or sale, You sketch a tree, and so perhaps may shineA maid of honour to a mermaid's tail? But daub a shipwreck like an alehouse sign; Or low* Dubost (as once the world has seen) You plan a vase-it dwindles to a pot; Degrade God's creatures in his graphic spleen? Then glide down Grub-street-fasting and forgot; Not all that forced politeness, which defends' Laugh'd into Lethe by some quaint review, Fools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends. Whose wit is never troublesome till-true. Believe'me, Moschus, like that picture seems In fine, to whatsoever you aspire The book which, sillier than a sick man's dreams, Let it at least be simple and entire. Displays a crowd of figures incomplete, Poetic nightmares, without head or feet. The greater portion of the rhyming tribe (Give ear, my friend, for thou hast been a scribe) Poets and painters, as all artists know, Are led astray by some peculiar lure. May shoot a little with a lengthen'd bow; I labour to be brief-become obscure; We claim this mutual mercy forour task, One falls while following elegance too fast; And grant in turn the pardon which we ask; Another soars, inflated with bombast; But make not monsters spring from gentle dams- Too low a third crawls on, afraid to fly, Birds breed not vipers, tigers nurse not lambs. He spins his subject to satiety; Absurdly varying, he at last engraves A labour'd, long exordium; sometimes tendsrdly varying, he at last engraves Fish in the woods, and boars beneath the wavesl (Like patriot speeches) but to paltry ends: And nonsense in a lofty note goes down, Unless your care's exact, your judgment nice, As pertness passes with a legal gown: The flight from folly leads but into vice; Thus many a bard describes in pompous strain None are complete, all wanting in some part, The clear brook babbling through the goodly plain; Like certain tailors, limited in art. Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam Assuiter pannus; cum lucus et ara Dianae, Jungere si velit, et varias inducere plumas, Et properantis aquae per ammnos ambitus agrus, Undique collatis membris, nt turpiter atrum Aut flumen Rhenum, aut pluvius describitur arcun Desinat in piscem mulier formosa superne; Sed nunc non erat his locus; et fortasse cupressum Spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amici? Scis simulare: quid hoc, si fractis enatat exspes Credite, Pisones, iste tabulte fore librum Navibus, are dato qui pingitur? ampora cepit Persimilem, ctljus, velut tegri soinnia, vane Institui: currente rota cur urceus exit? Fingentur species, ut nec pes, nec caput uni Denique sit quod vis, simplex duntaxat et ununm Reddatur formre. Pictoribus atque poetis Maxima pars vaturn, pater, et juvenes patre digi Quidlibet audendi semper fuiit equa potestas. Decipimur specie recti. Brevis esse laboro, Scimus, et hane veniam petimusque damusque vicis- Obscurus fio: sectantem levia, nervi sim: Deficiunt animique: professus grandia, turget: Sed non ut placidis coant immitia; non nt Serpit humi, tutus nimium, timidusque proceli, Serpentes avibus geminentlr, tigribus agni. Qui variare cupit rem prodigialiter unam, Incoeptis gravibus plerumque et magna professi Delphinum sylvis appingit fluctibus aprum. Purpureus, late qui splendeat, unus et alter In vitium ducit culpre fuga, si caret arte. JEmilium circa ludum faber unus et ungues ITn an English newspaper, which finds its way abroad wherever there Exprimet, et molles imitabitui Sere capillos are Englishmen, I read an account of this dirty dauber's caricature of Mr. __ H —, and the consequent action, &c. The circumstance is probably too well known to require further:orment. t "Where pure description held the laee of wa 712 BYRON'S WORKS. For galligaskins Slwshears is your man, And we and ours, alas! are due to fate, But. coats must claim another artisan.* And works and words but dwindle to a date. Now this to me, I own, seems much the same Though as a monarch nods, and commerce calls, As Vulcan s feet to bear Apollo's frame; Impetuous rivers stagnate in canals; Or, with a fair complexion, to expose Though swamps subdued, and marshes drain'd, sustain Black eyes, black ringlets, but-a bottle nose! The heavy ploughshare and the yellow grain, And rising ports along the busy shore Dear authors! suit your topics to your strength, Protect the vessel from old ocean's roar, And ponder well your subject, and its length; Al, all must perish; hut, surviving last, Nor lift your load, before you're quite aware The love of letters half preserves the past. What weight your shoulders will, or will not, bear. True, some decav, yet not a few revive; But lucid Order, and Wit's siren voice, Tlhough those shall sink, which now appear tc thrive Await the poet, skilful in his choice; As custom arbitrates, whose shifting sway With native eloquence he soars along, Our life and language must alike obey. Grace in his thoughts, and music in his song. The immortal wars which gods and angels wage, Let judgment teach him wisely to combine Are they not shown in Milton's sacred page? With future parts the now omitted line; His strain will teach what numbers best belong Th;a shall the author choose, or that reject, To themes celestial told in epic song. - Precise in style, and cautious to select. The slow, sad stanza will correctly paint Nor slight applause will candid pens afford The lover's anguish or the friend's complaint. To him who furnishes a wantilng But word. hich deserves the laurel, rhyme or blank? Then fear not if'tis needful to producehich holds on elicon higher rank? Some term unknown, or obsolete in use, Let squabbling critics by themselves dispute tAs tPitt has furnish'd us a word'or two, is point, as puzzling as a Chancery suit. Which lexicographers declined to do;). So0 you indeed, with care,-(but be content Satiric rhyme first sprang from selfish spleen. To take this license rarely)-may invent. You doubt-see Dryden, Pope, St. Patrick's dean.~ New words find credit in these latter days, Blank verse is now, with one consent, allied If neatly grafted on a Gallic phrase. To Tragedy, and rarely quits her side. What Chaucer, Spenser did, we scarce refuse Though mad Almanzor rhymed in Dryden's days, To Dryden's or to Pope's maturer muse. No sing-song hero rants in modern plays; If you can add a little, say why not, While modest Comedy her verse foregoes As well as William Pitt and Walter Scott? For jest and punll in very middling prose. Since they, by force of rhyme and force of lungs, Not that our Bens or Beaumonts show the worse, Enrich'd our Island's ill-united tongues; Or lose one point, because they wrote in verse.?Tis then-and shall be-lawful to present But so Thalia pleases to appear, Reform in writing, as in parliament. Poor virgin! dalnn'd some twenty times a year! As forests shed their foliage by degrees, Whate'er the scene, let this advice have weightySo fade expressions which in season please. Adapt your language to your hero's state. Infelix operis summa, quia ponere totum Terra Neptunus classes aquilonibus arcet, Nesciet. Hunc ego me, si quid componere curem. Regis opus; sterilisve diu palus, aptaque remis Non magis esse velim, quam pravo vivere naso, Vicinas urbes alit, et grave sentit aratrum: Spectandum nigris oculis nigroque capillo. Seu cursutm mutavit iniquum frugibus amnis, Sumite materiem vestris, qui scribitis, equam Doctus iter melius; mortalia facta peribunt: Viribus; et versate diu quid ferre recusent Neduin sermonumr stet honos, et gratia vivax. Quid valeant humeri. Cui lecta potentererit res, Multa renascentur, qute jam cecidere; cadentque, Nec facundia deserethunc nec lucidus ordo. Quce nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus; Ordinis haec virtus erit et venus, aut ego fallor, Quem penes arhitrium est, et-jus, et norma loquendi Ut jam nunc dicat, jam nunc debentia dici Res geste regumque ducumque et tristia bella. Pleraque differat, et praesens in tempus omittat; Quo scribi possent numero imonstravit Homerus. lHoc amet, hoc spernat promissi carminis auctor. Versibus impariter junctis querimonia primum; In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis: Post etiam inclusa est voti sententia compos. Dixeris egregie, notum si callida verbum Quis tamen exiguos elegos emiserit auctor, Reddiderit junctura novum. Si forte necesse est Grammatici certant, et adhuc sub judice lis est. Indiciis monstrare recentibus abdita rerum, Archilocumi proprio rabies armavit iambo; Fingere cinctutis non exaudita Cethegis Hunc socci cepere peden grandesque cothurni, Continget; dabiturque licentia sumpta pudenter; Alternis aptum sermonibus, et populares Et nova factaque nuper habebunt verba fidem, si Vincentem strepitus, et natum rebus agendis. Graeco fonte cadant, parce detorta. Quid autem Musa dedit fidibus divos, puerosque deorum Caecilio Plautoque dabit Romanus, ademptumi Et pugilem victorem, et equum certapine primum Virgilio Varioque? ego cur, acquirere patca Et juvenum curas et libera vina referre. Si possum, invideor; cum lingua Catonis et Enni Descriptas servare vices operumque colores, Sermonem patrium ditaverit, et nova rerum Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, poeta salutor? Nomina protulerit? Licuit, semperque licebit, Cur nescire pudens prave, quam discere malo? Signatum praesente nota producere nomen. Versibus exponi tragicis res comica non vult Ut silvwe foliis pronos mutantur in annos; Indignatur item privatis, ac prope socco Prima cadunt: ita verborum vetus interit aetas, Et juvenum ritu florent modo nata, vigentque. t Old ballads, old plays, and old women's stories, are at present in aN lebemur morti nos nostraque: sivF receptus much request as old wine or new speeches. In fact, this is the miliennisua of black-letter: thanks to our Hebers, Webers, and Scotts! ~ NMac Flecnoe, the Dunciad, and all Swift's lampooning ballads. What. Mere common mortals were commonly content with one tailorand with ever their other works may be, these originated in personal feelings, and mne bill, but the more particular gentlemen found it impossible to confide angry retort on unworthy rivals; and though the ability of these satires ele. Aheir lower garments to the makers of their body clothes. I speak of the be- vates the poetical, their poignancy detracts from the personal character of ginninig of 1809: what reform may have since taken place I neither know the writers. not desire to know. 11 With all the vulgar applause and critical abhorrence o'puns, they hav Mr. Pitt was liberal in his additions to our parliamentary tongue, as Aristotle on their side, who permits them to orators, and gives them couse oay be seen In many publications, particularly the Edinburgh Review. quence by a grave disquisitioa. HINTS FROM HORACE. 713 At times Melpomene forgets to groan, To skilful writers it will much import, And brisk Thalia takes a serious tone; Whence spring their scenes, from common life or ccrt Nor unregarded will the act pass by Whether they seek applause by smile or tear, Where angry Townly lifts his voice on high. To draw a "Lying Valet," or a "Lear," Again, our Shakspeare limits verse to kings, A sage, or rakish youngster wild from school, When common prose will serve for common things; A wandering "Peregrine," or plain "John Bull;" Aid lively Hal resigns heroic ire, All persons please, when nature's voico prevails, To'hollowing Hotspur"* and the sceptred sire. Scottish or Irish, born in Wilts or Wales.'Tis not enough, ye bards, with all your art, Or follow common fame, or forge a plot. To polish poems; they must touch the heart: Who cares if mimic heroes lived or not? Where'er the scene be laid, whate'er the song, One precept serves to regulate the scene: Still let it bear the hearer's soul along; Make it appear as if it might have been. Command your audience or to smile or weep, If some Drawcansir you aspire to draw, Whiche'er may please you-anything but sleep, Present him raving, and above al law: The poet claims our tears; but, by his leave, If female furies in your scheme are plann'd, Before I shed them, let me see him grieve. Macbeth's fierce dame is ready to your hand; If banish'd Romeo feign'd nor sigh nor tear, For tears and treachery, for good or evil, Lull'd by his languor, I should sleep or sneer. Constance, King Richard, Hamlet, and the Devil: Bad words, no doubt, become a serious face, But if a new design you dare essay, And men look angry in the proper place. And freely wander from the beaten way, At double meanings folks seem wondrous sly, True to your characters, till all be past, And sentiment prescribes a pensive eye; Preserve consistency from first to last. For nature form'd at first the inward man,'Tis hard to venture where our betters fail, ASd actors copy nature-wrhen they can. Or lend fresh interest to a twice-told tale; Se d the betids wth e beatibound, Ad et, perchance,'t is wiser to prefer Raised to the stars, or levell'd with the ground; A hackney'd plot, than choose a new, and err. And for expression's aid,'t is said or sung, Yet cpy not too closely, but record, She gave our mind's interpreter-thle tongue, More justly, thought for thought than word for word; W-ho, worn with use, of late would fain dispense Nor trace yolr prototype through narrow ways, At least in theatres) with common sense; But only follow where he merits praise. J'erwhelm with sound the boxes, gallery, pit, And raise a laugh with anything but wit.For yo, youn bard! whom luckless fate may lead To tremble on the nod of all who read, Dignis carminibus narrari camna Thyeste. Ere your first score of cantos time unrolls, Singula queque locum teneant sortita decenter. Beware-for God's sake don't begin like Bowles!t Interdum tamen et vocem commedia tollit, Interdum tamen et vocein comredia tollit,' "Awake a louder and a loftier strain," Iratusque Chremes tumido delitigat ore: Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri. And pray, what follows from this boiling brain?Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et exul, uterque lHe sinks to Southey's level in a trice, Projicit ampullas, et sesquipedalia verba; Whose epic mountains never fail in mice I Si curat cor spectantis tetigisse querela. Non satis est pulchra esse poemata; dulcia santo. Unde pedem proferre pudor vetet, aut operis lex. Et quocunquevolent, animuin auditoris agluto. Nec sic incipies, us scriptor Cyclicus olim: Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus adflent "Fortlinam Priali cantabo, et nobile bellum." Humani vultus; si vis me fiere dolendum est Quid dignuin tanto feret hic promissor hiatu Primum ipsi tibi; tunc tua me infortunia lfdent. Parturiunt montes: nascetur ridiculus mus. Telephe, vel Peleu, male si mandata loqueoris, (anto rectius hic, qui nil molitur ineptel Aut dormitabo, aut ridebo: tristia m(estun "Dic mihi, Musa, virum captie post tempora TroJa Vultum verba decent; iratum, plena lminartum; Qui mores hominoum multorum vidit, et urbes." Ludentem, lasciva; severum, seria dictu. Non fumrurl ex falgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem Format-enim natura prius non intus ad orniern Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinec miracula promat, Fortunarum habitum; juvat, ant inpellit ad iram! Antiphaten, Scyllamque, et cum Cyclope Charybdim. Ant ad humum moerore gravi deducit, et angit; Nec rediluml Diomedis ab interitu Meleagri, Post effert animi mntus interprete lingua. Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo. Si dicentis erunt fortunis absona dicta, _ ~ Romani tollent equites, peditesque caclinnum. t About two yeare ago a young man, named Townsend, was announced Intererit multuln, Davusne loquatur an heros; by tIr. Cumberland (in a review since deceased) as being engaged in an Maturusne senex, an adhuc florente juventa epic poem to be entitled'' Arnageddon." The plan and specimen promise Fervidus; an matrona potens and sedinla nutrix; nmuch; but I hope neither to offend Mr. Townsend nor his friends, by recomFervidus; an matrona potens, and sedlla nutri; mending to his attention the lines of Horace to which theserhymes allude. Mercatorne vagus, cultorne virentis agellit; If Mlr. Townsend succeeds in his undertaking, as there is reason to hope, Colchus an Assyrius; Thebis nutritus, an Argis. how much will the world be indebted to Mr. Cumberland for bringing him Almt famam cequere, aut sibi convenientia finre. before the public! But till that eventful day arrives, it may be doubted npt tahonoratu i i forte repOnvs Achillem;. whether the premature display of, hisplan (sublime as the ideas confessedly Scriptor honoratum si forte reponis Achillem are) has not, by raising expectat ion too high, or diminishing curiosity, by de Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer, veloping his argument, rather incurred the hazard of injuring Mr. Town Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arroget armis. send's future prospects. Mr. Cumberland (whose talents I shall not depreSit Medea ferox invictaque, flebilis In ciate by the humble tribute of my praise) and Mr. Townsend must not supit Medea erox inv pose me actuated by unworthy motives in this suggeetion. I wish the author Perfidus Ixion; Io vaga; tristis Orestes; all the success he can wish himself, and shall be truly happy to see epic po Si quid inexpertum scenae committis, et audes etry weighed up from the bathos where it lies sunken with Souhey, Cottle, Personam formare novam; servetur ad imum Cowley (Mrs. or Ahraham),,Ogilvy. Wiltie, Pye, and all the" dull of pas Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet. and present days." Even if he is not a Milton, he may be better than Blacl. Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi COnst et.r more: if not a Homer, an ARntimachus. I should deem myself presumpt,. Difficile est proprie communia dicere; tuque ous, as a young man, in offering advice, were it not addressed to one stil. Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus, younger. Mr. Townsend has the greatest difficulties to encounter: but in -Quam si proferres ignota indictaqlue primlts. conquering them he will find employment; in having conquered them, hil reward. I know too well " the scribbler's scoff, the critic's contumely,' amnd Publica materies privati juris erit, si I am afraid time will teach Mr. Townsend toknew them better. Those who Nec circa vilem patulullnque moraberis orlbern; succeed, and those who do not, must bear this alike, and it is hard to an Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere fiduls which have most of it. I trust that Mr. Townsend's share will be frr.n Isiterpres, onC desilies` imitator iin anrctum P~nuy~envy:-bhe will soon know mankind well enough not tc sttribute this ex lhterpres, nec desilies' imitator in arcturn presslo " to malice. ~~~~ ~. ~~"~-~~~....,I ~~~~~~~ The above note -was written before the author uls apprltdt of Jli 4'. *" And in his ear I'll hollo', Mortimer'."1 — Hly IV. berland's death. 95 714 BYRON'S WORKS. Not so of yore awoke your mighty sire Sits in the senate; gets a son and heir; The temper'd warblings of his master lyre; Sends-him to Harrow, for himself was there. Solt as the gentler'reathing of the lute, Mute, though he votes, unless when call'd to chexi "Of man's first disobedience and the fruit" His son's so sharp-he'll see the dog a peerl IHe speaks, but as his subject swells along, Manhood declines-age palsies every limb; Earth. heaven, and hades echlo with the song. He quits the scene-or else the scene quits him; et'ill to the midst of things lie hastens on, Scrapes wealth, o'er each departing penny grieves As if we witnss'd all already done; And avarice seizes all ambition leaves; Leaves on his path whatever seems too mean Counts cent. per cent., and smiles, or vainly frets, To'I raise the subject, or adorn the scene; O'er hoards diminish'd by young Hopeful's debts; Gives, as each page improves upon the sight, Weighs well and wisely what to sell or buy Not smoke from brightness, but from darkness —light; lee ll lifs sons-but to die; Complete in all life's lessons —but to die; And truth and fiction with suckh art compounds, Peevish and spiteful doting hard to please We know not where to fix their several bounds. Commending every time, save times like these; If you would please the public, deign to hear Crazed qerlous, forsaken, half forgot What soothes the mnany-aeaded monster's ear; Expires unwept-is buried-let him rot If your heart triumph when the hands of all E ires unwept-s buried-let digress, Applaud in thunder at the curtain's fall, t ro the raa let e Nor spare my precepts, though they please you less DIeserve those plaudits-study nature's page, And sketch the striking traits of every age; Though women weep, and hardest hearts are stirr'd And sketch the striking traits of every age; While varying man and varying years unfold what is done i rather seen than heard, Yet many deeds preserved inl history's page Life's little tale, so oft, so vainly told. Observe his simple childhood's dawning days, Are better told than acted ho the stage; The ear sustains what shocks the timid eye, llis pranks, his prate, his playmates, and his plays; s s s ath And horror thus subsides to sympathy. Till time at length the mannish tyro weans, re rto ll bside, I h m FrenchAnd prurient vice outstrips his tardy teens! Bloodshed'tis surely better to retrench; Behold him freshman! forced no more to groan The gladiatorial gore we teach to flow O'er *Virgil's devilish verses and his own, In tragic scene disgusts, though but in show; Prayers are too tedious, lectures too abstruse, We hate the carnage while we see the trick, Ie flies from T —v- l's frown to "Fordham's Mews:" And find small sympathy in being sick. (Unlucky T-v-l! doomnd to daily cares Not on the stage the regicide Macbeth By pugilistic pupils and by bearst,) Appals an audience with a monarch's death; Fines, tutors, tasks, conventions, threat in vain, To gaze when sable Hubert threats to sear Before hounds, hunters, and Newmarket plain. Young Arthur's eyes, can ours, or nature bear? Rough with his elders, with his equalsrash, A ~halter'd heroine. Johnson sought to slayCivil to sharpers, prodigal of cash; We saved Irene, but half damn'd the play. Constant to naught-save hazard and a whore, And (Heaven be praised!)our tolerating times Yet cursing both-for both have made him sore; Stint metamorphoses to pantomimes, Unread (unless, since books beguile disease, And Lewis' self, with all his sprites, would quake The p-x becomes his passage to degrees); To change Earl Osmond's negro to a snake Fool'd, pillaged, dunn'd, he wastes his term away, Because, in scenes exciting joy or grief, And, mn.expell'd perhaps, retires M. A. We loathe the action which exceeds belief: Master of arts! as hells and clubst proclaim, And yet, God knows! what may not authors do, Where scarce a blackleg bears a briglhltr name I Whose postscripts prate of dyeing "heroines blue? Launch'd into life, extinct his early fire, AbOve all things, Dan Poet, if you can, Hle apes the selfish prudence of his sire; Eke out your. acts, I pray, with mortal man; Marries for money, chooses friends for rank, Nor call a ghost, unless some cursedscrape Buys land, and shrewdly trusts not to the Bank; Must open ten trap-doors for your escape. Semper ad eventum festinat; et in medias res Gaudet equis canibusque, et aprici gramine campit Non secus ac notas, auditorem rapit, et qupa Cereus in vitium flecti, monitoribus asper, I)esperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit: Utiliur tardus provisor, prodigus aeris, Atile ita mentitur, sic veris falsa remiscet, Sublimis, cupidusque, et amata relinquere pernix Prinmo ne medium, medio ne discrepet imum. Conversis studiis, wetas animusque virilis Tu, quid ego et populus mrecum desideret, audi. Q.aerit opes, et amicitias, inservit honori; Si plausoris egesaultea mnanentis, et usque Commisisse cavet quod mox mutare laboret. Sessiti, donee cantor, Vos plaudite, dicat; Multa senem conveniunt incommoda; vel quod A/'tatis cujusque notandi sulnt tibi mores, Qi uarit, et inventis miser abstinet, ac timet uti; Mobilibusqile decor naturis dandus et annis. Vel quod res omnes timide gelideque ministrat, Reddere aui voces jam scit puer, et pede certo Dilator, spe longus, iners, avidusque futuri; Sirnat nunlum:n; gestit paribus colludere, et iram Ditiicilis, quaerulus, laudator temporis acti Colligit ac ponit temere, et mutatur in horas. Se puero, castigator censorque minorum. Tmberbis juvenis, tandem custode remoto, Multa ferunt anni venientes r')mmoda secum, __, —-__. ~_~~- ~ ~~~_^ ~~- - MMulta recedentes adimunt. Ne forte seniles * Harvey, the circulator of the circulation of the blood, used to flin Maldentur juveni partes, pueroque viriles, acay Virgil in his ecstacy of admiration, and say, " the book had a devil."' emper in adjuctis, rvoque morabimur aptis taw, iacrh a character as I am copying would probably fling it away also, e t ape r i n a iju nct is, voq u e mo rabimur aptis. t her wish that the devil had the book; not from any dislike to the t agitr r in eni, t actrefertr, iet, but a well-founded horror of hexameters. Indeed the public school _ i,,ancle of " long and short" is enough to beget an antipathy to poetry for the residue of a man's life, and, perhaps, so far may be an advantage. ~ " Irene had to speak two lines with the bowstring round her neck but nfandumn, regina, jubes renovare dolorem." I tlare say Mr. T-v-l the aldierice cried out' Murder! and she was obliged to be carried of the po t', nor I mean no affront) will vitderstand me; and it is no matter whe- s!age."~-Bosueli's Life of Johnson. tler aany one else does or no.-To the above events, " quaque ipse miserrima 1 In Ile postscript to the " Castle Specre" Mr. Lewis tells us, that thougb A.di et qllorumn pars niaVa uci." all times and teru bear testimony. -blacks were unknown in England at the period of his action, yet he has t " Hell," a gaming-h:use so called, where you risk little, and are cheat. nade the anaclhroniiln to set off ile scene: and if hecould have produce d'1 gocod d.ta.. " Club," a pleasant purgatory, where you lese.more, and tie effect "ly mnaking his heroine blu'"-l quote him —"blue he would hav tiv e ut si>aosed to te cbeated at all made htr i" HINTS FROM HORACE. 715 Of all the monsitous things I'd fain forbid, Yes, friend! for thee I'll quit my cynic cell, I loathe an opera worse than Dennis did; And bear Swift's motto, "Vive la bagatelleI" Where good and evil persons, right or wrong, Which charm'd our days in each AEgean clime, Rage, love, and aught but moralize, in song. As oft at home, with revelry and rhyme. Hail, last memorial of our foreign friends Then may Eulphrosyne, who sped the past, Whir.h Gaul allows, and still Hesperia lends! Soothe thy life's scenes, nor leave thee in the last Napoleon's edicts no enibargo lay But find in thine, like pagan Plato'st bed, On whores, spies singers' wisely shipp'd away. Some merry manuscript of mimes, when dead. Our giant capital, whose squares are spread Now to the Drama let bend our eyes Where rustics earn'd, and now may beg, their bread; W f es I all. in.&t igrw sonce Where fetter'd by whig Walpole low she lies; In all, iniquity is grown so nice, Corruption foil'd her, for she fear'd her glance; It scorns amusements which are not of price. Decorum left her for an opera dance Decorum left her for an opera dance! Hence the pert shopkeeper, whose throbbing earhesterfield, hose pis'd peninveighs Yet ~Chesterfield, whose polish'd pen inveighs Aches with the orchestras he pays to hear,'Gainst laughter, fought for freedom to our plays; Whom shame, not sympathy, forbids to snore, check'd by egrims of patrician brains His anguish doubling by his own "encore;" And damning dullness of lord chamberlains. Squeezed in "Fop's Alley," jostled by the beaux,dul s of Teased with his hat, and trembling for his toes; Repeal that act! again let Humour roam Wild o'er the stage-we've time for tears at home; Scarce wrestles through the night, nor taste of ease rcher plant the horns on " llen's" brows r t do, ra ie l rlae Let "Archer" plant the horns on "Sullen's" brows Till the dropp'd curtain gives a glad release;" gull her "Copperl" spouse; And "Estifania" gull her "Copperli" Spouse; Why this, and more, he suffers-can ye guess?- The moral's scant-but that may be excused, Because it costs him dear, and makes him dress Men go not to lectured, Lut amused. So prosper eunuchs from Etruscan schools lie whom our plays dispose to good or ill Give us but fiddlers, and they're sure of fools Must wear a head in want of Willis' skill; Ere scenes were play'd by many a reverend clerk* Ay, but Mackheath's example-psha!-no morel (What harm, if David danced before the ark?) It form'd no thieves-the thief was form'd before; In Christmas revels, simple country folks And spite of puritans and Collier's cursel Were pleas'd with morrice-mumm'ry and coarse jokes. Plays make mankind no better, and no worse. Improving years, with things no longer known, Then spare our stage, ye methodistic menl Produced blithe Punch and merry Madame Joan. Nor burn damn'd Drury if it rise again. Who still frisk on with feats so lewdly low, But why to brain-scorch'd bigots thus appeall'Tis strange Benvolio suffers such a show;t Can heavenly mercy dwell with earthly zeal? Suppressing peer! to whom each vice gives place, For times of fire and fagot let them hope; Oaths, boxing, begging,-all, save rout and race. Times dear alike to puritan or pope. Farce follow'd Comedy, and reach'd her prime As pious Calvin saw Servetus blaze, In ever-laughing Foote's fantastic time: So would new sects on newer victims gaze. Mad wag! who pardon'd none, nor spared 1.e best, E'en now th: songs of Solyma begin; And turn'd some very serious things to jest. Faith cants, 1erplex'd apologist of sin Nor church nor state escaped his public sneers, While the Lord's servant hastens whom he loves, Arms nor the gown, priests, lawyers, volunteers: And Simeon kicks where *Baxter only "shoves." "-Alas, poor Yorick!" now for ever mute!."Alas, poor Yorick " now for ever mute!~ Whom nature guides, so writes, that every dunce, Whoever loves a laugh must sigh for Foote. Enraptured, thinks to do the same at once; We smrile, perforce, when histrionic scenes But after inky thumbs and bitten nails, Ape the swoln dialogue of kings and queens, And twenty scatter'd quires, the coxcomb fails. When "Cnrononhotonthologos must die," ASlnd Autl" r struts in mimic majesty. dLet pastoral be dumb; for who can hope To match the youthful eclogues of our Pope? Moschusl with whom once more I hope to sit Yet his and Philips' faults, of different kind, Vnd smile at folly, if we can't at wit; For art too rude, for nature too refied, Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem ilvis deduci caveant, me judice, Fauni Quam qure sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et qu Ne velet innati triviis, ac pene forenses, Ipse sibi tradit spectator. Non tamen intus Aut nimium teneris juvenentur versibus unquam, Digna geri, promes in scenam; multaque tolles At immunda crepent, ignominiosaque dicta. Ex oculis, quas mox narret facundia preesens. Offenduntur enim, quibus est equus, et pater, et res Ne pueros coran populo Medea trucidet; Nec, si quid fricti ciceris probat et nucis emtor, Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus; iEquis accipitint animis, donantve corona. Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmus in anguem. Syllaba longa brevi subjecta, vocatur iambus, Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi. Pes citus: unde etiam trimetris accrescere jussit Neve minor, neu sit quinto productior actu Nonen inmbeis, cum senos redderet ictus, Fabula, quae posci vult, et spectata reponi. Primus ad extremum similis sibi: non ita pridem, Nec deus'intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus Inciderit. * * * Ex noto fictum carmen sequar. ut sibi quivis t Under Plato's pillow a volume of the Mitnes of Sophron was found the Speret idem: sudet multum, frustraque laboret day he died.-Vide Barthetemi, DePatuw, or Diogenes Lertius, if aglees Apusus idlem.: tal tum r series j turaquble.e Pauotw ellsit a jest bok.-Cumberland, in his Observer, terms it Ausus idem: tantum series juncturaque polletrs; moral, like the savings of "Publius Cyrus." Tantum de medio sunltis accedit honoris. ~ His speech on the licensing act is one of his most eloquent efforts. II Michael Perez, the "Copper Captain,"' i' Rule a Wife and have a * " The first theatrical representations, entitled' Mysteries and Morali- Wife." ties,' were generally enacted at Christmas, by monks (as the only persons s Jerry Collier's controversy with Congreve, &c.apn the subject'f th who could read), and latterly by the clergy and students of the universities. drama, is too well known to require further comment. The dramatis personae were usually Adam, Pater, Ceelestis, Faith, Vice," " ~~ B"axter's Shove to heavy-a-d Christians." The veritable htie ol a tc. &c.-Vide WYarton's History of English Poetry. book once in good repute, and likely enough to be so again.-Mr. Simeon a t Benvolio does not bet; but every man who maintains race-horses is a the very biilv of beliefs, and castigator of "good works." He is ably appromoter of all the concomitant evils of the turf. Avoiding to bet is a lit. ported by John Stickles, a labourer in the same vinoyard' —but I tsy w tie pharisaical. Is it an exculpation? I think nnt. I never yet heard a more, for according to Johnny in full congregation, I" No tfeueor" tIhe bawd Draised for chastity because she herself did not comnit fornication. laughs." 186 BYRON'S WORKS. Instruct how hard the medium'tis to hit In sooth I do not know or greatly care'Twixt too much polish and too coarse a wit. To learn who our first English strollers were; A vulgar scribbler, certes, stands disgraced Or if, till roofs received the vagrant art, In this nice age, when all aspire to taste; Our muse, like that of hespis, kept a cart. The dirty language, and the noisome jest, But this is certain, since our Shakspeare's days, Which pleased in Swift of yore. we now detest; There's pomp enough, if little else, in plays; Proscribed not only in the world polite, Nor will Melpomene ascend her throne But even too nasty for a city knight! Without high heels, white plume, and Bristol stone. Peace to Swift's faults! his wit hath made them pass, Old comedies still meet with much applause, Unmatch'd by all, save matchless Hubibras! Though too licentious for dramatic laws: Whose author is perhaps the first we meet, At least, we moderns, wisely,'tis confest, Curtail, or silence, the lascivious jest.! Who from our couplet lopp'd two final feet; lascivious jest. Nor less in merit than the longer line, Whate'er their follies, and their faults beside, This measure moves a favourite of the Nine. Our enterprising bards pass naught untried; Though at first view eight feet may seem in vain Nor do they merit slight applause who choose Form'd, save in ode, to bear a serious strain, An English subject for an English muse, Yet Scott has shown our wondering isle of late And leave to minds which never dare invent This measure shrinks not from a theme of weight, French flippancy and German sentiment. And, varied skilfully, surpasses far Where is that living language which could claim Heroic rhyme, but most in love and war, Poetic more, as philosophic, fame, Whose fluctuations, tender or sublime, If all our bards, more patient of delay, Are curb'd too much by long-recurring rhyme. Would stop, like Pope, to polish by the way? But many a skilful judge abhors to see, Lords of the quill, whose critical assaults What few admire-irregularity. O'erthrow whole quartos with their quires of faults This some vouchsafe to pardon; but'tis hard Who soon detect, and mark where'er we, fail, When such a word contents a British bard. And prove our marble with too nice a naill And must the bard his g'owing thoughts confine, Denmocritus himself was not so bad; Lest censure hover o'er some faulty line! e Only thught, but you would nake, us madl Remove whate'er a critic may suspect, But, truth to say, most rhymers rarely guard To gain the paltry suffrage of "correct?" Against that ridicule they deem so hard; Or prune the spirit of each daring phrase, In person negligent, they wear, from sloth, To fly from error, not to merit praise? Beards of a week, and nails of annual growth: Ye who seek finish'd models, never cease, Reside in garrets, fly from those they meet, By day and night, to read the works of Greece. And walk in alleys, rather than the street But our good fathers never bent their brains With little rhyme, less reason, if you please, To heathen Greek, content with native strains. The name of poet may be got with ease,'The few who read a pagb, or used a pen, So that not tuns of helleboric juice Were satisfied with Chaucer and old Ben; Shall ever turn your head to any use; The jokes and numbers suited to their taste Write but like Wordsworth, live beside a lake, Were quaint and careless, any thing but chaste; And keep your bushy locks a year from Blake;* Yet whether right or wrong the ancient rules, Then print your book, once more return to town, It will not do to call our fathers fools! And boys shall hunt your bardship up and down. Though you and I, who eruditely know Am I not wise if such some poets' plight, To separate the elegant and low, To purge in spring (like Bayes) before I write? Can also, when a hobbling line appears, If this precaution soften'd not my bile, Detect with fingers in default of ears. I know no scribbler with a madder style; Tardior ut paulo graviorque veniret ad aures, Laude; sed in vitium libertas excidit, et vim Spondeos stabiles in jura paterna recepit Dignam lege regi; lex est accepta, chorusque Commodus et patiens; non ut de sede secunda Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi. Cederet aut quarta socialiter. Iic et in Acci Nil intentauma aostri liquere poetie; Nobilibus trimetris apparet rarus, et Enni. Nec minimum meruere decus, vestigia Grfeca In scenam missos magno cum pondere versus, Aussi deserere, et celebrere domestica facta Aut operae celeris nimium, curaque carentis, Vel qi pretextas, vel qui docuere togatas. Aut ignoratse premit artis crimine turpi. Nec virtute foret clarisve potentius armis. Non quivis videt immodulata poemata judex; Quam lingua, Latium, si non offenderet unum Et data Romanis venia est indigna poetis. quenque poetarumn lima labor, et mora. Vos, 6 ldcircone vager, scribamque licenter? an omnnes Pompilius sanguis, carmen reprehendite, quod non Visuros peccata putem mea; tutus, et intra Multa dies et multa litura coercuit, atque Spem venise cautus? vitavi denique culpam, Praesectum decies non castigavit ad unguem. Non laudem merui. Vos exemplaria Graca Ingenium misera quia fortunatius arte Nocturna versate manu, versate diurna. Credit, et excludit sanos Helicone poetas At vestri proavi Plautinos et numeros et Democritus; bona pars non ungues ponere curat Laudavere sales; nimium patienter utrumque, Non barbarn: secreta petit loca, balnea vitat. Net dicam stulte, mirati; si modo ego et vos Nanciscetur enim pretium nomenque poeta, Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto, Si tribus Anticyris caput insanabile nonquam Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus et aure, Tonsori Licino commiserit. O ego lIevus, Ignotum tragicae genus invenisse CamenaB Qui purgor bilem sub verni temnporis horanll Ih.:itur, et plaustris vexisse poemata Thespis, Non alius faceret meliora poemata: verun tlaue canerant agerentque peruncti fiecibus era Nil tantl est: ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum lost lhunc personas dallaque repertor honestae _ Ad~schy1lui et modicis iustravit pulpita tignis, nChyltlut manumqicise loqi, lraiti pulpitsa otnllrls. * As famousa tonsor as Licinus himelf, an better paid, and may, lik Et oculit magnumque loqui,'mitique cotu hi, e O n hi he one day asenator, having a better qualification than oie half'of the Setccssit vetus his-cominadia. non sine multa leads he crops, viz.-independlencs. HINTS FROM HORACE. 717 But since (perhaps my feelings are too nice) For poets (says this sage, and many more,*) I cannot purchase fame at such a price, Make sad mechanics with their lyric lore; I'11 labour gratis as a grinder's wheel, And Delphi now, however rich of old, And, blunt myself, give edge to others' steel, Discovers little silver Ond less gold, Nor write at all, unless to teach the art Because Parnassus, though a mount divine, To those rehearsing for the poet's part; Is poor as Irus,t oT'n Irish mine. From Horace show the pleasing paths of song, To objects a ays should the poet move And from my own example, what is wrong. Or one or both,-to please or to improve. Though modern practice sometimes differs quite, Whatever you teach, be brief, if you design'Tis just as well to think before you write; For our remembrance your didactic line; Let every book that suits your theme be read, Redundance places memory on the rack, So shall you trace it to the fountain-head. For brains may be o'erloaded, like the back. He who has learnt the duty which he owes Fiction does best when taught to look like truth, To friend and country, and to pardon foes; And fairy fables bubble none but youth: Who models his deportment as may best Expect no credit for too wond'rous tales, Accord with brother, sire, or stranger guest; Since Jonas only springs alive from whales! Who takes our laws and worship as they are, Young men with aught but elegance dispense, Nor roars reform for senate, church, and bar; Maturer years require a little sense. In practice, rather than loud precept, wise, To end at once:-that bard for all is fit Bids not his tongue, but heart, philosophize; Who mingles well instruction with his wit; Such is the man the poet should rehearse, For him reviews shall smile, for him o'erflow As joint exemplar of his life and verse. The patronage of Paternoster-row; Sometimes a sprightly wit, and tale well told, His book, with Longman's liberal aid, shall pass Without much grace, or weight, or art, will hold (Who ne'er despises books that bring him brass); A longer empire o'er the public mind Through three long weeks the taste of London lead, Than sounding trifles, empty, though refined. And cross St. George's Channel and the Tweed. Unhappy Greece! thy sons of ancient days But every thing has faults, nor is't unknown The muse may celebrate with perfect praise, That harps and fiddles often lose their tone, Whose generous children narrow'd not their hearts And wayward voices, at their owner's call With commerce, given alone to arms and arts. With all his best endeavours, only squall; Our boys (save those whom public schools compel Dogs blink their cover, flints withhold their spark, To "long and short" before they're taught to spell) And double-barrels (damn them!) miss their mark.~ From frugal fathers soon imbibe by rote, Where frequent beauties strike the reader's view "A penny saved, my lad,'s a penny got." We must not quarrel for a blot or two; Babe of a city birth from sixpence take But pardon equally to books or men, Two thirds, how much will the remainder make?- The slips of human nature, and the pen. "A groat."-" Ah, bravo! Dick hath done the sum I Yet if an author, spite of foe or friend, He'll swell my fifty thousand to a plum." Despises all advice too much to mend, They whose young souls receive this rust betimes, But ever twangs the same discordant string,'Tis clear, are fit for any thing but rhymes; Give him no quarter, howsoe'er he sing. And Locke will tell you, that the father's right Let ljHavard's fate o'ertake him, who, for once Who hides all verses from his children's sight; Produced a play too dashing for a dunce: Reddere qume ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi: Ficta voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris: Munus et officium, nil scribens ipse, docebo; Nec quodcunque volet, poscat sibi fabula credi: Unde parentur opes; quid alat formetque poetam; Neu pranse Lamiae vivum puerum extrahat alvo. Quid deceat, quid non; quo virtus, quo ferat error. Centuriae seniorum agitant expertia frugis: Scribendi recte, sapere est et principium et fons. Celsi preetereunt austera poemata Rhamnes. Rem tibi Socraticae poterunt ostendere clartae: Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci, Verbaque provisam rem non invita sequentur. Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo. Qui didicit patrias quid debeat, et qpuid amicis; Hic meret sera liber Sosiis; hic et mare transit. Quo sit amore parens, quo frater amandus, et hospes; Et longumn noto scriptori prorogat mevum. Quod sit conscripti, quod judicis officium; quae Sunt delicta tamen, quibus ignovisse velimus; Partes in bellum missi ducis; ille profecto Nam neque chorda sonum reddit quem vult manui Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique. et mens, Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo Poscentique gravem persaepe remittit acutum; Doctum imitatorem, et vivas hinc ducere voces. Nec semper feriet quodcunque minabitur arcus. Tnterdum speciosa locis, morataque recte Verum ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucil Fabula, nullius veneris, sine pondere et arte, Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit, Valdius oblectat populum, meliusque moratur, Quam versus inopes rerum nugeque canorte. Graiis ingenium, Gra is dedit ore rotundo 1 have not the original by me, but the Italian translation runs a, followvs Musa loqui, praeter laudem nullius avaris, — "E una cosa a mio credere molto stranagante,che ua padredestideri. oper metta. che suo figliuolo coltiri e perfezioni questoa talento." A little further Romani pueri longis rationibus assem on: " Si trovano di rado nel Parnaso le miniere d' oro e d' argento." —.Ed Discunt in partes centum diducere: dicat cazione dei Fanciulli de Siglor Locke. Venetian edition. "Filius Albini, Si de quincunce remota est t "Iro pauperior:" this is the same begger who boxed with Ulyses for a Uncia, quid superat? poterat dixisse-Triens. Eu! pound of kid's fry, which he lost, and halfa dozen teeth besides.-See Odys Rem poteris servare tuam. Redit uncia: quid fit??ey b. 8. Semis. An haec animos atrugo et cura peculi t The rish gold mine of Wicklow, which yieldsjust ore enough to swe~ Cum seine] imbuerit, speramus carmina fingi Cum sernel imbuerit, speramus carmina fing ~ As Mr. Pope took the libertyof damning Homer, to whom hewasundr Posse linend, cedro, et levi servanda cupresso? great obligations-"alnd Homer (damn him!) calls"-it may be presuned Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poetie; that any body or any thing may be damned in verse bypoetical license;ia& Aut simul et jucunda et iponea dicere vitae. in case of-accident, I beg leave to plead so illustrious a precedent. Quidquid precipies, esto brevis: ut cito dicta II For the story of Billy Havard's tragedy, see "Da es's Life of Garrick." I believe it is "Rerulus," or" Charles the First."-The moment it Percipiant animi dociles. teteantque fideles. ewas known to be his, the theatre thinr- and the bh-.uelle refused to t we )mnie supervacuum pleno de pectore manat. the customary sum forthe copyrignt 30 718 BYRON'S WORKS. At first none deem'd it his, but when his name Such are the genial feelings thou canst claim, Announced the fact-what then?-it lost its fame. My falcon flies not at ignoble game. Though all deplore when Milton deigns to doze, Mightiest of all Dunedin's beasts of chase In a long work'tis fair to steal repose. For thee my Pegasus would mend his pace. As pictures, so shall poems be; some stand Arise, my effrey or my inkless pen Shall never blunt its edge on meaner men; The critic eye, and please when near at hand; ll never thine min edvil ee dim er en But others at a distance strike the sight; Till thee or thine mine evil eye discerns, Alas! I cannot "strike at wretched kernes." This seeks the shade, but that demands the light, Nor dreads the connoisseur's fastidious view, Inhuman Saxon I wilt thou then resign nBut, ten times scrutinized, is ten times new. A muse and heart by choices so wholly thine? But, ten times scrutinized, is ten times new. Dear, d-d contemner of my schoolboy songs, Parnassian pilgrims! ye whom chance or choice Hast thou no vengeance for my manhood's wrongs' Iath led to listen to the muse's voice, If unprovoked thou once couldst bid me bleed, Receive this counsel, and be timely wise; Hast thou no weapon for my daring deed? Flew reach the summit which before you lies. What! not a word!-and am I then so low? Our church and state, our courts and camps, concede Wilt thou forbear, who never spared a foe? Reward to very moderate heads indeed! Hast thou no wrath, or wish to give it vent? In these, plain common sense will travel far; No wits for nobles, dunces by descet? All are not Erskines who mislead the bar: No jest on "minors," quibbles on a name, But poesy between the best and worst Nor one facetious paragraph of blame? No medium knows; you must be last or first: Is it for this on Ilion I have stood For middling poets' miserable volumes, And thought of Homer less than Holyrood? Are damn'd alike by gods, and men, and columns. On shore of Euxine or AEgean sea, Again, my Jeffreyl —as that sound inspires, My hate untravell'd, fondly turn'd to thee. How wakes my bosom to its wonted firesl Ah! let me cease; in vain my bosom burns, Fires, such as gentle Caledonians feel, From Corydon unkind Alexist turns: When Southerns writhe upon their critic wheel, Thy rhymes are vain; thy Jeffrey then forego, Or mild Eclectics,* when some, worse than Turks, Nor woo that anger which he willnot show. Would rob poor Faith to decorate "good works." What then?-Edina starves some lanker son, To write an article thou canst not shun: Aut humana parum cavit natura. Quid ergo? Some less fastidious Scotchman shall be found, Ut scriptor si peccat idem librarius usque, Ut scriptor si peccat ide libraus usqu, As bold in Billingsgate, though less renown'd. Quamvis est monitus, venia caret; ut citharedus Ridetur, chorda qui semper aberrat eadem: As if at table some discordant dish Sic milli, qui multum cessat, fit Chcerilus ille, Should shock our optics, such as frogs for fish: Quem bis terve bonum cum risu miror; et idem As oil in lieu of butter men decry, Indignor, quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus Verum operi longo fast est obrepere somnum. And poppies please not in amodern pie; Ut pictura, poesis: et erit qum, si propius stes, If all such mixtures then be half a crime, Te capiet magis; et quadam, si longius abstes: VWe must have excellence to relish rhyme. Haec amat obscurum; volet hec sub luce videri, Mere roast and boil'd no epicure invites; Judicis argutum qua non formidat acumen: Hac placuit semel; haec decies tepetita placebit. y u, O major juvenum, quamvis et voce paterna Who shoot not flying rarely touch a gun; Fingeris ad rectum, et per te sapis; hoc tibi dictum Will he who swims not to the river run? Tolle memor: certis medium et tolerabile rebus, And men unpractised in exchanging knocks Recte concedi: consultus juris, et actor eausarumo medi ocrisabest virtute diserti Must go to Jackson ere they dare to box. Messalae, nec scit quantum Cassellius Aulus: Whate'er the weapon, cudgel, fist, or foil, Sed tamen in pretio est: mediocribus esse poetis None reach expertness without years of toil; Non homines, non di, non concessere columnae. But fifty dunces can, with perfect ease, Ut gratas inter mensas symphonia discors. Ut gratas inter mensas symphonia discors. Tag twenty thousand couplets when they please. Et crassum unguentum, et Sardo cum melle papaver Offendunt, poterat duci quia cacna sine-istis Why not?-shall I, thus qualified to sit Sic animis natum inventumque poema juvandis, For rotten boroughs, never show my wit? Si-paulum a summo decessit, vergit ad imum. Shall 1, whose fathers with the quorum sate, Ludere qui nescit, campestribus abstinet armis, And lived in freedom on a fair estate; Indoctusque pilae, piscive, trochive, quiescit,o left me eirwith stales kennels packs Ne spissm risum tollant impune corona: -Ne spisae risum tollant. impune coronre: To all their income, and to twice its tax; * To the Eclectic or Christian Reviewers I have to return tshnks for the Whose form and pedigree have scarce a fault, fervour of that charity which in 1809 induced them to express a hope, that a Shall I, I say, suppress my attic salt? thing then published by me might lead to certain consequences, which, although natural enough, surely came but rashly from reverend lips. I refer Thus think "the mob of gentlemen;" but you, them to their own pages, where they congratulated themselves on the pro. Besides all this, mut have some genius too. pect of a tilt between Mr. Jeffrey and myself, from which some great good was to accrue, provided one orboth were knocked on the head. Having Be this your sober judgment, and a rule, survived twoyears and a half those "Elegies" which they were kindly pre And not piping hot arig to review, I'have no peculiar gusto to give them " so joyful a trou-And print not piping hot from Southey's school, ble," except, indeed, " upon compulsion, Hal;" but if, as David says in the "Rivals," it should come to "bloody sword and gun fighting," we" won't Qui nescit, versus tamen audet fingere Quid ni ron, will we, Sir Lucius?" I do not know What I had done to these Ec- Liber etingenuuspresertimcensus equestrem leetic gentlemen: my works are their lawful perquisite, to behewn in pieces like Agag, if it should seem meet unto them; but why they'should be in Summam nummorum, vitioque remotus ab omni. such a hurry to kill off their author, I am ignorant. "The race is not Tu nihil invita dices faciesve Minerva: always to the swift nor the battle to thestrong:"'and now, asthese Chris- Id tibi judicium est, ea mens; si quid tamen 11m tians have "smote me on one cheek," I hold them up the other; and in re i s, in Metii descendant judicis aures, turn for their good wishes, give them an opportunity of repeating them. Hadin Metii descendant judicis aures any other set of men expressed such sentiments, I should have smiled, and Et patris, et nostras nonumque-prematur in annurn.eft them to the'recording angel," but from the pharisees of Christianity Membranis intus positis, delere licebit decency might be expected. I can assure these brethren, that, publican and Quod non edideris; nescit vox missa reverti. sinner as I am, I would not have treated "mine enemy's dog thus." To show them the superiority of my brotherly love, if ever the Reverend Sylvestres homines sacer interpresque deorum Messrs. Simeon or Ramsden should be engaged in sucn a conflict as that in Caedibus et victu f(Edo deterruit Orpheus: which they requested me to fall, I hope they may escape with being "wings a u,y and that Heaviside may be at hand to extract the ball. t Invenies alium, si te hie fastidit, Alexi. HINTS FROM HORACE. 71 l Who (ere another Thalaba appears), Then if your verse is what all verse should be, I trust, will spare us for at least nine years. And gods were not ashamed on't, why should we? And hark'ye, Soqthey!* pray-but don't be vext- The muse, like mortal females, may be wo'd, Burn all your last three works-and half the next. t s s p e In turns she'll seem a Paphian or a prude: But why this vain advice? once publish'd, books Fierce as a bride when first she feels affright, Can never be recall'd-from pastry-cooks! Mild as the same upon the second night; Though "Madoc," with "Pucelle,"t instead of Punch, Wild as the wife f alderman or peer, May travel back, to Quito on a trunk! tNow for his grace, and now a grenadier! Orpheus, we learn from Ovid and Lempriere, Her eyes beseem, her heart belies, her zone, Led all wild beasts but woman by the ear; Ice in a crowd, and lava when alone. And had he fiddled at the present hour, We'd seen the lions waltzing in the Tower; If verse be studied with some show of art, And old Amphion, such were minstrels then, Kind Nature always will perform her part, Had built St. Paul's without the aid of Wren. Though without genius, and a native vein Verse too was justice, and the bards of Greece Of wit, we loathe an artificial strain; Did more than constables to keep the peace; Yet art and nature joind will win the prize, Abolish'd cuckoldom with much applause, Unless they act like us and our allies. Call'd county meetings, and enforced the laws, The youth who trains to ride or run a race Cut down crown influence with reforming scythes, Must bear privation with unruffled face, And served the church without demanding tithes; Be call'd to labour when he thinks to dine, And hence, throughout all Hellas and the East, And, harder still, leave wenching and his wine. Each poet was a prophet and a priest, Ladies who sing, at least who sing at sight, WYhose old-establish'd board of joint controls Itave follow'd Music through her farthest flight; Included kingddms in the cure of souls. But rhymers tell you neither more nor less, Next rose the martial Homer, epic's prince, "I've got a pretty poem for the press;" And fighting's been in fashion ever since; And that's enough; then write and print so fast,And old Tyrtaeus, when the Spartans warr'd, If Satan take the hindmost, who'd be last? (A limping leader, but a lofty bard,) They storm the types, they publish, one and all, Though wa-ll'd Ithome had resisted long, They leap the counter, and they leave the stall. Reduced the fortress by the force of song. Provincial maidens, men of high command, When oracles prevail'd, in times of old, Yea, baronets have ink'd the bloody hand l In song alone Apollo's will was told. Cash cannot quell them; Pollia play'd this prank, _ _^.^~ ~,(Then Phoebus first found credit in a bank!) 3 Mr. Southey has lately tied another canister to his tail in the " Curse of Then Phbus first found credit in a ba Kehama," maugre the neglect of Madoc, &c., and has in one instance had a Not all the living only, but the dead, wonderful effect. A literary friend of mine, walking out one lovely even-Fool on asfl nt as an Orpheus' head mg last summer, on the eleventh bridge of the Paddington canal, was alarm-, a ed by the cry of' one in jeopardy:" he rushed along, collected a body of Damn'd all their days, they posthumously thrive — Irish haymakers (supping on buttermilk in an adjacent paddock), procured frm dst though burie when alive three rakes, one eel-spear, and a landing-net, and at last (horesco referens) Dug up from duuried enalive iulled out-his own publisher. The unfortunate man was gone for ever, and Reviews record this epidemic crime, 1o was a large quarto wherewith he had taken the leap, which proved, on nsquiry,to have bee Mr. Southey's last work. Its "alacrity of sinking" Those "Books of Martyrs" to the rage for rhyme, was so great, that it has never since been heard of, though some maintain Alas! woe worth the scribbler often seen that it is at this moment concealed at Alderman Birch's pastry premises, Cornhill. Be this as it may, the coroner's inquest brought in a verdictof In Mornig Post or Monthly Magazine. "Felo de bibliopola" against a" quarto unknown;"and circumstantial evi There lurk'his earlier lays; but soon, hot-prest, lence being since strong against the " Curse of Kehama" (of which the above words are an exact description), it will be tried by its peers next session, in Behold a quarto -Tarts must tell the rest. Grub-street.-Arthur, Alfred, Davideis, Richard Coeur de Lion, Exodus, Exodia, Epigonaid, Calvary, Fall of Cambria, Siege of Acre, Don Roderick, Dictus ob hoc lenire tigres, rabidosque leones; and Tom Thumb the Great, are the names of the twelve jurors. The judges are Pye, Bowles, and the bellman of St. Sepulchre's. The same ad- DictUs et Amphio, Thebanae conditor arcis, vocates. proandcon, willbeemployedasarenowengaged inSirF. Burdett's Saxa movere sono testudinis, et prece blanda celebrated cause inthe Scotch court. The publicanxiouslyawait the result, Ducere quo vellet: fuit haec sapientia quondam, and all live publishers will be subpoenaed as witnesses. Publica privatis secernere~ sacra profanis; But Mr. Southey has published the" Curse of Kehama:" an inviting title to quibblers. Bythe bY, it is-a good deal beneath Scott and Campbell,and not Conclmbitu prohibere vago; dare jura maritis; much above Southey,'to allow the booby Ballantyne to entitle them, in the Oppida moliri; leges incidere ligno. Edinburgh Annual Register (of which, by the by, Southey is editor) "the Sic honor et nomen divinis vatibus atque grand poeticaltriumvirateof the day." But, on second thoughts, it can beno Carminibus venit. Post hos insignis Homerui ereat deree of praise to be the one-eyed leaders of the blind, though they ght as well keep to themselves "Scott's thirty thousand copies sold,' Tyrtzeusque mares animos in Martia bella which must sadly discomfit poor Southey's unsaleables. Poor Southey, it Versibus exacuit; dictte per carmina sortes: should seem, is the "Lepidus" of this poetical triumvirate. I am only sur- Et vitoe ilonstrata via est:. et gratia regum prised to see him in such good company. Pieriis tenttat modis: ludusque repertus, " Such things we know are neither rich nor rare, Et longorum oprun finis: ne fote pudori But wonder how thedevil Serame there." But wonderhow thedevilhcamether e." Et longorum operum finis: ne forte pudori The trio are well defined in the sixth proposition of Euclid: "e Because, Sit tibi Musa lyri solers, et cantor Apollo. In the triangles DBC, AC, DB is equal to AC, and BC, common to both; Natura fieret laudabile carmen, an arte, the two sides DB, BC, are equal to the two AC, CB, each to each, and the Quesitum est: ego nec studium sine divite Vena, angle DlBC is equal to the angle ACB: therefore, the base DC is equal to the Nec rude quid prosit video ingenium; alterids Sic base AB, and the triangle DBC (Mr. Southey) is equal to the triangle ACE, the less to the greater, which is absurd," &c. —The editor of the Edinburgh Altera poscit open res, et conjurat amice. Register will find the rest of the theorem hard by his stabling: he has only Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam, tocross the river;'tis the first turnpike t' other side "PonsAsinorum."* Multa tulit fecitque puer; sudavit, et alsit; t Voltaire's' Pucelle" isnot quite so immaculate as Mr. Southey's "Joan Abstiniuit Venere et vino: qui Pythia cantat.f Are," and yet I am afraid the Frenchman has both more truth and poet- Tibicen, didicit Tris, extimuitque magistrum. ry too on his side-(they rarely go together)-than our patriotic minstrel, whose first essay was in praise of a fanatical French strumpet, whose title Nunc satis est dixisse; ego mira poemata pango: of witch would be correct with the change of the first letter. Occupet extremum scabies; mihi turpe relinqui esa t Like Sir B. Burgess's Richard, the tenth book of which I read at Malta, Et, quod non didici, sane nescire fateri. ne a trunk of Eyres, 19, Cockspur.street. If this be doubted, I shall buy a - * x * * portmanteau to quote from. * This Latin has sorely puzzled the University of Edinburgh. Ballantyne Tur quoque marmorea caput a cervice revulsllra mid it meant the" Bridge of Berwick," bult Southey claimed it as half En- Gurgi t cum medio portans (Eagrius Hebrus, ish; Scott swore it was the "Brig o' Stirling;" he had just passed two Volveret Eurydicen vox ipsa, et frigida lingua; King James's and a dozen Douglasses over it. At last it was decided by Jef- Ah, miserm Eurydicen! animafugiente vocah!t; frey that it meant nothin more nor less than the "counterof Archy Consta- Eurydicen tot referebant fitmine ripm. —Gerg. is 3. ie' sa'nop.n 720 BYRON'S WORKS. Then leave, ye wise, the lyre's precarious chords Condemn the unlucky curate to recite To muse-mad baronets or madder lords, Their last dramatic work by candle-light, Or country Crispins, now grown somewhat stale, Hlow would the preacher turn each rueful leaf, Twin Doric minstrels, drunk with Doric ale! Dull as his sermons, but not half so briefl Ilark to those notes, narcotically soft: Yet, since'tis promised at the rector's death.'The cobbler laureates sing* to Capel Loft!t He'll risk no living for a little breath. Till, lo! that modern Midas, as he hears, Then spouts and foams, and cries at every line Adds an ell growth to his egregious ears! (The Lord forgive him!) "Bravo! grandl divine' Teeieoein time ~Hoarse with those praises (which, by flatt'ry fed, Dependence barters for her bitter bread,)'Gainst future feuds his poor revenge of rhyme; He strides and stamps along with creaking boot Racks his dull memory, and his duller muse, Till the oor echoes his emphatic foot; Till the floor echoes his emphatic foot; To publish faults which friendship should excuse. sits again, ten rolls is pious eye, If friendship's nothing, self-regard might teach the n v i not i e, As when the dying vicar will not die l More polish'd usage of his parts of speech. Nor feels, forsooth, emotion at his heart But what is shame, or what is aught, to him? disemblers overact their part. lie vents his spleen or gratifies his whim. Some fancied slight has roused his lurking hate, Ye who aspire to build the lofty rhyme, Some folly cross'd, some jest or some debate; Believe not all who laud your false "sublime;" Up to his den Sir Scribbler hies, anrid soon But if some friend shall hear your work, and say, Thfe gather'd gall is voided in lampoon. "Expunge that stanza, lop that line away," Perhaps at some pert speech you've dared to frown, * * Si carmina conde*, Perhaps your poem may have pleased the town; Nunquam te fallant animi sub vulpe latentes If so, alas!'tis nature- in the man~- Quintilio si quid recitares, Corrige, sodes, May heaven forgive you, for he never can! Hoc (aiebat) et hoc: melius te posse negares, Then be it so; and may his withering bays Bis terque expertum frustra, delere jubebat, Then be lit so; and may his withering bays ^ ^^ toratos incudi reddere versus. Et male tornatos incudi reddere versus. Bloom fresh in satire, though they fade in praise! Si defendere delictum quam vertere malles,-. While his lost songs no more shall steep and stink, Nullum ultra verbum, aut operam insumebat inanem The dullest, {fattest weeds on Lethe's brink, Quin sine rivali teque et tua solus amares. But springing upwards from the sluggish mould, Fitzgerald had been the tail of poesy,- but, alas! he is only the perult Be, (what they never were before) be sold! mate. Should some rich bard (but such a monster now, A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE. Itn modern:physics, we can scarce allow) "w r RO I Should some pretending scribbler of the court,' Do some men spoil, who never think! Some rhylming peer-there's plenty of the sortl- And so perhaps youl y sap of me, In which your readers may agree. All but one poor dependent priest withdrawn, Still I write on, and tell you why; (Ah I too regardless of his chaplain's yawn!)t deny, But may instruct or entertain Without the risk of giving pain. I beg Nathaoiel's pardon; he is not a cobbler; it is a tailor, but begged And should you doubt what I assert, Capel Lofft to.sink the profession in his preface to two pair of panta- The name of Camden I insert, psha I-of eantos., whiEh hes wished the public to try on; but the sieve of a Who novels read, and oft maintain'd patron let it sout, andso far saved the expense of an advertisement to his He here and there some knowledge gain'd ~ sountry cstownexs.-S —MtS. "0 Moorfield's whine" was nothing to all this. Then why not I indulge my pen, The Della Cruscans" wore people se some education, and no profession; Though I no fame or profit gain, but these Areadians (" Arcades ar"o' —bumpkins bo'h) send out their na- Yet may amuse your idle men;'ive nonsense without the sIatlest alloy, and leave all (te shoes and small- Of whom, though some may be severe, clothes in the parish unrepaired, to patch up Eleg es on Enclosures and Others may read without a sneer? Paeans to Ginpowder. Sitting on a shopboard, they describe fields of battle, Thus much premised, I next proceed when the osny blood they ever.saw was shed from the finger; and an " Es- To give you what I feel my creed, say on Wai" is produced y the ninthart of a poet." And in what follows to display ~ "And own that tainesuch poets made a Tate." Some humours of the passing day. Did Nathan ever read that line of Pope? and if he did, why not take it as ON SOME MODERN QUACKS AND REFORMISTS. his motto? oin tracing of the human mind t This welt.-meaning gentleman -has.spoiled some excellent shoe-makers, Through all its various courses, sad been accessary to the poetical uadoing of many of the industrious poor. Though strange,'t is true, we often find Nathaniel. Bloomfield and his-brother'Bobby have set all Somersetshire sing. It knows not its resources: ii^; nor has the malady confined itself to one county. Pratt too (who once was wiser) has caught the contagion of patronage, and decoyed a poor fel- And m throgh life assume apartoss low named Blackett into poetry; but he died during the operation, leaving For which talents they possess, one phild, and two volumes of "Remains" utterly destitute. The girl, if They meet no better with successi she don't take a poetical twist, and come forth as a shoe-making Sappho, may do well; but the " tragedies" are as rickety as if they had been the IT is thus we see, through life's career, offspring of ar.Earl or a Seatonian prize poet. The patrons of this poor So few excel in their profession lad are certainly apsweratale for his end, and it ought to be an indictable of Whereas, would each man but appear fence. But this is the least they have done, for, by a refinement of barbari- In what s within his own possession,.ty, they have made the (late) man postlihumously ridiculous, by. printing We should not see such daily quacks wliat he would have had sense enough never to print himself. Certes these (For quacks there are in every art) rakers of " Remains" come under the statute against " resurrection men." Attempting. by their strange attacks, What does it signify whether a poor, dear, dead dunce is to be stuck up in To meliorate the mind and heart. urgeons' or inStationers' Hall? Is it so bad to unearth his bones as his Nor mean I here the stage alone, blunders~ Is it not better to gibbet his body on a heath, than his soul in an.Where some deserve s th' applause they meet; octavo? " We know what we are, but vwe know not what we may be;" For quacks there are, and they well keown, and it is to be hoped we never shall know, if a man who has passed through In either house, who hold a seat. life with a sort of eclat is to find himself a mountebank on the other side -f Stvx, and made, like poor Joe Blackett, the laughing-stock of purgatory. To which I cordially a hent: The plea of publication is to provide for the child; now, might not some of then let this reform appear, this "Sutor ultra Crepidum'a" friends and seducers have done a decent ac- tion without inveigling Pratt into biography? And then his inscription split And ev'ry cls of cement. mItn so many modicums!-To the nutchess of So.much, the Right Hon. For if you but reform a few. io-and-So, and Mrs. and Miss Somebody, these volumes are, &c. &c." —why, And others leave to their full bent, tis is is doling out Ihe'soft milk of dedication" in gills,-there is but a quar, I fear you will but little do, tnld hte divides it among a dozen, Why, Pratt, hadst thou not a puff left? And find your time and pains misspent. Dost thou thsink six families of dtitinction car, share this in quiet?-There is Let each man to his post assign'd A child, a hbook, and a dedication; send the girl to her grace, the volumes to By Nature, take his part to act, Itierpoer, and the dedication to the devil. And then few causes shall we find I Here will Mr. Gifford allow me to introduce once more to his notice To call each man we meet-a quack.* S< wsl- survivor, the o'ultimus Romnonruni," the last of the "Cruscan.' -'- Edwin" the' "profound." by our lady of Punishment! here e For such every man is who either appears to be what he i neot citl r \ ki"" as in rie aavs of o"' 1l said Baviad the Correct." I though* to be what he cannot. HINTS FROM HORACE. 721 And, after fruitless efforts, you return If by some chance he walks into a well, Without amendment, and lie answers, "Burnl" And shouts for succour with stentorian yell, That instant throw your paper in the fire, "A rope! help, Christians, as ye hope for grace 1" Ask not his thoughts, or follow his desire; Nor woman, man, nor child will stir a pace: But if (true hard!) you scorn to condescend, For there his carcase he might freely fling, And will not alter what you can't defend, From frenzy, or the humour of the thing. If you will breed this bastard of your brains,*- Though this has happen'd to more bards than one We'll have no words-I've only lost my pains. 1'11 tell you Budgell's story, and have done. Yet, if you only prize your favourite thought Budgell, a rogue and rhynester, for no good, As critics kindly do, and authors ought; (Unless his case be much misunderstood) If your cool friend annoy you now and then, When teased with creditors' continual claims, And cross whole pages with his plaguy pen;'To die like Cato,"~ leapt into the Thamesl No matter, throw your ornaments aside- And therefore be it lawful through the town Better let him than all the world deride, For any bard to poison, hang, or drown. Give light to passages too much in shade, Who saves the intended suicide receives Nor let a doubt obscure one verse you've made; Small thanks from him who loathes the life he leaver Your friend's "a Johnson," not to leave one word, And, sooth to say, mad poets must not lose However trifling, which may seem absurd; The glory of that death they freely choose. Such erring trifles lead to serious ills, Nor is it certain that some sorts of verse And furnish food for critics,t or their quills. Prick not the poet's conscience as a curse; As the Scotch fiddle, with its touching tone, (Dosed with vile drams on Sunday he was found Or the sad influence of the angry moon, Or got a chld on consecrated ground! All men avoid bad writers' ready tongues, hence is haunted with a rhyming rageAs yawning waiters flyt Fitzscribble's lungs; eard like a bear just bursting from his cage. Yet on he mouths-ten minutes-tedious each If free, al ly his versifying fit, As prelate's homily or placeman's speech; Fatal at once to simpleton or wit. Long as the last years of a lingering lease, But hi, happy! whom he seizes-,im When riot pauses until rents increase. He flays with recitation limb by limb; While such a minstrel, muttering fustian, strays Probes to the quic where'er he makes his breach, O'er hedge and ditch, through unfrequented ways, And gorges like a lawyer or a leech. Vir bonus et prudens versus reprehendet inertes: Objectos cavee valuit si frangere clathros, Culpabit et duros; incomptis allinet- atrum Indoctum doctumque fugat recitator acerbus. Transverso calamo signuin; ambitiosa recidet Quem vero arripuit, tenet, occiditque legendo, Ornamenta; parum caris lucem dare coget; Non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoris, hirudo Ornamenta; parurm claris lucem dare coget; Arguet ambigue dictum; mutanda notabit; Fiet Aristairchus nec dicet, Cur eno amiicum ~ On his table were found these words: What Cato did and.ddiaon ap Fiet Aristarchus: nec dicet, Cur ego amicum O e nn g b se ducproved cannot be twrong." But Addison did not "approve;" and if he has, Offendam in nugis? hae nuga seria ducent it would not have mended the matter. He had invited his daughter on the In mala derisum semel exceptuinque sinistre. same water party, but Miss Budgell, by some accident, escaped this last p-a Ut mala quem scabies aut morbus regius urguet ternal attention. Thus fell the sycophant of "Atticus," and the enemy of Aut fanaticus error et iractlnda Diana, pe. 11 If "dosed with," &tc. be censured as low, I beg leave to refer to the Vesanum tetigisse timent fuglunque poetam, original for something still lower; and if any reader will translate' Minx. Qui sapiunt; agitant pueri, incautique sequuntur. erit in patries cineres," &c. into a decent couplet, I will insert said couplet Hic dum sublimes versus ructatur, et errat in lieu of the present Si veluti merulis intentus decidit auceps In puteum, faveanive; licet, Succurrite, longuin L it D:fficile est proprie ctnnmunia dicere." —Mde. Dacier, Mde. de Sevigne~ In puteum, foveamve; licet, Succurrite, longum Boileau, and other, have left their dispute on the meaning of this passage in Clamet, Io cives! non sit qui tollere curet. a tract considerably longer than the poem of Horace. It is printed at the Si quis curet opem ferre, et demittere funem, close of the eleventh volume of Madame de Sevigne's Letters, edited by Qui scis an prudens huc se dejecerit, atque Grovelle, Paris, 1806. Presuming that all who can construe may venture nServari nolit Dicam: Sictliflique pne~tan opinion on such subjects, particularly as so many who can not have Servari nolit? Dicam: Siculique poetic taken the same liberty, I should have held my" farthing candle" as awk. Narrabo interitum. Deus immortalis haberi wardly as another, had not my respect for the wits of LouistheFourteeDths Dumn clpit Empedocles, ardentem frigidus Etnamn Augustan siecle induced me to subjoin these illustrious authorities. 1st, Insiluit: sit jus liceatque perire poetis: Boileau: "Ill est difficile de traiter des sujets qui sont a la portee de tout.le vitum. qi. s t.id. f*cit cc id i. monde d'une maniere qui vous les rende propres, ce qui s'appelle s'appro. Invituni qui servat, idem facit occidenti., prier un sujet par letour qu' on ydonne.' 2dly? Batteux:' Mais sl est Nec semel hoc fecit; nec, si retractus erit, jam bien difficile de donner des traits propres et individuels aux etres purement Fiet homo, et ponet famosae nortis amorem. possibles." 3dly, Dacier: "Il est difficile de traiterconvenablement ces Nec satis apparet cur versus factitet; u~itrrum caracteres que tout le monde peut inventer.' Mde. de Sevignes opinion yec satis apparet cur versus factitet; utrum and translation, consisting of some thirty pages, Iomit, particularly as M. Minxerit in patrios cineres, an triste bidental Grouvelle observes " La chose est bien remarquable, aucune de ces diversc Moverit incestus; certe furit, ac velut ursus, interpretations ne parait etre laveritable." But, by way ofcomfort, it seems, fifty years afterwards, " Le lumineux Dumarsais" made his appearance to set Horace on his legs again, "dissiper tons les nuages, et concilier tous lei dissentimens;" and, some fifty years hence, somebody, still more luminous * Bastard ofyour brains.-Minervabeing the first by Jupiter's head-piece, will doubtless start up and demolish Dumarsais and his system on this and a variety of equally unaccountable parturitions upon earth, such as Ma- weighty affair, as if he were no better than Ptolemy and Tycho, or oomdoc, &c. &c. &c. ments of no more consequence than astronomical calculations on the present t " A crust for the critics."-Bayes, in the Rehearsal. comet. I am happy to say, " la longueur de la dissertation" of M. D. pre t And the" waiters" are the only fortunate people who can " fy" from vents M. G. from saying any more on the matter. A better poet than Roilea them; all the rest, viz. the sad subscribers to the" Literary Fund,"bein at leastasgood a scharasSevigne hassaid, compelled, by courtesy, v s.t nut the recitation without a hope of exclaim- "A little learning is a dangerous thing." nag, " Sic" (that is, by rnoaking Fitz, with bad wine or worse poetry) "me And by this comparison of comments it may be perceived how a good Xa urvavit Apollo!" may be rendered mf rlerilous to the proprietors 302 96 722 atitilono to thie iLo#tri of *lyenr. [TheIe were several editions of the Hours of Idleness published in England; but no ono of them, until that of 1832, contained all the pieces which properly belonged to that collection The following, when added to those in front of the book, make up the complete number.] ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND TO D. SCHOOL OF HARROW ON TIIE HILL. 1. In thee I fondly hoped to clasp Ohi mihi praeteritos referat si Jupiter annos. A ho Virgil, Jneid, lib. 8, 560. A friend, whom death alone could sever;.,, Till envy, with malignant grasp, Ye scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. Embitters the present, compared with the past; 2. Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection, True, she has foreed thee from my breast; And friendships were form'd too romantic to last; Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat; 2. There, there thine image still must rest, Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance Until that heart shall cease to beat. Of comrades in friendship and mischief allied; 3. How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance, And, when the grave restores her dead, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deniedl When life again to dust is given, 3. On thy dear breast I'll lay my headAgain I revisit the hill where we sported, Without thee, where would be my heaven? The streams where we swam, and the fields where February, 1803. we fought; The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted, TO EDDLESTON. To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught. 4. Let Folly smile, to view the names Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd, Of thee and me in friendship twined; As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay; Yet Virtue will have greater claims Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd, To love, than rank with vice combined. To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. And though unequal is thy, fate, I once more view the room with spectators surrounded, Since title deck'd my higher birth Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; While to swell my young pride such applauses re- ne the pide o mdst w Thine is the pride of modest worth. sounded, I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone: 3. Our souls at least congenial meet, *6...Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace; Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation, O, Our intercourse is not less sweet, By my daughters of kingdom and reason deprived; Sincx worth of rank supplies the place. Til, fired by loud plaudits and self-adulation,e w o ie e e.J\ovember, 1802. I regarded myself as a Garrick revived. 7.'Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you! REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M B. PIGOT,ESQ Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast; ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS. Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you; 1. Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest. Why, Pigot, complain 8. Of this damsel's disdain, " o Ida fill of' may remembrance restore me, Why thus in despair do you fret? While fate shall the shades of the future unroll For months you may try, t.ence darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me, Yet, believe me, a sigh More dear is the beam of the past to my soul. Will never obtain a coquette. 9. 2. But it, through the course of the years which await me, Would you teach her to love? Some new scene of pleasure should open to view, For a time seem to rove; I will say, while with rapture the thought shall At first she may frown in a pet; elate me, But leave her a while, *"Oh I such were the days which my;fancy knew." She shortly will smile, 1806. And then you may kiss your coquette HOURS OF IDLENESS. 72 3. 4. For such are the airs Since the balm-breathing kiss Of these fanciful fairs, Of this magical miss They think all our homage a debt; Can such wonderful transports produce; Yet a partial neglect Since the "world you forget, Soon takes an ejiect, When your lips once have met," And humbles the proudest coquette. My counsel will get but abuse. 4. 5. Dissemble your pain, You say when " rove, And lengthen your chain, know nothing of love;"'Tis true, I am given to range: And seem her hauteur to regret; If I rightly remember, If again you shall sigh, If I rightly remember, She no more will denyd a good number That yours is the rosy coquette. Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change. 5.. 6. If still, from false pride, I will not advance, Your pangs she deride, By the rules of romance, This whimsical virgin forget; To humour a whimsical fair; Some other admire, Though a smile may delight, ho will melt with your fire, Yeta frown won't affright, And laugh at the little coquette. Or drive me to dreadful despair. 6. 7. For me, I adore While my blood.is thus warm Some twenty or more, I ne'er shall reform, And love them most dearly; but yet, To mix in the Platonists' school; Though my heart they enthral, Of this I am sure, I'd abandon them all, Was my passion so pure, Did they act like your blooming coquette. Thy mistress would think me a fool. 7. 8. No longer repine, And if I should shun Adopt this design, Every woman for one, And break through her slight-woven net; Whose image must fill my whole breastAway with despair, Whom I must prefer, No longer forbear, And sigh but for herTo fly from the captious coquette. What an insult'twould be to the rcst I 8. 9. Then quit her, my friend I Now, Strephon, good bye; Your bosom defend, I cannot deny Ere quite with her snares you're beset: Your passion appears most absurd; Lest your deep-wounded heart, Such love as you plead When incensed by the smart, Is pure love indeed, Should lead you to curse the coquette. For it only consists in the word. October 27th, 1806. TO MISS PIGOT. TO THE SIGHING STREPHON. You1. promfrEliza, what fools are the Musselman sect, Your pardon, my friend, Who to women deny the soul's future existence; If my rhymes did offend, Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect, Your pardon, a thousand times o'er; And this doctrine would meet with a general resist. From friendship I strove ance. Your pangs to remove, 2 But I swear I will do so no more. But I swear I will do so no more. Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of senec, 2. He ne'er would have women from paradise diiven, Since your beautiful maid Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence, Your flame has repaid, With women alone he had peopled his heaven. No more I your folly regret; She's now the most divine, And I bow at the shrine Yet still to increase your calamities more, Of this quickly reformed coquette. Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit He allots one poor husband to share amongst fourl^'~~~3. ~ With souls you'd dispense; but this last. who could Yet still, I must own, bear it? I should never have known 4. From your verses, what else she deserved His religion to please neither party is made; Your pain seemn'd so great, On husbands'tis hard, to the wives the most untvitl I pitied your fate, Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said. As your fair was so devilish reserved "Though women are angels. yet wedlock's the devil ''J4 BYRON'S WORKS. LINES WRITTEN IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. BY J. J. Cousin to the Author, and very dear to himn ROUSSEAU. FOUNDED ON FACTS.". "Away, away I your flattering arts Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening glow May now betray some simpler hearts; Not e'en a zephyr, wanders through the grove, And you will smile at tneir believing, Whilst I return to view my Margar,et's tomb, And they shall weep at your deceiving.' And scatter flowers on the dust I love. NSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED TO MISS. 2. Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, Dear, simple girl, those flattering arts, That clay where once such animation beam'd; From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts, The King of Terrors seized her as his prey, Exist but in imagination,- Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd Mere phantoms of thine own creation; For he who views that witching grace, 3. lovely face, Oh could that King of Terrors pity feel, That perfect form, that lovely face, Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fatel He never wishes to deceive thee: Nor here the Muse her virtues would relate. Once in thy polish'd mirror glance, Once in thy polish'd mirror glance, - Nor here the Muse her virtues would relate. Thou'lt there descry that elegance 4. Which from our sex demands such praises, But wherefore weep? her matchless spirit soars But envy in the other raises: Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; Then lie who tells thee of thy beauty, And weeping angels lead her to those bowers Believe me, only does his duty: Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay. Ah! fly not from the candid youth; 5. It is not flattery,-'tis truth. And shall presumptuous mortals heaven arraign, July, 1804. And, madly, godlike providence accuse? Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain, TIE CORNELIAN. I'll ne'er submission to-my God refuse. 1. 6, No specious splendour of this stone Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Endears it to my memory ever; Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; With lustre only once it shone, Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, AWid blushes modest as the giver. Still in my heart retain their wonted place. 2. Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties, Have for my weakness oft reproved me; Yet still the simple gift I prize,- TO EMMA. For I am sure the giver loved me. 1. 3. -Since now the hour is come at last, He offer'd it with downcast look, When you must quit your anxious lover; As fearful that I might refuse it; Since now our dream of bliss is-past, I told him when' the gift I took, One pang, my girl, and all is over. My only fear should be to lose it. 2. 4. Alas! that pang will be severe, This pledge attentively I view'd, Which bids us part to meet no more, And sparkling as I held it near, Which tears me far from one so dear, Methought one drop the stone bedew'd, Departing for a distant shore. And ever since I've loved a tear.3. 5. Well: we have pass'd some happy hours, Still, to adorn his humble youth, And joy will mingle with our tears; Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; When thinking on these ancient towers, But he who seeks the flowers of truth, The shelter of our infant years Must quit the garden for the field. 4. 6. - Where from the gothic casement's height, Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth, Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume; W v t lk t p We view'd the lake, the park, the dale, The flowers which yield the most of both We lingering look a last farewell In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom. 7. 5. Had Fortune aided Nature's care, O'er fields through which we used to run, For once forgetting to be blind, And spend the hours in childish play; His would have been an ample share, O'er shades where, when our race was done Tf well.proportion'd to his mind. Reposing on my breast you lay; 8. 6. But had the goddess clearly seen, Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, His form had fix'd her fickle breast; Forgot to scare the hov'ring flies, -ler countless hoards would his have been, Yet envied every fly the kiss And none remain'd to give the rest. It dared to give your slumbering eyes HOURS OF IDLENESS.'5 7. 10. See still the little painted bark, At least from guilt shalt thou be free, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; No matron shall thy shame reprove; See there, high waving o'er the park, Though cureless pangs may prey on me, The elm I clamber'd for your sake. No martyr shalt thou be to love. 8. These times are past-our joys are gone, You leave me, leave this happy vale; TO CAROLINE. These scenes I must retrace alone; Without thee what will they avail? THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,,^~~~~9.~ Suffused in tears, implore to stay; Who can conceive, who has not proved, Ad heard unmoved thy plenteous sighs, The anguish of a last embrace? Which said far more than words can say When, torn from all you fondly loved, 2 You bid a long adieu to peace. Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, 310: When love and hope lay both o'erthrown: This is the deepest of our woes, Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast For this these tears our cheeks bedew; Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. rhis is of love the final close, 3. Oh, God, the fondest, last adieu I But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet'lips were join'd to mine, The tears that from my eyelids flow'd mr\TO -ni~ s.3 G Were lost in those that fell froin thine. TO M. S. G. 4. Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, WHENEVER I view those lips of thine, Thei vthos ls oet, kThy gushing tears had quench'd its flame Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Their hue inites my fervent kiss; And as thy tongue essay'd to speak, Yet I forego that bliss divine, Y el I i eg wtunhat bliss.~ In sighs alone it breathed my name. Alasl it were unhallow'd bliss. Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, Whee'e taIn vain our fate in sighs deplore; How could I dwell upon its snows?n rmi. Remembrance only can remain.Yet is the daring wish represt, But that will make us weep the more. For that,-would banish its repose.'3. Again, thou best beloved, adieu I A glance from thy soul-searching eye ouegret Ah! if thou canst o'ercome regret, Can raise with hope, depress with fear; Nor let thy mind past joys review,Yet I conceal my love, and why? Our only hope is to forgetl I would not force a painful tear. 4. I ne'er have told my love, yet thou TO CAROLINE Hast seen my ardent flame too well; 1 And shall I plead my passion now, To msak thya bosomas hien, ahWHEN I hear you express an affection so warm, To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe; NIfo. tuer nbmeFor your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, No! for thou never canst be mine, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive United by the priest's decree; By any ties but those divine, Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. Yet still, this fond bosom regrets while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, Then let the secret fire consume, That age will come on, when, remembrance, deplorir.g Then let the secret fire consume,' Let it consume, thou shalt not know. Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear. Let it consume, thou shalt not know, With joy I court a certain doom, 3. Rather than spread its guilty glow. That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining r~7.,~~......Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the I will not ease my tortured heart, breeze,'Then a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, By driving dove-eyed peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. Each thought presumptuous I resign. 4. 8.'Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er tn, Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave features, More than I here shall dare to tell; Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree Thv innocence and mine to save,-.........Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures I bid thee now a last farewell................ -In the death which one day will deprive you of me 9. 5. Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair, Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion And hope no more thy soft embrace, No doubt can the mind of your lover invadeWhich to obtain my soul would dare, lie worships each look with Quch faithlul devtttra All, all reproach, but thy disgrace. A smile can enchant, or tn.ear can dissuade 726 BYRON'S WORKS. 6. 3. But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'ertake us, If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse, And our breasts which alive with such sympathy Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove glow, Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse, Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us, And try the effect of the first kiss of love. When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low: 4. 7. I hate you, ye cold compositions of art: Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove, pleasure, I court the effusions that spring from the heart Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow: Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in full measure, And quaff the contents as our nectar below. Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes 1805. Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move: Arcadia displays but a region of dreams; What a/re visions like these to the first kiss of love? TO CAROLINE. 6 1. Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth, Onl when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow? From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove Ohl when shall my soul wing her flight from this Some portion of paradise still is on earth, clay I And Eden revives in the first kiss of love. Fhe present is hell, and the coming to-morrow 7. But brings with new torture, the curse of to-day. When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are 2. pastFrom my eye flows no tear, from my lips fall no curses, For years fleet away with the wings of the dove-* I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss; The dearest remembrance will still be the last, For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love, Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this. 3. TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. Was my eye,'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning, Sweet girl! though only once we met, Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could That meeting I shall ne'er forget; assuage, And though we ne'er may meet again On our foes should my glance lanch in vengeance its Remembrance will thy form retain. lightning, I would not say, "I love," but still With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage. My senses struggle with my will: 4. In vain to drive thee from my breast, But now tears and curses, alike unavailing, My thoughts are more and more represt Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; I vain I check the rising sighs, Could they view us our sad separation bewailing, Another to thelast replies: Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. Pehaps this is not love, but yet Our meeting I can ne'er forget. 5. Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation, What though we never silence broke, Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Our eyes a sweeter language spoke; Love and hope upon earth bring no more consolation, The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. And tells a tale it never feels: 6. Deceit the guilty lips impart, Oh I when, my adored, in the tomb will they place me, And hush the guilty mandates of the heart; Since in life, love and friendship for ever are fled? But soul's interpreters, the eyes, If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead. As thus our glances oft conversed, And all our bosoms felt rehearsed, No spirit, from within, reproved us, Say rather, "'twas the spirit moved us.'* Though what they utter'd I repress, THE'FIRST KISS OF LOVE. Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess; -'A Bapt ~l,~ ^For as on thee my memory ponders, "'A Bapgv os 0~ Xopeais Perchance to me thine also wanders.'Eora uoavov asXz. " This for myself, at least, I'll say, dnacreon. Thy form appears through night, through day 1. Awake, with it my fancy teems; Away with those fictions of flimsy romancel In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams; Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove I The vision charms the hours away, give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, And bids me curse Aurora's ray O)r the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love. For breaking slumbers of delight 2.' Which make me wish for endless night. Ve rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow, Since, oh! whate'er my future fate, Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove, Shall joy or woe my steps awar, Ptom what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, Tempted by love, by storms beset, Could vou ever have tasted the first kiss of love! Thine image I can ne'er forget. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 727 Alas again no more we meet, LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. No more our former looks repeat; As the atthor was discharging his pistols in a garden, two ladles powisl Then let ne breathe this parting prayer, near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a bullet hissing near tLem The dictate of my bosom's care: to one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next mornin; "May Heaven so guard my lovely Quaker, 1. That anguish can ne'er o'ertake her; DOUBTLEss, sweet girl, the hissing lead, That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her, Wafting destruction o'er thy charms, But bliss be aye her neart's partakerl And hurtling o'er thy lovely head, Oh! may the happy mortal fated Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms To be, by dearest ties, related, 2. For her each hour new joys discover, Surely some envious demon's force, And lose the husband in the lover! Vex'd to behold such beauty here, May that fair bosom never know Impell'd the bullet's viewless course, What'tis to feel the restless woe Diverted from its first career. Which stings the soul, with vain regret, 3. Of him who never can forget I Yes, in that nearly fatal hour The ball obey'd some hell-born guide ~~~-""~- I But Heaven, with interposing power In pity turn'd tie death aside. TO LESBIA. Yet, as perchance one trembling tear 1. Upon that thrilling bosom fell;.esbia! since far from you I've ranged, Which I, th' unconscious cause of feaOur souls with fond affection glow not: Extracted from its glistening cell: You say'tis I, not you, have changed, 5. I'd tell why,-but yet I know not. Say, what dire penance can atone 2. For such an outrage done to thee? Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne, And, Lesbia! we are not much older, What punishment wilt thou decree? Since trembling first my heart I lost, 6. Or told my love. with hope grown bolder. Might I perform the judge's part, *. The sentence I should scarce deplore It only would restore a heart Sixteen was then our utmost age, I o Which but belong'd to thee before. Two years have lingering past away, love W b b t And now new thoughts our minds engage,' 7. At least I feel disposed to stray, love I The least atonement I can make Is to become no longer free; Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake -Tis I that am alone to blame, Thou shalt be all in all to me. I, that am guilty of love's treason; Since your sweet breast is still the same, Caprice must be my only reason. But thou, perhaps, mayst now reject Caprice must be my only reason. Such expiation of my guilt: Such expiation of mny guilt: 5. Come then, some other mode elect; I do not, love! suspect your truth, Let it be death, or what thou will With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not; 9. Warm was the passion of my youth, Choose then, relentless! and I swear One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. Naught shall thy dread decree preven, 6. Yet hold-one little word forbearl, No, no, my flame was not pretended, Let it be aught, but banishment. For, ohl I loved you most sincerely; And-though our dream at last is endedMy bosom still esteems you dearly. LOVE'S LAST ADIEU. 7. - "Art', act stA Obvyst." Wo more we meet in yonder bowers; nare Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours TaiE roses of love glad the garden of life, But older, firmer hearts than ours Have found monotony in loving. Though nurtured'mid weeds dropping pestilent daw Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife, Or prunes them for ever in love's last adieu 1, Your eheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd, 2 New beauties still are daily brigit'ning, In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart, Your eye for confluest beams prepared, In vain do we vow for an age to be true; The forge of love's resistless lightning. The chance of an hour may command us to pait. 9. Or death disunite us in love's last adieu I Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed, 3. Many will throng to sigh like me, love! Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swh'eo More constant they may prove, indeed; breast, Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, lovel Will whisper, "Our meeting we yet may -'eset 728 BYRON'S WORKS. With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt, 2. Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu Ay, and the red right arm of Jove, 4. Hurtling his lightnings from above, Oh I mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of youth With all his terrors then unfurl'd, Love twined round their childhood his flowers as He would unmoved, unawed behold: they grew; The flames of an expiring world, They flourish awhile in the season of truth, Again in crashing chaos roll'd, Till chill'd by the winter of love's last adieu! In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd, 5. Might light his glorious funeral pile: Sweet lady I why thus doth a tear steal its way Still dauntless midst the wreck of earth he'd smile Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue? Yet why do I ask? to distraction a prey, Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu I 6. FUGITIVE PIECES. Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind? From cities to caves of the forest he flew: There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind; ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT VERSES SENT BY The mountains reverberate love's last adieu! A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, COMPLAINING 7. THAT ONE OF HIS DESCRIPTIONS WAS RA Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains THER TOO WARMLY DRAWN, Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew; But ifanoldlady,knight,priestorphysician, Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins; Should condemn me for printing a second edition; He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu! If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse, May I venture to give her a smack of my muse?"..nstey's New Bath Guide, p. 169. How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few, CANDOUR compels me, BECHER I to commend Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel, The verse which blends the censor with the friend. And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu Your strong, yet just, reproof extorts applause 9. From me, the heedless and imprudent calse. Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast; this wild error which pervades my strain, No more with love's former devotion we sue: I sue for pardon-must I sue in vain? He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast; The wise sometimes from Wisdom's ways depart; The shroud of affection is love's last adieu I Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart? Precepts of prudence curb, but can't control, * J.. The fierce emotions of the flowing soul. tn this life of probation for rapture divine, hen love's delirium haunts the glowing min Astrea* declares that some penance is due; Limping ecorum lingers far behind: From him who hasworshipp'd at love's gentle shrine, VLing Dcom l s ar behnd: The atuaement is ample in love's last adieu! her prudish pace, Outstript and vanquish'd in the mental chase. The young, the old, have worn the chains of love, Who kneels to the god on his altar of light those ho neer confined my lay reprove: Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew: Let those whose souls contemn the pleasing powe His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight; Their censures on the hapless victim shower. His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu! Oh! how I hate the nerveless, frigid song, Oh! how I hate the nerveless, frigid song, The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng, Whose labour'd lines in chilling numbers flow, IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. To paint a pang the author ne'er can knowl "S~upicia adCsrithm."-Li. Quart. fThe artless Helicon I boast is youth;My lyre, the heart; my muse, the simple truth. CRUEL Cerinthus! does the fell disease Far be't from me the "virgin's mind" to "taintf Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please? Seduction's dread is here no slight restraint. Alas I I wish'd but to onercome the paint Alas I I wish'd but to o'ercome the pait, The maid whose virgin breast is void of guile That I might live for love and you again: Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile, But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate: Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer, By death alone I can avoid your hate. pFirm in her virtue's strength, yet not severeShe whom a conscious grace shall thus refine Will ne'er be " tainted" by a strain of mine. TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. But for the nymph whose premature desires Torment the bosom with unholy fires, ODE 3~, LBE... No net to snare her willing heart is spread; 1. She would have fallen, though she ne'er had reac THl man of firm and noble soul For me, I fain would please the chosen few, No factious clamours can control; Whose souls, to feeling and to nature true,'e threatning tyrant's darkling brow gpWill spare the childish verse, and not destroy Can swerve him from his just intent: e light effusions of a heedless boy. Gales the warring waves which plough, I seek not glory from the senseless crowd; 1B Auster on the billows spent, Of fancied laurels I shall ne'er be proud; T'o curb the Adriatic main, rTheir warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize, VWould awe his fix'd determined mind in vain. Their sneers or censures I alike despise.' The Godds of Justice. -Novsember 26, 1]08. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 729 ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT Bright in idea gleams thy lofty spire, PUBLIC SCHOOL. Again I mingle with thy playful quire; WVHERE are those honours, Ida! once your own, Our tricks of mischief, every childish game, When Probus fili'd your magisterial throne? Unchanged by time or distance, seem the same; As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, Through winding paths, along the g'ade, I trace As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, The social smile of ev'ry welcome face;* Hail'd a barbarian in her Caesar's place, ofev'ry come face; So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy and woe, And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate. Each ary boyish frid or youthful fe, Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, Our feuds dissolved, lut not my friendship past:Pomposus holds you in his harsh control; I bless the former, and forgive the last Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd, Hours of my youth! when, nurtured in my breast, With florid jargon, and with vain parade; To love a stranger, friendship made me blest:With noisy nonsense, and new.fangled rules, Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth, Such as were ne'er before enforced in schools When every artless bosom throbs with truth; Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws, Untaught by wor!1.; wisdom how to feign, He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause. And check each impulse with prudential rein; With him the same dire fate attending Rome, When all we feel, our honest souls discloseIll-fated Ida soon must stamp your doom: In love to friends, in open hate to foes; Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame, No varnish'd tales the lips of youth repeat, No trace of science left you but the name. No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit. July, 1805. Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years, Matured by age, the garb of prudence wears. When now the boy is ripen'd into man, CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. His careful sire chalks forth some wary plan; CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. Instructs his son from candour's path to shrink,'Id cawnotbuteremembersuch thingsmwere, Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think; And were most dear to me." Still to assent, and never to denyWHEN slow Disease, with all her host of pains, A patron's praise can well reward the lie: Chills the warm tide which flows along the veins; And who, when Fortune's warning voice is heard, %Vhen Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing, Would lose his opening prospects for a word? And flies with every changing gale of spring; lthough against that word his heart rebel Not to the aching frame alone confined And truth, indignant, all his bosom swell. Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind: What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe, Away with themes like this' cot mine the task Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow, From flattering fiends to tear the hateful mask; With Resignation wage relentless strife, Let keener bards delight in satire's sting; While Hope retires appall'd and clings to life. My fancy soars not on Detraction's wing: Yet less the pang when through the tedious hour Once, and but once, she aim'd a deadly blowRemembrance sheds around her genial power, To hurl defiance on a secret foe; Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given, But when that foe, from feeling or from shams.. When love was bliss, and Beauty form'd our heaven; The cause unknown, yet still to me the same, Or, dear to youth, portrays each childish scene, Warn'd by some friendly hint, perchance, retired. Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been. With this submission all her rage expired. As when through clouds that pour the summer storm From dreaded pangs that feeble foe to save, The orb of day unveils his distant form, She hush'd her young resentment, and forgave; Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain, O if y muse a pedant's portrait drew, And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain; Pomposus' virtues are but known to few: Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams, never fear'd the young usurper's nod, The sun of memory, glowing through my dreams, And he who wields must sometimes feel the rod Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze, If since on Grant's failings, known to all To scenes far distant points his paler rays; Wo share the converse of a college hall, Still rules my senses with lnbounded sway, She sometimes trifled in a lighterstrain, The past confounding witi the present day.'Tis past, and thus s will not sin again. Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,must her early song for ever cease, Which still recurs, unlook't for and unsought; And all may rail when I shall rest in peace. My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields, Here first remember'd be the joyous band And roams romantic o'er-her airy fields; W hailo d me chief, obedient to command; Scenes of my youth, develop'd, crowd to view, Who oin'd with me in every boyish sportTo which I long have bade a last adieu!'Their first adviser, and their last resort; Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes; Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedant's frown, Friends lost to me for aye except in dreams; Or all the sable glories of his gown; Some who in marble prematurely sleep, Who, thus transplanted from his father's school Whose forms I now remember but to weep, Unfit to govern, ignorant of ruleSome who yet urge the same scholastic course Succeeded him whom al unite to paise Of early science, future fame the source; The dear preceptor of my early days; Who, still contending in the studious race,, p Probus, the pride of science, and the boast, In quick rotation fill the senior placel To IDA now, alas! for ever lost. These with a thousand visions now unite, To dazzle, though they please, my achint'sight. With him for years we search'd the classic page. And fear'd the master, though we loved the sags IDA! blest spot where Science holds her reign, Retired at last, his small yet peacefuil eat How joyous once I join'd thy youthful triin! Frotn learning's labour;- the iteast retreat 3P 97 30 BYRON'S WORKS. Pomposus fills his magisterial chair; Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm Pomposus governs,-but, my muse, forbear: The faint remembrance of our fairy realm. Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's t; Dear honest race, though now we meet no more, His name and precepts be alike forgot; C 8One last long look on what we were beforeNo more his mention shall my verse degrade, Our first kind greetings, and our last adieuTo him mny tribute is already paid. Drew tears from eyes unused to weep with you. tligh, thro' those elms with hoary branches crown'd Through splendid circles, fashion's gaudy world, Fair IDA'S bower adorns the landscape round-; c Where folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd, T''lere Science, from her favour'd seat, surveys I plunged to drown in noise my fond regret,..ir.i-)Vs.ower adorns1the landscape round; I plunged to drown in noise my fond regret, Thllere Science, from her favour' seat, surveys And all I sought or hoped was to forget. The vale where rural Nature claims her praise; And all I sought or hoped was to forget. To her alwhile ruesignes her youthful train, Vain wish! if chance some well-remember'd face, To her awhile resigns her youthful train, Who move in joy, and dance along the plain; Some old companion of my early race, Who move in joy, and dancealong the Advanced to claim his friend with honest joy, In scatter'd groups each favour'd haunt pursue; Advanced to claim his friend with honest oy, Repeat old pastimes, and discover new; My eyes, my heart proclaim'd me still a boy; Flush'd with his rays, beneath the n The glittering scene, the'fluttering groups around, rival bands between the wickets run, Were quite forgotten when my friend was found; irive o'er the sward the ball with active force, The smles of beauty-(for, alas! I've known Or chase with nimble feet its rapid course. What'tis to bend before Love's mighty throne)But these with slower steps direct their way The smiles of beauty, though those smiles were deat Where Brent's cool waves in limpid currents stray; Could hardly charm me when that friend was ear While yonder few search out some green retreat, My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise, And arbours shade-them from the summer heat: The woods of Ida danced before my eyes; Others again, a pert and lively crew, I saw the sprightly wanderers pour along, Some rough and thoughtless stranger placed in view, sa andjoin'd again the joyous throng; Panting, again I traced her lofty grove, With frolic quaint their antic jests expose Panting, again I traced her lofty grove, Alld fi'iendship's feelings triumph'd over love. And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes; Nor rest with this, but many a passing fray Yet why should I alone with such delight Tradition treasures for a future day: Retrace the circuit of my former flight? "Twas here the gather'd swains for vengeance fought, Is there no cause beyond the common claim Aid here we ar'd the conquest dearly bought Endear'd to all in childhood's very name? Heri have we fled before superior might, uh Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here, Aned here renew'd the wild tunlultuous fight." Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear While thus our souls with early passions swell, o one ho th or kindred het roam, lu lingering tones resounds the distant bell; Thl' allotted hour of daily sport is o'er, A oe, a world, a paradise to me.''I}1' allotted hoirr of daily sport is o'er, Tlhose hearts, dear IDA, have I found in theeAnd Learning beckons from her temple's door. A oe, a world, a paradise to me. Stern death forbade my orphan youth to share No splendid tablets grace her simple hall, T t g The tender guidance of a father's care: But ruder records fill the dusky wall; But ruder records fill the dusky wall; Can rank, or e'en a guardian's name, supply There, deeply carved, behold! each tyro's name father's eye The love which glistens in a father's eye? Secures its owner's academic fame; Secures itngigiwhnms ofwrer's acadenic fame; aFor this can wealth or title's sound atone, Ilere mingling view the names of sire and son- Made by a parent's early loss my own? Made by a parent's early loss my own? The one long graved, the other just begun; What brother springs a brother's love to seek? These shall survive alike wheni son and sire What sister's gentle has prest mycheek? Beneath one common stroke of fate expire: For me how dull the vacant moments rise, Perhaps their last memorial these alone, To no fond bosom nk'd by indred ties Denied cin death a monumental stone, Oft in the progrusi of some fleeting dream Whilst to the gale in mournful cadence wave Fraternal smils collected round me seem; The sighing weeds that hide their nameless gre-r. While still tile visions to my heart are prest, And here my name, and many an early friend's, The voice of love will murmur in my rest: Along the wall in lengthen'd line extends. I hear-I wake-and in the sound rejoice; Though still our deeds amuse the youthful race, I hear again-but ah! no brother's voice. WhC' tread our steps, and fill our former place, A hermit,'midst of crowds, I fain must strarT Who young obey'd their lords in silent awe, lose, though thousand pilgrims fill the ral; Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was law, While these a thousand kindred wreatbh enLatlne, And now in turn possess the reins of power, I cannot call one single biossom r.inc: To itule the little tyrants of an hour;- What then remains? in solitude to gro.n, Though sometimes with the tales of ancient day To nix in friendship or to sigh alone? They pass the dreary winter's eve away- Thus must I cling to some endearing hand, "And thus our former rulers stemm'd the tide, And none more dear than IDA'S social band. And thus they dealt the combat side by side; Jils ir this place the mouldering walls they scaled, A b, Noi bolts nor bars against their strength avail'd; Thy name ennobles him who thus commends; Ier; l'robus caee, the rising fray to quell, From this - fond tribute thou canst gain no praise, Alii hiere he falter'd forth his last farewe!l; The praise is his who now that tribute pays. Anlti nere one night abroad they dared to roam, Oh! ic the promise of thy early youth,'V'ilte bold Pomposus bravely stay'd at home;"- If hope anticipate the words of truth, t1Vlie tIhs they speak, the hour must soon arrive, Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name, Wh.rl nacsnls nl these, like ours, alone survive: To build Iis own upon thy deathless fame. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 731 Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list Would make that breast with indignation burn, Of those with whom I lived supremely blest, And all the glittering snares to tempt thee spurn. Oft have we drain'd the font'of ancient lore; Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate; Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more. Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate; Yet when confinement's lingering hour was done, The world admire thee, and thy friends adore; 3Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one: Ambition's slave alone would toil for more. together we impeli'd the flying ball; Together we impelld the flying ball; Now last, but nearest of the social band, Together waited in our tutor's hall;ee honest, open, generous CLEN stand Together join'd in cricket's manly toil, With scarce one speck to cloud the pleasing scene Or shared the produce of the river's spoil; o vice degrades that purest soul serene. Or plunging from the green declining shore, the sale day our studious race begun, Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore; On the same day our studious race was run; II every element, unchanged, the same, Thus side by side we pass'd our first career, All, all that brothers should be but the name. se we s f m a Thus side by side we strove for many a year; Nor yet are you forgot, my jocund boy! At last concluded our scholastic life, Dxvvs, the harbinger of childish joy; We neither conquer'd in the classic strife; For ever foremost in the ranks of fun, As speakers each supports an equal name, The laughing herald of the harmless pun; And crowds allow to each a partial fame: Yet with a breast of such materials made- To soothe a youthful rival's early pride, Though Cleon's candour would the palm-divide, Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid; ou on candour wold the palm divide, Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel et caos self compels me now to own In danger's path, though not untaught to feel. Justice awards it to y friend alone. Still I remember in the factious strife Oh! friends regretted, scenes for ever dear, The rustic's musket aim'd against my life: Remembrance hails you with her warmest tearl Hligh poised in air the massy weapon hung, - Drooping, she bends o'er pensive Fancy's urn, A cry of horror burst from every tongue;o trace the hours hich never can return; Whilst I, in combat with another foe, yYet with the retrospection loves to dwell, Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow; Ad soothe the sorrows of her last farewell! Your arm, brave boy, arrested his career- Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind, Forward you sprung, insensible to fear; As infant laurels round my head were twined Disarm'd and baffled by your conquering hand, When Probus' praise repaid my lyric song, The grovelling savage roll'd upon the sand: Or placed me higher in the studious throng, An act like this can simple thanks repay? Or when my first harangue received applause, Or all the labours of a grateful lay? His sage instruction the primeval cause, Oh no! whene'er my breast forgets the deed, What gratitude to him my soul possest, That instant, DAVUS, it deserves to bleed. VWhile hope of dawning honours fill'd my breast For all hy hunble fame, to him alone LYcus! on me thy claims are justly great: The praise is due, who made that fame my own. Thy milder virtues could my muse relate, Oh! cd I soar above these feeble lays To thee alone, unrivall'd, would belong These young effusions of my early days, The feeble efforts of my lengthen'd song. To him my muse her noblest strain would give: WX~ellI canst thou boast to lead in senates fit- The song might perish, bit the theme must live. A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit: Yet why for him the needless verse essay? Though yet in embryo tlese perfections shine, His onour'd name requires no vain display: Lvcusl thy father's fame will soon be thine. By every son of grateful Ida blest, Where learning nurtures the superior mind, It finds an echo in each youthfl breast; What may we hope from genius thus refined! A ane beyond the glories of the proud, When time at length matures thy growing years, 0r all the plaudits of the venal crowd. How wilt thou tower above thy fellow peers I Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free, IDA, not yet exhausted is the theme, With honour's soul, united beam in thee. Nor closed the progress of my youthful dream. How many a friend deserves the grateful strain, Shall fair EURYALUS pass by unsung? W hat scenes of childhood still unsung remainl From ancient lineage, not unworthy, sprung: h t e Yet let me hush this echo of the past, WVhat though one sad dissention bade us part, W-hat tlhouglh one sad dissention bade us part, This parting song, the dearest and the last; That name is yet embalm'd within my heart; That tnamei is yet embalm'd within my heart; And brood in secret o'er those hours of joy, Yet at the mention does that heart rebound, To me a silent and a sweet employ. And palpitate responsive to the sound.But thou my generous youth, whose tender yeaiz Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will: Are near my own, whose orth my heart rever We once were friends, —I'l think we are so still. Henceforth affection sweetly thus begun, A form uinmatch'd in nature's partial mould, Shall join our bosoms and our souls in one; A heart untainted, we in thee behold: Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine; Yet not the senate's thunder thou shalt wield, Without thy dear advice, no great design; Nor seek for glory in the tented field; Alike through life esteem'd, thou godlike boy, To minds of ruder.texture these be given- In war bulwark, and in peace my joy" Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven. Haply in polish'd courts might be thy seat, To him Euryalus:-"No day shall shame But that thy tongue could never forge deceit; The rising glories which from this I claim The courtier's supple bow and sneering smile, Fortune may favour, or the skies may frown The flow of compliment, the slippery wile, But valour. spite of fate, obtains renown. '132 BYRON'S WORKS. Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart, But he, who thus foretold the fate of all, One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart: Could not avert his own untimely fall. My mother, sprung from Priam's royal line, Next Remus' armour-bearer hapless fell, Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine, And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell: Nor Troy nor king Acestes' realms restrain The charioteer along his courser's sides Her feeble age from dangers of the main; Expires, the steel his sever'd neck divides; Alone she came, all selfish fears above, And, last, his lord is number'd with the dead: A bright example of maternal love. Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head: Unknown the secret enterprise I brave, From the swoll'n veins the blackening torrents pout. Lest grief should bend my parent to the grave; Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting gore. From this alone no fond adieus I seek, Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire, No fainting mother's lips have press'd my cheek; And gay Serranus, fill'd with youthful fire: By gloomy night and thy right hand I vow Half the long night in childish games was pass'd; Her parting tears would shake my purpose now: Lull'd by the potent grape, he slept at last: Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain, Ah!.happier far had he the morn survey'd, In thee her much-loved child may live again; And till Aurora's dawn his skill display'd. Her dying hours with pious conduct bless, Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress. In slaughter'd folds, the keepers lost in sleep, Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress..His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep; So dear a hope must all my soul inflame,'Mid the sad flock, at dead of night, he prowls, To rise in glory, or to fall in fame." To rise in glory, or to fall i ln fame."l- With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls: Struck with a filial care so deeply felt, In Struck with a filial care so deeply felt, Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roanis; In tears at once the Trojan warriors melt: In seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams. Faster than all, Iulus' eyes o'erflow;y t Such love was his, and such had been his woe. Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came, "All thou hast ask'd, receive," the prince replied; But falls on feeble crowds without a name: "Nor this alone, but many a gift beside. His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel, To cheer thy mothers years shall be my aim, Yet wakeful Rhesus sees the threatening steel. Creusa's* style but wanting to the dame. His coward breast behind a jar he hides, Fortune an adverse wayward course may run, And vainly in the weak defence confides; But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son. Full in his) heart, the falchion search'd his veins, Now, by my life! —my sire's most sacred oath- The reeking weapon bears alternate stains; To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth, Through wine and blood, commingling as they flow All the rewards which once to thee were vow'd, One feeble spirit seeks the shades below. If thou shouldst.fall, on her shall be bestow'd." Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their way, Thus spoke the weeping prince, then forth to view Whose fire emits a faint and trembling ray; A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew; There, unconfin'd, behold each grazing steed, Lycaon's utmost skill had graced the steel, Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed: For friends to envy and for foes to feel; Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm, A tawny nide, the Moorish lion's spoil, Too fiush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm:Slain'mid the forest, in the hunter's toil, "Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is pass'd; Mnestheus to guard the elder youth bestows, Full foes enough to-night have breathed their last And old Alethes' casque defends his brows. Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn; Arm'd thence they go, while all th' assembled train, Now let us speed nor tempt the rising morn. To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain. More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace, What silver arms, with various art emboss'd, lulus nolds amid the chiefs his place: What bowls and mantles in confusion toss'd, His prayer he sends; but what can prayers avail, They leave regardless! yet one glittering prize Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale! Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes; The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt, The trench is pass'd, and, favour'd by the night, The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary flight. This from the pallid corse was quickly torn When snall the sleep of many a foe be o'er? Once by a line offormer chieftains worn. Alas! some slumber who shall wake no morel T' exulting boy the studded girdle wears Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms, are seen; Messapus' helm his head in triumph bears; Anti flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between: Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend, Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine; To seek the vale where safer paths extend. A mingled chaos this of war and wine.'Now," cries the first, "for deeds of blood prepare, Just at this hour a band of Latian horse Wlth me the conquest and the labour share: To Turnus' camp pursue their destined course:, Hlere lies our path; lest any hand arise, While the slow foot their tardy march delay, Warch tiou, while many a dreaming chieftain dies: The knights, impatient, spur along the way: l'ii carve our passage through the heedless foe, Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led, And clear thy road with many a deadly blow." To Turnus with their master's promise sped: His whispering accents then the youth repress'd, Now they approach the trench, and view the walls. Altm pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting breast: When, on the left, a light reflection falls; Stro tch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed; The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night, Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed: Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright. To Tlrnus dear, a prophet and a prince, Volscens with question loud the pair alarms:iis oumens more than aulgur's skill evince; "Stand, stragglersI stand why early thus in arms? From whence, to whom?"-He meets with no reply, sie wther of lu's, lost on the night when Troy was taken. Trusting the covert of the night, they fly; HOURS OF IDLENESS. 733 1he thicket's depth with hurried pace they tread, Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower, While round the wood the hostile, squadron spread. Declining gently, falls a fading flower; Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head, With brakes entangled, scarce a path between, ith brakes entangled, scarce a path between, And lingering beauty hovers round the dead. Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene: Enryalus his heavy spoils impede, But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide, The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead; Revenge his leader, and despair his guide; But Nisus scours along the forest's maze Volscens he seeks amid the gathering host, To where Latinus' steeds in safety graze, Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost; Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend, Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foot On every side they seek his absent friend. Rage nerves his arm, fate gleams in every blow; "0 God! my boy," he cries, "of me bereft, In vain beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds, In what impending perils art thou left!" Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds; Listening he runs-above the waving trees, In viewless circles wheel'd, his falchion flies, Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze; Nor quits the hero's grasp till Volscens dies; The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around Deep in his throat its end the weapon found, Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground. The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound. Again he turns, of footsteps hears the noise; Thus Nisus all his fond affection provedThe sound elates, the sight his hope destroys: Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved; The hapless boy a ruffian train surround, Then on his bosom sought his wonted place, While lengthening shades his weary way confound; And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace I Him with loud shouts the furious knights pursue, Celestial pair! if aught my verse can claim, Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew. Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame I What can his friend'gainst thronging numbers dare? Ages on ages shall your fate admire, Ah! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share? No future day shall see your names expire, What force, what aid, what stratagem essay, While stands the Capitol, immortal domel Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey? And vanquish'd millions hail their empress, Rome! His life a votive ransom nobly give, Or die with him for whom he wlsh'd to live? ANSWER TO A BEAUTIFUL POEM, WRITTEN Poising with strength his lifted lance on high, M ONTGOMERY, AUTHOR OF THE W AN On Luna's orb he casts his frenzied eye:-'Goddess serene, transcending every star T COMMON LOT."l "THE COMMON LOT." Queen of the sky whose beams are seen afarl By night heaven owns thy sway, by day the grove, When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove; ONTGOMERY! true, the common Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave; If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace Yet some shanever be forgotThine altars with the produce of the chase, Some shall existbeyond the grave Speed, speed my dart to pierce yon vaunting crowd, 2 To free my friend, and scatter far the proud." "Unknown the region of his birth," Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung; o IThe hero* rolls the tide of war; Through parting shades the hurtling weapon sunag; o * ti The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay, unknown his martial worth, Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay: Which glares a meteor fromn afar. He sobs, he dies,-the troop in wild amaze, 3. Unconscious Whence the death, with horror gaze. His joy or grief, his weal or woe, While pale they stare, through Tagus' temples riven, Perchance may'scape the page of fame; A second shaft with equal force is driven: Yet nations now unborn will know Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes; The record of his deathless name. Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies. 4. r the Trojan lies. * The patriot's and the poet's frame Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall. he atrots an the "Thou youth accurst, thy life shall pay for all!" Must share the common tomb of all: ^.,, ^ i.i.^^. ^^ ~ Their glory will not sleep the same; Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive he drew, That will arise hough empires all. And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew. 5 Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals, Te lutre of a beuty's eye The lustre of a beauty's eye Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals; Assumes the ghastly stare of death; Aghast, confused, his fears to madness rise, The fair, the brave, the good must vie, And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies: And sink the yawning grave beneath. "Me, me-your vengeance hurl on me alone; 6. Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own. Once more the speaking eye revives, Ye starry spheres! thou conscious Heaven! attest! Still beaming through the lover's strain' He could not-durst not —lo! the guile confestl For Petrarch's Laura still survives: All, all was mine,-his early fate suspend; She died, but ne'er will die again He only loved too well his hapless friend: 7. Spare, spare, ye chiefs! from him your rage remove; The rolling seasons pass away, His fault was friendship, all his crime was love." And Time, untiring, waves his wing; He pray'd in vain; the dark assassin's sword Whilst honour's laurels ne'er decay, Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored; But bloom in fresh unfading spring. Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad crest,,owly to earth inclines his plume-cld cres, No particular bero is here alluded to. The exploits of Bayard, Av And sanguine torrents mantle o'er his breast: mours, Edward the Black Prince, and in more modern times the fame of. As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air, borough, Frederick theGreat, CountSaxt, Charles of Sweden, &c. are fal iar to every historical reader, hut the exact places of their birth are knows Languid in death, expires beneath the share; a very small proportion of thiir admirers 3 2 734 BYRON'S WORKS. 8. Then why should I live in a hateful control? All, all must sleep in grim repose, Why waste upon folly the days of my youth Collected in the silent tomb; The old and young, with friends and foes, TO MISS CHAWORTH. Festering alike in shrouds, consume. 1. 9. OH! had my fate been join'd with thine, The mouldering marble lasts its day, As once this pledge appear'd a token, Yet falls at length an useless fane; These follies had not then been mine, To ruin's ruthless fangs a prey, For then my peace had not been broken. The wrecks of pillar'd pride remain. 2. 10. -To thee these early faults I owe, What though the sculpture be destroy'd, To thee, the wise and old reproving: From dark oblivion meant to guard? They know my sins, but do not know A bright renown shall be enjoy'd'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. By those whose virtues claim reward. 3. ~I~~~.~ ~ ~ For once my soul, like thine, was pure, Then do not s h c n And all its rising fires could smother; Then do not say the common lot And now thy vows no more endure, Of all lies deep in Lethe's wave; Bestow'd by thee upon another. Bestow'd by thee upon another. Some few whone'er will be forgot Shall burst the bondage of the grave.erhaps his peace 1806 Perhaps his peace I could destroy, And spoil the blisses that await him; Yet let my rival smile in joy, TO THE REV. J. T. BECHER. - For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. TO THE REV1. J.T BE5HER. DIER Becher, you tell me to mix with mankind: Ah! since thy angel form is gone, I cannot deny such a precept is wise; My heart no more can rest with any; But retirement accords with the tone of'my mind: But what it sought in thee alone, I will not descend to a world I despise. Attempts, alasl to find in many. 6. Bid the senate or camp my exertions require,. ~id the senate or camr~p 2. eThen fare thee well, deceitful maid,.thesenateor pmy exertions require,.'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee; Ambition might prompt me, at once, to go forth; When. or tNor Hope, nor Memory, yield their aid, When infancy's years of probation expire, But Pride may teach me to forget thee. Perchance I may strive to distinguish my birth. P m t. 3. 1 ^'3. \ Yet all this giddy waste of years, The fire in the cavern of Etna conceal'd of pleasures This tiresome round of palling pleasures; Still mantles unseen in its secret recess: These varied loves, these matron's fears, At length in a volume terrific reveal'd, These thoughtless strains to Passion's measures No torrent can quench it, no bounds can repress. 8. 4. If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd:Oh I thus, the desire in my bosom for fame This cheek, now pale from early riot, Bids me live but to hope for posterity's praise. With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd, Could I soar with the phoenix on pinions of flame, But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. With him I would wish to expire in the blaze. 9. 5. Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, For the life of a Fox, of a Chatham the death, For Nature seem'd to smile before thee; What censure, what danger, what woe would I And once my breast abhorr'd deceit, brave I For then it beat but to adore thee. Their lives did not end when they yielded their breath, 10. Their glory illumines the gloom of their grave. But now I seek for other joys; 6. To think would drive my soul to madness; Yet why should I mingle in Fashion's full herd? In thoughtless throngs and empty noise Why crouch to her leaders, or cringe to her rules? I conquer half my bosom's sadness. Why bend to the proud, or applaud the absurd? 1. Why search for delight in the friendship of fools? Yet, even in these a thought will steal, n~7.~~~ ~In spite of every vain endeavour; - I have tasted the sweets and the bitters of love; And fiends- might pity what I feel, To know that thou ait lost for ever In friendship I early was taught to believe; My passion the matrons of prudence reprove; I have found that a friend may profess, yet deceive. REMEMBRANCE. 8.'Tis done!-I saw it in my dreams: I o me what is wealth? it may pass in an hour, No more with Hope the future beams; If tyrants prevail, or if Fortune should frown. My days of happiness are few: To me what is title? —the phantom of power; Chill'd by misfortune's wintry blast, To me what is fashion? —I seek but renown. My dawn of life is overcast, 9. Love, Hope, and Joy, alike adieu!eIcslt is a stranger as yet to my soul, Would 1 could add Remembrance too! f st'l. am unpractised to varnish the truth; 806. (735) THE BLUES. (Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brothef',) All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps, A LITERARY ECLOGUE. And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse. Ink. Let us join them. Tra. What, won't you return to the lecture? "~Nimium ne crede colori."-Virgil.^ Ink. Why, the place is so cramnm'd, there's not room 0 trust not, ye beautiful creatures, to hue, Though your hair were as red as your stockings are blue. fr a spectre. Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurdTra. How can you know that till you hear him? ECLOGUE FIRST. Ink. I heard London.-Before the Door of a Lecture Room. Quite enough; and to tell you the truth, my retreat Enter TRACY, meeting INKEL. Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat. Tra. I have had no great loss then?!11k. YOU-.RE too late. lk~. YOU'RE too late.. Ink. Loss!-such a palaverl Tra. Is it over? I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver Ink. Nor will be this hour. Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours Blt the benches are cramm'd like a garden in flower, To the torrent of trash which around nim he pours, With the pride of our belles, who have made it the Punlp'd up with such effort, disgorged with such labour, fashion; That-come-do not make me speak ill of one's So instead of "beaux arts," we may say "la belle pas- neighbour. sion;" Tra. I mak you! For learning, which lately has taken the lead in k. Yes, you! I said nothing until The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading. Yo compell'd me, by speaking the truth-_ Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my Tra. To speak ill) patience Is that your deduction? With studying to study your new publications. Ink. When speaking of Scamp, ill, There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords I certainly follow, notset an example. and Co. The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany. With their damnable- Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool Ink. Hold, my good friend, do you know makes many. Whom you speak to? But we two will be wise. Tra. Right well, boy, and so does " the Row;" Ink. Pray, then, let us retire. You're an author-a poet- Tra. I would, butInk. And think you that I Ink. There must be attraction much higher Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry Than Scamp, or the Jews'-harp he nicknames his lyre, The Muses? To call you to this hotbed. Tra. Excuse me; I meant no offence Tra. I own it-'tis trueTo the Nine; though the number who make some pre- A fair ladytence Ink. A spinster? To their favours is such-but the subject to drop, Tra. Miss Lilac! I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop, Ink. The Blue (Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I The heiress? Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy Tra. The angel! On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces, Ink. The devil! why, man As one finds every author in one of those places,) Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can. Where I just had been skimming a charming critique, You wed with Miss Lilac!'t would be your perdition: So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek! She's a poet, a chymist, a mathematician. Where your friend-you know who-had just got such Tra. I say she's an angel. a threshing, Ink. Say rather an angle. That is, as the phrase goes, extremely "refreshing." If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. What a beautiful word! I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether. Ink. Very true;'tis so soft Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together? And so cooling-they use it a little too oft; Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance And the papers have got it at last-but no matter. Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with So they've cut up our friend then? science. Tra. Not left him a tatter- She's so learned in all things, and fond of concernot a rag of his present or past reputation, ing Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Herself in all matters connected with learning. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this; for friendship, you That know — Tra, What? Our poor friend! —but I thought it would terminate so. Ink. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it. old my t You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket? ut there's five hundred ople can tell vou y Tra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and others wrong. 736 BYRON'S WORKS. Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew. I myself saw it puffid in the "Old Girl's Review." Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue? Ink. What Review? Tra. Why, Jack, I'11 be frank with you-something Tra.'Tis the Englist " Journal de Trevoux; of both. A clerical work of our Jesuits at home. rhe girl's a fine girl. Have you never yet seen it? ink. And you feel nothing loth Ink. That pleasure's to come To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Tra. Make haste then. IJer life is as good as your own, I will bet. Ink. Why so? rra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I de- Tra. I have heard people say mand That it threaten'd to give up the ghost t'other day. Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and Ink. Well, that is a sign of some spirit. hand. Tea. No doubt Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout? on the pen. Ink. I've a card, and shall go; but at present, as Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now and soon then? As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from Ink. To what purpose? the moon, Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in prose (Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits,) My talent is decent, as far as it goes; And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, But in rhyme- I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, Ink. You're a terrible stick, to be sure. To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation: Tra. I own it;andyet, in these times, there's no lure'Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two; Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise. And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few? And I own, for my own part, that't is not unpleasant. Ink. In your name? Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be present. Tra. In my name. I will copy them out, Tra. That "metal's attractive." To slip into her hand at the very next rout. Ink. No doubt-to the pocket. Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this? Tra. You should rather encourage my passion than Tra. Why, shock it. Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye, But let us proceed; fur I think, by the humPo far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme Ink. Yery true; let us go, then, before they can What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime? come, Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Muse. Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levy, Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy. "Blues." Hark! Zounds, they'll be on us; I know-by the drone Ink. As sublime!-Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say. Of old Botherby's spouting, ex-cathedra tone. Stick to prose,-As sublime!!-but I wish you good Ay! there he is at it. Poor Scamp! better join day. Your friends, or he'1 pay you back in your own coin. Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I'm Tra. All fair;'tis but lecture for lecture. wrong: Ink. That's clear. own it; but prithee, compose me the song. But for God's sake let's go, or the bore will be here. Ink. As sublime!! Come, come; nay, I'm off. [Exit INKEL. Tra. I but used the expression in haste. Tra. You are right, and I'll follow; Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damn'd'Tis high time for a "Sic me servavit Apollo." bad taste. And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes, Tra. I own it-I know it-acknowledge it-what Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand scribes,.'an I say to you more? All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles Ink. I see what you'd be at: With a glass of Madeira at Lady Bluebottle's. You disparage my parts with insidious abuse, [Exit TRACY. rill,you think you can turn them best to your own use. Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them? ECLOGUE SECOND. Ink. Why that.In A.partment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE.To be sure makes a difference. A Table prepared. Tra. I know what is what; And you, who're a man of the gay world, no less, Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess WAS there ever a man who was married so sorry? That I never could mean by a word to offend Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry. A genius like you, and moreover my friend. My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd; Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know what My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void, is due Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ'd:'lo a man of-but come-let us shake hands. The twelve, do I say?-of the whole twenty-four, Tr. You knew, Is there one which I dare call my own any more? And you know, my dear fellow, how heartily I, What with driving, and visiting, dancing and dinin,, Whatever you publish, am ready to buy. What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and Ink. That's my bookseller's business; I care not for shining, sale; In science and art, I'll be curst if I know indeed the best poems at first rather fail. Myself from my wife; for although we are two, T'here were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays, Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be And my owr grand romance —- done Tra Had its full share of praise. In a sty e that proclaims us eternally one. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 737 But the thing of all things which distresses me more LadyBluem. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George than the bills of the week (though they trouble me could but hearsore) Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew know, my dear, Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue,'T is his way. Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost Sir Rich. But this place-For the bill here, it seems, is defray'd by the host- Ink. Is perhaps like friend Scamp's, No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my pains, A lecturer's. But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains; Lady Blueb. Excuse me-'tis one in "the Stamps:" A smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews, He is made a collector. By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call " Blues;" Tra. Collector I A rabble who know not-but soft, here they come! Sir Rich. Iow? Would to God I were deaf as I'm not, I'11 be dumb. Jliss Lil. What? Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat: Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, Miss LILAC, LADY BLUE- There his works will appear MOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL, TRACY, MISS MAZA- Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges. RINE, and others, with SCAMP the Lecturer, erc. 4Sc. Ink. I shan't go so far-t can have them at Granges.* Lady Blueb. Oh fie I Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning; I've JeissLil. And forshane brought you some friends. Lady Bluem. You're too bad. Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside.) If friends, Both. Ver good they're the first. LaryBluem. How good? Lady Blueb. But the luncheon attends. Ltis his p "Iprayyebese,sacs ceremoaie." Lady Blueb. He means naught —'tis his phrase. Lady Bluem. He grows, rude. Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there, LadyBlzcb. Hemeans nothing; nay, ask him. next me. [They all sit. Lady Bluem. Pray, sir I did you mean Sir Rich. (aside.) If he does, his fatigue is to come. What you say Lady Blueb. Mr. Tracy- aInk. Never mind if he did;'twill be seen Lady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, to That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. place ye; And you, Mr. Botherby- Both. Sir! Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise; Both. Oh, my dear Lady,'T was in your defence. I obey. Both. If you please, with submission0 Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye; I can make out my own. You were not at the lecture. ou were not at the lecture. Ink. It would be your perdition. ink. Excuse me, 1 was; While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend 3ut the heat forced me out in the best part-alas! W l m d B dBut tw hneat forced me out-in the best part-alas! Yourself or your works; btut leave both to a friend. And when — LAnady when- Tbsetabin ut n Apropos-Is your play then accepted at last? Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling; but then Both. At last? You have lost such a lecture! o Ink. Why I thought-that's to say-there had past BXth. The best of the ten. A few green-room whispers, which hinted-you know Tra. How can you know that? there are two more. That the taste of the actors at best is so so. Both. Because,^ \.~~Both.! Because ^.^,Both. Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's the I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause. committee. The very walls shook. nk. Oh if that e the test Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our "pity And fear," as the Greek says: for " purging the mind," I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best. I doubt if you'll leaye us an equal behind. Miss Lilac, permit me to help you; —a wing? Miss Lil No more, Sir, I th you. Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have,Msiss Lil. No more, Sir, I thank you. Who lectures next spring? pfy'd ~~~next spring? ^For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid. Both. Dick Dander. Both. Dick That is if he lives. Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be Ink. That is, if he lives. pad play'd. XMiss Lil. And why not? Is it cast yet Is it cast yet Ink. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot. i I Both. The actors are fighting for parts, Lady Bluemount! a glass of Madeira? Lady Bluemontl. With pleasure. As is usual in that most litigious of arts. Lady Blteb. We;ll all make a party, and go thefjtr Ink. How does your friend Wordswords, that Winder-We allmakeparty,andgothe night. mere treasure? Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Takel. Does he stick to his lakes, likes the leeches he sings, T. d yu p t e. And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and Ir,. Not quite kin s? However, to save my friend Botherby trouble,' Lady Biueb. He has just got a place. I'11 do'what I can, though my palins must be double Lady Blueb. He has just got a place. h? ink. As a footman? Tra. Why so Lady Bluem. For shame!t Ink. To do justice to what goes before. Lady Bluer. For sliame! I. Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name. score. Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his mas. Your parts, Mr Inkel, areter; ink. Never mind m?&tnz, For the poet of pedlars't were, sure, no disaster eofyour play, which i y wn in Stick to those of your play, which is quite your own line To wear a new livery; the more, as'tis not The first time he has turn'd both his creed and his coat. * Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadily OR -'138 BYRON'S WORKS. Lady Bluem. You're a fugitive writer, I think, sir, Both. I thank you; not any more, sir, till I dine. of rhymes? Ink. Apropos-Do you dine with Sir Humphrey to Ink. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes. day? On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight, Tra. I should think with DukeI umphrey was mole Or on Mouthy, his friend, without taking to flight. in your way. Lady Bluern. Sir, your taste is too common; but time Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now look and posterity To the knight, as a landlord, much more than the Will right these great men, and this age's severity Duke. Beqome its reproach. The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is, Ink. I've no sort of objection, And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases. So I'm not of the party to take the infection. But'tis now nearly five, and I must to the Park. Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till'tis will take? dark. Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake And you, ScampHave taken already, and still will continue Scamp. Excuse me; I must to my notes, To take-what they can, from a groat, to a guinea. For my lecture next week. Ink. He must mind whom be quotes Of pension or place;-but the subject's a bore.. He must mind whom he quotes Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming. Out of "Elegant Extracts." Ink. Scamp! don't you feel sore? Lady Blueb. Well, now we break up; What say you to this? But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup. Samp. They have merit, I own; Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we'II all meet Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown. again, Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures? For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my Tra. And the sweet lobster salad I strictures. Both. I honour that meal; Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness:-thejoy For'tis then that our feelings most genuinely-feel. of my heaat Ik. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond quesIs to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art. tion: Wild Nature I-Grand Shakspeare! I wish to the gods't was the same with digestion I Both. And down Aristotle. Lady Blueb. Pshaw!-never mind that; for one mo. Lady Bluem. Sir George thinks exactly with Lady ment of feeling Bluebottle; Is worth-God knows what. And my Lord Seventy-four, who protects our dear Ink.'Tis at least worth concealing Bard, For itself, or what follows-But here comes your And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard carriage. For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses, Sir Rich. (aside.) I wish all these people were d —d Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus. with my marriage I [Ezeunt Tra.And you, Scamp!Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd. Ink. Do n't call upon Scamp, who's already so harass'd THE With old schools, and, new schools, and no schools, andD ACT OF AN all schools. THIRD ACT OF MANFRED, Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be IN ITS ORIGINAL SHAPE, fools. I should like'to know who. AS FIRST SENT TO THE PUBLISHER. Ink. And I should not be sorry To know who are not:-it would save us some worry. ACT III. Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing ~~~~~~~~control ~SCENE I. —J Hall in the Castle of.ianfred.. control This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul." MANFRED and HERMAN. Oh, my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathize!-I JlIan. What is the hour? Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly, Her. It wants but one till sunset I feel so elastic-" so buoyant!-so buoyant!"* And promises a lovely twilight. Ink. Tracyl open the window. JMan. Say, Tra I wish her much joy on't. Are all things so disposed of in the tower Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not As I directed? This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot Her. All, my lord, are ready: Upon earth. Give it way;'t is an impulse which lifts Here is the key and casket. Our spirits from earth; the sublimest of gifts; Man. It is well; For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his moun- Thou mayst retire. [Exit HERMAX tain. JIan. (alone.) There is a calm upon me-'Tis the source of all sentiment-feeling's true foun- Inexplicable stillness! which till now tain: Did not belong to what I knew of life.'Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth:'tis the gas If that I did not know philosophy Of the soul:'t is the seizing of shades as they pass, To he of all our vanities the motliest, And making them substance:'t is something divine: — The merest word that ever fool'd the ear Ink. Shall Ihelp you, my friend, to a little more wine? From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem The golden secret, the sought "Kalon" found Fact from:fe. with the words. And seated in mly soul. It will not last. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 739 But it is well to have known it, though but once: To penance, and with gift of all thy lands It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense, To the mcnasteryAnd 1 within my tablets would note down.Man. I understand thee,-well. That there is such a feeling. Who is there? Abbot. Expect no mercy; I have warned thee. Re-enter HERMAN. JMan. (opening the casket.) StopThere is a gift for thee within this casket. Her. My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice cravese casket, strikes a lig Xo greet your presence. [MANFRED opens the casket, strikes a ligt ro greet your presence. and burns some incense. Enter the ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE. Io! Ashtaroth Abbot. Peace be with Count Manfred! botThe DEMON ASHTAROTH appears, singing as follows: JMan. Thanks, holy father I welcome to these walls; The raven sits Thy presence honours them, and blesses those Who dwell within them. On the raven stone, Who dwell within them. And his black wing flits Abbot. Would it were so, Count; d h But I would fain confer with thee alone. O'er the milk-white bone.; JIan. Herman retire. What would my reverend To and fro, as the night winds blow, guest? [Ezit HERMAN. The carcass of the assassin swings; Abbot. Thus, without prelude,;-Age and zeal, my And there alone, on the raven-stone,t office, The raven flapl his dusky wings. And good intent, must plead my privilege; The fetters creak-and his ebon beak Our near, though not acquainted, neighbourhood Croaks to the close of the hollow sound; May also be my herald. Rumours strange, And this is the tune by the light of the moon And of unholy nature, are abroad, To which the witches dance their round, And busy with thy name-a noble name Merrily, merrily, cheerily, cheerily, For centuries; may he who bears it now Merrily, merrily, speeds the ball: Transmit it unimpair'd! The dead in their shrouds, and the demons in louds, JMan. Proceed,-I listen. Flock to the witches' carnival. Abbot.'Tis said thou holdest converse with the.bbot. I fear thee not-hence-hencethings Avaunt thee, evil one!-help, ho! without there! Which are forbidden to the search of man; JIan. Convey this man to the Shreckhorn-to its That with the dwellers of the dark abodes, peakThe many evil and unheavenly spirits peakThe many evil and unheavenly spirts To its extremest peak-watch with him there Which walk the valley of the shade of death, pFrom now till sunrise; let him gaze, and know Thou communest. I know that with mankind, He eer again will be so near to heaven. Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely But harm him not; and, when the morrow breaks, Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude Set him down safe in his cell-away with him! Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy. SL. Had I not better bring his brethren too, lMan. And what are they who do avouch these Convent and all, to bear him company? things?.IMan. No, this will serve for the present. Take him Abbot. My pious brethren-the scared peasantry — Even thy own vassals-who do look on thee exorcism or two, With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril. And we shall fly the lighter..Man. Take it. fan. Take it. ASIITAROTH disappears with the ABBOT, tinging as Abbot. I come to save, and not destroy- fllot-s: I would not pry into thy secret soul; But if these things be sooth, there still is time A prodigal son and a maid undone, And a widow re-wedded within the year; For penitence and pity: reconcile thee And a worldly monk and a pregnant nun With the true church, and through the church to ~~~~~~~heaven..Are things which every day appear. heaven. JMan. I hear thee. This is-my reply: whate'er MANFRED alone. I may have been, or am, doth rest between Man. Why would this fool break in on me, and Heaven and myself.-I shall not choose a mortal force To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd My art to pranks fantastical?-no matter, Against your ordinances? prove and punish!* It was not of my seeking. My heart sickens Abbot. Then, hear and tremble! For the headstrong And weighs a fix'd foreboding on my soul; wretch But it is calm-calm as a sullen sea Who in the mail of innate hardihood After the hurricane: the winds are still, Would shield himself, and battle for his sins, But the cold waves swell high and heavily, There is the stake on earth, and beyond earth eter. And there is danger in them. Such a rest nal- Is no repose. My life hath been a combat, Jlan. Charity, most reverend father, And every thought a wound, till I am scarr d Becomes thy lips so much more than this menace, In the immortal part of me.-What now? That I would call thee back to it; but say, Re-enter HERMAN. What wouldst thou with me? Her. My lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset Abbot. It may be there are He sinks behind the mountain. Things that would shake thee-but I keep them back, an. Loth he s And give thee till to-morrow to repent. l look on hi. I will look on him. Then if thou dost not all devote thyself t "Raven-stone, (Rabenstein,) a translation of the German word *r e It wll be perceived that, as faL as this, the original matter of the the gibbet, which in Germany and Switzerland is permanent and md" d Third Act has been retained. stone." 740 BYRON'S WORKS. [MANFRED advances to the window of the hall. JManuel. These walls Glorious orb!* the idol Must change their chieftain first. Oh I have seen Of early nature, and the vigorous race Some strange things in these few years.t Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons Her. Come, be friendly Of the embrace of angels, with a sex Relate me some, to while away our watch: More beautiful than they, which did draw down I've heard thee darkly speak of an event The erring spirits who can ne er return.- Which happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower. Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere Manuel. That was a night indeed! I do remember The mystery of thy making was reveal'S,'Twas twilight, as it may be now, and such Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, Another evening;-yon red cloud, which rests Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts On Eigher's pinnacle, so rested then,Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd So like it that it might be the same; the wind Themselves in orisons! thou material Godl Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows And representative of the Unknown- Began to glitter with the climbing moon; Who chose thee for his shadow thou chief stat I Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower,Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth How occupied, we knew not, but with him Endurable, and temperest the hues The sole companion of his wanderings And hearts of all who walk within thy rays I And watchings-her, whom of all earthly things Sire of the seasons Monarch of the climes, That lived, the only thing he seem'd to love, And those who dwell in them! for, near or far, As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do, Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, The Lady Astarte, hisEven as our outward aspects;-thou dost rise, Her. Look-look-the towerAnd shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well The tower's on fire. Oh, heavens and earthl what I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance sound, Of love and wonder was for thee, then take What dreadful sound is that? [A crash like thunder My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one Manuel. Help, help, therel-to the rescue of the To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been CountOf a more fatal nature. He is gone: The Count's in danger,-what hol there approach! I follow. [Exit MANFRED. [The Servants, Vassals, and Peasantry approach stupified with terror. SCENP I.. —The Mountains-The Castle of JManfred at If there be any of you who hae heart some distance-. Terrace before a Tower.-Time, Twi-And love of human kind, and will to aid light. Those in distress-pause not-but follow meHERMAN, MANUEL, and other Depenlants of MANFRED. The portal's open, follow. [MANUEL goes in Her.'T is strange enough; night after night, for Ier. Come-who follows? years, What, none of ye?-ye recreants shiver then He hath pursued long vigils in this tower, Without. I will not see old Manuel risk Without a witness. I have been within it,- His few remaining years unaided. [HERMAN goes in So have we all been oft-times; but from it, Vassal. Hark!Or its contents, it were impossible No-all is silent-not a breath-the flame To draw conclusions absolute of aught Which shot forth such a blaze is also gone) His studies tend to. To be sure, there is What may this mean? let's enter! One cnaaber where none enter; I would give Peasant. Faith, not I,The'fee of what I have to come these three years, Not that, if one, or two, or more, will join, To pore upon its mysteries. I then will stay behind; but, for my part, Manuel.'Twere dangerous: I do not see precisely to what end. Content thyself with what thou know'st already. Vassal. Cease your vain prating-come. Her. Ah! Manuel! thou art elderly and wise, Manuel. (speaking within.)'T is all in vainAnd couldst say much; thou hast dwelt within the He's dead. castle- Her. (within.) Not so-even now mcthought he moved How many years is't? But it is dark-so bear him gently outManuel. Ere Count Manfred's birth, Softly-how cold he is take care of his temples I served his tather, whom he naught resembles. In winding down the staircase. Her. There be more sons in like predicament. Re-enter MANUEL and HERMAN, bearing MANFRED in But wherein do they differ? their arms. Manuel. I speak not Manuel. Hie to the castle, some of ye, and bring Of features or of form, but mind and habits: What aid you can. Saddle the barb, and speed Count Sigismund was proud,-but gay and free- For the leech to the city-quick! some water there! A warrior and a reveiler; he dwelt not Her. His cheek is black-but there is a faint beat With books and solitude, nor made the night Still lingering about the heart. Some water. A gloomy vigil, but a festal time, They sprinkle MANFRED with water; after a pause Merrier than day; he did not walk the rocks And forests like a wolf, nor turn aside he gives some sgns of life. AnFrom men and thi delighorts. aieManuel. He seems to strive to speak-come-cheerly From men and their delights. Her. Beshrew the hour, Count But those were jocund times! I would that such He moves his lips-canst hear him? I am old And cannot catch faint sounds. Would visit the old walls again; they look [ in h hat sounds. ~As if they had forgotten them. - ~[HERMAN inclining his head and listening. As if they had forgotten them. __________________ ______ Her. I hear a word *Thfs soliloquy, and a great part of the subsequent scene have been re. a red in the Dresent form of the drama. t Altered, in the present form, to " Some strange things in them, Henarn. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS..4 Or two-but indistinctly-what is next? FRAGMENT. What's to be done? let's bear him to the castle. [MANFRED motions with his hand not to remove him. bleak ad JlMfnuel. Hie disapproves-and't were of no avail- Where my thoughle-ss c d stray'd Where my thouglitless childhood stray'd, He changes rapidly. Her.'Twill soon be over. ow the northern tempests warring, Hiowl above thy tufted shade! JManuel. Oh! what a death is this! that I should livee ty t To shake my gray hairs over the last chief 2. Of the house of Sigismund-And such a death! how no more, the hours beguiling, Aloine-we know not how-unshrived-untended- Former favourite haunts I see; With strange accompaniments and fearful signs- Now n more my Mary smiling I shudder at the sight-but must not leave him. Makes ye seem a heaven to me..Manfred. (speaking faintly and slowly.) Old man I'Tis not so difficult to die. [MANFRED, having said this, expires. Her. His eyes are fix'd and lifeless.-He is gone. THE PRAYER OF NATURE..Manuel. Close them.-My old hand quivers.-He de. FATHER of Light! great God of Heaven parts- Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Whither? I dread to think-But he is gonel Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer? Father of Light, on thee I call l TO MY DEAR MARY ANNE. Thou see'st my soul is dark within: Thou who can'st mark the sparrow's fall,'THE FOLLOWINO LINES ARE THE EARLIEST WRITTEN BY Avert from me the death of sin. LORD BYRON. THEY WERE ADDRESSED TO MISS CHA- No shrine I seek to sects unknown WORTH, AFTERWARDS MRS. MUSTERS, IN 1804, ABOUT Oh point to me the path of truth! A TEAR BEFORE HER MARRIAGE.] Thy dread omnipotence I own; ADIEU to sweet Mary for ever! Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth. From her I must quickly depart: Let bigots rear a gloomy fane, Though the fates us from each other sever, Let superstition hail the pile, Still her image will dwell in my heart. Let priests, to spread their sable reign, With tales of mystic rites-beguile. The flame that within my heart burns Shall man confine his Maker's sway If unlike what in lovers' hearts glows;o Gotic domes of moldering stone The love which for Mary I feel Thy teple is the fc of day Is far purer than Cupid bestows. t i Earth, ocean, heaven thy boundless thronr I wish not your peace to disturb, Shall man condemn his race to hell I wish not your joys to molest; Unless they bend in pompous form Mistake not my passion for love, Tell us that all, for one who fell,'Tis your friendship alone I request. Must perish in the mingling storm? Shall each pretend to reach the skies, Not ten thousand lovers could feel d h o The friendship my bosom contains; Yet doom his brother to expire, It will ever within my heart dweli, Whose soul a different hope supplies, It will ever within my heart dwell, Or doctrines less severe inspire? While the warln blood flows through my veins. ll tese creeds te cnt eo Shall these, by creeds they can't expound, May the Ruler of Heaven look down, Prepare a fancied bliss or woe? And my Mary from evil defend! Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground, May she ne'er know adversity's frown, Their great Creator's purpose know? May her happiness ne'er have an endl Shall those, who live for self alone, Whose years float on in daily crimeOnce more, my sweet Mary, adieut! ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^ ^y "^~ Once more, my sweet Mary, adieu Shall they by Faith for guilt atone, Farewell! I.1 with anguish repeat, Farewei Iwthangu, And live beyond the bounds of Time? For ever I'll think upon you, For ever I'll think upon you, Father! no prophet's laws I seek,While this heart in my bosom shall beat. Fathe no prohet's laws seek,Thy laws in Nature's works appear;I own myself corrupt and weak, Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear TO MISS CHAWORTH. T~O MISS CHAWORTH. Thou, who canst guide the wandering star OH Memory, torture me no more, Through trackless realms of ether's space, The present's all o'ercast; Who calm'st the elemental war, My hopes of future bliss are o'er, Whose hand from pole to pole I trace: In mercy veil the past. Thou, who in wisdom placed me here, Why bring those images to view Who, when thou wilt, can take me henna I henceforth must resign? Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere. Ah why those happy hours renew, Extend to me thy wide defence. That never can be mine? To Thee, my God, to Thee I cal! Past pleasure doubles present pain, Whatever weal or woe betide, To sorrow adds regret, By thy command I rise or fall. Regret and hope are both in vain. In thy protection I confide. I ask but to-forget. If when this dust to dust restort-'^4bq. j My soul shall float on airv w'ing. 3Q "42 BYRON'S WORKS. How shall thy glorious name adored Round this unconcious schoolboys stray Inspire her feeble voice to sing! Till the dull knell of childish play But, if this fleeting spirit share From yonder studious mansion rings; With clay the grave's eternal bed, But here whene'er my footsteps move, While life yet throbs I raise my prayer, My silent tears too plainly prove Though doom'd no more to quit the dead. "Friendship is Love without his wingsI" To Thee I breathe my humble strain, 4 Grateful for all thy mercies past, GAtdhoefuly fo, th meres pasi, Oh Love! before thy glowing shrine And hope, my God, to thee again My early vows were paid; ~ This erring life may fly at last. My early vows were paid; This err29th De. 06. My- hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine, But these are now decay'd; For thine are pinions like the wind, ON REVISITING HARROW. No trace of thee remains behind, Except, alas! thy jealous stings. [Some years ago, when at Harrow, a friend of the author engraved on a Away, away! delusive power, sarticular spot the names of both, with a few additional words, as a me- Thou shalt not haunt my coming hour; norial. Afterwards, on receivingsome real or imagined injury, the au- ne, nee w t thwin " thor destroyed the frail record before he left Harrow. On revisiting the Unless, ndeed, out ty ing elace in 1807, he wrote under it the following stanzas.] 5. 1. Seat of my youth! thy distant spire HERE once engaged the stranger's view Recalls each scene of joy; Young Friendship's record, simply traced; My bosom glows with former fire,Few were her words,-but yet, though few, In mind again a boy. Resentment's hand the line defaced.' Thy grove of elms, thy verdant hill, 2. - Thy every path delights me still, Deeply she cut-but, not erased, Each flower a double fragrance flings; The characters were still so plain, Again, as once, in converse gay, That Friendship once return'd and gazed,- Each dear associate seems to say Till Memory hail'd the words again. "Friendship is love without his wings I" 3. 6. Repentance placed them as before; My Lycus! wherefore dost thou weep? Forgiveness join'd her gentle name; Thy falling tears restrain; So fair the inscription seem'd once more, Affection for a time may sleep, That Friendship thought it still the same. But, oh,'t will wake again. 4. Think, think, my friend, when next we meet Tius might the Record now have been; Our long-wish'd interview, how sweet ut ah, in spite of Hops From this my hope of rapture springs; While youthful hearts thus fondly swell, or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between, e Absence, my friend, can only tell, And blotted out the line for ever I And blotted out the line for ever "Friendship is Love without his wingsl" 7.'AMITIE EST:L'AMOUR fSANS AILES. In one, and one alone deceived, Did I my error mourn? 1. No-from oppressive bonds relieved, WHrY should my anxious breast repine, I left the wretch to scorn. Because my youth is fled? I turn'd to those my childhood knew, Days of delight may still be mine; Days of delight may still be mine; With feelings warm, with bosoms true, Affection is not deard. o yuhTwined with my heart's according stringsl In tracing back the years of youth, And till those vital chords shall break, One firm record, one lasting truth One firm record, one lasting truth For none but these my breast shall wake, Celestial consolation brings: aCeelestial consolation brings: "Friendship, the power deprived of wingaP Bear it, ye-breezes, to the seat, Where first my heart responsive beat,- 8. "Friendship is Love without his wings!" Ye few! my soul, my life is yours, 2. iMy memory and my hope;' hrough few, but deeply chequer'd years, Your orth a lasting ove insures, Unfetter'd in its scope; What moments have been mine! Unfetter'd in its scope; Now, half obscured by clouds of tears, terror Now, bright in rays divine; With aspect fair and honey'd tongue, owe'er m future doom be casLet Adulation wait on kings. tlowe'er my future doom b e ast, With joy elate, y snares beset, Ty soul, enraptured with the past, e We, we, my friends, can ne'er forget To one idea fodly clisgs; - "Friendship is Love without his wings," Friendship! tha thought is all thine own, Worth worlds of bliss, that thought alone, 9.'Friendship is Love without his wingsl''Fictions and dreams inspire the bard.3. Who rolls the epic song; Where yonaer yew-trees lightly wave Friendship and Truth be my reward, Their branches on the gale, To me no bays belong; Unheeded heaves a single grave, If laurel'd Famne but dwells with lies Which teiis the common tale; Me the enchantreq ever flies, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 743 Whose heart and not whose fancy sings: There must thou esoon direct thy flight, Simple and young, I dare not feign, If errors are forgiven. MIine be the rude yet heartfelt strain, To bigots and to sects unknown, "Friendship is Love without his wings!" Bow down beneath tl' Almighty's Throne, — December, 1I06. To him address thy trembling prayer: He, who is merciful and just, Will not reject a child of dust, TO MY SON. Although his meanest care. 1. Father of Light! to thee I call, rHOS. flaxen locks, those eyes of blue, My soul i ak w t My soul is dark within; Bright as thy mother's in their hue; Thoo, who canst mark the sparrow fall Those rosy lips, whose dimples play Avert the death of sin. And smile to steal the heait away,ou, who cast gide the wandering star Recall a scene of former joy,o calst the elemental war And touch thy Father's heart, my Boyl Whose mantle is yon boundless sky, 2. My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive; And thou canst lisp a father's name — And thou canst lisp a father's name- And, since I soonu must cease to live, Ah, William were thine own the same, Instruct me how to die. No self-reproach-but, let me cease- 1~07 My care for thee shall purchase peace; Thy mother's shade shall smile in joy, And pardon all the past, ny Boy. TO MRS. ***, ^'~~3. ~ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENG1AND Her lowly grave the turf has prest, N THE SPRIN. And thou hast known a stranger's breast. Derision sneers upon thy birth, W man, expelld from Eden's bowers, And yields thee scarce a name on earth; A moment linger'd near the gate, Yet shall not these one hope destroy,- Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours, A Father's heart is thine my Boy I And bade' him curse his future fate. 4. But wandering on through distant climes, Why, let the world unfeeling frown, Hle learnt to bear his load of grief; Must I fond Nature's claim disown? Just gave a sigh to other times, Ah, no-though moralists reprove, And found in busier scenes relief. I hail thee, dearest child of love, Thus, Mary, ill it be with me Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy- Tu M wl it b with me, Fair cherlb, pledge of yotuth and joy- And I must view thy charms no more; A Father guards thy birth, my Boy For, while I liner near to tee, 5. I sigh for all I knew before. Oh,'twill be sweet in thee to trace In flight I shall be surely wise, Ere age has wrinkled o'er my face, Escaping from temptation's snare Ere half my glass of life is run, cannot view my paradise At once a brother and a son; Without the wish of dwelling there. And all my wane of years employ Dec. 2 18t In justice done to thee, my Boy 6. - Although so young thy heedless sire, A LOVE-SONG. Youth will not damp parental. fire; * And, weit thou still less dear to me, While Helen's form revives in thee, REMIND me not, remind me not, The breast, which beat to former joy, Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy! When all my soul was given to thee 1807. Iours that may never be forgot, Till time unneires our vital powers, And thou and I shall cease to be. EPITAPH ON JOHN ADAMS, OF SOUTHWELL, Can I forget-canst thou forget, A CARRIER, WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS. C ER, WO DED OF Dhen playing with thy golden hair,!oHN ADAMS lies here, of the parish of Southwell, How quick thy fluttering heart did mos. A Carrier, who carried his can to his mouth well; Oh, by my soul, I see thee yet, He carried so much, and he carried so fast, With eyes so languid, breast so fair, He could carry no more-so was carried at last; And lips, though silent, breathing love For, the liquor he drank, being too much for one, When t!hus reclining on l2y breasL. He could not carry off,-so he's now carri-on.. fSefo h w tci. 1807 Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet ep 1* 8'. As half reproach'd yet raised desire. And still we near and nearer prest, FRAGMENT. And still our glowing lips would meet As if in kisses to expire. [The following lines form the conclusion of a poem written by Lord By. eon under the melancholy impression that he should soon die.] And then those pensive eyes would Clove FORGET this world, my restless sprite, And bid their lids each othelt seek Turn turn thy thoughts to heaven: Veiling the azure orbs below, 744 BYRON'S WORKS. While their long lashes' darkening gloss Sweet lady! once my heart was warm Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek, With every feeling soft as thine; Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow. But beauty's self hath ceased *' charm A wretch created to repine. I dreamt last night our love return'd, And, sooth to say, that very dream Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Was sweeter in its phantasy Sweet lady! speak those words again; Than if for other hearts I burn'd, Yet if they grieve thee, say not soFor eyes that ne'er like thine could beam I would not give that bosom pain. In rapture's wild reality. Then tell me not, remind me not, Of hours which, though for ever gone, SONG. Can still a pleasingdreamn restore, FILL the goblet again, for I never before Till thou and I shall be,orgot, Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its And senseless as the mouldering stone core; Which tells that we shall be no more, Let us drink!-who would not?-since, through life s:~_;~~~~~,varied round, In the goblet alone no deception is found. STANZAS I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; TO ** ** * * I have bask'd in the beam of a dark-rolling eye; I have loved!-who has not?-but what heart can de-'HIERE was a time, I need not name, are Since it will ne'er forgotten be, That pleasure existed while passion was there? When all our feelings were the same As still my soul hath been to thee. In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its And from that hour when first thy tongue spring, And from that love whichen firstthyinue, And dreams that affection can never take wing, Confess'd a love which equalI'd mine, Confd a lve which equald me, I had friends! —who has not?-but what tongue will Though many a grief my heart hath wrung, avow? Unknown and thus unfelt by thine, Unknown and thus unfelt by thine, That friends, rosy winel are so faithful as thou? None, none hath sunk so deep as this- The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, To think how all that love hath flown; Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst Transient as every faithless kiss, change: But transient in thy breast alone. ut transient in thy breast aloThou grow'st old-who does not?-but on earth what And vet my heart some solace knew, appears, When late I heard thy ips declare, Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years? In accents once imagined true, Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, Remembrance of the days that were. Should a rival bow down to our idol below, Yes! my adored, yet most unkind! We are jealous!-who's not?-thou hast no such al Though thou wilt never love again, loy; To me'tis doubly sweet to find For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. Remembrance of that love remain. Then the season of youth and its vanities past, Yes!'tis a glorious thought to me, For refige we fly to the goblet at last; Nor longer shall my soul repine, There we find-do we not?-in the flow of the soul, Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be, That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. Thou hast been dearly, solely mine! When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth, I_~ -~ ~ And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth, Hope was left, was she not?-but the goblet we kiss, TO * * **. And care not for hope, who are certain of bliss. Long life to the grape! for when summer is floi n AND wilt. thou weep when I am low?. SD wiltthou weetladys p when I am low? The age of our nectar shall gladden our own: Sweet lady I speak those words again: We must die-who shall not?-May our sins b bor Yet if they grieve thee, say not so- given I would not give that bosom pain. ee n aven. And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. My heart is.sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone STANZAS Wilt sigh above my place of rest. TO * * *, ON LEAVING ENGLAND. Ald yet mretninks a gleam of peace'Tis done-and shivering in the gale Inoth through my cloud of anguish shine; The bark unfurls her snowy sail; nd for awhile my sorrows cease, And whistling o'er the bending mast, To know thy heart hath felt for mine. Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast: And I must fromt this land' be gorse, mh lady! blessed be that tear- - 11th lady I blessed be that tear- Because I cannot love but one. It falls for one who cannot weep: Rutn precious drops are doubly dear But could I be what I have been, "'a thnie whose eyes no tear can steep. And could I see what I have seen MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 746 Could I repose upon the breast From aloft the signal's streaming, Which once my warmest wishes olest — Hark! the farewell gun is fired: I should not seek another zone Women screeching, tars blaspheming, Because I cannot love but one. Tell us that our time's expired. Here's a rascal'Tis long since I beheld that eye Cme o tasall Which gave me bliss or misery; oe to ts And I have striven, but in vain, Prg r custom-house; Never to think of it again; Tus packing, For though I fly from Albion, Ca cracking, Not a corner for a mouse I still can only love but one. N acu I stilt canl only love but one.'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket, As some lone bird, without a mate, Ere we sail on board the Packet. My weary heart is desolate; 1 look around, and cannot trace One friendly smile or welcome face, Nw o boatmen quit their mooring And even in crowds am still alone A a Because I canlrot love but one. Baggage from the quay is lowering, We're impatient-push from shore. And I will cross the whitening foam, Wer i fro shore. And I will cross the whitening foam, "Have a care! that case holds liquorAnd I will seek a foreign home;Stop the boat-I'm sick-oh Lordl" Till I forget a false fair face, "Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sickas I ne'er shall find a resting-place;re you've been an hour o oard My own dark thoughts I cannot shun, Thus are screaming But ever love, and love but one. Men and women, The poorest veriest wretch on earth Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks; Still finds some hospitable hearth, Here entangling, Where friendship's or love's softer glow All are wrangling, May smile in joy or soothe in woe; Stuck together close as wax.But friend or leman I have none, Such the general noise and racket, Because I cannot love but one. Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet. I go-but wheresoe'er I flee, 3. There's not an eye will weep for mae; Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain, There's not a kind congenial heart, Gallant Kidd, commands the crew; Where I can claim the meanest part; Passengers their berths are clapt in, Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone, Some to grumble, some to spew. Wilt sigh, although I love but one. " Heyday call you that a cabin? To think of every early scene, Tro think of every early scene, Why,'t is hardly three feet square; Of what we are, and what we've been, Not enough to stow Queen Mab inWould whelm some softca hearts with woe- the deucecan harbour there?" But mine, alas! has stood the blow; "ho, sir? plentvYet still beats on as it begun, Nobes twenty And never truly loves but one. D a "Did they?" Jesus, And who that dear loved one may be How you squeeze us! Is not for vulgar eyes to see, Would to God they did so still: And why that early love was crost, Then I'd scape the heat and racket Thou know'st the best, I feel the most; Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet." But few that dwell beneath the sun Have loved so long, and loved but one. 4. Fletcher! Murray! Bob l where are you? I've tried another's fetters too, Flcher!Murray!Bob whereareyom? I've tried another's fetters too, Stretch'd along the deck like logsWith charms perchance as fair to view; o - Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you 1 And I would fain have loved as well, But some unconquerable spells a rope!s-ed for the dogs. Forbade my bleeding breast to own Hobhouse muttering fearful curses, Forbade my bleeding breast to own As the hatchway down he rolls, A kindred care for aught but one. s te a ow hers, Now his breakfast, now his verses,'T would soothe to take one lingering view, Vomits forth-and damns our souls. And bless thee in my last adieu; Here's a stanza Yet wish I not those eyes to weep On BraganzaFor him that wanders o'er the deep; Help!"-" a couplet?"-"No. a cup His home, his hope, his youth are gone, Of warm water-" Yet still he loves, and loves but one. What's thematter?" "Zoundsl my liver's coming up, I shall not survive the racket LINES TO MR. HODGSON. Of this brutal Lisbon Packet." Falmoutfi Roads, June SOth, 1809. 1. S. fuzz A! Hodgson, we are going, Now at length we're off for Turkey Our embargo's off at last, Lord knows when we snall come tea Favourable breezes blowing Breezes foul and tempests murky Bend the canvas o'er the mast. May unship us' a cra+k. 3 0, 99 74b BYRON'S WORKS. But, since life at most a jest is, I've seen my bride another's bride,As philosophers allow, Have seen her seated by his side,Still to laugh by far the best is; Have seen the infant, which she bore, Then laugh on-as I do now. Wear the sweet smile the mother wore Laugh at all things, When she and I in youth have smiled Great and small things, As fond and faultless as her child;Sick or well, at sea or shore; Have seen her eyes, in cold disdain, While we're quaffing, Ask if I felt no secret pain. Let's have laughing- And I have acted well my part, Who the devil cares for more? And made my cheek belie my heart, Some good wine! and who would lack it, Return'd the freezing glance she gave, Even on board the Lisbon Packet? Yet felt the while that woman's slave; — Have kiss'd, as if without design, — ~*==~~ ~ ~T The babe which ought to have been mine, And show'd, alasl in each caress LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT OR.- in eh CHOMENU~Jg~S. Time had not made me love the less. CHOMENUS. IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN:- But let this pass-I'll whine no more "FAIR Albion smiling, sees her son depart Nor-seek again an easternshore; The world befits a busy brain,To trace the birth and nursery of art: I'll hlie me to its haunts again. Noble his object, glorious is his aim: h m t But if, in some succeeding year, He comes to Athens, and he writes his name." Ba in er When Britain's "May is in the sere," BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING Thou hear'st of one, whose deep'ning crimes REPLY:- Suit with the sablest of the times, Of one, whom love nor pity sways, THE modest bard, like many a bard unknown,, o oenori sas Nor hope of fame, nor good men's praise.'ymes on our nrmes, but wisely hides his own:' ~ i-ymes, oorD,uwslbd iwn One, who in stern ambition's pr.de, Bult yet whoe'er he be, to say no worse, Bt yet w er e be, to say no worse, Perchance not blood shall turn aside, His name would bring more credit than hisverse. One rand in some recording page Onerank'd in some recording page _~-~"sa*~"~ 1 With the worst anarchs of the age, ON MOORES LAST OEATIC FARC. Him wilt thou know-and knowing pause, ON MOORE'S LAST OPERATIC FARCE. Nor will the effect forget the cause. A FARCICAL EPIGRAM. Sept. 14, 1811. GOOD plays are scarce, ON LORD THURLOW'S POEMS. So Moore writes farce: DEDICATED TO MR. ROGERS. The poet's fame grows brittle- -ay 1 We knew before, 1 That Little's Moore, WHEN Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent, But now't is JMoore that's little. I am not (I hope I am not violent,) Nor men nor gods knew what he meant. EPISTLE TO MR. HODGSON,. And since not ev'n our Rogers' praise IN ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXHORTING HIM TO BE common sene his thoughts could ra To common sense his thoughts could raise - CHEERFUL AND TO " BAN1SI CARE." CHEERFUL AND TO " B.kANITSHlI CARE." Why would they let him print his lays l Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811. "OH i banish care"-such ever be * * * * - The motto of thy revelry! Perchance of mine, when \vassail nights 4. Renew those riotous delights, * * *. ~ A herewith the children of Despair Iull the lone heart, and "banish care." 5. hlit not in morn's reflecting hour, To me, divine Apollo, grant-Ol When present, past, and future lower, Hermilda's first and second canto, When all I loved is changed or gone,'m fitting p new portmanteau Mock with such taunts the woes of one, Whose every thought-but let them passu l n And thus to furnish decent lining,'T'hou know'st I am nrt what I was. Bitt, above all if athou woudst Ihold My own and others' bays I'm twining — But above all, if-thou wouldst hold g t' ~ ~ ~~..^~ ~ ~So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thire in. Place in a heart that ne'er was cold, By all the powers that men revere, By all tunto thy bosom dear, T R THU Thy joys below, thy hopes above, Speak-spe-k of anything but love. "I lay mybrch of laurel down, Then thus to form Apollo's crown'rv'ere 3ng to tell, and vain to hear, Let every other bring his own."''lle td.a of one who scorns a tear; Lord Thulows Linutes 1s on And there is little in that tale 1. Which better bosoms would bewail. "I lay my branch of laurel down." But iniue has suffer'd more than well Thou "lay thy branch of laurel down I" T wuidlld suit philosophy to tell. Why, what thou'st stole is not enow MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 747 And, were it lawfully thine own, Singing "Glory to God" in a spick and span stanza, Does Rogers want it most, or thou? The like (since Tom Sternhold was choked) nevet Keep to thyself thy wither'd bough, ma saw. Or send i back to Doctor Donne- 2. Were justice done to both, I trow, The papers have told you, no doubt, of the fusses, He'd have but little, and thou-none. The fetes, and the gapings to get at these Russee,2. Of his Majesty's suite, up front coachman to Hiet inan,"Then thus to form Apollo's crown." n, And what dignity decks the flat face Df the great A crown! why, twist it how you will, man. Thy chaplet must be foolscap still. I saw him, last week, at two balls and a party,When next you visit Delphi's town, pFor a prince, his demeanour was rather too hearty. Inquire among your fellow-lodgers, You know, woe are used to quite different graces, They'll tell you Phoebus gave his crown, * * * * * Some years before your birth, to Rogers. 3. 3. "Let every other bring his own." The Czar's look, I own, was much brighter and brisker When coals to Newcastle are carried, But then he is sadly deficient in whisker; And owls sent to Athens as wonders, And wore but a starless blue coat, and in kerseyFrom his spouse when the Regent's unmarried, -mere breeches whisk'd round, in a waltz with the Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders; Jersey, When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel. Who, lovely as ever, seem'd just as delighted When Castlereagh's wife has an heir, With majesty's presence as those she invited. Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel, * * * * * * And thou shalt have plenty to spare. THE DEVIL'S DRIVE. TO THOMAS MOORE. [)f this strange, wild poem, which extends to about two hundred and Aft WRITTEN THE EVENING BEFORE HIS VISIT, IN COMPANY, the only copy that Lord Byron, I believe, ever wrote, he presented to Lord Holland. Though with a good deal of vigour and imagination, it WITH LORD BYRON, TO MR. LEIGH HUNT IN COLD BATH is, for the most part, rather clumsily executed, wanting the point and co. FIELDS PRISON, MAY 19, 1813. densation of those clever verses of Mr. Coleridgewhich Lord Byron, adopt. ing a notion long prevalent, has attributed to Professor Porson. There are you, who in all names can tickle the thowever, someof the stanzas of "The Devil's Drive" wellworth pro Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown,- serving.] —Moore. For hang me if I know of which you may most brag, Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Two-penny Pot THE Devil return'd to hell by two, *Bag;'And he staid at home till five; B * * *no.om etr * ti* * anwe- Where he dined on some homicides done in raguot, But now to my letter-to yoTrs'tis an answer — And a rebel or so in an Irsh stew, To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir, And sausages made of a selfslain Jew, All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on And bethought himself what next to do; (According to compact) the wit in the dungeon- "And" quoth he, "I11 take a drive. Pray Phoebus at length our political malice I walk'din the morning, I'll ride tonight; May not get us lodgings within the same palace I n darkness my children take most delight, I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some And I11 see how my favourites thrive. codgers, And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers, 4nd I, though with cold I have nearly my death got, " quoth Lu, Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote. "If I fol'd y taste,indeed, I should mount in a wagon of wounded men, But to-morrow, at four, we will both play the Scurra, I d mot in a won o wo ed men, Ant smile to see them bleed. And you'll be Catullus, the Regent Mamurra. But these will be furnish'd again and again, And at present my purpose is speed; To see my manor as much as I may, FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE TO THOMAS And watch that no souls shall be poach'd away. MOORE. 3. June, 1814. "I have a state-coach at Carlton House, 1. A chariot in Seymour-place; "WHAT say I?"-not a syllable further in prose; But they're lent to two friends, who make ae I'mi your nan "of all measures," dear Tom,-so, here amends goes By driving my favourite pace: Here goes, for a swim on the stream o' old Time, And they handle their reins with such a grace, On those buoyant supporters, the bladders of rhyme. I have something for both at the end of their law. If our weight breaks them down, and we sink in the 4. flood, "So now for the earth to take my chance." We are smother'd, at least, in respectable mud, Then up to the earth sprung he; Where the Divers of Bathos lie drown'd in a heap, And making a jump from Moscow to France And Southey's last Paean has pillow'd his sleep;- He stepp'd across the sea, Thit " Felo de se" who, half drunk with his nialmsey, And rested his hoof on a turnpike road, Wt'k'd out of his depth and was lost in a calm sea, No very great way from a bishop's abode 148 BYRON'S WORKS. 5. And he saw the tears in Lord Eldon's eyes, But first as he flew, I forgot to say, Because the Catholics would not rise, That he hover'd a moment upon his way In spite of his prayers and his prophecies; To look upon Leipsic plain; And he heard-which set Satan himself a staringAnd so sweet to his eye was its sulphury glare, A certain chief justice say something like sweatr And so soft to his ear was the cry of despair, ing. That he perch'd on a mountain of slain: And the Devil was shock'd-and quoth he, " And he gazed with delight from its growing height, must go, Nor often on earth had he seen such a sight, For I find we have much better manners below. Nor his work done half so well: If thus he harangues when he passes my border. For the field ran -so red with the blood of the dead, I shall hint to friend Moloch to call him to order. That it blush'd like the waves of hell I December, 1813. Then loudly, and wildly, and long laugh'd he: "Methinks they have here little need of me I " ADDITIONAL STANZAS, TO THE ODE TO 8. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. But the softest note that soothed his ear Was the sound of a widow sighing; 17. And the sweetest sight was the icy tear, THERE was a day-there was an hour, Which horror froze in the blue eye clear While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thineOf a maid by her lover -lying- When that immeasurable power As round her fell her long fair hair: Unsated to resign And she look'd to heaven with that frenzied air Had been an act of purer fame Which seem'd to ask if a God were there I Than gathers round Marengo's name And, stretch'd by the wall of a ruin'd. hut, And gilded thy decline, With its hollow cheek, and eyes half shut, Through the long twilight of all time, A child of famine dying: Despite some passing clouds of crime And the carnage begun, when resistance is done,18 And the fall of the vainly flying I * * * * *. But thou forsooth must be a king 10. - And don the purple vest, But the Devil has reach'd our cliffs so white, As if that foolish robe could wring And what did he there, I-pray?Remembrancefromthybreast. Where is that faded garment? where If his eyes were good, he but saw by night ee e What we see every day; The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear, The star-the string-the crest? But he made a tour, and kept a journal-te Vain froward child of empire! say, Of all the wondrous sights nocturnal, all th playthings snatchd away? And he sold it in shares to the Men of the Row, Who bid pretty well-but they cheated him, though! 1). 11. - Where may the wearied eye repose, The Devil first saw, as he thought, the Mail, When gazing on the great; Its coachman and his coat; Where neither guilty glory glows, So instead of a pistol he cock'd his tail, Nor despicable state? And seized him by the throat: Yes-one-the first-the last-the bestAha," quoth he, "what have we here? The Cincinnatus of the West,'Tis a new barouche, and an ancient peerl" Whom envy dared not hate, So he sat him on his box again, Bequeath'd the name of Washington, And bade him have no fear, To make man blush there was but one But be true to his club, and staunch to his rein, April, 1814 His brothel, and his beer; "Next to seeing a lord at the council board, I would rather see him here." TO LADY CAROLINE LAMB. ~17,y -;~ ~AND say'st thou that I have not felt, 17, n to West- min. se Whilst thou wert thus estranged from met The Devil gat next to Westminster,.'The Devil gat next to Westminster,. Nor know'st how dearly I have dwelt And he turn'd "to the room" of the Commons; On one unbroken dream of thee? But he heard, as he proposed to enter in there,t oe e or mt That "the Lords" had received a summons; l e And I will learn to prize thee less; And he thought as a "quondam aristocrat," As thou hast fled, so let me flee, lie might peep at the peers-thoughto hear them ~were fiat; And change the heart thou may'st not bles were flat; %~ And he walk'd up the house so like one of our They'll tell thee, Clara! I have seem'd, own, Of late, another's charms to woo, T''had they say that he stood pretty near the throne. Nor sigh'd, nor frown'd, as if I deem'd 18. That thou wert banish'd from my view. lie saw the Lord Liverpool seemingly wise, Clara! this struggle-to undo The Lord Westmoreland certainly silly, What thou hast done too well, for me And Johnnv of Norfolk-a man of some size- This mask before the babbling crewAnd Chatham. so like his friend Billy; This treachery-was truth to thee MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 749 I have not wept while thou wert gone, ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT TIIB Nor worn one look of sullen woe; CALEDONIAN MEETING. But sought, in many, all that one WHO hath not glow'd above the page where fame (Ah need I name her?) could bestow. Hath fix'd high Caledon's unconquer'd name; It is a duty which I owe The mountain-land which spurn'd the Roman chain To thine-to thee-to man-to God, And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane, To crush, to quench this guilty glow, Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand Ere yet the path of crime be trod. No foe could tame-no tyrant could command? But since my breast is not so pure, That race is gone-but still their children breathe, But since my breast is not so pure, Since still the vulture tears my heart. And glory crowns them with redoubled wreath: O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine, Let e this agony endure,And England! add their stubborn strength to thine. Not thee —oh! dearest as thou.art I The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as free, In mercy, Clara I let us part, In mercy, Claral let us part, But now'tis only shed for fame and thee! And I will seek, yet know not how, Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim, To shun, in time, the threatening dart; But give support-the world hath given him famel Guilt must not aim at such as thou, The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled But thou must aid me in the task, While cheerly following where the mighty led, And nobly thus exert thy power; Who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sod Then spurn me hence-'tis all I ask- Where happier comrades in their triumph trod, Ere time n.ature a guiltier hour; To us bequeath-'t is all their fate allowsEre wrath's impending vials shower The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse: Remorse redoubled on my head; She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise Ere fires unquenchably devour The tearful eye in melancholy gaze, A heart, whose hope has long been dead. Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose The Highland seer's anticipated woes, Deceive no more thyself and me, Deceive not more thyself andan m ee,; The bleeding phantom of each martial form Deceive not better hearts than mine; Dim in the cloud, or darkling ine storm Ahl shouldst thou, whither wouldst thou flee, While sad, she chants the solitary song From woe like ours-from shame like thine? s s The soft lament for him who tarries longAnd, if there be a wrath divine, And, if there be a wrath divingbre, For him, whose distant relics vainly crave A pang beyond this fleeting breath, The Coronach's wild requiem to the brave. E'en now all future hopes resign, Such thoughts are guilt-such guilt is death.'T is Heaven-not man-must charm away the woe Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow Yet tenderness and time may rob the tear Of half its bitterness for one so dear; STANZAS FOR MUSIC. A nation's gratitude perchance may spread 1. A thornless pillow for the widow'd head; I SPEAK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name, May lighten well her heart's maternal care, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame; And wean from penury the soldier's heir. But the tear which now burns on my cheek may im- JMay, 1814. part The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. 2g~. ~ON THE PRINCE REGENT'S RETURNING THE Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace, PICTURE OF SARAH, COUNTESS OF JERSEY Were those hours-can their joy or their bitterness T M cease? WHEN the vain triumph of the imperial lord, We repent-we abjure-we will break from our Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd, chain,- Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust, We will part,-we will fly to-unite it again That left a likeness of the brave or just; 3. What most admired each scrutinizing eye Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! Of all that deck'd that passing pageantry? Forgive me, adored one!-forsake, if thou wilt;- What spread from face to face that wondering a But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, The thought of Brutus-for his was not there! And man shall not break it-whatever thou mayest. Tat absence proved his worth-that absence fix His memory on the longing mind, unmix'd; 4. And more decreed his glory to endure, And stein to the haughty, but humble to thee, Than all a gold Colossus could secure. This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be;, r d If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze And our days seem as swift, and our moments more Search for thy form, in vain and mute maze, Search for thy tor,in vain and mute amaze, sweet,,'.sweet, 3Amid those pictured charms, whose loveliness With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet. Brig those ptued ch, t hin e n render s Bright though they be, thine own had render'd 1ess 5. If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love, Heir of his father's throne and shatter'd wits, Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove; If his corrupted eye and wither'd heart And the heartless may wonder at all I resign- Could with thy gentle image bear depart, Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine. That tasteless shame be his, and ours the gtiet JMay, 1814. To gaze on Beauty's band without its chieft "50 BYRON'S WORKS. Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts, They called for the harp, but our blood they shall spill, We lose the portrait, but preserve our hearts. Ere our righthandshallteachthem one toneof theirskill What can his vaulted gallery now disclose? All stringlessly hung on the willow's sad tree A garden with all flowers-except the rose;- As dead as her dead leaf those mute harps must be; A fount that only wants its living stream; Our hands may be fetter'd, our tears still are free, And night, with every star, save Dian's beam. For our God and our glory, and Sion for thee. Lost to our eyes the present forms shall be, - October, 1814 That turn from tracing them to dream of thee; And more on that recall'd resemblance pause, Than all he shall not force on our applause. THEY say that Hope is happiness, But genuine Love must prize the past; Long may thy yet meridian lustre shine, And Memory wakes the thoughts that blest With all that Virtue asks of Homage thine:They rose the t the last The symmetry of youth-the grace of mien- r t f The eye that gladdens-and the brow serene; And all that Memory loves the most The glossy darkness of that clustering hair, Was once our only hope to be; Which shades, yet shows that forehead more than fair l And all that hope adored and lost Each glance that wins us, and the life that throws Hath melted into memory. A spell which will not let our looks repose, Alas! it is delusion all But turn, to gaze again, and find anew The future cheats us from afa Some charm that well rewards another view. Nor can we be what we recall, These are not lessen'd, these are still as bright, Nor dare we think on what we are. Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight; October, 1814. And these must wait till every charm is gone To please the paltry heart that pleases none, That dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye LINES INTENDED FOR THE OPENING OF "T3E In envious dimness pass'd thy portrait by; SIEGE OFCOINTH." Who rack'd his little spirit to combine Its hate of Frecdom's loveliness, and thine. IN the year since Jess died for men, July 1814. Eighteen hundred years and ten,'___*,_' We wpre a gallant company, Riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea. TO BELSHAZZAR, Oh! but we went merrily! 1. We forded the river and clomnb the high hill, BELSAZZAR Is from the banquet turn, ^Never our steeds for a day stood still; Nor in thy sensual fullness fall: Whether we lay in the cave or the shed, Behold! while yet before thee burn POur sleep fell soft on the hardest bed; Thei graven words, the glowing wall. Whether we couch'd in our rough capote, Many a despot men miscall, On the rougher plank of our gliding boat, Crown'd and anointed from on high; Or stretch'd on the beach, or our saddles spread But thou, the weakest, worst of all- As a pillow beneath the resting head, Is it not written, thou must die? Fresh we woke upon the morrow: Q~~~~2. ~All our thoughts and words had scope, 2. We had health, and we had hope, Gol dash the roses from thy brow- ad ea, and we had hop Gray hairs but poorly wreathe with them; oil and trael, but no r We were of all tongues a,. I creeds;Youth's garlands misbecome thee now, Some were those who coun.zd beads, More than thy very diadem, hMore thuan thy very diadem, -ern:- Some of mosque, and some of church, Where thou hast tarnish'd every gem:- A -hen thro theworhles bablAnd some, or I mis-say, of neither; Then throw the worthless bauble by, h hw the e e Yet through the wide world might ye search, Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn; Nor find a ier crew nor blither.,nd,earn.ike better men to die. Nor find a motlier crew nor blither. And learn like better men to die. 3. But some are dead, and some are gone, Ohi early in the balance weigh'd, And some are scatter'd and alone, And ever light of word and worth, And some are rebels on the hills* Whose soul expired ere youth decay'd, That look along Epirus' valleys, And left thee but a mass of earth. Where freedom still at moments rallies, l'o see thee moves a scorner's mirth: And pays in blood oppression's ills; But tears in Hope's averted eye And some are in a far country, Lament that even thou hadst birth- And some all restlessly at home; Unfit to govern, live, or die. But never more, oh! never we Shall meet to revel and to roam. But those hardy days flew cheerily, HEBREW MELODIES. And when they now fall- drearily, My thoughts, like swallows, skim the malt.,s the valley of waters we wept o'er the day And bear my spirit back again When the host of the stranger made Salem his prey; Or he art, ad t h te ai And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay, A w r, and a wanderer A wild bird, and a wanderer. And our hearts were so full of the land far away. The song they demanded in vain-it lay still The st tidings recently heard of Dervish (one of the Arnaouts whoa Q 9 - ~~~~~~~~~~~~lnowed me) state him to be in revolt upon the mountains, at the head of le a our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill, of the bands common in that country in times of t'ouble. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 751 T is this that ever wakes my strain, A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past And oft, too oft, implores again Recalling, as it lies beyond redress; The few who may endure my lay, Reversed for him our grandsire's* fate of yore,To follow me-so far away. IHe had no rest at sea, nor I on shore. Stranger-wilt thou follow now, III. And sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow? If my inheritance of storms hath been December, 1815. In other elements, and on the rocks ^~~c ~_ - ~ Of perils, overlook'd or unforeseen, I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks, EXTRACT FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen COULD I remount the river of my years, My errors with defensive paradox; To the first fountain of our smiles and tears I have been cunning in mine overthrow, I would not trace again the stream of hours The careful pilot of my proper woe. Between their outworn banks of wither'd flowers, IV. But bid it flow as now-until it glides Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward, Into the number of the nameless tides. My whole life was a contest since the day * * * * * * That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd What is this death?-a quiet of the heart? The gift,-a fate, or will, that walk'd astray; The whole of that of which we are a part? And I at times have found the struggle hard, For life is but a vision-what I see And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay, Of all which lives alone is life to me, But now I fain would for a time survive, And being so-the absent are the dead, If but to see what next can well arrive. Who haunt us from tranquillity, and spread v. A dreary shroud around us, and invest Kingdoms and empires in my little day With sad remembrancers our hours of rest. I have outlived, and yet I am not old; The absent are the dead-for they are cold, And when I look on this the petty spray And ne'er can be what once we did behold; Of my own years of trouble, which have roll'd And they are changed, and cheerless,-or if yet Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away: The unforgotten do not all forget, Something-I know not what-does still uphoifl Since thus divided-equal must it be A spirit of slight patience;-not in vain, If the deep barrier be of earth, or sea; Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain. It may be both-but one day end it must VI. In the'dark union of insensate dust. Perhaps the workings of defiance stir The under-earth inhabitants-are they Within me,-or perlaps a cold despair, But mingled millions decomposed to clay? Brought on when ills habitually recur,The ashes of a thousand ages spread Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, Wherever man has trodden or shall tread? (For even to this may change of soul refer, Or do they in their silent cities dwell And with light armour we may learn to bear,) Each in his incommunicative cell? Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not Or have they their own language? and a sense The chief companion of a calmer lot. Of breathless being? darken'd and intense VI. as midnight in her solitude?-Oh Earth I feel almost at times as I have felt Where are the past?-and wherefore had they birth? In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brookl The dead are thy inheritors-and we Which do remember me of where I dwelt But bubbles on thy surface; and the key Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books, Of thy profundity is in the grave, Come as of yore upon me, and can melt The ebon portal of thy peopled cave, My heart with recognition of their looks; Where I would walk in spirit, and behold And even at moments I could think I see Our elements resolved to things untold, Some living thing to love-but none like thee. And fathom hidden wonders, and explore vl. The essence of great bosoms now no more. Here are the Alpine landscapes which create ~~~~~~* * * * * * ~ A fund for contemplation;-to admire October, 1816. Is a brief feeling of a trivial date; -=-~ But something worthier do such scenes inspirei TO AUGUSTA. Here to be lonely is not desolate, For much I view which I could most desiie, I. -And, above all, a lake I can behold Mv sister! my sweet sister! if a name Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old. Dearer and purer were, it should be thine. Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim i. No tears, but tenderness to answer mine. Oh that thou wert but with me1-but I grow Go where I will, to me thou art the same- The fool of my own wishes, and forget A loved regret which I would not resign. The solitude which I have vaunted so There yet are two things in my destiny,- Has lost its praise in this but one regret; 4 world to roam through, and a home with thee. * Admiral Byron was remarkable for nevsr making a voyage withlv II. tempest. He was known to the sailors by the facetious name of "Faro The first were nothing-had I still the last weather Jack." ttho,,But though it were tempest-tost, It were the haven of my happiness; st;l his bark could not be lost." But other claims and other ties thou hast, He returned safely from the wreck of the Wager, (in Anson's voyage,) u subsequently circumnavigated the world, many reams after as commayra And mine is not the wish to make them less. of a sunilar expedition. 152 BYRON'S WORKS. There may be others which I less may show;- TO THOMAS MOORE. I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet I feel an ebb in my philosophy, And the tide rising in my alter'd eye. MY boat is on the shore, X.vS~~~. ~And my bark is on the sea; 1 did remind thee of our own dear lake,* But, before I go, Tom Moore, By the old hall which may be mine no more. ere's a double health to thee Lenan's is fair; but think not I forsake 2. The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore: Here's a sigh to those who love me, Sad havoc Time must with my memory make And a smile to those who hate; Ere that or thou car fade these eyes before; And, whatever sky's above me, Though, like all things which I have loved, they are Here's a heart for every fate. Resign'd for ever, or divided far. 3. XI.. Though the ocean roar around me, The world is all before me; I but ask Yet it still shall bear me on; Of Nature that with which she will comply- Though a desert should surround me, It is but in her summer's sun to bask, It hath springs that may be won. To mingle with the quiet of her sky, 4. To see her gentle face without a mask, Were't the last drop in the well, And never gaze on it with apathy. As I gasp'd upon the brink, She was my early friend, and now shall be Ere my fainting spirit fell, My sister-till I look again on thee.'Tis to thee that I would drink. Xii. 5 I can reduce all feelings but this one: With that water as this wine, And that I would not; —for at length I see The libation I would pour Such scenes as those wherein my life begun, Should be-peace with thine and mine, The earliest-even the only paths for me- And a health to thee, Tom Moore. HIad I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun, July, 1817 I had been better than I now can be; The passions which have torn me would have slept;? had not suffer'd, and thou hadst not wept. STANZAS TO THE RIVER PO XIII. xiii. With false ambition what had I to do? Little with love, and least of all with fame; RIVER, that rollest by the ancient walls And yet they came unsought, and with me grew, Where dwells the lady of my love, when she And made me all which they can make-a name. Walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls Yet this was not the end I did pursue; A faint and fleeting nemory of me; Surely I once beheld a nobler aim. 2. Bat all is over-I am one the more What if thy deep and ample stream should be To baffled millions which have gone before. A mirror of my heart, where she may read xiv. The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee, And for the future, this world's future may Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed From me demand but little of my care; 3. I have outlived myself by many a day; What do I say?-a mirror of my heart Having survived so many things that were; Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong I My years have been no slumber, but the prey Such as my feelings were and are, thou art; Of ceaseless vigils; for I had the share And such as thou art were my passions long. Of life which might have fill'd a century, 4. 3efore its fourth in time had pass'd me by. Time may have somewhat tamed them,-not for eve xv. Thou overflow'st thy banks, and not for aye And for the remnant which may be to come Thy bosom overboils, congenial river! I am content; and for the past I feel Thy floods subside, and mine have sunk away, Not thankiess,-for within the crowded sum Of struggles, happiness at times would steal, But left long wrecks behind, and now again, And. for the present I nwould inot benum)b Borne in our old unchanged career, we m:ve; My feelings farther.-Nor shall I conceal That with all this I still can look around Thoutendest wildly onwards to the ain, knd worship Nature with a thought profound. I s d n l. xvi. 6. For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart The current I behold will sweep beneath know myself secure, as thou in mine; tIer native walls, and murmur at her feet; We were and are-I am, even as thou art- Her eyes will look on thee, when she shall brealt Beings who ne'er each other can resign; The twilight air, unharm'd by summer's heat. ft is the same, together or apart. 7. From life's commencement to its slow decline She will look on thee,-I have look'd on thee, We are entwined-let death come slow or fast, Full of that thought; and, from that noment, ne'e ria tie which bound the first endures tile last! Thy waters could I dream of, name, or see, October, 1816. Without the inseparable sigh for her * Th. laji "t Newvtead Abbev t The Countess Galiccioli MISCEL lANEOUS POEMS. 753 8. But Caina waits for him our life who ended:" His bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream,- These were the accents utter'd by her tongue.Yes! they will meet the wave I gaze on now: Since first I listeu'd to these souls offended, Mine cannot witness, even in a dream, I bow'd my visage and so kept it tillThat happy wave repass me in its flowl then 9. W then I, 9. "Wlhat think'st thou?" said the bard; when The wave that bears my tears returns no more: unbended, Will she return bv whom that wave shall sweep - And recommenced: "Alas! unto such ill Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore, How many sweet thoughts, what strange ecstacies I by thy source, she by the dark-blue deep. Led these their evil fortune to fulfill" 10. And then I turn'd unto their side my eyes, But that which keepeth us apart is not And said, "Francesca, thy sad destinies Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of earth: Have made me sorrow till the tears arise. But the distraction of a various lot, But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs, As various as the climates of our birth. By what and how thy love to passion rose, So as his dim desires to recognize " *11. Then she to me: "The greatest of all woes A stranger loves the lady of the land, recall to mind j Born far beyond the mountains, but his bood Is to remind us of our happy days Is all meridian, as if never fann'd I this? By the bleak wind that- chills the polar flood. n misery, and that thy teacher knows. -~1,g2> ~ But if to learn our passion's first root preys My blood is all meridian; were it not, Upon thy spirit with such sympathy, My blood is all meridian; were it not, I had not left my clime, nor should I be, wi do even as he who weeps and says.In spite of tortures ne'er to be forgot, We read one day for pastime, seated nigh, A slave again of love,-at least of thee. Of Lancilot, how love enchain'd him too. 13. We were alone, quite unsuspiciously. Tis vain to struggle-let me perish young- But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue Live as I lived, and love as I hive loved; All o'er discolour'd by that reading were; To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, overthrew And then, at least, my heart can ne'er be moved. But oqe point only wholly us o'erthrew; June, 1819. desired When we read the long-sigh'd for smile of her, ~_*~*'~~L~)~~ —-~r. i ~ a fervent? To be thus kiss'd by such devoted lover SONNET TO GEORGE THE FOURTH He who from me ca, be divided ne'er ON THE REPEAL','RD EDWARD FlTZGERALD'S FOR. Kiss'd my mouth, trembling in the act all over FETURE. Accursed was the book and he who wrote I To be tn ather of the fat, That day we did no further leaf uncover.To be tne father of the fatherless, While thus one spirit told us of their lot To stretch the hand from the throne's height, and e ths oe spi tol with pitys thrall The other wept, so that with pity's thralls ills offspraise who expired in other days I swoon'd as if by death I had been smote, H/s offspring, who expired in other days o make thy sire's sway by a kingdom less,- And fell down even as a dead body falls." o make thy sire's sway by a kingdom less,- - 1.March, 182f "his is to be a monarch, and repress Envy into unutterable praise. Dismiss thy guard, and trust thee to such traits, STANZAS, t'or who would lift a hand, except to bless? Were it not easy, sire? and is't not sweet TO HER WHO BEST CAN UNDERSTAND THEMI'o make thyself beloved? and to be BE it soI we part for ever! Omnipotent by mercy's means? for thus t e part for ever! Thy sovereignty would grow but more complete;the pbe Had I only loved thee, never despot thou, and yet thy people free,, de~pot then, and yet people fre.I Hadst thou been thus dear to me. And by the heart, not hand, enslaving us. August, 1819. Had I loved and thus been slighted, That I better could have borne;Love is quell'd, when unrequited, FRANCESCA OF RIMINI. By the rising pulse of scorn. TRANSLATION FROMl THE INFERNO OF DANTE, Pride may cool what passion heated, CANTO FIFTH. Time will tame the wayward will;'THE land where I was born sits by the seas, But the heart in friendship cheated Upon that shore to which the Po descends, Throbs with woe's most maddening tlrill With all his followers, in search of peace. Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends, Had I loved, I now might hate thee Seized him for the fair person which was ta'en In tht. hatred solace seek, From me, and me even yet the mode offends. Might exult to execrate thee, Love, who to none beloved to love again And, in words, nry vengeance wreaK, Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong, That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain. In some of the editions, it is diro,"inothers"faro;-IanIi ference between "saying" and "doing," which I know not hao b m Love to one death conducted us along, Ask Foscolo. Thed-d editions driv me wad 3 R 100 754 BYRON'S VORKS. But there is a silent sorrow, 2. Which can find no vent in speech, Were I now as I was, I had sung Which disdains relief to borrow What Lawrence has painted so well; From the heights that song can reach. But the strain would expire on my tongue, Like a claqkless chain enthralling,- I And the theme is too soft for my shell. Like a clankless chain enthralling,- - Like the sleepless dreams that mock,- 3. Like the frigid ice-drops falling I amashes where once I was fire, From the surf-surrounded rock. And the bard in my bosom is dead; Such the cold and sickening feeling What I loved I now merely admire, Thou hast caused this heart to know, And my heart is as gray as my head. Stabb'd the deeper by concealing 4 From the world its bitter woe.life notdated yearsMy life is not dated by years — Once it fondly, proudly, deemed thee There are moments which act as a plough, All that fancy's self could paint, And there is not a furrow appears Once it honour'd and esteem'd thee, But is deep in my soul as my brow. As its idol and its saint l More than woman thou Wast to me; Let the young and the brilliant aspire Not as man I look'd on thee;- To sing what I gaze on in vain: Why like woman then undo me! For sorrow has torn from my lyre Why "heap man's worst curse on me." The string which was worthy the strain. Wast thou but a fiend, assuming April, 1823 Friendship's smile, and woman's art, And in borrow'd beauty blooming, Trifling with a trusted heart! STANZAS By that eye which once could glisten With opposing glance to me; WRITTEN ON THE ROAD BETWEEN FLORENCE AND PrIN By that ear which once could listen 1. To each tale I told to thee:- OH, talk not to me of a name great in story; By that lip, its smile bestowing, The days of our youth are the days of our glory Which couldp soten sorow's gush;- And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty By that cheek, once brightly glowing Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. With pure friendship's well-feigned blush; 2. By all those false charms united,- What are garlands and crowns to the brow that u Thou hast wrought thy wanton will, wrinkled? And, without compunction, blighted'T is but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled. What "thou wouldst not kindly kill." Then away with all such from the head that is hoaryl What care I for the wreaths that cal only give glory? Yet I curse thee not in sadness, Still, I feel how dear thou wert; 3. Ohl I could not-e'en in madness- Oh Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, Doom thee to thy just desert I'T was less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover Live! and when my life is over,. Should thine own he lengthen'd long, She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. Thou may'st then, too late, discover 4. By thy feelings, all my wrong. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found theeWhen thy beauties all are faded,- Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee-i When thy flatterers fawn no more,- When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, Ere the solemn shroud ath shaded I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. Ere the solemn shroud hath shaded 12 Some regardless reptile's store, —ecember, 1821 Ere that hour, false syren, hear me! Thou may'st feel what I do now, While my spirit, hovering near thee, IMPROMPTU. Whispers friendship's broken vow. I ON LADY BL.ESSINGTON EXPRESSING HER INTENTION O0 But't i useless to upbraid thee TAKING THE VILLA CALLED "IL PARADISO," With thy past or present state; NEAR GENOA. What thou wast, my fancy made thee, BENEATH Bessingtons eyes What thou art, I know too late. e The reclaim'd Paradise Should be free as the former from evil; But if the new Eve TO THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. For an apple should grieve, 1. What mortal would not play the Devil?* To. have ask'd for a verse:-the request.pril, 1823. In a rhymer'twere strange to deny; it my Hippocrene was but my breast, i The Genoese wits had already applied this threadbare jest toh imsd Taking it into their heads that this vil a had been fixed on for his own rei And my feelings (its fountain) are dry. dence, they said, "I1 Diavolo e ancra enltralo in Paradiso." —Meo MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 755 TO A VAIN LADY. Can they speak of thefriends that I lived but to love? Ah, surely affection ennobles the strainl AH, heedless girl! why thus disclose But how can my numbers in sympathy move What ne'er was meant for other ears? When I scarcely can hope to behold them again? Why thus destroy thine own repose And dig the source of futture tears? Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done, And raise my loud harp to the fame of my sires? Oh, thou wilt weep, imprudent maid, For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone While lurking envious foes will smile, For Heroes' exploits how unequal my firesI For all the follies thou hast said For all th.e follies thou ast said Untouch'd, then, my Lyre shall reply to the blastOf those who spoke but to beguile. Of tsw s u'T is hush'd; and my feeble endeavours are o'er; Vain girl! thy ling'ring woes are nigh, And those who have heard it will pardon the past, If thou believ'st what striplings say: When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate no Oh, from the deep temptation fly, more. Nor fall the specious spoiler's prey. r fl te s s s's p And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot, Dost thou repeat, in childish boast, Since early affection and love is o'ercast: The words man utters to deceive? Oh! blest had my fate been, and happy my lot, Thy peace, thy hope, thy all is lost, Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last. If thou can'st venture to believe. Farewell, my young Muse! since we now can ne'er While now amongst thy female peers meet; Thou tell'st again the soothing tale, If our songs have been languid, they surely are few: Canst thou not mark the rising sneers Let us hope that the present at least will be sweetDuplicity in vain would veil? The present-which seals our eternal Adieu. These tales in secret silence hush, 1807. Nor make thyself the public gaze: What modest maid without a blush TO ANNE Recounts a flattering coxcomb's praise? On! Anne, your offences to me have been grievous; Will not the laughing bOy despise I thought from my wrath no atonement could save Her who relates each fond conceit —ou Who, thinking Heaven is in her eyes, But woman is made to command and deceive usYet cannot see the slight deceit? I look'd in your face, and I almost forgave you. For she who takes a soft delight I vow'd I could ne'er for a r.moment respect you, These amorous notblngs in revealing, These' amorous nothings in revealing, Yet thought that a day's separation was long: Must credit all we say or write, Must credit all we say or write, When we met, I determin'd again to suspect youWhile vanity prevents concealing. Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was wrong Cease, if you prize your beauty's reign I' Cease, if you prize your beauty's reign I-, I swore, in a transport of young indignation, No jealousy bids me reprove: With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you: One, who is thus from nature vain, I saw you-my anger became admiration; I pity, but I canot love. And now, all my wish, all my hope's to regain you. January 15, 1807. With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention, Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you;At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension, FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you THou Power! who hast ruled me through infancy's -Janury 16, 1807. days, Young offspring of Fancy,'t is time we should part; Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays, TO THE SAME. The coldest effusion which springs from my heart. O not, sweet Anne, that the Ftes have decree This bosom, responsive to rapture no more, The heart which adores you should wish to dissever! Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee t siing; Such Fates Were to me most unkind ones indeed,The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar, To bear me from love and from beauty for ever. Are wafted far distant on Apathy's wing. Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone Though simple the themes of my rude flowing Lyre, Could bid me from fond admiration refrain; Yet even these themes are departed for ever; By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthiown. No more beams the eyes which my dream could in- Till smiles shculd restore me to rapture again. spire, My vispion're, flwn tren-asAs the ivy and oak, in the forest entwined. My visions are flown, to return,-adlas, neverf The rage of the tempest united must weathel, When drain'd is the nectar which gladdens the bowl, My love and my life were by nature design'd How vain is the effort delight to prolong! To flourish alike, or to perish together. When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul, Then say not, sweet Anne, that the fates have of What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song? creed, Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone, Your lover should-bid you a lasting adieu, Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign? Tit Fate can ordain that his bosom shall bleed, Or dwell with delight on the hours that ale flown? His soul, his existence, are centred in you. Ah, nol for those hours can no longer be mine. zoo 756 BYRON'S WORKS. TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET BEGINNING, I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour, A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my sire:' AD IS MY VERSE,' YOU SAY,' AND YET NO TEAR."' Till manhood shall crown me, not mine is tha pow. TrHY verse is "sad" enough, no doubt: But his, whose neglect may have bade thee expirt A devilish deal more sad than witty! Oh! hardy thou wert-even now little care Why we should weep I can't find out, Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds gent.'Unless for thee we weep in'pity. heal: Yet there is one I pity more; But thou wert not fated affection to shareAnd much, alas I I think he needs it: For who could suppose that a stranger would feel For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore, Ah, droop not, my Oak lift thy head for awhile; Who, to his own misfortune, reads it. Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run, Thy rhymes, without the aid of magic, The hand of thy Master will teach thee to smile, May once be read-but never after: When Infancy's years of probation are done. Yet their effect's by no means tragic, Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds, Although by far too dull for laughter. That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay But would you make our bosoms bleed, For still in thy bosom are life's early seeds, And of no common pang complain-e And still may thy branches their beauty display if you would make us weep indeed, Oh! yet, if maturity's years may be thine, Tell us, you'll read them o'er again. Though I shall lie low in the cavern of death, JMarch 8, 1807. On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine Uninjured by time, or the rude winter's breath. For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave ON FINDING A FAN. O'er the corse of thy lord in thy canopy laid; While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave, IN one who felt as once he felt, The chief who survives may recline in thy shade. This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame; But now his heart no more will melt, And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot, Because that heart is not the same. He will tell them in whispers more softly to tread Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot: As when the ebbing flames are low,pot Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead. The aid which once improved their light, And bade them burn with fiercer glow, And here, will they say, when in life's glowing prime Now quenches all their blaze in night. Perhaps he has pour'd forth his young simple lay, And here must he sleep, till the moments of time Thus has it been with passion's fires- Are lst in te hours of Eternity's day. As many a boy and girl remembers- 10g While every hope of love expires, Extinguish'd with the dying embers. The first, though not a spark survive, Some careful hand may teach to burn; DEDICATION TO DON JUAN.t The last, alasl can ne'er survive; a. No touch can bid-its warmth return. No touch can bid its warmth rBOB SOTEY! you're a poet-Poet-laureate, (\r, if it chance to wake again, And representative of all the race, Not always doom'd its heat to smother, Although'tis true that you turn'd out a Tory at:t sheds (so wayward fates ordain) Last,-yours has lately been a common case,Its former warmth around another. And now, my Epic Renegadel what are ye at? 1807. With all the Lakers, in and out of place? A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye _-~- Like " four and twenty Blackbirds in a pye; TO AN OAK AT NEWSTEAD.* >O -NOA A N ~ " Which pye being open'd, they began to sing," ~oUNo OakI when I planted thee deep in the ground, (This old song and new simile holds good,) I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine; "A dainty dish to set before the King," That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around, Or Regent, who admires such kind of food;And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine. And Coleridge, too, has lately taken wing, Such, such was my hope, when, in infancy's years, But like a hawk encumber'd with his hood,On the land of my fathers I rear'd thee with pride: Explaining metaphysics to the nation-'1 hey are past, and I water thy stem with my tears,- I wish he would explain his explanation. Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can hide. I. You, Bob! are rather insolent, you know, * Lard Byron, on his first arrival at Newstead, in 1798, planted an oak At being disappointed in your wish is the garden, and nourished the fancy, that as the tree flourished so sho To s upersede all warblers here below, e. On revisiting the abbey, during Lord Grey de Ruthvenfs residence there superse below, be found the oak choked up by weeds, and almost destroyed;-hence these And he the only Blackbird in the dish; tines. Shortly after Colonel Wildman, the present proprietor, took possession, he one day noticed it and said to the servant who was with him, " Here a a fine young oak; but it must be cut down as it grows in an improper t This " Ded-cation" was suppressed, in 1819, with Lord Byron's reluctan place "-" I hope not, sir," replied the man; " for it's the one that my consent; but, shortly after his death, its existence became notorious, an con. eord was so fond of, because he set it hisself." The Colonel has of course, sequence of an article in the Westminster Review, generally ascribed to akea every possible care of it. It is already inquired after, by strangers, as Sir John Hobhouse; and, for several years, the verses have been selling in " lThe Bwron Oak," and promises to share, in after times, the celebrity of he streets as a broadside. It could, therefore, serve no purpose to exclujo lnasapeare's mulberrv, and Pope's w'llow.-Moor them on the present occasion. —Moore. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 757 And then you overstrain yourself, or so, He deign'd not to belie his soul in songs, And tumble downward like the flying fish Nor turn his very talent to a crime, Gasping on deck, because you soar too high, Bob, He did not lothe the Sire to laud the Son And fall, for lack of moisture quite a-dry, Bobl But closed the tyrant-hater he begun. IV. X I. And Wordsworth, in a rather long "Excursion," Think'st thou, could he-the blind Old Man-arise (I think the quarto holds five hundred pages,) Like Samuel from the grave, to freeze once inore hias given a sample from the vasty version The blood of monarchs with his prophecies, Of his new system to perplex the sages; Or be alive again-again all hoar'Tis poetry-at least by his assertion, With time and trials, and those helpless eyes, And may appear so when the dog-star rages- And heartless daughters — worn - and pale - tar And he who understands it would be able poor; To add a story to the Tower of Babel. Would he adore a sultan? he obey v. The intellectual eunuch Castlereagh?4 You-Gentlemen! by dint of long seclusion xii. From better company, have kept your own Cold-blooded, smooth-faced, placid miscreantl At Keswick, and, throhgh still continued fusion Dabbling its sleek young hands in Erin's gore, Of one another's minds, at last have grown And thus for wider carnage taught to pant, To deem as a most logical conclusion, Transferr'd to gorge upon a sister shore, That Poesy has wreaths for you alone: The vulgarest tool that tyranny could want, There is a narrowness in such a notion, With just enough of talent, and no more. Which makes me wish you'd change your lakes for To lengthen fetters by another fix'd, ocean. And offer poison long already mix'd. XIII. VI. An orator of such set trash of phrase I would not imitate the petty thought, A o of such set trash of phrase 6. t.Ineffably-legitimately vile, Nor coin my self-love to so base a vice, eably-egitnately vile, For all the glory your conversion broughtThat even its grossest flatterers dare not praise, For all the glory your conversion brought, Since gold alone should not have been its price. foes-all nations-condescend to smile You have your salary; was't for that you wrought? Not even a sprightly blunder's spark can blaze And Wordsworth has his place in the Excise.* From that Ixion grindstone's ceaseless toil, You're shabby fellows-true-but poets still, That turns and turns to give the world a notion And duly seated on the immortal hill. And duly seated on the immortal hill. Of endless torments and perpetual motion. XIv. vII. A bungler even in its disgusting trade, Your bays may hide the boldness of your brows- patchin leaving still behind And botching, patching, leaving still behind Perhaps some virtuous blushes;-let them go- Something of which its masters are afraid, To you I envy neither fruit nor boughs- States to be curb'd, and thoughts to be confined And for the fame you would engross below, Conspiracy or Congress to be madeThe field is universal, and allows Cobbling at manacles for all mankindScope to all such as feel the inherent glow: Scope to all suh as feel the inherent glow: tinkering slave-maker, who mends old chains, Scott, Rogers, Campbell, Moore, and Crabbe, will try With God and man's abhorrence for its gairs.'Gainst you the question with posterity. xv. viii. If we may judge of matter by the mind, For me, who, wandering with pedestrian Muses, Emasculated to the marrow It Contend not with you on the winged steed, Hath but two objects, how to serve, and bind, I wish your fate may yield ye, when she chooses, Deeming the chain it wears even men may fit, The fame you envy, and the skill you need; Eutropius of its many masters,-blind And recollect a poet nothing loses To worth as freedom, wisdom as to wit, In giving to his brethren their full meed Fearless-because no feeling dwells in ice Of merit, and complaint of present days Its very courage stagnates to a vice. Is not the certain path to future praise. xvI. ix. Where shall I turn me not to view its bonds, He that reserves his laurels for posterity For I will never feel them;-Italy I (Who does not often claim the bright reversion) Thy late reviving Roman soul desponds Has generally no great crop to spare it, he Beneath the lie this State-thing breathed o'er thee - Being only injured by his own assertion; Thy clanking chain, and Erin's yet green wounds, And although here and there some glorious rarity Have voices-tongues to cry aloud for me. Arise like Titan from the sea's immersion, Europe has slaves-allies-kings-armies still, The major part of such appellants go And Southey lives to sing them very ill. ro-God knows where-for no one else can know. _ t " Pale, but not cadaverous;"-Milton's two elder daughters are sala h X. have robbed him of his books, besides cheating and plaguing him in the economy of his house, &c. &c. His feelings on such an outrage, both as a If, fallen in evil days on evil tongues, parentand a scholar, must havebeen singularly painful. Hayiey compare* him to Lear. See part third, Life of Milton, by W. Hayley (or Hailey as Milton appeal'd to the Avenger, Time, spelt in the edition before me.) If Time, the Avenger, execrates his wrongs, Laure "Would he subside into a hackney Laureate — And makes the word " Miltonic" mean "sublime," A scribbling, self-sold, soul-hired, scorn'd Iscariott? I doubt if " Laureate" and " Iscariot" be good rhymes, but must say, au A WVordsworth's place may be in the Customs-it is, I think, in that or Jonsn did to Sylvester, who challenged him to rbvme withthe Excise-besides another at Lord Lonsdale's table, where this poetical " I, John Sylvester. charlatan and political parasite licks up the crumbs with a hardened alac- Lay with your sister." rity; the converted Jacobin having long subsided into the clownish' syco- Jonson answered,-" I, Ben Jonson, lay with your wife." Syivestei aw phant of the worst prejudices of the aristocracy. ed, — That is not rhynme "- -" No" said Ben Jonson; "t bit'- i w * 3 2 758 BYRON'S WORKS. XVIi. These, if we win the Graces, too, we gain Meantime-Sir Laureate-I proceed to dedicate, Disgraces, too! "inseparable train!" In honest simple verse, this song to you, "Three who have stolen their witching airs from And, if in flattering strains I do not predicate, Cupid"'Tis that I still retain my "buff and blue;" (You all know what I mean, unless you're stupid:) My politics as yet are all to educate: "Harmonious throng" that I have kept in petto, Apostasy's so fashionable, too, Now to produce in a "divine sestetto"l! To keep one creed's a task grown quite Herculean; "While Poesy," with these delightful doxies, Is it not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian * "Sustains her part" in all the "upper" boxes I Venice, September 16, 1818. "Thus lifted gloriously, you'll soar along," Borne in the vast balloon of Busby's song; "Shine in your farce, masque, scenery, and play" (For this last line George had a holiday.) FRAGMENT " Old Drury never, never soar'd so high," ON THE BACK OF THE POET'SSo says the manager, and so says I. ON THE BACK "But hold, you say, this self-complacent boast;" OF DON JUAN. Is this the poem which the public lost? I WOULD to heaven that I were so much clay,' "True- true-that lowers at once our mouating As I am blood,, bone, marrow, passion, feeling- pride;" Because at least the past were pass'd away- But lo!-the papers print what you deride. And for the future-(but I write this reeling, "'Tis ours to look on you-you hold the prize," Having got drunk exceedingly to-day,'Tis twenty guineas, as they advertise! So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling) A double blessing your rewards impart"r say —the future is a serious matter — I wish I had them, then, with all my heart. And so-for God's sake-hock and soda-waterl "Our twofold feeling owns its twofold cause," Why son and I both beg for your applause. "When in your fostering beams you bid us live," My next subscription list shall say how much you give PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS,t October,- 1812. BY DR. PLAGIARY. Half stolen, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by Master P. at the opening of the next new theatre.-Stolen parts mark- [Instead of the lines to Inez, which now stand in the First Canto of Child. ed with the inverted commas of quotation-thus " ". Harold, Lord Byron had originally written the foilowing:] "WHEN energising objects men pursue," 1. Then Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who. OH never talk again to me "A modest monologue you here survey," Of northern climes and British ladies; Hiss'd from the theatre the "other day," It has not been your lot to see, As if Sir Fretful wrote " the slumberous" verse, Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. And gave his son "the rubbish" to rehearse. Although her eye be not of blue, "Yet at the thing you'd never be amazed," Nor fair her locks, like English lasses, Knew you the rumpus which the author raised; How far its own expressive hue "Nor even here your smiles would be represt," The languid azure eye surpasses! Knew you these lines-the badness of the best. "Flamel fire! and flame!!" (words borrowed from ro theuslike, from heaven she stole Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole ~~Lucretiue~s~~,) ~The fire, that through those silken lashes "Dread metaphors which open wounds" like issues In darkest glances sees to rol'And sleeping pangs awake-and-but away" From eyes that cannot hide theirflashes (Confound me if I know what next to say,) - And as along her boso "Lo Hope reviving re-expands her wings," o her re tr And Master G- recites what Doctor Busby sings!- You'd swearn eah cleri ran tre feel You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, "If mighty things with small we may compare," And curI'd to give her neck caresses. (Translated from the grammar for the fair!) Dramatic "spirit drives a conquering car," 3. And burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of " tar." O English maids are longto woo, This spirit Wellington has shown in Spain." And frigid even in possession; To furnish melodrames for Drury Lane. And if their charms be fair to view, "Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's story," Their lips are slow at Love's enfpf-Won And George and I will dramatize it for ye. But born beneath a brighter uan, For love ordain'd the Spanish mai(d is, In arts and sciences our isle hath shown"en fondly, fairly won,And who,-when fondly, fairly won, — (This deep discovery is mine alone.) Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz? "Oh Britlsh poesy, whose powers inspire" My verse-or I'm a fool-and Fame's a liar, - Thep we invoke, your sister arts implore" The Spanish maid is no coquette, With "smiles,' and "lyres," and "pencils," and much Nor joys to see a lover tremble, 9more. - -And if she love, or if she hate, ____________________________________ Alike she knows not to dissertle * I allude not to our friend Landor's hero, the traitor Count Julian,butto Her heart can ne'er be bought or soldlblhon's hero, vulgarly yclept "The Apostate." Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely; TAmong the addresses sent in to the Drury Lane Committee, was one by And, though it will not bend to gold, Of. Bilbsn entitled -'A Monologue," of which the above is a parody.- 4aN O'Twill love you long and love you dearly MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 759 5. But she must be content to shine The Spanish girl that meets your love In better praises than in mine, Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial, With lively air, and open heart, For every thought is bent to prove And fashion's ease, without its art, Her passion in the hour of trial. Her hours can gaily glide along, When thronging foemen menace Spain, Nor ask the aid of idle song.She dares the deed and shares the danger; And now, O Malta! since thou'st got us, And should her lover press the plain, Thou little military hothouse! She hurls the spear, her love's avenger. I not offend with words uncivil, 6. And wish thee rudely a the Devil, And when, beneath the evening star, But only stae from ut my casement, She mingles in the gay Bolero, And ask, for what is such a place meant? Or sings to her attuned guitar Then, in my solitary nook, Of Christian knight or Moorish hero, Return to scribbling, or a bok, Or counts her beads with fairy hand Or take my physic while I'm able Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper, (Two spoonfuls hourly by the label,) Or join devotion's choral band, Prefer my nightcap to my beaver, To chaunt the sweet and hallow'd vesper;- And bless the gods-I've got a feverl 7. 21811. In each her charms the heart must move Of all who venture to behold her; Then let not maids less fair reprove Endorsement to the Deed of Separation, in tAV Because her bosom is not colder: Afpril of 1816. Through many a clime'tis mine to roam, p o. Where many a soft and melting maid is, A YEAR ago you swore, fond she! But none abroad, and few at home,' To love, to honour,' and so forth: May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz. Such was the vow you pledged to me, And here's exactly what'tis worth. ~FAREWELL TO MALT~A.~ ~To Penelope, January 2, 1821 FAREWELL TO MALTA. This day, of all our days, has done ADIEU, ye joys of La Valette! The worst for me and you.Adieu, sirocco, sun, and sweat!'Tis just six years since we were one, Adieu, the palace rarely entered! And five since we were two. Adieu, ye mansions where-I've venturd! Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs! (Iow su ely he who mounts you swears!).dieu, ye merchants often failing! WHO killd John Keats? Adieu, thou mob forever railing!' saysthe Qarterly Adieu, ye packets-without letters S s a Adieu, ye fools-who ape your betters Is o f'I'T was one of my feats.' Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine, That gave me fever, and the spleen! Who shot the arrow? Adieu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,' The poet-priest Milman Adieu his Excellency's dancers! (So ready to kill man,) Adieu to Peter -whom no fault's in, Or Southey or Barrow. But could not teach a colonel waltzing: Adieu, ye females fraught with graces! Adieu red coats, and redder faces! Adieu the supercilious air SONG FOR THE LUDDITES Of all that strut "en militaire!" I go-but God knows when, or why, I. To smoky towns and cloudy sky, As the Liberty lads o'er the sea To things (the honest truth to say) Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, As bad-but in a different way.- So we, boys, we Will die fighting, or live freeFarewell to these, but not adieu, And down with all kings but King Luddl Triumphant sons of truest blue! While either Adriatic shore, II. And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more, When the web that we weave is complete And nightly smiles, and daily dinners, And the shuttle exchanged for the swore. Proclaim you war and women's winners. We will fling the winding-sheet Pardon my Muse, who apt to prate is, O'er the despot at our feet, And take my rhyme-because'tis "gratis." And dye it deep in the gore he has polstr And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser, lI. Perhaps you think I mean to praise her- Though black as his heart its hue. And were I vain enough to think Since his veins are corrupted to mud, My praise was worth this drop of ink, Yet this is the dew A line-or two-were no hard matter. Which the tree shall renew As here indeed, I need not flitter: Of Liberty, planted by Ludd I 760 BYRON'S WORKS. THE CHAIN I GAVE.INE (From the Turkish.)'iHE chain I gave was fair to view, ON HEARING THAT LADY BYRON WAS ILt. The lute I added sweet in sound; The heart that.offer'd both was true, AND thou wert sad-yet I was not with thee; And ill deserved the fate it found. And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near; Those gifts were charm'd by secret spell Methought that joy and health alone could be.Where I was not-and pain and sorrow herel Thy truth in absence to divine; Thy truth in absence to divine; And is it thus?q-it is as I foretold, And they have done their duty well,- d they have done their duty well,- And shall be more so; for the mind recoils Alas! they could not teach thee thine. Upon, itself, and the wreck'd heart lies cold, That chain was firm in every link, While heaviness collects the shatter'd spoils. But not to bear a stranger's touch; But not to bear a stranger's touch; It is, not in the storm nor in the strife That lute was sweet-till thou couldst think We feel benub'd, and wish to be no more, In other hands its snotes were such. But in the after-silence on the shore, Let him who from thy neck unbound When all is lost, except a little life. The chain which shiver'd in his grasp, Who saw that lute refuse to sound, I am too well avenged!-but'twas my right; Restring the chords, renew the clasp. Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent When thou wert changed, they alter'd too; To be the Nemesis who should requiteThe chain is broke, the music mute. Nor did Heaven choose so near an instrument.'Tis past-to them and thee adieu — Mercy is for the merciful!-if thou False heart, frail chain, and silent lute, Hast been of such,'t will be accorded now. Thy nights are banish'd from the realms of sleep IYes I they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel SUBSTITUTED FOR AN EPITAPH. A hollow agony which will not heal, For thou art pillow'd on a curse too deep; Ktsn Reader! take your choice to cry or laugh; Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap Here HAROLD lies-but where's his Epitaph? The bitter harvest in a woe as reall If such you seek, try Westminster, and view Ten thousand just as fit for him as you. I have had many foes, but none like thee; Athens. For'gainst the rest myself I could defend, ~_*=*~~"~ ~ ~And be avenged, or turn them into friend; EPITAPH FOR JOSEPH BLACKETT, LATE POET But thou in safe implacability AND SHOEMAKER. Hadst naught to dread —in thy own weakness shielded, STRANGER behold, interr'd together, ele, And in my love, which hath but too much yielded, The souls of learning and of leather. And spared, for thy sake, some I should not Poor Joe is gone, but left his all: You'I1 find his relics in a stall. spareAnd thus upon the world-trust in thy truthHis works were neat, and often found His works were neat, and often found And the wild fame of rny ungovern'd youthWell stitch'd, and with morocco boundungovernd youthTreadlightly-where the hard is laid On things that were not, and on things that areTread lightly-where the bard is laid Tead t Even upon such'a basis hast thou built He cannot mend the shoe he made; e n h hoA monument, whose cement hath been guilt Yet is he happy in his hole, WYet is he h apy in his his sole. The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord, With verse immortal as his sole. But still to business he held fast, And hew'd down, with an unsuspected sword, And stuck to Pheibus to the last. PFame, peace, and hope-and all the better life Then who shall say so good a fellow Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart Was only "leather and prunella?" Might still have risen from out the grave of srifb, For character-he did not lack it; And found a nobler duty than to part. And if he did,'t were shame to "Black-it." alta ay 161811. But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice,.T,1lta,.May/ 16, ISJL Trafficking with them in a purpose cold,'~*^"~_5~~.- For present anger, and for future gold30 WE'LL GO NO MORE A ROVING. And buying others' grief at any price..' And thus once enter'd into crooked ways, So we'll go no more a roving The early truth, which was thy proper praise, So late into the night, Did not still walk beside thee-but at times, Though the heart be still as loving, And with a breast unknowing its own crimes, And the moon be still as bright. Deceit, averments incompatible, ii. Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell for the sword outwears its sheath, In Janus-spirits- -the significant eye And the soul wears out the breast, Which learns to lie with silence-the pretext And the heart must pause to breathe, Of Prudence, with advantages annex'dAnd love itself have rest. The acquiescence in all things which tend, sit. No iatter how, to the desired endthough the night was made for loving All found a place in thy philosophy. And the day returns too soon, l'he means were worthy, arid the end is wonYet we'll go no more a roving I would not do by thee as thou hast doneI Bv the light of the moon Septembet 1816. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 761 *TO *' * NEW DUET. BOT once I dared to lift my eyes- To thetune of "Why, how now, sacy Jade? To lift my eyes to thee; And since that day, beneath the skies WHY, how now, saucy Tom No other sights they see. fyouthusmustramble, I will publish some In vain sleep shuts them in the night- Remarks on Mister Campbell. The night grows day to me; Presenting idly to my sight ANSWER. What still a dream must be. Why, how now, Parson Bowles A fatal dream-for many a bar the priest is maudlin i Divides thy fate from mine; (To the m ublic) How can you, d-n your soub Aht still my passions wake and war, Listen to his twaddling? But peace be still with thine. MARTIAL, LIB. I. EPIGRAMS. Hie eat, quem legi!, ille, quemre quiris Tot, notus in orbe qoartials, &e. OH, Castlereaghl thou art a patriot now; - liX unowo hua a, Cato died for his country, so didst thou: [IE unto wliom thou art so partial, Oh reader is the wellknow Martial. He perish'd rather than see Rome enslaved, h,e Epigrammatist:he whle living, MartialThou cutt'st thy throat that Britain may be saved The Epigrammatist: while living, Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving; Give him the fame thou wouldet be giving;2 fSo Castlereagh has cut his throat —The worst So shall he hear, and feel, and know it- Post-obits rarely reach a poet. So He has cut his throat at lastl-HeI Who? EPIGRAM. The nian who cut his country's long ago. IN digging up your bones, Tom Paine Will. Cobbet has done well: You visit him on earth again, THE CONQUEST. He'11 visit you in hell. THE Son of Love and Lord of War I sing; TO DIVES. I- Him who made England bow to Normandy, And left the name of conqueror more than king A FRAGMENT. To his unconquerable dynasty. UNHAPPY DIvEs: in an evil hour Not fann'd alone by Victory's fleeting wing, ~Gainst Nature's voice seduced to deeds accurstl He rear'. his bold and brilliant throne on high: Once Fortune's minion, now thou feel'st her power; The Bastard kept, like lions, his prey fast, Wrath's vial on thy lofty head hath burst. And Britain's bravest victor was the last. In Wit, in Genius, as in Wealth the first, JMarch 8-9, 1823L How wond'rous bright thy blooming morn arose But thou wert smitten with th' unhallow'd thirst Of Crime unnamed, and thy sad noon must close VERSICLES. In scorn, and solitude unsought, the worst of woes. 1811. I-READ the "Christabel;" Very well: I read the "Missionary;" VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSE AT Pett e ry Pretty —very: HALES-OWEN. I tried at "Ilderim;" WHEN Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought," Ahem! His hours in whistling spent, "for want of thought," I read a sheet of "Marg'ret of.anjou,' This guiltless oaf his vacancy of sense Can you? Supplied, and amply too, by innocence; I turn'd a page of Scott's "Waterloo;" Did modern swains, possess'd of Cymon's powers, Poohl pooh! In Cymon's manner waste their leisure hours, I look'd at Wordsworth's milk-white "Rylstone Doe' Th' offended guests would not, with blushing, see Hillo! These fair green walks disgraced by infamy. &c. &c. &c. Severe the fate of modern fools, alas I When vice and folly mark them as they pass. Like noxious reptiles o'er the whiten'd wall, EPIGRAM, The filth they leave still points out where they crawl. FROMTHEFRENCHO RIERI — a~- IIF, for silver or for gold, You could melt ten thousand pimples FROM THE FRENCH. pe tInto half a dozen dimples, otGLE, beauty and poet, has two little crimes; Then your face we might beholdi 9he rakes her own face, and does not make her Looking, doubtless, much more snugly' rhymes. Yet even then't would be d —l ugly 101 762 BYRON'S WORKS. TO MR. MURRAY. Pronouncing on the nouns and particles Of some of our forthcoming Articles. To hook the reader, you, John Murray, Have publish'd "Anjou's Margaret," The Quarterly-Ah, sir, if you Which won't be sold off in a hurry, Had but the genius to review I(At least, it has not been as yet;) A smart critique upon St. Helena, And then, still further to bewilder'em, Or if you only would but tell in a Without remorse you set up" Ilderim;" Short compass what-but, to resume: So mind you don't get into debt, As I was saying, sir, the roomBecause as how, if you should fail, The room's so full of wiC and bards, These books would be but baddish bail. Crabbes. Campbells, Crokers, Freres, ana W-ar4 And mind you do not let escape And others, neither bards nor wits:These rhymes to Morning Post or Perry, My humble tenement admits Which would be very treacherous-very, All persons in the dress of gent., And get me into such a scrape From Mr. Hammond to Dog Dent. For, firstly, I should have to sally, All in my little boat, against a Galley; A party dines with me' to-day, And. should I chance to slay the Assyrian wight, All clever me wh maketheir way Have next to combat with the female knight. Crabbe, Malcolm, Hamilton, and' Chantrey, -M-. Jarch 25, 3817. Are, all partakers of my pantry. They're at this moment in discUssion On poor De Stael's late dissolution. Her book, they say, was in advance — EIPISTLE FROM MR. MURRAY TO DR. POLI- Pray Heaven, she tell the trtith of Francel QDORI. Thus run our time and tongues away.But, to return, sir, to your play: DEAR Doctor, I have read your play, Sorry, sir, but I cannot- deal, Which is a good one in its way,- Unless't were acted by O'Neil. Purges the eyes and moves the bowels, My hands so full, my head so busy, And drenches handkerchiefs like towels I'm almost dead, and always dizzy; With tears, that, in a flux of grief, And so, with endless truth and hurry, Afford hysterical relief Dear Doctor, I am yours, To shatter'd nerves and quicken'd pulses, JOHN MURRAY Which your catastrophe convulses. I like' your'moral and machinery; Your plot, too, has such scope for scenery Your ditalogue is apt and smart; EPISTLE TO MR. MURRAY. The plays's concoction full of art; MY dear Mr. Murray, Your hero raves, your heroine cries, Youre in a damn'd hurry All stab, axid every body dies. To set up this ultimate Canto; In short, your tragedy would be But (if they don't robus) The very thing to hear and see: You'll see Mr. Hobhouse And for a piece of publication, Will bring it safe in his portmanteau If I decline on this occasion, It is not that I am not sensible For the Journal you hint of, To merits in themselves ostensible; As ready to print off, But-and I grieve to speak it-plays No doubt you do right to comfnend it; Are drugs-mere drugs, sir —now.a-days. But as yet I have writ off I had a heavy loss by "Manuel,"- The devil a bit of Too lucky if it prove not annual,- Our " Beppo:"-when copied, I'll send it. And Sotheby, with-his "Orestes,"'(Which, by the by, the author's best is,) Then you've *:*'s Tour,Has lain so very long on hand, No great things, to be sure,That I despair of all demand. You could hardly begin with a less work; I've advertised, but see my books, For the pompous rascallion, 0i only watch my shopman's looks;- Who don't speak Italian Still Ivan, Ina, and such lumber, Nor French, must have scribbled by gueue-worl My back-shop glut, my shelves encumber. You can make any loss up There's Byron too, who once did better With "Spence" and ihis gossip, Has sent me, folded in a letter, A work which must surely succeed; ^ sort of-it's no more a drama Then Queen Mary's Epistle-oraft, Than Dainley, Ivan, or Kehanma; With the new "Fytte" of "Whistlecraft," So aiter'd since last year his pen is, Must make people purchase and read. I think he ts lost his wits at Venice.;u short, sir, what'with one and t'other, Then you've General Gordon, f dare not venture on another. - Who girded his sword on,I write in haste; excuse each blunder, -To serve with a Muscovite master The eoaches t'nrough the streets so thunder. And help him to polish My room's so full-we've Gifford here A nation so owlish, Reading MS., with Hookman Frere, They thought shaving tneir beards a tisasU MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 763 For the man, "poor and shrewd," EPITAPH FOR ILLIAMPITT. With whom you'd conclude A compact without more delay, WITH death doom'd to grapple Perhaps some such pen is Beneath this cold slab, he Still extant in Venice; Who lied in.the Chapel But please, sir, to. mention your pay. Now lies in the Abbey. Venice, January 8, 1818. ON MY WEDDING-DAY. TO MR. MURRAY. HERE'S a happy new year! but with reason STRAHAN, Tonson, Lintot of the times, I beg you'll permit me to say — Patron and publisher of rhymes, Wish me many returns of the season, For thee the bard up Pindus climbs, But as few as you please of the day. My Murray. To thee, with hope and terror dumb, The unfledged MS. authors come: EPIGRAM. Thou printest all-and sellest some- TH world is a bdl of hay, - My Murray. Mankind are the asses who pull; Upon thy tables baize so green - Each tugs in a different way, The last new Quarterly is seen,- And the greatest of all is John Bull. But where is thy new Magazine, My Murray? Along thy sprucest book-shelves shine CHARITY BALL. The works thou deemest most divine- [On hearing that Lady Byron had been Patroness of aBall i aid ofmm The "Art of Cookery," and mine, - charity at Hinckley.] My Murray.., - WHAT matter the pangs of a husband and fathe! Tours, Travels, Essays, too, I wist, If his sorrows in exile be great or be small, And Sermons to thy mill bring grist; So the Pharisee's glories around her she gather, And then thou hast the "Navy List," And the saint patronizes her "charity ball"' My Murray. What matters-a heart which, though faulty, was And Heaven forbid I should conclude feeling, Without " the Board of Longitude," Be driven to excesses which once could appalAlthough this narrow paper would, That the sinner should suffer is only fair dealing, My Murray! As the saint keeps her charity back for " the ball r Venice, JMarch 25, 1818. EPIGRAM, TO THOMAS MOORE EP ON THE BRASIERS' COMPANY HAVINO RESOLVED TO PL3a WHAT are you doing now, WRAT are you doing now, SENT AN ADDRESS TO QUEEN CAROLINE. Oh Thomas Moore? What are you doing now, THE brasiers, it seems, are preparing to pass Oh Thomas Moore? An address, and present it themselves all in brasw, Sighing or suing now, A superfluous pageant-for, by the Lord- Harryl Rhyming or wooing now, They'll find where they are going much more thau Billing or cooing now, they carry. Which, Thomas Moore? But the Carnival's coming, Oh Thomas Moorel TO M. MURRAY. The Carnival's coming, FOR Orford and for Waldegrave Oh Thomas Moore You give much more than me you gavel Masking and humming, Masking and humming, Which is not fairly to behave,. Fifing and drumming, My Murray. Guitarring and strumming, Oh Thomas Moore I Because if a live dog,'tis said, Be worth a lion fairly sped, _-' ~ ~A live lord must be worth t:po. dead, STANZAS. My Murray. WHEN a man hath no freedom to fight for at home, And if, as the opinion goes. Let him combat for that of his neighbours; Verse hath a better sale than pros*Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome, Certes, I should have more than those. And get knock'd on the head for his labours. My Murray. To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan, But now this sheet is nearly cramm'd, And is always as nobly requited; So, if you will, I shan't be shamm'd Then battle for freedom wherever you can, And if you won't, you may be damn'd And, if not shot or hang'd, you'll get knighted. My Murray. 764 BYRON'S WORKS. ON THE BIRTH OF JOHN WILLIAM RIZZO II. HOPPNER. Like Chiefs of Faction, His father's sense, his mother's grace, His life is actionIn him, I hope, will always fit so; A formal paction With-still to keep him in good case- That curbs his reign The health and appetite of Rizzio. Obscures his glory, Despot no more, he Such territory Quits with disdain. STANZAS, TO A HINDOO AIR. Still, still dvancing, [These verses were written by Lord Byron a little before he left Italy for With banners glancing, reece. They were meant to suit the Hindostanee air-" Alla Malla Pun His power enhancing ea," which the Countess Guiccioli was fond of sining.l He must move onOH — my lonely-lonely-lonely-Pillowl Repose but cloys him, Where is my lover? where is my lover? Retreat destroys him, Is it his bark which my dreary dreams discover? Love brooks not a degraded thron Far-far away! and alone along the billow? Iv. Oh my lonely-lonely-lonely-Pillow I Why must my head ache where his gentle brow lay? Wait not, fond loverl How the long night flags lovelessly and slowly, Till years are over, And my head droops over thee like the willow.- And then recover, As from a dream. Ohl thou, my sad and solitary Pillowl While each, bewailing Send me kind dreams to keep my heart from oreaking, The other's failing In return for the tears I shed upon thee waking; With wrath and railing, Let me not die till he comes back o'er the billow.- All hideou seem Then if thou wilt-no more my lonely Pillow, While first decreasing, in one embrace let these arms again enfold him, Yet not quite ceasing, And then expire of the joy-but to behold him I Wait not till teasing Oh! my lone bosoml-ohl my lonely Pillowl All passion blight: If once diminish'd, Love's reign is finish'dSTANZAS. Then part in friendship,-and bid goodo iagS [" COULD LOVE FOR EVER."J V. ~I~~~. - SSo shall Affection COULD Love for ever To recollection Run like a river, The dear connexion And Time's endeavour Bring back with joy: Be tried in vain- You had not waited No other pleasure Till, tired or hated, With this could measure; Your passions sated And like a treasure Began to cloy. We'd hug the chain. Your last embraces But since our sighing Leave no cold tracesEnds not in dying, The same fond faces And form'd for flying, As through the past; Love plumes his wing; And eyes, the mirrors Then for this reason Of your sweet errors, Let's love a season; Reflect but rapture-not least, though ltel dut let that season be only Spring. Ii. VI. When lovers parted True, separations Feel broken-hearted, Ask more than patience; And, all hopes thwarted, What desperations Expect to die; From such have risen A few years older, But yet remaining, AhI how much colder What is't but chaining They might behold her Hearts which, once waning, For whom they sigh! Beat'gainst their prison When link'd together, Time can but cloy love, In every weather,. And use destroy love: They pluck Love's feather The winged boy, Love, From out his wing- Is but for boysHe'll stay for ever, (You'll find it torture But sadly shiver Though sharper, shorter, Without his plumage, when past the Spring. To wean, and not wear out, your joys THE END. J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. BOARDMAN'S BIBLE IN THE FAMILY. 94-t 1ihlin ta fa mil:4 OR, HINTS ON DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. BY H. A. BOARDMAN, PASTOR OF THE TENTH PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, PHILADELPHIA. One Volume 12mo.-Price, One Dollar. 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