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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 •^^Mx ^oXluua ^icUumJ- /lUju^Mf ikAAAA^^uL l^Jb - If/,/ 4tJU ^Udlajf-^ JW u^txli cu* ^ uJ^. ^^ hIaU Ij» ^^ ^ UucWr fahu SucJS. Facsimile of I\eais^s Las I Sonnet. SFI KPT Pf)[.^/^^ ^5-^. ' cul l^t< GOLDSMlHi. Wv ^i 1 L i scu r r 4M^^ «^/ /.VVA'c. \Ajt^\J tCiAl^ Fi • :.>.'i. 'j/ii'. cLLcJt :A«E *n\H'A;;v (LTD.) liiiM) 'Ci cl icxji- cu Kj^t^ cvU . n / I -Wu ^^aLuLLA iicLlu<^^ /iLtJiJ^/j '9tAx^ s-^^ Uf c^. u.4(a. /•'tusthn/i- of A'tais's iMst Sonnet. SELECT POEMS ^r^ ^.JftA. rt^ '■■■*'*<■ CZA ,... GOLDSMITH, WORDSWORTH, SCOTT, KEATS, SHELLEY, BYRON /) ijtiiu^ ylM..*-.; Oil.>li.-!, 'iiDlin'.-* ;. ■ ■. .(in, niu vol.. Mru-milUii ; l)'»)j»(,ni. I'oc.ms, in new > r: ■ afed ofUtioii'' ohleHy vl^oa\ {» ihe notes to ■ ; >t' Mlt.i'iiid and f'Hor, S;Uil>' > N T^'awJlur wnd withont any our disiiuting his swuy While he Urri'i f '.vi.- •^boiij^^iit that •^»<.ch{"l a lieiVir vasiiripo,s- .(1. When ! ' sch''>ol •■>[ • •• f be great «^xem|>Jar ccntinued for imrnbor anion;; its members the literatuip.. To tise group of i«.lf of '1. -entury - :4;i-oup " •• . i-,\i. mn' <•- .Uiil •I'lthios. C'''ff- •-'-'! r v'-^t' ;'Hf{ t]i(vbiVi +ho writer' "^ '^■rf^orj.^e r- "'1 ^?#"" ■ ■ , '' •* ■ ' -^; ■ . ■" ■ i i-t- %•'■ V .'• ■ >■ ■'■. ■ :; *• ..'^■^' ■ f^^i^a^ '-^w •'■ '■ "J. ■■■ -;^'^ii^l^fet.-,' '•>'■ ''■■^^"' .■'''f^i ■ ,. '.^^W^^:-y: ' ^'^sIk .. .'. '- " . . '.:■'■''. ■•"' ' '■■■' '* '^- :' .* ■'I:. ' -■' ';';■■: '4:i '■:■":■'■ ^v^'- -A. p' ' •,:,;'*- ■-■>*•' ::--■■ . ■ ' ,-^r'^ ■. ':v ""•■ ''s^^^c^k:' ■."*:, ■ ''"i^ OIjyKIl (tOLUSMliH. tNTROBUCTIOKB. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. [1728-1774.] [The Percy Memoir, in Misceilaneous Worlcs, 1801, frequently repriulcd In subsequent years ; Mitford'a Introduction to tlie old Aldine ed.; l^rior's Life of Goldsmith, 1837; Irving'a Goldsmith, 1844; Foster, Life and Adventures of Gridsmith, 1848-J85i (tlie ciiief autliority); Macaulay, Ency. Brit.; 'I'l.ackeray, Englis'h Tfumorists ; Black's Goldftmith, ''English Men q' ' Letters " ; Dobaon's Goldsmith, "Great Writers"; Dobson's Introduction to Selected. Poems, Clarendon Press. The best editions are Cunningham, ISM, four vols.; Gibbs, •'tJolm's Lilirary," live vols.: Masson, one vol., Macmillan ; Dobson, Poems, in new Aldine ed. and Tent's ed. Annotated editions chiefly used in the notes ij this volume are : the editions of Mitford and Prior, Sankoy'a TratJeller and Deserted Village, Rolfe's Select Poems^ Dobson's Selected Poems, Birk- beck Hill's Traveller.] Pope died in 1744 without any one disputing his sway over English poetry. While he lived, it was thought that English poetry had reached a height which it was impos- sible to go a wink beyond. When he died, the school of poetry of which he was the great exemplar continued for almost fifty years to number among its members the most distinguished names in literature. To the group of poets who dominated the first half of the century — Addison, Prior, Pope, Swift — succeeded in the second half of the century another group — Johnson, Churchill, Goldsmith — who have the same ear-marks of style and much the same range of sympathies as their predecessors. If politics and the newspaper brought the writers of the Queen Anne period to London, and centred their move- ments in the coffee-house and the club, the writers of George I 1 X INTRODUCTIONS. lll.'s i-eign were likewise drawn to London and found nheir moot congenial meeting-place in the Literary Cluh. If the literatures of France and Rome were the supreme authority in taste for the earlier writers, the classical writers were likewise the standard of taste with which Johnson reviewed the English poets. If Pope wrote almost everyone of his works in the heroic couplet, the heroic couplet was likewise the measure of Churchill, Johnson, and Goldsmith. This measure, so significant a mark of the literature of the eighteenth century, deserves special note, though its history can be only outlined here. The modern heroic couplet (tlie five-accent iambic rimed couplet), as distinct from a similar metre in Chaucer, takes its rise in the poems of Sandys and of Waller, more especially in those of the latter. From Waller there is a clear line of descent. Denham, his first successor, displayed in his Cooper^s Hill, 1642, his early mastery of the form in such lines as this apostrophe to the Thames : — could I flow like thee, and make my stream My grevii example, as it is my theme ; Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full. And Denham, in this very poem, speaks of Waller as "the best of poets." Dryden in his Dedication of the Rival Ladies declared that " the excellence and dignity of rime were never fully known till Mr. Waller taught it ; but this sweetness in his lyric poesie was afterwards followed in the epic by Sir John Denham, in his Cooper's Hill, a poem which. , . for the majesty of the style is and ever" will be, the exact standard of good writing." Dryden in his Absalom and Achitophel and Mac Flecnoe established for all time the supreme suitability of the liinod heroic verse for satirical poetry. Leaving out of OLIVER GOLDSMllH, xi consideration the so-called Pindaric ode, invented by Cowley and used by Dryden in his Alexander's Feast and by "Pope in his St. (jecilia\s Day. the metrical genius of English poetry, which had disported in so many forms of lyric beauty throughout the Elizabethan period down to Herrick, sank into the bonds of this commonplace metre. With a growing number of exceptions, important as tending by the end of the century to overthrow the rule, the iieroic couplet continued to be the measure of English poetry till 1800. Oliver Goldsmith, the greatest poet of the second group of eighteenth century writers, was born on the 10th of November, 1728, in the hamlet of Pallas, Longford, Ireland, the fifth of a family of eight children. His father, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, was at the time a curate passing rich on forty pounds a year, but a few years later a more lucrative cure fell to him, when he removed to the neighbouring village of Lissoy, West- raeath, the Deserted Village immortalized by the poet. The child's training was confided first to a serving- maid, and to Thomas Byrne, the village school-master. Thence he passed to Elphin. to Athlone, to Edgeworths- town, finally in his fifteenth year to Trinity College, Dublin. The general verdict on his school-days was summed up in Dr. Strean's words, that he was *' a stupid, heavy, blockhead." But he was more, or Peggy Golden would not have sung him to tears, or Byrne's campaign stories filled his mind with visions of travel ; nor would he liave had his early reputation for repartee. Possibly his ungainly person and pock-marked face contributed to the mental picture, and he suffered like Coleridge for his ugliness. Goldsmith went up to Trinity College as a sizar, paying xii INTRODUCTIONS. li! for his tuiti'^n by menial services. His life there was riotous rather than studious, the most hopeful sign being his writing of street ballads which he would steal out at night to hear sung. In 1749 he took his degree, and returned to his mother, now widowed and living at Bally- mahon. There was in Goldsmith a great deal of the Tony Lumpkin, an equal share of the Moses Primrose, with a large and saving remnant of genius. It was Tony that drank and sang in Conway's Inn at Ballymahon, and Moses that presented himself for ordination to the ministry in scarlet breeches. It was both who spent the one purse Goldsmith was given to seek his fortune in America, and the other with which he was to begin the study of the law. Finally in 1752 he reached Edinburgh, purposing to study medicine. Here probably the secret promptings of genius asserted themselves. He set out after eighteen months for Leyden, where the great Albinus and the learned Gaubius were the alleged attractions. In reality it was to make the grand tour, but on foot. How he begged or played, starved or feasted, and, no doubt, was happy, in this tour, we have no details. But setting out, flute in hand and a guinea in his pocket, he succeeded in traver- sing Holland, crossing the Rhine and the Alps, and finally reaching Padua and Louvain where, he asserted, he took a degree of bachelor of medicine. He returned to London in February, 175C, a stranger, poor, uncouth, ready to do everything he could and to try much that he could not do. An assistant to an apothe- cary, a medical practitioner without a practice, a proof- reader, an usher in a school, a hack-writer to Griffiths, an usher once more, and an applicant for a medical OLIVER GOLDSMITH. XIII appointment to the Coromandel Coast: these are his metamoiplioses during three years of struggle. The Coioiuandel application was to be strengthened by his coniposition of a learned treatise. The application was abortive, but the treatise, Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe^ was published in 1759, beginning Goldsmith's career as an original writer. Bookseller Wilkie enlisted his services then as sole con- tributor to The Bee, which lived through eight numbers. Bookseller Newbery engaged him as a bi-weekly contribu- tor to his Public Ledger, which resulted in a series of letters now best known in their collected form as The Citizen of the World, a clever and humorous review of English manners and civilization from the assumed point of view of a Chinese, a device borrowed from Dufresny and Montesquieu. When the rigor of this and similar hack-work sent him o£E with ill-health to Tunbridge Wells and Bath to recover, he quickly found literary copy of a good-natured sort for his Life of Michard Nash, a biography of the master of ceremonies and potentate of fashion of the latter city. By this time (1762) Goldsmith had reached a recognized place amonj> London writers. He had become intimate with the Great Cham of literature, Dr. Johnson, and with Garrick, Percy, Beauclerc,Langton — an intimacy strength- ened in 1764 by Reynolds's founding of the Literary Club. The year 1764 had, however, a gloomy episode. Tony Lumpkin had been uppermost in Goldsmith's life, and his landlady without any thought of posterity's good opinion, had him arrested for debt. Dr. Johnson fortunately intervened. He carried off to the publisher some market- able MSS., which not only satisfied the demands of Mis. Fleming but gave the author a tolerable claim on XIV INTROD UCTIONS. posterity. Thus it was that The Traveller in 1764 and The Vicar of Wakefield in 1766 came to be published. The Traveller^ as Macaulay has pointed out, is in design at once simple and noble. " An English wanderer, seated on a crag among the Alps, near the point where the three countries meet, looks down on a boundless prospect, reviews his long pilgrimage, recalls the varieties of scenery, of climate, of government, of religion, of national character he has observed, and comes to the conclusion, just or unjust, that our happiness depends little on political institutions, and much on the temper and regu- lation of our own minds." (Envy. Brit.) That the happiness of the individual is independent of government and climate is a proposition no one will seriously contend for to-day. Yet, thougli we have a different point of view in sociology, we still can find pleasure in the more important element of Goldsmith's poetry. "While the Traveller is making his beautiful contrasts and close- packed criticism of men and manners, we even lend a poetical assent to his main proposition. The poem, in truth, though intended as a philosophical poem, charms us for very different reasons. The panoramic display of nations, the gentle music of the verse reinforcing at times the monotonous accents of the couplet with new harmonies, — Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,— the epigrammatic value of many a line, the steadfast tendency of the verse towards the noblest ideals and most helpful emotions, — these are of more value for poetry than a principle of happiness. On the other hand the faults of the poem — its rhetorical cast, the device of antithesis as a basis of expression for every scene and for very many ideas, the abstract character of its phra.seology, its OLIVER GOLDSMITH. xr 1764 and shed, in design 3r, seated the three prospect, rieties of f national inclusion, little on and regn- That the avernment ly contend int of view the more While the and close- en lend a poem, in 1, charms [display of [orcing at with new steadfast and most )etry than the faults mtithesis for very lology, its frequent borrowings not only of imagery but of thought and phraseology — make it difficult to admire warmly, even when we know that in the main tliese are faults of the literary school to which the poet was born. The success of The Traveller and The Vicar carried Goldsmith on a mounting wave. Through Garrick, one of the Club, he put his hand to comedy in The Good Natur^d Man, which gave him bOOl to squander. The booksellers crowded work upon him, — compilations of Poems for Young Ladies, an English Grammar, a Roman History, a Natural History of Animals, a His- toi'y of England, — sLTid paid handsomely for the pen of this versatile author. No wonder Goldsmith could say of his poetry that it kept, or would have kept, him poor,— Thou fouiul'st me poor at tirst, and keep'st me so. "I cannot afford," he told Lord Lisburn, "to court the draggle-tail muses, my lord ; they would let me starve ; but by my other labours I can make shift to live, and drink, and have good clothes." Passing over, therefore, the ballad of Edwin and Angelina, written under Percy's influence, and the humorous verse of Retaliation and The Haunch of Ven- ison there is only one other poem, and his greatest, that claims our attention. The circumstances attending the composition of The Deserted Village are elsewhere considered (pp. 205ff). If one needed an antidote to the philosophy of The Traveller we should find it in this poem, which shows that the .xidividual may suffer even where Britain courts the western spring. But here, too, the philosophy of the poem— the evil effect of the concentration of wealth in the hands of the few— scarcely attracts the attention compared with the interest of those pictures of village ivi I NT ROD UC T/ONS. life, unrolled with even more melodious verse, less pointed and more flowing than thut of The Traveller, and viewed through the softening mist of a tender humanity and the pathos of inevitable change. One special point, the growth of a more genuine poetic spirit in his verse, calls for remark. His ballad of Edwin and Angelina, poor imitation though it be. his relations to Percy, his growing fondness for melodious American names in poetic allusions, the deepening of subjective feeling in The Deserted Village, the ob.servation and record of aspects of nature* (cf . D. V. 11. 41-46, 196), and of humble life (11. 128-136), — these are significant of at least some share, and a growing share, in the romantic movement represented by his contemporaries, Thomson, Gray, and Beattie. Goldstnitli remained attaclied to the older school, but it is clear that his heart was inclining to the newer, and that his later work shows in him many marks of a poet of a transition age. His last great work, and his greatest in comedy, She Stoops to Conquer, was written in 1773. On April 4th, 1774, Goldsmith died, troubled in mind and sunk in debt, and was buried by Temple Church. He has left works that give him a high mark, though not a supreme one, in four departments of literature, in the essay, the drama, the novel, and in poetry, — a versatility of genius few can equal. For his life, " Let not his frailties be remem- bered : he was a very great man." Time is fulfilling *I venture to believe that Ooldi^mith's description of the Inrk's siuf^ing is not less true to nature and poetic feeling than Wordsworth's. "Nothing... can be more pleasing than to see the lark warbling on the wing ; ralslL-.r Its note as it soars, until it seems lost In the immense heights above us; the note continuing, the bird itself unseen; to see it then descending with a swell as it comes from tlie clouds, yet sink- ing by degrees as it approaches its nest, the spot where all its affections ore centred, the spot that has prompted all this Joy. "—An. Nature, IL IfiS. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. xvii J pointeil 4 viewed and the ine poetic of Edmn relations American subjective ation and 196), and icant of at e romantic Thomson, tched to the IS inclining I him many this charge of Dr. Johnson, as it is confirming the epitaph inscribed on his monument in Westminster Abbey : Pocteo, Pliysici, Historici, qui nullum fere scribendi genus non tetigit, nullum quod tetigit non ornavit : sive risus essent movendi, sive lacrymsB, affectuum potens, at lenis dominator ; ingeiiio sublimis, vividus, versatilis ; oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus : hoc raonumento raeraoriam colui»- Sodalium amor. Ami- corum fides, Lectorum veneratio. n omedy, She April 4th, auk in debt, left works preme one, the drama, genius few s be remem- is fulfilling 'of the lark's I Wordsworth's. Ik warWitiK on lin the Immense 1 unseen i to see llouds, yet siuk- a\\ its affections I! I ; ^ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. ;i 1 IV J L [JAM WORDS WO A' TH. XIX ; \V'>rds\vorth'» Pr#/. J WAV.. iMol ; Softri* f>«i QiUiu'cy, L'lke V Kniglit. .Jfi i\r W U' 'fi, 1887; Procecfi H' ' yrdHWOTthiaua , M\ MpLon. William Worth ..ml I'd, \Ki-J', E' 1 ^-lays aiut fiUlfl'' ■ nurch ' Ditnta. uf r*»er I'-rly^j^rtJi ■«'.herer (tr. Sh,i >'vcti vol«.. l»««r ••'•» : ann".'t lit ■ ■v.. 1)1) (Mncjuwui . tll»p. English Jiomtj- . ^"'.ral Moveme.Ht in I'rtfft. ': lie ciassicai -^rvl.- • - ame less t: " Kprossion in literatu . .,J, urban life an(i a ' lOiico. Roac^iiny; oai "iro on, • * poetic ii form Hvv tln»i 'vv horizon of civLc life, they lifted up their ♦^^. vn»i ither u i^lorious pant or an onchantJug i Vim '•leasees, viewed beneath the . -i ■ipfuj.-^er ; • iiern nations, with thoir ani''<«Uv u.ytholo^y and .'M>untain scenery, brouj^hi wibui ranj^e by Mao- > Ossian and Gray's 0',i»'-« ; the very life of MMMaHl I fi A ' .:'.''-^ ■ ■ ^:: ». <^" ';'^ ..'^' >;:.., ^- .^-.^' ^•*v-.i^ ■' ..I-. ' " ■ ■ ■ . ■■ ■ ■ ! ■■■ y ' ■ ■ ■ "'' *, ' ^v ■ '■■•■ *•';■. ■■■::■.■'■ ', ' ,«»-•. )»!ft*V' Wll-LIAM \V01{D.S WORTH. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. XIX WILLIAM WOR.DSWORTH. [l770-iaTO.J [Wordsworth's Prelude and Autobiography ; C. Wordsworth, Memnirn of W.W., 1851 ; Scarle, Memoirs qf W.W., 1852? Coleridge, Biogr. Lit.; De Quincey, Lalce Poets; HazUtt, First Acquaintance with Poets; Knight, LiJ'e of W. W. (vols, ix., x., xi. of Works), Memoirs of Coleor- ton, 1887; Proceed. Words. Soc. (six vols., selections of which are in) Wordsworthiana ; Myers, Woi'dswoi'th, '"Eng. Men of Letters" ; Sym- ington, William Wordsworth, 1881 ; Sutherland, William Wordsworth, 2nd eu., 1892; Elizabeth Wordsworth, William Wordsworth, 1894. Essays and criticisms by Arnold (Selections of W. W.), Stopford Brooke, Church {Dante, etc.), Dowdeu {Studies in Literature), Morley {Works), Pater (Appreciations), Sarrazin (Renaissance de la poisie anglaise). Scherer (tr. Saintsbury), Shairp, etc. The best editions are Knight, eleven vols., 1887-1889; Dowden, seven vols., 1892-3; Morley, one vol., 1891; annotated editions of selected poems, Rolfe (Harpers), Rowe and Webb (Macmillan). For the general aspects of early Romanticism, Phelp.«, English Romantic Movement ; of later Romanticism, Courthope, Liberal Movement in English Literattire] The classical style, as the eighteenth century wore on, became less and less effective as a means of poetic expression. Men grew tired of the monotony of form and expression in literature, just as they grew tired of formal, urban life and a narrow range of feeling and experience. Reaching out for relief from the heroic couplet, they resumed old forms of versification, the blank verse of Milton, the epic stanza of Spenser, the ode, the ballad, and the sonnet. In place, too, of a narrow horizon of civic life, they lifted up their eyes and saw either a glorious past or an enchanting future. The chivalric ages, viewed beneath the glamour of Spenser ; the northern nations, with their ancient mythology and misty mountain scenery, brought within range by Mac- pherson's Ossian and Gray's Odes; the very life of " I XX INTRODUCTIONS. the people, expressed in the traditional poetry of England and Scotland and made accessible by the publication of numerous collections of ballads ; even the supernatural, not unknown to the ballad, but specially cultivated by tales of mystery and spectral romance transplanted from Germany ; the aspects of nature, not the cool grotto and trim hedges, but the mountain, the storm, the winter landscape : these were the objects filling the new horizon that opened to men's minds ; and to this fresh world they came with minds increasingly sensitive. All Europe was stirring with new emotion. The ecstasies of Wvrther met with ' vehement acceptance ' everywhere. Rousseau was an apostle of the feelings. The Revolution in men's minds w^as in progress, realized before the end of the century in Political Revolution. This movement of humanity towards the picturesque past, towards nature and the supernatural, towards emotio.i, towards beauty, constitutes the Romantic Move- ment, to which in this nineteenth century we owe our best literature. With the beginning of the full glory of English Romanticism two names are indissolubly associated, — Wordsworth and Coleridge. Others prepared the way ; others revealed more or less tentatively some of the characteristics of the Movement. Traces of it may be found in Thomson, whose Seasons were completed in 1730 ; traces of it may be found in Gray, who died in 1771, and whose Journal in the Lakes displays a spirit kindred to that of the poet of Grasmere ; traces of it may be found in Burns, in whom tender feeling and passion join with appreciation of the beauty possible in the meanest flower and the humblest life. Cowper, too, felt the thrill of communion with Nature, and had a heart WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. XXI that went out to all weak and helpless crbatures. Thom- son, Gray, Burns, and Cowper, then, all felt the impulso of a new life; but this new life was manifested clearly and unmistakably first in two names, Wordsworth and Coleridge. William Wordsworth was born at Cockermouth, Cum- berland, April 7th, 1770, the second son of John Words- worth, solicitor to Sir James Lowther, and of Anne Wordsworth, dau£?hter of William Cookson, mercer of Penrith. His childhood truly showed that in him at least the boy was father to the man. Cockermourh is near the Derwent, that blent A murmur with my nurse's aonfir, And .... sent a voice That flowed along my dreams. Bathing in the mill-race, plundering the raven's nest, skating, nutting, fishing, such were the golden days of happy boyhood ; and the activities of boyhood lived on in the man. Wordsworth, Elizabeth Wordsworth says, could cut his name in the ice when quite an elder?y man. The effect on his spirits of this free open life, lighted up by a passion for the open air, may be read in his early Lines on Leaving School. His schooldays at Hawkshead, Lancashire, were happy, though he described himself as being 'of a stiff, moody, violent temper.' Fielding, Cervantes, Le Sage, and vSwift were his first favourite authors. His father interested himself in his training, and through his guidance Words- worth as a boy could repeat by heart much of Spenser, Shakspere, and Milton. His father having died in 1773, Wordsworth was sent to Cambridge by his uncles. He entered St. John's College in October, 1787, and took his degree in January, 1791, :l ! ! f XXll lNTROr> UC TIONS. On the whole he took little interest in academic pursuits, yet read classics diligently, studied Italian and the older English poets, and ' sauntered, played, or rioted ' with his fellow-students. His vacations were spent in the country ; in one of them he traversed on foot France, Switzerland, and Northern Italy. During another of these vacation ramhles, returning ."t early dawn from some frolic. The morninj? rose, in memorable pomp ; The sea lay laughing at a distance; near The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds : And in the meadows and the lower grounds Was all the sweetness of a common dawn- Dews, vapours, and the melodies of birds, And labourers going forth to till the fields. Ah I need I say, dear Friend ! that to the brim My heart was full ; I made no vows, but vows Were then made for me ; bond unknown to me Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly, A dedicated spirit. On I walked In thankful blessedness, which yet survives. Wordsworth's first long poem, An Evening Walk, 1789, shows the spirit of nature striving against the bondage of Pope. Unable to decide on a profession, Wordsworth went to France in November, 1791, where he stayed thirteen months studying French, and watching with beating heart the emancipation of human life and spirit in the Revolution. He returned to England with his choice of a profession yet unmade, and in 1793 published his first volumes of verses, An Evening Walk and Descrijjtive Sketches^ the value of which no one but Coleridge anpre- ciated. He spent a month in the Isle of A\'ight, wan- dered about Salisbury Plain, and along the Wye to North Wales. One of his rambles with his sister Dorothy led him from Kendal to Grasmere, and from Grasmere to Kes- ii i WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. xxin wick, — " the most delightful country we have ever seen," slio said. He projected a tnonthly miscellany, and was completely out of money when his good friend Raisley (Jalvert died, leaving him a legacy of 900Z. This was the turnini; point of his life. Inspired by his si.^rer, Words- wortl) resolved to take up that plain life of high thought which was to result in a pure and lasting fame. Words- worth never was ungrateful to that noblest of women, his sister Dorothy. In the midst of troubles she never (lagged, in the moments of literary aspiration she was by his side with sj'^mpathetic heart and equal mind. She whispered still that brightness would return, She, in the midst of all, preserved me siill ' A poet, made me seek beneath that name. And that alone, my office upon earth. She gave me eyes, she gave me ears ; And liumlde cares, and delicate fears : A heart, the fountain i>f .*\veet tears; And love, and thouglit, and joy. The brother and sister settled in Racedown Lod^e, Crewkerne, Dorset, in a delightful country, with "charm- ing walks, a good garden, and a pleasant home." There Wordsworth wrote his hnitaiiona of Juvenal, Salisbury Plain, and commenced the Borderers. Heaceforth he was dedicated to poetry. Meantime, Coleridge, the son of a Devonshire clergy- man, had passed through Christ's Hospital and Cam- bridge, and had entered on matrimony and authorship. He had first settled at Clevedon, near Bristol, where he eked out a poor living with hack-work, lecturing, tutoring, varied by some attempts at publishing periodicals and poetry. Early in 1797 he removed to Nether Stowey. Nether Stowey lies at the foot of the Qnantocks. Somer- setshire, a few miles from the Bristol Channel, in a ifT XXIV INTRODUCTIONS. country of clear brooks and wooded hills. In June, 1797, Colerid^o visited the Wordsworths at Raced own. The two poets read their compositions to each other, — Cole- ridge his tragedy of Osorio^ and Wordsworth his tragedy of The Borderers. Thus began the friendship of these two men, a friendship that meant much for themselves, much for English literature. Charmed by the scenery of the Quantocks and the opportunity of being near Coleridge, Wordsworth took up his abode at Alfoxden, some three miles distant from Stowey and two from the Bristol Chan- nel. The period of companionship and mutual stimulus that ensued was marked by the production of poems that are the unmistakeable manifestations of the presence of that new spirit of poetry which was to dominate the first half of the century to come. In the spring of 1798 the two poets planned a pedestrian tour to Linton, purposing to defray its cost by a joint com- position, The Ancient Mariner, which after discussion fell entirely into Coleridge's hands. The project of one poem expanded into a volume of poems, to which Coleridge con- tributed a few pieces dealing with the supernatural, and Wordsworth the main body of poems depicting nature and humble life under the modifying colours of the imagina- tion. This memorable volume, opening with The Ancient Mariner and closing with Tintern Abbey., was called Lyrical Ballads, and published in 1798. Its immediate influence was very slight. The Monthly Review considered the Ancient Mariner the strangest cock and bull story, a rhapsod:'^ of unintelligible wild- ness and incoherence, though admitting exquisite poetical touches, and in general called upon the author of the volume to write on more elevated subjects and in a more cheerful disposition. Cottle parted with most of his five t WILLTAM WORDSWORTR. XXV hundred copies at a loss, and on going out of business returned the copyright to Wordsworth as valueless. De Quincey and John Wilson were perhaps alone in recog- nizing the value of the volune. Originality, it has been said, must create the taste by which it is to be appreciated, and it was some years before taste for the new poetry was created. At Alfoxden, then, Lyrical Ballads was written, and there, too, The Borderers was finished. The latter was Wordsworth's one effort at dramatic composition. It was rejected by the Covent Garden Theatre ; upon which the poet remarked that "tht^* moving accident is not my trade." Lamb and Hazlitl, who came down to see Coleridge, were taken of course to see Wordsworth. Hazlitt, hearing Coleridge read some of his friend's poems, " felt the sense of a new style and a new spirit of poetry come over him." On the publication of Lyrical Ballads, Coleridge and Wordsworth were enabled through the generosity of the Wedgwoods, sons of the great potter, to carry out a long- cherished project of a pilgrimage to Germany, then the shrine of literary devotion. Coleridge parted company with the Wordsworths on reaching the Continent, passing on to Ratzeburg and GSttingen, while the latter buried themselves in Goslar, on the edge of the Hartz Forest. Wordsworth got little pleasure from German society, literature, climate, or tobacco. Driven back upon him- self, he took inspiration from the memories of Alfoxden life, and wrote some of his best lyrics. Nutting, The Poet's Epitaph^ The Fountain, Two April Mornings, Buth, and the five poems grouped about the name of Lucy. There, too, to depict the history of his mind and of his calling to poetry, he began The Prelude. His stay f^ xxvi INTROD UC TIONS. in Germany ended in July, 1799. In the autumn of that year the brother and sister made excursions tluougli Cumberland and Westmoreland, and were so taken with the natural beauty of these shires that they settled in Grasmere, December, 1799. Gray has described the Grasmere scenery and De Quincey the Wordsworth cottage — a little white cottajjje. sheltered in trees, overhung by the lofty mountain ascending behind it ; beneath the broad basin of Grasmere water, and the low promontory on which rests the village with its embowered houses : all about, the encircling eternal hills, and in their bosom, in those days, quiet peace. During 1800 the poet wrote Poems on the Naming of Places, The Brothers, The Pet Lamb, Michael, etc. In 1802 he paid a flying visit to France, tlie memorials of which are the group of sonnets that includes On West- minster Bridge (see p. 234), and the sonnets at London. The same year he married Mary Hutchinson, a school- mate of his childhood, a wife worthy of her husband and his sister, and of the poem. She teas a Phantom of Delight^ depicting that perfect woman nobly planned (see p. 243). In J)ove Cottage until 1813, then in a larger house at Rydal Mount, but always by Grasmere lake, Wordsworth lived his long life. Friends were about him. Coleridge was at times in Keswick, fifteen miles away (they loved to walk such distances in those days), where Southey also was living ; De Quincey took the Dove Cottage when Wordsworth moved to Rydai Mount; "Christopher North" was at EUeray, nine jrJles distant; Dr. Arnold built himself a house at Ambleside, an hour's walk from Rydal Mount. Occasionally the poet left home to make long trips to the Continent or to Scotland and Wales, WILLIAM WOIWSWORTH xxvii steadily composing; under the influences of sut;jj;estive dcenos. Memoi'ials of a Tour in Scotland (1811), On the Canfinent{iS20), In Italy (1837), are collections of poems due to those excursions. His sonnets, many of which are j;ems of lyrical beauty unsurpassed, are chiefly in three series, Ecclesiastical Sketches, On the liiver Dtnldon, and Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty. Of his other chief works, Peter Bell, written in 1798, was not published till 1S19; the Excursion, composed in 179r)-1814, was published in 1814; The White Doe of liylstone, written in 1807, was issued in 1815 ; while The Prelude, begun in 1799 and finished in 1805, was printed only after his death. About 1830 the years of neglect and ridicule that Wordsworth had borne with serene mind changed for years of honour and fame. Oxford bestowed on him a doctor's degree ; the nation, with one voice, on the death of Southey in 1843, crowned him \vith the laurel, "as the just due of the first of living poets" ; and the best minds of England, such as Arnold, George Eliot, Mill, acknow- ledged the strength and blessedness of his influence. When he died, April 23rd, 1850, the greatest English poet of this century, greatest in original force, sincerity, and beauty of thought, greatest as the interpretative voice of Nature, greatest in power of transfiguring human life with the glory of imagination, had passed away from the world and from the Qrasmere that guards his grave. The best personal sketch of the poet is that of Thomas Carlyle, about the year 1840: — "He talked well in his way ; with veracity, easy brevity, and force. , .His voice was good, frank, and sonorous, though practically clear, distinct, and forcible rather tlian melodious ; the tone ol him business-like, s^edately confident, no discourtesy, yet no iinxiely about being courteous; u fine wholesome xxviii INTROD UCTIONS. rusticity, fresh as his mountain breezes, sat well on the stalwart veteran, and on all he said and did. You would have said he was a usually taciturn man, glad to unlock himself, to audience sympathetic and intelligent, when such offered itself. His face bore marks of much, not always peaceful, meditation ; the look of it not bland or benevolent, so much as close, impregnable, and hard ; a man multa tacere loquive paratus, in a world where he had experienced no lack of contradictions as he strode along ! The eyes were not brilliant, but they had a quiet clearness ; there was enough of brow, and well shaped ; rather too much cheek (' liorse-faced,' I have heard satir- ists say), face of a squarish shape and decidedly longish as I think the head itself was (its length, going hori- zontal): he was large-boned, lean, but still firm-knit, tall and strong-looking when he stood ; a right good old steel-gray figure, a veracious stremjtli looking thi-ough him which might have suited one of the old steel-gray Margrafs.^^ Wordsworth's genius has had no finer interpreter than Coleridge. It is not the friend merely, bvit the keen critic of literature who, in dark days of neglect, could bravely stand forth to proclaim his friend's greatness. Wordsworth's excellences are, he says: — "First, an austere purity of language. . .Second, a corresponding weight and sanity of the thoughts and sentiments — won, not from books, but from the poet's own meditative obser- vation. They are fresh, and have the dew upon them . . . Even throughout his smaller poems there is scarcely one which is not rendered valuable by some just and original reflection... Third, the sinewy strength and originality of single lines and paragraphs; the frequent curiosa felicitas of his diction... Fourth, the perfect h / VI r. UA M WORDS WOR Tir. XXIX truth of nature in his images and descriptions, as taken immediately from nature. . . Fifth, a meditative pathos, a union of deep and subtle thought with sensibility ; a sym- pathy with man as man ; the sympathy indeed of a con- templator rather than a fellow-sufferer or co-mate . . . Last, and preeminently, I challenge for this poet the gift of imagination. .. In the play of fancy, Wordsworth, to my feelings, is not always graceful, and is sometimes recondite. The likeness is occasionally too strange... But in imaginative power he stands nearest of all modern writers to Shiikespeare and Milton. To employ his own words... he does indeed, to all thoughts and to all objects, — Add the ^'Icam, The H^rht that never was on sea or laud, The consecration, and the poet's dreuin.'-' pf \ < II i i i ji ■l! P ^•■. fW %1 1 li;:^ I I ! SIR WALTER SCOTT XX .1 : At 'Xr ■ '■•ttou, .*?*>• U ilitir n,;'n.t WHtx.H," ■ ' ;!• • I. ill Ili.S •pc, Ijihfiiil ■H(}re fli,'U{>ri/ o/' O't'iat ■ *:tl. twelve Villa. ; •: Lay of the Ln-'i ■ '1. special ! II ut TiiK •.vorth .' ;/npressi(.> Waiun- >• froio a n ior halla^ facility, ;' b«nr tow TL' WH; the i\v-.:' attori*e.v Iaf}ll•l■'^ hart's •' 'uaii. t,he *.{• . )^rauu. UUt }H!' iarm Oali^t-"' . iS.; I ■ . . ,. , >clf in Wofd.s- iKiud to rhu -it!, turned wirb Sowtr's desciMit ii,unis, iiis ta^io ' viih prodigiou,'? •fs rurinan'^nt • • ' ■ iio .liiith of ■■■': Edinbur^'h both '>u m^\' <;orded in his 'iy Jifo (Lock- ^^•ith him aa with M^racfct o! rhn '. Kr accotiiiis of . narrated by liis UB tiant, his lying 'is grandfather'a vars of veteran ■•'■ ■ Nf>;iry, ai) fW^ » ■ ■ ' ■'"!'% '^ ":■■••- -M;.;:: •"■-■■'■..■ j^,.:.-;> ■■'l;«: ■ •■'■; ■ if^: i !%t t •«: •*!?P. Mli WAl.TiVK >CUrT, S/R WALTER SCOTT. XXXI SIR WALTER SCOTT. [1771-.1832.] [Lockhart's Life of Scott, the chief authority; Hutton, Sir Walter Scott, '^English Men of Letters"; Yonge, Scott, '^ Great Writer.t,'- Criticism is voluminous: Hazlitt, Spirit of the Aer.' Finally came a stiff course of readini*' for his examinations, and in 17l)i? Scott was honomably enrolled as a member of the Scottish bar. In 1800 he was appointed sheriff of Selkirkshire, and in 1S06 he obtained the reversion of the clerkship of the sessions. For Scott's introduction to authorship we have again recourse to his own testimony, given in the preface to Border Minstrelsy and the introduction to The Lay of Last Minstrel, In 1788 Henry Mackenzie lectured <■-> the Royal Society of Edinburgh on German literature. Enthusiastic minds at once seized on this intimation of a new literature, full of passion, medisevalism, and romance. Scott and others became diligent students of German. Their enthusiasm was strengthened by the success of George Henry Lewis's Monk, published in 1795, which introduced into English tlie weird and supernatural elenients of the prose and, in its interspersed verse, the form anu manner of the ballad poetry, of contemporary Germany. The notion seized Scott of attempting something similar to the verses of The Monk. He ccordingly translated Btirger's Lenm'e, The Wild Huntsman, and other German ballads, which were published in 1796. His acquaintance with German was extended until he became familiar with the great masters of Germany, Schiller and Goethe. In 1799 he published a translation of Gdtz von Berlichingen of the latter author. From translation to imitation is but a step, and the ballad of Glenfinlas was his first attempt at original poetry. This and The Eve of St. John and The Gray Brother the poet contributed to Lewis's Tales of Wonder, 1801. He collected meanwhile the ancient and modern ballads of the Border districts, following in the irp 1i^ \XXIV INTtiOD UC T/ONS. i ! : I I ^ i It I I I fc ' ,i I 1 1 > ill ^^^^ line of Percy's Jfefiques, and in 1H02 publistied the first edition of his successful Border Minstrclay. Feeling that ballad writing was out of fashion, and the ballad form a very slender pipe whose music is soon exhausted. Scott cast about for a new measure and new material. The measure he found in the free eight-syllable rimed couplet of Coleridge's Christahel; the subject lie got from the Countess of Buccleuch, who enjoined on him a ballad on the story of Gilpin Horner. But the ballad became an epic, and The Lay of the Lost Minstrel, pub- lished in 1805, began the series of Scott's metrical tales with a popularity nothing hitherto had equalled. He was henceforth a professional author, moving steadily to- wards the aim of his life. . Marmion, 1808, The Lady of the Lake, 1810, Don Roderick, 1811, The Bridal of Triermain and Rdkehy, 1813, The Lord of the Isles, 1815. and Hai'old the Dauntless, 1817, make up the well- known series of his poems. In 1822, in the full tide of other successes, Scott bade farewell to his muse, Vain thy enchantments, O queen of wild numbers, To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er. Still better known than his poetry and possessing much higher power in the delineation of manners, in the creation of character, in Shakspearian pictures of humour and sympathy, and in wide and living learning, are the series of novels begun by Waverley, 1814, and ended only by Scott's death in 1832. The circumstances that precipitated that calamity can only be briefly touched on. In 1809 Scott became interested as a partner in the printing firm of Ballantyne and Co. , whose speculative business rapidly involved the careless author in hopeless insolvency. He had no sooner satisfied his proud dream of founding a a family estiitc by 1 1 II Sn< WALTER SCOTT. XXXV the purchase of Abbovsford than the clouds of financial ombiivrassmfnt settled over him. With unrivalled power, industry, 'and resolution Scott fought with his pen the long battle aj^ainst insolvency. When the crash came in 182;'), Scott found himself responsible for 117,000 i. In two years he had earned by his novels one-third of the sum, in five years his liabilities were reduced one-half. But paralysis had struck the valiant and overburdeneil man, and the night fell upon an unfinished but heroic labour. Scott's poetry, as has been seen, was a natural and easy development of his interest, — a hearty, practical, imagina- tive interest, — in the ballad literature of Germany and Great Britain. His ballads under tlie influence of the longer works of chivalry, of Italy especially, developed into metrical tales, written with a facility and spontaneity only equalled by his contemporary Byron. Aiming at vigour, picturesqueness, general effect, Scott was curiously' negligent of the minute graces of composition. He had none of that feeling for the rare and happy phrase, which is one of the gifts of Keats. There is none of that inevitableness which Matthew Arnold finds is the mark of poetry of the highest order. If he touches na- ture, he describes it with a perfect eye for colour and form and local truth, but w^i^hout recognition of any infinite and pervading spirit. In character what interests him is the picturesque chivalric soldier or highland chief or well-born beauty, whose adventures are such as befall those living in ruder and more unsettled times, among the Highlands or on the Border. Of modern analysis of motive, the human tragedies that are enact i < nly within the theatre of the mind, which after all most deeply n. ove, Scott gives us nothing. Never is there any touch of he fTT : i lilt Ml xxxvi INTKODUCTIONS. • fine phrenzy ' of poetry. Wholesome, helpful verse it is, I'odeeming a niodiocre be.auty by vigour, virility, move- ment, and pictnresquenoss. Scott's poetry, indeed, was but a preparation for liis greater novels. Great as tliese were, his life, it must be remembered, was equal to them : — ♦•'rod l)ie.sa, tbee, Walter, my man ! Thou hast risen to be great, but thou wert always good ! " .m li! t is, ove- wns liese Bm : isen n aiiaiiaiiiB ft ::■ : ^SS gWMHWBWB— iWWi i- HaydoiCs Pen Skcldi of A'cafs, in liis Journal, Novmilii'i-. ImkI. [Sli;;lill.v rt'dnccd.J "Thnt liold nnd niastcrl.v skctcli stands \\w. tost well — The intense eaK«'rness of tlie fixed eye. . . is tlie eentral idea of Hnulon'!* eoneejition." — n. KoKMAN, lu'atx'n \\'i>rhn,\. v. .tofiv K ilio. cl-iff sMithoriiv ; : Havth- [ntobioyrapku , 0. (• '"b'-KH, • '('Ivlii, Keats' jT.KrhX exiv •Ortai W'-iUT!'. 11'- <'v^\ ;nc:ludcit the i.iroi0' ''ree were i»}!''t*{\>wc-}^i by ihf '•^!(]. Hib >.)■:»; ■ • , r.)r fame, h' ■ ■M. hi's sieadiiy i ...> ' i^io was bor;? ;" •. ' ■■■'•]. n pro--].« •-tc>-flo, the I).'. )• JHopemcnt : .\e»rs. Of these years, if ilusirt!,-^, oniy six wcie in any '■ ?\< a ;-; aii int«»rp^f •. ' "n T79.t, tiio luot child of ' •■ >0(> cf *:• . rr^ fshotv him ^"Inai-!' ..1, WHS nu^At lie int«'ii,«e 'ItliOll." h as a noi, ' . — abovft all piijar . ; ink to him.'' •jwunls [\m clom ( be»'ii in the loast lU-wT^vi ;o books, be».'.ime an iii'le- ■ ible reader. Robt'itson's lii.st<'M-ies, Miss K'lgewurthVs Lenipri^.reV chift.sical diviionary. wliioih hv liff!. Krata. wh<> had I.J- v-.mmmmimm h^i '■'l ' •■i I / «l;t'ttli .xliiiuls Ww Itm \voll. 'I'lic intciisf '•fnu>s>«« "If Iho ti\"il I'vv . jj* tilt' ctnitr.MJ itUii ut' Ifjixdoiiji ii,/ium jitiuii. ' - IJ. FnUMAN. h'rntn'M W'lul.s. i \. JOHN KEA TS. xxxvn JOHN KEATS. [17!)i>-l«21.] [Mihie& (Lord Houghton), /-»*/«, Letters and Literary Hemains oj J. K. (the chief authority); Haydon's Correspondence, W.; Leigh Hunt's Autobiography ; C. G. Clarke, Recollections of J. K.. Gent. Mag., 187 1 ; Colvin, Keats (most excellent), " Eng. Men of Letters " ; Rosselti, Keats*. '^ Oreat Writers." The best editions are Buxton Forman, tour vols. (includes the prose) ; Houghton, Aldine ed., poems and dramas (the best one vol. ed.)i Palgiave. one vol. ipoems only), Macmillan; Spred. Letters and Poems of J. K., in three vols. Additional critical arlielcs of value are: De Quincey, John Keats; Swinburne, Euc. Brit.; M. Arnold, Essays iii Criticism, 2nd ser.; Courthope. Liberal Movement; Masson. Wordstoorth, SUelleu, Keats, etc.] Keats lived only twenty-six years. Of these years, if we except some boyish effusions, only six were in any any sense given up to poetry, and of these six years three were shadowed by the disease from M'hich the poet died. His youth, his passionate love of beauty, his long- ing for fame, his early death win for Keats an interest that has steadily risen since his death. He was born in London, in 1795, the first child of Thomas Keats, head hostler and successor to his wife's father, a prosperous livery-man. Keats's parents boing well-to-do, the boy was sent to a good school at Enfield, ten miles north of London, where he spent the years from IHOfi to 1810. The records of these years show him clearly enough as a noble, headstrong, passionate, loveablc nature, — above all pugnacious, — "fighting was meat and drink to him." Towards the close of his school life, Keats, who had not been in the least devoted to books, became an inde- fatigable reader. Robertson's histories, Miss Edgeworth's tales, Lempri^re's classical dictionary, "which he I'^--- XXXVUI INTRO D UC no MS. I : ' jippearorl to learn,^^ Virgil, whose ^neAd ho mostly translated and transovihed, — in short all the best l»oolin a failure — 'sham Spenserian and mock Wordsworthian," says Swinburne; but for all it gave signs of genius — not only in the Chapman sonnet, which it contained, but in many a happj^ phrase or line : — Here are sweet peas on tiptoe for a Hiprlit. Mysterious, wild, the far-heard trump.ts tone; Lovely the moon in ether, all alone. As late I raml)lcd in the happy lielda, What time the skylark sliake.^ the tremulous dfcw From his lush clover covert. A drainless shower Of light Is poesy ; 'tis the supreme of power ; 'Tis might half slumhering on its own rifjrht arm. It clearly indicates, moreover, the beginning of one of Keats's happiest victories, the making over of the heroic couplet into a romantic measure full of all subtle har- monies and cadences : — I stood tiptoe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet huds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside. Their scanty-leaved, and iinely-taperingstenw. Had not yet lost their .starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new-shorn. And fresh from the clear brook ; sweotly they slepi On the blue tields of heaven, and then there crei>! A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves. On the personal side we see the poet's enthusiasm for his friends and for friendship, for poets and poetry, and for naturo. On the subjective side of his art, it contains the most pronounced expression yet given pf the spirit of ronuintic'sm protesting against the poetry of the eigh- teenth century. I llii xl INTRODUCTIONS. Ali,disinal-s<)iil'd! The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'd Its tratlierinf? waves— ye felt it not. The blue Bared its eternal l)osom, and the dew Of sinnmer night collected atill to make The morning precious : Beauty was awake ! Why were ye not awake ? But ye were dead To thinfjfs ye knew not of, — were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile. . . Eusy was the task : A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask Of Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race ! That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his fac«, And did not know it,— no, they went about, Holding a poor decrepit standard out, Mark'd with most flimsy mottoes, and in large The name of one Boileau ! * The publication of this first volume was expected by the little circle to be greeted with 'a rousing welcome!' It might, says Clarke. ' have emerged in Timbuctoo with far stronger chances of fame and approbation.' For most people it was enough that it was dedicated to Leigh Hunt, whose radicalism the government had tried to temper with imprisonment. "It was read," says the author, "by some dozen of my friends who liked it; and some dozen whom I was unacquainted with, who did not." One of these latter complained to the publishers that * it was no better than a take-in.' Shortly afterward, Keats went down to the isle of Wight, more than ever resolute to write ' eternal poetry ' : — "I find I cannot do without poetry — without eternal poetry ; half a day will not do — the whole of it. . . I had become all in a tremble from not having written anj'^- thing of late : the Sonnet overleaf did me good. I slept the better for it last night. I shall forthwith begin my Endymion.^^ So he wrote to Reynolds. At Margate, and at Hampstead with its — JOHN KEA TS xli Fine breathlnpr prospects, its clump- wooded glades, Dark pines, and white lioiises and long-alley'd shades, Keats worked at his new poem. At times the labour of composition was lightened by excursions into the country and by intercourse with friends, to whose number were added Charles Dilke, afterward editor of the AthenORUiti^ Ciiarles Brown, critic and translator, and the painter Severn. In the spring- of 1818, Endymion, a Poetical liomance, was published. In this poem Keats turned to Greek mythology with the warmth of a kindred spirit, and gave the old myth of Diana and Endymion with all the richness — the bewilder- ing richness — of incident, scene, detail, that tbe story became a path hardly visible amidst a tropical forest. The rare render who makes his way through is not unre- paid for the toil, for of much he can say, with itsopeninc^ lines — A thing of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ^ it will never Poas into nothin^:ncss ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet JM-eathin^'. Blackwood's Magazine, in a series of articles attribute! to Lockhart, had meanwhile been making a bitter attack on Leigh Hunt and the ' Cockney School ' of poetry , the fourth article was given up to a bitter and ignorant crit- icism on Keats and Endymion. It was followed b/ an equally ignorant and un.sympathetic article in the iiuar- terly lieview.* Keats had just returned from a long «valk- * The article is included in Stevenson's collection of Karifi ttennwa (Walter Scott), and Is easily accessible. It is the article liyt-rt refers to in Ills obtuse lines,— 'Tis strange the mind, that flery particle, Should let itself be snuff' d out by an artiilc. — Don Juan, xi. § h*. ^ xlii INTRO D UCT/ONS. ing tour throuj^li Scotland with Brown, to find his brother dying of consumption. His own throat liad developed in Scotch mists some dangerous symptoms. It was a time when he might have been despondent. Friends came to his defence, and his own courage. "Praise or blame," he said, "has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works." In the autumn of 1818 Tom Keats died, as his mother had died before him, of consumption. In this time it was Ji consolation to share home with Brown in Went- worth Place, Hampstead. It was at Hampstead that the poet met Fanny Brawne, and felt that passion, returned it is true, but not the less an anguish of spirit when Keats realized the progress of a rapidly fatal malady. Keats's genius had reached its early maturity and was destined to bear only first fruits. In the winter of 1818 he composed Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and parts of Hyperion; in the spring of 1819 most of his odes (see p. 275) were written ; in midsummer and early autumn, at Shanklin and Winchester, Lamia, Otho the Great, To Autumn, and St. Mark's Eve. In an early poem Keats had cried. — O for ten years, tliat I may overwhelm Myself in poesy I so I may do the deed That my own soul has to Itself decreed ! It seems that the last months of 1818 and the beginning of 1819 were months of effort to anticipate approaching death, so rapid and so passionate were his compositions. In 18'20 Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes and Other Poems was published— his greatest volume and his last. In September, 1820, Keats embarked for Italy in the JOHN KEATS. xliii hope of checking his consumption. On the 'Ji)rd of February, in spite of the best medical skill and the memorable devotion of his friend Severn, he died, desiring that on his tomb should be inscribed, "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." "—Died, not yoiiuf?,— the life of a long life. Distilled to a mere drop, falling like a tear L'tjon the world's cold cheek to make it burn Forever." He was buried in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome. " under an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a spot." Keats's character was essentially a manly one, though at times sensuous, melanchoh', sentimental, lacking grip. As he became conscious of his vocation, his life steadied more and more to his purpose — " ' Get learning, get understanding.' The road lies through application, study, and thought. I will pursue it." What this ainx was is clear, not only from his poetry but from the words uttered as he was dying, "I have loved the principle of beauty in all things." Nothing commonplace, nothing- mean ever entered his vorse ; the content of thought may at times be weak, but it never ceases to be poetic ; at his best, his imaginative sweep, his perfection of execution, his fresh and passionate vision of beauty, carry him into the company of the greatest names of Englisli poetry. In the beauty of rhythm Keats is the master of our modern muse. His Odes, which are his great achieve- ment, are exquisite nocturnes in which the cadences and harmonies penetrate and subdue with more than Chopin- e»^ue power. ! xlfv INTRODUCTIONS. Of these Odes, Swinburne remarks that "perliaps tVie two nearest to absolute perfection, to tlie triumphant achievement and accomplishment of the very utmost beauty possible in human words, may be that to Autumn and that on a Grecian Urn ; the most radiant, fervent, and musical is that to a Nightin};ale ; tlie most pictorial and perhaps the tenderest in its ardour of passionate fancy is that to Psyche ; the subtlest in sweetness of thought and feeling is that on Melnncholy. Greater lyrical poetry the world may have seen than is in these ; lovelier it surely has never seen, nor can it possibly see." \ 1 :| 1 \ 1 1 :l: 1 L' ■L 11!' i! PKKCV I5VSSIIK SIIELLKV. ! t ' ' ! i I ■ ilil 4 Pffh'i'V HVSSIIh' SUh.l I.F.V. /'■ i\i' 1'. n s., !».. '■ -if S: ■ ..i Up with ey<. ^ rt,-5 it xicellent .> -u. 4 y:ave no - vui.-) rfuch as tliese. ... iifiTing; fables and per- -■ society of the great snake isjs tiarly school days he Uows as a ^.;'.ra^^ie and sporis but to * vat;ue and learned with rh« ca»c of hifc ' tyrants knew or ^ kindly, loveahle. brave 'ii appearance slight, vy brown hair and . ^' ■■% rttrnt^mmH^^"^^ I'll k LORD HVRON. liii GI h.« } ! . I ) imI Ik IWIiy , III III! '.■•il I •' i)yroii , [i<;lurh Him. ' '"! • I •flitli'iH arc Mi' i.- t;y I'japr , (.)!;» rtiidon i Miirporin. Critical tif«ilimu«!»» o." 'Utuf fri.in liyrnii ; Svvhil«urni,'. T/'m. i vj (,f r'tUt'Ltvrl work- i| •iloi'loli, My Jii'i'cllei ' ' lijffon , k'ufft- " ' ■•'ti'mjHkfMi '■ ■- . 1 .1 1 1 1 1 • * ' I ,t tji > 1 . t I I 1 1 1 1 1 <• M.H'm <;l!l!».'«10f<', uud . .• . Mii/./iui. /•.•"u//* j l'V>R h -^ onii niisfortiuH', p^Mrhaps, but certainly to the if his i>ot tic.al cliaracfer. narnre hml mixed -li's .system ilios. 'oiis wliicli agitate t)i6 with most violeiit:*:), and whicli may l»e said ■ .'-riod hi.-i l)rip;ht cartH-f to nu parly tdose.'* of Scott. solxT. yot syjiip.if hotic, time ooTifirined a.s tVie just meun l)etw<'eii the !)lioin}nco of Itis coiitomporarics. •i. Lord Byroi!, was boi it Jamiar> 22rid. jld ot' a spoiidthviftj aid dissolutf> father .«! h«>r. He was iiadly reared hy tht* at tor, . w'Aim^ between foiidness ai)d n irij)er itassionate mitiire. His »^arly iift^ wa.s \v}\oro his mothfi- livod ^otih' \-#-;f»rs in In 1 :y)\ \u i , , . . i le im{M'o\ oiiiont it .-ondit' •■ were heavily enrtmr Mr inifharn. and her flon, who h:id had ' 'deen. wa.s prepared for Harrow, ir . He won no reputation at ' ■ ' •.lid idleness. careK-.-s of ^ LORD r.VUON'. LORD BYKON. liii GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON. f 1788-1 «24. 1 [The most imiKtrtaiit Hfe Is Moore's (vols, l.-vl. of collected works, cd. IK'W-fi); other authorities arc (lalt.Li/'c'o/'ii ; riniccioll, jV// 7too//e«f Sheltttf/ and Huron ; Je.-ifTn'Soii, The Ueal Lord Byron ; Licigh lluut. liyron and his (!onti'.mi>oraries ; NIchol, tiiirou,'" Eutf Men o/ Le72-n8(i) ami desirous only of fame in athletics, from which his lamtMiess did not entirely debar him. In 1802 he was desperately in love with Mary Chaworth, who however married elsewhere and unhappily. B^'ron entered Oxford in 1805, and in the dissipations of its fastest set consumed some years, ended in 1808 l)y his taking his M. A. degree His chief friend during his college days, and one who proved to be a steadfast friend, was John Cam Hobhouse. In a desul- tory, fitful way he had read extensively, and had remem- l)ered much. In 180<) Byron printed privately, and immediately sup- pressed, his Fuijitive Pieces, which was issued the follow- ing year as Poems on Vdrious Occasions. The same year the poems and translations called Hows of Idleness — his first public volume -were published. No great writer ever began worse. The Edinburgh lievieiv fell foul of the volume iii the first number of 1808, and hold the author up to ridicule. Touched to the quick, Byron replied in his English Bards and Scotch lieviewei's, the best satire written since Pope. On leaving Cambridge, Byron lived a time in his ances- Uiil hall of Newstead, which was in ruins, and in 1809 took his seat in the House of Lords. In July of that year, accomjianied by Hobhouse he departed for the Continent. Their itinerary was from Lisbon to Cadiz, to Gibraltar, thence to Malta and Prevesa, then through Acarnania down to Athens, thence to Smyrna and Constantinople. Visiting the Troad, our modern Leandur, but 'with much k'ss lovo,' swam the Hellespont from Sestos to Abydos. Hobhouse returned to England, while Byron spent the winter in Athens and the Morea. In July, 1811, he too returned home. LORD BYRON. Iv y of rely vith and the uded riend be a Lesul- ^m mem- ^'4 j sup- 1 Alow - 3 year ''i s — his jr ever of the 1A luthor .■■-. i led in r:/r satire ■4 iini'os- ■^ 11 1S09 t year, tineut. raltar, rnauiu iiioi)le. I much bydos. mt the be \<:^<^' Byron brought back with him two manuscripts, one that he preferred,- ////iif.v from Horace, a poetical imitation of the Ars Podica, and the other, two cantos of a poeni in Spenserian stanza, Childe Harold, which he did not think would take. The latter, however, at ilio urgent re- quests of his friends, was given to the public in IHl'J. Byron, as he himself said, ' woke one morning and found himself famous.' The fascination attached to the life of the young nobleman, the tone of sentimental mehincholy which had been long epidemic in pjurope. l)ut which rang with new vigour in this poem, the clear, powerful descrip- tions of foreign scenes at a ime when travel was less common than at present : these are the chief reasons for the poem's popularity. The Uomantic inovenient had uttered its supreme nohi of individvialism and subjec- tivity. Byron was feted by all, and by not a few women madly adored. In the midst of idolatry and i / o / Photographic Sciences Corporation 72 VEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ■IT > I 11! nil 6 GOLDSMITH. m Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round, Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale. Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale, For me your tributary stores combine ; Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine ! 50 As some lone miser, visiting his store. Bends at his treasure, counts, re-counts it o'er ; Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill. Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still: Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 55 Pleas'd with each good that heaven to man supplies: Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the hoard of human bliss so small ; And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find .Some spot to real happiness consign'd, go Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at rest. May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. But where to find that happiest spot below. Who can direct, when all pretend to know? The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own. Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease ; The naked negro, panting at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave. G5 70 THE TRAVELLER. 7 And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home. And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, 76 And estimate the blessings which thej' share, Tliough patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind : As different good, by Art or Nature given. To different nations make their blessings even. «» Nature, a mother kind alike to all, Still grants her bliss at Labour's earnest call ; With food as well the peasant is supplied On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side ; And though the rocky-crested summits frown, 85 These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. From Art more various are the blessings sent ; Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content. Yet these each other's power so strong contest. That either seems destructive of the rest. 9o Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails. And honour sinks where commerce long prevails. Hence every state to one lov'd blessing prone, Conforms and models life to that alone. Eacli to the fav'rite happiness attends, 95 And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ; Till (iarried to excess in each domain, This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. ■■\\ n in 8 GOLDSMITH. I ill ,:iii But let us try these truths with closer eyes, And trace them throui^h the prospect as it lies : io« Here for a while my proper cares resign'd, Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind, Like yon neglected shrub at random cast, That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. Far to the right where Apennine ascends, lOB Bright as the summer, Italy extends ; Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side. Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; Where oft some temple's mould'ring tops between With venerable grandeur mark the scene. iio Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The sons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in different climes were found, That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground ; Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear. 115 Whose bright succession decks the varied year ; Whatever sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives that blossom but to die ; These here disporting own the kindred soil. Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 120 While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. ■iii! THE TRAVELLER. In florid beauty groves and fields appear, isft Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. Contrasted faults through all his manners reign; Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue ; And e'en in penance planning sins anew. iso All evils here contaminate the mind, That opulence departed leaves behind ; For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date, When commerce proudly flourish'd througli the state ; At her command the palace learn'd to rise, 135 Again the l&ng-faU'n column sought the skies ; The canvas glow'd beyond e'en Nature warm. The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form ; Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, Commerce on other shores display'd her sail ; 1 10 While nought remain'd of all that riches gave, But towns unman n'd and lords without a slave ; And late the nation found with fruitless ckill Its former strength was but plethoric ill. Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied 145 By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ; From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind An easy compensation seem to find. Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd, The paste-board triumph and the cavalcy de ; i.io Processions form'd for piety and love, jl "i -— ^■■^'"A«>w 10- GOLDSMITH. A mistress or a saint in every grove. By sports like tliese are all their cares beguil'd, The sports of children satisfy the child ; Each nobler aim, repress'd by long control, Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul j While low delights, succeeding fast behind, In happier meanness occupy the mind : As in those domes, where Csesars once bore sway, Defac'd by time and tott'ring in decay, There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 1.55 KM) My soul, turn from them ; turn we to survey \v,h Where rougher climes a nobler race display, Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread. And force a churlish soil for scanty bread ; No product here the barren hills afford, But man and steel, the soldier and his sword. 170 No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May ; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. Yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm, Redress the clime, and all Us rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feast though small, 175 i tills I THE TRAVELLER, 11 He sees his little lot tlie lot of all ; Sees no contiguous palace rear its liead, To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; iso No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, To make him loathe his vegetable meal ; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose, iss Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes ; With patient angle trolls the finny deep, Or drives his vent'rous ploughshare to the steep ; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling savage into day. 190 At night returning, every labour sped He sits him down the monarch of a shed ; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze ; While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, 195 Displays her cleanly platter on the board ; And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; 200 And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; yio Yet let them only share the praises due ; If few their wants, their pleasures are but few^ ; For every want that stimulates the breast Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest. Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, 2i6 That first excites desire, and then supplies ; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; Unknown those powers that raise tlie soul to flame, Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. 5^20 Their level life is but a smould'ring fire. Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire; Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a year, In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 220 Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow : Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low ; For, as refinement stops, from sire to son Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run ; 2S0 THE TRAVELLER. 18 And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart. Fall blunted from each indurated heart. Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May sit, like falcons cow'ring on the nest ; But all the gentler morals, such as play 885 Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way, These, far dispers'd, on timorous pinions fly. To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. ffi ''!l To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. 840 Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir. With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire? Where shading elms along the margin grew, 846 And f reshen'd from the wave, the zephyr flew ; And haply, though my harsh touch, falt'ring still. But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill ; Yet would the village praise my wondrous power. And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. 850 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore. Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore. So bless'd a life these thoughtless realms display, Thus idly busy rolls their world away : 2S5 14 GOLDSMITH. Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endenr, For honour forms the social temper here : Honour, that praise which real merit gains, Or e'en imaginary worth obtains, 200 Here passes current ; paid from hand to hand, It shifts in splendid traiKic round the land : From courts to camps, to jottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise, They please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, 266 Till, seeming bless'd, they grow to what they seem. 'lE)r lit I I I ill I i i ! ji|!il i li! But while this softer art their bliss supplies. It gives their follies also room to rise ; For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought ; 870 And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impurt ; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 276 And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a year ; The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws. Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 8W To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. THE TRAVELLER. Ifi 200 Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 28ft Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, The firm-connected bulwark seems to grow : Spreads its long arms amidst the wat'ry roar. Scoops out an empire, and usurps the sliore. 290 While the pent ocean rising o'er the pile, Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile: The slow canal, the yellow-blossom'd vale, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, 295 A new creation rescu'd from his reign. Thus, while around the wav^e-subjected soil Impels the native to repeated toil. Industrious habits in each bosom reign, And industry begets a love of gain. .soo Hence all the good from opulence that springs. With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here displayed. Their much-lov'd wealth imparts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, 805 E'en liberty itself is barter'd here. At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, The needy sell it, and the rich man buys ; A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, I I ill 16 GOLDSMITH. Here wretches seek dishonourable graves, 8io And calmly bent, to servitude conform, Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. Heavens ! how unlike their Belj2:ic sires of old ! Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ; War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; trifi How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! 11 Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western spring ; Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadiun pride, And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspes glide. 320 There all around the gentlest breezes stray, There gentle music melts on every spray ; Creation's mildest charms are there conibin'd, Extremes are only in the master's mind ! Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, Sisfi AVith daring aims irregularly great ; Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by, Intent on high designs, a tnoughtful band, By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's hand, 330 Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, True to imagin'd right, above control ; While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself as man. T I i THE TRAVELLER, 17 Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here, sss Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear ; Too bless'd, indeed, were such without alloy, But foster'd ev'n by Freedom, ills annoy : That independence Britons prize too high, Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie ; SIO The selfTdependent lordlings stand alone. All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown ; Here by the bonds of Nature feebly held. Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd. Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, 846 Repress'd ambition struggles round her shore, Till over- wrought, the general syste . feels Its mv tions stop, or phrenzy fire the wheels. ''\*. M Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, As duty, love, and honour fail to sway, sso Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. iltiiice all obedience bows to these alone. And talent sinks, and merit weepr. unknown ; Till time may come, when, strip j'd of all her charms, SM The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms. Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame. Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, One sink of level avarice shall lie, And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. SGo Ft 18 GOLDSMITH. Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, I mean to flatter icings or court the great ; Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, Far from my bosom drive the low desire ; And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel ; Thou transitory flower, alike undone By proud contempt, or favour's fost'ring sun, Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure, I only would repress them to secure : For just experience tells, in every soil, That those who think must govern those that toil ; And all that freedom's highest aims can reach. Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. Hence, should one order disproportion'd grow, Its double weight must ruin all below. 870 875 then how blind to all that truth requires, Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms. Except when fast-approaching danger warms : 880 But when contending chiefs blockade the throne. Contracting regal power to stretch their own ; When I behold a factious band agree To call it freedom when themselves are free ; Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, 885 Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law ; THE TRAVELLER. 19 The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, Pillag'd from sla\es to purchase slaves at home; Fear, pity, justice, indignation start. Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart ; 890 Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour. When first ambition struck at regal power ; And thus polluting honour in its source, 896 Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore. Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore? Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, Like flaring tapers bright'ning as they waste ; 400 Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, Lead stern depopulation in her train. And over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose, In barren solitary pomp repose? Have we not seen at pleasure's lordlj' call ^05 The smiling long-frequented village fall? Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd. The modest matron, and the blushing maid, Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train. To traverse climes beyond the western main ; 410 Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound? I; -li^i 11 ■liili 11 ' ii!f 20 GOLDSMITH. E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways ; Where beasts with man divided empire claim, 415 And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim ; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise. The pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, 4fl0 Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathise with mine. rs- Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind : Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose, 42S To seek a good each government bestows? In every government, though terrors reign. Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain. How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure. 4!io Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, Our own felicity we make or find : With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. The lifted axe, the agonising wheel, iSA Luke's iron crown, and Damiens' bed of steel. To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 21 THE DESERTED VILLAGM DEDICATION. TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Dear Sm, I can have no oxpectation in an address of this kind, either to add to your reputation or to establish my own. You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel ; and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few have a juster taste in a poetry than you. Setting interest, therefore, aside, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this lo Poem to you. How far you may be pleased with the versi^cation and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I do not pretend to enquire ; but I know you will object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends, concur in the opinion) that the 16 depopulation it deplores is nowhere to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. To this I can scarcely make any other answer than that I sincerely believe what I have written; that I fmmmm J: ' 1;' ' !i Will' ill 22 GOLDSMITH. have taken all possible pains, in mj country excursions, for 20 these four or five years past, to be certain of what I allege ; and that all my views and enquiries have led me to believe those miseries real, which I here attempt to display. But this is not the place to enter into an inquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not ; the discussion would take 26 up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, an indif- ferent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when I want his unfatigued attention to a long poem . In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the increase of our luxuries ; and here also T expect 30 the shout of modern politicans against me. For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages ; and all the wis- dom of antiquity, in that particular, is erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a professed ancient on that head, 85 and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states, by which so many vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed, so much has been poured out of late on the other side of the question, that, merely for the sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to be 40 in the right. I am. Dear Sir, Your sincere friend, and ardent admirer, Olivbr Goldsmith. for 20 ge; leve But the take 25 adif- vhen ireigh xpect 30 ity or ixury e wis- StilL head, 85 ;es, hy gdotns out of or the 1 to he 40 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 23 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain, Where smiliiig spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's ling'ring blooms delay'd : Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please. How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene; How often have I paus'd on every charm, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm. The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topp'd the neighbouring hill. The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking aj^e and whispering lovers made; How often have I bless'd the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contenc''ng as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground. 10 16 10 Mi 1 1 84 GOLDSMITH. And sleights of art and feats of strength went round ; And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd ; The dancing pair that simply sought renown, 85 By holding out to tire each other down ; The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter titter'd round the place ; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. so These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught even toil to please ; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed ; These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. II . I ! Ill III:, i! W !l lif lii jillijIiiP Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn. Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green : One only master grasps the whole domain. And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, chok'd with sedges, works its weedy way ; Along thy glades, a solitary guest. The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all. And the lou^ grass o'ertops the mouldering wall | 85 40 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 26 And, trerablinis, shrmking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away thy children leave the land. so 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. Where wealth accumulates, and men decay : Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A. breath can make them, as a breath hath made ; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 65 When once destroy 'd can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man ; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more : 60 His bei^t companions, innocence and health ; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain : Akng the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, 86 Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom. Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, 70 Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene, Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green ; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore. And rural mirth and mannei-s are no more. 1 ■!li*! m ! 26 GOLDSMITH. Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 76 Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling; walks, and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, so Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given my share — I still had hopes my ^atest hours to crown, 85 Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, 90 Around my fire an evening group to draw. And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations pass'd, 95 Here to return — and die at home at last. blest retirement, friend to life's decline. Retreats from care, that never must be mine. How happy he who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labour with an age of ease ; lOO THE DESERTED VILLAGE, Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since *tis hard to combat, learns to fly \ For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; Nor surly porter stands in guilty state To spurn imploring famine from the gate; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending Virtue's friend ; Bends to the grave with unperceiv'd decay. While Resignation gently slopes the way ; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His Heaven commences ere the world be pass'd ■ 105 IIU Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, 116 The mingling notes came soften'd from below ; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. The sober herd that low'd to meet their young ; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school ; 120 The watchdog's voice, that bay'd the wliisp'ring wind. And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. And fiU'd each pause the nightingale had made. But now the sounds of population fail, 1S6 No clieerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 11 BBI 28 GOLDSMITH. For all the bloomy flush of life is fled : All but yon widow'd, solitary thing, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; She, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread. To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread. To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn ; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain. 180 185 Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd. And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose. The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 140 A man he was to all the country dear. And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his godly race. Nor e'er ho 1 chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place ; Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, i45 By doctrines- f ash ion'd to the varying hour ; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain ; iiw The long remember'd beggar was his guest. Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd ; THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 29 166 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away ; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder*d his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow. And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; ico Careless their merits or their faults to scan. His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to Virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call, iiis He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all : And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies, . He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, AUur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. i;o Beside the bed where parting life was laid. And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd. The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace. His looks adorn'd the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway. 17ft 30 GOLDSMITH. And fools, who came to scoff, reniain'd to pray. The service past, around tlie pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; Even children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share tlie good man's sinilo. His read 3'^ smile a parent's warmth express'd, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven : As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Thougli round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. ISO IXft 190 11 mi m ilili Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, 105 The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew ; Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace Tlie day's disasters in his morning face ; aoo Full well they laugh'd, with couxiterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, 205 The love he bore to learning was in fault ; THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 31 The village all declar'd how much he knew ; 'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too ; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And o'en the story ran that he could gauge. no In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill. For e'en though vanquish'd, he could argue still ; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around ; And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew, «16 That one small head could carry all he knew. T?ut past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 220 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd, Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retlr'd. Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round. Imagination fondly stoops to trace 225 The parlour splendours of that festive place ; Tiie white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door ; The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 28O The pictures plac'd for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, i 32 GOLDSMITH. With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel pray ; While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 236 Rang'd o*er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. Vain, transitory splendours ! could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ! Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; 240 Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, iv.^ Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear ; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be press'd. Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. , 250 Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessinp:s of the lowly train ; To me more dear, conn;enial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art. Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, 266 The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind. Upenvied, unmolested, unconfin'd. But the long pomp, the midnight masque r:nle. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy. ^•^ 2G0 2Bft :i70 tlb Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud f'wells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; Hoards, e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : The robe that v/raps his limbs in silken sloth Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth ; 280 His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignanc spurns the cottage from the green ; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies : While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure, all In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. 280 if it I; {« 34 GOLDSMITH. As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; MO But when those charms are pass'd, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, 295 In nature's simplest charms at first array'd. But verging to decline, its splendours rise. Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; While, scourg'd by famine, from the smiling land The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; aoo And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms — a garden, and a grave. Where, then, ah ! where, shall poverty reside, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare- worn common is denied. 806 If to the city sped — what waits him there ? To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd no THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Sf) To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow creature's woe. Here, while the courtier glitters in hrocade, sif' There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps displnv There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where Pleasure iiolds her midnight reign Here, riclily deck'd, admits the gorgeous train ; 320 Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare- Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! Sure these denote one universal joy ! Are these thy serious thoughts ? — Ah ! turn thine eyes 3^6 Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. Slie once, perhaps, in village plenty bless'd, Has wept at tales of innocence distress'd ; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 380 Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head. And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, 335 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. Ml Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain V 'Hi ill 36 GOLDSMITFI. E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 340 Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes bcrvveon, Through toriid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild i^ltama murmurs to their woe. Far different there from all that charm'd before. Mh The various terrors of that horrid shore ; Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day ; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; * vm Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowuM. Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, .S55 And savage men more murderous still than thej' : While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. Far different these from every former scene. The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 3«o The bro^ezy covert of the warbling grove, That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day That call'd them from their native walks away ; l1 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 87 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 865 Hunfjj round their bowers, and fondly look'd thoir hist, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain For seats like these beyond the western main ; And shuddering still to face the distant deep, Return'd and w^ept, and still return'd to weep. 870 The good old sire the first prepar'd to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave. He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 875 The fond companion of his helpless years. Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for a father's arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose ; 380 And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a ten^, And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear : Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief. O Luxury ! thou curs'd by Heaven's decree, 885 How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee ! How do thy potions, with insidious joy Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! Kingdonis, by thee, to sickly greatness grown, Boast of a florid vigour not their own ; 89o At every draught more large and large tiiey grow, f ; 38 GOLDSMITH. A bloated mass of rank, unwieldj'^ woe ; Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. Even now the devastation is begun, 395 And half the business cT destruction done; Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 400 Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. Contented toil, and hospitable care, And kind connubial tenderness, are there ; And piety with wishes placed above, ifn And steady loyalty, and faithful love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; Unfit in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; 4io Dear charming nymph, neglected and dec^ried. My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe. Thou found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, * 416 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! Farewell, and Oh ! where'er thy voice bo iried. On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, 1 'i^ iiiiiiiii THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 39 Whether where equinoctial fervours glow. Or winter wraps the polar world in snow. 420 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of th' inclement cl.me ; Aid slighced truth with thy persuasive strain ; Teach orring man to spurn the rage of gain ; Teach him, that states of native strength possess'd, 425 Though very poor, may still be very bless'd ; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay. As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away ; 'While self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 430 I I' 'I 11 Sf' ii WORDSWORTH. UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1802. Earth has hot anything to show more fair : Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty : This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky ; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill ; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! The river glideth at his own sweet will : Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 10 THE GREEN LINNET, 41 THE GREEN LINNET. Brneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my liead, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat ! And birds and flowers once nioi'e to greet. My last year's friends togetlier. One have I marked, the happiest guest In all this covert of the blest : Hail to Thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion ! Thou, Linnet ! in thy green array Presiding Spirit here to-day Dost lead the revels of the May ; And this is thy dominion. 10 16 While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, Make all one band of paramours, Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, Art sole in thy employment : ]jO 42 WORDSWORTH. A Life, a Presence like the Air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest with any one to pair ; Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel trees That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perched in ecstasies, Yet seeming still to hover ; There ! where the flutter of his wings Upon his back and body flings Shadows and sunny glimmerings, That cover him all over. 85 80 My dazzled sight he oft deceives, A Brother of the dancing leaves ; Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves Pours forth his song in gushes ; As if by that exulting strain He mocked and treated witli disdain The voiceless Form he chose to feign, While fluttering in the bushes. 86 40 11; i:r TO THE CUCKOO. TO THE CUCKOO. iH.iTiiB New-comer ! I have heard, 1 hear thee and rejoice. Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? While I am lying: on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear ; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery ; The same whom in my school-boy days 1 listened to ; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. 4}l 10 15 to I ■ ! 'ii, • r t ; I •!. ill! 'I ! H ill ii; ! i 44 WORDSWORTH. To seek thee did I often rove Throuf>;h woods and on the s:reon ; And thou wert still a hof)e, a love ; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet ; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery pi nee; That is fit home for Thee ! M 80 SHE WAS A PHAN'rOM Oh' DELIGHT. 4J SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight ; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's oiiiiunent ; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; But ail things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn ; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, \o startle, and way -lay. 10 I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! Her household motions ligiit and tree, And steps of virgin-liberty ; A countenance in which did meet 15 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles, ao »l i N> 46 WORDSWORTH. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller between life and death ; Tlie reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; A perfect Woman, nobly planned To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of au angel-light. th 8U ! i IHi THOUGHT OF A BRITON, 47 THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND. [ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1802.] Two Voices are there ; one is of the sea. One of the mountains ; each a mighty Voice : In both from age to age thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen music, Liberty ! There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fought'st against him ; but hast vainly striven Thou from thy Alpine holds ?.t length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft : Tljen cleave, O cleave to that which still is left ; For, high-souled Ma'd, what sorrow would it be That Mountain floods should thunder as before. And Ocean bellow I'rom his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by thee ! 10 , ■ 48 WORDSWORTH. \ m. MOST SWEET IT IS WITH UNUPLIFTED EYES. [the inner vision.] Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon ; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone. If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break ol? all commerce with the Muse : With Thought and Love companions of our way, 10 Whate'er the senses take or may refuse. The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. IS. 10 i: < o C4 SCOTT. ROSABELLE. Lit^TRN, listen, ladies gay ! No liaughty feat of arms 1 tell ; •Soft is tlie note, and sad the lay, That mourns the Ir'V'Ov Ros.i hollo. ; V — " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ' And,, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castlo Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stornriy iirth to-day. "The blackening wave is edged with white • To inch and rock the sea-mews t\y ; The tishers have heard the Water-Sprite. Whoso scr<»;vini4 <''ir''ode 0)^: '-viAr-k ib n;i>h. 10 " Last night the gilied Seer 'iK! view A wet .shroud swathed round ladye gay ; Then nitiy thee, Fair, m llavorisheuch : Why <.*"0.ss the glooiny tirth to-day ?" — 15 igwr«- ^^., . -i * Jw^4 ■• > ■'■ vi;. -o' t. ■ ■ ^ J i'j.;.""'- '• .'v' ""t^^' ^.■•■'. .#r;^^ C SCOTT. ROSABELLE. L.16TBN, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms 1 tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. — "Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firtl|i to-day. "The blackening wave is edged with white; To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The tishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh. " Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch : Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? " — JO 15 mi m 1 Ci f^r; ..i!;ji.: ml n 50 SCOTT. "'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, Cut that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall. '"Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well. But that my sire the wine will chide, If 'tis not fiU'd by Rosabella."— O'er Roslin all that dreary night, A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder thau the bright moon-beam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawihornden. Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud. Where Roslin's chiefs uncoflfin'd lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seem'd all on fire within, around, Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail. 20 25 80 85 40 ROSA BELLE. M Bl.'izuil battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze, when fate is ni^h The lordly line of high St. Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 4fi Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; Each one the holy vault doth hold— But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each St. Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell ; f>o But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, The dirge of lovelv Kosa belle. '.'1 !!, b. M • I ! *\ i ! I 52 SCOTT. SONG, "0, BRIGNALL BANKS." [thb outlaw.] 0, Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there, Would grace a summer queen. And as I rode by Dalton-hall, Beneath the turrets high, A Maiden on the castle wall Was singing merrily. — CHORUS. "O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair. And Greta woods are green ; I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen." "If, Maiden, thou would'st wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must g'less what life lead we, That dwell by dale and down ? And if thou canst that riddle read. And read full well you may , Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed As blithe as Queen of May." — 10 IS 20 S NG, " O, BRIGNALL BANKS." OHORUS. Yet Sling she, "Brignall banks Jire fair. And Greta woods are green ; I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen. **I read you, by your bugle-horn And by your palfrey good, I read you for a Banger sworn To keep the king's greenwood." — "A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peep of light ; His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night."-*- CHORUS. Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay ; I would I were with Edmund there, To reign his Queen of May • "With burnish'd brand and musketoon, So gallantly j'ou come, I read you for a bold Dragoon, That lists the tuck of drum. " — ** I list no more the tuck of drum. No more the trumpet hear ; Bat when the beetle sounds his hum, My comrades take the spear. 58 sft 80 8A 40 i ^^ 54 SCOTT. li } OHOUUS. '•And, ! though Brignall banks be fair, And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare, Would reign my Queen of May 1 45 "Maiden ! a nameless life 1 lead, A nameless death I'll die ; The fiend, whose lantern lights tlie mead. Were better mate than I ! And when I'm with my comrades met, Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now. CHORUS. " Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair. And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.'' M) 55 60 SONG, *'A WEARY LOT IS TIJJNE." SONG, "A WEARY lOT IS THINE. »* [the rovek.] *' A WBAHV lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to brai3 , And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's inien,. A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew. My lovo ! No more of me you knew. •'This morn is merry June, I trow. The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow. Ere we two meet again." tie turn'd his charger as he spake. Upon the river shore, Ke gave the bridle-reins a sh ake, Said, '* Adieu for evermore, My love ! And adieu for evermore." — 10 16 I 'S' > ',■■ I* It:* i (M; ^ iill ;: si I •1 '■■■%. u w SCOTT. 1 I JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. ^i !■; '1 1. ♦* Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sail be his bride : And ye sail be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen " — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. U "Now let this wilful grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale ; Young Frank is chief of Errington , And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen" — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. 10 16 III. '• A chain of gold ye sail not lack. Nor braid to bind your hair ; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk. Nor palfi-ey fresh and fair ; yn /OCK OF HAZELDEAN. And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen" — But aye she loot the tears down fu' For Jock of Hazelduan. The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair ; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride. And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; The ladie was not seen ! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeidean. 5? Sft 8U 7,i-j W % i i'- KEATS. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold. And many goodly states and kmy;doms seen ; Round many western islaiids have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft o£ one wide expanse had I been told s That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne ; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; lO Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men Look*d at each other with a wild surniiso- Silent, upon a peak in Darien. WHEN I HA VE FEARS, WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I MAY CEASE TO BE. [thej terror op DBATH.J WoBN I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean*d my teeming brain. Before high-piled books, in charact'ry, Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain ; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face. Huge cloudy^ symbols of a high romance. And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance ; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour ! That I shall never look upon thee more. Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love ! — then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think, Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. 10 ft i i ■ill • ( i " lit 1". II ii If ii ■■■* ?\\ (JO KEATS. THE HUMAN SEASOiNS. Four Seasons fill the measure of the year ; There are four sen sons in the mind of man : He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span : He has his Summer, when luxuriously ft Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven : quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wini^s He furleth close ; contented so to look lo On mists in idleness— to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale misfeflt ine, Or else he would forego his mortal uauiie. ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 61 ODi: TO A NIGHTINGALE. 1. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk. Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, liii:ht-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows number less, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 10 n. O, for a draught of vintage ! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth. Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Proven9al song, and sunburnt mirth ! for a beaker full of the warm South, 15 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen. And with thee fade away into the forest dim ; 20 ¥r I!! I 82 KEATS. in. Fade far away, dissolve, and quite foiset What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 2fi Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies ; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow A.nd leaden -eyed despairs ; Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous oyes, Or new Love pine at them bej'ond to-morrow. »() IV. Away ! awav ! for I will fly to thee. Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already with thee ! tender is the night, .% And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays ; But here there is no light. Save what from lieaven is with the breezes blown S9 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. V. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet. Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 63 But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; 4S White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; Past fading violets cover'd up in leaves ; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer evos so VI. Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Gall'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme. To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, SR To cease upon the midnight with no pain. While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still vvouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod. (» VII. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I iiear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path (15 Through the sad hpart of Ruth, when, sick for lionu\ m •I i ; .. ''., Mm ii 1 64 KEATS. She stood in tears amid the alien cdn ; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd ma^^ic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 70 \\ \A VIII. Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to mj sole self ! Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream Up the h ill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? Fled is that music: — Do 1 wake or sleep? 7fi 80 ODE TO AUTUMN. «5 ODE TO AUTUMN. I. Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Olose bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; v!/Onspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 4 And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core : To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, lo For Summer has o'or-brimm'd their clammy cells. II. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; 16 Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, • Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers : And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 20 *i\^ I .::l W KEA 7'S. Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watcheut the last oozings hours by hours. lU. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they ? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Hedge crickets sing ; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft ; Ami gathering swullowb twitter in the skies. .so i h {|H| il llil iffill J SHELLEY. OZYMANDIAS. J IQDT a traveller from an antique land, Who said : Two vast and trnnkless legs of stone Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, TeU that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed : And on the pedestal these words appear : ' ' My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : Look on my works, ye Mighty, and ciespair ! " Nothing beside remains. Bound the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. 10 *' 1 • rt" ^ i 6li 15 k H 1| Hi II m I! i^lil !i 08 SHELLEY. TO A SKYLARK. I. Hail to thee, blithe Spirit I Bird thou never wert. That from Heaven, or near it, Poijrest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. n. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire ; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. m. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run ; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just befc,jn. 10 16 10 16 t, r i» [MS. OF SHELLEY'S ''SKYLARK,'' reproduced from the autofp-apU in the IlarvarU University Library. a/ o;^C ^^^ /(^e^n^ ^ A^^ ^^^-^»K/ ^^fe^'^ A^ ^!f^^y y46s- >v^ Z^ ^C^^^ ' '^^' ^^tSr' y,fi»rsg/^ •^^ /i^. /iH^ ^ ^ '/W'*- ^ '^y^ 'l^/^tC^^ ^ ifh! i «'! 1 1 ; ■■ i^j^StjeJ^ «5^— ^S*^ j^>^^ /^ ^^^9^^^ AU>^ j^^ ^ O^iS^ J^ /^/^ '^i^4 '^^^i^^ M^ ^^'i^^^^ / NH "HiHKI ill ^^ ^U 'T'fiFF 4 m. w m \ 1 1^ IV* ' ^l^il^J^^f" ^ H \ n- ^/^^W^ <5«^-" ^j^^fti^yww^ '^ z*^ ^ ^fa//H>'o^ ^ ^M/4^^»^ ^j?- ^ h^yA;^ 4^^ "Opi^ 4^»^^tvc y^ T TO A SKYLARK. nr. 69 The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of heaven, In the bro&d day-light Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, V. Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrowji In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. jM 'Ih VI. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud. As, when Night is hare. Prom one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. :ni VII. What thoa art we know not : ^ What is most like tliee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see. As fi'om thy presence showers a rain of melody. 35 ,r' i"!- 4 \\ u 70 SHELLEY, i i vra. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not IX. 40 Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hon" Witli music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : tfi X. Like a glow-wonn golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeh olden Its atrial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view : SO XI. Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves. By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves: 55 TO A SKYLAKK. 71 III. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass : no XIII. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine : I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. <\h XIV. Chorus Hymencsal Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine would We all But an empty vaunt, A thing wherein we feel there is some hiVlden want. 70 XV What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or pin in ? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain ? Tf) .) 1 !i| \\\ I ni i "i'l.'i iff 1^ Ml ,1 il I f n ' i' 72 SHELLEV. XVI. With thy clear kpoii joyaiico Languor cannot be : Slwidow of annoyance Never came near thee ; Tliou lovest ; but ne'er know love's sad satiety. 80 XVII. Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, v)r liow could thy '^otes flow in such a crystal stream? sft XVIIl. We look before and after, And pine for what is not : Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught ; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought, swi XIX. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear ; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, 1 know not how thy joy we ever should come no;ii iir, •™' TO A SKYLARK. XZ. 73 Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Tiiy skill to poet were, thou scornor of the ground ! XXI. Teach me lialf the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow. The world sliouid lisLcu then, as 1 am listening now. KM) lO.') \X% ^H'mi :1 I HI ; \ VA A % 1 !. if 74 SHELLEY. TO JANE-THE RECOLLECTION. I. Now the last day of many days, Ail beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memory, and write its praise ! Up to thy wonted work ! come, trace The epitaph of glory fled, — For now the Earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow. n. We wandered to the Pine Forest That skirts the Ocean's foam. The lightest wind was in its nest. The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep, The clouds were gone to play, And on the bosom of the deep. The smile of Heaven lay ; It seemed as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies. Which scattered from above the sun A li^ht of Paradise ! n> 16 « TO JANE— THE RECOLLECTION. III. We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents interlaced, And soothed by every azure breath, That under heaven is blown, To harmonies and hues beneath, As tender as its own ; Now all the tree-tops lay asleep. Like green waves on the sea, As still as in the silent deep The ocean woods may be. IV. How calm it was ! — the silence there By such a chain was bound That even the busy woodpecker Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness ; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us gr<3w. There seemed from the remotest seat Of the white mountain waste, To the soft flower beneath our feet. A magic circle traced, — 76 Sft 80 8A 4U •/H I'll ■JUfI I !■ ::U! 76 SHELLE Y A spirit interfused around, 4A A thrilling silent life ; To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature's strife ; — And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there '*• Was one fair form that dlled with lovo The lifeless atmosphere. V. We paused beside the pools that lie Under the forest bough, Each seemed as 'twere a little sky «6 Gulphed in a world below ; A firmament of purple light, Which in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of ni^ht, And purer than the daj' — 60 In which the lovely forests gi*ew As in the upper ir, More perfect both in shape and hue Than any spreading there. There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, «.'> And through the dark green wood The white sun twinkling like the dawn Out of a speckled cloud. Sweet views which in our world above Can never well be seen, 70 TO fANE—THE RECOLLECTION. rt Were imaged by tlie water's love Of that fair forest green. And all was interfused beneath With an elysian glow, An atmosphere without a breath, A softer day below. Like one beloved the scene had lent To the dark water's breast Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest ; Until an envious wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought, Which from the mind's too faithful eye Blots one dear image out. Though thou art ever fair and kind, The forests ever green, Less oft is peace in Shelley's; mind, Than calm in waters ueen. 80 M W I a \ ; -^!ii|l4!- il- IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 M 2.2 IIIIIM illM m illll2.o 1.8 U 11.6 v: ^ /a 'e7. em, vi 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 momoraHe abodes, however short it may fall of our distant conceptions and immediate impressions, yet as a mark of respect for what is .'k) venerable, and of feeling for what is glorious, it has been to me a source of pleasure in the production, and I part witli it with a kind of regret, which I hardly suspected that events could have left me for imaginary objects. With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be Sft found less of the pilgrim than in any of the preceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his own person. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawing a line which every one seemed determined not to perceive : like the Chinese in Goldsmith's "Citizen of (;o the World," whom nobody would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, and imagined that I had drawn, a distinction between the author and the pilgrim ; and the very anxiety to preserve this difPerence, and dis- appointment at finding it unavailing, so far crushed myfi.*) efforts in the compoaition, that I determined to al)andon it altogether — and have done so. The opinions which have been, or may be, formed on that subject, are now a matter of indifference ; the work is to depend on itself, and not on the writer ; and the author, who has no resources in his own 70 mind beyond the reputation, transient or permanent, which is to arise from his literary efforts, deserves the fate of authors. In the course of \hik foliowing Canto it was my intention. 84 BVA'OJV. I ii eithor in the toxt, or in the notoa, to havo toiichcd iipdii the 7ft jirosont state t if Italian literature, and perhaps of inannors. Hut the toxt, within the limits I proposed, I soon found hardly aiiflficicnt for the lahyrinth of external objects and the consequent reflections; and for the whole of the notes, oxcojiting a few of the shortest, I am indebted to yourself, so and these were necessarily limited to the elucidation of the text. Tt is also a delicate, and no very grateful task, to dissert upon the literature and manners of a nation so dissimilar ; and requires an attention and impartiality which would 85 induce us, — though perhaps no inattentive observers, nor ignorant of the language or customs of the people amongst whom we have recently abode, — to distrust, or at least defer our judgment, and more narrowly examine our information. The state of literary, as well as political party, appears to 90 run, or to have run, so high, that for a stranger to steer impartially between them is next to impossible. It may be enough, then, at least for my purpose, to quote from their own beautitul language — "Mi pare che in un paese tutto poetico, che vanta la lingua la piu nobile ed insieme la pii\ 9f) dolce, tutte tutte le vie diverse si possono teutare, e che sinohe la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha perduto 1' antico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la prima." Italy has groat names still — Canova, Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonti, Visconti, Morelli, Cicognara, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, 100 Mustoxidi, Aglietti, and Vacoa, will secure to the present generation an honourable place in most of the departments of Art, Science, and Belles Lettres ; and in some the very liighest-^Europe — the World — has but one Canova. CUILPE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 85 It has boon somewhere said by Alfiori, that " i^a pianta lOft IK lino uasce piu robusta in Italia che in ([ualun*]Uo altrii turra — e che gli stessi atroci delitti che vi si comrnettono ne souo una prova." Without subscribing to tho latter part of his proposition — a dangerous doctrine, the truth of which may be disputed on better grounds, namely, that Italians are in no respect more ferocious than their neigh- bours — that man must be wilfully blind, or ignorantly heed- less, who is not struck with the extraordinary capacity of this people, or, if sucli a word be admissible, their capa- hUities, the facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of lift their conceptions, the fire of their genius, their sense of beauty, and amidst all the disadvantages of repeated revolu- tions, the desolation of battles, and the despair of ages, their still unquenched ''longing after immortality" — the immortality of independence. And when we ourselves, in i'-^ riding round the walls of Rome, heard the simple lament of the labourers' chorus, "Eoma! Roma! Roma! Roma non u pill come era prima," it was difl&cult not to contrast this melancholy dirge with the bacchanal roar of the songs of ixultation, still yelled from the London taverns, over theliis carnage of Mont St. Jean, and the betrayal of Genoa, 111' Italy, of France, and of the world, by men whose conduct you yourself have exposed in a work worthy of tho better (lays of our history. For me, — " Non movero mai corda 130 "Ove la turba di sue ciiince assorda." What Italy has gained by the late transfer of nations, it wore useless for Englishmen to iniuiro, till it boconies t ; m-\ i '.'I ! I : i 'm ^\.\ 86 BYRON. ascertained that England has acquired something more than a permanent army and a suspondod Habeas Corpus; it islSfi enough for them to look at home. For wlat they have done abroad, and especially in the South, " Vcrilj' they will have tlieir reward," and at no veiy distant pei-iod. Wishing you, my dear Hobjii.use, a sate and agreeable return to that country whose ntal welfare can be dearer toi40 none than to yourself, I dedi^;ate to you this pcjem in its completed state ; and repeat oace more how truly I am ever Your obliged And affectionate friend, BYEON. I- E ') lie fVe sle to 140 its srer i^^ f n i'i 11' ji ■.» f ^Ifi !i «S! i i J' > i ! :ij 1 1 THE HllIUGE OF SIGHS, VENICE. Ti <'V CHll.l^E //Ak-OLiy.S I'lLGl'IMAiiE. ciiiLiM. iiAuoi.ns i'1[/;kimaok. CAISTO iifi', Fr.UKTII. I srooii in Venice, on tlie BvMgc of Si.ulirJi ; A palace and a prison on ou'Jli luinti . I .jaw froiTi (Jul the svave her Ktructiirert ribo As from, the stroko of the onch^'!ll.*•l ^ .'. Around mr,, and a dyiny Glory j^jnilijs (Ter the far times, •vvhcu many ii mihjoct lant^ Ijor>k'd to tho winged Lion's marble piles. Whort Venicb sate iu state, tlironed on her iiin«!ifd isles ! ■1.1 ''H II. She looks a .sea Cybole. fresh from ocean, id Ri.sin^ with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic moti Jn, A rider of the waters and their powtrs : And snch she was ; — her daujihi'^rn hud tlicir Jowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustksei East i6 Po'.ir'd in her lap ail gems in sparklint; showers, In purple was she robed, aricl of lior feast Muuarclis partook, and de^u.'d ihcir dignity increased. ■M a'K- «* ^■ TK/ ■'1 > ''.'•'' -,■ ^ ' ; ,.,;■- ic .* •■ (jj.. ; ■■•J. ^,, ,^ ^ > -*■,■* '4-- ;t.. ■:'■%■ ■;^ ,' ■••■■j^' :::^ a ■■-*••• ' -''i '''■«•'' :.r '»: ^:. * ..* rr V ■ '^'i- SJi. ■'• • • :■■ ... w ^•2fet:i/^- Tin: !;i;ii'(.;: oi' ^KHis. vkmce. Shi Ril Atl A Aal Fr. Poi In Moiiui • .1 , 1^ CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 87 CUILDE HAROLD'S [>rT/;inMAGE. CANTO THE FdURTH. I. I STOOD in Voniee, on the Bridge of Si^lis; A palace 'A\\(i a prison on each hand ; [ saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand, 6 Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, wlicn many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles ! t-' I Jl^ i; . ! I' .\\ II. She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, lo Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers : And such she was ; — her daughters had thdr dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhauLuiess Ea.^t i5 Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. In purple was she robed, and of her feast Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. 88 BYRON. III. In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows tlie songless gondolier ; Her palaceo are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear : Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but Nature does not die. Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear. The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy ! 1 1 IV. But unto us she hath a spell beyond Her name in story, and her long array Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway ; Ours is a trophy which will not decay With the Rialto ; Shylock and the Moor. And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away - The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er, For us repeopled were the solitary shore. V. The beings of the mind are not of clay ; Essentially immortal, tliuy create And multiply in us a brighter ray 4.nd more beloved existence : that which Fate CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 89 Prohibits to dull life, in this our state Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied. First exiles, then replaces what we hate ; VVaterinj^ the heart whose early flowers have died, And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 46 VI. Such is the refn,i:;G of our youtli and af?e, The first from Hope, the last from Vacancy ; And this worn feeling peoples many a page. And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye : Yet there are things whose strong reality fio Outshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues More beautiful than our fantastic sky, And the strange constellations which the Muse O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse : 'U fi VII. I saw or dream'd of such, — but let them go — 66 They cauie like truth, and disappear'd like dreams ; And whatsoe'er they were — are now but so: I could replace them if I would, still teems My mind with many a form which aptly seems Such as I sought for. and at moments found : go Let these too go— for waking Reason deems Such overweening phantasies unsound. And other voices speak, and otJier sights surround. i&: 90 BYRON. VIII. I've taught me other tongues — and in strange eyes Have made me not a stranger ; to the mind 66 Which is Itself, no changes bring surprise ; Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find A country with — ay, without mankind ; Yet was I born where men are proud to be, Not without cause ; and should I leave belli nd 70 The inviolate island of the sage and free, And ijeek me out a home by a remoter sea, IX. Perhaps I loved it well : and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine, My spirit shall resume it — if we may 75 Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine My hopes of being remember'd in my line With my land's language : if too fond and far These aspirations in their scope incline, — If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, 80 Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar X. My name from out the temple where the dead Are honour'd by the nations — let it be — And light the laurels on a loftier head ! And be the Spartan's epitaph on me — H.*) 15 70 75 8(J 8ft i '- i r, ^U V 11. If i ^< ;i I.: y y. J: :l cHn.DE HA/wr./ys pilck/m.igk. 9i " Sparta hath m.'iiiy a woitliior son tliaii he.** Meant imc I seek no sympathies, nor jieed ; Tin; thorns which I have rertpVl are of the tree T jilanted, — they luive torn me, — and I hleed : I should have kno.vn what fiiut would s^jring from such a seed, yu '»tf a '-> a ■12 "'A rj. XT. The si)onseless Adriatic movirns her lord ; And. annual marringe now no more renuw'd, The l-hicentanr lies rottinji; nnrostorcd. Ne^i,'lected j^arment of her vVid<»whi«od ? St. Mark yet sees liis liori wliere ho stood Stand, hnt in mockery oL his withevM {>owcf, Over the proud Place where an Emperoi- sued, And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dowei U6 XII. 'i'he Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns— iw An Emperor tramples where an Emp<'ror knelt ; Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and cluiins Clank over sceptre i i . 1,1 < " I hii i •f ■: i k ! n 92 BYRON. XIII. Before St. Mark still slow his steeds of brass, Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; no But is not Doria's menace come to pass? Are they not bridled f — Venice, lost and won, Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done, Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose ! Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, ii5 Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes, From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. XIV. In youth she was all glory, — a new Tyre, — Her very by -word sprung from victory. The "Planter of the Lion," which through fire 120 And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea ; Though making many slaves, herself still free, And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite ; Witness Troy's rival, Candia ! Vouch it, ye Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight ! 125 For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight XV. Statues of glass— all shiver'd — the long file Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ; But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ; i.w CHIJ.de HAROLiys PILCK IMAGE. Their acoptro l)rokoi), and tlinir sword in rust, Have yielded to the stranger : empty halls, Thin streets, and foroij;ii uspocts, such as must Too oft remind her who and what enthrals, Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. I3i ifi XVI. When Athens' armies fell at Syracu.se, And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war, Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse, Her voice their only ransom from afar : See ! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car 140 Of the o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins Fall from his hands — his idle scimitar Starts from its belt — he rends his captive's chains, And bids him thank the bard for freedom anu his strains. 1*1 i! f >'. » ' ' XVII. Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot. Thy choral memory of the Bard divine. The love of Tasso, should have cut the knot Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, Albion ! to thee : the Ocean queen should not Abandon Ocean's children ; in the fall Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. ISO I' 1 \ m Hi i \ f t » '^ Rising like water-columns from the sea, Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the nuirt ; And Otway, liadcliffe, Scliillor, Sluikesi)eare's ii; i Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so. Although I found her thus, we did not part ; i''.u Perchance oven dearer in her day of woe, Tlian when slie was a boast, a marvel, and a lIiow. XIX. T can repoople with the pfist — and of The present there is still for eye and thought. And meditation chasten'd down, enough ; u;r. And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought ; And of iho happiest moments which were wrouglii Within the web of my existence, some From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught : There are some feelin Here Machiavelli's earth return'd to whence it rose. LV. These are four minds, which, like the elements, Might furnish forth creation : — Italy ! Time, which hath wrong'd chee with ten thousand rents Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, 4iX) n CHILDE HAROLD'S PI LGK IMAGE, lOU And hath denied, to every other sky. ypirits which soar from ruin : — tliy deotiy Is still impre{^nate with divinity, Which gilds it with revivifyiri}^ ray ; Such as the great of yore, Can ova is to-day. 405 LVl. But where reposo the all Etruscan three — Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, The Bard of Prose, creative spirit ! he Of the Hundred Tales of love — where did they lay Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay 5oo In death as life? Are they resolved to dust, And have their country's marbles nought to say ? Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust? Did they not to her breast their filial earth entrust? V\ LVII. Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar, 605 Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ; Thy factions, in their worse than civil war. Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore Their children's children would in vain adore With the remorse of ages ; and the crown &io Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore. Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not thine own. m r vi\ |; Hi' i ■ |i: 1 1 ' Hi lull y 110 BYRON, LVIII. Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeathed His dust, — and lies it not her Greiit amonji', 5if. With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren ton}4ue ? That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech ? No ; — even his tomb Uptorn, must bear the hysena bigot's wrong, sao No more amidst the meaner dead find room, Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for wltwm ! LIX. And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust; Yet for this want more noted, as of yore The Ceesar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, 686 Did but of Rome's best son remind her more : Happier Ravenna ! on thy hoary shore. Fortress of falling empire ! honour'd sleeps The immortal exile; — Arqua, too, her store Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keei)S, ftso While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and weeps. LX. What is her pyramid of precious itones?.. Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dews 686 ^T'lr'i CHILDE HAROLiys PILGRIMAGE. Ill Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead, Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse, Are gently prest with fur more reverent tread 539 Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. LXI. There be more things to ^reet the heart and eyes In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine, Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies ; There be more marvels yet — but not for mine ; For I have been accustom'd to entwine 5i5 My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, Than Art in galleries : though a work divine Calls for my spirit's homage, j^et it yields Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields iii IF V: ;f i,h:H H LXII. Is of another temper, and I roam f)/* By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles Fatal to Roman j ashneps, more at home ; For thee the Oart-haginian's warlike wiles Come back before me, as his skill beguiles The host betwe>.u the mountains and the shore. .v^s Where Courage falls in her desi)airing files. And torrents, swoU'n to rivers with their gore, ».veek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd o'er, ' ' 'f ■ p 1 Efh •*i- 112 BYRON. LXIII. Like to a forest felTd by mountain winds ; And such the storm of battle on 'Ms day, sou And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, An earthquake reel'd unheededly away ! \ None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, And yawning forth a grave for those who lay 5H5 Upon their bucklers for a winding-sheet ; Such is the absorbing hat« when warring nations meet ! i LXIV. Tlie Earth to them was as a rolling bark Which bore them to Eternity , they saw The Ocean round, but had no time to mark sto The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw 57i Prom their down-toppling nests; and bellowing licids Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no words. LXV. Far other scene is Tluasiniene now ; Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain 58o 5B5 570 571 CHILDE HAKOLiys PILGKJMAGE. WW Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta'en — A little rill of scanty stream and bed — A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain ; And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead 58i Made the earth wet, and turn'd the unwilling waters red. LXVI. But thou, Clitumnns ! in thy sweetest wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river nj'mph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer 590 Grazes ; the purest god of gentle waters ! And most serene of aspect, and most clear ; Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters, — A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! LXVII. And on thy happy shore a temple still 605 Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, UpOA a mild declivity of hill, \y,& memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps i n,y current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps TLv unny darter with the glittering scales, ooo Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales. \:\A '.i-i i mmmmmmmmmmm 114 BYRON. LXVIII. Pass not unblcst the Genius of the pLice ! If tlirouj^h the air a zephyr more serene Win to the brow, 'tis his ; and if ye trace Along his margin a more eloquent green, If on the heart the freshness of the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust Of weary life a moment lave it clean With Natui V baptism, — 'tis to him ye must Pay orisons for \ aspension of disgust. tjo:. 610 LXIX. The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 6is The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet eso That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror sot, LXX. And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, With its uneinptied cloud of gentle rain, Is an eternal April to the ground, 6SA CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRTMACE. 115 Making it all one emerald : — how profound The piilf ! and how the giant element From rock to rock leaps with delirious bonnd, Crushing the clifEs, which, downward worn and rent With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent f i LXXI. To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 63i More like the fountain of an infant sea Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world, than onlj'^ thus to be Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, fisfi With many windings, through the vale : — Look back ! Lo 1 where it comes like an eternity. As if to sweep down all things in its track. Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract, r hi 620 LXXII. Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, fi40 From side to side, beneath the glittering morn. An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn Its steady dyes, while all around is torn By the distracted waters, bears serene fli.5 Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshoin : Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. 'm\ .;i !' 116 BYRON. 'i I: 1 1 ■ ! 1 -I 650 I.XXIII. Once more upon tlie woody Apennine, The infant Alps, which — l)ad I not before Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar The thundering lauwine — might be worshipp'd more; But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear Her never-trodden snow, and seen the lioar 655 Glaciers of bleak Mont-Blanc both far and near. And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, LXXIV. Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name; And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame, For still they soar'd unutterably high : I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye ; Athos, Olympus, ^tna. Atlas, made These hills seem things of lesser dignity. All, save the lone Soracte's height, display'd. Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid LXXV. For our remembrance, and from out the plain Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, And on the curl hangs pausing : not in vain May he, who will, his recollections rake. 660 fifiS 670 A C ^ A \^et n 660 CHTLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 117 And quote in classic raptures, and awake The hills with Latian echoes ; I abhorr'd Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by word In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record «7n LXXVl. Aught that recalls the daily drug which tuin'd My sickenini^ memory ; and, though Time hath taugiit My mind to meditate what then it learn'd, Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrouglii By the impatience of my early thought, 68o That, with the freshness wearing out before My mind could relish what it might have sought, If free to choose, I cannot now restore Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor. LXXVII. Then farewell, Horace ; whom I hated so, ess Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse To understand, not feel thy lyric flow. To comprehend, but never love thy verse, Although no deeper Moralist rehearse Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art, rtflo Nor livelier Satirist the conscience pierce. Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, ■/et fare thee well — upon Soiacte's ridge wo part. m\ I m^ i; ft \ \ • \ H i I ; i , ■> 1 ■'■■ : ■■■ l"^ JiBuly 118 BYRON. M- LXXVIII. O Rome ! my country ! city of the soul I The orphans of the heart must turn to rht;t), dfls Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye 1 too Whose agonies are evils of a day — K world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. LXXIX. The Niobe of Nations ! there she stands. Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within her wither'd hands, 705 Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow. Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? 7io Hise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! 1:^ LXXX. The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride : She saw her glories star by star expire. And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, 7i5 T} 700 705 710 Fire, CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. I in Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, " here was, or is," where all is doubly night? 720 LXXXl. The double night of ages, and of her, Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap All round us ; but we feel our way to err : The ocean hath its chart, the stars their map, And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap ; lih But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap Our hands, and cry, "Eureka ! " it is clear — When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. LXXXII. Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas 1 7»> The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! Alas, for TuUy's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be 785 Her resurrection ; all beside— decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free ! % 't. ; i I » ..lis %\ •;i. '. ' ^i.'Miil VA \ 'H\ III '■\ ■ u; t ■■ ,15 i i 120 B YRON, ■■'1! % I 'fit #1 I.XXXIIl. O thou, whose chariot roU'd on Fortune's wheel, Triumphant Sylla ! Thou, who didst subdue v-io Thy country's foes ere thou wonldst pause to feel The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew O'er prostrate Asia ;— thou, who with thy frown Annihilated senates — Roman, too, i\h With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown — LXXXIV. The dictatorial wreath, — couldst thou divine To what would one daj' dwindle that which made Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine 75o By aught than Romans Rome shovild thus be laid ? She who was named Eternal, and array'd Her warriors but to conquer— she who veil'd Earth with her liaughty shadow, and display'd. Until the o'er-canopied horizon fail'd, 755 Her rushing wings Oh ! she who was Almighty hail'd ! If; 'i i LXXXV. Sylla was first of victors ; but our own, The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell ; he Too swept off senates while he hew'd the throne Pown to a block — immortal rebel ! See 7ep CHILD} HAROLEfS PILGRIMAGE. 121 What crimes it costs to be a moment free And famous through all ages ! but beneath His fate the moral lurks of destiny ; His day of double victory and deatli im Beheld him win two realms^ and, happier, \ ield his brearh. LXXXVI. The third of the same moon whose foruier course Had all buL crown'd him, on the selfsame day Deposed liim gently from his throne of force, And laid him with tlie earth's preceding clay. And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway. 77u And all we deem delightful, and consume Our souls to compass through each arduous way , Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb? Were they but so in man's, how different were his doom ! LXXXVII. And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in 776 The austerest form of na'iod majesty, Thou who beheldest, 'mid the assassins' din, At thy bathed base the bloody Caesar lit* Folding his robe in dying dignity, An offering to thine altar from the quee i rao Of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die. And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye been Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene? r \ * ^!ii^ 122 BYRON. \t ■4 LXXXVIIl. And thou, the thuiidei-siricken nurse of Rome ! She-wolf ! whose brazen- imaged dugs impart 786 The milk of conquesi yet within the dome Where, as a monument of antique art, Thou standest : — Mother of the mighty heart, Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat, Soorch'd by the Roman Jove's ethereal dart, 79(.> And tliy limbs black'd with lightning— dost thou yet Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge for^^ei ? LXXXIX. Thou dost;— but all thy foster-biibes are dead — The men of iron ; and the world hath rear'd Cities from out their sepulchres : men bled 7 And the intent of tyranny avow VI, Tlie edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown The apes of him who humbled once the proud, And shook them from their slumbers on the throne ; Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. 85:) xcvi. Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be, And Freedom find no champion and no child Such as Columbia saw arise when she Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled ? Or must such minds be nourish'd in the wild, «<><> Deep in tlie unpruned foiest, 'midst the roar Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled On infant Washington ? Has Earth no more Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore? XCVII. But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime, 865 And fatal have her Saturnalia been To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime; Because the deadly days which we have scon, And vile Ambition, that built up between Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, 87o And the base pageant last upon the scene, Are grown the pretext for the eternal t hrall Which nips Life's tree, and dooms man's worst— his second fall. m r. 0' ,i; f mi m 128 BYRON. i XCVTTl. Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flyinpj, Streams like the thnndor-stoim nuninst \ ho wind ; hi:> Thy trurn pet-voice, though broken now and dying. The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth. But the sjip lasts, — and still the seed we fiiu^ b«u Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North ; So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring fori h. XCIX. There is a stern round tower of other days, Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, Such as an army's baflled strength delays, ss-i Standing with half its battlements alone, And with two thousand years of ivy grown, The garland of eternity, where wave The green leaves over all by time o'erthrown ; — What was this tower of strength? within its cave 8!-n What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid ? — A woman's grave. 0. But who was she, the lady of the dead, Tomb'd in a palace? Was she chaste and fair? Worthy a king's — or more— a Roman's bed ? What race of chiefs find htioes did she bear ? 895 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 127 What daughter of her beauties was the heir? FTow lived— how loved — how died she? Was she not So honour'd— and conspicuouslj'^ there, Wliere meaner relics must not dare to rot, Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot ? ooo ?{' CI. Was she as those who love their lords, or they Who love the lords of others? such have been, Even in the olden time. Rome's annals say. Was she a matron of Cornelia's mien, Or the light air of Eji.v[)t's graceful queen, so.*; Profuse of joy — or 'gainst it did she war. Inveterate in virtue? Did she lean To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar • Love from amongst her griefs? — for such the ji,IT(!ctions are. fl on. Perchance she died in youth : it may be, bowM 910 With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb That weigh'd upon her gentle dust, a cloud Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom Heaven gives its favourites — early death ; yet shtMl !tif) A sunset charm around her, and illume With hectic light the Hesperus of the dead, Of lier consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. ■! 1! •V: 128 BYRON. OIII Perchance she died in age — surviving:; all, Charms, kindred, children — with the silver gray f»20 On her long tresses, which might yet recall. It may be, still a something of the day When they were braided, and her proud array And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed By Rome — But whither would Conjecture stray ? 925 Thus much alone we know — Metella died. The wealthiest Roman's wife : Behold his love or pride I CIV. I know not why — but standing thus by thee It seems as if I had thine inmate known, Thou tomb ! and other days come back on me With recollected music, tliough the tone Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groan Of dying thunder on the distant wind ; Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone Till I had bodied forth the heated mind 980 985 Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves behind ; cv. And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks, Built me a little bark of liope, once more To battle with the ocean and the shocks Of the loud breakers, and the cea.seless roar 940 CHILDE HAROLiys PILGKIMAGE, 12ti Which rushes on the solitary shore Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear : But could I gather from the wave-worn store Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer ? 9»4 There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here. '\ 980 C5VI. Then let the winds howl on ! their harmony Shall henceforth be my music, and the night The sound shall temper with the owlets' cry, As I now hear them, in the fading light Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site, 96o Answering each other on the Palatine, With their large eyes, all glistening grey and bright, And sailing pinions. — Upon such a shrine What are oui potty griefs?— let me not number mine. '\ ■ 935 Snd; OVII. Cypress and ivy, weed aiul wallflower grown 9ft6 Matted and luass'd together, hillocks heap'd On what were chambeis, arch crush'd, column strowu In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, l>eeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls ? aeo Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning renp'd * From her research hath been, that these are walls — Behold the Imperial Mount I 'tis thus the mighty falls. !»< Jtl m ;t» ' w 130 BYRON. II CVIII. There is the moral of all human tales ; 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, 9«f. First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page, — 'tis better written here, Where gorgeous Tyranny hath thus amass'd 970 All treasures, all deli^hit,, that eye or ear. Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask — Away with words ! draw near, OIX. Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep, — for here There is such matter for all feeling : — Man ! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear, 975 Ages and realms are crowded in this span, This mountain, whose obliterated plan The pyramid of empires pinnacled, Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd ! dho Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared to build? ox. Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base ! What are the laurels of the Csesar's brow ? Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 986 wi CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 131 Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, Titus or Trajan's ? No— 'tis that of Time : Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace Scoffing ; and apostolic statues climb To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime, yixi 970 975 OXI. Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, And looking to the stars : they had contain'd A spirit which with these would find a home, The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign'd, The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd But yielded back his conquests : — he was more Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd, With household blood and wine, serenely wore His sovereign virtues — still we Trajan's name adore. 995 -.. f' 1*1 i)Ht) ed to 985 OXII. Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place looo Where Rome embraced her heroes ? where the steep Tarpeian? fittest goal of Treason's race. The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap Their spoils here ? Yes ; and in yon field below, lOOft A thousand years of silenced factions sleep — The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, And still the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicoro ! * . : >..-}■ w 132 BYRON. CXIII. The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood : Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, loio From the first hour of empire in the bud To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd ; But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd, And Anarchy assumed her attri outes ; Till every lawless soldier who assail'd 1016 Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes, Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. i^^! 1i CXIV. Then turn we to her latest tribune's riiinie, From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, Redeemer of dark centuries of shame — 1020 The friend of Petrarch— hope of Italy — Rienzi ! last of Romans I While the tree Oi freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf, Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — The forum's champion, and the people's chief — lo.'fi Her uew-born Numa thou, — with reign, alas ! too brief. cxv. Egeria ! sweet creation of some heart "Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air, 10;; TV brief. CHILDE HAROLiys PILGRIMAGE. \\\.\ The nympholopsy of some fond despair; Or, it mi^ht be, a beauty of the earth, Who found a more than common votary there. Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thoujjjht, and softly bodied forth, losfi oxvi. The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, Whose green, wild margin now no more erase loid Art's works ; nor mast the delicate waters sleep, Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap rhe rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creo.p, OXVII. Fantastically tangled : the green hills i04r) Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ; Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes loso Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its slcie>, ) ; i h'> «.:;, r r! 1: ''r :;: %■ ;■>- S:; . |i: '■, 1- ;;t;^ m .•is W ■ i . ',:, m H (Is 15^ 134 BYRON. Ill hi. \ ■ \s, ■ m ex VIII. Here didst thou dwell, in this enchantod cover, Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beatiiij; ioRr» For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover ; The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting With her most starry canopy, and seating Thyself by thine adorer, what befell? This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting lOW Of an enamour'd Goddess, and the cell Haunted by holy Love — the earliest oracle ! CXIX. And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying. Blend a celestial with a human heart ; And Love, which dies as it was boni, in sighing, lOfi;, Share with immortal transports'? could thine art Make them indeed irrnortal, and impart The purity of heaven to earthly jo^'s, Expel the venom and not blunt the dart — The dull satiety which all destroys — io7(i And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys '• cxx: Alas ! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert ; whence arise But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste. Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, 1075 CII/LDE HAA'Ol./yS Pi I OKI MACE. isr) Flowers whose wild odours breatlie but }v.L;onies, And trees whose ^ums are poison ; such tho plants Which spring beneath her steps as Passion fiios O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. ioho m^- OXXI. Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art — Ah unseen seraph, we believe in thee, A faith whose martyrs are the broken hoart, But never yet hath seen, nor e'er sliall sec, The naked eye, thy form, as it should be ; 1086 The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, Even with its own desiring phantasy, And to a thouglit such shape and image given, As haunts the umiuench'd soul — parch'd — wearied — wrung — and riven. '^! if i f 107(V 107j CXXII. Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, looo And fevers into false creation : — where, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? In him alone. Can nature show so fair? Where are the charms and virtues which we dare Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men. 1095 The unreach'd Paradise of our despair, Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen. And overpowers the page where it would bloom again ? «' ii 136 BYRON. CXXIII. Who loves, raves — 'tis youth's fronzy— Init tlic cure Is bitterer still; as charm by charm unwinds iioii Which robed our idols, and we see too suit^ Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's Ideal shape of such ; yet still it binds The fatal spell, and still it draws us on, Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds ; iios The stubborn heart, its alchemy be^un. Seems over near the prize, — wealthiest wlien most undone. cxxiv. We wither from our youth, we gasp away — Sick— sick ; unfound the boon, unslaked ilio thirst, Though to the last, in verge of our decay, mo Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first — But all too late, — so are we doubly curst. Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the ,dme. Each idle — and all ill — and none the worst — For all are meteors with a different name, w\h A.nd Death the sable smoke where vanislies the flame. oxxv. Few — none find what they love or could have loved. Though accident, blind contact, and the strn- Necessity of loving, have removed Antipathies — but to recur, ere long, xiom CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGNIMAGE. 137 Riivonom'd with irrevofiihlo wroii^ : And Circumstance, that unspiritnal ^od And miscroator. makes and ]u»l|)s alonj^ Our coming? evils with a crutch-like rod, Whose touch turns Hope to dust, — the dust we all have trod. 112f. OXXVI. Our life is a false nature — 'tis not in The harmony of things, — this hard decree, This uneradicable taint of sin, This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree, Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be ii '«' The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew — Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see - And worse, the woes we see not — which throb tiiroiiji'h The immedicable soul, with heart -aches ever new. I 'I M CXXVII. Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base iis.'i Abandonment of reason to resign Our right of thought — our last and only place Of refuge ; this, at least, shall still be mine : Though from our birth the faculty divine Is chain'd and tortured — cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, 1110 And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine Too brightly on the unprepared mind. The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch tlie blind. , r ''A I ,'1 \ I .[ \ 1 li:- H 138 B YRON. CXXVIII. Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome. Collectinpj the chief trophies of her line, U4R Would build i.p all her triumphs in one dome, Her Coliseum stands ; the moonbeams shine As 'twere its natural torches, for divine Should be the lip:ht which streams here, to illume This lonf»:-explored but still exhaustless mine ii50 Of contemplation ; and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume CXXIX. Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven. Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument. And shadows forth its glory. There is given Uft6 Unto the things of earth, which time hath bent, A spirit's feeling, and where he had leant His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power And magic in the ruin'd battlement, For which the palace of the present hour iiflO Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. cxxx. Oh Time ! the beautifier of the dead, Adorner of the ruin, comforter And only healer when the heart hath bled — Time ! the corrector where our jndi;ment err, U«tfi i>M< 1160 llHh E t. ^s^'-. '»] >!, ^■l -, . ( '':il H .if IKk f-i mm H ■ \ , ■ •' * ji ■ v:*j it, # III ( 1 I. -58 B YRON. «'.X\VIfI. <•!? on nroliC!? ! as l wcio i.iiat T^niu?. •, Hj-lujcrintj: the chief trophies of iiei liii'\ lu-- Would hiciid up all hor rrmmphs in ojie dome, Hor Oolisoum stands ; tlio moon beari\s shine Ah 'twero its riatarnl rorchan, ''or divin(i ^M(oul Of coritein|)lurion : iuiil the azure j^looin Of Mil ft.'iliaii ni^hr. where 'hndeep skies assume CXXIX. Hues which have words, arid .-tiicak to ye of heaven. Floats o'er this vast and wondrous inoniiaient. A fid shadows forth its ^lory. There is {j;iveu iifift Ihito the things-of earth, which tune haih bent. A 31'irit's fefiliu^: and wher-i ho iiad leant His hand, hut broke l»is bty'lttv :.her« ih a power And unt;4ic in t.h*! i. mi**; . i.t, For wliiih tlie puikce of the present hour iieo Must 3ield its poin{i, ix.wd. wait till aget? are its dower, ;i uxxx. Oh Time ! the beantdier of tlie dead. Ailoiiier of tiie ruin, comforter And only hoaler when the heart hath hied -- Tinie ! the corrector where our judjiuent orr, 11- tf. IIW) ' :A noo il.!S .a\ai ^'^t 1 u ^ ^H- ^3i ^^Hl. '■^ ^^^H T^ i^^R ,- -d I^K •fl^ ^^^Bi jgl ^^B ■•^i^ ^^Hl^ -■^ ^^Hft' •.■^ ^^HK.: ■t t*^ ^^Hp' H m y4 m f 1 Mi li' ■ I,-. i Ml run iBi E CHTI.de HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. I.S& The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher, For all hesides are sophists, from thy thrift. Which never loses though it doth defer - Time, the aventrer ! unto thee I lift My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of tlieo a gift: n7 ■t :U' i ■ ain ; But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Tune, and breathe when I expire ; Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 123'^ Like the reraember'd tone of a muie lyre. Shall on their softeuM spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now tin late remorse of love. 11^ ! I 142 BYRON. I!:! I \ I CXXXVIII. The seal is set. — Now welcome, thou dread power ! Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, whicli here lasn Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear ; Tliy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear i2iu That we become a part of what has been, And ^row unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. cxxxix. And here the buzz of ea^er nations ran, In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause. As man was slauj;}iter'd by his fellow-man. 1245 And wherefore slauH;hter'd ? wherefore, but because Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws. And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to fill the maws Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot? 1250 Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. CXL. I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 126S CHILDE HAKOLiys PILGRIMAGE. 148 And through his side the las drops, ebbint? slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, I'jre ceased fhe inhuman shout which liail'd the wretcdi who won. i2iiiJ m.. OXLI. He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes IVere with his heart, and that was far tiway ; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, T/iere were his j'^oung barbarians all at play. 1206 There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — All this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire I CXLII. But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam ; 1270 And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And roar'd or raurmur'd like a mountain-stream Dashing or winding as its torrent strays ; Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd. vnb My voice sounds much — and fall the stars' faint rays On the arena void— seats crush'd — walls bow'd — And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. M \,-- \ 144 BYKO.V. V\ OXLIII. A ruin — yet what ruin ! from its mass Walls, palaces, lialf-cities, have been roar'd : i:J8o Yet oft th(! enormous skeleton ye pass. And marvel where tlie spoil could have appoar'd. TIath it indeed been pJunder'd, or bui cloarMi* Alas ! developed, opens the decay, When the colossnl f.thric's form is near'd : 128fi It will not bear the brij^Jitness of the dny. Which streams too much on all years, man, have refl away. ox LTV. But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and j;ently pauses there ; When the stars twinkle through the loops of liniu, 12U0 And the low night-breeze waves along the air The garliuid-forcst, which the j^rey walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first. Ctosar's head : When the light shines serene but doth not glare. Then in this magic circle raise the d.ad : 1295 Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. OXLV. " While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; "When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; "And when Rome falls — the World." From our own land Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall 1300 15 It if '■'H 'M n oo ife .\ ; 1. !. CHI I HE HA ROLENS PILGRIMAGE. Tn *^axon timi^s, w1ii<'.}i we an* w^nt 'o call Ancient. ; and theae t],>. h t: > fj^] at*** fctljl On their found.i.tl'^'- », .'' Homo and )ier \X\\ The World, the same w.J.^ -u - < > t*r w' will. GXl-Vl. Simple, orect, severe, iiust»^U', - ' ''me — Shrino. of nil saints and temple uf all {^od.-:, From Jovrr to Jesus — sparod and blest by time ; 7/')oking tranquillity, while falls or nodp Arch, empire, each thing round ^^^'^ and mar. • Ills way tlirou^'h thorns to at .Shalt thou not last ? aael Shivor upon thee— sanctuary and uawc Of art and piety —Pantheon !— pride of Rome ! 14ft ^' I Relic of ri -hler days, and noh!o«t arts ! 1S16 DfjspoilM yet perfect, with thy circle spreads \ !i()1iness appealing to .all h<>arts — To art a model ; and to hini who treniji Rome for tlie sake of a^s, Glory ^hf U Tier light through thy solo IS;^' Who worship, here are altars for th<- i inMidt* : And they who feel for genius may repose •I'jir eyes on houour'd forms, whoso busts around thojr, close. i,.^(ui^ « ^ff«7;|BKr 'ff^f ..^...... I •^bc 1 .1#9JC- *«■ ;^^^*is*«*' •'ftm*i''*<*i« **W- ''<#' 'f CHI 1 HE HAROLEfS PILGRIMAGE. 146 V. < In Saxon times, which we are wont to call Ancient ; and these three mortal thinj^s are still ^&4heir foundations, and unalter'd all ; Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, The Vorid, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will. 180ft OXLVI. Simple, erect, severe, austere, sililime — Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest bj- time ; Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods iso His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! Shalt thou not last ? — Time's scythe and tyrants' rods Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home Of art and pioty — Pantheon !— pride of Rome ! *u CXLVIl. Relic of nobler days, and noblost arts ? 1S16 Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads A holiness .i;^pi: .^ling to all hearts — To art a model ; and to him who trends Rome for the sake of ages. Glory sheds Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those 1820 Who worship, here are altars for their beads ; And they who feel for genius may repose Their eyes on honour'd forms, whose bu: cs around them close. d'"*' -!t1 U I I 146 BYRON. ll^ CXLVIII. There is a tlnn^eon, in whose dim drear light What do I j.:aze on ? Nothing; : Look aj^ain ! 1825 Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sight — Two insulated phantoms of the brain : It is not so ; I see them full and plain — A.n old man, and a female young and fair, Fresh a^; a nursing mother, in whose vein i»80 The blood is nectar : — but what doth she there, With her uiimantled neck, and bosom white and UareV CXLIX. Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, Where on the heart and /rom the heart we took Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, 1S35 Blest into mother, in the innocent look, Or even the piping cry of lips that brook No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook She sees her little Imd put forth its leaves — 1840 What may the fruit be yet ? — I know not — Cain was Eve's. CL. But here youth offers to old age tlie food. The milk of his own gift : — it is her sire To whom she renders back tlie debt of blood Bo n with her birth. No; he shall not expire lS4ft m CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 147 While in those warm and lovely veins the fire Of health and holy feeling can provide Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher Than Egypt's river: — from that gentle side Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's realm holds uo such tide. laso CLl. The starry fahle of the milky way Has not thy story's purity ; it is A constellation of a sweeter ray, And sacred Natnip triumphs more in this Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss inr.r. Where sparkle distant worlds : — Oh, holiest nnrso ! No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. 1. It ^ \ f t^H 1340 I was 13(WI CLII. Turn to the Mole which Hadrian rear'd on high. Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, Colossal copyist of deformity, Whose travell'd fantasy from the far Nile's Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils To build for giants, and for his vain earth. His shrunken ashes, raise this dome : How smiles 'Phe gazer's eye with philosophic mirtli, To view the huge design whicli sprung from such a bii fli ! mnfi ii I 148 BYRON. OMII. Rnt, lo ! t,ho dome — tlio vast and wondrous dome, To wliicli Diana's marvel was a cell — I37n Christ's mii>hty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell The hycBna and the jackal in their shade ; I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell I37ft Their glitterini;- mass i' the sun, and liave survey'd Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd ; CLIV. But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alone — with nothing like to thee — Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. isw Since Zion's desolation, when that He Forsook his former city, what could be, Of earthly structures, in his honour piled. Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled lskh In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. OLV. Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; Aud why? it is not lessen'd ; but thy mind, ExpMudod })y the genius of the spot, Has grown colossal, and can only fiinl • CriTLDE HAROLiyS PILGRIMAGE. 140 A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his luow 18!>6 13S0 CLVI. Thou movest — but increasing with the advance. Likeclimhing some great Alp, which still dotli rise. Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; Vastness which grows — but grows to harmonize- All miusical in its immensities ; nuo Rich marbles — richer painting — shrines where flame The lamp of gold — and haughty dome which vies lu air with Earth's chief structures, though th fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was gore. CLXVII. Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, 1485 A long low distant murmur of dread sound, Such as arises when a nation bleeds With some deep and immedicable wound ; Through storm and darkness j'^awijs the rending ground, The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief iftoo Seems royal still, though with her head discrown . . And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief Sue clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relit^f. iv % If is :.t I- 104 BYRON, CliXVIII. Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond liope of many nations, art tliou dead ? 160» Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some I'jss majestic, less beloved head ? In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, Death hush'd that pang for ever: with thee tied 16H» The present happiness and promised joy Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. ci-xix. Peasants bring forth in safety.— Can it be, Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored ! Those who weep not for iv ngs shall weep for thee, i.^ir> And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her niiiny griefs for One ; for she had poured Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head Beheld her Iris.— Thou, too, lonely lord, And desolate consort — vainly wert thou wed ! i-Oi'o The husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! OLXX. Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ; Tiiy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, The love of millions ! How we did entrust is-.t. rh CHILDE HAKOtrys P/LGR/MAGE, 155 I. Mr. Fuliuity to her ! and, though it must Darken al)Ove our bones, yet fondly deem'd Our children should obey her child, and bleas'd Her and her lioped-for seed, whose promise seeniM iwn Like stars to shepherds' eyes ; — 'twas but a meteor beaniM. CLXXl. Woe unto us, not her ; foi she sleeps well : The tickle reek of popular breath, the lonyue Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung [ts knell in princely ears, till the o'erstrung ii»3f. Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath Hung Against their blind omnipotence a weight Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late, - \ '\\ m. lf)l'0 CLXXIl. These might have been \\vy destiny ; but no, iwo Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair, Good without effort, great without a foe ; But now a bride and mother — and now thci'e! How many ties did that stern moment tear ! From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast isif. Is link'd the electric chain of that despair, Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and oppres! The land which loved thee so that none i.ould love thee best. E?- i m ■- \<-, Si; b:^m. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I *^||IIIM ill 56 III12 |3^ 2.2 IM 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1 6 < 6" ► Photographic Sdences Corporation S: ■•ir N 160 B YRON. \xi.A- li: I m ■I CLXXXllI. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, i640 Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime i645 The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 01)eys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. CLXXXIV. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy ifiiio I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me Wero a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a cliild of thee. And trusted to thy billows far and near, less And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. CLXXXV. My task is done — my song hath ceased — my theme Has died into an echo ; it is fit The spell should break of this protracted dream. The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit li^eo 1* i- CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 161 My midnight lamp — and what is writ, is writ, — Would it were worthier ! but I am not now That which I have been — and my visions flit Less palpably before me — and the glow Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint and low. 1665 1' IfiSO CLXXXVI. Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been — A sound which makes us linger ; — yet — farewell ! .Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought wh'c'a once was his, if on ye swell A single recollecrioa, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scalloi)-shell ; Farewell ! with hiw. alone may rest the pain, If such there were — with you^ the moral of his strain. 1670 nip 11 PUT ':*' \\ 165S 1 ^ i liseo NOTES f i L« 5 M »^ r NOTES. GOJ.DSMITII. II •.'■y ■\\\ 1 THE TRAVELLER. Circumstances of composition. — Gloldsmith is frequently subjective and at times even autobiographical in his compo- sitions. There is no doubt that The jTrave'/er contains many of the experiences that tlie poet gained in that famous walking tour through Holland, France, Switzerland, and Italy, from which he returned in February, 1756. A part of the poem, he says in the Dedication, was actually written to his brother from Switzerland. In 1764 he was still writing. Reynolds relates that, visiting him in that year, he found his friend occupied at his desk, yet watching a little dog trying to sit upright. ' Occasionally he glanced his eye over his desk, and occasionally shook his finger at the unwilling pupil in order to make him retain his position ; while on the page before him was written the couplet, with the ink of the second line still wet : — 'By sports like these are all their carea beguU'd, The sports of children satisfy the child." — Prior, Goldsmith, ch. xiv. This very year however was a dark one in the poet's fortunes. He was arre3ted for rent by his landlady, and escaped prison only through the interven- tion of Dr. Johnson, who carried off to Newbery, the pub- lisher, Goldsmith's MSS. of The Vicar of Wakefield and The Traveller^ and obtained for the novel an immediate advance of £60. Once in the publisher's hands, it was soon issued. •l! t ; M ym '%' SI { :=s ^ fi I* 166 NOTES. Publication. — On the 19th of December, 1764, the Public Advertiser announced that " This day ia published, price one shilling and sixpence, The Traveller ; or, a Prospect of Society, a Poem. By Oliver Goldsmith, M.B. Printed for J. Newbery in St. Paul's Church Yard." The title page of this first edition is reproduced in facsimile before our text. It was like all the early editions a quarto. Three other edi- tions appeared in that year, and nine editions in all before the poet's death in 1774. The poem has been frequently reprinted since. Text. — Goldsmith was a careful workman, and the later editions show the polishing hand. The text of the present edition is based upon the ninth edition, the last published in the author's lifetime (reprinted by Chapman, 1816). with collations of the first and third editions and the critical edi- tions of Prior, Cunningham (reprinted by Rolfe), and Dobson. The variant readings have been made as complete as the accessible editions permitted. Page I. Title. — Foster states that Dr. Johnson suggested for the poem the title of The Philosophical Wanderer. Much may be said in favour of The Wanderer, though we could not tolerate the characteristic eighteenth century addition of Philosophical, for we have ceased to value the poem for its philosophy. But already the poet Savage had pre-empted the title, and the poem appeared under a name that scarcely represents the character of its author or the point of view from which the poem was composed. The second title, A Prospect of Society, uses ' Prospect ' in an old and frequent sense of ' View.' The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, Hills peer o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise. —Pope, E$»ay on Criticism, ii. 82. Dedication. The Rev. Henry Goldsmith. — Henry Gold- smith, the third child and eldest brother of Oliver, was born in 1722. He distinguished himself ai Trinity College, but ■^1 GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 167 married for love, and gave up ambition. "Henry followed his father's calling, and died as he had lived, a humble village preacher and schoulmaster [at Pallas, Ireland] in 1768 "(Foster). The reference to his income (1. 10) shows that both father and son merited the allusion in the famous line of The Deserted Village, 1. 142 (of. n.), And passing; rich witli forty pounds a year. 1. 13. — the harvest is gfreat. " The harvest truly is great, but the labourers are few." — Luke x. 2. Page 2. 1. 15. — But of all kinds of ambitions ... In the first edition : But of all kinds of ambition, as things are now circumbtanced, perhaps that which pursues poetical ame is the wildest. What from the increased refinement of the times, from the diversity of judgments produced ' y opposing systems of criticism, and from the more prevalent divisions of opiuion i"^iti)nced by party, the strongest and lighest efforts can expect to please but in a very nariow circle. Thoug.. the poet were as sure of his aim as t-he imperial archer of antiquity [the Emperor Commodus], who boasted that he never missed the heart, yet would many of his shafts now fly at random, for the heart is often in the wrong place. This passage was somewhat incongruous in a poem that was eagerly read in a very wide circle, and consequently was omitted from subsequent editions. 1. 16. — refinement of the times. What is now generally called ' progress of civilization.' Cf. 1. 20 bel jw. 1. 23f. — ^they engross. . .to her. First ed., They engross all favour to themselves. 1. 25. — the elder's birthright. The whole thought is in Dryden : Our arti| are sisters, tliough not twins in birth ; For hymns were sung in Eden's happy earth : But oh, the painter Muse, though last in place, Has seized the blessing first, like Jacob's race. —To S»> Godfrey Knaier. \u i «m ■ V\ 1 'i ■ li \\ ,1 i 168 NOTES. 1. 28ff. — What criticisms . .blank verse. The poet here proclaims his school, setting himself against those new tendencies of his age which were in fulness of time to pro- duce the Romantic literature of the 19th century. Milton was of course the great exemplar of blank verse, and liis influence was sufficient to keep alive that form of versification even during the reign of the couplet. The chief poems in blank verse of the eighteenth century previous to the publi- cation of The Traveller are : Philips's Cyder (1707), Thomson's Seasons (1726-1730), Mallet's Excursion (1728) and Amyntor and Theodora (1747), J. Warton's Enthusiast. (1740), Young's Night Thoughts (1742-1745), Blair's Grave (1743), Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination (1744), Dyer's Fleece (1757), Grainger's Sugar Cane (1764). The thorough-going classicism of Dr. Johnson and Gold- smith did not relish the growing taste for a freer form of poetry. The former quotes with approval Mr. Lock's opinion that "blank verse seems verse only to the eye" (Milton). Goldsmith has a fling at blank verse in several places. In his Present State of Polite Learning, ch. xi., he says : " From a desire in the critic of grafting the spirit of ancient languages upon the English have proceeded of late several disagreeable instances of pedantry. Among the number I think we may reckon blank verse. Nothing but the greatest sublimity of subject can render such a measure pleasing; however, we now see it used upon the most trivial occasions." In the same chapter he condemns the public taste and its confused can- ons of criticism : " Prom this proceeds the affected security of our odes, the tuneless flow of our blank verse, the purpos- less epithet, laboured diction, and every other deviation from common sense, which procures the poet the applause of the month." Pindaric odes. — The English Pindaric Ode, of which Gray's Bard is the most eminent instance, was a form of structui-e set going by Cowley in pretended imitation of the odes of the Pindar (of Thebes, B.C. 522-473), and adopted by Dryden in GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 169 b here a new to pro- MiU-on nd his ication ems in 3 publi- jmson's Vtaynior iToung's enside's (1757), id Gold- form of 5 opinicn (Milton), ices. In " From nguages .greeable we may [imity of , we now Ithe same sed can- security purpos- ;ion from ise of the bh Gray's structure les of the kryden in his Alexander's Feast and by Pope in his St. Cecilia's Day. Dr. Johnson refers mildly to the taste for this form of versi- fication as an 'infatuation,' a 'folly,' a 'madness.' " Pin- darism prevailed about half a century ; but at last gradually died away, and other imitations supply its place." — Life of Watts. Strictly, however, we should look upon the taste for the rapid flights of thought and the quick-changing rhythms of the Pindaric ode as a desire for at freedom Irom the rimed couplet, and as making for the later Romanticism. Gray is, however, the particular object of attack. He had published in 1757 his Progress of Poesy and Bard, two Pin- daric odes which were in freedom of spirit and treatment in advance of the canons of public taste. They were criticised for obscurity, parodied, yet they grew in favour. Dr. John- son did not yield. In his Life of Gray he ridiculed the odes. Specially referring to the 'alliterative care' of the Bard, he remarked: "The initial resemblances, or alliterations, ' ruin, ruthless, helm or hauberk,' are below the dignity of a poem that endeavours at sublimity." 1. 35. — party. Faction, of which the 18th century was pre- eminently the age. It will be remembered that the political strife centering in Wilkes's attack on the ministries of But^ and Grenville was g ing on. The most violent satires were called forth, for which Churchill (1. 42) achieved renown. 1. 42. — some half-vyitted thingf.... The reference is to the poet Charles Churchill (1731-1764), author of the liosoiad, Prophecy of Famine, Epistle to Hogarth, and other satirical and political verse. Goldsmith agrees with Dr. Johnson in his condemnation of this poet. His poetry, the latter remarked, " had a temporary currency only from its audacity of amse and being filled with living names, and... would sivi- iii;-© oblivion." — Boswell's Johnson, anno 1763. The St. James Chronicle of Feb. 7-9, 1765, defends Churchill against the slur of this preface as a poet '* whose talents. . . wore as greatly and deservedly admired, that during his short reign, his merit in great measure eclipsed that of -•lit ' rs 'I I 'V: « i Iv I 170 NOTES. others; and we think it no mean acknowledgement of the excellences of this poem \The Traveller] to say that, like the stars, they appear the more brilliant now the sun of our poetry is gone down." Page 3. 1. 45. — tawdry. A Jded in the 6th ed. 1. 52. — equal happiness in states. Cf. the close of the poem. Eighteenth century optimism appears hero. In Dr. Johnson's conversation with Sir Adam Fergusson, the latter suggested that luxury corrupts a people, and destroys the spirit of liberty. At which Johnson remarked, '' Sir, that is all visionary. I would not give half a guinea to live under one form of government rather than another. It is of no moment to the happiness of an individual. Sir, the danger of the abuse of power is nothing to a private man. — Boswell's Johnson, anno 1572. Goldsmith had expressed himself on the subject already : "|Every mind seems capable of entertaining a certain quantity of happiness, which no constitution can increase, no circum- stances alter, and entirely independent of fortune." — Citizen of World, i. p. 185. Page 4. 1. 1. — Remote, unfriended. . . Epithets to ' I,' 1. 7. The poet here joins an unusual and effective opening — a characteristic of the best epic poetry — with the artistic use of a series of epithets. For the latter cf . Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd. — Shalcspere, Hamlet, 1. v. Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoifln'd, and unknown. — Byvon, O. H. P. iv. 1611. Solus, inopa, exspes, leto poenaeque relictus. Alone, destitute, melancholy, to death and destruction given over. —Ovid, Metamorphoses, xiv. 817, Exsal, loops erres, alicnaque limina lustres. -Ovid, Ibis, 113. jtic use lieii. , over. , xiv. 817. GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER, 171 The nearest parallel is : — Scio e pensoso, i piu deserti campi Vo misuraiido a passi tardi e lentl. —Petrarch, Sonnet xxH. Remote. Cf. Tr. 437, but rarely used of persons. unfriended. A rare form. The -ed added to nouns, gives the adjectival force of ' supplied with,' which ' un ' negatives, — friendless. slow. "Mr. Goldsmith," asked Chamier at the Literary- Club, " what do you mean by the last word in tlie first line of your Traveller. Do you mean tardiness of locomotion?" " Yes," answered Goldsmith. Dr. Johnson interposed, — "No, sir, you do not mean tardiness of locomotion; you mean, that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in solitude." "Ah!" said Goldsmith, '■^ that was what I meant." (Boswell's Johnson^ anno 1778, and Foster, iii. x.) Foster remarks, " Who can doubt that he also meant slow- ness of motion ? The first point in the picture is that : the poet is moving slowly, his tardiness of gait measuring tlio weariness of heart, the pensive spirit, the melancholy, of which it is the outward expression and sign. Goldsmith ought to have added to Johnson's remark that he meant all that it said, and the other too ; but no d^ubt foil into one of his old flurries." 1. 2. — the lazy Scheldt. The poet wrote Scheld, which is here changed to the ordinary modern spelling. The pronuncia- tion is usually skelt, but frequently sheld. The river rises in the north of France, flowing through Belgium and Holland into the North Sea. Its lower part is sluggish, pent within embankments that defend the low-lying farms and villages. wandering Po. The river has a tortuous course of 450 miles from its source in Mt. Viso to the Adriatic, distant only 270 miles. 1. 3.— Carinthian boor. Carinthia is a duchy of Austro- Hungary, near Italy and the Tyrol, chiefly Germanic in population. r-«; n ■ j ill t ■ '■,r I 1 . t u mm i i i. m :"ii 1 If 1 1 ( 1 172 NOTES. Goldsmith visited Carinthia in 1755. Ho was asked why he singled out its people for censure, and gave as a reason his being once, after a fatiguing day's walk, obliged to quit a house he had entered for shelter, and pass part or the whole of the night in seeking another.— Prior's Goldsmith, xiv. Foster regards the censure as hasty. Cunningham (1853) says Carinthia " still i-etains its character for inhospitality." boor. In the old sense, here, of peasant (Dutch boer, hus- bandman, Ger. Bauer), but coarse and unmannerly. 11. 8, 4. — boor. . .door. This is one of the six imperfect rirafes in the poem (Hill). 1. 5. — Campania's plain. The Campagna (• country extends for ninety miles by thirty or forty around Rome, an undu- lating, miasmatic, barren tract, uninhabitable in summer. " For miles and miles, there is nothing to relieve the terrible monotony, and of all kinds of country that could, by possi- bility, be outside the gates of Rome, Ihis is the apteat and fittest burial-ground for the Dead City. So sad, so quiet, so sullen ; so secret in its covering up of great masses of ruin, and hiding them : For two and twenty miles we went on and on, seeing nothing but now and then a lonely house, or a villanous-looking shepherd, with matted hair all over his face, and himself wrapped to the chin in a frowsy brown mantle, tending his sheep." — Dickens, Pictures from Italy. 1. G. — expanding^. lst-3rd eds., expanded. 1. 8. — untraveird. Here, not going abroad. The poet makes a characteristic contradiction in 1. 10. 1. 9. — Still. Always, ever, — a sense now archaic. Cf. 11. 54, 77, 279, etc. 1. 10. — a lengthening^ chain. " Celadon. ' When I am with Florimel 't [my hear j] is still your prisoner ; it only draws a longer chain after it." — Dryden, Secret Love, v. i. "The farther I travel I feel the pain of separation with stronger force, those ties that bind me to my native country, and you, are still unbroken. By every remove, I only drag a (Ls GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 173 a :n 11. nth liger land greater length of chain." — Goldsmith, Citizen of the World, letter iii. Cf. also Blackmore's Arthur, p. 212. 1. 11. — my earliest friend. A further reference to his eld- est brothbx ; Cf. D. V., 11. 149-162. 1. 14. — trim their evening^ fire. ' ' Trim is not used of a fire, so far as I know, by any author earlier than Goldsmith." — Hill. The Hermit trlmm'd his little fire, And cheer 'd his pensive guest. — Gofdsmith, The Hermit, 11. 276f. 1. 15. — want and. pain repair. The frequent use of the abstract for the concrete is a mark of eighteenth century literature. Cf. Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death. —Pope, Prologue to the Satiret. Let observation with extensive view Survey mankind, from China to Peru. —Johnson, Vattity of Unman Wi8hes. Goldsmith's frequent use of the figure can be seen in Tr. 11. 38, 41, 91 ; D.V. 11. 3, 14, 68, etc. The Romantic poetry of Scott, Wordsworth, Shelley, etc. — was less rhetorical, more concrete, more picturesque, and scarcely ever employs this figure. "The reader will find that personifications of abstract ideas rarely occur in these volumes, and are utterly rejected as an ordinary device to elevate the style and raise it above prose." — Wordsworth, Pref. to Lyrical Ballads. 1. 17. — with simple plenty crown'd. lst-8rd edd., where mirth and peace abound. Page S- 1. 22. — the luxury of doing good. Garth (1715) speak- ing of the Druids, gives them similar praise : Hard was their lodging, homely was their food, For all their luxury was doing good. —Claremont, 1. 1486. 1. 24. — prime of life. The time of freshness and strength (Lat. prima, first hour). That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince. — Shakspere, Richard III., i. IL 848. i!'J .: N.1 Hi, fr^'K ! H \t\ SMHRi 174 NOTES. 1. 27.— like the circle bounding^. Cf. "Death, the only friend of the wretched, for a little while mocks the weary traveller with the view, and like his horizon, still flies before him." — Vicar of Wakefiddf eh. x. 1. 80. — find no spot... my own. Prior [Prior] has the same thought : — My destin'd miles I shall have ffone, By Thames or Maese, by Po or Rhone, And found no foot of earth my own. —In Robe's Geography (1700). "When will my wanderings be at an end? When will my restless disposition give me leave to enjoy the present hour ? When at Lyons, I thought all happiness lay beyond the Alps ; when in Italy, I found myself still in want of something, and expected to leave solicitude behind me by going into Romelia, and now you find me turning back, still expecting ease everywhere but where I am." — Goldsmith, The Bee, i. 1„ 82. — sit me down. The construction is due to a com- mon confusion of the intransitive and reflexive verbs. 1. 33. — Above the storm's career. A common phenome- non in mountainous re,<^ions ; cf . D. V. 189ff . , and — Though far below the forked lightnings play, And at his feet the thunder dies away. —Rogers, Pleasures of Memory. 1. 84. — ^an himdred realms. The poetical exaggeration was less marked before the petty principalities and powers of Germany, Switzerland and Italy had become more or less anified. 1. 85. — extending. lst-3rd edd., extended. 1. 86. — pomp of kingfs, the shepherd's.. . Antithesis is a favourite device of eighteenth century poetry. The artistic effect of this figure is greatest in satire, as Pope has shown. Goldsmith's employment of it may be noticed in 11. 114, 118, 128f., 192, 256, etc. U. 888.— Amidst the store. • . The first ed. reads : — com- 3S1S IB a I artistic shown. Ll4, 118, GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER, m Amidst the store, 'twere thankless to repine, Twere affectation all, and school-taught pride, To spurn the splendid things by heaven sapply'd. 1. 88.— should thankless pride repine? 1st ed., *twere thankless to repine. 1. 41.— school-taught pride. 'School* in this sense means the college or university. It is pedantically proud, Gold- smith says, of its learning, philosophy, disputations, but ignorant of the real world of human life and feeling. The same reproach is in Pope's line : And God the Father turns a school-divine. — SaMrM, V. 102. 1.43. — sympathetic. Havingfellow-feeling(Gk. «mw, with, pathos, feeling.) 1. 44. — Exults in all the g^ood. " As I am a great lover of mankind, my heart naturally overflows with pleasure at the sight of a prosperous and happy multitude." — Addison, Spectator, No. 69, which gives much of the philosophy of The Traveller. Cf . also (Hill) :— Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto. I am a man, and deem nothing human beyond my Interest. —Terence, Beaut. 1. 1. 25. Page 6. 1. 47.— busy gale. The epithet is in part transferred from the sailors, who are busy because of it. The personification by means of the epithet should be noted as an eighteenth century touch: cf. "that proudly rise," I. 114; " the smiling land," 1. 122. Pope has almost the same phrase, — Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale. Essay on Man, iil. 177. 1. 48. — bending swains. Stooping to their labour of ' dress- ing the vale.' Cf. D. V., 1. 2. The word swain was a com- mon word for a farm labourer (A. S. swan, herdsman); and as such was freely used by Spenser and Shakspere. What, ho ! thou Jolly shepherd's swain. —Spenser. Shepherd's Calendar ^ivA^. mm 1 ; ' : ' ' , fl \\'m ' * J 'n i|||l l:|!il / 1 ilr v.; m ' ^ ^. ^ r wmi\ 176 NOTES. But ifc was even then rather archaic, and so was adopted into the current phraseology of eighteenth century poets. Let other swains attend the rural care. —Pope, Summer, 1. 35. Haply some hoary-hcaded swain may aay. —Gray, Elegy. dress. Cf. Gen. ii. 15. The prevalence of a poetic vocabulary such as " bending swain," " dress the flow'ry vale," '* the zephyr," may be seen as well in Addison, Prior, Pope, Johnson. It received its death-blow from the precept and example of Wordsworth. "Abuses of this kind were imported from one nation to another, and with the progress of refinement this [poetic] diction became daily more and more corrupt, thrusting out of sight the plain humanities of natures by a motley mas- querade of tricks, quaintnesses, hieroglyphics, and enigmas." — Append, to Pref. to Lyrical Ballads. 1. 50. — Creation's heir... the world is mipel 3rd ed. Creation's tenant, all the world is mine. Cf. (Hill). Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine, Earth for whose use ? Pride .nswers, " 'Tis for mine I " For me kind nature wakes her genial pow'r, Suckles each herb, and spreads out ev'ry flower. —Pope, Essay on Man, i. 131. But the poet Chinks rather of the right he has to all things by virtue of his understanding, appreciating, and enjoying them. The beauty of the landscape is the possession of the beholder. — Though poor, perhaps, compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. — Cowper, Winter Morning, 739ff. Cf. 1. Cor. iii. 22. 1. 55. — alternate passions. Pleasure at good (1. 55) and pain at the lack of it (1. 58). 1. 57. — preyails. Gets the mastery over pleasure (1. 56). n GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 177 things ijoying of the >5) and , 56). sorrows fall. ' Sorrows ' for ' tears of sorrow ' (Hales) ; * sorrows fall upon or oppress the heart ' (Sankey). The lat- ter is in keeping with 11. 102, 104. 1. 58. — hoard. 1st ed., sum. 1. 60.— real. A dissyllable; cf. 1. 259. 1. 66.— Boldly proclaims. . . 1st ed. Boldly asserts that country for his own. 1. 68. — And his long nights. 1st ed., And live-long nights. 1.70. — golden sands. Cf. 'Gold Coast' and 'Guinea,' as indicating the rich product of the coast of Central Africa. palmy wine. Palm-wine, or wine made from the sap of the palm-trees. Page 7. 1. 73. — Such is. lst-3rdedd., Nor less. 1. 75iT. — And yet, perhaps. . .blessing even. isted. And yet, perhaps, if states with states we scan, Or estimate their bliss on Reason's plan, Though patriots flatter, and though fools contend. We still shall find uncertainty suspend, Find that each good, by Art or Nature given, To these or those, but makes the balance even : Find that the bliss of all is much the seme, And patriotic boasting reason's shame I 1. 78.— An equal portion dealt. This is eighteenth century optimism. Cf. One truth is clear, Whatever is is right. —Pope, Eatay on Man, i. 289. Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere, "Tis nowhere to be found, or ev'rywhere. —id., ib. iv. 16. Alike to all, the kind impartial Heaven The sparks of truth and happiness has giv'n. —Gray, Education and Oovernment. 1. 82. — bliss. The frequent use of this word is almost a mannerism ; cf . 11. 58, 123, 226, etc. 11. 83f . — With food . . . side. This couplet is not in the 1st ed. 1. 84. — Idra's cliffs. It is doubtful what place Goldsmith had in mind. In the Gentteman'a Magazine, 1767, pp. 251f., ■ii '> If. I Hi lil' i llfi 178 NOTES, are two letters from Mr. Everard on the *' Mines of Idra," "dreadful subterranean caverns where thousands are con- demned to reside, shut out from all hopes of ever seeing the cheerful light of the sun... they are fed at the public's expense. . .and commonly in about two years expire." This Idra is Idria, in Carniola, Austria, — a town situated among mountains, famous for its quicksilver mines. Beferences to the mines are in Goldsmith's Animated Nature. I believe the poet meant this place. There is likewise a little mountain lake of Idro, west of Lake Garda in Northern Italy, with a town of Idro on its rocky sides, which Birbeck Hill holds is the poet's Idra. The allusion to the ' peasant' (1. 83) makes the latter refer- ence possible. Amo's shelvy side. The reference seems to be the terraced banks of the Arno, devoted to the vine. 1. 85. — And though the rocky-crested.... 1st ed. And though rough rocks and gloomy summits frown, 1. 86. — beds of down. Cf . The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel coucli of war My thrice-driven bed of down. Shalcspere, Othello, 1. iii. 1. 88. — Wealth, commerce. . . lst-3rd edd., Wealth, splen- dours... I. 90. — either. Improper use of either, one of two, for each. II. 9if.— Where wealth and freedom. . .prevails. Omitted in lst-3rd edd. 1. 92. — honour sinks. A common complaint ; cf. Ennobling thonghta depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold. —Wordsworth, " When I have borne in Memory." 1. 93!.— to one lov'd blessing prone. Cf. And hence one Master Passion in the breast. Like Aaron's serpent, swallows all ttie rest. . —Pope, Essay on Man, il. ISlt. yry: GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 179 L 98. — peculiar pain. An evil pertaining only to ffc. (L. peculiaris, one^s own, special.) Pagfe 8. 1. 99. — try. In its original sense of test, examine. 1. 101. — proper cares. Cares peculiar to myself. (L. pro- prius, one's own.) Cf. Conceptions only proper to myself. — Shakspere, Julina Oceaar, i. li. 41. 1. 105. — Apennine. The common poetic form for the Apen- nines. Cf. Childe Harold, iv. 649. 1. 108. — theatric pride. The scenic splendour displayed in the ever rising stages (like the tiers of a theatre). Cf. Shade above sliade, a woody theatre Of .stateliest view. —Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 141. Or scoops in circling theatres the vale. —Pope, 3loral Essays^ Iv. 60. The expression is classical. Cf. Lycophronis, Cassandra, V. 600; Virgil, Ji:neid, i. 164; v. 288. 1. 109. — tops. lst-3rd edd., top, and ' marks' in 1. 110. 1. 115. — blooms. Blossoms, flowers. (Conjectural A.S. form hluma, connected with blossom and to blow [of flowers]). For the whole passage, of. Childe Harold, iv. xxvi. (p. 97.) 1. 119. — own the kindred soil. ' Own ' is here, not, I think, possess, but make manifest, — show that the soil is congenial, natural to their growth. Cf . 1. 264, and D. V. 1. 76. In the long sigh that sets the spirit free. We own the love that calls us back to Thee. —Holmes, Pittsjield Qemetery. For ' kindred,' cf. Still, where rosy pleasure leads, See a kindred grief pursue. —Gray, Ode on Vicissitude. 1. 121. — g^elid {jel'id). Cold, icy; here, cool, refreshing. (L. gelidua, cool, cold.) By gelid founts and careless rills to muse. -Thomson, fifunimer, 1. 205. \ I ! It 1, 1 ^ fn V j 180 NOTES. 1. 122. — winnow. (A.S. windwian, hence to separate the c\mff by mean» of the wind.) Disperse by fanning. Cf. (Hill), Cool zephyrs tliro' tlie clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling. —Gray, On the Spring. I. 128. — sense. The senses as distinguised from the intel- lectual and moral nature. 1. 124. — all the nation. Isted.. all this nation. Page 9. 1. 126.— Man. . .dwindles here. Cf. (Hill). Though every prospect pleases. And only man Is vile. — Heber, Missionary Uymn. Man seems. lst-8rd edd., Men seem, and 'their* for his ' in 1. 127. 1. 127. — manners. Not knowledge of etiquette merely or necessarily, but heartfelt courtesy. And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Wordsworth, Lotidon, 1802. 1. 128. — Though poor, luxurious... The line imitates Denham's famous description of the Thames : Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull. — Deiibam, Cooper's Hill. 1. 129. — zealous. Zealous for religion. Cf. " I would have every zealous man examine his heart thoroughly, and, I be- lieve, he will often find, that what he calls zeal for his re- ligion, is either pride, interest, or ill-nature." — Addison, Spectator , No. 185. 1. 133. — not. lst-3rd edd. , nor. not far remov'd the date. The references in 11. 133ff. are to the Italian republics of the middle ages — Venice, Florence, Pisa, Genoa. They began their prosperity in the thirteenth century, and their decadence set in in the fifteenth oeUTJury. Venice lasted longest, but with the fall of Con- stantinople (1453) her glory diminished. The discovery of America and of the passage round the Cape of Good Hope lave be- j re- ison, lice, the [enth Icon- GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 181 placed the oommorco oi the world in the hand» of Portugal, Spain, Holland, and finally Great Britain. The foremost city of the Italian commonwealths was Flor- ence. From the thirteenth century to the fifteenth she was a city of princely wealth, due to her successful commerce. In the fifteenth century she was " the aesthetic capital of the world." Her loading citizens, such ns the Medici, were patrons of letters and art. Her painters were such men as Cimabue, Giotto, Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Michael- Angelo, Andrea del Sarto, Baphael ; h<. r sculptors wore Nicole Pisano, Donatello, Luca dellaRobbia, Michael-Angelo. Her palaces and churches were the work of Giotto, Arnolfo di Cambio, Brunelleschi, and others. Among her men of letters were Dante, Boccaccio, and Poliziano. The decli te of the city was due partly to licentiousness, partly to the fall of its free government through the rivalry of the great houses and wars with neighbouring powers. 1. 136. — long^-fairn column. A reference to the zeal of the Italians of the Benaissance to discover and restore the re- mains of antiquity. " The same munificence which had been displayed in palaces and temples, was directed with equal zeal to revive and emulate the labours of antiquity. Prostrate obelisks were rai^^ed from the ground, and erected in conspicuous places."— Gibbon, Decline and Fall, Ixxi., speaking of Bome after 1420. 1. 137. — beyond e'en Nature warm. Heightening the glow of beauty by the power of art, till the picture had life and colour beyond the reality it, represented. Titian was espec- ially famous for his warmth of colour. Cf. Then marble soften 'd, into lite grew warm, And yielding metal flow'd to human form. —Pope, Satires^ v. 118. 1. 138. — pres^nant quarry. The devotion to sculpture was 80 great that every quarry seemed to be pregnant with human forms, which it gave forth abundantly under the sculptor's liaiid. If' 1 I <• I lit 4 u "'4 182 NOTES. 11. 139f.— Till, more unsteady... lst-3rd edd. But, more unsteady than the southern gale, Soon Commerce turn'd on other shores her sail. the southern gale. Allusion to the sudden and violent changes of tropical weather and winds. I. 140. — on other shores. See 1. 133. n. II. 141f. — While nought. . .slave. Not in the 1st ed. 1. 142. — towns unmanned. Towns without inhabitants. The statement is an exaggeration. Modern Italy has not the population of the ancient Italy, whose capital had, about 400 A.D., an estimated number of twelve hundred thousand inhabitants (Gibbon, ch. xxxi.), as against one hundred and forty thousand in 1709. But the impoverishment and depopu- lation of Italy in the fifteenth century, through civil and foreign wars, though undoubtedly very great, by no means amounted to annihilation. 1. 143. — late. For, too late. I. 144. — Its former strength. ist ed. Their former strength was now plethoric ill. plethoric ill. Plethora (Gk. i^lethore, fulness) is the evil of overfulness of blood duo to over-eating and over-drinking. The nation swollen by prosperity is weaker for the wealth that congests its veins and impedes its activity. " In short the state resembled one of those bodies bloated with disease, whose bulk is only a symptom of its wretchedness." — Gold- smith, Citizen of the World. II. 145f.— Yet still the loss. . . 1st ed. Yet, though to fortune lost, here still abide Some splendid arts, the wrecks of former pride ; From which... 1. 146.— arts, the splendid wrecks. After the death of Michel- Angelo (1564) Florentine art declined, and with it the glory of the Italian Renaissance was at an end. 1. 150. — paste-bc9rd triumph. Referring to the imitation castles, ships, etc., drawn through the streets of Rome, and to the masquerades and mummery of the carnival of Rome GOLDSMITH : THE TRAVELLER. 183 1. ^riolent jitants. tias not i, about louaand xed and depopu- ivil and ,0 means ill. evil of rinking. wealth In short disease, "—Gold- death of lith it the limitation [ome, and of Bome and other Italian cities. These processions are in part a survival of the triumph, or glorious entry, granted by ancient Eome to her successful generals. cavalcade. Properly a procession on horseback (Lat. caballus, a horse), but loosely used of a procession of car- riages. The poet probably refers to the gala corso or proces- sional driving of the finest horses and carriages, with the accompanying contests of flower- throwing. 1. 151. — Processions. "Happy country [Italy], where the . pastoral age begins to revive ! Where the wits even of Homo are united into a rural group of nymphs and swains, under the appellations of modern Arcadians. Where in the midst of porticos, processions, and cavalcades, abb6s turned into shepherds, and shepherds without sheep, indulge their inno- cent diver tivienti.'''' — Present State of Polite Learning, ch. iv. The processions are usually of a religious nature, in honour of a saint. Cf. (Hill), Noon strikes,— here sweeps the procession ! our Lady borne smiling and smart, With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her heart. Bang, whatig, whang, goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife. —Browning, Up at a Villa. The ' processions ' of love have given us the serenade, etc. Page 10. 1. 153. — Ey sports like these. See note, p. 165. Behold the child, l)y Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw. —Pope, Essay on Man, ii. 275f. 1. 154.— satisfy the child. In lst-3rd edd. then followed : At sports like these, while foreign arms advance In passive ease they leave the world to chance. 1. 155. — Each nobler aim . . . ist ed. When struggling Virtue sinks by long controul. She leaves at last, or feebly mans the soul. 2nd-5th edd. When noble aims have suffer'd long controul, They sink at last, or feebly man the soul. 1. 156.— mans. Nerves, strengthens. I r 184 NOTES. 1. 158.— happier meanness. The oxymoron is a stylistic peculiarity of eighteenth century poetry; cf. " idly busy," 1. 256; "diligently slow," 1. 287, etc. 1. 159. — domes. Mansions or palaces (L. domus, house). Cf. D. v., 1. 819. Cf. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree. —Coleridge, Kubla Khan. Caesars. The title Caesar was the official designation of the Emperors of Rome from Augustus to Hadrian, and after- wards the appellation of the heir-presumptive of the emperor {New Eng. Diet.). In modern usage it is the general name for all the Roman emperors. 1.161. — There in the ruin. lst-3rd edd., Amidst the ruin. 1. 164.— owns. Cf. 1. 119. 1.166. — rougher climes. "The sterility of the ground makes men industrious, sober, hardened to toil, courageous, apt for war; they must win what the soil refuses them." — Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws^ xviii. 4f . (Hill). The poet's view of Switzerland is most remarkable for what is not expressed. Comparing, for example, the Alps as they are to Byron (Childe Harold, canto iii.) with the ' barren hills' of Goldsmith, we see what a powerful element has entered into the texture of the human mind. The eighteenth century knew nothing of nature except as it could be viewed without effort in the suburbs of cities. Goldsmith gave up a Scottish tour because hills and rocks intercepted every prospect, while, he said, nothing could equal the beauty of the Dutch scenery about Leyden, which had "fine houses, elegant gardens, statues, grottos, vistas." — Macaulay, Hiat. of England, xiii. Keats indignantly cried : The winds of heaven blew, the oqea^ rolled The gathering waves— ye felt it not. The blue Bared its eternal bosom, and the dew Of summer night collected still to make The morning precious. Beauty was awake. Why were ye not awake ? But ye were dead. • GOLDSMITH: THE TRA VELLER. 185 Thomson, Cowper, and Wordsworth had to live before a taste for the rougher aspects of nature could become general. I. 167. — mansion. lst-3rd edd., mansions. Here, region of abode (L. manere^ to dwell). 1. 168. — force a churlish soil. In contrast to the spontane- ity of Italian vegetation, 11. 119 f. 1. 170. — man and steel. The soldier. The Swiss served as mercenaries in many of the armies of Europe. France alone from the time of Louis XI. to Louis XIV. drew a million of her guards from the cantons. 1. 171. — No vernal blooms. A poetical exaggeration. The Alpine flora is very extensive. 1. 173. — zephyr. Lat. zephyrus^ the west wind ; hence, any gentle wind ; sometimes personified, — Mild as when Zephynis on Flora breathes. —Milton, Paradise Lost, /. 16. sues. lst-3rd edd., sooths. 1. 176. — Redress the clime. Mitigate its severities. Cf. Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime. D. v., 1. 422. 1. 177. — feast. lst-3rd edd., feasts. Page II. 1. 179.— no contiguous palace. Cf. D.F., 1. 304. 1. 181. — No costly lord. One lavish in expenditure. One would have thought they paid enough before, To curse the costly sex. — Dryden, JEneid, Ix. 177. deal. A.S. dcelan, to divide, distribute; cf. Isaiah, Iviii. 7. 1. 184. — Each wish contracting. Another touch of eigh- teenth century philosophy. Cf. "I shall therefore recom- mend to the consideration of those who are always aiming after superfluous and imaginary enjoyments, and will not be at the trouble of contracting their desires, an excellent saying of Bion the philosopher ; namely, That no man has so much care as he who endeavours after the most happiness."— r Addison, Spectator, No. 574. Cf. also, — ISC NOTES. Contracto melius parva cupldine Vectlgalia porrigani. I shall better extend my small Income by contracting my desires. —Horace, 0 governed impatience, but resist the greatest calamities with surprising fortitude . . . His virtues seem to sleep in the calm, and are called out only to combat the kindred storm." II. 827f.— Pride in their port. . .pass by. The lines in this couplet were interchanged in the 1st ed. port Bearing; cf. And bear the name and port of gentlemen. — Shakspere, 2 Henry VI., Iv. i. 19. i!i, Ml t! 196 NOTES. ii ;Jj 'liiii! There seems hero a touch of the "joy and pride with which," says TJacauIay, " the nation was drunk" after Pitt " had made England the first country of the world " (Hill). 1. 330. — By forms unfashion'd. In keeping with ' irregu- larly great,' ' native hardiness,' etc. They are not creatures of conventionality, of routine, of a tyrant cus- tom ; their greatness is spontaneous, born of the native spirit within them. Sankey thinks this applies to their bodies, citing Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest nature's rule. —Tennyson, Locksley TTall. 1. 332. — imagin'd right. — Their conception or ideal of right. I. 333. — boasts these rights to scan, "The lowest me- chanic looks upon it as his duty to be a watchful guardian of his country's freedom, and often uses a language that might seem haughty, even in the mouth of the great Em- peror who traces his ancestry to the moon." — Goldsmith, Citizen o/ the World, Letter iv. Page i6. 1. 340.— Keeps man from man. Johnson " had dis- cernment enough to see, and candour enough to censure, the cold reserve too common among Englishmen towards strangers : ' Sir,' said he, ' two men of any other nation who are shown into a room together, at a house where they are both visitors, will immediately find some conversation. But two Englishmen will probably go each to a different window, and remain in obstinate silence. Sir, we as yet do not enough understand the common rights of human- ity.'" — Boswell's Johnson, anno 1783. II. 341f. — The self-dependent lordlings. These 11. are not in 1st ed. 1. 342.— All claims... 3rd ed. All kindred claims that soften life unknown. 1. 343. — Here, by the bonds of nature. Ist ed. Sec, though by circling; deeps together held, ^ GOLDSMITH : THE TRAVELLER. 197 Ji m ro not The idea originally was, therefore, that the isolation that nature gave Britain as an island was a weak bond of human unity. This idea is the chief one in the text as it stands. Cf. England, Luund in with tlie triumphant sea. Slialvspcre, Richard II., 11. 1. 1. 345. — Ferments arise. . . " It is extremely difficult to induce a number of free beings to co-operate for their mutual benefit ; every possible advantage will necessarily be sought, and every attempt to procure it must bo attended with a new fermentation." — Citizen of the World, cxx. imprison 'd factions. Carrying out the figure of ' the bonds of nature.' See p. 2. 1. 85 n. 1.346. — Repress'd ambition ..shore. A probable allus- ion to the Jacobite plots directed from the Continent and especially from France. The ' repress'd ' rebellion of 1745, it will be remembered, was not yet twenty yeai-s past. 1. 349. — As nature's ties. lst-3rd edd., As social bonds. 1. 352.— Still. See 1. 9 n. 1. 354. — talent sinks, and merit weeps. Johnson exper- ienced the truth of this, which prompted his lines : — Slow rises worth by ix)Vftrty depress'd ; But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold. Where books are merchandise, and smiles are sold. —Johnson, London, 11. 121 flf. 1. 356. — The land. . .the nurse. lst-3rd edd., That land .. .that nurse. Cf. Gaunt's praise of England : — This royal throne of kirij:3, this scepter'd Isle... This happy breed of me i, this little world. . . Tills blessed plot, this earth, thiH realm, this England, This n'trsc, this teeming womb of royal kings. Shakspere, Richard II., ii. 1. 1. 8r ^ -And monarchs . . . l3t-3rd edd. And monarchs toll, and poets pant for fanje. wrote. — For 'written.' Johnson, in his Dicr.v,nary, 'il- 11 nr n w %, '!H! i!-| lit ; M rr 198 NOTES. i R gives both forms as perf. participles. They were so used in Shakspere. Beattie has, — I then had wrote, What friends might flatter. —Night TliougUts, ii. I. 359. — level avarice. We hring to one dead level ev'ry mind. — Poi)e, Dunciad, iv. 208, Page i8. 1. 861.— Yet think not... "In the things I have hitherto written I have neither allured the vanity of the great by flattery, nor satisfied the malignity of the vulgar by scandal, but I have endeavoured to get an honest repu- tation by liberal pursuits." — Goldsmith, English History/, Pref. (Mitford.) II. 3G3-380. — Ye powers of truth. . . Not found in 1st ed., which has however the following couplet : Periuh the wish ; for, inly satisfied, Above their pomps I hold my ragged pride. 1. 3G8. — proud contempt. 3rd ed., cold contempt. I. 374.— loads on each. Then in 3rd ed. follows : Much on tlie low, the rest, us rank supplies, Should in columnar diminution rise ; While, etc II. 375 f. — one order. . .all below. This conception of the ideal state is that of the eighteenth century, but not that of the Revolution whoso motto was, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. Other expressions of this ideal are : Heaven forming each on otlier to depend, A master, or a servant, or a friend, Bids each on other for assistance call, Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all. —Pope, Essay on Man, ii. 249ff. Order is heaven's first law ; and this confest. Some are, and must be, greater than the rest. —id., tb., Iv. 49. 11. 877 if .— O then how blind . . . This dark contrast must have been written about the same time as chapter mmm GOLDSMITH: THE TRA VELLER. 199 xix. of the Vicar of Wakejield, which discusses the dangers of liberty in words that afford apt parallels to the lines of The Traveller. Cf. 386, 392 nn. 1. 378.--Who think it freedom. Cf. 1. 382 n. 1. 381. — contending^ chiefs blockade the throne. See p. 2, 1. 35 n. The power of the royal prerogative was a vital question about this time. Bute was in 1762-3 the leader of a ministry that looked upon themselves as the humble instruments of royal authority. He had to make way for Grenville, who was displaced by the Marquis of Rocking- ham. See Green, Short History, chap. x. 1. 382.— Contracting regal power. See 1. 392 n. "The constitution of England is at present possessed of the the strength of its native oak, and the flexibility of the bending tamarask ; but should the people at any time, with a mistaken zeal, pant after an imaginary freedom, and fancy that abridging monarchy was increasing their privileges, they would be very much mistaken, since every jewel plucked from the crf>wn of majesty would only be made use of as a bribe to corruption ; it might come to a few who shared it among thorn, but would in fact impov- erish the public. As the Roman senators. . .became mas- ters of the people, yet still flattered them with a show of freedom, while themselves only were free." — Goldsmith, Citizi: of the World, xlix. I. UoS — ikctious. Addicted to party, cabal, organized and so HI a opposition to government. i, i^85. Each wanton judge. This is probably aimed, sa^"* H 11, ! irainst Lord Chancellor Hardwicke, who had charge ot ohe drafting of new laws more strictly regulating marriages and public houses. We should note that Gold- smith elsewhere declares, '* There is a spirit of mercy breathes through the laws of England." Yet " a mer- cenary magistrate desires to see penal laws increased, since \ ' too frequently has it in his power to turn them into u 4»^^rument3 of extortion." — Citizen of the World, Let. Ixxix. 1 111 ■ !* •5 ill i: i: V :il^-^ HIk r If .. ji ■ '4 Ik k-4 U I '^^ 'I M\ '^ fir; 200 NOTES. jl The penal laws were frightfully severe, there being no less than one hundred and sixty crimes punishable with death. One evil feature was that the judges had the power of inflicting punishment of a few months' imprisonment or death for one and the same offence " (Sydney. ISlh Cen- tury, ii. 267). Goldsmith's line is then a protest against the multiplica- tion of penal statutes that permitted the magistrates to oppress and rob the people. 1. 386. — Laws grind the poor. . . Cf. " What they may then expect, may be seen by turning our eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice, vhn^ce ^he law governs the poor, and the rich govern the i \ am then for, and would die for, monarchy." — Vicar of ^ tfield, ch. xix. (see 1. 392 n.) rich men rule the law. " There was a time even here when titles softened the rigour of the law ; when dignified wretches were permitted to live." — Citizen of the World, i. 162. Page IQ. 11. 387f. — The wealth of climes... Pillag'd from slaves. The aspect of English life here depicted has especial reference to the Englishmen of the East India Company. Macaulay's Clive gives abundant details of this " new class of Englishmen, to whom their countrj' now gave the name of Nabobs," who " raised the price of everything from fresh eggs to rotten borroughs," who had " pillaged the natives by monopoly of trade. " ' ' The India House was a lottery-office which invited every body to take a chance, and held out ducal fortunes as the prizes for the successful few." Clive returned to England in 1760 with £40,000 a year, and used some of his wealth to purchase parliamentary dependents. Public indignation against the Nabobs was already aroused. The phrase ' where savage nations roam ' is more appro- priate to America than India, but it seems only a pictur- esque license. Cf. " The possessor of accumulated wealth. ..has no other A H GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 201 method to employ the superfluity of his fortune but in purchasing power. . .in making dependants by purchasing the liberLy of the needy or the venal, of men who are willing to bear the mortification of contiguous tyranny for bread." — Vicar of Wakefield, ch. xix. 1. 392.— I fly from petty tyrants. Cf. " The generality of mankind also are of my way of thinking, and have unan- imously created one king, whose election at once dimin- ishes the number of tyrants, and puts tyranny at the great- est distance from the greatest number of people. Now the great who were tyrants themselves before the election of one tyrant, are naturally averse to a power raised over them, and whose weight must ever lean heaviest on the subordinate orders. It is the interest of the great there- foi'e to diminish kingly power as much as possible; be- cause whatever they take from that is naturally restored to themselves." — Vicar of Wakefield, ch. xix. Cf. also (Dobson), — Let not a mob of tyrants seize the helm, Nor titled upstarts lea{?iie to rob the realm. . . Let us, some comfort in our {griefs to bring, Be slaves to one, and be that one a king. —Churchill, Tlie Faretvell, 11. 3«3 ff. 1. 395.— honour in its source. ' Honour' is used hero, as in 1. 258, in the sense of honourable recognition from others. Cf. (Hill) " The king is the fountain of honour." — Bacon, Essays, Of a King. I. 396. — Gave. Allowed, enabled, gave leave to. Cf . Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine. — Pope, Essay oti Man, iv. M4. II. 397 ff. — Have we not seen ... "In this and the sub- sequent lines to the end of the passage, may be traced the germ of the Deserted Village." — Prior. 1. 398.— useful sons exchang'd. Cf. D. V., 1. 269. Cf. " And what are the commodities which this colony, when established, is to produce in return ? Why, raw silk, liemp, and tobacco. England, therefore, must take an i-ii '<[ I K:' 202 NOTES. m i ,11 exchange of her best and bravest subjects for raw silk, hemp, and tobacco ; her hardy veterans and honest trades- men must be trucked for a box of snuff or a silk petticoat." — Citizen of the World, xvii. 1. 411. — wild Oswego. The reference is to the river Oswego of New York state, flowing from Lake Oneida to Ontario. The present town was in 1764 only represented by a fort garrisoned by the 55th Highlanders. The poet drew chiefly on his imagination for the swamps. — " The country upon the lake between Oswego and St. Lawrence is level and good for several miles from the lake." — Rogers's Account of North America (1765). Contemporary accounts speak of the thick forests of the Oswego. On the other hand, Clark mentions, "During the occupancy of the fort by the British, the cultivated grounds wore extended above Bridge Street on the south, and easterly to an alder swamp, lying in the /icinity of Sixth street." — Onondaga and Oswego, ii. 375. The map of the Oswego in The Gentleman's Magazine, 1757, p. 79, marks "a largo swamp" by the river. Cf. Oh ! let me fly a land that spurns the brave, Oswego's dreary shores shall be my grave. —Goldsmith, Threnodia Auguatali8. " It has been observed that Goldsmith was fhe first to introduce into English poetry sonorous American — or rather Indian — names." — Black, Goldsmith, ch. ix. Niag^ara. The accent, it will be noted, is here Ni'- a gar'a. The name was that of a Seneca station at the mouth of the river, written On-gui-aah-ra in 1641. The river appears as Ongiara in Sanson's Map of Canada (Paris, 1656) ; as Niagara in Coronelli's map (Paris, 1688). The name in Seneca dialect was Ne-ah'-gii, in Tuscarora O-ne-ii'kara, in Onondaga O-ne-ah'-ga, in Oneida 0-ne-ah'- gale, and in Mohawk, O-ne-A'-gii-ra, or Nyah"-ga-rah'. The common English accentuation preserves the Indian accent. The usual note, "when Goldsmith wrote, the third syllable was rendered long ; at present, it is more GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER, 203 usual to dwell upon the second. The former, however, is the native Indian pronunciation " (Prior), is not substan- tiated. Piior states with most of the p^azetteers that the word means 'thunder- water,' but the significance of the wora in Indian is probably ' the neck.' Morgan, League of the Iroquois, III. iii.; Marshall, Historical Writings, p. 283. 1. 41G.— And the brown Indian. 1st ed., And the brown Indian takes a deadly aim. 1. 420. — To stop too fearful. " Dr. Johnson said of Gold- smith's ' Traveller,' which had been published in my ab- sence, ' there had not been so fine a poem since Pope's time.' In the year 1783, he, at my request, marked with a pencil the lines which he had furnished, which are only line 420th, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go ; and the concluding ten lines, except the last couplet but one." Boswell's Johnson, anno 17G6, ch. xvii. 1. 421. — long- look. lst-3rd edd. , fond look. 1. 432. Our own felicity. Of. The mind is its own place, and in itself, Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. —Milton, Paradise Lost, i. 254. 1. 434. Glides the smooth current. Secretiim iter et fallentis semita vitae. x The hidden way and path of an unnoticed life. — Hoi'ace, Epistles, xvfii. 103. 1. 435. The lifted axe. Cf. (Mitford),— Some the sharp axe, and some the painful wheel. — Blackmore, Eliza. The lifted axe— id., Arthur. thr». agonizing^ wheel. A punishment consisting of bind- ing a man to a carriage- wheel and breaking his limbs with blows from an iron bar as the wheel revolved. 1. 43G. — Luke's iron crown. The peasants of Transyl- vania, summoned to bear arms against the Turks, revolted in 1514 against the nobility. They put at the head George Dosa, one of their number, proclaiming him king of Hun- gary. The revolt was suppressed. The leaders were put 1 mt r\ ! :i- 1-^ ]1|! t|- U %lr ll' 204 NOTES. to death with horrible tdrtures. George (not Luke) Dosa was put in a fiery iron throne ; an iron sceptre was placed in his hand, and on his head an iron crown, both red hot. His brother, Luke Doaa, was then forced to drink his blood, and finally his roasted body was served to his fam- ished companions. Hunger, flaying, or impaling ended the lives of the other leaders. Goldsmith ai^parcntly got the story from the G^ographie Curieuse where the name of the brothers is given as Zeck. Hence some editors print the line, Zeck's iron crown, etc. But Zeck was a misapprehension (Boswell, anno 1766, makes the same mistake) arising from the fact that the brothers belonged to that native race of Transylvania named Zecklers or Szecklers. (Foster, iii. x.) Damiens' bed of steel. Robert Francis Damiens, a gloomy and partly insane lackey, conceived the idea of becoming the instrument of God to warn Louis XV. of his debauchery and the misery of the kingdom. He stabbed the king with a penknife. He was thought to be the agent of the Jansenists or Jesuits, and tortured. He was first burnt with hot pincers; then bruised in iron manacles ; then stretched with rings and straps upon a bed. His legs were mangled ; his right hand burnt in sulphur ; boiling lead and oil were poured en him ; he was broken on the wheel, and torn to pieces by horses. The torture lasted from the 5th of January, 1757, till his death on the 28th of March. The savage fury must have caused through Christendom a thrill that still breathes in these lines, written only a few years later. Goldsmith wrote Damien's, taking his account from the Gentleman'' 3 Magazine, 1757, pp. 87, 151, where the name is given as " Damien, the assassin." "Dr. Goldsmith says," said Davies, "he meant by Damien's bed of steel, the raok, but I believe the newspapers informed us he was . . .obliged to lie on an iron bed " (Foster). le GOLDSMITH : THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 203 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Circumstances of composition. — The earliest trace of any part of this poem is found in a letter from d'oldsmith to his bi'other in 1759, when he asks for liis opinion of the design of the " heroicomical poem " sent him. " I intended," ho wrote, " to introduce the hero of the poem as lying in a paltry alehouse. . , . The room in which he lies may be described : The window, pateh'd with paper, lent a ray, That fcobli' show'd tlie state in wlilch he lay. The sandy floor, that grits beneath the tread : The humid wall witii paltry pictures spread ; The game of goose was there exposed to view. And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ; The seasons fram'd witli listing found a place, And Prussia's monarch shew'd his lamp-black face. The morn was cold; lie views, with keen desire, A rusty grate unconscious of a fire. An unpaid reck'ningon the freeze was scor'd, And five crack'd teacups dress'd tlie chimney l)oard. . . All this, you see, is taken from nature." This projected poem was never rxecuted, but ten years later portions of this passage were incorporated in The Deserted Village. The germ of this poem is, as we have already seen, con- tained in The Traveller, particularly in the passage dealing with the depopulation of Britain, 11. 393—122. We may suppose, therefore, that the success of The Traveller kept the project of a companion poem in the poet's mind during the six years when more pressing demands necessitated liis essays, compilations, the comedy of The Guod-Natiired Man, and the Roman History. His brother Henry died in May, 1768, and the melancholy thought that thenceforth the village of his childhood was for him verily deserted, a thought which gives that tone of gentle pathos in which the quiet lines of the poem flow, must have been the immediate stimulus for the perfecting and accomplishing of the work. IM *H i:-i « ti ' ' i 4 '■si ■> 206 NOTEii. Dr. Stroan, curato to Kilkenny West after the death of Henry Goldsmith, says, with much detail on the subject : — " The poem of The Deserted Village took its origin from the circumstance of General Robert Napper* (the grandfather of the gentleman who now lives in the house, within half a mile of Lissoy, and built by the General), having pur- chased an extensive tract of the country surrounding Lissoy, or Auburn; in consequence of which many families, here called cottiers, were removed, to make room for needed improvements of what was now to bo the wide domain of a rich man, warm with the idea of changing the face of his new acquisition ; and were forced ' with faint- ing steps ' to go in search of ' torrid tracts ' and ' distant climes.' This fact alone might be sufficient to establish the sect of the poem ; but there cannot remain a doubt in any unprejudiced mind when the following are added : viz., that the character of the village preacher, the above- named Henry is copied from nature. He is described exactly as he lived ; and his * modest mansion ' as it existed. Burn, the name of the village master, and the site of his schoolhouse ; and Catherine Giraghty, a lonely widow, The wretched matron, forced, i ' age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling ». rcsses spread, (and to this day the brook and ditches near the spot where her cabin stood abound with cresses), still remain in the memory of the inhabitants. . . The pool, the busy mill, the house where 'nut-brown draughts inspir'd,' are still visited as the poetic scene ; and the * hawthorn-bush,' growing in an open space in front of the house, which I knew to have three trunks, is now reduced to one ; the other two having been cut, from time to time, by persons carrying pieces of it away to be made into toys, etc., in honour of the bard, and of the celebrity of his poems. , , * General Napier, who had grown rich at Vigo, Spain. The estate was purchased in 1736, of the HiWon&.—Qoldsmith, Aldine ed., Ixxi. ih! iiil in :ate i. GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 207 The 'decent church,' which I attended for upwards (f eipfhteen years, and which ' tops the noghbouring hill,' is exactly described as seen from Lissoy, the residence of the preacher." — Mangin, Essay on Light Beading, 1808, pp. 112 f. To this it may be addad that a Westmeath poet, whoso works Goldsmith must have known in boyhood, had already written on the same theme of eviction as we find in The Deserted Village : — Their native soil were forced to quit, So Irish landlords thought It ilt. . . How many villages they razed, How many parishes laid waste. . . Whole co'onles to shun the fate Of being oppress'd at such a rate, By tyrants who still raise their rent Sail'd to the Western Continent. —Lawrence Whyte, Works (1741). Publication.— The Public Advertiser of the 26th of May, 1770, announced the publication of the poem. " This day at 12 will bo published, price two shillings, The Deserted Village, a Poem. By Doctor Goldsm,ith . Printed for W. Griffin, at Garrick's Head, in Catherine Street, Strand." This is the accepted first edition, a quarto. Recently {AthencBum, Juno 20th and 27th, 1896) copies of an 8vo. ed., 1770, have turned up, which has claims to be con- sidered an earlier privatelv printed edition of the poem, issued in the last monbhs of 1769. The first 4towas fol- lowed on the 7th of June by a second 4to without any material differences in the text; a third appeared June 14th ; a revised fourth, June 28th ; and before the year was ended two more editions were exhausted. A seventh ap- peared in 1772, and an eighth in 1773. The present edition is based on the last editior . f the poem. The second (or third), fourth, fifth, seventh (reprint, Springfield) and the critical editions of Goldsmith already referred to, have been closely compared for trus«,forthy ifcXL - ivl variants. 1 B'^ '■^i i K f 'tif^ m \v 1 ' 'IH R ' i m ' n Im' iK^ ■■■; '" A K ^ 1 ' 1, i 208 NOTES. I ! I Page 21.— Dedication. Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792). The greatest of English portrait painters, first president of the Koyal Academy. He was not only an artist but also an author, chiefly on subjects of art. The Literary Club was founded by him in 1764. Goldsmith depicts him in worthy lines elsewhere : — Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind. He has not left a better or wiser behind : His pencil was striking?, resistless, and grand : His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencils our faces, his manners our heart; To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of hearing ; When they talked of their Raphaels, Corrcggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. —Retaliation, II. 137-14r.. Reynolds was not insensible to the honour of the Dedi- cation and painted his picture of Resignation, had it engraved and dedicated to Goldsmith, from his 'sincere friend and admirer, Joshua Reynolds.' 1. 10.— He is since dead. In May, 1768 ; see IV., Dedi cation n. Page 23. 1. 1. — Auburn. The name was suggested by Bennet Langton, one of the Literary Club, who may have thought, says Prior, of the village of Aldbourn or Auburn in Wiltshire. There are, however, so many recollections of Goldsmith's childhood in the description of the village and its people that from the first many attempts have been made, and with substantial success, to identify Auburn with Lissoy. That the picture is largely idv-^al is apparent, I think, from the language of the Preface and from such touches as the reference to the nightingale (1. 124), which never visits Ireland. Macaulay aptly says : " The village in its happy days is a true English village. The village in its decay is an Irish village. The felicity and misery which Goldsmith has brought close together belong to two different countries ^l]f] GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 209 and to two different stages in the progress of society. He had assuredly never seen in his native island such a rurul paradise, such a seat < i plenty, content and tranquillity as in 'Auburn.' He had assuredly never soon in England all the inhabitants of such a paradise turned out of their homes in one day and forced to omigrute, in a body, to America. The hamlet he had probably seen in Kent; the ejectment he had probably J. I. ' u\ in I' I il i Mr m 216 NOTES. '\i j:' i if H ! m M by Sir Joshua Reynolds in 1771 and enfjravod by Watson, was dedicated by the artist to the poet with the words : " This attempt to express a character in The Deserted Vil- lage is dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith, by his sincere friend and admirer, Joshua Reynolds." 1. 114. — Up yonder hill. In front of Lissoy parsonage, as it existed in Goldsmith's time, rose the little hill of Knockaruadh, or Red Hill, known as early as 1811 as " Goldsmith's mount." See 1. 137 «. 1, 117. — responsive. Answering in song (Lat. respondeo, I answer). Cf. How often from the steep Of cchoinf? hill, or thicket, have we heard Celestial voices, to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note. Singing their great Creator. —Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 680ff. 1. 122. — spoke the vacsjit mind. ' Vacant ' is here not contemptuous, but, in keeping with the context, free from care and thought. (Lat. vacans, empty, vacant.) Cf. Wlio with a body fill'd and vacant mind Gets him to rest. — Shakspere, Henry V., iv. I. 28(5. The gay ideas crowd the vacant brain. —Voi>Q, Rape of the Lock, \ 83. ' Speak ' is horo used in the sense of testifying to, as if by Si/oech, showing forth, — Her very silence and her patience Speak to the people. —Shakspere, As You Like It, i. iii. 81. 1.124. — each pause the nighting^ale. "The nightin- gale's pausing song would be the proper epithet for that bird's music." — Animated Nature, i. See Keats's Oa,. to a Nightingale, Theme n. The nightingale is never found in Ireland ; see 1. 1 n. 1. 12b. — fluctuate. Rise and fall (L. fluctus, a wave). "Armstrong," says Goldsmith, "has used the word fluc- tuate with admirable efficacy. Ill'' GOLDSMITH : THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 217 ' Oh ! when the growling winds contend, and all The sounding forest fluctuates in the storm. ' " —On Metaphors. Page 28. 1. 128.— bloomy. Some edd. read blooming, but lst-7th edd. have bloomy, — and no doubt rightly ; cf . O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray. —Milton, Soinieta, i. 1. 130. — plashy. Abounding in puddles. Cf. (Cent. Diet.) "He. . .made way through hills, fast'nd and filled up un- sound and plashy fens." — Milton, Hist, of England, ii. The word is of a Eomantic cast, and we expect to find it in the nature poetry of this century. Cf. The dripping woods and plashy fields. —Bryant, Rain Dr am. 1. 131. — She, wretched matron. The refertnce is with- out doubt to Catherine Giraghty. See Introductory note, p. 206. 1. 133. — wintry. For the coming winter. 1. 135. — train. The use of this word, like ' bliss,' is almost a mannerism of the poet. 1. 136. — The sad historian. Whose poverty and loneli- ness speak the sorrowful history of the village. pensive plain. The epithet is transferred from the observer to the desolate country. 1. 137.— Near yonder copse. "Behind the ruins of the house there are still the orchard and wild remains of a garden, enclosed with a high old stone wall. . . In truth, when the house was complete with its avenue of ash-trees, along which you look to the highway, and thence across the valley to the church of Kilkenny West, on a hill at about a mile distant, the abode of Goldsmith's boyhood must have been a very pleasant one. It is now as stripped of all its former attractions. . .and stands a white, bare, and solitary ruin." — Hewitt's Homes and Haunts of the Poets (1847). 1. 140. — The village preacher. The reference is primarily to Goldsmith's brother Henry; cf. Tr. Dedication, and I, T^f i-i« if '■'tit i ill ;| '1 '1 .■i!| « 'v s jf ^'»l ♦ ^ ,■ 1 1 M li • 'I Mi i' V f I i ^ (Ill I 218 NOTES. 0, and 2). F., Dedication, 1. 10. It is applicable likewise to Goldsmith's father, the Be v. Charles Goldsmith, and, to a less extent, to his uncle Contarine. Catharine Hodson, Goldsmith's sister, held that *' The Rev. Charles Goldsmith is allowed by all that knew him, to have been faithfully represented by his son in the character of the village preacher." — Percy Memoir. "The fact, perhaps, is, that he fixed upon no one individual, but borrowing, like all good poets and painters, a little 'rom each, drew the character by the combination." — Prior. This picture of the Village Preacher has been a favourite theme of Englsh poets. Chaucer has the honour of first drawing the English ideal of the parish priest, in the Pro- l(;gue to The Canterbury Tales, 11. 477-528. Chaucer's sketch was amplified by Dry den in his Character of a Good Parson. Pope vieil with these in his Man of Ross, Moral Essays, iii. Goldsmith followed with the lines before us, and was him- self succeeded by Cowper in The Task, ii. 32(iff., 395ff. Wordsworth carried on the subject in the Excursion, v., and Longfellow in his Evangeline, i. 43iT. mansion. Cf. 1. 41 and Tr. 1. 167 n. 1. 142. — passing. Surpassing, exceedingly. She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange. — Slialtspcre. Othello, i. iii. 160. forty pounds a year. The salary was not an uncommon one. Parson Adams in Fielding's Joseph Andrews ^ ' ' at the age of fifty was provided with a handsome income of twenty-three pounds a year ; which, however, he could not make any great figure with, because ho lived in a dear country, and was a little incumbered with a wife and six children " (ch. iii.). Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield ob- tained a cure at fifteen pounds a ycnr (chap. iii.). It is not unusual, Sankey says, "even now in parts of Cum- berland and Westmoreland." 1. 148. — Remote from towns. Cf. Tr. 1. 1 w., and -'Re- iQQte from the polite, they still retained," etc., in which •ilii ;!!! GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 219 the Vicar describes his cure of fifteen pounds a year. — Vicar of Wakefield, iv. ran his godly race. The figure is from St. Paul, 1 Corinth, ix. 24 ; Phil. il. 13f ; cf. Heb. xii. i. Goldsmith introduces the line into the Vicar : — That still a godly race he ran Whene'er he went to pray. —Elegy on a Blad Dog. 1. 144.— Nor e'er had changed. He sette nat his benefice to hyre, And leet his sheep encombred in ttie myre, And raif to London, unto s£ynt Poulcs. —Chaucer, Prol. Cant. Tales, 507ff. 1. 145. — Unpractis'd. -Isted., Unskilful. 1. 146. — doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour. This ideal was realized by the Vicar of Bray, who, whether the original was Simon Alleyn, Pendleton, Simon Symonds, or other, became a permanent portrait of literature in Colonel Fuller's well-known song. Goldsmith was un- doubtedly familiar with the song, Avhich was written in George I.'s reign. 1. 148. — More skiU'd. 1st ed.. More bent. 1. 149. — vagrant. Here simply, wandering. (Lat. vagor, I roam.) 1. 151. — loHj; remember'd beggar. " The same persons are seen for a series of years to traverse the same tract of country at certain intervals, intrude into every house which is not defended by the usual outworks of wealth, a gate and a porter's lodge, exact their portion of the food of the family, and even find an occasional resting-place for the night, or from sevei-e weather, in the chimney-corner of respectable farmers." — Prior. Cf. (Sankey) the descrip- tion of Edie Ochiltree, the Scotch Bluegown, or King's Bedesman, in Scott's Antiquary, xxi. 1. 152. — Whose beard descending. Cf. (Mitford), — Stay till my beard shall sweep mine aged breast. —Hall's SatireSy p. 79. il ! li n \ . ! I .« ' 1 5 * . •■.■■. ♦ ■■■ V > It r %m ii 220 NOTES. ■Jil 111 Page 29. 1. 155.— broken. Enfeebled, exhausted by age and service, — the classical " fracti lello," Virgil, ^neid^\\. 13. It will be remombered that Goldsmith's youth saw the veterans of the war of the Spanish Succession, and that the Seven Years' War was ended only in 1763. 1. 162. — pity. . .charity. The poet distinguishes here the instinctive impulse for the reasoned moral principle. 1. 165. — in his duty prompt. Cf. Yet still he was at Iiuiid, without request, To serve tlic siclt, to succour the distresa'd. . . Still cheerful, ever constant to his call. — Dryden, Qood Parson, II. 62f. and 129. 1. 170.— led the way. Cf. This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf (gave), That first he wro^hte, and afterwards he taughte ; . . . But Cristcs lore, and his apostles tnrelve. He laughte, and first he folwcd it him-selve. —Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, Prol. , 496ff. 1. 171. — parting. Cf. 1. 4 n. 1. 173. — champion. Fighting as a leader in the Church Militant against the powers of evil. I. 176. — accents. A favourite substitute in poetry for words, as numbers for verse ; cf . Asid bieathe ahort-windcd accents of new broils. — Shakspere, /. Henry IV., i. i. 3. II. 177f.— At church... Cf. His eyes difTus'd a venerable grace, And charity itself was In his face. —Dryden, A Qood Parson, 11. 3f. I. 179, Truth from his lips. Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charm'd. For lotting down the golden chain from higli, He drew his audience upward to the sky. —Dryden, A Qood Parson, Page 30.— 1. 180.— Fools who came. . . Cf. (Prior),— Our vows are heard betimes ! and Heaven takes care To grant, before we can conclude the prayer. Preventing angels met it half the way. And sent us back to praise, who came to pray. —Dryden, Britannia Redivivq. lU GOLDSMiril: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 221 d J. le it tie rch or I. 183.— and pluck'd his gown. "The Anglican clergy were ordinarily attired in accordance with the seventy- fourth canon — that is to say, in cassocks, black stockings, knee breeches, gown and bands." — Sydney, England in the Eighteenth Century, i. 116. 1. 189. — As some tall cliff. "Perhaps the sublimest simile that English poetry can boast." — Gilbert Wakefield, Memoirs (Prior). The nearest parallel, and the probable source, is in Young : — As some tall tow'r, or lofty mountain's brow, Detains tlie sun, illustrious from its lieiglit ; While risinK vapours, and descending; shades, Witli damps, and darlciiess, drown ttie spacious vale ; Uiidampt by doubt, undarken'd l>y despair, Philander, thus, augustly rears liis head. At that black hour, whicli gen'ral iiorror sheds On the low level of th' inf^lorious throng : Sweet peace, and heavenly liope. and humble joy, Divinely beam on his exalted soul ; Destruction gild, and crown him for the skies. With incommunicable lustre, bright. —Young, Night Thoughts, ii. Wakefield quotes a parallel from Claudian, de Mall. Theod. Cons. 206ff, which is rendered : — Olympus thus the rage of heaven divides White forky lightning plays around his sides: Eternally serene, no winter sees, Nor storms nor tempest interrupt his ease, Insults the wreck, and higher rears his head 'Midst foaming deluges around him spread. Hears undisturb'd descending torrents flow. And spurns the thunder as it lays below. — Warburton, tr. Claudian on Tlieodorns. Lord Lytton thought Goldsmith plagiarized from the Abb6 de Chaulieu (1639-1720) :— Tel qu'un rocher dont la tite, ]£:galant le Mont Athos, Volt k ses pieds la tempfite Troubler le calme des iiots, La mer autour bruit et gronde ; Malgrd ses ^mutiuns, Sur son front ^iev^ rigne une paix profonde. i ) , i: -; -hi 1 ( ; mi \l\ frit ^ U t3 I-! V '!t m i»- 1' ^ i mi .j" 1 ::K i 1 222 NOTES. Juhn Scott {Acad., Oct. 80, 1870) suggested the coinci- dence in the lines of Chai)el;iin (1595 1G74) to Richelieu : — Dans un ualsibic inuuvcnieiit Tu t'6l6vef» nil flrmaiiicnt Et Ittlsaes ooiitro tol miirmitrcr cette terre ; Ainsi le haul Olympe, & sun pied salilonncux, Lalsse funier la fondre et (^rondcr Ic tunncrre, Et garde son sominct tranquille et lumineux. J. E. Sandys (t(£., Nov. 13) points out that the figure is in Lucan, ii. 20(>-73. and a suggestion of the fact in the description of Olympus, OVyase//, vi. 45. 1. 194. — blossom'd furze. Or gorse, having abundant bright yellow flowers among prickly leaves. unprofitably gay. F. E. Hulme * has clearly demon- strated' in Familiar Wild Flowers, v. 42ff., that the furze is not ' unprofitably gay,' but useful as a wind-break, as fodder, etc. But the poet means that it wastes its bright- ness on an uninhabited district. 1. 196.— The village master. A reference to Thomas Burn or Byrne. "Goldsmith," says his sister, "was instructed in reading, writing, and arithmetic, by a school- master in his fathei*'s village, who had been a quarter- master in the army in Queen Anne's wars, in that detach- ment which was sent to Spain: hr ving travelled over a considerable part of Europe and leing of a very romantic turn, he used to entertain Oliver with his adventures ; and the impressions these made on his scholar were believed by the laiaily to have given him that wandering and unsettled turn, which so much appeared in his future life." — Percy Memoir. I. 200.— his morning face. Cf. The whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face. — Sliakspere, >1« FoM Lifr<; '' mG. II. 205. — aught. . .fault. The word ' fau . ist a})iiears English as 'faute' {Fr. fa ute), which is ui" spel ng into the sixteenth century. At the end —Pope, Windsor Forest, 278f. the midnight masquerade. " All these forms of amuse- ment paled their ineffectual fires before the prevailing mania for masquerades, which first became fashionable under the famous Heydegger (who is mentioned by Pope in the ' Dunciad ') in the early part of the eighteenth cen- tury, where they were usually held during the season at the King's Theatre in the Haymarket " . . . Tradition asserts that it was the fascinations of masquerades that alone induced George I. to merge from his habitual shyness and reserve... On February 7, 1771, Mrs. Cornolys... hold another masquerade, which was attended by the fashi(»nablo world of both sexes. The house was illumin- ated. . .in the most splendid and picturesque manner with nearly 4,000 wax lights, and 100 musicians were dispersed throughout the rooms." — Sydney, England in the 18th Century, i. 1^14 ff. Page 33. 1. 268.— Between a splendid and a happy land. " Too much commerce may injure a nation as well as too little ; and there is a wide difference between a conquering and a flourishing empire."— Ct7t«en of the World, Let. xxv. 1. 271.— beyond the miser's wish. Cf. Tr. 11. 51 ff. 1. 272. — rich men flock. Englishmen return home wealthy frQm all parts uf the world. 11 * !! GOLDSMITH : THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 227 1. 276.— Takes up a space. The same complaint was heard in antiquity : Lo, those piles rising ! metliinks, to the harrow They will leave but few acres ; on every side around us Vaster stcwponds for lishcs extend Wider bounds than the Lake of Luerinus. —Horace, Odes li. xv. (tr. Lytton). So in Martial, Epigrams, i. ii., especially Abstulerat miseris tccta supcrbus ajjer. [One single mansion began to occupy the whole space of the citj'. Here . . . ] a proud lawn had deprived poor wretches of their homes. 1. 278. — equipage. Here, carriages and attendants. 1. 280.— Has robb'd the neighbouring fields. . . The cost of the silk robe was half the produce of the surrounding fields. Page 34. 1. 287. — As some fair female. . . Cf. "Lack of orna- ment is said to become women." — Cicero, Orator xxiii. 78. In naked beauty more adorn 'd. —Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 713. Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is, when unadorn'd, adorn 'd the most. —Thomson, Atttumn, II. 'iO-'ff. female. The word was used from Wyclif to Scott as a synonym of woman. It is now vulgar in that sense or con- temptuous. plain Plainly, simply dressed. 1. 288.— Secure to please. (L. securus, safe, certain.) Sure of pleasing. 1. 201. — charms are frail. Cf. Prov. xxxi. 30. 1. 293.— solicitous to bless. Eager to favour her lovers. 1. 298. — Its vistas strike. Vista (Ital. viata, sight, view, Lat. videre, to see), a view, especially through an avenue of trees. strike. Surprise, astonish. Cf. « i \ ' ■ ■ ■■ f- ♦!1! . ■H ' i' i\'i 1 ^1 >i ;-|: 228 NOTES. Court virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate. . . In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like. They please ns beauties, here as wonders strike. — Pope, Moral Essays^ i. 1 14. 1. 301.— And while he sinks. Cf. (Mitford),— Sinks the poor babe, with not a hand to save. — Roscoe, Nurse, p li 1. 336. — robes of country brown. Tho russet or reddis}i brown of hor homespun. Like a fair sliepheidess In her country russet. —Dry den, Theocritus. wheel. The spinning-wheel. 1. 338. — tribes. The earlier sense (cf. tribw, a division of the Roman people), — the various families or classes of the village. Page 36. 1. 342. — the convex world. Aspice convexo nutantem pondere mundum. — Vligll, £doflrMM, Iv. 80. 1. 343.— with fainting steps. Cf. Tr. 1. 420. 1. 344.— wild Altama. For, the Altamaha, a river of Georgia, flowing S. e. into the Atlantic. Almost all contemporary maps and accounts give the name ccrrectly, but it must be said that the poet had justification for the form he used. There is a Carte de la Caroline et Oeorgie par M. B. Ing. de la Marino, giving the river as Aitahama ; in Moll's map, 1720, it is Allatamha. 1. 349. — birds forget to sing . The tropical birds are song- less, but not the birds of Georgia. The poet, as Campbell did in Gertritde ofWi/omint/, drew on his imagination for the details of his fanciful picture. But Sankey explains it, " Overcome by the mid-dny heat." Cf. Tr. 1. 322, D.V. 1. 124. The various contrasts of the scene at home and the scene in exile are carefully worked out by the poet. 1. 350. — bats in drowsy clusters. Bats are largest and most numerous in the Tropics. They gather in great num- bers when hibernating or resting, hanging head down- ward from the limbs of trees, etc. 1. 352.— the dark scorpion. The scorpion, a spider-like dark-coloured creature, with claws like a lobster for seizing its prey, and a tail terminating in a sting. Its poison is seldom fatal, but is very painful. In the Tropics the scorpion attains great length, 9 or 10 inches in Central Africa and South America. m ill md im- \vn- like is I the bral GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 231 I. 355. — crouching tigers. The tiger is a denizen only of Asia. Even tlio jaguar or American tiger does not come farther north than the borders of Texas. Campbell is in even worse error than (loldsmith : — On Erie's b.-\nk9 where titters steal alonK'. —Pleasures of Hope. The puma, panther, or catamount would be found in 'Georgia, but it rarely attacks man. 1. H56. — And savage men. . . Cf. To savage beasts who on the weaker prey, Or luiman savages more wild than they. —Temple, v. Nicholls' Poems, it. 80, 1.858. — mingling .. landscape with the skies. A clas- sical phrase — coslum terramque miscere — for univei*sal con- fusion. Cf. Livy, iv. 3; Virgil, ^neid, i. 134; etc. 1. 362.— thefts of harmless love. The hearts and kisses stolen under cover of the grove. Mitford compares : — Thy shady groves Only relieve the hearts, and cover loves. Sheltering no other thefts or crnelties ! —Nicholls' Poems, ii. 80. Often In amorous thefts of lawless love, —id. ib„ II. 278. 1. 3aS.--gloom'd. Cf. 1. J18 n. Page 37. 11. 365ff. — the poor exiles... A similar picture, it has been pointed out, is in Quintilian, Declam. xiii. 1. 366. — the bowers. 1st ed. , their bowers. 1. 367.— a long farewell. Cf. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness. -Shakspere, Henry VIII., iil. il. 8.W. 1. 868.— seats. Cf. 1. 6 n. 1. 869.— distant. Wide. 1. 871.— the good old sire. Dryden used the phrase •' tlio good old sire " in his Virgil ; cf. also, — The good old sire unconscious of decay. — Goldsmith, Threnodta Augu$taii». m Ml- ^X\v{ "iM v. ' ■•!• ' '! ■ci ^ ' , ,"r J - 1':^ .:■'»■ 232 NOTES. 1. 378. — conscious virtue. A classical phrase. Et furiis aflitatus amor et conscia virtus. —Virgil, JEneid xil. 668. 1. 378. — left a lover's . . . arms. Hales naturally asks, Was the lover never able to go, too? Bat cf. Evangeline^ 11. 559 ff. 1. 378.— a father's. 1st ed., her father^s. 1. 884. — silent. In the 1st ed., decent. 1. 385.— O Luxury 1 thou curs'd. Cf. Matt. xix. 28f., Luke xvi. 19ff. 1. 389.— to sickly greatness. Cf . Tr. 1. 144 n. Page 38. 1. 397.— Even now, methinks. Cf. Tr. 1. 283 n. 1. 399.— anchoring. At anchor. 1. 402. — shore. . .strand. A distinction is made here be- tween the land overlooking the sea and that at the water's edge. 1. 407. — And thou, sweet Poetry. Wither in Shepherd'^ Hunting makes a similar apostrophe : — Tlierefore, thou best eartttly bliss, I will cherish thee for this— Poesy, thou sweet'st content That e'er heaven to mortals sent. 1. 415.— the nobler arts. The fine arts, music, painting, as distinguished from the manual arts. 1. 416. — Fare thee well. Thee is usually regarded here as a corruption of thou, — fare thou well, — corrupted under the influence of the reflexive verbs. 1. 418.— Tomo's clffs. Cf. Campbell's line- Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow. Tornea is a town and river at the boundary of Norway and Finland, N. of the Gulf of Bothnia. Bayard Taylor, who visited the district (^oW^ern Travels, ch. vii.) comments on Campbell's line— " not a hill within sight, not a rock within a circuit of ten miles, but one unvarying level." Up the river, however, ' ' There were low hills on either side." The little lake of Tornea, in northern Sweden, satisfies the line best, being situated among the mountains. GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 233 Some one of the various vo> ages to Lapland may have suggested to the poet the name, wliich is given as Toruo, Torneo, and Tornea ; cf. Pinkerton's Voyaqen^ vol. i. Pambamarca's side. That the poet was familiar with Uiloa (17U)-1745) we learn from Animated Nature. He pro- bably derived his knowledge of this place, therefore, from the Voyage to South America (1748) of Don George Juan and Don Antonio de Ulloa, of which a translation from the Spanisli was made by John Adams, a second edition of wliich appeared in 1760. Pambamarca, is a mountain in New Grenada, twenty miles N. of Quinto — ' dreadful regions,' of ' cold and temp- est.' See Pinkerton's Voyages, xiv. 427, 440. It was the chief station of tLe scientists who in 1739 measured one degree of the meridian under the equator. Page 39- 1. 419. — equinoctial. For, equatorial. 1. 422.— Redress the rigours. Cf. Tr. 1. 176. 1. 424. — rage of gain. Seneca's " lucri furor" (Sankey). 1. 427.— trade's proud empire. Cf. Tr. 1. 140. 1. 428.— the laboured mole. Cf. Tr. 1. 288. 1. 429.— self-dependent power. One growing, not out of foreign commerce, but out of the internal development of agriculture, mining, and manufactures. Sankey explains it as "not dependent on any foreign nations for the neces- sities {sic) of life " ; but cf . 1. 283. 1. 430. — sky. Weather ; cf. the Lat. use of ccelum. " Dr. Johnson at the same time [in the year 1783] favoured me by marking the lines which he furnished to Goldsmith's Desered Village, which are only the last four." — Boswell's Johnson, anno 1766. ■I I H, ' 1: ':»■ 11 234 NOTES. \ WORDSWORTH. COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1802. Composition. — In 1802 Wordsworth and his sister Dora, who were living at Dove Cottage, Grasmere (see note, p. 237), made a flying visit to France. Dora Wordsworth's Journal gives the following details: "July 30th. — Left London between five and six o'clock of the morning outside of the Dover coach. A beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's, with the river — a multitude of little boats, made a beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge ; the houses not overhung by their clouds of smoke, and were spread out endlessly ; yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a pure light, that there was something like the purity of one of Nature's own spectacles. . . Arrived at Calais at four in the morning of July 3ist." Wordsworth states, in his note to Miss Fen wick, that the poem was " written on the roof of a coach, on my way to France " ; and dated the poem, inaccurately however, in all editions, 1807. Publication. The sonnet appeared in Poems, 1807. Subsequent editions show no changes in the text. Form of the sonnet. Wordsworth's eminence as a writer of Sonnets requires a special consideration of the form of this poem. The word sonnet is derived, as is the best form of the thing itself, from the Italian, — sonetto, a short strain, abbreviation of suono, sound. The first Englishman to learn to use the sonnet structure were Wyatt (1503-1542) and Surrey (1517-1547), poets steeped in Italian literature. •See Theodore Watts, Ency. Brit.; William Sharp, Sonnets qf this Cwtury, Introduction, etc. WORDSWORTH: WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. 235 Among tho Elizabethans, Sponser, Sidney and Shak8i)eio were pro-eminent as u litors of sonnets, as at a later day Milton was among the Caroline pfcts. Shakspere's sonnets, however, differ essentially in struc- tural character from the sonnets of Milton. The Sifakes- PEARIAN S<)NNKT arranges its rimes ahaJt cdcd efef gg, and the whole rhythm progresses with almost even force through its fourteen lines till clinched and endid in the concluding couplet. The Mli.TOXlc SOnnkt agrees with the Shakespearian in preserving an unlroken continuity of rhythm throughout, but dilTors from it in rime-structure. Its rimes are arranged ahha af/ba, but the last six lines rime with great freedom, alwa\^s however avoiding a final couplet. The normal Italian or PirniARCAN SONNET, while similar to the Miltonic sonnet in rime-order. difTers from it and the Shakespearian sonnet in the peculiar movement of its rhythm. The poem is broken into a '• octave" (first eight lines) and a " sestet" (Inst six lines), and the melody rising with the major part, subsides and dies away in the minor; so that it may be described : A sonnet is a wave of melody : From lieavlnfir waters of the impassioned soul A billow of tidal music one and whole Flows in the "octave," then returning free, Its ebbins surges in the "sestet" roll IBivck to the deeps of Life's tumultuous sea. — Theodore Watts. These three forms — the Shakespearian, the Miltonic, and the Petrarcan Sonnet — are the standard forms of English sonnets. While they have formal differences, they agree in requiring that the poem be of fourteen decasyllabic lines, the evolution uf one single thought or emotion, inevitable in its progress, full of thought, dignity, repose, and splend- idly sonorous. "Swelling loudly Up to its climax, and then dying proudly," as Keats said. For the Shakespearian sonnet-form of. Kcats's When I [ '\ . ^- t ! ) 'S 'ill iJ'tt ^1 ' r 230 NOTES. Have Fearsy p. 69, The Human Seasons, p. 60. Shelley's sonnet Ozpniandian, p. ()7, is amorplious. Otlior examples of the three kinds will be found in the Ajiix-iidix. Wordswfji'tli'a sonnets, it will be seen, bear the closest relationsliip to Milton's, tliough often the Petrarcun rhythm is observed. "In the cottage, Town-end, Oras- niere," says tlie poet, "one afternoon in 1801, my sister read to mo the Sonnets of Milton... 1 was particularly struck on that occasion by tlie dignified simplicity and majestic harmony that runs througli most of them, — in character so totally difl'erent from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare's fine Sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced three Sonnets the same afternoon, the first I ever wrote, except an irregular one at school."— Fen wick note to Happy the Feeling. Pag^e 40. — Title. Westminster Bridge. This bridge crossed the Thames almost before the river front of the Houses of Parliament; it was finished in 1750. The present bridge was constructed 1851-1862. 1.4. — like a garment. "Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment." — Psalm civ. 2. 1. 10. — In his first splendour. The beauty of early sun- rise in the country is here introduced to emphasize the beauty of sunrise in the city. 1. 14. — that mighty heart. . .still. This line sums up the impressive effect of power and vastness, as held in peace and rest. Cf. Ozj/mandias, p. 67, — Boundless and bare The lone and level aands stretch far away. " Many years ago, I think it was in 1859, I chanced to be passing (in a pained and depressed state of mind, occa- sioned by the death of a friend) over Waterloo Bridge at half-past three on a lovely June morning. It was broad daylight, and 1 was alone. Never when alone in the 11 ik 1 fVO A' DSnV A' 77/: THE GIUiEN LINNET. remotest recesses of the Alps, with nothing around mo but, the mountains, (»r upon the plains of Africa, aluno wif.li the wonderful p;lory of the southurn night, liave I seen anything to approach the solemnity — the soothing solem- nity — of the city, sleeping under tlie early sun, — ' Earth has not anythlnp: to show more fah-.' It was this sonnet, I think, thit first opened my eyes to Wordsworth's greatness as a poet. Per'iaps nothing that he has written shows more strikingly that vast sympathy which is his peculiar dower." — 11. S. Watson, quoted in Knight's WortJuworth, ii. 288. THE GREEN LINNET. Composition and publication. The Green Linnet is one of the many beautiful lyrics of the Grasmere period. " The cottage in which Wordsworth and his sister took up their abode, and which still retains the form it wore then, stands on the right hand, by the side of the coach-road from Ambleside to Keswick, as it enters Grasmei'e, or, as that part of the village is called, Town-end. The front of it faces the lake ; behind is a small plot of orchard and garden ground, in which there is a spring, and rocks ; the whole enclosure shelves upward toward the woody sidos of the mountains above it." — Memoirs of Wordsworth, i. 157. " At the end of the orchard was a terrace, whore an arbour or moss-hut was built by Wordsworth ; in which he nmr- mured out and wrote, or dictated many of his poems... The moss-hut is gone, and a stone seat now takes its place." — Wordsworth Country, pp. 61ff. This poem was written in 1805. Wordsworth in his note to Miss Fen wick states that the poem was composed " in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere, where the bird was often seen as here described." Many of Wordsworth's poems are associated with this orchard — Farewell, To a Butterfiy, The Oreen Linnet, The ill'] ml . i. • 1 ', ) i i ,■ • h \ m ■■\: I ; ' \ . i .» 'i-. I: i'll! 238 NOTES. \ iii Bedbreaat Chafing the Butterfly, The Kitten and the Falling Leaves, Lines in Thovison''s Castle of Indolence. The Green Linnet has theclusost associations of all, and '^ is as true to the spirit of the place in 1887 as it was eighty years ago" (Knight). It was published in the second volume of Poems, 1807. Theme. The Green Linnet. Tho Greenfinch or Green Linnet, is one of the commonest of British birds, thougli not found in America. "Its familiar haunts are in our gardens, shrubberies, and pleasure-grounds. . . Its song commences in April, at which time the birds also pair. There is nothing striking in its music — it is a song which bears some resemblance to that of an inferior Canary; and it is only when several birds are singing in chorus that their notes are at all attractive. In sprins; Imif a dozen cock-birds will sometimes be seen in a single tree ; and when they are all warbling together, one against the other, the effect is very harmonious and pleasing. "The adult male Greenfinch has the general colour of the plumage, bright yellowiah green, brightest on the rump, and shading into slate-grey on the flanks and lower belly, and into yellowish white on tho under tail-coverts. The crown, the sides of the head and neck, tho throat and breast . . . slate-grey ; the wings are brownish black." — Seebohm, ii. 74ff. Page 41. 11. 1-8.— Beneath these fruit-tree boughs... 1807. The May is come again ;— how sweet To ait upon my orcliard-.«eat ! And Birds and Flowers once more to greet, My last year's Friends togetlier ; Mjr tliouglits they all l»y turns employ; A whispciing iieaf is now my joy, And then a liird will be the toy That doth my fancy tether. 18J.5 (1. 3) And Flowers and Birds once m^re to greet. The present version of stanza i. appeared first in the 1827 ed. rp ORDS n'OR TH : THE GREEN LINNE T. 239 1. 10.— covert of the blest. 'Covert' (O.F. convert, per. part, of couvrir. to cover), hiding-place, shelter. 1. 15. — the revels of the May. A picture of the birds at spring-time taken from the rejoicings of the country folk on May-day. The festivities of May-day — gathering haw- thorn lowers, sports, and dancing round the May-pole, are called ' the May.' 1. 18. — one band of paramours. Birds and butterflies are pairing ; in the fields, ' No sister flower would be f-^rffiven If it disdained its l)ro('i.t ; ' but the Linnet is still alone (solo, L. solus, alone). paramour. (O.F. paramour, with love, as a lover), lover, wooer — an archaic sense. Page 42. 1. 26. — That twinkle to the gusty breeze. Only Tennyson equals the picturesqueness of such a line as this ; cf . Below the cliestiiuts, wlieii their buds ^ Were glisten in,' to the breezy blue. — The Miller's Daughter. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver. — Ladi/ nf Slialott. I. 25.— Amid yon tuft. 1827 ed., Upon yon tuft. II. 33.— My dazzled sight. . . 1807. While thus before my eyes he j^leams, A Broth> I Oi the Ijcaves he .sceuis; Wheii In a moment forth he teems Hi.> little song in pushes ; Ai if it ple.ised him to disdain The voiceless Form which he did feign, While ho was dancing with the train (3f leaves among the bushes. 1820 (1. ;J8). The voiceless Form he chose to folgn. 18i7 (11. 33f.) My sight he dazzles, half deceives, A bird so like the dancing leaves. Then ttlts, etc. (as in our text). 184.S. The Bird my dazzled sight deceives. Our text is the reading of 1832, as finally adopted in 1846. ! ' '. < till 240 NOTES. TO THE CUCKOO. Composition and publication. As stated by Wordsworth, this was " composed in the orchard at Town-end, Grasmere, 1804." According to Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the poem must have been begun in 1802. On Fridaj', ]\rarch 22ud and 25th of that year, she notes the mildness and beauty of the morning, adding, " William worked on the Cuckoo poem." It was published in the second volume of Poems, 1807. Theme of the poem. The Cuckoo. " These birds fre- quent gardens, groves, and fields, in fact any localities where their insect food is abundant. . . In habits the Cuckoo is wild and shy, a tolerably swift bird on the wing, frequenting chiefly such places as are well covered with trees and groves ; and so shy and watchful is it, that to approach within gun-range of it is generally most diffi- cult. . . The note of the male is the well-known call which is generally heard, and consists of two syllables «/<, jJt, rather than ku-ku, which when the bird is greatly excited, is rendered fcu-fcu-fcu." — Dresser, Birds of Europe, v. 197, 205. The Cuckoo had an especial attraction for Wordsworth. He speaks of the ' thousand delightful feelings connected in my mind with the voice of the cuckoo.' His poems on this theme and the allusions in his works are very numer- ous. In 1801 he translated Chaucer's The Cuckoo and The Nightingale; in 1804 the present poem was composed. Two years later the impression of the cuckoo's song echo- ing among the mountains near Eydal Mere called forth " Yea, it was the Mountain Echo" (see Appendix). In 1827 the sonnet To the Cuckoo (see Appendix) voiced the glad- ness of the bird's song at Spring. While the poet was travelling in Italy in 1837, the familiar voice of the bird greeted him, and awakened the thoughts embodied in The Cuckoo at Lawma. In his last years the present of a, m he lO- r'as Ird riie a WOKDSWOKTH: TO THE CUCKOO. 2\\ clock once more recalled the delights of childhood hours, and found an acknowledgement in Tke Cuckoo-Clock, 1815 (see Appendix). Page 43. 1.4. — Bui a wandering Voice. Wordsworth describes it as a " vagrant voice" in The Cuckoo at Laverna. The phrase aptly describes the bird, which is lieard and not seen. It is classical in origin ; the nightingale Ijeing vox, et prceterea nihil, which phrase is attributed to tljeCJreeks. The story of Echo, wlio had only voice left, is parallel. — Ovid, Met. iii. m)7. 11. 5-10.— While I am lying. . . The reading of 1845. 1807. While I am lyiiif^ 011 the ^ross, I hear this re»tk'.ss shout : Froiii hill to iiiil it .seems to |ki.s.s, AI)out, aiul all about ! 181.'). Wliile I am lyinf? on tho jfivn'', '1 hy loud note smites my ear !— From hill to liill it seen\s to pass, At once far off and near ! 18i0. While I am 1 yinj,' on tlie ^rass, Thy loud note smites my ear ! It seems to fill the wliole air's space, At onee far off and near ! I8i'7. WhiU' I am lyiiiH: on tiie ^'rass, Tliy twofold shout I liear. From hill to hill it seems to pas.s, At once far off and near. 18.1-'. While I anj Ivin^' on tin; ^rass, Thy twofold shout I hear, That seems to lill tlie whole air's apace, As loud far off as near. 1. ().— Thy twofold shout. Cf. Sliniil. euekoo! let the vernal soul (io with thee to the frozen zone; Toll from the loftiest perch, lone bel! bird, folll At the still Ixinr to Mercy dear, Mercy from her twili^jht throne Listening to nun's faint throb of holy fear, To sailor's pr.iyer bn-allied from a darkening sea, Or widow's cottUKi'lullaby. —Wordsworth, I'uicer 0/ Sound, ii. ■>■■ 11 I ' ';■ •Iii' iir • I 242 NOTES. : The cuckoo, straggling up to the hill tops, Shouteth faint tidings of some gladder place. —Wordsworth, Excursion^ li. 346 f. I. 7.— From hill to hill. Cf. The cuckoo told his name to all the hills. . —Tennyson, The Gardener's Daughter. II. 9-13.— Though babbling. This is the reading of 1827. 1807. To me, nu liabblur with a tale , Of sunshine and of flowers, Tliou tellest, Cuckoo ! in tlie vale Of visionary hours. 1815. I hear thee babbling to thu Vale Of sunshine and of flowers ; And unto me thou bring'st a tale Of visionary hours. 18iO (I. 11). But unto me. . . 1. 12. — Of visionary hours. The suggestive and musical effect of a long word aptly used is a peculiarity of the poet. Gf. Or hast thou been summoned to the deep, Tiiou, thou and all thy mates, to keep An incommunicable sleep. — The Affliction of Margaret. But she is in her gravo, and, oh. The difference to me ! —Site Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways. Breaking tlic silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. —Tlie Solitary Reaper. 1. 15. — no bird, but an invisible thing. Tennyson imi- tated this happy turn in describing the bulbul or Eastern nightingale : The living airs of middle night Died round the bulbul as he sung; . Not he: but something which possess'd The darkness of the world, delight, Life, anguish death, immortal love. Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd. Apart from place, withholding time. But tliittoring the golden prime Of good lliu-oun A I rase hid. —liecol lections of the Arabian Nighti. WORDSWORTH : A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. 24:? 1. 31. unsubstantial. Suggested possibly by Prospero's description of tlie earth's dissolution, — And like ihis iiisubstniitinl p.i^^eant ffldod, Lciive not u rack beliiiul. — SliaksiMMC, Tempest Iv. I. faery. A variant form of fairy. This spelling is pro- ferred by the }t(»ots to c^xchide the undignified associations of the latter form ; — resombling fairyland in its beautiful unsubstantial visionary character. Cf. Keats, To a Night- ingale, 1. 70. inii- istern SHE WAS A PHANTO^r OF DELIGHT. Composition and publication. As the Fenwick note states, this poem was " written at Town-end, rirasmere [1804]. The g.'rm of this poem was four lines [probably 11. 1-4, — Knight] composed as a part of the verses on the Highland CJirl. Though beginning in this way, it was written from my heart, as is sufficiently obvious." The vague hint in " written from my heart" is made clear by Christopher Wordswortli's note in the Memoirs, i. 204f., and the testimony (jf Chief .Fustice Coleridge giving the poet's own statement- (J/if^jio/j-s, ii. lp of her faith. In 1711, alter thirt3'-six years (f life together, the poet wrote from his he:. it : — '' O, my He loved ! I have done thee wronpr, Conseions of blessedne.ss, but, whence it aprun^;. Ever too lieedlfss. .is I now perceive : Morn Into noon did pass, noon into eve. And the old d.iy was welcome as the yonng, As welcome, and as lieaiitifnl— in sooth More Iteantiliil as lieiny: a tluni; more holi' : Thanks to tliv virtues, to the eternal yoiUh Of all thy ^;oodneas, never nu'laneholy ; To thy \Vi\'(rv heart and hnmlile mind, that cast Into one vision, fnture. present, |):isf. Page 45- I. 5.— eyes as stars of Twilig^ht. The star-like beauty of eyes has often been noterl. Or from star-like eyes dotli seek. — Carcw, Disiiain Jlettinietl. The poet adds the milder ra liance seen at twilight. 1. 8. — From May-time . dawn. 1836 cd, From May-time's briphtest, lovetoest dawn. 1 1 * 11 !; \ ( 1 ■, ■ n f , 1 -J i \t ' w ' Ti • 1 1^^ t . M f 4 246 NOTES. '^- ill Cf. She scem'd a part of joyous spring. —Tennyson, Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere. 11. 15 6. — A countenance., as sweet. "There are two passages of that poet who is distinguished, it seems to me, from all others— not by power, but by exquisite riffhtneaa — which point you to the cause, and describe to you, in a few syllables, the completion of womanly beauty. [The lines beginning, — 'Three yeans she grew in sun and sliowcr,' are then quoted. See Appendix.] "Take from the same poet, in two linos, a perfect description of womanly beauty — * A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet.' " The perfect loveliness of a wt^man's countenance can only consist in that majestic peace, which is founded iu the memory of happy and useful years, — full of sweet re- cords; and from the joining of this with that yet more majestic childishness, wliich is still full of change and promise ; — opening always — modest at once, and bright, with hope of better things to be won, and to be bestowed. There is no old age where there is still that promise." — Sesame and Lilies, II, §§ 70, 71. Page 46. 1. 22. — pulse of the machine. " The use of the word 'machine' in the third stanza has been much criticized. For a similar use of the term see the sequel to The Wag- goner : — Forgive me, then ; for I liad been On friendly terms with this Machine. The progress of mechanical industry in Britain since the beginning of the present century has given a more limited, and purely technical, meaning to the word than it bore when Wordsworth used it in these two instances." — Knight, iii. 5. To this might be added that Wordsworth had Shakspere's authority for this sense of the word, — WORDSWORTH: THOUGHT OF A BRITON. 247 Thine evermore, most dear Indy, whilst this machine is to him. Hamlet.— //am/c<, ii. II. 124. 1. 24.— between. In 1832 ed., betwixt. 1. 36.— an angel-light. This is the reading of 1836 : that of 1807 is, an angel light ; that of 1845, angelic light. ^! f THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND. Historical note. — The influence of France on Switzer- land greatly inci'eascd during the eighteenth century'. With the spread of revolutionary ideas, the tyrannical rule of the Cantons and the aristocrac}' was more and more resented by the people of the country districts. In Janu- ary, 1798, the Pays de Vaud revolted, and France inter- vened in its favour against Bern. With the capture ol that city on the 5th of March, 1798, the Swiss confedera- tion — an alliance of the Cantons which had in part lasttvl from 1291 — was at an end. The French Directory estab- lished, in place of the Confederacy, a Helvetic Republic. 1798, with a brand-new constitution. The old Cantonal boundaries were disregarded, and a new system of govern- ment and justice set up. Switzerland was looked upon as a conquest, and as such was dictated to and despoiled. Different districts revolted against the 'dictates of the foreigner;' among which Midwalden was conspicuous with its two thousand men against sixteen thousand French. Its chief town, Stanz, was blotted out in smoke and blood ; but the heroic struggle awoke admiration and pity through- Germany and England. Switzerland, thus in French 'hands, became an outwork of Franco against Austria, and the military burdens placed on her were intolerable. The partizans of the old order kept up a struggle to the death. In November, 1798, Napolean returned from Egpyt, and began to plan the government of Switzerland. Finally in •248 NOTES. I ';: 1. 1 I'.i 1802 ho witlidtotjr J'rencli forces fn in tho country in coh- sequenco of the treaty of Amiens. Civil war V)roke out. Napoleon ofTered his ' mediation,' and supported the ofTer by advancing forty thousand men. By tho Act of Mediation, 1803, the Cantonal Government was restored, with a cen- tral Diet. But Switzerland was only a subject state, pay- ing its tribute of 16,000 soldiers to the French army. Wordsworth's politics. — The French Kevolution at first found in Wordsworth a devoted chami»ion. He had visited France in 1790, and again in 1791, when he remained in that country for thirteen mc nths, witnessing some of tho stormiest scenes of that stormy time. Ilis early en- thusiasm chronicled itself in the words, Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very bcavcn ! But tho September massacres, the execution of the king and queen, the deification of reason, the .inarcby in tho state tempered this early enthusiasm, though without shaking his confidence in tho young Republic. Then, when the Revolution became a war of con(iuest, and the supremacy of Napoleon ended the aspirations of the people and threatened the liberty of Europe, Wordsworth turned from his republican sympathies to conservatism, and sought refuge from disappointed s(,cial ideals in poetry. Composition and publication. — In tho winter of 18()6, Dove Cottage, Orasmerc, having become too small for the poet's family, he took up 1 Is abode at Cojeorton, in Leicestershire, occupying a farm-hoiise on the estate of his friend, Sir George Beaumont. There he watched with intense interest the struggle against Napoleon, as is shown by this sonnet and that on Germany, — High deeds, O Germans, are to come from you. The present poem, as the Fenwick note tells, " was com* posed while pacing too and fro between the Hall of Ccleor- ton, then rebuilding, and the principal Farm-house of the tV^ -.^o iVORTH: MOST SIVEE T IT IS. 240 Estate, in A^hich wo lived for nine or ten montlis/* Written in 1807, it was published in Poems, 1807. Page 47.— Title. The title in The Golden Treasury,—'' Vax^t. land and Switzerland, 1802," is Mr. Ptilgravo's invention. 1.5. — a Tyrant. Nupoleon. See Historical note. with holy glee. " In 1807, the whole < f the Continent of Europe was prostrate under Napoleon. It is impossible to say to what special incident (if any in particular) he refers to in the phrase, ' with holy glee thou fuught'st against him;' but, as the sonnet was compost d at Coloorton in 1807 — after Austerlitz and Jena, and Napoleon's practical mastery of Europe — our knowledge of the particular event or events would not add much to our understanding of the poem." — Knight, iv. 65. 1. 9. — Of one deep bliss. The lordly Alps tiieinsolvos, Those rosy peaks, from which the moriiliiR looks Abroad on many nations, arc no more For me that ima^ire of pure ffl.'^.dsomcness Which thoy were wont to be. —Wordsworth, Prelude, xi. 1. 10. — cleave to that. . .left. This last spot of earth, whore Freedom now Stands single in her only sanctuary. —Wordsworth, Prelude, xi. Ml i ^ MOST SWEET IT IS WITH UNUPLIFTED EYES. Composition and publication. This sonnet forms part (No. xlviii.) of a series of Poems covijiosed and suggested during a Tour in ike Surnmer of 18S3, published in Yarrow Revisited, and Other Poems, 1835. The tour in question was to StaiTa and lona. Page 48. —Title. The title "The Inner Visior;," ip Tht Qglden Treasury, is Mr. Palgravo's iijventjon. iili w IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 Jff ilM ■^^ IIIIM ;! m us 11 1.4 1.6 ^F^ <^ ^a ^ i^ •c^ .p o 7 M Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MA;»J STRE6T WEBS ER,N .. K5SC (716) e; 7-4503 ^'^ f/i -?^ 1 III iiliL. m k I fri •i ) \l 250 NOTES. 1. 5. — Pleased rather. A MS. reading is Pleased rather with that soothing after-tone Whose seat is in the mind, occasion's Queen ! Else Nature's noblest objects were I ween A yoke endured, a penance undergone. 1. 13. — The Mind's internal heaven. Wordsworth never tired of iterating this wholesome thought. Nature to him is not merely the pleasure of sense ; it is rather the scene? of nature called up before — That inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude. — " / Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.^ The harvest of a qufet eye That broods and sleeps on liis own heart. —.4 Poet's Epitaph. IPTt 'i i. SCOTT: ROSA BELLE. eCOTT. 251 ^ Pt' SABKLLE. Composition and publication. --r//e Lay jf the Last Min- strel, from wliich BoffahcUi' is tikon. — cnnto vi. § xxiii.. — grew out of the vol 111110-? of Border Miintrelsy Scott was collecting and publishing in 1802. it was immediately occasioned by the desire of the Countess of Dalkeith to hive a poem on the legend of Gilpin Horner, and was composed "at the rate of about a canto per week... It was finally published in 1805, and may be regarded as the first work in whiih the writer, who has since been so voluminous, laid his claim to be an original autli )r." Text. The text of liosaheile is fr«.m the od. of 1833. which represents the author's Inst vorsicm of the ed. (;f 1831. The original ^IS. is not iirvscrvcd. Lockhnrt gives the readings of the 1st ed. Collations of various early edi- tions— 10th, llth, 15th, etc., have been made, showing no differences but unimportant ones in spelling and punctua- tion. Form of the poem. The form of the poem— the quatrain of iainbic lines of four accents with alternate rimes — is a favourite form of the old ballads, of which Scott was so devoted an admirer. Its place in "The Lay." — The La ij of the Last Minstrel is the story of border chivalry of the middle of the sixteenth century, as narrated by the lust representative of the ancient minstrels. The main story, to wiiich that of the Goblin Pago is subordinated, is : Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch, Lord of Branksome, slain in battle, left a beautiful daughter, Margaret, an infant son, and a widow Margaret, whose only fault is her devotion to the study of magic. Lord Cranstoun, at feud with the Scotts, loves ■ i f'i r.' VA i j 'Hlj r> 252 NOTES. the daughter. Tlio Goblin Pago allures the young son into the power of the English troops, who demand in return the surrender of her knight Deloraine for march-treason. Deloraine offers trial by combat, but his place is taken, since he lies wounded, by Cranstoun. By his act of valour and friendship Margaret's heart is won over to his suit for her daughter's hand. The sixth canto opens with the meeting of the Minstrels at Branksome Hall at the marringo festival of 3'oung Margaret. The first to sing was Albert Graeme, who sang the ballad of the English lady's love of the Scottish knight. Fitztraver followed with the story of Surrey and Cieraldine. Then, from his seat, rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair, — Harold was born where restless seas Howl round tlic storm-swopt Orcndcs. . . And thus had Harold, in his youth, Learn'd many a Saira's rliyme uncouth... With war and wondor all on flaiiio, To Roslin's bowers yonnp Harold eauie, Where, by sweet glen and j^rceinvood tree, He learn'd a rniidcr minstrelsy ; Yet somcthin;r ofthe N\ ■ ■ ;' I ■ ii ' ■ r _ . ft. ' ( I 5 J i death : the SCOTT: ROSABELLE. 255 time is judged according to the height of it about the per- son : ... as it is frequently seen to ascend towards the head, death is concluded to be at hand within a few days, if not hours." — Martin, Western hies. Pinkerton, iii. 670. 1. 14.— swathed. 1st. ed., roU'd. Page 50. 1. 17. — Lord Lindcsay's heir. The Lyndsays were lords of Glonosk. a district on the North Esk, above Rosslyn. Rosabello in excusing her eagerness to reach home in time for the ball discloses the romance that occupies her mind. 1. 19 — ladye-mother. The deferential title in speaking of her mother ; cf . the Fr. viadame voire m^re. Almost imperceptibly the tender relations of Rosabelie to father and mother are suggested. Cf . 1. 23. 1. 21.— the ring they ride. The pastime of 'riding at the ring' was a faviurite one on the decline of chivalry. The horseman riding at full speed aimed to carry off on his lance's point a ring suspended from a beam. 1. 25. — Roslin. The Castle and Chapel of Roslin, the chief seat of the St. Clairs, are situated seven miles south of Edinburgh, in the midst of the beautiful vale of the North Esk. Now usually written Rosslyn. The castle was built on a promontory in the glen, approached by a high and narrow bridge. The date of its erection is unknown, but it was burnt iu 1554 by the English troops, and nothing remains but the ruins of walls, and a large round tower or keep. To the north of the Castle, on higher ground, is the Gothic Chapel, erected in 144G, one of tJic glories cf ecclesiastical architecture. Its arched roof is supported by two rows of elaborately carved pillars. The sculpture of the roof, keystones, capitals is exquisitely beautiful. 1. 26. — A wondrous blaze. " TJie Chapel is said to ap- pear on fire previous to the death of any of his [its founder's] descendants. This superstition, noticed by Slezer in his •> . ';A i 2C6 NOTES. \\ i Theatrum Scotioe, and alluded to in the text, is probably of Norwegian derivation, and may have been imj^orted by the Earls of Orkney into their Lothian dominions. The tomb- fires of the north are mentioned by most of the Sagas." — Author's note, ed. 1833, vi. 208. 1. 30. — ruddied. Reddened, which is the reading of the 1st ed. 1. 31. — Dryden's groves of oak. Dryden, a hamlet in Lasswade, about two miles directly north of Rosslyn. 1. 32. — Hawthornden. A glen and mansion on the north east, a mile or more below and north-east of Rosslyn. In the cliffs along the wcoded glen are many ancient artifi- cial caves connected by passages with the court-yard of the mansion. " Under the building two ranges of caves have been worked out of the rock. . .the entrance is in the side of a perpendicular rock of great height above the river : the descent to them is by twenty-seven steps formed in the rock." — Scott, Border Antiquities, ii. 124f. 1. 34. — Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie. "Between the base of the third and fourth pillars and the north wall is a large stone, covering the entrance to a vault in which ten Barons of Roslin were interred previous to 1090. These personnges were buried in complete armour, without coffins, which was the family custom of the St. Clairs of Roslin The sacristy, or vestry, a kind of crypt erected by the first Countess of the founder, is entered on the south-east corner of the edifice, near the site of the high altar, by a Hight of twenty-four steps; and although this stair is subterraneous, the apartment is above ground on the margin of the bank. . .lighted by an arched window. . . It was long believed that en the nijht preceding the decease of the Barons of Roslin, or any member of their family, the Chapel appeared as if by supernatural agency enveloped in flames." — Lnwson, Scot/and, 165f. 1. 36. — panoply. Complete suit of armour. (Gk. pan, all, hopla, armour.) I' 'I! .FJ . V'T ten lOUt 3 of ited the 1121 th IS on the their mcy SCOTT: ROSA BELLE. 267 •n. 1. 88. — deep sacristy. 1st ed., Both vaulted crypt. The sacristy is the apartment adjoining the church, in which the clergy and choir assemble, and where the vessels of the sacrament are kept. altar's pale. The space railed off at the altar of the chapel. 1. 39. — pillar foliage-bound. A wreath of loaves and roses, carved in the stone, winds about some of the pillars. Page 51. 1.41. — battlement. The indented parapet or raised wall with embrasures, surmounting the towers and walls. pinnet. Pinnacle (dim. of L. pinna, pinnacle). 1. 42. — rose-carved buttress. The buttress is the projec- tion of the wall, here within, giving it greater power of support. " Among the profuse carvings on the pillars and buttresses, the rose is frequently introduced, in allusion to the name, with which, however, the flower has no con- nection; the etymology being Rosslinnhe, the promontory of the linn, or water-fall." — Author's note, ed. 1833. 1. 46. — chapelle. This accentuation of the final syllable was the original one (Fr. chapelle). This French accentu- ation is common in older poetry, struggling with the Eng- lish accentuation of first syllables. This ballad naturally imitates the older poetry. Cf . Is this mine own countree ? Coleridge, Ancient Marimr, 467. But none was so comely as pretty Bessie. Beggar's Daughter of Bed nail Green, 1. 4. {Percy's Reliques.) 1. 50. — With candle, book, and with knell. With can- dles surrounding the corpse, the service-book for the read- ing of the mass, the bell tolling the fuileral peal, — the characteristic features of the burial service of the Roman Catholic church. 1. 51. — But the sea-caves rung. lat ed. But the Kelpie run^ m^ the Mermaids sung. ! I ■iii 258 NOTES, ■\ . I i;l:;i SONG. "O, BRIGNALL BANKS." Somposition. This song is from Eokeby, a poem inspired by the beauty of the valley of the Greta and the friend- ship of John Morritfc, owner of the demesne of Rokeby. Itokeby was begun on the 15th of September, completed on the 31st of December, lb.' 2, and published in 1813. Text. The present edition of this song and the follow- ing one is from the 1833 ed. of Scott's works, collated with the 3rd, 4th, 6th edd., which show only unimportant variations of spelling and ))unctuation. Place of the song. Eokeby is a story of the times of Marston Moor. Oswald Wycliffo had plotted to get possession of the lands of Philip Mortham by having him assassinated by Bertram Kisingham. His son Wilfred loves Margaret, heiress of Rokeby, whose lord is with Rupert. He knows nothing of his father's crime. Bertram shot his leader Mortham at Marston Moor, and goes, accompanied by Wilfred, to seize his treasures. Wilfred learns of his act, fights him, and is saved from death by the intervention of Mortham, who was not slain. Rising- ham is pursued, and takes refuge with Guy Denzil and his outlaws in the caves of the Greta, — Of old, the cavern strait and rude. In slaty rock the peasant hew'd. The third canto depicts the outlaws revelling ; among them is the singer of the present song. Some there are, whose brows retain Less deeply stamp'd, her brand and stain. See yon pale stripling ! when a boy A mother's pride, a father's joy ! Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, An early image Alls his mind : The cottage once his sire's, he sees, Embower 'd upon the banks of Tees ; He views sweet Winston's woodland scene, And shares the dance on Gainford-gr§en, 4 tear is springing— but the zest SCOTT: SONG, *' 0, BRIGNALL BaNKS: 25S Of some wild tale, or brutal jest, Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest. On him they call, the aptcst mate For jovial song and merry feat... With desperate merriment he sung, The cavern to the chorus rung ; Yet mingled with his reckless glee Remorse's bitter agony. Then follows Edmund's song, §§ xvi.-xviii. Page 52. Title. In Rokeby the poom is simply called SoNO. The title The Outlaw in the Golden Treasury is Mr. Pal- grave's. 1. 1. — Brignall Banks. A beautiful wooded glen below Scargill, along the banks of the Greta, in North Yorkshire. 1. 2. — Greta woods. The Greta is a river of North Yorkshire, rising in Westmoreland and flowing into the Tees. The course of the stream is beautifully described in the second canto of Rokeby, i^spocially in §§ viif., — Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, etc. " The river runs with very great rapidity over a bed of solid rock, broken by many sheh'ing descents, down which the stream dashes with great noise and impetuosity. . . The banks partake of the same wild and romantic character, being chiefly lofty cliffs of limestone rock, whose grey colour contrasts admirably with the various trees and shrubs which find root among their crevices, as well as with the hue of the ivy, which clings round them in pro- fusion, and hangs down their projections in long sweeping tendrils. At times the rocks give place to precipitous banks of earth, bearing large trees intermixed with copse- wood. In one spot the dell, which is elsewhere very narrow, widens for a space to leave room for a dark grove of yew-trees, intermixed hero and there with aged pines of uncommon size." — Author's note, ed. 1833. 1. 4. — Would gfrace. For, That would grace. The omis- sion of the relative pronoun in the nominative case is common, for example, in Shakspere, but rare in literary English to-day. Cf. 11. 48, 69. nil f,h ' i-i •1 • ! J" i 260 NOTES. 1. 5. — Dalton-hall. A baronial hall of the Hothams of York&hiro. The old hall was a spacious mansion of brick, situated amidst a beautiful park, surrounded by a pic- turesque wooded country. "It consisted of a principal block, containing many largo and lofty rooms connected by corridors with wings, the whole occupying three sides of a quadrangle." — Whoator, Mannona of Yorkuhire, i. 73. It was renovated in 1873. 1. 11. — Edmund. Edmund of Winston, the name of the singer, described by Scott in the lines quoted in the Intro- ductory note and in these lines subsequent to his second song : — " Wliat youth is this, your band among, The best for mlnlstrclsy and song ? In his wild notes seem aptly met A strain of pleasure and regret." — " Edmund of Winston is his name ; The hamlet sounded with the fame Of early hopes his childhood gave,— Now centcr'd all in lirignall cave ! I watch liim well— his wayward course Shows oft a tincture of remor':o. Some early love-sliaft grazed his heart, And oft the scar will ache and smart." —Rokeby, iii. xxix. 1. 12. — our English queen. A general comparison, — not special to Queen Henrietta Maria. 1. 16. — dale and down. Valley and upland, — a common ballad phrase. 1. 17. — that riddle read. A.S. rcedan means to counsel, advise, to read. The forme' onse is preserved in this meaning of interpret. " I'll read your dream, sister," he says, " I'll read it into sorrow." —The Braes of Yarrow, Cliild's Ballads, ill. 71. Your riddle is hard to read. —Tennyson, Lady Clare. 1. 19.— the greenwood. The favourite word for forest in the Robin Hood ballads ; cf. SCOTT: SONG, " C>, BRIGNALL BANKS." 2G1 ^ TRl !H Until they came to the merry K>'et'"wood. —Robin Hood and Guy o/Gisborne, Child's Balladg, v. 91, 1. «. 1. 20. — Queen of May. See The Green Linnet, 41. 15 n, P*firc 53- !• -^7. — Ranger. In England, formerly, a swdin officer of a forest, appointed by the king's letters patent, whose business it was to walk through the forest, watcli the deer, prevent trespasses, etc. — Cent. Diet. 1. 28.~the king's greenwood. England and Scntlaml had many royal forests. Richmond was the chief royal forest of Yorkshire, where the scene of the poem is laid. 1.29. — winds. Blows; jironounced windz, — keeping the old pronunciation of ' wind,' breath. 1. 37. — brand. Sword (from its flashing in the sunlight — of. ' brand,' burning wood). musketoon. A light and short hand-gun: in the 17th and 18th centuries a usual weapon of "cavalry. — Ce?. '. Dirt. 1. 40. — the tuck. (Fr. estoc, O. luui. torco, o,f, • tucket.') Tap. beat. The word is Scotch. With trumpets and with tuick of drum —Battle ofUar.ow, Child's Ballads, vii. 185. 1. 43. — beetle sounds his hum. Now fades the glimmerlnR landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness hulds, Save where the beetle wheels his droniiij^ flight. —Gray, Elegy. Page 54. 1. 47. — mickle. (AS. micel, great). The Northern form corresponding to the Southern assibilated form much. 1. 51.— The fiend, whose lanterri. . . A MS. reading is,— The goblin-light on fei or mead. The ignis fatuu$ or Will-o'-tho-wisp, was regarded by the superstitious as due to the agency of the Evil one lur- ing travellers to destruction. 1. 53.— and when I'm with. . . A MS. reading is, — And were I with my true love set, Under the gi-eenwood bough, What once I was she must forget, Nor think what I am now. r i ii;'>ir '-'\ -51 :1! m li!-; n m I '11: 262 NOTES. SONG, ♦'.; WEARY LOT IS THINE." Place in Rokeby. — While tlie outlaws sing and drink (see note, p. 258), Bisingham and Denzil sit apart. They have just laid a plot to rob the Castle when Edmund ia again heard singing this song (canto iii. § xxviii.) The subsequent story tells of the attack on Rokeby, from which Matilda is rescued by Wilfrid and Redmond O'Neale, rivals for her hand, but Denzil and the outlaws are captured by the returning veterans of Rokeby. Oswald, to force Matilda's marriage with his son Wilfred, imprisons the son of Rokeby, ajid with him Redmond O'Neale. Red- mond is disclosed to 'oe Mortham's son. Edmund hastens to warn Mortham of his peril. Wilfred refuses to force Matilda to marry him. Oswald is shot by Risingham, who is himself slain. Young Mortham marries Matilda. Edmund, we may believe, led a better life in the service of the lord of Mortham. Page 55.— Title. The poem is called Song by Scott. The title of The Rover in The Golden Treasury is Mr. Palgrave's. 1. 3. — pull the thorn. . . The ' crown of thorns' of a life of pain. to braid. To weave into the hair. Braid your locks with rosy twine. — Milton, Comu8y 1. 105. 1. 4.— press the rue. Rue is an evergreen plant with very acrid leaves. I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace. — Shakspcre, UicUard II., HI. iv. 105. 1. 5. — A lightsome eye. A MS. reading is, — A laughing eye, a dauntless mien. 1. 6.— a feather of the blue. — Blue is the Scotch national colour — the blue of the blue-bell. 1. 7.— doublet A close-fitting body garment, usually with short skirts. Lincoln green. Green was the favourite colour of forestors, as we sec in Chaucer, — SCOTT: SONG, ''A WEARY LOT IS THINE:' 263 Tlie bawdrik was of j^rcnc ; A forster was he, soothly, as I guess. —Prologue, Canterbury Tales, 1. 116. The green cloth par excellence was dyed at Lincoln. Cf. When they were clothed in Lyncolne grenc. Lytell Geste ofliohi/n Hoode, Child's Ballads, v. 117. See Scott's Ivanhoe, ch. xiii. Kendal, too (eh. Falstafl's " three knaves in Kendal gi-een,") was favoured. 1.12. — fain. Gladly, — properly a pred. adj. A.S.fcegen, glad. ^^ Fain, in old English and Scotch, expresses, 1 think, a propensity to give and receive pleasurable emo- tions, a sort of fondness which may, without harshness, 1 think, be ajiplied to a rose in the act of blooming. You remember, 'Jockey fow and Jenny fain.'" — Author's note. 11. 15ff .— He turned his charger, etc. " The last verso of this song is taken from a fragment of an old Scottish ballad, of which I only recollected two verses when the first edition of Rokeby was published. Mr. Thomas Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an entire copy of this beautiful song, which seems to express the fortunes of some follower of the Stuart family : It was a' for our riglitful king With, Adieu for evermore. That we left fair Scotland's strand. My dear. It was a' for our rightful king That we e'er saw Irish land, My dear ! That we e'er saw Irish land. Now all is done that man can do, And all is done in vain ! My love ! my native land, adieu ! For I must cross the main. My dear ! For I must cross the main. He turn'd him round and right about. All on the Irish shore, He gave his bridle-reins a shake. Ad;cu for evermore. The soldier frae the war returns. And the merchant frae the main. And I hae parted wl' my love. And ne'er to meet again, My dear, And ne'er to meet again. When day is gone, and night is come And a' are l)oun' to slet^>, I think on them that's py: ...va' The lee-lang nij:'«t, and wee;», My dear. The lee-lang night, and weep. — Scott, liokebi/, 4th ed. p. 351. 1. 16.— upon the river shore. The MS. readings are, — Upon the Greta (Scottish) shore. % ' -HI 264 NOTES. /• i \ '\ JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. Composition and publication. — This poem is founded on a popular ballad entitled John of Hazelgreen, which is found in varioas MSS. Scott wrote his poem from the first of two stanzas forming the fragment called the E. MS. in Child's Ballads, ix. 159 ff. The first stanza of the MS. varies from the poem only in the last line, in which the former reads, — For John o Hazelgreen. The second stanza is : — ' O whaten a man la Hazelgreen ? I pray thee tell to me ; O there's not a handsomer gentleman In a' the South Countrle. His arms are long, his shoulders broad, Sae comely to be seen ! And aye she loot the tears down fa' For John o Hazelgreen. The A. MS. gives a short but complete version : — Into a sweet May morning, As the sun clearly shone, I heard a propper damsell Making a heavy moan ; Making a heavy moan, I marvelled what she did mean, And it was for a gentleman. Sir John of Hasillgreen. ' What aileth thee now, bony maid. To mourn so sore into the tide ? O happy were the man,' he says, 'That had thee to his bride. To ly down by his side ; Then he were not too mean ; ' But still she let the tears fall For pleasant Hasilgreen. ' Oh, what for a man is Hasilgreen? SwMt heart, pray tell to me.' ' He is a propper Gentleman, Dwells in the Soutti Countrle; With shoulders broad and arms long. And comely to be seen ; His hairs are like the threads of gold, My pleasant Hasilgreen.' ' Now Hasilgreen is married. Let all this talking be.' * If Hasilgreen be married. This day's then woe is me ; For I may sigh and sob no more, But close my weeping ecn. And liold my peace and cry no more. But dy for Hasilgreen.' t B SCGTT: JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 265 * Will you let Hasiigreen alone, And go along with me ? I'll marry you on my eldest son, Make you a gay lady.' ' Make me a gay lady ? ' she sayes, ' I am a maid too mean *, I'd rather stay at home,' she cries, ' And dy for Hasiigreen.' He takes this pretty maid him liehind And fast he spurred the horse, And they're away to Bigger toun Tlicn in to Bigger Cross. Their lodging was far sought, And so was it forseen \ But still she let the tears down fall For pleasant Hasiigreen. He's ta'en this pretty maid by the hand, And he is doun the toun ; He bought for her a pretty coat, Yea, and a trailing goun ; A 3ilken kell fitt for her head, Laid o'er with silver sheen ; But still she let the tears down fall For pleasant Hasiigreen. He's ta'en this bony mey him be- hind. And he is to the Place, Where there was mirth and merry- ness. And ladyes fair of face ; And ladyes fair of face. Right seemly to be seen. But still she let the tears down fall For pleasant Hasiigreen. Young Hasiigreen ran hastilie To welcome his father dear ; He's ta'en that pretty maid in his arms. And kist off her falling tear : * O bony mey, now for thy sake I would be rent and rien ; I would give all my fatlier's lands To have thee in Hasiigreen.' 'O hold your tongue now, son,' he sayes, ' Let no more talking be ; This maid has come right far from home This day to visit thee. This day should been your wed- ding-day, It shall be thy bridall-een, And thou's get all thy father's lands, And dwell in Hasiigreen.' ■i \ ^k \ r. ' rffti m ill'' s, » ^■ i^M Jock of Hazeldcan was first published in Campbell's Albyn's Anthology, 1816, and republished in Miscellaneous Poems, 1820. The present edition is from the 1833 ed. The poem is stated to be written to the air, " A Border Melody," which involves an interesting error. Campbell, in whose Anthology Scott's song first appeared, had received an air, which he took to be a border melody, from Thomas Pringle, who had heard his mother sing it with the words afterward taken as the first stanza of Scott's poem. Scott, therefore, announced his poem as written to the air, "A Border Melody." But, as Chappell has pointed out, the ■ V J. I I I 266 NOTES. air is only a traditional version of the air of the song In January Last, of Durfey's play, The Fond Ilusband, 1676. Chappell gives the music of the song in Popular Music, ii. 576. Page S6. — Title. Jock of Hazeldean. Jock is the Scotch form of Jack. Hazeldean is in Toviotdale, on the river Teviot, north- cast of Hawick. Cf. In Hawick twinkled many a light; Behind him soon they set in nijrht ; And soon he spurr'd his courser keen Beneath the tower ot Hazeklean. —Lay of the Last Minstrel, I. § 25. "The estate of Hazeldean, corruptly Hassendoan, be- longed formerly to a family of Scotts." — Scott. The geography of the piece understood, the situation — that of the English Border maid, who prefers her Scottish lover to the English lord — becomes clear. 1. 5. — sail. A common form in Scotch dialect of shall. 1. 6. — Sae. The A.S. long a (pr. ah), which in Standard English became d (cf. swu, so), was preserved in Northern as a (pr. ah), then changing to a (pr. ay), written ae. Cf. wae for woe, tae for toe, etc. 1. 7. — loot. A Scotch dialect form for let. fa*. There was a general tendency in the Scottish dialect to weaken I before consonants and when final ; cf. ha' (1. 13), a' (1. 21). 1. 11. — Errington. The home of the ancient family of Erringtons, near Erring-burn , Northumberland, I. 12.— Langley-dale. Langley Talc is the wooded val- ley of Langley Beck, which enters the Tees on the north bank above Darlington, Durham. Aa I down Raby Park did pass, I heard u fair maid weep, and wail, The chiefest of the song it was Farewell the sweets of Langley Dale I SCOTT: JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. m The bonny mavis cheers his love, Tlie throstleooclt sings in the glen ; IJut I must never liope to rove Within sweet Langley Dale a$?ain, etc. — Surtees. 1. 19. — managed hawk. A hawk that has finished its manege or training for flying at game. Young used " the managed stee'i." r !f^ '■*- \ ! ''^ •■'<■' - ! * M f I Page 57. 1.25.— kirk. The Scottish and Northern English form of A.F). cyric {c-k) ; Midland and Southern English assibilaterl c to c/t, — church. 1. 29. — bower and ha'. 'Hall and bower' is a phrase frequently met with in older literature; the 'hall' is essentially the great living-room of the men, the 'bower' (A.S. bur, dwelling) is the apartment of the women. The heroic wealth of hall and bower. —Wordsworth, London, 1802. »f • .:; Ahi* 268 NOTES. KEATS. ::l ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. Circumstances of composition. — In 1815-, Keats, then twenty years old, had come to London to complete his study of surgery in St. Thomas Hospital. Charles Cowdeu Clarke, his friend and counsellor, son of his old school- master of Enfield, was likewise in London, in Clerken- well. The two friends were soon together. Their first meeting, says Clarke, was "a memorable night in my life. A beautiful copy of the folio edition of (Chapman's translation of Homer had been lent me. It was the property of Mr. Alsager...of the Times newspaper... Well, then, we were put in possession of the Homer of Chapman, and to work we went, turning to some of the ' famousest ' passages, as we had scrappily known them in Pope's version. There was, for instance, that perfect scene of the conversation on Troy wall of the old Senators with Helen . . . the Senator Antenor's vivid portrait of an orator in Ulysses [iii. 237 ff.]. . .the shield and helmet of Diomed [iii.]. . .the prodigious description of Neptune's passage to the Achive ships [xiii. ]. It was in the teem- ing wonderment of this, his first introduction, that, when I came down to breakfast the next morning, I found upon my table a letter with no other enclosure than his famous sonnet, On First Looking into Chapman's Homer. We had parted. . .at day-spring, yet he contrived that I should receive the poem from a distance of, may be, two miles by ten o'clock. In the published copy of this sonnet he made an alteration in the seventh line : — Yet never did I breathe its pure serene, Ihe original which he sent me had the phrase, — Yet could I never tell what men could mean ; which he said was bald, and too simply wondering. No 11 '^;i KEATS: CHAPMAN'S HOMER. iii. M '! ,!l one could more earnestly chastise his thoughts than Keats." — C. C. Clarke, Recollections of Keats, Gent. Mag., 1874, 183f. F. Locker-Lam pson i^ossesses an autograph copy of the sonnet, entitled " On the First Looking into Chapman's Homer," dated 1816, with slight variants. Publication. — The sonnet was first printed in Keats's first volume. Poems, 1817. "It is," says Eossetti, "the only excellent thing contained in his first volume of verse." The poem is here given from Palgrave's reprint of that edition . Page 58. — Title. Chapman's Homer. George Chapman (1559[?]-1634), poet and dramatist of Elizabethan times. His best plays are Eastward Hoe, 1605, and Bussy d''Amhois, 1608. His chief glory, however, is his transla- tion of Homer, of which seven books were first published in 1598, followed in the same year by the eighteenth book Before 1609 twelve books had been completed. The com- plete Iliad was issued in 1611. Then he set to work on the Odyssey, which was finished in 1614. The two trans- lations were printed in one folio volume, 1616, the edition referred to in the note above. " Chapman's Homer is one of the great achievements of the Elizabethan age, a monument of skill and devotion. The mistranslations are many and grievous, and it is clear that Chapman's knowledge of Greek was not profound ; but through the whole work there breathes a spirit of restless energy that amply atones." — A. H. Bullen, Diet. Nat. Biog. —•There did shine A beam of Homer's soul in mine.' 1. 1. — realms of gold. The world of poetry, of which one definite ' realm ' is singli^d out in 1. 5. Cf. How many bards gild the lapses of time. —Keats, Sonnet, How Many Bards. 1. 3. — western islands. The western islands of Europe, •^the Azores, the Canary Islands, and even Great Britain, M 4i • ». m ilil 270 NOTES. —shrouded as they were in mysterious distance were favourite allusions of the classical poets. Th<» British poets have done full homage for their native isles. 1. 4. — fealty. Allusion to the feudal tenure of land. The poets hold landed dominion by virtue of their paying the dues of poetry — celebrating the beauty of their estates — to their lord Apollo. Apollo. The Greek god of song and minstrelsy. 1. 6. — deep-brow'd Homer. No authentic representation of Homer's face exists. The epithet conveys the impres- sion of the serene power and majesty of the poet's verse. demesne. (Pr. de men' ; O.F. demaine, cf. * domain '.) Estates in land. 1. 7. — Yet did I never breathe. . . Locker MS. Yet could I never judge what men could mean. its pure serene. " I o may be noticed, that to find in Chap- man's Homer the ' pure serene ' of the original the reader must bring with him the imagination of the youthful poet, — he must be ' a Greek himself,' as Shelley finely said of Keats." — Palgrave, Golden Treasury, nn. 1. 10. — swims. Perfect felicity of diction is the mark of Keats's poetry. ken. Bange of vision. Losing ken of Albion's wished coast. — Shakspere, 2 Henry VI., ill. ii. 115. At once, as far as Angel's ken, he views The dismal situation. —Milton, Paradise Lost, i. 59. While here at home, my narrower ken Somewhat of manners saw, and men. —Scott, Marmion, iv. Intr. 1. 11. — stout Cortez. Hernando Cortes (1485-1547), the Spaniard whose daring won Mexico for Spain. As Tenny- son, however, pointed out to Mr. Palgrave ((?oW«n Treasury, n) history requires Balb6a. Vasco de Balboa (1475-1517), another Spaniard, joined Enciso's expedition of coloniza- tion to Darien in 1510. Becoming commander of the KEATS: CHAPMAN'S HOMER. 271 colony, he determined in 1513 to view an oceun of which he heard so many accounts. On September 25th, from a mountain-peak on the Isthmus of Panama, he was the first European to see the new ocean. One of the last books of Keats's schooldays (Cowden Clarke, Atlantic Monthly, 1861, p. 87) was Eobertson's His- tory of America. It is there without doubt that ho got the hint for the figure that appeals so strongly to the imagination in the closing lines of the sonnet. The passage in Robertson is as follows : — "At length the Indians assured them, that from the top of the next mountain they should discover the ocean which was the object of their wishes. When, with infinite toil, they had climbed up the greater part of that steep ascent, Balboa commanded his men to halt, advanced alone to the summit, that he might be the first who should enjoy a spectacle which he had so long desired. As soon as he beheld the South Sea stretching in endless prospect before him, he fell on his knees, and lifting up his hands to heaven, returned thanks to God, who had conducted him to a discovery so beneficial to his country and so honourable to himself. His followers, observing hia trans- ports of joy, rushed forward to join in his wonder, exalta- tion, and gratitude." — ed. 1817, viii. 287. 1. 12. — star'd. " ' Stared ' has been thought by some too violent, but it. is precisely the word required by the occasion. The Spaniard was too original and ardent a man, either to look, or to affect to look, coldly superior to it. His ' eagle eyes ' are from life, as may be seen by Titian's portrait of him." — Leigh Hunt, Imagination and Fancy. at the Pacific. The extra light syllable is frequently found after the caesura. A very old established law ; of. And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende. —Chaucer, Prol. Canterbury Talet, 11. 15f. 1. 14. — Darien. The isthmus is meant. '«■ t , 'I 272 NOTES. WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I SHALL CEASE TO BE. Composition and publication. — "On the 31st January [1818], after a page of doggerel not worth transcription, ho sent to Mr. Reynolds* the last sonnet ho had written, and he never wrote one more beautiful or more affecting in its personal relations." — Houghton, Life and Letters of Keats. " There is a fair MS. dated 1817 in Sir Charles Dilke's copy of Endymion.^^ — Buxton Forman, Keats, ii. 236. This sonnet was first published, after tho poet's death, in Lord Houghton's Life and Letters of Keats, 1818. The poem should be compared with parts of Sleep and Poetry, — O for ten years, that I may overwhelm Myself in poesy f so I may do the deed That my own soul has to itself decreed ; which shows the same eager longing to forestall the approach of death. Page 59. Title. The sonnet is without title in Houghton's ed.; the tiflo The Terror of Death, in the Golden Treasury, is Mr. Palgrave's. 1. 8.— charact'ry. Symbols of thoug' *. The MS. has charaotry. Elsewhere Keats printed cL .raotery, — Cf. Nor mark'd with any sign or charactery. —Endymion, lii. 767. All my engagements I will construe, to thee All the charactery of my sad hrows. — Shakspere, Julius Caesar, ii. L 807 f. 1. 6. — cloudy symbols. That these lines reveal Keats's nature is clear from his Epistle to my Brother George : — •J. H. Reynolds (1796-1852), author of Sofi6, poet and reviewer, friend and defender of Keats. T lyfif KEATS: THE HUMAN SEASONS, 273 But there are times, wlicii those that love the bay Fly from all sorrowing far, fur, awny ; A sudden frlow comes on them, nou);ht tlicy see In water, earth, or air, hut poesy. . . In air he sees wliite coursers paw and prance. Bestridden of pray kniprhts. in gay apparel, Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel... The Port's eye can reach those golden halls, And view the glory of their festivals, etc. Thia same power of fancy to read romance into the aspects of nature is expressed in Thomson : — A sable, silent, forest stood. Where nought but sliadowy forms were seen to move, As Idless fancied in her dreaming mood... A pleasing land of drowsy head it was Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ; And of gay castle-* in the clouds that pass. For ever flushing round a summer-sky. — The Castte of Indolence, v., vl. 1. 8. — chance. The poet's humility ascribes his faculty to a power without him. The Greeks ascribed it to the gods. 1. 10. — thee. The application is probably general. Ap- parently the sonnet, though sent to Reynolds, was not addressed to him. One naturally thinks of Miss Brawne, but Keats did not meet her till the year following its composition. 1. 12. — faery. See WordsAvorth, To the Cuckoo, p. 44, 1. 31. ,l1 \\ ■:l THE HUMAN SEASONS. Composition and publication.— "In his (Woodliouse's) copy of the letter to Bailey, written from Teignmouth, in Sept., 1818, the sonnet entitled The Human Seasons appears with very interesting variations" (B. Forman, Poetry and Prose of Keati, p. 23) : — 274 NOTES. !( Four seasons All the incusnro of the ycnr ; Four seasons nre there in the mind ot'Mnn. He hnth liin Ins y Spring, wljen Fancy clear Taltes in all beauty wiili an easy span : He iialh his Summer, \\\\c\\ luxuriously He cliews the honied cud of fair sitrin;? thoughts, Till in his Soul, dissolv'd, they come to be Part of hinii^clf : He hath his Autunm Ports And havens of re|)osc, when his tired wings Are folded up, and he content to look On mists in idleness : to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshhold broolc. He hath his winter, too, of Pale mlsfeature, Or else he would forget his mortal nature. This sonnet with another on Ailsa Rock were first published in the first number of Leigh Hunt's Literarij Pocket-liook ; or, Companion for the Lover of Nature and Art, 1819, with the signature I. ■:i Page 60. 1. 6. — Spring's honey'd cud. Cf. Chewing the food [variant, cud] of sweet and bitter fancy. — Shakspere, As You Like It, iv. lii. 102. 11. 7f. — by such dreaming high. This is the reading of the Aldine ed. and Palgrave's ed. But the Literary Pocket- Book reads : — By such dreaming nigh His nearest unto Heaven. Forman says that the reaaing of our text " is certainly a more usual sense than that of the text as given above ; but I should not venture to adopt it without knowing upon what manuscript authority, as the other seems to me the more characteristic in its strain after originality of expression. I take nigh to be a verb ; and I think students will admit that nigh his nearest unto heaven, for approach his nearest unto heaven, is tame compared with some of the novelties of Endymion." — Keats' s Works, ii. 247f. ! m ipiufi KEATS: ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 278 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. Composition. — '* Tliis poem was written," says Leigh Hunt, '• in a house at the foot of HighgaU.f Hill, on the border of the fields looking towards Hainpstead. The poet then had his mortal illness upon him, and knew it. Never was the voice of death sweeter." — hnaginaiion and Fancy, Koats was living with his friend Brown in Hamp- stead. 'J'he months of 1819 rom January till June were months of inspiration rarely equalled, for almost all his odes were then written, — On Indolence, On a Grecian Urn, Bards of Passion and of Mirth, To Psyche, To a Nightingale. His mind was highly wrought; for not only was tl' -i'e the melancholy remembrance of his brother, whose death had taken place in the preceding autumn, but an intense and unhappy passion for Fanny Brawne had Beized him. " The death of his brother wounded him deeply, and it appeared to me from that hour he began to droop. Ho wrote his exquisite * Ode to the Nightingale ' at this time, and as we were walking in the Kilburn meadows ho repeated it to me, before he put it to paper, in a low, tremulous undertone which affected me extremely." -— Haydon, Correspondence, ii. 72. The immediate occasion of the writing was as follows : — *' The admirable ' Ode to a Nightingale ' was suggested by the continual song of the bird that, in the spring of 1819, had built her nest close to the house, and which often threw Keats into a sort of trance of tranquil pleasure. One morn- ing he took his chair from the breakfast-table, placed it on the grass-plot under a plum-tree, and sat there for two or three hours vith some scraps of paper in his hands. Short- ly afterwards Mr. Brown saw him thrusting them away, as waste paper, behind some books, and had considerable difficulty in putting together and arranging the stanzas of the Ode." — Houghton, Life and Letters of Keats. The last n:* ■J J \ \t 276 NOTES. particular is modified in Houghton's introduction to the poem: — " In the spring of 1819, a nightingale built her nest next Mr. Brown's house. Keats took great pleasure in her song., .and one morning took his chair from the breakfast-table to their grass-plot under a plum-tree, where he remained between two and three hours. He then reached the house with some scraps of paper in his hand, which he soon put together in the form of this Ode." — AldJne ed. p. 237. The copy of the poem in Sir Charles Dilke's MSS. is dated May, 1819, and entitled Ode to the Nightingale (Form an). Publication. — The Ode was first printed in the Annals of the Fine Arts, a quarterly magazine, edited by James Elmes, in No. xiii., 1819, or vol. iv., pp. 354-356, 1820. The title tliere is "Ode to the Nightingale," and has for signature only the sign f. It formed part of Keats's third volume of poetrj', Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and other Poems, London, 1820, pp. 107-112. Our text follows the last edition as reprinted in Palgrave. Variants of the Annals are from the Peabody Library copy ; of the MS. from Forman's readings. The theme. — " The nightingale is a very skulking bird, frequenting the dense undergrowth, hopping restlessly about the cover, and when alarmed it instantly finds shelter among the tangled vegetation. Sometimes in the woods and coppices it is seen flitting across the path... The haunts of the Nightingale ai'e woods and plantations in which the undergrowth is particularly thick and close. Tangled hedgerows and the thickly-wooded banks of streams are the favourite haunts of this bird ... It sings incessantly from the pairing-time in April until the young are hatched in June. The song of the Nightingale has possibly been overpraised. . . The Nightingale does not always sing in the hours of night, as is very popularly believed to be the case; and it may be heard warbling at all hours of the day." — Seebohm, i. 277f. T KEATS: ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 277 The poets from Aristophanes to the present time have represented the song of the bird as passionately melan* choly, which is, according lo the naturalists, an instance of transferred emotion. The pronunciation of the word, it may be added, is ni' tin gal, and the derivation, A. S. nihtegale, night's singer. Treatment of the theme. — The attitude of the poet, it will be noted, is that of describing the song of the bird, not directly, as perhaps Wordsworth might have done, but in- directly, by the expression of the thoughts and feelings awakened by it. The latter point of view is that followed by most c* the poets, as, for instance, by Shelley in his Sky- lark and by Walt Whitman in his Mocking-bird {Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking). Form of the poem. The Ode. — The word ode (Gk. ode, aeido, I sing) was primarily applied to a chant sung to musical accompaniment. The term embraced the trium- phal odes of Pindar as well as the simpler strains of lyric verse. The simpler varieties were favoured by Latin poets such as Horace and Catullus, and have been most gener- ally imitated. English odes began with Spenser's lofty Epithalamium, written under either Greek or Italian influence : but it was the classical spirit of Ben Jonson that made the manner popular. Herrick in the lighter vein, Milton in the grandiose (as in The Nativity), Cowley, Dryden and above all Gray, in their Pindaric odes (see pp. 168f.), Collins in his Horatian imitations (as in Evening; see Appendix) carried on the history of the ode through the 18th century. With the Eomantio revival the ode was eagerly seized on to embody the highest passion of an age of lyrical feeling. Abandoning all attempts to imitate the measures of antiquity, the new poets sought after subtle harmonies in cadence, variation in length of line and stanza, and in the order of the rimes. Coleridge's France, 1797, Words- i ', fur "J i ■ 1 278 NOTES. V m iy %\ ; t III i worth's Intimations of Immortality ^ 1803-G, Koats's Night- ingale, 1819, Shelley's Skylark, 1820, all show the varied form of the odo, at the same time that they show the com- mon element, — the "strain of enthusiastic and exalted lyrical verse, directed to a fixed purpose, and dealing pro- gressively with one dignified theme." Mr. Gosse, from whose English Odes this definition is quoted, remarks that "Keats resolved the odo into a group of stanzas, each exactly following the preceding, and each more or less like one movement of an ode of Pindar, but without any at- tempt to reproduce the choral interchanges." Page 6i. 1. 2. — hemlock. The plant of the order Umbelli- ferse {conium macufatum) from whose leaves, flowers, and berries a violent alkaloid poison, called conium, is dis- tilled. The symptoms of (Oiium poisoning are weakness and sta.jgering gait, passing into paralysis and death (Chambers). In Greece ' drinking the hemlock ' was the extreme penalty of the law. 1. 3. — opiate. (L. opium.) Narcotic, sleep-producing draught. 1. 4. — Lethe-wards. Lethe (Gk. lethe, oblivion) was the river of oblivion, one of the five rivers of Hades. Far off from theso, a slow and silont stream, Letlie, the river of oblivion, rolls Her watery labyriiitli, whereof who drinks Forthwith his former stale and beinj? for^'ets— Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. —Milton, Paradise L(>$t, ii. .')83ff. 1. 7. — Dryad. Strictly, a minor deity of Greek myth- ology. The dryads were the guardians of the great forest trees (Gk. drus, oak). I. 9. — beechen green. Verdure of the beech-trees. Cf. West winds, witli musky wing. About the cedarn alley fling. —Milton, "^lomus, 1. !i89f. II. llf.— O, for a draught. " Of Koats's partiality for cUret enough and too much has been made ; but with his KEATS: ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 279 delightful list of desiderata given in a letter, now before me, to his sister, it is impossible to resist citing, as a prose parallel to these two splendid linos of poetry, the words, 'and, please heaven, a little claret wine cool out of a cellar a mile deep.'" — B. Forman, ii. 110. hath. MS. and AnnaU^ has. 1. 13. — Flora. The goddess of flowers in classical an- tiquity ; here for flowers generally. 1. 14.- -Provencal mirth. (The ^ is the Fr. » sound of c before a). Referring to the gay, sprightly life of Provence, where love, chivalry, and troubadour song reigned for three centuries in the courts of the counts of Provence. 1. 15. — beaker. A large drinking vessel with a wide mouth, an open cup or goblet. (Now chiefly in literary use) — l^ew English Diet. 1. 16. — the true, the blushful- The MS. and Annah, the true and blushful. Hippocrene. (Gk. hippos, horse ; krene, fountain.) A fountain in Mt. Helicon, Boeotia, which bubbled up from the hoof-stroke of Pegasus during the singing contest of the Muses and the daughters of Pieros ; sacred to the Muses. To Keats the ruddy wine is the ' true ' draught of in- spiration. 1. 20. — And with thee fade away. This line, it will be noted, is an Alexandrine (twelve-syllable line), but the final lines of the other stanzas are pentameter lines. The MS. and the Annals omit "away," giving uniformity of structure. But, says Forman, " to me the introduction of the word away in the version finally given forth by Keats is too redolent of genius to pass for a mere accident. The perfection thus l-'Ut to the echo opening the next stanza exceeds a thousand times \n value the regularity got by dropping the word ; and that one line with its linger- ing motive has ample reason to be longer than any other in the poem." — ii. 111. Leigh Hunt, moreover, reprinted the poem in The Indicator and in Imagination and Fancy^ in both oasos reading axcay. 280 NOTES. I. 25. — palsy. Paralysis. Pag^e 62. 1. 26. — Where youth grows pale... .dies. The sixth line of the stanza "very clearly brings out Haydon's words connecting the sadness of the poem with the death of Tom Keats, and should be compared with the passage about his sister in the letter to Brown written from Rome on the 30th of November, 1820, — ' my sister — who walks about my imagination like a ghost — she is so like Tom.' In the same letter he says, ' it runs in my head we shall all die young'." — B. Forman, ii. 112. 1. 29. — Beauty cannot keep. . .eyes. She dwells with Beauty— neauty that must die ; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, Bidding adieu. —Keats, Melancholy. 1. 32. — Bacchus and his pards. Bacchus (bak'us) or Dionysus, a son of Zeus. He was the god of wine, presid- ing over the culture of the vine. His worship was often celebrated with orgies, called in Italy bacchanalia. He is represented in antiquity as endowed with eternal youth, crowned with a diadem of ivy, holding a thyrsis garlanded with ivy. He is clad in the skin of the leopard, the animal sacred to him. The leopard accompanied Bacchus in his journeys, drawing his chariot and sharing his feasts. A very large number of marble groups of antiquity represent the god and his faithful attendant ; but I do not find any in which more than one leopard is present. 1. 33. — viewless wings. To be imprison'd in the viewless winds. — Shakspere, Measure for Measure^ lii. 1. 124. \. 36. — Queen-Moon. A suggestion of Titania and her attendant suite of fairies, rather than of Diaiia and her pymphs. Fays. Fairies. (O.F. faie. Fr. /(^«, Mid. Eng. fay. Originally fairy was the collective term for the fays ; cf. ' gentry.') KEATS: ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 281 Page 63. 1. 44. — the seasonable month. The month, the character of which is in keeping with the season. 1. 4(]. — pastoral eg^lantine. {J^r. Eglantine \ O.F. aiglant, sweet-briar ; assumed Lat. aculentus ; L. acus, p.;int.) The 3v\ect-briar, flowering in June and July. The epithet "pastoral" points to its growing profusely in pastoral scenes — open copses, glades, etc. 1. 47. — fast-fading violets. For fast- fading, of. A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward not permanent. — ShaksiKjre, Hamlet, I. Hi. 7. 1. 49. — musk-rose. I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose; 't was the first that threw Its sweets upon the summer ; graceful it grew As is the wand that queen Titania wields. —Keats, Sonnet, "-4s late I rambled,'' The whole passage, 11. 46-49, recalls Shakspere's lines : — I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows. Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopi'd with lush woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine. 'Ihere sleeps Titania. —Midsummer Night's Dream, 11. i. 249 ff. dewy wine. MS. and Annah, sweetest wine. 1. 51. — Darkling. In the dark, in darkness. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. — Shakspcre, Midsummer Night's Dream, ii. ii. 86. -Ling is the common adverbial suffix, as in groveling, headlong, etc. 1. 52.— in love with easeful Death. Cf. Shelly, Pref. to Adonaisy describing Keats's burial-place in Rome. "The cemetery is an open place among ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place." 1. 53. — mused rhyme. The adjectival use of this perf. participle is rare, — probably an instance of Keats's rich- aesi of phrase. It means, meditative, brooded ovei'. t ! i-.i. ■^ 282 NOTES. 1. 56. — To cease upon the midnight. Cf. Yet would I on this very midnight cease, And the world's Randy ensigns see in shreds ; Verse, Fame, Beauty are intense indeed, But Death intenser— Death is Life's hijfh meed. — Keats, Sonnet, Why did I Laugh To-night f 1. 57. — pouring forth. MS. and Annah, pouring thus. 1. 60. — To thy high requiem. . MS. and Annuls^ — For thy hiph requiem beeome a sod. requiem. Pr. re'kwi c ;. Lit., the mass for the dead (L., Ji().— like the Chinese. See Introductions, p. xiii. Page 84. 1. HI. — •* Mi pare che. . ." * It seems to me that in a country entirely poetic, that boasts the noblest and at the same time ilie sweetest language, all the difTerent styles may be attemptel-182()), epic poet, partisan of the Fren(di order in Italy. 1. 99. — Canova. Antonio Canova (1757-1822), a sculptor Avhose fame then filled Pkirope. Ugo Foscolo. (177()-1827.) The successor of Alfieri in tragedy, an eminent critic of literature, and an impas- sioned advocate of republican liberty. Pindemonti. (Jiovanni Pindemonti (I7r)l- 1814), drama- tist, and his brother lppolit(» (1753-1828), poet. Byron met the latter in Venice (Corresi). , .June Itli, 1817). 1. 100. — Visconti. Kunius V'isconti (1751-1818), and his brother Fillipo (1754 1881), were eminent archeologists. Morelii. (Jiacomo Morelli (1791-181!!), librarian of St. Mark's, Venice. Cicognara. Leopoldo (Jicognara (17t»7 1884), antiquary r r \^t y 306 NOTES. I and writer on art, president of the Venetian Academy of Fine Art. Albrizzi. Isabella Albrizzi (1770-1836), author of sketches of contemporary mtn and of a treatise on Canova. Byron called her the Madame de Stael of Italy. Mezzophanti. Giuseppe Mezzophanti (1771-1848) car- dinal, a linguist and philologist of marvellous gifts. Mai. Angelo Mai (1781-1854), cardinal and philologist. 1. 101— Mustoxidi. Andrea Mustoxidis (1787-1860), a Greek who lived at Turin. He was publishing his Collec- tion of Unpublished Greek Fragments at Veni^" 'n 1816- 1817. Aglietti. Francesco Aglietti (1757-1836), a distinguished Italian physician. Vacca. Andrea Vacca Berlinghieri (1772-1826), an eminent Italian surgeon, author of treatises on surgery. Page 85. 11. 105f.— ♦* La pianta. . . " ' The plant Man is born more vigorous in Italy than in any other land — and that the atrocious crimes themselves that are committed there are a proof of it." 1. 119.— "longing after immortality." Else whence this pleasinj? hope, this fond desire, This longing after Immortality. —Addison, Cato, iv. iv. 1. 122.—" Roma non e. , ." ' Home is no longer what it was before.' 1. 126.— carnage of Mont St. Jean. The battle of Waterloo, called by the French Mont St. Jean. betrayal of Genoa. "In 1814 Genoa rose against the French, on the assurance given by Lord William Ben- tinck that the allies would restore to the republic [of Liguria] its independence. It had, however, been deter- mined by a secret clause of the treaty of Paris that Genoa should be incorporated with the dominions of the King of Sardinia." — Enc. Brit. BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. S07 1. 128.— a work worthy of the better days. AUtiding to Hobhouse's Letters written by an EngJ iahvian resident in Paris (lurivf/ the fast reirjn of the Eiuferor Napohon^ London, 1810, in which the autlior attacked the Bourbons and praised Napoh-oii. 1. 130.— ♦• Non movero . . " I shall never sound a strinfr Where the mob deafens with its idle chatter. 1. 132. — transfer of nations. From French to Austrian princes. Venice, Milan, Tuscany, Modena all passed into Austrian hands by the Congress of Vienna. Page 86. 1. 135.— Habeas Corpus. Tliis Act, wliich requires the immediate trial of arrested persons, niaj' in times of pub- lic danger be suspended, as ]iap))em'd Feb. 21, 1817, when, owing to alleged secret meetings, an Act empowered the king to hold all persons suspected of conspiring against the British government. In .Fan., 1818, the Habeas Corpus Act was restored. 1. 137.— Verily they will have. Imitated from Matt. vi. 2, 5, IG. Ik ', , ^■ ;^1 Page 87. 1. 1. — Venice. Venice dates her foundation as early as the fifth century. No situati( n could be less inviting than the seventy-two low-lying sandy islets and marshes in the midst of which the new colony was established. But organization, industry, patriotism in fullness of time gave Venice the maritime supremacy of the world. Its government was an aristocratic republic, the elective head of Avhich, from the year ()97, was the Duke of Venice, or as the word duke is in Venetian dialect, the doge (Lat. duc-em). The very positic n of Venice inalic. At the south of the Piazzetta are two great granite columns, one surmounted by the figure of St. Theodore on a crocodiio, the other by that of the winged lion of St. Mark. 1. 9, — sate, {sat). An archaic preterite of sit m II t^^^fl ■ i' 310 NOTES. hundred isles. See 1. \n. " Venice is built on seventy- two islands." — Bryon, Letters, July 1, 1817. Baedeker gives the present number as 117. 1. 10. — a sea Cybele. Cybele is usually pronounced sib'ele but here, exceptionally sib cl'e ; she was the goddess of Earth, and mother, some say, of Jupiter. The chief seat of her worship was Phrygia. She is usually represented as vigorous, majestic, crowned with a crown of towers (cf 'tiara of proud towers,' 1. 11) in significance of the cities under her protection. What though Cretans old called thee City-crestt'd Cyhelo. —Shelley, (EfUpus, ii. ii. 3. Forth from a rugged arch, in the dusk below, Came mother Cybele— alone— alone— In sombre chariot ; dark foldins:9 thrown About her mnjesty, and front death-pale, With turrets crowned. -Keats, Endymion. fresh from Ocean. Recalling the myth of the birth of Venus Aphrodite (Gk. aphros, foam). An old writer, describing the appearance of Venice, has made use of the above image, which would not be poetical were it not truci. " (^uo fit ut qui superne urbem contemple- tur, turritam telluris imaginem medio Oceano figuratam se putet inspicere.' M. A. Sabelli de Venetce Urbis situ narratio, !527, i. f. 202."— Note, Isted. 1. 11. — tiara {tl ar'a). Originally a Persian turban ; hence any coronet or any rich ornament for the head (Gk. tiara, head-dress of Persian kings). Here poetically the highest lines of towers. 1. 17. — purple. The colour of the robes of the emperors of Rome ; hence significant of empire. Page 88. 1. 19.— Tasso. Torquato Tasso (1 544-1 7?:^^), one of the greatest and most unhappy of poets, conquered the homage of Italy by his poetic gifts even in early youth. He was called to the court of Alfonso d'Esto, duke of Ferrara. In 1572 he wrote Aviinta ; in 1575 he had finished his great BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 311 epic of Jerusalem Delivered. Already his misfortunes had begun. Fable says that he was chased from the court for loving his patron's sister, and finally shut up in a mad- house by the order of the duke. Truth makes it evident that Tasso's vanity, not satisfied with the favour of Al- fonso, meditated to transfer his talents to the court of the Medici in Florence. The favour of the duke cooled. Tasso's mind became embittered and affected. Years of in- carceration, flight, reconciliation, suspicion and estrange- ment followed for the genius. Always verging on mad- ness, he spent his last days wandering among the Italian cities. Death even deprived him of the triumph and crown of laurel that were prepared for him in Rome in 1595. Tasso's echoes are no more. ' ' The well-known song of the gondoliers, of alternate stanzas, from Tasso's Jeru- salem, has died with the independence of Venice. Editions of the poem with the original on one column, tnd the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the boatmen, were once common, and are still to be found." — Note, 1st ed. 1. 26. — The pleasant place. And there at Venice f?ave His body to tliat pleasant country's earth. — Shakspere, Richard II., iv. 1. 97. 1. 27. — the masque of Italy. Venice epitomized the gay festivity of Italy. 'Masque' for masquerade, the usual form of amusement in the Carnival. See Browning's A Toccata of Galuppi's. 1. Bl. — dogeless city, See 1. 1 n. 1. 33. — the Rialto. The chief bridge in Venice, crossing the Grand Canal. The present bridge was begun in 1588. From antiquity is was the centre of trade. It is a single marble arch ninety-one feet in span, beautifully propor- tioned ; under its arcades are two rows of shops. Shylock and the Moor. Shy lock in The Merchant of Venice and Othello in Shakspere's tragedy of Othello. 1. 36. — Pierre. The chief character in Venice Preserved, of ' ''1 y^..-m\ ^ni . 312 NOTES. Thomas Otway (1H52-U>H5). This play, |»ronounced Ot- way's supreme effort in tragedy, is the story of the plot of Venetians against the corrupt oligarchy of Venice, result- ing in the death of Jaffier and Pierre, the chief conspira- tors. 11. 40ff.— that which Fate Prohibits. . . The brighter and happier life refused us by fate amidst the realties of the world, are supplied by the creations of the poet's fancy; this imaginary life first drives out the mean realities and then fills their place with its own beautiful forms, which refresh the heart saddened by the loss and disillusionment and fill its vacancies with sweeter forms. Page 89. 1. IH. — Such is the refuge. Tozer explains: — "Youth takes refuge in the creati< ns of the imagination in order to escape from dece))tive hope," etc., which is hardly true of life. Youth seeks in fiction the realisation of its brightest hopes of life, not finding it in the real world, while age seeks refuge from dullness and vanity (' sans everything '). Cf. In youtli I wrote because my iiiiiirt was full And now because I find it ^rowMif? dull. — Byron, Don Juan, xiv. x. 1. 5.5. — I saw or dream'd of such. Early friends such as Wingfield, Matthews and Eddlestone (' the only human being who over loved him in truth and entirely'), who all died in 1811, and women he loved like Mary Cha worth and ' Thyrza.' 1. 59. — aptly. Fully, precisely. Page 90. 1. 64. — I've taught me other tongues. Byron knew French and Italian, but not Gorman. 1. 78. —fond. Fcolish,— archaic sense. 1. 82.— the temple where the dead. On Byron's death, Colonel Stanhope, who brought his body to England, wrote the executors : " I am of opinion that his Lcrdship's family should be immediately consulted, a^d that sanctiuQ BYRON: CHILDE HAROl.iys Pll.iJRlMAGE, \\\S should be obtained for the public burial of his body either in the great Abbey [of Wtistmiuster] or Cathedral of London." "It his V)ojn assorted," says* Moor.', "and I fear too truly, that on some intimation of the wish sug- gested in this last sentence being convoyed to one of those Reverend persons who have the honours of the Abbey at their disposal, such an answer was returned as left but little doubt that a refusal would be tlio result of any more regular application." — Moore's l^ife of liyron, vi. '220f. His remains were interred in the family vault in Iluck- nall village church, near Newstead. 1. 84. — laurels. The victorious crown for (Jreek heroes and poets was woven from the berry-bearing leaves of the laurel, the shrub sacred to Ajiollo. 1. 85. — the Spartan's epitaph. Brasidas the Spartan, killed at Amphipolis, n.c. 422, in his victory over the Athenians. "And ArgiToonida, the mother of Brasidas, asked some that wont to visit her after they returned home to Lacedypmon. . ., if her son died like a man, and a worthy Spartan. And they straight did commend him highly, saying : There was not left in all Lacedwmon such a valiant man. She replied unto them : Say not so, my friends, I pray you ; for Brasidas was indeed a valiant man, but the country of Laconia hath many more valiantcr than he was." — Plutarch, Lycurgus, tr. North. n n » . i • i i ■; f i 1 ^' i 1 '■ 'i , 1 ■ \ Page 91. 1. 88.— The thorns which I have reap'd. See In- troductions, p. Iv.; cf. Hosea viii. 7. 1. 93. — Bucentaur. Pr. hn- sen' -tar. (Gk. hous, ox, ken- tauros, centaur.) The name given to tho splendid gilded galley of Venice from which the marriage of the doge with the Adriatic was celebrated. On Ascension day (fortieth day after Easter) the doge, accompanied by tho Venetian nobility land the Papal nuncio, sailed out upon the Adriatic, and dropped a, ■ -! .314 NOTES. cunsecratcd ring into the sea with the words : "We espouse thee, O Sea, in sign of true and perpetual sovereignty." This ceremonial (see 1. 1 n), dating from the victory oi Venice over Frederick Barbarossa, when Pope Alexandti III. wrote to Venice : ' May the sea be as obedient to you as the wife to the husband.' It continued till the end of last century, when Napoleon burnt the third and last Bucentaur. Fragments of it are preserved in the Arsenal as sacred relics of Venetian freedom. 1. 95.— St. Mark. St. Mark's Cathedral is the glory of Venetian architecture, if not the most splendid church of Italy. It was founded in 834 to receive the relics of St. Mark, and took its definite form in 1052. It is in the Byzantine style, with five great domes, gorgeous Avith coloured marble and mosaics. Sec Ruskin, Stonen of Venice and St. Mark's Bent. yet sees the lion. See 1. 8 m- The lion was carried off during the French occupation to the Invalides, Paris, and resto/ed to Venice only in 1815. 1. 97.— an Emperor sued. Frederick Barbarossa (1123- 1190), son of Frederick of Hohenstaufen, Duke of Suabia, (hence 'the Saubian,' 1. 100), was defeated in his efTorts to humble Pope Alexander III. and the northern cities of Italy, and compelled to acknowledge the pontificate of Alexander. He was reconciled to the Pope at Venice, July 25th, 1177. 1. 100.— now the Austrian reigns. See 1. 1 n. By the treaty of Campo-Formio, Venice passed into Austrian hands, after having overturned her aristocratic govern- ment in the name of liberty. In 1806 Austria restored Venice to France, but it was given back in 1814. 1. 102. — Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces. Eeferring to the decline of the Italian commonwealths, Venice, Florence, Genoa, Pisa, etc. See 85. 132 ?i. 1. 106. — lauwine. Ltfuwine is the German for avalanche. Byron probably pronounced the word law' -wen. i I ■ \ B FA' ON : CHIL DE HA R OL D'S PI I. GRIMA GE. 3 1 5 1. 107. — Oh for one hour. " Tho reader will recollect • the exclamation of tho higlilander, Oh for one hour of Dundee! "—Note, 1st ed. blind old Dandolo. Eurico Da ndolo (1107 ?- 1205), sent by the Venetians to demand recompense from Mauuol, was blinded, perhaps only partly so, by that emperor. Elected doge in 1192 he led the Venetian galleys to the capture of C nstantinople (Byzantium), 1201, He him- self, though ninetj'-seven years old, first reached the walls. Page 92. 1. 109.— steeds of brass. Four magnificent bronze horses five feet in height in front of the middle arch and over tho chief portal of St. Mark's. They were brought from Constantinople, where they probably had adorned a triumphal arch, by Dandulo (1. 107 n.), after the fourth crusade. " It would seem that the horses are irrevocably Chian, and were transferred to Constantinople by Theo- dorus." — Note, 1st ed. I. 111. — Doria's menace. Pietro Doria, commanding the fleet of Genoa in its war against Venice, 1380, penetrated the Venetian lagoon, and answered the proposals of peace with the words: "Ye shall have no peace until we have first put a rein upon those unbridled horses of yours, which are upon tho porch of your evangelist St. Mark." I, 118. — a new Tyre. In allusion to the commercial greatness of the Phijpnician city. See Ezekiel xxvii., Ifiaiah xxiii. 3. .1.119. — by-word. Nickname, epithet of scorn. The word ' pantaloon,' buffoon, clown, is the Italian nickname of the Venetians, from the first patron saint of Venice, St. Pantaleon. The name was a usual one for the foolish old man of early Italian comedy, properly a Venetian, and later degraded to the meaning of buffoon. Byron writes from a less valid exjdanation that panta- loon is a corruption of an assvimed piautaleone, i. e. ' plant the lion ' (the standard of tho republic). 1. 123.— the Ottomite. The Ottoman Turks; see 1 1 n. 316 NOTES. 1. 121.— Troy's rival, Candia. f^aiidia is tho town on tlin north Hlioro of Crete. Clnndia ' rivalled ' Troy since it was defended twenty-four years by the Venetians against the Turks. Troy withstood the f< reeks only ten years. 1. 125.— I.epanto. See 1. 1 n. \. 127. — of £:lass. Figurative sense,- fragile. 1. 120. Where they dwelt. The P.ila/./o Dueale dates in part from 820; it was rebuilt in 1022 and in 1574. The chief feature of its architecture is the carved pilhirs of the colonnades supporting the outer walls. It was tho resi- dence of tho Doge and tho meeting-place of the state councils. Page 93. 1. i;}8. — foreign aspects. 'Aspect' in a concrete sense, something seen : here, tho French or, at that particular time, tha Austrian trcops and oHicials. I. 185. — Venice'. This possessive is preferred by the pr ets for words ending in a sibilant. II. ISGff.— Athens' armies fell at Syracuse. Tn allusion to tho fatal expedition of Athens against the Oroek city of Syracuse, Sicily, w.v. 11511 1, in which tho Athenian forces under Nicias wore captured or destroyed. "Some of them were savtxl also for Euripides' sake. For the Sicilians liked tho verses of this jwet better than they did any other fJrecian's verses. . . For if they heard any rimes or songs like unto his, thej would have them by heart, and one would present them to another with great joy. And therefore it was re])orted, that divers escaping this bondage and returning again to Athens, went very lovingly to salute Euripides, and thnnk him for their lives, and told him how they were delivered from slavery, only b;^ teaching those verses which they remembered of his works." — Plutarch, Nicias, tr. North. See Liownin"" Balauslion's Adventure. 1. 137.— bore the yoke of war. A figur,' prossion, in allusion to a Latin custom, -«?<6j Mr ^ nittere. — b which the vanquished had to pass bencat \oko. fiVKON: CminE IlAKOI.n'S rn.GNIMACE. ni7 1. 147. — choral memory. MiMnory kept frt'sli l»y tlm recital and clianting (»f liis ))()i'iiis. 1. 151. — Albion. Tlu^ ' Whitu Laml,' the ancient name of Britain. 1. 158.— thy watery wall. Set in tho silvor son, Whicli sorves it in tlu' ufliff of a wall. — Sliakspt'iv, Ukhnnl II., ii. i. 47, Page 94. 1. 155.— city of the heart. Cf. 1. 094. 1. 158.— Otway. See 1. H4 n. Radcliffe. Mrs. Anno liadcliire (ITfil 1H28), a favourite author and poet of lier day. Byron refers jtarticularly to her romance, The Mtjaferies of Udolpho, wliich gives some pretty pictures of Venice. Schiller. Fiiedricli von Schiller (1759-1805), tlie second greatest poet and dramatist of (lermany. Byron specially refers to his (leinterscher, or (Jhost-Seer. an unfinished pi'ose romance, the scene of which is laid in Venice. Shakespeare. See 1. HS n. 1. 1()0.— thus. As depicted in § xv. 1. 1G3.— I can repeople with the past. Byron's interest in Venice prompted, it will be remembered, not only the preceding stanzas but liis Oile on Vciiice, — Oh Venice ! Venit-e ! when thy marl)le walls, and the two di'amas Marino FaJiero and The Ttco Foscari. 1. 165. — chasten'd down. Softened, saddened by experi- ence, not sanguine. 1. 172. — tannen. PI. of CJer. Tanne. fir-tree. Byron's note takes the Avord ern^neously, as meanl:*^ specially "a species of fir peculiar to the Alps, wliich only uli'-ives in very rocky parts, wliei'e scarcely soil suiliciout for its nourishment can be found. On these spots it grows to a greater height than any other mount-ain tree." Page 95. 1. 182. — life and sufferance. A common figure, — suffering life. 'I U,: 31S NOTES. 1. 185.~the wolf dies in silence. When lie [the wolf] is wounded by a bullet, he is heard to cry out; and yet, when surrounded by the peasants, and attacked with clubs, he never howls as a dog under correction, but defends himself in silence, and dies as hard as he lived." — Goldsmith, Animated Nature, iv. ii. from BufFon. 1. 19G.— the reed. Hope. Page 96. 1. 200.— scorpion. See D.V. 1. 352 n. 1. 207. — darkly. Mysteriously. 1. 214. — the cold. Friends estranged, whose memory is one of ' the spectres ' of the burifd past. 1. 217. — But my soul wanders. The transition from Venice to greater Italy. Cf. Tr. 1. 1G5. Pag^e 97. 1. 223.— the ma^iter-mould. The supreme and most perfect type. 1. 220. — commonwealth of kings. The ancient republic of Rome, where, the poet says, e.ach man was a king. 1. 238.— Friuli's mountains. Friuli is the district north of the Adriatic, bounded by a spur of the Carnian Alps. It once was subject to Venice. " The sun sinking, in the west, tinted the waves and the lofty mountains of Friuli, which skirt the northern shores of the Adriatic, with a saffron glow, while o'er the marble porticos and colonnades of St. Mark were thrown the rich lights and shades of evening." — Mrs. Radclitfe, Mysteries of Udolphoy XV. Tozer explains : " The mountains intended are evidently those to the west of Venice, while Friuli is to the north- east of that city." From the preceding note this is evi- dently an error. The poet is standing at his summer home by the Brenta to the south of Venice. As he looks north he sees the western glow swooping ale ng the blue mountains of Friuli. Then (1. 21V) as the moon rises higher, he still sees over the mountains to the north-west, the sunset glorj' fading before the victorious night. I! B YRON : CHIL DE HAROLD'S PIL GRIMA GE. 3 1 9 1. 240. — Iris. A mythological goddess, messenger of the gods, and a personification of the rainbow. 1. 242. — Dian's crest. Diana, or Selene, as goddess of the Moon, bore in ancient representations, as in figure in the temple of Delo«<, a crescent moon on her head. 1.243. — is'and of the blest. The Greeks imagined islands in the Western Ocean, whither the souls of the noble dead were wafted. Hero figuratively, of the silver moon in the sea of heaven. Pag^e 98. 1. 244 ff.— A single star. "The above description may seem fantastical or exaggerated to those who have never seen an Oriental or Italian sky, yet it is but a literal and hardly suflicient delineation of an August evening (the oijjhteenth), as contemplated in one of many rides along the banks of the Brenta, near La Mira." — Note, 1st ed. 1. 240.— Yon sunny sea. Cf. 11. 236f. 1. 247. — Rhxtian hill. The Rheetian Alps properly ex- tend from the Spliigen Pass down to the valley of the Adda, the ancient boundary of the republic of Venice and the duchy of Milan. 1.250. — deep-dyed Brenta. The Brenta flows down from the Austrian Tyrol, passes near Padua, and empties into the lagoon of Venice on the south. Its 'deep dyes' are reflected from the sky. 1. 253.— Fill'd with the face. The sky is mirrored iu the river. Cf. The cahn rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of tiie sky, fallen through me on high, Are each paved witli tlie moon and these. —Shelley, The Cloud. 1. 259.— like the dolphin. The Coryphene. " Corypheena are generally, though a misapplication of the name, called 'Dolphins.' They attain to a length of six feet... The beauty of their, unfortunately fugitive, colours has ever been a subject of admiration. As far as the colours are capable of description, those of the common species (C. hippnrun), which is often seen in the Mediterranean, are : i !'i| I'll 320 NOTES. silvery blue above, with markings of a deeper azure, aiul reflections of pure gold, the lower parts being lemon-yellow marked with pale blue. The pectoral fins are partly lead colour, partly yellow ; the anal is yellow, the iris of the eye golden. These iridescent colours change rapidl3' whilst the fish is dying, as in the Mackerel. — Giinther, Fishes. p. 45B. Falconer gives a vivid description of this ' dolphin ' in his Shipwreck, ii. 83fT. I. 261. — 'tis gone— and all is gray. Byron here closes his description of Venice as she fades from view with the glory of sunset on the plain of Loml)ardy. It was as a glorious sunset that her history appeared to him in the opening. II. 262ff. — a tomb in Arqua. " Arquii is twelve miles from Padua. . .in the bosom of the Euganean Hills. After a walk of twenty minutes across a flat well-wo(.ded meadow, you come to a little blue lake, clear but fathom- less, and to the foot of a succession of acclivities and hills, clothed with vineyards and orchards, rich with fir and pomegranate trees... From the banks of the lake the road winds into the liills, and the church of Arqua i.^ soon seen between a cleft where two ridges slope Vrt)\vards each other, and nearly enclose the village. The houses are scattered at intervals on the steep sides (,f these summits ; and that of the poet is on the edge of the little knoll overlooking two descents, and commanding a view, not only of the glowing gardens in the dales immediately beneath, but of the wide plains, above whose low wt ods of mul' erry and willow, thickened into a dark mass by fosto ns of vines, tall single cypresses, and the spires of towns, are seen in the distance, which stretches to the mouths of the Po and the shores of the Adriatic." — Note, 1st ed. Cf. Shelley, Liyies Written Among the Eufjanean IlUh. 1. 203. — sarcophagus. (fJk. sarkojjhagos. flesh-eating, a term applied to a peculiar limestone of which tombs were made.) A coflin of richly decorated stone. ■ BV/WN: CIIII.DE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. :i-_M 1. 264. — Laura's lover. Francesco Petrarch {pe'-trarkj was born at Arezzo in 1301 and died at Arqui in 1374. His father was banished from Florence in 1301 along with Dante, both being ' Whites ' or democratic republicans. Avigncn, J? ranee, became the home of the former. There Petrarch saw, in the church of St. Clara, the Laura who inspired his canzone and sonnets, the faithful wife of Hugo de Sade. Near Avignon he wrote those sonnets in the Tus- can dialect which give him a share in the glory of Dante of having founded a new language. In 1341 he received the laurel crown at Kome as the greatest living poet. His last days were spent in various Italian cities, his mind saddened by the death of Laura and the ruin of his political hopes. "Petrarch retired to Arqua immediately on his return from the unsuccessful attempt to visit Urban V. at Rome, in the year 1370, and. . .appears to have passed the four last years of his life between that charming solitude and Padua. . . Petrarch is laid, for he cannot be said to be buried, in a sarcophaguj of red marble, raised on four pilasters on an elevated base, and preserved from associa- tion with meaner tombs." — Note, 1st ed. w ^1 Page 99. 1. 207. — To raise a language. The modern litera- ture of Italy began with throe great names, — Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, respectively supremo in epic, lyric, and prose composition. They w^re all Florentines, and established the Tuscan dialect as the standard Italian speech. his land reclaim. Rescue his land from the foreign mercenaries and restore it to liberty ; an allusion to the odes addressed to his country {Italia viia) and to the younger Colonua or Rienzi {Spirito Gentil). 1. 269.— Watering the tree. The laurel (Ital. lauro), frequently celebrated in Petrarch's verse, in allusion to the name of Laura. Cf. Sonnet xlvi. and especially Sonnet cxvi., which reads, — 322 NOTES. Not all the streams that water the l)ri>?ht earth, Not all the trees to which its })reast drives hlrth. Can c;isure laid to the charge of Alfonso, and the court of Ferrara." — Note, Jst ed. The Academia della (^rusca, founded in ir>8"2, was especi- ally dev<. ted to lany,iiage and belles-lettres, ^fany of its members approvet 328 NOTES. 1. 372. — funeral. 'Funuiite' in the original is fatal, unhappy, tragical ; ' funereal,' here would be more exact English. Page 104. 1. 388. — Wandering in youth. In his first visit to Greece in 1809-11, recorded in the closing stanzas of Canto III. 1. 389.— The Roman Friend. " Tlie celebrated letter of Servius Sulpicius to Cicero, on the death of his daughter, describes as it then was, and now is, a path which I often traced in Greeco, botli by sea and land, in different jour- neys and voyages. ' On my return from Asia, as I was sailing from /Egina towards Megara, I began to contem- plate the prospect of the countries around me : M^ina. was behind, Megara was before me; Pirajus on the right, Corinth on the left ; all which towns once famous and fi;)urishing now lie overturned and buried in their ruins. Upon this sight, I could not but think presently within myself, Alas ! how do we jioor mortals fret and vex our- selves if any of our friends happen to die or be killed, whose life is yet so short, when the carcasses of so many noble cities lie here exposed before us in one view.'" Gxcero'B E pistol ae ad Fani.AK. v. 4., tr. Middleton.— Note, 1st ed. Byron refers, in the first part of this note, to his life in Greece in 1809-1811. 1. 392. — Megara. A village, once a city, twenty miles west of Athens. 1. 393.— iEgina. The little island in the gulf of ^gina, between Attica and the Morea. Piraeus (plre'iia). The seaport of Athens and distant from it five miles to the S.E. It was destroyed by Sulla, B.C. 86. Its prospority has somewhat revived iti recent years. 1. 394.— Corinth. The city, on the Isthmus of Corinth, forty-three miles west of Athens. It was once the centre of the trade with the East, — a powerful, luxurious, sover- eign city. BYJ^ON: C/I/LDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 320 Page 105. 1. 413.— The skeleton of her Titanic form " It. is Poggio [1880-1 lo9], who, looking; from the Capitolino hill upon ruim^d Rome, break:^ forth in the oxclaniation, ' Ut nunc omni decore numlata, prostrata jacot, instar gigantoi cadaveri-^ corrupti ati^ue undii^ue exosi.' " — Note, lat ed. 1. 41*j. — wrongs should ring. . .side. Whereof all Europe linffs from side to .side. — Milton, Sonnets, x.xil. 1. 419. — Parent of our religion. la the sense of being the mother church from which grew or were sustained the many churches of Christendom. 1. 420. — knelt to for the keys of heaven. In reference to the supremacy of the lloman Pontiff, to whom are en- trust<^d, as many believe, the keys of heaven and hell. The phrase here suggests the entreaties of the barbarous nations for missionaries, as well as the prayers of nations under interdict or excommunication for restoration to the . privileges of religion. 1. 421. — parricide. Fatal filial neglect , which has allowed Rome to be held by the ' barbarian tide ' of northern forces. From 1809 ti'l 1814 Rome was occupied by the French ; after which followed a papal government, of nar- row bounds and brief authority', under the a'gis of France. Page 106. 1. 425. — the Etrurian Athens. The ancient Etruria is represented by modern Tuscany, a former grand-duchy, having Florence as its capital. The importance of Florence in commerce and art — both in mediaeval and modern times — an importance greater than that of Rome itself, is referred to on p. 181. The city was until recently surrounded with walls, 'like a garland.' It is situated veritably in 'a theatre of hills' (cf. Tr., 108 n), — Fiesole, San Miniato, Boboli, Bellosguardo, — which has given it the epithet of beautiful Florence. 330 NOTES. Ill tlic valley beiiouth wIkmt', white aiitl \vin of softness, grace, and purity, and a standard of female beauty. It belongs to the later and less spiritual period of Greek art, probably contemporary with Augustus. loves in stone. Represents the loving woman. 1. 435. — The ambrosial aspect Ambrosia (Gk. amhroaia, pertaining to the immortals), the food of gods ; hence 'ambrosial,' divinely fragrant, divinely beautiful. 1. 448. — Dazzled and drunk with beauty. Lord Byron visited Florence in 1817, on his way to Rome. "I remained," he says, ' but a day ; however, I went to the two galleries, from which one returns drunk with beauty. The Venus is more for admiration than love ; but there are sculpture and painting, which, for the first time at all, gave me an idea of what people mean by their cant about these two most artificial of the Arts ! " — Letter to Murray, Ap. 26, 1817. 1. 445. — Chain'd to the chariot. An allusion to the Roman triumph, in which the captives in chains preceded the victor's car ; see 1. 710 n. fiVRON: CIIll DR HAROLD'S PII.CRIMACE. 331 Page 107. 1. I IS. paltry jargon of the marble mart. A conteniptiious jiIiimso for the toclinical terms of sculpture, such as aro lit-iud but nut lolt in a siilosr{H)ni of statuary. 1. 45(). — the Dardan Shepherd's prize. Danliin or Dar- danian is 'I'rojai;, from Dardaiius, ancestor of Priam of Troy. Ho was n-arcd as a shepherd on ^^ouut Ida to i)re- vont the fulfilment of ominous prophecies at Ijis hirth. Ohosen as the arbiter of beauty, ho awarded the g.dden apple to Venus, over lier rivals Athena and Ifera. Ste Tennyson's (Knone. 1. 452. — Anchises (an ki'sfz). This Trojan prince was beloved ('more deeply blest 'j for his beauty by Venus. Their son was .Fneas, " wlumi bright Aphrodite conceived to Anchises amid the sjjurs of Mount Ida, a goddess wedded to a mortal" (Homer, //. ii. 8'20f.). 1. 454.— vanquish'd Lord of War. Mars (Ok. Ares). His amours with Venus (Aphrodite) arc told in the eighth book of the Odysse}-, and in Lucretius, i. Biff. The rest of this stanza is an adaptation of the apostrophe to Venus in the latter : — •For tliou alone eaiist bleaa mortals with tranquil peace; since Mars, tlie lorJ of anna, wlio controls tlie cruel task? of war. often (lings liiuisolf upon tliy lap, vaniiuishcd by the eternal wound of love ; and thus loUt ) ; t.lio artist's ape is the amatcui". the dilettante. 1. 471. — connoisseurship. Pn perly, the state cf being a connoisseur [Icon ea er'), a competent judge of fine arts. Here used in satirical humour as a title (PV. frt)m Lat. rognoaco, I know.) 1. 474. — crisp. To curl in little waves, to ruflfle. 1. 478. — Santa Croce's holy precincts. Santo Croce (rrofch'P), 'Holy Cross,' is is a cruciform church of Florence, built in 1142, containing « n the right aisle the tombs of Michael- A ngelo, Alfieri, and Machi:ivelli, and on the left aisle that of Galileo. Byron calls it ' the Mecca,' the • Westminster Abbey ' of Ital}'. 1.484. — Angelo. Michael- A ngelo [vilkel an'Je I o) {I \7'i- 15G4), one of the supreme ger.ius of modern times; sculp- tor, architect painter, and pcet. Aliieri {a1 p. a' re). Vittorio Alfieri (1749-18i):-i), author of a large number of tragedies— chiefly on classical sub- ji'cts, such as Polynices, Antigone, Ore.-ites, or on historical subjects, s;u!h as Philip If. and Mary Slaart, — and of a few comedies. He founded a school of simple and lofty tragedy. 1. 48.J,— The starry Galileo. The astronomer (ialileo (JaliUu (15!)l Kil'is professor of mathematics ak Pisa and I^adua, discoverer of the satellites of .lupiter. His teach- ing was c, and he himself imprisoned in KISU, and forced under pressure of the Inquisition to abjure the Copernican (the modern) theory of astronomy. Pronounce gal i It'O or (Ital.) gah le Id'n. 48(). — Machiavelli {niak i' ah vel'e). Niccolo Machiavelli (14(){)-1527), Florentine statesman and author. His Prince {II Princi/yi). has been regarded as a mere exposition of ihe art of tyranny, and, under malign representations, tins man, one of the ablest of Florentine ))atriots, has given his name to a synonym of dujilicity. "It will bo readily imagined that the projudices that have passed the ■'.'S.'% BYRON CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILCRIMAGE. '^X\ name of Muchiavt'Ui into an epitlu^t proverbial tif in- iquity exist no longer in Florence." —Note, 1st ed. 1. 189. — rents Of thine imperial garment. Like Caesar dying,— You all do know this uiniiMo. . . Look, ill tills |>l;u'o inii Cassiiis' dafj^'cr tlirouKli : See wliat u rent tlio ciivioiis Cnseii made. — Sliakspere, .lul'ma C'lr.sar, iii. li. 170ff. Page 109 I. llt'i.— Spirits that soar from ruin. As the ph«je- nix from her ashes. 1. 4J>3. — impregnate. Kndi'^-, — the —ate is an imita- tion of the Latin perfect participle in —atiis; cl. , in their participial use, situate, consecrate, etc. 1. 495.— Canova. See 81. KM and tj. 1. 198.— The Bard of Prose. Hoccaccio; see 1. 51 1 n. 1. 502.— 1 heir country's marbles . . A criticism of tlie absence of busts of thcj three greatest Florentines in the church of Santi ("roci. Since IH'Jit a tomb, tind since 1805 a colossal statue, commemorat* Dante ai Santa ( 'ruce. 1. 505. — Ungrateful Florence ! This line is perliaps ii. reminiscence of a line from Michael-Angelo's sonnet on the same theme : In^M'ata patri.a, e dolla sua fortuna A suo damio mitriee ! 1. 500.— Like Scipio. . .by the upbraiding shore. Publius Cornelius Scii.io Afi'icaniis , H.C. 2;?5 ls;{|, eon(|uer'.)r of Hannibal a. i.r^ si corn! Punic War. Incurring the dislike of the Seiiale, lie pmutll^y witlidiew to liis estate at Liter- uum, I i'.mpn,nia, wliere h' died, after oi-dering these words to be engraved on his tomb : '• I'n^ruteful country, thou shalt not have my bones" • Valerius .Ma\imus\ liivy adds that his monument was built there "lestliis funeral should be solemnized in his ungrateful country" (xxxviii. liii). Liternum is the modem Patria, near Cumae and the Bay of Na|di'^. I, ojT. Thy factions. Tin- (iuelphs, 'the papal and . I 334 NOTES. popular party,' and Gliilxjllines, ' the imperial and aristo- cratic party.' Dante belonged to the Bianchi, 'Whites' c»r mod'^rate fJuelphs ; see 1. 355 n. 1. 513.— grave, though rifled. Petrarch's tomb was broken open and some relics sto'( iu 1030. Page no. 1. 51'!. — Boccaccio {hok kah'ts/u't). (liovanni Boc- caccio(1313-1375),l)orn at Certaldo,in the neighbourhood of Florence, to which city ho came early. He served the state as ambassador, and lectured, towards his death, on Danto. His chief of many works in prose and verse is the Decam- eron, or ten days' tales, a collection of one hundred love stories represented as being told 113'^ gay Florentines in the gardens near the cit}-, during tlie })lague of 1318. This work made a vast impression on Itiily, where it aided in setting up of tlie Tuscan dialect as standard Italian, and on foreign nations, who imitated the tales. Boccaccio lived most of liis latter days at Certaldo, and was buried there in the church of St. Michael. His much- visited tomb was removed in 1783 under the law of the grand-duke Leopold H. concerning burials in churclies, when the tomb was broken and its contents, including a roll of parchment, taken out and subseijui'ntly lost. From the term ' hya'ua bigot' and Ilobhouse's note, it is quite clear that Byron and his commentator believed that the sacrilege was due to the clergy of Certaldo venting their rage against the famous author for having taken his gay licentious characters from the cloister as well as the city. This is a mistake. But the carelessness and ignorance attending the removal of the tomb are not less blame- worthy even if bigotry was not at the bottom of it. 1. 52i). — hyaena. This animal preys on carrion, even plundering the graves for food. 1. 525. —The Caesar's pageant. An inexact reminis- cence of Tacitus, Anna/s, iii. TO. .lunia. sister of Marcus Brutus and wife of Cassius, loft legacies to the great men of Kome, omitting however the fniperor Tiberius. In her BYRON: CHII.DE HAKOLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 33') funeral the iiiiag(*s of twenty illustrious families were carried ; but in sign of tlie loss of liberty, those of Brutus and Cassius wore absent; but " for that reason they shor.e with pre-en»iiieiit lustre." 1. 527. — Ravenna, Formerly on the Adriatic, ten miles below the mouth of the Po, and once a famous seaport. In the twentieth year of his age flfonorius (381-428)], the emperor of the west, anxious only for his personal safety [from Alaric and his (Joths] retired to the perpetual con- finement of the walls and morasses of Ravenna. The example of ITonorius was imitated by his feeble succes- sors, the Cjlothie kings, and afterwards the exarchs. . .and, till the middle of the eighth century, Ravenna was con- sidered the capital of Italy." — (Jibbou, Decline and Fall. Beside the church of St. Francesca is the little cupola long supi)osed to cover Dante's tonib. I piiss eai'li (lay where Dante's bones are laid ; A little eu|>(>la, more neat than solemn, Protects his dust. — Byron, Don Juan. In 18G5 it was discovered that Dante's bones were hid- den in a neighbouring chapt 1, and not contained in his mausoleum, to whi(di, however they were transferred. B3-ron lived in Ilavenna for two years (1810-1821); on Dante's tomb, near which he dwelt, he laid a copy of his poems. 1.529. — Arqua . store of tuneful relics. Referring to the relics of IVtrdrch. — his house which contains the chair in which ho died, his ink-stand, and, no doubt, his stuffed cat. 1. 531. — Florence vainly begs. An allusion to various vain efforts nuide by Florence to recover Dante's bones. The chief one was by the Florentine Academy in 1518, through a memorial addressed to Pope Leo X., signed by Michael- A ngelo. 1. 532. — What is her pyramid. — The tombs of the Medici (md'ih' filii), the nurchant-dukes of Florence, in thechurch 336 N07ES. I«l 7 of St. Lorenzo, Florence. "I also wont to the Medici chapel, — fine frippery in great slabs of various precious stones, to ci-mmemorate fifty rotten and forgotten car- casses." — Byron to Murray, April 2f>, 1817. " Our veneration for the Medici begins with Cosmo and expires with his grandson ; and it is in search of sonio memorial of the virtuous republicans of his family that we visit the church of St. Lorenzo at Florence. The tawdry, glaring, unfinished chapel, designed for the mausoleum of the Dukes of Tuscany, set round with crowns and coffins, gives birth to no emotions but those of contempt for the lavish vanity of a race of.despots." — Note, 1st ed. Page III. 1. 537.— the green turf that wraps the dead. There Honour comes, a pilgrim Kr-iyi To bless the turf that wraps their clay. —Collins, IIow Sleep the Brave. 1. 512. — Arno's dome. The Pitti and the Uttizi palaces, j iiicd by a long gallery across the .Arno. In the Pitti is a vast series of paintings covering the history of the renaissance of Italian art di.wn to the Fra Angtdico. 'I ho Vffi'/A contains the finest statues of antiijuity, and some of the best works of Titian and Raphael. 1. 551. — Thrasimene's lake. Trasimeno is in central Italy, ten miles west of Perugia. It Avas the scone of Han- nibal's victory over Flaminlus in B.C. '217. "The v.illiy into which Hannibal lured (' the CarthaginianV wiles,' 1. 55i?) the Romans was girt in part by a semicir(!U' of hills, and the lake which runs from one extremity of the ridgo to the other, completed the enclosure. Hannibal posted his troops in the surrounding heights, and in the mist of the morning he attacked the astonished enemy at every point. Fifteen thousand Romans were slain, and more than twenty thousand taken prisoners." — Note, 1st ed. Page 112. 1. 5f)H.— an earthquake reel'd. " And such was their mutual animosity, so intent were they upon the battle, that the eartlnjuake which turned the course of ra^iicj bata„t«."-.].iv^_ .„ii. "n. '"" ''^ "'"' "f the c<,m- lets wh.Vl, run from tL f 'm , ' , "'"' "" '"■» ""'o riv,,- «'*»■• 1.0 co„,e, t„ the L' tk"""" "' ■"-»' a ".ilo Woody rivulet •[[,..„„;„, , J « "'"o-"! i-^ called ll,„ <»" an opo„ ,„„t 't,, t,„. ,:^;;', ""'^'i "■"' "»= peasant p„i,.t 'he hills, „,,i,,, ., ± It r '"''^''"'''''" ""'' "laughter. Tl,„ „t,fer 7„r "f "'■.""""' ""'"'" "' 'he th.ck-,ot olive-tree, i„ <„ ' !. °,"'""' '^ """-'"xl "iri, walk ou a Weak ridj-e „ tW le , ' " ' ^■™'- '™>« "M human I«,„,„ l.nve Ik.^. 1^ J '"™ "'" "vulot, many -"firmed ti,e pretension 1 , t ^^ '"""'• «"'' 'h- has 'blood.' "-Note, isted. ""'"' "' "'o stream of the Mt;:Si~ in a,::,- :i"j /■•".''"■»• ■"■"■•yins i..... -hicl, furnished the vie i^ '^ "u, T '. '"""-hite he„Js, sung by Virsil,- , """'' "'0 festivals. Us fame i^ » |h-.i h„d .fu.,n,ee„ ;,:^. •,■• *;;-k^ """""" •" »"'ve,„cu ,„„„ii,.,.] " '"• ""•' " i"^^'i.fiu,,i s,„.„,„. ,.;;;; and Macaulay :_ -<■'«"'!/((•», ii. no/r, l;"-vatep,c,i„f„„„,,||, £■■•»«'.» llie .„Mk.„.|,|lr, „,.,,,. — fforatiu.? - Mu';:;™';;;:-";." /ntf '-' ^'■■" "- '•- - poesy..._Bv.,n "i^^.'t>:!;;;::r"*""-----rtheeo„t 1. o9.).— a temple. A smnii . • . ofthe .■iverissu'posed^^I't :;""','»"■'"" "" red. Siiakspere, Macbeth, ii. ii. 63. I. G20.— Phlegethon iflej' e thon). (Gk. phlegethon, tho flaming.) A river of firo of Hades, flowing into Achercn. 1. ()2"). — an eternal April. " The mist. . .looks at a dis- tance like clouds of stnoke ascending from some vast furnace, and distils perpetual rains on all the places that lie near it." — Addison, Remarks on Italy. Page 115. 1. <)35. — Parent of rivers. This may refer to the Nera and Velino joined in a foaming stream in the valley below, or to the Velino itself, which is broken in the fall into two branches. 1. 642. -An Iris sits. "Of the true place, and qualities of this kind of Iris the reader may have seen an account in a note to Manfred. The fall looks so much like ' a hell of waters ' that Addison thought the descent alluded to by Virgil the gulf in which Alecto plunged into the infernal regions." — Note, 1st ed. 1. 643. — Like Hope. . . Slie sat lilte Patience on a monument, Smiiin}^ at Ki*i»^f- — Siialtspere, Ttoelfth Night, Ii. Iv. 117. Page 116. 11. 049f.— Apennine. Taken as the brood of the greater Alps, from which (the Digurian chain) they sepa- rate near Nice. B YRON : CIIII. DE HA R 01. D'S PIL GRIMA GE. 339 ilities Icount la hell led to the If the Isepa- 11. 652f —roar The thundering lauwine. Lauwine(seel. 65B «.) is erroneously' regarded here as a ]>lural. 1. 6ai. — Jungfrau {yoony' froxv). (ierman for 'Virgin,' in allusion to its 'never-trodden snow,' 1. Oa"). It is in the Bernese Alps, of which it is one of tlie highest peaks. The first ascent was made in 1811. 1. G5B. — Mont- Blanc \mo{n(j) hlo{ng)'). Fr., ' white moun- tain,' the highest mountain in Europe; the famous Mer de glace (sea of ice) is its greatest glacier. 1. 057. — Chimari. [kf viar'i). Chimari, Khimara, a town in Albania, lends its name to the neighbouring C'era- unian Mountains of northwestern K2)irus. In C.H.I*, ii. 452f. they are described — Nature's voleanic am|)liitlieatre Cliiimcra's alps extend. We have the 'sons of Chimari' in ii. 0.57. the thunder-hills of fear. Of fear, fearful; seel. 0.58 7/. 1. 058. — Th' Acroceraunian. Acre ceraunia f«^ re «r ran;' ni o), Gk. ta akra keraiinia, ' the tliunder-smitten peaks' (see 1. 057), is the promontory in nortli-easteru Kpirus, jutting into the Ionian Sea. It gives its name sometimes to the C'oraunian Mountains, of which it is an extreme spur. 1. (i50. — Parnassus. A ridge of mountains in Oreece, in ancient Pliocis, the favourite liaunt of Apollo :ind the Muses. I. 002. — Ida. A mountain range in Asia Minor iPhrygia and Mysia), seat of the worship of (.'ybeleand the sceike of the choice of Paris. "The only vestige of Troy ..are tlie liarrows. . but Mount Ida is still in high feather."' — Byr«••• As a wholo-ancTont n . ""^ """»'"'"' '^th (-■■ooco, Co„„ea„t,„„„,„, ovornh,, "'"''"■"•-■' beats «vor seen. Cut I „.'„• dlSc'r '°"^' "•=" ' '•"vo are always scrong and c„, fust' '"?'"" "^ impressions I. G9o. -orphans of the heart n of^affectiou and trust ^" ^^'"*^^^«^ "^ true objects y^oriaX'^T' ''"^^'^"^' •" -'^t-ast to those of , •A\2 NOTES. 1. GOO. — Cypress. Roganlod, because of its gloomy foli- age, as symbolic of mourning. 1. 701. — Whose agonies. . . A world. See 1. H89 n. 1. 703.— Niobe. Wife of Amphion. king of Tliobes. Sh.^ boast(»(l of her twelve children to the disadvantage of Leta. mother of only Apollo and Artetnis, and saw all her children slain by the arrows of the god and goddess. 1. 705. — An empty urn. Symbolic of the desolation of her state, — without the jtresenct? of the living great or th»^ ashes of the mighty dead. 1. 707. — The Scipios' tomb. On the left of the Appian Way was discovered in 17H0 a small catacomb in the rock, which contained the tombs of the great military family of the Scipios. Ten of these, including those of L. C Scipio Barbatus, victor over the Etruscans, his son L. C. Scipio, conquei'or of Corsica, could be identified by inscriptions. The tombs had long been rifled of their contents. 1. 710.— Tiber. . . yellow waves. The Tiber is reddish yellow frcm puzzolan earth it carries down. Flavns is the customary Latin epithet of the river, as in Virgil, ^flneid, vii. 30f. 1. 712. — The Goth. ThoCJothic conqticrors of Rome arc : — Alaric, who burned a part of the city, in 410; Clonseric, who pillaged it in lo-") ; Rieimer, Avho plundered it in -472; Vitiges, Avho destroj-ed the a<|ueducts, r):-58; Totilv, the last of the Barbnrians to do damage t(j the city, who destroyed the walls, in 517 the Christian. The inj- -ies of the Christian clergy are classed by Hobhouse as those made ' for useful repairs' and those from ' motives of fanaticism.' The chief damage was made by using the stones and decorations of heathen temples in the building and embellishment of Christian churches. 1. 712. — Flood and Fire. The inundations of the Tiber have been perilous to Rome until recent years. For an account of these and of the fires that destroyed public buildings, see Hist. lHustr.. pp. 91 ff. BVKON: CHIl.DE HA KO ID'S PILGRIMAGE. 343 1. 713.— seven-hill'd city. The ancient epithet,— uri* seflicoUia. Rome was built on and within seven hills — Capitoline, Palatine, Aventine, Caelian, Viminal, Esqui- line, and Quirinal — and along the Tiber. Page 119. 1. 710.— car climb'd the capitol. The Capitol or Capitoline Hill (Mons capitol inim) the centre and citadel of Rome. On the north-east is the teinplo of Jupiter; on the south-west the Tarpeiau Rock (1. IIMJ'2) ; at the south- eastern slope was the Forum (I. 17 -'^- ■^j IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 441 |||M m f- IIIM ^' m IIM Z2 '. m IIM 1 Is 1.4 !.6 I vQ <^ /}. 7 'c^'l y /^ '^ r Photographic Sciences Corporation 73 WEST N.AIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4j ■It ^^ Mi.? -N (/a ^ 344 NOTES. 1. 734.— TuUy's voice. Marcus Tullius Cicero (B.C. 106- 43), the greatest of Roman orators ; cf. 1. 389. Virgil's lay. The jEneid of Virgil (B.C. 70-19), the greatest of Latin poets, is a glorified account of the found- ing of Rome ; his Georgics and Eclogues, only less famous, depict country life. 1. 735. — Livy's pictured page. Titus Livius (B.C. 59- A.D. 17), the greatest of the historians of Rome. Only parts of his history are preserved. The epithet refers to ' the Venetian richness ' of Livy's style. Page 120. 1. 739.— On Fortune's wheel. The wheel as a symbol of the instability of fortune is one of the oldest figures in literature ; here, however, all its revolutions contribute to the glory of Sulla, who called himself ' Felix.' for his prosperity. 1. 740. — Sylla. Or better, Sulla. L. Cornelias Sulla (B.C. 138-78J, drove his opponent Marius from Rome, and immediately departed to Asia Minor to conquer Mithridates, king of Pontus (1. 743). Returning to Rome after four years, he then o'"^enged by bloody proscriptions the opposition of the Marian party. His power was abso- lute; the Senate, whose ranks lie filled with his own de- pendents, was but a servile instrument of his will (1. 745). In B.C. 81, Sulla had himself made dictator (1. 748), and in B.C. 79 resigned his supreme power to retire to Puteoli to cultivate the vices which hastened his death. The term ' dictatorial wreath ' is merely a poetical peri- phrasis for dictatorship ; the wreath was not an emblem pf auoh power. It is interesting to note that Byron's sympathy with Sulla is curiously reflected in Momsen's description of Sxi\\a. as the ' Don Juan of politics.' 1. 743. — thine eagles. The eagle was the emblem of the Roman republic and the chief standard of the Roman army. As a standard it was made of wood or massive gold and borne upon a lance, in the vanguard of the army. BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 345 I. 752. — Eternal. The Eternal City ha:5 been the designa- tion of Rome since long ages. Roma ceterna is found in the poems of Tibullus (B.C. 51-A.D. 18), ii. v. 23, and on medals of the Empire. II. 758f.— Cromwell. . .swept off senates. In allusion to the Long Parliament, 1053. (Green, eh. viii. § ix.) 1. 759. — hew" d the throne... to a block. A forced ex- pression for the execution of Charles I. Page [. 1. 761.— His day of double victory. . "On the third of September Cromwell gained the victory of Dunbar ; a year afterwards he obtained 'his crowning mercy' of Worcester; and a few years after, on the same day, which he had ever esteemed the most fortunate for him, he died." — Note, 1st ed. 1. 765.— two realms. Scotland by Dunbar, 1650, Eng- land by "Worcester, 1651. I. 769. — preceding clay. Already the clay to which he was to return. " Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was." — Ecclesiastes, xii. 7. 1. 775. — And thou, dread statue ! On the first floor of the Spada Palace is a statue, which, it is believed once stood in the Curia, representing Cneius Pompeius (B.C. 106-48). Caesar, who defeated Pompey and the aristocratic faction at Pharsalia in B.C. 48, was slain by Brutus, Cassius and other republicans, at the foot of his rival's statue. At the base of Poinpey's statue, Which all the while ran l)Iood. proat Caesar fell. — Shaltspere, Julius Cccsar, lit. il. 192. It is * a stern tremendous figure,' standing ' in naked majesty.' 1. 781. — Nemesis, {nem' e sis). Strictly, the Greek god- dess presiding over the destinies of men, making their fortunes proportionate ; hence the goddess of retribution. Her emblem was the wheel of fortune ; of. 1. 789. •ii« 316 NOTES. I ■ Page 122. 1. 784. — the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome. Ancient Rome. . .abounded most probably with images of the foster-mother of her founder ; but there wei'e two she- wolves of which history makes particular mention. One of these, of brass in ancient work, Avas seen by Dionysius at the temple of Romulus, under the Palatine. . .The other is that which Cicero has cc-lebrated both in prose and verse, and which the historian Dion also records as having suffered the accident as is alluded to by the orator." — Note, 1st ed. Cicero's passages are : — "The Wolf of Mars, who from her kindly breast Fed the immortal children of her pod With the life-givinpr dew of sweetest milk. E'en her the lightning spared not." — On Divination, i., xii. " Even Romulus, who built this city, \vas struck, which, you recol- lect stood in the Capitol, a bronze statue, little and sucking, and cliiiging to the teats of the wo\t'."—Afiain8t Catiline, iii., viii. The bronze figure of the Wolf, which Byron celebrates and which is claimed to be the figure spoken of by Cicero, is in the Palace of the Conservators, in the Museum of the Capitol. The figures of Romulus and Remus have been added to it in modern times. !. 795, — men bled. Waged war. 1. 796. — they. Demonstrative, — the Romans. 1. 798. -apish. See 1. 470 n. 1. 800. — one vain man. Napoleon. The common dislike of Napoleon by Wordsworth, Shelley and Byron is inter- esting. Compare this passage with that in C, H. P. iii., § 36f!. 1. 802. — false. Deceptive. Page 123. 1. 809. — Alcides with the distaff. Hercules, a descendant of Alceus, took service under Omphale tiueen of Lydia, spun wool and dressed like a Avoman, while she wore his lion's skin. \. 810, — At Cleopatra's fc^t. Ceesar pursued Pompey to BY RON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 347 Egypt in B.C. 48, and there was subjugated by this young queen whom he restored to her throne. I. 811.— came-and saw-and conquered. Veni, vidi, vici, was inscribed on one of the tablets of Csesai^'s triumph after his defeat of Pharnnces H. of Pontus, H.C. 47 (Suetonius, Cccsar). It was likewise in his message to his friend Amintius, announcing his victory (Plutarch). II. 812f. — tamed his eagles down... the Gallic van. Made the armies of FxMnce the mere tools of his own ambition. to flee. More correctly, to fly. train'd falcon. Cf. 56. 19 a. 1. 814. — in sooth. In truth, it must be admitted. 1. 823. — For this. For the nothingness of death. Though all his glory must cease in death, yet ho rears. . . 1. 828. — Renew thy rainbow. An allusion to Gen. ix. 13. Page 124. 1. 829. — What from this barren being. Byron cites Cicero, Academics, i, xii.: '• Almost all the ancients; who assorted that nothing could be ascertained, cr per- ceived, or known: that the senses of man were narrow, his mind feeble, the course of his life shoi*t, and that truth, as Democritus said, was sunk in the deep ; that everything depended on opinions and established customs ; that nothing was left to truth. They said in short that every- thing was enveloped in darkness." "Eighteen hundred years... have not removed any cf the imperfections of humanity : and the complaiuts of the ancient philosophers, may without injustice or afTcctation, bo transcribed in a poem written yesterday."' — Note, 1st ed. 1. 850. — The yoke that is upon us. The absolutism of the Boui'bon and Austrian princes who were restored by the fall of Napoleon. Page 125. 1. 851. — the intent of tyranny. The objects of the 'Holy Alliance' (1810^, ostensibly to ])reserve Christian government, in reality to maintain absc^lutism and sup- . press free institutions. 348 NOTES. 11. 858f. Columbia. . a Pailas. The unexpected military vigour of the American Colonies at the Revolution sug- gests the mvth of Pallas Athena, who sprang fully armed out of the brain of Zeus. 1. 865. — France got drunk with blood. . The victories of the French Republic in a war of defence against Europe were followed (as vomiting follows drunkenness) by wars of aggression and aggrandizement. 1. 866. — Saturnalia. The pi. of Saturnalis, pertaining to Saturn ; strictly, the harvest festival of Saturn in Italy ; hence, wild revelry and licentiousness ; here, the bloody scenes of the Revolution, as in the Reign of Terror, 1794 (1. 868). 1. 869. — vile Ambition. Of Napoleon. 1. 871. — the base pageant. Napoleon as Emperor of French. last upon the scene. Last scene of all That ends this strange, eventful history. — Shaksjjere, As Yon Like It, ii. vii. 164. 1. 873. — Which nips Life's tree. Tozer compares, — O Slavery ! thou frost of the world's prime, Killing; its flowers and leavinj? its thorns bare. —Shelley, Hellas, 676. Page 126. 1. 874.— Yet Freedom! yet thy banner. "Sur- rounded by slaves and their oppressors ; a traveller in countries where even remembrance seemed extinct; never did he desert the cause of the people ; never was he false to human sympathies. A witness of the progress of the Restoration, and the triumph of the Holy Alliance, he never swerved from his courageous opposition ; he pre- served and publicly proclaimed his faith in the rights of the people and in the final triumph of liberty." — Mazzini, Essaj/s^ vi. 90f. This image Wordsworth considered the finest in Byron's poetry. "As displaying a grand ideal truth, symbol i^ced BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 349 by an equally grand and corresponding unusual phen- omenon of the outer world, it was hardly to he surpassed." 1. 875. — the thunderstorm. The phenomenon alluded to is the thunderstorm advancing on an upper stratum of air, which blows in a directif;n contrary to the lower. 1. 877. — The Icudest. Freedom haa gained the day over arbitary power, in the glorious struggle that now draws to a close. 1. 881. — bosom of the North. Britain. 1. 883. — stern round tower. See 1. 920 n. 1. 890. — cave. Cavity, recess (L. caviii, hollow). 1. 892. — lady of the dead. Honoured by her sepulchre as a princess among the dead. 1. 894.— a king's. . .a Roman's. Cf. 1. 220. Page 127. 11. 912fF.— a cloud Might gather. For, may have gathered. The=5e lines depict the progress of consumption under the figure of a beautiful autumnal sunset. Cf., for the close, — Can this be death ? there's bloom upon her cheek ; But now I SCO it is no living: hue, But a straufje hectic — like the unnatural red Which Autumn plants upon the perish'd leaf. —Byron, Manfred, ii. iv. 1. 917. — Hesperus. The evening star. Here figuratively used of the hectic glow of the cheek. 1. 918. — consuming. Wasting away. Page 128. 1. 922. — the day. The day of her marriage. 1. 926.— Metella. On the Appian Way, two miles from the city gates stands an immense round tower, seventy feet in diameter, of unhewn stones; it is the tomb of Metella, daughter of Q. Metellus Creticus and wife of M. L. Crassus Dives (u.C. 1U8-53), one of the first triumvirs, whose wealth and love of money were proverbial. The tower was used as a fortress in the thirteenth cen- tury when the battlements (1. 886) were added. 1. 927.— Behold his love or pride. " It is more likely to lit*' r. ■)' W 350 NOTES. have been the pride tlian the love of Crassus which raised so superb a memorial to a wife whose name is not men- tioned in history." — Hist. Illustr. Page 129 1. 948. — the owlets' cry. The first two editions have, the owlet's cry, evidently from the following line, an error. ' Owlet,' though by origin a diminutive, means but owl. 1: 951. — Palatine. The Palatine Hill was reserved for the temples of the gods and the residences of the patri- cians. On it during the Empire the Palace of the Caesars was built, occupying the whole hill. This gigantic pile foil in utter ruin after the sack of (Jenseric in a.d. 455. " The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the side towards the Circus Maximus. The very soil is formed of crumbled brick- work. Nothing has been said, nothing can be told, to satisfy the belief of any but a Roman anti- quary." — Note, 1st ed. 1. 955. — wallflower. A yellow four-petaled flower with sweet smell, growing in Italy, with bushy luxuriance, on cliffs and old walls. 1. 959. — peep'd. Awoke. I. 963. — the Imperial Mount. See 1. 951 n. Page 130. 11. 966f.— First Freedom, and then Glory... A summary of the history of Rome. 1.976. — in this span. "The Palatine is formed by a trapezium of solid rock, two sides of Avhich were about 300 yards in length, the others about 400." — Merivale, Hint. xi. " The history of the Palatine is the history of the city of Rome." — Hare, Walks in Borne, p. 182. 1. 983. — Thou nameless column. "Adjoining the Basilica Julia is the Column of Phocas, raised to that emperor by the exarch Smaragdus in 608. This is ' the nameless column' of Byron, but is now neither nameless nor buried, its pedestal having been laid bare by the Duchess of Devon- shire in 1813." — Hare, Walks in Home, p. 112. It is a Cor- BYRON: CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 351 iabhiau pillar standing on a pyramidal base, was laid bare by the excavations of 1816. I. 984.— the Caesar. See 10. 59 n. This base Page 131. 1. 987.— Titus. The Arch of Titus (a.d. 40-81), on the Via Sacra, was erected in commemoration of that emperor's capture of Jerusalem. Trajan (a.d. 52-117). Trajan's life, to which tribute is paid in the next stanza, Avas a reminiscence of tlie ancient glory of Rome. He conquered Dacia, Armenia, and Par- thia, beautified Rome, and improved the administration of justice and finance, — an emperor of great public and private virtues. The beautiful marble column of the emperor Trajan was erected by the Senate and people of Rome in 114. The statue of Trajan once stood upon it, holding a globe ; but having fallen, it was replaced by the figure of St. Peter (1.989). , II. 989fT. — Apostolic statues. . . " The column of Trajan is surmounted by St. Peter ; that of Aurelius by St. Paul." — Note, Isted. " Sextus Quintus raised the statue of St. Peter on the summit of the column of Trajan. A liberty has, in the above verses, been taken with the probable position of the urn of Trajan, in compliance with the tradition that the ashes of that emperor were in the head of a spear, which the colossal statue raised on the pillar, held in his hand. But the remains of Trajan were buried in the golden urn under the column." — Hist. Itluatr. I. 997.— Alexander. Alexander the Great (B.C. 365-323) who subdued the world from Greece to India. His lust for conquest is well expressed in the story that he wept that there was but one world for him to conquer (Plutarch, Tranquillity of Mind). unstained With household blood or wine. Guiltless of private murder or civil war or debauchery. To be ' happier than Augustus and better than Trajan,' was the wish ex- pressed to succeeding emperors at their accession. !;* 352 NOTES. There is perhaps an allusiun here to Alexander, whu slew his friv^nd Clitus while flushed with wine (Tozer). 1. 1000.— t lie rock of Triumph. The (Japitoliuo hill ; see 1. 716 n. 1. 1001. -embraced. Received Mith welcome. steep Tarpeian. See 1. 713 w. Hear liiin to the rook Tarpeijui, and from thence Into destruction cast him. — Shakspore, Coriolatius, iil. i. 213. It is properly the chief peak of the Capitolinehill, taking its name from Tarpeia, the Roman maid who betrayed the citadel to the Sabincs; but was esi)ecially the bare cliff overlooking the Roman Forum, from whicli criminals were hurled. 1. 1005. — Their spoils. The votive offerings. 1. 1007. — The Forum. The Furum Bomannm, a long and narrow area between the east slope of the Capitol- ine and the north slope of the Palatine Hill, surrounded by temples. It was devoted to official and judicial business. At the western end were the rostra from which the orators spoke. Page 132. 1. 1009.— The field of freedom. . . " ' Freedom ' in the struggles of patricians and plebeians ; ' faction ' in the political movements of the Gracchi, Drusus, etc.; 'fame,' since public speaking at Rome was the road to distinction ; 'blood,' in the riots caused by Saturninus, Clodius, Antony, etc." — Tozer. 1. 1015.— every lawless soldier. The leaders of the bar- barian mercenaries who ruled the Western empire after 456. 1. 1017. — venal voice. The speeches of hireling orators sounding their praises in the senate. 1. 1022.— Rienzi (re «n'rt"). Cola di Rienzi (1313-1353), the Roman patriot, established a republic in Rome in 1334, and attempted to recover for Rome its old-time supremacy. He incurred the dislike of the populace and BYRON: CHll.DE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 353 opposition of tlio papacy, was expelled from his tri>>unoship, and slain in a riot. 8co Lytton's liienzi, the Last of the liomans. 1. 102fi. — Numa. Nuina Pompilius, a legendary King of Eome (B.C. 715-672), to whom were attributed many of the early institutions of that city. 1. 1027.— Egeria {r ja'ria). The woodland nymph by whom Numa was instructed in the institution of the forms of worship. The place of her meetings with the king was outside the southern gate of Rome, a valley and fountain to which her name has been given. 1. 1028.— no mortal resting-place so fair. C: 11. 37ff. I. 1030. — Aurora. The goddess of the dawn. . Page 133. 1.1031. — nympholepsy. (assumed Greek nwrn^j/to- lepsia, divine ecstasy, a trance, due to the influence of the nymphs). Ecstasy. of some fond despair. The myth of Egeria, the poet suggests, may have been the offspring of the sick fancy of hopeless love. II. 1036(T. — thy fountain. This description of the grotto (with its now empty niches) and spring of Egeria is in part a reminiscence of the Third Satire of Juvenal : — Hie, ubi iiocturnae Niima constituebat amicac, etc. iHere, where Numa used to meet her lover. . . We descend to the vale and caves of Et?eria, so altered from what nature made them. How much more should we feel the influence of the prcsidin^^ genius of the spriuf?, if turf enclosed the waters with its margin of green, and no marble profaned the native tufa.] The Fountain, Ovid says {Met. xv.), is Egeria transformed by grief at the death of her lover. Aluntiquc jacens radicibus iniis, etc. ['Throwing herself down at the )»ase of the hill, she dissolved into tears; until moved by her affection as she grieved, the sister of Phoebus formed a cool fountain from her body, and dissolved her limbs In ever flowing waters.'] 1. 1039. — genius. Presiding divinity. 1, 1043, — the pleft statue. The ivy-clad grotto contains 8M N07ES. beside the spring a hoadloss statue, which reaorublcs a youth more tlian tho nymph pooplo would boliovo it to lie. 1. 1047. — quick-eyed lizard. This ruptilo is found in harmless abundance in Italy among broken ground. Thu epithet applies to its quick motion when disturbed. Page 134. 1. 1062.— oracle. Here, tho sanctuary whore tho oracular answers of the gods are made known to men. 1. 1070.— the dull satiety. Cf. Shelley, Skylark, 1. 80 n. 1. 1074. — weeds of dark luxuriance. Tlie blossoms of passion, Gay and luxuriant flowers, arc lirigliter and fuller of fraj^ranre, But they beguile us and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. —Longfellow, Evangeline, 11. 12:J2f. Cf. 1. 1129. Tho common sourco Page 135. 1. 1077. — trees whose gums. 1. 1086.— as it peopled heaven, of all mythologies. 1. 1097.— o'er-informs. It is the spirit which informs, i.e. gives form to, tho artist's creation ; tho visions of youth are beyond tho scope of his art. Page 136. 1. 1103.— it. Love. 1. 1105.~Reaping the whirlwind. Cf. Hosea viii. 7. 1. 1106. — alchemy. The study of alchemy, the chief aim of which in mediaeval times Avas the wild search for tho philosopher's stone that should turn all baser metals into gold. 1. 1111.— some phantom lures. Cf. TV. 1.28; here of ideals. Page 137. I. 1122.— unspiritual. The metre requires either a forced accentuation, unspirit'i^al, or the counting of the pause at the caesura, and placing of the accents on ' that,' ' spir-,' and ' god.' To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span. — Shakspere, Henry K///.,iii. ii. 140. 1. 1129. — upas. The upas {u'pas) tree of the Malayan islands yield a sap of deadly poison. According to fable it is poisonous to all who even approach it. m source BYRON: CHILDE I/.th'O/.irs rU.GKIMAGE, :W5 1. 1139.— the faculty divine. The vision and the laciilty divine. — Wordawortli. Exctiraion, I. 1. 1110. — cabin'd, cribb'd. From Macboth's exclamation at the escape of Fleanco, — Now I lun caltin'ci. crildi'd, conlincd, l)ound in To saucy doul)ts and fears. — Slialtspcre, Macheth, iii. iv. 24f. 1. 1143. — couch. A surgical term meaning to remove cataract from the eye. Page 138. 1. 1117. — Coliseum {kol i si-'unt). The gigantic amphitheatre of Rome, capable of seating 87,030 peojjle. It was begun by Vespasian A.I). 72, and completed by Titus, 80, and was the scene of four centuries d gladitorial combats. It was " named eitlier from its Tiiagnitude, or from Nero's colossal statue" ((libbon). Page 139. ^ 11<)7.— sophists. Speciou'^ reasonors. 1. Hi J. — This iron into my soul. " The iniu entered into his soul." — Psalm cv. 18, in the Anglican Psalter. 1. 1181. — Left the unbalanced scale. The first ed., Lost the, etc. " Not ' lost ' which is nonsense, as what losing a scale means, I know not; but leaving an unbalanced scale or a scale unbalanced, is intelligible. Correct this, I pray." —Byron to Murray, Sept. 21th, 1818. great Nemesis! See 1. 781 «. "The Roman Nemesis was sacred and august : there was a temple to her in the Palatine under the name of Rhamnusia." — Hist. Iflustr. 1. 1183. — Furies. The Erinyes of Greek and Farias of Roman mythology, fearful women crowned with serpents, dwelling in the lowest hell of Tartarus, relentless in the punishment of crime. 1. 1184. — Orestes. The son of Agamemnon and Clytem- nestra. He slew his mother for murder and adultery, and for this just but unnatural act he was pursued by the Furies. 356 NOTES. Page 140. 1. 1191. — withd. Archaic, — with. Page 141 1. 1212.— Life's life. Honour. 1. 1215. — When I survey. Then follows in the MS, thig stanza, — omitted, and well omitted, in the text: — If to forffivc be lieaplnpr coals of fire- As God hath sjwken— on tlie heads of foes, Mine should be a volcano, and rise liif^her Than, o'er Titans crushed, Olympus rose, Or Athos soars, or blazing Etna {?lo«'s :— True they who stun^ were creepinp: things ; but what Than serpents' teeth inflicts with detullier throes? The Lion may be poaded by the Gnat.— Who sucks the slumberer's blood ?— The Eagle ?— No; the Bat. 1. 1221. — Janus. A Roman sun-god, represented with two faces looking cast and west. Hence 'Jan us- faced,' double-faced, double-dealing. Page 142. 1. 1217. — Circus. (L. circus, a circle.} Here, of the Coliseum. 1. 1250.— listed. Fnclosed. 1. 1252. — Gladiator. The scene of the death of a gladiator is here recalled. It is the theme of the famous statue in the Museum of the Capitol — "a wounded Gaul ' [cf. 1. 1269], known as the ' dying Gladiatc r,' in the death agony, the drooping head being raised and supported with difficulty by the right arm " (P. Paris). It belongs to the second or first century n.C. 1. 1266. — Dacian. Dacia was the province of Kome lying north of the Danube, between the Theiss and the Dniester. Aurelian abandoned Dacia in 271 to the Goths, who were in turn expelled in 87(5 by the Huns, and driven against the Roman arms. Page 143. 1. 1271. — the Roman million's blame or praise. "When one gUuliator wounded another, he shouted ^ he has it,'' ' lioc habet,' or ' habet.' The wounded combatant dropped his weapon, and advancing to the edge of the arena, supplicated the spectatc rs. If ho had fought well, the people saved him ; if otherwise, or as they happened I BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 357 to be inclined, thoy turned down their thumbs, and he wns slain." — Note, 1st ed. Pag^e 144. 11. 1279f. — from its mass Walls, palaces., .have been rear'd. Only about a third of this immense pile survived the depredations of the middle ages. " Theodoric thought a capital city might be built with the wealth expended on the Coliseum, and indeed some of the noblest palaces of modern Rome has been constructed out of a small portion of the ruins." — Hid. lUustr. 1. 1289.— and gently pauses there. Cf. Hast tlioii a oliarm to stay tlic niorniiif? star In liis stocj) course ? So loiip: lie seems to pause On tliy bald awful head, O sovran lilane. — Coleridge, Uipnninthe Vale of Ohamouni. 1. 1290. — loops of time. Ihe crevices made by decay through the ages. Yoiir loop'd and window'd raprgedness. — Sliakspere, Lear, iii. iv. 31. 1. 1292. — garland-forest. The flowers and shrubs grow- ing upon the cliff-like heights of the ruins. I. 1293.— laurels on the bald first Cxsar's head. "Sue- tonius informs us that Julius Caesar was particularly gratified by the decree of the senate, which enabled him to wear a wreath of laurel on all occasions. He was anxious, not to show that ho was the conqueror of the world, but to hide that he was bald." — Note, 1st cd. II. 1297 fF.— While stands the Coliseum . . " The Flavian amphitheatre was contemplated with awe and admiration by the pilgrims of the north ; and the rude enthusiasm broke forth in a sublime pi-overbial expression , which is recorded in the eighth century, in the fragmPT>ri oi the venerable Bede : ' As long as the Coliseum stands, Rome shall stand; when the Coliseum falls, Rome will fall; when Rome falls, the world will fall.' The saying must be attributed to the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims who visited Rome before the year 785, the a>ra of Bode's death." — Qibbon, Decline and Fall, ch. Ixxi. -<:'}>■ 1 '^^ M '1 • ' ' ♦ si 'M i ■n? :;|;ii 1 1 ji f f y ■. ». ■'■' 858 NOTES. Page 145. 1. 1305. 17, etc. -den— of thieves. Cf. Matt. xxi. 13, Mark 11. name 1. 1307. — Shrine of all saints. In allusion to its as a church, — Santa Maria ad Martyres. 1. 1314. — Pantheon (panth'e on). A temple (Gk. pan- theio.., of all the gods), erected by Agrippa, B.C. 27, now, though ruined, the Church of Santa Maria Rotonda. The interior is a great dome, lighted only from above by a cir- cular window of twenty-eight feet diameter. The great painters Raphael and Annibale Caracci are buried iu the Pantheon. 1. 1323.— on honour'd forms. "The Pantheon has be- come the shrine not only of the martyred, but of the illus- trious, in every art and science : but the busts of Raphael, Hannibal Caracci, Pierin del Vaga, Zuccari, and others, to which age has lent her venerable hue, are ill assorted with the many modern contemporary heads of ancient worthies which now glare in all the niches of the Rotonda. The little white Hermsean busts, ranged on ledges, side by side, give to this temple of immortality the air of a sculp- tor's study." — Hist. Illustr. Page 146. 1. 1324. — There is a dungeon. Festus ( ? a.d. 150) speaking of the temple of Piety built by Acilius Glabrio, says it was ' consecrated in the spot where a certain woman dwelt, who nourished her father in prison from her own breast' (lib. xx.). Pliny says {Nat. Hist., vii. xxxvi.) that it was her mother she nourished. The church of St. Nicolas in Carcere is held by many to stand on the site of the Temple and the Decemviral prisons. Byron refers to the subconstructions of the church, which are asserted to be the prisons in question. 1. 1331. — nectar. The divine drink of the gods. Page 147. 1. 1351. — The starry fable. The Greek myth of the Galaxy is that Hercules (Herakles) was taken from his mother Alcmena at his birth, and carried to the breast of sleeping Hera. When the queen of heaven awoke, she BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 359 pushed the child from her, spilling the milk over heaven that took form as the Galaxy (Gk. gala^ galakt-, milk). 1. 1360.— Mole which Hadrian rear'd. The gigantic mausoleum of Hadrian, a circular tower of 230 feet in diameter, now the Castle of Sant' Angelo. 1. 1361.— piles. The Pyramids. 1. 1362. — copyist. Hobhouse says : " This imitation of Egyptian deformity must not be supposed to apply to the mausoleum of Hadrian, but to the monstrous divinities, and the fabrics of the Tiburtine Villa [his villa at Tibur].' The Mole was constructed, it is thought, on the plan of the Mausoleum of Augustus or of Cecilia Metella." — Hist. Illuatr. 1. 1363.— travell'd phantasy. Hadrian (a. d. 76-138) spent most of his life journeying through his empire, and in raising edifices in Rome and abroad. 1. 1369. — the dome. St. Peter's, the colossal metropolitan church of Eome, built 1506-1626. The interior is a dome resting on four gigantic piers (see 1. 1404). Its chief architects were Bramante, Raphael, Peruzzi, Michael- Angelo, and Giacomo della Porta (I. 1427). Page 148. 1. 1370. — Diana's marvel. The temple of Artemis or Diana at Ephesus, built in the sixth century B.C., one of the seven Wonders of the World. It was but half the size of St. Peter's. "I omitted Ephesus in my catalogue, Avhich I visited during my sojourn at Smyrna." — Byron to Drury, May 3rd, 1810. 1. 1371. — above his martyr's tomb. The relics of St. Peter are preserved under the High Altar of the Cathedral. 1. 1373. — the wilderness. The plain of the Cayster, on the west coast of Asia Minor. 1. 1375. — Sophia. Santa Sophia, the Metropolitan Greek Church at Constantinople, erected by Justinian after 532 ; since 1453 a great moscjue of the city. Its gilded dome is referred to in the following line. Ijl i 360 NOTES. 1. 1381.— Zion. Titus. The temple at Jerusalem , destroyed by Page 149. 1. 1404. — this the clouds must claim. It was Michael Angelo's boast, as ho iilanned the dome, that liu would build the Pantheon (see 1. 1314 n.) in the air. Page 150. 1. 1432.— the Vatican. The Palace of the Pope ; situated near St. Peter's, S. Angelo and the Tiber ; its lib- rary, chapels, museums, and galleries are world-renowned. 1. 1433. — Laocoon. {Id ok'o on). Laocoiin was a Trojan priest of Neptune who tried to dissuade the people of Troy from admitting the fatal Wooden Horse of the Greeks within their walls. Minerva, incensed at him, sent two monstrous serpents, which strangled him and his two sons. (Virgil, uEneid, ii.) The marble group, which repre- sents them in the intensity of their dying agonies, belongs probably to the Greek art of the second century B.C. It was discovered in 1506, and stands now in the Vatican. Page 151. 1. 1441. — Lord of the unerring bow. The Apollo Belvidore (Belvidere Palace, part of the Vatican), a beau. liful Greek statue found in the sixteenth century, and now in the Vatican, in the room next the Laocoon. It is less esteemed to-day than formerly. "The Belvidere Apollo with the quiver on his back held the bow in his left hand, possibly also the end of an arrow grasped in one finger. It belongs to ' the Attic ' school of the fourth century." — Furtwiingler, Greek Sculpture. Page 152. 1. 1459. — Prometheus (pro me'theus). The myth is that Zeus was angered at Prometheus, son of the Titan lapotus, for attempting to outwit him in the division of a bull, and withheld fire from mortals. Prometheus, how- ever, stole it by means of a hollow reed. For this he was chais^ed to a rock where the eagles preyed daily upon him. L 1460. — the fire which we endure. Byron uses a version of the story in which the fire is the spirit of life stolen by Prometheus for the men he had created. BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 361 1. 1468.— the PUgrim. See note to the Title, p. 303. • 1. 1470. — He Cometh late. He was last mentioned (ex- cept in the Dedication) in Canto III. § Iv. ; of. Dedication, 11. 55ft. Page 153. 1.1494. — fardels. Burdens (O.F./arde/,/arrfmMl. Who would fardela bear To grunt and sweat under a weary life. — Shakspere, Hamlet, iii, i. <«. Page 154. 1. 1504.— Scion of chiefs. The Princess Charlotte Ai'.ffusta (179f3-1817), the only daughter of George, Prince vi Wales (George IV.), and heiress presumptive to the i.hrone, endeared to the English by her charm of porson and disposition. She married Leopold of Saxe-Coburg in 1810, and died in giving birth to a still-born son on Nov. 5th. 1817. The popular grief was expressed in a familiar couplet. — Never was sorrow more sincere Than that which flowed round Charlotte's bier. 1. 1518. — orisons {or' i zon). Prayers. 1. 1519. — her Iris. The symbol of hope. 1. 1523. -fruit is ashes. An allusion to Dead Sea fruit (or rather puft'-balls). Page 155. 1. 1531. — she sleeps well. After life's fitftil fever he sleeps well. —Shakspere, Macbeth, iii. ii. 23. 1. 1532. — reek. Smoke, vapour. Cf. Yon common cry of curs I whose brcat Ji I hate As reek o' the rotten fens. — Shakspere, Coriolanu$, iii. Iii. 1. 1536. — the strange fate. "Mary died on a scaffold; Elizabeth of a broken heart; Charles V. a hermit; Louis XIV. a bankrupt in means and glory ; Cromwell of anxiety ; and ' the greatest is behind.' Napoleon lives a prisoner." — Note, 1st ed. Pi^e 156. 1. 1549. — Lo, Nemil The poet transports himself now to Mount Albano, fifteen miles S.E. of Rome, the high- 362 NOTES. est summit of the Alban Mountains. Close beneath him are the lakes of Nemi and Albano, afar the Tiber winds down to the Mediterranean. "The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of Egeria, and, from the shades which embosomed the temple of Diana, has preserved to this day its distinctive appella- tion of The Orove.'''' — Note, 1st ed. The lake, into which the Fountain of Egeria flows, is only three miles in cir- cumference, lying in the oval hollow of an ancient crater. 1. 1554. — oval mirror. In antiquity it '' had the name of Diana's Looking-glass, ' speculumque Dianae ' " (Byron). I. 1558. — Albano's scarce-divided wave. Albano, a beautiful sheet of water six miles in circuit, lies in an ancient crater to the N.B. , and (' scarce-divided ') quite near. II. 1559f.— afar The Tiber winds. "The whole de- clivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalled beauty, and from the convent on the highest point, which has succeeded to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the prospect embraces all the objects alluded to in the cited stanza ; the Mediter- ranean ; the whole scene of the latter half of the ^iueid, and the coast from beyond the mouth of the Tyber to the headland of Circeeum and the Cape of Terracina."— Note, 1st ed. I. 1561. — Latian coast... Epic war. The war following the arrival in Latium of ^Eneas, then a fugitive from Troy, but soon to become the founder of the Roman race. The mythical story is told by Virgil in the ^neid, which be- gins, Arma viruvique cano, Arms I sing, and the man. II. 1563f .— bereath thy right TuUy reposed. Cicero's villa was either at Grotta Ferrata, a village about two miles north of the Lake of Albano, or, which is more probable, Tuscuium, near Frascati, two miles further on. 11. 1564f. — bar of girdling mountains. "From the same eminence are seen the Sabine Hills, embosomed in which lies the long valley of Rustica. There are several circum- stances which tend to establish the identity of this valley BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 363 with the ' Uatica^ [Odea, i. xvii.] of Horace. . . The villa [of the poet], or the mosaic, is in a vineyard on a knoll covered with chestnut trees." — Note, 1st ed. This villa is eleven miles N. of Tivoli. 1. 1566. — Sabine Farm. Of Horace. My patron's gift, my Sabine field, Shall all its rural plenty yield; And, happier in that rural store, Of heavei: and him I ask no more. —Horace, Epistles, i. xvi. Page 157. 1. 1571. — midland. The etymological equivalent of Meditorrranean. 1. 1572.— Alban Mount. See 1. 1549 n. 1. 1574. — CaXpe' s (kal' pe). The ancient name of Gibraltar. 1. 1575. — the dark Euxine. The Black Sea, the Pontus Euxinus of antiquity. 1. 1576. — Sympleg^ades. (sim pleg'a dez). ' The clashing rocks ' of Greek myth were two rocky islands in the Black Sea, at the entrance of the Bosphorus. Also called the "Cyanean rocks (Gk. kuaneos, dark-blue), hence the epithet. " I am just comeback," wrote Byron to Drury, 1810, "from an expedition through the Bosphorus to the Black Sea and the Cyanean Symplegades. up which last I scrambled . . . O how I wish . . . the good ship Argo. . . Had never passed the Azure rocks." Page 158. 1. 1605. — Man marks the earth. Darmesteter points out that these lines are inspired by Mme. de Stael's Corrine, i. iv. : — " This proud sea upon which man can leave no trace. The earth is tilled by him, the mountains intersected by his roads. The rivers gather into canals to carry his merchandise; but if the vessels furrow the deep for an instant, the wave comes and effaces at once this light mark of servitude, and the sea appears once more as it was on the first day of the Creation " (tran-1.). I. 1611.— unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknovtrn Cf. Tr. I. 4 ^i.iJ 364 NOTES. li \n.\T>. V. 1. 258 n. Tlolfe gives half a page of illustrations of the three-fold epithet. Page 159. 1. 1620.— lay. For, lie: a sacrifice to the Muse. 1. 1621.— thunderstrike. A verb formed from the adjec- tive thunderstruck. 1. 1624.— oak leviathans. Cf. Psalm civ. 26, and Camp- bell, " Like leviathans afloat." — Battle of the Baltic. 1. 1629. — Armada. In reference to the storms that destroyed the ships of Philip; see Green, oh. vii. § vi. Trafalgar, {trafal gar'). Nelson's victory over the French oiT Cape Trafalgar, 1805. ' ' Twenty of the enemy struck ; but it was not possible to anchor the fleet, as Nelson had enjoined ; — a gale came on from the south- west; some of the prizes went down, some went on shore ; one effected its escape into Cadiz ; others were destroyed ; four only were saved." — South ey, Life of Nelaon. 1. 1628.— the yeast of waves. Cf. Though the yeast of waves . . . swallow navigation up. — Shakspere, Macbeth, iv. i. 53. 1. 1632. — Thy waters washed them power. The first odd. h.tve, " Thy waters wasted them." ' ' What does ' thy waters wasted them ' mean (in the Canto ) ? That ia not me. Consult the MS. always.^'' — Byron to Murray, Sept. 24, 1818. Page 160. 1. 1656.— as I do here. But cf. 1. 1572. Page 161. 1. 1661.— what is writ, is writ. Cf. John xix. 22. 1. 1672.— sandai-shoon and scallop-shell. -Shoon\ ar- chaic plural of shoe ; ' sandal shoon,' pair of sandals, as would be worn in Palestine. The cockle or scallop shell, or the figure of one, was an emblem of a pilgrimage to St. James of Compos tell a ; hence is indicative of any pilgrim. Cf. How should I your true love know From another one ? By his cockle hat and staff, And his snndal shoon. — Shakapere, Hamlet ^ iv. v. 98. APPENDIX. ''.V ■f in HI APPENDIX. TO NIOHT. Swiftly Malk over the western wave, Spirit of Night ! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, ft Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight ! Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, Star-inwTought ! Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day ; 10 Kiss her until she be wearied out, Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thine opiate wand — Come, long sought ! When I arose and saw the dawn, 15 I sighed for thee ; When light rode high, and the dew was gone. And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, 20 I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me ? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed. Murmured like a noontide bee, 26 Shall I nestle near thy side ? Wouldst thou me ? — And I replied. No, not thee 1 m 308 APPENDIX. Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon — Sleep will come when thou art tied ; Of neither would I ask tlie hoon 1 u«k of thee, beloved Night- Swift be tr.ine approaching flight. Come soon, soon ! 30 — Percy liynnhe Shelley. TO THE CUCKOO. Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! Thou messenger of Spring ! Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. What time the daisy decks the green, 6 Thy certain voice we hear : Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year ? Delighted visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flowers, 10 And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers. The school-boy, wandering through the woods To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, 15 And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fliest thy vocal vale. An annual guest to other lands, Another Spring to hail. 20 Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever cjreen, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No Winter in thy year. Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee I ^ 25 We'd make, with joyful wing. Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the Spring. — John Logan, 1781. APPENDIX. urn YES, IT WAS THE MOUNTAIN ECHO." Yks, it was the mountiiin Echo, Solitary, clear, profound, Answering to the shoutin^^ Cuckoo. (living to her sound for sound ! Unsolicited reply To a liabbling wanderer sent ; Like her ordinary cry. Like — but oh, how different ! Hears not also mortal Life? Hear not we, unthinking Creatures ! Slaves of folly, love, or strife — Voices of two different natures? Have not we too ? — yes, we have Answers, and we know not whence? Echoes from beyond the grave, Recognised intelligence ! 10 15 Such rebounds our inward ear Catches sometimes from afar — Listen, ponder, hold them dear ; For God,— of Cod they are. 20 — Williiim Wordsworth. III' 1^ TO THE CUCKOO. Nut the whole warbling grove in concert heard When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill L'ke the first sumntons, cuckoo ! of thy bill, With its twin notes inseparably paired. The captive 'mid damp vaults unsunned, unaired, 5 Measuring the periods of his lonely doom. That cry can rcacli ; and to the sick man's room Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared. The lordly eagle-race through hostile search May perish ; time n)ay come when never more 10 The wilderr-jss shall hear the lion roar ; But, long as cock shall crow from household perch To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy wing. And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring ! »- William Wordsicorth, 18^7. IM \l\ 370 APPENDIX. THE CUCKOO-CLOCK. WuuLOST thou be taught, when sleep has taken flight, Hy a sure voice that can most sweetly tell, How far off yet a glimpse of morning light, As if to lure the truant back be well, Forbear to covet a Repeater's stroke 5 That answering to the touch, will sound the hour ; Better provide thee with a Cuckoo-clock For service hung behind thy chamber-door ; And in due time the soft spontaneous shock, The double note, as if with living power, 10 Will to composure lead — or make thee blithe as bird in bower. List, Cuckoo-Cuckoo ! oft tho' tempests howl. Or nipping frost remind thee trees are bare, How cattle pine, and droop the shivering fowl, Thy spirits will seem to feed on balmy air : 15 I speak with knowledge, — by that Voice beguiled, Thou wilt salute old memories as they throng Into thy heart ; and fancies, running wild Through fresh green fields, and budding groves among, . Will make thee happy, happy as a child : 20 Of sunshine wilt thou think, and flowers, and song. And breathe as in a world where nothing can go wrong. And know — that, even for him who shuns the day And nightly tosses on a bed of pain ; Whose joys, from all but memory swept away, 25 Must come unhoped for, if they come again ; Know — that, for him whose waking thoughts, severe As his distress is sharp, would scorn my theme, The mimic notes, striking upon his ear In sleep, and intermingling with his dream, 30 Could from sad regions send him to a dear Delightful land of verdure, shower and gleam. To mock the wandering Voice beside some haunted stream. O bounty without measure ! while the grace Of Heaven doth in such wise from humblest springs 35 Pour pleasure forth, and solaces that trace A mazy course along familiar things, Well may our hearts have faith that blessings come, Streaming from founts above the starry sky. With angels when their own untroubled home 40 They leave, and speed on nightly embassy To visit earthly cnambeirs, — and for whom ? Yea, both for souls who God's forbearance try, And those that seek his help, and for his mercy sigh. — William Wordsworth, 1S45. APPENDIX. 371 " THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN SUN AND SHOWER." TiiKEK years she grew in sun and shower, Then Nature said, " A lovelier flower On earth was never sown ; This Child I to myself will take, She shall be mine, and I shall make £ A Lady of my own. Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse : and with me The Girl, in rock and plain, In earth and iieaven, in glade and bower, 10 Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. She shall be sportive as the fawn That wiltl with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs ; 15 And her's shall be the breathing balm. And her's the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. The floating clouds their state shall lend To her ; tor her the willow bend : 20 Nor sImIi she fail to see Even in the motion of the Storm Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy. The stars of midnight shall be dear 25 To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance tlieir wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. 30 And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell ; Such thoughts to Ijucy I will give While she and I together live 35 Here in this happy • No more-Oh, ,;X'^^«/^ f^«r prime ? Out of the day and night ' A joy has taken flight; MoXTlllf'h:^^^^^^ Ko more-^Oh. uerer'^nfre f' ^"' ^''^ ^^^'S'^* 377 10 15 '.ff I i —Percy Byashe Shelley. 10 OPPORTUNITY. But he whT£fssei thf ^'""^^ ' 378 APPENDIX It you trap the moment before it's ripe, The tears of repentance you'll certainly wipe ; But, if you once let the ripe moment go, You can never wipe off the tears of woe. — William Blake, 1757-1827. 5 SIR PATRICK S PENCE* The King sits in Dumferlin^ toun*, Drinking his blude-rod wine : ** O whar will I got guid sailor To sail this ship of mine ?" Up and spake an eldern> knicht*, Sat at the kings rioht kne : '*8ir Patrick Spence is the bes^ sailor That Hi& OMn U:<( vesi " The kin^ nas written a braid letter* And signed it wi' his hand, it) And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. The first Une that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch* lauched he : The next line that Sir Patrick red, 15 The teir blinded his ee. • *' v/ha is this has don' this deid, This ill deid done to me ; To send me out this time o' the yeir To sail upon the se ? 20 " Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the mome." " O say na sae, my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme. * The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spenoe. —Coleridge, DtjtctUm. I 4ged. 3 Knight 3 Broad (open) letter. 4 Laugh. 5 E;«i U A Tiliat APPENDIX. 379 ** Late, late vestreen* I saw the new moone 25 Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ; And I feir, I foir, my deir master, That we will com' to harme." Oour Scots nobles wer richt laith' To wet tlrair cork-heild sohoone ; 80 But lang owre a' the play wer playd Thair hats they swam aboone.* O lang, lang may their ladies sit, Wi thair fans into their hand, Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 35 Cum sailing to the land. lane, lang may the ladies stand, Wi thair gold kems* in their hair, Waitinff for their ain deir lords, For they'll se thame na mair. 40 Have owre,> » have owre to Aberdour,' • It's fifty fadom deip ; And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence Wi' the Scots lords at his feit. — From Percy's " Beliquei.*' TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY. An Allegory. On the wide level of a mountain's head, (I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place) Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread, 5 Two lovely children run an endless race, A sister and a brother ! That far outstripp'd the other ; Yet even runs she with reverted face, And looks and listens for the boy behind : 10 For he, alas ! is blind I O'er rough and smooth with pvcn step he pass'd. And knows not whether he is first or last. — Coleridge, 8 Testerdfty erening. 7 Loatbu 8 On tli« waxtmcm, 9 Oombi. 10 S»lf otw 11 A TiUage on tha Forth. 880 APPENDIX. LIFE. Life I I know not what thou art, But know tbat thou and I must part ; And when, or how, or where we met, I own to me's a secret yet. But this I know, when thou art fled, Where'er they lay these limbs, this hcad| No clod so valueless shall be, As all that then remains of me. whither, whither dost thou fly. Where bend unseen thy trackless course, 10 And in this strange divorce. Ah ! tell where I must seek this compound 1 1 To the vast ocean of empryeal flame. From whence thy essence came, Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed 15 From matter s base, encumbering weed ? Or dost thou, hid from sight. Wait, like some spell-bound knight, Though blank oblivious years the appointed hour. To break thy trance and re-assume tny power ! 20 Yet canst thou without thought or feeling bo ? say what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee ? Life ! we've been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'T is hard to part when friends are dear ; 25 Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear ; Then steal away, ^ive little warning. Choose thine own time ; Say not good night, but in some brighter clime Bid me good morning. —Mrs. Barlauld (17431825). REQUIEM. Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did 1 live, and gladly die. And I laid me doMm with a wilL This be the verse you grave for me : Here he lies where he longed to be ; Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill. — Robert Louis Stevenson. w ArVE^DlX. :^8l WHAT IS A SONNET f What is a sonnet? 'T is a pearly shell That murmurs of the far-off niurinuring sea ; A precious jewel carved most curiously ; It is a little picture painted well. What is a sonnet ? 'Tis the tear that fell 5 From a sreat poet's ecstasy ; A two-caged sword, a star, a sous — ah me ! Sometimes a heavy tolling funeral bell. This was the flame that shook with Dante's breath. The solemn organ whereon Milton played, 10 And the clear glass where Shakespeare's shadow falls ; A sea is this — beM'are who veiitureth ! For like a fiord the narrow flood is laid Deep as mid ocean to sheer mountain walls. —R. W. GUder. h I MILTON. He left the upland lawns and serene air Wherefrom his soul her noble nurture drew, And reared his helm among the unquiet crew Battling beneath ; the morning radiance rare Of his young brow amid the tumult there. Grew grim with sulphurous dust and sanguine dew ; Yet through all soilure they who marked him knew The signs of his life's dayspring, calm and fair. But when peace came, peace fouler far than Avar, And mirth more dissonant than battle's tone, He with a scornful laugh of his clear soul. Back to his mountain ciomb, now bleak and frore, And with the awful night, he dwelt alone In darkness, listening to the thunder's roll. — f!me8t Meyer$, '} R 10 .1 382 AVPENDIX. SLEEP. Gome, Sleep ! Sleep, the certAin knot of pe^.oe, The baitiog-place' of wit, the balm of woo, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Tlr indifferent judge between the high and low ; With shield of proof, shield me from out the press Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw ; make in me those civil wars to cease ; , I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, A rosy garland and a weary head : And if these things, as being there by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewnere, Stella's image see. -Sir Philip Sidney (1664-1686), in "Aatrophel and Stella." 10 SLEEP. (H ITmry jr.. iU..i..5fl.) How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thoii no more wilt weigh these eyelids down And Bleep v\f senses in forgetfulness ? Why rather. Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee And hush'd with buzzing niffht-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great. Under the canopies of costly state. And luU'd with sound of sweetest melody ! thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and lea vest the kingly couch A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-bov's eytit), sind rock his brain In cradle of the rude, iirijuci*! 'US surge And in the visitation of me winds, Who take the ruffian biiloys by the top, Gurlinc their monstrous heads and hanging tliem With deafening clamour in the slipperv clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? 1 Plao* of rafrathiniint , 10 15 20 ! 1 AVVENDIX, awi Gaiut thou, partial sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, And in the calmest and most stillest night, 2A With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a kina ? Then, happy low, lie down I Uneasy lies the noad that wears a crown. —SKaksptft. TO THE DAISY, Bright Flower ! whose home is everywhere, Bold in maternal Nature's care, And all the long years througli the heir Of joy or sorrow ; Methinks that there abides in thee £kMne eaaoord with kamantty. Given to no other flower I see The forest thorough ! Is it that Man is soon deprest ? A thoughtless Thing ! who, once unblest, Does little on his memory rest. Or on his reason, And Thou would'st teach him how to find A shelter under every wind, A hope for times that are unkind And every season. Thou wander'st the wide world about Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt, With friends to greet thee, or without, Yet pleased and willing ; Meek, yielding to the occasion's call. And all things suffering from all, Thy function apostolical, In peaoe fulfilling. — WordsvwrtK 10 15 20 4 f ■|:i I ,1 3»4 APPENDIX. " WHEN A MOUNTING SKYLARK SINOS.'- When u mounting skylark sings In the sun-lit summer morn, I know that heaven is up on high, And on earth are fields of com. But when a nightingale sings ' In the moon-lit summer even, I know not if earth is merely earth, Only that heaven is heaven. — Christina Rossettt. THE LARK. Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumbcrless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea I Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — to abide in the desert with th.e ! Wild is thy lay, and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy— love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying ? n Thy lay is in heaven — thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim. Over the rainbow's rim. Musical cherub, soar, singing, away I Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will be thy welcome and bed of love be ! Emblem of happinoss. Blest is thv dwelling-place — C ^ abide in the desert with thee ! 10 15 20 APPENDIX. 385 i FROM " THE FIRST SKYLARK OF SPRING." * Two worlds hast thou to dwell in, Sweet,— The virginal untroubled sky, And this vext region at my feet. — Alas, but one have I ! To all my songs there clings the shade, The dulling shade of mundane care. Thev amid mortal mists are made, — Thine in immortal air. My heart is dashed with griefs and fears ; My song comes fluttering, and is gone. O high above the home of tears. Eternal Joy, sing on ! 10 Somewhat as thou, Man once could sing, In porches of the lucent morn, Ere he had felt his lack of wing, 15 Or cursed his iron bourn. The springtime bubbled in his throat. The sweet sky seemed not far above. And young and lovesomc came the note ;— Ah, thine is Youth and Love ! 20 Thou singest of what he knew of old, And dream-like from afar recalls ; In flashes of forgotten gold An orient glory falls. And as he listens, one by one, 25 Life's utmost splendours blaze more nigh ; Less inaccessible the sun, Less alien grows the sky. For thor; art native to the spheres, Aiid Ci( the courts of heaven art free, 30 And carriest to his temporal cars. News from eternity ; And lead'st him to the dizzy verge, And lur'st him o'er the dazzling line^ Where mortal and immortal merge, 85 And human dies divine. — William Watson. 886 APPENDIX. HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD. • Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware. That the lowest boushs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England — now ! And after April when May follows. And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows — Hark ! where blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dew-drops, — at the bent spray's edge, — That's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture. And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, Far brighter than this gaudy melon flower. — Urowning. 10 rs 20 HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA. Nobly, nobly Gape St. Vincent to the North-west died away ; Sunset ran, one fflorious blood-red, reeling into Cadiz Bay ; Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay ; In the dimest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey; ' Here and there did England help me : how can 1 help England ?' —say, 6 \\ hoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. — Browning, APPENDIX. 887 10 IS EPITAPH ON A JACOBITE. To my true king, I offered free from stain, Courage and faith ; vain faith, and courage vain. For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth away. And one dear hope, that was more prized than tliey. For him I languished in a foreign clime, Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime ; Heard in Lavernia, ScargilFs^ whispering trees, And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees ; Beheld, each night my home in fevered sleep, Each morning started from the dream to weep ; Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave The resting-place I asked, an early grave Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone. From that proud country which was once mine OMn, By those white cliffs I never more must see, By that dear language which I spake like thee, Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here. —Macaulay (1800-1859). 10 ir* i 20 d and and?' 5 pray, TO EVENING. If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales ; Nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts. With brede etherial wove, O'erhang his wavy bed ; New air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat, With short shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing ; Or where the beetle winds His small, but sullen horn, As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum ; Now teach me, maid composed. To breathe some softened strain, 10 III 1 In North Yorkshire on the upper T( 888 APPENDIX. \v h >(ie uuiubui'u, slouling through ihy darkening vale, Mmy not unseemly with thy stillness suit ; As, musing slow, I hail Thy genial loved return I For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours and Elves Who sleep in flowers the day, And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, 25 And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, The pensive Pleasures sweet. Prepare thy shadowy car ; Then h ^, aiim votaress, where some sheety lake Cheers t. .; heath, or some time-hallowed pile, 80 Or u , id follows grey Reflect) its last cool gleam. But when chill blustering winds or driving rain Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut, That, from the mountain's side, 85 Views wilds, and swelling floods. And hamlets brown, and dim -discovered spires ; And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. 40 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve 1 While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light ; While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 45 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air. Affrights thy shrinking train. And rudely rends thy robes ; So long sure-found beneath the sylvan shed Shadl Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipped Health, 60 Thy gentlest influence own. And hymn thy favourite name. — CoKina (17201756), APPENDIX. 889 30 35 40 FROM •• SEA WEED." When descends on the Atlantio The gigantic Storm-wind of the equinox, Landward in his wratli he scourges The toiling surges, Laden with seaweed from the rocks : From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges Of sunken ledges. In some far-off, bright Azore ; From Bahama, and the dashing, Silver-flashing Surges of San Salvador ; From the tumblincr surf, that buries The Orkneyan skerries. Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; And from wrecks of ships, and drifting Spars, uplifting On the desolate, rainy seas ; — Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Currents of the restless main ; Till in sheltered coves, and reaches Of sandy beaches. All have found repose again. — LonofeUow. 10 15 20 \ t 45 60 THEY ARE ALL a ONE. They are all gone into the world of Light, And I alone sit lingering here 1 Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. It g!ows and glitters ib my cloudy breast £ike stars upon some gloomy grove. Or these faint oeams in whioh this hill ia drwl After the sun's remove. 890 APPENDIX. I Bee them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days ; lO My days, which are at best but dull and hoary — Mere glimmerings and decays. O holy Hope ! and high Humility, High as the heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have showed them me 15 To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death ; the jewel of the just 1 Shining no where but in the dark ; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust ; (yould man outlook that mark ! 20 He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know At first sight if the birds be flown ; But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams, 25 Call to the soul, when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep. If a star were confined into a tomb Her captive flames must needs burn there ; 30 But, when the hand that locked her up gives room. She'll shine through all the sphere. Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under Thee 1 Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall 83 Into true liberty. Blither disperse these mists, which blot and fill Mv iperspective, still as they pass ; Or else remove me hence unto that hill. Where I shall need no glass. 40 ^Vaughan (1621-1695). AFTER THE BURIAL, Tea, faith is a goodly anchor ; When skies are sweet as a psalm. At the bows it lolls so stalwart, In bluff, Inroad-aliouldered ^i'i'ENDlX. Still true Lth^K"? ">'"■". P nown among ««.„^ ^^^ ^^ ^ But that h tii 1'"';'' «» sh" ? |wS'4",^^~J:;'ff,^h, th, g^veyart But to me and m^f i. r *° ^»s race. S91 5 JO 15 20 25 30 I: HI 35 40 302 APPENDIX. It is pagan ; but wait till you feel lt,>— The jar of our earth — that dull ahouk When the ploughshare of deeper passion Tears down to our primitive rock. Communion in spirit ? Forgive me, But I, who am earthly and weak, Would give all the incomes from dreamland For a touch of her hand on my check. 4.) That little shoe in the corner, So worn and wrinkled and brown, With its emptiness confutes you. And argues your wisdom down. 50 -Lotcdl, **THB WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US.*' The world is too much with us ; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers t Little we see in Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; The winds that will be l.owling at all hours. And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; For these, for everything, we are out of tune ; 5 It moves us not.— Great God ! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. — Wordtwortht 1806. 10 Ar PEN nix. 'dm •' LET ME NOT TO THE MARRIAGE OF TRUE MINDS." ell. Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : Oh, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark. Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come ; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out* even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. — Shakspert, 10 THE GROSS OF SNOW, s : 10 1806. In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face — the face of one long dead — Looks at VTB from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. Here in this room she died ; and soul more white 5 Never through martyrdom by fire was led To its repose ; nor can in books be read The legend of a life more benedight. a There is a mountain in the distant West That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines 10 Displays a cross of snow upon its side. ISuch is the cross I wear upon my breast These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes And seasons, changeless since the day she died. — Longfellow. 1 Continues iteadfMt. 394 APPENDIX. DAYBREAK. A wind came up out of the Bea, And said, "0 mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried lantlwnrd far away, Crying, *' Awalce ! it is the day," It said unto the forest, "Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, And said, "0 bird, awake and sing." And o'er the farms, " chanticleer. Your clarion blow ; the day is near. " It whispered to the fields of corn, " Bow down, and hail the coming mom." It shouted through the belfry-tower, "Awake, bell ! proclaim the hour." It crossed the chnrchyard with a sigh, And said, "Not ye., in quiet lie." — Longfellow. 10 15 THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught, That serveth not another's will ; Whose armour is his honest thought, And sample truth his utmost skill ; APPENDIX, yfho^ pa««io„8 not his masters are , Of public fame or private breath ; "or vTceT.tSVv''" °^•"■» "'<"'• «'-^ ^•^ vitu, 'lath ever understonri How deepest v/ounds are g 'en tith n..«.- Nor rules of state, but r^ulea of^oodT ' ^Whof *" ^'^ ^.'^" ^^°'" humours freed • JNor run, make oppressors great ; Who God (?oth late and early prav With a welLchoseii book or friend. I^?i ??^ *° '■''^' «'" ^«ar to fall Aud having nothing, yet hath all ' —Sir Henry Wottoa (1568-1639). 8«5 5 10 15 20 FROM ^* EXTREME UNGTiOjif,* An^i"*^' ^"other man shTll be •• Ou to'f %'** ^\f^'' ^'d «ot soorT' Send violef up and paint then. blue. 5 896 APPEyDlX. Yes, I who now, M-ith angry tears. Am exiled back to brutish clod, 10 Have borne iinqucnched for four-score yeors A spark of the eternal God ; And to what end ? How yield I back The trust for such high uses given ? Heaven's light hath but revealed a track 15 Whereby to crawl away from Heaven. Men think it is an awful flight To see a soul just set adrift On that drear voyage from whose night The ominous shadows never lift ; 20 But 'tis more avkful to behold A helpless infant newly born. Whose little hands unconscious hold The keys of darkness and of morn. Mine held them once ; I flung away 2r» Those keys that might have open Bet The golde!i sluices of the day, But clutch the keys of darkness yet ; — I hear the reapers surging go Into God's harvest ; I, that might 30 With them have chosen, here below Grope shuddering at the gates of night. O glorious Youth, that onoe was mine I O high Ideal ! all in vain Ye enter at this ruined shrine 3i> Whence worship ne'er shall rise again ; The bat and owl iidiabit here. The snake nests in the altar-stone, The sacred vessels moulder near ; The image of the God is gone. 40 — James Russell Lowell. AFIEXDIX. 897 TJJE GLIMPSE. 20 Just for a (lay yon crossed my life's dull track, Put my ignobler dreams to sud In stainless daylight saw the pure seas roll. Saw mountains pillaring tiiu perfect sky : Then journeyed home, to carry in his soul • The torment of tiie difference till he die. — WifHani Watson. 10 30 THE LAST WORD. 35 40 zll Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said ! Vain thy onset ! all stands fast. Then thyself must break at last. Let the long contention cease ! (•eese are swans and swans arc geese. Let them have it how they will 1 Thou art tired ; best be still. They out-talk'd thee, hiss'd thee, tore thee? Better men fared thus before thee ; Fired their ringing shot and pass'd, Hotly charged — and sank at last. Charge once more, then, and be dumb ! Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall. Find thy body by the wall. — Matthew Arnold, 10 15 !^esi 398 APPENDIX. PROSPICE. 10 Fear death ? — to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, ami the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the niglit, the press of the storm. The post of the foe, Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go : For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle's to tight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fif hter, so — one fight more, The best and the last ! I wouhl hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, 15 And bade me creep past. No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears O^ pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And tlie elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest ! — liohert lirov'ttitht. 20 2o ALL SAINTS. One feast, of holy days the crest, 1, though no Churchman, love to keep, All-Saints, — the unknown good that rest In (iod's still memory folded deep ; The bravely dumb that did their deed, And scorned to blot it with a name, "^en of the plain heroic breed, 'Chat loved Heaven's silence more than fame. 10 20 25 5 APPENDIX. Such lived not ,„ *■ ■iheir cup of waf«r ^"""^'s, I'he rainbow. '|^°,,V' '".V'<"^»' 'ight Of so I, th,u shivere ™, ',?''"!'"«'". , Ol (liat chill f„,. ""> ^rffje ^'■;''" their .,Lr:;'f^P"fe<'"o^„,.e, ''"e Ml ther shore, «^«'«e« /?e,,,,/^ /^^,^,^^^ A;id loot up„,r:,;; :tr;' ;j"i. ...y i;,otie,,„,,e, L'ke to the Jark at fcl 'JV'^*^" "^^ «ta e ^' 899 10 15 20 JO 400 APPENDIX. THE REVERIE OF POOR ^CruAN. At the corner of Wood street, wlien «laylight appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loiul, it has siin<{ for three years ; Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird. Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; Itright columns of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Clieapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale Down which she so often has tripped with her p. j And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven, but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colours have all passed away from her eyes. IVi'Ham Wordsworth. 10 15 O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! (On the death of Lincoln.) O Captain \ my Captain ! our fearful trip is done. The ship has weathered every rock, the prize we sought is won. The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring ; But O heart ! heart ! heart ! 5 O the bleeding drops of red, When on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; Rise up — for you the fliig is flung — for you the bugle trills, 10 For you bouquets and ribl>on'd wreaths — for you the shores a- crowding. For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ; Here Captain, dear father ! This arm beneath your head ! It is come dream that on the deck, 15 You've fallen cold and dead. APPENDIX. iOl 20 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still. My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will. The ship is auchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done. From fearful trip the victor ship comes it with object won • '**^ Exult shores, and ring O bells ! But I with mournful tread. Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. — Walt Whitman. 5 ON ins BLINDNESS. When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this liark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide. Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He, returning chide ; " Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ? " I fondly ask ; but patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, *' God doth not need Either man's work, or His own gifts ; who best 10 Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best ; Misstate Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed. And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; They also serve who only stand and wait." —John Milton. iron. ng' 10 ks a- 15 r\Tw How sleep the brave who sink t> rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She tliere shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen titeir dirge is sung ; There Honour conies, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall a while repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there. — William Co'Hm, 10 ! ( 402 APPENDIX. IX MEMO HI AM, II. 01(1 Yew, which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. The seasons bring the flower again, And bring the firstling to the flock : And in the dusk of thee, the clock Beats out the little lives of men. O not for thee the glow, the bloom, Who cliangest not in any gale, Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom : And gazing on thee, sullen tree, .Sick for thy stubborn hardihood, I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. — At/red Tennyson. 10 1& MEMORABILIA, Ah ! did you see Shelley plain. And did he stop and speak to you, And did yon speak to him again ? How strange it seems and new ! But you were living before that. And also you are living after ; An8- THE CHAMBERED XAUTILUS, This is the ship of pearl, which, poets fcigp, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare. Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! And every chambered cell. Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed, — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 10 1& Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread its lustrous coil ; Still, as the spiral grew. He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, 20 Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea. Cast from her lap forlorn ! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 25 " Thau ever Triton blew from wreath^ horn ! While on mine ear it rings. Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings : — lo Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! .^O Leave thy low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last. Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free. Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! 'ir> — Oliver Wendell Holmen.