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' b oUcJd V6' '' • fi: ^' Co.; X '«<.8 U^\ rA U^ gU'-V^'^-'Vl^y Co-f>i( U.A cU^ -D n l^uA.^j 'iclIuk^ /iUt-h(i/j t<.a-t-,^Jc J J - J * ; ' ^- '^.«.Av- '.^-^x ^ CL'\A. ^ I j .*.•!.- vt ci -* • *. .'4 t^<,«.. r4-^..*-trxJ ^ 'l SliLKCT PUKMS ^5'^. .J u- oaJl GOLDSMITH, WORDSWORTH, SCOTT, KEATS, SHELLEY, BYRON »/' 'i. ,Jt~f\J ^t. -t ^ iMjt a-f f"^ A EDFTED FROM AU'I'HORS' EDITIONS, WITH INI'RODUCTIONS AND ANNOTATIONS, BY FREDERICK HENRY SYKES, M.A., Ph.D. i'viijtiiti-ir in tlio Weatern Univeraity q/ London, Out. A.'*f Tiiio W. J. aAGE COMPANY (ltd.) X896 l-'7786 I r Enteml acordin^^ to Act of Parllamont of Canarla in tl... .,ffl..<. o. ». Minister of Afe'ricultMre, l.y Tiik W J (U, ,. r,J> ""' V*"'^ "* »' '' PREFACE. Tifis odition of Select Poems of OoWsmith, Wordsworth, Scott. KoatH, Sholloy, Byron is dosignud as an aid to the study of English lltoraturo, and is especially intended for those students preparing for University Matriculation and the higher examinations of the Education Departments of various Provinces of the Dominion. The present volume, like its predecessors, the Select Poems of Tennyson and the Select Poems of Coleridge, Wordsworth, etc., endeavours, by bringing together from many quarters whatever critical apparatus elementary students will require, to make possible for such as use it a serious and intelligent study of the poetry it contains. The text of these Selections has been taken in every in- stance from authoritative editions,— th(jso issued by the authors themselves (in sorne cases, trustworthy reprints of these) or, in the case of postumous poems, by the best editors As far as possible the history oi the text through its revisions has been given by means of a list of variant readings, which are of interest to readers and of use in the study of literary expression. Care has been taken to cite, at times the sources of poetical passages, not only that a clearer sense of poetic excellence may be attained, but also that an insi-ht may be aflorded into some phases of poetic composition. " The Appendix contains many poems that will serve as useful comparisons to the ,-eIections; in the main, however It IS design, , merely as a collection of poetry suital)le f.,r literary stuJy, without the aid of notes or other critical apparatus. Jv Ph'EFACR. It .s a ploa«uro tr, ackncwlodgc hero t,ho kin.lnoMH of tl.o tlsZir// r'"' ^^'r*-'^'^' ^J"""g>. which fchocHlitor was. nahloa to photograph fron. its precious shoiloy MS. vol- ume tho pages ol To a Skylark, a facsi.nilo of which .uco,,.- IKunes our text <,f the poo,... To Dr. .F. W. Tapper tho editor's thanks are , ue h.r vo.-y careful eolh.ti,„.s „f „.a..y o.i.in..! Tront,, PubUc . .rary he is osp.cially grateful for th. use f's CON'iM^:NTiS. lNTK«M>ir(;ri()NH: ,,^,.,, Ooldsniitli j^ Wonlrtwoiili J Scott " " .' '^^^♦^^ "*.." xv'xvM.' Shelloy ^,y ^y''"' liii. 'i'KXTS : (ioMsitiitli. r/tr Tnivtl/cr j The. Deaerti ■ I Vi//agi 21 WunUwortl), Comjioml ujton Wi.^tmiiiHter /irid/je .. Jc The Green Liunef j j To the Cii-koi) j;.j She Wan a I'hanlow of Delufht . . IT, Thoiu/ht of a liriton on the Su/j/n- gation of Switzerland ... .17 Mo>it Sweet it is >r:/li fr„iin/i/f,',l. K,; , iH i^Gott, L'onaM/e ^ Sonr/, "0, llrignall llanlcs " . .62 Song, "A Weary Lot in Thi:. ' 55 Jvclc of Haze/dean .... Pi. Kouts, On First Looking into Chapman's Ifunur 58 When I have Fears that I may Cease to Ih .^f) The Human Seasons ,.,, Ude to a Nightingale o. To Auluriin __ Slioiloy, Ozijmandias p^ To a Skylark . . ^^ J-oJane—Thellevollection .... 74 IJyron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimaye - 'canto th, Fourth . . _ NOTIOS .... '"' .\n-KN!>!X ^'''* 'diio INTRODUCTIONS. If OLlMoit GOUiSMlTU, iNi :u ! joi.osMrrH. Mil \<. . tNTROnuCTION.^. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. [17;i8-1774.| fTlie Percy Memoir, in Miscellaneous Worlcs, 1801, frequently renriiito.l insubscquen years ; Mitford's iMtrclnction to tl.e old Aldi"e ed " ort L^e oj GoUlsruith. mi; Irvine's GoUsmith, 1811 ; Foster Z^ a,. AdvenU^res ,/ GoMsmUk, 1848-185. (the chief autl orit.^ ; Ma^u," Ln„UsU Men, y- Letters"; Dobson's Goiasmik "Great Wr^s'''- Dobson's Introduction to Selected Poems, Clarendon Press. Tcbcs; ed.tions ai-e Cunningham. 1851. four vols.; Gibbs. •'Bot!n's Li Ira t '' live vo s^; Masson, one vol., Macmillan ; Dobson, Poems, new AWhle ed and Dent's ed. Annotated edition, chiefly u;ed in the notes to tls volume are: the editions of Mitford and Prior, SankoV. iZZllZ.n^ Pope died in 1744 without any one disputing his sw.y over English poetry. While he lived, it was thought that English poetx-y 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 it. members the most distinguished names in literature, '.o the group of poets who dominated the first half of r,he century- Addison, Prior, Pope, Swift-succeeded in the second half of the century another group-Johnson, Churchill (xoldsmith-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 lu Liie oofiee-house and the club, the writers of Geor-e in. t^TRODucrroNs. S rnifyr iko^ irawi were Jheir i„oGt ngenial mooti„...n,aro .n f>, r • 'f ^'i-e literatures of France ^ndR '"'' ^^"''' '^'^'hority in taste for Th ''"^,.^""^" ^^^^ the .supreme writers were ikewise th T ^'"'''^'^ *''« «^--->-l ■rohnson .•eviL^^'::;^Lr -pte:: "x7 p '■^" ^^'-^ 'Almost everyone of his works in the .' " ^''"^^ '>eroic couplet was likewise th °'' '°"P^^'' ^^e Johnson, and Gold n ^7 Th s Le"""'" °' '''"^^^'■^^' -ark of the literature of ^he eighreX^nT ^^''^"f ^"^ ^ special note, though its histor/crbfo ;S^^^^^^^^ Ine modern heroic rnnnlof /*i c ""timed here. -■■Piet), a. distil rfromVrir-""™"' """•'- ™ed -l-es its Hse In .He poero;/: ^T Tw^.P'""'''''-' ««/»c,„lly i„ those of the latter f"o,„w^ ',7" IS a (iloiir line of descent n t , '"""'■ "'^^e displayed in his Colp^.: ffivf mTv " T' """■^'^"■■' ''wo™ins.eMineLtHi:a;:^;;:n:'™;ar."' ItivalLadU, declared that "ti fodicafon of the o^ ™e „.ere neve: fJXo:l':ru:Z:n' "''^"f >t i but this SK-oetness in hi. i„ • '"'' '""«'" followed in the epic ^ IrJoC'LT''' "'' ■■'"^™'"''' HiU, a poem whfch for ,t "' '" ^''' ^""""-'^ -erwill he, the ;; ' ranlTof"' ''T^'^ '-"-^ Drydeninhis^6^ai<>m<,„rfT.v "^ <^''°^ writing." established for a f Ze "he ^ " "' """ '"'"■ ^'-'"« '--1 heroic verse for'"lt caiTrrr tf ""^ °' '"' poetry. Leaving- out of •'I'lfl found raiy CJiil). e supreme B classical 'ith which (^I'e wrote 'uplet, the Church iJI, nificant a deserves ned here, bic rimed Chaucer, ler, more 'er there looessor, istery of imes : — iller as of the iignity taught 'Wards ooper's is and ting." 'lecnoe 3f the )ut of OLIVER G0LDSM/7H. ,1 consideration the so-called Pindaric ode, invented l,v >owley and used by Drydon in his Alexander's Fmst nnd by -Pope in his St. Cecilia's Day, the metrical ^eniiis of English poetry, which had disported in somanv forms of lyvic beauty throughout the Elizabethan period down to Hernck, 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 heroic couplet continued to be the measure of En-lish poetry till 1800. i^"«iisn Oliver Goldsmith, the greatest poet of the second 1,'roup of eighteenth century writers, was born on the 10th of November, 1728, in the hamler, of Pallas, Lon.^ford Ire and. the fifth of a family of eight children. Hii 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- meath, the Deserted Village immortalized by the poet. Ihe child 8 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 Hfteenth year to Trinity College, Dubhn. 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 stones fi led his mind with visions of travel ; nor would he have had his early reputation for repartee. Possiblv his ungainly person and pock-marked face contributed to the mental picture, and he suffered like Colerid^^e for his ugliness. Goldsiuilh went up to Trini lity College as a sizar, paying xii INTRUDUCTIONS. for his tuition by menial services Hi. i;f« fV, l».-KO and savin., -emna!,, „f '"'"'"'• "''"' " ".■a..k and «an« in ConwaV., I," a bIiK '' '" 'aw. Fi„a„;'" ,:"?,: Tired rnb'^r'"'^- -' "■" to study medicine. Ed.nbnrRl,, purposins where the «re,^ IZ^HtlT '"Tn '°' ^^^^^"' ■l>e alleged attractionT TrolyT'' ?"'"" ™™ grand tour, but on foot R„ f , '° ""'«' "'« •starved or 'feasted and no foTbt lafr' "" ''''''' tour we have no details. BLt ' J:ii;'r'' fl'l't .in. Ho^"f '""' '■" "''' "°"'--^'' h-ucceoded in tave sinR Holland, crossing the Ehine and the AInl j Anally reaohins Padua and Louvain where b.' "", ho took a decree ot bachelor of midline ' ""'"'"• He returned to London in February 1765 „ .» poor, uncouth, ready „ do everything he c^dd "7? try much that he could not do. An assistant to , '° oary, a medical practitioner withon Tp, ' h'" "''°'^'" reader, an usher in a school „ 1 , P""^'"^«. " l-roof- > uoiioi III A scnooi, a ilack-wr ter to n..:#l*i. an usher once more, and an .p,U,.,Xr , \ {-{-iix...,r)r tor u medical OLIVER GOLDSAllTH. ,hI appointment to the Coromandel Coast: these are his inotumorplioses clurin^r t],ree years of struggle. The Co.omandel application was to be strengthened by his composition of a learned treatise. The application was abortive, but the treatise, Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe, was published in HuJ, 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-weokly contribu- tor to his Public L,d*artictev of its phraseoloav, its OLtVEK GOI.nSMITH. XV m.uont borrowm,.8 not onlv ,' i^ag^ry but of thou^l.t .uul phra. ology-,nake it 'ifV.,lt to admire warmly ovon when we know that in the main these are faults oi the iterar. school to which the poet was born r u. success of 77,. Traveller and 77*« V^.ar carried iS^^^wrd ^an, wi .ch gave him 500/ to squander. Th. hookselle.s crowded work upon him.-comp.la.ionH of ty of hnuland,.-.mdpa\a huiid^somely for the pen of th.s versatile author. No wonder Goldsmith couM say of h.8 poetry that it kept, or would have kept, him poor ! Thou f„u„,i St me poor at flrst, and keep'at me so ''I cannot afford," he told Lord Lisburn, -to court the draggle-tail muses, my lord; tl-v would I J sta.ve ; but by u,y other labours I ;an ."Ik ^ivT and drink, and have good clothes." ' Passing over, therefore, the ballad ,f Edwin and AnnrUna, written under Percy's influ nee, Id t^ humorou.s verse of IMaluUion and The li ,unchof F ' ^son there is only one other poem, and his .reat^f t^ a t" claims our attention. """Jm, ciiat The .ironrastances attending the composition of Tho Deserha Vila„. are elsewhere consider! ^p oosff If one needed an antidote to the philoso, : y „,^^„ 'Tr^mr we should find it in this poe.n, wMch show that the .-.dmdual may suffer even where Bri u„ courl Ithe western spring. But here, too tho oh I I T . in^hTr-d""^ 71 '''-' •" »— — lut -"t'Lth ■",n :. ,tt .:^ et :z-TT' "'™°'^ ''" ■'-^■' ' ~ ^ ^^'® mtexust of those pictures o illug ;e xvi INTROD UC TIONS. life, unrolled with even more melodiou.s 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 Parcy, his growing fondness for melodious American names in poetic allusions, the deepening of subjective feeling in The Deserted Village, the ob^ervation 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. Goldsmith remained attached 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 fulfillino- •I venture to believe that Goldsmitli's descriptiorroflh^liuVs siiiplng is not less trup. to nature and poetic feeling than Wordsworth's. "Nothing... can be more pleasing than to see the lark warbling on the wing ; raising 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 fruin the clouds, yet .sinlc- lngl)y degrees as it api)roaclie8 its nest, the .spot where all its affections are centred, tho spot that has prompted all this joy. "—An. Nature, II. 152. OUVEJi GOLDSMITH. ^.j, thi. charpe of Dr. Johnson, a, it is confirming the epitaph ,„scr,bed on his n,o„,™ent in We»tm'nste Abbey: Poeteo, rh.vsici, Historici, c,„i nnlm^ fere scr,bend. genu, non te.igit, „„11„„ „„d tetijt o' or„av:t: sive risus essent movendi, sive lacier affectuum potens. at lenis don,in„.ori ingel s„ ,im"' v.v,dus, versatilis; oratione grandis, nitidns, venu t" ! coram fides, Leotoruin veneratio. ''m .*1 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. iVlI.l.lAM WORDSWOKTU. XIX o^y and •Hl'l' tV/LUAM WORDSWORTH. xix WrLLTAM WORDSWORTH. [1770-18.TO.J oj W^V i«ol Searle, Memoirs of W.W., I85:j; Coleridge, Dioav lit ■ o«, 1887, Proceed Words. Soc. (six vols., seiec-tiuns of wj.ich are in) Wordswortlnana; Myers. Wordsioorth, -Eng. Men of LettTs" LZ umum WiUiam Words>vortk, 1881 ; Sml.erlLd. mLT}ZdsZm i\t ' T-' ^'*^^^«"> Wordsworth. WiUiam IVordlZm UOi Essays and criticisms by Arnold (Selections ofW W) StonZn m Jl Churcl. (/).... etc.). Dowdeu (^udies in i.e4^elc , A^^S:f(^:t'; Pater (Apprectations), Sarrazin (Henaissance de la poZl^aZale^ rru^s- ^s^^ot^;-;:;:;. s: ^sf ~ -S: p.>e,ps.^r;sr,j.^r.rr;^^s^^ Ltbemi Movement in English Literature] ^'"'"''"'''''''''''''''''^ 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 chivalnc ages, viewed beneath the glamour of Spenser • tlie northern nations, with their ancient mythology and misty mountain scenery, brought within range by' Mac- r---.on„ vJooiau aiiu Giay's Udes; the very life of XX INTRO D UC TIONS. the people, expressed in the traditional poetry of England and Scotland and made accessible by the pnhlication 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 liorizon 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 Wvrthtr met with ' vehement acceptance ' everywhere. Rousseau was an apostle of tl-^ feelings. The Kevolution in men's minds was in progress, reiJized befoi-e the end of the century in Political Revolution. This movement of humanity towards the picturesque past, towards nature and the supernatural, towards emotion, 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 Grasmei-e ; 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 WOKDSWOHTH. XXI that went out to all weak and helpless oreatureR. Thom- son, Gray, Burns, and Cowpor, then, all felt the impulso of a now life; but this new life was manifested clearly and unmistakably first in two names, Wordsworth and Colovidge. William Wordswortli was born at Cockermouth. Cum- berland, April 7th. 1770, the second son of John Words- worth, solicitor to Sir James Lowther, and of Anno Wordsworth, dauijhter of William Cookson, mercer of Penrith. His childhood truly showed that in him at least the boy was father to the man. Cookermoiuh is near the Derwent, that blent A murmur with my nurse's sonpr. And .... sent a voice That flowed alonf? 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 thn man. Wordsworth, Elizabeth Wordsworth says, could cut his name in the ice when quite an elderly 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, mooily, violent temper.' Fielding, Cervantes, Le Sage, and Swift 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 ir 773, Wordsworth Avas sent to Cambridge by his uncles. He entered St. John's College in October, 1787, and took his degree in January, 1791, XXI] iNT/iODUCTlONS. On fhe whole he took little intrrost in academic pursuits .yet i-ea.l classics dillKontly, studied Italian and the oldor ^nsl.sh poets, and 'sauntered, played, or rioted' with Ins fellow-students. His vacations were spent in the country ; in one of them he traversed on foot France Switzerland, and Northern Italy. Durin,u: another of these vacation ramhlos. returning at <>nrly dawn from some frolic, The morning rose, In memorable pomp ; The sea lay laughing at a distanoo; near The solid mountains shone, bright as the elonda : Anrl 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 ! need I say, dear Friend ! that to the brim My lieart was full ; I made no vows but vows Were then made for me ; bond unkn )wn to me Was given, that I should be. else 3.),iing greatly A dedicated spirit. On I wallted In thankful blessedness, which :,ot .-survives. Wordsworth's first long poem. An Evening Walk 1789' .shows the spirit of nature striving ugainst the bondage of Pope. Unable to decide on a profession, Wordsworth went to France in November, 1791, whore he stayed thirteen months studying Frenc'.., and watching with beating heart the emancipation of human life and spirit in the Revolution. He returned to England with hi.s choice of a profession yet unmade, and in 1793 published his first volumes of verses. An Eveninfj Walk and DescrijHivc Sketches, the value of which no one but Coleridge .nppre- ciated. He spent a month in the Isle of \\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 K... H^/L/JAAf WONDSWORTH. xxiti jrniiig ut wiok,-" the most deliffhtful country w^ have ev. sho said. f{o projo.ued a montl.ly luiscelhiny, un.i coinplotoly out of money when his ^ood friend llMisi. n Calvorr, died, leaving him a legacy of 900/. This wa8 ■ he turnint; point of his life. Inspired hy his sisror, Words- worth re.solved to take up that plain life of high thought which was to result in a pure and lasting fame. Words- worth nevor was ungrateful to that noblest of women his sister Dorothy. In the midst of troubles she never llagged, in the momenta of literary aspir.it lon she whs by his side with sympathetic heart and equal mind. She whispered still that brlprhtness would n,tmn, She, In the midst of all, preserved nie siill A poet, made me seek beneath that niune. And that alone, my office upon earth. She K'ave me eyes, she gave me ears ; And huml.lo cares, and delicate fears ; A heart, the loiuitalii of sweet tears ; And love, and thoiiKht, and Joy, The brother and sister .settled in Racedown Lod^o, Crowkerne, Dorset, in a delightful country, with "charm'- ing walks, a good garden, and a pleasant home." There Wordsworth wrote his Imitatlom of Juvenal, Salishun/ Plain, and commenced the Borderers. Henceforth 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 Stowoy. Nether Stowey lies at the foot of the Qnantocks. Somer- setshire, a few miles hova the Bristol Chanuei, in a i'"^" xxiv INTRODUCTIONS. country of cloar brookn and woode.l hills. I,. June 1707 C.lond^r. visited the Wordsv/orth« „f M ' of no n,ml„,rs. Thus boKan th„ frion,l«hi„ „fT„ •wo mo„, „ rn,.„.isl,ip that meant muol "or 1°J"'™ much ,„,. ,.:„,„.„„ ,,„atu.,. Charmed bv,,;™:r:; «re the unm.stakeable manifestations of the KoTenci " that new sp.r.t of poetry which was to domina';", firs half of the century io come. In the spring of 1 798 the two poets planned a pedestrian tour to L.nton, purposing to defray its co^^ hv T.'^^'*'^'"" pos.tion rhrAnnent Mariner, which after discussion fell entirely mto Coleridge's hunds. The project of o! ! tion. This memorable volume, openinir with Th. a \ Marinpr ^^A oi^ • . , ^*^"'n^ witti T^e Ancient mariner and closing with Tintern Ahbev w«^ .oil ^ Lyrical BalJacls, and published in 1798 ^' ""''^ Its immediate influence was very slight. The Monfhlv Review considered the Ancient Mariner th^.T ^ cock and bull story, a rhapsody of un t H gib 7^ ness and incoherence, though admitting exquisCoe'al" To iT'to r '"""' ^^'"' "P°" ^^^ author'o h ^olume to write on more elevated subiects nnd Jr, cheerfu, disposition. Cottie parted witrmroThisX: WILLIAM WOIWSWORTH. XXV huridrod copies at a loss, and on ^'oing out of business returned 'he copyright to Wordsworth as valueless. I)o Quiricey snd John Wilson were [lorhapa alone in recog- nizing the value of the volume. Originality, it has been said, must create the taste Ijy 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. 'I'ho latter was Wordsworth's one effort at dramatic composition. It was rejected by the Covent Garden Theatre ; upon which the poet remarked tliat "the moving accident is not my trade." Lamb and Hazlitt, 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 tlirough the generosity of the Wedgwoods, sons of the great potter, to carry out a long- cherished project of a pilgrimage to Germany, thou 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 tliemselves in Goslar, on tlie edge of the Hartz Forest. Wordsworth got little ideasure from Gernaui 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, Nuttiny, The Poefs Epitaph, The Fountain, Two April Morninys, Buth, and the five poems grouped about the name of Lucy. There, too, to depict the history of his mind and of his callirur to poeti'v, lie besa'^' Th.e Pri'luda. His sta" xxvl INTRODUCTIONS. w W in Germany ended iu July 1700 r„ ^, the natural beauty of these shires that th'y set led ! Orasmere, December, 1799. ^ *' '" Gray has described the Orasmere seenerv and n. Qumcey the Wordsworth cottage-a littleTrf sheltered 1„ trees, overhuug^bv the „,Tv ° "'"■ , asceuding behind it ; beneath the Lad b^sin'of I™"'" water, and the low promontory on which Itr^P ',?*'' with its embowered houses : all about The 1 "''" ;-a, hlUs, and in their bosom, ^i:: C:1Z i«0. be paid a fl^ '^/^ ^ ^f™" "''] '" Which are the .roup o, sonnets Z XcLZZ't 1 numter Bridge (see p 2341 „„^ n '"°"""== '^^ '<'^,:zf:;,^::j:::'t-:^ Tr '^' ''"•'^°' -»-» -"-V planned' s'^pX' In Cove Cottage until 1813 then in „l , '■ Rydal Mount but alw»v<, b A a larger house at lived his long 1 fe fZ, d T" '"'"'• '«'°'''«worth was at times in Kesw k flft""" "^°"' '""• °°"''-'"«« to wall, h aistare:i"ro:et;rwie':tur trd?wV.:r^mor rir t- ^^^ North" was at EUeray ni!e m lef Sjut '•' n "'r""" WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. xrvii • steadily composing- under tlie influences of suggestive sceiies. Memorials of a Tour in Scotland (181 4), On the Cantinent (1820), In Italy (1837), are collections of poems due to these excursions. His sonnets, many of which are gems of lyrical beauty unsurpassed, are chiefly in three series, Ecclesiastical Sketches, On the Itiver Duddon, and Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty. Of his other chief works. Peter Bell, written in 1798, was not published till 1819; the Excursion, composed in 1795-1814, was published in 1814; The White Doe of Rylstonc, 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 Soutliey in 1843, crowned him with 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 liis influence. When he died, April 23rd, 1850, tl.o greatest English poet of this century, greatest in original force, sincerity, aad beauty of thought, greatest as the interpretative voice of Nature, greatest in power of transfiguring iuiman life with the glory of imagination, had passed away from the world and from the Grasmere 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 tban melodious; the tone ol him l)usiness-like. s^edately confident, no discourtesy, yet po imxiely about being romteous ; ;i fine wliolesome xxviil ItfTRODUCTrONS. rusticity, fresh as his mountain breezes, sat well on the stalwart veteran, and on all he said and id. Yo wo d h mself to aud,ence sympathetic and intelligent, when such offered .tself. His face bore marks of m„ h ot always peaceful, meditation, the look of it not a;d o beuevole,:., so much as close, impregnable, and Wd " man ™„«a W. loing" hori- -knit, tall good old through 3teel-gray IVirUAM WORDSWORTir xxix truth of natu.o 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 Shakespeare and Milton. To emplov his own words... he does indeed, to all thoughts and to all objects, — Add tlic ^'leatn, The li!,'ht that never was on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream.'' eter than the keen ct, could reatness. 'irst, an spending s- won, ^^e obser- them. .. scarcely ust and ^'th and irajuent perfect i f' i SIR WALTER SCOTT. ■ rifilin. T! ; .l-rave, C,l :■ ''It (if ' ' Rolf )i 1 ■'piesBJ uJi iisev ••«.'.! lilt •ntr the sh'.;« S<-0! it' I siK \vAi/ri;K scon I :i i .SYA" WALTER SCOTT, XXXI SIR WALTER SCOTT. [1771-1832.] C-ititiMn ; , ? "^ ^^^"^'•''"- Y«"fa lud form a very slender pipe whose music is soon oxhnusted, Scott cast about for a new measure and now '..ater.ah Fhe measure he found in the freeeight-sylhtWe nmed couplet of Coleridge's Christahel; the subject he 'Ao rom .bo Countess of Buccleucb, who enjoined on him jt ballad on the story of Gilpin Horner. But the ballad became an epic and The Lay of tUe Last Minstrel pub- ■Hhed tn 180;,, began the series of Scott's metrical tales with a popularity nothing hitherto had equalled. He was henceforth a professional author, n^oving steadilv to- wards the aim of his life. Marmion, 1808, The Lady of the Lake, 1810, Don licdericlc, 1811, The Bridal of Irtermmn^n^liokehy, 18ia, The Lord of ike Isles 18]/ and Harold the Dauntless, 1817. make up the' welli known series of his poems. In 1822, in the full tide of other successes, Scott bade farewell to his muse, To a hard when the relffn 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 luunour and sympathy, and in wide and living learning, are the senes o novels begun by Waverley, 1814, and ended only by Scott's death in 1H*J2. The cir. «mstances that precipitated that calamity can only e briefly touci.cd on. In 1809 Scott blre interested as a partner in the printing firm of Ballan.yne and Co., whose speculative business rapidly involved the careless author in hopeless insolvency. He had no sooner satisfied hxs proud dream of founding a a family estate by .9/A' WALTER SCOTT. xxxv tl.G pmohase of Abbotsford tban tbe clo.idH of financial ombarrasHinont settled over him. With unrivalled powor. ''i.luHtry, 'and resolution Scott fout?ht with his pen the louK battle auaiiist insolvency. When the crash came in IHi';), Scott found himself responsible for 117,000/. In two years he had earned by his novels one-third of tho sum, in five years his liabilities were reduced one-half. But paralysis had struck the valiant and overbuidoned uian, and the ni^ht fell upon an unfinished but lieroic labour. Scott's poetry, as has been seen, was a natural and easy develoi)mentof his interest, -a hearty, practical, imaf,nna- tive interest, -in the ballad literature of Germany and Great Britain. His ballads under the infiue.ice of the lon^-er 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, picturescp.eness, 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 .s one of the gift. .• Keats. There is none of that mev.tableness whic Matthew Arnold finds is the mark of poetry of the highest order. If he touches na- ture, he describes it with a perfect ey for colour and form atid local truth, but without recognition of any infinite and pervading spirit. In character what interests him .s the pictures,iue chivalric soldier or highland chief or well-born b. .,M^^ whose adventures are sucli as befall those hvmg in ruder and more unsettled times, among the H.ghlands or on the Border. Of modern analysis of motive, the human tragedies that are enacted only within the theatre of the mind, which afte- all most deeply move Scott o-ives ■"=■ ""^^:-Tr ^' -I ^p'j' aiuve, ' ° ^ '""'S- ^^uver is theie any touch of the XXXVl IN TROD UCTIONS. • fine plirenzy ' of poetry. Wholesome, helpful verse it is, redeeming a mediocre beauty by vi^^our, virility, move- ment, and picturesqucness. Scott's poetry, indeed, was but a preparation for his greater novels. Great as tliese were, his life, it must be remembered, was equal to them : — '•God bless, thee, Walter, my man ! Thou hast risen to be great, but thou wert always good ! " Jrse it is, y. move- ?ed, was as tliese o them : ist risen M 1 i .■ Jj m Haydon\^ Pen Sketch of Keals^ ill his Journal, Xoveiiilier, 1«1(). [Slij:litly lodiu-od.J "That ])old niid niastorly sketcli stands tho test well — The iiiti'iii^e eaxfriiess of the tixed eye is tlie eeiitral idea (it' Haxdoii's eoiieei»tioii.'' — IJ. KnUMAN, Kcdtn'M WorliH, i. v. i ^ X \ :i V u (th('. chief ftisthiTitvi; Hari' A ■'rAi'iogra )>'■*,■ , < . ■ :. Uljtr*' Oi!v' *0l. Pd.)', T';i1l'1"V.\ l-.nf; v.-. ijff.tmit iii.i' ;■.;<. ■'. ., / .'v ,■ tu;\ •■!, * hrtt: v. > i > J:e.l. Hit: ' i^: for i'nirn' inri;, Ji., hOishlf.' ■ • ■nr 'OR £roo . ■ I'.i'i.K hp. srt^ ' ..nt: ■ ; ^ • , t, ; I -above I'll!! 'i E! I - V , i! 'I'lu' inti- !l,i\ ih.li-> (iiiKX'Vlioii rOHN KEATS. xxxvn JOHN KEATS. [1795-1821.] [Millies (Lord Houghton), Life, Letters and Literary Memaitis oj J. K. (the chief authority); Haydon'e Correspondence, ii. ; Leigli Huiit'i* Autobiography ; C. G. Clarke, Recollections of J. K. Gent. Mag., 1871 ; Col vin, Keats (most excellent). " E7ig. Men of Letters " ; Rossel ti, Keats. "•Great Writers." The best editions are Buxton Forman, f(,nr vols, (includes the prose) ; Hou{?hton, Aldine ed., poems and dramas (the best one vol. ed.); Palpiave. one vol. (poems only), Macmillan; Sp.cd. Letters and Poems of J. K., in three vols. Additional critical articles of value are : De Qulnce.y, John Keats ; Swinburne, Enc. Brit. ; M. Arnold, Essays in Criticism, ind ser.; Courthope. Liberal Movement ; Masson. Wordsworth, Shellei/, 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 which the poet died. His youth, his passionate love of beauty, his long- ing for fame, his early death win for Keats an intei-est that has steadily risen since his death. He was born in London, in 1795, the first child of Thomas Keats, head hostler and successor tc his wife's father, a prosperous livery-man. Keats's parents being v/ell-to-do, the boy was sent to a good school at Enfield, ten miles north of London, where he spent the years from 180G to 1810. The records of these years sliow him clearly enough as a noble, headstrong, passionate, loveable 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- fat igable reader. Robertson's histories, Miss Edgeworth's tales, Lerapri6re's classical dictionary, "which he xxxvni INTRODUCTIONS. 1 '■ ''\ ji;|ti HPpearod to .arn," VirgiJ, whose Mneid Y. „,os,Iv translated and transc,ihed,-i„ short all the host l.ooi;. he couM get from the school library or borrow from l,i. friends were carefully perused. At fourteen years of age, he was apprenticed to a surgeon at Edmonton ; but as Enfield was onlv two in.les away he could come over to the school every week to bave^a good talk" with his best friend, Charles Cowden Clarke, son of the head-master. They wero .orh enthusiasts in poetry, especially favouring Spenser; the maker of young English poets, who prompted Keats's nrst verses. Now Mormng from her orient chamber came. And her hrst footsteps touched a verdant hilli etc. —Lines in Imitntion of Spenser, ma. When Keats came up to London in 1815 to finish his sudy of medicine at St. Thomas's Hospital, he hunted out Clarke who was living with a sister in Clerkenwell ri.e.r meeting was "a memorable one," for out of it came OnFzrsf Loolany into Chapman\, Homer, concerning which more is said elsewhere (see p. 2(59). Clarke already was acquainted with Leigh Hunt, who -ved at Hampstead Heath, just out of London. He took down to him some of his friend's poems, which samed an invitation from that important editor and poet Keats s vi It was made and repeated till he became a fam.har the Hampstead household. By degrees his circle of Ir.ends widened. J. H. Reynolds, poet and cntic, Jan.es R,ce the lawyer-' dear, noble, generous,' Haydon the painter, and Shelley. He had in 1815 sitccessfuliy passed his examinations at Apothecaries' Hall, but Apothecaries' Hall was fading away before the magic casements opening on the foam of perilous so^^ JOHN KEA TS. x x x i x In 1817, he published his first volume— i'^w^./.v, by John Ke.its. The volume was in the main a failure— '• sham Spenserian and mock Wordsworth ian," says Swinburne; but for all it save si^ns of genius— not only in the Chapman sonnet, which it contained, but in many a happy phraso or line : — Here are .sweet peas on tiptoe for a fHplit. Mysterious, wild, tlie far-hcavd trump.i s tone; Lovely the moon in etlier, mII alone. As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time tiie slvylark .slialio.i tlie tremulous dew From his lush clover covert. A drainless shower Of light is poesy ; 'tis tlie supreme of power ; 'Tis might half slumbering on its own right 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 k little hill, Tlie air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which witii a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside. Their scanty-leaved, and finely-tapering steins. 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 ; sweetly they >lc).r On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crc].; A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigli that silence heaves. On the personal side we see the poet's enthusiasm for his fnends 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 of the spirit of romanticism protesting against the poelrj. of the e:gh- teuulh century. xl INTRODUCTIONS. m i ! ,„, , , AJi.dlsinalsonl'd! Hie, winds of heaven blow, the ocoai. ml I'd Its CTthoriiifrwaves-vo felt iMiot. The bine Haied its eternal bosom, and the dew Of snnimer night collected still to make The morninfe' precious : H<,auty was awake ! Why were ye not awake ? Hut ye were dead io thin -8 ye knew not of,-were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile... . . Easy was the task : A thousand handicraftsmen wore tlie mask Of Poesy. Ill-fated, impi.iua race I That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his fac«, And did not know it,-no, they went about, HoKIm- a poor decrepit standard out, Mark'd with most flimsy mottoes, and in large The name of one Boileau ! , The publican on of this first volume was expected by the Irttle cu-cJe to be greeted with 'a rousing v.-elcon.e ! ' It n .glu, says Clarke. ' have emerged in Tin.buctoo with far stronger chances of fame and approbation.' For most people ,t was enough that it was dedicated toLeigl, Hunt whose radicalism the government had tried t^ t<.nper wath imprisonment. '^t 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 any- the better for tt last night. I shall forthwith begin my Endyrn^on:' So he wrote to Reynolds. At nlrgate and at Hamp.stead with its- ' JOHN KEAT!^ tW Fiiio breathlnff proapects, Its clump- wooded glades, Dark piiics. and white houses iind lons-alley'd shadeB, Koats worked at his new poem. At times the labour of composition was lightened by excursions into the country and by intercourse witli friends, to whose number were added Charles Dilke, afterward editor of the AthencBum^ Charles 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 the story became u path hardly visible amidst a tropical forest. The rare render who makes his way throiigli is not unre- paid for the toil, for of much he can .;ay, with its opening lines — A thlnp of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass Into nothin^riiess ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathin-. Blackwood's Magazine, in a series of articles attiibntel 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 by an equally ignorant and un.sympathetic article in the i^iiar- terly Review* Keats had just returned from a long «valk- *The article is included in Stevenson's collection nf Karl,, rtevmva (Walter Scott), and is easily accessible. It is the article By»-/i refers tu in his obtuse lines,— 'Tis strange tlie mind, that fiery particle, Sliuiild let itself be snuff 'd out by an art itlc. —Don Juan, xi. S lU. I xlii INTRO D UC TIONS. ing tour througli ScotJaiicl with Brown, to find his hrotlier clying of consumption. His own throat Imd developed ill Scotcli 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 bhime," 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 Ton. Keats died, as his mother liad died before him, of consumption. In this time it was a 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 reah>.ed 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 w-itten ; 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 over\/helHi 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 18l>0 Lamia, Isabella. The Eve of St. Agnes and Other Poem* was published- his greatest volume imd his last. In September, 1820, Kaats embarked for Italy in the JOHN KEATS. xliii hope of checking"; his consumption. On the 'JlJrd of Fehiuary, in spite of the hest medical skill and liiu meniorahle devotion of his friend Severn, he died, desiring that on his tomb should he inscribed, "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." "—Died, not yomiK,— the life of aloiif? life, Distilled to a mere drop, falllnp like a tear Upon 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, melancholy, sentimental, lacking grip. As he became conscious of his vocation, his life steadied more and more to his purpo.se — " ' Get learning, get understanding.' The road lies througli application, study, and thought. I will pursue it." "W liat this aim was is clear, not only from his poetry but from the words uttered as he was dying, "I have loved the princi])le of beauty in all things." No.hing commonplace, nothing mean ever entered his verse ; the content of thought amy at times be weak, but it never ceases to be poetic ; at iiis 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 Englisl' poetry. In the beauty of rhythm Keats is the master of our modern muse. His Odes, which aie his great achieve- ment, are exquisite nocturnes in which the cadences and harmonies penetrate and subdue with more than Chopin- esi^ue power. xHv INTRODUCTIONS. Of these Odes, Swinburne reinaiks tluit " porliaps the two nearcHt to absohite perfection, to tlie triumphant achievement and accomplishment of I lie 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 Nightinnnle; the most pictorial and perhaps the tenderest in its ardour of pass'onate fancy is that to Psyche ; the subtlest in sweetness of thouj;ht and feeling is that on Mehnicholy. Greater lyrical poetry the world may have seen than is in these ; lovelier it surely has never seen, nor can i* j)ossil)ly see." Ill '% liaps the uiipluiiit utmost Autumn fervent, pictorial lEs'onate itness of Greater in these ; bly see." PKRUY MYSSIIK SMBIJ.KY, rp.h'C V H YSSHE SHELLE Y. FKany F5TSSI!I. ''ipers .•UK] Li/e u/ I'. B. .*».; Trela. : H.,.Hr. Uf, ..r !s^: Sih.iU'u Mem.,,..:. •\,v. ■ /•-/Mvv;^i (.. ' j.. UjKO/ I'.JJ.S . •: ...v ur - man. . • ! in 1^: li.\~i \ III /'ENCV BYSSIIE SIJELLEY. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. fl792-1823,] [Medwin, SheUey Papers niid Life of P n v . t i 0/ S:>elley and Byron ; Ho^TuXc^ st^i.l ^ f ^"^"r^' '^««' ^«A/« Shelley ; Smith. Orulcal niooraZ^ ff' s IZfT'f'' '''■ ^^''•^ orapky of S.; Symonds, Sl.elleyTlo Men ofle^/^^J'Tt' ^'"■ TUe.Real Shelley (a dfsa^reeab/e book •' lZ7Jufeof^ Ki-eat authority); Sham, Life of P Ji «e««««6 L^ra 'y ' Tl^ bes f ,'«« ' "''•*'^'-«".- Salt. Sl.eU Criticism, 2nd ser • SwiLurno /'t ^f *""' ^'■- ^'■""'•^- ^'**«?/'' "' prose); Do:dt!?nfvoT (M:.:j:i„::;;:r"- ^''"" ^^'™ ^'"'""'^^•^"' mo''"^ ^'■'?' ^^'"^^ ^^« b°^« °" the 4th of August 1792 at Faeld Place, the manor hottse of his family, n Horsham Sussex. He was the eldest son of a man of weal h the grandson of a baronet, the descendant of a county fa^ay of great antiquity. His father was a kmd-hearted man, orthodox by habit, arbitrary and wt-on^headed ,n practfce. His mother was an excellTn but rather narrow woman. Shelley's early years gave no As a ch,ld he was imaginative, inventing fables and per sonatmg sprits, addicted to the society of the great snake of the manor gardens. In his early school days he passed among his school-fellows as a strange and unsoc.al being,' given not to sports but to 'vague and undefined ideas.' Classics he learned with the ease of ZTr 'T ^^'^^^^"^^ ^^^^ ^- 'tyrants kZ or taught cared not to learn.' A kindly, loveable, brave lad. fond of his mother and sisters ; in appearance sli." Lt:;::\^r.',™-^^<^ -^^^ --- ^-n hairiJd _ ,. ....,, e,^^^ ^i -a. strange fixed beauty' and an xlvi INTRODUCTIONS. jii expression * of Pxcoeding sweetness and innocence' : sncli is the Slielley as romembered by bis school-mates. No one could be less suited than this gentle and imaginative boy for the rou^h trials of Eton, to which he was sent in 1804. Amidst the floggings of the masters and the thrashings, the enforced faggings and torment- ings of the older boys, to whom he was but "Mad Shelley," and "the atheist," there began to grow up in the youth a spirit of revolt. He heaped knowledge from 'forbidden mines of lore,' but it was to work . . . linked armour for my seal, before It miglit walk forth to war amoiiR mankind. At Eton he read classics ardently, was devoted to chemical experiments and night rambles, and devoured all current literature, —Southey and Lewis, Godwin and Mrs. Radcliffe. His own literary talent began to appear in the composition of a rejected play and an accepted novel Zastrozzi. A volume of poems entitled Original Poetry, hy Victor and Cazire was issued— but immediately with- drawn as not being entirely original, and its place taken by a second unreadable romance St. Irvyne, or the Jio.si- crucian, 1811. By this time Shelley was in Oxford, immersed now in passionate and tireless reading of philosophy and specu- lative politics. Under the influence of Hume and tlie French materialists he became a disbeliever in Christian theology. His little tract on The NccG-sHity of Athdat)} caused his expulsion f 'im the university. When his friend Hogg remonstrated, he too was expelled, Shelley's father closed his door on his son, and stopped supplies. Shelley had come iip with Hogg to London, where his sisters were at school. Early in 1811 Shelley met one of their school friends. Harriet Westbrook, a iteautiful girl PERCY BYSSIJ/i SHELLEY. xlvii coiico' : such nates. 1 j^entle .'inme up with his wife (and Eliza) to London. At Godwin's Shelley met Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, whose charm of person and mind gave promise of a sympathy he lacked in his own marriage. Shelley and Mary Godwin, in July, 1814, fled to Switzerland. * Mrs. Shelley took hor children lo her father, and declined In I'lA INTRODUCTIONS. xlviii in tliesnmmM- and .lutmnn oi ^^ There Shelley be«a" his real career a . • a, compcitiorr o' A ««,»>».r-««,,« C*« ; *'/- ^' ^ ^ and 4ia»«or. 'fhe followm« fay. She!.^ an.. y Mary Godwin, and brouBht o an ™d tl- a-nen of his lito. Heretnrned to ^'f'^^'^ "J. , „^,„,y „, „. an unsuccessful ^ ^^'^ '^ c ;ted i.iu.self r::'3 C;*'.^! «a to philanthropic worU an,o„. tKepoor- ^ ^_^,„„„„„a„, „.„„„frl,...lc.l P»r. t 1R18 threatened with consumption Lt=-ifrachiiaren .-tout for Ita... ana saw England tor the last t™", j,,j B„„e, They lived successively ,n ^ncca J " .^ ^.^^ Naples. F'»-"«\^ff °™;,™tre™ he was, and his Shelley wrote ""o'; •«»^'' '^f ;;; .ears o. his life in great con»posit.ons be o.B to 'h^ ^^ ^„^ .,-„, I,.,y-J«(ian -d^j^"'''"^' ~i^,„ee of Poetry, On the 8th ot Ju. ^^ Leghorn ''^"^Tlir^u^ BeLrnin;, his boat was run down to meet Leigh nun • ^^^^j^,, gtomi, and by a felucca and ove;whebned m both Shelley and Wiii.ums ^vure drovned. PERCY BYSSHE SHEI.I.EY. xHx Shelley's life and worl< are in the main a revolt against the established opinions of his day. They are in the main the protest of the individual a^^ainst tlie shackles of custom and even of morality untouched by emotion, 'i'liere can not be any doubt of the loftiness and unseliishnrss of his character. The mass of testimony is too direct and too abundant to admit doubt. The fidelity of many friends, his beneficence to the poor, the brave dreams for the regeneration of mankind that prompted his life and his work speak abundantly for a nature whose name was surely written as "one who loved his fellow men," and like that of Ben Adhem, '-miiy load all the rest.* Even his opinions, when they might be condemned as crude and erroneous, it must l)e remembered, ripened with age, and the author of Q^iuttii Mah must be forgotten in the author of Adonais, — Tlu! Iin'jilh who-te mif^lit I have iiivdkwl in soiij? Uescends upon me ; my spirit's barli is driven K:ir from tiie sliore, far from tlie trcinl)lin>,' tlironp Whose sails were never to tlie tempest f,Mven ; Tile massy eartii and si)luMed skies are riven ! I am liorne d.nlily, fearfniiy, afar; VViiilst buriiinf? tlu-oiifj:li tlie distant veil of Heaven The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from ttie abode wliere the Eternal are. But from the mistakes of his life, however we regard them, his poetry detaches itself pure and gleaming, with tlie promise that it shall never pass into nothingness. In respect to nature Shelley stands as our finest painter of wildness and wonder, of scenes steeped in the 'gloom of earthipiake and eclipse' : — ^ it is Salt, I think, who tirst noticed the appropriateness of Hunt's poem to Slielley. 1 INTRODUCTIONS. There is a mlphty rock Which has for iiiiiiriaKinttblo years Sustained itself witli terror and witli toil Over a ffult, and with tiie a>?ony Witii wiiicli it clin«?3 seems slowly coining down. Even as a wretciied soul hour alter liour Clings to tlie mass of life : yet clinging, leans ; And leaning, makes more dark the dread al)ys8 In whieli it fears to fall below You liear l)ut see not the impetuous torrent Raging among the caverns. Ill the milder scenes of nature and animal life, lie does not find the homely human pleasure of Wordsworth, hiit tlie artist's and poet's pleasure in imagery, as in Tha Odd to the Skylark ; a subtle and ethereal fancy pervades 77/e Cloudy verging in The Sensitive Plant on allegory and pantheism. Like Byron he was fascinated by personification of revolt, and found in Prometheus the type of his own mind, fearlessness in convictions, hostility to authority, and, unlike Byron, passionate love of humanity. The Cenci is a strange contrast to the Prometheus, because entirely objective and impersonal. Though its plot pre- cludes its representation on the stage, the Cenci rises in its tragic interest, in the powerful conception of character, in the tremendous vigour of language above every tragedy since Shakspere. As a lyric poet, Shelley excels, net as Keats in the nocture of passionate melancholy, but in gay joyous out- burst as of the spirit of poetry itself. His lyrics are, for the most part, impersonal, belonging to the sphere of pure intellectual delight. With a word he swings him- self into infinite distance, — O World, O Life, O Time. Oil wiiosti last steps 1 climb... PERCY liYSSHE SHRl.I.EY. li Criticism is Ki'fuUuilly ^'owinf? unanimous that amonp lyric poets Sliclloy takes the first place in tlie English pantheon. It was witli wonderful fitness tluit tlie words of the song of Shakspere's Ariel, witli whose nature Shel- ley hatl much in common, were inscribed on his toml l)eside the grave of Keats,— Notliinj; of lilm that doth fade Mm liotli sud'cr a spa-c-haiifrc IiitoduinctliiiiK I'ifh and stiiUiKC. "1 ^^^S^— 11 LORD IJVRON. ill <>n.«yd a.; Nk-tM)!, / fliog. '1' ■ "^'i -rA i;..:\ !'"■ , ,, '. I in fin hca: . •■ ■ !hii;. : ,. - "iilgniont of ^' ; o havfr coutiiinrtl hh tbtj jiist nu- . ration jih'l abliorrtJUf I . .,..^,, ,;. ;.,, T ,,,j ijyr-Mi, V,;. ■ ■' ".>. ..... .it M HiHMirJtlir ,i sh mother. He vva^ Vindly t. lature aUevnatiin!; ^»ft^\v(»*>|> fo* Miei-ileoii. where his inotfi. , ui-ie |iovony. In 171)4 !;• " ■Uifht but little ■ •■■• ■ "''v {'States v. in«; in Aberdeen, wa*. •' hi' wa8 sent I, I- .i iimmmmmmmm' 'mpmmnF^'miipm y*-* . ■ H9^! i LORD BYRON. liii GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON. [1788-1824. 1 .iuT'l! ""T ''"P"'"*'^"* "fe is Moore's (vols, l.-vi. of collected works, ed 18.;i2-5); other authorities arc Gait, Life, of B ; Gidccioli. My Readlectiona %, T !^r' ^ri'''^"'^' liecoUectious of ShMey and Byrou ; Jenirr..8o.., Fhe Real Lord Byron; Leigh llmM. Byron and his Contemporaries; Nichol, B//,-ow/'^«.9 ^en of Letters "; LoaUe Stephen, Diet. Nat mog. Ihe best editions are Moore, seventeen vols.. \KVi-:,; Murray's six vols., 1879; "Albion." one vol. ed.; annotated editions of Ch'iuie ^«,-oJrf are by Tozer (Clarendon Press;, Kcene (Bell's Classics), and Rolte (Harpers). Critical estimates of value are M. Arnold, Introd to Seleettona from Byron; Swinburne. Miscellanies; Mazzini. Essays.] "For his own misfortune, periiaps, but certainly to the high increase of his poetical character, nature had mixed in Lord Byron's system those passions wliich agitate thfe human heart with most violence, and which may i)e said to have hurried his bright career to an early close." This judgment of Scott, sober, yet sympathetic, time seems to have confirmed as the just mean between the adoration and abhorrence of his contemporaries. George Gordon, Lord Byron, was born January 22nd, 178.S, the only cliild of a spendthrift and dissolute fatlier and a foolish mother. He was badly reared by the latter, whose nature alternating between fondness and temper quickly spoiled his passionate nature. His early life was spent at Aberd.- Byron as he himself said, ' woke one morning and foun",' his works conceived in that mou d Cfn " " °' enco of tl.p Bvronic p--. h 'ncessant pres- •• "'^ ^"° ''"'^''^">*^ wearisome. In a clearer K Iviii INTRODUCTIONS. iiftht, too, the faults of hurry and oarelessnesK and impro- visation became evident. Style as distinct from the con- tent of thouf2;ht told a^^aiust him. Byron's contribution, then, to the awakeninj; of the human spirit in this nineteenth century is a large and important contribution. When we look at his work even in these late days, we still feel the great genius that inspires them, — the Romantic satirist, wiioso Svviftian wit laid bare the hypocrisy of his time, the impassioned advocate of love and liberty, the singer of the daring and unconquerable spirit of man, the poet whose descriptive verso has added new and lasting glory to the greatest triumphs of architecture and art. THE TRAVE L LE R OR A PROSPECT of SOCIETY, POEM INSCRIBED TO THE REV. MR. HENRY GOLDSMITH. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH, M. B. V^^^B 1 ■■■■ '-^S LONDON: ■ Printed for J. NEWBHRY, in St. Paul's Cliurch-yard, ■ MDCCLXV. M [ Title Paf,c of the First lUUliou .rf„r,tnn- 65 Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his 'vwn, !^xtols the treasures of his storvijy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease ; The naked negro, panting at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 20 Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave. THE TRAVELLER. 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, And estimate the blessings which they share, ^i^hough 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', 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, These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. From Art more various are the blessings sent • Wealth, coramorce, honour, liberty, content. Yet these each other's power so strong contest. That either s^ems destructive of the rest. Wliere 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, And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ; Till carried to excess in each domain, This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. 75 N4) 8S 9U 9fi '/ 9-<- <: til •tj f ■•'■ 8 GOLDSMITH. But let us try these truths with closer eyes, And trace them throu!j;h the prospect as it lies : 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, Bright as the summer, Italy extends ; Its uplands sloping deck the moui. twin's side, Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; Where oft some temple's mould'ring tops between With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 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. 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 ; '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. 10(1 105 110 116 MVi THE TRAVELLER. In florid beauty ijrovcs and field Man s ii|»|H>!ir, seems the only growth that dwindles I Contrasted faults through all 1 Though poor, luxurious; though subm loro. manners reign issive, vain Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet un^-ue ; And e'en in penance planning sins anew. All evnls here contaminate the mind, That opulence departed loaves behind ; For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date, When commerce proudly flourish'd througli the si.ito At her command the palace learn'd to rise, Again the long-fall'n column sought the skies ; The canvas glow'd beyond e'en Nature warm, The pregnant quarry teein'd with human foim ; Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, Commerce on other shores display'd her sail ; While nought remain'd of all that riches gave. But towns unmann'd and lords without a slave ; And late the nation found with fruitless skill Its former strength was but plethoric ill. Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied 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 cavalcade ; Processions form'd for piety and love, 9 ISA l.W 185 110 145 l.W ^\\- 1 ^ if ™) 10* GOLDSMITH. A mistress or a saint in every grove. By sports like these are all their cares begnil'd, The sports of chiliren satisfy the child ; Each nobler aim, repress'd by long control, Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; While low delights, succeeding fast behind, 111 happier meanness occupy the mind : As in those domes, where Caesars 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 nis cottage with a smile. IftA too My soul, turn from them ; turn we to survey 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 ufford, But man and steel, the soldiei- and his sword. 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 its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feast though small, I HA 170 ITS THE TRAVELLER, He sees his ii'.:tle lot tho lot of all ; Sees no contiguous palace rear its liead, To shame the meanness of his humWe shed ; 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, 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 don where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling savage into day. At night returning, every labour spe'd. He sits him down the monarch of a slied ; 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, 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 ; 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 ; 11 IRO 18A 190 105 800 I m W i\ v-'i 1 • Hi , -.ill k ill 12 GOLDS All TIL III i And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close smd closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more. Such are the charms to barren states assign'd ; Their wants but few, their wishes all confm'd. 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 i)leasure when redrest. Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, 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 the soul to flame, Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. Their level life is but a smould'ring fire. Unqaench'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, 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 ; 205 •ilO 21.^ ^20 826 8S0 THE TRAVELLER. 18 And Iovo'h 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'rint; on the nest ; But all <-,he gentler morals, such as play 235 Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way These, far dispers'd, on timorous pinions Uy, To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. 210 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, 24f) And freshen'd from the wave, the zephyr flow ; And haply, though ray 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. gso 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 U aeath the burthen of threescore. n '4 So bless'd a life these thoughtless realms display, Thus idiy busy rolls their world away : 2&5 14 GOLDSMITH, Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endenr, For honour forms the social temper here : Honour, that praise which leal merit gains, Or e'en imaginary worth obtains, Here passes current ; paid from liand to hand, It shifts in splendid traftic round the land : From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise, They please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, Till, seeming bless'd, they grow to what they seem. 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 tliought ; 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 impmt ; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace. And trims her robes of frieze with copper htce ; 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. To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosom d in the deep where Holiaud lies. 200 'J65 170 376 itW THE TRAVELLER. IS Methinks her patient sons before mo atand, Where the broad ocean leans ajfalnst tlie lurid, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, m 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 ihe shore. m While the pent ocean rising o'er the pile, Sees an amphibious world bonoath him smile: The slow canal, the yellow-blossoni'd vale, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, jm A new creation rescu'd from his reign. Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil Impels the native to repeated toil, Industrious habits in each bosom reign, And industry begets a love of gain. 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, sm E'en liberty itself is barter'd here. At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, The needy sell it, and the rich man buvg ; A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, soo ii,H ^^H '^^H i ^1 - ' '' 1 '-i.ifl ' '«■■ iA ! I fBiemmm 16 GOLDSMITH. Here wretches seek dishonourable graves, And calmly bent, to servitude conform, Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. Heavens ! how unlike their Bel-ic sires of old ! Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ; War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; How much unlilie the sons of Britain now ! 810 VLh Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, And flics where Britain courts the western spring ; Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspes glide. There all around the gentlest breezes stray, Tliere gentle music melts on every spray ; Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd, Extremes are only in the master's mind ! Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, With 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 thoughtful band, , By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's hand, 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 veneraL« himself as man. 320 .S25 »30 THE TRAVELLER. Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here, Ihme 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 • The self-dependent lordlings stand alone. All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown ; Here by the bonds of Nature feebly held, Minds combat minds, repelling f i repell'd. Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, Repress'd ambition struggles round her shore Till over-wrought, th eneral system feels Its motions stop, or plirenzy fire the wheels. i: SS5 840 345 350 Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, As duty, love, and honour fail to sway, Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth aLd law, ■Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe! Hence all obedience bows to these alone. And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown • T'll time may come, when, stripp'd of all her charms, 355 i he land of scholars, and the nurse of arms. Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for Jam« One sink of level i. varice shall lie. And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. ^ ft*i WVJv ' Nil 'tl ' I ''li •i 18 GOLDS MllH. Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, I mean to flatter kings 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. 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 : But when contending chiefs blockade the throne, ' Contracting regal power to rtretch their own ; When I behold a factious band agree To call it freedom when themselves are free ; Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw. Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law ; S65 S70 375 880 385 THE TRAVELLER. 10 The w< h of dimes, where savage nations roam, Pillag'd from shaves to purchase slaves at home ; Fear, pity, justice, indignation start. Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart ; Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. 890 Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour, When first ambition struck at regal power ; And thus polluting honour in its source, 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 ; 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 lordly call 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 ; Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound? 895 400 410 ' n •'.Mil ■Hi 1 ;, 1 i i , 1 |! • .1 i j ^ !■ i 1 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, 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. Casts a long look where England's glories shine. And bids his bosom sympathise with mine. Vain, vary vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind: "Wiiy have I stray'd from pleasure and repose, To seek a good each government bestows? Ill 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. 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, 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. 415 420 425 i;io i;w '8 ways ; 415 n; THE DESERTED VILLAGB. 2] THE DESERTED VILLAGM ma 420 486 i:!0 laft DEDICATION. TO SIR JOSHUA REVNGLDS. 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 gam nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art xn which you are said to excel ; and I may lose much by the seventy of your judgment, as few have a juster taste in , poetry than you. Setting interest, therefore, aside, to which never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present m 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 -roem to you. How far yoa may be pleaMd with the yer,i«„ati„n and mere meoh,.n,cal part, „, this attempt, I do not pretend to enquire; but I know you will object (and indeed several of our be,t and wisest friends, eoneur in the opinio.,, that the., depopulafon rt deplores is nowhere to be seen, and the ^.rder. .t laments are only to be found in the ^oefs own than that I sincerely believe what I have written; that I 1 hi •?-i •i it '^ i m 22 GOLDSMITH. have takt \ all possible pains, in my 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 ; thB discussion would take 25 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 I 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, 35 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 salless 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 ; ago And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a ton'% And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear : Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief. m '41 ' 'I i'l Luxury ! thou curs'd by Heaven's decree, How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee ! How do thy potions, with insidious joy Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! Kingdoms, by thee, to sickly greatness grown. Boast of a florid vigour not their own ; At every draught more large and large Llaey grow. 885 iirfiiji}! J' ! 'Ill ■"-»! HP i \m 1 38 GOLDSMITH. A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe; Till sapp'd their strenj^th, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. Even now the devastation is begun, jiitr> And half tlie business of destruction done; Even now, uiethinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anchoring vesst^ 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, ai'e there ; And piety with wishes placed above, w> 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 fnme; 410 Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried. 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, ' 415 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! Farewell, and Oh ! where'er thy voice ho ii-ied. On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 80 Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 480 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime ; Aid sliglited truth with thy persuasive strain ; Teach erring 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. 4ao i'M " '' s\ :?i ,i • ' ill \ .^ WORDSWORTH. UPON WESTMINSTER imiDCE, SEPT. 8, 1802. Earth has not anything to show move-, fair : Dull would he be of soul wlio could puss by A sij>ht so touching in its majesty : This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the moi'ning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and tcni|.les lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky ; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. ™i 1 A 1 1 ' i 1 1 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 finait-tree bouj^hs tluit shed Tlieir snow-white blossoms on my hoiul, With brightest sunsliine round me sprcjid Of spring's unclouded weatiier, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat ! And birds and flowers once more to greet. My last year's friends together. '■\\ Ono 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 15 While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, Make all one band of paramours, Thou, rang-ng up and down the bowers. Art sole in thy employment : •Oi '-5«««F It t I 42 WORDSWORTH. A Life, a Presence like the Air, Scatterinj; thj' Rladness without ciup, Too blcHt with any one to pair ; Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of liajel trees That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perched in ecstasies. Yet seeming still to hover ; There ! where the flutter of his wiiij^s Upon his back and body flin};s Shadows and sunny glimmerings, That cover him all over. M SO My dazzled sight he oft deceives, A Brother of the dancing leaves ; Then flits, and from the cottage-oaves Pours forth his song in gushes ; As if by that exulting strain He mocked and treated with disdain The voiceless Form he chose to feign, While fluttering in the bu.shes. 86 40 ly THE CUCKOO, 4R TO THE CUCKOO. iiiJT.rB New-comer! I have hoard, 1 hoar thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo ! shall 1 call thee Bird, Or hut a wandering Voice? Willie I am lyinp: on the prass Thy twofold shout I hear ; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off. and near. Though babhling only to the Vale Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto mo 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 dnys I listened to ; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. 10 15 20 '4 ■■■;;' iH 1 ' .' (■:.'. •! A\ \ 11 44 WORDSWORTH. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the srccn ; And thou wevt still a hope, a love ; Si ill 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. 2ft O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery plncc; Tliai is lit home for Thee ! so SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. 4:-) I SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. I' She was a Phantom of deliy:ht When first she gluained upon my sij^ht ; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's orunment ; Her eyes as stars of Twili^jit fair ; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the clieerful Dawn ; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, ^o startle, and way-lay. 10 u I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty ; A countenance in which did meet 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. 20 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 ; The 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 aiigel-iight. 25 3U THOUGHT OF A BUI TON. 47 THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND. [ENGLAND AND SWITZEULAND, 1802.] f- M 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 s Thou fought'st against him ; but hast vainly striven : Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven. Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft : Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left ; lo For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be That Mountain floods should thunder as before, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore. And neither awful Voice be heard by thee ! ' '1. M !. n ^■«,rj 48 WORDSWORTH. MOST SWEET IT IS WITH IJNUPLIFTED 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, Tlie work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coining and the beauty gone. If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce witli the Mi;se : With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse. The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 10 YES. 10 f. u o « < O 04 SCOTT, I > LISTEN, listen, ladies ti,ay ! ■' '■ iii;hty foil! (.fain!,- I r.'!! j ^/u;i. ift tiie note, ai he lay, Tliat mourns t!m l-.,vri v' }{,). - Mora, moor''. ' gallant ci'OW ! Aii'.i, gentle iadye, .;o!gn to stay ! Ri-.! .hfte ill Custle TJavensheuch, Nor vcmpr, rho stormy firth to-day. '"''■ ■ ' ' is edj>;e.l with white; 'i ■'> iii'jii ;iau i 'JCK tue sea-mews fiy ; Tht' !i>;herH liavo iieard rhe "" ■ Sprite, ^ ■■ . t . A- rock IS nigh. iv.l-t uigiii- i,ii»< ■ ;. ■ '[' ■ :,^-^ \ ■.,-' r -i^-oud bwuLutiU r'>!i!M! laiiyegay- ■ iine. Fair, ji. "■ ; i. . Wiiy <'.toss the glooiii.v !.. luy?" Tllvu . JO ' '^1 'til ^^;:^*^f' M::^: ^^M JMlii: i 1 1 1 I ii SCOTT. ROSABELLE. O LISTEN, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arni.s 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 firth 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 • Tlien stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch : Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? " JO 18 i i;;ii 50 SCOTT. " 'Tis not because Loi*d Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, IJut that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hal). '"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 Rosabelle."— 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 ' />m Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud. Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffinM lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud. ' Sheathed in his iron panoj'iy. 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. iiO S25 !iO S6 40 ROSA BELLE. 51 RIm/.ij.I battloment and pinnet. high, Blazed every rose-carvod buttrns., fair— So still they blaze, when fate ia nii;h The lordly line of hiG;h St. Clair. There are twenty of Roslin-s barons bold 45 Lie buried within that proud chapolle; Each one the holy vault doth hold — But the sea holds lovoly Ro.sabelle ! And each St. Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell ; ro But the sea-caves runp:, and the wild winds sunjj:, 'Die dirp-e of lovclv iiosaljello. I t i; 11 • A > Ml r i Wk r^H ll i,il ii II t ■ h ^^^H ■Wa ■I M ^M 'fBBfl B ■i SCOTT. SONG, "0, BRIGNALL BANKS." |THK UUll-AW.] 0, BuioNALL banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gatlier 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. — CHOKUS. "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 -^'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 1 u the greenwood shalt thou speed As blithe as Queen of May."— 10 16 20 SONG, "O, BRIGNAI.L HANKS:' 68 OIIORUS. Yet snnp: slie, "Bngnall banks are fair, And Greta woods are green ; I'd rather rovo with Edmund tliere, Than reign our English queen. "I read you, by your bugle-horn And by your palfrey good, I read you for a Ranger 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."^ CHOIUIS. Yet sung she, "Brignall .iks are fair, And Greta woods are gay ; I woulii ' were witli Edniuna there, LO reign his Queen of May ! '• With burnish'd rand and musketoon, So gallantly you 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 lear ; Bat when the beetle scnuds his hum, My comrades take the spear. w 80 a.'. 40 ■'f 64 SCOTT. OHOUITS. "And, ! though Brignall banks be fair, And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare, Would reign my Queen ot May I 49 " Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die ; The fiend, whose lantern lights the 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." 60 55 60 UllSii SONG, 'M WEARY LOT IS THINE." 60 SONG, "A WEARY LOT IS THINE." [the kovek.] "A vvBAitv lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to bral^, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien., A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green,— No more of me you knew, My love I No more of me you knew. 10 " Tills morn is merry June, I trow. The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow. Ere we two meet again." Me turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore, Ho gave the bridio-reins a sliake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, My love ! Ami adieu for evermore."— 16 fi6 SCOTT. JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 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. II "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. III. " A chain of gold ye sail not lack. Nor braid to bind your hair ; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk. Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 10 Ifi -a^ \% lOCK 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 Hazeldcaii. «7 The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, s& Tlie 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 ! so She's o'er the Border^, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeidean. rj' KEATS. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islaiids have I been Which bards lu fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been tokl 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 ; Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 10 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. 59 WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT J MAY CEASE TO BE. [the teruor op death. J Whkn 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 fuil-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 siuU. 10 uo KEATS. THE HUMAN SEASONS. 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 fi 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 wiiii;s He furleth close ; contented so to look io On mists in idleness— to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale niisfeal me. Or else he would forego his mortal naiure. ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 61 GDI': 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 tl i-ough envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, li'jht-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of herchen green, and shadows numbevless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. in '1 10 n. 0, 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, i6 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrena, 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 i*' ;l i' KEATS. III. Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear eacli other groan ; Wliere palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Wii3re youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dio^ 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 beyond to-morrow. IV. Away ! awav ! for I will fly to thee. Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, Ijut on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already witli thee ! tender is the night, And liaply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays ; But hero there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown ss 39 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. V. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense bangs upon the boughs, ■^- ODE TO A NIGHriNGALB. 63 But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows Tl)e grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; 45 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 ov'i<« fio VI. Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'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, m To cease upon the midnight with no pain. While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod. (to VII. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same .song that found a nath jw Through the sad hpart of lluth, when, sick for homo, 64 ICE A TS. She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd ma}?ic casements, opening on the foam Of peiilouB seas, in faery lands forlorn. 70 VIII. Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toll me b;i< k from thee to my 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 hill-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? 75 80 ODE TO AUTUMN. 66 ODE TO AUTUMN. I. Season of mists and mellow frnitfulness, Olose bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Oonspiring with him how to load and bloss With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, t And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core : To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set buddinj; more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, 10 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 tind Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; 15 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 . lftar.«r thou doBt keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; so \'S\ 11 ■ U M A'Eyi 7'S. Or by a oydor-pvess, with patient look, Thou watche.st the last oozuigs hours by hours. III. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they ? Thiuk 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 j^nats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind 1 es or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bouiii ; Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gatiiering hwuUowb iwitter in the skies. ao i SHELLEY. OZYMANDIAS. r*QBTa re "oUor ,om an antique land, Who said; i'wo «st and trunkless legs of stone Stand in tho desart, Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattf;rod 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 despair ! " Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, bouudless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. 10 ,1 f.'l I r I I » I. I 4 68 SHELLEY. TO A SKYLARK. I. Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert. That from Heaven, or near it, Poijrest thy full heart In pi'ofuse 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 v^rhich clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run ; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 10 16 10 16 5? fl Kfe ' '!? f itaKaJi I . ill III ,u 1 • S 1 1 a\ 4 ^ .1 'J h "S ^ \N X ^^.l4*^l) ||h^^ 4^4^1||t# \l "^ ^vi ^ ^ •« i i \. I W' f ^ 1 ^ 4 .^■41 ^ 4 Vn^i^ ■l^^^^l ^ ^ !ii ^ It ^1 \1^t «^l <4 ^5- n ^ •1 ' > ii f« 'w I ^^^'^^ ^ 1 1 it 1 \^;'' 1 J^ 1 M 1 ^M i !lH 1 A Tl U Tl A! TO A SKYLARK. IT. 60 The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of li^aven, In the brond day-lip:ht Thou art unseen, but yet I hoar thy shrill deliprht V. Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrowii III the white dawn clear. Until we hni y see, we feel that it is there. i<) 'iU 1 VI. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when Night is hare. From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overfiowod. .fi VII. What thou art wo know not : What is most like theo ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy f.resence showers a raiii ui wuiOdy. sh if^r -'i 1 ; '}. 70 SHELLEY. 1\) VTTl. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Sinewing hymns unbiddon, Till the world is wioiiffht inpathy 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* VVitli music sweet as lovo, which overflows hei- bn-vor: is X. Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeh olden Its agrial hue Among the flowers and grass, whicli scroen it from the view : fiO 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: „ TO A SKYLAKK. 71 ZII. Sound of vernal ahovvijrs On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass : m XIII. Teach us, sprite or hird, What sweet thoughts are thine : I have never lieard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. flS xrv. Choms HymencBal Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine would lie all But an empty vaunt, A. thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. in XV. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fte'ids, or waves, or mounrains? What shapes of sky or plain ? What iove of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain ? 7.') KC , 1 i I J- m I ! :/ fdifimi.] . ( ri <^H fiLul MY DB Apt uf tho of the ing wi' ivciir t 'la; liii more i: li.', to C t!iu p(je a"i'.omf III --; an iii ray a irioiK BYRON. CITILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGR CANTO THE FOURTH. Venice, January 2, 1818. TO John Hoiuiousr, Esq., a.m., iwi.h. dtc. <&c. die. MY DEAR IIOBHOUSE, AFTER an interval of eight years between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poem is ahout to bo submitted to the public. In par)>- ino; with so old a friend, it is not extraordinary tliat I should ivcur to one still older and botter,-to one who has beheld a tin, l.irth and death of the other, and to whom I am far more indebted for tlie social advantages of an enlightened lii-ndship. than— though not ungrateful -I cm, or could I).', to Childe Harold, f<;r any public favour reflected through tlH' poem on the poet,-to one whom I have known long and lo a.eompanied far, whom I have found wakeful over my sick- I . -^ and kind in my sorrow, glad in my prosperity and firm ir. my adversity, true in counsel and trusty in peril,— to a i-iend often tried and never found wanting; -to yourself. '•if ■I ■:|i . ! ', .•rt ■I ■I '1 I .i' »l «2 B ' ■A'( >,V. Fn so (loin-, F rociir from fiction to truth ; mfF in .l(.flirnH5 in- to you, in its roinplotx«, or ..t, loast, conHudod state, a poetical work which is tho longe^s t)i.> most thoughtful and comprohunsive of my compositions, 1 sv ish to do honour to myself by the rcc(jrd of many years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of stoadinuss, an.! of honour. It is 20 not for minds like ours to give or to receive flattery ; y<-t the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted t(j the voice of friendship ; and it is not for you, nor «v.m for others, but to relievo a heart which has not else when', or lately, been so much accustomed to the encounter of go..d-will as tos.-i withstand the shock firmly, tliat f thus attempt to com- memorate your good qualities, or rath... the advantages which I have derived from their exertion. Even the recurrence of the date of this letter, tho anniv ^rsa.y of tho most unfortunate day of my past existence, but which can- 30 not poison my future while I retain the resource of your friendship, and of my own faculties, will hencel'uith have a more agreeable reel lection for b..th, inasmuch as it will remind us of this my attempt to thank you for an indefati- gable regard, such as few men have experienced, and no nne.3.^ could experience without thinking bettor of his species and of himself. It has been our fortnno to traverse together, at various periods, the countries of chivalry, history, and fable—Spain, ,(!reGce, Asia Minor, and Italy ; and what Athens and Con- 4ii stantinople were to us a few years ago, Venice and Eome have been more recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accompanied me from fir«L to last ; and perhaps it may be a, pardonable vanity which induces me to reflect CHlLDh lIAROLiyS PILGRIMAGE, 88 with complacency on a c()mpo>*itiu ''ich in some dogn c ir. unnocfcs with the spot whor. as prodiinod, and tho objects it wouM fain doscrihe; ai , howovur unworthy it may be deomed of t/hoso mngical and rnomorable abodps however short it may fall of our distant conceptions nuil imtiiediate impreaaions yet a * a mark of respt-ct for what IhTK) venerable, and ^f fetiling for what is gloi is, it hi's been to int! a source of pleasurn in the production, and I part with it with a kind f)f regret, which I hardly 8uapl ?'i 86 BYRON. ascertained that England has acquired something more thau a permanent army and a suspended Haheas Corpus; it isiSfi enough for them to look at home. For what they have done abroad, and especially in the South, " Vorily they voill have their reward," and at no very distant period. Wishing you, my dear Hobhtuse, a sate and agreeable return to that country whose real welfare can be dearer to 140 none than to yourself, I dedicate to you this poem in its completed state ; and repeat once more how truly I am ever Your obliged And affectionate friend, BYEON. fEON. ore thai! us ; it is 135 ■ : rij ave done will have Lgreeable learer toi40 im in its am ever ! ' ■J I'.ll i ■ H cU THE liUIUGE OF SIGHS, VENICE. i\ 'I 11 li m"^ '.jr-jaS; «l V, -.-si*- ii i k}7 ' ■ •**••"- vi' ■ riiK r.i.ii" CHJI.DE JIAROLUS PILGRIMAGE. 87 CniLDK HAiK)Ll)S IML(ilMMAGP:. CANTO THK FdUETH. I. I STOOD ill Vonioe, on tlie Bridge of Sigtis; A palace und a prison on each hand ; I saw from oiu the wave her structuics 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, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles ! 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 their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East i6 Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. In pvrple was she robed, and of her feast Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. B; ' Mill > f i ( ...j I I 3l i i, '; 1 ■ B ! ^HB 1 1 .! ■! ' ' ' mr ! ; ■ 9s; i. 1 i ! 1 88 B VA'ON. III. Ui Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent iowk the songless {,'ondolier; Her palaces 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 ! 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. , The beings of the mind are not of clay ; Essentially immortal, tlicy create And multiply in us a brighter ray 4nd more beloved existence : that which l^'ate 40 CHILDE HAHOLiys PILGRIMAGE. Prohibits to dull life, in this our state Of mortal boiiduge, by these spirits supplied, First exiles, then replaces what we hate ; Watering; the heart whose early flowers have died, And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 45 VI. Such is the refii,-,'o of our youth and a^re, The first from Hope, the last from Vacancy ; And this worn feelinf^ peoples many a pa^e. And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye Yet there are things whose strong reality Outshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues More beautiful than our fantastic sky, And the strange constellations which the Muse O'er lier wild universe is skilful to diffuse: 60 VII, I saw or dream'd of such,— but let them go— Tliey came 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 fc .nd at moments found • Let these too go — lor waking Reason deems Such overweening phantasies unsound. 55 Vnd other voices speak, and other sight s surround. 00 ^i <7ii il i |i H Hit 1' I 'I f : 00 BYRON. VIII. I've taii,t,'ht mo othor ton^juns --and in 8tnin<;e eyes Have luatle me not u stranm^or ; to the mind m Which is itHolf, no changes bring surprise; Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find A country with— ay, without mankind ; Yet was I born whore men are proud to he, Not without cause; and should I leave holiind TO The inviolate island of the sago and free, And t^eek me out a home by a romotei' sua, 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 76 Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine My hopes of being remembcr'd in my line With my land's language : if too fond and fiir These aspirations in their scope incline, — - If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, so Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bur 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 bo the Spartan's epitaph on me — h.^ /ua M 70 76 no 9h '♦s.|; :' ,■ ''II *1 ' ! H X CfrU.DE HAROLD'S PlLGKI^lUih 91 'A 1^ CA " Sptu'ta hath in;iii>- a \vuTrh:i;r son iIihii lie." Meuiiiiirio I seek no synipuiiiies, uur nt'ctl ; The thorns wliicli I huvo rt-nit' ' ;■ >,,■ .-iiu.i :f5 Stand, hut in mockery of ]••-. ... ■■..., Over the proud PUice wher n E'cpeioi .sued, And monarchs gazed and envied "i. il,. liuur When Venice was a queen wiili an ■ M dowi LI ■I }l ''!. >\ ttl Xll. Tiie ...1 MU 1 no'- An Eiutieror lrar(i['Ics wliero an !-.,jt:j < ; ur Kncii ; Kingdoms are shrunk to jiruvincct,. and chains Olank over sce]ilred oitie.s ; nations melt From |)Ovvei''s liigh pinnacle, whcis !hev have felt The sunshine for a wii' ward go Like lauwine loosen'd Irom tia uiountain's helt ; > 'h lor <;•;: •! .'•! ;!■■ wi.( l_),i,lii i',/iu ; I'h" oetogenanuii ciuei'. lj\zantiuniV (a.)n<('iei-iii^: I'cv tii'i 105 Si '! ■,t ,iii' ■\m lit" 3 h I I w Tl CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 91 '* Sparta hath -any a worthier son than he." Meantime 1 - .,; no sympathies, nor need ; The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I phuited,— they have torn me, — and I bleed : I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. go '.♦£| XI. The si)ousoless Adriatic mourns her lord ; And. annual marriage now no more renew'd, The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored. Neglected garment of her widowhood ! St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood Stand, but in mockery of his wither'd power, Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued. And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower. 95 XII. The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns— An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains Clank over sceptred cities ; nations melt From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt The sunshine for a while, and downward go Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's belt; . Oh for one hour oi" blind old Daudolo ! Th' octogenarian chief. Byzantium's conquerljiu foe. 100 10.") H U Hiii 'I ii ' Si i in: < <•■■■ «.Ui tin i f :fll9 ij ! ' ■f 9b9 '^BHW In i ■ i- 1 i I ; BYRON. xiir. Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brii.ss, Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; no But is not Doria's menace come to pass ? Are they not bridled f—YemcQ, 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, us 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 lao 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 ! 12.5 For >e 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 diusi ; But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile Bespeaks tha pageiuit of their splendid trust • i.w CHILDE HAROLD'S PIUIKIMAGE. 03 Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rtist, Have yielded to the stranger : empty halls, Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must Too oft remind her who and what enthrals, Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. i»i XVI. When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war, Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse, Her voice thpir only ransom from afar : See ! as they chant the tragic hymn, tlie 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 cliains, And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his str.ains. .'Ht XVJI. Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were tliino. Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, Thy choral memory of the Bard divine. The love of Tasso, should have cut the knot Whicli 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 ciiildren ; in the fall Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. ISO n M H BYRON. XVIII. I loved lir«r U ^m my boyliood : sho to mo Was as a fairy city of tlie lieart, )■,;•, Rising like water-columns from the sea, Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart ; And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakespeare's iiit. Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, Although I found her thus, we did not part ; \a) Perchance even dearer in her day of woe, Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a chow. XIX. I can repcople with the past-- and of The present there is still for eye and thought, And meditation chasten'd down, enough ; m,-, And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought ; And of the hapf)iest moments which were wrought Within the web of my existence, some From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught : There are some feelin^is Time can not benumb, i7o iVor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. XX. Jjut from their nature will the tannen grow Loftiest on loftiest and least shclter'd rocks, Rooted in l)arrenness, where naught below ijf >oil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shock? 176 CHILD E HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 90 Of oddyinff storms ; yet spriiifys the trunk, and mocks The howlinp: tempest, till its height and frame Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks Of bleak, gray, granite, into life it came, 179 And grew a giant tree ;— the mind may grow the same. 1; XXI. Existence may be borne, and the deep root Of life a. id sufferance make its firm abode In bare and desolate bosoms : mute The camel labours with the heaviest load, And the wolf dies in silence,— not bestow'd 186 In vain should such example be ; if they, Things of ignoble or of savage mood, Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay May temper it to bear, —it is but for a day. XXII. All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd, 190 Even by the sufferer ; and, in each event, Ends :— Some with hope replenish'd and rebuoy'd Return to whence they came- with like intent, And weave their web again ; some, bow'd and bent, Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, lo.-i And parish with the reed on which they leant ; Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime. According as their souls were form'd to sink or climb. I .! 't i I f ; i i < 06 5 yA'OyV. xxui. But ovor and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, SOO Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued; And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weiglit which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound— A tone of music— summer's eve— or sf)ring, sm A flower— the wind— the ocean— whicli shall wound. Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV. And how and why we know not, nor can trace Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface 210 The blight and blackening which it leaves behind. Which out of things familiar, undesign'd. When least we deem of such, calls up to view The spectre whom no exorcism can bind, — The cold — the changed— perchance the dead — anew, 21.1 The mourn'd, the loved, the lost— too many !— yet how few ! XXV. But my soul wanders ; I demand it back To meditate amongst decay, and stand A ruin amidpt ruins ; there to track Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a l.nnd 220 CHILDE HAROLiys PILGRIMAOE, 07 Which was the mightiest in its old commuud, And is the loveliest, and must ever be Tiie mastoi-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, Wherein were cast the lieroic and the free, The beautiful, the brave-the lordH of earth and bea, m xx'.^. The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome! And even since, and now, fair Italy ! Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste More rich than other climes' fertility • Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced. sso ( m , II X.WII. Tho moon is up, and yet it is not night- Sunset divides the sky with her— a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains ; Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Wliere the Day joins the past Eternity ; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's cresc Floats through the azure air— an island of the blest ! f^ 240 1 ;i'^ ,;•!' wK' ',(.'» B |i 1 '.> i h hm !'!:,! I 98 fi YRON. 246 •ibO XXVIII. A single star is at her side, and reigns Witli her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains EoH'd o'er the peak of the far Klieetian hill, As Day and Night contending were, until Nature reclaim'd her order :— gently Hows The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil The odorous purple of a new-born rose, Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows, XXIX. Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse : And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till— 'tis gone— and all is gray. 865 SfGO XXX. There is a tomb in Arqua ; — rear'd in air, Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose The bones of Laura's lover : here repair Many familiar with his well-sung woes, 265 CHn.DE HAROUrs ni.Gh'rMAGE, Til.' pil-rima of his genius. He arose To raise a lanKiiase, and his land reclaim From the dull yoke of her barharic foes : Watering the tree which bears his lady's namp With his melodious tears,, he gave himself to Uxxxw XXXI. They keep his dust in Arqua, where he diod ; The mountain-village where his latter days Wont down the vale of years ; and 'tis their pride- An honest pride- and let it be their praise, To offer to the passing stranger's i:;ue His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plain And venerably simple, such as raise A feeling more accordant with his strain Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fame. OP a70 U76 'J . r : t ( .•; ^m 1 1 ,1 XXXII. And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt Is one of that complexion which seems made For those who their mortality have felt, And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade, Which shows a distant prospect far away Of busy cities, now in vain display'd, For they can lure no further ; and the ray <»f a bright sun can make sufficient holiday, 2H0 ■a& <,,' :r iiri i . ino fi YRON. I: \ i XXXITI. Developing thfl monntains, leaves, nnd flowers. And shining in tVie brawlinp: brook, wliore-by, Clear as its ciarrent. glide the sauntering hours With a calm la(«itrour, which, though to the eye Tdlesse it seem, h.>.th its morality. If from society we learn to live, 'Tis solitude should teach us how to die ; It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give No hollow aid; alone — man with his God must strive: xxxiv. Or, it may be, with demons, who impair The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey In melancholy bosoms, such as were Of moody texture from their earliest day, And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay, Deeming themselves predestined to a doom Whicli is not of the pangs that pass away ; Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb, The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom. W) SfDfi 300 ISO.") XXXV. Ferrara ! ip thy wide and grass-grown streets. Whose symmetry was not for solitude, fpliftre seems as '^were a curse upon the seuts Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood 31>i CHU.DE HAKOLrys PILGRIMA^^. 101 Of Esto, which for m my an ape made »i.»<..t Its H renRhh within tJiy walls, which was of yore Piifcron or tyrant, as the chanping mood Of petty power impeii'd, of thoHo who wore am The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn Iw^fore. XXXVI. A.nd Tasso is their ^,'lory and their shame. Hark to his strain ! and then survey his cell ! And see how dearly earn'd Torquato's fame. And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell : The miserable despot could not quell 320 The instilted mind he souf,'ht to quench, and bleni With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell Where he had plunged it. Glory without end Scatter'd the clouds away— and on I hat name attend pi XXXVII. The tears and piaises of all time, while tliine .las Would rot in its oblivion — in the sink Of worthless dust, which from thy boasted line Is shaken into nothing ; but the link Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn :— m Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink From thee ! if in .annthor station born, Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad'st to mourn : Lf I p-.f ,i.r t '!'•{ i' ' ■ i Ill hi i ' i 102 BYRON. XXXVITT. TJxoul form'd to oat, and be despised, and die. Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou 336 Hadst a more splendid trough, and wider sty : He. I with a glory round his f urrow'd brow, Which emanated then, and dazzles now. In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire; And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow 840 No strain which shamed his country's cre.nking lyre, That whetstone of the teeth — monotony in wire ! XXXIX. Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! 'twas his In life and death to be the mark where Wrong Aim'd with her poison'd arrows; but to miss. 345 Oh, victor unsurpass'd in modern song ! Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long The tide of generations shall roll on, And not the whole combined and countless throni; Compose a mind like thine? thougli all in one 350 Condensed their scatter'd rays, they would not form a sun. XL. ' Great as thou art, yet parallel'd by those, Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine, The Rai'da of Hell and Chivalry : first rose The Tuscan father's comedy divine; Vf5 CHTLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 103 Then, not unequal to the FJorentine, The Southern Scott, the minstrel who oall'd forth A nevr creation with his magic line. And, like the Ariosto of the North, ms Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly Avorth. XLI. The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust The iron crown of Ikurel's mimic'd leaves ; Nor was the ominous element unjust, For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves Ts of the tree no holt of thunder cleaves. And the false semblance but disgraced his brow . Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves. Know, that the lightning sanctifi<'s below Whate'er it strikes ; — yon head is doubly saci ed now Wb III I XLII. Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast 870 The fatal gift of beauty, which became A funeral dower of present woes and past . On tliy sweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame, And annals graved in characters of flame. Oh God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness .175 Less lovely or more powerful, and could'st claim Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress ; Il.l ■ii ll 'f ;j Jl 1*1 1 104 BYRON. XLllI. Then inip,ht'st tlioii more appal ; or, less desired, Be homely and he peaceful, undeplorcd aao For thy destructive charms ; then, still untired, Would not he seen the armed torrents pour'd Down the deep Alps ; nor would the hostile liorde Of many-nation'd spoilers from the Po Quaff blood and watei- ; nor the stranger's sword .'!H5 Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, Victor or vanquish'd, thou the slave of friend or foe. XLIV. Wandering in youth, I traced the path of liim. The Roman friend of Rome's least-mortal mind, The friend of Tully : as my bark did skim 890 The bright blue waters with a fainiirg wind, Came Megara before me, and behind iEgina lay, Piraeus on the right. And Corinth on the left ; 1 lay reclined Along the prow, and saw all these unite 895 In ruin, even as he had seen ihe desolate sight; XLV. , For Time hath not rebuilt them, but uproar'd Barbaric dwellings on their shatter'd site, Which only make more mourn'd and more endeai'd Tlje few last rays of their far-scatter'd light, -lOO CHILPE HAROLUS PILGRIMAGE. I or. And the cnish'd relics of their vanish'd mi^ht. The Roman saw these toinbs in his own age, These sepulchres of cities, which excite Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. 40.-. XLVI. That page is now before me, and on mine Kis country's ruin added to the mass Of perish'd states he mourn'd in their decline, And I in desolation : all that was Of then destruction is ; and now, alas ! Rome — Rome imperial, bows her to the storm. In the same dust and blackness, and we pass The skeleton of her Titanic form. Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. '•^ I 41(1 l| " ii XLVII. Yet, Italy ! though every other land 41! Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side ; Mother of Arts ! as once of arms, thy hand Was then our guardian, and is still our guide ; Parent of our Religion ! whom the wide Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven ! \;ilds it with revivifying^ ray; Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. 100 406 ^ ■■•'■' LVI. But whore repose the all Etruscan three — Dante, and Petrurch, and, scarce less than they, The Bard of Prose, creative spirit ! he Of the Hundred Tales of love— where did thoy lay Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay 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 eaith entrust? 500 LVII. Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar, ao5 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 rejnorse of ages ; and the crown 510 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. i ,\ \\\ no B YKON. LVlll. Boccaccio to liis parent earth bequeath'd His dust, — and lies it not lier Greiit amonji, With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue? That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech ? No ;— even his tomb Uptorn, must bear the liyeena bigot's wrong, No more amidst the meanei dead find room. Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for wltmi ! Sir, !tiO Sib TAX. And Santa Croce wants their mighty ^nst; Yet for this want more noted, as of yore The Caesar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, 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 keeps, While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and weeps. LX. What is her pyramid of precious jtones ?. Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dews 686 530 CHIL DE HAROI.iyS PIL CRIMA GE. 1 1 1 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 far more reverent tread -m Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. LXI. There be more things to greet 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 My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, Than Art in galleries : though a work divine Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields 5-16 I ' LXII. Is of another temper, and I roam 550 By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home ; For thee the Carthaginian's warlike wiles Come back before me, as his skill beguiles The host between the mountains and t shore. 555 Where Courage falls in her despairing files, And torrents, swoU'n to rivers with their gore, lloek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd o'er, 11 ' r in III 1 i \ ^ I k-. f- i B YRON. LXlll, 5UU 5tif) LiUo, to a f..rost fcllM by inountain winds; And such the storm of battle on this day, And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, An earthquake rcel'd unheedcdly away ! None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, And yawning forth a grave for those who lay Upon their bucklers for a winding-sheet ; Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet ! 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 The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the hiv^ls Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw hix From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing lai.lp Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hatli uo words. LXV. Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; Eer aged trees rise thick as once the slain 5«" 570 CHI/.l^F HAh'Ol.iys P/LGA'/A/AGE. ii:< 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 8(ui-uinetto telLs ye whore the dead sa, 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 nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer r,9o 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 da'iighters ! 'ii LXVII. And on thy happy shore a temple still Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, Upon a mild declivity of hill, Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps Thy current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps The finny darter with the glittering scales. Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails I')wn where the shallower wave still tells its buhbl tales. «05 600 mg i! i' n 114 B YKON. LXVIII. Pass not, unblost the Goiuuh of tho i-lnro! rr tlirouKlj tho air a zoj^hyr inoro Hcroiio Win to tho brow, 'tis his; and if yo trace Alou},' his margin a more elo.|uont Mivcen, If on the heart the freshness of the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and from iho dry dust Of weary life a moment lave it clean With Nature's baptism, -'tis to him ye must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. m% no LXIX. The roar of waters '.-from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 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 That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror sot, LXX. ' And mounts in spray the skies, and thenco again Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, Is an eternal April to the ground, 015 m) e&t> Cm/.PE ffAKOLirs riLGRrMAGR. IJf, MakiiiK it all onn onu ..ireak. And on the curl hangs pausing : not in vain May he, who will, his recollections rake, 670 CHFLDE 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 youtli, with pleasure to record w^ ' 'j LXXVI. Au^-ht that recalls the daily drug which turn'd My sickening memory; and, though Time hall, uuigiit My mind to meditate what then, it learn'd, Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought By the impatience of my early thought, eso 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, 685 Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse To understand, not feel thy lyric flow, I'o comprehend, but never love thy verse, Although no deeper Moralist rehearse Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art, m Nor livelier Satirist the conscience pierce. Awakening without wounding the touchM heart, ^'L fare thee well — upon Horacte's ridge wo pai-t ,(• 'i; ; m ..;•» ASa hi I ^3 \l H''i^ I ;' *. i r i}4 a I m .1 118 BYRON. 6!)f> Lxxvin. Rome ! my country ! city of the soul I The orphans of the heart must turn to tl.««, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and soe The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your w. y O'er steps of broken thrones and temj.les, Ye ! -^^ Whose agonies are evils of a day— V 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, 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? Hise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! 705 7111 LXXX. The Goth, the Christian, 'rime, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride: She saw her glories stai' by star expire. And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, ^is CHILDE H IROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 110 Whore 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 ; 7-5 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. 1 '^ WM '■ ii \ \ ..- I 7;ii LXXXII. Alas ! the lofty oity ! and alas ! 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 Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page !— but these shall be Her resurrection ; all beside— decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was frei. ! 735 Vm 1 ■ ! / 1: 1 ■fr~ I'M i' i < 120 B YKON. 740 746 i,xxxin. O thou, whose c,„.;otroUM on Fovuu.o'swl.oel, Tvi«mi.ha„.Sylla!Tl,ou,who,V,dst,«ubau.. Thy couutvy's to., evo thou wouldst „au»e to Icei The wrath ot thy own wrongs, or reap the due „r hoarde.1 vengeance till thine eagles flew O'er prostrate Asia;-thou, who with thy trown Annihihiled senates- Eonian, too, With all thy vices, for thou didst -ay down With an atoning snrile a more than earthly crown- LXXXIV. The dictatorial wreath, -couldst thou divine ,^0 what would one day dwindle that which u.ade Thee more than mortal? and that so supme By aught than Romans Rome should thus be la>d? She who was named Eternal, and array'd Her warriors but to conquer- she who ve.ld Earth with her haughty shadow, and display d. Until the o'er-cauopied horizon fa, I'd, • , Oh ' she who was Almighty hail a Her rushing wmgs Uh . sne wu LXXXV. Sylla was first of victors ; but our own, The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell ; he 750 1W.> Too swept oft senates while he hewM the throne Pown 10 a block-immortal reljel \ S.* 760 CHILDF. HAROLEfS PILGRIMACE. 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 death ?(!4 Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield his b>t;;ti h, LXXXVI. The third of the same moon whose former course Had all buL ciown'd him, on the selfsame day Deposed liim gently from his throne of force, And laid hiiu with the earth's preceding chiy. And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway, um 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 diffeient were his doom ! ll^i :■} LX XXVII. And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in 776 The austerest form of naked majesty, Thou who beheldest, 'mid the assassins' din, At thy bathed base the bloody Ceesur liu Folding his robe in dying dignity, An offering to thine altar from the queen 7bo 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? ; m iiilr 'wmvx 122 B YRON. 785 LXXXVllI. And thou, the thumlev-suickoii nurse of Home ! She-wolf ! whose brazen- hn aged dugs impart The milk of conquest 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, Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's ethereal dart, 790 And tiiy limbs black'd with lightning— dost thou yet Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge forget ? 795 LXXXIX. Thou dost;— but all thy foster-babes are dead— The men of iron ; and the world hath rear'd Cities from out their sepulchres : men bled In imitation of the things they fear'd, And fought and conquer'd, and the same course siuor'd, At apish distance ; but as yet none have, Nor could, the same supremacy have near'd, Save one vain man, who is not in the grave, « CHII.DE HAROLD'S niLCh'lMAC.E. I2r. \nd the iiitoiit of tyranny avowVi, Tho edict of Eiirth's rulors, who are grown The apes of him who 1 irnbled onoe the proud, And sliook them from tlioir shimbors on the tliroiie ; '£.''00 glorious, were this all his mighty arm had dono. h.v. xovi. Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be, And Freedom find no champion and no child Such a., Columbia saw arise when she Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiied? Or must such minds be nourish'd in the wild, so) Deep in tho unpruned forest, 'midst the roar Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled On infant Washington V Has Earth no more Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore? ' ■ ( i ■ j ll XCVII. But Franco got drunk with blood to vomit crime. 805 And fatal have her Saturnalia been To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime : Because the deadly days which we liave soon, And vile Ambition, that built up between Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, 870 And the base pageant last upon the scene. Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall \\ liich nips Life's tree, and dooms man's worst— his second fall. ! , ' I '! Ax .TT 126 B YKON. liiH H7:. bbu X(!vni. Yot, Freedom! yet tliy bannor, torn, Imt flyinp;, Streams like tlio tluindri-stoiin (i;/nivsl tlir wind ; Thy trumpet-voice, tliou^h l)iokeii now iunl dyin^ The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and iie rind, Chopp'd by the axe. looks lough luid little worth. But the Slip lasts, -and still the seed we liud Sown deep- even in the bosom of the North ; So shall !i better spring less bitter fruit bring fonh. XCIX. Tbere is a stern round tower of other days, Firm as u fortress, with its fence of stone, Such as an army's bafll(>d strength delays, Standing with half its battlements alone, And with two thousand years of ivy grown, The garland of eternity, where wave The green leaves ov^r all by time o'erthrown ;-- What was tliis tower of strength? within its cave ;Vhiit treasure lay so lock'd, so hid?— A woman's grave sai Sl'd Iku who was she, the lady of the dead, Tomb'd in a palace? Was she chaste and fair? Worthy a kin-'s— or more— a Roman's bed? What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear ? ^ii.) I i CHII.DE HAROLiys PILGRIMAGE. 127 What (lau^litor of her boautios was the hfiir? ITdw livod — how loved — how died she? Was she net •so liononr'd — and conspicuously Uiere. Where moannr relics must not dnre to rot, Phicod to cornmomorato a more than mortal lot ? ;kmi M CI. Was she as thosp who love their lords, or they Who lovo the lords of others? sucli have been, Rvon in the oldon time, Rome's annals say. Was she a matron of Cornelia's mien, Or the light air of Egypt's {j;racoful fjueen, oai Profuse of joy— or 'gainst it did she war, Inveterate in virtue? Did she lean To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bai l.ovr from amongst her griefs?— for such ihc ulTcr.tions are. n s grave. CII. Perchance she died in youtli : it may be, bowM 910 Witli woes far iieavier than the ponderous tomb Thiit weigh'd upon her gentle dust, a cloud Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom In her dark eye, propliet ic of the doom Heaven gives its favourites— early death ; yet shed !iif) A sunset charm around her, and illume With hectic light the Hesperus of the dead, Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. ^K^u i -''>■ ^^^^^- ' ^ -!::rH iK! ^'ll ■Li ii^l 128 BYIWN. )■ \ !KK> GUI Porohanco sho died in iij^o— survivint; nil, Charms, kindred, cliildn!n--with the 8ilvor urny On hot- loriK tresses, whioli ini^lit yet recall, It may be, still a somethiiip; of tlio day When they were braided, and her proud array And lovely form wore envied, praised, and eyed By Home— But whither would Conjecture stray ? Thus much alono wo know— Morolln died. The wealthiest Roman's wife : Bcliold his love or pride ! nh 980 oiv. I know not why— but standing tlius by thee It seems as if I had thine inmate known, Thou tomb ! and other days come back on me With recollected music. thouf>h the tone Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy gioan Of dying thunder on the distant wind ; Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone Till I liad bodiod forth the heated mind os.i Forms from the lloaiing wreck which Ruin leaves behind ; cv. And from the planks, fur shatter'd o'er the rocks, Built me a little bark of hope, once more To battle With the ocean and the shocks Of the loud broakers, and tlic ceaseless roar 940 CHII.DE HAROl.iys PILGN/MAHE. 1211 Which ruahoH on the solitary aliore VVhero all lies fo.iii.lerM that was ever dear: But oould I gather from the wave-worn store EnouKh for iny rude hoat, where should I stoor? imi Phore W008 no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is hen.. »50 CVl. Then lot the winds howl on ! their harmony Shall honcoforth be my music, and the nij;ht 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, Answering each other on the Palatine, With their large eyes, all glistening groy and bright, And sailing pinions.— Upon such a shrinu What are our potty -riefsV -let ine n number mine. OVII. Cypress ar y, weed an. I w.illtiower grown w, Matted ,.!i,i mass'd together, hillocks heap'd On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strowu In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd. Deeming it midnight :-Temple8, baths, or halls ? 980 Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning reap'ci !Vom her rosearch liath been, tiiat these are wails— H .told the Imperial Mount ! 'tic thus tiui mighty falls. ,.. J; , 'i ! p:' : » 'Mi .! I w> 970 BVh'ON. oviii. There is the moral of all human tales; 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, 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 AH treasures, all deli^^his, that eye or ear, tieart, soul could seek, tongue ask-Away w.th words . draw near, CIX. Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep, -for here There is such matter for all feeling :-Man ! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear, Ages and realms are crowded in this span, Tliis 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 ! Where are its golden roofsV where those who dared to build? ox. Tully was not so elotjuent as thou, 'i-hou nameless column with the buried base ! What are the laurels of the Cassars brow ? Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 975 ISO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 131 Whose arch or pillar meets me in tlie 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, whoso ashes slept sublime, ou., 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 995 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. OXII. Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place 1000 Where Rome embraced her heroes ? where the steep Tarpeian? fittest goal of Treason's race, The proruontory whence the Traitor's Leap Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap Their spoils here ? Yes ; a. d in yon field below, 1006 A thousand years of silenced factions sleep— "lie Forum, where the immortal accents glow, And still the eloquent air breathes— burns with Cicero ! 132 fi YJiON. 1010 1016 cxin. The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood ■. Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, From the first hour of empire in the bud To that when further worlds to conquer fad d ; But long before had Freedom's face been vodd, And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes, Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. cxiv. Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, From hei ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, Redeemer of dark centuries of shame- The friend of Petrarch -hope of Italy- Rienzi! last of Romans! While the tree Of 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 ch.ef- Her new-born Numa thou,-with reign, alas! too br.ef. 1020 10 j6 cxv. Egeria ! i^weet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast ; whaie'ev thou art Or wert,-a young Aurora of the air, m^ CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. \'.\.\ The nymph olopsy of some fond despair; Or, it, mifflit be, a beauty of the eartli, Who found a more tlian common votary tliore Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. lOM oxvi. The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled With thine El ysian 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 loio Art's works ; nor must the delicate watei-s sleep, Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap V . <-m1 runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creei., OXVII. Fantastically tangled : tiie green hills 104.-1 Are clothed with early blossoms, tli rough 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 tlieir dyes lofio Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, ivi^s'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its skics. ! !. ■I Hi: ! ■■! If I "1 134 BYRON. CXVTII. Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beating 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 r This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting Of an enamour'd Goddess, and the cell Haunted by holy Love— the earliest oracle ! wh:> low IS CXIX. And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, Blend a celestial with a human heart ; And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, Share with immortal transports? could thine art Make them indeed immortal, and impart The purity of heaven to earthly joys, Expel the venom and not blunt the dart— The dull satiety which all destroys— And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloy lOfil, 107(1 I GXX. 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, 107 CHILDE HANOI. jys PILGRIMAGE. ISf) Flowers whose wild odours breathe but .'luonies, And trees whose gums are poison ; such the plants Which spring beneath her steps as Passion fliea O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. i<>«<) cxxi. Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art— Ah unseen seraph, we believe in thee, A faith whose martyrs are the biokon hoart, But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall 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 thou<>ht such shape and imase «iven, As haunts the umiuench'd soul— parch'd — wearied— wrung — and riven. I. ,'11 CXXIl, Of its own beauty is the mJnd diseased, 1090 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 n^ain ? * • ■ tlr '1! mm' ii. !^^^ 136 BYRON. 1100 CXXIII. Who lovos, ravos— 'tis youth's frenzy- but the cure Is bitterer still ; as charm by cliarm unwinds Which robed our idols, and we see too sure 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 ; no5 The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun. Seems over near the prize,— wealthiest when 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, »io Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first— But all too late,— so are we doubly curst. Love, fame, ambition, avarice— 'tis the same. Each idle— and all ill— and none the worst— For all are meteors with a different name, ms A-nd Death th .able smoke where vanishes the flame. cxxv. Few— none find what they love or could have loved. Though accident, blind contact, and the stronu Necessity of loving, have removed Antipathies— but to recur, ere long, ii-" CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 137 Riivenom'd with irrevocable wrong : And Circumstance, that unspiritual j?od And miscreator, makes and helps along Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, VVIiose touch turns Hope to dust,— the dust we all iiave trod. liar. oxxvi. Our life is a false nature — 'tis not in The harmony of things,— this hai'd decree, This uneradicable taint of sin, This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree. Whose root ij earth, whose leaves and branches be ii-o The skies which rain their plagues on men like dow - Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see And worse, the woes we see not— which throb throii,i',li The immedicable soul, with heart -aches ever new. cxxvii. Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base iia.-. 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, coniincd, mo And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine Too brightly on the unprepared mind, riie beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the blind. U I, 1 ! 1 1 ' '* 188 B YRON. it J ■ 1^^ !i; CXXVIII. Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome. Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Her Coliseum stands ; the moonbeams shine As 'twere its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which streams here, to illume This long-explored but still exhaustless mine 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 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 Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower 1145 1160 1156 1160 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 judiiinent err, in in U-lfi ■f^^ me ""%1W^ 1150 3aven, "•SjfS- ', •*** ;■"*"■ 'M :l I 1165 nt, ■ » 7eT ower. 1160 ; 'If* M '•■ f ';Hi lUih 1) 138 V V W I i M 4 W IT,. n,,]i H yh'ON. K>. Uti IDS >;!iriie .t;n i.yi '. 1 lliinie llCi « f! i-'-oav-i o'e<- 1 til OXXIX. I ., I, •■.,-.: ii t' lU-^ im.iliiiiii sadovv'^ {uiih II ^ ^'"1 iven JSg ],.,.]. K MhS; .".'iu Oh T, ,t'.- au lifiev ul till. (ii':id, Adonic: .*■ illy uliii Arid oidv 'Oti Ill y. ^^'^fH:^ -A fl f VII ■-CT I "1 ^B^. i ; ■ -a 1 i ,1 I .fill ■ 1 ^^{*.^^9H Mm TM:if M Tl Dc crrn.DE harollj^s pilgrimage. v^Mt The test of truth, love,— sole philosopher. For all hesidBvS are sophists, from thy thrift. Which never loses though it doth defor Time, the avenger ! unto thee I lift My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of theo a gift; n7it cxzzi. Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine And temple more divinely desolate. Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, Ruins of years '-ugh few, yet full of fate : — If thou hast jver seen mo too elate, ins Hear me not : i at if c, Iraly I have borne Good, and rose nAd niy pride against the hate Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn This iron in my soul in vain shall they not mourn ? OXXXII. And thou, who never yet of human wrong iiso Left the unbalanced scfile, great Nemesis ! Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long— Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss. And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss For that unnsitural retribution — just, uas Had it but baen from hands less near — In this Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust ! Dost thou not hear my heart ?— Awake ! thou shalt, and .4 . A '\'\ ,i:,l Mi ,i ,(• u t 140 n VRON. iiw CXXXIII. It is not that I may not have incurvVl For my ancestral faults or mine the wound I bleed withal, and had it been conferr'd With a just weapon, it had flow'd unbound ; But now my blood shall not sink in the ground ; To thee I do devote \t—thou shalt take The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found, uo.^ Which if I have not taken for the sake But let that pass-I sleep, but thou shalt yet awal;e. \ cxxxiv. And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now I shrink from what is suffer'd : let him si^eak Who hath beheld decline upon my brow. Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak ; But in this page a record will I seek. Not in the air shall these my words disperse, Though I be ashes ; a far hour shall wreak The deep prophetic fulness of this verse. And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse ! cxxxv. That curse shall be Forgiveness. -Have I not- Hear me, aiy mother Earth ! behold it. Heaven !- Have J not had to wrestle with my lot ? 1200 1205 Have I not su ffer'd things to be foigiveuV 1210 riTll.DE HAROLiys PILGRIMAGE. 141 liave I not liad my brain sear'd, my lioart riven, l£opos sapp'd, name blightecl, Life's life lied away V And only not to despeiatior driven, Because not altogether of such cbv A.8 rots into the souls of those whom 1 sun cr. lais CXXXVI. From mij^hty wrongs to petty perfidy Have I not seen what human things could do V Prom \\w loud roar of foaming CHltiiany To ihe snail whisper of tlie as paltry few, Ami tjUuilor venom of the reptile crew. The J anus glance of whose significani tsye. Learning to lie with silence, would .vecv/i true, And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh. Deal round to happy fools its sp*. ciileas obloquy. OXXXVII. But 1 have lived, and have nor lived in vain : My mind may lose its force, my blood itw lire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain; But there is that within me which shall tin; Torture and Tune, and breathe when I expire ; Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Like the reraember'd tone of a unite lyre, Shall on their soften'il spiiits sink, and move lu hcaitsi all rocky uuw thi late rcxuOfso of lovo. 12^0 ViW^ 1231' P'' 'i ijtf ft i*;r J lllli t .. n 142 BYRON. CXXXVIII. The seal is set.— Now welcome, thou dread power ! Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fcav ; Tlij'' haunts are ever where the dead walls rear Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene Derives from thee a sense so deep and clctir That we become a part of what has been, And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. Vi^r- 1240 ,j '■ ■.( CXXXIX. And here the buzz of eager nations ran, In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause. As man was slaughter'd by his fellow-man. 1246 And wherefore slaughter'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? Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. 1250 W '^ CXL. I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand— his manly brow C'-'iisents to deatli, but conquers agony, And his droop'd head sinks gradually low— U65 CHILDE HAROLiyS PILGRIMAGE. 14.S And through his side the last drops, ebbing 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']re ceased ^he inhuman shout which liail'd the wretcli who won. laiiij * OXLI. Ho heard it, but he heeded not— his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his j'oung barbarians all at play. xtm There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butclier'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 ! CXLII. But here, where Murder breatlied her bloody steam ; iii7o And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And roar'd or murmur'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. 127.1 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 lou'l. H ... h l< iiLi ■fit! m liiimih m 'MM. I ■ l.j. ,.:.„ !'|1 144 B v/aoy. 1280 1286 OXLlll. A ruin— yet what ruin ! from its mass Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been icar'd : Yet oft. the enovmons skeleton ye pass. And marvel where the spoil could have appour'd Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or \)ui clcar'd? Alas ! developed, opens the decay, When the colossnl fnhric's form is near'd : It will not bear the briglitness of the day. Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away. ox LTV. But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and ^;ently pauses there ; When the stars twinkle through the loops of i imu, And the low night-breeze w.aves along the iiir The gariaud-forcst, which the grey walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first Cajsar's head : When the light shines serene but doth not glare, Then in this magic circle raise the (hiul ; Heroes have trod this spot-'tis on their dust ye tread. GXLV. " While stands the Coliseum, l.ome shall stand ; "When falls the Coliseum. Rome shall tall ; -And when Rome falls-the World." From our own land l-J'JO ]2 I S^ i -''^3 i ■ 'ffltt ^ i tSffiB i*#*' «*•■■'■ ■.wn gift: it is her sire To whom she renders back the debt of blood 1S35 1340 Bu n wi th her birth. No ; he shall not expire 1S4.1 i32r. bare ? fe, ok 1835 Dok 1840 Cain was l-e 1345 CHILDE // OLD\S riLGKIMAGB:. 147 I I While in tliose warm and lovely veins the fire Of hoiilth and holy fcoling can provide Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher Than E^Tpt's river:— trom that ;,-ontIo side Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's realm hold no such tide. CLI. The starry fable of the milky wny Has not thy story's purity ; it ia A constellation of a sweefor ray And sacred Nafno triumphs more in this Reverse of her u.icree, than in the abyss innr, Where sparkle distant worlds :~-0h, holiest nurso ! 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. 13(M) OLII. Turn to the Mole which Hadrian rear'd on high, Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, Colossal copyist of deformity, VV iiose travell'd fantasy from the far Nile's Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils To build for priants, and for his vain onrth, His shrunken ashes, raise this dome : liovv 'I'he gazer's ey ^ with philosophic mirth, i - view the huge design whicli sprung from such a birth ! isw les •i I) J I ■I )•! % I ft 'Ir 'i I')'! t' I 148 B YA'ON. OMII. 1370 18TA n„t lo ! tho .lomo -tho vast and wondrous domo, To wliicl" Diiiim's lUiivvol was a cell Christ's miiihty shrino nl.ovo his manyv's tomb ! I nave behold the Ephesian's miracle- Its columns strew ti>e wilderness, and dwell The hyjena and tlie jackal in their shade; I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell Their KlitterinK mass i' the sun, and have survey'.! Its sanctuary the while the usurpiuK M"s].Mn pray'd ; CLIV. But rhou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alonc-with nothing like to thce- Worthiost of G WHd CLIX. Then pause, and be enlighteii'd ; there is nioie In such a survey than the sating gaze Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 1425 The worship of the place, or the mere praise Of art and its great masters, who could raise What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan ; The fountain of sublimity displays Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man ii.io Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. OLX. Or, turning to the Vatican. ;;o see Laocoon's torture dignifying pain — A father's love and moiial's agony With an immortal patience blouding ; V^aiu l43o CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Ifil The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, The old man's clench ; the long envenom'd chain Rivets the living links,— the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. i44o CLXI. Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and light— The Sun in human limbs array'd, and f)row All radiant from his triumph in the fight ; The shaft hath just been shot— the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain, and might, Aud majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity. 1445 OLXII. But in his delicate form— a dream of Love, i45o Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast Long'd for a deathless lover from above, And inaddon'd in 'Jiat vision— are exprest All that ideal beauty evor bless'd The mind with in its most unearthly mood, 1.155 When each conception was a heavenly guest— A ray of immortality— and stood. Starliko, around, until thoy gatliofM to a goi m I II IliW i I 152 BYRON. 1400 1465 CLXIIl. And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven The five which we endure, it was repaid By him to whom the energy was given Which this poetic marble hath array'd With an eternal glory-which, if made By human hands, is not of human thought ; And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid One ringlet in the dust-nor hath it caught A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 'twas wrought. OLXIV. But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, Phe being who uphold it through the past? Methinks he cometh late and tarries long. Ue is no raore-these breathings are his last ; His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast. And he himself as nothing :— if he was Aught but a phantasy, and could be classM With forms which live and suffer-let that i.ass- 14t His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass. 1170 M 1: i i CLXV. Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all That we inherit in its mortal shroud, And spreads the dim and universal pall Through which all things grow phantoms ; and tl,. cloud CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. I5;i Between us sinks and all which ever glow'd, Till Glory's self is twilight, and displays A melancholy halo scarce allow'd To hover on the verge of darkness ; rays Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, ii«.i OLXVI. And semi us prying into the abyss, To gather what we shall he when the frame Shall be resolved to something less tlum this Its wretched essence ; and to dream of fame, And wipe the dust from off the idle name iiyo We never more shall hear, — but never more. Oh, happier thought ! can we be made the same : It is enough in sooth that once, we bore These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was gore. CLXVII. Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, i wft A long low distant murmur of dread sound, Such as arises when a nation bleeds With some deep and immedicable wound ; Tlirough storm and darkness yawns the rending ground, The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief imw Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'. . And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief >>w« clasps a h.ibe, to whom her breast yields no reJij;!, iff J, 1 : !'-i' 1 ^^ff ^ 154 BYRON. 1506 1511* ci-xvm. Scion of chiefs and moiiarcVis, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some lass majestic, less beloved head ? In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, The mother of a momert, o'er thy boy, Death hush'd that pang for ever: with thee iied 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 udored ! Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, if.i And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her many 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 ! The husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! ULXX. Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment tiuide ; Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, I'ho love of luiuionB 1 How we did entrust iU-ZU CR/LDE HAKOLiys PILGRJMAGE. 166 Futurity to her ! and, though it must Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd Our children should obey her child, and bless'd Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd ^w^^^ Like stars to shepherds' eyes ;— 'twas but a meteor beanj'd. OLXXI. Woe unto us, not her ; for she sleeps well : The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstrung 1535 Nations have arm'd in madness, tl e strange fate Which tumbles mi-htiest sovereigns, and hath fluu^ Against their blind omnipotence a weight Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late,- • ji '5? .S|lll it:! i ' \- CLXXIl. 'Phese might have been her destiny ; but no, 1540 Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair, Oood without ef!ort, great without a foe ; IJut now a bride and mother— and now fhtre! How many ties did that stern moment tear ! From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast 1515 Is link'd the electric chain of that despair, Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest Vm land which loved thee so that none could love thee :'•» '."4 * ^-H I'll 166 B YRON. \ ■■iS r M • CLXXTTI. Lo, Nemi ! navell'd in the woody hills So far, that tho uprooting wind wliich tears The oak from his foundation, and which spills The ocean o'er its boundary, and boars Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares The oval mirror of thy glassy lake ; And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake, All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. OLXXIV. And near Albiino's scare." divided waves Shine from a sister valley ;- and afar 'LMie Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war, "Arms and the Man," whose reascending star Rose o^er an empire ;-but beneath thy ri^ht TuUy reposed from Rome ;-and whore yon bar Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight, The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's delight. Cl.XXV. But I forget. — My PiliiriDi s shrine is won, And he and I must piirt, so let it be,— His tssk and mine alike are nearly done ; Yet ouce more let us look ui)on the sea ; 1.W1 1B56 15tio Ifiiii'i lf.7t: CHTl.DE TTAROLiys PILGKTMAGE. 167 The midland ocean breaks on him and me, And from the Alban Mount we now behold Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold Those waves, we foUow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd I67r. OLXXVI. Upon the blue Symplep;ades : lo-ig years — Long, though not very many— since have done Their work on both ; some suffer! nj? and some tears Have left us nearly where we had beRun : Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, iww Wo have had our reward— and it is hei-e ; That we can yet feel t,'ladden'd by the sun, And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear As if there wore no man to trouble what is clear. OLxxvri. Oh ! that the Desert were ray dwelling- pi ace, i.V'. With one fair Spirit for ray minister, 'i^hat I might all forget the huraan race. And, hating no one, love but only her ! Ye Elements ! — in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted— can ye not ifijn Accord me such a being ? Do T err I^n deeming such inhabit many a spot? Tiiough with them to converse ran rarelv be our lot. V. r:fii, .'MP 158 BYRON. OLXXVIII. Phore is a pleasure in the pathless woods. riicro is a rapture on the lonely shore, Pliere is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in 'ts roar : I love not Man the less, hut Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may he, or have been before. To min<;le with the Universe, and feel Mat I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 160fi lOfxi CLXXIX. lloU on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean— roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin— Itis control Stops wir,h the shore ;— upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into the depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, unf^offin'd, and unknown. IfiOfi 161(1 i'4'Ji CLXXX. His steps are not upon thy paths,— thy fields Are not a spoil for him,— thou dost arise. And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields ' or (>!i rth's destruction thou dost nil despise, K',!- CHIl,DE HA/WUrs PILGRIMAGE. lA'i Spurninp; him from thy bosom to the skies. And send'st him, shivorinK in thy phiyful sprny And howlinfi, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty ho^. ,n some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth : — there let hJiii lay. ki^c OLXXXI. The armaments which thunderstrike tin vvhI!-- Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake. And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huye ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take ir,'5 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mai Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafal>;ar. CLXXXII. Thy shores are empires, chanpjed in all save thee— lam Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are tliey ? Thy waters washed them power while they wero froo, And many a tyrant since : their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts :— not so thou, ifiss Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thy azuiv brow— ich as creation's dawn boheld, thou roUest now. 1'f i 'I: 1 I If' i .■ is 1 1 l1i ]i '1 1 1 '1 f i t : till '^' ' l^^rl r^^H J I,' ^ ■ 160 5 KitOA' OLXXXllI. Thou glorious mirror, where the A! niphty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 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 The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Olieysthee; 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 I wanton'd with thy breakers— they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror— 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane— as I do here. !««> IMS lAflO 18U 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 bo extinguish'd which hath lit l«» CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 161 My Jdniglit lamp— Rnd what is writ vrit,— Would it we. votfhier ! but I am u now Th I; which I havo in ri_and my visions flit Less palpably before me— and the glow Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint and low. ifiw OLXXXVI. Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been— A sound which makes us lingp yet— farewell ! .Ye ! who have traced the Pil^ o the scene Which is his last, if in your n ories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell leio A single recollecrion, not in vain le wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell ; Farewell ! with Mm alone may rest the pain, If such there were— with ym, the moral of his strain. F'u :;;u- MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) i.O I.I 1.25 m III 3.2 IIM m 1.4 Z5 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 ^ APPLIED I I VHGE Inc =^. 1653 East Main Street r^ Rochester. New York 14609 USA J=; (715) 482 - OJOO - Phone ^= (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax ^laDH ! ■ ■ ■ 1 ■ x^HH ' - : NOTES mm :\'m ■ t .f;r ■ M Mii ■ I i ii ll I ^'■. NOTES. .pll G0JJ3SMITII. THE TRAVELLER. Circumstances of composition. -Goldsmith is frequently subjective ana at times even autobiographical in his con .o- sitionB. There is no doubt that The Traveller contains many of the experiences that tlio poet gained in that famous walking tour through Holland, France, Switzerland, and Italy from which he returned in February, 17oG. A part of the poem he says m the Dedication, was actually written to his brother from Switzerland. In 1764 he was still writin"-. R. aolds relate? that, visiting him in that year, he found his "friend occupied at his desk, yet watching a little dog tryin- to sit upright. ' Occasionally he glanced his eye over his desk and occasionally shook his finger af the unwilling pupiHn 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 cares begull'd, Vht iports of children satisfy the child. ' ' -Prior, Goldsmith, ch. xiv. This very year however was a dark one in the poet's fortunes. He was arrested for rent by las landlady, and escaped prison only through the interven- tion of Dr. Johnson, who carried off to Newliery, the pub- lisher, Goldsmith's MSS. of The Vicar of Wakefield and The traveller, and obtained for the novel an immediate advance ot £60. Once in the publisher's hands, it was soon issued 1, I f !■ ! ' ill I, I > 1 .i.>r M 1 1 u I! fJ 166 NOTES. Publication.— On the 19th of December, 1764, the Public Advert iner announced that " This day is 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 L ier 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 Eolfe), 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 ()f 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 ailse. —Pope, Essay 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 at Trinity College, but GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 167 married xor love, and gave up ambition. "Henry followed his father's calling, and died as he had lived, a humble village preacher and schoolmaster [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 (cf. n.), And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 1. 18.— the harvest is great. " 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 circumstanced, perhaps that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest. What from the increased refinement of the times, from the diversity of judgments produced by opposing systems of criticism, and from the more prevalent divisions of opinion influenced by party, the strongest and highest efforts can expect to please but in a very narrow circle. Though the poet wore as sure of his aim as the 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 below, 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 art^ are sisters, tliough not twins in birtli j For tiymns were sung in Eden's liappy earth : But oh, the painter Muse, though last in place, Has seized tlie blessing first, lilce Jacob's race. —To Sir Qod/rey Kneller. 1 Iff *' 1 * • n! 1 ; ( ' -;l ■ '1 ' i !, i- ! ' ' 1 3 1 ■ ■ i , ' : 1 - . . i ■ Ml iiiii 1 . !olt.r, and pass part or the whole of the night in seeking anothcr.-Prior's (lold.vnth. xiv. Foster regards the censure as hasty. Cunningham (18.>3) sayBCarinthia " still retains its character for inhosp.tahty. boor. In the old sense, here, of peasant (Dutch boer, hus- landman, Cier. Bauer), but coars*; and unmannerly. 11. 8, 4.— boor. . .door. Tliis is one of the six imperfect ripjfes in the poem (Hill). 1.5.— Campania's plain. The Caj;i;;a.7Jio(' country extends for ninoty miles by thirty or forty around Homo, an undu- lating, miasmatic, barren tr.ict, uninhabitable in summer. " For miles nnd miles, theio is nothing to n^lievo tlio terrible monotony, and of all kinds of country that could, by possi- bility, be outside the gates of Komo, ihis is the aptest 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 vil'lanous-h:oking shepherd, with matted hair all over his face, and himself wrai)ped to the chin in a frowsy brown mantle, tending his sheep."— Dickons, Pictures from Italy. 1. 0.— expanding. Ist-Srd eds., exi)anded. 1. 8.— untravell'd. 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 heart] 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 if GOLDS Mir II: TIIF. IKAyn/./.Eh'. \r.\ greater length of cliain."-Goldsmitl., Citizen of the World letter ni. Cf. also Blackmoro's Arthur, p. 212. I. 11. -my earliest friend. A lurthor roferouce to his old- eat brother ; Cf. 1). v., 11. K9-1G2. 1. M.-trim their evening fire. ' ' Trim is not used of a fire so far as I know, by any author earlier than rJold»mith."-Hill. The Hermit Irimm'd his iii.le «rc. And chcer'd liifl pensive Ruest. — GoId.Hinith, The Ifermit, II. 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 c.xtcn.slve view Survey mankind, from China to Peru. -Johnson, Vanity of Thman Wishes. Goldsmith's frequent use of the figure can be seen in Tr 11.38,41,91; />.r. 11. 3, 14, G8, 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 person I fications 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 oimple plenty crown'd. lst-3rd add., whore 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 lu.xnry was doing good. — Ctaremont, 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., 1. n. 248. 1.' i. 1 q ■i* ij. iiHM«> 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."— FtVar of Wakefield, ch. x. 1. 30.— find no spot... my own. Prior [Prior] has the same thought :— My destln'd miles I shall have prone, 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 Ttaly, 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. 32.— 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 phenoma- non in mountainous ref;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. 34.— -an hundred realms. The poetical exaggeration was less marked before the petty principalities and powers of Germany, Switzerland and Italy had become more or less unified. 1. 35.— extending. lst-3rd edd., extended. ' 1. 36.— pomp of kings, the shepherd's. . . Antithesis is a favourite device of eighteenth century poetry. The artistic effect of tbxs figure is greatest in satire, as Pope has shown. Goldsmith's employment of it may be noticed in 11. 114, 118, I28f., 192, 256, et<;. U. 88ff.— Amidst the store. . . The first ed. reads :— GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 175 Amidat the store, 'twere thankless to repine, 'Twere affectation all, and school-taught pride, To spurn the splendid things by heaven supply'd. 1. 88. -should thankless pride repine? Ist 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-dlvIne. —Satires, v. 102. 1. 43.— sympathetic. Having fellow-feeling (Gk. sun, with pathos, feeling.) ' 1. 44.-Exults in all the good. " As I am a great lover of mankmd, my heart naturally overflows with pleasure at the sight of a prosperous and happy mul^-^ude."— Addison, Spectator, No. 69, which gives much of th. iiilosophy of The Traveller. Cf. also (Hill) :— Homo sum, humani nihil a me allenum puto. I am a man, and deem nothing human be^'ond ray Interest. —Terence, Heaut. 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 " L 114; •' the smiling land," 1. 122. ' Pope has almost the same phrase, — Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving galo. Essay on Man,m. 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 Shaksperc. What, ho J thou jolly shepherd's swain. —Spenser. Shepherd's Calendar, July. ; ■ii-w|Mj!j| I, { . m ihii- i^ n 176 NOTES. But it 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, Slimmer, 1. 85. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say. —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 answers, " 'Tis for mine I " For me kind nature wakes her genial powV, 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 slitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. — Cowper, Winter Morning, 7391f. 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.— pievails. Gets the mastery over pleasure (1. 56), GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. m ^ sorrows fall. 'Sorrov,^ >r 'tears of sorrow' (Hales); • sorrows fall upon or opprc , the heart ' (Sankey). The lat- ter is in keeping with II. 102, i04. 1. 58.— hoard. 1st ed., sum. 1. 60.— real. A dissyllable; of. I. 259. 1. 66.— Boldly proclaims. . . Ist 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-3rd edd., Nor less. 1. 75ff.— And yet, perhaps. , .blessing even. I8t ed. And yet, perhaps, if states with states we scan, Or estimate their hliss on Reason's plan. Though patriots flatter, and though fools contend, We still sliall iind uncertainty suspend, Find that each good, by Art or Nature given, To these or those, but malces the balance even : Find that the bliss of all is mucli the same, And patriotic boasting reason's shame ! 1. 78.-An equal portion dealt. This is eighteenth century optimism. Cf. ^ One truth is clear, Whatever is is right. —Pope, Ensay on Man, 1. 289. Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere, 'Tis nowhere to be found, or ev'rywhere. —id., ib. iv. 15. Alike to all, the kind impartial Heaven The sparks of truth and happiness has giv'n. -Gray, Education and Government. I. 82.-bliss. The frequent use of this word is almost a mannerism ; of. 11. 58, 123, 226, etc. II. 83f.-With food. . .side. This couplet is not in the 1st ed. 1. 84.— Idra'5 cliffs. It is doubtful what place (Goldsmith had in mind. In the Gentleman's Magazine, 17G7, pp. 251f. K : >; !;■ H ^'. ^ ' 'r 3 r 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. References 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. Arno'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.... Ist ed. And though rough rocks and gloomy summits frown, 1. 86.— beds of down. Of. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel coucli of war My thrice-driven bed of down. Shakspere, Othello, i. iii, 1. 88. — Wealth, commerce. . . lst-3rd edd., Wealth, splen- dours . . . I. 90. — either. Improper use of either, one of two, for each. II. 91f. — Where wealth and freedom ... prevails. Omitted in 1st -3rd edd. 1. 92. — honour sinks. A common complaint ; cf. Ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desei't ' The student's hower for gold. — Wordsworth, '■'When I have home in Memory." 1. 93f. — to one lov'd blessing prone. Cf. And hence one Master Passion in the breast. Like Auroii's serpent, swuiluws uit ilie rest. —Pope, £ssay OH Jfa«, ii. 131f. the terraced GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 179 \, 98. -peculiar pain. An evil pertainiMg only to jt fL pecuharis, one's own, special.) ^ Page 8 1 99.-try. In its original sense of test, examine. 1. 101.-proper cares. Cares peculiar to myself. (L pro- priua, one's own.) Cf. j y . /jiu- Conceptions only proper to myself. — Shakspere, Jttlius Caaar, i. U. 41. •^' ^^^7^^t"!^'''tr ^^'^ '^^'^^^^ P^^*'^^ fo^ ^or the Apen- nines. Cf. Childe Harold, iv. 049. ]. 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, Storal Essays, Iv. GO. V «nn.T''-f°5^''.?''''^'"^- ^^' I^y««Phronis, Cassandra, V. 600; Virgil, Mneid, i. 164; v. 288. J. 109.-tops. lst-3rd edd., top, and ' marks ' in 1. 110 1.115. -blooms. Blossoms, flowers. (Conjectural A.S. form bloma, connected with blossom and to blow [of flowers!) For the whole passage, cf. Childe Harold, iv. xxvi fp 97 ) 1. 119.--own the kindred soil. « Own ' is here, not, I think possess, but make manifest,-show that the soil is con^en'-l natural to their growth. Cf. 1. 264, and I). V. 1. 76. ' In the long sigh that sets tlie spirit free We own the love that calls us back to 'fiiee. -, , , . ^ , , „ -Holmes, Pittsjield Cemetery. For ' kindred,' cf. Still, where rosy pleasure leads, See a kindred f,'i"ief pursue. —Gray, Ode on Vicissitude. 1.121 -gelid Ud'id). Cold, icy; here, cool, refreshing. [\i. geltdus, cool, cold.) By gcIiU founts and car •eless rills to mus riiomson mmer, 1. 205. I ' * ( ■ :',■ silh -1 u --■» Mft^ 11 I '!| 1 i»: iinl iT^' I ! ii. 180 NOTES. 1, 122.— winnow. (A.S. windwian, hence to separate the chaff by means of the wind.] Disperse by fanning. Cf. (HillJ, Cool zephyrs thrc the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrarice fling. —Gray, On the Spring. 1. 123.— sense. The senses as distinguised from the intel- lectual and roral 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 mau is vile. — Heber, Missionary Hymn. H Man seems. lst-3rd 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, London, 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. — Deuham, 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. 133fT. are to the Italian republics of the middle ages— Venico. Florence, Pisa, Genoa. They began their prosperity in the thirteenth century, and their decadence set in in the fifteenth ceucary. Venice lasted longest, but with the fall of Con- stantinople (1453) her giury diuiiuished. The discovery of America and of the passage round the Cape of Good Hope m\ ;te merely or GOLDSMITH. THE TRAVELLER. igl placed the commerco of tlie world in the hands of Porfcugal fc>pain, 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 leading citizens, such us 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, Eaphael ; her sculptors were Nicole Pisano, Donatello, Luc . della Eobbia, 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 decline 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 Eenaissance 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 -aised from the ground, and erected m conspicuous places."-Gibbon, Decline and Fall, Ixxi. speaking of Rome 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 life grew warm, And yielding metal flow'd to linman form. ' —Pope, Satires, v. 148. 1. 138.— pregnant quarry. The devotion to sculpture was so great that every quarry seemed to be pregnant with human forms, which it gave forth abundantly under the sculptor's hand. :U ' i ,:I-Hll; "I ^Mii-| 182 NOTES. 11. 139f.— Till, more unsteady... lst-3rd cdd. But, more unsteady than the southern pale, Soon Commcrco turn'd on other shores her sail. the southern gale. Allusion to tho 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 tho 1st cd. 1. 142. — towns unmann'd. Towns without inhabitants. Tho statement is an exaggeration. Modern Italy has not tho population of tho ancient Italy, whoso 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 ill the lifteonth 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 forn-er strength. Ist ed. Their former strcnpth was now plethoric ill. plethoric ill. Plethora (Gk. plethore, fulness) is tho evil of overfulness of blood duo to over-eating and over-drinking. The nation swollen by prosperity is weaker for tho 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 wiotchedness." — Gold- smith, Citizen of the World. II. 145f.— Yet still the loss. . . 1st cd. 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-board triumph. Referring to the imitatitm castles, ships, etc., drawn through the streets of Rome, and to the masquerades and mummery of the carnival of Rome !'fi and violent GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. ,83 and other Italian cities. These processions are in part a survival of the triumph, or glorious entry, granted by ancient Komo to her successful generals. cavalcade Properly a procession on horseback (Lat. cahallus^n, horse), but loosely used of a procession of car- riages. The poet probably refers to the gala cor>,o or proces- sional driving of the finest horses and carriages, with the accompanying contests of flower-throwing. 1. 151 -Processions. " Jlappy country '[Italy], where the pastoral ago begins to revive ! Whore the wits even of Eomo are united into a rural group of nymphs and swnins, 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 d^verlhnent^ --Present State of Polite Learnino, ch. iv Iho processions are usually of a religious nature, in honour of a saint. Cf. (Hill), , "«onour With^a^pink Kuuze sown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her Bang, luliamj, whang, goes the drum, tootlc-te-lootle the fife. — Browniiif,', U2yata Villa. The ' processions ' of love have given us the serenade, etc. Page 10. 1. 153.- By sports like these. >See note, p. 165. Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw. —Pope, Essaij on Man, ii. STSf 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 stru^f^ling 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. t-'i'ii •M m 1 : i; ; 1. I 184 NOTES. 1. 158.— happier meanness. Tho 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. domua, house). Cf. D. F., 1. 319. Cf. In Xanndii did Ivulila Khan A stately pleasure doni<> decree. — ColcridKC. Kubla Khan. Caesars. The title Caesar was the official designation of the Emperors of Eome from Augustus to Hadrian, and after- wards the api)ellation of tho heir-presumptive of the emperor {New Euff. Did.). In modern usage it is the general name for all the Eoman emperors. 1. 161. — There in the ruin. lst-8rd 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 tho soil refuses thom."-- Montesquiou, 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, ho said, nothing could equal the beauty of the Dutch scenery about Leyden, which had "fine houses, elegant gardens, statues, grottos, vistas." — Macaulay, Hist. ,of England, xiii. Keats indignantly cried : The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roli'd The gathering waves— ye felt it not. The blue Bared its eternal l)osom, and tlie dew Of summer night collected still to make The morning precious. Beauty wng awake. Why were ye not awake ? But ye were dead. st the ruin. GOLDSMITH: TIIK TRAVEl.LKR. 185 Thomson, Cow] . r, and Wordsworth had to live l)oforo a taste for the rougher aspects of nature could hocomo general. 1. 107.— mansion. lst-?rd edd., mansions. Hero, region of abode (L. wmjiere, to dwoll). 1. IfiS.— force a churlish soil. In contrast to the spontane- ity of Italian vegetation, 11. 119f. 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 Xl. to Louis XfV. drew a million of her guards fi-om the cantons. I. 171.— No vernal blooms. A poetical exaggeration. The Alpine flora is very extensive. I. 173.— zephyr. Lat. zephyrus, the west wind; hence, any gentle wind ; sometimes personified,— Mild as when Zcpliynis on Flora breathes. —Milton, Paradise Lost, /. 16. sues. lst-3rd edd., sooths. 1. 176,— Redress the clime. Mitigate its severities. Cf. Redress tlie rigours of th' inclement clime. 2). y, \^ \22 1. 177.— feast. lst-3rd edd., feasts. Pai?e II. 1. 179.— no contiguous palace. Cf. 7).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, ^neid, ix. 177. deal. A.S. doilan, to divide, distribute ; cf. Isaiah, Iviii. 7. 1. 184.— Each wish contracting. Another touch of ei'-h- teenth century philosophy. Cf. "I shoU 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 endeavonra nft^r fV>« rn — f i -• « Addison, 5pccere, Antony and Cleopatra, 11. v. 10. finny deep. Lakes abounding in fish. Cf. ' warbling grove,' D. V., 1. 881. 1. 188. — to the steep. Sometimes oxpluined, ' up tho steep hillside,' but tho epithet ' vent'rous' implies to tho verge of the precipice. 1. 19U.— savage. Wild beast — wolf or bear. Cf. But If the savage [boarj turns his glaring eye, They howl aloof, and round the forest fly. —Pope, Iliad, xvii. 815. When the grim savage [llonj. to his rifled don Too late returning, snuflfs the track of men. — j6. trf. xviil.373. I. 191. — sped. Successfully accomplished. II. 193ff. — At night returning. Tho picture of huniMe domestic hapinness is first found in Thomson's WinUr (1730) :— In vain for him th' officious wife prepares The Are fair-blazing, and the vestment warm; In vain his little children, peeping out Into the mingling storm, demand their sire. Gray introduces it in The Elegy (1750). Later, Burns in The Cotter's Saturdag Night and Wordsworth in Michael develop the theme. 1. 196. — her cleanly platter. Ist ed., the cleanly plaUt^^ 1 IQQ WTi^U mantr a falff Cf D V" 11 155f nightly. An unusual sense, — for the night. , I ' ;i GOLDSMITH: THE Th'AVEl.l.EK, i^v To bless the doors from ulsrhtly liarm. • — MiltDii, H J'nii.Herogo,S4. Of. nlso '• our daily hrend " in tho Lord's Pmyur 11 2()lf -And e'en those hills. This couplet is not in tno 1st cd. mansion AnoldsenHe.-dwolIingi.luco, i.ero tho peasant's hut. C . i. 1(,7 and, " fn my Futht-r's house aro nmny man- sions," Jcihn xiv. 2, 1. 20H.— Dear is that shed. Cf. Tliosc Hdds, tliosu liills- wl.fil cotiKI tlicy Ics.s ? had Inid 8t;ntit,' hold on hla (inoc-fions, ucio to him A pl^'fisiirahlc fccliof,' of blind l.ivc, The pleasure which there U in life itself. —Wordsworth, Hichael. to which his soul conforms. Cf. 1. 184. Page 12 1. 20.5._As a child 1st Hrd odd., as a bal.o. 1. 20b._close and closer. F..r,-closor and closer. A somewhat similar eonstruction is,— All thinK.«) secure and sweetly ho enjoys. — Shakspere, ,'(. Iknry VI f. li. r>. 50. J. 209.— Such are. 1st od., Those are. 1. 210.-wants but few. Ist-Hrd odd., wants are few. 1. 211.-only share the praises. For,-sharo only the praises. "^ L 213.-For every want. . . 1st f?rd odd., Since every want, t f. hxory want l.eeomes a means of pleasure in tlie redress- ing. — (Joldsmith, Animated Nature. The influence (,f luxury on happiness is discussed in The Citizen of the World, Let. xi. :-" Am I not bettor pleased in enjoyment than in the sullen satisfaction of tliiukin- thit I can live without enjoyment? The m« re various our artifi- cial necessities, the wider is our circle of pleasure; for all pleasure consists in obviating necessities as they rise- luxury, thereforo, as it increases our wants, increases our capacity for h.Tppino.-s." L 215.— Whence. lst-3rd edd., Hence. i i 1 1 1 i ll Ij-ll 188 NOTES. 1. 216. — desires. 1st 3rd edd.. desire. supplies. Supplies that which gratifies it. Cf. 1. 214. 1. 218.— the languid pause. The interval after sensual indulgence. finer joy. The joys of more refined pleasures, — of music, painting,— of ' those powers that raise the soul.' 1. 221. — Their level life. ' Level' is monotonous, unevent- ful ; cf. 1. 859. 1. 222. — Unquenc'd by want. lst-3id edd. Nor quench'd by want, nor f.an'd by strong desire. 1. 225. — vulgar breast. ' Vulgar,' here, of the people (Lat. mdrjus, commt n people). 1. 230. — thf! manners. lst-3rd odd., their manners. Page 13. 1.231. — finely. Delicately wrought ; therefore blunted upon coarse natures. 1. 232. — indurated. Hardened, rendered unfeeling. (L. induratus, p. part, of indurare, to harden.) 1. 234. — cow'ring. (Icel. kilra, to be quiet.) The word usually, but not here, suggests fear. Cf. Our dame sits cow'ring o'er a Icitclicn firo. — Dryden, Fables. 1. 236. — charm the way. lst-3rd edd., our way. I. 237. — timorous pinions. The figure keeps up the con- - trast of the falcons (1. 234) and the timid songsters of the garden paths of life. II. 239ff. — To kinder skies. The poet's experiences of Franco form the substance likewise of part of the story of the Philosophic Vagabond in the Vicar of Wakefield, ch. xx. :— "I had some knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice; I ^now turned what was once my amusement into ?» present means of subsistence. I passed among the harmless peasant;? of Flanders, and among such of the French as were po(.r enough to be merry ; for I o\or found them sprightly in pro- portion to their wants. Whenever I approached a peasant's house, towards nigiitfall, I played one of my merriest tunes, GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 189 and that for tl 10 procured next me not only a 1., dying- but subsistei day, I once or twice attempted ice X "— to play for people of fashion; but they always thought my perform- ance odious and never rewarded me oven with a trifle " The criticism of France is, like that of Switzerland superficial. Voltaire was in the height of his influence,' the Jhrn-yclopedia was in course of publication (1751-1772) Rousseau had published The New Heloi.e, Social Contract and Kmile, and the whole intellectual world was in a feverish excitement in which established opinions were going down like ninei)ins. The Eovolution in men's minds was in progress, while Goldsmith sees nothin- but the sportive choir by the murmuring Loire. In the (Jitizen of the II arid, Iv., however, he propiietically noticed that freedom had entered Trance in disi>-uise." 1. 240.— I turn. Ist-Jird edd., we turn. 1. 241. -sprightly. I.e. witty and vivacious. (Spricrht spirit, is Fr. enprit, L. npiritus.) ° ' 1. 243.— have I led. See Introduction I. thy sportive choir. Choir is used here rather in its original sense of troop of dancers (Gk. choro,). 1. 253.-gestic lore. ' Gestic.' pertaining to action, mo- tion; 'lore,' that which has been learnt: hence, arts of dancing. Dobson says, ' traditional gestures or motions ' Scott, however, doscribiug Fenella dancing before Charles II. writes, "He bore time to her motions with the move- ment of his foot-applauded with head and with hand— and seemed, like herself, carried way by the enthusiasm of the gestic a.vV—Peveril of the Peak, xxx. 1. 255. -thoughtless. Without anxious thought • cf Matt vi. 25. * ' 1. 256.— idly busy. Cf. lilfc's Idle business at one ffiisp be o'er. —Pope, Eleijij on an UnJ\,rtitnate Lady, 81, riio busy, idle blockiieads of llie ball. — indears mind to mind. 1. 202. — traffic. Interchange (not of goods, but of praise). 1. 268. — camps. Used loosely for army. I. 2G4. — avarice of praise. This was Horace's charge concerning the Greeks : — Praetcr laiidem nullius avaris None avaricious except of praise. —Ars Poetica, 324. Vincet amor patriae laudemquc immensa cupido. —Virgil, ^ueid, vi. 824. II. 2Gr)f. — They please, are pleas'd . . . "There is perhaps no couplet in English rhyme mox-e perspicuously condensed than those two lines of The Traveller, in which the author describes the at once flattering, vain, and happy character of the French." — Campbell, British Poets, vi. 262 (Prior). _Cf. Each willing to be pleased, and please. — Vo^Q, Imitations of Horace, i\A^9. they give to get esteem. A classical phrase (Hill) : Sunt qui alios laudent laudentur ut ipsi. 1. 276. — frieze. Coarse woollen cloth. Goldsmith doubtless pronounced the word, — which liko tlie cloth, was well known in Ireland,— /r^s; cf. Sec how the doul)le nation lies, Like a rich coat willi skirts of frieze. —Swift. This pronunciation is still maintained, though not so com- mon with Englishmen asfrez. GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER, 191 copper lace. Tinsel. It will be remembered that gold and silver lace was used in men's dress of the poet's day. 1. 279.— still. Ever, always ; cf. 1. 9. n. 1. 280.— solid worth of self-applause. Cf. One sell-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers and of loud liuzzas. —Pope, Essay on iTan, iv. 2.55f. ' 1. 281.— my fancy flies. Italy, Switzerland and France were visible to him on his Alpine seat, but Holland only to the mind's eye. 1. 282.— in the deep where Holland lies. An interesting parallel to Goldsmith's description is Marvel's satire on Holland (Chambers's Cyclopedia, i. 286); cf. especially such lines as — How they did rivet, with gigantic piles, Tliorougli tlie centre their new-catclied miles ; And to tlie stake a struggling country bound, ' VVliere barking waves still bait the forced ground ; Building their watery Babel far more high To reach the sea, than those to scale the sky. "But we need scarce mention these, when we find that the whole kingdom of Holland seems to be a conquest upon the sea, and in a manner rescued from its bosom. The surface of the earth, in this country, is below the level of the sea ; and I remember, upon approaching the coast, to have looked down upon it from the sea, as into a valley."— Goldsmith, Animated Nature, i. 276. Goldsmitli's picture is largely true. The soil to a great extent is lower than the surface of the water,— sea, canal or river. By the canals the meadows lie usually ten feet beneath, by the sea at high tide twenty-five feet or more. Page 15. 1. 283.— Methinks her patient sons. .. The figure of vision,— another instance of the rhetorical cast of eigh- teenth century poetry. ivlcthlnks. A rulic of the old impersonal verb thyncan to seem, — it seems to me. Cf , D. V., 1. 402. ';ff a, I irr: si II I 192, NOTES. 1. 284.— broad ocean leans against the land. Cf. Et tenia maria inclinata lepellit. —Statins, Theh. iv. 62. And view the ocean leaning on the slty. — Dryden, Annus MirahiUs, 054. 1. 285.— sedulous. Steadily industrious. (Lat. sedidus, from secleo, to sit.) I. 286.— rampire. An archaic form of rampart. So down the rampires rolls tlie rocky shower. —Pope, Iliad, xil. 180. Here used figuratively of the dykes. The military lan- guage is justified. " Holland," says Amicis, " is a fortress, and her people live as in a fortress, on a war-footing with the the sea." — Holland, ch. i. The extent of these dykes maybe judged from an example. The West-Kappel dyke is 12,468 feet in leugth, 23 feet high, with a seaward slope of 300 feet, protected by piles and blocks of basalt. The ridge is 39 feet broad, used for a roadway and a railway. 1. 288.— seems to grow. Ist-Srd edd., seems to go. 1. 289. — Spreads its long arms. Ist ed. That spreads its arms amidst tlie watery roar. Then follows 1. 290 ; then come 11. 287-8. 1. 290. — Scoops out. By thrusting back the sea, the low land thus recovered having then the appearance of being scooped out. shore. Between high and low water-mark. 1. 291. — While the pent ocean. Isted., while ocean pent. 1. 292. — amphibious. Strictly, having the power of living 'in two elements — under water and on land. (Gk. amphi, both, bios, life.) 1. 293.— the yellow-blossom 'd vale. If Goldsmith had any definite flowers in mind, he would fiml a warrant for the epithet in the iiolds of Colza, and tho gorse and broom flowering along tho canals. Douglity, Friealand Meres, p. f ,■& i 'i GOLDSMim: THE T,. r 266ff ohildl-en were sold by t^ZZ^ ZT'^. • " "^"^"^ ' years." "^ P^"^®"^^ ^^^ a certain number of The reader will readily see fhnf r-^i^ are made with a view of . vLl ' f-t'T ^*^*«"^«nts fn fi,« ^ • .• g'ving an antithetical charaofor to the description of each nation so tbnf v^. ^"^""r^^ freedom, but of avarioo- „nl„ ' "° '<>"««"• 'h" 'on, of insuU the.. a„a frouoS^r/e; t "JorevfrneS" bouring power. "-ftV. o/ in 1st ed. 1. 342.— All claims... 3rd ed. All kindred claims that soften life unknown. 1. 348. — Here, by the bonds of nature. I8t ed. See, though by circling Ucepa together held, r ideal of GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 197 TJ^e idea originally was, therefore, that the isolation that na ure gave En.uu as .n isl .ud was a weak bond of human unity, rhxs xdea is the chief one in the text an it stands. England, bound in with tlie tiiu.n|.liant sea. Sliakspero, liidiard II., U. 1. inda!f rr^'T"*' f "'" • • • ^'^''' extremely difficult to induce a number of free beings t,. co-nperate for their rr' Ir J '"^'"^ ^^""'^'^ advantage will necessarily atto.Kled with a new fern,entation."-C.7i..« of the World GXXf ' imprison'd factions. Canying out the figure of ' the bonds of nature.' See p. 2. 1. 85 „ ^ inh^*?r?'^?''''*^'"'''*'°" ^^°'^- A probable allus- r -.if ; ;'' "'^'^ clirectedfrom the Continent and spe a ly from France. The ' repress'd ' rebellion of 1745 It wm be remembered, was not yet t.venty years past. ' 1 B5':is:ir ruTn. ''"-''' '''" ^' -''-' ^-^^• 1. 3Ji.-talent sinks, and m.rit weeps. Johnson exper- ienced the truth of this, which prompted his lines - Slovv rises worth by jwverty depress 'd ; But here more slovv, where all are slaves to j^old. U here books are merchandise, and s.niles are sold. —Johnson, Loudon, 11. i'>i ff Cf. Gaunt's praise of England :— This royal throne of kings, this sccDter'd isle.. '1 Ins happy breed of men, this little world 1 us blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings ' Shakspere, ii.cAard //.. ii. 1. 1. do8.— And monarchs. . . lst-3rd edd. And monarchs toil, and poets pant for fame wrote.-.For 'written.' Johnson, in his Dictionary, IH 'i* i ' f i I 1,1 1 ■ i.i !! I 108 NOTES. gives both forms as pt-rf. participles. They were so used in yhakapere. Beattie has, — I then liad wrote, What friends might flatter. —Night TImightB. il. I. 859.— level avarice. We bring to one dead level ev'ry mind. —Pope, Dimciad, Iv. 208. Page i8. 1. 8G1.— Yet think not... "In the things I have hitherto written I liave neither allured the vanity of the great by flattery, nor satisfied the mahsnity of the vulgar by scandal, but I liave endeavoured to get an honest repu- tation by liberal pursuits."— Goldsmith, Englinh Hinlorij, Pref. (Mitford.) II. 308-380. —Ye powers of truth . . . Not found in 1st cJ. , which has however the following couplet : Perish the wish ; for, inly aatislicd, Above their pomps I hold my ragged pride. 1. 308.— proud contempt. 8id ed., cold contempt. I. 374.— loads on each. Then in 3rd ed. follows : Much on the low, the rest, as 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 whose motto was, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. Other expressions of this ideal are : Heaven forming each on other to depend, A master, or a servant, or a friend, Bids eacli on other for assistance call. Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all. —Pope, Essay on Man, ii. 249flf. Order is heaven's lirst law; and this confest. Some are, and mnst be, greater than the rest. — t(Z.,i6.,lv. 49. 11. 377 ff.— O then how blind... This d.ark contm-^t must have been written about the same time a3 chaptc/ are so used GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER, leg xix. of tho Vhar of Wafcejkhl, which (Hscusfles the dangers of liberty in words that afford apt i.arallols to the lines of The Traveller. Cf. 38(5, 892 nn. 1. 378.— Who think it freedom. Cf. 1. 882 n. 1. 381.— contending: chiefs blockade the throne. See p. 2, 1. 85 n. The power of tho royal prerogative was a vital question about this time. Bute was in '7()2-3 the leader of a ministry that looked upon themselves as the humble instruments of royal authority. He had to make way for Orenvillo, who was disj)laeed by the Marquis of Rocking- ham. See Green, Short Hidory, chap. x. " 1. aS2.— Contracting regal power. See 1. 392 n. " The constitution of England is at present possessed of tho the strength of its native oak, and tho 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, sinceovery jewel plucked from the crown of majesty would only be made use of as a bribe to corruption ; it might come to a few who shared it among them, but would in fact impov- erish the public. As tho Roman senators. . .became mas- ters of the people, yet still flattered them with a sliow of freedom, while themselves only were free."— Goldsmith Citizen of the World, xlix. ' 1. 383.— factious. Addicted to party, cabal, organized and selfish opposition to government. 1. nCG.- Each wanton judge. This is probably aimed, says Hill, against Lord Chancellor Hardwicke, who had charge of the drafting of new laws more strictly regulatino- marriages and public houses. We should note tliat 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 he too frequently has it in his power to turn them into instruments of extortion."— Ci^izevt of the World, Let. Ixxix. M ; ,.H Ei' . • 200 NOTES. ■•t'i The ponal laws were frif^htfully severe, there being no less than one Imndri'd imd sixty criiiioH punishublo with death. One evil feuturo was that tlio jiuIj^mm had the power of inflicting punishineut of a few months' imprisonment or (loath for one and the same offence" (Sydney, Wth (Jen- lury, ii. '2(J7). (Joldsmith's lino is then a protest iigainst the multiplica- tion of penal statutes that permitted the magistrates to oppress and rob the people. 1. b8(3.— Laws grind the poor. . . Cf. " What they may then expect, may be seen by turning our eyes to Holland, (Jenoa, or Venice, where the law governs the poor, and the rich govern the law. I am then for, and would die for, monarchy."— FiVar of Wakejietd, ch. xix. (see 1. 892 tj.) rich men rule the law. " There was a time even iiero when titles softened the rigour of the law ; wlien dignified wretches were permitted to live." — Citizen of the World, i. 162. Page 19. 11. 387f.— The wealth of climes. . .Pillag'd from slaves. The aspect of English life hero depicted has especial reference to the Englishmen of the East India Comi)any. Macaulay's Clive gives abundant details of this " new class of Englishmen, tc whom their country 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 17G0 with £40,000 a year, and used some of his wealth to purchase parliamentary dependents. > Public indignation against the Nabobs "'as 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 GOLDSMTH: THE TRAVEU.Eft. 201 method to employ the suporfiu^ty of his fortune hut in purchasing power. . .in making dopomlants by purchasing the Ub,.r,y of the needy or the venal, of men who are willing to hear the mortiaeation of contiguous tyranny for bread."— Ftmr <•] Wake/le/d, ch. xix. 1. H9'2.-I fly from petty tyrants. Cf. «' The generality of Uiankin.l 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 gi-eat who were tyrants themselves before the election of one tyrant, are naturally averse to a power raised over them, and whose weight must over lean heaviest on the subordinate orders. It is the interest of the great there fore to diminish kingly power as much as possible- be- cause whatever they take from that is naturally restored to themselves.''— FiVar of Wakefield, ch. xix. Cf. also (Dobson),— Let not a mob of tyrants seize the helm, Nor titled upstarts Iea>,'ue to rob the realm Let lis, some comfort in our ffriefs to brlnjf Be slaves to one. and be tlmt one aid n^'. ' —Churchill, The Farewell, 11. 303 ff. J. 395.-honour in its source. ' Honour' is used here as '"ni^tr'-In ^uT'^r. "^ ''^""^rable recognition from others. Cf. (Hill) Ihe king 13 the fountain of honour. "-Bacon Essays, Of a Kiny. ' I. 89G.— Gave. Allowed, enabled, gave leave to. Cf. Gives thee to make thy nelfe'hbour's blessing thine. - Pope, Essay on Man, iv. 3,')4, II. 397 if .-Have we not seen. . . "In this and the sub- sequent hues 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 prodace in return? Why raw silk hemp, and tobacco. Eng!an