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SliLKCT PUKMS

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GOLDSMITH, WORDSWORTH, SCOTT,
KEATS, SHELLEY, BYRON

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EDFTED FROM AU'I'HORS' EDITIONS,
WITH INI'RODUCTIONS AND ANNOTATIONS,

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

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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.

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.

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<jer, which resulted in a series of
letters now best known in their collected form as The
Citizen of the World, a clever and humorous review of
English manners and civilization from the assumed point
of view of a Ciiinese, a device borrowed from Uufresny
and Montesquieu. When the rigor of this and similar
hack-work sent him off with ill-health to Tunbridge Wells
and Bath to recover, he quickly found literary copy of a
good-natured sort for his Life of Hichard Nash, a
biography of the master of ceremonies and potentate of
fashion of the latter city.

By this time (17G2) Goldsmith had reached a recognized
place amon, London writers. He had become intimate
with the Gieat Cham of literature, Dr. Johnson, and with
Garr.ck, Percy, Beauclerc, Langton-an intimacy strength-
ened .n 1764 by Reynolds's founding of the Literary Club
The year 1764 had, however, a gloomy episode. Tony
l^umpkin had been uppermost in Goldsmith's life, and his
landlady without any thought of posterity's good opinion,
had him arrested for debt. Dr. Johnson fortunatei;

able MSS., which not only satisfied the demands of
Mis. Fleming but gave the author a tolerable claim on

XIV

INTNOD UCT/ONS,

posterity. Thus it wftH tlint 'Ihe Trawllor in 1764 and
The Vicar of Wakefield in \lWy caino to be published.

The Traveller, us Miiciiuhiy has pointed out, is in deHij^u
at onr« simi.le and noble. "An English wanderer, seated
on ti orap^ amonf? the Alps, near the point where the three
countrlw meet, looks down on a boundless prospect,
reviews his lonK pilgrimage, recalls the varieties of
scer.oiy, of climate, of government, of religion, of national
chus ter he has observed, and comes to the conclusion,
just or unjust, that our happiness depends little on
political institutions, and much on the temper and regu-
lation of our own minds." (Ency. Brit.) That the
happiness of the individual is independent of government
iuid climate is a pruposition no one will seriously coniond
for to-day. Yet, though we have a diiFerpn' ,,(.int of view
in sociology, we still can find pleasure in the more
important element of Goldsmith's poetry. While the
Traveller is making his beautiful contrasts and close-
p.acked criticism of men and manners, we even lend a
poetical assent to his main 'proposition. The poem, in
truth, though intended as a philosophical poem, charms
us for very different reasons. The panoramic display of
nations, the gentle music of the verso reinforcing at
times the monotonous accents of the couplet with new
harmonies, —

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,—
the epigrammatic value of many a line, the steadfast
tendency of the verse towards the noblest ideals and most
helpful emotions,— these are of more value for poetry than
a principle of happiness. On the other hand the faults
of the poem— its rhetorical cast, the device of antithesis
as a basis of expression for every scene and for very
many ideas, the abstract o>*artictev of its phraseoloav, its

OLtVEK GOI.nSMITH.

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

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

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.

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 '"°"""== '^^ '<'<!■*
The same yea'r he m'arrt]' C H„L7"* "' ^™"™-
mate of his childhood, a wife wofth.of b't"' 1 "''°°'-

h.s»is.er, andof the pie.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. lo<iui., yaratus, in a world where 'he
^ITZ "° '"■=' "' -"«»"i-tions as he St ode

ct n Ls t1 "'"" "'" '»""■'"-"'. but they had a ,uie
clearness; there was enough of brow, and wdl shaL ■

.sts say), face of a squarish shape and decidedly longish
as I h,nk the head itself was {its length, goL W
zoMaiy. he was large-boned, lean, but stHl firm knit ta I
and strong-looking when he stood, a rigirg^d old
teel-gray agu™, a veracious .tren^tk looking trlugh

Wordsworth's cenius }in<a Viari r.^ c.
Coleridge, It is^orthe fri 'd itriVTuTr l"'"
cntic of literature who, in dark Ctj .^ le % ^
bravely stand forth to proclaim l,i.; friend's gktnes
Wordsworth's excellences are, he says:-4irst a„
austere purity of language. . .Second, a conipotdin^

ZutZf T'l "' '"^ "■""^'"^ and sentimen s .ir

va ion Ph ' , "■°"' '"^ P"*''^"™ meditative obse":
v..t,on. rhey are fresh, and have the dew upon them

Even throughout his smaller poems there is serceiv

one wh.ch is not rendered valuable by some ium

original reflection Third tl,. ■ ' """^

■ ■ ■■ ""■.. iniia, tile sinewy streni?tli .ii,.l

well on the
You would
i to unlock
ient, wlien
much, not
3t bland or
d hard ; a
\- where he

he strode
lad a quiet
n .shaped ;
sard satir-
ly longish
>ing" 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

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'

siK \vAi/ri;K scon

I :i i

.SYA" WALTER SCOTT,

XXXI

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

[1771-1832.]

C-ititiMn ; , ? "^ ^^^"^'•''"- Y«"f<e. •"^'^-«. -Gr:at Writers'
UiticiMn is voluminous: Ilazlitt. Spirit of the A,,,-, Onrlvio ill
Essays; Palgravo, Moinoir in tlic GIol)c od • CnrfhlV f V , r

nntain. Ti.e best editions are L . a '^^^^^^^ .^^^r^,"-^ ^^ '

Thej romantic movement wJiich showed itself in Words-
worth m the application of a sensitive mind to the
impressions of nature and human life, turned with
Walter Scott to the picturesque past. Scott's descent
rom a fighting clan, his early associations, his taste
for ballad literature, which he memorized with prodigious
tac.hty, all contributed to give his mind its permrnent
bent towards the age of chivalry and romance

He was born on the 15th of August, 1771, the ninth of
the twelve children of Walter Scott, an Edinburgh
attorney, connected 'with ancient families both on mv
father's and mother's side.' Scott has recorded in his
autobiography the circumstances of his early life (Lock-
hart's Life, ch. i.), and it is certain that with him as with
Wordsworth childhood moulded the character of the
man. The tales of his grandfather, the accounts of
the depredations of his Border ancestors narrated by his
grandmother, the ballads read him by his aunt, his lying
out among the sheep on the hillside of his grandfather's
arm, the stories of the German wars of veteran
Daigetty, his mother's warm inclination (o poetry, -all

^-"^■■'"— •"•— Ttnmm

xxxil

INTRODUCTIONS.

ilieso took their aliare in making the great minstrel. The
lirst books he read were ballads, Pope's translation of
Homer, and the songs of Allan Ramsay'a collections.
At the High School Scott did not make any great figure;
but, he tells us, his tales used to assemble an admiring
audience round Lucky Brown's fireside, and ' hai)py
was he who could sit next to the inexhaustible narrator,'
Ho gained some recognition for metrical versions of the
classics; and "in the inte" als of my schoolhours,"
he says, "I ... perused with avidity such books of
history or poetry or voyages and travels as chance pre-
sented to me— not forgetting the usual, or ten times the
usual, quantity of fairy tales, eastern stories, romances,"
Through an old friend he became acquainted with Ossian
and Spenser, and memorized enormous quantities of the
hitter's verse. "My memory," said Scott, "seldom failed
to preserve most tenaciously a favourite passage of poetry,
a play-house ditty, or above all, a Border-raid ballad."

On leaving school Scott's reading extended to Hoole's
Tasso and Percy's Eeliques of Early English Poatrxj,
which latter was read and re-read with constant and
intense interest. The same period was noteworthy for the
awakening of his taste in natural scenery, fostered by the
romantic neigbbourhood of the Tweed and the Teviot.
Natural beauty, especially when associated with romantic
or religious antiquities, became for Scott ' an insatiable
passion.' Of his college work the poet spoke regretfully.
He forswore classics, neglected mathematics, and made
some progress only in ethics and history. College life
ended in 1785, when he entered on an apprenticeship to the
law in the office of his father. His ruling passion was
still strong. French literature and Italian literature were
his steady devotion, and the old songs and romances.

jtrel. The
slatioij of
lollectionp,
sat figure ;
I admiring
tl ' liai»py
narrator.'
ons of tho
oolliours,"
books of
lance pre-
times tlie
Jmances."
th Ossian
;ies of the
lorn failed
of poetry,
iilhid."
o Hoole's
h Poetry,
itant and
hy for the
-ed by the
le Teviot.
romantic
insatiable
gretfully.
md made
jllege life
bip to the
sion was
ture were
omances,

S//f WALTER SC07T. xxxiii

which he ' fastened on liko a tiger.' Finuily came a st iff
course of reading for his examinations, and in ITIL'
Scott was honourably enrolled as a member of the Scottish
bar. In ISOO he was appointed sheriff of Selkirksliire,
and in ISOG he obtained the reversion of the clerksliip of
the sessions.

For Scott's introduction to authorship we have again
recourse to his ov x „^stimony, given in the preface to
Boiuicr Minstrelsy and the introduction to The Lay of
Ldst Minstrel. ' '

In 1788 Henry Mackenzie lectured to the Royal Society
of Edinburgh on Gernum literature. Enthusiastic minds
at oiioe seized ou this intimation of a new literature, full
of passion, medieevalism, and romance. Scott and others
became diligent students of German. Their enthusiasm
was strengtliened by the success of George Henry Lewis's
Monl\ published in 179o, which introduced into English
the weird and supernatural elements of the prose and, in
its interspersed verse, the form and manner of the ballad
poetry, of contemjiorary Germany. The notion seized
Scott of attempting something similar to the verses of The
Monk. He accordingly translated BUrger's Lenwe, The
mid Htmt.snmn, and other German ballads, which were
published in 1790. His acquaintance with German was
extended until he became familiar with the great masters
of Germany, Schiller and Goethe. In 1799 he published
a translation of Giitz von Berlichingen of the latter
author. From translation to imitation is but a step
and the ballad of Glenfinlas was his first attempt -^
ongnuil poetry. This and The Eve of St. John and
I he Gray Brother the poet contributed to Lewis's Tales
of Wonder, 1801. He collected meanwhile the ancient an 1
modern buliads of the Border districts, following in the

xxxiv

/NTkonucrroMs.

! '

■f !■

lino of Peroy's IMiqnoH, „n,l in ISOO p„hn,,,o,l M,o first
•million of his snccosHfiil HonUr Mir,st,rfsy

FeolinK that halJad writing was out of fkshion, ami tl.e
»>a 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

i .■ Jj

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.

INTRODUCTIONS.

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.

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. ■ /•-/<//. Men <)/ J./'f'.
■' li- biiok,); J>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 <? .!V. / ,,, • "^ ^"''"'''^ ^""^
<ey. " i>«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 .'in<l
on, to which
f the masters
find tonnent-
5 but "Mad
» grow up in
owledge from

fore
cind.

s devoted to
i,nd devoured
Godwin and
;an to apjiear
ccepted novel
qinal Poetry,
idiately with-
es place taken
!, or the liosi-

ersed now in

by and specu-

ume and the

in Christian

ty of Atheism

When his

ed. Shelley's

ed supplies.

3n, where his

ey met one of

beautiful girl

in whom he was much interested. She was harshly
treated at home hy het father, a prosperous colTce-lioiise
keeper, which was enough to win Shoiloy's synipatliy.
He himself was not recovered from a rejected affection
for another Harriet, his cousin Harriet Grove. The young
lady threw herself on Shelley's protection, and they were
married. The mdsallkmce re-opened the closing breach
with the poet's family, though afterwards both fatlier and
father-in-law gave an allowance to the young couple.
Tliey settled first in Edinburgh, then in York, whei-e
some months of happy companionship were j)assed.
then Harriet's sister Eliza descended on the domestic
scene, and helped to hreak up the household.

Ivoswick was their next home, full of associations of the
hiika poets. But Wordsworth took no notice of Shelley,
and Southey Sholley grew to detest. To William Godwin
he turned for inspiration and counsel.

Godwin was a disciple of the French philosopliers, an
ardent sympathizer with the French Revolution, author
of Political Justice and novels, all well known to Sjielley,
—a force in London letters and politics. At this time
Godwin's family was made up of various step-daughters,
one of whom was to become Slielley's seconcf wife!
Slielley's intimacy with Godwin, limited at first to corre-
spondence was increa.sed when Shelley after a (,uixotic
attempt to regenerate Ireland and some months of wan-
dering in Wales and England r,>me 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

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.

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.

^^^S^—

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^!

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.- <i, where his mother lived some years in
comfortable poverty. In 1794 he fell heir to the peerage,
which l)rought but little improvement in their condition,'
as the family estates were hea/ily encumbered. Mrs!
Byron settled at Nottingham, and her son, who hud had
some training in Aberdeen, was prepared for Harrow
wliere in 1801 he was sent. He won no reputation at
s-i.ooj except for miscliief and idleness, carele.ss of

llv

INTRODUCTIONS.

soliolarship (cf. C.II.P. iv. (572-686) and desirous only of
fame in athletics, from which his lameness did not entirely
debar him. In 1802 he was desperately in love with
Mary Chaworth, who however married elsewhere and
unhappily. B^'ron entered Oxford in 1805, and in the
dissipations of its fastest set consumed some years, ended
in 1808 by his taking his M. A. degree His chief friend
during his college days, and one who proved to be a
steadfast friend, was John Cam Hobhouse. In a desul-
tory, fitful way he had read extensively, and had remem-
beied much.

In 1806 Byron printed privately, and immediately sup-
pressed, his Fugitive Pieces, which was issued the follow-
ing year as Poems on Various Occasions. The same year
the poems and translations called Hours of Idleness — his
first public volume — were published. No great writer ever
began worse. The Edinburgh Revieio fell foul of the
volume in the first number of 1808, and held the author
up to ridicule. Touched to the quick, Byron replied in
his English Bards and Scotch Revieivers, the best satire
written since Pope.

On leaving Cambridge, Byron lived a time in iiis ances-
tral hall of Newstead, which was in ruins, and in 1H09
took his seat in the House of Lords. In July of that year,
accompanied by Hobhouse he departed for the Continent.
Their itinerary was from Lisbon to Cadiz, to Gibraltar,
thence to Malta and Prevesa, then through Acarnania
down to Athens, thence to Smyrna and Constantino{)le.
Visiting the Troad, our modern Leandor, but 'with much
less love,' swam the Hellespont from Sestos to Abydos.
Hobhouse returned to England, while Byron spent the
winter in Athens and the Morea. In July, 1811, lie too
returned home.

LORD BYRON. j^

Byron brought, back with him two manuscripts, one that
he preferred .-//;.,./.,,, Uorace^ a poetical Imitation
of the nrs Po^hca, and the other, two cantos of a poem
m Spenserian stanza, Childe Harold, which he did not
think would take. The latter, however, at the urgent re-
quests of h.s friends, was given to the public in 181'>
Byron as he himself said, ' woke one morning and foun"<l
himself famous.' The fascination attached to the life of
U.e young nobleman, the tone of sentimental melanchoJv
wh.ch had been long epidemic in Europe, but which rang
w.th new vigour in this poem, the clear, powerful descrip-
tions of foreign scenes at a time when travel was iess
common than at present : these are the chief reasons for
the poems popularity. The Romantic movement hnd
uttered its supreme note of individualism and subjec-
tivity. *'

Byron was feted by all, and by not a few women
madly adored. In the midst of idolatry and dissipation,
AfTw ' /;!' marvellous facility The Giaour .nk
rn Bnde ofA,ydo.s, 1813, Tke Corsair and Lara,

Wl. On the 2nd of January, 1815. the poet in an un-
oitunate unpulse married Anne Isabella Milbanke, heiress
o a barony and mistress of a considerable ortu
n January of the following year Lady Byron separ- Id
.■om iier husband for reason, that could oifly L su"
so'n eXr^ i'"^Hc insanity, cruelty, profligacrr'
some of the rumors-lmt which occasioned a burst of
Huhgnation against the poot. On April 24th 18,(J
Byron, wounded and imiignant. left England f'or eve;
ict. t.JI.r. IV. §§ exxxiff.).
lu thi« second tour the p^ot visited

Visiled Belgium

and

"— 'T— -T*""

1 I

:iii

ivi

/NT/? D UC 7 70NS.

Switzerland, where lie joined the Shelleys. Thr Prisoner
of Chillon and the Third Canto of Childc. Harold belong;
to this period, the latter showing a splendid descriptive
power (cf. §§ xviiff., xciiff.) that marks the influence of
Wordsworth.

From Switzerland Byron journeyed down witli Hob-
house, in October, 1817, to Italy, and settled in Venice,
living chiefly at La Mira. on the Brenta, and the Pahizzo
Mocenigo, on theG'^and Canal. He passed a life of dissijia-
tion alternating with liard intellectual labour. Before
tlie 1st of July, 1817 (see p. 502), he began the Fourth
Canto of Childa Harold and finished two-thirds of it
in three weeks. Beppo and the flrst cantos of Don Juan
were published in 1819, and at Ravenna in 1820 and 1821
he completed his dramas Marino FaHero, Sardanapalus ,
The Two Foscari, Cain, The Deformed Transformed,
and Werner.

From this time till his death Byron was interested in
politics. From lluvonna he headed a section of the Car-
bonari in an abortive attem[)t at insurrection against
Austria. From Pisa he planned with Sliellej'' and its
editor, Leigh Hunt, a revolutionary paper The Liberal,
in which he published The Vision of Jud (/merit siml The
Morgante Mat/f/iore. but which nevertheless died with
the fourth numlier. In Venice. Pisa and Leghorn, Byron
frequently met Shelley, but the poets were on too different
moral i)l!ines to become intimate.

Meanwhile the Greek revolt against the Turkish occu-
pation hud broken out (1820). The Greek Committee
in England, early in 1823, elected Byion a member, much
to his gratification. Fitting out an expedition, he sailed
from Genoa in July for Cephalonia. He reached Misso-
longhi at the end of the year, organized a force and

LOHn BYKON.

Ivii

prepaved to a„„r,k Lepan.o. But his ,,,.„o„s wero „„
— ,.i.ne,l a„„ ill ,„,,„,,. ^,, ,,^ ' - "

i» marshes of Missolon,.,,! „uickly did their work o,? a
nst,tut,o„ already shattered. On the 19th or A^i,
1824, Byron died of a fever.
Historically eonsidered, Byron is one of the Rreatest

, Zl 11 °T"'- " ""^ '-• -'y» Ma.zi„i . ho
....educed English literature to Europe; it wjs his

poetry that fostered the romantic n.ovemen in Gerln
France and Italy. The French Revolution had rt
h.b,i,tatedma„i„ his rights as an individual; it «„"
hnn a prospect of liberty, and the prospect wa., a passl™
a^ realization a licence. Byron ca^etovoiceto EuoT:
ins individualism and subjectivity, this longin,- 72
reedom and even licence. The individualism of Byro,
IS chiefly seen ,n the intrusion of him.,elf. with monoton-
ous iteration, into the characters of his works. It is seen
raurt;':"""'-'^ '- -is passionate advocacy of in^i^

It IS seen as well in those .lescriptions of nature where
ness o( the storm or the in finite sweep of ocean .

tha'li'rnor r" ^^tt '"-^r "'- ■--

sonality passed aly hi poetv"",'"' ,"" f"''^ ""'-
much of its former Lt'eres, T le' « ""' '" ' ■""■ """

f^in^s, ]n a few years became a bv-worrl • onri -.i
the decline of sentimentality fell the m.nv .>,'
his works conceived in that mou d Cfn " " °'
enco of tl.p Bvronic p--. h 'ncessant pres-

•• "'^ ^"° ''"'^''^">*^ wearisome. In a clearer

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.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH, M. B.

V^^^B

■■■■

'-^S

LONDON: ■

Printed for J. NEWBHRY, in St. Paul's Cliurch-yard,

■

MDCCLXV.

[ Title Paf,c of the First lUUliou .rf„r,tnn-<l fnn,, „,c on.inul

II, »»WPlilWilWlH|fPi!||li||!WPB»

jlVitiiiB—

GOLDSMITH.

THE TRAVELLED;

OR,

A Prospect of Society.

DEDICATION.

TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH.

Dear Sir,—

I am sensible that the Iriendslup between us can a'cquire
no new force from the ceremonies of a Dedication ; and per-
haps It demands an excuse thus to prefix your name to my
attcnpts, wliich you decline giving with your own. But as
a part of this Poem was formerly written to you from Swit- 5
.eriand, the whole can now, with propriety, be o^iy inscribed
to you It will also throw a light upon many parts of it
when the reader understands that it i, addressed to a man'
who, despising Fame and Fortune, has retii^d early to Hap-'
pmess and Obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year 10

I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your
humble choice. You have entered upon a sacred office, where
the harvest is great, and the labourers are but few •' whil^
you have ieifc the field of Ambition, where the labourers are

Hflte

GOLDSMITH.

many, and the harvest not worth carrying away. But ofifi
all kinds of ambitioa, what from iHo refinement of the times,
from different 3y8tem3 of oriticisru, au.i from the divisions of
party, that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest.

Poetry makes a principal amusoment among unpoli-hod
nations; but in a country vergin- to the extremes of rofino- ao
meat, Painting and Music come in for a share. As bhe^e
offer the feeble mind a less laborious entertainment, thoy nt
first rival Poetry, and at length suppi mt her; they engroMH
all that favour once shown to her, and tl^uugh but younger
sisters, seize upon the elder's birthrii,'ht. **

Yet, however this art may be neglected by the powerful,
it is still in great danger from the mistaken effortH of the
learned to improve it. What criticisms have wo n* i heard
of late in favour of blank verse, and Pindaric odo^^. choruses,
anapests and iambics, alliterative care and happy uugligence ! 30
Every absurdity has now a champion to defend it , and as he
is generally much in 'he wrong, so he has always much to say ;
for error is ever talkative.

But there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous, I
mean party. Party entirely distorts the judgment and de- 3.o
stroys the taste. When the mind is once infected with this
disease, it can only find pleasure in what contributes to in-
crease the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists from
pursuing man after having once preyed upon human flesh,
the reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, 40
makes, ever after, the most agreeable feast upon murdered
reputation. Such readers generally admire some half-witted
thing, who wants to be thought a bold man, having lust the
character of a wise one. Him they dignify with the nam©

ly. But (if lis
f the times,
divisions of
idost.

unpoli-hed
Bs of refine- i"J
. As these
out, they at
hoy eiigros'4
3ut younger

le powerful,
ffurtH of the
o n< hoard
js. choruses,
negligence ! 80
b ; and as he
nuch to say ;

THE TRAVELLER.

of poo^ • his tawdry lampoon ,.iied satires, his turbul

oiu is .suid .be force, and liis renzy flre.

What reception a Poem may find, which has neither ah-ise
party, nor blank verse to supp rt it, I cannot tell, nor am I
solicitous to know. My aims are right. Without espcu,si„.
the cause of any party, I have atten., od to moderate the 50
ra^'O of all. I hav. endeavonred to show, that there may bo
equal happiness in states, thut are dilforontly governed from
our own; that every sf f« hn a particular principle of
happiness, and that : uh pie in each may he carried to

a mischievous excess. T .re few can judge, better than ..5

yoursell, how far those po .uons are illustrated in this Poem.
I am, dear Sir,

Vour most affectionate BroUier,

Oliveu Goi.d'jmith.

dangerous, I
lent and de- 35
;od with this
ibutes to in-
, desists from
luman flesh,
ith calumny, 40
Du murdered
e half-witted
viug lust the
th the name

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GOLDSMITH.

THE TRAVELLER;

OR,

A PEOSPECT OF SOCIETY

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po ;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door:
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
A weary waste expanding to the skies :
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend ;
Bless'd be that ot, where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil and trim their evening fire ;
Bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair ;
Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail.
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ;

tft

THE TRAVELLER.

Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not destin'd such delights to share,
My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care,
[mpoll'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view ;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone.
And find no spot of all the world my own.

E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ;
And, plac'd on high above the storm's career.
Look downward where an hundred realms appear ;
Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide.
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine.
Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine?
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain
That good, which makes each humbler bosom vain ?
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can,
These little things are great to little man ;
And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind.
Ye giitt'ring towns, with wealth and splendour crown'd, 45

■:[

ill

GOLDSMITH.

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round.

Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale.

Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale,

For me your tributary stores combine ;

Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine ! 50

As some lone miser, visiting his store.
Bends at his treasure, counts, re-counts it o'er ;
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are v^/anting still:
Thus to my bi'east alternate passions rise, 55

Pleas'd with each good that heaven to man supplies:
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,
To see the hoard of human bliss so small ;
And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find
Some spot to real happiness consign'd, 60

Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at rest,
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.

But where to find that happiest spot below.
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
"The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid > 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.

N4)

9fi

9-<- <: til
•tj

f ■•'■

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,

ISA

l.W

185

110

145

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^\\-

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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 ;

IRO

18A

190

105

800

I m

W i\

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1 •

, -.ill

k ill

GOLDS All TIL

III

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.

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.

So bless'd a life these thoughtless realms display,
Thus idiy busy rolls their world away :

2&5

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.

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

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'^^H

i ^1

- ' '' 1

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' '«■■

iA ! I

fBiemmm

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.

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

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.

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

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1 ;,

i , 1 |!

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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

ways ;

415

THE DESERTED VILLAGB.

THE DESERTED VILLAGM

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

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
sal<e of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to be 40

in the right.

I am, Dear Sir,

Your sincere friend, and ardent admirer,

Olivkr Goldsmith.

THE DEiiERTED VILLAGE.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's ling'ring blooms delay'd :
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene ;
How often have 1 paus'd on every charm,
The slielter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topp'd the neighbouring hill.
Tlie hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made;
How often have I bless'd the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all blie village train, from labour free,
Lad up their si)orts beneath the spreading tree ;
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
'I'he young contending as the old survey'd •
And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,

'if

■'s\\

1 - ' L

'il;

GOLDSMITH.

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round ;

And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd,

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd ;

Tlie dancing pair that simply sought renown,

By holding out to tire each other down ;

The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face.

While secret laughter titter'd round the place;

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. so

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these,

"With sweet succession, taught even toil to please ;

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed ;

These were thy charms—but all these charms are fled.

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn.
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen.
And desolation saddens all thy green :
One only master grasps the whole domain.
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ;
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day.
But, chok'd with sedges, works its weedy way ;
Along thy gladeS; a solitary guest.
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ;

8fi

THE DESERTED VILLAGE,

And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay :
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ;
A breath can make them, as a breath hath made ;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
When every rood of ground maintain'd its man ;
For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more;
His best companions, innocence and health ;
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain :
Akng the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose,
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ;
And every want to opulence allied,
And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that ask'd but little room.
Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene.
Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green ;
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore,
And rural mirth and manneis are no more.

•J

.■Ml

f"^

GOLDSMITH.

Sweet AuHUUN ! parent of llie blissful hour, 7A

Thy Rlades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.
Here, as I take my solitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling; walks, and ruin'd grounds,
And, many a year elaps'd, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawtliorn grew, 80

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

!
■! ■

In all my wanderings round this world of caro,
In all my griefs— and God has given my share —
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 85

Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
I stiil had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, 90

Around my fire an evening group to draw.
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ;
And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations pass'd, 96

Here to return — and die at home r.,t last.

blest retirement, friend to life's dec' me,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
flow happy he who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease ; lOO

THE DESERTED VILLAGE,

Who qnits a world where stronp temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, letirna to fly I
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the danj^erous deep ;
Nor surly porter stands in guilty state
'I'o spurn imploring famine from the gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending Virtue's friend ;
Bends to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
While Resignation gently slopes the way ;
And, all his prospects brightening to the last,
His Heaven commences ere the world bo puss'd ■

105

liu

M'l

Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ;
There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, us

The mingling notes came soften'd from below ;
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung,
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young ;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool.
The playful children just let loose from school ; 120

The watchdog's voice, that bay'd the whisp'ring wind.
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
Put now the sounds of population fail, iss

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
Xo busy steps the grass-grown footv^'ay tread.

\'\A

' ■ 'H

TWpi

GOLDSMITH.

For all the bloomy flush of life is fled :

All but yon wiJowM, solitary thing,

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; irw

She, wretchei 1 matron, forc'd, in age, for bread,

To strip tlie bi ok with mantling cresses spread,

To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn ;

She only left of all the harmless train, iss

The sad historian of the pensive plain.

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd.
And still where many a garden flower grows wild ;
There, where a few torn slirubs the place disclose.
The village preacher's modest mansion vose. iio

A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place ;
Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, 115

By doctrines' fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train.
He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain ; 160

The long reraembcr'd beggar was \\m p'uest,
Whose beard descending swept hit? af.roc'^ breast ;
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd ;

fiE DESER TED '" .AGE.

The broken 8oMier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by hia fire, and tulk'd the night away ;
Wept o'or his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Slioulder'd his crutch and showM how iiolds were won.
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; leo

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings lean'd to Virtue's side ;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
Hewatch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, f. all
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tompt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skio
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to blighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside che bed where parting life was laid.
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The reverend champion stood. At his control.
Despair and anguish fled the .struggling soul ;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to niist
And his last faltering accents whisper'd prai.se.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His loc ks adorn'd the venerable place ;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double swjiy.

liU

110

17.5

.•;

■*

Mill

GOLDSMITH.

And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.

The service past, around the pious man,

With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ;

Even children follow'd with endearing wile,

And pluck'd his gown, to share tlie good man's smile.

His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd,

Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd ;

To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,

But all his serious thoughts had vest in Heaven :

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm.

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,

Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

ISO

ISfl

190

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule.
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew ;
-Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
Tlie day's disasters in his morning face ;
Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd;
Yet ho was kind, or if severe in aught,
Tlie love he bore to learning was in fault ;

195

aoo

205

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

The village all declar'd how miTch he knew ;

'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too ;

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,

And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. no

In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill.

For e'en though vanquish'd, he could argue still ;

While words of learned length and thundering sound

Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around ;

And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew, 215

That one small head could carry all he knew.

~5f

But past is all his fame. The very spot
Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 220

Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd.
Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retir'd,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound.
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 826

The parlour splendours of that festive place ;
Tlie white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd beliind the door ;
The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; sw

The pictures plac'd for ornament and use,
a^lip. twelve good rr-Ip,-,. the royal game of goose ;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,

'f^W

GOLDSMITH.

With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel pay ;
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.

235

Vain, transitory splendours ! could not all
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall !
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ;
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear
The host himself no longer shall be found
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be press'd.
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.

240

24f)

250

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train ;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind.
Upenvied. unmolested, unr.onfin'd.
But the long pomj), the midnight masquci :ule,

256

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 83

With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, sco

In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,

The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ;

And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,

The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey 266

The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore.
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 270

Hoards, e'en beyond the miser's wish abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name
That leaves our rueful products still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 275

Takes up a space that many poor supplied ;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds.
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds :
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth
Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth ; 28O
His seat, where solitary sports are seen.
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies :
While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure, all =J85

In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.

x^-A

\£m\

I ' I

GOLDSMITH,

As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain.
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign,
Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies.
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 290

But when those charms are pass'd, for charms are frail,
When time advances, and when lovers fail,
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,
In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, 296

In nature's simplest charms at first array'd,
But verging to decline, its splendours rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;
While, scourg'd by famine, from the smiling lantl
The mournful peasant leads his humble biuid ; 300

And while he sinks, without one arm to save.
The country blooms — a garden, and a grave.

Where, then, ah ! where, shall poverty reside.
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride?
If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd,
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And even the bare- worn common is denied.

806

If to the city sped — what waits him there ?
To see profusion that he must not sliare ;
To see ten thousand baneful arts corubin'd

810

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

3r)

81.'

<i \

.(L'O

To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ;
To see those joys the sons of pleasure knew
Extorted from his fellow creature's woe.
Here, while the courtier flitters in brocade,
There the pale ai tist plies the sickly trade ;
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps disph
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where Pleasure iiolds her midnight reign
Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train ;
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy !
Sure these denote one universal joy !

Are these thy serious thoughts?- Ah! turn thine eyes ,<w.5

Wliere the poor houseless shivering female lies.

She once, perhaps, in village plenty bless'd,

Has wept at tales of innocence distress'd ;

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn.

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; aao

Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled.

Near her betrayer's door she lays her head.

And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from tlie shower,

With heavy heart deplores that luckless liour,

When idly first, ambitious of the towni, 335

She left her wheel and robes of country brown. '

Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ?

■ W

GOLDSMIJII.

E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread !

840

' •'■

Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene,

Where half the convex world intrudes between,

Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,

Where wild Altama murmurs to their woo.

Far different there from all that charni'd hefoie.

The various terrors of that horrid shore ;

Those blazing suns (hat dart a downward ray.

And fiercely shed intolerable day ;

Those matted woods where birds forget to sing.

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ;

Thee poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crownM
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ;
Where at each step the stranger fenrs to wake

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ;
Where crouching tigers wait their iiapless prey,
And savage men more murderous still than they ;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,

-Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies.
Far different these from every former scene,
T^ie cooling brook, the grassy-vestod green,
T'he breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.

»46

855

StiO

Good Heavoii ! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day
That call'd them from their native walks away ;

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

Whon tho poor exiles, every pleasure past, 86ft

Huiij; round their bowers, and fon-ily look'd tlioir last,

And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain

For seats like these beyond the western main ;

And shuddering still to face the distant deep,

Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. 870

The good old sire the first prepar'd to go

To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ;

But for himself, in conscious virtue brave.

He only wisli'd for worlds beyond the grave.

His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 876

The fond companion of his hel]>less 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.

'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

■"-»!

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.

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

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 !

THE GREEN LINNET,

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.

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

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.

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.

ly THE CUCKOO,

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.

■■■;;'

1 ' .'

(■:.'. •!

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 !

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

4:-)

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

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.

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.

THOUGHT OF A BUI TON.

THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION
OF SWITZERLAND.

[ENGLAND AND SWITZEULAND, 1802.]

Two Voices are there ; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains ; each a mighty Voice :
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen music, Liberty !

There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee 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

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.

YES.

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 .

' '^1

'til

^^;:^*^f'

M::^:

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JMlii:

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 ? "

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

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;
11

• A

> Ml

r i

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i,il

■

^^^H

■Wa

■I

'fBBfl

■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."—

SONG, "O, BRIGNAI.L HANKS:'

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.

a.'.

■'f

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

" 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."

UllSii

SONG, 'M WEARY LOT IS THINE."

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.

" 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."—

fi6

SCOTT.

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.

" 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.

"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 ;

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

He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surniiso —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

WHEN I HA VE FEARS.

WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT 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.

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.

GDI': TO A NIGHTINGALE.

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.

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*'

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

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

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,

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.

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?

ODE TO AUTUMN.

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\

■ 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.

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.

f.'l

I.
I

SHELLEY.

TO A SKYLARK.

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.

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.

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.

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TO A SKYLARK.

IT.

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

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

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 ; '}.

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.

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

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.

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-

! :<n\

'I VI

SHELLS V.

XVI.

With thy clear keen joyanoe

Languor cannot be :
Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee ;
'riio'i lovest ; but ne'er know love's sad satiety.

XVII.

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
v)r how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? h5

XVIII.

We look before and after,

And pine for what is not :
Qui- sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught ;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought, shi

XIX.

Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear ;
If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,
1 know not how thy joy we ever should come noni it.".

TO A SKYLARK.

XX.

Hetter than all measures

Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures

That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scornor of the ground !

KX)

XXI.

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow.
The world should lisLou then, as 1 am listening now.

lOfi

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SHELLEY.

'PO JANE— THE RECOLLECTION.

Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,

The loveliest and the last, is dead,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise !
Up to thy wonted work ! come, trace

The epitaph of plory fled, —
For now the Earth has chanj^ed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

II.

We watideied to the Pine Forest

That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest.

The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,

The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep.

The smile of Heaven lay ;
It seemed as if the hour were one

Sent from beyond the ekies,
Which scattered from above the sun

A liulit of Paradise !

It'

-•O

TO JANE— THE RECOLLE C TJON.

III.

We paused amid the pines that stood

The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude

As serpents interlaced,
And soothed by every azure breath,

That under heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,

As tender as its own ;
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep.

Like green waves on the .sea,
As still as in the silent deep

The ocean woods may be.

8ft

IV.

How calm it was !— the silence th^re

By such a chain was bound
That even the busy woodpecker

Made stiller by her sound
The inviolable quietness ;

The breath of peace we drew
With its soft motion made not less

The calm that round us grew.
There seemed from the remotest seat

Of the white mountain waste.
To the soft flower honeatli our feet.

A magic circle traced, —

aft

.1 ; M

76 SHELLE Y.

A spirit interfused around,

A thrilling silent life ;
To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife ; —
And still I felt the centre of

The magic circle there
Was one fair form that filled with lovo

The lifeless atmosphere.

We paused beside the pools that lie

Under the forest bough,
Each seemed as 'twere a little sl<.v

Gulphed in a world below ;
A firmament of purple light,

Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,

And purer than the day —
In which the lovely forests grew

As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,

And through the dark green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen,

45-

TO TANE—THE RECOLLECTION.

if',

Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green.
And all was interfused beneath

With an elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.
Like one beloved the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast
Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth exprest ;
Until an envious wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thougit,
Which from the mind's too faithful eye

Blots one dear image out.
Though thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind,

Than calm in waters seen.

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Cljilbe f^mlti's ^ilgcimage.

CANTO THE FOURTH.

BY LORD BYRON.

ViBto ho Toscauu, Lombardia, Boimtgii.%,

Quel Monte che divide, e qoel die serr»
Italia, e un mare e I'altro. che la bagna.

Akiosto, Saiira iii.

-1.
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LONDON :

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET

1818.

t Fm-xhinle o/liflc-pay,: of thcf /■>/ fdifimi.]

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MY DB

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a irioiK

BYRON.

CITILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGR
CANTO THE FOURTH.

Venice, January 2, 1818.

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

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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,

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 8uap<fcted that events
could have left rne for imai' ■ ■ ' 'jnjecta.

With regard to the condu tie last canto, tliore will be 56

found loss of the juigrim th, li any of the preceding, and
that little slightly, if at all, separated from the author
speaking in his own person. The fact is, that 1 had become
w(uiry of drawing a lino which every one seemed determined
not to perceive : like the Cliinose in CJoldsmith's "Citizen offio

lit! World," whom nobody would beli(;vo to be a ('liineso,
it was in vain that I asserted, and imagined that I had
ilrawn, a distinction between the author and the pilgrim ;
and the very anxiety to preserve this dilTorence, and dis-
ap|inintment at finding it una vailing, so far crushed myfi.")
clTorts in the composition, that I determined to abandon it
altogether — and liave done so. The opinions which have
lioen, or may be, formed on that subject, are novo a matter of
iiidiil'erence; the work is to depend on itself, and not on the
writer; and the author, who has no resources in his own 70
saind beyond the reputation, transient or permanent, which
i-; to arise from his literary efforts, deserves the fate of

'j'thora.

In the course of fjja following Canto it was my intention.

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iii

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lis

IS.

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(716) 482 - 0300 - Phone

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Inc

BYROJSt.

ii :

either in the text or in the notes, to have touched npnn the 7!i
present state of Italian liteiMtiire, and i)erhaps of manners.
Jlnt the text, within the limits I proposed, I soon found
hardly suflficicnt for the lahyrinth of external objects and
the consequent reflections ; and for the whole of the notes,
excepting a few of the shortest, I am indebted to yourself, «o
and these were necessarily limited to the elucidation of the
text.

Tt is abo a delicate, and no very grateful task, to dissert
upon the literature and manners of a nation so dissimilar ;
and requires iin attention and impartiality which would 85
induce us, — though perhaps no inattentive observers, nor
ignorant of the language or customs of the people amongst
whom we have recently abode,— to distrust, or at least defer
our judgment, and more narrowly examine our information.
The state of literary, as well as political party, appears to 90
run, or to have run, so high, that for a stranger to steer
impartially between them is next to impossible. It may be
enough, then, at least for my purpose, to quote from their
own beautitul language— " Mi pare che in un paese tutto
poetico, cho vanta la lingua la piu nobile ed insieme la pin 9.5
dolce, tulte tutte le , diverse si possono tentare, e cho
sinche la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha pordnto 1' antico
valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la prima." Italy has
great names still— Canova, Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonti,
Visconti, Morelli, Cicognara, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, lOO
M'ustoxidi, Aglietti, and Vaccn, will secure to the present
generation an honourable place in most of the departments
of Art, Science, and Belles Lettrea ; and in some the very
highest— Euro])o— the World— has but one Canova.

Cl/n.DE HAROLirs PILGRIMAGE.

It has boen somewhere said by Alfiuri, that "La pianta 105
uomo nasce piii robusta in Italia che in qualuiKnio altra
turra— e che gli stessi atroci delitti che vi si commottuno ne
sono una prova." Without subscribing to the latter part of
his proposition— a dangerous doctrine, the truth of which
may be disputed on better grounds, namely, that the no
Italians are in no respect more ferocious than their ueigh-
bours— that man must be wilfully blind, or ignorantly heed-
less, who is not struck with the extraordinary capacity of
this people, or, if such a word be admissible, their capa-
Inlitien, the facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of lis
thuir ct)nceptions, the fire of their genius, their sense of
Ijeauty, and amidst all the disadvantages of repeated revolu-
tions, the desolation of battles, and the despair of ages,
their still unquenched "longing after immortality "—the
immortality of independence. And when we ourselves, in i^
riding round the walls of Rome, heard the simple lament of
the labourers' ohorus, "Roma! Eoma ! Eoma ! Roma non
I' pill come era prima," it was difficult not to contrast this
melancholy dirge with the bacchanal roar of the songs of
exultation, still yelled from the London taverns, over theiaft
carnage of Mont 8t. Jean, and the betrayal of Genoa.
"I Italy, of France, and of the world, by men whose conduct
ynu 3'ourself have exposed in a work worthy of the better
• lays of our history. For me, —

EH 'U'

V. r

=11

Hi' 5!

« ,<<l!

"Non movoro mai corda

" Ove la turba di sue cianco assorda."

What Italy has gained by the late transfer of nations, it
were useless for Knglishmen to inquire, till it hucomes

130

II ! >l

?'i

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

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THE liUIUGE OF SIGHS, VENICE.

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riiK r.i.ii"

CHJI.DE JIAROLUS PILGRIMAGE.

CniLDK HAiK)Ll)S IML(ilMMAGP:.

CANTO THK FdUETH.

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.

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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

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.

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:

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.

Vnd other voices speak, and other sight

s surround.

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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

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.^

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CfrU.DE HAROLD'S PlLGKI^lUih

" 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' ' ;■ <if tlie tree
1 j.ihiiiteil, — they huvf k.t.m nie, -■ aii:l F hh-ed :
I shouhl have known \vh.^' '• 'uisi sjiung fiuni yuch

a seed. yet

XT.

The MiM'mck'ss Adriatic niuiiriis Iihv h'ld ;
And, asiniial inni'i'iii!j,e now iio nior.- n n w'd,
The liucentaui' Jies rottinii; nii,c '

Neslocted garment of her widcwi;

St. Mark yet sees his lion wlif r,> >,,■ .-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

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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

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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

'* 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

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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.

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.

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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.

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.

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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

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.

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.

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.

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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,

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

(

, 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 !

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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.

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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,

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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.

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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

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 :

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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

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 ;

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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

" 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 ! \<m

Europe, repentant of her parricide,
Sliall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven,
JioU the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven.

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106

BYRON.

495

480

XLvni.

But Arno wins as to the fair white walls.
Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps
A softer feelinj; for her fairy halls.
Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps
Her corn,. and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps
To laughing life, with her redundant horn.
Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps
Was modern Luxury of Commerce born.
And buried Learning rose, redeem'd to a new morn.

XLIX.

There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills
The air around with beauty ; we inhale
The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils
Part of its immortality ; the veil
Of heaven is half undrawn ; within the pale
We stand, and in that form and face behold
What Mind can make, when Nature's self would fail ;
And to the fond idolaters of old 440

Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould :

We gaze and turn a rvay, and know not where,
Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart
Reels with its fulness ; there— for ever there—
Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art, 446

485

Ill *li

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

107

We stand as captives, and would not depart.
Away! — there need no words, nor terms precise,
The paltry jargon of the marble mart,
Where Pedantry gulls Folly— we have eyes :
Blood— pulse— and breast, confirxn the Durdan Shepherd's
prize. 450

LI.

Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this ijuise?
Or to more deeply blest Anehises? or.
In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies
Before thee thy own vanquish'd Lord of War?
And sazing in thy face as toward a star, 4.')5

Laid on thy lap, his eyes to tht^o upturn,
Feeding on thy sweet cheek ! while thy lips are
With lava kisses melting while they burn,
Shower'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an
urn!

Ln.

Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love, ifio

Their full divinity inadequate
That feeling to express, or to improve.
The gods become as mortals, and man's fate,
Has moments like their brightest ; but the weight
Of earth recoils upon ua ;— let it go ! m.

We can recall such visions, and create.
From what has been, or might be^ things which grow,
Into thy statue's form, and look like gods below.

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108

BYRON.

470

I leave to learned fini;ors, and wise hands,
Tlie artist and his ape, to teach and toll
How well his connoisseurship understands
The graceful hend, and the voluptuous swell :
Let these describe the undescribable :
I would not their vile breath should crisp the stronnn
Wherein that image shall for ever dwell ; • 475

The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream
That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam.

LIV.

In Santa Crooe's holy precincts lie
Ashes which make it holier, dust which is
Even in itself an immortality,

Though there were notliing save the past, and this,
The particle of those sublimities
Which have relapsed to chaos :— here repose
Angelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his,
The starry Galileo, with his woes ;
Here Machiavelli's earth return'd to whence it rose.

480

48n

LV.

These are four minds, which, like the elements,
Might furnish forth creation :— Italy !
Time, which hath wrong'd thee with t«n thousand rents
Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, 490

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGNIMAGE.

And hath denied, to every other sky.
Spirits whicli soar from ruin : — thy decay
Is still imprej^nate with divinity,
Which {>;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 ,\ \\\

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

III

i \ ^

k-.

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

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.

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

e&t>

Cm/.PE ffAKOLirs riLGRrMAGR. IJf,

MakiiiK it all onn onu ..i<l :- how proff.iind
The milf ! and how the fiiant element
From rock to rock leaps witli (lolirions hound,
Crufihinp: the cliffM. which, tlownward worn and rent
With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent

» (

f II

TiXXI.

To the broad column which rolls on, and shows rai

More like the fountain of an infant sea
Torn from the womh of mountains by the throos
Of a now world, than only tlius to be
Parent of rivers, which flow Rushin^ly, «3ft

With many windings, through the vale: — Look hack !
Lo ! where it comes like an eternity.
As if to sweep down all things in its tntck.
Charming the eye with dread,— a matchless cafnract.

LXXII.

Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, r,4o

From side to side, beneath the glittering morn.
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge,
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn
By the di.stracted waters, bears .serene «i5

Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn :
Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene.
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.

lliJ

116

BYRON.

650

Once more upon the woody Aponnino,
The infant Alps, which— had I not hefore
Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine
Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar
The tliundering lauwiue—might be worshipp'd more;
But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear
Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar 656

Glaciers of bleak Mont-Blanc both fai' and near,
And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear,

T.XXIV.

Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name;
And on Parnassus seen the eagles ily
Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame,
For still they soar'd unutterably high :
I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye ;
Athos, Olympus, i35tna. Atlas, made
Tiiese hills seem things of lesser dignity,
All, save the lone Soracte's height, display'd.
Not nmjo in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid

660

nnn

LXXV.

For our remembrance, and from out the plain
Heaves like a long-swept wave about to }>reak.
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

H''i^

I ;'

*. i

i}4

a I

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

■ !

/ 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, «<hi

But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a slave—

xc.

The fool of false dominion— and a kind

Of bastard Caesar, following him of old

With steps unequal ; for the Roniun's mind

Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould, sos

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 123

With passions fiercer, yet a judf^ment cold,
And an immortal instinct wliich redeem'd
Tlie frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold,
Aloides with the distaff now he seem'd
xVr Cleopatra's feet, —and now himself ho beam'd. 8io

xci.
And came— and saw— and conquer'd ! But the man
Who would hav'3 tamed his eaf?les down to flee,
Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van,
Which he, in sooth, long led to victory,
With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be 8i5

A listener to itself, was strangely framed ;
With but one weakest weakness— vanity,
Coquettish in ambition, still he aim'd —
At what? can hu itvuuch — or answer what he claini'dy

XCII.

And would be all or nothing — nor could wait ■<■«

For the sure grave to level him ; few years
Had fix'd him with the Caesars in his fate,
On whom we tread : For this the conqueror rears
The arch of triumph ! and for this the tears
And blood of earth flow on as they have flow'd. m^s

An universal deluge, which appears
Without an ark for wretche'l man's abode.
AaJ ebbs but to refiow ! - llenew thy rainbow, (iod !

1 '

,.. J^l;|

1 ''

Im' '

124

BYRON.

S.JO

835

xcm
What from this barren being do we reap?
Our senses narrow, and our reason frail,
Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deej),
And all things weigh'd in custom's falsest scale ;
Opinion an omnipotence, whose veil
Mantles the earth with darkness, until right
And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale
Lest thoir own judgments should bocorae too bright,
And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too
much light.

Xt'lV.

And thus thoy plod in sluggish misery,
Rotting from sire to son. and age to age,
Proud of their trampled nature, and so die,
Bequeathing their hereditary rage
To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage
War for their chains, and rather than be fiee,
Bleed gladiau --like, and still engage
Within the same arena where they see
Their fellows fail before, like leaves of the same tree.

840

84S

xcv.

I spouk not of men's creeds— they rest between
Man and his Maker— but of things allow'd,
Averrd, and known,— and daily, hourly seen—
The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd,

t£i>

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 ■

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

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 !

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

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,

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

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

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.

!
1

1 ' '*

188

B YRON.

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

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OXXIX.

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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

. A

'\'\

,i:,l

,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

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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

l< iiLi

■fit!

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'MM.

I ■

l.j. ,.:.„

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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<J.'i

Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall

lawi

laso

1286

iiive veil

i 1110, 12UU

1-.

ire,
5 tread.

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14A

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' '"' uid th' . . ,

• t'if'ir :''.!tiH! K;(»;i.; ;

ifl, the same wkl

are wo ; ■

OXJ.vi.

- - -/eaus— sparorl and b
' Miquii;, • . •

'np'i-H, oarh thing rou ,.

'-'"•■ to ashf'H-

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M th.ee— sar

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CHlinR //AROLjys PILGRIMAGE.

I4A

In Saxon times, which we are wont to call
Ancient ; and these three mortal things are still
On their foundations, and unalter'd all ;
Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill
The World, the same wide den-of thieves, or what ye
will.

1806
OXLVI.

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sul.Ilme-

Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods,

From Jove to Jesus-spared and blest by time;

Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods

Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods i»,o

His way through thorns to ashes-glorious dome '

Shalt thou not last?-Time's scythe and tyrants' rods

Shiver upon thee-sanctuary and home

Of art and piety-Pantheon !- pride of Rome !

ISlfi

CXLVII.

Relic of nohler days, and nohlost arts \
Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads
A holiness appealing to all hearts—
To art a model ; and to him who trer..ls
Rome for the sake of ages. Glory sheds
Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those
Wlio worship, here are altars for their beads ;
And they who feel for genius may repose
Tl.oir eyes on honour'd forms, whose busts around them
close.

1820

■)

'l"i1

i, »

J 11

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! i

fli

4 . ■ S-

f 3

i4e

BYA'ON.

188&

laso

OXLVIII.

Therr •. n dun -eon, in whose dim drear light
Vh „i/eon? Nothing: Look again !

Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sight-
Two insulated phantoms of the brain :
It is not so ; I see them full and plain—
A.n old man, atui o fo^-^le young and fair,
Fresli as a nursing mother, in whose vein
The blood is nectar :-but, what dot h she there.
With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and hare?

CXLIX.

Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life,
Where on the heart and/mu the heart we took
Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife,
Blest into mother, in the innocent looV
Or even the piping cry of lips that brook
No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives
Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook
She sees l^er little bud put rth its leavea-
What may the fruit be v.'t,?-I know not-Cain was
Eve's.

CL.
But here youth offers to old age the food.
The milk of hi.- >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

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ft 'Ir

'i 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<hI, the holy and the true.
Since Zion's desolation, when that Ho
Forsook his former city, wlmt could be.
Of earthly structures, in his honour piled,
Of a snblimer aspect ? Majesty,

Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled ^^^
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.

OLV.

Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ;
And why V it is not lessen'd ; but thy mind.
Expanded by the genius of the spot,
Has grown colossal, and can only find

ISflO

140

UI)A

cmi.DE ffARoi.rys riioKiMAaE.

A fit abode wherein appear enshrined
Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined,
See thy God face to face, as thou dost now
Ilia Holy of Hollos, nor be blasted by his l.iuu-

CLVI.

Thou movest— but inoreasinpr with the advan<',(..
Likeciimhinjr some ^reat Alp, which still doth ri.se.
Deceived by its {gigantic elefrance ;
Vastness which grows-but ^rows to harmonize-
All musical in its immensities ; ^^^^

Rich marbles-richer painting-shrines whore flanu.
The lamp of gold-and haughty dome which vies
In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame
Pits on the firm-set ground-and this the clouds must
claim.

OLVII.

Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thou must break, i .0.
To separate contemplation, tiie ^-reat whole ;
And as the ocean many bajjrs will make,
That ask the eye— so here condense thy soul
To more immediate objects, and control
Thv thoughts until, thy mind hath got by heart .no
Its eioipient proportions, and unroll
In mighty graduations, part by part,
riie ijlory which at once upon thee did not dart,

J'Hilf

! Hi

i i <j
'i • i|

' I,

150

BYRON.

OLVllI.

Not by its fault— but thine : Our outward sense
Is but of gradual grasp— and as it is
That what we have of feeling most intense
Outstrips our faint expression ; even so this
Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice
Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great
Defies at first our Nature's littleness,
'Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate
Our spirits to the size of that they contemphilo.

X41f>

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

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

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

: !'-i'

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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

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.

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.

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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-

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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 !■

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I >
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1 1

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.

Iff *'

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III ii

168

NOTES.

1. 28ff. — What criticisms .,. blank verse. The poet hero
proclaims his school, setting himself against those new
tendencies of his age which were in fulness of time to pro-
duce the Eomautic literature of the 19th century. Milton
was of course the great exemplar of blank verse, and his
influence was sufficient to keep alive that form of versification
even during the reign of the couplet. The chief poems in
blank verse of the eighteenth century previous to the publi-
cation of The Traveller are : Philips's Cyder (17U7), Thomson's
Seasons (1726-1730), Mallet's Excursion (1728) and Aviyntor
and Theodora (1747), .T. "Wurton's Enthusiast (1740), Young's
Night Thoughts (1742-1745), Blair's Grave (1743), Akenside's
Pleasures of the Imagination (1744), Dyer's Fleece (1757),
Grainger's Sugar Cane (1764).

The thorough-going classicism of Dr. .Tohnson and Gold-
smith did not relish the growing taste for a freer form of
poetry. The former quotes with approval Mr. Lock's opinion
that "blank verse seems verse only to the eye" {Milton),
Goldsmith has a fling at blank verse in several places. In
his Present State of Polite Learning, ch. xi., he says : " From
a desire in the critic of grafting the spirit of ancient languages
upon the English have proceeded of late several disagreeable
instances of pedantry. Among the number I think we maj'
reckon blank verse. Nothing but the greatest sublimity of
subject can render such a measure pleasing; however, we now
see it used upon the most trivial occasions." In the same
chapter he condemns the public taste and its confused can-
ons of criticism : " From this proceeds the affected security
of our odes, the tuneless flow of our blank verse, the purpos-
less epithet, laboured diction, and every other deviation from
common sense, which procures the poet the applause of the
month."

Pindaric odes. — The English Pindaric Ode, of which Gray's
Bard is the most eminent instance, was a form of structure
set going by Cowley in pretended imitation of the odes of tho
Pindar (of Thebes, B.C. 522-473), and adopted by Dryden in

GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. igg

hi. Alexan.Ur\ Feast and by Popo in Ins St. Cecilia'. Day
Dr Johnson refers mildly to the taste f.-r this form of verl
fioafonanau 'infatuation,' a 'folly,' a 'madness.' " Pi„-
dansm provailed about half a contury ; but at last gradually
?f1/'"2' .'"'^ '"" imitations supply its placo."-£,ye ./
Watt., ^tr.ctly, however, we should look upon the taste for
he rapul ii^U^ of thought and the quick-changing n.^thm
of the Piudanc ode as a desire for at freedom from the rimed
couplet, and as making for the later Romanticism

Gray is, however, the particular object of attack. He had
published ,n 1757 his Progress of Poe.y and Bard, two Pin-
daric odes which wore in freedom of spirit and treatment in
advance of the canons of public taste. They were criticised
for obscurity, parodied, yet they grew in favour. Dr Fohn-
son did not yield. In his Life of Gray he ridiculed the odes
Specially referring to the 'alliterative care' of the BarJ
he remarked: "The initial resemblances, or alliterations,'
ruin, ruthless, helm or hauberk,' are below the di-nity of
a poem that endeavours at sublimity." "^

1. 35.-party. Faction, of which the 18th century was pre-
eminently the age. It will be remembered that the political
strife centering in Wilkes's attack on the ministries of Bute
and Greuville was g ing on. The most violent satires were
called forth, for which Churchill (1. 42) achieved renown

1. 42.-.some half-witted thing. ... The reference is to the
poet Charles Churchill (1731-1764), author of the Jfosciad
I rophery of Famine, Epistle to Hogarth, and other satirical
and political verse. Goldsmith agrees with Dr. Johnson in his
condemnation of this poet. His poetry, the latter remarked
' had a temporary currency only from its audacity of abuse
and being filled with living names, and... would sink into
oblivion."— Boswell's Johnson, anno 1763.

The St. James Chronicle of Feb. 7-9, 1765, defends Churchill
against the slur of :his preface as a poet " whose talents
were as greatly and deservedly admired, that during his
short reign, his merit in great measure eclipsed that of

" f!

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170 NOTES,

others; and we think it no mean acknowloflgement of the
oxcoUoncos of thb poem [The Traveller] to say that, like the
stirs, they appear the more brilliant now the sun of our
poetry is gone down."

Page 3- !• 45- — tawdry. Added in the 6th ed.

1. 52.— equal happiness in states. Cf. the close of the
poem. Eighteenth century optimism appears hero. In Dr.
Johnson's conversaticm with Sir Adam Fergusson, the latter
suggested that luxury corrupts a people, and destroys the
spirit of liberty. At which .Tohnson remarked, '' Sir, that is
all visionary. I would not give half a guinea to live under
one form of government rathor than another. It is of no
moment to the happiness of an individual. Sir, the danger
of the abuse of power is nothing to a private man.— Boswell's
Johnson, anno 1572.

Goldsmith had expressed himself on the subject already :
"(Every mind seems capable of entertaining a certain quantity
of happiness, which no constitution can increase, uo circum-
stances alter, and entirely independent of fortune."— Ct7iz«n
of World, i. p. 185.

jO^i

IJt iJttMMt:

Page 4. 1. 1.— Remote, unfriended. . . Epithets to • I,' 1. 7.

The poet here joins an unusual and efTectivo opening— a
characteristic of the best epic poetry— with the artistic use
of a series of epithets. For the latter cf .

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd.

— Shakspere, Hamlet, 1. v.

Witbout a grave, unknell'd, uncoifln'd, and unknown.

—Byron, O. H. P. iv. 1311.

Solus, inops, exspes. leto iwenacqiie relictus.
Alone, destitute, melancholy, to death and destruction Riven over.

—Ovid, Metamorphoses, xlv. 217.

Exsu!, inops erres, alienaque limina lustres.

-Ovid, Ibis, 113.

'•!( m!

GOLDSAffT/I: THE TRAVELLER. 171

The nearoHt parallel ia : —

Solo e pensoso, 1 piu desert I campl
Vo misuniiido a passl tardi lontl.

—Petrarch, Sonnet xxll.
Remote. Cf. Tr. 437, but rnroly used of persons.
unfriended. A rare form. The -ed added to nouns, gives
the adjectival force of ' supplied with,' which ' un ' noj^atives
— friendlosa. '

slow. "Mr. Goldsmith," asked Chamier at the Literary
Club, " what do you mean by the last word in the first lino
of your Traveller. Do you mean tardiness of locomotion ? "
"Yes," answered Oi.ldsmith. Dr. .Tohn.-,on interposed,-
"No, sir, you do not moan tardiness <.f locomotion; you
mean, that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in
solitude." "Ah!" said Goldsmith, ^' that was what I
meant." (Boswell's Johnson, anno 1778, and Foster, iii. x.)
Foster remarks, "Who can doubt that ho also meant slow-
ness of motion? The first point in the picture is that : the
poet is moving slowly, his tardiness of gait measuring tho
weariness of heart, the pensive spirit, the melancholy, of
which it is the outward evpression and sign. Goldsmith
ought to have added to .Johnson's remark that ho meant all
that it said, and the other too ; but no doubt fell into one of
his old flurries."

1. 2.— the lazy Scheldt. The poet wrote Sclield, which is here
changed to the ordinary modern spelling. The pronuncia-
tion is usually skelt, but frequently sheld. Tho river rises in
the north of France, flowing through Belgium and Holland
into the North Sea. Its lower part is sluggish, pent within
embankments that defend the low-lying farms and villages.

wandering Po. The river has / -rtuous course of 450
miles from its source in Mt. Viso .0 the Adriatic, distant
only 270 miles.

1. 3.— Carinthian boor. Carinthia is a duchy of Austro-
Tluugary, near Italy and the Tyrol, chiefly Germanic in
population.

!'i- ' I

(

i 1

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■1

tti

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1 ,

172

11^

;iifi

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NOTES.

(JoldHuuth visited Carinthia in 1755. Ho was aske.l wl.y
he Binglod out its people for censure, and gave an ^^^-^^}^l
being once, after a fatiguing day's walk. oMigcd o quit a
houso ho had ontorod f.,r Hl>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

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|

{ .

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.

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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.

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

;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

1 : i; ; 1.

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, 5pcc<o<or, No. 574. Cf. also,—

iHO NOTES.

Contrat'to melius parvn ciipldlne
Vectlfjuifa porriyam.
I shall be , ler extend my small incoim- by coiitractinf? my desires.

—Horace, Odea, III. xvl. 30r.

1. 186. — Breasts. This is the roading of Isfc-Brd odd., and
aud is proforrod to *^hat of the last odd., — breathes — for its
pjoturt'H'iuo value.

t, W.— patient angle. The i uisferrod epithet is another
rhetorical device of eighteenth century poetry ; cf. 1. 237.

angle. Properly tho hook, but used of rod, hook and line.

Give me mine angle, we'll to tlic river."

— Shak8i>ere, 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

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

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.

— i</., Satires, viii. l'03.

f 1 1

, !

lira;!!

It h

'A\

i^ I ^A^ {

Iff II 4

190

NOTES.

Tho phrase is classic : operose nihil agcntes (Seneca), busily

doing nothing.

Strenua nos cxorcot incvMa.

—Horace, Kpist. i. ii. 28.

Page 14. 1. 258.— honour forms the social temper. ' Honour'
is used hero of outward show, not the inner principle of
action. Tlie characteristic quality of their social life is
tho desire of others' praise. It depends for its gratification
on the goodwill of others, needing to please and be pleased ;
social intercourse therefore (>ndears 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:

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,<AVEU.ER. ,9,

obtain. ^ ^^* ®'^-' ^" each breast

1.302.-With all those ills... Cf . i>. 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/ </,. World Iv ^

Something may be said in correction. Sir Joshua P^jm
m his Z)/,cot,.r^ of Trade, as early as 16^ "1 ^'
ates among the blessings that Holland no^d Tt^ W
laws of inheritance, perfect toleration ef all re Son
cheap and expeditious law merchant. - The law of d.hr'
and creditor," says McCullagh, Free Natioll i 30 ZZ

lu 1721, those confined for debt in Amsterdam were not
more than five-and-twonty." "°*'

1. 308.-The needy sell it. . . Cf. 1. 38G. n

A nation famous for spf tin »■ tv,o u * -^^^^s^ians.—
<•• J . setting the world an examnlo nf

Tft i i

mi,

W :

aiil

i ! :

fiii'S

irr-

104

NOTES.

i»

hare ever seen are generally practised in Holland." Cf.

1. 307 n.

Page i6. 1. 810.— seek dishonourable graves. So Cassius,—

And peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

— Shakspeve, Julina Caesar, i. 11. 138.

1. 812.— lakes that slumber in the storm. The testimony
of travellers is against the truth of this. Cf. Davies,
Cruising in the Netherlands, p. 82 ; Brougham, Friesland
''Broads,'' p. 2C5, etc.
that slumber in. lst-3rd edd., that sleep beneath.
1. 313.— Belgic sires of old. The bravery of these is
attested by Caesar : " Of all these [Belgae, Aquitani, Celts],
the Belgae are the bravest. ''—Gallic Wars, i. i. The Belgic
Nervii " were a savage people and of great bravery."—
id. ib. ii. xv. Surely the history of the rise of the Dutch
Republic should plead against the censure of this line.

1. 317.— Fir'd at the sound... "We talked of Gold-
smith's Traveller, of which Dr. Johnson spoke highly;
and while I was helping him on with his great coat, ho
repeated from it the character of the British nation, which
he did with such energy that the tear started into his
eye."— Boswell's Johnson, Oct. 23, 1773,

Cf. : " The vernal softness of the air, the verdure of the

fields, the transparency of the streams, and the beauty of
the women. . . Here love might sport among painted lawns
and warbling groves, and carol upon gales, wafting at
once both fragrance and harmony."— Ct<. of World, cxiii.
1. 318.— courts. 1st ed., broods.

1. 319.— lawns. Glades, open stretches of country, espe-
cially between woods.

Groves. . .Betwixt them lawns.

—Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 252,
For him as kindly spread the flow'r.y lawn.

—Pope, Essay on Man, iii. 30,

that scorn Arcadian pride. Being of a fresher green
than the boasted lawns of Arcadia (Peloponnesus).

■ *

hi)

GOLDSMITH: THE TRAVELLER. 195

There is a touch hero of the classical spirit that domi-
nated eighteenth century poetry, in which classical refer-
ences abounded. The influence in this case is that of
Virgil (cf. Be. vii. 4 ; x. 30) and especially the later Pas-
toral poets, who pictured the mountains of Arcadia as the
ideal home of rural felicity.
1. 320.— fam'd Hydaspes. Cf.

Vel quae loca fabulosus Lambit Hydaspes.
Or those places that famed Hvdasi)es hives.

—Horace, Orfes, 1, 22. 7f.
Medus Hydaspes.-Virffil, Georgics, iv. 211.
Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams.

—Milton, Paradise Lost, iii. 435.
The classical Hydaspes or Bidaspes is the Sankrit Vitasta,
now known as the Jelham, one of the five rivers of the
Punjab. It runs through the beautiful valley of Kashmir,
by snow-clad mountains, into the Chenab and the Indus.'
The campaigns of Alexander the Great brought it into
note, and it became the subject of many fabulous (' fam'd ')
stories.

1. 322.— gentlest. Ist-Srd edd., gentle.
melts. Awakens tender feelings. A favourite word
with 18th century poets.

Where melting music steals upon the sky.

— Pope, Bapa of the Lock, ii. 49.

I. 324.— Extremes are only . . . Mildness reigns through-
out the natural scenes of England, but the men of Eng-
land, its masters, are daring, proud, in the extreme. Cf.
the description of Englishmen, Cit. of the World, xc. :— '
"They feel the slightest injuries with a degree of "un-
governed impatience, but resist the greatest calamities with
surprising fortitude. . . His virtues seem to sleep in the
calm, and are called out only to combat the kindred storm."

II. 327f.— Pride in their port. , .pass by. The lines in
this couplet were interchanged in the 1st ed.

Dort. Bearing; cf.

And bear the name and port of frentlempR.

— Shakspere, 2 Uenry VI., iv. 1. 19.

lijlll

:lll

' 1

t
i

. P^I

,iH

1 i|]

i^B

If If

1 J.:

196

NOTES.

There seems hero a touch of the "joy and pride with
which," says AFacaulay, " the nation was drunk" after Pitt
" had made Englnnd the first country of the world " (Hill).

1. 330. — By forms unfashion'd. In keeping with ' irregu-
larly great,' ' native hardiness,' etc. They are not
creatures of conventionality, of routine, of a tyrant cus-
tom ; their greatness is spontineous, horn of the native
spirit within them. Sankey thinks this applies to their
bodies, citing

Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest nature's rule.

— Tennyson, Locksley Hall.

1. 332. — imagin'd right. — Their conce *;ion or ideal of
right,

I. 333. — boasts these rights to scan. "The lowest me-
chanic looks upon it as his duty to be a watchful guardian
of his country's freedom, and often uses a language that
might seem haughty, even in the mouth of the great Em-
peror who traces his ancestry to the moon." — Gold^ nith.
Citizen of the World, Letter iv.

Page i6. 1. 340. — Keeps man from man. Johnson *' had dis-
cernment enough to see. and candour enough to censure,
the cold reserve too common among Englishmen towards
strangers : ' Sir,' said he, ' two men of any other nation
who are shown into a room together, at a house where they

■ are both visitors, will immediately find some conversation.
But two Englishmen will probably go each to a different
window, and remain in obstinate silence. Sir, we as yet
do not enough understand the common rights of human-
ity.'" — Boswell's Johnson, anno 1783.

II. 341f. — The self-dependent lordlings. These 11. are not
> in 1st ed.

1. 342.— All claims...

3rd ed. All kindred claims that soften life unknown.
1. 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,

'i* i

' f i

I 1,1 1 ■

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.

; ,.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<l, therefore, must take an

If i

'I :'M|

icnn.

202

NOTES.

exchange of her best and bravest subjects for raAv silk,
hemp, and tobacco ; her hardy veterans and honest trades-
men must be trucked for a box of snuff or a silk petticoat."
—Citizen of the World, xvii.

1_ 411. wild Oswego. The reference is to the river

Oswe<?o of New York state, flowing from Lake Oneida to
Ontario. The present town was in 17G4 only represented
by a fort garrisoned by the 55th Highlanders. The poet
drew chiefly on his imagination for the swamps.— " The
country upon the lake between Oswego and St. Lawrence
is level and good for several miles from the lake."— Rogers's
Account of North America (1705). Contemporary accounts
speak of the thick forests of the Oswego. On the other
hand, Clark mentions, " During the occupancy of the fort
by the British, the cultivated grounds were extended above
Bridge Street on the south, and easterly to an alder swamp,
lying in the vicinity of Sixth street."— OHon(/a,(/a and
Onwego, ii. '(575. The map of the Oswego in The Gentleman's
Magazine, 1757, p. 79, marks "a largo swamp" by the

river. Cf.

Oh! let me fly a land that spurns the brave,
Oswego's dreary shores shall be my prrave.

— OoUlsinith, Tlirenodia Angustalis.

"It has been observed that Goldsmith was the first to
introduce into English poetry sonoroup American — or
rather Indian— names."— Black, Goldsmith, ch. ix.

Niagara. The accent, it will be noted, is here Ni'-
a gar'a. The name was that of a Seneca station at the
mouth of the river, written On-gui-aah-ra in 1G41. The
river appears as Ongiara in Sanson's Map of Canada
(Paris, 165G) ; as Niagara in Coronelli's map (Paris, 1G88).
The name in Seneca dialect was Nc-ah'-ga, in Tuscarora
O-ne-ii'kara, in Onondaga O-ne-ah'-gii, in Oneida 0-ne-ah'-
giile, and in Mohawk, O-ne-a'-ga-rii, or Nyah"-ga-rah'.
The common English accentuation preserves the Indian
accent. The usual note, " when (Joldsmith wrote, the
third syllable was rendered long ; at present, it is more

GOLDSMITH-: THE TRAVELLER. 203

usual to dwell upon the second. The former, however, is
the native fiidian pronunciation " (Prior), is not substan-
tiated. Pj-ior states with most of the gazetteers that the
word means 'thunder-water,' but the significance of the
word in Indian is probably 'the neck.' Morgan, Leagut
of the Iroquois, 111. iii.; Marsliall, Historical Writings, p. 288.
1. 41(j.~And the brown Indian.

1st ed., And the brown Indian takes a deadly aim.
1. 420.— To stop too fearful. " Dr. .Tohnson said of Gold-
smith's 'Traveller,' which had been published in my ab-
sence, ' there had not been so lino a poem since Po])e's time.'
In the year 1783, he, at my request, marked witli a i)encil
the lines which he had furnished, which are only line 42()th,

To stop too fearful, and too faint to ko ;
and the concluding ten lines, except tlie last couplet but
one." Boswell's Johnson, anno 17(iG, cli. xvii.
1. 421.— long look. lst-3rd edd. , fond look.
1. 432. Our own felicity. Cf.

The mind is its own place, and in itself,
Can make a heaven of hell, a licll of heaven,

—Milton, Paradise Lost, i. 2.54.
I. 434. Glides the smooth current.

Secretmn iter et i'allentis semita vitte.

The hidden way and path of an unnoticed life.

—Horace, Epistles, xviii. 103.
I. 435. The lifted axe. Cf. (Mitford),—

Some the sharp axe, and some the painful wheel.

— Blackmore, Eliza.
The lifted axe.— id!., Arthur.

the agonizing wheel. A punishment consisting of bind-
ing a man to a carriage- wheel and breaking his limbs
with blows from an iron bar as the wheel revolved.

1. 430.— Luke's iron crown. The peasants of Transyl-
vania, summoned to bear arms against the Turks, revolted
in 1514 against the nobility. They put at the head George
Dosa, one of tiieir number, proclaiming him king of Hun-
gary. The revolt was suppressed. The leaders were put

irr":

204

NOTES.

to death with horrible tortures. George (not Luke) Dosa
was put in a fiery iron throne ; an iron sceptre was placed
in his hand, and on his head an iron crown, both red hot.
His brother, Luke Dosa, was then forced to drink his
blood, and finally his roasted body was served to his fam-
ished companions. Hunger, fiaying, or impaling ended
the lives of the other leaders.

Goldsmith apjiurcntly got the story from the Geographie
Cnrieuse where the name of the brothers is given as Zeck.
Hence some editors print the line,

Zeck's iron crown, etc.

But Zeck was a misapprehension (Boswell, anno 17G6,
makes the same mistake) arising from the fact that the
brothers belonged to that native race of Transylvania
named Zecklers or Szecklers. (Foster, iii. x.)

Damiens' bed of steel. Eobeit Francis Damiens, a
gloomy and partly insane lackey, conceived the idea of
becoming the instrument of God to warn Louis XV. of his
debauchery and the misery of the kingdom. He stabbed the
king with a penknife. He was thought to be the agent of
the .fansenists or Jesuits, and tortui'cd. He was first
burnt with hot pincers; tlien bruised in iron manacles ;
then stretched with rings and straps upon a bed. His legs
were mangled ; his right liand burnt in sulphur; boiling
lead and oil were poured ( n him ; he was broken on the
wheel, and torn to pieces by horses. The torture lasted
from the 5th of .January, 1757, till his death on the 28th of
March. The savage fury must have caused through
Christendom a thrill that still breathes in these lines,
written only a few years later.

Goldsmith wrote Damien's, taking his account from the
GenUeman''ii Magazine, 1757, pp. 87, 151, where the name
given as "Damien, the assassin." "Dr. Goldsmith
" said Davies, "he meant by Damien's bed of steel,
the rack, but I believe the newspapers informed us he was
. . , obliged to lie on an iron bed " (Foster).

says,

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE 203

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

Circumstances of composition—The earliest traceof any
part oi this poem is found in a letter from (.'oldsmith to h[s
b other .n i7o9, when he asks for his opinion of the design
of the heroicomicul poem " sent him. " I intended," h.
wrote, to introduce the hero of the poem as lying in a
rrCitld:^^- • • • ^^^~-n Which he^lief ma.

The window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That fcd)ly show'd tlic sta^e in wlilch he lay
The sandy floor, that ^rits beneath the tread •
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ; '
Ihe game of goose was tliere exposed to view
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew • '
The seasons fram'd with listing found a place
And Prussia's monarch sheWd his lamp.hlaelc'face
1 he morn was cold ; ho views, witli l^een desire '
A rusty grate unconscious of a fire.
An uni)aid reck'ningon the freeze was scor'd
And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney hoard
All this, you see. is taken from nature." This projected
poem was never executed, but ten years later portions of
this passage were incorporated in The Deserted Village

Ihe germ of this poem is, as we have already seen con
tamed in The Traveller, particularly in the pas^xge da'alhig
with tlie depopulation of Britain, 11. 3QS~122 We m-iv
suppose, therefore, that the success of The Traveller kep^
the project of a companion poem in the poet's minddurin..
the SIX years when more pressing demands necessitate his
essays, compilations, the comedy of The Guod-Natared
Mnn, and the Roman History. His brother Henry died in
May, 1768, and the melancholy thought that thenceforth
the village of his childhood was for him verily deserted, a
thought which gives that tone of gentle pathos in which the
quiet ines of the poem flow, must have been the immediate
stimulus for the perfecting and accomplishing of the work

- ] ^

|: ■

■ i '

-'\

Si?

)■ '

: :n !^

t .lUI

206

NOTES.

Dr. Strean, curate to Kilkenny West after the death of
Henry Goldsmith, says, with much detail on the subject :—
" The poem of The Deserted Villa f/c took its origin from the
circuinstauce of (General Eol>ert Napper* (the grandfather
of the gentleman who now lives in the house, within half
a mile of Lissoy, and built by the General), having pur-
chased an extensive tract of the country surrounding
Lissoy, or Auburn; in consequence of which many families,
here called cottiers, were removed, to make room for
needed improvements of what was now to be the wide
domain of a rich man, warm with the idea of changing the
face of his new acquisition ; and were forced ' with faint-
ing steps' to go in search of 'torrid tracts' and 'distant
climes.' This fact alone might be sufficient to establish
the sect of the poem ; but there cannot remain a doubt in
any unprejudiced mind when the following are added:
viz., that the character of the village preacher, the above-
named Henry is copied from, nature. Ho is described
exactly as he lived ; and his ' modest mansion ' as it
existed. Burn, the name of the village master, and the
site of his schoolhouse ; and Catherine Giraghty, a lonely
widow.

The wretched matron, forced, in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread,
(and to this day the brook and ditches near the spot where
her cabin stood abound with cresses), still remain in the
memory of the inhabitants. . . The pool, the busy
mill, the house where 'nut-brown draughts inspir'd,' are
still visited as the poetic scene ; and the ' hawthorn-bush,'
growing in an open space in front of the house, Avhich I
knew to have three trunks, is now reduced to one ; the
other two having been cut, from time to time, by persons

carrying pieces of it away to be made into toys, etc., in
honour of the bard, and of the celebrity of his poems. . .

■ General Napier, v/ho. hnt\ s^rnwn rich at Vi<ro, Spain, The ostal t
was purchased in IT.'JO, of tlie Dillons.— Gc»W«»u</i, Aldine ed., Ixxi.

itiiil

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 207

The 'decent church,' which I attended for upwards cf
eighteen years, and which 'tops the no-hbouring hill ' is
exactly described as seen from Lissoy, the residence of' the
proacher.»-Mangin, Enmy on Light Beading, 1808, pp.

To this it may be addad that a Westmeath poet, whoso
works Goldsmith must have known in boyhood, had
already written on the same theme of eviction as we find
in The Deserted Village :—

Their native soil were Ibrccd to quit,

So Iiisli landlords thought it fit. . .

How many viilages they razed,

How many parishes laid waste. . .

Whole colonies to shun the fate

Of hcin- oppress'd at such a rate,

By tyrants who still raise tlicir rent

Sail'd to the Western Continent.

—Lawrence Whyte, Works (nu).
Publication. -The Public Advertiser of the 2f5th of May
1770, announced the publication of the poem. " Thisday at
12 will be published, price two shillings, The Deserted
Vi'fage, a Poem. By Doctor Goldsmith. Printed f(,r W
Griffin, at Garrick's Head, in Catherine Street, Strand '*'
This IS the accepted first edition, a quarto. Recently
{Athenmuvi, June 20th and 27th, 1890} copies of an 8vo
ed., 1770, have turned up, which has claims to be con-
sidered an earlier privately printed edition of the poem
issued in the last months of 1769. The first 4to was fol-
lowed on the 7th of June by a second 4to without any
material differences in the text ; a third appeared June
14th ; a revised fourth, June 28th ; and before the year was
ended two more editions were exliausted. A seventh ap-
peared in 1772, and an eighth in 1773.

The present edition is based on the last editions of the
poem. The second (or third), fourth, fifth, seventh (reprint
Springfield) and the critical editions of Goldsmith already
rolerred to, luivo been closely compared for trustworthy
text r.nd variants.

•i .1

208

NOTES.

Page 21.— Dedication. Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792).
The greatest of English portrait painters, first president of
the Koyal Academy. He was not only an artist hut also an
author, chiefly on subjects of art. The Taterary Club was
founded by him in 1764. Goldsmith depicts him in worthy
lines elsewhere : —

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,

He lias not left a better or wiser bcliind :

His pencil was strikinp, resistless, and prrand :

His lujinners were Rentle, complying, and bland;

Still born to improve ns in every part,

His pencils our faces, his manners our heart ;

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly stoerinf?,

When tbey j'ldg'd without skill he was still hard of hearing ;

AVhen tliey talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff.

He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

—Retaliatioih 11. 187-14C..

Reynolds was not insensible to the honour of the Dedi-
cation and painted his picture of Resignalion, had it
engraved and dedicated to Goldsmith, from his ' sincere
friend and admir v. .Joshua Reynolds.'

1. 10.— He is since dead. In May, 1768 ; see Tr., Dedica-
cation n.

Page 23. 1. 1.— Auburn. The name was suggested by
Bennet Langton, one of the Literary Club, who may have
thought, says Prior, of the village of Aldbourn or Auburn
in Wiltshire.

There are, however, so many recollections of (ioldsmith's
childhood in the description of the village and its people
that from the first many attempts have been made, and
with substantial success, to identify Auburn with Lissoy.
That the picture is largely ideal is apparent, I think, from

- the language of the Preface and from such touches as tlie
reference to the nightingale (1. 124), which never visits
Ireland. Macaulay aptly says : " The village in its happy
days is a true English village. The village in its decay is
an Irish village. The felicity and misery which Goldsmith
has biuughi clo^e together belong to two different couutrieij

723-1792).
resident of
)iit also an
' Club was
in worthy

Barinp ;
stuff,

M4fi.

f the Dedi-
3H, had it
is ' sincere

V. , Dedica-

;gested by
• may have
or Auburn

ioldsmith's
I its people

made, and
ith Lissoy.
;hink, from
;hes as the
ever visits
n its happy
its decay is

Goldsmith
t countries

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 209

and to two ditloront stages in the j.rogross of society. He
had assuredly never so.n in his native island such a rural
paradise, such a seat of plenty, content and tranquillity as
in 'Auburn. He had assuredly never seen in EnglL"
all the inhabitants of such a paradise turned out of their
homes in one day and forced to emigrate, in a bodv f
America. The hamlet he had probabfy seen Vl^^-t.
ejectment he had probably seen in M.mster." {Bncy Brit 1
Lissoy, or Lishoy, it might be added, is near Kilkenny

Howitt, Hon^es and Haunt, of B iti.k Poet., described it in
1847 as consisting "of a few common cottages l>y the
roadside on a flat and by no means interesting scene."
The orchard and wild remains of a garden, enclosed with

early horn?' '' '''"''' "^""'^'"^ ^^' "'^^ °^ Goldsmith's
1. 4.-parting. Departing ; cf. ' parting life,' 1. 171.
'Ihe curfew tolls the knell of parting' day.

,. ,. ^. -Gray, Elegy.

aelay d. Lingered, loitered ; cf.

O sweet new-year, delaying long ;
Thou doest expectant nature wroiig,
Delaying long, delay no more.

-Tennyson, In Memoriam, Ixxxi.
1. 5.-bowers. A trace of the old sense of dwellin- A S
bur, dwelling, cottage, is here preserved. The modem use
13 usua ly poetic, for ' abode,' suggesting often a dwellin.^
of rural beauty. The New Enrjli.k But. quotes this lin^
m Illustration of « bower' as " a vague poetic word for an
idealized abode, not realized in any actual dwellin- "

1. 6.-Seats of my youth. Explained usually as ° where
as a youth, I sat,' but 'seat' is here used in the sense oj
abode.

when every sport could please. Cf. Tr. 1. 154 n
1. 12.-The decent church. 'Decent' (Lat. deeens be-
coming, fi.tti-.g), modest in appearance and proper to its
requirements. Cf. 1. 114 ji. ^

'I If III

i if I ^-M

i: I

210

NOTES.

the neighbouring hill. "I had rather be placed on the
little mount before Lissoy gate, and tliere take in for i.ie
the moat pleasing horizon in uatiue."— Goldsmith to
Daniel Hudson, Dec. 27, 1757.

I. 13. —The hawthorn bush . . lovers. Burns found simi-
lar associations, —

Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.

— Cotter's Saturday Night.

The bush was a reality ; cf. note on p. 206. At an anni-
versary meeting at Ballymahon, 29th of Nov., 1828, a
letter from John Hogan of Auborn was read, as follows :
" When I settled on the spot, I attempted to replace some
of the almost-forgotten identities that doliglited me forty
years since. I rebuilt his " Three Jolly Pigeons," restored
his "Twelve Good Eules, and Royal Game of Gooae,"
inclosed his "Hawthorn tree,"' now almost cut away by
the devotion of literary p.lgrims...; also planted his
favourite hill before Lissoy Gate— that spot which pre-
sented to his eye the most agreeable horizon in nature."—
Gentleman's Magazine, vol. xc. ii. G20.

II. 17f.— the village train, .sports. The villageis in a
body went to take their pasdmes beneath the spreading
trees upon the village green.

1. 19. — many a pastitne circled. Games, such as "Kiss
in the ring," in which t.\e players were formed into rings.

\^ 21. gambol frolick'd. A touch of the rhetorical stylo

of the age ; cf. " laughter titter'd," 1. 28.

Page 24. 1. 22.— sleights of arts. Dexterous feats, tricks.

went round. Each taking his turn in the contest.

1. 29.— sidelong looks of love. Frequently noted by tlie

poets as effective.

In sidelong glances from her downcast eye.

—Thomson, Summer

Vumnh of the downward smile, and sidelong glance.

—Keats, To Q. A. W.

3 found simi-

GOL DSMI Til : THE DESER TED VIIJ.A GE. 21 1

She >,'lv(s ii siih. Kliinoe, niul looks down,
Beware, bcwfiie !

—Ijoii). fellow, Deware.

1. 32.-influence shed, "fluence' is primarily the
power of the stars flowing in upon us (L. in flno, I flow).
Herjoe, in Milton, the ladies,—

Whusc briplit eyes
Rain influence, and Judge tlie prize.

L' Allegro, 1. 121.
1. 34.— weary way. lst-7th edd., weedy way.
1. S5.-lawn. See Tr. 1. 819 n. The word is used loosely
here, as is evident from 1. 1.

1. 87.— the yranfs hand. The "one only master" of 1.
89. See note p. 206.

1. 40.-half a tillage stints... . « Stint,' here, restrict to
scanty allowance. Tiie partial cultivation of the fields
prevents the soil from bringing forth the smiling harvests
that it might produce.

I. 43.-a solitary guest. All birds that live in the
vicinity of man are fled. Birds are the guests of the
woods : Cf.

Vous 6tes le plifinix des li6tes de ccs bois.

— Lafontaine, Fables 1. a.

1. 44.— The hollow-sounding bittern. "There is no
sound so dismally hollow as the booming of the bittarn.
I remember in the place where I was a boy, with what
terror this bird's note affected the whole village."— yl„i-
mated Nature, vi. 2.

And the bittern sounds his drum
Booming from tlic sedgy sluillow.

—Scott, Lad)i of the Lake, i. 31.

" The bittern dwells in the marshes, nocturnal in habits
rarely seen on the wing. Its ' boom ' or love-song of the
male is hear.l at all hours of the night during the lu-eeding
season, and never in the day. It is a weird, unearthly
noise, not to be dignified with the name of a note, and
may bo heard at a considerable distance. The Inrd'is so
Hiiy that the noise is instantly st.ppod on the slightest

iill'i

i •!■• I.

irr.

213

NOTES.

alarm. Some writers have likened it to the bellowing of
a bull, others think it resomblos the neighing of a horse,
whilst more imaginative (-rnilhologists trace in it a resem-
blance to their ideal c( nception of demoniac laughter. It
consists of two j)urts, one sn])i)('sed to bo produced as the
bird inhales and the other as it exhales its breath. Nau-
mann attempts to express it on paper by the syllables
u-prump, repeated slowly several times. 'J".ie call-note,
which is common to the two series, is a hoarse croak like
the ca-wak of a Night-Heron. . .but the 'boom' is only
heard from the roeda." — Seebohm, British Birds, ii. 504.

guards its nest. "The nest is very diflicult to find.
The marshes where it breeds are almost impenetrable...
in the dark and sultry recesses of the reed-forest. The
nest is built on the mud, and is composed of dead reeds
and flags." — Seebohm, ii. 504.

Page 25. 1. 53.— Ill fares . .to hastening ills. Hales calls
this one of the " negligences of style." It is rather a
musical balance that has found favour with nineteenth
century poets, especially Tennyson. Cf.

Mark the sliowcr
Come stieaminp: down tlie stieaniinf; panes.

— Wordswortli, Village School at .

Which heaves but wlfU the heaving deep.

-Tennyson, In Menwriam, xi.

1. 45. — lapwingf. Or peewit. A kind of plover, taking
its name from the slow flapping of its long wings. It in-
habits wild districts, moors, swampy places. " The lap-
wing becomes particularly clamorous at night... At all
hours its wild, expressive call may bo heard, as it floats on
ever-moving pinions above its favourite haunts. Its com-
mon note resembles the syllables )ee-weet, or weet-a-uoeet,
pee-weet-uxet , from which is derived one of its best-known
names. This note is modulated in vaiuous ways, especially
by the male in the breeding-season." — Seebohm, Briti k
Birth, iii. 58.

GOLDiiMITH: THE DESERTED IJ/J.AUE. 213
/W ''^'" '"^ "'° "clamorous lapwings" in Win.hor

Pace 25. 1. 52. -Where wealth accumulates. "Wealth in
all comn.orcial states is found to accurnulato; the very
law. may co.itribute to the acouniulation of wealth "
Vtcar of Wah'field, ch. xix. ' ~

11. 53f.— Princes and lords may flourish. (Cf. Mitford),-
A kyi.ffc may spillc {kill), a kyn;;e may save
A kyiiKe may make a loidc a knave ; ' '

And of a knave a lorde also.

—Cower, C'ou/casio Amaulia.
1. 64.— A breath can make them. Cf.

Wlio pants for glory finds bnt short repose •
A breath revives him, or a breath o'ertlnows.

—Pope, Satires, ii. 300.
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings.

-Burns, Cotter's Saturday Niffht.
Prior compares De Caux on an hour-glass,—

., ,„ •^'t'st un verre qui luit

v-u un soufHc pent ddtruire, et qu'un .souffle a pnxluit.

1 57.-A time there was. " The farms in England are
arge and are becoung larger... But the condition of
Kngland in this respect was, a few centuries since, very
different. No class of men in our early annals occupied a
more prominent or honourable position than the yeomanry
I heir praises have been sung by our greatest poets; thef;
sturdy independence on many occasions preserved the
iberty and proved the courage of the English race. The
teiuant farmers of the present day differ essentially from the
old yeomen of England."-Fawcett, Pofit. Econol^,^ m
The cause of the change is purely economic, 1 "^ei...
ound that 'large farms are more productive than smal!
arms when land is cultivated not by its owner, but W a
u.nan ."-Fawcett, p. 182. The ..ocial effect of this tJZ
{•nnation of freeholders into tenants is riohtlv tob.,
.leplored. It is noteworthy that recent legislaH^.l'i

214

NcrrES.

Irish Land Act, 1891, and tho ii(3w IJill now licforo tho Kn^
lish rurlLuncntj-ainis to n-atoio tho luml to tho tenant.

1. 67.— opulence. Ist cd., luxury.

1. 69.— Those. lst-7tn odd., Thoso.

I. 70.— calm desires. Cf (Mitford),—

Gentle thouglits and culm dijslrcs.

— Carew, Disdain lieturiied.

Page 26. 1. 7G.— confess. Cf. ' own,' Tr. 1. 119 n.

II. 77-80. —Here, as I take., hawthorn grew.

I8t cd. Here as with doubtful, iicnalvo steps I raiiKc,
Trace every scene, and wonder at the change,

1. 79. return to view. Newell contended that tho poet

returned to Lissoy after his pedestrian tour and was then
impressed with tho havoc made among tho favourite scenes
of his youth, actually composing much of D.V. there.—
Gohhmith's Works, p. 74. However, " there is no satisfac-
tory evidence that Goldsmith ever revisited Ireland after
ho left it in 1752.— Dobson, OoUhmith, Dent's ed., i. 34.

1. 80.— the cottage. Tho ' modest mansion' of 1. 140.

1. 84.— In all my griefs. . .share. Cf. (Prior),-

In all my prlcfs, a more than cqnal share.

—Collins, Persian Ednguea, Hassan.

1, 85. — crown. Finish, complete. Cf. Tr. 1. 17 and
D.V. 1. 99. The Latin proverb shows this sense; Finin
coronal opus. Tho end crowns the work.

1. 87.— To husband out... To use sparingly. Cf. 'to
eke out.'

l8t cd. My an.\ioiH d.ay to husband near the close,

And keep life's Hame from w.isting by repose.

life's taper.

Out, out, brief candle ! Life's hut a walldnj? shadow.
— Shakspere, Macbeth, v. v. 23.

1. 93. — whom hounds and horns pursue. ' Whom ' for

' which ' is not rare in 18th century writers, Cf. (Rolfo),—

Whiles lioiinds and horns and sweet melo<iious birds.

—Shakspere, Timon of Athena, ii. 3.

%■

GO/.nSAf/Tf/: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 215

I. 96. -die at home at last. " Thore i« Konothing so hb-
dncingin tl.nt Mp,.t in which wo first had existi-nco, that,
riothin- hut it cm ploaso ; whiitnver vicissitudes weoxpor-
loiico in lifo, however wo toil, or wheresoever wo wanrler,
our fatigued wishes still recur to homo for tranquillity
we long to die in that spot which gave us birth, and in
that pl..asing expoctati.^n opiate every caIamity."-C'i<i2m
of the World, cii. Cf. WalU-r's remark towards the end of
hjs hfe, when buying a house at Colehill : " He should be
glad to die, like the stag, where he was roused."— John-
son's WnJIer,

The poet's lino is literally true of the runnin- of the
hunted hare (Sankey). "

1. 09.— How happy he.
1st cd. How l)lest la he w!io orowns in sJindcs like these.

Page 27. 1. 102.— And, since 'tis hard. . . Cf. The liee, No. 2 •
"By struggling with misfortunes, wo are sure to 'receive
some wounds in the conflict. The only method to come
off victorious, is by runninL,' away."

1. 101.— tempt the dangerous deep. This v.so of ' tempt'
is pronounced (Sankey) a Lutinism (cf. " itare Thetim
ratibus," to tempt Thetis (the Sea) in s! i-Viriril Ec
iv. 32). Cf. 49. 8, and Milton,- ' fo . •

Who shall temj. u iili w.iiidcriiii,' feet,
Thcd.aik " hottomd iniiiiitc al.ys.s.

— Paradise Lost, ii. 101.
1. 107.— his Jatter end. Cf. Numbers xxiii. 10, xxiv. 20
Deut. viii. Ki, xx\ii. 20, etc. '

I. 109.— Sinks to. 2nd-7th ed., Bends to. The 1st 4to.
and 1st 8vo. have. Sinks to.

unperceiv'd decay. Cf. (Dobson),—

All Ape that melt.'? In unperceiv'd Dec.iy
And fflides In modest innocence away.

— J"'linson, Vatiity 0/ Human Wishes, 11. 29'2{.

II. llOff.— While Resignation... This conception wo =
the basis of the picture of "Resignation," which, painted

t:i:

JteiF-iaBBB i-

^ ;::*;!is

j:;iM

1 ■

fa*'

I'm

l:':|B

NOTES.

by Sir Joshua EoynoWs in 1771 and cn«^rav(>,d by Watson,
was dedicated by the artist to the poet with the words :
" This attempt to express a character in The Deserted Vil-
lage is dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith, by his sincere friend
and admirer, Joshua Reynolds."

1. 114. — Up yonder hill. In front of Lissoy parsonage,
as it existed in Goldsmith's time, rose the little hill of
Knockaruadh, or Red Hill, known as early as 1811 as
" Goldsmith's mount." See 1. 187 «.

1. 117. — responsive. Answering in song (Lat. respondeo,
I answer). Cf.

How often from the steep
Of echoing hill, or thicket, have we licaid
Celestial voices, to the midnight air,
Sole, or responsive each to other's note,
Singing their great Creator.

—Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. fiSOflF.

1. 122. — spoke the vacant mind. ' Vacant ' is here not
contemptuous, but, in keeping Avith the context, freefrom
care and thought. (Lat. vacans, empty, vacant.) Cf.

Who with a hody fill'd and vacant mind
Gets him to rest.

— Shakspere, Henry V., iv. 1. 28(5.

The gay ideas crowd the vacant brain.

—Pope, /frti?e o/tlie Lock, 1 as.

' Speak' is here used in the sense of testifying to, as if
by speech, showing forth, —

Her very silence and her patience
Speak to the people.

—Shakspere, As Yon Like It, i. iii. 81.

1.124. — each pause the nightingale. "The nightin-
gale's pausing song would be the proper epithet for that
bird's music." — Animated Nature, i. See Keats's Ode to a
Nightingale, Theme n.

The nightingale is never found in Ireland ; see 1. 1 n.

1. 126. — fluctuate. Rise and fall (L. flucttis, a wave).
"Armstrong," says Goldsmith, "has used the word/u*;-

c effi

II cu

cj'

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 217

'Oh ! when the RTowIing winds contend, and all
Ihe sounding forest fluctuates in the storm '"
—On Metaphors.

Page 28 1. 128.-bloomy. Some edd. read blooming, but
IstHZth edd. have bloomy,-and no doubt rightly ; cf.
O niffhtingale, that on yon bloomy spray.

—Milton, Sonnets, i.
1. 130.-plashy. Abounding in puddles. Cf. (Cent. Diet )
He. ..made way through hills, fast'nd and filled up un-
sound and plashy fens. ''-Milton, Hist, of England, ii.
Ihe word 13 of a Eomantic cast, and we expect to find it
in the nature poetry of this century. Cf.

The dripping woods and plashy fields.

—Bryant, Rain Dream.
1. 131. -She, wretched matron. The reference is with-
out doubt to Catherine Giraghty. See Introductory note
p. 206. '

1. 133.— wintry. For the coming winter.
1. 135.— train. The use of tliis word, like ' bliss ' is
almost a mannerism of the poet. '

1. 136.-The sad historian. Whoso poverty and loneli-
ness speak the sorrowful history of the village.

pensive plain. The epithet is transferred from the
observer to the desolate country.

1. 137.-Near yonder copse. " Behind the ruins of the
house there are still the orchard and wild remains of a
garden, enclosed with a high old stone wall. . . In truth
when the house was complete with its avenue of ash-trees'
along which you look to the highway, and thence across
the valley to th, church of Kilkenny West, on a hill at
about a mile distant, the abode of Goldsmith's boyhood
must have been a very pleasant one. It is now as stripped
of all Its former attractions. . .and .tands a white, bare
T. T.o^.t? ^^^"-"-Howitt's Homes and Haunts of the

1. MO.-The village preacher. The reference i« primarily
to Goldsmith's brother Henry; cf. Tr. Dedication, and 1.

' ^m

' i i

'? \

Sp '

: i
•! {i:

1 t •' ^

Bb :

' ?

I! "■'»

:|.H.

Xmn

X .

218

NOTES.

9, and D. F., Dedication, 1. 10. It is applicable likewise
to Goldsmith's father, the Eev. Charles Goldsmith, and, to
a less extent, to his uncle Contarine. Catharine Hodson,
Goldsmith's sister, held that " The Eev. Charles Goldsmith
is allowed by all that knew him, to have been faithfully
represented by his son in the character of the village
preacher."— Pcrc2/ Mevioir. "The fact, perhaps, is, that
he fixed upon no one individual, but borrowing, like all
good poets and painters, a little from each, drew the
character by the combination." — Prior.

This picture of the Village Preacher has been a favourite
theme of Englsh poets. Chaucer has the honour of first
drawing the English ideal of the parish priest, in the Pro-
logue to The Canterbury Tales, 11. 477-528. Chaucer's sketch
was amplified by Dryden in his Character of a Good Parson.
Pope vieil with these in his Man of Ross, Moral Essays, iii.
Goldsmitli followed with the lines before us, and was him-
self succeeded by Cowper in The Task, ii. 82(jfF., 395fT.
Wordsworth carried on the subject in the Excursion, v.,
and Longfellow in his Evangeline, i. 43ff.

mansion. Cf. I. 41 and Tr. 1. 167 n.

1. 142.— passing. Surpassing, exceedingly.

Slie swore, in faith, 'twua strange, 'twas passing strange.

— Siiakspcre, Othello, i. iii. IfiO.

forty pounds a year. The salary was not an uncommon
one. Parson Adams in Fielding's Joseph Andrews ^ ' ' at the
age of fifty was provided with a handsome income of
twenty-three pounds a year ; which, however, he could not
make any great figure with, because ho lived in a dear
country, and was a little incumber?d with a wife and six
children" (ch. iii.). Goldsmith's Visar of Wakefield ob-
tained a cure at fifteen pounds a yjar (chap. iii.). It is
not unusual, Sankey says, "even now in parts of Cum-
berland and Westmoreland."

1. 143. — Remote from towns. Cf. Tr. 1. 1 n., and "'Re
mote from the polite, they still retained," etc., in which

• GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 219

the Vicar describes his cure of fifteen pounds a year —
Vicar of Wakefield, iv.

ran his godly race. The figure is from St. Paul,
1 Corinth, ix. 24 ; Phil. ii. 13f ; cf. Heb. xii. i. Goldsmith
introduces the line into the Vicar ;—

Tlint still a godly race he ran
Wlieiie'cr lie went to pray.

—Elegy on a Blad Dog.

1. 144.— Nor e'er had changed.

He sette nat his benefice to hyre,

And leet iiis sliccp encombrcd in tlie myre,

And raif to London, unto ffiynt Poules.

-Cliaucer, Prol. Cant. Tales, 507flF.
1. 145.— Unpractis'd. Isted., Unskilful.
1. 146.— doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour. This
ideal was realized by the Vicar of Bray, who, whether the
original was Simon Alleyn, Pondleton, Simon Symonds,
or other, became a permanent portrait of literature in
Colonel Fuller's well-known song. Goldsmith was un-
doub^ , familiar with the song, which was written in
Geor ' reign.
1. 148.— More skill'd. 1st ed., More bent.
1. 149.— vagrant. Here simply, wandering. (Lat. vagor,
I roam.)

1. 151.— Icni remember'd beggar. " The same persons
are seen for a series of years to traverse the same tract of
country at certain intervals, intrude into every house
which is not defended by the usual outworks of wealth, a
gate and a porter's lodge, exact tlicir portion of the food'of
the family, and even find an occasional resting-place for
the night, or from severe weather, in the chimney-corner
of respectable farmers."— Prior. Cf. (Sankey) the descrip-
tion of Edie Ochiltree, the Scotch Bluegown, or King's
Bedesman, in Scott's Antiquary, xxi.

1. 152.— Whose beard descending. Cf. (Mitford),—
stay till my beard shall sweep mine aged breast.

—Hall's Satires, p. 79.

iiiiii

\ >\\

-•.\\' ''

220

NOTES.

Page 29. 1. 155.— broken. Enfeebled, exhausted by age and
service,— the chassical " fracti lello," Virgil, Mneid.xx. 13.
It will be remembered that Goldsmith's youth saw the
veterans of the war of the Spanish Succession, and that
the Seven Years' War was ended only in 1763.

1. 102.— pity. . .charity. The poet distinguishes here the
in itinctivo impulse for the reasoned moral principle.
1. 165.— in his duty prompt. Cf.

Yet still he was at liiiiul, witliout request,
To serve the sick, to succour the distress'd.. .
Still cheerful, ever constant to his call.

— Dryden, Qood Parson, 11. 62f. and 189.

1. 170.— led the way. Cf.

This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf (gave).
That Ihst he wroKhte, and afterwards he taughte; . . .
But Cristcs lore, and his apostles twelve.
He taughte, and first he folwed it him-selve.

—Chaucer, Canterhnry Tales, Prol.,496flf.

1. 171.— parting. Cf. 1. 4 n.

1. 178. — champion. Fighting as a leader in the Church
Militant against the powers of evil.

I. 170.— accents. A favourite substitute in poetry for
words, as numbers for verso ; cf .

And l)reathe short-winded accents of new broils.

— Shaltspere, 1. Henry IV., 1. 1. 3.

II. 177f.— At church ... Cf.

His eyes diffus'd a venerable grace.
And charity itself was in his face.

—Dryden, A Qood Parson, 11. 3f.

I. 179. Truth from his lips.

Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charm'd,
For letting down the golden chain from higli.
He drew his audience upward to the sky.

—Dryden, A Good Par sen.

Page 30. — 1. 180. — Fools who came. . . Cf. I'Prior), —
Our vows are heard betimes 1 and Heaven takes care
To grant, before we can conclude the prayer.
Preventing angels met it half the way.
And sciit us back to praise, vvlio came to pray.

—Dryden, Britannia Redivlvo^.

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE 221

1. 183.-and pluck'd his gown. " Tlie Anglican clergy
were ordinarily attired in accordance with the seventy-
fourth canon-that is to say, in cassocks, black stockings
knee breeches, gown and bands. "-Sydney, England in the
ijtghteenth Century, i. 116.

1. 189.-AS some tall cliff. ''Perhaps the sublimost simile
that English poetry can boast." -Gilbert Wakefield
Memoirs (Prior). The nearest parallel, and the probable
source, is in Young : —

As some tall tow'r, or lofty mountain's brow,
Detains the sun, Illustrious from its lieight ;'
While rlainx vapours, and descending shades,
With damps, and darltness, drown the spacious vale •
Undampt by doubt, undarken'd by despair, '

Philander, thus, augustly rears liis liead,
At thut black hour, whicli gen'ral horror sheds
On tlie low level of th' inglorious throng :
Sweet peace, and lieavenly hope, and humljle joy
Divinely beam on his exalted soul ; '

Destruction gild, and crown him for the skies.
With incommunicatile lustre, bright.

—Young, Night Thoughts, il.
Wakefield quotes a parallel from Claudian, de Mall.
Theod. Cons. 206fT, which is rendered :—

Olympus thus the rage of heaven divides
White forky lightning plays around liis sides:
Eternally serene, no winter sees,
Nor storms nor tempest interrupt his ease,
Insults the wreck, and liigher rears liis head
'Midst foaming deluges around liim spread.
Hears undisturb'd descendir.g torrents flow.
And spurns tlie thunder as it lays below.

— Warburton, tr. Claudian on Tlieodorns.
Lord Lytton thought Goldsmith plagiarized from the
Abb6 de Chaulieu (1639-1720) :—

Tel qu'un rociier dont la tfite.

lilgalant le Mont Athos,
Voit k ses pieds la tempfite

Troubler le calnio des flots,
La mer autour bruit et grondo ;

rift: li

li'J!

H.t

Sur

Ma!g!<\ sp.s (^!!>.i)tion3
son front elev»S rigne uiie paix profonde.

•i

lii

^'1

i;i* f'

222

NOTES.

John Scott (ilca<^, Oct. 30, 1876) suggestod the coinci-
dence in the linos of Chapchiiu (1595 1 674) to Richelieu :-

Dans UJi paiaiblc inouvenKMil

Til t'61feves au finna\iieiit

Et laisses contrc tol inmnnucr cette terre ;

Ainsl le liaut OlympL', fi sou pied sablonneux,

Lalsse fimier la foiidre et Biouder le tonncvre,

Et garde son sominet tranquille ft lumlneiix.

J. E. Sandys (W., Nov. 13) points out that the figure is
in Lucan, ii. 266-73, and a suggestion of the fact in the
description of Olympus, Ohjssey, vi. 45.

1. 194.— blossom'd furze. Or gorse, having abundant
bright yellow flowers among prickly leaves.

unprofitably gay. F. E. Hulme 'has clearly demon-
strated' in Familiar Wild Flowers, v. 42ff., that the furze
is not ' unprofitably gay,' but useful as a wind-break, as
fodder, etc. But the poet means that it wastes its bright-
ness on an uninhabited district.

1. 196.— The village master. A reference to Thomas
Burn or Byrne. "Goldsmith," says his sister, "was
instructed in reading, writing, and arithmetic, by a school-
master in his father's village, who had been a quarter-
master in the army in Queea Anne's wars, in that detach-
ment which was sent to Spain: having travelled over a
considerable part of Europe and leing of a very romantic
turn, he used to entertain Oliver with his adventures ; and
the impressions the-.' made on his scholar were believed
by the family to .o given him that wandering and
unsettled turn, whicii so much appeared in his future life."
Percy Memoir.

I. 200.— his morning face. Cf.

The whining' school-boy, with his satchel
And shinint,' morning face.

— Sliakspere, As You Like It, 11. vll. 14G.

II. 205.— aught. . .fault. The word ' fault' first appears in
English as 'fauto' {Fr. faute), which is the spelling into
the°3ixteenth century. At the end f>f the fifteenth century

iture Hie."

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 223

the spelling begins to alter under the example of French,
where faule was being spelt faulte from the influence of
etymology (assumed Lat. /a/ft7a, from fallere, to fail.) The
present spelling 'fault' is universal in English since the
seventeenth century. The pronunciation has followed the
spelling, but more slowly, so that even in 1755 Dr. Johnson
in his Dictionary could say that " in conversati. n it \l in
fault] is usually suppressed." Todd, editing the Dictionary
(1818), remarks that anyone omitting the i " would expose
himself to the charge of ignorance or affectation.' Dia-
lects still maintain the old pronunciation. fSee 2Vcw Ena
Divt.)

In Pope, Essay on Man, i. 69f., the rime is ' fault : ought.'
Goldsmith rimes 'fault : sought' in Edwin and Angelina,
St. 35, and in Retaiation, 73f., 'caught : fault.'

She own'd tlie wandering of her thoughts,
But he must answer for her faults.

—Swift, Oadenus and Vanessa.

Page 31. 1. 209. -terms. The time in wliich courts of law
sit, colleges are open ; periods of leases, etc.

tides. Here the times and seasons, especially in the
ecclesiastical year; as Eastertide, "Whitsuntide, etc.
1. 210. -gauge. Estimate the contents of casks.
1. 213.— words of learned length. Cf.

his speech
In loftiness of sound was rich.. .
Words so debased and hard, no stone
Was hard eiiougli to toucli them on ;
And wlien with hasty noise he spolce 'em
The ignorant for current took 'em.

—Butler, Hudibras.
1. 218.-triumph'd. Cf. 1. 212.
I. 219.— Near yonder thorn. See note, p. 206.
1. 221.— Low lies that house. " The scenery of the Ale-
house was that of the habitations of most of the farmers
in this neighbourhood. . . Every parlour floor was flaa-^od,
or sanded-had its 'bed by night, a chest of drawers' by

liij!'

• si

1 '

I^E

,A\

W^'

(

ii!

224

NOTES.

day'; and exhibited, either on a chimney board, or in an
open corner cup-boai'd, a parcel of broken or unbroken
pieces of china, glass, or stained earthenware ; while the
walls wei-e covered with gun-racks, fishing-tackle, and
homely prints." — Oentleman's Magazine, .Tuly, 1818, p. 20.

Many of the lines of this description were written as
early as 1759 ; see p. 205. The original sketch was worked
over into a Description of an Author's lied-chamher in The
Citizen of the World, Let. xxix. The best of it was finall}'
incorporated here.

nut-brown draughts. Cf.

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.

—Milton, V Allegro, 1. 100.

1. 230. — A bed by night. . . The poet imitates himself in

in this line ; cf.

A cap by night— a stocking nil the day.

— An Author's Bedchamber,

1. 232. — The twelve good rules. These rules were printed
in the form known as a broadside (a large sheet printed on
only one side), surmounted by a picture of the execution
of Charles I. They were said to have been found in the
study of that unhappy king. They are as follows : —

1. Urge no healths; 2. Profane no divine ordinances;
3. Touch no state matters ; 4. Reveal no secrets ; 5. Pick
no quarrels; 6. Mako no comparisons ; 7. Maintain no ill
opinions; 8. Keep no bad company ; 9. Encourage no vico.
10. Make no long meals; 11. Repeat no grievances; 12.
Lay no wagers.

" A lady from the neighbourhood of Portglenone, in the
county of Antrim. . .visited the Deserted Village in 1817 ;
and was fortunate enough to find, in a cottage adjoining
the ale-house, an old smoked print, which, she was credi-
bly informed, was the identical ' Twelve good Rules' which
had ornamented that rural wavern with the 'Royal Game
of Goose,' when Goldsmith drew his fascinating description
of it." — Gentleman's Mag., vol. lxxxviii.,July, 1818, p. 196.

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 225

royal game of goose. A gamo played on a board marko.l
in sixty-two compartments. The pLiyer moves forwar.l
through tho ;e in accordance with his throws with the dice.
Every fourth or fifth compartment, however, is marked
with a g, ose ; ho doubles his throw if his counter reaches
It. Varii.us impediments— an alehouse, a fountain, a pri-
son, etc., at different compartments retard his progress.

Page 32. 1. 23J.— aspen. The tremulous poplar.

fennel. A garden plant having yellow flowers and aro-
matic leaves.
1. 235.— broken tea-cups.

And five crack 'd tea-cups dicss'd the chimney board.

—Goldsmith, AnVanr's Bedchamber.

1. 236.— o'er the chimney. I.e. , in a row along the mantle-
piece.

1. 242.— To sweet oblivion Cf.

Tliere, leaiiinf,' near a j?cntle l)roc k.
Sleep, or peruse .some ancient book,
And there, in .sweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the court and town.

—Pope, Imitations of Horace, il. 131.
1. 244. — woodman. Huntsman.
1. 248.— mantling bliss. Cf. 1. 221.

And the brain dances to the mantling bowl.

—Pope. Satires, ii. 8.
1. 250.— kiss the cup. An old custom ; cf.
The bride kiss'd the goblel : the knijrht took it up,
He quaflf'd off tlie wine and he threw down tlic cup.

—Scott, Lochinvar, Marmion. v. xii.
1. 251.— Yes I let the rich deride. Cf.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure ;
Nor Grandeur hear witli a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

—Gray, FAegy (1751).
1. 257.— vacant. Free froni care, as in 1. 122.

■ !,

■ 1 ■ :

i
■ 1 ■ *

fill

it: I

\^ '^ml

226 NOTES.

1. 258.— Unenvied, unmolested,... Of. Tr. 1. n. and—

Unrespitcd, uupiticd, unropricv'd.

—Milton, Paradise Lost, li. 185.

Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsunpr.

—Lay qftlie Last Minintrel, v\. 1.

1. 250. — pomp. The pompous train, — tlie original sonso.
— L. pompa, (Jk. pompe, procession. Of. 1. 317 and —

A pomp of winning Graces waited still.

—Milton, Paradise Lost, viii. Gl.

O early lost ! wliat tears the river shed
When t lie sad pom)) aloiif^ his hanks was led !

—Pope, Windsor Forest, 273f.

the midnight masquerade " All these forma of amuse-
ment paled theii ineifectual fires before the prevailing
mania for masquerades, which first became fashionable
under the famous Hoydegger (who is mentioned by Pope
in the ' Dunciad ') in the early part of the eighteenth cen-
tury, where they were usually held during the season at
the Kind's Theatre in the Haymarket". . . Tradition
asserts that it wp,s the fascinations of masquerades that
alone induced George I. to merge from his habitual shyness
and reserve... On February 7, 1771, Mrs. Cornelys. . .
held another masquerade, which was attended by tlio
fashionable world of both sexes. The house was illumin-
ated. . .in the most splendid and picturesque manner with
nearly 1,000 wax lights, and 100 musicians were dispersed
throughout the rooms." — Sydney, England in the 18lk
Century, i. 144 ff.

Page 33- 1. 268,— Between a splendid and a happy land.

" Too much oommerco may injure a nation as well as too

little; and there is a wide difference between a conquering

and a flourishing empire." — Citizen of the World, Let. xxv.

1. 271.— beyond the miser's wish. Cf. Tr. 11. 51 W.

I. 272. — rich men Hock. Eaglislmiou return
wealthy fr^m all parts of the world.

nuuie

GOLDSMITH: THE DESEKTED VILLAGE.

227

Tho samo complaint was

1. 276.— Takes up a space,
heard in antiquity :

Lo. those piles risiiifr I metliliiks. to the liarrow
They will leave hut fo,v acrcH ; o„ every side «rou,.d us
vaster stewjwiuls for fishes extend
Wider hounds than ihe Lake of Lucrinus.

-Horace, Odea II. xv. (tr. Lytton).
So in Martial, Eingram,, i. ii., especially
Ahstulerat inlseris tecta auperlms ajjer

the t ty. Hero . . . ] a proud lawn had deprived noor
wretches of their homes. '^

I' oIn'~~!?"*^*^^- "'^'■^' carriages and attendants.

1. 280.-Ha^ robb'd the neighbouring fields ... The cost

fields' ' ' ^""^ ^""^ ^^'' '"'°'^"°' "^ '^^ surrounding

Page 34; 1. 287.-As some fair female ... Cf . " Lack uf orna-
ment 13 said to become women. "-Cicero, Orator xxiii. 78.
In naked beauty more adorn 'd.

—Milton, Fiiradise Lost, iv. 713.

Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness
Needs not the fbrei{,'n aid of ornament,
But is, when unadoni'd, adorn 'd tlie moat.

—Thomson, Autumn, 11. -'Ojff.
female. The word was used from Wyclif to Scott as a
synonym of woman. It is now vulgar in that sense or con-
tcmptuous. "

plain Plainly, simply dressed.

sure of pleasing. '

1. 201.— charms are frail. Of. Prov xxxi 30
L 293.-solxcitous to bless. Eager to favour' her lovers.
1. 298 -Its vistas strike. Vista (Ital. vi.ta. sic^ht view

strike. Surprise, astonish. Cf,

► !|l!

rm]^

III \^

ij. M

228 NOTES.

Ooint virtiipg lioiir, like ffpins, llio lilprlipst into...
In lIlV's hnv vnlc, flii' soil tlio virtin'« like,
Tlii'y |)lon»ii ns bedulic!', licro nn woiidcrH Hlrikc.

—rope, Mornl Kumiys^i. 111.

1. 801. -And while he sinks. Cf. (Mitford),—

Sinks tliu poor babe, with not a lit.iul to Hnvc.

— Roscoo, ATiirafl, p (ill.

I. iWt.— contigfiious pride. Cf. Tr. 1. 179.

II. n05lT. — common's fenceless limits. Tho onclosiiro of
the commons bolongiiig to tho viliago community hnaheoi,
for conttirios ii griovnnco of the poor. Cf. Groen, Short
Ifisfory, ch. vi. § :?. In tho present century J. S. Mill was
still protesting against " tho logali/ed spoliation " of tlu'
poor by moans of Enclosure .\ct.'^. (JJixnertations and Diti-
cussiuns, " The Claims of LnVionr." ii. 213).

1.810. — To see profusion ... share. "Ho only guards
those luxuries he is not fated to share."— i4/iiJ)io<erf Nature,
iv. 43 (Mitford).

Page 35. 1. 3l3.— those joys. Ist ed., each joy ; changed in
the -nd 4to.

1. 315. — brocade. A fabric with a raised pattern
c rii^inally of gold or silver. See Sydney, England in the
Eighteenth Century, i. 119, describing a court marriage;
fiieorge II. was in "a gold brocade turned up with silk,
embroidered with birgr flowers in silver and colours"; the
Dukes of Cirafton, etc., wore "in drcsse.? of gold brocado.
to the value of 500/. each"; tho Duke of Marlborough
" was in a white velvet and gold brocade."

1. 3l<>. — artist. Archaic sense, — mechanic, artisan.

Then from hi.s anvil the lame artist rose.

—Pope, Iliad, xvlii. 479.

1. 317,— long-drawn pomps. Very long processions; cf.

1. 259 n.. and

When thronf,'h tlic long drawn aisles and fretted vaults.

—Gray, Eleyy.

1. 318.— the black gibbet. Under the fearful laws of

gland in the

ani.DSMmi: rmi desknied vrr.LAc.E. 229

V^n^x^^\, tl.u ,MmiHhn..„t of doath cu,>ild l,n .noted out for
-.ch (d one h„nd,vd ....d nlxty crinmH ; .f. Tr. WHhn, L.,n-
'lonof t.o IHth r.nt.uy han been prono.inced tho " City
of tJu, .allow." (As,dHu.hoI., Vir,nre.uf En,!a,ul, 121
At iMncMoy ( :onnn.,n, Tyl.urn, i'urf|...,t, Wool wioJ,, nnd on

.e hoaths about London tb. .alb,ws ros... many a on.
v.th ,tH con-so swinging. 'I he executions at Tyb„rn
l.rough t out bolid.y crowdn of sj.-ct.tors on Dxford .Stn-.-t
S<'0 Sy.lncy, li.. 2(jfi.

glooms. Itisi's di,inal and gloomy,

I. 8J9. — dome. Cf. Tr. I. JoOn.

1 322.- chariots. "Appli-d in the I8th c.ntnry to a
■g.t iour-wlnuded -n-iag. with only back s.-at., and

the torches gla-^^ (.op-L n of 1770 was dimly lic^htod till
rn.dn..l,t by oil-Ian ^s. ,. .nk l-oyBworecnHtantly n:'l d
who curnod torcboH made of tow and pitch.

1.326 -the poor houselc.vs shivermg female. '■ These
poorshivenn. fen.ales havo oncn scon happier days, nd
l^en flattered mto beauty. Thoy have been prostit,,;.,] to
he gay luxurious villain, and are now turned out to meet
he seventy of winter. Perhaps, now lying at the doors of
their betraye.., they sue to wretches who..: hearts are in-
sensible, or debauchees, who may curse, but will not relieve
them."-(7^^ of the World, Let. cxvi. and The Bee, No 4

vello!ffl"''"'"'°''- -^'"'^'^ *^" *^^^"- The beautiful
yellow flower met with abundantly in rural scenes of

Britain-woods, pastures, and on the banks beside t^e

hedges. . There are," says Hulme, '< few mere beautifiU

or characteristically rural sights than a long stretching

edgerow or coppice .starred „ver with thousands of thes;
dehcate blossoms. April and May are the best months

hough in sheltered situations it may in mild winterTbe

j-ll' it.

i:l

230

NOTES.

iwm

1. 336.— robes of country brown. The russet or reddisli
brown of her homespun.

Like a fair slicplierdeas in her country russet.

— Drydeu, Theocritus.
wheel. The spinning-v-heel.

1. 338. — tribes. The earlier sense (cf. tribu\, a division
of the Eomau people), — the various families or classes of
the village.

Page 36. 1. 342.— the convex world.

Aspice convexo nutantem pondere inundum.

— Viigil, JScioflP7<«», iv. 60.

1. 343.— with fainting steps. Cf. Tr.l. 420.

1. 344.— wild Altama. For, the Altamaha, a river
of Georgia, flowing S. E. into the Atlantic. Almost all
contemporary maps and accounts give the name correctly,
but it must be said that the poet had justification for the
form he used. There is a Carte de la Caroline et Oeorgie
par M. B. Ing. de la Marino, giving the riveras Altahama ;
in Moll's map, 1720, it is AUatamha.

1. 349. — birds forget to sing. The tropical birds are song-
less, but not the birds of Georgia. The poet, as Campbell
did in Gertrude ofWi/omiuf/, drew on his imagination for
the details of his fanciful picture. But Sankey explains
it, " Overcome by the mid-day heat."

Cf. Tr. 1. 322, D.V. 1. 124. The various contrasts of the
scene at home and the scene in exile are carefully worked
out by the poet.

1. 350. — bats in drowsy clusters. Bats are largest and
most numerous in the Tropics. They gather in great num-
bers when hibernating or resting, hanging head down-
ward from the limbs of trees, etc.

1. 352.— the dark scorpion. The scorpion, a spider-liko
dark-coloured creature, with claws like a lobster forseizin"
its prey, and a tail terminating in a sting. Its poison i-
seldom fatal, bnt is very painful. In the Tropics tlx!
scorpion attains great length, 9 or 10 inches in Central
Africa and South America.

orsoiziuy;

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 231

1. 355.— crouching tigers. Tlie tiger is a denizen only of
Asia. Even the jaguar or American tiger does not come
farther nortli than the borders of Texas. Campbell is in
even worse error than Goldsmith :—

On Erie's banks wliere timers steal alonp.

—Pleasures of Hope.
The puma, panther, or catamount would be found in
Oeorgia, but it rarely attacks man.
1. H56. — And savage men. . . Cf .

To savage beasts who on the weaker prey,
Or luimau savages more wild than they.

—Temple, v. Nicholls' Poems :i. 80.

I. 358.— mingling... landscape with the skies. A clas-

sical phrase— faj^«?,u terramque mincere— (or universal con-
fusion. Cf. Livy, iv. 3; Virgil, ^neid, i. 184; etc.

1. 302.— thefts of harmless love. The hearts and kisses
stolen under cover of the grove. Mitford couipares :—
Thy shady groves
Only relieve the hearts, and cover loves,
Sheltering no other thefts or cruelties !

—NichoUs' Poems, ii. 80.
Often in amorous thefts of lawless love.

—id. ib., ii. 278.
I. 363.— gloom'd. Cf. 1. 318 n.

Page 37. 11. 365ff.— the poor exiles. . . A similar picture, it
has been pointed out, is in Quintilian, Dedam. xiii.
1. 36G.— the bowers. 1st ed. , their bowers.
1. 367.— a long farewell. Cf.

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness.

— Shakspere, Henry VIII., iii. ii. s.^.

1. 368.— seats. Cf. 1. 6 n.
1. 369.— distant. Wide.

1. 371.— the good old sire. Dryden used the phrase " tlio
good old sire " in his Virgil ; cf. also,—

The good old sire nneonsclous of decay.

—Goldsmith, Threnodta Augustatia,

'S !'

■

;

232

NOTES.

1. 373. — conscious virtue. A classical phrase.
Et furlls aprltatus amor et conscia virtus.

—Virgil, ^neid xli. 668.

1. 378. — left a lover's . . . arms. Hales naturally asks,
Was the lover never able to go, too? Bat cf. Evangeline,
11. 559 ff.

I. 378.— a father's. 1st ed., her father's.

1. 384. — silent. In the 1st ed., decent.

1. 385.-
Luke xvi.
1. 389.-

Cf. Matt. xix. 23f..

-O Luxury I thou ciurs'd.
19fF.
-to sickly greatness. Cf . Tr. 1. 144 n.

Page 38. 1. 397.— Even now, methinks. Cf. Tr. 1. 283 rj,
1. 399.— anchoring. At anchor.

1. 402. — shore. . .strand. A distinction is made here be-
tween the land overlooking the sea and that at the water's
edge.

1. 407. — And thou, sweet Poetry. Wither in Shepherd't
Hunting makes a similar apostrophe : —
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this—
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er heaven to mortals sent.

1. 415. — the nobler arts. The fine arts, music, painting,
as distinguished from the manual arts.

1. 416. — Fare thee well. Thee is usually regarded here
as a corruption of thou, — fare thou well, — corrupted
under the influence of the reflexive verbs.

1. 418.— Torno's clffs. Cf. Campbell's line-
Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow.

Tornea is a town and river at the bounda ry of Norway and
Finland, N. of the Gulf of Bothnia. Bayard Taylor, wiio
visited the district {Northern Travels, ch. vii.) C( meats
on Campbell's line— " not a hill within sight, nc . a rock
within a circuit of ten miles, but one unvarying level."
Up the river, however, " There were low hills on either
side." The little lake of Tornea, in northern Sweden,
satisfies the line best, being situated among the mountains.

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 233

Some one of the various voyages to Lapland may have
suggested to the poet the name, wlu'ch is given as Torno
Torneo, and Tornea ; cf. Pinkerton's Voyagen, vol. i

Pambamarca's side. That the poet was familiar with
Ulloa (171G-1745) we learn from Animated Nature. He pro
bably derived his knowledge of this place, therefore, from
the Voyage to South America (1748) of Don George Juan and
Don Antonio de Ulloa, of which a translation from the
Spanish wos made by John Adams, a second edition of
winch appeared in 1760,

Pambamarca, is a mountain in New Grenada, twenty
miles N. of Quinto-' dreadful regions,' of ' cold and temp-
est. See Pinkerton's Voyages, xiv. 427, 440. It was the
chief station of tlie scientists who in 1739 measured one
degree of the meridian under the equator.

Page 39. 1. 419.— equinoctial. For, equatorial.

1. 422.— Redress the rigours. Cf. Tr. 1. 176.

1. 424.— rage of gain. Seneca's " lucri furor » (Sankey).

1. 427.— trade's j/roud empire. Cf. Tr. 1, 140.

1. 428.— the labour'd mole. Cf. Tr. 1. 288.

1. 429.-self.dependent power. One growing, not out of
foreign commerce, but out of the internal development of
agriculture, mining, and manufactures. Sankey explains
It as ' not dependent on any foreign nations for the neces-
sities {sic) of life " ; but cf . 1. 283.

1. 430.-sky. Weather ; cf. the Lat. use of c<zlum.

"Dr. Johnson at the same time [in the year 17831
favoured me by marking the lines which he furnished to
Goldsmiths Desered Village, which are only the last
four."— Boswell's Johnson, anno 1766.

: i ■ , I

234

NOTES.

WORDSWORTH.

V ff

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE,
SEPT. 3, 1802.

Composition. — In 1802 Wordsworth and his sister Dora,
who were living at Dove Cottage, (iJrasmere (see note,
p. 237), made a flying visit to France. Dora Wordsworth's
Journal gives the following details: "July 80th. — Left
London between five and six o'clock of the morning outside
of the Dover coach. A beautiful morning. The city,
St. Paul's, with the river — a multitude of little boats, made
a beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge ; the
houses not overhung by their clouds of smoke, and were
spread out endlessly; yet the sun shone so brightly, with
such a pure light, that there was something like the purity
of one of Nature's own spectacles. . . Arrived at Calais at
four in the morning of July 3ist."

Wordsworth states, in his note to Miss Fenwick, that the
poem was " written on the roof of a coach, on my way to
France " ; and dated the poem, inaccurately however, in all
editions, 1807.

Publication. The sonnet appeared in Poevis, 1807.
Subsequent editions show no changes in the text.

Form of the sonnet. Wordsworth's eminence as a writer
of Sonnets requires a special consideration of the form of
this poem.

The word sonnet is derived, as is he best form of the
thing itself, from the Italian, — sonetto, a short strain,
abbreviation of snono, sound. The first Englisliman to
learn to use the sonnet structure were Wyatt (1503-1542)
and Surrey (1517-1547), poets steeped in Italian literatiiro.

■ c

- iSee Theodore W;.tt?, Ev--}/. Brit.] William Sharp. Sonnets q/' this
Ctntury, Introduction, etc.

WORDSWORTH: WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. 235

Among the Elizabethans, Spenser, Sidney and Shakspere
were pre-eminent as writers of sonnets, as at a hiter day
Milton was among the Caroline poets.

Shakspere's sonnets, however, differ essentially in struc-
tural character from the sonnets of Milton. The Shakes-
pearian SONNET arranges its rimes ahah cAcxl efef gg,
and the whole rhythm progresses with almost even force
through its fourteen linos till clinched and ended in the
concluding couplet. The Miltoxic sonnet agrees with
the Shakespearian in preserving an unbroken continuity of
rhythm throughout, but differs from it in rime-structure.
Its rimes are arranged abba ahba, but the last six lines
rime with great freedom, always however avoiding a final
couplet. The normal Italian or Pktijarcan sonnet, while
similar to the Miltonic sonnet in rime-order, differs from
it and the Sliakespearian sonnet in the peculiar movement
of its rhythm . The poem is broken into a ' ' octave " (first
eight lines) and a " sestet" (last six lines), and the melody
rising with the major part, subsides and dies away in the
minor; so that it ma}' be described :
A sonnet is a wave of melody :

From licavins> waters of the impiisgionedsonl
A billow of tidal music one and whole
Flows in the '-octave," then returning free,

Its ebbins: surges in the " sestet " roll
Back to the deeps of Life's tumultuous sea.

— Theodore Watts.
ITiese tliree forms— the Shakespearian, the Miltonic, and
the Petrarcan Sonnet— are the standard lorms of English
sonnets. While they have formal differences, they agree in
requiring that the poem bo of fourteen decasyllabic lines,
the evolution of one single thought or emotion, inevitable
in its progress, full of thought, dignity, repose, and splend-
idly sonorous.

" Swelling loudly
Up to its climax, and then dying proudly,"

as Keats said.
For the Shakespearian sounet-form cf. Keats's When J

■1 Mf

236

NOTES.

'\«

Have Fears, p. 69, The Human Seasons, p. 60. Shelley's
sonnet Ozymandias, p. (57, is anmiplious. Other examples
i)f the throe kinds will ho found in the Appciulix.

Wordswin-th's sounets, it will he seen, benr th.{3 closest
roLLtioiiship to iMilton's, tliough often tlu; Peu-arcan
rhythm is obitrved. "In the cottage, 'i' own M.>nd, Gras-
niero," says tliH poet, "one afternoon in iSOf, n»y sister
read to rao the Sonnets of Milton. , 1 vns yariiculacly
struck on that occasion by tlie di^inified simpiicity and
majestic liarmony tliat runs througi. most of them, — in
character so totalJ> dilVere\it. .'rom the Italian, and still
more so from Shakespeare's i\:,e Sonnets. I took fire, if
I may be allowed to say so, a?;.! p-.-duced three SonnefB
the same afternoon, the first i e\or v/rote, except an
irrt'gular one at school."— Fen wicl: n to to ^appy the

Pagfc40. -Title, Westminster Bridge. This bridge crossed
the ""h'xmes almost before the river front of the Houses of
Parh,i!:ienfc; it; was finished in 1750. The present bridge
was constructed 1851-18G2.

1. 4.— like a garment. " Who coverest thyself with
light as with a garment."— Psa/^ri civ. 2.

1. 10.— -In his first splendour. The beauty of early sun-
rise in the country is here introduced to emphasize the
beauty of sunrise in the citj-.

1. 14.— that mighty heart. . .still. This line sums up the
impressive effect of jiower and vastness, as held in peace
aud rest. Cf. Ozymandias, p. B7, —

Bi)uii(lle.s9 and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

" Many years ago, I think it was in 1859, I chanced to
be passing (in a pained and depressed state of mind, occa-
sioned by the death of a friend over Waterloo Bridge at
half-past three on a lovely Juno morning. It was broad
daylight, and 1 was alunc. Never when alone in the

'ewarc'.in

WORDSWORTH: THE GREEN LINNET. 237

remotest recesses of the Alps, with nothing around mo but
the mountains, .,r upon the plains of Africa, alone with
the wonderful glory of the southern night, have I seen
anything to approach the solemn ity-tho soothing solem-
nity-of the city, sleeping under the early sun,—

' Earth hag not anythliifi: to show more fah-.'
It was this sonnet, I thinlv, that first opened my eyes to
Wordsworth's greatness as a poet. Perhaps nothing that
he has written shows more strikingly that vast sympathy
which is his peculiar dower."-ll. S. Watson, quoted in
Knight's Wordnworth, ii. 288.

THE GREEN LINNET.

Composition and publication. The Green Linnet is one
of the many beautiful lyrics of the Grasmere period " The
cottage in which Wordswortli and his sister took up their
abode, and which still retains the form it wore then
stands on the right hand, by the side of the coach-road
from Ambleside to Keswick, as it enters Grasmere, or as
that part of the village is called, Town-end. The front of
it faces the lake ; beliind is a small plot of orchard and
garden ground, in which there is a spring, and rocks; the
whole enclosure shelves upward toward the woody sides of
the mountains above it."— Memoirs of Worchworth, i. 157.
" At the end of the orchard was a terrace, where an arbour
or moss-hut was built by Wordsworth ; in which he mur-
mured out and wrote, or dictated many of his poems.
The moss-hut is gone, and a stone seat now takes its place!"
— Worchworth Country, pp. 61if.

This poem was written in 1805. Wordsworth in his note
to Miss Fen wick states that the poem was composed " in
the orchard. Town-end, Grasmere, where the bird was
often seen as liere described."

Many of Wordsworth's poems are associated with this
ovch^v^-Farewell, To a Butterfly^ The Green Linnet, The

I \

! If

238

NOTES.

Redbreast Chaning the Butterfly, The Kitten aiid the Falling
Leaves, Linen in Tho)niion\s Castle of Indolence. The Green
Linnet has thecloscHt associations of all, and " is as true to
the spirit of the place in 1887 as it was eighty years ago"
(Knight).

It was published in the second volume of Poems, 1807.

Theme. The Green Linnet. Tho r.rocnfinch orT^rcen
Linnet, is one of the commonest of British birds, thougli
not found in America. "Its familiar haunts are in our
gardens, shrubberies, and pleasure-grounds. . . Its song
commences in April, at Avhich time the birds also pair.
There is nothing striking in its music— it is a song which
bears some resemblance to tiiat of on inferior Canary;
and it is only when several birds are singing in chorus
that their notes are at all attractive. In spring half a
dozen cock-birds will sometimes be seen in a single tree ;
and when they are all warbling together, one against the
other, the effect is very harmonious and pleasing.

"The adult male Greenfinch has the general colour of
the plumage, bright yellowish green, brightest on the
rump, and shading into slate-grey on the flanks and lower
belly, and into yellowish white on the under tail-coverts.
The crown, the sides of the head and neck, the throat and
breast . . . slate-grey ; the wings are brownish black." —
Seobohm, ii. 71iT.

Page 41. 11. t-8.— Beneath these fruit-tree boughs...

1807. The May is come aR-aiii ;— liow sweet
To sit upon my orcl.ar(l-!»eat !
And Birds and Flowers once more to preet,

My last j'car's Friends tof,'ethcr;
Mjr tliouf?hts they all l>y turns employ;
A whisperinfT Ijeaf is now my joy,
And tlicn a l)ird will ))e the toy

That dot li my fancy tether.

1815 (1. 8) And Flowers and Birds once m-jre to preet.

The present version of stanza i. appeared first in tlio
1827 ed.

tVOKDSrrOKTH: THE GREEN LINNET. 239

I. 10 -covert of the blest. 'Covert' (O.F. couverl, per.
part, of couvrir, to cover), Inding-placo, shelter.

1. 15.-the revels of the May. A picture of the birds at
spring-time taken from the rejoicings of the country folk
on May-day. The festivities of May-day-gathering haw-
thorn-flowers, sports, and dancing round the May-nole
are called ' the May.' "^ ' '

1. 18.-one band of paramours. Birds and butterflies are
pairing ; in tne fields,

' No sister flower would bo forplven
If it disdained its Ijrother ; '
but the Linnet is still alone (solo, L. solus, alone).

paramour. (O.F. paramour, with love, as a lover), lover
wooer— an archaic sense. '

Page 42. 1. 26.-That twinkle to the gusty breeze. Only
Tennyson equals the picturesqueness of such a line as
this ; cf.

Below tlic cliesttuits, when their buds
Wore t'listcnin,' to the breezy blue.

— The Miller' 8 Daughter.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver.

—Ladu of Shalott.

I. 25. -Amid yon tuft. 1827 ed., Upon yon tuft.

II. 33.— My dazzled sight. . .

1807. While thus before my eyes he f?leam8,
A Brother of the Leaves he seems ;
When in a moment forth he teems

His little song in pushes ;
As if it pleased him to disdain
The voiceless Form which he did feign,
While ho was dancing with the train
Of leaves among tiie bushes.
1820 (1. ;j8). The voiceless Form he chose to feign.
18.'7 (11. 33f.) My sight ho dazzles, half deceives,
A bird so like the dancing leaves.
Then flits, etc. (as in our text).
184.3. The Bird my dazzled sight deceives

Our text is the reading of 1832, as finally adopted in 1846.

i ■ f

f: .11!'

1'! ■

r; ': I

1 '■

'_'40

NOTES.

TO THE CTTCKOO.

Cof^r \:M\nn and publication. As stated by Wordsworth,
th 1 ' •■ t'Osed in thn orchard at Town-end, Grasmore,

l{ju4." . cording to Dorothy Wordsworth's .lournal
the poom must have been begun in 1802, On Fridnv,
March 22ud and 25th of that year, ?-ho notes the mildness
and beauty of the morning, adding, •' William Avorked on
the Cuckoo poem." It was published in the second volume
of Poems, 1807

Theme of the poem. The Cuckoo. " These birds fre-
quent gardens, groves, and fields, in fact any localitiopi
where their insect food is abundant. . . In habits the
Cuckoo is wild and shy, a tolerably swift bird on the
wing, frequenting chiefly such places as are well covered
with trees and groves ; and so shy and watchful is it, that
to approach within gun-range of it is generally most diffi-
cult. . . The note of the male is the well-known call which
is generally heard, and consists of two syllables uh. nh,
rather than ku-ku which when the bird is greatly excited,
is rendered kuku-ku.^^ — Dresser, Birda of 7^/urope, v. 197,
205.

The Cuckoo had an o special attraction for Wordsw orth.
He speaks of the '• thovi ^and delightful feelings c noted
in my mind with the voice of the cuckoo.' His poems on
this theme and the allusions in ' is works aro very numer-
ous. In 1801 ho translated Chaucer's The Cuckoo and The
Nightingale] in 1304 the . i:-sent poem was composed.
Tv-'o years later tht impression of the cu:koo's song echo-
in^ imoHj, the m ntains oar Rydal Mere call' d forth
" Yes, it was the Mountain Echo^^ (see Appendix), m 1827
the sennet To the Cuckoo ^see Appendix) voiced the glad-
ness of the bird's ng at Spiing. While the poet was
travelling in Italy in 1837, the faTii'-'ur voitie oi the bird
ffreet'Sd hitn^ 9:nd av?:'^dn6^ the though ta r -j
Cuckoo at La*^->-na. Tn his ; tst years th

»T*/\/1'i/-./l

T/..

1 in
present of a

n^OA^DSlVOA !: TO THE CUCKOO, 24\

atdlrr ""'','■"""' '''^' ^^''gl't^uf childhood hours

Page43. 1.4.-Buta wandpringrVoice. Wordsm.rth describes
It as a "vagrant voice" u. The Cu.koo at UverTa y)^

sten Jtis classical m origin ; tho ni-^htin-nilchoin- «, r
ei,r.terea mlu!, wMch pl.rase is attribute.lto tl,o( reeks'

I hear tlii-i rustk-ss shout . •

From hill tu hill It scLi.ntu pass,
Ahout, and all uhout !

181-.. \\ hlle r iin lyiiijron ih,' -r.Hs
'J hy I ,(l iiotu sniitcs iny ear!—

Atoiuo far <)»• and near!
ISlU While I ain lyin-un the ^^rass.
Thy loud ik.Ic smites my eiir !
It seems t<j fill the whole air's spuce,

At once far off and near!
Wliile 1 iun iyinjr on the ^rass,

I'liy twofuld shunt I hear,
From hill to hill it sc.nis to pass,
At once far off and near.
1832. While I am lyini,' oi, the grass,
Thy twofold shout I hear.
That seems to (ill the whole air 9 space,
As loud far off as near.

18:.'7.

-Thy twofold shout. Cf.

Slioiit, enckoo ! let the vernal soul

Go with thee to the frozen zon,. •

Toll fnan the loftiest perch, lone bellhird. tnin

At the siiM hour t,. Mercy dear,

Mercy iiom lier twilifjht throne

Listen! no- .,, „„„•., fahu throb of holy fear

lo sailor'^ p,,;yer breathed fron, a darkenln.> sea,

Oi : liiOW ; CittagC-iiiihioy.

-Wordsworth. Power 0/ Sound, ij.

j;i:.

242

NOTES.

The cuckoo, straKK'liisr up to the hill tops,
Sliouteth faint tidings uf some gladder place.

— Wordaworth, £xcur«ton, It. :Mt.

I. 7.— From hill to hill. Cf.

The cuckoo told Ids name to ah ih*) hills.

— Teunys')n, The Qaniener'a Daughter

II. 9-ia.— Though babbling. This is the reading of ia27.

1807. To nie, no Hahliler with a tale

Of sunshine and of lluwcrs,

Thou tellest.Cucknu ! in the vule

Of visionary hours.
1816. I JMur thee babbling to the Vide

Of sunsldiu; and of flowers ;

And unto me thou bring'st a tale

Of visionary hours.

1820 (1. 11). But unto me. . .

1. 12. — Of visionary hours. The suggestive and musical

effect of a long word aptly used is a peculinity of the

poet. Cf.

Or hast thou been summoned to the deep,

Thou, thou and all thy mates, to keep
An incommunicable sleep.

— The Ajgtictiou of Sfargaret.
But she is in her ^ravo, and, oh,
Tlie difference to me !

Site Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways,
Br< uklnf? the silence of the seas
Among the furthest Hebrides.

—The Solitary Reaper.

1. 15. — no bird, but an invisible thing. TtMinj'son imi-
tated this happy turn in describing t,he bulbul or East. m
nightingale :

The living airs of middle night
Died round the bulbul as he sung;
Not he: but something which possess'd
The darkness of the world, delight,
Life, anguish death, Immortal love.
Ceasing not, minyled, unrepress'd.
Ap.irt from place, withholding time.
But flattering the golden primi
Of i<iM)d llaroun Alraschid.

—Recolltctiona of the Arabian Nightt,

if^OKDSJyOA'l^f: A rHANTOM OF DEUGH'I, .VA

1. 81 unsubstantial. Suggested possibly by Prospero's
descr.pt.oii of the onrth's dissolutiou,- ^

And, llko lilts 1..8ul.stai.(lal pnKeant fndrd
Uavc not ;i rack l...l,i,„|. °'

— Sliaksjicn', Tempegl Iv. I

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

Composition and publication. As the Fen wick note
states, tins noetn wiis " u.itf..» <■ rr ■^*'"wick note

[ IHO.J] The ^. .r . I H • ' own-end, (Jrasmero

JJ. ^'>« S- » of tins poem was fonr lines [probably
II. 1-4,-KiMglit composed as a part of the v.rL v

Highland Girl. Tho„gh beginning „ tL " ^ .r""
written from n.y heart, as il sufHclently Iv o. s'" Z
vague lunfc in " written from mv l.eart" ;. . i \
nuistopher WordsMortl.'s no i U , ./^ "^:^^^« ?l«-r by
au.i the testimony of (lu-f . ust o cl'tr"'"' ■" ''''•'
poet's own statement-(J/...^7,:;2'^'""«" ^^^o "-
^^|lhe poe.n was published in the first volume of Poen..,

rit?aTe!i ^'''''°. ^ordsworth was a school-boy at Pen-
nth, a fellow-pupil of his was his cousin Mary Hulv
rn 1789 while still a student at Caml^rid!' W !, "'°"u
-visited Penrith, where his sister an M^-'/Sr-"''
were living. When the poet returned from SrvHtT:
-nnany ,n 1799, he went first to Sockburn wh ro Mar!
utch.nson was then living. At Dove Cottage s'e was a
imiuent visitor. On the 1th of October 18^2 tLT
were married. "There was," says KnSit ^ ^'''

absence of romance in WnHsn'ortl' '• - • " """'"'^

loved Mary Hutchinson- ,; ^'•y'^'^ ^""rcsnip... He
a y xiutctunson, he had always loved her; and

244

NOTES.

he loved her with an ever-increasing teiderness ; but liia
engagement to her seemed somehow to be just the natural
sequel to their early unromautic regard." De Quincey,
who visited Dove Cottage in 1807, speaks of ^Irs. Words-
worth witli enthusiasm : — "The foremost [(jf the two ladies],
a tallish young woman, with the most winning expression
of benignity upon her features, advanced to nie, presenting
her hand with so frank an air that all embarrassment
must have fled in a moment before the native goodness of
her manner. . . She furnished remarkable proof how pos-
sible it is for a woman neither handsome nor even comely,
according to the rigour of criticism — nay, generally pro-
nounced very plain — to exercise all tlie practical fascination
of beauty, through the mere compensatory charms of
sweetness all but angelic, of simplicity the most entire,
womanly self-respect and purity of heart sj caking thn.ugh
all her looks, acts, and movements... Her words were
few. . . Her intellect was not of an active order; but, in ii
quiescent, reposing, meditative way, she appeared alwavs
to have a genial enjoyment from her own thoughts...
Indeed, all faults would luive been neutralized by tliat
supreme ex])ression of her features, to that unity of whidi
every lineament in the iixed parts, and every undulation
in the moving parts of her countenance, concurred, vi/.,
a sunnj' benignity — a radiant graciousness— such as in
this world I never saw surpaseed. — i^ecW/eciioiiio/^/je Lake
Poets, ch. iii.

Wordsworth's own references to liis wife are innn)'
beautiful tributes of affection. In the poem in wliicli ho
bids farewell in his orchard-scenes before his marriage,
he chases witli the words : —

—A K<''>tlt! Maid, whose lienrt la lowly bred,
Whose pica.sure.s uio in wild ticlds Kiitlu rfjd.
With joytnirtiiess, and witii a IhouKlinul ehecr,
Will foine to yoii ; to yon lu-iself will wi'd ;
And love the blensed life that we lend li'.'ie.

—A Farewell, 1802.

WORDSWORTH: A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. 245

lude - '"'"'^ '*'"''''' ""'^ ^^'^ ^^""^ "^ ^''^ ^'•^-

Tlicreafier came
Ono wham with thcc fiieiulship hart early paired;
hhe came, sio more a i)liantom to artoni
A moment, hut an inmate of tlie heart.
And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined
To penetrate the lofty and the low ;
Even as one essence -f pervading? lipht
Shines, in (he bri-htest often tlunisand stars
And the meciv worm that feeds her lonely lamp
Goiiohcd in the dewy grass.

— Prelnde. xiv.

The Perlication of The While Doe of Ihjhtone, 1807 cc„n-

memoratcs the deep still affection binding the husband and

jvifo. brought closer together by the loss of children. In

S.l, two p erris^see Appendix) addressed to his wife record

he poet s deepest love and the sustaining help of her faith.

n 741, ai tor tinrty-six years cf life together, the poet

wrote from Ins heart :— ' i >'

" O, my Beloved ! I liave done ihco wron^,
Conscious of blessedness, hut, wlience it .sprung
Ever too licedle.ss, as I now perceive :
Morn into noon did pass, noon into eve.
And tlic old dny was welcome as the young,

As welcome, and as beautiful-in sooth
More heantilul as beinp a thiuff more holy :
Tlianks to thy virtues, to the eternal youth
Of all thy f,',)odne.ss, never melancholy ;
To thy larpe heart and !iu nhle mind, that cast
Into one vision, future, present, pnst.

Page 45. 1. 5.-eyes as stars of Twilight
I'cauty of eyes has often been noted.

Or from star-like eyes doth seek.

— Carew, Disdain Retuvued
The poet adds the milder ra liance seen at twilight.
1. 8.— From May- time . .dawn=

1836 ed, From May-time's brightest, loveliest dawn.

The star-like

*i!^|M

J' i^

246

NOTES.

1,1

Cf.

She scem'd a part of joyous spring,
—Tennyson, Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere.

11. 15 6. — A countenance., as sweet. "There aro two
passages of that poet who is distinguished, it seems to me,
from all others— not by power, but by exquisite riffhtness
— which point you to tlie cause, and describe to you, in a
few syllables, the completion of womanly beauty. [The
lines beginning, —

'Three years she grew in sun and shower,'
are then quoted. See Appendix.]

"Take from the same poet, in two linos, a perfect
description of womanly beauty —

* A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet.'

" The perfect loveliness of a W(>man's countenance can
only consist in that majestic peace, which is founded in
the memory of happy and useful years,— full of sweet re-
cords; and from the joining of this with that yet more
majestic childishness, wliich is still full of change and
jn-omisc; — opening always — modest at once, and briglit.
with hope of bettor things to be won, and to be bestowed.
There is no old age where there is still that promise."—
Sesame and Lilies, ll. §§ 70, 71.

Page 46. 1. 22.— pulse of the machine. '' The use of the word
•machine' in the third stanza has been much criticized.
For a similar use of the term see the sequel to The Waff-
goner : —

Forgive me, then ; for I had hecn
On friendly terms witli this Machine,

The progress of mechanical industry in Britain since
the beginning of the pro^^ent century lias given a more
limited, and purely technical, meaning to the word than it
bore when Wordsworth used it in these two instances," -
Knight, iii. 5. To this might bo added that Wordsworth
had Shakspere's authority for this sense ol the word,—

lVO.^DSWORTff: THOUGHT OF A BRITON. 047

Thine evermore, most dear Indv whilst fiii.. «, u.
Hnmlet- Fam/e<, H. li. m ^ machine is to him.

1. 24.— between. In 1832 ed., betwixt.

of 180?';;^" ^"^^'fght. This is the reading of 1836 : that
of 1807 IS, an angel hght ; that of 1845, angelic light.

03, a perfect

THOUGHT OF A BRETON ON THE SUBJUGATION
OF SWITZERLAND.
Historical note.-The influence of France on Swit.er-

wlfh •' Tr^"^ ''""«" '^« ^'^^^--^'h cental.
oT he r"r revolutionary ideas, the tyran.acal rule

of the Cantons and the aristocracy was more and more
resented by the people of the country districts In rZ
ary 1798, the Pays de Vaud revolted, nnd Fran ^ tor'
voned m xts favour against Bern. With the capture ,f
hat city on the oth of March, 1798, the Swiss confedor

from 12Jl-was at an end. Tlie French Directory estab-
hshed, m place of the Confederacy, a Helvetic Repub ic
798, wxth a brand-new constitution. The old Cantonal
boundaries were .Inregarded, and a new system of govern-
ment and justice set up. Switzerland was looked upon .as
a conquest, and as such was dictated to and despoiled

Different districts revolted against the 'dictates of the
foreigner;' among which Midwalden was conspicuous with
J s two thousand men against sixteen thousand ^^.l h
Its cluef town, Stan., was blotted out in smoke and blood •
but the heroic struggle awoke admiration and pity through^
Germany and England. Switzerland, thus in Frexu- 1
•hands because an outwork of France against Austria, and
the military burdens placed on her were intolerable The
partisans of the old order kept up a struggle to the death
In November, 1798, Napolean returner! X.r^ ^JT '
began to plan the government of Switzerland'. ' linal'ly in

if!

1,-s

i!B!

•248

NOTES.

1802 he witlidtotv t'j-encli forces frc m the countrj' in coli-
sequenco of the treaty of Amiens. Civil war broke out.
Napoleon ofl'ered his ' mediation,' and supported the ofTer by
advancing fort^' thousand men. By the Act of Mediation,
1803, the Cantonal Government was restored, with a cen-
tral Diet. But Switzerland was only a subject state, pay-
ing its tribute of 16,000 soldiers to tlie French army.

Wordsworth's politics. — Ihe French Revolution at first
found in Wordsworth a devoted champion. He had visited
Franco in 1790, and again in 1791, when he remained in
that country for thirteen nn nths, witnessing some of the
stormiest scenes of that stormy time. His early en-
thusiasm chronicled itself in the words,

Bliss was it in that dawii to l)c alive,
But to be jouiiy was very liCMVcn !

But the yeptember massacres, the execution of the king
and queen, the deification of reason, the iinarchy in tlic
state tempered this early cnthusiasiii. though without
shaking his confidence in the joung Kepulilic. Then,
when the Revolution became a wai- of coutiuest, and the
supremacy of Napoleon ended the aspirations of the people
and threatened the liberty of J^urope, Wordsworth turned
from his republican sym|iathies to conservatism, and
sought refuge from disapixiinted si cial ideals in poetry.

Composition and publication. — In the winter of I81K1,
Dove Cottage, Grasmere, having become too small for the
poet's family, ho took up his abode at Coleorton, in
Leicestershire, occupying a fiirm-house on the estate df
his friend. Sir George Beaumont. 'I'hcri' he watched with
intense interest the struggle against Napoleon, as is shown
by this sonnet and that on Germany, —

High deeds, O Germans, arc to come from you.

The present poem, as the Fenwick note tells, " was com-
posed while pacing too and fro between the Hall of Ctleor-
ton, then rebuilding, and the principal Farm-Jiouse of th.;

IV ^iVORTH: MOST SWEET IT IS. 24f)

Estate, in which wo lived for nine or ten months."
Written iu 1807, it was published in Poemn, 1807.

Page 47. —Title. The title in The Golden Treasury,—'' f]ng.
land and Switzerland, 1802," is Mr. Palgrave's invention.

1. 5. — a Tyrant. Niipoleon. See Historical note.

with holy glee. " In 1807, the whole cf the Continent of
Europe was prostrate under Napoleon. It is impo.ssible to
say to what special incident (if any in particular) he refers
to in the phrase, ' with holy glee thou fought'st against
him ; ' but, as the sonnet was compost d at Coleorton in
1807— after Austerlitz and Jena, and Napoleon's practical
mastery of Europe— our knowledge of the particular event
or events would rot add much to our understanding of the
poem."— Knight, iv. 65.

1. 9. — Of one deep bliss.

The lordly Alp.s themselves,
Those rosy peaks, from which the moiiihi>? looks
Abro.od on many nations, are no more
For mc that image of pure >;lafl.somcno.s3
Whieh they were wont to be.

—Wordsworth, Prelude, xi.

1. 10.— cleave to that. . .left.

This last spot of earth, where Freedom now
Stands single in her only sanctuary.

—Wordsworth, Prclnde, xi.

MOST SWEET IT IS WITH UN UPLIFTED EYES.

Composition and publication. This sonnet forms part
(No. xlviii.) of a series of Poems composed and suggested
during a Tour in the Summer of 18.'i3, published iu Yarroto
Revisited, aiid Other Poems, 1835, The tour in question
was to Staffa and lona.

Page 48. —Title. The title "The Inner Vision," ijj Tfig
Oglden Treasury, is Mr. Palgrave's irjventioRi.

U ft

fl. li

.,!•'

250

NOTES,

1. 5.— Pleased rather. , . A MS. reading is

Pleased rather with that soothing after-tone
Whose seat is in the nrjind, occasion's Queen !
Else Nature's noblest objects wore I ween
A yoke endured, a penance undergone.

1. 13.— The Mind's internal heaven. Wordsworth never
tired of iterating this wholesome thought. Nature to him
is not merely the pleasure of sense ; it is rather the scene?
of nature called up before —

That Inward eye
Which is ihe bliss of solitude.

— " / Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.''

The harvest of n quiet eye
That broods and sleeps on hin o ,vn heart.

—A Poet's Epitaph.

SCO IT: ROSA Bl-y. I.E.

251

^^COTT.

R'SABKLLE.
Composition and publication.- TAc La,/ of the Last Mi,

strel, from which BohciLIIc is tik

ken, — cnnto vi. § xxiii.

grew out of tlio voliinios of Border Mi imtrelsy Sc

coUoctinj; and puV)Iislii

in lj'0'2. It was

lott was

immediately

ivo

occasioned by the desire of tlie Countess of Dalkeith to h
a poem on tlio legend of Gilpin Horner, and was composed
"at the r.ite of about a canto pji- wo('k...:t was finally
published in 1805, anri may be regarded as the first work
m xvh :^h the writer, who has since been so voluminous,
laid his claim to be an original aath:)r."

Text. The text of ItonaheAle is from the ed. of 1833.
which roi)resents the author's Inst versicm of the ed. (,f
1831. The original .MS. is not pr-sorvod. J.cckhnrt -ivcs
the readings of tha 1st ed. Collations of various early edi-
tions-lOth, 11th, 15th, etc., have been made, showing „«
differences but unimportant ones in spelling and punctua-
tion.

Form of the poem. The form of the poem -the quatiuin
of iambic linos of four accents with alternate rimes-is a
favourite form of the old ballads, t)f which Scott was so
devoted an admirer.

Its place in " The Lay.-'-TAe La,, of the La,i Mindrel is
the story of border chivalry of the middle of the sixteenth
century, as narrated by the last representative of the
ancient minstrels. The main story, to which that of the
Gobhn Pago is subordinated, is : Sir Walter Scott of
Buccleuch, Lord of Branksome, slain in battle, left a
beautiful daughter, Margaret, an infant son, and a widow
Margaret, whose only f.-inlt is her devcfion to the - ^m ' - f
magic. Lord Cranstoun, at feud with the Scotts^ loves

'':]!

;' lit

M^'J; I!

, i

r »■

252

NOTES.

tho daughter. Tlio (joblin Pago aliiiroa tho young son
into tho power of the English trooijs, who demand in return
the surrender of her knight Deloraino for march-treason.
Deloraine offers trial by combat, but his place is taken,
since ho lies wounded, by Craiistoun. By his act of valour
and friendship Margaret's heart is won over to his suit for
her daughter's liand.

The sixth canto opens with tho meeting of tho Minstrels
at Cranksomo Hall at the marriage festival of young
^largaret. The first to sing was Albert Graeme, who sang
the ballad of tho English lady's love of the Scottish
knight. Fitztraver followed with the story of Surrey and
(Jeraldine. Then, from his seat, rose Harold, bard of
bravo St. Clair,—

Harold was born where restless seas
Howl roiMiil tlic storm-swopt Oreadcs. . . .
And thus had Harold, in his yontli,
Loarn'd many a Saii^a's rliyme unc-uulh...
With war and wondur all on flame.
To Roslin's howers younfr Harold camo,
Where, by sweet f,'lon and t;rccnwood tree,
He learn'd a milder minstrelsy;
Yet something,' of the Norlliern spell
Mlx'd with the softer numlters well.

His song is the lay of Rosabullc. It is intended, as Scott
hints, to represent the wild, picturt'sqiie stylo cf tlioScaldic
bards, modified by the mild romanticism of the Southern
minstrelsy. "Our readers," .says .lefTrey, FAinbnryh Be-
view, April, 1805, p. If., -'will i>r<)bably bo struck with
the poetical effect of the dramatic form into which it is
thrown, and of tho indirect description by which every-
thing is most expressively told, without one word of
' distinct narrative."

The story of the poem, it m;iy be added, is fictitious,
though it gains a verisimilitude by the local colouring.

Page 49. Title. Rosabelle. The poem has no title in The
Lay. Each soiig is introduced by the name of the sin"-er.

SCOTT: ROSABRLLE.

233

I. 1. — ladies gay. 'Ilio poem is addresaerl, because of its
character, spocinlly to the ladies of the company. Grseme's
song liad been, in a sense, of feats of arms.

1. 1. — Ros.i', ?lle. The poet has chosen a family name of
the St. Claii.,. •• Henry St. Chiir, the second of the line,
married Rosabelle, fouith daughter of the K;irl of Strath-
erne." — Scott.

1. 5.—" Moor, moor the barge." Spoken, it is to be
supposed, by tlie coinmander of the castle of Ravenscraig.
The next line shows he is a retainer of the St. Claira.

1. 6.— ladye. The favourite sptdling of the ballads, pre-
serving the final letter of its original form, hloR/dige.

1. 7.— Castle Ravensheuch. Ihuih is Gaol, for crag,
precipitous, steep. This castle, now ruinous, is between
Dysart and Kirkcaldy in Fife, on the north shore of the
Firth of Forth. It came into the possessii,ns of the St.
Glairs in 1471 as a compensation for the earUhjm of Orkney,
which had been taken over by tlie Crown.

1. 8.— Nor tempt. Cf. D. F., 1. 104 ji.

the stormy firth. The Firth of Forth.

1. 9.— the blackening wave. The wave darkens from its
own shadow, as it rises. The sky is likewise growing
overcast (1. IG).

fn this love of beauty, observe, that ... the love of
colour is a leading element, his [Scott's] healthy mind
being incapable of losing, under any modern false teach-
ing, its joy iu brilliancy of hue. Though not so subtle a
colourist as Dante,... he depends quite as much upon
colour for his power and pleasure. And, in general, if he
does not moan to say much abouc things, the one character
which ho will give is cohnir, using it with the m(jst perfect
mastery and iaithfulness. . . For instance, if he has a
sea-storm to paint in a single line, he does not, as a feebler
poet would probably have done, use any expression about
the temper or form of the waves ; does not call them angry

i M-

'254

NOTES.

.1.
i

or mounti.inou3. He is content to strike them out with
two dashes of 'Jintoret'a favourite colours : —

' Tliebldclceitiih' wace is edged nit h white;
To Inch ami luck tlie sea-inevv' fly.

There is no form in this. Nay, the main virtue of it is,
tliat it gets rid ol' all fi.itii. 'J'ht^ dark raying of the sea—
what form has that? But out of the cluud cf its darkness
those lightning flashes of the foam, ruining at their terri-
ble intervals -you need no more." — Ruskin, Modern
Painters, iii, iv. ch. xvi.

1.10. — inch. Island {Haol. innis, island). Cf. "St.
Colm's inch (Shakspere, Macbeth, i. ii.) or Ine.hcolm,
Inchkoith. Inchmickcry, all in the Fiith of Forth.

sea-mew. The sea-gull,— so named Irom itn cry.

1. U.— the Water-Sprite. Sprite, a variant form of
spirit. The reference is to the Kelpie of Scotch super-
stition. The Kelpie appears usually in the form of a
horse, often decoys travellers to a watery grave and even
assists in tlrowning them. Its cry is heard in storms, fore-
boding evil to the mariner. See J ol';- Lore Soc, 1872, 280.

"The 3i)irit of the waters, who. . .gives previous intona-
tion of the destruction of those who jierish within his
jurisdiction, by pretevnaiural lights and noises, and even
a isists in drowning them."

In pool or ford can nane be smur'd,
Gin Kelpie lie nae tliere.

—Border Minstrelsy, iii. 3'Jl.

— Jamieson, Scottish Dictionary. See The Water-Kel pie,
Scott's Border Minstrelsy^ iv. 3i33fT.

11. 13f. The gifted Seer. That is, 'gifted with second
^ sight.' Cf. Brian, in The Lady of the Lake, iii. §vi., and
Lochiel, in Campbell's Lochitl's Warning.

"Second sight is a singular faculty of seeing an other-
wise invisible object, without any previous means used by
the person that sees it for that end. . . When a shroud is
perceived about one, it i.i a suro prognostic of death : the

SCOTT: K'OSABJ f.LE.

806

time is judged according to the lirigi '^ about the per-

8" n: ... s it is frequently seei ,su.nd towards the

head, death is conrludcd to be at h d within a few days,

n..t hours."-MaiUM, Weiittrn hie,. Pinkertoii, iii. f370.'

1 14.— swathed. 1st. ed., roU'd.

Page ,50. 1. J7.~Lord Lindesay's heir. The Lyndsays were
loj-d-s of (ihuiosU, u district on the N(»H, Esk, above
Rosslyn.

RosabelKs in excusing her ea/rerness to reach home in
time for the ball discloaos the romance thot occupies her
mind.

1. 19 -ladye-mother. The ential title in speaking

of her mother; cf. the Fr. in e voire mire.

Almost imperceptibly the Jer relations of Rosabelle
to father and mother are suggested. Cf, 1. 23.

1. 21.-the ring they ride. The pastime of 'riding at
the ring' was a fav.urite one on the declin(> ..f chivalry
The horseman riding at full speed aimed tu carry off on
his lance's point a ring suspended from a beam.

1. 25.-Roslin. The Castle and Chapel of RosHn, the
chief seat of the St. Clairs, are situated seven miles south
of Edinburgh, in the midst of the beautiful vale of the
North JOsk, Now usually written Rosslyn.

The castle was built on a promontory in the glon,
approached by a high and narrow bridge. The date of its
erection is unknown, but it was burnt in 1554 by the
EnglisJi troops, and nothing remains but the ruins of
walls, and a large round tower or keep. To the north of
the Castle, on higher ground, is the Gothic Chapel, erected
in 144G, one of the glories cf ecclesiastical architecture.
Its arched roof is suppoi ted by two rows of elaborately
carved pillars. The sculpture of the roof, keystones,
capitals is exquisite! \ beautiful.

1. 2G.-A wondroas blaze. " The Chapel is said to ap-
pear on fire previous to the death of any of his [its founder's]
descendants. This superstition, noticed by Slezer in his

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NOTES.

i{ :

1^ ^

Theatrum Scot{(B, and alluded to in the text, is probably of
Norwegian derivation, and may have been imported by the
Earls of Orkney into their Lothian dominions. The tomb-
fires of the north are mentioned by most of the Sa^^as »—
Author's note, ed. 1833, vi. 208.

1. 30.— ruddied. Reddened, which is the readin- of the

1st ed. °

1. 31.-Dryden's groves of oak. Dryden, a hamlet in
Lasswade, about two miles directly north of Rosslyn.

1. 32.-Hawthornden. A glen and mansion on the north
east, a mile or more below and north-east of Rosslyn In
the cliffs along the wcoded glen are many ancient artifi-
cial caves connected by passages with the court-yard of
the mansion. " Under the building two ranges of caves
have been worked out of the rock. . .the entrance is in the
side of a perpendicular rock of great height above the
river : the descent to them is by twenty-seven steps formed
in the rock."— Scott, Border Antiquities, ii. 124f.

1. 34.-Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie. " Bet. veen the base
of the third and fourth pillars and the north wall is a large
stone, covering the entrance to a vault in which ten
Barons of Roslin were interred previous to 1090 These
personnges were buried in complete armour, without
coffins, which was the family custom of the St. Clairs of
Roslin. The sacristy, or vestry, a kind of crypt erected
by the first Countess ^ the founder, is entered on the
south-east corner of the . iifice, near the site of the hi-h
altar, by a flight of twenty-four steps; and although this
stair IS subterraneous, the apartment is above ground on
the margin of the bank. . .lighted by an arched window
It was long believed that en the ni^ht precedin- the
decease of the Barons of Roslin, or any member of "their
family, the Chapel appeared as if by supernatural ao-encv
enveloped in flames."— Lnwson, ,S<o//aw7, lG5f.

1. 36.-panoply. Complete suit of armour. (Gk. nan.
ail, hopla, armour. j ' ' '

SCOTT: ROSABELLE.

257

ading of the

ir, without

1. 88.-deep sacristy. 1st ed., Both vaulted crypt. The
sacristy is the apartment adjoining the church, in which
the clergy and choir assemble, and where the vessels of
the sacrament arc kept.

altar's pale. The space railed off at the altar of the
chapel.

1. 39. -pillar foliage-bound. A wreath of leaves and
roses, carved in the stone, winds about some of the pillars.

Page SI. 1. 41. -battlement. The indented parapet or raised
wall with embrasures, surmounting the towers and walls.

pinnet. Pinnacle (dim. of L. pinna, pinnacle).

i. 42. -rose-carved buttress. The buttress is the projec-
tion of the wall, here within, giving it greater power of
support. " Among the profuse carvings on the pillars and
buttresses, the rose is frequently introduced, in allusion
to the name, with which, however, the flower has no con-
nection; the etymology being Eosslinnhe, the promontory
of the linn, or water-fall."— Author's note, ed. 1833.

1. 46.— chapelle. This accentuation of the final syllable
V as the original one (Fr. chapdle). This French accentu-
ation IS common in older poetry, struggling with the Eng-
lish accentuation of first syllables. This ballad naturally
imitates the older poetry. Cf.

Is this mine own countree ?

Coleridge, Ancient Mariner, 467.
But none was ao comely as pretty Bessie
Beggar's Daughter of Bed nail Green, I. 4. {Percy's Reliques.)

1. 50.— With candle, book, and with knell. With can-
dles surrounding the corpse, the service-book for the read-
ing of the mass, the bell tolling the fuiferal peal,— the
characteristic features of the burial service of the Koman
Catholic church.

1. 51. — But the sea-caves rung.

ist ed. But the Kelpi^ j-un^ and the Mermaids sung.

I ;

258 NOTES.

SONG. "O, BEIGNALL BANKS."

Composition. This song is from Eokeby, a poem inspired
by the beauty of the valley of the Greta and the friend-
ship of John Morritt, owner of the demesne of Rokeby.
Bokeby was begun on the loth of September, completed on
the 31st of December, 1812, and published in 1818.

Text. The present edition of this song and the follow-
ing one is from the 1833 ed. of Scott's works, collated with
the 3rd, 4th, 6th edd., which show only unimportant
variations of spelling and punctuation.

Place of the song. Rokeby is a story of the times

c»f Marston Moor. Oswald Wycliffo had plotted to get

possession of the lands of Philip Mortham by having him

assassinated by Bertram Eisingham. His son Wilfred

loves Margaret, heiress of Eokeby, whose lord is with

Eupert. He knows nothing of his father's crime. Bertram

shot his leader Mortham at Marston Moor, and goes,

accompanied by Wilfred, to seize his treasures. WiJred

learns of his act, fights him, and is saved from death by

the intervention of Mortham, who was not slain. Eising-

hiim is pursued, and takes refuge with Guy Denzil and his

outlaws in the caves of the Greta, —

Of old, the cavern strait and rude,
In slaty rock the peasant hcw'd.

The third canto depicts the outlaws revelling ; among them
is the singer of the present song.

Some there are, whose brows retain

Less deeply stamp 'd, her brand and stain.

See yon pale stripling ! when a boy

A mother's pride, a father's joy !

Now, 'gainst the vault's rude vroXU reclined,

An early image fills his mind :

The cottage once his sire's, lie sees,

Embower'd upon the banks of Tees ;

He views sweet Winston's woodland scene,

Aiul slinros the dance on Gainford-'Teen,

^ tear is springing— but the zest

SCOTT: SONG, "O, BRIGNALL BANKS" 268

Of some wild tale, or brutal jest,
Hath to loud lanshter stirr'd the rest.
On him they call, the aptest mate
For jovial sonp and merry feat. . .
With desperate merriment he sung.
The cavern to the chorus rung ;
Yet mingled with his reckless glee
Remorse's hitter agony.
Then follows Edmund's song, §§ xvi.-xviii.

Page 52. Title. In Boheby the poom is simply called Song.
The title The Outlaw in the Golden Treasury is Mr. Pal-
grav«'s.

1. J.— Brignall Banks. A beautiful wooded glen below
Scar^rill, along the brnks of the Greta, in North Yorkshire.
1.2.— Greta woods. The Grota is a river of North
Yorkshire, rising in Westmoreland and flowing into the
Tees. The course of the streom is beautilully described
in the second canto of Rokeby, especially in §§ viif.,- -

Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, etc.
" The river runs with very great rapidity over a bed of
solid rock, broken by many shelving descents, down which
the stream dashes with great noise and impetuosity. . . The
banks partake of the same wild and romantic character
being chiefly lofty cliifs of limestone rock, whose grey
colour contrasts admirably with the various trees and
shrubs which And root among their crevices, as well as
with the hue of the ivy, which clings round them in pro-
fusion, and hangs down their projections in long sweeping
tendrils. At times the rocks give place to precipitous
banks of earth, bearing large trees intermixed with copse-
w-o-l. In one spot the dell, which is elsewhere very
narrow, widens for a space to leave room for a dark grove
of yew-trees, intermixed hero and there with aged pines of
uncommon size."— Author's note, ed. 1833.

1. 4.-Would grace. For, That would grace. The omis-
sion of the relative pronoun in the nominative case is
common, for example, in Shakspere, but rare in literary
English to-day. Cf . 11. 48, 59.

j:^

W^^m i'

■.
■

|||V¥ >

* ,'. .

III'

'Si*'

260

NOTES.

1. 5.— Dalton-hall. A baronial liall of the Hothams of
Yorkshire. The old hall was a spacious mansion of brick,
situated amidst a beautiful park, surrounded by a pic-
turesque wooded country. "It consisted of a principal
block, containing many large and lofty rooms connected
by corridors with wii:g3, the whole occujiying three sides
of a quadrangle." —Wheator, Mansions of Yorkuhire, i. 73.
It was renovated in 1873.

1. 11.— Edmund. Edmund of Winston, the name of the
singer, described by Scott in the lines quoted in the Intro-
ductory note and in these lines subsequent to his second
song : —

" What youth is this, your band among,

The best for ministrclsy and song ?

In his wild notes seem aptly met

A strain of i)leasure and regret." —
" Edmund of Winston is his name ;

The liamlet sounded with the fame

Of early hopes his childhood gave,—

Now ccnter'd all in Urignall cave !

I watch liim well— his wayward course

Shows oft a tinclure of remorse.

Some early love-shaft grazed his heart,

And oft the scar will ache and smart."

—Eokeby, iii. xxix.

1. 12.— our English queen. A general comparison,— not
special to Queen Henrietta Maria.

1. 16.— dale and down. Valley and upland,— a common
ballad phrase.

1. 17.— that riddle read. A.S. radan means to counsel,
advise, to read. The former sense is preserved in this
meaning of interpret

" I'll read your dream, sister," he says,
" I'll read it into sorrow."

—The Braes of Yarrow, Child's Bnllads, ill. 71.
Your riddle is hard to read.

—Tennyson, Lady Clare.

1. 19.— tiie sresnwoOvi. The favourite word for forest in
the Kobin Hood ballads ; cf.

-a common

SCOTT: SONG, "0, BRIGNALL BANKS." 261

Until they came to tlie merry greenwood
-Eobiu Hood and Guy o/Gisborne, Cliild's Ballads, v. 91, 1. 8.
1. 20.— Queen of May. See The Green Linnet, 41. 15 n.

Page S3. 1. 27.-Rang:er. In England, formerly, a sworn
oftcerof a forest, appointed by the king's letters patent
whose business it was to walk through the forest, watch
the deer, prevent trespasses, etc—Cent . Diet.

1. 28.-the king's greenwood. England and Scotland
had many royal forests. Richmond was the chief royal
forest of Yorkshire, where the scene of the poem is laid.

1. 29.— winds. Blows ; pronounced U)m Jz,— keeping the
old pronunciation of ' wind,' breath.

1. 37.— brand. Sword (from its flashing in the sunlic^ht-
of. ' brand,' burning wood). °

tnusketoon. A light and short hand-gun : in the 17th
and 18th centuries a usual weapon of cavalry.-Cen«. Did

1. 40.-the tuck. (Fr. estoc, O. Ital. tocco, cf. ' tucket.')
lap, beat. The word is Scotch.

With trumpets and with tuick of drum.

—Battle of Harlow, Cliild's Ballads, vli. 185.
1. 43.— beetle sounds his hum.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
^ And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight.

—Gray, Elegy.
Page 54. 1. 47.-mickle. (AS. micel, great). The Northern
form corresponding to the Southern assibilated form much.
1. 51.— The fiend, whose lantern. . . A MS. reading is,—

The gobliM-ligiit on fen or mead.
The ignis fatuus or Will-o'-the-wisp, was regarded by
the superstitious as due to the agency of the Evil one lur-
ing travellers to destruction.
1. 53.— and when I'm with. . . A MS. reading is,—
And were I with my true love set,

Under the greenwood bough.
Wliat once I was sho must forget,
Nor think what I am now.

262

NOTES.

[Iff

SONG, " A WEAllY LOT IS THINE."

Place in Rokeby. — While tho outlaws sing and drink
(see note, p. 258), Eisinjjham and Deiizil sit apart. They
have just laid a plot to rob tho Castle when Edmund is
again heard singing this song (canto iii. § xxviii.)

The subsequent story tells of tho attack on Rokoby, from
which Matilda is rescued by Wilfrid and Rodmond O'Nep.le,
rivals for her hand, but Dcnzil and the outlaws are
captured by the returning veterans of Rokeby. Oswald,
to force Matilda's marriage with his son Wilfred, imprisons
the son of Rokeby, and with him Redmond O'Neale. Red-
mond is disclosed to be Mortham's son. Edmund hastens
to warn Mortham of his peril. Wilfred refuses to force
Matilda to marry him. Oswald is shot by Risingham,
who is himself slain. Young Mortham marries Matilda.
Edmund, we may believe, led a better life in the service of
the lord of Mortham.

Page 55.— Title. The poem is called SONO by Scott, The
title of The Rover in The Golden Treasury is Mr. Palgrave's.
1. 3.— pull the thorn. . . The ' crown of thorns ' of a life
of pain.
to braid. To weave into the hair.

Braid your locks with rosy twine.

— Milton, ComjiS, 1. 105.
1. 4. — press the rue. Rue is an evergreen plant with
very acrid leaves.

I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of f?race.

— Shakspere, Itichavd II., iil. iv. 105.
1. 5.— A lightsome eye. A MS. reading is,—

A laushinp eye, a rJauntless mien.
1. 6.— a feather of the blue.— Blue is the Scotch national
colour— the blue of the blue-bell.

1. 7.— doublet. A cluse-fitting body garment, usually
with short skirts.

Lincoln green. Green was tho favourite colour of
foresters, as we see in Chaucer, —

rns ' of a life

\ colour of

SCOTT: SONG, 'V/ WEARY LOT IS TUINEr

son

Tlic l)iav(lrik was of Krciic ;
A forster was he. sootlily, as I wness.

— I'l-oIoKiK', CuHterbiin/ Tales, 1. 110.
Uio green cloth par oxcellenco was dyed at Lincoln. Cf
Wlioii tliey were elotlied in Lyncolne Kreiie.

Li/ti-n Geste ofJ{„h,/„ Hood,', Cliild's Hallads. v. 117
bee Scott's Ivanhoe, cli. xiii. Kendal, too (ch. Falstafl's
three knaves in Kendal green,") was favoured.

I. 12.-fain. rjladly,-proi)erly a pred. adj. A.S. fu't/en,
glad. ^'Fam, in old English and Scotch, expresses, 1
think, a propensity to give and receive pleasurable emo-
tions, a sort of fondness which may, without harshness, I
think, bo applied to a rose in the act of blooming Y<,u
remember, ' .Fookey fow and .Tenny fain. '"-Author's note

II. 15fF.-He turned his charger, etc. "The last ver^e
of this song is taken from a fragment of an old Scottish
ballad, of which I only recollected two verses when the
first edition of liokehj was published. Mr. Thomas
Sheridan kindly pointed out to mo an entire copy of this
beautiful song, which seems to express the fortunes of
some follower of the Stuart family :
n was a' for our rif,'l.tfnl kinp With, Adieu for evermore,

That we left fair Scotland's strand,
It was a' for our rifrhtlul Itintj
Tliat we e'er saw Irish land.

My dear!
That we e'er saw Irish land.

Now all is done that man can do,
And all is done in vain !
My love ! my native land, adieu !
For I must cross the main.

My dear !
For I must cross the main.

He turn'd him round and right

about.
All on the Irish shore,

My dear,
Ad:eu for evermore.

The soldier frae the war returns.
And (ho merchant irae the main,
And I liae parted wi' my love,
And ne'er to meet again.
My dear,
And ne'er to meet again.

When da> is gone, and night is

come
And a' are houn' to sleep,
I think on them tlnit's far awa'
The lee iang night, and weep.
My dear.

He gave his briclle-reins a shake. The lee-lang night, and weep.
—Scott ' -

1. 16.—

I'okebt/, 4th cd. p. 351,
upon the river shore. The MS. readin
Ui)on the Greta (Scottish) shore

gs are, —

' (

h^i

264 AZOTES.

JOCK OP HAZELDEAN.

Composition and publication.— This poem is founded on
a popular ballad entitled John of Hazelgreen, which is
found in various MSS. Scott wrote Jiis poem from the
first of two stanzas forming tlio fragment called the E.
MS. in Child's Ballads, ix. 159 ff. The first stanza of the
MS. varies from the poem only in the last line, in which
the former reads, —

For John o Hazelgreen.

The second stanza is : —

' O whatcn a man Is Hazelgreen ?

I pray thee tell to me ;
O there's not a handsomer gentleman

In a' the South Countrle.
His arms are lon^, his shoulders broad,

Sae comely to be seen !
And aye she loot the tears down fa'

For John o Hazelgreen.

The A. MS. gives a short but complete version : —

Into a sweet May morning,

As the sun clearly shone,
I heard a prop per damsel 1

Making a heavy moan ;
Making a heavy moan,

I marvelled what she did mean,
And it was for a gentleman,

Sir John of Hasillgreen.

' What aileth thee now, bony maid,

To mourn so sore into the tide ?
O happy were the man,' he says,

'That hod thee to his bride.
To ly down by his side ;

Then he were not too mean ; '
But still she let the tears fall

For pleasant Hasilgreen.

'OhjWh.atfor-vman is Hasilsrreeny
Sweet beai-t, pray tell to me.'

' He is a propper Gentleman,

Dwells in the South Countrie;
With shoulders broad and arms
long.
And comely to be seen ;
His hairs are like the threads of
gold.
My pleasant Hasilgreen. '

' Now Hasilgreen is married,

Let all this talking ne.'
' If Hasilgreen be married,

This day's then woe is me ;
For I may sigh and sob no more,

But close my weeping een,
And hold my peace and cry no
more.

But dy for Hasilgreen.'

SCOTT: JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.

265

' Will you let Haflll^rieen alone,

And go along with me?
I'll marry you on my eldest son,

Mivko you a gay hwly.'
' Make me a gay Indy V ' she saycs,

* I am a maid too mean ;
I'd rather stay at home,' she cries,

' Anddy for Hasilgrejn.'

He takes this pretty maid him
lieliind

And fast he spnr-efl the horse,
And they're away to Bigger toun

Then in to Bigger Cross.
Tlieir loilging was far sought,

And so was It forseen ;
But still she let the tears down fall

For pleasant Hasilgreen.

He's ta'en this pretty maid by the
hand,

And he is doun the toun ;
He bought for her a pretty coat,

Yea, and a trailing goun ;
A silken kell litt for her head,

Laid o'er with sliver sheen ;
But still she let the tears down fall

For pleasant Hasilgreen.

He's ta'en this bony mey him be-
hind.
And he i.s to the Place,

Where there was mirth and merry-

ness,

Aiid ludyea fair of face ;
And hulyes falrof fac.?.

Bight seemly to he seen.
But still she let the tears down fall

For iileasant Hasilgreen.

Yonufv Hasilgreen ran bastille

To W'ilc<jme his father dear ;
He's ta'en that pretty maid in his
.irms.

And kist oir her falling tenr :
'O bony mey, now for thy sake

I would be rent and rien ;
I would give all my father's lands

To have thee in Ha.silgreen.'

'O hold your tongue now, son.'
he sayes,
' Let no more talking be ;
This maid has come right far iVom
home
This day to visit thee.
This day should been your wed-
ding-day,
It shall be thy brllall-een,
And thou's get all thy father's
lands,

And dwell in Hasilgreen.'

Jock of HazeUlean was first published in Campbell's
Albyn's Anthology, 1816, and republished in Miscellaneous
Poems, 1820. The present edition is from the 1833 ed.

The poem ia stated to be written to the air, " A Border
Melody," which involves an interesting error. Campbell
in whose Anthology Scott's ... first appeared, had received
an air, which he took to be u border melody, from Thomas
Pringle, who had heard his mother sing it with the words
afterward taken as the first otanza of Scott's poem Scott
therefore, announced his puum as written to the air " A
Border Melody." But, as Chappell has pointed outi the

266

N07'ES.

air is only a traditional version of tho air of the song In
Jaixuary La,l, of Durfey's pluy, The Fond II unhand, 1(}7(J
Clmppcll gives tho music of the song in Poimlar Music
ii. 570. '

Jock of Hazeldean. Jock is tho Scotch

f f

! I

>i\-

Page 56,— Title.

form of Jack.

Hazoldoan is in Toviotdale, on tho river Teviot, north-
east of Hawick. Cf.

In Hawk-k twinkled many a liglit;
Buliliul \\hn soon tlioy sot in ni>.'lit ;
And soon lie spiin'd liis coniser keen
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.

—Lay o/tlie Last Minstrel, 1. g 25,

"The estate of Hazoldonn, corrui>t)v Hassendean, be-
longed formerly to a family (,f Scotts."- Scott.

Tho geography of tho piece understood, tho situation-
that of tho English Border maid, who prefers her Scottish
lover to the English lord— becomes clear.
1. 5.— sail. A common form in Scotcli dialect of shall
1. 6.-Sae. The A.S. long (pr. aU], which in Standard
I<.nglish became o fcf. awa, so), was preserved in Northern
as a (pr. ah), then changing to « (pr. ay), written ae. Cf
wae for woe, tae for toe, etc.
1. 7.— loot. A Scotch dialect form for let.
fa'. There was a general tendency in the Scottish
dialect to weaken I before consonants and when final • cf
ha'(l. 13), a' (1.21).

1. ll.-Errington. Tho homo of the ancient family of
Ernngtons, near Erring-burn, Northumberland.

1. 12.-Langley.dale. Langlcy Tale is the wooded val-
ley of Langley Beck, which enters tho Tees on tho north
bank above Darlington, Durham.

As I down Kaby Paik did pass,

I heard a fair maid weep, and wnil,
The chlefeat of the sonj? it was

Farewell the sweets of Langley Dale I

i tho Scotch
oviot, north-

;t of shall,
in Standard
n Northern
ten ae. Cf.

sjorr- JOCK of hazei.dran.

267

Tlio botiny mavis rlietTS his love,

Tlic tliroHtlucork hIii(,'(i In tlie plcn ;
Hut I UMist lu'vur li()|)o to rove
WUl.lii swi'ct LaiiKlt.y Dale aRaln. etc.

— SiirtccB.
1. 19.— managed hawk. A liawk that has Hnished its
manhia or training for flying at game. Young used " the
managed stood."

Page 57. 1. 2o.-kirk. 'J'ho Scottish and Northern English
form of A.S. vyrlv. {c.^k); Midland and Southern English
assibilated c to f/t,— church.

1. 29.-bower and ha'. 'Hull and bower' is a phrase
frequently met with in older literature; the 'hall' is
essentially tho great living-room of the men, the 'bower'
(A.S. Ur, dwelling) is tho apartment of tho women.

Thu heroic wealth of liall and bower.

—Wordsworth, Londoti, I80S.

Ill M:

litft

288

NOTES.

KEATS.

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.

Circumstances of composition. — In 1815', Keats, then
twenty years old, had come to London to complete his
study of surgery in St. Thomas Hospital. Charles Cowdeu
Clarke, his friend and counsellor, son of his old school-
master of Enfield, was likewise in London, in Clerken-
well. The two friends were soon together. Their first
meeting, says Clarke, was "a memorable night in my
life. A beautiful r:opy of the folio edition of Chapman's
translatitn of Homer had been lent me. It was the
property of Mr. Alsager. . .of the Times newspaper...
Well, ther, we were put in possession of the Homer
of Chapman, and to work we went, turning to some of the
'famousest' passages, as wo had scrappily known them in
Pope's version. There was, for instance, that perfect
scene of the conversation on Troy wall of the old
Senators with Helen . . . the Senator Antenor's vivid portrait
of an orator in Ulysses [iii. 237ff.]. . .the shield and helmet
of Diomed [iii.]. . .the pi'odigious description of Neptune's
passage to the Achivo ships [xiii. ]. It was in tlie teem-
ing wonderment of this, his first introducticjn, that, when
I came down to breakfast the next morning, I found upon
my table a letter with no other enclosure than his famous
sonnet. On Fird Looking into Chapman's Homer. We
had parted. . .at day-spring, yet he contrived that I should
receive the poem from a distance of, may bo, two miles by
ten o'clock. In the published copy of this sonnet he made
an alteration in the seventh line : —

Yet never did I breathe its pure serene,
Ihe original which he sent me had the phrase, —

Yet could I never tell what men could mean ;
which he said was bald, and too simply wondering. No

KEATS: CHAPMAN'S HOMER.

280

ono could more earnestly chastise his thoughts than
Keats."— C. C. Clarke, Eecolledioiis of Keats, Gent. Mag.,
1874, 183f.

F. Locker-Lam pson possesses an autograph copy of
the sonnet, entitled " On the First Looking into Chapman's
Homer," dated 1816, with slight variants.

Publication. — The sonnet was first printed in Keats's
first volume, Poems, 1817. "It is," says Eossotti, "the
onfy excellent thing contained in his first volui^^o of verse. "
The poem is here given from Palgravo's reprint of that
edition.

Page s8.— Title. Chapman's Homer. George Chapman
(1559[?]-i634), poet and dramatist of Elizabethan times.
His best plays are Eastward Hoe, 1605, and Bussr/
(PAmbois, 1608. His chief glory, however, is is transla-
tion of Homer, of which seven books were first published in
1598, followed in the same year by the eighteenth book
Before 1609 twelve books had bee" completed. The com!
plete Iliad was issued in 1611. . .en he set to work on
the Odyssey, which was finished in 1614. The two trans-
lations were printed in one folio volume, 1616, the edition
referred to in the note above.

" Chapman's Homer is one of the great achievements of
the Elizabethan age, a monument of skill and devotion.
The mistranslations are many and grievous, and it is clear
that Chapman's knowledge of Greek was not profound ;
but through the whole work there breathes a spirit of
restless energy that amply atones." — A. H. Bullen, Diet.
Nat. Biog.

—'There did shine
A beam of Homer's soul in mine.'

1. 1.— realms of gold. The world of poetry, of which one
definite ' realm ' is singled out in 1. 5. Cf.

How many bards gild tlic lapses of time.

—Keats, Sonnet, How Many Bards.
L 8.— western islands. The western islands of Europe,
—the Azores, the Canary Islands, and oven Great Britain,

> I

1 1

I ■

Uli

f'ai

^!Hi

^hI

' ^mB

J^H^S

Wem

ilil

1 f

i'u

270

NOTES.

—shrouded as they were in mysterious distance were
favourite allusions of the classical poets. Thp British
poets have done full homage for their native isles.

1. 4. — fealty. Allusion to the feudal tenure of land. The
poets hold landed dominion by virtue of their paying the
dues of poetry— celebrating the beauty of their estates— to
their lord Apollo.
Apollo. The Greek god of song and minstrelsy.
1. G. — deep-brow'd Homer. No authentic representation
of Homer's face exists. The epithet conveys the impres-
sion of the serene power and majesty of the poet's verse.

demesne. (Pr. de men' ; O.F. demaine, cf. ' domain '.)
Estates in land.
1. 7.— Yet did I never breathe...
Locker MS. Yet could I never judge what men could mean,
its pure serene. " It may be noticed, that to find in Chap-
man's Homer the ' pure serene ' of the original the reader
must bring with him the imagination of the youthful
poet,— he must be ' a Greek himself,' as Shelley finely said
of Keats." — Palgrave, Golden Treanury, nn.

1. 10.— swims. Perfect felicity of diction is the mark of
Keats's poetry.
ken. Eange of vision.

Losing ken of Albion's wished coast.

— Shakspere, 2 Henry VI., iii. 11. us.
At once, as far as Angel's ken, he views
The dismal situation.

—Milton, Paradise Lost, 1. 59.
While here at home, my narrower ken
Somewhat of manners saw, and men.

—Scott, Marmion, iv. Intr.
i. 11.— stout Cortez. Hernando Cortes (1485-1547), the
Spaniard whoso daring won Mexico for Spain. As Tenny-
son, however, pointed out to Mr. Palgrave (6?oWen Treasury,
n) history requires Balboa. Vasco de Balboa (1475-1517)'
another Spaniard, joined Enciso's expedition of oolonixa-
tiop to Darien in 1510. Becoming commaader of the

. 1,, J

KEATS: CHAPMAITS HOMER. 271

colony, he determir A in 1513 to view an ocean of which
he heard so muK„ tooounts. On September 25th, from a
mountain-peak cr. .he Isthmus of Panama, he was the
farst European to see the new ocean.

One of the last books of Keats's schooldays (Cowden
Clarke, Atlantic Monthly, 1861, p. 87) was Eobertson's His-
lory of America. It is there without doubt that ho got
the hint for the figure that appeals so strongly to the
imagination in the closing lines of the sonnet. The
passage in Robertson is as follows :—

"At length the Indians assured them, that from the
top of the next mountain they should discover the ocean
which was the object of their wishes. When, with infinite
toil, they had climbed up the greater part of that steep
ascent, Balboa commanded his men to halt, advanced
alone to the summit, that he might be the first who should
enjoy a spectacle which he had so long desired. As soon
as he beheld the South Sea stretching in endless prospect
before him, he fell on his knees, and lifting up his hands
to heaven, returned thanks to God, who had conducted
hini to a discovery so beneficial to his country and so
honourable to himself. His followers, observing his trans-
ports of joy, rushed forward to join in his wonder, exalta-
tion, and gratitude."— ed. 1817, viii. 287

1. 12 -star'd. '« ' Stared ' has been thought by some too
violent, but ir, is precisely the word required by the
occasion The Spaniard was too original and ardent a
man, either to look, or to affect to look, coldly superior to
It His 'eagle eyes' are from life, as may be seen by
Titian s portrait of him."-Leigh Hunt. Imagination and
rancy.

at the Pacific. The extra light syllable is frequently
found after the caesura. A very old established law • of
And specially, from every shirea ende '

Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende.

_-naup.p.r, Prol. Canterbury Taia^ 11. i5f.
1.14.— Darien. The isthmus is meant.

\l\

^ til

Mill'

is^

• '

! t ■•

272

NOTES.

WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I SHALL CEASE TO BE.

Composition and publication.— " On the 31st January
[1818], after a page of doggerel not worth transcription,
he sent to Mr. Reynolds* the last sonnet he had written,
and he never wrote one more beautiful or more affecting
in its personal relations."— Houghton, Life and Letters of
Keats. "There is a fair MS. dated 1817 in Sir Charles
Dilke's copy of Endymion.^—BvuLton Forman, Keats, ii.
286.

This sonnet was first published, after the poet's death,
in Lord Houghton's Life and Letters of Keats, 1848.

The poem should be compared with parts of Sleep and
Poetry, —

O for ten years, that I may overwhelm
Myself in poesy ! so I may do the deed
That my own soul has to Itself decreed ;

which shows the same eager longing to forestall the
approach of death.

Page 59. Title. The sonnet is without title in Houghton's
ed.; the title The Terror of Death, in the Golden Treasury,
is Mr. Palgrave's.

1. 3.— charact'ry. Symbols of thoug' *. The MS. has
charactry. Elsewhere Keats printed cL .vactery,—

Nor mark'd with any sign or charactery.

—Endymion, iii. 767.
Cf.

All my engagements I .nil construe, to thee
All the charactery of my sad brows.

— Shakspere, Julius Ccesar, ii. L 307 f.

1. 6.— cloudy symbols. That these lines reveal Keats's
nature is clear from his Epistle to my Brother George :—

•J. H. Reynolds (1796-1852), author of Sofli, poet and reviewer.
friend and defender of Keats.

ASE TO BE.

'orestall the

KEATS: THE HUMAN SEASONS. 273

But there are times, when those that love the bay

Fly from all sorrowine far, far, away ;

A sudden plow comes o!i them, noupht they see

In water, earth, or air, but poesy. . .

In air he sees white coursers paw and prance,

Bestridden of gay knif,'hts. in gay apparel,

Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel...

The Popt s eye can reach those golden halls,

And view the glory of their festivals, etc.

This same power of fancy to read romanco into the
aspects of nature is expressed in Thomson :—
A sable, silent, forest stood,

Where nought but sliadowy forms were seen to move,
As Idless fancied in her dreaming mood...
A pleasing land of drowsy head it was
Of dreams that wave l)cfore the half-shut eye ;
And of gay castles in tlie clouds that pass,
For ever flushing round a summer sky.

— The Castle of Indolence, v., vl.
1. 8.— chance. Tlie poet's humility ascribes his faculty
to a power without him. The Greeks ascribed it to the
gods.

I. 10.— thee. The application is probably general. Ap-
parently the sonnet, though sent to Reynolds, was not
addressed to him. One naturally thinks of Miss Brawne
but Keats did not meet her till the year following its
composition.

1. 12.— faery. See Wordsworth, To the Cuckoo, p. 44, 1. 3i.

und reviewer.

THE HUMAN SEASONS.

Composition and publication.-" In his (Woodhouse's)
copy of the letter to Bailey, written from Teignmouth in
Sept., 1818, the sonnet entitled The Htiman Seasons
:ippears with very interesting variations" (B. Forman
I'oetry and Prose of Keats, p. 23) :— '

IlitI

iMii^^i

274 NOTES.

Four seas, is fill the measure of the year ;
Four seasoi i are there in the mind of Man.
He hath his i is y Spring, when Fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy snan :
He hath his Summer, when luxuriously
He chews the honied cud of fair ain-iug thoughts,
Till in his Soul, dissolv'd, they come to be
Part of himself: He hath his Autunni Ports
And havens of repose, when his tired wings
Are folded up, and he content to look
On mists in idleness : to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshhold brook.
He hath hia winter, too, of Pale niisfeature.
Or else he would forget his mortal nature.

This sonnet with another on Ailsa Rock were first
published in the first number of Leigli Hunt's Literary
Pocket- Book ; or, Companion for the Lover of Nature and
Art, 1819, with the signature I.

Page 60. 1. 6. — Spring's honey'd cud. Cf.

Chewing the food [variant, cud] of sweet and bitter fancy.

— Shakspere, As You Like It, iv. iii. 10:.'.

11. 7f. — by such dreaming high. This is the reading of

the Aldine ed. and Palgrave's ed. But the Literary Fockct-

Book reads : —

By such dreaming nigh
His nearest unto Heaven.

Forman says that the reading of our text " is certainly a
more usual .-ense than that of the text as given abovu ;
but 1 should not venture to adopt it without knowing
upon what manuscript authority, as the other seems to me
the more characteristic in its strain after originality of
expression. I take nicjh to be a verb ; and 1 think students
will admit that nifjh his nearest tmto heaven, for approach
his nearest unto heaven, is tame compared with some of the
novelties of Endymion," — Kcais's Works, ii. 247f.

ghts,

ck were first
int's Literary
\f Nature and

:tcr fancy.
Tt, iv. lii. 102.

the reading of
iterary Fockd-

is certainly a
given above ;
lout knowing
31' seems to me
originality of
bhink students
, for approarh
th some of tlie
247f.

KEATS: ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 27fl

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.

Composition. — "This poem was written," says Leigh
Hunt, " in a house at the foot of Highgate Hill, on the
border of the fields looking towards Hainpstead. The poet
then had his mortal illness upon him, and knew it.
Never was the voice of death sweeter.''^— hnagination and
Fancy. Keats was living with his friend Brown in Hamp-
stead. The months of 1819 from January till June
wore months of inspiration rarely equalled, for almost all
his odes were then written,— Oh Indolence, On a Grecian
Urn, Bards of Passion and of Mirth, To Psyche, To a
Nightingale. His mind was highly Avrought ; for not only
was there the melancholy remembrance of his brother,
whose death had taken place in the preceding autumn, but
an intense and unhappy passion for Fanny Brawne had
seized him.

"The death of his brother wounded him deeply, and
it appeared to me from that hour he began to droop.
Ho wrote his exquisite 'Ode to the Nightingale' at this
time, and as wo were walking in the Kilburn meadows
he repeated it to me, before he put it to paper, in
a low, tremulous undertone which affected me extremely."
--Haydon, Correspondence, ii. 72.

The immediate occasion of the writing was as follows : —
" The admirable ' Ode to a Nightingale ' was suggested by
the continual song of the bird that, in the spring of 1819,
had built her nest close to the house, and which often threw
Keats into a sort of trance of tranquil pleasure. One morn-
ing he took his chair from the breakfast-table, placed it on
the grass-plot under a plum-tree, and sat there for two or
three hours with some scraps of paper in his hands. Short-
ly afterwards Mr. Brown saw him thrust'.ng them away,
as v/aste paper, behind some books, and had considerable
difficulty in putting together and arranging tlie stanzas of
the Ode." — Houghton, Life and Letters of Keats. The last

Hiii

\i I

■I' ',(. '.,.

•n> ;

27fi

NOTES.

particular is modified in Houghton's introduction to
tho poem:—" In tlio spring of 1819, a nightingale built her
. nest next Mr, Brown's house. Keats took great pleasure
in her song., .and one morning took liis chair from the
breakfast-tahle to their grass-plot under a plum-tree,
where he remained between two and three hours. He
then reached the house with some scraps of paper in his
hand, which he soon put together in tho form of this
Ode."— Aldino ed. p. 237. The copy of the poem in Sir
Charles Dilke's MSS. is dated May, 1819, and entitled Ode
to the Nightinyale (Forman).

Publication. — Tho Ode was first printed in the Annah of
the Fine Arts, a quarterly maga/ine, edited by James
Elmes, in No. xiii., 1819, or vol. iv., pp. 354-35G, 1820.
The title there is "Ode to tho Nightingale," and has for
signature only the sign f- It formed part of Keats's third
volume of poetry, Lamia, habella, The Eve of St. Agnes,
and other Poemn, London, 1820, pp. 107-112.

Our text follows the last edition as reprinted in Palgrave.
Variants of the Annah are from the Peabody Library
copy ; of tho MS. from Forman's readings.

The theme.—" The nightingale is a very skulking bird,
frequenting tlio dense undergrowth, hopping restlessly
about the cover, and whou alarmed it instantly finds
shelter among tho tangled vegetation. Sometimes in the
woods and coppices it is seen flitting across the path . . .
The haunts of tho Nightingale are woods and planta,tioiis
in which the undergrowth is particularly thick and close.
Tangled hedgerows and tho thickly-wooded banks of
streams are the favourite haunts of this bird. . . It sings
incessantly from the pairing-time in April until the young
are hatched in June. The song of the Nightingale has
possibly been overpraised... Tho Nightingale does not
always sing in the hours of night, as is very popularly
l^elieved to be the case; and it may be heard warbling at
all hours of tho day."— Seebohm, i. 277f.

I -I .

ICE ATS: ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.

277

The poets from Aristophanes to the present time hava
represented the scjn^ of the bird as passionately niolan-
choly, which is, according to the naturalists, an instance
of transferred emotion.

The pronunciation of the word, it may ho added, is
ni' tin gal, and the derivation, A. S. nihtegale^ night's
singer.

Treatment of the theme.— The attitude of the poet, it
will be noted, is that of describing the song of the bird, not
directly, as perhaps Wordsworth might have done, but in-
directly, by the expression of the thoughts and feelings
awakened by it. The latter point of view is that followed
by most of the poets, as, for instance, by Shelley in his Sky-
lark and by Walt Whitman in his Mocking-bird {Out of
the Cradle Endlessly Rocking).

Form of the poem. The Ode.— The word ode (Gk. ode,
aeido, I sing) was primarily applied to a chant sung to
musical accompaniment. The term embraced the trium-
phal odes of Pindar as well as the simpler strains of lyric
verse. The simpler varieties were favoui-ed by Latin poets
such as Horace and Catullus, and have been most gener-
ally imitated.

English odes began with Spenser's lofty JEpithalamiuvi,
written under either Greek or Italian influence : but it was
the classical spirit of Ben Jonson that made the manner
popular. Herrick in the lighter vein, Milton in the
grandiose (as in The Nativity), Cowley, Dryden and above
all Gray, in their Pindaric odes (see pp. 168f.), Collins
in his Horatian imitations (as in Evening ; see Appendix)
carried on the history of the ode through the 18th century.

With the Romantic revival the ode was eagerly seized
on to embody the highest passion of an age of lyrical
feeling. Abandoning all attempts to imitate the measures
of antiquity, the new poets sought after subtle harmonies
in cadence, variation in length of line and stanza, and
ia the order of the rimes. Coleridge's France, 1797, Words-

it <t

1 '■

t u

]!;■',

ii' "*

1*1

a^^HilJi

MHI

ill

HBOBBBH

278

NOTES.

worth's Intimationn of Imynortalily, 1803-(), Kcats's Night-
intjah, 1810, Shclloy's Skylark. 1820, all show tho varied
form of tho odtt, at tho saino tiino that they show tho com-
mon element, — tho "strain of oiithusiastic and exalted
lyrical verse, directed to a fixed purpose, and dealing pro-
j^ressively with one dignified theme." Mr. Oosso, from
whoso Englinh Oden this definition is quoted, remarks
that ' Keats resolved tlie ode into a group of stanzas, each
exactly foUowing tho preceding, and each more or less like
one movement of an odo of Pindar, but without any at-
tempt to reproduce the choral interchanges."

Page 6i. 1. 2. — hemlock. Tho plant of tho order Umbolli-
foree {conium macuhitum) from whoso leaves, flowers, and
berries a violent alkaloid poison, called conium, is dis-
tilled. Tho symptoms of (O lium poisoning are weakness
and sta'^goriiig gait, passing into paralysis and death
(Chambers). In Greece ' drinking tho hemlock ' was tho
extreme penalty of tho law.

1. 3. — opiate. (L. opium.) Narcotic, sleep-producing
draught.

1. 4. — Lethe-wards. Lctho (Gk. lethe, oblivion) was the
river of oblivion, one of tho five rivers of Hades.

Far off from these, a slow and silent stream,
Letlic. tlic river of oblivion, rolls
Her watery labvrintli, whereof who drinlcs
Forthwith his formiir stale and beiiis forfjfets—
Forpets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.

—Milton, Paradise Lcat, ii. ,")a'!ff.

1. 7. — Dryad. Strictly, a minor deity of Greek myth-
ology. The dryads were tl;e guardians of the great forest
trees (Gk. drus, oak).

1. 9. — beechen green. Verdure of tho beech-trees. Cf.

West winds, witti nnisky winf?.
About the cedarn alley fling;.

—Milton, C'omiis, 1. !>80f.

IL llf= — O, for a draught, " Of Koats's p,T.rtinlity for
claret enough and too much has been made ; but with his

KEATS: ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.

279

delightful ist of desiderata given in a letter, now before
me, to his sistnr. it is impossible to resist citing, as a prose
parallel to thcso two splendid linos of poetry, the words,
'and, please heaven, a little claret wine cool out of a
collar a mile deep.' "— B. Forman, ii. 110.
hath. MS. and Annals^ has.

1. 13. — Flora. The goddess of flowers in classical an-
tiquity ; hero for flowers gonornlly.

1. 14.- -Provencal mirth. (The 5 is the Fr. » sound of c
before a). Referring to the gay, sprightly life of Provence,
wliore love, chivalry, and troubadour song reigned for
three centuries in the courts of the counts of Provence.

1. 15. — beaker. A large drinking vessel with a wide
mouth, an open cup or goblet. (Now chiefly in literary
USL") — New Englinh Dirt.

1. Ifi.— the true, the blushful. The MS. and Annahf the
true and blushful.

Hippocrene. (Ck. hippos, horse; krene, fountain.) A
fountain in Mt. Helicon, Brpotia, wliich bubbled up from
the hoof-stroko of Pegasus during the singing contest of
the Muses and the daughters of Pieros ; sacred to the Muses.
To Keats the ruddy wine is the ' true ' dr.iught of in-
spiration.

1. 20.— And with thee fade away. This line, it will be
noted, is an Alexandrine (twelve-syllable line), but the
final lines of tlie other stanzas are pentameter lines. The
MS. and the Annalu omit "away," giving uniformity of
structure. But, says Forman, " to me the introduction
of the word array in the version finally given forth by
Keats is too redolent of genius to pass for a mere accident.
The perfecti;)n thus bnt to the echo opening the next
stanza exceeds a thousand times \n value the regularity
got by dropping the word ; and that one line with its linger-
ing motive has ample i-eason to be longer than any other
in the poem." — ii. 111. Leigh Hunt, moreover, reprinted
the poem ia The Indicator and in Imagination and Fancy,
in both oases reading aivay.

■'i

i !'!

iSLL^^f)

( h

f:i

M-

f% NOTES,

1. 26. — p«/sy Paralysis.

Pagl fo. 1. 2r).— Where youth grows pale... .dies. The sixth
line of thfi stanza very cloorly brings out ITaydon's
woi (Is connecting tho sadness of tlio pooiii with the tk; ith
of Tom Iv rits, and should be compared with tho pasaagij
about his sisfor in thv* letter to Brown written from Eonie
on tho 30th of Novcn '^r, 1820,— ' my sister— who walks
about my imagination like a ghost— she is .so like Tom.' In
the same letter ho says, ' it runs in my head we shall all
die young'."— B. Forinan, ii. 112.
1. 29.— Beauty cannot keep. . .eyes.

She dwells with Hcaiity— Ucaiity tlmt must die ;
And Joy, whose Imnd is ever at his lips,
Bidding adieu.

—Keats, Sfelaticholy.

1. 82.— Bacchus and his pards. Bacchus (/jak'ua) or
Dionysus, a son of Zeus. He was tho god of wine, presid-
ing over tho culture of tho vino. His worship Avas often
celebrated with orgies, called in Italy bacchanaiia. Ho is
represented in antiquity as endowed with eternal youth,
crowned with a diadem of ivy, holding a thyrsis garlanded
with ivy. Ho is cdad in tho skin of the leopard, the animal
sacred to him. The leopard ncccmpanied Bacchus in his
journeys, drawing his chariot and sharing his feasts. A
very largo number of marble groups of antiquity represent
the god and his faithful attendant; but I do not find any
in which more than one leopard is present.

1. 83. — viewless wings.

To be imprison'd in the viewless winds.

— Shfikspere, Measure/or Measure, ill.l. 124.

I. 86.— Queen-Moon. A suggestion of Titania and her
attendant suite of fairies, rather than of Dia^a and her
nymphs.

Fays. Fairies. (O.F. faie, Fr. f^e, Mid. Erg. fa,,.
Originally fairy was the collective term lor He fay.; c.L
'gentry.')

i ! <

KEATS: ODE j ^ A NIGIITINCA. .v, 281

Page 63. 1. 44.— the seasonable month. The inonth, tho
charact< , of which is in k. .ping with tho 8oa«on.

1. 4i;.-pastoral eglantine. (Fr. <fflantine) O.F. ai>jlant,
9weot-l)riar ; assiiinod La nr.uJenhia , h, aeus.p Ant.) Thu
swoct-l.riar, novvering in liino anrl July. Thft epithet
"pastoral" points to its growin,- profusely in pastoral
scones— open copses, ghules, etc.
1. 47,— fast-fading violets. For fast-fading, cf.
A violin in tlic youth of prlmy nature,
Forwiiid not peimnneut.

1 ^n ~, 1 — SliaksiKjrc, Hamlet, i. iil. 7.

i. 49.— musk-rose.

I saw ttu! swoctcst flower wild nnture yields,
A ficsli-bjown tnnslt-iose ; 't wns the first t'h.at threw
Its sweets upon tlic summer i Kiacefnl it grew
As Is the wnud tliat queen Titaiiia wields.

— Keals. Sonnet, ''As late T rambled,"
The whole passage, 11. 40-40, recalls Shakspero's lines :-
I l<now a bank whereon the wild thyme Idowa.
Where o.xlips nnd tiie noddinf; violet j,'row8.
Quite over-eanopi'd witli lusli woodbine,
Witli sweet music-roses and wltli eKJantino,
'lhercsleei)sTitan1n.

—midsummer Night's Dream, li. i. 249ff.
dewy wine. MS. and Annah, sweetest wine.
1. 51.— Darkling. In the dark, in darkness.
O, wiit tliou ('■".rltjinf,' leave me ? do not so.

— Sl)alispere, Midsitmmer Niyht's Dream, ii. i|. 80.
-Ling is the common adverbial suffix, as in groveliuff
headlong, etc.

1. 52.-in love with easeful Death. Cf. Shelly, Pref. to
Adonais, describing Keats's burial-place in Rome. " The
cemetery is an open place among ruins, covered in winter
with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with
death, to tliink that one should be buried in so sweet a
place."

1. 53.-mused rhyme. The adjectival use of this perf.

•• -r-'^- ^s ra^c,— pxouuuiy an instance of Keats's rich-

aess of phrase. It means, meditative, brooded over.

w I

I #^l

•282

NOTES.

ii i t

1. 56. — To cease upon the midnight. Cf.

Yet would I on this very midnight cease,
And the world's paudy ensigns see in slireds ;
Verse, Fame, Beauiy are intense indeed,
But Death intenscr— Death is Life's higli meed.

—Keats, Sonnet, Why did I Lauijli To-night f

1. 57.— pouring forth. MS. and Annah, pouring thus.
1. 60. — To thy high requiem. . MS. and Annals,—

For thy high requiem beeome a sod.
requiem. Pr. re'kwi evi. Lit., the mass for the de;id
(L., Ihquievi aeternam dona eia, Peace eternal give unto
them — the words of the introit in the service).

1. 66. — Ruth. The Moabitess who left her country to
accompany her mother-in-law Naomi to Bethlehem. The
specir.1 reference is to Ruth, ii. 3, 10.

1. 69.— Charm'd magic casements. " This beats Claude's
Enchanted Castle, and the story of King Beder in the Ara-
bian Nif/hts. You do not know what the house is, or
where, nor who the bird. Perhaps a king himself. But
you see the window open on the perilous sea, and hear the
voice from out the trees in which it is nested, sending its
warble over the foam. The whole is at once vague and
particular, full of life. You see nobody, though sometliing
is heard ; and you know not what of beauty or wickedness
is to come over the sea. Perhaps it was suggested by some
> fairy-tale." — Leigh Hunt, Imagination and Fancy.
Page 64. 1. 70.— faery. MS. and Annals, fairy. Tlie change
carries "the mind safely back to the middle ages— to
Amadis of Gaul; to Palmerin of England, and above all, to
the East." — Form an.
1. 74. — elf. MS. and Annals, elf ! Primarily the dwnrfish
^ being of Teutonic mythology, but later any tricky, mis-
chievous or malicious spirit.
1. 79. — Was it a vision ...

JUS. Was it a vision ? or a waking dream ?
Fi?d is that music ? do I wake or sleep.
Annals. Was it a vision ? or a waking dream?
Fled la that music ? Do I wake or sleep ?

KEATS: TO AUTUMN, 283

TO AUTUMN.

Composition and publication. On the 22nd September,
1819, Keats, being at Winchester, Avrote to Eeynolds :—
" How beautiful the season is now. How fine the air— a
temperate sharpness about it. Eeally, without joking,
chaste weather— Dian skies. I never really liked stubble-
fields as much as now— aye, better than the chilly green
of Spring. Somehow, a stubble plain looks warm, in the
aame way that some pictures look warm. This struck me
so much in my Sunday's walk that I composed upon it.

'Season of mi.sts and mellow fruitfulncss.'"
— Houghton, Life and Letters.

It was published in the Lamia volume, 1820. Our text
is from Palgrave's reprint of the 1820 ed.

Page 65. 1. 7.— gourd. Here, the general name for melon,
pumpkin, squash.

1. 15.— winnowing wind. Cf. Tr., 1. 122 n. The epithet
is suggested by the preceding line.

1. 17.— 'he fume of poppies. The sacred flower of Dem-
e'ter. Some species yield opium and have flowers whose
smell la slightly narcotic.

And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

—Tennyson, Lotos- Eaters.
1. 18.— swath. (Pr. sirau-th, or a as in fall.) The line of
grain or grass cut down by the scythe, or the reach of the
scythe in cutting.

Page 66. 1. 25.— bloom. The nominal use in the sense of
flush, glow, Keats here first extends transitively to the
verb. For the thought, cf. Shelley, Skylark, 1. 13.

1. 28.— the river sallows. The willows by the river-side.
(A.S. sealh, willow). The sallows (goat willows) scarcely
reach the hoi'^ht of trees, rarolv risin«»' mn

;:ii

forty feet.

sore thnn thirty o?

:.;f

284

NOI'ES.

fJ'f^T^'"'" ^'"^ ''°"''"- ^'°™ *^« encircling hills of
the landscapo.

. 1; ^^^•-"^^^^^■"''^kets. There is no species of cricket so

fh! fi , , '^^.\^^r '"'"' ^^ "' ^''■^"^"°' ^^«^ th« «ote of
the fiold-cricket ,s a characteristic sound in country life

with Its multitudinous cheery sound. But the hed-e-
cricket IS not seen after July. It has been suggested tlmt
the grasshopper is meant, ^vhose zic-zic-zic is heard throu-h
the summer and autumn. The epithet 'hedge' would
then recall the lines in Keats's sonnet,—

A voice will run
From hedKc to liedfrc about tlie new-mown mead
That is tlie Krassliopper's.

—On the Grasshopper and Cricket.
The grasshoppers are inclined to quiet during the day-
For now the noonday quiet holds the hill ;
The frrasshopper is silent in the srass.

—Tennyson, (Enone.
But in the evening they make the thickets and fields
resound to the name of their Amaryllis.

1. 32.-garden.croft. Croft (A.S. croft, a small inclosed
field), any small enclosed tract of farm, pasture, etc. (cf
' crofter ')•

A little croft we owned— a plot of corn,
A little garden stored with peas, and mint and thyme
-Wordsworth, Guilt and Sorrow, st. xxiv.
1. 33.-gathering swallows. "The second broods and
the old birds form the large flocks which are seen in
autumn, and at this season of the year their gatherings
are most interesting."— Seebohm, ii. 176.

fe:..it|'

SHELLEY: OZYMANDIAS.

285

sling hills of

SHELLEY.

!ard throusrli

OZYMANDIAS.
Composition. In February, 1817, while Shelley was in
England anxiously awaiting the issue of the suit for the
custody of his children, he found especial sympathy from
Leigh Hunt. At Hunt's house in Hampstead tlie poets
gathered-Shelley, Keats, Reynolds, and Hunt himself
On the 16th of the month Keats wrote to his brothers •
" The Wednesday before last Shelley, Hunt, and I wrote
each a sonnet on the river Nile : some day you shall read
them^ all. The three sonnets are, according to Houghton,
the "Son of the old moon-mountains African " of Keats'
''It flows through old hush'd Egypt and its sands" of
Hunt, and Ozymandias of Shelley. It has become certain
through the publication in the 8t. Jame,' Maq March
1876, of a sonnet To the Nile in Shelley's handwriting'
found among Hunt's MSS. tliat Ozymandias is not Shelley's
part m the competition. This new sonnet and the sonnets
of Hunt and Keats are reprinted in our Appendix.

Publication. The poem was first printed in Leigh
Hunts Examiner, January 11, 1818, with the signature
Ghrastes. It appeared in Shelley's volume, Homlind and
Helen. . .with other Poems, 1819. Our text is based on the
facsimile of the 1819 ed., Shelley Society Pub. 1888
The Examiner ed. is cited from the copy in the Athenaeum
Library, Boston.

Three weeks after Shelley's poem appeared, the Ex-
ammer published a second Osymandyas sonnet, by Horace
Sm,th, "On a Stupendous Leg of Granite, discovered
standing oy itself in the Desert of Egypt, with the
Inscription inserted below." The inscription was • " I am

2Sft

NOTES.

\\\ >
i' 1

Pl'ili.

1 1 1

ill

M li

wrr^',

great Ozymandias, the King of Kings : this mighty city
shows the wonders of my liaiid." His sonnet runs : —

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a plgantic lep, which far oflf throws
The only sliadow that the desert knows.
" I am great Ozymandias," sailh the si one !
" The king of kings : this mighty city shows
"Tlie wonders of my hands." The city's gone
Naught but the leg remaining to disclose
The site of that forgotten Bal)ylon.
We wonder, and some hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood; holding the wolf in chace
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What ix)werful, but unrecorded race,
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

—Horace Smith.

Theme of the poem. Ozymandias, or Osymandyas,
was an ancient king of Egypt, whose exploits are recorded
and whose tomb is described by Diodorus of Sicily. His
kingdom extended between Menes and Moeris ; his great-
est deed was to lead his people victoriously against the
Br.ctrians. His tomb at Thebes, the remains of which are
to-day usually termed the Palace of Memnon, was one of
the wonders of antiquity.

The description of this tomb, according to Diodorus, is
in part as follows: "Close to the entrance to the tomb
was a colossal group of three figures (the workmanship of
Memnon of Syeno). One of them was in a sitting posture,
and was reputed to bo the largest statue in Egypt, whoso
foot exceeded seven cubits in length. The other two, very
inferior in size, reached only to its knees (and were
attached in an upright position to the front of the throno\
one on the right and the other on the left side, and repre-
sented the daughter and the mother of the king. It was a
monument remarkable as well for the excellence of its
workmanship as for the dimensions and nature of thi'
stone, in which no crack or even flaw cuuld be found ; ami
upon it was this inscription : ' I am Osymandyas, king of

SHELLEY: OZYMANDIAS.

287

kings ; if anyone wishes to know what I am and where
I lie, let him surpass me in some of my exploits!"—
Diodorus, i. 47 seq., in Wilkinson's Ancient Egyptians, i.
74. There is difTiculty with the Greek of the last verb.
The Latin version of the inscription is: " Sum Osyman-
duas, rex regum. Si quis nosse velit quantus sum et ubi
jaceam, meorum aliquid operum vincat.''— Diodorus Sicu-
lus, Biblio. hist., i. 56 (1746). French scholars usually
render it: "let him destroy my works," i.e. the toml
which guards his resting-place.

The French scientists who followed Napoleon in his
conquest of Egypt gave a detailed account of the ruins of
the tomb, which is probably the source of the modern
literary interest in Osymandyas. From their account De-
scription de I' Egypt, Antiquites, 1809, vol. i., the following
extracts are translated :— " Entrance gates half destroyed,
the height of which must have been considerable ; lofty
columns of great diameter ; squared pillars against which
lean colossal statues of divinities ; gates of black granite ;
ceilings strewn with stars of yellow gold upon an azure
background; mutilated statues of rose granite, partly
covered by the sand of the desert ; warlike scenes sculp-
tured on the walls, representing battles and crossings of
rivers, everything proclaims an edifice of the greatest
importance. It is the tomb of Osymandyas. . . You still
can see ruins of the greatest magnificence. That enormous
block of granite, stretched along tho ground, so colossal
that to reciignize its outlines you must remove to a great
distance, is the remains of the statue of Osymandyas
(p. 9).

" The court [of the tomb] is filled with so much granite
debris that you believe you are transported to a quarry.
There are the remains of an enormous colossus, of which
only the head, breast, and the arms to the elbow are. now
found joined together. Another block containing the
rest of the body and ^he thighs lies quite near... The

;■:,;!;!

h\\

'S!

» }

2S8

NOTES.

head of the colossus has preserved its form : you can dis-
tinguish quite well the ornaments of the head-dress; but
the face is entirely mutilated. Among the scattered ruins
are found the foot and the left hand. . . The pedestal of
this statue is still in place. . . The statue and its pedestal
are both of beautiful rose granite of Syeno... It is
probable that this colossus in a sitting posture must have
been not less than sixtj'-seven metres and a half in
height" (pp. 124f.).

Page 67. 1. 3.— desart. This is the common 18th century
spelling, which lived on into the 19th. Byron in the 1st

. ed. of C. II. P., iv. 1585, had desart. It is quite certain,
says Forman, that Shelley " deliberately adopted the word
desart ; for it occurs in his most careful manuscripts ; but
I have not succeeded in finding in manuscript either
desart where the word is unquestionably an adjective, or
desert where it is a noun. '^—Shelley's Works, i. 403.
1- 6. — read. Exaviiner, read, .

11. 7f.— Which yet survive. " I should not have supposed
lines 7 and 8 to present a diiTiculty ; but as a man of letters
of my acquaintance tells me he considers the.-u unintellig-
ible, it may be well to note that the clause stavifed on these
lifeless things is parenthetic, the meaning being that the
passions of Ozymandias, being stamped on the lifeless frag-
ments of his statue, still survive the sculptor's hand whic°h
mocked them, and the tyrant's hand which fed them."—
B. Forman, Shelley's Works, i. 376.
1. S. — mocked. Imitated.

And human hands first mimicked and then mocked,
Witii moulded limbs more lovely than its own,
The human form, till marble f?re\v divine.

— Slielley, Prometheus Unhotmd, ii. iv.

1. 9.— On the pedestal. " We noticed on the vuins of the
Osymandyas only two inscriptions in hieroglyphics carved
on the arms. On the upper part of the pedestal are seen
the remains of another inscription which once encircled it

SHELLEY: TO A SKYLARK.

280

Could this last be that met with in the description given
by Diodorus ? ''—Antiquil^a, i. 147.

1. 10.— king of kings. Examiner, King of Kiigs.

1. 13.— colossal wreck. Examiner, Colossal Wreck.

1. 14.— lone and level sands. The prevalence of I'b and
monosyllables, and the cadence of the vowels are wonder-
fully suggestive of the scene. Cf. Tennyson's similar
lines :

Came on the slilning levels of the lake

And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake,
And the long glories of the winter moon.

—Morte d' Arthur.

TO A SKYLAEK.

Composition.— " In the spring [of 1820] we spent a week
or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house of some friends,
who were absent on a journey to England.— It was on a
beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the
lanes, where myrtle hedges were the bowers of the fire-
flies, that we heard the carolling of the skylark, which
inspired one of the most beautiful of his poems."— Mrs.
Shelley, Shelley's Poems, ed. 1839, iv. 50.

Publication. The photographic facsimile of the poem
from the Shelley MS. volume of the Harvard Library,
Avhich accompanies our text, shows the text of the poem
as it finally stood, though ib cannot be relied on for every
punctuation mark. It has the added interest of exhibiting
the poem in process of composition. Our text is from the
Provietheus Unbound, with Other Poems, 1820, as reprinted
by Forman. Mrs. Shelley's first ed. of 1839 has likewise
been collated.

Page 68.— The theme of the poem.—*' The bird that occupies
the second place to the nightingale in British poetical
literature is the skylark, a pastoral bird as the Philomel

i^jr

9 t-i

290

NOTES.

is an arboreal,— a creature of light and air and motion,
the companion of the plowman, the shepherd, the har-
vester.— whose nest is in the stubble and whose tryst is in
the clouds. Its life affords that kind of contrast which
the imagination loves— one moment a plain pedestrian-
bird, hardly distinguishable from the ground, the next a
soaring, untiring songster, revelling in the upper air,
challenging the eye to follow him and the ear to separate
his notes.

The lark's song is not especially melodious, but lithe-
some, sibilant, and unceasing. Its type is the grass,
where the bird makes its homo, a> junding, multitudinous,
the notes nearly all alike and all in the same key, but
rapid, swarming, prodigal, showering down thick and fast
as drops of rain in a summer shower."— John Burroughs,
Birds and Poets.

Other poems on the Lark.— The Elizabethans first gave
fit expression to the charm of the Lark's song.

What Is't now we hear ?
None hut the lark so shrill iind clear ;
Now at heaven's {?ates she chips her wings,
The morn not waking till slie sings.

—John Lyly, Campaspe, v. i.
Lyly was imitated by Shakspere in

Hark, hark, the lark at Iicaven's gate sings.

—CUjmbeline, iii. 11.
The modern lyrics on the Lark are numerous, that of
Hogg [(1772-1835) see Appendix] and Wordsworth's first
poem To a Skylark (1805),

Up with me I up with me into the sky !
leading the van. Then came Shelley's wonderful Ode to
the Skylark, 1820, and in 1825 Wordsworth's second poem
To a Skylark —

Ethereal minstrel I pilgrim of the sky !

was composed. William Watson'd new poem (see Appen-
dix) is justly admired.

3, but lithe-

SHELLEY: TO A SKYLARK. 291

Metrical structure.-" Shelley choso the measure of this
poem with great felicity. The earnest hurry of the four
short lines, followed by the long effusiveness of the
Alexandrine, expresses the eagerness and continuity of
the lark. There is a luxury of the latter kind in Shak-
speare's song, produced by the reduplication of the
rhymes : —

' Hark ! h.irk ! the l.irk at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins arise
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies.

And winking mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes :
With everytliing that pretty bin [be].

My lady sweet, arise.' "

—Leigh Hunt, Imagination and Fancy.

1. 2.— Bird thou never wert. Cf. Wordsworth, To the
Cuckoo, 1. 3 n.

1. 5.-In profuse strains. . . " During the prevalence of
the unimaginative and unmusical poetry of the last
century, it was thought that an Alexandrine should
always be cut in halves for the greater sweetness ; that is
to say, monotony. The truth is, the pause may be any-
where, or even entirely omitted, as in the unhesitatin-
and characteristic instance before us. See also the e-ghth
stanza. The Alexandrines throughout the poem evince
the nicest musical feeling.-Leigh Hunt, Imagination and
Fancy.

1. 8.-Like a cloud of fire ; Professor Craik, arguing for
the placing of the (;) after springest (1. 7J was answered by
Professor Baynes {Edin. Rev., April, 1871):— "The im-
age, ' like a cloud of fire,' applies not to the ap trance of
the bird at all. . .but to the continuous motion upward, for
the obvious reason that ' fire ascending seeks the sun.'"

1. 15.— Like an unbodied joy. Eosset^i, following Pro-
fessor Craik, changed unbodied to embodied, violatin.-. the
authority of the printed texts, and, as we now know" the

(I'

292

NOTES.

\a\^

MS. As Professor Baynos says: " At the outset, Shollcy
addresses the skylark as a spirit singing in the pure oinpy-
rean... He then aj>ostrophizc3 the emancipated soul of
melody on the celestrial liglitnoss and freedom in which it
now expatiates. To the swift sympathetic imagination of
the poet, the scorner of the ground, floating far up in the
golden light, had boccjmo an aerial rapture, a disembodied
joy, a ' delighted spirit,' whose etherial race had just be-
gun."

Page 69. 1. 22.— silver sphere.

Hencnth the Bphere
Of the cnlm moon.

—Shelley, Laon and Cynthia, HI. iv. 2.

• The sphere wliose light Is melody to lovers.

—Shelley, Triumph <\f Life, Mi .
1. 85.~rain of melody. Cf.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the skylark sing.

— CoIeridKc, Ancient Mariner, 11. a,58f.

Page 70. 1. 43.— love-laden. " Mark the accents on the word
' love-laden,' so beautifully carrying on the stress into the
next line, —

Soothing her loveiJulei
Sotil in secret hour.

The music of the whole stanza is of the loveliest sweet-
ness ; of energy in the midst of softness ; of dulcitudo and
variety. Not a sound of a vowel in the quatrain resembles
that of another, except in the rhymes; while the very
sameness or repletion and continuity of tlie sounds in tlie
Alexandrine intimates the revolvement and continuity of
the music which the lady is playing. Observe for
instance (for nothing is too mintite to dwell upon in such
beauty), the contrast of i and o in ' liigh-b( rn ' ; the differ-
ence of the a in ' maiden ' from that in ' palace ' ; the
strong opposition of maiden to toiver (making the rhymt'
more vigorous in proportion to the general softness) ; then

SHELLEY: TO A SKYLARK. yO.S

the now diireroncos in Hooihina, hve-laden, souf, urul secret
all diverse from ono unothor, a.id from the whole strain;
and finilly, the strain itself, winrling ,„> in an Alexandrian
with a cadence of parti.mlar repetitions, which constitutes,
nevertheless, a now difference on that account, and by the
prolongation of tlio lino

It gives a very echo to the scat

Where love l8 throned."
—Leigh Hunt, Imtujination and Fancy.

11. 46f._Like a glow-worm golden. The glow-worm is a
sort of ooetle with a luminous body, usually found in moist
grass.

And the meek worm that feeds her lonely lamp
Couched in the dewy Krass.

-Wordsworth, Prelude, xlv.
•'A melody so happy in its alliteration that it may be
termed its counterpoint. And the colouring of the stanza
IS as beautiful as the music. "-Leigh Hunt, Imauination
and Fancy.

1. 48._unbeholden. Unseen. A coinago of Shelley on
the basis of the old perfect participle of behold. He
usually uses ' unbeheld ' in this sense,—
Some unheheld divinity doth ever.

—Shelley, Cenci, 11. li. IM.
1. 55.--heavy-winged. Slow-moving. The winds aro
heavy as burdened with the fragrance; 'winged' as if
moving on pinions.

Page 71. 1. 57.-twinkling. Bright, sparkling with rain.
Like twinkling rain-drops from the eaves.

— Sluillt>y, Rosalind and Helen, 1. 367.

1. 58.-Rain-awakened flowers. Flowers openin'^ to the
ram tliat feeds their growth. Cf. °

And 90 they grew together like two flowers

Uiwn one stem, which the same heams and showers

Lull or awaken in ihelr p-.-iple prime.

—Shelley, Fiordispina, 15flf.

1 1,

if 1-

i '

-'04 NOTES,

The folded Iciif is woo'd from out the bud
With winds uiwji the branch.

—Tennyson. Lotoa-Eatert.

1. 61.— sprite. Cf. 1. 1. ' Sprito ' and 'spirit' aro the
sarao word originally. (Fr. eaprit, L. apiritus.)

1. 0(}.— Chorus Hymenaal. Hy'raou or Hyinonfe'us was
tlie god of marriage- among tlio fJreoks; tljo hymonival
chorus was tlio bridal-song sung by tho brido's companions
as she left her fathor'a liouso.

1. 75.— ignorance of pain. Happy unconaciousnoss of the
existence of pain.

Page 72. 1. 80.— love's sad satiety.

All breathing' human passion far above,
That leaves a heart IiIkIi sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parchinff tongue.

—Keats, On a Grecian Urn.
1. 86.— We look before and after.

Ho that hath mrnlc us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after.

— Shaksperc, Hamlet, iv. I v. 87.
1. 87.— And pine. Ed. 1839, Wo pino.

I. 90.— Our sweetest songs. . saddest thought.

Most wretched men
Are cradled into poetry by wrong,
They learn in suffering what they teach In song.

—Shelley, Julian and Madalo, 11. 545f.

II. 91 f.— Yet if we could scorn.

The iwct in a golden clime was born.

With golden stars above ;
Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,

The love of love.

—Tennyson, The Poet.

Page 73. 1. 96.— measures. The cadences of music.
When it hears thy harp's wild measure.

—Shelley, SopJiia, ill. 4.
1. lOO.-Thou scorner of the ground I "A most noble
and emphatic close of the stanza. Not that the lark in

U3U0S3 of tliU

SHEl.rr\ TO JANR-~THE KRCOI.LECTION. 205

•ny vulgar M-nm of Mm \v..i.l, '^^,^ls' Mio ground, for ho
dwells ujx.n it^ hut that, like tho i.oct. nolw,ly enn tak«
leave of commonplaces with more heavenly triun.pl>."—
Leigh Hunt.

1. 103. -harmonious madness. Strains oF exalted poetry.
The divmo ma.hu^ss of tho poet was tho fav..urite theory
of inspiration among tho (irceks. The 'lino phronzy of
the poet's eye' is still proverbial.

1. 104.— would flow. MS., should flow.

TO JANE— THE RECOLLECTION.

Circumstanced of composition. Tho spring of 1822, while
Rhelloy was at Pisa, was .spocially early and hoautiful. Yet
the poet's health was not good, troul^lcd with paroxysms
of anguish that were relieved only by what was then called
'animal magnetism.' His cousin. Captain Thomas Med-
win, who liad come to Pisa on Shelley's invitation in 1820,
was helpful in this trouble, as was .Tane Willi mis, wife of
Lieutenant Williams, a school-friend of Shelley's who had
turned U]) at Pisa early in 1821. 'Mane AVilliams," says
Dowdeu, "had a grace and insinuating sweetness of man-
ner which won by degrees upon all who became acquainted
with her." "Williams," Shelley wrote to Leigh Hunt,
"is one of the best follows in the world; and .lane, his
wife, a most delightful person, who, we all agree, is the
exact antitype of the lady I described in ' Tho Sensitive
Plant,' though this must have been a pure anticipated
cof/nition, as it was written a year before I knew her." In
tho friendship of ATr, Williams and his wife the Shelleys
took great joy. For .Fane Williams the poet wrote The
Magnetic Lady to Her Patient, With a Guitar— To Jane,
and To Jane— The Invitation,— The Jfecoilection, a poem ia
two parts, of which the present lines are the latter half/

i%t in '

298

NOTES.

l;f I

x* m

mi]

itSi

Publication. This poem is the second of the parts
which first appeared almost entire and as one poem in Mrs
Shelley's ed. 1839, entitled The Pine Forest of the Cascine
near Pisa, dated February 2, 1822. In her second edition
the editor gave the full poem, dividing it into The Invita-
tion and The Recollection. Slielley's friend, Trelawny. had
an autograph copy, -which was used in Rossetti's edition of
Shelley. On the cover of the MS., says Eossetti, was the
inscription, "To Jane: not to be opened unless you are
alone or with Williams."

The first part is as follows :—

TO JANE-THE INVITATION.

Best and brightest, come away,
Fairer far tlian this fair Day,
Whicli, like tliee. to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To tlie roiigli Year just awake
In its cradle on tlie brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Sprinj?
Tlirough the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, tJie halcyon Morn
To hoar February born ;
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the Enrtli,
And smiled upon the silent sea.
And l)ade tlie frozen streams be free.
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world apjiear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs—
To the 8!lcnt wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind.
While tlie touch of Nature's art
Harmonizes heaii to heart.

SHELLEY: TO JANE- THE RECOLLECTION.

I leave tliis notice on my door

For each accustomed visitor :—

" I urn gone into the fields

To take what this sweet hour yields ;-

Reflection, you may come tomorrow,

Sit by tlie fireside with Sorrow.—

You with the unpaid i)ill. Despair,—

You tiresome verse-reciter. Care,—

I will pay you in the grave.—

Death will listen to your stave.

Expectation too, be off !

To-day is for itself enough ;

Hope in jtity mock not Woe

With smiles nor follow where I go;

Long having lived on thy sweet food,

At length I find one moment's good

Afier long pain-with all youi love,

This you never told me off,"

Radiant Sister of the Day

Awake ! arise ! and come away !

To the wild woods and the plains.

To the pools where winter rains

Image all their roof of leaves.

Where the pine its garland weaves

Of sapless green and ivy dun

Round stems that never kiss the sun;

Where the lawns and pastures be

And the sandhills of the .sea ;—

Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
^\m\ wind-flowers, and violets,
Which yet Join not scent to hue.
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dim and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet.
Where tl»e earth and ocean meet,

And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.

Page 74. 1. 5.— Up to thy wonted work.

isted. And do thy wonted work and trace.

SO-}

..jiiliAttMiAli

298 NOTES.

1. 6.— fled. The reading of the 1st ed. ; the MS. and
second ed. have, dead, which is a weaker reading.

I. 7,— now. Omitted in 1st ed.

II. 9ff.— We wandered. . . From this point, in the 1st
ed., the poem is given in four-line stanzas.

1. 9. — the Pine Forest. The title of the 1st ed. gives the
clue to the scene. Past the Cascine, formerly the public
park of Pisa and lying just outside the city, extends to
the Mediterranean a forest of gigantic pines. Far to the
north the beautiful Carrara .-fountains — the great marble
quarries of Italy — are in full view from the sandy sea
shore.

1. 40.— Ocean's. The 2nd ed., Ocean.

1. 15. — And on the bosom. The ist ed.,
And on the woods, and on the deep.

1. 17. — the hour. 1st ed., the day.

I. 19.— Which scattered. . . The 1st ed.,

Which shed to earth above the sun.

Page 75. 1. 24. — As serpents interlaced. The Ist ed.,
With .stems like serpents interlaced.

II. 41f. — There seemed. . . The 1st ed.,

It seemed tliat from the remotest seat

Of the wiiite mountain's waste,
To the bright flower. . .

1. 42. — white mountain waste. ' White' is the reading
of the 1st ed. and the MS. The 2nd ed. has, wide.

"The outline of the mountains, with their jagged
precipices, becomes unspeakably grand after leaving
Avenza, but the views reach a climax of poetic loveliness
at Massa, where a noble castle crowns the rich olive-clad
height above the town, while beyond it, the hills, dotted
with convents and villas, and radiant with vegetation,
divide, to admit, like a fairy vision, the exquisitely
delicate peaks of the marble mountains." — Hare, Qiliea of
Italy, i. 71.

in the 1st

SHELLEY: TO JANE— THE RECOLLECTION.

Page 76. 1. 46.— thrilling. The 1st ed., thinking.
U. 49ff.— And still I felt. The first ed. reads,—

For still it seemed the centre of

The magic circle there,
Was one who?e beinj? tilled with love

Tho breathless atmosphere.

299

Then in 1st ed.

1. 52. — The breathless atmosphere,
follows the stanza : —

Were not the crocusses that grew

Under that ilex tree,
As beautiful in scent and hue

As ever fed the bee ?

1. 53.— We paused. The 1st ed. , We stood.
1. 55.— Each seem'd. . . The 1st ed.,

And each seemed like a sky.
1. 57.— A firmament. The 1st cd.,

A purple firmament of light.

1. 60. — purer. Tho Isted., clearer.
1. 61.— lovely. Tho 1st ed.. massy.

I. 01.— spreading there. Tho 1st ed., waving there;
after which follow the linos beginning ' Like one beloved '
(11. 77-80).

II. 65ff.— There lay the glade. . . The 1st ed. reads,-

There lay far glades and neighbouring lawn,

And through the dark-green crowd
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Under a speckled cloud.

Page 77. 1. 74.— With an elysian glow. The 1st ed. has,—
Within an Elysium air.

elysian. Elysium or the Elysian fields rejiresented para-
dise to the Greeks. It was a place of groves and meadows
set with asphodel, amidst which the blessed dead wandered,

1, 76=— A softer day. The lat ed. re^ids,—

A silence sleeping there.

i''

WtJ-:^'

»00

NOTES.

1. 80.— With more than truth. The 1st ed., With that
clear truth.
1. 81.— an envious. The 1st ed., a wandering.

I. 84.— one dear. The 1st od., thy bright.

II. 85ff.— Though thou art. The 1st ed. reads,-

For thou art good and dear and kind, ^

The forest ever green,
But less of peace in S 's mind,

Than calm in waters seen.

The 2nd ed. leaves S (1. 87); the MS. hao a blank.

Eossetti fills in the line.

1. 88.— waters. The MS. has, water.

Trelawny describes his hunting out the poet in his
favourite retreat in this Forest beyond the Cascine, ' a
wilderness of pines and ponds.' By a ' deep pool of dark,
glimmering water' he came upon him, in his -wild wood
study. " The strong light streamed through the opening
of the trees. One of the pines, undermined by the water,
had fallen into it. Under its lee, and nearly hidden, sat
the Poet, gazing on the dark mirror beneath, so lost in his
bardish reverie that he did not hear my approach. There
the trees were stunted and bent, and their crowns were
shorn like friars by the sea breezes, excopting a cluster of
three, under which Shelley's traps were lying ; these over-
topped the rest. To avoid startling the Poet out of his
dream, I squatted under the lofty trees, and opened his
books. One was a volume of his favourite Greek dramatist,
Sophocles, — the same that I found in his pocket after his
death— and the other was a volume of Shakspeare."— I-a*/
Days of Shelley and Byron, oh. viii.

With that

)oet in his
I!ascine, 'a

BYRON: CHILDE HAROLiys PILGRIMAGE.

BYKON.

301

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRLMAGE, CANTO IV.

The first cantos. In 18)9 Byron left England in the
midst of the success of English Bards and Scotch Revieivers.
Accompanied by John Hobhouso he went by sea to Lisbon,
then rode through parts of Portugal and Spain, to Gibral-
tar, whence tiiey sailed to Malta and Albania. Thence
they descended through Epirus and Acarnania to Misso-
longhi and Athens, ending their pilgrimage at Smyrna
and Constantinople. At this point Hobhouse departed for
England, but Byron returned for a year to Athens and its
neighbourhood. In July, 1811, he too returned to Eng-
land, bringing with him as the fruits of his travels the
first two Cantos of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage^ the First
Canto containing his impressions of Spain, the Second of
Greece, Albania, and Constantinople.

In March, 1812, persuaded by his friends, Byron pub-
lished these cantos, which he himself was inclined to con-
sider "a, lot of Spenserian stanzas, not worth troubling
you with." To Byron's surprise their success was general,
instantaneous, and permanent. " I awoke one morning "
said Byron, " and found myself famous."— Moore's Life^ ed.
1833, ii. 137.

This success was followed by dissipation in London,
varied by poetical composition— (riaowr, Bride of Abydos,
Corsair. Lara — when the calamitous issue of his marriage
drove Byron from England, indignant and despairing,
amid the execrations of the world that had been at his
feet. He passed through Belgium and up the Rhine to
Switzerland, where he remained six months. The im-
pressious of this pilgrimage were conveyed in the Third
Canto of Childe Harold,

'•\

lit

^^.fil

Mm ■

302

NOTES.

I: At

Composition and publication of Canto IV. The Fourth
Canto of 0. H. P. was written in Venice (see Introduction),
chieiiy during the summer of 1817. The record of its com-
position is given in Byron's letters to Murray: — July
1st, 1817,— " Since my last letter [June 18th], I have been
working up my impressions into a fourth Canto of Childo
Harold, of which I have roughened off about rather better
than thirty stanzas, and mean to go on " ; July loth, — "I
have finished (that is, written — the file comes afterwards)
ninety and eight stanzas of the fourth Canto, which I
mean to be the concluding one" ; July 20th, — " I write to
give you notice that I have completed the fourth and
ultimate Canto of Childe Harold. It consists of 126
stanzas"; Aug. 21st, — " I have done the fourth and last
Canto, which amounts to 133 stanzas"; Sept. 4th, — [re-
fusing Murray's offer of 1500 guineas for it] " It. . .consists
of 144 stanzas"; Sept. loth, — "I have gone over and
extended "t to one hundred and fifty stanzas... I look
upon Childe Harold as my best"; Nov. I5th, — "Your
new Canto has extended to one hundred and sixty-seven
stanzas." In January, 1818, Byron was passing the poem
for the press, completing its full number of 186 stanzas.
In April, 1818, it was puLlit-hed,

The present text. The present text is based upon
Byron's two editions, the 1st ed. 1818, and the second ed.
(including the four cantos) 1819, the only editions issued
in the poet's lifetime.

Form of the stanza. The structure of the stanza in
which — with the exception of the songs — the whole of
C.H.P. is written, is an iambic measure in eight penta-
meter lines followed by an Alexandrine, riming ab ah be
bcc. This stanza, invented by Spenser (1552-1599) as the
measure of his Faery Queen, was based upon the ottava
rima of the Italian romantic poets, such as Aristo. The
Italian moa^ut-c v/os r,n eight,=linc stans^a riming ah a-l>
ab cc. Spenser gave the rime-system moro variety, without

BYRON: CHILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 303

losing unity of structure, and added a ninth line of
twelve syllables, making a stanza that has won the poet's
ear through all subsequent time. Thomson, Beattie, and
Burns were the chief poets using the metre between
Spenser and Byron.

Beattie was Byron's chief authority in the use of the
stanza, judging from the Introduction to Cantos I., II. :—
" The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most
successful poets, admits every variety. Dr. Beattie makes
the following observation:-' Not long ago, I began a
poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I
propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either
droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or
satirical, as the humour strikes me ; for, if I mistake not,
the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all
these kinds of composition.' Strengthened in my opinion
by such an authority, and by the example of some in the
highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for
attempts at similar variations in the following composi-
tion ; satisfied that if they are unsuccessful, their failure
must bo in the execution, rather than in the design,
sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and
Beattie."

Page 74. Title. Childe Harold. Childe in this sense is a
favourite word in the mediaeval romances and old ballads
to denote a youth of noble blood. Cf. also,—

Chyld Tristram prayd that he with him might goe.

—Spenser, Faery Queen, vi. ii. 36.
Childe Rowlaiide to tlie dark tower came.

— Shakspere, Lear, ili. iv. 187.
"It is almost superfluous to mention that the appella-
tior 'Childe,' as ' Childe Waters,' ' Childe Childer^,' etc.,
is used as more consonant with the old structure of versi-
fication which I have adopted. "-Pref. to Cantos I., II.
The identity of Childe Harold with Byron was noted from

■ IB"

ill!

304

NOTES.

if: \

•:, J

the first, and in spito of the poet's disclaimer always be-
lieved. There is no doubt that as Scott had celebrated his
family glory in The Lay, Byron wished to sing him-
self in the Childe Harold. In the first draft of the open-
ing Cantos in the MS. the hero is uniformly "Childe
Burun," the Anglo-Norman form of the poet's name.
The description of the hero in the opening stanzas of the
First Canto is draw. , with darkened shadows, from Byron's
own life. The mysterious melancholy, the lofty isolation,
the defiant pride of the hero are the same mould of the
poet's mind in which he cast the spirit of all his heroes.
The identity was so complete that Byron gave up even the
pretence of difference (see 83. 55fF).

Page 79. " Visto ho Toscana". . .

•' I have scei: Tuscany, Lombardy. Romagna,
That mountain whici divides and that which bounds
Italy, and one st a and the other that bathes it. "

For Ariosto, see 1. 361 n.

Page 81. Dedication. John Hobhouse. John Cam Hob-
house (1786-1869), Baron Broughton, became intimate with
Byron at Cambridge, accompanied him on his first tour
through Portugal, Spain, Albania, and Greece, to Turkey
(see Introduction). He witnessed the struggle of France
and Germany in 1813. In 1815 he was ' best man ' at
Byron's wedding. In 1816 he joined Byron at Villa
Diodati, Geneva, and together they made the tour of Italy,
chronicled in the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. The
notes that accompanied the first edition of this Canto are
in the main (see 84. 79f.) the work of Hobhouse. From
1819 he was immersed in politic^, ' a sincere and uncom-
promising radical' during his earlier career, and in his
later days ' a resting and thankful whig.' In 1822 he saw
Byron at Pisa for the last time. On the poet's death in
1824 he became one of his executors. In addition to the
Notes to Childe Harold, and a separate supplementary

BYRON: Cim.DE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 30:.

voIiinie,-7/t*<(,r/r«/ U! 'dratiom of the Fourth Canto of
Childe Harold, llobliouse was llio autljur of suiuu books of
travel and political essays. {Did. Nat. Bio,/.)

Page 82 1. 30.-the most unfortunate day. Byron was
married on the 2nd of January, 1815, to Miss ?.lilbanke.

1. 42— the pilgrim. Childo Harold, see note to Title
above. '

Page 83. \ (50. -like the Chinese. See Introductions, p. xili.

Page 84. 1. 81.-" Mi pare che. . ." ' It soen.s to n,o that in
a country entirely poetic, that boasts the noblest and at
the same time the swoctost language, all the dilleront
styles may be atteiuj.tod, and that as long as the country
of Alfieri and of Monti has not lost the ancient vigour, in
all these it should be the first.'

1. 97.-Alfieri. Vittorio Alfieri (1749-1803), a great tragic
poet. " Alfieri is the great name of this age. The Italians
without waiting for the hun.trod years, consider him 'a
poet good in law.' His memory is the more dear to them
because he is the bard of freedom."— Note, Ist ed.

Monti. Vicenzo Monti (1754-182(i), epic poet.partizan
of the French order in Italy.

]. 99.— Canova. Antonio Canova (1757-1822\ a sculptor
whose fame then filled Europe.

Ugo Foscolo. (177(5-1827.) The successor of Alfieri in
tragedy, an eminent critic of literature, and an impas-
sioned advocate of republican liberty.

Pindemonti. (Jiovanni Pindemonti (1751-1814), drama-
tist, and his brother Ippolito (1753-1828), poet.'' Byron
mot the latter in Venice (Corresp,, Jmie 4th, 1817).

1. 100.— Visconti. Kniiius Visconti (1751-1818), and his
brother FiUipo (1754 1831), were eminent archoologists.

Morelli. Giacomo Morelli (1794-1819), librarian of St
Mork's, Venice.

Cicognara. Leopoldo Cicognara (17(57-1834), antiquary

306

NOTES.

111.

and writer on art, president of the Venetian Academy of
Fine Art.

Albrizzi. Isabella Albrizzi (1770-1830), author of sketches
of contemporary men and of a treatise on Canova. Byron
called her the Madame de Stael of Italy.

Mezzophanti. (Jiuseppe Mezzojdianti ;;i771-1818) car-
dinal, a linguist and philologist of marvellous gifts.

Mai. Ang«do Mai (1781-1854), cardinal and philologist.

1. 101— Mustoxidi. Andrea Mustoxidis (1787-1860), a
Greek who lived at Turin. He was publishing his Collec-
tion of Unpnbiinhed Greek Fraymenis at Venice in 1810-
1817.

Aglietti. Francesco Aglietti (1757-183G), a distinguished
Italian physician.

Vacca. Andrea Vacca Berlinghiori (1772-1820), an
eminent Italian surgeon, author of treatises on surgery.

Page 85. 11. 105f.--'« La pianta. . . " • The plant Man is born
more vigorous in Italy than in any other land— and that
the atrocious crimes themselves that are committed there
are a proof of it."

1. 119.— "longing after immortality."

Else wheiice tliis pleasiiipr hope, this fonddeah-e,
This loi-jjing ul'ti-r liniuortaiity.

—Addison, Cato, Iv. iv.

1. 122. — " Roma non e. , ." ' Rome is no longer what it
was before.'

1. 126.— carnage of Mont St. Jean. The battle of
Waterloo, called by the French Mont St. Jean.

betrayal of Genoa. "In 1814 Genoa rose against the
French, on the assurance given by Lord William Ben-
tinck that the allies would restore to the republic lof
Liguria] its independence. It had, however, been deter-
mined by a secret clause of the treaty of Paris that Genoa
should be inonrpornted with the dominions uf the King of
Sardinia." — Enc. Brit.

BYJfON: Crni.DE HAROI.iys PlLCRrMAGE. 307

Alluding

1. 128 -a work worthy of the better days. AiMwln.g
to Hohhouso's /.//,,.. ,rrUU; l„j an KnuHJunan resident il
Jar,. ,lur,n,, the la.t rei,,n of the F.,n,e,or Napoleon,
Lou.lon, 18i(; m « hich the author attacked the BouH.un
and praisc'd Napdlion,
1. liiO.— "Non moverc. "

I sliall never sound a strinfr
Wliciv tliL- niub di'iiCt-ns willi Its Idle duitter.
1. lB2.-transfer of nations. Fn.n, French to Austrian
pnncos. Vonu-e, Milan, Tuscany, M„<lena all passed into
Austrian hands by the Con^-rcss of Vicuna.

Page 86. 1. i:5o.-Habeas Corpus. This Act, ^vhi..h requires
the, mmedmto trial of anestcl persons, u.ay in times of pub-
lic danger bo suspended, as happened Feb. 21, 1817 when
owing to alleged secret meetings, au Act empowei-ed tho

fbl'lM ^'''''"' '"'^''''''"' "^ conspiring again.st

the British government. In .Tan., 1818, the Habeas Corpus
Ai>t was restored.

I. 137.-Verily they will have. Imitated from Matt. vi.
&, o, 10,

^^M^'b ! •~^^"^^^' V^^J^« ^^^tes her foundation as early
as the fifth century. No situati. n could be less inviting
than tlie seventy-two low-lying sandy islets and marshes
m the midst of which the new colony Mas established.
But organization, industry, ] atriotism in fullness of time
gave Venice the maritime supremacy of the world

Its government was an aristocratic republic, the elective
head of which, from the year (107, was the Duke of Venice
or as the word duke is in Venetian dialect, the doge (Lat'
duc-em). The very positi.n of Venice made her look for her
prosperity to the sea. In the tenth century the Vene-
tians, under tho Doge Piotro Orseo'o, cleared the Adriatic
of pirates and established a protectorate over the east,
shore. In commemoration of this sovereignty the annual
ceremonial and national festival of Ascension Day wis

m I f r

11 . 1 '

S' - i

tAi

308

NO 'ins.

instituted. Thia was at lirst niorely a la-ncdiction ul tlio
dogo and hirt court in tlie vcmhoI of statu, but dovolopod
later (sot; 1. 921 «)•

During the ('rusadcs tlio flootn of Veui(!0 transported the
Crus(id(!r^ to the East, and won her as recoiiiiicnse further
dominions in the Adriatie and (Huninercial stations in tlie
Eastern empire. Once in contact with tlie Uricnt, tlio
manufacture of glass and fine fabric developed, art and
letters revived. Her maritime ascendancy was complete
from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries.

In 1888 Venice took possession of the neighbouring
inland toAvns of Vicen/a, Feltro, and Hassano. in I 105 of
I*adua and Verona. ('rete(120|) and Cyprus (1187) were
added to her territories. Hrescia, Beryamo, ( 'rema. Rovigo.
and Cremona by the end of the lilteenth century were
provinces of Venice (see 1. 7).

On the capture of Constantinople by the Turks in 1453,
the Venetians enteied single-handed f)n a struggle to tlie
death (1. 1'2B). Within twenty years she lost her posses-
sions in the Archipelago; while the discovery of the Cape
route to India jjlaced the carrying trade of tlie East in the
hands of Portugal. One great vict(,ry crowned her arms
when, aided by Spain and the Pope, tlie battle of T^epanto,
1571, was won by the Venetian admiral Sebasti.m Venieri.

At the close of the 16th century, Venice was verging to
decay. Luxury, license, new routes of trade, contests
with Italian principalities, and the continual war with
the Turks were sajiping her f ower. From 1718 she ceased
to bo a factor in the affairs of Europe. On the outbreak of
the French Revolution, Venice refused to recognize the
new Republic. Napoleon, who was in charge of the Army
of Italy, marched against tjie city. On May 12th, 1797.
the last dogo of Venice. Ludovico Manini, abdicated (1. 311 ;
on the l<)th the French army entered the city, and th''
VonetiaTi republic was at an end, Venice was now French.
now Austrian, till she was finally handed over to Austria

iia. Rovi";<>.

fiVh'ON: ClllinE IfANOl.lfS rJLGNlMAGE. 3(«)

in IHII an.l nMuaiiu..! in Mio Austrian power till \m\
when Hho siuKicssfully revolted. '

Tl.o prais... of Venice, ospecually as soon hy moonlight,
mvo l.,..n .„ng hy „,any poets. One turns, however, for
the fullest expression of its l,ea„ty to the pages of Ruskin.
m his Moihrn PnuUwH an.l Tlir Stonv, of Venice.

Bridge of Sighs. The east side of the Palace of the
Dc^os, fac.ng the Kio Canal, is joined to the Prisons on the
other s„lo of the waterway. The elose-oovere.l stone-
.n.lge conne,.tin^^ th.-n. is railed Wv^ Ponfe. dei Sospiri ov
Un.lgo of Sighs, froM, the fact that the prisoners were led
across^to hear their doo,,,. The Prisons were built in

I. 1. -the enchanter's wand. The n.agici.n traced the
eabal.st.c hg.,res of his art with a wand. The i.nago
^ IS ro,u Mrs. lladelille:-- Its terraces, crowned with ail^y
yet n.ajest.c fabrics, touched, as they now were, with the
sp endnur of the setting sun, appeared as if they had been
called up fn.m Hh. oc..an by the wand . ' an enchanter. "-
Mydertcs of (f<(o//)ho, xo.

1 5.-cloudy wings... dying Glory. The gh,rious n.em-
ones of Venice rese.nlde the radiance of a magnific.ut
. sunset. °

1. 8.-wing«u Lion. The emblem of Venice The
legend is (hat St. Mark was put to death at Ser.pis A i,
b8. In H27 the Venetians got possession at Alexandria of
the body of this saint, and trausicrrcd it to Venice, makin-
iiiin patron saint of the city. '^

Medieval theology chose the lion as the emblem of St
^lark ; it therefore became the standard of the Venetian
republic.

At the soulh of the I>ia//.etta are tv.o great granite
columns, one surmounted by the ti^jro of St. Theodore on
a crocodile, the other by that of the winged lion of St
Mark.

i. 9.— sate, {sat). An archaic preterite of sit.

"}■ ■ i

!''}{

310

NOTES.

lit;

hundred isles. Seo 1. In. " Venice ia built on seventy-
two islands."— Bryun, Letters, July 1, 1817. Baedeker
gives the present number as 117.

1. 10. — a sea Cybcle. Cybele is usually pronounced
aib'ele but here, exceptionally nib el'e; she was the goddess
of Earth, and mother, some say, of Jupitor. The chief seat
of her worship was Phrygia. Bhe is usually represented as
vigorous, mnjestic, crowned with a crown of towers (cf.
'tiara of pr.md towers,' 1. 11) in significance of the cities
under her protection.

What tlioii!;h Cretans old called thee
Clty-crestcd Cyhelo.

—Shelley, (Edipns, 11. 11. 3.

Forth from a riifrpred arch, in the dusk below,
Came mother ('ybele— alone— alone—
In sombre chariot ; dark foldings thrown
About her maji>sty, and front death-pale,
With turrets crowned.

—Keats. Endymion.

fresh from Ocean. Recalling the myth of the birth of
Venus Aphrodite ((ik aphros, foam).

An old writer, describing the appearance of Venice, has
made use of the above! image, which would not be poetical
were it not trud. ' (^iio fit ut qui superne urbem contemple-
tur, turritam telluris iiuaginem medio Oceano figuratam
se putet inspicere.' M. A. Sabelii de Venetce Urbin situ
narratio, 1527, i. f. 202." — Note, Isted.

1. 11.— tiara {f.i ar'a). Originally a Persian turban ; hence
any coronet or any rich ornament for the head (Gk. tiara,
head-dress of Persian kings). Hero poetically the highest
lines of towers.

1. 17. — purple. The colour of the robes of tho emperors
of Rome ; hence siguifi-jant of empire.
Page 88. '.. 19.— Tasso. Tor.[uato Tasso (15'll-17n5), one of
the greatest and most unhappy of poets, conquered the
homage of Italy by his poetic gifts even in early youth. He
was called to the court of Alfonso d'Este, duke of Ferrara.

In 1572 he wrote Amintit

in 1575 he had finished his groat

BYRON: CHILDE HAKOLD^S riLGRIMAGE. 311
epic of Jerumhm Delivered. Already his misfortunes had
begun. Fable says that he was chased from the court for
loving his patron's sister, and finally shut up in a mad-
house by the order of the duke. Truth makes it evident
that Tasso s vanity, not satisfied with the favour of Al-
fonso meditated to transfer his talents to the court of
the Medic: in Florence. The favour of the duke cooled.
I asso s mind became embittered and affected. Years of in
carceration, flight, reconciliation, suspicion and estrange-
ment followed for the genius. Always verging on mad-
ness, he spent his last days wandering among the Italian
cities. Death even deprived him of the triumph and crown
ot laurel that were prepared for him in Rome in 1595

Tasso's echoes are no more. " The well-known 'son-
of the gondoliers, of alternate stanzas, from Tasso's Jeru-
safem, has died with the independence of Venice. Editions
of the poem with the original on one column, and the
Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the boatmen,
were once common, and are still to be found."-Note, 1st ed.
1. 20.— The pleasant place.

Ami there at Voiiice gave
His l)ofl.y to tliat pleasant country's eartli.

— Slialispore, likhard //., iv. i. 07,

1. 27 -the masque of Italy. Venice epitomised the gay
festivity of Italy. 'Masque' for masquerade, the usual
form of amusement in the Carnival. See Brownine's A
Toccata of Oaf uppi'n. ^

1. 31.— dogeless city. See 1. 1 rj.

. J*n^'~l^^ ^'f '°- ^^'^' ""^''^ ^^"'^«« '"^ V«'»««. crossing
the Grand Canal. The present bridge was begun in 1588

From antiquity is was the centre of trade. It is a sin-le
marble arch ninety-one feet in span, beautifully propor-
tioned ; under its arcades are two rows of shops

Shylock and the Moor. Shylock in The Merchant of
Venice and Othello in Shakspere's tragedy of Oihr/I.-.

1. 36.-Pierre. The chief character Tn Venice Preserved of

' i

312

NOTES.

Thomas Otway (IHS'i-KiHo). This play, pronounced Ot-
way's supreme effort in tragedy, is the story of the plot of
Venetians against the corrupt oligarchy of Venice, result-
ing in the death of JafHer and Pierre, the chief conspira-
tors.

11. 40ff.— that which Fate Prohibits. . . The brighter and
happier life refused us by fate amidst the realties of the
world, are supplied by the creati(»ns of the poet's fancy ;
this imaginary life first drives out the mean realities and
then fills their i)lace witli its own beautiful forms, which
refresh the heart saddened by the loss and disillusionment
and fill its vacancies with sweeter forms.

Page 89. 1. IH.— Such is the refuge. Tozer explains:—
"Youth takes refuge in the crcatic.ns of the imagination
in order to escape from decejitive hope," etc., which is
hardly true of life. Youth seeks in fiction the realization
of its brightest hopes of life, not finding it in the real world,
while age seeks refuge from dullness and vanity (' sans
everything'). Cf.

In youtli I wrote because my mind was full
And now because I find it friowin;; dull.

— IJyron, l>on .Juan, xiv. x.

1. 5.5. —I saw or dream'd of such. P:arly friends such
as Wingfield, Matthews and Eddlostono (' the only human
being who ever loved him in truth and entirely'), who all
died in 1811, and women he loved like Mary Chaworth
and ' Thyrza.'

1. 59.— aptly. Fully, precisely.

Page 90. 1. 64.— I've taught me other tongues. Byron knew
French and Italian, but not (jlerman.

1. 78. —fond. Fcolish,— archaic sense.

1. 82.— the temple where the dead. On Jlyron's death,
Colonel Stanliope, wlio brought his body to F^ngland,
wrote the executors : " I am of opinion tliat his L( rdship's
family should be immediately eousulted, a,^d tiiat sanction

!'! !

BVRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Sl.i

should be obtained for the public burial of his body either
in the great Abbey [of Westminster] or Cathedral of
London." "It has boan asserted," says Moore, "and I
fear too truly, that on some intimation of the wish sug-
gested in this last sentence being conveyed to one of those
Reverend persons who have the honours of the Abbey at
their disposal, such an answer was returned as left but
little doubt that a refusal would be the result of any more
regular application."— Moore's Life oj Byron, vi. 220f.

His remains were interred in the family vault in Huck-
nall village church, near Newstead.

1. 84.— laurels. The victorious crown for Greek heroes
and poets was woven from the berry-bearing leaves of the
laurel, the shrub sacred to Apollo.

1. 85.— the Spartan's epitaph. Brasidas the Spartan,
killed at Amphipolis, n.c. 422, in his victory over the
Athenians. "And ArgHoonida, the mother of Brasidas,
some that went to visit her after they returned
to Lacedtemon. . ., if her son died like a man, and
a worthy Spartan. And they straight did commend him
highly, saying : There was not left in all LacedcPmon
such a valiant man. She replied unto them : Say not
so, my friends, I pray you ; for Brasidas was indeed
a valiant man, but the country of Laconia hath many
more valianter than he was."— Plutarch, Lf/curgiis, tr.
North.

Page 91. 1. 88,— The thorns which I have reap'd. See In-
troductions, p. Iv.; cf. Hosea viii. 7.

1. 93.— Bucentaur. Pr. ba-sen'-tar. (Gk. bous, ox, ken-
tauros, centaur.) The name given to the splendid gilded
galley of Venice from which the marriage of the doge with
the Adriatic was celebrated.

On Ascension day (fortieth day after Easter) the doge,
apcompanied by the Venetian nobility and the Papal
ftUncio, sailed out upon the Adriatic, and dropped &,

■»■■':).-

«<

314

NOTES.

consecrated ring into the sea with the words : " We espouse
thee, O Sea, in sign of true and perpetual sovereignty."

This ceremonial (see 1. 1 n), dating from the victory of
Venice over Frederick Barbarossa, when Pope Alexander
III. wrote to Venice : ' May the sea be as obedient to you
as the wife to the husband.' It continued till the end of
last century, when Napoleon burnt the third and last
Bucentaur. Fragments of it are preserved in the Arsenal
as sacred relics of Venetian freedom.

1. 95.-St. Mark. St. Mark's Cathedi-al is the glory of
Venetian architecture, if not the most splendid church of
Italy. It was founded in 834 to receive the relics of St.
Mark, and took its definite form in 1052. It is in the
Byzantine style, with five great domes, gorgeous with
coloured marble and mosaics. See Euskin, Stones of Venice
and St. Mark's Rest.

yet sees the lion. See 1. 8 n.^ The lion was carried off
during the French occupation to the Invalides, Paris, and
restored to Venice only in 1815.

1. r;7.-an Emperor sued. Frederick Barbarossa (1123-
1190), son of Frederick of Hohenstaufen, Duke of Suabia
(hence ' the Saubian,' 1. 100), was defeated in his efforts to
humble Pope Alexander III. and the northern cities of
Italy, and compelled to acknowledge the pontificate of

o-;?^f. -S"" ^^ ^^^ reconciled to the Pope at Venice, July
2oth, 1177. ' ^

1. lOO.-now the Aastrian reigns. See 1. 1 „. By the
treaty of Campo-Formio, Venice passed into Austrian
hands, after having overturned her aristocratic govern-
ment in the name of liberty. In 1806 Austria restored
Venice to 1 ranee, but it was given back in 1814.

1. 102._Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces. Eeferrin-
to the decline of the Italian commonwealths, Venice"
Florence, Genoa, Pisa, etc. See 85. 132 n.

1. 106.-lauwine. Uuwine is the German for avalanche.
uyron pni^°v.,.ly pronounced the woid iatv'-wen.

BV/WAT: CHILDE HAROLD^S PILGRIMAGE. 315

1. I07.-Oh for one hour. "The reader will reccllect
• the exclamatiou of the highlander, Oh for one hour of
Dundee ! "—Note, Isfc ed.

bUnd old Dandolo. Eurico Da iidolo (1107? -1205) sent
by the Venetians to demand recompense from Manuel
w^s blinded, perhaps only partly so, by that emperor.
Elected doge in 1192 he led the Venetian galleys to the
capture of C, nstantinople (Byzantium), 1204. He him-
self, though ninety-seven years old, first reached the walls.
Page 92. 1. 109.-steeds of brass. Four magnificent bron.e
horses five feet in height in front of the middle arch and
over the chief portal of St. Mark's. They were brought
from Constantinople, where they probably had adorned a
triumphal arch, by Dandolo (1. 107 n.), after the fourth
crusade. " It would seem that tlie horses are irrevocably
Chian, and were transferred to Constantinople by Theo-
dorus."— Note, 1st ed.

^ \^\^--'^°"^'^ "menace. Pietro Doria, commanding the
fleet of Genoa in its war against Venice, 1380. penetrated
the Venetian lagoon, and answered tlie proposals of peace
with the words: "Ye shall have no peace until we have
fir : put a rein upon those unbridled horses of yours, which
are upon the porch of your evangelist St. Mark."

1. 118.-a new Tyre. In allusion to the commercial
greatness of the Ph.jeniciau city. See Ezekiel xxvii
Isaiah xxiii. 8. '

1. llO.-by-word. Nickname, epithet of scorn. The
word ' pantaloon,' buffoon, clown, is the Italian nickname
of the Venetians, from the first patron saint of Venice, St.
Pantaleon. The name was a usual one for the foolish old
man of early Italian comedy, properly a Venetian, and
later degraded to the meaning of buftoou.

Byron writes from a less valid explanation that panta-
loon is a corruption of an assumed pianfaleone, i. e. < plant

m.^l

the lion ' (the standard of tho republic).
1. 123.-the Ottomite. The Ottoman Turks : see 1

71.

316

NOTES.

w ^

1. 124,— Troy's rival, Candia. Caiidia is the town on the
north shore of Crete. Cnndia ' rivfillod ' Troy since it was
defended twenty-four years by tlie Venetians against tlio
Turks. Troy withstood tlie flreoks only ten years.

1. 125. — Lepanto. See 1. 1 n.

1. 127. — of glass. Figurative sense,- fragile.

1. 120. Where they dwelt. The P.ilaz/o Dueale dates in
part from 820; it was rebuilt in 1022 and in 1571. The
cliief feature of its architecture is the carved pillars of the
colonnades supporting the outer walls. It was the resi-
dence of the Doge and the nieeting-jtlace of the state
councils.

Page 93. 1. 1B8.— foreign aspects. 'Aspect' in a concrete
sense, something seen ; here, the French or, at that
particular time, tli^ Austrian tr(:o]is and officials.

I. 185.— Venice'. Tliis possessive is preferred by the p;,ets
for words ending in a sibilant,

II. ISfiff.— Athens' armies fell at Syracuse. Tn allusion
to the fatal expedition of Athens against the (ireek city
of Syracuse, Sicily, u.f. 415-111, in which the Athenian
forces under Nicias were ca])tured or destroyed.

"Some of tliem were saved also for Euripides' sake. For
the Sicilians liked the verses of this poet ])etter than they
did any other Grecian's verses. . . For if they heard any
rimes or songs li' mto his, they would have them hy
heart, and one wo l present them to another with great
joy. And therefore it Avas reported, that divers escapiu"-
this bondage and returning again to Athens, went very
lovingly to salute p]uripides, and thank him for their lives,
and told him how 1 hey were delivered from slavery, only
by teaching those verses which they remembered of his
works."— Plutarch, Nicias, tr. Korth. See Brownin."-
Balmistion's Adventure.

1. 137,— bore the yoke of war. A figurative expression,

in allusion to a Latin custom,— xnb Jug tun vitdere, by

which the vanquished had to pass beneath a yoke,

/iV/iON: CIIII.DE IlAROI.iys PILGIUMAGE. 317

I. M7.-choral memory. Memory kept fresh by the
recital and clianting of liis jmenis.

L 151 -Albion. The ' White Lau.l,' the ancient name
of Britain.

1. 153.— thy watery wall.

Set ill the silver soa,

Whicli servos it in llic ofTicc .,f

a wail.

-Slmli

siMTc, likhunl II., ii, i. 4;

Page 94. 1. 155.— city of the heart. Cf. 1. 094.
1. 158.— Otway. Sec 1. H-J n.

Radcliffe. Mrs. Anne RadclKre (17fi-l-1823), a favourite
author ana j.net .f lun ,lay. Byr(,n refers particularly to
her romance, The My.terie. of IMolpho. which gives some
pretty pictures of Venice.

Schiller. Frieclri.di von Schiller (1759-1805), the second
greatest poet and dramatist of Germany. Byron specially
refers to his (leiderscher^ or Tihost-Seer. an unfinished
prose roman^.e, the scene of wliich is laid in Venice.
Shakespeare. See I. o3 n.
1. 160.— thus. As depicted in § xv.

1. lOa.-I can repeople with the past. Byron's interest
in Venice prompted, it will be remembered, not only the
preceding stanzas but his Ode on Venire,—

Oh Venice ! Venice ! when thy marble walls,
and the two dramas Marino Faliero and The Two Foscari
1. 165.-chasten'd down. Softened, saddened by experi-
ence, not sanguine.

1. 172.-tannen. PI. of Cer. Tanne. fir-tree. Byron's
note takes the word erroneously, as meaning specially
'a species of fir peculiar to the Alps, which only thrives
m very rr)cky parts, where scarcely soil suflicieut for its
nourishment can be found. On tljese spots it grows to a
greater height than any other mountain tree."

Page 95, b 182.~life and sufferance,
suffering life.

A couimoii figure, —

f! ■ ' '

I;- ii I

316

NOTES.

1. 185.— the wolf dies in silence. When lie [the wolf]
is wounded by a bullofc, he is heard to cry out; and
yet, when surrounded by the peasants, and attacked with
clubs, he never howls as a dog under correction, but
defends himself in silence, and dies as hard as he lived."—
Goldsmith, Animalnl Nature, iv. ii. from Button.

1. 19G.— the reed. Hope.

Page 96. 1. 200.— scorpion. See B. V. 1. 352 n.

1. 207. — darkly. Mysteriously.

'• 214. — the cold. Friends estranged, whoso memory is
one of ' the spectres ' of >.ho buried past.

1. 217.— But my soul wanders. The transition from
Venice to greater Italy. Cf. Tr. 1. KJS.

The supreme and

Page 97. 1. 223.— the master-mould.

most perfect type.

1. 22G.— commonwealth of kings. The ancient republic
of Home, where, the poet says, each man was a king.

1. 238.— Friuli's mountains. Friuli is the district north
of the Adriatic, bounded by a spur of the Carnian
Alps. It once was subject to Venice. " The sun sinking,
in the west, tinted the waves and the lofty mountains
of Friuli, which skirt the northern shores of the Adriatic,
with a saffron glow, wlxile o'er the marble porticos and
colonnades of St. Mark were throAvn the rich lights and
shades of evening."— Mrs. Eadcliffe, Mysteries ofljdolp/io,

XV.

Tozer explains : "The mountains intended are evidently
those to the west of Venice, while Friuli is to the north-
oast of that city." From the preceding note this is evi-
dently an error. Tlie poet is standing at his summer
home by the Brenta to the south of Venice. As he looks
north he sees the western glow sweeping alcng the blue
mountains of Friuli. Then (1. 247) as the moon rises
higher, he still sees over the mountains to the north-west,
the sunset glory fading before the victorious night.

^y^CW: Cim.DE HAHOLD^S P/LGl^mAGE. 319

Jds^ltr!"'* ^ "y*^!°^"^''«^l goddess, messenger of the
gods, and a personification of the rainbow

tho ?f -^'^^'^ "«^st. Diana, or Selene, as goddess of
he Moon, bore in ancient representations as in figu^ i„
the te,nple of Delos, a crescent moon on he; head. ^
in ;ht!°^*^' '''""*• ^^J»« Greeks imagined islands

sea oftlven. ^^" ''""^'^^^^' ^^ ^'^ ^^^ ^^ - ^he

Page 98. 1. 244ff.-A single star. " The above description
-ay seem fantastical or exaggerated to those who have
never seen an Oriental or Italian sky, yet it is but a litl
and hard y sufficient delineation of an August eve^ni
(he e,gh eenth), as contemplated in one of^ many ride!

1. ^10.— Yon sunny sea. Cf. 11. 236f

1. 247.-Rhaetian hill. The Rha-tian Alps properly ex-
tend from the Splugen Pass down to the valley f the
Adda, the ancient boundary of the republic of Veni e and
the duchy of Milan. "iv«niceana

fbi" f^T*^""'';'^^''* ^""**- The Brenta flows down from
the Austnan Tyrol, passes near Padua, and empties Lt"
the lagoon of Venice on the south. Its 'deep Syes' are
reflected from the sky. ^ ^ ^^®

1. 253.— Fill'd with th* face Thi^ oi,„ •
the river. Cf. ^^ '^^ '^ "^^^^^^^^ i"

The calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like stni.s of the sky, fallen through me on high
Are each paved with the moon and these. '

, -^^ .., -Shelley, The Cloud.

1. 259. -hke the dolphin. The Coryphene. " Coryph^na
are genera ly though a misapplication of the name oaTled
'Dolphms. They attain to a length of six feet ! T '
beauty of their, unfortunately fugitive, colours has ever
been a subject of admiration. As far as thp L
pt^tHo of ^A---.,-v'- ■^ /^^^^r as the colours are

c..')pa.k of de..npuon. those of the common species (C
fnppuru.), which is often seen in the Mediterranean are

fjj

320

JV07JiS.

Hilvory blue alK.ve, with markiiifis of u dtM-pcr uzuro, anci
rufloctiona of pure gold, tho Iowit parts boing h'lnoii-yuUovv,
markod witli pulo bhu". Tlio pectoral fins aro partly load-
colour, partly yellow; tli'i anal is yellow, tho iris of tho
eye golden. These iridescent colours change rai)idly whilst
tho fish is dying, as in tho Mackorol.— ( Jiinlher, /'7«/t«'*,
p. 458. Falconer gives a vivid description of this ' dolphin'
in his Shi^twreck, ii. 8;{|f.

I. 2(U.— 'tis gone -and all is gray. Byvon hero closes his
description of W ni-o as she fades from view with the glory
of sunset on tho i)lain of T.onibardy. It was as a "-lorious
sur.set that her history a])penrod to him in the opening.

II. 2()2fl.— a tomb in Arqua. " Arqiu\ is twelve miles
from Padua. . .in the bosom of the Eugiinean Hills. After
a walk of twenty minutes across a flat well-wo<,d('d
meadow, you come to a little blue lake, clear but fathom-
less, and to tho foot of a succession of acclivities and hills,
clothed with vineyards and orchards, rich with fir and
pomegranate trees. . From the banks of the lake the
road winds into the hills, and tho church of Arqua
is soon seen between a cleft where two ridges sh)pe
towards each other, and nearly enclose the village. Tho
houses are scatterod at intervals on the steoj) sides (,f these
summits; and that of the poet is on the edge of the little
knoll overlooking two descents, and commanding a view,
not only of the glowing gardens in the dales immediately
beneath, but of the wide plains, above whose low weeds of
mul' erry and willow, thickened into a dark mass by
fosto ns of vines, tall single cypresses, and the spires of
towns, are seen in the distance, which stretches to the
mouths of the Po and the shores of the Adriatic."—
Note, 1st ed.

Cf. Shelley, Lines Written Among the Euganean IliUs.

1. 2(33.— sarcophagus. (Gk. aarkophagos. flesh-eating.
a term applied to a peculiar limestone of which tombs were
made.J A coffin of richly decorated stono.

H.-a f *i ^^'^'^'^ "» I.«>1 hikI died at AniuA in 1374

H.S father wan banishod from Florence in 180 l,o " Ift ."
Dante, both bo.ng ' Whites' or den.ocratic republll .1

!• . f»»'oUua no wioto those soniiots in ffin'P,,,
can ,l,„,.,„t wl,ich giv„ hi,,, a „,„,.„ i„ tboZy.ltZ
•>' l,uv„,s f„u,„|„,l a ■„,» l„„,,„. ,,, ,.?, f """''^

^e hu..i..d, i., a »a,.c::;:t ;"„:,;:","? 'r '"i '°
piiasto. o„ a,. cevaL,, Wse, a,:,' ::::i'-'rr 1* :i'r

tlon with moaner tombs. "-Nolo, 1st od. ''"^•'''la-

Potr,rl ^, B°*°" '""' "'"'■ S""' n«n,es,-I,„,te

^HnV^r-rLr^trr^r '-'t-'"'

».^e.aW.hed the Tuscan dialeotLrrm^j^dTrn

his land reclaim. Rescue his l„„d (r„,„ the foroiirn
mercenary, and restore it to liberty; an allusion to te
odes addressed to his country (/Wi„ ,„;„) »„^ ,° ',
younger Colonna or Eien.i(.VrLo'L<0.' ^ *" "'°
1. 269 -Watering the tree. The laur<,l (Ital. huro)
requently celebrated in Pet,-a,.oi,-s v.rse, in allusion to
the name of Laura. CI. So,„ut ^M and »sr- i " ,
cxvi., wiiioh reads,- esp^ia^iy „o,„,j(

M ;

322

NOTJiS.

Iv'f'mm

Jii

Not all the dtreiims that water the lii'i»?ht earth,
Not nil th«! trues to wliicli its Jireivst >rives hirth,
Can c(>)liiiK<lro|M>r liealliiK halm impart
To slack the tire whieli Htorches my sad lieart,
As one fair i)rool< whicii ever weeps with me,
Or, which I praise and sinjj:, as one dear tree...
Thus on fresh sliores tlie lovely lanrel jfrows.

— Tr. l>y MacffreKor.

By ' watering tho trco,' tho poet means that Potrarch,
in celebrating tho laurel in his pathetic love sonnets
(a concrete instance for his sonnets in general) achievorl
fame. Tozer explains: "'Watering the laurel' means
fostering liis reputation. . .with iho lamentations over his
hopeless love."

1. 27r».— a pyramid. Poetry may Im« ' more lasting than
brass ' (Horace, Odea, iii. xxx.), and a great author than tho
pyramids. Cf. (Tozer), —

What nt>eds my Shakespt^are for his hoiiour'd bones
The lalioiir of an ajye in piled stones ?
Or that his luillow'd rtlics sliould l)e hid
Under a star-y puintinj? pyramid.

—Milton, Kpitaph on fthukeipeare.

1.281. — complexion. Nature, character, — a frequent
sense in older literature.

I. 285.— a distant prospect... Of busy cities. Padua
and Venice. See Shelley, Lines among the Eucjanean Hills.

Page 100. 1. 293.— Idlesse. Idleness. A poetical coinage of
Elizabethans such as Spenser, and hence favoured by imi-
tators like Thomson. It is about the only trace left of the
archaisms so i^lentiful in the first cantos of C.II.P.
morality. Moral use and value.

II. 297f.— man with his God. Perhaps an allusion to
Gen. xxxii. 24; and Kph. vi. 12.

1. 298.— with demons, who impair. " The struggle is to
the full as likely to be with diemons as with better
thoughts. Satan chose tho wilderness for the temptation
of our Saviour. And our unsullied .Fohn Locke preferred
the presence ot a child to comi)let<! solitude."— Note, lat ed.

BYRON: CHIl.DK lIAKOl.iys PIl.GKIMACE. 323

>• HOa. -Deeming themselves predestin'd. Ryron'amirso
m hmJK.yhou.1 .iuys at AlM-nlorn wus May (iray. a i.ioits
Calvuust for whom ho hnd a warm regard. She im-
pressed on her charge the knowlodge if not the practice of
the tenets of her religion, and gave him a familiarity
with the Bil.le ho never lost.

1 8()7.-Ferrara. A few miles s. of the Po, twenty-seven
miles N.K.N, of Bologna ; the capital seat of the ducal hotise
of Kste and hoir.e of Ariosto an.l Tasso. Under the house
ot Kste (see 1. 311 n.) the town flo.irish.d, with a p.pnla-
tu.n of a hundml th- -and inhal.itants, but it has decayed
to a quarter of t^at ni, nber, and can show only 'grass-
grown streets ' & id mould -ing palaces.

Byron visited F. rarn ,i April, 1817, writing shortly
afterwiifds his Lnrt -' ft' lasso.

Page loi. 1. HU.-Este. Th.« fau.ily of Este, a very ancient
(.ne, attained in 1 152 the duchy of Ft^rrara. which con-
tinued in the hands of powerful princos-of whom Alfonso
(lou8-f)7) was the greatest and, leing childless, the last
lasso and (iuarini, author of the Faithful She,;herd, wrote
under Alfonso's j.rotection ; but they are only instances of
the constant patronage of art and letters exercised by tliis
Jiouse.

1.315.- Dante's brow alone. Dante came first and alone
as the fathrr of Italian poetry. Later there Avere ,„any
poets. Dante desired, but never received, the laurel crown

1. 316. Tasso is their glory and their shame. Tasso's
insanity showed itself in mehu.choly ami suspicion, in a
great dread of poison and the anath.ina of the church His
first imprisonment in 1577 was followed by Ids fli-ht from
Ferrara, when he wandered to Naples and Eome and Turin
In 1579 he returned to Ferrara, and was coldly received.
An outburst of passion was followed by a seven-years' con-
finement in th, Hospital of .St. Anna. His Jerusalem De-
hvered had meanwhile awakened the enthusiasm of Italy
and popular feeling in favour of the poet showed itself in

■ m I

:v>i

NOTES.

petitions to Duke Alfonso. In 158H he was liberated, and
left Ft'rrara for ever.

The attitude of the duke in incarcerating Tasso is viewed
by Byron in its darkest light. The imprisonment was
probably a necessity, on account of the poet's malady,
rather than an act of tyranny or of personal revenge for
Tasso's alleged love of the duko's sister Leonora. Byron
(see his Lament of Tasso, ix.) and to a less extent Goethe
take the latter view.

" The cruelty of Alfonso," says Hobhouse, •' was not left
witliout its recompense, oven in his own person. He sur-
vived the affections of his subjects and of his dependants. . .
His last wishes were neglected ; his tcstamc-.t cancelled.
His kinsman Don Caesar shrank from the excommunica-
tion of the Vatican, and after a short struggle, or rather
suspense, Ferrara passed away for ever from the dominion
of the house of Este."— //e.s<. Illudrations, p. 27.

Symonds sums up the quesiion :— " The duke, instead of
acting like a tyrant, showed considerable forbearance. He
was a rigid and not syrnjiathetic man, as egotistical as a
princeling of that age was wont to bo. But to Tasso he
was never cruel— hard and unintelligent perhaps, but far
from being that monster of ferocity which has been
painted" {Enc. Brit.).

1. 817.— his cell. In the Hosjntal of St. Anna, Ferrara.
"The dungeon is below the ground flf)or of the hospital,
and the light penetrates through its grated window from'
a small yard which seems to have been common to other
cells. It is nine paces long, between five and six wide and
about seven feet high. . . 'I'he poet was a prisoner in the
same room only from the middle of March, 1579, to Decem-
ber, 1580, when he was rejiioved to a contiguous apartment
much larger, in which, to use his own expressions, he could
philosophize and walk about... One honest line [of the
inscriptic n on it] might have been allotted to the condem-
nation of the gaoler." - Hubhouse, Ilht, niustratio:^, olf.

BYROAT: CHILDE HAROLD'S PII.CRIMAGE.

S9r.

Eliiborato court

1. 331.— pageants {pnj'ant or pu'JaufX
spectacles.

''u^e ^^ ^^^-C-scan quire. Quire, choir,-a forced
use u, the sense of society. " As to the opposition which
he /.,.«.,« .,u encountered from the C'ruscun academy,
who degraded Tasso from all competition from Ariosto
bdowBojardoand Pulci, the dis,race of such opposition
must be in some measure laid to the ch.rge of Alfonso
and the court of Ferrara."-Note, 1st ed

The Academia della Ci-usca, founded in 1582, was especi-
ally devoted to language a.id belles-lettres. Many of its
members approved of the pamphlet issued in ir>85 by
Salviati, who under pretext of defendi,. Ariosto, made a
bitter attack on Tasso. Later on the Florentine iZly
did full justice to the poet. ^

L 340.-Boileau Nicolas Boileau (lfi37-17ll), legislator
of Parnassus author of the Art Poeti.ue, which gave clear-
ness and good sense to French verse. Byron had in mind
Boileau s criticism of Tasso, in Sat. ix. 11. i7Gf.
A Malherbe, h Racan, i)i«5ferer Tli^opl.ile
Et le clinquant du Tasse k tout I'or de Vir'gile

Byron tlio romantic ,,„ot, naturally ,l..t,.,to,I, anil waa
unjn, t,,, th„ ringed Alexandrine, the n,.rn,ai vorle "
t rench classic poetry.

1. 3 liJ.— Torquato. See 1. 19 n.

1. =554 -Bards of Hell and Chivalry. D..tite, with refer-
ence to the lYerno, the first part of his /..•..•,;« Co J^I',
and Ariosto for Jus epic of chivalry, the Orfando Furioso

1. cioo. —The Tuscan father's comedy divine Dan i .. A i;

ghieri(1205-lH21)wasborninFlorenclcapiLo?Caty'
A part.>.an of the moderate (iuelph faction, he was ban-
ished by the successful extremists in 1302. The rr=-* rf hi,
life was spent in exile, in different parts of Italy. His last
days were passed in Ravenna (see 1. i05 «.)unde;the protec-

326

NOTES.

tion of Guido da Polenta. His cliief works are the Divhii
Comedy (Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise) and the New Life.

Page 103. 1. 357. -The Southern Scott. . . Ludovico Ariosto
(1474-1553) wrote at the court of Ferrara an epio of
chivalry, the Orlando Furioso, a continuation of the Or-
lando Inamorato of Boiardo. The hero of this poem is the
famous Roland of French story, who became mad, he
relates, through love of the Paynim princess Angelica.
Besides this epic he wrote comedies, sonnets, and satires.

1. 359.-Ariosto of the North. '• I do not know whether
Scott will like it, but I have called him the ' Ariosto of the
North,' in my text. If lie should not, say so in time."—
Byron to Murray liis publisher, Aug., 1817. " With regard
to the ' Ariosto of the North,' surely their themes, chivalry,
war, and love were as like as can be; and as to the com-
pliment, if you knew what the Italians think of Ariosto,
you would not hesitate about that ... If you think Scott
will dislike it, say so, and I will expunge. I do not call
him the ' Scotch Aritsto,' which would be sad provincial
eulogy, but the ' Ariosto of the North ' meaning all countries
that are not *S'oM^/t."— Letter to Murray, Sept. 17th, 1817.
1. 360.— ladye-love. See Romhelle, 1. 6 n. ' Lady-love,*'
usually the h.ved woman, here is, romantic love of woman.
1. 36L— The lightning: rent. "Before the remains of
Ariosto were removed from the Benedictine church to tlie
library of Ferrara, his bust, which surmounted his tomb,
was struck by lightning, and a crown of iron laurels
melted away."— Note, 1st ed.

1. 365.— Is of the tree no bolt of thunder. " The eagle,
the sea calf, the laurel, and tlie white vine, were amongst
the most approved preservatives against lightning. Juno
chose the first, Augustus Csesar the second, and Tiberius
never led to wear a wreath of the third when the
weather threatened a thunderstorm."— Note, 1st ed.

1. 3(i8.-the lightning sanctifies. " The Curtian lake
and the Ruminal fig-tree in the Forum, having been

BYRON: CFITT.LE HAROLH'S PILGRIMAGE. .^07

touched by lightning, wore held sacred, and the memory
of the accident was preserved by the puteal, or altar
resembling the mouth c.f a well, with a little chapel cover-
ing the cavity supposed to be made by the thunderbolt
Bodies scathed and persons struck dead were thought to bo
incorruptible; and a stroke not fatal conferred perpetual
dignity upon the man so distinguished by heaven."— Note
Ist ed. '

11. 370f.-ltalia ! oh, Italia I . . . Stanzas xlii., xliii. are a
free translation of Sonnet Ixxxvii. of the Florentine poet
Vincenzo da Filicaja (1642-1707): —
Italia, Italia, o tu, cui feo la sorte
Dono infilice tie hellczza, ondo hai
Fuiiesta dote (I'infiiiiti puai,
Clie in IVoiite st-iitti per gran doglia porte :
Deh ! fossi tu men bella, o almen piC forte;
Onde assai pii'i ti paventasse, o assai
'1 'ai .asse men, ehi del tuo bello ai rai
Par die si struga, e pur ti sflda a niorte.
Che or gii'i dall' Alpi non vedrei torrent!
Seender d'arinati, ne di sangue tinta
Bever I'onda del Po gallici armentl,
Nfe te vedrei del non trio ferro cinta
Pngnar col braeoiodi straiiiere genti,
Per scrvir sempre, vincitrice, o vint'a.

The following is a closer renderino- •—
Italia, O Italia! hapless thou,
Who didst the fatal gift of beauty gain,
A dowry fraught wit'i never-ending lain,-
A seal of sorrow stamped upon tli v brow ;

O, were thy bravery more, or less thy charms '
Then should thy foes, they whom thy loveliness
Now lure^ afar to conquer and possess,
Adore thy Mjauty less, or dread thine arms !

No longer then should hostile torrents pour
Adown the Alps ; and Gallic troops be laved
In the red waters of the I'o no more ;

No longer then, by foreign courage saved,
Barbarian succour should thy sons imnln.-^ ._
Vanquished or victorg, still by Goths enslaved.

—Anon.

328

NOTES,

1. 372.-funeral. 'Fuueste' in the original is fatal,
unhappy, tragical ; 'funereal,' here would be more exact
i-nglish.

Pap 104, 1. 388.-Wandering: in youth. In his first visit to
Greece in 1809-11, recorded in the closing stanzas of Canto

1. 389.-The Roman Friend. " The celebrated letter of
Servius Sulpicius to Cicero, on the death of his daughter
describes as it then was, and now is, a path which I often
traced in Greece, both by sea and land, in different jour-
neys and voyages. 'On my return from Asia, as I was
8 uhng from ^Egina towards Megara, I began to contem-
plate the prospect of the countries around me • vEgina
was behind, Megara was before me; Piraeus on the right
Corinth on the left ; all which towns once famous and
fl ninshing now lie overturned and buried in their ruins
Upon this sight, I could not but think presently within
myself, Alas ! how do we ])oor mortals fret and vex our-
selves if any of our friends happen to die or be killed
whose life is yet so short, when the carcasses of so many
noble cities lie here exposed before us in one view ' »
Cicero^^ Ephtolae ad Fam.,ix. v. 4., tr. Middle ton. -Note
1st ed. •

Byron refers, in the first part of this note, to his life in
Greece in 1809-1811.

^\^^f'7'^^^^'^' ^ '^^"'''^"' °"^" ^ «^^y' *^^'«nty miles
west of Athens.

1. 393.-iEgina. The little island in the gulf of JFgina
between Attica and the Morea. '

Piraus {pi re'u.). The seaport of Athens and distant
from It five miles to the 8. E. It wa . destroyed by Sulla B c
86. Its prosperity has somewhat revived ia recent years '

1. 394 -Corinth. The city, on the Isthmus of Corinth
forty-three miles west of Aiaens. It was once the centre

of tho trade with the East,-a powerful, luxurious, sover-
eign city.

BYRON:

CIllLDE IIAROLD^S PILGRIMAGE.

. 320

1. 4lo.-wrong;s should ring. . .side.

Whereof all Europe rings from side to side.

—Milton, Sonnets, xxii.

-any churches 0^0^1:^11'''''' ^^ ^^'^ '''''''''' ^^«

I. 420.-kneIt to for the keys of heaven Tn <•
to the supremacy of the Koman Pontiff 1 I ''''"''
trusted, as many believe tiri-ev f 1 "^ ^'^ '"■

The phrase here -i-estrthe entV V TV"" ^"'^ ^^"•
nations for missionaHes a we 1 . H "' "" '"'^'^^^"^

under interdict or o.::^:^^^^^::!^!:^^
privile-es of religion. restoiation to the

in commerce and avf Wk ^^^^ "^P«^-«^''^««'^ of Florence
I r- , ,- . ""• "' '""i •■i.i), Boboli,

ru'Zr""'"-""'"" "'" ^i™ i"l» epiihe'J

Florence

of beautiful

;^30 NOTES.

In the viiJIey beneath where, white and wi<1e
And washed by the nioiniiif«: water-H:olrl,
ft^iorence lay out on the mountain •ido.

— Hr.jwning, Old I'ti'f.unvi in Florence.

Athens wu ; the home of arts and literature durin?^ tho
Pericloan age. The great buildiiig-^ of Lhd A'.^ropoliHi, thf.
tragedies of .Eschylus and Sophocles, the philosophy of
Socrates and Plato, the postry of Pindar and Simonides,
the sculptaro of Phidias and Myron— al! marked that
wonderful timt%

1, 429. — her redundant horn. A a aliusiou to the cornu-
copia or horn of plenty of Zeus, wiiicK Contained vhatever
tho possoss-jr desired ; hence symbolic of abu!> lance.

L r38.— the eoddess. The Venus of Medici, discovered
last 1.1 utury bear Rome, and now standing in the Uffizi
CSi'i ^,ry . Fl.-rence,— an undrapeti statiie of Peritelic marble,
ar- ir;eali.iavi()n of softness, grace, ;md purity, and a
atundard of female beauty. It belongs to the later and
less spiritual period of Greek art, probtbly contemporary
with Augustus.

ioves in stone. Represents the loving woman.

1. 435.— The ambrosial aspect Ambrosia (6k. ambrosia,
pertaining to the immortals), the food of gods; hence
'ambrosial,' divinely fragrant, divinely beautiful.

1. 443.— Dazzled and drunk with beauty. Lord Byron
visited Florence in 1817, on his way to Rome. "I
remained," he says, ' but a day ; however, I went to the
two galleries, from which one returns drunk with beauty.
The Venus is more for admiration than love ; but there
are sculpture and painting, which, lor the first time at all,
gave me an idea of what people mean by their cant about
these two most artificial of the Arts ! "—Letter to Murray,
Ap. 26, 1817.

1. 445.— Chain'd to the chariot. An allusion to tho
Roman triumph, in which the captives in chains preceded
the victor's car; see 1, 71(> n.

*raw.- cmrnE h.4ko;.d's nn.aKiAUGE. 331

Page 107 I. 118- paltry jargon of the marble marl A

.uchasaro Wd but „„t ,„lt i„ a ™,c.r,.„,„ „, ^lafj™;
1. 400 -the Dardan Shepherd's prize. Danian or Dar
da„,a„ >, Trojan, Iron, D„rd„„u,, „„„e„o,. „r PA™ o,

vont the fu flimont of „mi„„„, „r„ph„cio, at hi» l.irth
I ho on as the arbiter o, l.auty, ho award™, the g i i

'W on «"' """■ '""■ "'•■■"' '^""-'> »"" H™ >.-
Aennyson s (yv«o?2e.

1. 452.— Anchises i'a?i fr/'v^^z^ ti,;„ rn •
hewed (.more deopl/h,:::*, forttZt; rvUr
rhe,r ,„„ „.a, .F„„„s, •■ „,,„,„ bright Aphrodfte conce ved

a "omT'VH " 1'"" "' •"""-" '"'''• » S"")"- ""IW
lu a moital (Homer, //. ii. 82Uf,).

1.454.-vanquish'd Lord of War. Mars (Gk Ares^
His amours .id. Venus (Aphrodite) are told in he cth h
book of the Odyssey, and in Lucretius, i. Biff. Thl ^

ttlirr- '^^ ^'"^''^ "*' ^'- ^^-^-^^'^^ ^o Ve^ in

and t>u.s looici... up, ^1. ^.S':!"^'^!,?;:;:^--^^^"-'

eafrer eyes with love, ir.i/inc- inf.M.n., .. " ^^ *^^''*''*'^ ''*«

Jte't^'tho^fltei:- "^ ^'""' ^'■"'- ''^^ ^""'^ "" «

Atque ociilos pascat uterque suos.

—Ovid, Amor, lib. H.
1. 4r,0.-circunifused. Surrounded with bithed in r •
ouufunJere, to pour about). Cf. Lucr U 'etll ""
sujMir, ' poured round above.' ctrcumt

nfusa

Page 108. 1.470. -artist and his

ape. Cf.H.Walpole: "Every

332

Aror£s.

genius lias liis apes" {N. J'hig. Dirf ); Mio artist's ape ih
the amateur, tlie dilottauto.

1. 471. — connoisseurshlp. Prt perly, the state tf being a
connoisseur (kon es er'), a competent jurlge of fine arts.
Here used in satirical humour as a title (Fr. from Lat.
rof/nosco, I know.)

1. 474. — crisp. To curl in little waves, to ruffle.

1. 478. — Santa Croce's holy precincts. Sante Croce
(irotch'c\ 'Holy Cross,' is is a cruciform church of Florence,
built in 1142, containing ( n the right aisle the tombs of
]\Iichaol-Angt'lo, Alfieri. and Machiavelli, and on the left
aisle that of Galileo. Byron calls it ' the Mecca,' the
• Westminster Abbey' of Italy.

I. 484. — Angelo. Michael- A ngelo {mlkel an'jelo){lAlh-
15G4), one (>f the supreme gerius of modern times; sculp-
tor, architect painter, and pcet.

Alfieri (a//fi a're). Vittorio Alfieri (1749-1803), author
of a large number of tragedies— chiefly on classical sub-
jects, such as Polynices, Antigone, Ore.stes, or on historical
subjects, such as Philip II. and Mary Sfnart,— and of a few
comedies. He founded a school of simple and lofty tragedy.

1. 485.— The starry Galileo. The astronomer Galileo
Galilei (loGl-K) 12 1, i)rofe3sor of mathematics at Pisa and
Padua, discoverer of the satellites of Jupiter. His teach-
ing was condemned by tlie Pope in IBT'i, and he himself
imprisoned in 1(;P)8, and forced under pressure of the
Inquisition to abjure the Copernican (the modern) theory
of astronomy. Pronounce gal i Wd or (Ital.) gah le UVd,

480. — Machiavelli {mak e ah vel'e.). Niccolo Machiavelli
(14()9-15'27), Florentine statesman and author. His Prince
{II Principi), has been regarded as a mere exposition of
the art of tyranny, and, under malign representations,
this man, cue of the ablest of Florentine patriots, has
given his name to a synonym of duplicity. "It will be
readily imagined that the prejudices that have passed the

BVA'OJV: CHI LI) E lIANOI.iys ril.CRlMACE, WX^

name of Mnchiavelli into an upithot proverbial of in-
iquity exist no loiiKcr in Fhircnce." -Note, 1st ed.

1. 189.— rents Of thine imperial g^arment. Like Caesar
dying,—

You nil do know this mantle. . .

Look, in this i)lai'e ran (.'assins' (laf,'f.'er through :

Sec what a rent the envious Casca uiadt;.

— Sliakspere, Julius Catmir, iii. 11. 170ff.

Page lot) 1. If 12.— Spirits that soar from ruin. As tho phije-
nix from her aslios.

1. i93.— impregnate. Endued,— tlie —ale is an imita-
tion of the Latin perfect participle in —atna; ct. , in their
participial uso, situate, consecrate, otc.

1. 495.— Canova. See 81. lO-l and n.

1. 198.— The Bard of Prose. Boccaccio; see 1,5] In.

1. 502.— 1 heir country's marbles . . A criticism of the
absence of busts of tho three greatest Florentines in the
church of Kanta Ci'occ, Since 1829 a tomb, and since
1865 a colossal statue, commemorate Dante at Santa '^'ruce.

1. 505.— Ungrateful Florence ! This line is periiaos a
reminiscence of a line from Michael- Angelo's sonnet on
the same theme :

In^rata patria, o ciclla sua fortuna
A suo danno nutrlce !

1. 506.— Like Scipio. .by the upbraiding shore. Publius
Cornelius Scipio Airicanus (B.C. 2;{5-I8;5), con<iueror of
Hannibal in the second Punic Waw Incurring the dislike
of the Senate, he proudly- witiidrew to his estate at Liter-
num, Campania, wiiere ha died, after ordering these words
to be engraved on his tomb : " L ni>rateful country, thou
shalt not have my bones" (Valerius Maxiinus). Livy adds
that his monument was built there "lest his funeral should
be solemnized in his ungrateful country" (xxxviii. ili!).

Liternum is the modern Patria, near Cumae and the Bay
of Naple ;.

i. 5j7.— Thy factions. The. (iuelphs, 'the papal a»(J

3.34

NOTES.

popular party,' and GliilxiUincs, ' the imperial and aristo-
crat^' 1 •*''.' Dante iKjlouged to the Bianchi, 'Whites'
or flM^cierat uclphs; aco 1. 855 n.

1. '"il". ^rave, though rifled. Petrarch's tomb was
1 roken open nnd some relics Hto'c in 1030.

Page no. 1.514. — Boccaccio (>o^ AaA'/s/to). CJiovanni Boc-
caccio (1313-1375), born at (?ertaliln,in the noighbotuhood of
Florence, to which .•■' ' ame early. He served tlie state
as ambassador, and lectured, towards his death, on Dante.
HiM chief of many works in prose and verso is the Decam-
eron^ or ten days' tales, a collection of one hundred love
stories represented as being told T»y gay Florentines in the
gardens near the city, during the plague of 1348. This
work made a vast impression on Italy, where it aided in
setting up of the Tuscan dialect as standard Italian, and
on foreign natioii:i, who imitated the talus,

Boccaccio lived most of his latter days at Certaldo, and
was buried there in the church of St. Michael. His much-
visited tomb was removed in 178:5 under the law of the
grand-duko Leopold H. concerning b i.;!.., in churches,
when the tomb was broken and its contents, including a
roll of parchment, ta1<en out and sub- '(piontly lost. From
the term ' hyauia big- t, ' and Ilobhouse's note, it < quite
clear that Byron and his commentator believed that the
sacrilege was due to the clerj^ of Certaldo venting their
rage agaiast the famous anchor for having taken his gay
liceiitioiis charac* rs from tiie cloister as well as the city.
' 'ns is ". mista' But the careless.ioss and ignorance

attending the reirujval of the tomb are not h > blame-
worthy even if bigotry was not at the bottom of it.

1.52 1. — hyaena. This anii . 1 preys on carrion, even
plundering the fira^.s for food.

1. 525.— The Caesar's pageant. An inexa- 1 reminis-
cence of Tacitus, Ajinah, iii. 76. .Tuni.i. sister of Marcus
Brntus and " of ' j-ssiu.-?. ioft lesracies -O the irrcat men
of Rome, om w, wever the emj'oror Tiberius. In her

^*''*'''*l»l.^

^^n^''

BVKON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. S.T)

funeral tho ijnagos of twi«nfc>- illuatrious families were
carried ; but in sign of tho loss of liberty, those of Brutus
and CassiuH were absei.^ : but " for that reason thoy 3hoi;e
with iiio-oiiniiont lustro. ''

1. 527. - Ravenna. Formerly on tho Adriatic, ton n ilea
below the mouth (»f tho Po, and once a famous seai urt.
In the twentieth year of his age [Honorius (381-123)], the
emperor of the west, anxious only for his personal ^afety
[from Ahuicandhis (.'oths] retired to the perpetual con-
finement of tho walls and inorassos of Ravenna. The
example of Honorius was imitated by his feoblo succes-
sors, the Gothic kings, and afterwards tho exarchs. . .and,
till tho middle of the eighth century, Ravenna was con-
sidered the eapif a of Italy.'— (libbon, Dedine and Full.

Beside tho clmrch of St. Francesca is tho little cupola
long sMppo.sed to cover Dante's tomb.

I pass each d.ay wliere Dante's bones are laid ;
A little ciiiKila, more neat than solemn,
Protects his dust.

—Byron, Don Juan.

In 1865 it was discovered that Dante's bones were hid-
den in a neighbouring chapel, and not contained in his
mausoleum, to which, however thoy were transferred.

Byron lived in Ravenna for two years (1819-1821); on
Danto's tomb, near which he dwelt, ho laid a copy of his
poems.

1. 5J'».—Ar qua. ..store of tuneful relics. Referring to
tV'» relics of Petrarch, —liis house which contains the chair
in which ho died, his ink-stand, and, no doubt his stuffed
cat.

I. 531.— Florence vainly begs. An allusion to various
vain effort?, uiade by Florence to re( r Dnnt^'s bones.
Tho chief one wa-; by the Florentine Ara y in 1518,
through a mi i rial addressed to Pope Leo X., signed by
Michael Angi

L.58>.-What is her pyramid.— The tombs of the Medici
{mu'de l-<hi), the mi rcliant-dukes f Florence, in the fhurch

.:,

rf *

336

N07ES.

of St. Lorenzo, Florence. "I also wont to the \'oclJci
chapol, — iino frippery in great slain of various jirecious
stones, to Ci.mnieniorato fifty rotten ar.'' forgotten (;ur-
casaes."— Byron to Murray, April 'JH, 1817.

" Our veneration for the Medici l)egiii8 with Cosmo and
ex ro9 with his grandson; and it is iu so.irch of so'no
memorial of the virtuous republicans of his family that we
visit the church of St. Lorenzo at Florence The tawdry,
glaring, unfinished i-hapel, designed for tlu^ mausoloum of
the Dukes of Tuscany, set mund with crowns auil coffins,
gives birth to no omotions but those of contempt for the
lavish vanity of a race of, despots." — Note, lat ed.

Page III. 1. 537.— the green turf that wraps the dead.

There Honour comes, a pilprim Rray,
To bless the turf that wraps their chiy.

— Colliiirt, Uow Sleep the Brave.

1. 542. — Arno's dome. The Pitti and the Ulfjzi palaces,
j iuod by a long gallery across the Arno. In the Pitti is
a vast series of paintings covering the history of the
renaissance of Italinn art diwn to the Fra Angolico. '1 ho
Uffizi contains the finest atatuos of anti(iuity, and some of
the best works of Titian and Raphael.

1. 551. — Thrasimene's lake. Trasimeno is in central
Italy, ten miles v/cst of Perugia. It was the scene of Han-
nibal's victory over Flaminius in B.C. 217. " The valloy
into which Hannibal lured ('the Carthaginian's wiles,' 1.
553) the Romans was girt in part by a seniicirch? of hill-,
and the lake which runs from one extremity of the ridgo
to the other, completed the enclosure. Hannibal posted
his troops in the surrounding heights, and in the mist of
the morning he attacked the astonished enemy at everj-
point. Fifteen thousand Romans were slain, nnd move
than twenty thousand taken prisoners." — Note, 1st ed.

Page 112. 1. 5G3.— an earthquake reel'd. " And such was their
mutual animosity, so intent were they upon the battle,
that the earthquake which turned the course of rapid

BYRON: Cinf.DE HAROr.D^S Pf/.GR/MACE. 3:17

streams, ,K)urod back the sea upon tlie rivers, and tore
down the very nu,un tains, was not foit by one of the com-
batants."— Livy, xxii. xii.

Page 113. I. 5H t. -Sanguinetto. " Thorc are two little rivu-
lets whidi run from the (iualandra [lu.ijjl.tsj int<. the lake.
Ihe traveller crosses the first of tlu-se at about a mile
after he comes to the plain. The second is called the
' bloody rivulet' [It. >ianyue, l.loodj; and the peasants point
out an op<Mi spot t«. the left between the ' Sanguinetto' and
the hills, which thoy say was the prinoij.al scene of the
slaughter. The <.thor part of the plain is covered with
thick-sot olive-trees in corn-grounds . . . Near some old
walls on a bleak ridge to the left above the rivulet, many
human bones have been repeate.lly found, and tliis has
confirmed the pretensions and the name of the stream of
'blood.'"— Note, 1st ed.

1. 58G. -Clitumnus. A river of Umbria, emptying into
the Tiber, celebrated in anti.iuity for its milk-white herds
which furnished the victims of the festivals. Its fame is
sung by Virgil,— .

Hinc albi, Cmiimne, proves, . . .
[From it, CHtumiuis.your white flodcs, anrt bull, chiefost of victims
w lift, hnd uttou iHen pluntfwl in .your .sacml stream, lead tlic Itom:.n
triuuiphs to tlic toni„:e3 of tlm k<m1s. Here is perpetual sprinL', an.l
summer in uuwoutedmontlis.]

—Georyica, li. 14GflF.
and Macaulay :—

Unwatched alon-,' Clitumnus
Grazes tlic milk-wliitc steer,

—Ilor alius.

" Clitumnus— the 1 rottiest stream in all poesy."— Byron
to Murray, Juno 4, IS 17.

Note the association of ideas by means of tho contrast
with tho Sanguinetto.

1. GO.^i.- a temple. A small ruined temple on the bank
of the river is supposed to l,c that in honour )f the river-
god referred to by Pliny. {IIU, Illustr.)

:^^'^fl I

8^M
^^\'\

338

NOTES.

Page 114. 11.614. — Velino. The river Velino, of central Italy,
flows into tie Nera, a tributary of the Tiber, a few miles
above Temi. Near the confluence of the streams, the
Velino falls 850 feet over a precipice in the celebrated Cas-
catedelle Marmore or falls of Terni. The great fall of 5(X)
feet and two minor falls, ending at the Nera, send up a
cloud of spray upon which the morning sun paints the
rainbow. " It is worth all the cascades and torrents of
Switzerland put together." — Note, 1st ed. ,
1. GIG. — Making: >t all one emerald.

The multitudinous se.is incarnadine
Maliing the {?reen one red.

Shakspere, Machtth, ii. ii. 03.

1. 620.— Phlegethon {flej e than). (Gk. phlegethon, the
flaming.) A river of fire of Hades, flowing into Acheron.

1. 625. — an eternal April. " The mist. . .looks at a dis-
tance like clouds of smoke ascending from some vast
furnace, and distils perpetual rains on all the places that
lie near it." — Addison, Remarhs on Italy.

Page 115. 1. (535. — Parent of rivers. This may refer to the
Nera and Velino joined iu a foaming stream in the valley
below, or to the Velino itself, which is broken in the fall
into two branches.

1. 642.— An Iris sits. "Of the true place, and qualities
of this kind of Iris the reader may have seen an account
in a note to Manfred, The fall looks so much like ' a hell
of waters ' that Addison thought the descent alluded to
by Virgil the gulf in which Alecto plunged into the*
infernal regions." — Note, 1st ed.

1. 643.— Like Hope...

Slie sat like Patience on a monnment,
Snnllins at Kricf.

— Shakspore, Tioelflh Night, ii. iv. 117,

Page 116. 11. 649f.— Apennine. Taken as the brood of the
greater Alps, from which (the Kgurian chain) they sepa-
rate near Nice.

BYHON: CHILDE HAROLD^S PILGRIMAGE. 339

11. 652f.-roar The thundering lauwine. Lau wine (seel.
b58 «.) IS erroneously regarded liere as a ,,lural.

1. 6ol.-Jungfrau [yoomj' frow). CJerman for • Virgin '
m allusion to its 'never-trodden snow,' 1. 655. It is ii
the Bernese Alps, of winch it i. one of the highest peaks,
ine hrst ascent was made in 1811.

1. 656 -Mont-Blanc {mo{nu) hKng)'). Fr., ' white moun-
tain the highest mountain in Europe ; the famous Mer
de fjlace (sea of ice) is its greatest glacier.

1. 657.-Chimari. {kf mar' <^). Chimari, Khimara, a
town in Albania, lends its name to the neighbouring Cera-
unian Mountains of northwestern Kpirus. In C'.7/.7' ii
452f. they are described—

Niituie'3 vohanlc amphitlieatre
Cliinirera's alps extend.

We have tlie ' sons of Chimari' in ii. 657.
the^thunder-hills of fear. Of fear, fearful ; see 1. 6.58 n
1. 658. -Th' Acroceraunian. Acrcceraunia {ak rC, se raw'
m a), Gk. la akra keraunia, ' the thunder-smitten peaks'
(see 1. (hyi), is the promontory in north-eastt^rn Epirus
]utt.ng into the Ionian Sc-a. It gives its name sometimes
to the Ceraunian Mountains, of which it is an extreme
spur.

1. (ioO.-Parnassus. A ridge of mountains in fjreece, in
ancient Phocis, the favourite haunt of Apollo and the
Muses.

1. 66'2.-Ida. A mountain range in Asia Minor (Thry-ia
and Mysia\ seat of the worship of Cybeloand the scene^of
the choice of Paris.

"The only vestige of Troy... are the barrows. . .but
Mount Ida is still in high feather. "-Byron to Drury, May

Trojan's eye. As the Trojans saw it,-from Troy.
Ihe plains of Troy, the Troad, which Byron visited in Mav
IHjO, f>xtonded to the spurs of Mt. Ida.

1. 66B.-Athos. The ' Holy Mount,' at the extremity of

'3^
•f i

340

NOTES.

Athos, the north-easterly peninsula of Calcidice, Thrace,
jutting south into the ^Egean.

Sucli as on lonely Atlios may be seen,
Wateliinj? at eve u))on tlie yiant height,
Which looka o'er waves so blue, skies so serene.

-C'.//.P.,ii. asoflr.
Olympus. On the borders of Macedonia and Thessaly,
the favourite home of the gcds.
iEtna. Or Etna, the volcano of Sicily.
Atlas. The mountain range of Morocco, Algeria, and
Tunis. Byron saw it from Gibraltar in 1809.

1. GG5.— lone Soracte Soracte is, says Addison, a ' high
hill standing by itself in th^i Campagna ' (see Tr. 1. 5 «.),—
precipitous, and on its eastern side almost vertical (' like
a long-swept wave/ 1. 008). It is twenty-three miles N.N.K.
of Rome, on the right bank of the Tiber. Horace cele-
brated it, —

Vides, lit alta stet nive canilidum
Soracte.

[See flow white in the deep-fallen Rnow stands Soracte.]

—Oiles, i. ix. If.
It is not now, i.e. in summer, covered with snow. If wo
seek it, we must go to Horace.

1, G6G.— the lyric Roman. Horace (B.C. 05-8) was the
author of Satires (1. GUU), of lyrics {Epodes and Odes), and

of the Ars Poelica (see 1. GOO), a criticism of the art of
poetry.

1. G70.— rake. Intentionally contemptuous.

Page 117. 1. G72.— Latian echoes. Ancient Latium embraced
all the Roman Campagna; hence 'Latian echoes' is
poetical for the echoes of Latin poetry.

1. G74.—The driU'd dull lesson. "I certainly do not
speak on this point from any pique or aversion towards
the place of my education. I was not a slow, though an
idle boy; and I believe no one could, or can be morr
attached to Harrow than I have always Loen. and with
reason ;~a part of the time passed there was the hapj)iest.

■1

BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 341
of my life ; and my preceptor (the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury)

was the best and worthiest friend lever possessed."-Note
1st ed. '

1. 687.-TO understand, not feel. To know how to scan
the verse, without feeling its music.

1. 689.-no deeper Mora'ist. Horace is pre-eminently
the man of the world, keeping the golden mean of Epicurus
-a philosophy that has especially appealed to Enolish
gentlemen. °

rehearse. Brings life epito.ni.ed before us in his verse as
upon a stage, — '

-^II tlie world's a st.u-^e
And all the men and women merely players.

— Shakspere, Ai Yvu Like It, ii. vii 139
our little life.

Our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

—Shakspere, Tempest, iv. l. I57f.
Could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life.

—id., t Henry IV., v. iv. 103.

Pag-e .18. 1. (JOJ.-O Rome! my country I Byron spert
m.t of May, 1S17 in Rome. '^ I 1 deli^ht^d ^
Komc. As a wholo-aucieut and modern,~it beats
Greece, Constantinople, everything-at least that I have
ever seen. But I can't describe, because my itr.pression.
are always strong and confused, and my memory ,e(eo^s
and reduces them to order, like distance in the landscape,
and blenos them better, although they may be less dis- "
tinct. —Byron to Murray, May 0th, 1817.

"At Rome, Byron forgot passions, sorrows, his own in-
dividuality, all, in the presence of a great idea ; witness
this utterance of a soul born for devotedness."-Mazzini
Assays, vi, 8;?. '

1. 695 -orphans of the heart. Bereaved of true objects
of affection ami tj-ust.

1. 698. -our. Emphatic, in contrast to those of u.
world, 1. 702. **

342

NOTES.

1. 699.— Cypress. Kogarded, because of its gloomy foli-
age, as symbolic of mourning.

1. 701.— Whose agonies. . . A world. See 1. 389 n.

1. 703.— Niobe. Wife of Amphion, king of Thebes. She
boasted of her twelve children to the disadvantage of Leta,
mother of only Apollo and Artemis, and saw all her
children slain by the arrows of the god and goddess.

1. 705.— An empty urn. Symbolic of the desolation of
her state, — without the presence of the living great or the
ashes of the mighty dead.

1. 707.— The Scipios' tomb. On the left of the Appian
Way was discovered in 1780 a small catacomb in the rock,
which contained the tombs of the great military family of
the Scipios. Ten of these, including those of L. C. Scipio
Barbatus, victor over the Etruscans, his son L. C. Scipio,
conqueror of Corsica, could be identified by inscriptions.
The tombs had long been rifled of their contents.

1. 710.— Tiber. . . yellow waves. The Tiber is reddish
yellow from puzzolan earth it carries down. Flavns is the
customary LaHn epithet of the river, as in Virgil, .Eneid
vii. 30f.

!• 712. — The Goth. The Gothic conquerors of Eome are :
— Alaric, who burned a part of the city, in 410; (lenseric,
who pillaged it in 45.5; Ricimer, who plundered it in 472;
Vitiges, who destroyed the aqueducts, 538; Totili, the last
of the Barbarians to do damage to the city, who destroyed
the walls, in 517

the Christian. The injuries of the Christian clergy are
classed by Hobhou so as those made ' for useful repairs' and
those from ' motives of fanaticism.' The chief damage
was made by using the stones and decorations of heathen
temples in the building an'd embellishment of Christian
churches.

1. 712.— Flood and Fire. The inundations of the Tiber
have been i)Prilous to Rome until recent years. Fornn
account of these and of the fires that do«troYed np.l-!;-
buildings, see Hist. J/lus/r.. pp. 91 (f.

BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 343

1. 713.— seven-hill'd city. The ancient epithet —t/ris
aeptkollis. Rome was built on and within seven hills—
Capitoline, Palatine, Aventiue, Cselian, Viminal, Esqui-
line, and Quirinal— and along the Tiber.

Page up. 1. 716.-car dimb'd the capitol. The Capitol or
Capitoline Hill [Mom capilolinus) the centre and citadel
of Eome, On the north-east is the temple of Jupiter; on
the south-west the Tarpcian Rock (1. 1002) ; at the south-
eastern slope was the Forum (1. 1007).

The general to whom a triumph was decreed, mounted
in a chariot and crowned with laurel, rode up the Via
Sacra, crossed the Forum and ascended the Capitol, by the
road called the divtis capitolinus, to the temple of Jupiter,
where he offered up sacrifices to the gods.

1. 720.—" here was, or is." Cf. 1. 728, ' We but feel our
way to err.' Hobhouse sums up a score or so of monu-
ments of whose genuineness there is no doubt, adding " it
would be difficult to name anotlior monument within the
walls of an equally certain character."- -//ii<. Illudr n
195. ^'

1.725. — Knowledge spreads....

But Knowledge to their eyo.s Jier ample pape,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unfold.

—Gray, Eleg)/.

1. 728.— Eureka. (Gk. eureka, 'I have found (it)'), the
reputed cry of Archimedes {ar ki mt'diz, n.c. 287-212) on
discovering a method of testing the purity of the crown of
Iliero of Syi'acusc.

1. 731.— The trebly hundred triumphs. "Orosius gives
three hundred and twenty for the number of triumphs.
He is followed by Panvinius ; and Panvinius by Mr. Gib-
bon and the modern writers." — Note, 1st ed.

1. 732.— Brutus. Marcus Junius Brutus (n.c. 8.5-42). He
joined with Cassius in the assassination of Julius C»sar
B.C. 44. '

344

NOTES.

1. 734.— Tully's voice. Marcus TuUius Cicero (B.C. 106-
43), the greatest of Eoman orators ; cf. 1. 389.

Virgil's lay. The ^.neid of ^•jrgil (fi.c. 70-19), the
greatest of Latin poets, is a glorified account of the found-
ing of Rome ; his Georgia and Eclogues, only less famous,
depict country life.

1. 735.— Livy's pictured page. Titus Livius (b.c. 59-
A.D. 17), the greatest of the historians of Eome. Only
parts of his liistory are pn served. The epithet refers to
* the Venetian richness ' of Livy's stylo.

Page 120. 1. 739.— On Fortune's wheel. The wheel as a
symbol of tlio instability of fortune is one of the oldest
figures in literature ; here, however, all its revolutions
contribute to the glory of Sulla, who called himself ' Felix,'
for his prosperity.

1. 740.— Sylla. Or better, Sulla. L. Cornelius Sulla
(B.C. 138 78), drove his opponent Marius from Eome,
and immediately departed to Asia Minor to conquer
Mithridates, king of Pontus (1. 743). Returning to Rome
after four years, he then avenged by bloody proscriptions
the opposition of the Marian party. His power was abso-
lute ; the Senate, whose ranks lie filled with his own de-
pendents, was but a servile instrument of his will (1. 745).
In B.C. 81, Sulla had himself made dictator (1. 748), and in
B.C. 79 resigned his supreme power to retire to Puteoli to
cultivate the vices which hastened his death.

The term • dictatorial wreath ' is merely a poetical peri-
phrasis for dictatorship; the wreath was not an emblem
pf such power.

It is interesting to note that Byron's sympathy with
Sulla is curiously reflected in Momsen's description of Sulla
as the ' Don Junn of politics.'

1. 743.— thine eagles. The eagle was the emblem of the
Eoman repviblic and the chief standard of the Roman
army. As a standard it was made of wood or massive
gold and borne upon a lance, in tiie vanguard of the army.

BYRON: CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 345

I. 752. -Eternal. The Eternal City has been the designa-
tion of Eome since long ages. Boma oiterna is fo°unfi
in the poems of Tibullus (n.c. 51-a.d. 18), ii. v. 23, and on
medals of the Empire.

II. 758f. -Cromwell. . .swept off senates. In allusion to
the Long Rirliament, 1053. (Green, ch. viii. § ix.)

1. 759.— hewd the throne. . . to a block. A forced ex-
pression for the execution of Charles I.

Page 121. 1. 764.— His day of double victory. . <'0n the

third of .September Cromwell gained the victory of Dunbar •
a year afterwards he obtained 'his crowning mercy' of
Worcester; and a few years after, on tlie same day, which
he had ever esteemed the most forbujiate for him, he died."
—Note, 1st ed.

1. 765. -two realms. Scotland by Dunbar, 1650, En--
land by Worcester, 1651. °

1. 769.-preceding clay. Already the clay to which he
was to return. " Then shall the dust return to the earth
as it was."— Ecclesiastos, xii. 7.

1. 775.-And thou, dread statue ! On the first floor of
the Spada Palace is a statue, which, it is believed once
stood iu the Curia, representing Cneius Pompeius (b c
106-48). Caesar, who defeated Pompcy and the aristocratic
faction at Pharsalia in H.c. 48, was slain by Brutus
Cassius and other republicans, at the foot of his rival's
statue.

At the base of Pomiwy's statue.
Wliicb all the while ran ))lood. pieat Cjnsar fell.

— Shakspcre, JtiUua Catsar, tii. ii. 1P2.

It is 'a stern tremendous figure,' standing ' in naked
majesty.'

1. 781.-Neraesis. {nevi' e sis). Strictly, the Greek god-
dess presiding over the destinies of men, making their
fortunes proportionate ; bonce the goddess of retribution.
Her emblem was the wheel of fortune; of. 1. 739.

Iflii

'if ■

316

NOTES.

Page 122. 1. 784. — the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome.
Ancient Rome. . .abounded most probably with images of
the foster-mother of her founder ; but there were two she-
Avolves of which history makes particular mention. One
of these, of brass in ancient work, was seen by Dionysius
at the temple of Romulus, under the Palatine. . .The other
is that which Cicero has celebrated both in prose and
verse, and which the historian Dion also records as haviuf?
suffered the accident as is alluded to by the orator." —
Note, 1st ed.
Cicero's passages are ; —

"The Wolf of Mars, who from her kindly breast
Fed the immortal children of her pod
With the lifc-givlnpr dew of sweetest milk.
E'en her the lightning spared not."

— On Divinatioiiy !., xii.

" Even Romnlus, who built this city, was struck, which, you recol-
lect stood in the Capitol, a bronze statue, little and sucking, and
clinging to the teats of the woM."— Against C'ntUine, iii., viii.

The bronze figure of the Wolf, which Byron celebrates
and which is claimed to be the figure spoken of by Cicero,
is in the Palace of the Conservators, in tho Museum of the
Capitol. The figures of Romulus and Remus have been
added to it in modern times.

!. 795.— men bled. Waged war.

1. 796. — they. Demonstrative, — the Romans.

1. 798. -apish. See 1. 470 n.

1. 800. — one vain man. Napoleon, The common dislike
of Napoleon by Wordsworth, Sbelley and Byron is inter-
esting. Compare this passage with that in C. II. P. iii., §
3Gff.

I 802.— false. Deceptive.

Page 123. 1. 809.— Alcides with the distaff. Hercules, a

descendant of Alceua, took service under Omphale (^ueen

of Lydia, spun wool and dressed like a woman, while she

wore his lion's skin.

I. 810. — At Cleopatra's fe^t. Caesar pursued Pompey to

BYRON: CIIILDE HAROLD'S PIF.GRIMACE. 347

Egypt in Ii.C. 48, and thoro was subjugated by this young
queon whom ho restored to her throne.

I. 811.— ca; ; ind saw and conquer'd. Veni, vidi, vici,
was inscribed on one of the tablets of Ciesar's triumph after
his defeat of Pharnnces H. of Poiitus, n.o. 17 (Suetonius,
Cainar). It was likewise in his message to his friend
Amintius, announcing his victory (Plutarch).

II. 812f.— tamed his eagles down... the Gallic van.
Made the armies of Fr.ince the mere tools of his own
ambition.

to flee. More correctly, to fly.
train 'd falcon, Cf. 56. 19 n.

1. 814.— in sooth. In truth, it must bo admitted.
1. 823.— For this. For the nothingness of death. Though
all his glory must cease in death, yet ho rears. . .
1. 828.— Renew thy rainbow. An allusion to Gen. ix. 13.

Page 124, 1. 829.— What from this barren being. Byron

cites Cicero, Academics, i. xii.: '• Almost all the ancients;
who assorted that nothiug could bo ascortaino.l, cr per-
ceived, or known : that the senses of man were narrow,
his mind feeble, tho course of his life short, and that truth,
as Democritus said, was sunk in tho deep ; that every thin"'
depended on opinions and established customs ; that
nothing was left to truth. They said in short that every-
thing was enveloped in darkness." ''Eighteen hundred
years... have not removed any (.f tho imperfections of
humanity : and the complaints of the ancient philosophers,
may without injustice or afTectation, be transcribed in a
poom written yesterday.*'- Xoto, 1st ed.

1. 850.— The yoke that is upon us. The absolutism of
tho Bourbon and Austrian princes who wore restored by
the fall of Napoleon.

Page 125. 1. 851.— the intent of tyranny. Tho objects of the
'Holy Alliance' (ISKJ;, ostensibly to preserve Christian
government, in reality to maintain absolutism and sup-
press free institutions.

I.'

I-

ii'

1r i

343

NOTES.

11. 8;)Sf. Columbia, a Pallas. Tho unexpected military
vigour of the American Colonies at the ilevulution sug-
gests the myth of Pallas Athena, who sprang uilly armed
out of the brain of Zeus.

1.865. — France got drunk with blood. . The victories
of the French Republic in a war of defenrn against F]urope
were followed (as vomiting follows drunkenness) by wars of
aggression and aggrandizement.

1. 8BB. — Saturnalia. The pi. of Saturnalis, pertaining
to Saturn ; strictly, the harvest festival of Sati. in in Italy ;
hence, wild revelry and licentiousness ; here, the bloody
scenes of the Revolution, as in the Reign of Terror, 1794
(1. 808).

1. 860. —vile Ambition. Of Napoleon.

1. 871. — the base pageant. Napoleon as Emperor of
French.

last upon the scene.

Last scene of nil
That ends this stranf,'<>, cvcntl'ii! history.

— Shaks|)eie, An Yon Like It, ii. vii. 161,

f, 373. — Which nips Life's iree. Tozcr compares, —

O Slavery ! thou frost of the world's prime,
Killing its flowers and leavhi^' its thorns hare.

— Slielley, IMlas, ti7(;.

Page 126. 1.874. — Yet Freedom I yet thy banner. "Sur-
rounded by slaves and their oppressors ; a traveller in
countries where even remembrance seemed extinct; never
did he desert the cause of the people ; never was he false

' to human sympathies. A witness of the progress of the
Restoration, and the triumph of the Holy Alliance, he
never swerved from his courageous opposition ; he pre-
served and publicly proclaimed his faith in the rights of
the people and in the final triumph of liberty." — Mazzini,
Essays, vi. OOf.

This image Wordsworth cnnsidored the finest in ByrnnV,
poetry. " As displaying a grand ideal truth, symbolized

BYRON: CHII.DE HAROLD: I

IMAGE. 340

Brita'n.

'W«.«, hollow),
ured by her sepulchre

by an eciuall.v gr. I and corr.'spon. g iirniHiial phen-
orii, non of the ..titer w, 'Id, it was hardly to he surpassed.'"

1. 875.— the thunderstorm. Tlie phenomenon alludod to
is the thunderstorm advancing on an upper stratum of air,
which liiowri in a dirt'.ti, n contr iry to the lower.

1. 877.— The Icudest. Fnedorn has gained no day over
arbitary powfir, in the glorious struggle that now draws
to a close.

1. 881.— bosom of the North.

1. 888.— stern round tower

1. 890.— cave. Cavity, re. t-

1. 8n'2.-lady of the dead. I
as a princess amrng the dead.

1. H91.— a king's, .a Roman's. Cf. 1. 220.

Page X27. 11. 0l2(r.-a cloud Might gather. For, may have
^'athered. Those lino.s dopioL the progress of oonsumption
under the figtiro of a beautiful autumnal sunset. Cf., for
the close, —

Can this lie dcatli 'i there's hloom upon lier cheek ;
lUit now I set' it i.s no liviiij,' Ime,
But a atranyc huftic— like tlie unnatural red
Which Autumn plants upon the pcii-dj'd leaf.

— Uyrun, M,ii(fre<1, ii. !v.
1. 917.— Hesperus. The evening star. Here figuratively
used of the hectic glow of the cheek.
1. 918.— consuming. Wasting away.

Page 128. 1. 922.— the day. The day of her marriage.

1. 92G.-Metella. On tlie Appian Way, two miles from
the city gates stands an immense round tower, seventy
feet in diameter, of unhewn stones; it is the tomb of Metella,
daughter of Q. MetelltK Creticus and wife of M. L. Crassus
Dives (li.c. 108-53), oir of the first triumvirs, whose wealth
and love of money were provorldal.

The tower was used as a fortress in the thirteenth cen-
tury when the battlements (1. 8S6) were added.

I. 927.— Behold his love or pride. " It is more likely to

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350

NOTES.

have been the pride than the love of Crassus which raised
so superb a memorial to a wife whose name is not men-
tioned in history." — Hist. Illustr.

Page 129 1. 948.— the owlets' cry. The first two editions
have, the owlet's cry, evidently from the following line, an
error.

' Owlet,' though by origin a diminutive, means but owl.

1: 951.— Palatine. The Palatine Hill was reserved for
the temples of the gods and the residences of the patri-
cians. On it during the Empire the Palace of the Caesars
was built, occupying the whole hill. This gigantic pile
fell in utter ruin after th" sack of (Jenseric in a.d. 455.

" The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the
side towards the Circus Maximus. The very soil is formed
of crumbled brick- work. Nothing has been said, nothing
can be told, to satisfy the belit f of any but a Roman anti-
quary."— Note, 1st ed.

1. 955.— wallflov7er. A yellow four-petaled flower with
sweet smell, growing in Italy, with bushy luxuriance, on
cliffs and old walls.

1. 959. — peep'd. AavoIcc.

I. 963.— the Imperial Mount. See 1. 951 n.

Page 130. . 966f.— First Freedom, and then Glory .. . A

summary of the history of Rome.

1. 976.— in this span. "The Palatine is formed by a
trapezium of solid rock, two sides of which were about 300
yards in length, the others about 400. "—Merivale, Hint. xi.

" The history of the Palatine is the history of the city of
Rome."— Hare, Walks in Borne, p. 182.

1. 983.— The u nameless column. "Adjoining the Basilica
Julia is the Column of Phocas, raised to that emperor by
the exarch Smaragdus in 608. This is ' the nameless
column ' of Byron, but is now neither nameless nor buried,
its pedestal having been laid bare by the Duchess of Devon-
shire in 1813."— Hare, Walks in Home, p. 112. It is a Cor-

*ir"

J|:

BYI^ON: CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 351

infchiau pillar standing on a pyramidal base. This base
M'as laid bare by the excavations of 1816.

I. 981.— the Caesar. See 10. 59 n.

Page 131. 1. 987.— Titus. The Arch of Titus (a.d. 40-81), on
the Via Sacra, was erected in commemoration of that
emperor's capture of Jerusalem.

Trajan (a.d. 52-117). Trajan's life, to which tribute is
paid in the next stanza, was a reminiscence of the ancient
glory of Eome. He conquered Dacia, Armenia, and Par-
thia, beautified Rome, and improved the administration
of justice and finance, — an emperor of great public and
private virtues.

The beautiful marble column of the emperor Trajan
was erected by the Senate and people of Rome in 114.
The statue of Trajan once stood upon it, holding a globe ;
but having fallen, it was replaced by the figure of St. Peter
(1. 989).

II. 989ff.— Apostolic statues. . . " The column of Trajan
is surmounted by St. Peter ; that of Aurelius by St. Paul."
— Note, 1st ed. " bextus Quintus raised the statue of St.
Peter on the summit of the column of Trajan. A liberty
has, in the above verses, been taken with the probable
position of the urn of Trajan, in compliance with the
tradition that the ashes of that emperor were in the head
of a spear, which the colossal statue raised on the pillar,
held in his hand. But the remains of Trajan were buried
in the golden urn under the column." — Hist. Illustr.

1. 997.— Alexander. Alexander the Great (B.C. 365-323)
who subdued the world from Greece to India. His lust
for conquest is well expressed in the. story that he wept
that there was but one world for him to conquer (Plutarch,
Tranquillity of Mind).

unstained With hoitsehold blood or wine. Guiltless of
private murder or civil war or debauchery. To be ' happier
than Augustus find better than Trajan,' was the wish ex-
pressed to succeeding emperors at their accession.

». ! I,

5 1

Li a

362

NOTES.

There is perhaps an allusion here to Alexander, who
slew his friend CUtus while flushed with wine (Tozei ).

1. 1000.— the rock of Triumph. The (Japitoline hill ;
see 1. 716 n.

1. 1001.— embraced. Received with welcome.
steep Tarpeian See 1. 713 n.

Bear him to the rock Tnrpeiaii, and I'lom thence
Into destruction <\ast him.

— Slialispere, C'oriolavus, iii. i. 213.

It is properly the chief peak of the Capitol ine hill, taking
its name from Tarpeia, the Roman maid who betrayed
the citadel to the Sabines ; but w^as especially the bare
cliff overlooking the Roman Forum, from which criminals
were hurled.

1. 1005.— Their spoils. The votive offerings.

1. 1007. -The Foruni. The Fo7nvi Uomamim, a long
and narrow area between the east slope of the Capitol-
ine and the north slope of the Palatine Hill, surrounded by
temples. It was devoted to official and judicial business.
At the western end were the rostra from which the orators
spoke.

Page 132. 1. 1009.— The field of freedom. . . " ' Freedom ' in
the struggles of patricians and plebeians ; ' faction ' in the
political movements of the Gro.cchi, Drusus, etc.; 'fame,'
since public speaking at Rome - 'le road to distinction';
'blood,' in the riots causeu Saturninus, Clodius,

Antony, etc."— Tozer.

1. 1015.— every lawless soldier. The leaders of the bar-
barian mercenaries who ruled the Western empire after
456.

1. 1017.— venal voice. The speeclies of hii-eling orators
sounding their praises in the senate.

1. 1022.— Rienzi (re «»'2r). Cola di Rienzi (1313-135;;),
the Roman patriot, established a republic in Rome
in 1334, and attempted to recover for Rome its old-time
supremacy. He incurred the dislike of the populace and

B i

BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 353

opposition of tlio papacy, was expelled from his trihuncship,
and slain in a riot. See Lytton's Rienzi, the Last of the
Itoiiians.

1. 1026.— Numa. Numa Pompilius, a legendary King of
Rome (B.C. 715-672), to whom were attributed many of the
early institutions of that city.

!. 1027.— Egeria (Pjij'ria). The woodland nymph by
whom Numa was instructed in the institution of the forms
of worship. The place of her meetings with the king was
outside the southern gate of Rome, a valley and fountain
to whicli her name has been given.

1. 1028.— no mortal resting-place so fair. Cf. 11. 37flF.

I. 1030.— Aurora. Tlio goddnss of the dawn. .

Page 133. 1. 1031.— nympholepsy. (assumed Greek nttwj^Vio-
lepsia, divine ecstasy, a trance, due tc the influence of the
nymphs). Ecstasy.

of some fond despair. The myth of Egeria, the poet
suggests, may have been the offspring of the sick fancy of
hopeless love.

II. 1036ff.— thy fountain. This description of the grotto
(with its now empty niches) and spring of p]geria is in part
a reminiscence of the Third Satire of Juvenal :—

IIic, ubi nnetnniae Numa constitiiebat amicae, etc.
[Here, where Numa used to meet lier lover. . . We descend to the
vale and caves of Egeria, so altered from what nature made them.
How much more should we feel the influence of the iiresiding genius
of the spriuf,', if turf enclusLd the waters with its mar^'in of green,
and no nia'-iile profaned I he native tufa.]

The Fountain, Ovid says {Met. xv.), is Egeria transformed
by grief at the death of her lover.

Montique jacens radicihus inds, etc.
['ThrowiuK^ henself down at the base of the hil!. she dissolved Into
tears; until moved by In r Mffection as she grieved, the sister of
Phrebus forni"d a cool fountain from her body, and dissolved her
limbs in ever- flowing waters.']

1. 1039.— genius. Presiding divinity.

1, 1043,— the cleft: statue. The ivy-clud grotto contains

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354

NOTES.

beside the lupring a headless statue, which resembles a
youth more than the nymph people would believe it to be.
1. 1047. — quick-eyed lizard. This reptile is found in
harmless abundance in Italy among broken ground. The
epithet applies to its quick motion when disturbed.

Page 134. 1. 10G2.— oracle. Here, the sanctuary where the
oracular answers of the gods are made known to men.
1. 1070.— the dull satiety. Cf . Shelley, Skylark, 1. 80 n.
1. 1074. — weeds of dark luxuriance.

The blossoms of passion,
Gay and luxuriant flowers, arc l)ri},'liter and fuller of fragrance,
But they beguile us and lead us astray, and tbeir odor is deadly.

—Longfellow, Evangeline, 11. 1222f.

Page 135. 1. 1077.— trees whose gums. Cf. 1. 112^".

1. 1086.— as it peopled heaven. The common source
of all mythologies.

1. 1097. — o'er-informs. It is the spirit which informs,
i.e. gives form to, the artist's creation; the visions of
youth are beyond the scope of his art.

Page 136. 1. 1103.— it. Love.

1. 1105.— Reaping the whirlwind. Cf. Hosea viii. 7.

1. 1106. — alchemy. The study of alchemy, the chief aim
of which in mediaeval times was the wild search for the
philosopher's stone that should turn all baser metals into
gold.

1. 1111. — some phantom lures. Cf. Tr. 1.28; hereof ideals.

Page 137. 1. 1122.— unspiritual. The metre requires either a
forced accentuation, unspirit'ual, or the counting of the
pause at the ca'sura, and placing of the accents on ' that,'
' spir-,' and ' god.'

To steal from spiritual leisure a l)rief span.

— Sbakspere, Henry K///.,iil. ii. 140.

1. 1129.— upas. The upas {a' pas) tree of the Malayan
islands y^'eld a sap of deadly poison. According to fable
it is poisonous to all who even approach it.

BYHON: CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 355

I. 1139.— the faculty divine.

The vision and the I'aciilty divine.

—Wordsworth, Excursion, i.
1. 1110.— cabin'd, cribb'd. From Macbeth's exclamation
at the escape of Fleanco, —

Now 1 am cabin'd, cril.b'd, coniiiied, bou,.^ in
To saucy doul)ts and tears.

— Shakspere, Macbeth, iii. iv. 24f.
1. 1143.— couch. A surgical term meaning to remove
cataract from the eye.

Page 138. 1. 1117.— Coliseum (kol i se'uvi). The gigantic
amphitheatre of Eomo, capable of seating 87,000 people.
It was begun by Vespasian A.i). 72, and completed by
Titus, 80, and was the scene of four centuries of gladitorial
combats. It was " named either from its magnitude, or
from Nero's colossal statue " (Gibbon).

Page 139. 1. 11B7.— sophists. Specious reasoners.

1. 1179.— This iron into my soul. " The iron entered into
his soul."— Psalm cv. 18, in the Anglican Psalter.

1. 1181.— Left the unbalanced scale. The first ed., Lost
the, etc. " Not ' lost ' which is nonsense, as what losing a
scale means, I know not ; but leaving an unbalanced scale
or a scale unbalanced, is intelligible. Correct this, I pray."
—Byron to Murray, Sept. 21th, 1818.

great Nemesis 1 See 1. 781 n. " The Eoman Nemesis
was sacred and august : there was a temple to her in the
Palatine under the name of Rhamnusia."— //i«<. Illudr.

1. 1183.— Furies. The Erinyes of Greek and Furies of
Roman mythology, fearful women crowned with serpents,
dwelling in the lowest hell of Tartarus, relentless in the
punishment of crime.

1. 1184.— Orestes. The son of Agamemnon and Clytem-
nestra. He slew his mother for murder and adultery, and
for this just but unnatural act he was pursued by the
4-' urics.

11 1

mil'.

.SS6

N07ES.

Page 140. 1. 1191.— withnl. Archaic,~with.
Page 141. 1. 1212.— Life's life. Honour.

1. 1215.— When I survey. Then follows in the MS. thig
stanza,— omitted, ami well omitted, in the text: —
If to forffivo 1k! licapintr coals ol' tire-
As God h.nth s)H>keii— on tlie heads of foes,
Mine sliould l)(; a volcano, and riist; liiKlier
Than, o'er Titans cnislicd, Olyniiins rose,
Or Athos soars, or hlazin^ Etna kIows :—
True tliey who stun^' were creeping I liinps ; l)nt what
Than serpents' teeth intiiels witli deadlier tinoes ?
The Lion may ))e goaded hy tiie Gnat.—
Who sucks tlie sluniherer's idood ?-Tlie Eagle ?— No; the Bat.
1. 1221.— Janus. A Roman sun-god, represented with
two faces looking cast and west. Hence 'Janus-faced,'
double-faced, douhle-dealing.

Page 142. I. 12l7.— Circus. (L. circus, a circle.} Here, of
the Coliseum.

I. 1250.— listed. Enclosed.

1. 12,52.— Gladiator. The scene of the death of a
gladiator is here recalled. It is the theme of the famous
statue in the Museum of the Capitol— " a wounded Gaul
[cf. 1. 1269], known as the ' dying Gladiat. r,' in the death
agony, the drooping head being raised and supported with
difficulty by the right arm " (P. Paris). It belongs to
the second or first century it.o.

1. 1266.— Dacian. Dacia was the province of Rome lying
north of the Danube, between the Theiss and the Dniester"
Aurelian abandoned Dacia in 27 1 to the Goths, who were
in tr.rn expelled in 5376 by the Huns, and driven against the
Roman arms.

Page 143. 1. 1271.— the Roman million's blame or praise.

"When one gladiator wounded another, he shouted 'he
has it,' ' hoc habet,' or ' habet.' The wounded combatant
dropped his weapon, and advancing to the edge of the
arena, supplicated the spectators. If he had fought well,
the people saved him ; if otherwise, or as they happened

nil

BYRON: CHILDE HAROLHS Pn.GRTMAGE. 357
si.iin. — JNote, Isfc 0(1.

''bfeVttar-d ''n'r'T ^*' "^^ ^^"^' palaces . . . have
been rear d. Only about a tlunl „f this immense pile
survived the deprclati-.ns of the mi.ldlo a<ros

" Theodoric thought a capital dty might be built with
he wealth expended on the ("olisoum, and indeed some of
the noblest palaces of modern liome has been constructed
out of a small p<.rtion vi the ruins."- ///,7. 7/^,/*/,..
1. 1280. -and gently pauses there. Cf.

Hast timi, .1 cliMnn to stay the morninf,' otar

In hi.s SIC..,, cci.rse ? Ho lon^- l,o se...n,s to pause

On thy bahl awful licad, o sovran Hlant-.

-Coleiid-e, lliimnintht Vuleo/'viiamouni
1. I290.-loops of time. The crevices made by decay
through the ages. ^ ^^^u.y

Your looi)"d and window'd raf,'pcdne9s.

-SIiakaiKre, Lear, iii. iv. 31.
• ^292.-garIand-forest. The flowers and shrubs grow-
ing upon the clift-like heights of the ruins

I. 1293.-laurels on the bald first Casar's head. "Sue-
tonms informs us that Julius C^sar was particularly
gratified by the decree of the senate, which enabled him to

not to show that he was the conqueror of the world, but to
hide that he Avas bald."— Note, 1st ed.

II. 1297ff.-While stands the Coliseum ... The Flavian
amphitheatre was conte,„plated with awe ana dmiration

W«yif i!!-' "'''^' "^^ '''' "-^^^ enthusiasm
broke forth in a subl.me proverbial expression, which is
recorded in the eighth century, in the fragments of the
venerable Bede : ' As long as the Coliseum°stands, Rome
shall stand; when the Coliseum , falls, Rome will fall ■
when Rome falls, the world will fall.' The saying must
be attributed to the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims who 'viTitc:!
Kom. oefoi-o .no year 73r., tite .^.ra of Eede's death."-
tjibbon, Bechne and Fall, ch. Ixxi.

' nr Hill wtt'. '•JlM

NOTES.

Page 145. 1. 1305.— den— of thieves. Cf. Matt. xxi. 13, Mark
ii. 17, etc.

I. 1307.— Shrine of all saints. In allusion U) its name
as a church, — Santa Muria ad Martyres.

1. 1314.— Pantheon {panth't on). A temple (Gk. pan-
theion, of all the gods), erected by Agrippa, B.C. 27, now,
though ruined, the Church of Santa Maria Eotonda. The
interior is a great dome, lighted only from above by a cir-
cular window of twenty-eight feet diameter. The great
painters Raphael and Annibalo Caracci are buried in the
Pantheon.

1. 1323.— on honour'd forms. "The Pantheon has be-
come the shrine not only of the martyred, but of the illus-
trious, in every art and science : but the busts of Raphael,
Hannibal Caracci, Pierin del Vaga, Zuccari, and others,
to which age has lent her venerable hue, are ill assorted
with the many modern contemporary heads of ancient
worthies which now glare in all the niches of the Rotonda.
The little white Hermiean busts, ranged on ledges, side by
side, give to this temple of immortality the air of a sculp-
tor's study." — Hist. Illnstr.

Page 146. 1. 1324.— There is a dungeon, Festus ( ? a.d. 150)
speaking of the temple of Piety built by Acilius Glabrio.
says it was ' consecrated in the spot where a certain woman
dwelt, who nourished lier father in prison from her own
breast ' (lib. xx.). Pliny says {Nat. Hist. , vii. xxxvi.) that
it was her mother she nourished. The church of St.
Nicolas in Carcere is held by many to stand on the site of
the Temple and the Decemviral prisons. Byron refers to
the subconstructions of the church, which are asserted to
be the prisons in question.
1. 1331.— nectar. The divine drink of the gods.

Page 147. 1. 1351.— The starry fable. The Greek myth of the
Galaxy is that Hercules (Herakles) was taken from his
mother Alcmena at his birth, and carried to the breast of
sleeping Hera. When the queen of heaven awoke, she

BYRON: CIIII.DE I/AKO/.P\S PII GRIMACE. 350

pushed tho child from hor, 3|.illing the milk over heaven
thut took lorn, us tho (lah-ixy ((ik. gaht, galakt-, milk).

]. 18(50.-Mole which Hadrian rear'd. Tho gigantic
mausoleum of Hadrian, a circular tower of 230 feet in
diameter, now the Cr.stlo of Sunt' Angelo.

1. 13GI.— piles. Tlio Pyramids.
^ 1. 13G2.-copyist. Hobhouso says : " This imitation of
Egyptian deformity must not be supposed to apply to tho
mausoleum of Hadrian, but to the monstrous divinities,
and tho fabrics of tho Tiburtino Villa [his villa at Tibur] •
Tho Mole was constructed, it is thought, on tho plan of tho
Mausoleum of Augustus or of Cecilia MetQlla."-//*»<.
Illustr.

1. ISGa.-travell'd phantasy. Hadrian (a.d. 7G-1:-38) spent
most of his life journeying through his empire, and in
raising edifices in Rome and abroad.

1. 13G9.-the dome. St. Peter's, the colossal metropolitan
church of Eorne, built 150(!-1G2G. The interior is a dome
resting on four gigantic piers (see 1. 1404). Its chief
architects were Braiiianto, Raphael, Peruzzi, Michael-
Angelo, and Giacomo della Porta (1. 1427).

Page 148. 1. 1370.-Diana's marvel. The temple of Artemis
or Diana at Ephesus, built in the sixth century B.C., one of
the seven Wonders of tho World. It was but half tho size
of St. Peter's.

"I omitted Ephesus in my catalogue, which I visited
during my sojourn at Smyrna."— Bvron to Drurv Mav
3rd, 1810. ' Jii- ^y

1. 1371.-aii... e his martyr's tomb. The relics of St
Peter are preserved under the High Altar of tho Cathedral

1. 1373.-the wilderness. The plain of the Cayster, on
tho west coast of Asia Minor.

1. 1375.— Sophia. Santa Sophia, the Metropolitan Greek
Church at Constantinople, erected by Justinian after 532 ;
since 11.53 a great mosque of the city. Its gilded dome ia
referred to in the following line.

9 I

880

NOTES.

1. 1881.— Zion. The tomjilo at .reriiaiilein, (k-Htroved hv
Titus. ^ ^

Pagre 149. 1. IKM.-this the clouds must claim. It was
Michael An^'ulo's bount, as ho planned th(. d.—o, that li,.
would build the Pantheon (moo 1. 1814 ,i.) in tho air.

Page ISO. 1. 1 l8'2.-the Vatican. The Palaco of the Popo;
•situated near St. Potor's, S. Angolo and tho Tiber; its lib-
rary, chapols, museums, an<l galleries aro world-renowned.
1. lliW.— Laocoon. (7*7 ok'o on). Laoco.ln was a Trojan
priest of Noptuno who tried to dissuade the people of Tr..y
from admitting tho fatal Wooden Horse of tho (J reeks
within their walls. Minerva, iueensed at him, sent two
monstrous serpents, whi.di strangled him and his two
pons. (Virgil, JIvmid, ii.) Tho marble group, which repre-
sents them in the intensity of their dying agonios, belongs
probably to tho Greek art of tho second century n.c. It
was discovered in loOC, and stands now in the Vatican.
Page isi. 1. 144I.-Lord of the unerring bow. Tho Aj.ollo
Belvidoro (Belvidore Palace, part of tho Vatican), a beau.
hful Greek statue found in the sixteenth century, and
now in the Vatican, in the room next the Laocoiln. It is
loss esteemed to-day than formerly.

" The Belvidere Apollo with the quiver on his back held
tho bow in his left hand, possibly also the end of an arrow
grasped in one finger. It belongs to ' tho Attic ' school of
the fourth century."— Purtwiinglor, Greek Sculi.ture.

Page 152. 1. 1459.— Prometheus {pro me' them). The myth
, is that Zeus was angered at Prometheus, son of the Titan
lapetus, for attempting to outwit him in the division of a
bull, and withheld fire from mortals. Prometheus, how-
ever, stole it by means of a hollow reed. For this he was
chained to a rock wher« the eagles preyed daily upon him.

1. 14G0.-the fire which we endure. Byron uses a version
of the story in which tho fire is the spirit of life stolen by
PromethfiUH for the men he had cr. utcd.

flV^OAT CH!LDE //AROl.D\S n [.GRIM ACE. 3fll

1. 1468.— the Pilgiim. Seo note to tho Tifclo, p. iJOB.
• 1. 1470.— He Cometh late. Ho was last mentioned (ex-
coi)t in the DodicatioiO in Canto rif. § Iv. ; of. Dedication
11. f)5tr.

Page 153. 1 1494.— fardels. Burdens (O. P. /anlfe/,/orr/m»<i.

Who would fard'ils hear
To prninl and sweat iindcr a weary life.

— Shakspere, llamUt, ill, I. 7fi.
Page 154. 1. 15()4.— Scion of chu fs The Princess Charlotte
Auf^usta (17P(i--1817), tho only daughter of (Joorgo, Prince
of Wales (George IV.}. and heiress presumptive to tho
throne, endeared to tho English by her charm of porson iin.l
disposition. She married Leopold of Saxe-Coburg in IHlti,
and died in giving birth to n still-born son on Nov. .5th.'
IHI7. The popular grief was expressed in a If. miliar
couplet, —

Never was sorrow more .sincere
Than that which flowed round Charlotte's hier.
1 1518. — orisons (or' izon). Prayers.
1.1519. her Iris. The symbol of hope.
1. 1523. -fruit is ashes. An allusion to Dead Sea fruit
(or rather puff-balls).

Page 155. 1. 1531.— she sleeps well.

After life's tttful fever he sleeps well.

- ."ihakspere, MacheAh,\\\. il. 28.
1. 1632.— reek. Smoke, vapour. Cf.

Yon common cry of curs I whose hrcath T hate
As reek o' the rotten fens.

— Shakspcre, Coriolnnua, 111. IH.
1. 1536.— the strange fate. "Mary died on a scaffold;
Elizabeth of a broken heart ; Charles V. a hermit ; Louis
XIV . a bankrupt in means and glory ; Cromwell of anxiety •
and ' tho greatest is behind.' Napoleon lives a prisoner."—'
Note, Ist ed.

Page 156. 1. 1549.— Lo, Nemi ! The jo/at transports himself
now to Mount Albano, fift,«ien miles 8.E. of Rome the h-"l

362

NOTES.

est summit of the Alban Mnuntains. Close beneath him
are the lakes of Nemi and Albano, afar the Tiber winds
down to the Mediterranean.

"The village of Nemi was near the A rician retreat of
Egeria, and, from the shades which embosomed the temple
of Diana, has preserved to this day its distinctive appella-
tion of The G^rove."— Note, Ist ed. The lake, into which
the Fountain of Egeria flows, is only three miles in cir-
cumference, lying in the oval hollow of an ancient crater.

1. 1£54.— oval mirror. In antiquity it *' had the name of
Diana's Looking-glass, ' speculumque Dianae ' " (Byron).

I. 1558. — Albano's scarce-divided wave. Albano. a
beautiful sheet of water six miles in circuit, lies in an
ancient crater to the N.E., and(' scarce-divided ') quite near.

II. 1559f.— afar The Tiber winds. "The whole de-
clivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalled beauty, and from
the convent on the highest point, which has succeeded to
the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the prospect embraces
all the objects alluded to in the cited stanza ; the Mediter-
ranean ; the whole scene of the latter half of the ^'hieid,
and the coast from beyond the mouth of the Tyber to the
headland of Circseum and the Cape of Terracina."— Note,
Ist ed.

I. 15'31.— Latian coast.. .Epic war. The war following
the arrival in Latium of JEneas, then a fugitive from Troy,
but soon to become the founder of the Roman race. The
mythical story is told by Virgil in the Mneid, which be-
gins, Arma virumque cano, Arms I sing, and the man.

II. 1563f.- bereath thy right Tully reposed. Cicero's
villa was either at Grotta Ferrata, a village about two
miles north of the Lake of Albano, or, which is more
probable, Tusculum, near Frascati, two miles further on.

11. 1564f.— bar of girdling mountains. " From the same
eminence are seen the Sabine Hills, embosomed in which
lies the long valley of Eustica. There are several circum-
stances which tend to establish the ideutifcy of this valley

'■^►.

BYRON: CHILDE HAROLD\S PILGRIMAGE. 363

with the ' Uatica ' [Odea, i, xvii.] of Horace. . . The villa
[of the poet], or the mosaic, is in a vineyard on a knoll
covered with chestnut trees."— Note, 1st ed. This villa is
eleven miles N. (jf Tivoli.

1. 1566.— Sabine Farm. Of Horace.

My patron's f,'ift, ni^ Sabine field,
Shall all its rural plenty yield;
And, happier in that rural store,
Of heaven and him I ask no more.

—Horace, Epistles, i. xvl.

Page 157. 1. 1571.— midland. The etymological equivalent
of Meditorrranean.

1. 1572.— Alban Mount. See 1. 1549 n.

1. 1574.— Calpe's(A;a/'/9c3. The ancient name of Gibraltar.

1. 1575.— the dark Euxine. The Black Sea, the Pontus
Euxinus of anti> -^y,

1. 1576.— Sympiegades. {sim pleg' a dtz). 'The clashing

rocks' of Greek myth were two rocky islands in the Black

Sea, at the entrance of the Bosphorus. Also called the

•Cyanean rocks (Gk. A;Maneos, dark-blue), hence the epithet.

"I am just comeback," wrote Byron to Drury, 1810,
"from an expedition through the Bosphorus to the Black
Sea and the Cyanean Sympiegades, up which last I
scrambled . . .

O how I wish . . . the good ship Argo. . .
Had never passed the Azure rocks. "

Page 158. 1. 1605.— Man marks the earth. Darmesteter
points out that these lines are inspired by Mme, de StaeFs
Corrine, i. iv. :— " This proud sea uptm which man can
leave no trace. The earth is tilled by him, the mountains
intersected by his roads. The rivers gather into canals
to carry his merchiindise ; but if the vessels furrow the
deep for an instant, the wave comes and effaces at once
this light mark of servitude, and the sea appears once
more as it was on the first day (;f the Creation " (trati-!.).
I. 1611.- unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown Cf. Tr. 1.

364

NOTES.

1 n.; D. V. 1. 258 n. Rolfe gives half a page of illu8tr8.tiona
of the three-fold epithet.

Page 159. 1. 1620.— lay. For, lie: a sacrifice to the Muse.

1. 1621.— thunderstrike. A verb formed from the adjec-
tive thunderstruck,

1. 1624. — oak leviathans. Cf. Psalm civ. 26, and Camp-
bell, " Like leviathans afloat." — Battle of the Baltic.

1. 1629. — Armada. In reference to the storms that
destroyed the ships of Philip; see Green, ch. vii. § vi.

Trafalgar. {trafal gar'). Nelson's victory over the
French off Cape Trafalgar, 1805. " Twenty of the enemy
struck ; but it was not possible to anchor tiie fleet, as
Nelson had enjoined ; — a gale came on from the south-
west; some of the prizes went down, some went on shore ;
one effected its escape into Cadiz ; others were destroyed ;
four only were saved." — Southey, Life of Nelson.

1. 1628. —the yeast of waves. Cf .

Thouj?h the yeast of waves . . . swallow navigation up.

— Shakspere, Macbeth^ Iv. 1. 53.

1. 1632. — Thy waters washed them power. The first
odd. have, " Thy waters wasted them."

"What does 'thy waters wasted them' mean (in the
Canto ) ? That is not me. Consult the MS. always.'''' — Byron
to Murray, Sept. 24. 1818.
Page 160. 1. 1656.— as I do here. But cf. 1. 1572.

Page 161. I. 1661.— what is writ, is writ. Cf. .lohn xix. 22.
1. 1672.— sandal-shoon and scallop-shell. Shoon', ar-
chaic plural of shoe; 'sandal shoon,' pair of sandals, as
would be worn in Palestine. The cockle or scallop shell,
or the figure of one, was an emblem of a pilgrimage to St.
James of Com postella ; hence is indicative of any pilgrim.

Cf.

How should I your true love know

From another one ?
By his cockle hat and staff.

And his snndal shoon.

—Shakspere, Hamlet, iv. v. 26.

APPENDIX.

m t

iii

^i'

APPENDIX.

TO NIGHT.

Swiftly walk over the western wave,

Spirit of Night !
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, g

Which make tiiee terrible and dear, —

Swift be tiiy flight !

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,

Star-inwrought !
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day ; jQ

Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, ami fiea, and land.
Touching all with thine opiate wand

Come, long sought !

When I arose and saw the dawn, 15

I sighed for thee ;
When light rode high, and tlie dew was gone.
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree.
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest, 20

I siglied for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,

Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee, 25

Shall I nestle near thy side ?
Wouldst thou me ?— And I replied.

No, not thee !

:j:*

Ilii;

3G8

APPENDIX.

"•eath will come when thou ait dead,

Soon, too soon —
Sleep will come when tliou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
1 ask of thee, beloved Night-
Swift be thine approaching filght.

Come soon, soon !

-Percy Bi/sshe Shelley.

TO THE CUCKOO.

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove !

Thou messenger of Spring !
Now heaven repairs lliy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.

Wliat time the daisy decks tlie green,

Tiiy certain voice we iiear :
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year ?

Delighted visitant ! with thee

I hail the time of flowers.
And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.

The school-boy, wandering through the woods

To pull the primrose gay,
Starts, the new voice of spring to hear.

And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom.

Thou fliest thy vocal vale.
An annual guest to other lands,

Another Spring to hail.

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green.

Thy sky is ever clear ;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No Winter in thy year.

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with tliee I

We'd make, with joyful wing.
Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the Spring,

— John Logan, 1781

APPENDIX. »({g

" YES, IT WAS THE MOUNTAIN ECHO."

Yes, it was tlie mountain Echo,

Solitary, ulear, i)rofound,
Answering to tlie sliouting Cuckoo,

Giving to iier sound for sound !

Unsolicited reply g

To a babbling wanderer sent ;
Like lier ordinary cry,

Like— but oli, how different !

Hears not also mortal Life?

Hear not we, unthinking Creatures ! 10

Slaves of folly, love, or strife-
Voices of two different natures?

Have not we too ?— yos, we have
Answers, and we know not whence?

Echoes from beyond the grave, 15

Recognised intelligence !

Such rebounds our inward ear

Catches sometimes from afar —
Listen, ponder, hold tliem dear ;

For God,— of God they are. 20

— William Wordstvort/i.

-J

TO THE CUCKOO.

Not the whole warbling grove in concert heard

When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill

Like the first summons, cuckoo ! of thy bill.

With its twin notes inseparably paired.

The captive 'mid damp vaults unsunned, unaired, 5

Measuring the periods of his lonely <loom,

That cry can reacli ; and to the sick man's room

Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared.

The lordly eagle -race through hostile search

May perish ; time may come when never more 10

The wilderness shall hear the lion roar ;

But, long as cock shall cow from household perch

To rouse the dawn, soft gales siiall speed thy wing.

And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring !

t- William Wordsworth, 18Ji7,

I;:j:

370

APPENDIX.

THE CUCKOO-CLOCK.

VVouLDSTthou be taught, when sleep has taken flight,

By a sure voice that can most sweetly tell,

How far off yet a glimpse of morning light,

As if to lure the truant back be well,

Forbear to covet a Repeater's stroke fi

That answering to the touch, will sound the hour ;

Better provide thee with a Cuckoo-clock

For service hung behind thy chamber-door ;

And in due time the soft spontaneous shock,

The double note, as if with living power, 10

Will to composure lead— or make thee blithe as bird in bower.

List, Cuckoo-Cuckoo ! oft tho' tempests howl.

Or nipping frost remind thee trees are bare,

How cattle pine, and droop the shivering fowl,

Thy spirits will seem to feed on balmy air : 16

I speak with knowledge, — by that Voice beguiled,

Thou wilt salute old memories as they throng

Into thy heart ; and fancies, running wild

Through fresh green fieldsi!, and budding groves among,

Will make thee happy, happy as a child : 20

Of sunshine wilt thou think, and flowers, and song,

And breathe as in a world where nothing can go wrong.

And know — that, even for him who shuns the day

And nightly tosses on a bed of pain ;

Whose joys, from all but memory swept away, 26

Must come unhoped for, if thej' come again ;

Know — that, for him whose waking thoughts, severe

As his distress is sharp, v.vniUl scorn my theme,

The mimic notes, striking upon his ear

In sleep, and intermingling with his dream, 30

Could from sad regions send him to a dear

Delightful land of verdure, shower and gleam,

To mock the wandering Voice beside some haunted stream.

O bounty without measure ! while the grace

Of Heaven doth in such wise from humblest springs 36

Pour pleasure forth, and solaces that trace

A mazy course along familiar tilings,

Well may our hearts have faith that blessings come,

Streaming from founts above tlie starry sky,

With angels when their own untroubled home 40

They leave, and speed on nightly embassy

To visit earthly chambers, — and for whom ?

Yea, iioth for souls who Ood's forbearanee try,

And those that seek his help, and for his mercy sigh.

— William Wordsworth, 1S40.

APPENDIX.

.S7I

" THREE YEA US SHE illiEW IN SUN AND SHOW Eli."

TiiKKK years she grew in sun and shower,

Tlien Nature said, " A lovelier flower

On eartli was never sown ;

Tills (!iiild I to myself will take,

She shall be mine, and I shall make fi

A Lady of my own.

Myself will to my darling he

Botii law and impulse : and with me

Tile (Jirl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and Ijower, 10

Shall feei an overseeing power

To kindle or lestrain.

Siie shall be sportive as the fawn '

'I'liat wild with glee across the lawn

Or up the mountain t^prings ; |g

And iier's shall be the breathing balm,

And her's the silence and tlie calm

Of mute insensate things.

The floating clouds tlieir state shall lend

To her ; for her the willow bend : 20

Nor shall she fail to see

Even in the motion of the Storm

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form

By silent sympathy.

The stars of midnight shall be dear 25

To her ; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance tlieir wayward round.

And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face. 30

And vital feelings of delight

Siiall lear her form to stately height.

Her virgin bosom swell ;

Such tiioughts to Lucy 1 will give

While she and I togetiier live 35

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake— 'J'he work was done-
How soon my Lucy's race was run !
She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm, and quiet scene; 40

The memory of what luas been
And never more will be.

— William Wordmovth.

I !

i:k

APPENDIX.

[To Mas. VVouDfiwouTii.]

Deaker far than light ami life are dear,
Full oft otir human foresight I deplore ;

Trembling, through my unworthincss, with fear
That friends, by death disjoined, may meet no more !

Misgivings, hard to vanquish or control,

Mix with the day, and cross the liour of rest ;

While all the future for thy purer soul,
With "sober certainties " of love is blest.

That sigh of thine, not meant for human ear.
Tell that these words thy humbleness cfTend ;

Yet bear me up — else faltering in the rear
Of a steep march ; support me to the end.

Peace settles where the intellect is meek,

And Love is dutiful in thought and deed ;
Through thee communion with that Love I seek : 15

The faith Heaven strengthens where he moulds the Creed.

— William Wordsworth, 1824.

TO-

[On Mrs. WoHnswoHTii.]

Let other bards of angels sing

Bright suns without a spot ;
But thou art no such perfect thing :

Rejoice that thou art not !

Heed not tho' none should call thee fair ;

Go, Mary, let it be
If nought in loveliness compare

With what thou art to me.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,

Whose veil is unrenioved
Till heart with heart in concord beats.

And the lover is beloved.

— William Wordsworth, I8S4.

APPENDIX. 373

TO HOMKIi,

Standino aloof in giant ignonince,

Of thee I hear and of the Cyolades,

As one wlio aita ashore and longa perchance

To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.

So thou wast blind l—lmt then the veil was rent ; &

tor Jove nncnrtain'd Efeaven to let thee live,

And Neptune made for thee a sperniy tent,

And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive ;

Aye on the shores of darkness there is light,

And precipices show untrodden green, ' \Q

There is a budding morrow in midnight,

There is a triple sight in blindness keen ;

Such seeing hadst thou as it once befell

To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.

—John KeatM, ISIS.

CAMP OF THE TROJANS.

This speech all Trojans did applaud : who from their traces
loosed

Their sweating horse, which severally with headstalls thev

repos'd, ^

And fasten 'd by their chariots, while others brought from town 5
*at sheep and oxen, instantly, bread, wine, and hewed down '
Huge store of wood. The winds transferred into the friendly

sky. •'

Their supper's savour ; to the which they sat delightfully
And spent all night in open field. Fires round about them

shined. Iq

As when about the silver moon, when air is free from wind
And stars shine clear, to whose sweet beams, high prospects' and

the brows "

Of all steep hills and pinnacles, thrust up themselves for shows
And even the lowly valleys joy to glitter in their sight, 15

When the unmeasured firmament bursts to disclose her light
And all the signs in heaven are seen that glad the shepherd's

heart ; *^

So many fires disclosed their beams, made by the Trojan part
Beforp the face of Ilion, and her bright turrets showed ''^

A thousand courts of guard kept fires, and every guard allowed
Jifty stout men, by wiiom their horse ate oats and hard white

corn.
And all did wilfully expect the silver-throated morn.

—Chapman, Homer's Iliad, viii.

I' I

'n,.i

874 APFENDIX.

TO THE NILE.

Son of the old moon-moiuitiviiih African !

Btreani of the Pyraiiiiil and Crocotlile !

We call thee fruitful and that very while

A 'esert lills our seeing's inward span :

Nurse of 8M;vrt nations since the world hegiin,

Art thou 80 fruitful? or dost tiiou hcguile

Those men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,

Rest them a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan ?

O may dark fancies err ! They surely do :

Ti' ignorance that makes a barren waste

Of all beyond itstlf. Thou dost bodew

Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste

The pleasant sun-rise. Green isles hast thou too,

And to the sea as happily dost haste.

—John Keats, IS18.

THE NILE.

It flows through old hush'd Egypt and its sands,

Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream ;

And times and things, as in that vision, seem

Keeping along it their eternal stands, —

Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands 5

That roani'd through the young earth, the glory extreme

Of sweet Sesostris, and that southern beam,

The laughing queen that caught the world's great bands.

Then comes a mightier silence, stern and strong,

As of a world left empty of its throng, 10

And the void weighs on us ; and then we wake,

And hear the fruitful stream lapsing along

'Twixt villagee, and think how we shall take

Our own calm journey on for human sake.

—Lcvjh Hunt, ISIS.

TO THE NILE.

Month after month the goi 'i red rains descend

Drencliing yon secret ^^thiuj/iu • d( :'ls.

And from the desert's ice-r.'ut pr.n - l-^s

Where Frost and Heat ir no' je fci'>ljraces blend

On Atlas, fields of moist snow half depend.

Girt there with Itlasts and meteors Tempest dwells

By Nile's aerial urn, v/itb rapid spells

Urging thoae waters to their mighty end.

APPENDIX.

870

O'er KgyptV laud of M. inoiy t|,),„|B are level

And ti.ey a,. M.jne, O N.k un<l well thou knowent )0

lliat Boiii-siiHtfuning airn and Iilii8t« of evil

And fruits and poiHo„M spring where'er thuu Howeat.

Jitiware, O Man— for k^iow ledge must to thee

Like the great flood to Egypt, over be.

—Percy iiynnht She/lej/, tStS.

':!

■f'

"■

I II

1 1

T/IE SOLlTAIiY HKAnEH.

BElloi.ii her silent in tlie (ield,
Yon solitary Highhuid lass!
Reaping and singing hy herself ;
Stop here, or gently puss !
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melanelioly strain ;
O listen ! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bauds
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands :
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In springtime from the Cuckoo bird.
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?

Perhaps the plaintive nund)ers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago :

Or is it some more humble lay,

Familiar matter of to-day ?

Some natural sorrow, kss, or pain

That has been, and may be again.

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending ;
I saw her singing at her work.
And o'er her sickle bending ; —
I listened, motionless ajid still ;
And, as I mounted up the hill
Tile music in my heart I bore,

Lnnor affor if luno 1- ».>.•. 1 ..« «_

— William WordHWorUi

376

A PPENDIX.

Look at the fate of summer flowers,
Whicli blow at daybreak, droop ere evensong ;
And, grieved for their brief date, confess that ours,
Measured by what we are and ought to be.
Measured by all that, trcml)ling, we foresee.
Is not so long !

If human Life do pass away.
Perishing more swiftly than the flower,
If we are creatures of a winter s day ;
What space hath Virgin's beauty to disclose
Her sweets, and triumph o'er the breathing rose?
Not even an hour !

The deepest grove whose foliage hid
The happiest lovers Arcady might boast.
Could not the entrance of thisthouoht forbid :
O be thou wise as they, soul-gifted Maid !
Nor rate too high what must so quickly fade,
So soon be lost.

Then shall love teach some virtuous Youth
" To draw out of the object of his eyes,"
The while on thee they gaze in simple truth.
Hues more exalted, "a refiuM form,"
That dreads not age, nor suff"ers from the worm.
And never dies.

— William Wonhivorth.

TO THE NIOHTINOALE.

O NiGirTiNGALK, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, w hen all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill.
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the siiullow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will
Have linked that amorous power to thj' soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh ;
As thou fiom year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why.
Whither the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

— Milton, Sonnets, i.

APPENDIX. 377

" DREA THES THERE A MAN."

BuEATiiES there a man, with soul so deail,
Who never to himself hath said,

Tliis la my own, my native land !
Whose heart hath ne'er within him biirn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, 5

From wandering on a foreign strand !
If such there breathes, go, mark him well ;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell ;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Bounilless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

— Scott, Lay of the, Last Minstrel, vi. i.

;^i

i i

! I.

A LAMENT.

O, world ! O, life ! O, time !
Oil whose last steps I climb

Trembling at that where I had stood before ;
Wlien will return the glory of your prime ?

No more — Oh, never more ! 6

Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight ;

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,
Move my faint heart with grief, but with deliglit

No more — Oh, never more ! 10

— Percy Hysshe Shelley.

OPPORTUNITY.

He who bends to himself a joy
Does the wing'd life destroy ;
But he wiio kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sunrise.

378 APPENDIX.

It you trap the moment before it's ripe,
The tears of repentance you'll certainly wipe ;
But, if you once let the ripe moment go,
You can never wipe off the tears of woe,

— William Blake, 1757-1827.

SIR PATRICK S PENCE*

The King site in Dumferling tour.»,

Drinking hia blude-rod wine :
«« whar will I got guid sailor

To sail this ship of mine ?"

Up and spake an eldern" knicht*,

Sat at the kings richt kne :
**Sir Patrick Spence is the bes^ sailor

That MtOa upon tbfi (?«* "

The king nas written a braid letter"

And signed it wi' his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,

Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch* lauched he :
The next line that Sir Patrick red,

The teir blinded his ee. »

«• v/hft is this has don' this deid,

This ill deid done to me ;
To send me out this time o' the yeir

To sail upon the se ?

" Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne."

" O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

■•The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Sp_ence.^.^^^^ ^^.^^^^^

I A.ged. 3 Knight. 3 Bread (open) letu

APPENDIX. B79

" Late, late yestreen* I saw the new moone 25

Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ;
And I feir, I fcir, my deir mast6r,

That we will com' to harme."

Oour Scots nobles wer richt laitb*

To wet cbair cork-heild schoone ; 80

But lang owre a' the play wer playd

Thair hats they swam aboone.*

lang, lang may their ladies sit,

Wi"thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 35

Cum sailing to the land.

lang, lang may the ladies stand,

Wi' thair gold kems* in their hair,
Waiting for their ain deir lords,

For they'll se thame na mair. 40

Have owre, ' » have owre to Aberdour, > *

It's fifty fadom deip ;
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spenco

Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.

—From Percy's "Udiques.''

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY.

Ah Allegory.

On the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,

A sister and a brother !

That far outstripp'd the other ;
Yet even runs she with reverted face,
And looks and listens for the boy behind :

For he, alas ! is blind !
O'er rough and smooth with even step he pass'd.
And knows not whether he is first or last.

— Coler*dge.

A Voaforffav «'

ivciminry

fl n.. *t«« •«.*#.

11 A village on the Forth.

380

APPENDIX.

LIFE.

Life ! I know not what thou art,

But know that thou and I must part ;

And when, or how, or where we met,

I own to me's a secret yet.

But this I know, when thou art fled,

Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,

No clod so valueless shall be,

As all that then remains of me.

whither, whither dost thou fly.

Where bend unseen thy trackless course,

And in this strange divorce.
Ah ! tell where I must seek this compound I f
To the vast ocean of empryeal flame,

From whence thy essence came,
Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed
From matter s base, encumbering weed ?

Or dost thou, hid from sight.

Wait, like some spell-bound knight,
Though blank oblivious years the appointed hour,
lo break thy trance and re-assume thy power '
Yet canst thou without thought or feeling bo ?
O say what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee ?
Life ! we've been long together.
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ;

T is hard to part when friends are dear ;

Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear ;
Tlien steal away, give little warning.
Choose thine own time ;
Say not good niglit, but in some brighter climo
Bid me good morning.

—Mrs. Barhauld (1743-1825).

REQUIEM.

^ Under the wide and starry sky,

Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did 1 live, and gladly die.
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me :
Here he lies where he longed to be ;

Home is the sailor, home from the sea.
And the hunter home from the hill.

— Robert Louis Stevenson.

1 i

APPENDIX.

881

WHA T IS A SONNET ?

What is a sonnet ? 'T \h a pearly shell
That murmurs of the far-off iiuirmuring sea •
A precious jewel carved most curiously • '

It is a little picture painted well. *

What is a sonnet ? 'Tis the tear that fell 5

From a great poet's ecstasy ;

A two-edged sword, a star, a song— ah me !
Sometimes a heavy tolling funeral bell.

This was the flame that aliook with Dante's breath,
1 he solemn organ whereon Milton played, 10

And the clear glass where Shakespeare's shadow falls ;
A sea IS this— beware who ventureth !

For like a fiord the narrow flood is laid
Deep as mid ocean to sheer mountain walls.

~R. W. Gilder.

MILTON.

He left the upland lawns and serene air
Wherefrom his soul her noble nurture drew
And reared his helm among the unquiet crew

Battling beneath ; the morning radiance rare

Of his young brow amid the tumult there,
Grew grim with sulphurous dust and sanguine dew •
Yet through all soilure they wlio marked him knew'

The signs of his life's dayspring, calm and fair.

But when peace came, peace fouler far than war,
And mirth more dissonant than battle's tone,
He with a scornful laugh of his clear soul, *
Back to his mountain clomb, now bleak and frore
And with the awful night, he dwelt alone
In darkness, listening to the thunder's roll.

— Eniest Meyera,

382

APPENDIX.

SLEEP.

Coma, Sleep ! Sleep, the certain knot of pe;,c«,

The baiting-place* of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,

Th indifferent judge between the high and low ;
With shield of proof , shield me from out the press

Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw ;
make in me those civil wars to cease :

I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light,
A rosy garland and a weary head :

And if these things, as being there by right,
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me
Livelier than elsewnere, Stella's image see.
-Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1686), in "Aairophel and Stella."

SLEEP.

(«. Henry IV., iii., I., 5fl.)

How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee.
That thou no more wilt weigh these eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetf ulness ?
Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
^ Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee
And nush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great.
Under the canopies of costly state,
And luU'd with sound of sweetest melody !
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell ?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brain
In cradle of the rude, imperious surge
And in the visitation of the winds.
Who take the ruffian billow3 by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them
With deafening clamour in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ?

1 Place of refreBttment.

APVENinX.
Canst thou, partial sleep, give thy idDose

SreL^t^ttaa^&--toV'-

— Shakspere.

888

[I i

TO THE DAISY.

Bright Flower ! whose home is everywhere
Bold m maternal Nature's care, '"'^y'^"®'^*'
And all the long years tlirough the heir
»r 1. ^°y ^^ sorrow ;
Methinks that there abides in thee
Some concord mth iramanity.
Given to no other flower I see
The forest thorough J

Is it that Man is soon deprest ♦

A thoughUess Thing ! who, once unblest.

L>oes httle on his memory rest.

Or on his reason.
And Thou would'st teach him how to find
A Shelter under every wind,
A hope for times that are unkind

And every season.

Thou wander'st the wide world about
Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt.
With friends to greet thee, or without,

pleased and willing ;
Meek, yielding to the occasion's call,
mu ? things suffering from all,
Iny function apostolical,
In peace fulfilling.

— Wordsworth,

884

APPENDIX.

•• WHEN A MOUNTING SKYLARK SINOS.''

When a mounting skylark sings

In the sun-lit summer morn,
I know that heaven is up on high,

And on earth are fields of corn.

But when a nightingale sings
' In the moon-lit summer even,
I know not if earth is merely earth,
Only that hea za is heaven.

— Ghriatina Roasettx.

THE LARK.

Bird of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumbcrless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea !

Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place —
to abide in the desert with th.e !

Wild is thy lay, and loud.

Far in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy— love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wmg,

Where art thou journeying ?
Thy lay is in heaven — thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green.
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,

Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away !

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms
Sweet will be thy welcome and bed of love be !

Emblem of happiness.

Blest is thy dwelling-place —
C Iq abide in the desert with thee !

-nj<me* Uo^ fl77S-1835),

APPENDIX. 886

FROM " r^i? /77?57' SKYLARK OF SPRINO."

Two worlds host thou to dwell in, Sweet, —

The virginal untroubled sky,
And this vext region at my feet. —

Alas, but one have I !

To all my songs there clings the shade, 6

The dulling shade of mundane care.
They amid mortal mists are made, —

Thine in immortal air.

My heart is dashed witli griefs and fears ;

My song comes fluttering, and is gone. 10

high above the home of tears.

Eternal Joy, sing on 1

W I

Somewhat as thou, Man once could sing,

In porches of the lucent morn,
Ere he had felt his lack of wing, 16

Or cursed his iron bourn.

The springtime bubbled in his throat,

The sweet sky seemed not far above.
And you ig and lovesomc came the note ; —

Ah, thine is Youth and Love ! 20

Thou singest of what he knew of old,
And dream-like from afar recalls ;
In flashes of forgotten gold
An orient glory falls.

And as he listens, one by one, 26

Life's utmost splendours blaze more nigh ;

Less inaccessible the sun,
Less alien grows the sky.

For thou art native to the sphere

And of the courts of heaven ar ee, 80

And carriest to his temporal cars.

News from eternity ;

And lead'st him to the dizzy verge.

And lur'st him o'er the dazzling line.
Where mortal and immortal merge, 86

And human dies divine.

— William WcUson.

880

APPENDIX.

HOME TIIOUOHTS FROM ABROAD. '

Oh, to be in England

Now that April's there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware.

That the lowest bou^lis and the brushwood sheaf

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough

In England — now !

And after April when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows-
Hark ! where blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dew-drops,— at the bent s|.iay's edge,—
That's the wise thrush; he sings each soug twice over,
Lest vou should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture.
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower,
Far brighter than this gaudy melon flower.

—Brovming.

HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA.

Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-west died away ;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeling into Cadiz Bay ;
Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay ;
In the dimest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and

grey ;
' Here and there did England help me : how can 1 help England »'

—say. 5

VJ hoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.

—Broivning,

APPENDIX.

887

EPITAPH ON A JACOBITE.

To my true kin^, I offered free from stain,
Courage and faith ; vain faith, and courage vain.
For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth away,
And one dear hope, that w«a more prized than tiiey.
For him I languished in a foreign clime,
Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime ;
Heard in Lavernia, Scargill's^ whispering trees,
And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees ;
Beheld, each night my homo in fevered sleep.
Each morning started from the dream to weep ;
Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave
The resting-place I asked, an early grave
Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,
Irom that proud country which was once mine own,
By those white cliflfsi I never more must see.
By that dear language which I spake like thee,
Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear
O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.

—Macaulay (lSOO-1859).

f fcf

If)

TO EVENING.

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song.

May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,

Like thy own solemn springs,

Thy springs, and dying gales ;

Nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,

With brede etherial wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed ;

New air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat,
With short shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing ;

Or where the beetle winds

His small, but sullen horn,

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Againat the pilgrim borne in heedless hum ;

Now teach me, maid composed,

To breathe some softened strain.

1 In North Yorkahire on the upper Teea.

a^ APPENDIX.

\\ h '.so uuiul)cra, aluuliiig tlirouL;li lliy darkening vale,
May not unseemly witli thy stillness suit ;

As, inu-^in^ slow, I liail

Thy genial loved return I

For when thy folding-star arising showi
His palv circlet, at liia warning lamp
Ihe fragrant Hours an<l Klves
Who sleep in flowers the day,

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, 25
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,

The pensive Pleasures sweet,

Prepare thy shadowy car ;

Then lead, calm votaress, where some sheety lake

Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallowed pile, 30

Or upland follows grey

Reflect its last cool gleam.

But when chill blustering winds or driving rain
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,

That, from the mountain's side, 85

Views wilds, and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires ;
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil. 40

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wout,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve I

While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy lingering light ;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 45

Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,

Aff'righta thy shrinking train.

And rudely rends thy robes ;

So long sure-found beneath the sylvan shed

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipped Health, 50

Thy gentlest influence own.

And hymn thy favourite name.

^-Collins (1

720-1756).

APPENDIX.

FROM *' SEAWEED.**

When descends on the Atlantic

The gigantic
Storm- wind of the cqninox,
Landward in his wrath he scourges

'I'iic toiling surges,
Laden witli seaweed from tlie rocks j

From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges

Of sunken ledges,
In some far-off, bright Azore ;
From Bahama, and tlie dashing,

Silver Hashing
Surges of San Salvador ;

From thetumblincr surf, that buries

The Orkneyan skerries.
Answering the hoarse Hebrides ;
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting

Spars, uplifting
On the desolate, rainy seas ; —

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting

On the shifting
Currents of the restless main ;
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches

Of sandv beaches.
All have found repose again.

— LonfjfeUow.

J'-Wt

f I

■ %

THEY ARE ALL GONE.

They are all gone into the world of Light,

And I alone sit lingering here !
Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Or these faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's removs.

891)

APPENDIX.

I see them walking in an air of glory.

Whose light doth trample on my days ; 10

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary —

Mere glimmerings and decays.

holy Hope ! and high Humility,

High as the heavens above !
These are your walks, and you have showed them me 15

To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous Death ; the jewel of the just !

Shining no where but in the dark ;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust ;

(3ould man outlook that mark ! 20

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know

At first sight if the birds be flown ;
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams, 25

Call to the soul, when man doth sleep.
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,

And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb

Her captive flames must needs burn there ; 30

But, when the hantl that locked her up gives room,

She'll shine through all the sphere.

Father of eternal lif*», and all

Created glories under Thee !
Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall 85

Into true liberty.

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill

My perspective, still as they pass ;
Or else remove me hence unto that hill.

Where I shall need no glass. 40

— Vaughan (1621- 1695 J.

AFTER THE BURIAL.

Tes, faith is a goodly anchor ;
When skies are sweet as a psalm.
At the bowa it lolls so stalwart.
In bluff, broA<l-ihouldtired oalnii

AFFENDIX,

T>?f fTJl^° 7^'' '^reake" to leeward
I he tattered surges are hurled.

It may keep our head to the tempest.

W ith Its grip on the base of the world.

But after the shipwreck, tell me
What help in its iron thews,
btill true to the broken hawser.
Ueep down among sea- weed and ooze ?

In the breaking gulfs of sorrow,
V\ hen the helpless feet stretch out.
And find m the deeps of darkness
iNo footing so solid as doubt,

Then better one spar of Memory.
One broken plank of the Past,
iftat our human heart may cling to.
Though hopeless of shore at last I

To the spirit its splendid conjectures,
lo the flesh its sweet despair.
Its tears o'er the thin-worn locket
With Its anguish of deathless hair 1

Immortal ? I feel it and know it,
Who doubts it of such as she ?
Jiut that is the pang's very secret,-
Immortal away from me.

There's a narrow ridge in the graveyard
Would scarce stay a child in his race,

TKo ^J"* *°*^ "^y <^hought it is wider
laan the star-sown vague of Space.

Your logic my friend, is perfect.
Your morals most drearily true •
I>ut, since the earth clashed on her coflBn
I keep hearing that, and not you. '

Console if you will, I can bear it ;

B^i" ** n ?^"^ *'•"« o' breath ;
But not all the preaching since Adam

891

(5 5

«: -

30'2

APPENDIX.

It is pagan ; but wait till you feel it,—
The jar of our earth— that dull shock
When the ploughshare of deeper passion
Tears down to our primitive rock.

Communion in spirit ? Forgive me,
But I, who am earthly and weak,
Would give all the incomes from dreamland
For a touch of her hand on my check.

That little shoe in the corner,
So worn and wrinkled and brown,
With its emptiness confutes you,
And argues your wisdom down.

— Lowell.

''THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US."

The world is too much with us ; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers :
Little we see in Nature that is ours ;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon !

The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ;
The winds that will be l.owling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ;

For these, for everything, we are out of tune ;

It moves us not. -Great God ! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn ;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

— woraswona, i

iSOG.

■■?■■•

APPENDIX.

398

•• hET ME NOT TO THE MA R PI AGE OF TRUE MINDS."

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove :

Oh, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 6

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ;

It is the star to every wandering bark.

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come ; lu

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks.

But bears it out' even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me prov'd,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

— Shakspere.

THE CROSS OF SNOW.

In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle faie— the face of one long dead—
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head

The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.

Here in this room she died ; and soul more white
Never through martyrdom by fire was led
To its repose ; nor can in books be read

The legend of a life more benedight.

There is a mountain in the distant West;
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines"
Displays a cross of snow upon its side,
isuch is the cross I wear upon my breast

These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

— Longfellow.

i Coccinues tteaiUa»tb

394

APPENDIX.

?ffil

DAYBREAK.

A wind came up out of the sea,

And said, "0 mists, make room for me."

It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on,
Ye mariners, the night is gone."

And hurried landward far away,
Crying, " Awake ! it is tie day."

It said unto the forest, "Shout !
Hang ail your leafy hanners out ! "

It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,
And said, "0 hird, awake and sir.g. "

And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer.
Your clarion blow ; the day is near."

It whispered to the fields of corn,

" Bow down, and hail the coming morn."

It shouted tlirough the belfry-tower,
"Awake, O bell ! proclaim tiie hour."

It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,
And said, "Not yet, in quiet lie."

— Longfellow.

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.

How happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will ;

Whose armour is his honest thought.
And simple truth his utmost skill;

""- rr- L_

APPENDIX.

^n?u® P*^8'""* "ot his masters are ;

Whose soul is still prepar'd for death.
Untied unto the world with care

Of public fame or private breath ;

Who envies none that chance doth raise.

Ur vice ; hath ever understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise.

Nor rules of state, but rules of good ;

Who hath his life from humours freed ;

\\ hose conscience is his strong retreat :
Whose state can neither flatterers feed

TV or rum make oppressors great ;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend ;

Aiiri entertains tiie harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend.

This man is free from servile hands

Of hope to rise, or fear to fall •
Lord of himself, though not of lands,

Aud having uotlrjg, yet hath all.

—Sir Henry Wotloii (1568-1639).

805

FROM " EXTREME UNGTlOI/,*

Upon the hour when I was born,

God said, "Another mau shall be "
And the great Maker did not scorn '

Out of Himself to fashion me •
He sunned me with His ripening looks.

A^ Heaven's rich instincts in me grew.
As effortless as woodland nooks

Send violets up and paint them blue

396

APPE?fDIX.

Yes, I who now, with angry tears,

Am exiled back to brutish clod, 10

Have borne unqucnched for four-score years

A spark of the eternal God ;
And to what end ? How yield I back

The trust for such high uses given ?
Heaven's light hath but revealed a track 15

Whereby to crawl away from Heaven.

Men think it is an awful sight

To see a soul just set adrift
On that drear voyage from whose night

The ominous shadows never lift ; 20

But 'tis more awful to behold

A helpless infant newly born,
Whose little iiands unconscious hold

The keys of darkness and of morn.

Mine held them once ; I flung away

Those keys that might have open set
The golden sluices of the day,

But clutcii the keys of darkness yet ; —
I hear the reapers surging go

Into God's harvest ; I, that might
With them have chosen, here below

Grope shuddering at the gates of night.

9r»

.SO

O glorious Youth, that once was mine !

O high Ideal ! all in vain
Ye enter at this ruined shrine .^5

Whence worship ne'er shall rise again ;
The bat and owl inhabit here,

The snake nests in tlie altar-stone,
The sacred vessels moulder near ;

The image of the (iod is gone. 4(\

— James Russell Lowell.

u —

■^'— ^•>>ii>MaBBK~

APPENDIX.

397

TJJE GLIMPSE.

Just for a (lay you crossed my life's dull track
Put my ,gnoh er dreams to sudden shame '

OnV'r: '■■''^'^ST''^' "'"^ '''' «"« t« fa" back
Oil K.y own world ot poorer deed and aim ;

To fall back on my meaner world, and feel

heaped from the street's dead dust and factory', frown,-

Im stainless dayhght saw the pure seas 'roll
^aw mountains pillaring the perfect sky :'

rhen journeyed home, to carry in his soul •
llie torment of the difference till he die.

—- William Watson.

THE LAST WORD.

Creep into thy narrow bed,
Creep, and let no more be said »
\ am thy onset ! all stands fast.'
Ihen thyself must break at last.

T.et the long contention cease '
(.eese are swans and swans arc geese.
Let tiiem have it how they will ]
Ihou art tired; best be still.

They out-talk'd thee, hiss'd thee, tore thee?
Better men fared thus before thee ;
Mred their ringing shot and pass'd.
Hotly charged— and sank at last.

Charge once more, then, and be dumb !
i.et the victors, when they come.
A) hen the forts of follv fall,
i'liid thy i)ody by the wall.'

— Matthew Arnold,

398

APPENDIX.

PROSPICE.

Fear death ? — to feel the fog in iny throat,

The mist in my face,
When the snows i)egin, and the blasts denote

I am nearing the place,
The power of the niglit, the press of the storm,

The post of the foe,
Where he stands, the Arcii Fenr in a visible form.

Yet the strong man must go :
For the journey is done and llic summit attained.

And the barriers fail,
Tliough a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained.

The reward of it all.
I was ever a Hf liter, so — one fight more,

The best uid the last !
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, 15

And ba( e me creep past.
No ! let me taste t; <: whole of it, fare like my peers

The heroes of old,
liear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears

Of pain, darkness and cold.
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,

The black minute's at end.
And tlie elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave.

Shall dwindle, shall blend,
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,

Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again.

And with (iod be the rest !

— liohert Brotrnui'i.

■-til

ALL SAINTS.

One feast, of holy days the crest,

I, though no Churchman, love to keep,
All-Saints, — the unknown good that rest

In God's still memory folded deep ;
The bravely dumb that did their deed,

And scorned to blot it with a name,

eu of the i'>lain heroic brned. .

'that loved Heaven's silence more than fame.

APPENDIX.

Such lived i.„t in ti.e past alone.

An . V • 'T' '"■^'''y ^'"-' ""l-eoding street
And stairs to S,n and Fan.ine knovvn, '

Su.g with tlie welcon... of tl.eir feet ;
1 he den they enter grows a shrine,

rhe g, any sash an oriel hi.rns,
lhe,re„pof vvaterwarn.HliUewine,

rhe.r speech is Hlled from heavenly urns

Abont their hrows to me appears
An aureole traced in tenderest Ih-ht

Ihe randxnv-glenm of anules through U.
In dying eyes hy then, made l,n4t

And Ml their mercy felt the ple.lge
And sweetness of the farther shore.

Jamts Russell Lowell.

ars

890

-WHEN. IN DISGIUrE WITH FORTUNE AND
MEN'S EYES."

Haply I think oij t ,eV '15,'; '''°''' ''""■""'■g.

— Shakapcre.

400

APPENDIX.

THE liEVElilE i>F Pooli SUHAN.

At the corner of Wood street, wlicii dayliglit appears,
Hangs a tliriish tliat singa lonti, it has sunLj for three years ;
Poor Susan haa pas8e<l by the spot, and lia.s heanl
In the silence of morning the song of the Mnl.

'Tis a note of enchantment ; vliatails her? Slie sees
A mountain ascending, a vision of trei-s ;
Hright columnaof vapour through Lotld)ury glide,
Ami a river flows on througii the vale of Cheupside.

(Jreen pastures she views in the midst of the dale,
Down wldch she so often has tripped vvitii lier pail ;
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's.
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart ia in heaven, hut tliey fade,
Tiie mist and tlie river, the hill and the shade ;
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise.
And the colours have all passed away from her eyes.

\Vi 'Ham Wordsivorth.

l.->

CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

(On the death of Lincoln.)

O Captain \ my Captj a ! our fearful trip is done.
The ship has weathered every rock, the prize we sought is won.
The port id near, the bells I liear, the people all exulting.
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring ;
But O heart ! heart ! heart ! 5

O the bleeding drops of red,

When on the deck my Captain lies,
F'allen cold and dead.

O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ;

Rise up— for you tlie Hag is flung — for you the bugle trills, Id

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-

crowding.
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ;
Here Captain, dear father !

This arm beneath your head !

It ia some <]ream that on the deck, 15

You've fallen cold and dead.

A I' I' ES lux.

101

My (.'aptiiiii does not utiHWcr, his lips are palu and still.
My father doos not feci my aim, hu lias no pulse nor will.
The ship is aiichor'd safe and sound, its voyaj.'.- closed anil done.
From fearful trip the victor ship comes it with obiect won ; 20
Exult Hlioies, and rinj; hills !
JJut I with moiiinfiil Ireail,

Walk the deck my "a 'aiii lies,
Fallen cold am. dead.

— Widt Whllman.

ON Ills BLINDNESS.

When I consider how my light is spent
Jl.re half my day.s, in thia dark worhl and wide
Andtiiat one talent wliich is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

Jo serve therewith my Maker, aixl present
My irue account, Ic^t H.;, returning chide ;
l^f'th (.od exact day-labour, light denied ? "

1 loudly ask ; but patience, to prevent

That murmur soon replies, «' Go.l ,loth not need
Lither man a work, or His own gifts ; who best

Jiear His mild yoke, they serve Him best; Misstate
Is kingly ; thousan.ls at His bid.ling .speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
Iney also serve who only staml and wait."

-John Milton,

How sleep the brave who sink t> rest,
By all tiieir country's wishes blest !
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck thoir iiallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung ;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ;
There Honour conies, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their cla'y ;
And Freedom shall a while repair.
To dwell a weeping hermit there.

— William Collin's.

402

APPENDIX,

rri

JS MEMO 1(1 AM, 11.

Old Yew, wliieli graspest nt the Rtonea

Tlmt niiine tliu under-lying tlead,
^^ Thy Hhrcs nt^t the droaniless head,
'I hy roots are wrapt about tjjo bones.

The seasons l)ring the Hower again,

And I. ring the firstling to the Hook
And ill the duKk of tiiee. the clock

Beats out the little lives of men.

O not for thee the glow, the hlooni,
NVho chiingest not in any gale,
Nor branding j^nninier snns avail

To touch tliy thousand years of gloom :

And gazing on thee, sullen tree,

.Sick for thy Mtulfborn hardihoo<l,
I seem to fail from out my blood

And grow incorporate into thee.

— Alfred Tennyson.

'I. 'I

MEMO HA Bill A.

Ah I did you see Shelley plain,

And did he stop and speak to you,
And did you speak to him again ?

How strange it seems and new !

Hut you were living before that, g

And also you are living after ;
And th« memory I startled at —

My startling moves your laughter !

I crosseil a moor, with a name of its own,

And a certain use in the world, no doubt, 10

Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone

'Mid the blank miles round about.

For these I picked up on the heather

And there I put inside my breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather ! 16

Well, 1 forget the rest.

— Robert Browning.

APFEXIUX.

|i>;i.

T/IE ClIAMIiiniED XAUTILUS.

This is the ship of pflail, wliich, poets ft-ign,

Sails the niiHhiiilowcd niain,^

The venturous bark tluit flings
On the Nwe»»t sninnH-r win.l its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, wliere the sin-n sings,

And coral reefs lie hare,
Where the cold Mea-niai<ls rise to snn their streaming hair.

Its wel)s of living gauze no more unfurl ;

Wrecked is the ship of pearl !

An<l every chanihorod cell.
Where its (Urn dreaming life 'was wont to dwell,
As the frail ti'uant shaped his growing shell.

Before thee lies reveah'd, —
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed !

Year after year beheld the silent toil 15

Tiiat spread its lustrous coil ;

Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for (he new,
Stole with soft step its shining nr- iway through

Budt up its idle door, oq

Stretched in his last-found home, .1 knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message broi'ght by thee.

Child of t lu: .. .ndering sea,

Cast ill her lap forlorn !
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 25

"Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn !

While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves 01 thought I hear a voice that sings :—

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll !

Leave thy low-vaulted past !
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with 1 dome v- .,re vast,

Till thou at length art free
Leaving thine outgrown shell 1 v life's unresting sea !

— O-livtV WeridcU Holm.fi>.