w 
 
 <**'*.% **.'4 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 ',* 
 
 

 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S 
 
 PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 SI Homannt. 
 
 BY LORD BYRON. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, WITH ALL THE NOTES, 
 
 EDITED BY THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 HENRY CAREY BAIRD, 
 
 (SUCCESSOR TO E. L. CAREY,) 
 No. 7 HART'S BUILDINGS, SIXTH STREET ABOVE CHESTNUT. 
 
 1856.
 
 L'univers est une espece de livre, dont on n'a lu que la pre- 
 miere page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuillete un 
 assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouve egalement mauvaises. Get 
 examen ne m'a point ete infructueux. Je haissais ma patrie. 
 Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai 
 vecu, m'ont reconcilie avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tire d'autre 
 benefice de mes voyages que celui-la, je n'en regretterais ni les 
 frais ni les fatigues. 
 
 LE COSMOPOLITE.* 
 
 * [Par M. de Montbron, Paris, 1793. Lord Byron somewhere calls it 
 amusing little volume, full of French flippancy." E.] 
 
 Printed by T. K & P. G Collins. '
 
 [TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS.] 
 
 THE folio wing poem was written, for the most part, 
 amidst the scenes which it attempts to describe. It 
 was begun in Albania ; and the parts relative to Spain, 
 and Portugal were composed from the author's ob- 
 servations in those countries. Thus much it may be 
 necessary to state for the correctness of the descrip- 
 tions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in 
 Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece. 
 There, for the present, the poem stops: its reception 
 will determine whether the author may venture to 
 conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through 
 Ionia and Phrygia: these two cantos are merely 
 experimental. 
 
 A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of 
 giving some connection to the piece; which, however, 
 makes no pretension to regularity. It has been sug- 
 gested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a 
 high value, that in this fictitious character, " Childe 
 Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having intended 
 some real personage ; this I beg leave, once for all, to 
 disclaim Harold is the .child of imagination, for the 
 purpose I have stated. In some very trivial particu- 
 lars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for 
 
 2C47SS2
 
 4 PREFACE. 
 
 such a notion ; but in the main points, I should hope, 
 none whatever. 
 
 It is almost superfluous to mention that the appel- 
 lation "Childe," as " Childe Waters," " Cliilde 
 Childers," &c., is used as more consonant with the 
 old structure of versification which I have adopted. 
 The " Good Night," in the beginning of the first canto, 
 was suggested by "Lord Maxwell's Good Night," 
 in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott. 1 
 
 With the different poems which have been pub- 
 lished on Spanish subjects, there may be found some 
 slight coincidence in the first part, which treats of the 
 Peninsula, but it can only be casual; as, with the 
 exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of 
 this poem was written in the Levant. 
 
 The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most 
 successful poets, admits of 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 senti- 
 mental, 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." 2 
 Strengthened in my opinion by such 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 composition ; satisfied that 
 if they.are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the 
 execution, rather than in the design sanctioned by the 
 practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie. 
 London, February, 1812. 
 
 1 [See Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works, vol. ii. p. 141, ed. 
 1834.] 
 8 Beattie's Letters.
 
 ADDITION TO THE PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE now waited till almost all our periodical 
 journals have distributed their usual portion of criti- 
 cism. To the justice of the generality of their criti- 
 cisms I have nothing to object : it would ill become me 
 to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, 
 when, perhaps, if they had been less kind they had 
 been more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and 
 each my best thanks for their liberality, on one point 
 alone shall I venture an observation. Amongst the 
 many objections justly urged to the very indifferent 
 character of the "vagrant Childe," (whom, notwith- 
 standing many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to 
 be a fictitious personage,) it has been stated, that, 
 besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as 
 the times of the knights were times of love, honour, 
 and so forth. Now, it so happens that the good old 
 times, when " 1'amour du bon vieux terns, 1'amour 
 antique" flourished, were the most profligate of all 
 possible centuries. Those who have any doubt on 
 this subject may consult Sainte-Palaye, passim, and 
 more particularly vol. ii. p. 69. 1 The vows of chivalry 
 were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever; 
 
 1 [" Qu'on lise dans 1'Auteur du roman de Gerard de Rous- 
 eillon, en Provencal, les details tres-circonstancies dans lesquels 
 il entre sur la reception faite par le Comte Gerard dl'ambassadeur 
 du roi Charles; on y verra des particularites singulieres, qui 
 donnent une etrange idee des moeurs et de la politesse de ces 
 siecles aussi corrompus qu'ignorans." Memoires sur I' 'Jlncienne 
 Chevalerie, par M. de la Curne dc Sainte-Palaye, Paris, 1781.] 
 1 5
 
 C PREFACE. 
 
 and the songs of the troubadours were not more 
 decent, and certainly were much less refined, than 
 those of Ovid. The "Cours d'amour, parlemens 
 d'amour, ou de courtesie et de gentilesse" had much 
 more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See 
 Roland on the same subject with Sainte-Palaye. 
 Whatever other objection may be urged to that most 
 unamiable personage, Childe Harold,he was so farper- 
 fectly knightly in his attributes " No waiter, but a 
 knight templar." 1 By-the-by, I fear that Sir Tris- 
 tram and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should 
 be, although very poetical personages and true knights 
 "sans peur," though not "sans reproche." If the 
 story of the institution of the "Garter" be not a fable, 
 the knights of that order have for several centuries 
 borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indiffer- 
 ent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not 
 have regretted that its days are over, though Marie- 
 Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in 
 whose honours lances were shivered, and knights 
 unhorsed. 
 
 Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of 
 Sir Joseph Banks, (the most chaste and celebrated of 
 ancient and modern times,) few exceptions will be 
 found to this statement; and I fear a little investiga- 
 tion will teach us not to regret these monstrous 
 mummeries of the middle ages. 
 
 I now leave " Childe Harold" to live his day, such 
 as he is ; it had been more agreeable, and certainly 
 more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It 
 had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him 
 do more and express less ; but he never was intended 
 as an example, further than to show, that early 
 
 1 The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement [By Messrs. 
 
 Canning and Frere; first published in the Anti-jacobin, or 
 Weekly Examiner.]
 
 PREFACE. 7 
 
 perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of 
 past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and 
 that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of 
 travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all 
 excitements) are lost on a soul so constituted, or 
 rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem, 
 this character would have deepened as he drew to the 
 close ; for the outline which I once meant to fill up 
 for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a 
 modern Timon, 1 perhaps a poetical Zeluco. 2 
 London, 1813. 
 
 1 [In one of his early poems " Childish Recollections," 
 Lord Byron compares himself to the Athenian misanthrope, of 
 whose bitter apophthegms many are upon record, though no 
 authentic particulars of his life have come down to us : 
 
 " Weary of love, of life, devoured with spleen, 
 I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen," &c.] 
 
 9 [It was Dr Moore's object, in this powerful romance, (now 
 unjustly neglected,) to trace the fatal effects resulting from a 
 fond mother's unconditional compliance with the humours and 
 passions of an only child. With high advantages of person, 
 birth, fortune, and ability, Zeluco is represented as miserable, 
 through every scene of life, owing to the spirit of unbridled self- 
 indulgence thus pampered in infancy.!
 
 TO IANTHE. 1 
 
 NOT in those climes where I have late been straying, 
 Though beauty long hath there been matchless 
 
 deem'd ; 
 
 Not in those visions to the heart displaying 
 Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd, 
 Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd j 
 Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek 
 To paint those charms which varied as they 
 
 beam'd 
 
 To such as see thee not my words were weak ; 
 To those who gaze on thee what language could they 
 
 speak ? 
 
 Ah ! mayst thou ever be what now thou art, 
 Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, 
 As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, 
 Love's image upon earth without his wing, 
 And guileless beyond Hope's imagining ! 
 And surely she who now so fondly rears 
 Thy youth, in thee thus hourly brightening, 
 Beholds the rainbow of her future years, 
 Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears. 
 
 1 [The Lady Charlotte Harley, second daughter of Edward, 
 fifth Earl of Oxford, (now Lady Charlotte Bacon,) in the autumn 
 of 1812, when these lines were addressed to her, had not completed 
 her eleventh year. Mr. Westell's portrait of the juvenile beauty, 
 painted at Lord Byron's request, is engraved in " Finden's Illus- 
 trations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron."] 
 
 9
 
 10 TO IANTHE. 
 
 Young Peri 1 of the west! 'tis well for me 
 My years already doubly number thine ; 
 My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee, 
 And safely view thy ripening beauties shine; 
 Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline ; 
 Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed. 
 Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign 
 To those whose admiration shall succeed, 
 But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours 
 decreed. 
 
 Oh! let that eye,which, wild as the gazelle's, 2 
 Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, 
 Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, 
 Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny 
 That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh 
 Could I to thee be ever more than friend : 
 This much, dear maid, accord ; nor question why 
 To one so young my strain I would commend, 
 But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend. 
 
 Such is thy name with this my verse entwined ; 
 And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast 
 On Harold's page, lanthe's here enshrined 
 Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last : 
 My days once number'd, should this homage past 
 Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre 
 Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, 
 Such is the most my memory may desire ; 
 Though more than Hope can claim, could Friend- 
 ship less require ? 
 
 1 [Peri, the Persian terra for a beautiful intermediate order of 
 beings, is generally supposed to be another form of our own 
 word Fairy.] 
 
 * [A species of the antelope. " You have the eyes of a ga- 
 zelle," is considered all over the East as the greatest compliment 
 that can be paid to a woman.]
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST.
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
 ft 
 
 OH, thou ! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, 
 Muse ! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will ! 
 Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth, 
 Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill : 
 Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill ; 
 Yes ! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine, 1 
 Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still ; 
 Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine 
 To grace so plain a tale this lowly lay of mine. 2 
 
 1 The little village of Castri stands partly on the site of Delphi. 
 Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains 
 of sepulchres hewn in and from the rock. " One," said the guide, 
 " of a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty had cer- 
 tainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little 
 above Castri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth ; 
 the upper part of it is paved, and now a cow-house. On the other 
 side of Castri stands a Greek monastery ; some way above which 
 is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, 
 and apparently leading to the interior of the mountain ; probably 
 to the Corycian Cavern mentioned by Pausanias. From this part 
 descend the fountain and the " Dews of Castalie." [" We were 
 sprinkled," says Mr. Hobhouse, " with the spray of the immortal 
 rill, and here, if anywhere, should have felt the poetic inspiration : 
 we drank deep, too, of the spring ; but (I can answer for myself) 
 without feeling sensible of any extraordinary effect." E.] 
 
 9 [This stanza is not in the original MS.] 
 
 2 3
 
 14 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO!. 
 
 II. 
 
 Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, 
 Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight ; 
 But spent his days in riot most uncouth, 
 And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. 
 Ah rne ! in sooth he was a shameless wight, 
 Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; 
 Few earthly things found favour in his sight 1 
 Save concubines and carnal companie, 
 And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. 
 
 in. 
 
 Childe Harold 2 was he hight : but whence his 
 
 name 
 
 And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; 
 Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, 
 And had been glorious in another day : 
 But one sad losel soils a name for aye, 
 Ho\v ever mighty in the olden time ; 
 Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, 
 Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, 
 Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, 
 Disporting there like any other fly ; 
 Nor deem'd before his little day was done 
 One blast might chill him into misery. 
 But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by, 
 Worse than adversity the Childe befell ; 
 He felt the fulness of satiety : 
 Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, 
 Which seem'd to him more lone than eremite's sad 
 cell. 
 
 1 [" He cheer'd the bad and did the good affright; 
 
 With concubines," &c. MS.] 
 [ Childe Buron." MS.]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 15 
 
 v. 
 
 For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, 
 Nor made atonement when he did amiss, 
 N Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one, 1 
 \ And that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his. 
 Ah, happy she ! to 'scape from him whose kiss 
 Had been pollution unto aught so chaste ; 
 Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss, 
 And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste, 
 Nor calm domestic peace had ever deign'd to taste 
 
 VI. 
 
 And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, 
 And from his fellow bacchanals would flee; 
 'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start T 
 
 ^ But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee : 
 Apart helstalk/ji jn joyless re very, 2 
 And from his native land resolveji_tQ_gp, 
 And visit scorching climes beyond the sea ; 
 With pleasure drugg'd, he almost long'd for woe. 
 
 And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades 
 below. 3 
 
 1 [See Stanzas written to a Lady, on leaving England : 
 Works, vol. vii. p. 302 ; 
 
 [" And I must from this land be gone, 
 
 Because I cannot love but one."] 
 8 [" And straight he fell into a revery." MS.] 
 3 In these stanzas, and indeed throughout his works, we must 
 not accept too literally Lord Byron's testimony against himself 
 A/ he took a morbid pleasure in darkening every shadow of his self- 
 portraiture. His interior at Newstead had, no doubt, been, in 
 some points, loose and irregular enough ; but it certainly never 
 exhibited any thing of the profuse and Satanic luxury which the 
 language in the text might seem to indicate. In fact, the narrow- 
 ness of his means at the time the verses refer to would alone have 
 precluded this. His household economy, while he remained at 
 the Abbey, is known to have been conducted on a very moderate 
 scale ; and, besides, his usual companions, though far from being 
 averse to convivial indulgences, were not only, as Mr. Moore
 
 1C C HI LDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Childe departed from his father's hall : 
 It was a vast and venerable pile ; 
 So old, it seemed only not to fall, 
 Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. 
 Monastic dome ! condemn'd to uses vile ! 
 Where Superstition once had made her den, 
 Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile ; 
 And monks might deem their time was come agen, 
 If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. 
 
 \yni. 
 . * Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood 
 
 Strange pangs jivojil(Lflash along Childe Harold's 
 
 brow, 
 
 As if the memory of some deadly feud 
 Or disappointed passion lurk'd below: 
 But this none knew, nor haply cared to know ; 
 For his was not that open, artless soul 
 That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow, 
 Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, 
 Wfiate'e'rthe grief mote be, which he could not control. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And none did love him though to hall and bower 
 He gather'd revellers from far and near, 
 He knew them flatterers of the festal hour; 
 The heartless parasites of present cheer. 
 Yea ! none did love him nor his lemans dear- 
 But pomp and power alone are woman's care, 
 And where these are light Eros finds a feere ; 
 Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, 
 And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might 
 despair. 
 
 snys, "of habits and tastes too intellectual for mere vulgrar 
 dolnuchery," but, assuredly, quite incapable of playing the parts 
 of flatterers and parasites.]
 
 CANTO 1. PILGRIMAGE. 17 
 
 x. 
 
 Childe Harold had a mother not forgot, 
 Though parting from that mother he did shun; 
 A sister whom he loved, but saw her not 
 Before his weary pilgrimage begun : 
 If friends he had, he bade adieu to none, 
 let deem not thence his breast a breast of steel :* 
 Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon 
 A few dear objects, will in sadness feel 
 Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. 
 
 XI. 
 
 His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, 
 The laughing dames in whom he did delight, 2 
 Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands 
 Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, 
 And long had fed his youthful appetite: 
 His goblets brirnm'd with every costly wine, 
 And all that mote to luxury invite, 
 Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, [line. 3 
 And traverse Paynim shores, and pass earth's central 
 
 XII. 
 
 The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, 
 As glad to waft him from his native home; 
 And fast the white rocks faded from his view, 
 And soon were lost in circumambient foam: 
 And then, it may be, of his wish to roam 
 Repented he, but in his bosom slept 
 The silent thought, nor from his lips did come 
 One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, 
 (And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. 
 
 1 ["Yet deem him not from this with breast of steel." MS.] 
 
 [" His house, his home, his vassals and his lands, 
 
 The Dalilahs," &c. M.S.] 
 
 * [Lord Byron originally intended to visit India.] 
 
 a*
 
 18 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO!. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But when the sun was sinking in the sea, 
 He seized his harp, which he at times could string 
 And strike, albeit with untaught melody, 
 When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: 
 And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, 
 And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. 
 While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, 
 And fleeting shores receded from his sight, 
 Thus to the elements hepour'd his last " Good-night." 1 
 
 1. 
 
 "ADIEU, adieu ! my native shore 
 
 Fades o'er the waters blue ; 
 The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 
 
 And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
 Yon sun that sets upon the sea 
 
 We follow in his flight ; 
 Farewell a while to him and thee, 
 
 My native Land Good-night ! 
 
 2. 
 " A few short hours and he will rise 
 
 To give the morrow birth ; 
 And I shall hail the main and skies, 
 f. But not my mother earth. 
 //Deserted is my own good hall, 
 
 Its hearth is desolate ; 
 Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; 
 My dog howls at the gate// 
 
 3. 
 
 " Come hither, hither, my little page ! 3 
 Why dost thou weep and wail ? 
 
 1 [See Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in Scott's Minstrelsy 
 of the Scottish Border: Poetical Works, vol. ii.p. 141, ed. 1834 
 
 "Adieu, madame, ray mother dear," &c.] 
 3 [This " little page" was Robert Rushton, the son of one of
 
 CASTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 19 
 
 Or dost thou dread the billow's rage, 
 
 Or tremble at the gale ? 
 But dash the tear-drop from thine eye ; 
 
 Our ship is swift and strong : 
 Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly 
 
 More merrily along." 1 
 
 4. 
 1 Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, 
 
 I fear not wave nor wind : 2 
 Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I 
 
 Am sorrowful in mind ; 3 
 For I have from my father gone, 
 
 A mother whom I love, 
 And have no friend, save thee alone, 
 
 But thee and One above. 
 
 5. 
 
 ' My father bless'd me fervently, 
 Yet did not much complain ; 
 
 Lord Byron's tenants. "Robert I take with me," says the poet, 
 in a letter to his mother; " I like him, because, like myself, he 
 seems afriendless animal: tell his father he is well and doing well." 
 
 1 [" Our best goshawk can hardly fly 
 So merrily along." MS.] 
 
 s [" Oh master dear ! I do not cry 
 
 From fear of wave or wind." MS.] 
 
 3 Seeing that the boy was " sorrowful" at the separation from 
 his parents, Lord Byron, on reaching Gibraltar, sent him back to 
 England under the care of his old servant Joe Murray. " Pray," 
 he says to his mother, " show the lad every kindness, as he is my 
 great favourite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy, 
 which leaves a most favourable impression of his thoughtfulness 
 and kindliness. " I have," he says, ' sent Robert home, because 
 the country which I am about to travel through is in a state 
 which renders it unsafe, particularly for one so young. I allow 
 you to deduct from your rent five-and-twenty pounds a year for 
 his education, for three years, provided I do not return before 
 that time, and I desire he may be considered as in my service. 
 He hns lx-!iavt\l extremely well."]
 
 20 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 But sorely will ray mother sigh 
 
 Till I come back again.' 
 " Enough, enough, my little lad ! 
 
 Such tears become thine eye ; 
 If I thy guileless bosom had, 
 
 Mine own would not be dry. 1 
 
 6. 
 " Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, 3 
 
 Why dost thou look so pale ? 
 Or dost thou dread a French foemas ? 
 
 Or shiver at the gale ?" 
 ' Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ? 
 
 Sir Childe, I'm not so weak ; 
 But thinking on an absent wife 
 
 Will blanch a faithful cheek. 
 
 1 [Here follows in the original MS : 
 
 My mother is a high-horn dame, 
 
 And much rnisliketh me ; 
 She saith my riot bringeth shame 
 
 On all my ancestry : 
 I had a sister once, I ween, 
 
 Whose tears perhaps will flow : 
 But her fair face I have not seen 
 
 For three long years and moe.'] 
 
 8 [William Fletcher, the faithful valet ; who, after a service 
 of twenty years, ("during which," he says, " his Lord was more 
 to him than a father,") received the Pilgrim's last words atMisso- 
 longhi, and did not quit his remains, until he had seen them 
 deposited in the family vault at Hucknall. This unsophisticated 
 " yeoman" was a constant source of pleasantry to his master : 
 t. g. " Fletcher," he says in a letter to his mother, " is not valiant ; 
 he requires comforts that I can dispense with, and sighs for beer, 
 and beef, and tea, and his wife, and the devil knows what besides. 
 We were one night lost in a thunder-storm, and since, nearly 
 wrecked. In both cases he was sorely bewildered; from appre- 
 hensions of famine and banditti in the first, and drowning in the 
 second instance. His eyes were a little hurt by the lightning, or
 
 CANTO I. P 1 L G It 1 M A G E. 21 
 
 7. 
 * My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, 
 
 Along the bordering lake, 
 And when they on their father call, 
 
 What answer shall she make?' 
 " Enough, enough, my yeoman good, 
 
 Thy grief let none gainsay ; 
 But I, who am of lighter mood, 
 
 Will laugh to flee away. 1 
 
 \ r 8. 
 " For who would trust the seeming sighs 
 
 Of wife or paramour ? 
 Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes 
 
 We late saw streaming o'er. 2 
 For pleasures past I do not grieve, 
 
 Nor perils gathering near ; 
 My greatest grief is that I leave 
 
 No thing that claims a tear. 3 
 
 crying I don't know which. I did what I could to console him, 
 hut found him incorrigible. He sends six sighs to Sally. I shall 
 settle him in a farm ; for he has served me faithfully, and Sally 
 is a good woman." After all his adventures by flood and field, 
 short commons included, this humble Achates of the poet has 
 now established himself as the keeper of an Italian warehouse, 
 in Charles Street, Berkeley Square, where, if he does not thrive, 
 every one who knows any thing of his character will say he 
 deserves to do so.] 
 
 1 [" Enough, enough, my yeoman good, 
 
 All this is well to say ; 
 But if I in thy sandals stood, 
 
 I'd laugh to get away." MS.] 
 9 [" For who would trust a paramour, 
 
 Or e'en a wedded freere, 
 Though her blue eyes were streaming o'er, 
 
 And torn her yellow hair!" MS.] 
 
 3 [" I leave England without regret I shall return to it with- 
 out pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to 
 transportation; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but 
 what was as sour as a crab." Lord B. to Mr. Hodgson.']
 
 22 CHILDE HAROLD'S CA.NTO I. 
 
 9. 
 
 "And now I'm in the world alone, 
 
 Upon the wide, wide sea : 
 But why should I for others groan, 
 
 When none will sigh for rne ? 
 Perchance my dog 1 will whine in vain, 
 
 Till fed by stranger hands ; 
 But long ere I come back again 
 
 He'd tear me where he stands. 2 
 
 10. 
 "With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go 
 
 Athwart the foaming brine ; 
 Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, 
 
 So not again to mine, 
 Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves ! 
 
 And when you fail my sight, 
 Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves ! 
 
 My native land Good-night !" 3 
 
 1 [From the following passage in a letter to Mr. Dallas, it 
 would appear that that gentleman had recommended the sup- 
 pression or alteration of this stanza ; " I do not mean to exchange 
 the ninth verse of the Good Night.' I have no reason to sup- 
 pose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind ; and Argus 
 we know to be a fable."] 
 
 a [Here follows in the original MS 
 
 " Methinks it would my bosom glad 
 
 To change my proud estate, 
 And be again a laughing lad 
 
 With one beloved playmate, 
 Since youth I scarce have passed an hour 
 
 Without disgust or pain, 
 Except sometimes in lady's bower, . 
 
 Or when the bowl I drain."] 
 
 8 [Originally? tne '' little page" and the " yeoman" were intro- 
 duced in the following stanzas : 
 
 " And of his train there was a henchman page, 
 A peasant boy, who served his master well ; 
 And often would his pranksome prate engage 
 Childe Harold's ear, when his proud heart did swell
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 23 
 
 %flK 
 _ 
 
 On, on thj vessel flies, the land is gone, 
 And . inds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay. 
 Fojr days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, 
 N< w shores descried make every bosom gay ; 
 A id Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, 
 A nd Tagus dashing onward to the deep, 
 Jiis fabled golden tribute bent to pay ; 
 And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, [reap. 
 And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics 
 
 xv. 
 
 Oh, Christ ! it is a goodly sight to see 
 What Heaven hath done for this delicious land ! * 
 What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree ! ' 
 What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand ! 
 But man would mar them with an impious hand : 
 And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 
 'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, 
 With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge 
 Gaul'slocust host, and earth from fellest foemanpurge. 1 
 
 With sable thoughts that he disdain'd to tell ; 
 Then would he smile on him, and Alwin smiled, 
 When aught that from his young lips archly fell 
 The gloomy film from Harold's eye beguiled ; 
 And pleased for a glimpse appear'd the woeful Chiide. 
 
 " Him and one yeoman only did he take 
 To travel eastward to a far countrie ; 
 And, though the boy was grieved to leave the lake 
 On whose fair banks he grew from infancy, 
 Eftsoons his little heart beat merrily 
 With hope of foreign nations to behold, 
 And many things right marvellous to see, 
 Of which our vaunting voyagers oft have told, 
 In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old."] 
 
 1 [" These Lusian brutes, and earth from woist of wretchei 
 purge." MS.]
 
 24 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 What beauties doth Lisboa 1 first unfold ! 
 Her image floating on that noble tide, 
 Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, 3 
 But now whereon a thousand keels did ride 
 Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied, 
 And to the Lusians did her aid afford : 
 A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, 
 Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword 
 To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. 3 
 
 H^ C XVH. 
 
 Bat whoso entereth within this town, 
 That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, 
 Disconsolate will wander up and down, 
 Mid many things unsightly to strange ee ; 4 
 For hut and palace show like filthily : 
 The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt ; 
 No personage of high or mean degree 
 Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, 
 Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, un- 
 wash'd; unhurt. 
 
 * [" A friend advises Ulissipont ; but Lisboa is the Portuguese 
 word, consequently the best. Ulissipont is pedantic ; and as I 
 had lugged in Hellas and Eros not long before, there would have 
 been something like an affectation of Greek terms, which I 
 wished to avoid. On the submission of Lusitania to the Moors, 
 they changed the name of the capital, which till then had. been 
 Ulisipo, or Lispo ; because, in the Arabic alphabet, the letter p 
 is not used. Hence, I believe, Lisboa; whence, again, the 
 French Lisbonne, and our Lisbon, God knows which the earlier 
 corruption !" Byron, MS.] 
 
 * [" Which poets, prone to lie, have paved with gold." MS.] 
 8 [By comparing this and the thirteen following stanzas 
 
 with the account of his progress which Lord Byron sent horns 
 to his mother, the reader will see that they are the exact echoes 
 o f the thoughts which occurred to his mind as he went over the 
 spots described. MOORE.] 
 
 * [" Mid many things that grieve both nose and ee." MS.] 

 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 25 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Poor, paltry slaves ! yet born 'midst noblest scenes 
 Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men ? 
 Lo ! Cintra's 1 glorious Eden intervenes 
 In variegated maze of mount and glen. 
 Ah, me ! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, 
 To follow half on which the eye dilates 
 Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken 
 Than those whereof such things the bard relates, 
 Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's 
 gates ? 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, 
 The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, 
 The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrovvn'd, 
 The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, 
 The tender azure of the unruffled deep, 
 The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, 
 The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, 
 The vine on high, the willow branch below, 
 Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Then slowly climb the many-winding way, 
 And frequent turn to linger as you go, 
 
 1 [' To make amends for the filthiness of Lisbon, and its still 
 filthier inhabitants, the village of Cintra, about fifteen mfles from 
 the capital, is, perhaps, in every respect, the most delightful in 
 Europe. It contains beauties of every description, natural and 
 artificial : palaces and gardens rising in the midst of rocks, cata- 
 racts, and precipices ; convents on stupendous heights ; a distant 
 view of the sea and the Tagus ; and, besides, (though that is a 
 secondary consideration,) is remarkable as th scene of Sir Hew 
 Dalrymple's convention. It unites in itself all the wildness of 
 the western Highlands with the verdure of the south of France." 
 LurdJj. to Mrs. Byron, 1809.] 
 3
 
 26 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 From loftier rocks new loveliness survey 
 And rest ye at " Our Lady's house of woe ;"* 
 Where frugal monks their little relics show, 
 And sundry legends to the stranger tell : 
 Here impious men have punish'd been, and, lo ! 
 Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, 
 In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell. 
 
 IV 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And here and there, as up the crags you spring, 
 Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path : 
 Yet deem not these devotion's offering 
 These are memorials frail of murderous wrath : 
 For wheresoever the shrieking victim hath 
 Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, 
 Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath ; 
 And grove and glen with thousand such are rife 
 Throughout this purple land, where law secures not 
 life. 2 
 
 1 The convent of " Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Senora 
 de Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, at some distance, is 
 the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which 
 is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the 
 view. Note to 1st Edition. Since the publication of this poem, 
 I have been informed of the misapprehension of the term Hfossa 
 Senora de Pena. It was owing to the want of the tilde or mark 
 over the *, which alters the signification of the word : with it, 
 Pena, signifies a rock ; without it, Pena has the sense I adopted. 
 / do not think it necessary to alter the passage ; as, though the 
 common acceptation affixed to it is " Our Lady of the Rock," I 
 may well assume the other sense from the severities practised 
 there. Note to 2d Edition. 
 
 9 It is a well known fact, that in the year 1809, the assassina- 
 tions in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined 
 by the Portuguese to their countrymen ; but that Englishmen 
 were daily butchered : and so far from redress being obtained, 
 we were requested not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot 
 defending himself against his allies. I was once stopped in the
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 27 
 
 XXII. 
 
 On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, 
 Are domes where whilome kings did make repair: 
 But now the wild flowers round them only breathe; 
 Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there. 
 And yonder towers the prince's palace fair : 
 There thou too, Vathek I 1 England's wealthiest son, 
 Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware 
 
 way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening 1 , when the 
 streets were not more empty than they generally are at that hour, 
 opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend : had \ve 
 not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt that we 
 should have " adorned a tale" instead of telling one. The crime 
 of assassination is not confined to Portugal : in Sicily and Malta 
 we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and 
 not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished ! 
 
 1 [" Vathek" (says Lord Byron, in one of his diaries) " was 
 one of the tales I had a very early admiration of. For correctness 
 of costume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far 
 surpasses all European imitations ; and bears such marks of 
 originality, that those who have visited the East will find some 
 difficulty in believing it to be more than a translation. As an 
 eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it ; his ' happy val- 
 ley' will not bear a comparison with the ' Hall of Eblis.' " 
 \Villiam Beckford, Esq., son of the once-celebrated alderman, 
 and heir to his enormous wealth, published, at the early age of 
 eighteen, Memoirs of extraordinary Painters ;" and in the year 
 after, the romance thus eulogized. After sitting for Hindon in 
 several parliaments, this gifted person was induced to fix, for a 
 time, his residence in Portugal, where the memory of his mag- 
 nificence was fresh at the period of Lord Byron's pilgrimage. 
 Returning to England, he realized all the outward shows of Gothic 
 grandeur in his unsubstantial pageant of Fonthill Abbey ; and 
 has more recently been indulging his fancy with another, probably 
 not more lasting, monument of architectural caprice, in the vici- 
 nity of Bath. It is much to be regretted, that, after a lapse of 
 fifty years, Mr. Beckford's literary reputation should continue to 
 rest on his juvenile performances. It is said, however, that hn 
 has prepared several works for posthumous publication ] 

 
 28 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done, 
 Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. 1 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, 
 Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow : 
 But now, as if a thing unbless'd by man, 
 Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou ! 
 Plere giant weeds a passage scarce allow 
 To halls deserted, portals gaping wide : 
 Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how 
 Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied ; 
 Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened!* 
 Oh ! dome displeasing unto British eye ! 
 With diadem hight foolscap, lo ! a fiend, 
 A little fiend that scoffs incessantly, 
 There sits in parchment robe array 'd and by 
 His side is hung a seal and sable scroll, 
 Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry, 
 And sundry signatures adorn the roll, 
 Whereat the urchin points and laughs with all his soul. 3 
 
 1 [" When Wealth and Taste their worst and best have done, 
 Meek Peace pollution's lure voluptuous still must shun." 
 MS.] 
 
 3 The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the 
 Marchese Marialva. [" The armistice, the negotiations, the con- 
 vention itself, and the execution of its provisions, were all com- 
 menced, conducted, and concluded, at the distance of thirty miles 
 from Cintra, with which place they had not the slightest con- 
 nection, political, military, or local ; yet Lord Byron has gravely 
 asserted, in prose and verse, that the convention was signed at 
 the Marquis of Marialva's house at Cintra; and the author of 
 'The Diary of an Invalid,' improving upon the poet's discovery, 
 detected the stains of the ink spilt by Junot upon the occasion." 
 Napier's History of the Peninsular War.~\ 
 
 3 The passage stood differently in the original MS. Some
 
 I. PILGRIMAGE. 29 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Convention is the dwarfish demon styled 
 i That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome : 
 'Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, 
 And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom. 
 Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume, 
 And policy regained what arms had lost : 
 For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom ! 
 
 verses which the poet omitted at the entreaty of his friends can 
 now offend no one, and may perhaps amuse many : 
 In golden characters right well design'd, 
 First on the list appeareth one " Junot ;" 
 Then certain other glorious names we find, 
 Which rhyme compelleth me to place below ! 
 Dull victors ! baffled by a vanquish'd foe, 
 Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due, 
 Stand, worthy of each other, in a row 
 Sir Arthur, Harry, and the dizzard Hew 
 Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dupe of t'other tew. 
 
 Convention is the dwarfish demon styled 
 That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome : 
 Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled 
 And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom. 
 For well I wot, when first the news did come, 
 That Vimiera's field by Gaul was lost, 
 For paragraph ne paper scarce had room, 
 Such paeans teem'd for our triumphant host, 
 In Courier, Chronicle, and eke in Morning Post: 
 
 But when convention sent his handy-work, 
 Pens, tongues, feet, hands, combined in wild uproar ; 
 Mayor, alderman, laid down the uplifted fork ; 
 The Bench of Bishops half forgot to snore ; 
 Stern Cobbett, who for one whole week forbore 
 To question aught, once more with transport leapt, 
 And bit his devilish quill agen, and swore 
 With foe such treaty never should be kept, [slept! 
 
 Then burst the blatant* beast, and roar'd, and raged, and 
 
 * " Blatant benst" a figure for the mob, I think first used by Smollett in his 
 " Adventures of an Atom." Horace has the " bellua multorum capitum :" in 
 England, fortunately enough, the illustrious mobility have not even one. 
 3*
 
 30 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 Woe to the conquering, not the conquer'd host, 
 Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And ever since that martial synod met, 
 Bri'tannia sickens, Cintra ! at thy name ; 
 And folks in office at the mention fret, 
 And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame. 
 How will posterity the deed proclaim ! 
 Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer 
 To view these champions cheated of their fame, 
 By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, [year? 
 Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 So deem'd the Childe as o'er the mountains he 
 Did take his way in solitary guise : 
 Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee, 
 More restless than the swallow in the skies : 
 Though here a while he learn'd to moralize, 
 For Meditation fix'd at times on him ; 
 i And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise 
 
 His early youth, misspent in maddest whim ; 
 But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew dim. 
 
 Thus unto Heaven appeal'd the people : Heaven, 
 Which loves the lieges of our gracious king, 
 Decreed that, ere our generals were forgiven, 
 Inquiry should be held about the thing. 
 But Mercy cloak'd the babes beneath her wing ; 
 And as they spared our foes, so spared we them ; 
 (Where was the pity of our sires for Byng?*) 
 Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn ; 
 Then live, ye gallant knights ! and bless your j udges' phlegm ! 
 
 * By this query it is not meant that our foolish generals should have been 
 shot, but that Byng might have been spared, though the one suffered and the 
 others escaped, probably for Candide's reason, "pour encourager lesaulres." 
 [See Croker's "Boswell," vol. i. p. 298; and the Quarterly Review, vol. xxvil. 
 p. 207, where the question, whether the admiral was or was not a political 
 martyr, is treated at large.]
 
 CAXTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 31 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 To horse ! to horse I 1 he quits, forever quits 
 A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul : 
 Again he rouses from his moping fits, 
 But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. 
 ^ Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal 
 Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage ; 
 And o'er him many changing scenes must roll 
 Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, 
 Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, 
 Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen; 8 
 And church and court did mingle their array, 
 And mass and revel were alternate seen ; 
 Lordlings and freres ill-sorted fry, I ween ! 
 But here the Babylonian whore hath built 3 
 A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, 
 That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, 
 And bow the knee to pomp, that loves to varnish guilt. 
 
 1 [" After remaining ten days in Lisbon, we sent our baggage 
 and part of our servants by sea to Gibraltar, and travelled on 
 horseback to Seville ; a distance of nearly four hundred miles. 
 The horses are excellent : we rode seventy miles a-day. Eggs 
 and wine, and hard beds, are all the accommodation we found, 
 and, in such torrid weather, quite enough." B. Letters, 1809.] 
 
 9 " Her luckless majesty went subsequently mad ; and Dr 
 Willis, who so dexterously cudgelled kingly pericraniuras, could 
 make nothing of hers." Byron MS. [The queen laboured 
 under a melancholy kind of derangement, from which she nevei 
 recovered. She died at the Brazils, in 1816.] 
 
 3 The extent of Mafra is prodigious: it contains a palace, 
 convent, and most superb church. The six organs are the most 
 beautiful I ever beheld, in point of decoration : we did not hear 
 them, but were told that their tones were correspondent to theii 
 splendour. Mafra is termed the Escurial of Portugal. [" About 
 ten miles to the right of Cintra," says Lord Byron, in a letter to
 
 32 CHILDE HAROLD'S t)ANTo I. 
 
 xxx 
 
 O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, 
 (Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race !) 
 Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, 
 Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant 
 
 place. 
 
 Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, 
 And marvel men should quit their easy chair, 
 The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, 
 Oh ! there is sweetness in the mountain air, 
 And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 More bleak to view the hills at length recede, 
 And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend ; 
 Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed ! 
 Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, 
 Spain's realms appear, whereon her shepherds tend 
 Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader 
 
 knows 
 
 Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend : 
 For Spain is compassed by unyielding foes, 
 And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's 
 woes. 
 
 his mother, " is the palace of Mafra, the boast of Portugal, as it 
 might be of any country, in point of magnificence, without ele- 
 gance. There is a convent annexed : the monks, who possess 
 large revenues, are courteous enough, and understand Latin ; so 
 that we had a long conversation. They have a large library, and 
 asked me if the English had any books in their country." Mafra 
 was erected by John V., in pursuance of a vow, made in a danger- 
 ous fit of illness, to found a convent for the use of the poorest 
 friary in the kingdom. Upon inquiry, this poorest was found at 
 Mafra; where twelve Franciscans lived together in a hut. 
 There is a magnificent view of the existing edifice in Finden's 
 "Illustrations."]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 33 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Where Lusitanfo. and her sister meet, 
 Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide? 
 Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, 
 Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide? 
 Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride ? 
 Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ? * 
 Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, 
 Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, 
 Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from 
 Gaul: 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 But these between a silver streamlet glides, 
 And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, 
 Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. 
 Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook, 
 And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, 
 That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow ; 
 For proud each peasant as the noblest duke: 
 / Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know 
 v 'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low. 3 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd, 
 Dark Guadiana rolls his power along 3 
 
 1 [Or art's vain fence, like China's vasty wall ? MS.] 
 8 As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterized them. 
 That they are since improved, at least in courage, is evident. 
 The late exploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of 
 Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders: he has, perhaps, 
 changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions 
 and baffled an enemy who never retreated before his predeces 
 sors. 1812. 
 
 3 [" But ere the bounds of Spain have far been pass'd, 
 Forever famed in many a noted song." MS.]
 
 34 CH1LDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, 
 So noted ancient roundelays among. 1 
 Whilome upon his banks did legions throng 
 Of Moor and knight, in mailed splendour drest : 
 Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the 
 
 strong ; 
 
 The Paynirn turban and the Christian crest 
 Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts 
 
 oppress'd. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd romantic land ! 
 Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, 
 When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band 
 That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore? 2 
 Where are those bloody banners which of yore 
 Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, 
 And drove at last the spoilers to their shore ? 
 Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, 
 While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' 
 wail. 
 
 1 [Lord Byron seems to have thus early acquired enough of 
 Spanish to understand and appreciate the grand body of ancient 
 popular poetry, unequalled in Europe, which must ever form 
 the pride of that magnificent language. See his beautiful version 
 of one of the best of the ballads of the Grenada war the " Ro- 
 mance muy doloroso del sitiq y toma de Alhama." Vol. ii. p. 
 354.] 
 
 3 Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius pre- 
 served his independence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and the 
 descendants of his followers, after some centuries, completed 
 their struggle by the conquest of Grenada. ["Almost all the 
 Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition, ascribe the 
 invasion of the Moors to the forcible violation by Roderick of 
 Florinda, called by the Moors Caba, or Cava. She was the daugh- 
 ter of Count Julian, one of the Gothic monarch's principal lieu- 
 tenants, who, when the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the 
 defence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the in- 
 gratitude of his sovereign, and the dishonour of his daughter,
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 35 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale ? 
 Ah ! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate ! 
 When granite moulders and when records fail, 
 A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. 
 Pride ! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate, 
 See how the mighty shrink into a song ! 
 Can volume, pillar, pile, preserve thee great ? 
 Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, 
 When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does 
 thee wrong? 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Awake, ye sons of Spain ! awake ! advance ! 
 Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ; 
 But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, 
 Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies : 
 Nor in the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, 
 And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar : 
 In every peal she calls " Awake ! arise !" 
 Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, 
 When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore . 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ? 
 Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? 
 
 Count Julian forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot, and, 
 forming an alliance with Musa, then the Caliph's lieutenant in 
 Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body of Sara- 
 cens and Africans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik ; the issue 
 of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupation 
 of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. The Spaniards, iri 
 detestation of Florinda's memory, are said, by Cervantes, never 
 to bestow that name upon any human female, reserving it for their 
 dogs." SIR WALTER SCOTT, Poetical Works, vol. ix. p. 375.]
 
 3G C HI LDE HAROLD'S CANTO!. 
 
 Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ; 
 Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
 Tyrants and tyrants' slaves? the fires of death, 
 The bale-fires flash on high ; from rock to rock 
 Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; 
 Death rides upon the sulphury siroc, 1 
 Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, 
 His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun, 
 With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 
 And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; 
 Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon 
 Flashing afar, and at his iron feet 
 Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ; 
 For on this morn three potent nations meet, 
 To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most 
 sweet. 2 
 
 XL. 
 
 By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see 
 (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) 
 Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, 
 Their various arms that glitter in the air ! 
 
 1 [ " from rock to rock 
 
 Blue columns soar aloft in sulphurous wreath, 
 Fragments on fragments in confusion knock." MS.] 
 
 2 [" A bolder prosopopoeia," says a nameless critic, " or one 
 better imagined or expressed, cannot easily be found in the whole 
 range of ancient and modern poetry. Unlike the 'plume of 
 Horror,' or the ' eagle-winged Victory,' described by our great 
 epic poet, this gigantic figure is a distinct object, perfect in linea- 
 ments, tremendous in operation, and vested with all the attributes 
 calculated to excite terror and admiration."]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 37 
 
 What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, 
 And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey ! 
 All join the chase, but few the triumph share ; 
 The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, 
 And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
 Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; 
 Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies ; 
 The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory ! 
 The foe, the victim, and the fond ally 
 That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, 
 Are met as if at home they could not die- 
 To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, 
 And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain ' 
 
 1 [We think it right to restore here a note which Lord Byron 
 himself suppressed with reluctance, at the urgent request of a 
 friend. It alludes, inter alia, to the then recent publication of 
 Sir Walter Scott's " Vision of Don Roderick," of which work the 
 profits had been handsomely given to the cause of Portuguese 
 patriotism : " We have heard wonders of the Portuguese lately, 
 and their gallantry. Pray Heaven it continue ; yet ' would it 
 were bedtime, Hal, and all were well !' They must fight a great 
 many hours, by ' Shrewsbury clock,' before the number of their 
 slain equals that of our own countrymen butchered by these kind 
 creatures, now metamorphosed into ' cacadores,' and what not. I 
 merely state a fact, not confined to Portugal ; for in Sicily and 
 Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, 
 and not a Sicilian and Maltese is ever punished ! The neglect of 
 protection is disgraceful to our government and governors ; for 
 the murders are as notorious as the moon that shines upon them, 
 and the apathy that overlooks them. The Portuguese, it is to be 
 hoped, are complimented with the ' Forlorn Hope,' if the cowards 
 are become brave, (like the rest of their kind, in a corner,) pray let 
 them display it. But there is a subscription for these ' flpaoWttAoi,' 
 (they need not be ashamed of the epithet once applied to the 
 Spartans;) and all the charitable patronymics, from ostentatious 
 A. to diffident Z., and I/. Is. QJ. from ' An Admirer of Valour,' are 
 in requisition for the lists at Lloyd's, and the honour of British 
 4
 
 38 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 There shall they rot Ambition's honour'd fools ! l 
 Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay ! 
 Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools, 
 The broken tools that tyrants cast away 
 
 benevolence. Well! we have fought, and subscribed, and bestowed 
 peerages, and buried the killed by our friends and foes; and, lo! 
 all this is to be done over again! Like Lien Chi, (in Goldsmith's 
 Citizen of the World,) as we 'grow older, we grow never the 
 better.' It would be pleasant to learn who will subscribe for us, 
 in or about the year 1815, and what nation will send fifty thousand 
 men, first to be decimated in the capital, and then decimated again 
 (in the Irish fashion, nine out of ten) in the 'bed of honour;' 
 which, as Sergeant Kite says, is considerably larger and mere 
 commodious than ' the bed cf Ware.' Then they must have a 
 poet to write the ' Vision of Don Perceval,' and generously bestow 
 the profits of the well and widely printed quarto, to rebuild the 
 ' Backwynd' and the ' Canongate,' or furnish new kilts for the 
 half-roasted Highlanders. Lord Wellington, how ever, has enacted 
 marvels ; and so did his oriental brother, whom I saw chariot- 
 eering over the French flag, and heard clipping bad Spanish, 
 after listening to the speech of a patriotic cobbler of Cadiz, on the 
 event of his own entry into that city, and the exit of some five 
 thousand bold Britons out of this 'best of all possible worlds.' 
 Sorely were we puzzled how to dispose of that same victory of 
 Talavera; and a victory it surely was somewhere, for everybody 
 claimed it. The Spanish despatch and mob called it Cuesta's, 
 and made no great mention of the viscount ; the French called it 
 theirs, (to my great discomfiture, for a French consul stopped 
 my mouth in Greece with a pestilent Paris gazette, just as I had 
 killed Sebastiani 'in buckram,' and King Joseph 'in Kendal 
 green,') and we have not yet determined what to call it, or 
 whose ; for, certes, it was none of our own. Howbeit, Massena's 
 retreat is a great comfort ; and as we have not been in the habit 
 of pursuing for some years past, no wonder we are a little awkward 
 at first. No doubt we shall improve ; or, if not, we have only to 
 take to our old way of retrograding, and there we are at 
 home."] 
 
 1 [There let them rot while rhymers tell the fools 
 
 How honour decks the turf that wraps their clay ! 
 
 Liars, avaunt !" MS.]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 39 
 
 By myriads, when they dare to pave their way 
 With human hearts to what? a dream alone. 
 Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? 
 Or call with truth one span of earth their own, 
 Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by 
 
 bone. 
 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Oh, Albuera, glorious field of grief! 
 
 As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed, 
 
 Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, 
 
 A scene where mingling foes should boast and 
 
 bleed. 
 
 Peace to the perish'd ! may the warrior's meed 
 And tears of triumph their reward prolong ! 
 Till others fall where other chieftains lead, 
 Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, 
 And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient 
 
 song. 1 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play 
 Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame : 
 Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, 
 Though thousands fall to deck some single name. 
 In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim, 
 Who strike, blest hirelings! for then* country's 
 
 good, 
 
 And die, that living might have proved her shame ; 
 Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, 
 Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. 
 
 1 [This stanza is not in the original MS. It was written at 
 Newstead, in August, 1811, shortly after the battle of Albuera, 
 which took place on the ICth of May.]
 
 40 C HI LDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way 
 Where proud Sevilla 1 triumphs unsubdued : 
 Yet is she free the spoiler's wish'd-for prey ! 
 Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, 
 Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. 
 Inevitable hour ! 'Gainst fate to strive 
 Where desolation plants her famish'd brood 
 Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, 
 And Virtue vanquish all, and murder cease to thrive. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 But all unconscious of the coming doom, 
 
 The feast, the song, the revel here abounds ; 
 
 Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, 
 
 Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds; 
 
 Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck 2 sounds; 
 
 Here Folly still his votaries inthralls; 
 
 And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight 
 
 rounds : 
 
 Girt with the silent crimes of capitals, 
 Still to the last kind vice clings to the tottering walls. 
 
 1 [" At Seville, we lodged in the house of two Spanish un- 
 married ladies, women of character, the eldest a fine woman, the 
 youngest pretty. The freedom of manner, which is general here, 
 astonished me not a little ; and, in the course of further observ- 
 ation, I find that reserve is not the characteristic of Spanish 
 belles. The eldest honoured your unworthy son with very par- 
 ticular attention, embracing him with great tenderness at parting, 
 (I was there but three days,) after cutting off a look of his hair, 
 and presenting him with one of her own, about three feet in length, 
 which I send, and beg you will retain till my return. Her last 
 words were, ' Adios, tu hermoso ! me gusto mucho.' ' Adieu, you 
 pretty fellow ! you please me much.' " Lord B. to his Mother, 
 Aug. 1809.] 
 
 [A kind of fiddle, with, only two strings, played on by a bow, 
 said to have been brought by the Moors into Spain.]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 41 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Not so the rustic with his trembling mate 
 He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar, 
 Lest he should view his vineyard desolate, 
 Blasted below the dun hot breath of war. 
 No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star 
 'Fandango twirls his jocund Castanet: 
 v Ah, monarchs ! could ye taste the mirth ye mar, 
 
 Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret; 
 ; The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy 
 yet! 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 How carols now the lusty muleteer ? 
 Of love, romance, devotion is his lay, 
 As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, 
 His quick bells wildly jingling on the way? 
 No ! as he speeds, he chants " Viva el Rey J" 1 
 And checks his song to execrate Godby, ' 
 The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day 
 When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy, 
 And gore-faced treason sprung from her adulterate 
 joy. 
 
 1 " Viva el Rey Fernando !" Long live King Ferdinand ! is 
 the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs. They are 
 chiefly in dispraise of the old king Charles, the queen, and the 
 Prince of Peace. I have heard many of them : some of the airs 
 are beautiful. Don Manuel Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, of an 
 ancient but decayed family, wasi)orn at Badajoz, on the frontiers 
 of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish 
 guards; till his person attracted the queen's eyes, and raised him 
 to the dukedom of Alcudia, &c. &c. It is to this man that the 
 Spaniards universally impute the ruin of their country. [See, 
 for ample particulars concerning the flagitious court of Charles 
 IV., Southey's History of the Peninsular War, vol. i.] 
 4*
 
 42 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd 
 With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, 
 Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground , 
 And, scathed by fire, the greens ward's darken'd vest. 
 Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest : 
 Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, 
 Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest ; 
 Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, 
 And points to yonder cliff's, which oft were won and lost. 
 
 L. 
 
 And whomsoe'er along the path you meet 
 Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, 
 Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet :* 
 Woe to the man that walks in public view, 
 Without of loyalty this token true : 
 Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke ; 
 And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue, 
 If subtle poniards, wrap'd beneath the cloak, 
 Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's 
 smoke. 
 
 LI. 
 
 At every turn Morena's dusky height 
 Sustains aloft the battery's iron load ; 
 And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, 
 The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, 
 The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflow'd, 
 The stationed bands, the never-vacant watch, 
 The magazine in rocky durance stow'd, 
 The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, 
 The bail-piled pyramid, 2 the ever blazing match, 
 
 1 The red cockade, with " Fernando Septimo," in the centre. 
 
 8 All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyramidal 
 
 form in which shot and shells are piled. The Sierra Morena was
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 43 
 
 Lll. 
 
 Portend the deeds to come : but he whose nod 
 Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, 
 A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod ; 
 A little moment deigneth to delay : 
 Soon will his legions sweep through these their way ; 
 The West must own the scourger of the world. 
 Ah ! Spain ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day 
 When soars Gaul's vulture, withhis wings unfurl'd, 
 And thoushalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurl'd. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 And must they fall? the young, the proud, the brave, 
 To swell one bloated chiefs unwholesome reign ? 
 No step between submission and a grave ? 
 The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ? 
 And doth the power that man adores ordain 
 Their-doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal ? 
 Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain ? 
 And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal, [of steel? 
 The Veteran's skill, Youth's fire, and Manhood's heart 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, 
 Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, 
 And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, 
 Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war ? 
 And she, whom once the semblance of a scar 
 Appall'd, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread, 
 Now views the column-scattering bayonet j?r, 
 The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead 
 Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake 
 to tread. 
 
 fortified in every defile through which I passed in my way to 
 Seville.
 
 44 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, 
 Oh ! had you known her in her softer hour, 
 Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, 
 Heard her light, lively tones in lady's bower, 
 Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, 
 Her fairy form, with more than female grace, 
 Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower 
 Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, 
 Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Her lover sinks she sheds no ill-timed tear ; 
 Her chief is slain she fills his fatal post ; 
 Her fellows flee she checks their base career ; 
 The foe retires she heads the sallying host : 
 Who can appease like her a lover's ghost ? 
 Who can avenge so well a leader's fall ? 
 What maid retrieve when man's flush 'd hope is lost? 
 Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, 
 Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall ?* 
 
 1 Such were the exploits of the maid of Saragoza, who by her 
 valour elevated herself to the highest rank of heroines. When 
 the author was at Seville, she walked daily on the Prado, deco- 
 rated with medals and orders, by command of the Junta. [The 
 exploits of Augustina, the famous heroine of both the sieges of 
 Sarao-oza, are recorded at length in one of the most splendid 
 chapters of Southey's History of the Peninsular War. At the 
 time when she first attracted notice, by mounting a battery where 
 her lover had fallen, and working a gun in his room, she was in 
 her twenty-second year, exceedingly pretty ; and in a soft feminine 
 style of beauty. She has further had the honour to be painted by 
 Wilkie, and alluded to in Wordsworth's Dissertation on the Con- 
 vention (misnamed) of Cintra; where a noble passage concludes 
 in these words : " Saragoza has exemplified a melancholy, yea 
 a dis.nal trutii. yet consolatory and full of joy, that when a
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 45 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, 
 But form'd for all the witching arts of love : 
 Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, 
 And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 
 'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, 
 Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate : 
 In softness as in firmness far above 
 Remoter females, famed for sickening prate ; 
 Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as 
 great. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impressed 
 Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch :* 
 Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, 
 Bid man be valiant ere he merit such : 
 Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how much 
 Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, 
 Which glows yet smoother from his amorous 
 
 clutch! 
 Who round the North for paler dames would 
 
 seek? 
 How poor their forms appear ! how languid, wan, and 
 
 weak ! 
 
 people are called suddenly to fight for their liberty, and are sorely 
 pressed upon, their best field of battle is the floors upon which 
 their children have played ; the chambers where the family ot 
 each man has slept; upon or under the roofs by which they have 
 been sheltered ; in the gardens of their recreation ; in the street, 
 or in the market-place ; before the altars of their temples, and 
 among their congregated dwellings, blazing or uprooted."] 
 
 1 " Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo 
 
 Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem." AOL. GEL.
 
 46 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 Match me, ye climes ! which poets love to laud ; 
 Match me, ye harems of the land ! where now 1 
 I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud 
 Beauties that even a cynic must avow f 
 Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow 
 To taste the gale, lest Love should ride the wind, 
 With Spain's dark-glancing daughters 3 deign to 
 
 know, 
 
 There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, 
 His black-eyed maids of heaven, angelically kind. 
 
 LK. 
 
 Co 
 
 Oh, thou Parnassus ! 4 whom I now survey, 
 Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye, 
 Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, 
 But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, 
 In the wild pomp of mountain-majesty ! 
 What marvel if I thus essay to sing ? 
 The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by 
 Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, 
 Though from thy heights no more one Muse will 
 wave her wing. 
 
 1 This stanza was written in Turkey. 
 
 a [" Beauties that need not fear a broken vow." MS.] 
 
 3 [" Long black hair, dark languishing eyes, clear olive com- 
 plexions, and forms more graceful in motion than can be con- 
 ceived by an Englishman, used to the drowsy, listless air of his 
 countrywomen, added to the most becoming dress, and, at the 
 same time, the most decent in the world, render a Spanish beauty 
 irresistible." Lord Byron to his Mother, Aug. 1809.] 
 
 4 These stanzas were written in Castri, (Delphos,) at the foot 
 of Parnassus, now called \iaxvpa, (Liakura,) Dec. 1809.
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 47 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Oft have I dream'd of Thee ! whose glorious name 
 Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore : 
 And now I view thee, 'tis, alas ! with shame 
 That I in feeblest accents must adore. 
 When I recount thy worshippers of yore, 
 I tremble and can only bend the knee ; 
 Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, 
 But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy 
 In silent joy to think at last I look on thee I 1 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, 
 Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, 
 Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene, 
 Which others rave of, though they know it not? 
 Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, 
 And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave, 3 
 Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, 
 Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave, 
 And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. 
 
 1 [" Upon Parnassus, going to the fountain of Delphi, (Castri,) 
 in 1809, 1 saw a flight of twelve eagles, (Hohhouse says they 
 were vultures at least in conversation,) and I seized the omen. 
 On the day before, I composed the lines to Parnassus, (in Childe 
 Harold,) and on beholding the birds, had a hope that Apollo had 
 accepted my homage. I have at least had the name and fame of 
 a poet, during the poetical period of life; (from twenty to thirty;) 
 whether it will last is another matter : but I have been a votary 
 of the deity and the place, and am grateful for what he has done 
 in my behalf, leaving the future in his hands, as I left the past." 
 B. Diary, 1821.] 
 
 8 [" Casting the eye over the site of ancient Delphi, one can- 
 not possibly imagine what has become of the walls of the nume 
 rous buildings which are mentioned in the history of its former 
 magnificence, buildings which covered two miles of ground. 
 With the exception of the few terraces or supporting walls, no- 
 thing now appears. The various robberies of Scylla, Nero, and 
 Constantine, are inconsiderable; for the removal of the statues
 
 48 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Of thee hereafter. Even amidst my strain 
 I timi'd aside to pay my homage here; 
 Forgot the land,, the sons, the maids of Spain; 
 Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear ; 
 And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. 
 Now to my theme but from thy holy haunt 
 Let me some remnant, some memorial bear ; 
 Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, 1 
 Nor let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vaunt. 
 
 LXIV. 
 But ne'er didst thou, fair mount! when Greece was 
 
 young, 
 
 See round thy giant base a brighter choir, 
 Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung 
 The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire, 
 Behold a train more fitting to inspire 
 The song of love than Andalusia's maids, 
 Nursed in the glowing lap of soft desire : 
 Ah ! that to these were given such peaceful shades 
 As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her glades. 
 
 of bronze, and marble, and ivory, could not greatly affect the 
 general appearance of the city. The acclivity of the hill, and 
 the foundations being placed on rock, without cement, would no 
 doubt render them comparatively easy to be removed or hurled 
 down into the vale below ; but the vale exhibits no appearance of 
 accumulation of hewn stones ; and the modern village could have 
 consumed but few. In the course of so many centuries, the debris 
 from the mountain must have covered up a great deal, and even 
 the rubbish itself may have acquired a soil sufficient to conceal 
 many noble remains from the light of day. Yet we see no swell- 
 ings or risings in the ground, indicating the graves of the temples. 
 All therefore is mystery, and the Greeks may truly say, ' Where 
 stood the walls of our fathers 1' scarce their mossy tombs remain !" 
 H. W. Wilhams's Travels in Greece, vol. ii. p. 254.] 
 
 1 ["" Some ijiorious thought to my petition grant." MS.]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 49 
 
 j.xv. 
 
 Fair is proud Seville ; let her country boast 
 Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days j 1 
 But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, 
 Calls forth a sweeter though ignoble praise. 
 \J Ah, Vice ! how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! 
 While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape 
 The fascination of thy magic gaze ? 3 
 A Che/ub-hydra round us dost thou gape, 
 And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. 
 
 ; LXVI. 
 
 When Paphos fell by time accursed time ! 
 The queen who conquers all must yield to thee 
 The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime ; 
 And Venus, constant to her native sea, 
 To naught else constant, hither deign'd to flee ; 
 And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white : 
 Though not to one dome circumscribeth she 
 Her worship, buf, devoted to her rite, 
 A thousand altars rise, forever blazing bright 3 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 From morn till night, from night till startled morn 
 Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, 
 The song is heard, the rosy garland worn ; 
 Devices quaint, and frolics ever new, 
 
 1 Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans. 
 3 [" The lurking lures of thy enchanting gaze." MS.] 
 8 [" Cadiz, sweet Cadiz ! it is the first spot in the creation. 
 The beauty of its streets and mansions is only excelled by the 
 liveliness of its inhabitants. It is a complete Cythera, full of the 
 finest women in Spain ; the Cadiz belles being the Lancashire 
 witches of their land." Lord 77. to his Mvther, 1809.] 
 
 5
 
 50 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu 
 He bids to sober joy that here sojourns : 
 Naught interrupts the riot, though in lien 
 Of true devotion monkish incense burns, 
 And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. 1 
 
 - 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest : 
 What hallows it upon this Christian shore ? 
 Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast : 
 Hark ! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar ? 
 Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore 
 Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn; 
 The throng'd arena shakes with shouts for more j 
 Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, 
 Nor shrinks the female eye, nor even affects to mourn. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 The seventh day this; the jubilee of man. 
 London ! right well thou know'st the day of prayer; 
 Then thy spruce citizen, washed artisan, 
 And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air: 
 Thy coach of hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, 
 And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl: 
 To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair; 
 Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, 
 Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair, 
 . Others along the safer turnpike fly ; 
 
 Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, 
 And many to the steep of Highgate hie. 
 
 1 [" Monkish temples share 
 The hours misspent, and all in turns is love and prayer." MS.
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 51 
 
 Ask ye, Boeotian shades ! the reason why ? T 
 'Tis to the worship of the solemn horn, 
 Grasp'd in the holy hand of mystery, 
 In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, 
 And consecrate the oath 2 with draught, and dance 
 till morn. 3 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 All have their fooleries not alike are thine, 
 Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark-blue sea ! 
 Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine, 
 Thy saint adorers count the rosary : 
 Much is the VIRGIN teased to shrive them free 
 (Well do I ween the only virgin there) 
 From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be ; 
 Then to the crowded circus forth they fare : [share. 
 Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion 
 
 1 This was written at Thebes, and consequently in the best 
 situation for asking and answering such a question ; not as the 
 birthplace of Pindar, but as the capital of Bceotia, where the first 
 riddle was compounded and solved. 
 
 a [Lord Byron alludes to a ridiculous custom which formerly 
 prevailed at the public-houses in Highgate, of administering a 
 burlesque oath to all travellers of the middling rank who stopped 
 there. The party was sworn on a pair of horns, fastened, " never 
 to kiss the maid when he could kiss the mistress ; never to eat 
 brown bread when he could get white ; never to drink small beer 
 when he could get strong ;" with many other injunctions of the 
 like kind, to all which was added the saving clause, "unless 
 you like it best."] 
 
 8 [In thus mixing up the light with the solemn, it was the 
 intention of the poet to imitate Ariosto. But it is far easier to 
 rise, with grace, from the level of a strain generally familiar, into 
 an occasional short burst of pathos or splendour, than to interrupt 
 thus a prolonged tone of solemnity by any descent into the lu- 
 dicrous or burlesque. In the former case, the transition may have 
 the effect of softening or elevating; while, in the latter, it almost 
 invariably shocks ; for the same reason, perhaps, that a trait of 
 pathos or high feeling, in comedy, has a peculiar charm ; while 
 the intrusion of comic scenes into tragedy, however sanctioned
 
 5J CIIILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd, 
 Thousands on thousands piled are seated round ; 
 Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, 
 Ne vacant space for lated wight is found : 
 Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, 
 Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye, 
 Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound ; 
 None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die, 
 As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Hush'd is the din of tongues on gallant steeds, 
 With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised 
 
 lance, fc 
 
 Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, 
 And lowly bending to the lists advance ; 
 Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance : 
 If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, 
 The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, 
 Best prize of better acts, they bear away, 
 And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd, 
 But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore 
 Stands in the centre, eager to invade 
 The lord of lowing herds ; but not before 
 The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, 
 Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed: 
 His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more 
 Can man achieve without his friendly steed 
 Alas ! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. 
 
 among us by habit and authority, rarely fails to offend. The poet 
 was himself convinced of the failure of the experiment, and in none 
 of the succeeding cantos of Childe Harold repeated it. MOORE.]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 53 
 
 7 5 LXXV. 
 
 Thrice sounds the clarion ; lo ! the signal falls, 
 The den expands, and Expectation mute 
 Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. 
 Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, 
 And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot, 
 The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe : 
 Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit 
 His first attack, wide waving to and fro 
 His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd : away, 
 Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare the spear : 
 Now is thy time, to perish, or display 
 The skill that yet may check his mad career. 
 With well-timed croupe 1 the nimble coursers veer ; 
 On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ; 
 Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear : 
 He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ; 
 Dart follows dart ; lance, lance ; loud bello wings speak 
 his woes. 
 
 *r* 7 7 Lxxvn. 
 
 Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail, 
 Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse ; 
 Though man and man's avenging arms assail, 
 Vain are his weapons, vainer in his force. 
 One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse : 
 Another hideous sight ! unseam'd appears, 
 His gory chest unveils life's panting source ; 
 Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears ; 
 Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he 
 bears. 
 
 1 ["The croupe is a particular leap taught in the manege." 
 MS.]
 
 54 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, 
 
 Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, 
 
 Mid wounds, and clinging dart, and lances brast, 
 
 And foes disabled in the brutal fray : 
 
 And now the matadores around him play, 
 
 Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand : 
 
 Once more through all he bursts his thundering 
 
 way 
 
 Vain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand, 
 Wraps his fiercs eye 'tis past he sinks upon the 
 sand! 1 -? A 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, 
 Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. 
 He stops he starts disdaining to decline : 
 Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries, 
 Without a groan, without a struggle dies. 
 The decorated car appears on high 
 The corse is piled sweet sight for vulgar eyes 2 
 Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, 
 Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by. 
 
 1 [The reader will do well to compare Lord Byron's animated 
 picture of the popular " sport" of the Spanish nation, with the 
 very circumstantial details contained in the charming " Letters of 
 Don Leucadio Doblado," (i. e. the Rev. Blanco White,) published 
 in 1822. So inveterate was, at one time, the rage of the people for 
 this amusement, that even boys mimicked its features in theh 
 play. In the slaughter-house itself the professional bull-fighter 
 gave public lessons; and such was the force of depraved custom, 
 that ladies of the highest rank were not ashamed to appear amidst 
 the filth and horror of the shambles. The Spaniards received this 
 sport from the Moors, among whom it was celebrated with great 
 pomp and splendour. See various Notes to Mr. Lockhart's Col- 
 lection of Ancient Spanish Ballads, 1822.] 
 
 fl [" The trophy corse is reared disgusting prize 
 Or, "The corse is reared sparkling the chariot flies." MS.]
 
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 55 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Such the ungentle sport that oft invites 
 The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain, 
 Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights 
 In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. 
 What private feuds the troubled village stain ! 
 Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the foe, 
 Enough, alas ! in humbler homes remain, 
 To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow, 
 For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm 
 stream must flow. 1 
 
 1 \ LXXXI. 
 
 But Jealousy has fled : his bars, his bolts, 
 His wither'd sentinel, Duenna sage ! 
 And all whereat the generous soul revolts, 
 Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage, 
 Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. 
 Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen, 
 (Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,) 
 With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, 
 While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving 
 queen ? 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Oh ! many a time and oft, had Harold loved, 
 Or dream'd he loved, since rapture is a dream ; 
 But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, 
 For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream ; 
 
 1 [" The Spaniards are as revengeful as ever. At Santa Otella 
 I heard a young peasant threaten to stab a woman, (an old one, 
 to be sure, which mitigates the offence,) and was told, on express- 
 ing some small surprise, that this ethic was by no means un- 
 common." MS.]
 
 5C CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem 
 Love has no gift so grateful as his wings: 
 How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem, 
 Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs 1 
 Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom 
 flings. 2 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, 
 Though now it moved him as it moves the wise ; 
 Not that Philosophy on such a mind 
 E'er deign'd to bend her chastely-awful eyes : 
 But Passion raves itself to rest, or flies ; 
 And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb, 
 Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise : 
 Pleasure's pall'd victim ! life-abhorring gloom 
 Wrote on his faded brow cursed Cain's unresting 
 doom. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng ; 
 But view'd them not with misanthropic hate : 
 Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the song ; 
 l3ut who may smile that sinks beneath his fate ? 
 Naught that he saw his sadness could abate : 
 Yet once he struggled 'gainst the demon's sway, 
 And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate, 
 Pour'd forth this unpremeditated lay, 
 To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier 
 day. 
 
 1 " Medio de fonte leporum 
 
 Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat." Luc. 
 * [" Full from the heart of Joy's delicious springs 
 
 Some bitter bubbles up, and e'en on roses stings." MS.]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 57 
 
 TO INEZ. 
 
 1. 
 
 NAY, smile not at my sullen brow ; 
 
 Alas ! I cannot smile again : 
 Yet Heaven avert that ever thou 
 
 Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain. 
 
 2 
 And dost thou ask what secret woe 
 
 I bear, corroding joy and youth ? 
 And wilt thou vainly seek to know 
 
 A pang, even thou must fail to soothe ? 
 
 ^3. 
 It is not love, it is not hate, 
 
 Nor low Ambition's honours lost, 
 That bids me loathe my present state, 
 
 And fly from all I prized the most : 
 
 4. 
 It is that weariness^ which springs 
 
 From all I meet, or hear, or see : 
 To me no pleasure Beauty brings ; 
 
 Thine eyes have scarce a charm for mo. 
 
 5. 
 It is that settled, ceaseless gLojam^ 
 
 The fabled Hebrew wanderer I/ore ; 
 That will not look beyond the tomb, 
 
 But cannot hope for rest before. 
 
 6. 
 What exile from himself can flee P 1 
 
 To zones though more and more remote, 
 
 [" What exile from nimself can flee ? 
 To other zones, howe'er remote, 
 Still, still pursuing clings to me 
 The bHght of life the demon Thought." MS ]
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 Still, still pursues, where'er I be, 
 
 The blight of life the demon Thought. 1 
 
 7. 
 
 Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, 
 
 And taste of all that I forsake ; 
 Oh ! may they still of transport dream, 
 
 And ne'er, at least like me, awake ! 
 
 8. 
 
 Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, 
 With many a retrospection cursed ; 
 
 And all my solace is to know, 
 
 Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. 
 
 9. 
 
 What is that worst ? Nay, do not ask 
 
 In pity from the search forbear : 
 Smile on nor venture to unmask 
 
 Man's heart, and view the hell that's there." 
 
 1 ["Written January 25, 1810.'' MS.] 
 
 3 [In place of this song, which was written at Athens, January 
 25, 1810, and which contains, as Moore says, "some of tho 
 dreariest touches_of_ gadness that ever Byron's pen letlaTIT^we 
 fin3, in the first draught of the Canto, the following*: 
 
 1. 
 
 Oh never talk again to me 
 
 Of northern climes and British ladies ; 
 It has not been your lot to see, 
 
 Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. 
 Although her eye be not of blue, 
 
 Nor fair her locks, like English lasses, 
 How far its own expressive hue 
 
 The languid azure eye surpasses ! 
 
 2. 
 Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole 
 
 The fire, that through those silken lashes 
 In darkest glances seems to roll, 
 
 From eyes that cannot hide their flashes :
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 59 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Adieu, fair Cadiz ! yea, a long adieu ! 
 
 Who may forget how well thy walls have stood? 
 
 When all were changing thou alone wert true, 
 
 First to be free and last to be subdued : 
 
 And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, 
 
 And as along her bosom steal 
 
 In lengthen'd flow her raven tresses, 
 
 You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, 
 And curl'd to give her neck caresses. 
 
 3. 
 
 Our English maids are long to woo, 
 
 And frigid even in possession ; 
 And if their charms be fair to view, 
 
 Their lips are slow at Love's confession : 
 But born beneath a brighter sun, 
 
 For love ordain'd the Spanish maid is, 
 And who, when fondly, fairly won, 
 
 Enchants you like the girl of Cadiz 1 
 
 4. 
 
 The Spanish maid is no coquette, 
 
 Nor joys to see a lover tremble ; 
 And if she love, or if she hate, 
 
 Alike she knows not to dissemble. 
 Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold 
 
 Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely; 
 And, though it will not bend to gold, 
 
 'Twill love you long and love you dearly. 
 
 5. 
 
 The Spanish girl that meets your love 
 
 Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial, 
 For every thought is bent to prove 
 
 Her passion in the hour of trial. 
 When thronging foemen menace Spain 
 
 She dares the deed and shares the danger ; 
 And should her lover press the plain, 
 
 She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.
 
 60 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye ; 
 A traitor only fell beneath the feud :* 
 Here all were noble, save Nobility ; 
 None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry ! 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate ! 
 They fight for freedom who were never free ; 
 
 ^A kingless people for a nerveless state, 
 Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, 
 True to the veriest slaves of treachery : 
 Fond of a land which gave them naught but life, 
 Pride points the path that leads to liberty ; 
 Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife, 
 
 War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!" 3 
 
 6. 
 
 And when, beneath the evening star, 
 
 She mingles in the gay bolero, 
 Or sings to her attuned guitar 
 
 Of Christian knight or Moorish hero, 
 Or counts her beads with fairy hand 
 
 Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper, 
 Or joins devotion's choral band, 
 
 To chant the sweet and hallow'd vesper ; 
 
 7. 
 
 In each her charms the heart must move 
 
 Of all who venture to behold her ; 
 Then let not maids less fair reprove 
 Because her bosom is not colder : 
 Through many a clime 'tis mine to roam, 
 
 Where many a soft and melting maid is, 
 But none abroad and few at home, 
 
 May match the dark-eyed girl of Cadiz. 
 1 Alluding to the conduct and death of Solano, the governor 
 of Cadiz, in May, 1809. 
 
 a u \Var to the knife." Palafox's answer to the French general 
 at the siege of Saragoza. [In his proclamations, also, he stated,
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 61 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, 
 Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife : 
 Whate'er keen vengeance urged on foreign foe 
 Can act, is acting there against man's life : 
 From flashing scimitar to secret knife, 
 War mouldeth there each weapon to his need 
 So may he guard the sister and the wife, 
 So may he make each cursed oppressor bleed 
 So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed! 1 
 
 that, should the French commit any robberies, devastations, and 
 murders, no quarter should be given them. The dogs by whom 
 he was beset, he said, scarcely left him time to clean his sword 
 from their blood, but they still found their grave at Saragoza. 
 All his addresses were in the same spirit. " His language," says 
 Mr. Southey, " had the high tone, and something of the inflation 
 of Spanish romance, suiting the character of those to whom it was 
 directed." See History of the Peninsular War, vol. iii. p. 152.] 
 1 The Canto, in the original MS., closes with the following 
 stanzas : 
 
 Ye who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, 
 Sights, saints, antiques, arts, anecdotes, and war, 
 Go ! hie ye hence to Paternoster Row 
 Are they not written in the Book of Carr,* 
 Green Erin's knight and Europe's wandering star ! 
 Then listen, readers, to the Man of Ink, 
 Hear what he did, and sought, and wrote afar; 
 All these are coop'd within one quarto's brink, 
 This borrow, steal, don't buy, and tell us what you think. 
 
 There may you read, with spectacles on eyes, 
 How many Wellesleys did embark for Spain, 
 As if therein they meant to colonize, 
 How many troops y-crossed the laughing main 
 
 * Porphyry said, that the prophecies of Daniel were written after their com- 
 pletion, and such may be my fate here ; but it requires no second sight to foretel 
 a tome : the first glimpse of the knight was enough, fin a letter written from 
 Gibraltar, August 6, 1809, to his friend Hodgson, Lord Byron says, "I have seen 
 Sir John Carr at Seville and Cadiz; and, like Swift's barber, have been down 
 on my knees to beg he would not put me into black and white."] 
 C
 
 62 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Flows there a tear of pity for the dead ? 
 
 Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain ; 
 
 Look on the hands with female slaughter red; 
 
 Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, 
 
 Then to the vulture let each corse remain ; 
 
 Albeit unworthy of the prey -bird's maw, 
 
 Let their bleached bones, and blood's imbleaching 
 
 stain, 
 
 Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe : 
 Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw ! 
 
 That ne'er beheld the sad return again : 
 How many buildings are in such a place, 
 How many^leagues from this to yonder plain, 
 How many relics each cathedral grace, 
 And where Giralda stands on her gigantic base. 
 
 There may you read (Oh, Phoebus, save Sir John ! 
 That there my words prophetic may not err) 
 All that was said, or sung, or lost, or won, 
 By vaunting Wellesley or by blundering Frere, 
 He that wrote half the " Needy Knifegrinder."* 
 Thus poesy the way to grandeur paves 
 Who would not such diplomatists prefer? 
 But cease, my Muse, thy speed some respite craves, 
 Leave legates to their house, and armies to their graves. 
 
 Yet here of mention may be made, 
 
 Who for the Junta modell'd sapient laws, 
 Taught them to govern ere they were obey'd ; 
 Certes, fit teacher to command, because 
 His soul Socratic no Xantippe awes ; 
 Bless'd with a dame in Virtue's bosom nursed, 
 With her let silent admiration pause ! 
 True to her second husband and her first ; 
 On such unshaken fame let Satire do its worst. 
 
 * [The " Needy Knifegrinder," in the Antijacobin, was a joint production 
 of Messrs. Frere and Canning.]
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. C3 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Nor yet, alas ! the dreadful work is done ; 
 Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees : 
 It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, 
 Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. 
 Fallen nations gaze on Spain ; if freed, she frees 
 More than her fell Pizarros once enchain'd : 
 Strange retribution ! now Columbia's ease 
 Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd, 
 While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder unre- 
 strain'd. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Not all the blood at Talavera shed, 
 Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, 
 Not Albuera lavish of the dead, 
 Have won for Spain her well-asserted right 
 When shall her Olive-Branch be free from blight ? 
 When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil ? 
 How many a doubtful day shall sink in night, 
 Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, 
 And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil ! 
 
 xci. 
 
 And thou, my friend i 1 since unavailing woe 
 Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strain 
 Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, 
 Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain : 
 
 1 The Honourablejohn, Wingfield^ of the Guards, who died 
 of a fever at Coimbra, (May 14, 1811.) I had known him ten 
 years, the better half of his life, and the happiest part of mine. 
 In the short space of one month, I have lost her who gave me 
 being, and most of those who had made that being tolerable. 
 To me the lines of Young are no fiction : 
 " Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? 
 Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain, 
 And tin ice ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
 
 64 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I. 
 
 But thus unlaurell'd to descend in vain, 
 By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, 
 And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, 
 While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest ! 
 What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest ? 
 
 I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the late Charles 
 Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were 
 he not too much above all praise of mine. His powers of mind, 
 shown in the attainment of greater honours, against the ablest 
 candidates, than those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, 
 have sufficiently established his fame on the spot where it waa 
 acquired ; while his softer qualities live in the recollection of 
 friends who loved him too well to envy his superiority. [This 
 and the following stanza were added in August, 1811. In one of 
 his schoolboy poems, entitled " Childish Recollections," Lord 
 Byron has thus drawn the portrait of young Wingfield : 
 " Alonzo, best and dearest of my friends, 
 Thy name ennobles him who thus commends : 
 From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise ; 
 The praise is his who now that tribute pays. 
 Oh ! in the promise of thy early youth, 
 If hope anticipates the words of truth, 
 Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name, 
 To build his own upon thy deathless fame, 
 Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list 
 Of those with whom I lived supremely blest, 
 Oft have we drain'd the font of ancient lore, 
 Though drinking deeply, thirsting still for more ; 
 Yet when confinement's lingering hour was done, 
 Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one. 
 In every element, unchanged, the same, 
 All, all that brothers should be, but the name." 
 Matthews, the idol of Lord Byron at college, was drowned, while 
 bathing in the Cam, on the 2d of August. The following passage 
 of a letter from Newstead to his friend Scrope Davies, written 
 immediately after the event, bears the impress of strongand even 
 agonized feelings : " My dearest Davies, some curse hangs over 
 me and mine. My mother lies a corpse in the house ; one of my 
 best friends is drowned in a ditch ; what can I say, or think, or 
 do ? I received a letter from him the day before yesterday. My 
 dear Scrope, if you can spare a moment do come down to me I
 
 CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 65 
 
 xcn. 
 
 Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most I 1 
 Dear to a heart where naught was left so dear ! 
 Though to my hopeless days forever lost, 
 In dreams deny me not to see thee here ! 
 And Morn in secret shall renew the tear 
 Of Consciousness awaking to her woes, 
 And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier, 
 Till my frail frame return to whence it rose, 
 And mourn'd and mourner lie united in repose. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Here is one fy tte of Harold's pilgrimage : 
 Ye who of him may further seek to know, 
 Shall find some tidings in a future page, 
 If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. 
 Is this too much ? stern critic ! say not so : 
 Patience ! and ye shall hear what he beheld 
 In other lands, where he was doomjd to go : 
 Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, 
 Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands 
 were quell'd.* 
 
 want a friend. Matthews's last letter was written on Friday, on 
 Saturday he was not. In ability, who was like Matthews ? How 
 did we all shrink before him ! You do me but justice in saying I 
 would have risked my paltry existence to have preserved his. 
 This very evening did I mean to write, inviting him, as I invite 
 you, my very dear friend, to visit me. What will our poor Hob- 
 house feel T His letters breathe but of Matthews. Come to me, 
 Scrope, I am almost desolate left almost alone in the world !" 
 Matthews was the son of John Matthews, Esq., (the representa- 
 tive of Herefordshire, in the parliament of 1802 1806,) and brother 
 of the author of " The Diary of an Invalid," also untimely 
 snatched away.] 
 
 1 [" Beloved the most." MS.] 
 
 8 ["Dec. 30th, 1809." MS.] 
 e*
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND.
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 COME, blue-eyed maid of heaven ! but thou, alas! 
 Didst never yet one mortal song inspire 
 Goddess of Wisdom ! here thy temple was, 
 And is, despite of war and wasting fire, 1 
 And years that bade thy worship to expire : 
 But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, 
 Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire 
 Of men who never felt the sacred glow [bestow. 
 That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts 
 
 1 Part of the Acropolis was destroyed by the explosion of a 
 magazine during the Venetian siege. [On the highest part of 
 Lycabettus, as Chandler was informed by an eyewitness, the 
 Venetians, in 1687, placed four mortars and six pieces of cannon, 
 when they battered the Acropolis. One of the bombs was fatal 
 to some of the sculpture on the west front of the Parthenon. " In 
 1667," says Mr. Hobhouse, " every antiquity of which there is 
 now any trace in the Acropolis was in a tolerable state of pre 
 servation. This great temple might, at that period, be called 
 entire; having been previously a Christian church, it was then 
 a mosque, the most beautiful in the world. The portion yet stand- 
 ing cannot fail to fill the mind of the most indifferent spectator with 
 sentiments of astonishment and awe ; and the same reflections arise 
 upon the sight even of the enormous masses of marble ruins 
 which are spread upon the area of the temple."] 
 
 69
 
 70 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ancient of days ! august Athena I 1 where, 
 Where are thy men of might ? thy grand in soul ? 
 Gone glimmering through the dream of things 
 
 that were : 
 
 First in the race that led to Glory's goal, 
 They won and pass'd away is this the whole ? 
 A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour ! 
 The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole 
 Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, 
 Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. 
 
 1 We can all feel, or imagine the regret with which the ruins 
 of cities, once the capitals of empires, areheheld: the reflections 
 suggested by such objects are too trite to require recapitulation. 
 But never did the littleness of man and the vanity of his very 
 best virtues, of patriotism to exalt, and of valour to defend his 
 country, appear more conspicuous than in the record of what 
 Athens was, and the certainty of what she now is. This theatre 
 of contention between mighty factions, of the straggles of orators, 
 the exaltation and deposition of tyrants, the triumph and punish- 
 ment of generals, is now become a scene of petty intrigue and per- 
 petual disturbance, between the bickering agents of certain British 
 nobility and gentry. " The wild foxes, the owls and serpents in 
 the ruins of Babylon," were surely less degrading than such inha- 
 bitants. The Turks have the plea of conquest for their tyranny, 
 and the Greeks have only suffered the fortune of war, incidental 
 to the bravest ; but how are the mighty fallen, when two painters 
 contest the privilege of plundering the Parthenon, and triumph 
 in turn, according to the tenor of each succeeding firman ! Sylla 
 could but punish, Philip subdue, and Xerxes burn Athens ; but it 
 remained for the paltry antiquarian, and his despicable agents, to 
 render her contemptible as himself and his pursuits. The Par- 
 thenon, before its destruction in part by fire, during the Venetian 
 siege, had been a temple, a church, and a mosque. In each point 
 of view it is an object of regard ; it changed its worshippers ; but 
 still it was a place of worship thrice sacred to devotion : its vio- 
 lation is a triple sacrifice. But 
 
 " Man, proud man, 
 Dress'd in a little brief authority, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven 
 As make the angels weep."
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 71 
 
 ill. 
 
 Son of the morning, rise ! approach you here ! 
 Come but molest not yon defenceless urn 
 Look on this spot a nation's sepulchre ! 
 Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. 
 Even gods must yield religions take their turn : 
 'Twas Jove's 'tis Mahomet's and other creeds 
 Will rise with other years, till man shall learn 
 Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; [reeds. 1 
 Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven 
 Is't not enough, unhappy thing, to know 
 Thou art ? Is this a boon so kindly given, 
 That being, thou wouldst be again, and go, 
 
 1 [In the original MS. we find the following note to this and the 
 five succeeding stanzas, which had been prepared for publication, 
 but was afterwards withdrawn, " from a fear," says the poet, " that 
 it might be considered rather as an attack, than a defence of reli- 
 gion." " In this age of bigotry, when the puritan and priest have 
 changed places, and the wretched Catholic is visited with the ' sins 
 of his fathers,' even unto generations far beyond the pale of the 
 commandment, the cast of opinion in these stanzas will, doubtless, 
 meet with many a contemptuous anathema. But let it be remem- 
 bered, that the spirit they breathe is desponding, not sneering, 
 skepticism ; that he who has seen the Greek and Moslem super- 
 stitions contending for mastery over the former shrines of Poly- 
 theism who has left in his own ' Pharisees, thanking God that 
 they are not like publicans and sinners,' and Spaniards in theirs, 
 abhorring the heretics, who have Jiolpen them in their need, will 
 be not a little bewildered, and begin to think, that as only one of 
 them can be right, they may, most of them, be wrong. With 
 regard to morals, and the effect of religion on mankind, it appears, 
 from all historical testimony, to have had less effect in making 
 them love their neighbours, than inducing that cordial Christian 
 abhorrence between sectaries and schismatics. The Turks and 
 Quakers are the most tolerant : if an Infidel pays his heratch to 
 the former, he may pray how, when, and where he pleases ; and 
 the mild tenets and devout demeanour of the latter, make their 
 .ivcs the truest commentary on the Sermon on the Mount."]
 
 72 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so 
 On earth no more, but mingled with the skies ? 
 Still wilt thou dream 1 on future joy and woe ? 
 Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies : 
 That little urn saith more than thousand homilies. 
 
 v. 
 
 Or burst the banish'd hero's lofty mound j 
 Far on the solitary shore he sleeps : 2 
 He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around ; 
 But now not one of saddening thousands weeps, 
 Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps 
 Where demi-gods appear'd, as records tell. 
 Remove yon skull from out the scatter'd heaps : 
 Is that a temple where a God may dwell ? 
 Why, even the worm at last disdains her shatter'd cell ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, 
 Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : 
 Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, 
 The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul : 
 Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, 
 The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit, 
 And Passion's host, that never brook'd control : 
 Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, 
 People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ? 
 
 * [ Still wilt thou harp." MS.] 
 
 2 It was not always the custom of the Greeks to hum then 
 dead ; the greater Ajax, in particular, was interred entire. Almost 
 all the chiefs became gods after their decease ; and he was indeed 
 neglected, who had not annual games near his tomb, or festivals 
 in honour of his memory by his countrymen, as Achilles, Brasidas, 
 &c., and at last even Antinous, whose death was as heroic as his 
 life was infamous.
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 73 
 
 VII. 
 
 Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! 
 " All that we know is, nothing can be known." 
 Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun? 
 Each hath his pang, but feeble sufferers groan 
 With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. 
 Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best; 
 Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : 
 There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, 
 But Silence spreads the couch of every welcome rest. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be 
 A land of souls beyond that sable shore, 
 To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee 
 And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore ; 
 How sweet it were in concert to adore 
 With those who made our mortal labours light ! 
 To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more ! 
 Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, 
 The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the 
 right I 1 
 
 IX. 
 
 There, thou ! whose love and life together fled, 
 Have left me here to love and live in vain 
 Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead 
 When busy Memory flashes on my brain ? 
 
 1 [In the original MS., for this magnificent stanza, we find 
 what follows : 
 
 * Frown not upon me, churlish priest ! that I 
 Look not for life, where life may never be; 
 I am no sneerer at thy fantasy : 
 Thou pitiest me, alas ! I envy thee, 
 Thou bold discoverer in an unknown sea, 
 Of happy isles and happier tenants there ; 
 I ask thee not to prove a Sadducee ; 
 Still dream of Paradise, thou know'st not where, 
 But lovest too well to bid thine erring brother share."}
 
 71 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 Well I will dream that we may meet again, 
 And woo the vision to my vacant breast : 
 If aught of young Remembrance then remain, 
 Be as it may Futurity's behest, 
 For me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest !* 
 
 x. 
 
 Here let me sit upon this massy stone, 2 
 The marble column's yet unshaken base ; 
 Here, son of Saturn ! was thy favourite throne : 3 
 Mightiest of many such ! Hence let me trace 
 The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place. 
 It may not be : nor even can Fancy's eye 
 Restore what Time hath labour'd to deface. 
 Yet these proud pillars claim no passing sigh ; 
 Unmov'd the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols by. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane 
 On high, where Pallas linger'd, loath to flee 
 
 1 [Lord Byron wrote this stanza at Newstead, in October, 1811, 
 on hearingof the deatkof his Cambridge friend, young Eddlestone ; 
 "making," he says, "the sixth, within four months, of friends and 
 relations that I have lost between May and the end of August."] 
 a [" The thought and the expression," says Professor Clarke, 
 in a letter to the poet, " are here so truly Petrarch's, that I would 
 ask you whether you ever read, 
 
 Poi quando '1 vero sgombra 
 
 Quel dolce error pur li medesmo assido, 
 
 Me freddo, pietra morta in pietra viva ; 
 
 In guisa d' uom che pensi e piange e scriva.' 
 ' Thus rendered by Wilmot, 
 ' But when rude truth destroys 
 
 The loved illusion of the dreamed sweets, 
 
 I sit me down on the cold rugged stone, 
 
 Less cold, less dead than I, and think and weep alone.' "] 
 8 The temple of Jupiter Olympius, of which sixteen columns, 
 entirely of marble, yet survive: originally there were one hundred 
 and fifty. These columns, however, are by many supposed to 
 have belonged to the Pantheon.
 
 CANIO II. PILGRIMAGE. 75 
 
 The latest relic of her ancient reign ; 
 The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was he ? 
 Blush, Caledonia ! such thy sons could be ! 
 England ! I joy no child he was of thine : 
 Thy free-born men should spare what once was free; 
 Yet they could violate each saddening shrine, 
 And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine. 1 
 
 XII. 
 
 But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast, 
 To rive what Goth and Turk, and Time hath spared; 2 
 Cold as the crags upon his native coast, 3 
 His mind as barren and his heart as hard, 
 Is he whose head conceived, whose hand prepared 
 Aught to displace Athena's poor remains : 
 Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, 
 Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains, 4 
 And never kne w, till then, the weight of despot's chains. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 What ! shall it e'er be said by British tongue 
 Albion was happy in Athena's tears ? 
 Though in thy name the slave her bosom wrung, 
 Tell not the deed to blushing Europe's ears; 
 
 1 The ship was wrecked in the Archipelago. 
 
 a See Appendix, Note A, for some strictures on the removal of 
 the works of art from Athens. 
 
 8 f_" Cold and accursed as his native coast." MS.] 
 
 4 I cannot resist availing myself of the permission of my friend 
 Dr. Clarke, whose name requires no comment with the public, 
 but whose sanction will add tenfold weight to my testimony, to 
 insert the following extract from a very obliging letter of his to 
 me, as a note to the above lines : "When the last of the Metopes 
 was taken from the Parthenon, and, in moving of it, great part of 
 the superstructure with one of the triglyphs was thrown down by 
 the workmen whom Lord Elgin employed, the disdar, who beheld 
 the mischief done in the building, took his pipe from his moutn, 
 dropped a tear, and, in a supplicating tone of voice, said to Lusieri. 
 Tt'Xoj ! I was present." The disdar alluded to was the fathe* 
 of the present disJar.
 
 76 CH1LDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 The ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears 
 The last poor plunder from a bleeding land : 
 Yes, she, whose generous aid her name endears, 
 Tore down those remnants with a harpy's hand, 
 Which envious Eld forbore, and tyrants left to stand. 1 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Where was thine ^Egis, Pallas! that appall'd 
 Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way ? 2 
 Where Peleus' son ? whom hell in vain enthralled, 
 His shades from hades upon that dreary day 
 Bursting to light in terrible array ! 
 What ! could not Pluto spare the chief once more, 
 To scare a second robber from his prey ? 
 Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore, 
 Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield before. 
 
 1 [After stanza xiii. the original MS. has the following : 
 "Come, then, ye classic thanes of each degree, 
 
 Dark Hamilton and sullen Aberdeen, 
 
 Come pilfer all the Pilgrim loves to see, 
 
 All that yet consecrates the fading scene : 
 
 Oh ! better were it ye had never been, 
 
 Nor ye, nor Elgin, nor that lesser wight, 
 
 The victim sad of vase-collecting spleen, 
 
 House-furnisher withal, one Thomas hight, 
 Than ye should bear one stone from wrong'd Athena's site. 
 
 " Or will the gentle dilettanti crew 
 Now delegate the task to digging Cell, 
 That mighty limner of a bird's-eye view, 
 How like to nature let his volumes tell ; 
 Who can with him the folio's limits swell 
 With all the author saw, or said he saw ? 
 Who can topographize or delve so well 1 
 No boaster he, nor impudent and raw, 
 His pencil, pen, and shade, alike without a flaw."] 
 
 9 According to Zosimus, Minerva and Achilles frightened Alario 
 from tne Acropolis; but others relate that the Gothic king was 
 neariv as mischievous as the Scottish peer. See Chandler.
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 77 
 
 xv. 
 
 Cold is the heart, fair Greece ! that looks on thee, 
 Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved ; 
 Dull is the eye that will not weep to see 
 Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed 
 By British hands, which it had best behooved 
 To guard those relics ne'er to be restored. 
 Cursed be the hour when from their isle they roved, 
 And once again thy hapless bosom gored, 
 And snatch'd thy shrinking gods to northern climes 
 abhorr'd ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But where is Harold ? shall I then forget 
 
 To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave ? 
 
 Little reck'd he of all that men regret ; 
 No loved-one now in feign'd lament could rayg ; ' 
 No friend the parting hand extended gave, 
 Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes : 
 Hard is his heart whom charms may_aot enslave ; 
 But Harold felt not as in other times, 
 And left without a sish the land of war and crimes. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 He that has sail'd upon the dark-blue sea 
 Has view'd at times, I ween, a full fair sight ; 
 When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, 
 The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight ; 
 Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right, 
 The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, 
 The convoy spread like wild swans in theii 
 
 flight, 
 
 The dullest sailer wearing bravely now, 
 So gayly curl the waves before each dashing prow
 
 78 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And, oh ! the little warlike world within ! 
 The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy, 1 
 The hoarse command, the busy humming din, 
 When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high : 
 Hark, to the boatswain's call, the cheering cry ! 
 While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides , 
 Or schoolboy midshipman that, standing by, 
 Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides, 
 And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 White is the glassy deck, without a stain, 
 Where on the watch the staid lieutenant walks : 
 Look on that part which sacred doth remain 
 For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks, 
 Silent and feared by all not oft he talks 
 With aught beneath him, if he would preserve 
 That strict restraint, which, broken, ever balks 
 Conquest and Fame : but Britons rarely swerve 
 From law, however stern, which tends their strength 
 to nerve. 2 
 
 xx. 
 
 Blow ! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale 
 Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray ; 
 Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail, 
 That lagging barks may make their lazy way. 
 Ah ! grievance sore, and listless, dull delay, 
 To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze ! 
 What leagues are lost, before the dawn of day, 
 Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas, 
 The flappingsail haul'd down to halt for logs like these ! 
 
 1 To prevent blocks or splinters from falling on deck during 
 action. 
 " [" From Discipline's stern law," &c MS.]
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 79 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The moon is up ; by Heaven, a lovely eve ! 
 Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand ; 
 Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe 
 Such be our fate when we return to land ! 
 Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand 
 Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love; 1 
 A circle there of merry listeners stand, 
 Or to some well-known measure featly move, 
 Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy shore ; 
 Europe and Afric on each other gaze ! 
 Lands of the dark-eyed maid and dusky Moor 
 Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze : 
 How softly on the Spanish shore she plays, 
 Disclosing rock and slope, and forest brown, 
 Distinct, though darkening with her waning phase; 
 But Mauritania's giant shadows frown, 
 From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombre down. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel 
 We once have loved, though love is at an end : 
 The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal, 
 Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. 2 
 Who with the weight of years would wish to bend. 
 When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy ? 
 Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, 
 Death hath but little left him to destroy ! 
 Ah ! happy years ! once more who would not be a boy i 
 
 1 [" Plies the brisk instrument that sailors love." MS.] 
 8 [" Bleeds the lone heart, once boundless in its zeal, 
 
 And friendless now, yet dreams it had a friend." MS."]
 
 SO CHILDE HAROLD'S 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, 
 To gaze on Dian's wave-reflected sphere, 
 The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride, 
 And flies unconscious o'er each backward year. 
 None are so desolate but something dear, 
 Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd 
 A thought and claims the homage of a tear ; 
 A flashing pang ! of xvhich the weary breast 
 Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
 
 To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 
 
 Where things that own not man's dominion 
 
 dwell, 
 
 And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 
 To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 
 With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; 
 Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; 
 This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 
 Converse with nature's charms, and view her stores 
 
 unroll'd. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, 
 To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, 
 And roam along, the world's tired denizen, 
 With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; 
 Minions of splendour shrinking from distress ! 
 None that, with kindred consciousness endued, 
 If we were not, would seem to smile the less, 
 Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued ; 
 This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude !
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 81 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 More blest the life of godly eremite, 
 Such as on lonely Athos may be seen, 1 
 Watching at eve upon the giant height, 
 Which look o'er waves so blue, skies so serene, 
 That he who there at such an hour hath been 
 Will wistful linger on that hallow'd spot ; 
 Then slowly tear him from the witching scene, 
 Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot, 
 hen turn to hate a world he had almost forgot. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track 
 Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind ; 
 Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack, 
 And each well known caprice of wave and wind ; 
 Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, 
 Coop'd in their winged sea-girt citadel ; 
 The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind, 
 As breezes rise and fall and billows swell, 
 Till on some jocund morn lo, land! and all is well : 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But not in silence pass Calypso's isles, 2 
 The sister tenants of the middle deep ; 
 
 1 [One of Lord Byron's chief delights was, as he himself states 
 in one of his journals, after bathing in some retired spot, to seat 
 himself on a high rock above the sea, and there remain for hours, 
 gazing upon the sky and the waters. " He led the life," says 
 Sir Egerton Brydges, "as he wrote the strains, of a true poet. 
 He could sleep, and very frequently did sleep, wrapped up in his 
 rough great coat, on the hard boards of a deck, while the winds 
 and the waves were roaring round him on every side, and could 
 subsist on a crust and a glass of water. It would be difficult to 
 persuade me, that he who is a coxcomb in his manners, and arti- 
 ficial in his habits of life, could write good poetry." 
 
 8 Goza is said to have been the island of Calypso. ["The
 
 83 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II 
 
 There for the weary still a haven smiles, 
 Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep, 
 And o'er her cliifs a fruitless watch to keep 
 For him who dared prefer a mortal bride : 
 Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap 
 Stem Mentor urged from high to yonder tide ; 
 While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly 
 sigh'd. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone : 
 But trust not this : too easy youth, beware ! 
 A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne, 
 And thou mayst find a new Calypso there. 
 Sweet Florence ! could another ever share 
 This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine : 
 But check'd by every tie, I may not dare 
 To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine, 
 Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Thus Harold deem'd, as on that lady's eye 1 
 He look'd, and met its beam without a thought, 
 Save Admiration glancing harmless by : 
 Love kept aloof, albeit not far remote, 
 Who knew his votary often lost and caught, 
 But knew him as his worshipper no more, 
 And ne'er again the boy his bosom sought : 
 Since now he vainly urged him to adore, 
 Well deem'd the little god his ancient sway was o'er. 
 
 identity of the habitation assigned by poets to the nymph Calypso, 
 has occasioned much discussion and variety of opinion. Some 
 place it at Malta, and some at Goza." Sir R. C. Hoards Classical 
 Tour.] 
 1 [" Thus Harold spoke," &c MS.]
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 83 
 
 
 -V XXXII. 
 
 Fair Florence 1 found, in sooth with some amaze, 
 One who, 'twas said, still sigh'd to all he saw, 
 Withstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze, 
 Which others hail'd with real or mimic awe, 
 Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their law ; 
 All that gay Beauty from her bondsmen claims : 
 And much she marvell'd that a youth so raw 
 Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told flames, 
 Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely 
 anger dames. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Little knew she that seeming marble heart, 
 Now mask'd in silence or withheld by pride, 
 Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, 2 
 And spread its snares licentious far and wide j 3 
 Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside, 
 As long as aught was worthy to pursue : 
 But Harold on such arts no more relied; 
 And had he doted on those eyes so blue, 
 Yet never would he join the lover's whining crew. 
 
 1 [For an account of this accomplished but eccentric lady, 
 whose acquaintance the poet formed at Malta, see Miscellaneous 
 Poems, September, 1809, " To Florence." " In one so imagi- 
 native as Lord Byron, who, while he infused so much of his life 
 into his poetry, mingled also not a little of poetry with his life, 
 it is difficult," says Moore, " in unravelling the texture of his 
 feelings, to distinguish at all times between the fanciful and the 
 real. His description here, for instance, of the unmoved and 
 loveless heart,' with which he contemplated even the charms of 
 this attractive person, is wholly at variance with the statements 
 in many of his letters; and, above all, with one of the most 
 graceful of his lesser poems, addressed to this same lady, during 
 a thunder-storm on his road to Zitza."] 
 
 8 [Against this line it is sufficient to set the poet's own decla- 
 ration, in 1821. "I am not a Joseph, nor aScipio; but I can 
 safely affirm, that I never in my life seduced any woman."] 
 
 3 [" We have here another instance of his propensity to self
 
 84 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, 
 
 Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs ; 
 
 What careth she for hearts when once possess'd ? 
 
 Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes ; 
 
 But not too humbly, or she will despise 
 
 Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes : 
 , Disguise even tenderness, if thou art wise ; 
 
 Brisk Confidence 1 still best with woman copes : 
 Pique her and soothe in turn, soon Passion crowns thy 
 hopes. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 >Tis an old lesson ; Time approves it true, 
 And those who know it best, deplore it most ; 
 When all is won that all desire to woo, 
 The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost : 
 Youth wasted, minds degraded, honour lost, 
 These are thy fruits, successful Passion ! these ! 
 If, kindly cruel, early Hope is crost, 
 Still to the last it rankles, a disease, 
 Not to be cured when Love itself forgets to please. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Away ! nor let me loiter in my song, 
 For we have many a mountain-path to tread, 
 And many a varied shore to sail along, 
 By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led 
 Climes, fair withal as ever mortal head 
 Imagined in its little schemes of thought ; 
 Or e'er in new Utopias were ared, 
 To teach man what he might be, or he ought ; 
 If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught. 
 
 misrepresentation. However great might have been the irregu- 
 larities of his college life, such phrases as ' the spoiler's art,' and 
 'spreading snares,' were in no wise applicable to them." 
 MOORE.] 
 
 1 [" Brisk mpudence," &c. MS.]
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 85 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Dear Nature is the kindest mother still, 
 Though always changing in her aspect mild ; 
 From her bare bosom let me take my fill, 
 Her never-weaned, though not her favour'd child. 
 Oh ! she is fairest in her features wild, 
 Where nothing polish'd dares pollute her path : 
 To me by day or night she ever smiled, 
 Though I have mark'd her when none other hath, 
 And sought her more and more, and loved her best in 
 wrath. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Land of Albania ! where Iskander rose, 
 Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise, 
 And he his namesake, whose oft-baffled foes 
 Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprize : 
 Land of Albania ! l let me bend mine eyes 
 On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men ! 
 The cross descends, thy minarets arise, 
 And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen. 
 Through many a cypress grove within each city's ken 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot, 
 Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave; 2 
 And onward view'd the mount, nor yet forgot, 
 The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. 
 
 ' See Appendix, Note [B]. 
 
 a Ithaca. [" Sept. 24th," says Mr. Hobhouse, " we were in 
 the channel, with Ithaca, then in the hands of the French, to the 
 west of us. We were close to it, and saw a few shrubs on a 
 brown heathy land, two little towns in the hills, scattered amongst 
 trees, and a windmill or two, with a tower on the heights. That 
 Ithaca was not very strongly garrisoned you will easily believe, 
 when I tell, that a month afterwards, when the Ionian Islands 
 were invested by a British squadron, it was surrendered into thu 
 hands of a sergeant and seven men." For a very curious a<y ount 
 
 8
 
 8G CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 Dark Sappho ! could not verse immortal save 
 That breast imbued with such immortal fire ? 
 Could she not live who life eternal gave ? 
 If life eternal may await the lyre, [aspire. 
 
 That only heaven to which Earth's children may 
 
 XL. 
 
 'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve 
 Childe Harold hail'd Leucadia's cape afar ;* 
 A spot he longed to see nor cared to leave : 
 Oft did he mark the scene of vanish'd war, 
 Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar ; 2 
 Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight 
 (Born beneath some remote inglorious star) 
 In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight, [wight. 
 But loath'd the bravo's trade, and laughed at martial 
 
 XLI. 
 
 But when he saw the evening star above 
 Leucadia's far projecting rock of woe, 
 And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love, 
 He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow: 
 And as the stately vessel glided slow 
 Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, 
 He watched the billows' melancholy flow, 
 
 of the state of the kingdom of Ulysses in 1816, see Williams's 
 Travels, vol. ii. p. 427.] 
 
 1 Leucadia, now Santa Maura. From the promontory (the 
 Lover's Leap) Sappho is said to have thrown herself. [" Sept. 
 28th, we doubled the promontory of Santa Maura, and saw the 
 precipice which the fate of Sappho, the poetry of Ovid, and the 
 rocks so formidable to the ancient mariners, have made forever 
 memorable." HOBHOUSE.] 
 
 9 Actium and Trafalgar need no further mention. The battle 
 of Lepanto, equally bloody and considerable, but less known, was 
 fought in the Gulf of Patras. Here the author of Don Quixote 
 lost \ns left hand.
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. S7 
 
 And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont, 
 More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid front. 1 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Morn dawns ; and with it stern Albania's hills, 
 Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, 
 Robed half in mist, bedew'd with snowy rills, 
 Array'd in many a dun and purple streak, 
 Arise ; and, as the clouds along them break, 
 Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer : 
 Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak, 
 Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear, 
 And gathering storms around con v ulse the closing year. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Now Harold felt himself at length alone, 
 And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu ; 
 Now he adventured on a shore unknown, 
 Which all admire, but many dread to view : 
 Hisbreast was arm'd 'gainst fate, his wants were few, 
 Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet : 
 The scene was savage, but the scene was new ; 
 This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet, [heat. 
 Beatbackkeen winter'sblast,and welcomed summer's 
 
 xnv. 
 
 Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, 
 Though sadly scoff'd at by the circumcised, 
 Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear ; 
 Churchman and votary alike despised. 
 Foul Superstition ! howsoe'er disguised. 
 Idol, saint, virgin, prophet crescent, cross, 
 For whatsoever symbol thou art prized, 
 Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss ! 
 Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross? 
 
 1 [" And roused him more from thought than he was wont, 
 While Pleasure almost seemed to smooth his placid 
 front." MS.]
 
 88 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO 11. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost 
 A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing ! 
 In yonder rippling bay, their naval host 
 Did many a Roman chief and Asian king 1 
 To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring : 
 Look where the second Caesar's trophies rose : 2 
 Now, like the hands that rear'd them, withering; 
 Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes ! 
 GOD ! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and lose ? 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, 
 Even to the centre of Illyria's vales, 
 Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, 
 Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales ; 
 Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales 
 Are rarely seen ; nor can fair Tempe boast 
 A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails, 
 Though classic ground and consecrated most, [coast. 
 To match some spots that lurk within this lowering 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, 3 
 And left the primal city of the land, 
 
 1 It is said, that, on the day previous to the battle of Actium, 
 Antony had thirteen kings at his levee. [" To-day" (Nov. 12,) 
 " I saw the remains of the town of Actium, near which Antony 
 lost the world, in a small bay, where two frigates could hardly 
 manoeuvre : a broken wall is the sole remnant. On another part 
 of the gulf stand the ruins of Nicopolis, built by Augustus, in 
 honour of his victory." Lord Byron to his Mother, 1809.] 
 
 8 Nicopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at some distance 
 fiom Actium, where the wall of the Hippodrome survives in a few 
 fragments. These ruins are large masses of brickwork, the 
 bricks of which are joined by interstices of mortar, as large as 
 the oricks themselves, and equally durable. 
 
 8 According to Pouqueville, the lake of Yanina : but Pouque- 
 ville is always out.
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 89 
 
 And onwards did his further journey take 
 
 To greet Albania's chief, 1 whose dread command 
 
 Is lawless law ; for with a bloody hand 
 
 He sways a nation, turbulent and bold : 
 
 Yet here and there some daring mountain-band 
 
 Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold 
 
 Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. 2 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Monastic Zitza ! 3 from thy shady brow, 
 Thou small but favour'd spot of holy ground ! 
 Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, 
 What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found ! 
 Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, 
 And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : 
 Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound 
 Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll [soul. 
 
 Bet ween those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the 
 
 1 The celebrated AH Pasha. Of this extraordinary man there 
 is an incorrect account in Pouqueville's Travels. [" I left Malta 
 in the Spider brig-of-war, on the 21st of September, and arrived 
 in eight days at Prevesa. I thence have traversed the interior of 
 the province of Albania, on a visit to the pasha, as far as Tepaleen, 
 his highness's country palace, where I stayed three days. The 
 name of the pasha is Ali, and he is considered a man of the first 
 abilities : he governs the whole of Albania, (the ancient Illyricum,) 
 Epirus, and part of Macedonia." Lord B. to his Mother."] 
 
 8 Five thousand Suliotes, among the rocks and in the castle of 
 Suli, withstood thirty thousand Albanians for eighteen years ; the 
 castle at last was taken by bribery. In this contest there were 
 several acts performed not unworthy of the better days of Greece. 
 
 8 The convent and village of Zitza are four hours' journey from 
 Joannina, or Yanina, the capital of the pashalick. In the valley 
 the river Kalamus (once the Acheron) flows, and, not far from Zit- 
 za, forms a fine cataract. The situation is perhaps the finest in 
 Greece, though the approach to Delvinachi and parts of Acarnania 
 and jEtolia may contest the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and, hi 
 Attica, even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are very inferior ; as 
 also every scene in Ionia, or the Troad : I am almost inclined to 
 add the approach to Constantinople ; but, from the different fea
 
 90 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, 
 Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh 
 Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, 
 Might well itself be deem'd of dignity, 
 The convent's white walls glisten fair on high : 
 Here dwells the caloyer, 1 nor rude is he, 
 Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by 
 Is welcome still ; nor heedless will he flee 
 From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see. 
 
 L. 
 
 Here in the sultriest season let him rest, 
 Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees ; 
 Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, 
 From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze : 
 The plain is far beneath oh ! let him seize 
 Pure pleasure while he can : the scorching ray 
 Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease : 
 Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, 
 And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. 
 
 tures of the last, a comparison can hardly be made. [" Zitza,'' 
 says the poet's companion, " is a village inhabited by Greek 
 peasants. Perhaps there is not in the world a more romantic 
 prospect than that which is viewed from the summit of the hill. 
 The foreground is a gentle declivity, terminating on every side in 
 an extensive landscape of green hills and dale, enriched with 
 vineyards, and dotted with frequent flocks."] 
 
 1 The Greek monks are so called. [" We went into the mo- 
 nastery," says Mr. Hobhouse, " after some parley with one of 
 the monks, through a small door plated with iron, on which the 
 marks of violence were very apparent, and which, before the 
 country had been tranquillized under the powerful government 
 of AH, had been battered in vain by the troops of robbers then, 
 by turns, infesting every district. The prior, an humble, meek- 
 mannered man, entertained us in a warm chamber with grapes, 
 and a pleasant white wine, not trodden out, as he told us, by the 
 feet, but pressed from the grape by the hand ; and wo were so
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 91 
 
 LI. 
 
 Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, 
 Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, 1 
 Chimsera's alps extend from left to right : 
 Beneath a living valley seems to stir ; [fir 
 
 Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain- 
 Nodding above ; behold black Acheron ! 2 
 Once consecrated to the sepulchre. 
 Pluto ! if this be hell I look upon, [none. 
 
 Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for 
 
 LII. 
 
 Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view ; 
 Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, 
 Veil'd by the screen of hills : here men are few, 
 Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot : 
 But, peering down each precipice, the goat 
 Browseth ; and, pensive o'er his scattered flock, 
 The little shepherd in his white capote 3 
 Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, 
 
 Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 Oh ! where, Dodona ! is thine aged grove, 
 Prophetic fount, and oracle divine ? 
 What valley echoed the response of Jove ? 
 What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's shrine ? 
 All, all forgotten and shall man repine 
 That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke ? 
 Cease, fool ! the fate of gods may well be thine : 
 Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak ? 
 
 When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath 
 the stroke ! 
 
 well pleased with every thing about us, that we agreed to lodge 
 with him on our return from the vizier."] 
 
 1 The Chimariot mountains appear to have been volcanic. 
 
 8 Now called Kalamas. 
 
 8 Albanese cloak.
 
 92 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail ; 
 Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye 
 Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale 
 As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye : 
 Even on a plain no humble beauties He, 
 Where some bold river breaks the long expanse, 
 And woods along the banks are waving high, 
 Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, [trance. 
 Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn 
 
 LV. 
 
 The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, 1 
 And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by ; 2 
 The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, 
 When, down the steep banks winding warily, 
 Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, 
 The glittering minarets of Tepalen, 
 Whose walls o'erlook the stream ; and drawing nigh, 
 He heard the busy hum of warrior-men [glen. 3 
 Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening 
 
 1 Anciently Mount Tomarus. 
 
 8 The river Laos was full at the time the author passed it; 
 and, immediately above Tepaleen, was to the eye as wide as the 
 Thames at Westminster; at least in the opinion of the author 
 and his fellow-traveller. In the summer it must be much narrow- 
 er. It certainly is the finest river in the Levant ; neither Ache- 
 lous, Alpheus, Acheron, Scamander, nor Cayster, approached it 
 in breadth or beauty. 
 
 3 [" Ali Pasha, hearing that an Englishman of rank was in his 
 dominions, left orders, in Yanina, with the command ant, to pro- 
 vide a house, and supply me with every kind of necessary gratis. 
 1 rode out on the vizier's horses, and saw the palaces of himself 
 nnd grandsons. I shall never forget the singular scene on entering 
 Tepaleen, at five in the afternoon, (Oct. 11,) as the sun was going 
 down. It brought to my mind (with some change of dress, how- 
 ever) Scott's description of Branksome Castle in his Lay, and 
 the feudal system. The Albanians in their dresses (the most
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 93 
 
 LVI. 
 
 He pass'd the sacred harem's silent tower, 
 And underneath the wide o'erarching gate 
 Surveyed the dwelling of this chief of power, 
 Where all around proclaim'd .his high estate. 
 Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, 
 While busy preparation shook the court; 
 Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait; 
 Within a palace, and without, a fort ; 
 Here men of every clime appear to make resort. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Richly caparison'd, a ready row 
 Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, 
 Circled the wide-extending court below ; 
 Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridore ; 
 And oft-times through the area's echoing door, 
 Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away: 
 The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, 
 Here mingled in their many-hued array, 
 While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close 
 of day. 
 
 magnificent in the world, consisting of a long white kilt, gold- 
 worked cloak, crimson velvet gold-laced jacket and waistcoat, 
 silver-mounted pistols and daggers ;) the Tartars, with their high 
 caps ; the Turks in their vast pelisses and turbans ; the soldiers 
 and black slaves with the horses, the former in groups, in an im- 
 mense large open gallery, in front of the palace, the latter placed 
 in a kind of cloister below it; two hundred steeds ready capari- 
 soned to move in a moment ; couriers entering or passing out 
 with despatches ; the kettle-drums beating ; boys calling the hour 
 from the minaret of the mosque ; altogether, with the singular 
 appearance of the building itself, formed a new and delightful 
 spectacle to a stranger. I was conducted to a very handsome 
 apartment, and my health inquired after by the vizier's secietary 
 a la mode Turque." Byron Letters.]
 
 94 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee 
 With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, 
 The gold-embroidered garments, fair to see j 
 The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon ; 
 The Delhi with his cap of terror on, 
 And crooked glaive ; the lively, supple Greek j 
 And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son ; 
 The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak, 
 Master of all around, too potent to be meek, 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Are mix'd conspicuous : some recline in groups, 
 Scanning the motley scene that varies round ; 
 There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, 
 And some that smoke, and some that play, are found ; 
 Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground ; 
 Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate ; 
 Hark ! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound, 
 The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, 
 " There is no god but God ! to prayer lo ! God is 
 great I" 1 
 
 LX. 
 
 Just at this season Ramazani's fast 2 
 
 Through the long day its penance did maintain : 
 
 1 [" On our arrival at Tepaleen, we were lodged in the palace. 
 During the night we were disturbed by the perpetual carousal 
 which seemed to be kept up in the gallery, and by the drum, and 
 the voice of the ' Muezzin,' or chanter, calling the Turks to pray- 
 ers from the minaret of the mosque attached to the palace. The 
 chanter was a boy, and he sang out his hymn in a sort of loud 
 melancholy recitative. He was a long time repeating the purport 
 of these few words: God most high ! I bear witness that there 
 is no god but God, and Mahomet is his prophet : come to prayer; 
 come to the asylum of salvation : great God ! there is no God but 
 God '" HOBHOUSE.] 
 
 9 L" We were a little unfortunate in the time we chose for 
 travelling, for it was during the Ramazan, or Turkish Lent, which
 
 
 
 PILGRIMAGE. 95 
 
 But when the lingering twilight hour was past, 
 Revel and feast assumed the rule again : 
 Now all was bustle, and the menial train 
 Prepared and spread the plenteous board within; 
 The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain, 
 But from the chambers came the mingling din, 
 As page and slave anon were passing out and in. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Here woman's voice is never heard : apart, 
 And scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to move, 
 She yields to one her person and her heart, 
 Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove : 
 For, not unhappy in her master's love, 
 And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, 
 Blest cares ! all other feelings far above ! 
 Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, 
 Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares 
 
 LXII. 
 
 In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring 
 Of living water from the centre rose, 
 Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling, 
 And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, 
 ALI reclined, a man of war and woes :* 
 
 fell this year in October, and was hailed at the rising of the new 
 moon, on the evening of the 8th, by every demonstration of joy : 
 but although, during this month, the strictest abstinence is ob- 
 served in the daytime, yet with the setting of the sun the feasting 
 commences : then is the time for paying and receiving visits, and 
 for the amusements of Turkey, puppet-shows, jugglers, dancers, 
 and story-tellers." HOBHOUSE.] 
 
 1 [" On the 12th, I was introduced to Ali Pasha. I was dressed 
 in a full suit of staff uniform, with a very magnificent sabre, &c 
 The vizier received me in a large room paved with marble ; a 
 fountain was playing in the centre ; the apartment was surrounded 
 by scarlet ottomans. He received me standing, a wonderful com- 
 pliment from a Mussulman, and made me sit down on his right 
 hand. His first question was, why, at so early an age, I left my 
 country ? He then said, the English minister, Captain Leakc, had
 
 96 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, 
 While Gentleness her milder radiance throws 
 Along that aged venerable face, [grace. 
 
 The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with dis- 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 It is not that yon hoary lengthened beard 
 III suits the passions which belong to youth ; 
 Love conquers age so Hafiz hath averr'd, 
 So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth 
 But crimes that scorn the tender voice of ruth, 
 Beseeming all men ill, but most the man 
 In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth ;* 
 Blood follows blood, and through their mortal span, 
 In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. 2 
 
 told him I was of a great family, and desired his respects to my 
 mother ; which I now, in the name of Ali Pasha, present to you. 
 He said he was certain I was a man of birth, because I had small 
 ears, curling hair, and little white hands. He told me to consider 
 him as a father whilst I was in Turkey, and said he looked on me 
 as his own son. Indeed, he treated me like a child, sending me 
 almonds and sugared sherbet, fruit, and sweetmeats, twenty times 
 a day. I then, after coffee and pipes, retired." B. to his Mother.] 
 
 1 [Mr. Hobhouse describes the vizier as "a short man, about 
 five feet five inches in height, and very fat ; possessing a very 
 pleasing face, fair and round, with blue quick eyes, not at all 
 settled into a Turkish gravity." Dr. Holland happily compares 
 the spirit which lurked under Ali's usual exterior, as " the fire 
 of a stove, burning fiercely under a smooth and polished surface." 
 When the doctor returned from Albania, in 1813, he brought a 
 letter from the pasha to Lord Byron. " It is," says the poet, " in 
 Latin, and begins ' Excellentissime, necnon Carissime,' and ends 
 about a gun he wants made for him. He tells me that, last spring, 
 he took a town, a hostile town, where, forty-two years ago, his 
 mother and sisters were treated as Miss Cunegunde was by the 
 Bulgarian cavalry. He takes the town, selects all the survivors 
 of the exploit children, grandchildren, &c., to the tune of six 
 hundred, and has them shot before his face. So much for ' dearest 
 friend.' "] 
 
 3 [The fute of Ali was precisely such as the poet anticipated.
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 97 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Mid many things most new to ear and eye 
 The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, 
 And gazed around on Moslem luxury, 1 
 Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat 
 Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat 
 Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise : 
 And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet ; 
 But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, [destroys. 
 
 And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack 
 Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. 
 Where is the foe that ever saw their back ? 
 Who can so well the toil of war endure? 
 Their native fastnesses not more secure 
 Than they in doubtful time of troublous need : 
 Their wrath how deadly ! but their friendship sure, 
 When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed, 
 Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead. 
 
 For a circumstantial account of his assassination, in February, 
 1822, see Walsh's "Journey from Constantinople to England," 
 p. 60. His head was sent to Constantinople, and exhibited at the 
 gates of the seraglio. As the name of AH had made a cons'derable 
 noise in England, in consequence of his negotiations with Sir 
 Thomas Maitland, and still more, perhaps, these stanzas of Lord 
 Byron, a merchant of Constantinople thought it would be no bad 
 speculation to purchase the head and consign it to a London 
 showman ; but this scheme was defeated by the piety of an old 
 servant of the pasha, who bribed the executioner with a higher 
 price, and bestowed decent sepulture on the relic.] 
 1 [" Childe Harold with the chief held colloquy, 
 
 Yet what they spake it boots not to repeat. 
 
 Converse may little charm strange ear or eye ; 
 
 Alboit he rested in that spacious seat 
 
 Of Moslem luxury," &c MS.J 
 
 9
 
 98 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 .LXVI. 
 
 Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower, 
 Thronging to war in splendour and success ; 
 And after viewed them, when, within their power, 
 Himself a while the victim of distress; 
 That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press: 
 But these did shelter him beneath their roof, 
 When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less, 
 And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof 1 
 In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the 
 proof ! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark 
 Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore, 
 When all around was desolate and dark ; 
 To land was perilous, to sojourn more ; 
 Yet for a while the mariners forbore, 
 Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk : 
 At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore 
 That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk 
 Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, 
 Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, 
 Kinder than polish 'd slaves, though not so bland, 
 And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments 
 
 damp, 
 
 And fill'd the bowl, and trimm'dthe cheerful lamp. 
 And spread their fare ; though homely, all they had: 
 Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp 
 To rest the weary and to soothe the sad, 
 Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad. 
 
 1 Alludincj,t,o the wreckers of Cornwall.
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 99 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 It came to pass, that when he did address 
 Himself to quit at length this mountain-land, 
 Combined marauders halfway barr'd egress, 
 And wasted far and near with glaive and brand ; 
 And therefore did he take a trusty band 
 To traverse Acarnania's forest wide, 
 In war well season'd, and with labours tann'd, 
 Till he did greet white Achelous' tide, 
 And from his further bank ^Etolia's wolds espied. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, 
 And weary waves retire to gleam at rest, 
 How brown the foliage of the green hill's grove, 
 Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast, 
 As winds come lightly whispering from the west, 
 Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene : 
 Here Harold was received a welcome guest ; 
 Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, [glean. 
 
 For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, 
 The feast was done, the red wine circling fast, 1 
 And he that unawares had there ygazed, 
 With gaping wonderment had stared aghast; 
 For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past, 
 The native revels of the troop began ; 
 Each Palikar 2 his sabre from him cast, 
 And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man, 
 
 Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled 
 clan. 3 
 
 1 The Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from wine, and, 
 indeed, very few of the others. 
 
 a Palikar, shortened when addressed to a single person, from 
 naXcrapt, a general name for a soldier amongst the Greeks and 
 Albanese who speak Romaic : it means, properly, " a lad." 
 
 [The following is Mr. Hobhouse's animated description of
 
 JOO CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Childe Harold at a little distance stood, 
 And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie, 
 Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude : 
 In sooth it was no vulgar sight to see 
 Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee ; 
 And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd, 
 Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, 
 The long wild locks that to their girdles streamed, 
 While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half 
 
 screamed : l 
 
 this scene : " In the evening the gates were secured, and pre- 
 parations were made for feeding our Albanians. A goat was killed 
 and roasted whole, and four fires were kindled in the yard, round 
 which the soldiers seated themeelves in parties. After eating and 
 drinking, the greatest part of them assembled round the largest 
 of the fires, and whilst ourselves and the elders of the party were 
 seated on the ground, danced round the blaze, to their own songs, 
 with astonishing energy. All their songs were relations of some 
 robbing exploits. One of them, which detained them more than 
 an hour, began thus ' When we set out from Parga, there were 
 sixty of us :' then came the burden of the verse, 
 
 'Robbers all at Parga! Robbers all at Parga!' 
 
 l K.\c<j>rtis nors Hapya'. KXe</>ri TTOTS Ilapyal' 
 
 and, as they roared out this stave, they whirled round the fire, 
 dropped, and rebounded from their knees, and again whirled round, 
 as the chorus was again repeated. The rippling of the waves upon 
 the pebbly margin where we were seated, filled up the pauses of the 
 song with a milder, and not more monotonous music. The night 
 was very dark ; but, by the flashes of the fires, we caught a glimpse 
 of the woods, the rocks, and the lake, which, together with the wild 
 appearance of the dancers, presented us with a scene that would 
 have made a fine picture in the hands of such an artist as the author 
 of the Mysteries of Udolpho. As we were acquainted with the 
 character of the Albanians, it did not at all diminish our pleasure to 
 know, that every one of our guard had been robbers, and some of 
 them a very short time before. It was eleven o'clock before we 
 had retired to our room, at which time the Albanians, wrapping 
 themselves up in their capotes, went to sleep round the fires."] 
 
 1 [For a specimen of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect of the 
 Jllyric, see Appendix, Note [C].]
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 101 
 
 1. 
 
 TAMBOURGI ! Tambourgi i 1 thy 'larurn afar 
 Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war ; 
 All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, 
 Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote ! 2 
 
 2. 
 
 Oh ! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, 
 
 In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote ? 
 
 To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock, 
 
 And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. 
 
 3. 
 
 Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive 
 The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live ? 
 Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego ? 
 What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe ? 
 
 4. 
 
 Macedonia sends forth her invincible race ; 
 For a time they abandon the cave and the chase : 
 But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before 
 The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. 
 
 5. 
 
 Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, 
 And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, 
 Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar, 
 And track to his covert the captive on shore. 
 
 6. 
 
 I ask not the pleasures that riches supply, 
 My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy ; 
 Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair, 
 And many a maid from her mother shall tear. 
 
 1 Drummer. 
 
 a These stanzas are partly taken from different Albanese 
 songs, as far as I was able to make them out by the exposition 
 of the Albanese in Romaic and Italian.
 
 lo-J CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 7. 
 
 1 love the fair face of the maid in her youth, 
 Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe ; 
 Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre, 
 And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. 
 
 8. 
 
 Remember the moment when Previsa fell, 1 
 The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors' yell ; 
 The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, 
 The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared. 
 
 9. 
 
 I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear ; 
 He neither must know who would serve the vizier : 
 Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw 
 A chief ever glorious like Ali Pasha w. 
 
 10. 
 
 Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, 
 Let the yellow-hair'd 2 Giaours 3 view his horsetail 4 
 
 with dread. 
 
 When his Delhis 5 come dashing in blood o'er the banks, 
 How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks ! 
 
 11. 
 
 Selictar ! a unsheathe then our chief's scimitar : 
 Tambourgi ! thy 'larum gives promise of war. 
 Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore, 
 Shall view us as victors, or view us no more ! 
 
 1 It was taken by storm from the French. 
 
 * Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians. 
 8 Infidel. 
 
 4 The insignia of a pasha. 
 
 5 Horsemen, answering to our forlorn hope. 
 
 Sword-bearer.
 
 CANTO II. P I L G R I M A G E. 103 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! 
 
 
 Immortal, though no more ; though fallen great ! 
 Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth, 
 And long accustom'd bondage uncreate ? 
 Not such thy sons who whilome did await, 
 The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, 
 In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait 
 Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume, 
 Leap from Euro las' banks, and call thee from the tomb? 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow 2 
 Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, 
 Couldst thoti forbode the dismal hour which now 
 Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? 
 Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, 
 But every carle can lord it o'er thy land j 
 Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, 
 Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand ; 
 From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed, un- 
 mann'd. 
 
 LXXV*. 
 
 In all save form alone, how changed ! and who 
 That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, 
 Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew 
 With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty ! 
 And many dream withal the hour is nigh 
 That gives them back their fathers' heritage : 
 For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, 
 Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, [page. 
 Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful 
 
 1 Some Thoughts on the present state of Greece and Turkey 
 will be found in the Appendix, Notes [D] and [E]. 
 
 * Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, has still 
 considerable remains: it was seized bv Thrasybulus, previous t& 
 the expulsion of the Thirty.
 
 104 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not 
 Who would be free themselves muststrikethebiow? 
 By their right arms the conquest must be wrought? 
 Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? no ! 
 True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, 
 But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. 
 Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er your foe! 
 Greece ! change thy lords, thy state is still the same, 
 Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of shame. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 The city won for Allah from the Giaour, 
 The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest; 
 And the serai's impenetrable tower 
 Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest ;* 
 Or Wahab's revel brood who dared divest 
 The prophet's 2 tomb of all its pious spoil, 
 May wind their path of blood along the West ; 
 But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil, 
 But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Yet mark their mirth ere lenten days begin 
 That penance which their holy rites prepare 
 To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin, 
 By daily abstinence and nightly prayer ; 
 But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear, 
 Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all, 
 To take of pleasaunce each his secret share, 
 In motley robe to dance at masking ball, 
 And join the mimic train of merry Carnival. 
 
 1 When taken by the Latins, and retained for several years. 
 8 Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the Wi- 
 habees, a sect yearly increasing.
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 105 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 And whose more rife with merriment than thine, 
 Oh Stamboul I 1 once the empress of their reign ? 
 Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine, 
 And Greece her very altars eyes in vain : 
 (Alas ! her woes will still pervade my strain !) 
 Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, 
 All felt the common joy they now must feign, 
 Nor oft I've seen such sights, nor heard such song, 
 As woo'd the eye, and thrill'd the Bosphorus along. 2 
 
 1 [Of Constantinople Lord Byronsays, "Ihave seen the ruins 
 of Athens, of Ephesus, and Delhi ; I have traversed great part of 
 Turkey and many other parts of Europe, and some of Asia ; but 
 I never beheld a work of nature or art which yielded an impression 
 like the prospect on each side, from the Seven Towers to the end 
 of the Golden Horn."] 
 
 3 [" The view of Constantinople," says Mr. Rose, " which ap- 
 peared intersected by groves of cypress, (for such is the effect of its 
 great burial-grounds planted with these trees,) its gilded domes and 
 minarets reflecting the first rays of the sun ; the deep blue sea ' in 
 which it glassed itself,' and that sea covered with beautiful boats 
 and barges darting in every direction in perfect silence, amid sea- 
 fowl, who sat at rest upon the waters, altogether conveyed such an 
 impression as I had never received, and probably never shall again 
 receive, from the view of any other place." The following sonnet, 
 by the same author, has been so often quo ted, that, but for its exqui- 
 site beauty, we should not have ventured to reprint it here: 
 * A glorious form thy shining city wore, 
 Mid cypress thickets of perennial green, 
 With minaret and golden dome between, 
 While thy sea softly kiss'd its grassy shore : 
 Darting across whose blue expanse was seen 
 Of sculptured barks and galleys many a score ; 
 Whence noise was none save that of plashing oar ; 
 Nor word was spoke, to break the calm serene. 
 Unheard is whisker'd boatman's hail or joke ; 
 
 Who, mute as Sinbad's man of copper, rows. 
 And only intermits the sturdy stroke, 
 When fearless gull too nigh his pinnace goes. 
 
 I, hardly conscious if I dream'd or woke, 
 Mark'd that strange piece of action and repose."]
 
 106 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore, 
 Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone, 
 And timely echo'd back the measured oar, 
 And rippling waters made a pleasant moan : 
 The queen of tides on high consenting shone, 
 And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave, 
 'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne, 
 A brighter glance her form reflected gave, 
 Till sparkling billows seem'd to light the banks they 
 lave. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Glanced many a light caique along the foam, 
 Danced on the shore the daughters of the land, 
 Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home, 
 While many a languid eye and thrilling hand 
 Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand, 
 Or gently press'd, return'd the pressure still : 
 Oh Love ! young Love ! bound in thy rosy band, 
 Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, 
 These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years 
 of ill! 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, 
 Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain, 
 Even through the closest searment half betray'd ? 
 To such the gentle murmurs of the main 
 Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain ; 
 To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd 
 Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain : 
 How do they loathe the laughter idly loud, 
 And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud !
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 107 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Thi's must he feel, the true-born son ot Greece, 
 If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast : 
 Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace, 
 The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost, 
 Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost, 
 And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword : 
 Ah ! Greece ! they love thee least who owe thee most ; 
 Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record 
 Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde I 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood, 
 When Thebes Epaminondas rears again, 
 When Athens' children are with hearts endued, 
 When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men, 
 Then mayst thou be restored ; but not till then. 
 A thousand years scarce serve to form a state ; 
 An hour may lay it in the dust : and when 
 Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate, 
 Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate ? 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 And yet how lovely in thine age of woe, 
 Land of lost gods and godlike men, art thou ! 
 Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow, 1 
 Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now : 
 Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow, 
 Commingling slowly with heroic earth, 
 Broke by the share of every rustic plough : 
 So perish monuments of mortal birth, 
 So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; 
 
 1 On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, the snow 
 never is entirely melted, notwithstanding the intense heat of ilia 
 mmmer; but I never saw it lie on the plains, even in
 
 108 CIIILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Save where some solitary column mourns 
 Above its prostrate brethren of the cawe; 1 
 Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns 
 Colonna's cliff', 2 and gleams along the wave ; 
 Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave, 
 Where the gray stones and unmolested grass 
 Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave, 
 While strangers only not regardless pass, 
 Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh 
 "Alas!" 
 
 1 Of Mount Pentelicus, from whence the marble was dug that 
 constructed the public edifices of Athens. The modern name is 
 Mount Mendeli. An immense cave, formed by the quarries, still 
 remains, and will till the end of time. 
 
 a In all Attica, if we except Athens itself and Marathon, there is 
 no scene more interesting than Cape Colonna. To the antiquary 
 and artist, sixteen columns are an inexhaustible source of observa- 
 tion and design ; to the philosopher, the supposed scene of some 
 of Plato's conversations will not be unwelcome; and the traveller 
 will be struck with the beauty of the prospect over " Isles that 
 crown the ^Egean deep :" but, for an Englishman, Colonna has 
 yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's Ship- 
 wreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten, in the recollection of 
 Falconer and Campbell : 
 
 " Here in the dead of night by Lonna's steep, 
 
 The seaman's cry was heard along the deep." 
 This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea from a great distance. 
 In two journeys which I made, and one voyage to Cape Colonna, 
 the view from either side, by land, was less striking than the ap- 
 proach from the isles. In our second land excursion, we had a 
 narrow escape from a party of Mainotes, concealed in the caverns 
 F'oueath. We were told afterwards, by one of their prisoners, sub- 
 sequently ransomed, that they were deterred from attacking us by 
 the; appearance of my two Albanians : conjecturing very sagacious- 
 ly, but falsely, that we had a complete guard of these Arnaouts 
 at hand, they remained stationary, and thus saved our party, 
 wliinh was too small to have opposed any effectual resistance, 
 ('i-lopna is no less a resort of painters than of pirates ; there
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 109 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; 
 Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, 
 Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, 
 And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields ; 
 There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, 
 The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air; 
 Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, 
 Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare ; 
 Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. 1 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground ; 
 No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, 
 But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 
 And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, 
 Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
 The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : 
 Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold 
 Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone: 
 Age shakes Athena'stower,but spares gray Marathon. 
 
 " The hireling artist plants his paltry desk, 
 And makes degraded nature picturesque." 
 
 (See Hodgson's Lady Jane Grey, &c.) 
 
 But there Nature, with the aid of Art, has done that for herself. 
 I was fortunate enough to engage a very superior German artist ; 
 and hope to renew my acquaintance with this and many other 
 Levantine scenes, by the arrival of his performances. 
 
 1 [The following passage, in Harris's Philosophical Inqui- 
 ries, contains the pith of this stanza : " Notwithstanding the 
 various fortunes of Athens, as a city, Attica is still famous for 
 olives, and Mount Hymettus for honey. Human institutions 
 perish, but Nature is permanent." I recollect having once 
 pointed out this coincidence to Lord Byron, but he assured me 
 that he had never seen this work of Harris. MOORE.] 
 10
 
 HO C HILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same ; 
 Unchanged in all except its foreign lord 
 Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame 
 The battle-field, where Persia's victim horde 
 First b9\v'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, 
 As on the morn to distant Glory dear, 
 When Marathon became a magic word j 1 
 Which uttered, to the hearer's eye appear 
 The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career. 
 
 xc. 
 
 The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ; 
 The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ; 
 Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below ; 
 Death in the front, Destruction in the rear ! 
 Such was the scene what now remaineth here ? 
 What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground, 
 Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear ? 
 The rifled urn, the violated mound, 
 The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spurns 
 around. 
 
 xci. 
 
 Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past 
 Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng ; 
 
 1 " Siste Viator heroa calcas !" was the epitaph on the famous 
 Count Merci; what then must be our feelings when standing on 
 the tumulus of the two hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon ? 
 The principal barrow has recently been opened by Fauvel : few 
 or no relics, as vases, &c. were found by the excavator. The 
 plain of Marathon was offered to me for sale at the sum of sixteen 
 thousand piastres, about nine hundred pounds ! Alas ! " Ex- 
 pende quot libras in duce summo invenies !" was the dust 
 of Miltiades worth no morel It could scarcely have fetched less 
 'f sold by weight.
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. Ill 
 
 Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast, 
 Hail the bright clime of battle and of song; 
 Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
 Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore; 
 Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young! 
 Which sages venerate and bards adore, 
 As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 The parted bosom clings to wonted home, 
 If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth j 
 He that is lonely, hither let him roam, 
 And gaze complacent on congenial earth. 
 Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth : 
 But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, 
 And scarce regret the region of his birth, 
 When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, 
 Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian 
 died. 1 
 
 xcm. 
 
 Let such approach this consecrated land, 
 And pass in peace along the magic waste ; 
 But spare its relics let no busy hand 
 Deface the scenes, already how defaced ! 
 Not for such purpose were these altars placed : 
 Revere the remnants nations once revered : 
 So may our country's name be undisgraced, 
 So mayst thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd, 
 By every honest joy of love and life endear'd ! 
 
 xciv. 
 
 For thee, who thus in too protracted song 
 Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, 
 
 1 The original MS. closes with this stanza. The rest was 
 added while the canto was passing through the press.]
 
 112 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 
 
 Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng 
 Of louder minstrels in these later days : 
 To such resign the strife for fading bays 
 III may such contest now the spirit move 
 Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise, 
 Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, 
 And none are left to please where none are left to love. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one ! 
 Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me ; 
 Who did for me what none beside have done, 
 Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. 
 What is my being ? thou hast ceased to be ! 
 Nor stay'd to welcome here thy wanderer home, 
 Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see 
 Would they had never been, or were to come ! 
 Would he hadne'erreturn'dto find fresh cause to roam! 
 
 xcvi. 
 
 Oh ! ever loving, lovely, and beloved ! 
 How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past, 
 And clings to thoughts now better far removed ! 
 But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. 
 All thou couldst have of mine, stem Death ! thou 
 
 hast; 
 
 The parent, friend, and now the more than friend : 
 Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, 
 And grief with grief continuing still to blend, 
 Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Then must I plunge again into the crowd, 
 And follow all that Peace disdains to seek ? 
 Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, 
 False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek,
 
 CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 113 
 
 To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak ; 
 Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, 
 To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ; 
 Smiles form the channel of a future tear, 
 Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 What is the worst of woes that wait on age ? 
 What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow ? 
 To view each loved one blotted from life's page, 
 And be alone on earth, as I am now. 1 
 Before the Chastener humbly let me bow, 
 O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroyed : 
 Roll on, vain days ! full reckless may ye flow, 
 Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd, 
 And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd. 
 
 1 [This stanza was written October 11, 1811 ; upon which day 
 the poet, in a letter to a friend, says, " I have been again shocked 
 with a death, and have lost one very dear to me in happier times ; 
 but I have almost forgot the taste of grief,' and ' supped full of 
 horrors' till I have become callous, nor have I a tear left for an event 
 which, five years ago, would have bowed down my head to the 
 earth. It seems as though I were to experience in my youth the 
 greatest misery of age. My friends fall around me, and I shall 
 be left a lonely tree before I am withered. Other men can always 
 take refuge in their families : I have no resource but my own re- 
 flections, and they present no prospect here or hereafter, except 
 the selfish satisfaction of surviving my friends. I am indeed very 
 wretched, and you will excuse my saying so, as you know I am 
 not apt to cant of sensibility." In reference to this stanza, 
 " Surely," said Professor Clarke to the author of the " Pursuits 
 of Literature," " Lord Byron cannot have experienced such keen 
 anguish as these exquisite allusions to what older men may have 
 felt seem to denote." " I fear he has," answered Matthias ; 
 *' he could not otherwise have written such a poem."] 
 10*
 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD. 
 
 "Afin que cette application vous format de penser a autre 
 chose ; il n'y a en verite de remede que celui-la et le temps." 
 Lettre du Roi de Prusse a D'Jkmbert, Sept. 7, 1776.

 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD. 1 
 
 I. 
 
 Is thy face like thy mother's^ my fair child ! 
 ADA ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? 2 
 When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled. 
 And when we parted, not as now we part, 
 But with a hope. 
 
 Awaking with a start, 
 The waters heave around me ; and on high 
 The winds lift up their voices : I depart, 
 Whither I know not ; 3 but the hour's gone by, 
 When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad 
 mine eye. 
 
 1 [" Begun July 10th, 1816. Diodati,near Lake of Geneva." 
 MS.] 
 
 fl [In a hitherto unpublished letter, dated Verona, November 6, 
 1816, Lord Byron says " By the way, Ma's name (which I 
 found in our pedigree, under King John's reign) is the same with 
 that of the sister of Charlemagne, as I redde, the other day, in a 
 book treating on the Rhine."] 
 
 8 [Lord Byron quitted England, for the second and last time, 
 on the 25th of April, 1816, attended by William Fletcher and 
 Robert Rushton, the " yeoman" and " page" of Canto I. ; his 
 physician, Dr. Polidori ; and a Swiss valet.] 
 
 117
 
 118 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 II. 
 
 Once more upon the waters ! yet once more ! 
 And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
 That knows his rider. 1 Welcome to the roar! 
 Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! 
 Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, 
 And the rent canvass fluttering strew the gale, 2 
 Still must I on ; for I am as a weed, 
 Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail 
 Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath 
 prevail. 
 
 in. 
 
 In my youth's summer I did sing of one, 
 The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; 
 Again I seize the theme, then but begun, 
 And bear it with me, as the rushing wind 
 Bears the cloud onwards : in that tale I find 
 The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, 
 Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind, 
 O'er which all heavily the journeying years 
 Plod the last sands of life, where not a flower ap- 
 pears. 
 
 1 [In the " Two Noble Kinsmen" of Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 (a play to which the picture of passionate friendship delineated in 
 the characters of Palamon and Arcite would be sure to draw the 
 attention of Byron in his boyhood,) we find the following pas- 
 sage : 
 
 " Oh, never 
 
 Shall we two exercise, like twins of Honour, 
 
 Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses 
 
 Like proud seas under us." 
 
 Out of this somewhat forced simile, by a judicious transposition 
 of the comparison, and by the substitution of the more definite 
 word " waves" for " seas," Lord Byron's clear and noble thought 
 has been produced. MOORE.] 
 
 2 [" And the rent canvass tattering." MS.] 

 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 119 
 
 IV. 
 
 Since my young days of passion joy, or pain, 
 Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string, 
 And both may jar : it may be, that in vain 
 I would essay as I have sung to sing. 
 Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, 
 So that it wean me from the weary dream 
 Of selfish grief or gladness so it fling 
 Forgetfulness around me it shall seem 
 To me> though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. 
 
 v. 
 
 He who, grown aged in this world of woe, 
 In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, 
 So that no wonder waits him ; nor below 
 Can love or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife, 
 Cut to his heart again with the keen knife 
 Of silent, sharp endurance : he can tell 
 Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife 
 With airy images, and shapes which dwell 
 Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted 
 cell. 
 
 VI. 
 
 'Tis to create, and in creating live 
 
 A being more intense, that we endow 
 With form our fancy, gaining as we give 
 The life we image, even as I do now. 
 What am I ? Nothing : but not so art thou, 
 Soul of my thought ! with whom I traverse earth. 
 Invisible but gazing, as I glow 
 Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, 
 And feeJing still with thee in my crush'd feelings* 
 dearth.
 
 ISO CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet must I think less wildly : I have, thought 
 Too long and darkly, till my brain became, 
 In its own eddy, boiling and o'erwrought, 
 A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame : 
 And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, 
 My springs of life were poison'd. ? Tis too late ! 
 Yet am I changed ; though still enough the same 
 In strength to bear what time can not abate, 
 And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Something too much of this: but now 'tis past, 
 And the spell closes with its silent seal. 
 Long absent HAROLD reappears at last ; 
 . He of the breast which fain no more would feel, 
 *J Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er 
 Yet Time, who changes all, hadalterM him [heal; 
 In soul and aspect as in age r 1 years steal 
 Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb ; 
 And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. 
 
 [" The first and second cantos of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage 
 produced, on their appearance in 1812, an effect upon the public, 
 at .east equal to any work which has appeared within this or the 
 last century, and placed at once upon Lord Byron's head the gar- 
 land for which other men of genius have toiled long, and which 
 they have gained late. He was placed pre-eminent among the 
 literary men of his country by general acclamation. It was amidst 
 such feelings of admiration that he entered the public stage. 
 Every thing in his manner, person, and conversation, tended to 
 maintain the charm which his genius had flung around him ; and 
 those admitted to his conversation, far from finding that the in- 
 spired poet sunk into ordinary mortality, felt themselves attached 
 to him, not only by many noble qualities, but by the interest of a 
 mysterious, undefined, and almost painful curiosity. A counte- 
 nance exquisitely modelled to the expression of feeling and passion, 
 and exhibiting the remarkable contrast of very dark hair and eye- 
 brows, with alight and express' ve eye, presented tothephysiog-
 
 CAMTO HI. PILGRIMAGE. 121 
 
 IX. 
 
 His had been quaffd too quickly, and he found 
 The dregs were wormwood ; but he fill'd again, 
 And from a purer fount, on holier ground, 
 And deem'd its spring perpetual ; but in vain ! 
 Still round him clung invisibly a chain 
 Which gall'd forever, fettering though unseen, 
 And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with pain, 
 Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, 
 Entering with every step he took through many a 
 scene. 
 
 Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd 
 Again in fancied safety with his kind, 
 And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd 
 And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind, 
 That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind ; 
 And he, as one, might midst the many stand 
 Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find 
 Fit speculation ; such as in strange land 
 He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's 
 hand, 
 
 nomist the most interesting subject for the exercise of his art. 
 The predominating expression was that of deep and habitual 
 thought, which gave way to the most rapid play of features when 
 fie engaged in interesting discussion; so that a brother poet com- 
 pared them to the sculpture of a beautiful alabaster vase, only 
 seen to perfection when lighted up from within. The flashes of 
 mirth, gayety, indignation, or satirical dislike, which frequently 
 animated Lord Byron's countenance, might, during an evening's 
 conversation, be mistaken, by a stranger, for the habitual ex- 
 pression, so easily and so happily was it formed for them all; but 
 those who had an opportunity of studyinghis features for a length 
 of time, and upon various occasions, both of rest and emotion, 
 will agree that their proper language was that of melancholy. 
 Sometimes shades of this gloom. interrupted evvn his gayest and 
 most li.ipi>y iii'-'im ills." Si;t "WALTER S. nrr.] 
 
 u
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S CAA-TO III. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But who can view the ripened ro.se, nor seek 
 To wear it ? who can curiously behold 
 The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek, 
 Nor feel the heart can never all grow old ? 
 Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold 
 The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb? 
 ; Harold once more within the vortex, roll'd 
 On with the giddy circle, ceasing Time, 
 ! Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond prime. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But soon he knew himself the most unfit 
 Of men to herd with man ; with whom he held 
 Little in common ; untaught to submit 
 His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell'd 
 In youth by his own thoughts ; still uncompell'd. 
 He would not yield dominion of his mind 
 To spirits against whom his own rebell'd; 
 Proud though in desolation ; which could find 
 A life within itself, to breathe without mankind. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends; 
 Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home ; 
 Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, 
 He had the passion and the power to roam ; 
 The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam. 
 Were unto him companionship ; they spake 
 
 A mutual language, clearer than the tome 
 
 , y p * . . . .- - ... 
 
 Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake 
 
 For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the 
 lake.
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 123 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Like the Chaldean, he could watr.h the sfars T 
 "fill he had peopled them with beings bright 
 As their owirbe.a.rflSj and earth, and earth-born ^ars, 
 And human frailties, were forgotten quite : 
 Could he have kept his spirit tothat flight 
 ITe had been happy; but this clay wiUsjnk 
 Its spark immortal, envying it the light 
 To which it mounts, as if to break the link [brink. 
 Tiiat keeps us from you heaven which woos us to its 
 
 XV. 
 
 But in man's dwellings he became a thing 
 
 costless and worn, and stern and wearisome, 
 Droop' J asaTwud born falcon with clipped wing, 
 To whom the boundless air alone were . 
 Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome, 
 As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat 
 His breast and beak against his wiry dome 
 Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat 
 Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Self-exiled Harold 1 wanders forth again, 
 
 "\Vith naught of hope left, but \vithjess_of gloom ; 
 
 The very knowledge that he lived in vain, 
 
 That all was over on this side the tomb, 
 
 ^* ["In the third canto of Childe Harold there is much in- 
 equality. The thoughts and images are sometimes laboured ; but 
 still they are a very great improvement upon the first two cantos. 
 Lord Byron here speaks in his own language and character, not 
 in the tone of others; he is describing, not inventing; therefore 
 he has not, and cannot have, the freedom with which fiction is 
 composed. Sometimes he has a conciseness which is very power- 
 ful, but almost abrupt. From trusting himself alone, and working 
 out his own deep-buried thoughts, he now, perhaps, fell into a 
 habit of labouring, even where there was no occasion to labour. 
 In the first sixteen stanzas there is yet a mighty but groaning
 
 1-21 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III 
 
 Had made Despair a sqailiogoesBt assume [wrecF, 
 Which, though 'twere wild, as on the plunder'd 
 When mariners would madly meet their doom 
 With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck, 
 Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check. 1 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Stop ! for thy tread is on an empire's dust ! 
 An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! 
 Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? 
 Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? 
 None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, 
 As the ground was before, thus let it be ; 
 How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! 
 And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, 
 Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory ? 
 
 burst of dark and appalling strength. It was unquestionably the 
 unexaggerated picture of a most tempestuous and sombre, but 
 magnificent soul/' BRYDGES.] 
 
 1 [These stanzas in which the author, adopting more dis- 
 tinctly the character of Childe Harold than in the original poem, 
 assigns the cause why he has resumed his pilgrim's staff, when it 
 was hoped he had sat down for life a denizen of his native country, 
 abound with much moral interest and poetical beauty. The 
 commentary through which the meaning of this melancholy tale 
 is rendered obvious, is still in vivid remembrance; for the errors 
 of those who excel their fellows in gifts and accomplishments are 
 not soon forgotten. Those scenes, ever most painful to the bosom, 
 were rendered yet more so by public discussion ; and it is at least 
 possible that amongst those who exclaimed most loudly on this 
 unhappy occasion, were some in whose eyes literary superiority 
 exaggerated Lord Byron's offence. The scene may be described 
 in a few words: the wise condemned the good regretted the 
 multitude, idly or maliciously inquisitive, rushed from place to 
 place, gathering gossip, which they mangled and exaggerated 
 while they repeated it; and impudence, ever ready to hitch itself 
 into notoriety, hooked on, as Falstaff enjoins Bardolph, blustered, 
 bullied, and talked of" pleading a cause," and " taking a side." 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT.]
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 1<>5 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, 
 The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ! 
 How in an hour the power which gave annuls 
 Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too ! 
 In " pride of place" 1 here last the eagle flew, 
 Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, 2 
 Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through ; 
 Ambition's life and labours all were vain ; [chain. 
 He wears the shatterd links of the world's broken 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit 
 And foam in fetters; but is earth more free ? 
 Did nations combat to make one submit ; 
 Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty ? 
 What ! shall reviving Thraldom again be 
 The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days ! 
 Shall we, who struck the lion down, shall we 
 Pay the wolf homage ? proffering lowly gaze 
 And servile knees to thrones ? No ; prove before ye 
 praise ! 
 
 1 " Pride of place" is a term of falconry, and means the highest 
 pitch of flight. See Macbeth, &c. 
 
 " An eagle towering in his pride of place," &c. 
 8 [In the original draught of this stanza, (which, as well as the 
 preceding one, was written after a visit to the field of Waterloo,) 
 the lines stood 
 
 " Here his last flight the haughty eagle flew, 
 
 Then tore with bloody beak the fatal plain." 
 On seeing these lines, Mr. Reinagle sketched a spirited chained 
 eagle, grasping the earth with his talons. The circumstance being 
 mentioned to Lord Byron, he wrote thus to a friend at Brussels 
 "Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am 
 eagles, and all birds of prey, attack with their talons, and no 
 with their beaks : and I have altered the line thus : 
 
 'Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain.' 
 This is, I think, a better line, besides its poetical justice."] 
 11*
 
 126 CIIILDE HAHO LD'S CANTO III. 
 
 xx. 
 
 If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more ! 
 In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears 
 For Europe's flowers, long rooted up before 
 The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain years 
 Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, 
 Have all been borne, and broken by the accord 
 Of roused-up millions : all that most endears 
 Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword 
 Such as Harmodius 1 drew on Athens' tyrant lord. 
 
 /; xxi. 
 
 1 There was a sound of revelry by night, 
 And Belgium's capital had gather'd then 
 Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; 
 A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, 
 And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; 3 
 Buthush ! hark! adeepsound strikes likea risingknell !// 
 
 1 See the famous song on Harmodius and Aristogiton. The 
 best English translation is in Eland's Anthology, by Mr. (now 
 Lord Chief Justice) Denman, 
 
 " With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," &c. 
 
 3 [There can be no more remarkable proof of the greatness of 
 Lord Byron's genius, than the spirit and interest he has contrived 
 to communicate to his picture of the often-drawn and difficult 
 scene of the breaking up from Brussels before the great battle. It 
 is a trite remark, that poets generally fail in the representation of 
 great events, where the interest is recent, and the particulars 
 are consequently clearly and commonly known. It required some 
 courage to venture on a theme beset with so many dangers, and 
 deformed with the wrecks of so many former adventurers. See, 
 however, with what easy strength he enters upon it, and with 
 how much grace he gradually finds his way back to his own pe- 
 culiar vein of sentiment and diction ! JEFFHEY.] 
 
 8 On the night previous to the action, it is said that a ball was 
 1M at Brussels. [The popular error of the Duke of Wellington
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 127 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Did ye not hear it ? No ; 'twas but the wind 
 Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
 On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 
 No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet 
 But hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
 Ann! arm! it is it is the cannon's opening roar! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Within a window 'd niche of that high hall 
 Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear 
 That sound the first amidst the festival, 
 And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; 
 And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, 
 His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
 Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 1 
 And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
 He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 2 
 
 having been surprised, on the eve of the battle of Waterloo, at a 
 hall given by the Dutchess of Richmond, at Brussels, was first 
 corrected on authority, in the History of Napoleon Bonaparte, 
 which forms a portion of the " Family Library." The duke had 
 received intelligence of Napoleon's decisive operations, and it was 
 intended to put off the ball; but, on reflection, it seemed highly 
 important that the people of Brussels should be kept in ignorance 
 as to the course of events, and the duke not only desired that the 
 ball should proceed, but the general officers received his commands 
 to appear at it each taking care to quit the apartment as quietly 
 as possible at ten o'clock, and proceed to join his respective di- 
 vision en route.] 
 
 1 [The father of the Duke of Brunswick, who fell at Quatre- 
 bras, received his death-w r ound at Jena.] 
 
 8 [This stanza is very grand, even from its total unadornment. 
 Ft. is only a versification of the common narrative : but here may 
 well be applied a position of Johnson, that "where truth is suf 
 ficientto fii'i the mind, fiction is worse than useless." .
 
 108 CIIILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
 And gathering tears and tremblings of distress, 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
 Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness 
 And there were sudden partings, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 
 If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 
 Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 
 And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
 And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
 While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, 
 Or whispering, with white lips " The foe ! They 
 come ! they come !" 
 
 xxvr. 
 
 And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose ! 
 The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
 Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : 
 How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
 Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
 Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
 With the fierce native daring which instils 
 The stirring memory of a thousand years, [ears ! 
 And Evan's, Donald's 1 fame rings in each clansman's 
 
 1 Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the " gentle 
 Loclne!" of the " forty .five. 1 "
 
 CANTO III. P I L G K I M A G E. 129 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And Ardennes 1 waves above them her green leaves, 
 Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
 Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieve, 
 Iver the unretnrning brave, alas ! 
 >e evening to be trodden like the grass 
 Vhich now beneath them, but above shall grow 
 i its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
 Of living valour, rolling on the foe 
 And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and 
 low. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
 Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 
 The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, 
 The morn the marshalling in arms, the day 
 Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
 The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, 
 The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, 
 Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent 
 Rider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial 
 blent ! 3 
 
 1 The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the forest 
 of Ardennes, famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shak- 
 speare's "As you like it." It is also celebrated in Tacitus, as 
 being the spot of successful defence by the Germans against the 
 Roman encroachments. I have ventured to adopt the name con- 
 nected with nobler associations than those of mere slaughter. 
 
 9 [Childe Harold, though he shuns to celebrate the victory of 
 Waterloo, gives us here a most beautiful description of theevening 
 which preceded the battle of Quatre Bras, the alarm which called 
 out the troops, and the hurry and confusion which preceded their 
 march. I am not sure that any verses in our language surpass, 
 in vigour and in feeling, this most beautiful description. SIR 
 WALTER SCOTT.]
 
 130 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine ; 
 Yet one I would select from that proud throng, 
 Partly because they blend me with his line, 
 And partly that I did his sire some wrong, 1 
 And partly that bright names will hallow song; 
 And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd 
 The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, 
 Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, 
 They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, 
 gallant Howard ! 2 
 
 XXX. 
 
 There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, 
 And mine were nothing, had I such to give ; 
 But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, 
 Which living waves where thou didst cease to live, 
 And saw around me the wide field revive 
 With fruits and fertile promise, and the spring 
 Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, 
 With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 
 I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not 
 bring. 3 
 
 1 [See English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.] 
 a [" In the late battles, like all the world, I have lost a connec- 
 tion poor Frederick Howard, the best of his race. I had little 
 intercourse of late years with his family; but I never saw or heard 
 but good of him." Lord S. to Mr, Moore."] 
 
 8 My guide from Mont St. Jean over the field seemed intelligent 
 and accurate. The place where Major Howard fell was not far 
 from two tall and solitary trees, (there was a third cut down, or 
 shivered in the battle,) which stand a few yards from each other 
 at a pathway's side. Beneath these he died and was buried. The 
 body has since been removed to England. A small hollow for the 
 present marks where it lay, but will probably soon be effaced ; tho 
 plough has been upon it, and the grain is. After pointing out tho 
 different spots where Picton and other gallant men had perished; 
 the guide said, " Here Major Howard lay ; I was near him when
 
 CANTO III. P J L G II I M A G E. 131 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each 
 
 And one as all a ghastly gap did make 
 
 In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach 
 
 Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake ; 
 
 The Archangel's trurnp, not Glory's, must awake 
 
 Those whom they thirst for ; though the sound of 
 
 Fame 
 
 May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake 
 The fever of vain longing, and the name 
 So honour'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 They mourn, but smile at length ; and, smiling, 
 
 mourn : 
 
 The tree will wither long before it fall ; 
 The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn ; 
 The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall 
 In massy hoariness ; the ruin'd wall 
 Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; 
 The bars survive the captive they enthral ; 
 The day drags through though storms keep out the 
 
 sun; 
 And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on : 
 
 wounded." I told him my relationship, and he seemed then still 
 more anxious to point out the particular spot and circumstances. 
 The place is one of the most marked in the field, from the pecu- 
 liarity of the two trees above mentioned. I went on horseback 
 twice over the field, comparing it with my recollection of similar 
 scenes. As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene 
 of some great action, though this may be mere imagination : I 
 have viewed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea. 
 Leuctra, Chaeronea, and Marathon; and the field around Mont 
 St. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but a better 
 cause, and that undennable but impressive halo which the lapse 
 of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest with 
 any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last mentioned.
 
 132 C II I LDE HAROLD'S CANTO III 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Even as a broken mirror, which the glass 
 In every fragment multiplies ; and makes 
 A thousand images of one that was 
 The same, and still the more, the more it breaks ; 
 And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, 
 Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold, 
 And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches, 
 Yet withers on till all without is old, 
 Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. 1 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 There is a very life in our despair, 
 Vitality of poison, a quick root 
 Which feeds these deadly branches ; for it were 
 As nothing did we die ; but life will suit 
 Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, 
 Like to the apples 2 on the Dead Sea's shore, 
 All ashes to the taste : did man compute 
 Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er 
 Such hours 'gainst years of life, say, would he name 
 threescore ? 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The psalmist number'd out the years of man : 
 They are enough ; and if thy tale be true, 
 Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, 
 More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! 
 
 1 [There is a richness and energy in this passage, which is 
 peculiar to Lord Byron, among all modern poets ; a throng of 
 glowing images, poured forth at once, with a facility and profusion, 
 which must appear mere wastefulness to more economical writers, 
 and a certain negligence and harshness of diction, which can he- 
 long only to an author who is oppressed with the exuberance and 
 rapidity of his conceptions. JEFFREY.] 
 
 a The (fabled) apples on the brink of the lake Asphaltes were 
 said to be fair without, and, within, ashes. Vide Tacitus, Hirf- 
 tor. lib. v. 7.
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 133 
 
 Millions of tongues record thee, and anew 
 Their children's lips shall echo them, and say 
 " Here, where the sword united nations drew, 
 Our countrymen were warring on that day !" 
 And this is much, and all which will not pass away. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, 
 Whose spirit antithetically mix'd 
 One moment of the mightiest, and again 
 On. little objects with like firmness fix'd, 
 
 v 7 Extreme in all things ! hadst thou been betwixt, 
 Thy throne had still been thine, or never been ; 
 For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st 
 Even now to reassume the imperial mien, 
 
 And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the 
 scene! 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou ! 
 She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name 
 Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now 
 That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, 
 Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became 
 The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert 
 A god unto thyself; nor less the same 
 To the astounded kingdoms all inert, 
 Who deem'd thee for a time whatever thou didst 
 assert. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Oh, more or less than man in high or low, 
 Battling with nations, flying from the field ; 
 Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, IICT& 
 
 More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield . 
 i*
 
 131 CHILDE HA HOLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, 
 But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, 
 However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, 
 Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, 
 Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest 
 star. 
 
 xxxix. 
 
 Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide 
 With that untaught innate philosophy, 
 Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, 
 Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. 
 When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, 
 To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled 
 With a sedate and all-enduring eye ; 
 When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child, 
 He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them 
 Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show 
 That just habitual scorn, which could contemn 
 Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so 
 To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, 
 And spurn the instruments thou wert to use 
 Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow ; 
 'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose; 
 So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, 
 Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, 
 Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock; 
 But men's thoughts were the steps which paved 
 thy throne,
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 135 
 
 / 
 
 Their admiration thy best weapon shone ; 
 The part of Philip's son was thine, not then, 
 (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) 
 Like stern Diogenes to mock at men ; i 
 
 For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. 1 
 
 XLII. 
 
 But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, 
 And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire 
 And motion of the soul which will not dwell 
 In its own narrow being, but aspire 
 Beyond the fitting medium of desire; 
 And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, 
 Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire 
 Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, 
 Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 This makes the madmen who have made men mad 
 By their contagion ; conquerors and kings, 
 Founders of sects and systems, to whom add 
 Sophists, bards, statesmen, all unquiet things 
 Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, 
 And are themselves the fools to those they fool ; 
 Envied, yet how unenviable ! what stings 
 Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school 
 Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule : 
 
 1 The great error of Napoleon, "if we have writ our annals true," 
 was a continued obtrusion on mankind of his want of all com- 
 munity of feeling for or with them; perhaps more offensive to 
 human vanity than the active cruelty of more trembling an 
 suspicious tyranny. Such were his speeches to public assemblies 
 as well as individuals; and the single expression which he is said 
 to have used on returning to Paris after the Russian winter had 
 destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, "This is plea- 
 santer than Moscow," would probably alienate more favour from 
 his causeHhan the destruction and reverses which led to tho 
 remark.
 
 13G CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Their breath is agitation, and their life 
 A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, 
 And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, 
 That should their days, surviving perils past, 
 Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast 
 With sorrow and supineness, and so die ; 
 Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste 
 With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, 
 Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find 
 The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; 
 He who surpasses or subdues mankind, 
 Must look down on the hate of those below. 
 Though high above the sun of glory glow, 
 And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
 Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow- 
 Contending tempests on his naked head, 
 And thus reward the toils which to those summits 
 led. 1 
 
 1 [This is certainly splendidly written, but we trust it is not 
 true. From Macedonia's madman to the Swede from Nimrod 
 to Bonaparte, the hunters of men have pursued their sport 
 with as much gayety, and as little remorse, as the hunters of other 
 animals; and have lived as cheerily in their days of action, and as 
 comfortable in their repose, as the followers of better pursuits. 
 It would be strange, therefore, if the other active, but more 
 innocent spirits, whom Lord Byron has here placed in the same 
 predicament, and who share all their sources of enjoyment, without 
 the guilt and the hardness which they cannot fail of contracting, 
 should be more miserable or more unfriended than those splendid 
 curses of their kind ; and it would be passing strange, and pitiful, 
 if the most precious gifts of Providence should produce only 
 mhappmess, and mankind regard with hostility their greatest 
 nenefuctors. JEFFREY.]
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 137 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Away with these ! true Wisdom's world will be 
 Within its own creation, or in thine, 
 Maternal Nature ! for who teems like thee, 
 Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine ? 
 There Harold gazes on a work divine, 
 A blending of all beauties ; streams and dells, 
 Fruit,foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine, 
 And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells 
 From gay but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, 
 Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, 
 All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, 
 Or holding dark communion with the cloud. 
 There was a day when they were young and proud, 
 Banners on high, and battles pass'd below ; 
 But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, 
 And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, 
 And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Beneath these battlements, within those walls 
 Power dwelt amidst her passions ; in proud state 
 Each robber chief upheld his armed halls, 
 Doing his evil will, nor less elate 
 Than mightier heroes of a longer date. 
 What want these outlaws 1 conquerors should have? 
 But History's purchased page to call them great? 
 A wider space, an ornamented grave ? 
 Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full 
 as brave. 
 
 1 " What wants that knave that a king should havel" was 
 Kin<r James's question on meeting Johnny Armstrong and his 
 followers in full accoutrements. See the Ballad. 
 12*
 
 138 CHILDEHAROLD'S CANTO III 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 In their baronial feuds and single fields, 
 What deeds of prowess unrecorded died ! 
 And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields, 
 With emblems well devised by amorous pride, 
 Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide ; 
 But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on 
 Keen contest and destruction near allied, 
 And many a tower, for some fair mischief won, 
 Saw the discolour'd Rhine beneath its ruin run. 
 
 L. 
 
 But thou, exulting and abounding river ! 
 Making thy waves a blessing as they flow 
 Through banks whose beauty would endure for- 
 ever 
 
 Could man but leave thy bright creation so, 
 Nor its fair promise from the surface mow 
 With the sharp scythe of conflict, then to see 
 Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know 
 Earth paved like heaven ; and to seem such to me, 
 Even now what wants thy stream? that it should 
 Lethe be. 
 
 LI. 
 
 A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks, 
 But these and half their fame have pass'd away, 
 And Slaughter heap'don high his weltering ranks; 
 Their very graves are gone, and what are they ? 
 Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday, 
 And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream 
 Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray ; 
 But o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream 
 Th' r waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they 
 seem.
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 139 
 
 LIT. 
 
 Thus Harold inly said, and passed along, 
 Yet not insensibly to all which here 
 Awoke the jocund birds to early song 
 In glens which might have made even exile dear : 
 Though on his brow were graven lines austere, 
 And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place 
 Of feelings fierier far but less severe, 
 Joy was not always absent from his face, 
 But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient 
 trace. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Nor was all love shut from him, though his days 
 Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. 
 It is in vain that we would coldly gaze 
 On such as smile upon us ; the heart must 
 Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust 
 Hath wean'd it from all worldings: thus he felt, 
 For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust 
 In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, 
 And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 And he had learn'd to love, I know not why, 
 For this in such as him seems strange of mood, 
 The helpless looks of blooming infancy, 
 Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued, 
 To change like this, a mind so far imbued 
 With scorn of man, it little boots to know ; 
 But thus it was ; and though in solitude 
 Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow. 
 In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to 
 glow.
 
 HO CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III 
 
 , 
 
 LV. 
 
 And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, 
 Which unto his" was bound by stronger ties 
 Than the church links withal; and, though unwed, 
 That love was pure, and far above disguise, 
 Had stood the test of mortal enmities 
 Still undivided, and cemented more 
 By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ; 
 But this was firm, and from a foreign shore [pour ! 
 Well to that heart might his these absent greetings 
 
 1. 
 
 The castled crag of Drachenfels 1 
 Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
 Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
 Between the banks which bear the vine, 
 And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, 
 And fields which promise corn and wine, 
 And scatter'd cities crowning these, 
 Whose far white walls along them shine, 
 Have strew'd a scene, which I should see 
 With double joy wert thou with me. 2 
 
 2. 
 
 And peasant girls, with deep-blue eyes, 
 And hands which offer early flowers, 
 Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 
 Above, the frequent feudal towers 
 
 1 The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest summit of 
 " the Seven Mountains," over the Rhine banks : it is in ruins, and 
 connected with some singular traditions. It is the first in view on 
 the road from Bonn, but on the opposite side of the river ; on this 
 bank, nearly facing it, are the remains of another, called the Jew's 
 Castle, and a large cross, commemorative of the murder of a 
 chief by his brother. The number of castles and cities along the 
 course of the Rhine on both sides is very great, and their situa- 
 tions remarkably beautiful. 
 
 8 [These verses were written on the banks of the Rhine, in
 
 CASTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 141 
 
 Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, 
 And many a rock which steeply lowers, 
 And noble arch in proud decay, 
 Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; 
 But one thing want these banks of Rhine, 
 Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 
 
 3. 
 
 I send the lilies given to me ; 
 Though long before thy hand they touch, 
 I know that they must wither'd be, 
 But yet reject them not as such ; 
 For I have cherish'd them as dear, 
 Because they yet may meet thine eye, 
 And guide thy soul to mine even here, 
 When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, 
 And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, 
 And offer'd from my heart to thine ! 
 
 4. 
 
 The river nobly foams and flows, 
 The charm of this enchanted ground, 
 And all its thousand turns disclose 
 Some fresher beauty varying round : 
 The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 
 Through life to dwell delighted here ; 
 Nor could on earth a spot be found 
 To nature and to me so dear, 
 Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
 Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! 
 
 LVI. 
 
 By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, 
 There is a small and simple pyramid, 
 Crowning the summit of the verdant' mound ; 
 Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid, 
 
 May. The original pencilling is before us. It is needless to 
 observe, that they were addressed by the poet to his sister.]
 
 143 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III 
 
 Our enemy's but let not that forbid 
 Honour to Marceau ! o'er whose early tomb 
 Tears, big tears gush'd from the rough soldier's lid, 
 Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, 
 Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. 
 
 LVIX. 
 
 Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career, 
 His mourners were two hosts, his friends and 
 
 foes; 
 
 And fitly may the stranger lingering here 
 Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose ; 
 For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, 
 The few in number, who had riot o'erstept 
 The charter to chastise which she bestows 
 On such as wield her weapons; he had kept 
 The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him 
 
 wept. 1 
 
 1 The monument of the young and lamented General Marceau 
 (killed by a rifle-hall at Alterkirchen, on the last day of the fourth 
 year of the French republic) still remains as described. The in- 
 scriptions on his monument are rather too long, and not required : 
 his name was enough; France adored, and her enemies admired; 
 both wept over him. His funeral was attended by the generals 
 and detachments from both armies. In the same grave General 
 Hoche is interred, a gallant man also in every sense ol the word ; 
 but though he distinguished himself greatly in battle, he had not 
 the good fortune to die there: his death was attended by suspi- 
 cions of poison. A separate monument (not over his body, which 
 is buried by Marceau's) is raised for him near Andernach, opposite 
 to which one of his most memorable exploits was performed, in 
 throwing a bridge to an island on the Rhine. The shape and style 
 are different from that of Marceau's, and the inscription more 
 simple and pleasing: "The Army of the Sambre and Meuse to 
 its Commander-in-chief, Hoche." This is all, and as it should be. 
 Hoche was esteemed among the first of France's earlier generals, 
 before Bonaparte monopolized her triumphs. He was the des- 
 tined commander of the invading army of Ireland.
 
 CANTO III. P IX G R I M A G E. HI 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Here Ehrenbreitstein, 1 with her shatter'd wall 
 Black with the miner's blast, upon her height 
 -Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball 
 Rebounding idly on her strength did light : 
 A tower of victory ! from whence the flight 
 Of baffled foes was watch'd along the plain : 
 But Peace destroy'd what War could never blight, 
 And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain 
 On which the iron shower for years had pour'din vain. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted 
 The stranger fain would linger on his way! 
 Thine is a scene alike where souls united 
 Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray; 
 And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey 
 On self-condemning bosoms, it were here, 
 Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, 
 Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere, 
 Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Adieu to thee again ! a vain adieu ! 
 There can be no farewell to scene like thine ; 
 The mind is colour'd by thy every hue ; 
 And if reluctantly the eyes resign 
 
 1 Ehrenbreitstein, i. e. "the broad stone of honour," one of the 
 strongest fortresses in Europe, was dismantled and blown up by 
 the French at the truce of Leoben. It had been, and could only 
 be, reduced by famine or treachery. It yielded to the former 
 aided by surprise. After having seen the fortifications of Gibraltai 
 and Malta, it did not much strike by comparison; but the situatioi 
 is commanding. General Marceau besieged it in vain for sonu 
 time, and I slept in a room where I was shown a window at which 
 he is said to have been standing observing the progress of the 
 siege by moonlight, when a ball struck immediately below it.
 
 141 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine I 1 
 'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise ; 
 More mighty spots may rise more glaring shine, 
 But none unite in one attaching maze 
 The brilliant, fair, and soft, the glories of old days, 
 
 LXI. 
 
 The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom 
 Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen, 
 The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom, 
 The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, 
 The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been, 
 In mockery of man's art ; and these withal 
 A race of faces happy as the scene, 
 Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, 
 Still springing o'er thy banks, though empires near 
 them fall. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 But these recede. Above me are the Alps, 
 The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls 
 Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, 
 And throned Eternity in icy halls 
 Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls 
 The avalanche the thunderbolt of snow ! 
 All that expands the spirit, yet appals, 
 Gather around these summits, as to show 
 How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain 
 man below. 
 
 1 [On taking Hockheim, the Austrians, in one part of the en- 
 gagement, got to the brow of the hill, whence they had their first 
 view of the Rhine. They instantly halted not a gun was fired 
 not a voice heard : hut they stood gazing on the river with 
 those feelings which the events of the last fifteen years at once 
 called up. Prince Schwartzenberg rode up to know the cause of 
 this sudden stop ; then they gave three cheers, rushed after the 
 enemy, and drove them into the water.]
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 145 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan, 
 There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain, 
 Morat ! the proud, the patriot field ! where man 
 May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, 
 Nor blush for those who conquer'd on that plain ; 
 Here Burgundy bequeath'd his tombless host, 
 A bony heap, through ages to remain, 
 Themselves their monument ; the Stygian coast 
 TJnsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wander- 
 ing ghost. 1 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 While Waterloo with Cannae's carnage vies, 
 Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand ; 
 They were true Glory's stainless victories, 
 Won by the unambitious heart and hand 
 Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band, 
 All unbought champions in no princely cause 
 Of vice-entail'd Corruption ; they no land 
 Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws 
 Making kings' rights divine, by some Draconic 
 clause. 
 
 1 The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of bones diminished 
 to a small number by the Burgundian legion in the service of 
 France; who anxiously effaced this record of their ancestors' less 
 successful invasions. A few still remain, notwithstanding the 
 pains taken by the Burgundians forages, (all who passed that way 
 removing a bone to their own country,) and the less justifiable 
 larcenies of the Swiss postilions, who carried them off to sell for 
 knife-handles ; a purpose for which the whiteness imbibed by the 
 bleaching of years had rendered them in great request. Of these 
 relics I ventured to bring away as much as may have made a 
 quarter of a hero, for which the sole excuse is, that if I had not, 
 the next passer-by might have perverted them to worse uses than 
 the careful preservation which I intend for them. 
 13
 
 146 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 By a lone wall a lonelier column rears 
 A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days ; 
 'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years, 
 And looks as with the wild, bewilder'd gaze 
 Of one to stone converted by amaze, 
 Yet still with consciousness ; and there it stands 
 Making a marvel that it not decays, 
 When the coeval pride of human hands, 
 Levell'd Aventicum, 1 hath strew'd her subject lands. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 And there oh] sweet and sacred be the name ! 
 Julia the daughter, the devoted gave 
 Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim 
 Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave. 
 Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crave 
 The life she lived in; but the judge was just, 
 And then she died on him she could not save. 
 Their tomb was simple and without a bust, 
 And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one 
 dust. 2 
 
 1 Aventicum, near Morat, was the Roman capital of Helvetia, 
 where Avenches now stands. 
 
 8 Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian priestess, died soon after a 
 vain endeavour to save her father, condemned to death as a traitor 
 by Aulus Csecina. Her epitaph was discovered many years ago; 
 it is thus: "Julia Alpinula: Hie jaceo. Infelicis patris in- 
 felix proles. Deae Aventiae Sacerdos. Exorare patris necem non 
 potui : Male mori in fatis ille erat. Vixi annos xxm." I know 
 of no human composition so affecting as this, nor a history of 
 deeper interest. These are the names and actions which ought 
 not to perish, and to which we turn with a true and healthy 
 tenderness, from the wretched and glittering detail of a confused 
 mass of conquests and battles, with which the mind is roused for 
 a time to a false and feverish sympathy, from whence it recurs at 
 length with all the nausea consequent on such intoxication.
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 147 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Btrt these are deeds which should not pass away, 
 And names that must not wither, though the earth 
 Forgets her empires with a just decay, [birth ; 
 The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and 
 The high, the mountain-majesty of worth 
 Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe, 
 And from its immortality look forth 
 In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow, 1 
 Imperishably pure beyond all things below. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face, 2 
 The mirror where the stars and mountains view 
 The stillness of their aspect in each trace 
 Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue : 
 There is too much of man here, to look through 
 With a fit mind the might which I behold ; 
 But soon in me shall Loneliness renew 
 Thoughts hid, but not less cherish'd than of old, 
 Ere mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their 
 fold. 
 
 1 This is written in the eye of Mont Blanc, (June 3d, 1816,) 
 which even at this distance dazzles mine. (July 20th.) I this 
 day observed for some time the distinct reflection of Mont Blanc 
 and Mont Argentiere in the calm of the lake, which I was crossing 
 in my boat ; the distance of these mountains from their mirror is 
 sixty miles. 
 
 " In the exquisite lines which the poet, at this time, addressed 
 to his sister, there is the following touching stanza : 
 " I did remind thee of our own dear lake, 
 By the old hall which may be mine no more. 
 Leman's is fair ; but think not I forsake 
 The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore: 
 Sad havoc Time must with my memory make 
 Ere that or Ihou can fade these eyes before ; 
 Though, like all things which I have loved, they are 
 Resign'd forever, or divided far."
 
 148 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 N/TTo fly from, need not be to hate, mankind : 
 All are not fit with them to stir and toil, 
 Nor is it discontent to keep the mind 
 Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil 
 In the hot throng, where we become the spoil 
 Of our infection, till too late and long 
 We may deplore and struggle with the coil, 
 In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong 
 Midst a contentious world, striving where none are 
 strong. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 There, in a moment, we may plunge our years 
 In fatal penitence, and in the blight 
 Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears, 
 And colour things to come with hues of Night ; 
 The race of life becomes a hopeless flight 
 To those that walk in darkness : on the sea, 
 The boldest steer but where their ports invite, 
 But there are wanderers o'er Eternity [be. 
 
 Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'ershall 
 
 LXXI. 
 ^ Is it not better, then, to be alone, 
 
 And love earth only for its earthly sake ? 
 By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, 1 
 Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake, 
 
 1 The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of tint 
 which I have never seen equalled in water, salt or fresh, except 
 in the Mediterranean and Archipelago. [See Don Juan, c. xiv. 
 st 87, for a beautiful comparison : 
 
 "There was no great disparity of years, 
 
 Though much in temper ; but they never clash'd : 
 They moved like stars united in their spheres, 
 Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 149 
 
 Which feeds it as a mother who doth make 
 A fair but froward infant her own care, 
 Kissing its cries away as these awake ; 
 Is it not better thus our lives to wear, 
 Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or 
 bear ? 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 y I live not in myself, but I become 
 Portion of that around me ; and to me 
 High mountains are a feeling, 1 but the hum 
 Of human cities torture : I can see 
 Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be 
 A link reluctant in a fleshly chain, 
 Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee, 
 And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain 
 
 Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life ; 
 I look upon the peopled desert past, 
 As on a place of agony and strife, 
 Where, for some sin, to sorrow I was cast, 
 
 \Vhere mingled and yet separate appears 
 
 The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd 
 Through the serene and placid glassy deep, 
 Which fain would lull its river child to sleep." ] 
 * [" Mr. Hobhouse and myself are just returned from a journey 
 of lakes and mountains. We have been to the Grindelwald, and 
 the Jungfrau, and stood on the summit of the Wengen Alp ; and 
 seen torrents of 900 feet in fall, and glaciers of all dimensions ; we 
 have heard shepherds' pipes, and avalanches, and looked on the 
 clouds foaming up from the valleys below us like the spray of the 
 ocean of hell. Chamouni, and that which it inherits, we saw a 
 month ago; but, though Mont Blanc is higher, it is not equal in 
 wildness to the Jungfrau, the Eighers, the Shreckhorn, and the 
 Rose Glaciers." B. Letters, Sept. 1816.] 
 13*
 
 150 CHILDE HARD LD'S CANTO III. 
 
 To act and suffer, but remount at last 
 With a fresh pinion ; which I feel to spring, 
 Though young, yet waxing vigorous, as the blast 
 Which it would cope with, on delighted wing, 
 Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being 
 cling. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 And when, at length, the mind shall be all free 
 From what it hates in this degraded form, 
 Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be 
 Existent happier in the fly and worm, 
 When elements to elements conform, 
 And dust is as it should be, shall I not 
 Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm ? 
 The bodiless thought ? the Spirit of each spot? 
 Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot ? 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part 
 Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? 
 Is not the love of these. deep in my heart 
 With a pure passion ? should I not contemn 
 All objects, if compared with thee ? and stem 
 A tide of suffering, rather than forego 
 Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 
 Of those whose eyes are only turn'd below, 
 Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare 
 not glow ? 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 But this is not my theme ; and I return 
 To that which is immediate, and require 
 Those who find contemplation in the urn, 
 To look on One, whose dust was once all fire, 
 /V native of the land where I respire
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 151 
 
 The clear air for a while a passing guest, 
 Where he became a being, whose desire 
 Was to be glorious ; 'twas a foolish quest, 
 The which to gain and keep he sacrificed all rest. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, 1 
 The apostle of affliction, he who threw 
 Enchantment over passion, and from woe 
 Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew 
 The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew 
 How to make madness beautiful, and cast 
 O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue 2 
 Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past 
 TheeyeSjWhicho'erthem shed tears feelingly and fast. 
 
 1 [" I have traversed all Rousseau's ground with the 'HeloYse" 
 before me, and am struck to a degree that I cannot express with 
 the force and accuracy of his descriptions, and the beauty of their 
 reality. Meillerie, Clarens, and Vevay, and the Chateau de 
 Chillon, are places of which I shall say little ; because all I could 
 say must fall short of the impressions they stamp." B. Letters.] 
 
 3 ["It is evident that the impassioned parts of Rousseau's 
 romance had made a deep impression upon the feelings of the 
 noble poet. The enthusiasm expressed by Lord Byron is no 
 small tribute to the power possessed by Jean Jacques over the 
 passions : and, to say truth, we needed some such evidence ; for, 
 though almost ashamed to avow the truth, still, like the barber 
 of Midas, we must speak or die, we have never been able to feel 
 the interest or discover the merit of this far-famed performance. 
 That there is much eloquence in the letters we readily admit : 
 there lay Rousseau's strength. But his lovers, the celebrated St. 
 Preux and Julie, have, from the earliest moment we have heard 
 the tale (which we well remember) down to the present hour, 
 totally failed to interest us. There might be some constitutional 
 hardness of heart: but like Lance's pebble-hearted cur, Crab, we 
 remained dry-eyed while all wept around us. And still, on te- 
 suming the volume, even now, we can see little in the loves of 
 these two tiresome pedants to interest our feelings for either of 
 them. To state our opinion in language (see Burke's Reflections) 
 much better than our own, we are unfortunate enough to regaid 
 this far-famed history of philosophical gallantry as an ' unfash-
 
 152 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 LXXVIII 
 
 His love was passion's essence as a tree 
 On fire by lightning ; with ethereal flame 
 Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be 
 Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same. 
 But his was not the love of living dame, 
 Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, 
 But of ideal beauty, which became 
 In him existence, and o'erflowing teems 
 Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 This breathed itself to life in Julie, this 
 Invested her with all that's wild and sweet ; 
 This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss 1 
 Which every mom his fever'd lip would greet, 
 From hers, who but with friendship his would meet; 
 But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast 
 Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat ; 
 In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest 
 Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. 2 
 
 ioned, indelicate, sour, gloomy, ferocious medley of pedantry and 
 lewdness ; of metaphysical speculations, blended with the coarsest 
 sensuality.' " SIR WALTER SCOTT.] 
 
 1 This refers to the account in his " Confessions" of his passion 
 for the Comtesse d'Houdetot, (the mistress of St. Lambert,) and 
 his long walk every morning, for the sake of the single kiss which 
 was the common salutation of French acquaintance. Rousseau's 
 description of his feelings on this occasion may be considered as 
 the most passionate, yet not impure, description and expression of 
 love that ever kindled into words; which, after all, must be felt, 
 from their very force, to be inadequate to the delineation: a pain- 
 ting can give no sufficient idea of the ocean. 
 ^V" Lord Byron's character of Rousseau is drawn with great 
 force, great power of discrimination, and great eloquence. I know 
 not that he says any thing which has not been said before : but 
 what he says issues, apparently, from the recesses of his own mind. 
 It is a little laboured, which, possibty, maybe caused by the form 
 of the stanza into which it was necessary to threw it; but it
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 1 53 
 
 JLXXX. 
 
 His life was one long war with self-sought foes, 
 Or friends by him self-banish'd; for his mind 
 Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose, 
 For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind 
 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. 
 But he was frenzied, wherefore, who may know? 
 Since cause might be which skill could never find; 
 But he was frenzied by disease or woe, [show. 
 To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning 
 
 I.XXXI. 
 
 For then he was inspired, and from him came, 
 As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore, 
 Those oracles which set the world in flame, 
 Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more : 
 Did he not this for France ? which lay before 
 Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years ? 
 Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, 
 Till by the voice of him and his compeers, [fears? 
 Roused up to too much wrath, which folio wso'ergrown 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 They made themselves a fearful monument ! 
 The wreck of old opinions things which grew, 
 Breathed from the birth of time: the veil they rent, 
 And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. 
 But good with ill they also overthrew, 
 Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild 
 Upon the same foundation, and renew 
 Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refill'd, 
 As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd. 
 
 cannot be doubted that the poet felt a sympathy for the enthu- 
 siastic tenderness of Rousseau's genius, which he could not have 
 recognised with such extreme fervour, except from a consciousness 
 of having at least occasionally experienced similar emotions."- - 
 SIR E. BRYDGES.]
 
 154 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 But this will not endure, nor be endured ! 
 Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. 
 They might have used it better, but, allured 
 By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt 
 On one another ; pity ceased to melt 
 With her once natural charities. But they, 
 Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt, 
 They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day ; 
 What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their 
 prey? 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? 
 The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear 
 That which disfigures it; and they who war 
 With their own hopes, and have been vanquished. 
 
 bear 
 
 Silence, but not submission : in his lair 
 Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour 
 Which shall atone for years ; none need despair : 
 It came, it cometh, and will come, the power 
 To punish or forgive in one we shall be slower. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, 
 With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
 Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
 Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
 This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
 Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
 Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, 
 That 1 with stern delights should e'er have been so 
 moved.
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 155 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 It is the hush of night, and all between 
 Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
 Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
 Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear 
 Precipitously steep ; and, drawing near, 
 There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
 Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
 Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
 Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more : 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 He is an evening reveller, who makes 
 His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; 
 At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
 Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
 There seems a floating whisper on the hill, 
 But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
 All silently their tears of love instil, 
 Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
 Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 1 
 
 1 [During Lord Byron's stay in Switzerland, he took up his 
 residence at the Campagne-Diodati, in the village of Coligny. It 
 stands at the top of 'a rapidly descending vineyard; the windows 
 commanding, one way, a noble view of the lake and of Geneva ; 
 the other, up the lake. Every evening, the poet embarked on the 
 lake; and to the feelings created by these excursions we owe these 
 delightful stanzas. Of his mode of passing a day, the following, 
 from his Journal, is a pleasant specimen: 
 
 " September 18. Called. Got up at five. Stopped at Vevay 
 two hours. View from the churchyard superb ; within it Ludlow 
 (the regicide's) monument black marble long inscription; 
 Latin, but simple. Near him Broughton (who read King 
 Charles's sentence to Charles Stuart) is buried, with a queer 
 and rather canting inscription. Ludlow's house shown. 
 Walked down to the lake side ; servants, carriages, saddle- 
 horses, all set off, and left us planles Id, by some mistake. 
 Hobhouse ran on before, and overtook them. Arrived at Clarens. 
 Went to Chillon through scenery worthy of I know not whom.
 
 156 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Ye stars which are the poetry of heaven ! 
 If in your bright leaves we would read the fate 
 Of men and empires, 'tis to be forgiven, 
 That in our aspirations to be great, 
 Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, 
 And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are 
 A beauty and a mystery, and create 
 In us such love and reverence from afar, 
 That fortune, fame, power, life, have named them- 
 selves a star. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 All heaven and earth are still though not in sleep, 
 But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 
 And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : 
 All heaven and earth are still : From the high host 
 Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, 
 All is concenter'd in a life intense, 
 Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 
 But hath a part of being, and a sense 
 Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 
 
 went over the castle again. Met an English party in a carriage ; 
 a lady in it fast asleep fast asleep in the most anti-narcotic spot 
 in the world, excellent ! after a slight and short dinner, visited 
 the Chateau de Clarens. Saw all worth seeing, and then de- 
 scended to the ' Bosquet de Julie,' &c. &c. : our guide full of 
 Rousseau, whom he is eternally confound ing with St. Preux, and 
 mixing the man and the book. Went again as far as Chillon, to 
 revisit the little torrent from the hill behind it. The corporal 
 who showed the wonders of Chillon was as drunk as Blucher, and 
 (to my mind) as great a man : he was deaf also ; and, thinking 
 every one else so, roared out the legends of the castle so fearfully, 
 that Hobhouse got out of humour. However, we saw things from 
 the gallows to the dungeons. Sunset reflected in the lake. Nino 
 o clock g'Jing to bed. Have to get up at five to-morrow."]
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 157 
 
 xc. 
 
 Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
 In solitude, where we are least alone ; 
 A truth which through our being then doth melt, 
 And purifies from self: it is a tone, 
 The soul and source of music, which makes known 
 Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm 
 Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, 
 Binding all things with beauty ; 'twould disarm 
 The spectre Death, had he substantial power to 
 harm. 
 
 xci. 
 
 Not vainly did the early Persian make 
 His altar the high places and the peak 
 Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, 1 and thus take 
 A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek 
 The Spirit in whose honour shrines are weak, 
 Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare 
 Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, 
 With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, 
 Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer ! 
 
 xcii. 
 The sky is changed and such a change ! Oh 
 
 night, 
 
 And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
 From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
 Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud. 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
 And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
 Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 
 
 1 See Appendix, Note [F]. 
 14
 
 153 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 And this is in the night : Most glorious night ! 
 Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
 A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, 
 A portion of the tempest and of thee ! l 
 How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, 
 And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
 And now again 'tis black, and now, the glee 
 Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, 
 As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 2 
 
 xciv. 
 Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way be 
 
 tween 
 
 Heights which appear as lovers who have parted 
 In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, 
 That they can meet no more; though broken- 
 hearted ; [thwarted, 
 Though in their souls, which thus each other 
 Love was the very root of the fond rage 
 Which blighted their life's bloom, and then de- 
 parted : 
 
 Itself expired, but leaving them an age 
 Of years all winters, war within themselves to wage. 
 
 1 The thunder-storm to which these lines refer occurred on the 
 13th of June, 1816, at midnight. I have seen among the Acroce- 
 raunian mountains of Chimari, several more terrible, but none 
 more beautiful. 
 
 2 [This is one of the most beautiful passages of the poem. 
 The " fierce and far delight" of a thunder-storm is here described 
 in verse almost as vivid as its lightnings. The live thunder 
 '' leaping among the rattling crags" the voice of mountains, as 
 if shouting to each other the plashing of the big rain the 
 gleaming of the wide lake, lighted like a phosphoric sea present 
 a picture of sublime terror, yet of enjoyment, often attempted, but 
 never so well, certainly never better, brought out in poetry. 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT.]
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 159 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, 
 The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand: 
 For here, not one, but many, make their play, 
 And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, 
 Flashing and cast around : of all the band, 
 The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'a 
 His lightnings, as if he did understand, 
 That in such gaps as desolation work'd, 
 There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein 
 lurk'd. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! 
 With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul, 
 To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
 Things that have made me watchful ; the far roll 
 Of your departed voices, is the knoll 
 Of what in me is sleepless, if I rest. 1 
 But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ? 
 Are ye like those within the human breast ? 
 Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest ? 
 
 1 [The Journal of his Swiss tour, which Lord Byron kept for 
 his sister, closes with the following mournful passage: "In the 
 weather, for this tour, of thirteen days, I have been very fortunate 
 fortunate in a companion" (Mr. Hobhouse) " fortunate in our 
 prospects, and exempt from even the little petty accidents and 
 delays which often render journeys in a less wild country disap- 
 pointing. I was disposed to be pleased. I am a lover of nature, 
 and an admirer of beauty. I can bear fatigue, and welcome pri- 
 vation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world. 
 But in all this, the recollection of bitterness, and more especially 
 of recent and more home desolation, which must accompany me 
 through life, has preyed upon me here ; and neither the music 
 of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, 
 the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one 
 moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me tc 
 lose my own wretched identity, in the majesty, and the power, and 
 the glory, around, above, and beneath me."]
 
 ICO CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Could I imbody and unbosom now 
 That which is most within me, could I wreak 
 My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
 Soul, heart, mind,passions,feelings,strong or weak, 
 All that I would have sought, and all I seek, 
 Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into one word, 
 And that one word were Lightning,! would speak; 
 But as it is, I live and die unheard, 
 With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 The morn is up again, the dewy morn, 
 With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, 
 Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, 
 And living as if earth contained no tomb, 
 And glowing into day: we may resume 
 The march of our existence : and thus I, 
 Still on thy shores, fair Leman ! may find room 
 And food for meditation, nor pass by 
 Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly. 
 
 xcix. 
 
 Clarens ! sweet Clarens, 1 birthplace of deep Love ! 
 Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought; 
 Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above 
 The very glaciers have his colours caught, 
 And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought 
 
 1 [Stanzas xcix. to cxv. are exquisite. They have every thing 
 which makes a poetical picture of local and particular scenery 
 perfect. They exhibit a miraculous brilliancy and force of fancy ; 
 but the very fidelity causes a little constraint and labour ol 
 language. The poet seems to have been so engrossed by the 
 attention to give vigour and fire to the imagery, that he both neg- 
 lected and disdained to render himself more harmonious by diffuser 
 words, which, while they might have improved the effect upon the 
 ear, might have weakened the impression upon the mind. This
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 161 
 
 By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks, 
 The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought 
 In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, 
 Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, 
 then mocks. 
 
 c. 
 
 Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, 
 Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne 
 To which the steps are mountains : where the god 
 Is a pervading life and light, so shown 
 Not on those summits solely, nor alone 
 In the still cave and forest ; o'er the flower 
 His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, 
 His soft and summer breath, whose tender power 
 Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate 
 hour. 1 
 
 or. 
 
 All things are here of him ; from the black pines, 
 Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 
 Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines 
 Which slope his green path downward to the shore, 
 Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore, 
 Kissing his feet with murmurs ; and the wood, 
 The covert of old trees with trunks all hoar, 
 But light leaves,youngas joy, stands where it stood, 
 Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude. 
 
 mastery over new matter this supply of powers equal not only 
 to an untouched subject, but that subject one of peculiar and un- 
 equalled grandeur and beauty was sufficient to occupy the 
 strongest poetical faculties, young as the author was, without 
 adding to it all the practical skill of the artist. The stanzas, too 
 on Voltaire and Gibbon are discriminative, sagacious, and just. 
 They are among the proofs of that very great variety of talen 
 which this Canto of Lord Byrcn exhibits. SIR E. BRYDGES.J 
 1 See Appendix, note [GJ. 
 
 14*
 
 162 CH1LDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 en. 
 
 A populous solitude of bees and birds, 
 And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things, 
 Who worship him with notes more sweet than 
 
 words, 
 
 And innocently open their glad wings, 
 Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs, 
 And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend 
 Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
 The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, 
 Mingling and made by Love, unto one mighty end. 
 
 cm. 
 He who hath loved not, here would learn that 
 
 lore, 
 
 And make his heart a spirit ; he who knows 
 That tender mystery, will love the more, 
 For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes, 
 And the world's waste, have driven him far from 
 
 those, 
 
 For 'tis his nature to advance or die ; 
 He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
 Into a boundless blessing, which may vie 
 With the immortal lights, in its eternity ! 
 
 civ. 
 
 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, 
 Peopling it with affections; but he found 
 It was the scene which passion must allot 
 To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground 
 Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound, 
 And hallow'd it with loveliness : 'tis lone, 
 And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, 
 And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone 
 Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a 
 throne
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 163 
 
 cv. 
 
 Lausanne ! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes 
 Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name; 1 
 Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, 
 A path to perpetuity of fame : 
 They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim 
 Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile 
 Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the 
 
 flame 
 
 Of Heaven, again assail'd if Heaven the while 
 On man and man's research could deign do more 
 
 than smile. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 The one was fire and fickleness, a child, 
 Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, 
 A wit as various, gay, grave, sage, or wild, 
 Historian, bard, philosopher, combined; 
 He multiplied himself among mankind, 
 The Proteus of their talents : But his own 
 Breathed most in ridicule, which, as the wind, 
 Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, 
 Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. 
 
 cvn. 
 
 The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, 
 And hiving wisdom with each studious year, 
 In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, 
 And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, 
 Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer ; 
 The lord of irony, that master-spell, 
 Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from 
 
 fear, 
 
 And doom'd him to the zealot's ready hell, 
 Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. 
 
 1 Voltaire and Gibbon.
 
 164 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Yet peace be with their ashes, for by them, 
 
 If merited, the penalty is paid ; 
 
 It is not ours to judge. far less condemn : 
 
 The hour must come when such things shall be 
 
 made 
 
 Known unto all, or hope arid dread allay'd 
 By slumber, on one pillow, in the dust, 
 Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay'd ; 
 And when it shall revive, as is our trust, 
 'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. 
 
 cix. 
 
 But let me quit man's works, again to read 
 His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend 
 This page, which from my reveries I feed, 
 Until it seems prolonging without end. 
 The clouds above me to the white Alps tend, 
 And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er 
 May be permitted as my steps I bend 
 To their most great and growing region, where 
 The earth to her embrace compels the powers of 
 air. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Italia ! too, Italia ! looking on thee, 
 Full flashes on the soul the light of ages, 
 Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee, 
 To the last halo of the chiefs and sages 
 Who glorify thy consecrated pages ; 
 Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still, 
 The fount at which the panting mind assuages 
 Her thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill, 
 Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperia. 
 hill
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 1C5 
 
 cxi. 
 
 Thus far have T proceeded in a theme 
 Renew'd with no kind auspices : to feel 
 We are not what we have been, and to deem 
 We are not what we should be, and to steel 
 The heart against itself; and to conceal, 
 With a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught, 
 Passion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal, 
 Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought, 
 Is a stern task of soul : No matter, it is taught. 
 
 cxn. 
 
 And for these words, thus woven into song, 
 It may be that they are a harmless wile, 
 The colouring of the scenes which fleet along, 
 Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile 
 My breast, or that of others, for a while. 
 Fame is the thirst of youth, but I am not 
 So young as to regard men's frown or smile, 
 As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot; 
 I stood and stand alone, remember'd or forgot. 
 
 cxm. 
 
 I have not loved the world, nor the world me ; 
 I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd 
 To its idolatries a patient knee, 
 Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles, nor cried aloud 
 In worship of an echo ; in the crowd 
 They could not deem me one of such ; I stood 
 Among them, but not of them ; in a shroud 
 Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still 
 
 could, 
 Had I not filed 1 my mind, which thus itself subdued. 
 
 "If it be thus, 
 
 For Banquo's issue have I fikd my mind." MACBETH.
 
 166 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 I have not loved the world, nor the world me, 
 But let us part fair foes; I do believe, 
 Though I have found them not, that there maybe 
 Words which are things, hopes which will not de- 
 And virtues which are merciful, nor weave [ceive, 
 Snares for the failing : I would also deem 
 O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve ; x 
 That two, or one, are almost what they seem, 
 That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. 8 
 
 1 It is said byRochefoucault, that "there is always something 
 in the misfortunes of men's best friend snot displeasing to them." 
 
 2 ["It is not the temper and talents of the poet, but the use to 
 which he puts them, on which his happiness or misery is grounded. 
 A powerful and unbridled imagination is the author and architect 
 of its own disappointments. Its fascinations, its exaggerated 
 pictures of good and evil, and the mental distress to which they 
 give rise, are the natural and necessary evils attending on that 
 quick susceptibility of feeling and fancy incident to the poetical 
 temperament. But the Giver of all talents, while he has qualified 
 them each with its separate and peculiar alloy, has endowed the 
 owner with the power of purifying and refining them. But, as if 
 to moderate the arrogance of genius, it is justly and wisely made 
 requisite, that he must regulate and tame the fire of his fancy, and 
 descend from the heights to which she exalts him, in order to 
 obtain ease of mind and tranquillity. The materials of happi- 
 ness, that is, of such degree of happiness as is consistent with our 
 present state, lie around us in profusion. But the man of talents 
 must stoop to gather them, otherwise they would be beyond the 
 reach of the mass of society, for whose benefit, as well as for his, 
 Providence has created them. There is no royal and no poetical 
 path to contentment and heart's ease : that by which they are 
 attained is open to all classes of mankind, and lies within the most 
 limited range of intellect. To narrow our wishes and desires 
 within the scope of our powers of attainment; to consider our 
 misfortunes, however peculiar in their character, as our inevitable 
 share in the patrimony of Adam ; to bridle those irritable feelings, 
 which ur.governed are sure to become governors; to shun that 
 intensity of galling and self-wounding reflection which our poet 
 has so forcibly described in its own burning language :
 
 CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 167 
 
 cxv. 
 
 My daughter ! with thy name this song begun 
 My daughter! with thy name thus much shall 
 
 end 
 
 I see thee not I hear thee not, but none 
 Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend 
 To whom the shadows of far years extend : 
 Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold, 
 My voice shall with thy future visions blend, 
 And reach into thy heart, when mind is cold 
 A. token and a tone, even from thy father's mould. 
 
 cxvi. 
 
 To aid thy mind's development, to watch 
 Thy dawn of little joys, to sit and see 
 Almost thy very growth, to view thee catch 
 Knowledge of objects, wonders yet to thee ! 
 To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, 
 And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss, 
 This, it should seem, was not reserved for me ; 
 Yet this was in my nature : as it is, 
 I know not what is there, yet something like to this. 
 
 <I have thought 
 
 Too long and darkly, till my brain became, 
 In its own eddy, boiling and o'erwrought, 
 A whirling gulf of fantasy and flame' 
 
 to stoop, in short, to the realities of life; repent if we have 
 offended, and pardon if we have been trespassed against; to look 
 on the world less as our foe than as a doubtful and capricious 
 friend, whose applause we ought as far as possible to deserve, but 
 neither to court nor contemn such seem the most obvious and 
 certain means of keeping or regaining mental tranquillity. 
 
 * Semita certe 
 Tranquillae per virtutem patet unica vitae." SIR W. SCOTT.]
 
 168 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. 
 
 cxvir. 
 
 Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught, 
 I know that thou wilt love me: though ray name 
 Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught 
 With desolation, and a broken claim : 
 Though the grave closed between us, 'twere th 
 
 same, 
 
 I know that thou wilt love me ; though to drain 
 My blood from out thy being were an aim, 
 And an attainment, all would be in vain, 
 Still thou wouldst love me, still that more than life 
 retain. 
 
 c xviii. 
 
 The child of love, though born in bitterness, 
 And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire 
 These were the elements, and thine no less. 
 As yet such are around thee, but thy fire 
 Shall be more temper'd, and thy hope far higher. 
 Sweet be thy cradled slumbers! O'er the sea, 
 And from the mountains where I now respire, 
 Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee, 
 As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to 
 me I 1 
 
 1 ["Byron, July 4th. 1816. Diodati." MS.]
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 CANTO THE FOURTH. 
 
 Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna, 
 
 Quel Monte che divide, e quel che serra 
 Italia, e un mare e 1' altro, che la bagna. 
 
 Jlriosto, Satira iii. 
 
 15

 
 TO 
 
 JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. A.M. F.R.S 
 
 P'em'ce, January 2, 1818. 
 Mr DEAR HOBHOUSE, 
 
 AFTER an interval of eignt years between the compo- 
 sition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the 
 conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the 
 public. In parting with so old a friend, it is not extra- 
 ordinary that I should recur to one still older and 
 better, to one who has beheld the birth and death of 
 the other, and to whom I am far more indebted for 
 the social advantages of an enlightened friendship, 
 than though not ungrateful I can, or could be, to 
 Childe Harold, for any public favour reflected through 
 the poem on the poet, to one, whom I have known 
 long, and accompanied far, whom I have found wake- 
 ful over my sickness, and kind in my sorrow, glad in 
 my prosperity, and firm in my adversity, true in coun- 
 sel and trusty in peril, to a friend often tried and 
 never found wanting ; to yourself. 
 
 In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth ; and in 
 dedicating to you in its complete, or at least concluded 
 state, a poetical work which is me longest, the most 
 thoughtful and comprehensive of my compositions/ 1 
 wish to do honour to myself by the record of many 
 years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of 
 
 171
 
 172 DEDICATION. 
 
 steadiness, and of honour. It is not for minds like 
 ours to give or to receive flattery ; yet the praises of 
 sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of 
 friendship ; and it is not for you, nor even for others, 
 but to relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or late- 
 ly, been so much accustomed to the encounter of good- 
 will as to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus 
 attempt to commemorate your good qualities, or rather 
 the advantages which I have derived from their exer- 
 tion. Even the recurrence of the date of this letter, 
 the anniversary of the most unfortunate day of my 
 past existence, but which cannot poison my future 
 while I retain the resource of your friendship, and of 
 my own faculties, will henceforth have a more agreea- 
 ble recollection for both, inasmuch as it will remind us 
 of this my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable 
 regard, such as few men have experienced, and no 
 one could experience without thinking better of his 
 species and of himself. 
 
 It has been our fortune to traverse together, at vari- 
 ous periods, the countries of chivalry, history, and fable 
 Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy; and what 
 Athens and Constantinople were to us a few years ago, 
 Venice and Rome have been more recently. The 
 poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accompanied 
 me from first to last; and perhaps it may be a pardon- 
 able vanity which induces me to reflect with compla- 
 cency on a composition which in some degree connects 
 me with the spot where it was produced, and the ob- 
 jects it would fain describe; and however unworthy it 
 may be deemed of those magical and memorable 
 abodes, however short it may fall of our distant con- 
 ceptions and immediate impressions, yet as a mark of 
 respect for what is venerable, and of feeling for what 
 is glorious, it has been to me a source of pleasure in 
 the production, and I part with it with a kind of regret,
 
 DEDICATION. 173 
 
 which I hardly suspected that events could have left 
 me for imaginary objects. 
 
 With regard to the conduct of the Jast^ canto, there 
 will be found tesjSjpf tjiej^^ir^ t^^^ 
 ceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from 
 the author speaking in his own person. The fact is, 
 that I had become weary of drawing a line which 
 every one seemed determined not to perceive : like the 
 Chinese in Goldsmith's "Citizen of the World," whom 
 nobody would believe to be a Chinese, iiJW*ft.ia-Y,ain 
 that I assertedj and imagined that I had drawn, a dis- 
 tinction between, the author and the pilgrim: and the 
 very anxiety to preserve this difference, and disap- 
 pointment at finding it unavailing, so far crushed my 
 efforts in the composition, that I determined to aban- 
 don it altogether and have done so. The opinions 
 which have been, or may be, formed on that subject, 
 are now a matter of indifference : the work is to depend 
 on itself, and not on the writer; and the author, who 
 has no resources in his own mind beyond the reputa- 
 tion, transient or permanent, which is to arise from 
 his literary efforts, deserves the fate of authors. 
 
 In the course of the following canto it was my inten- 
 tion, either in the text or in the notes, to have touched 
 n pon the present state of Italian literature, and perhaps 
 of manners. But the text, within the limits I proposed, 
 .1 soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth of ex- 
 ternal objects, and the consequent reflections ; and for 
 the whole of the notes, excepting a few of the short- 
 est, I am indebted to yourself, and these were neces- 
 sarily limited to the elucidation of the text. 
 
 It is also a delicate, and no very grateful task, to 
 dissert upon the literature and manners of a nation so 
 dissimilar: and requires an attention and impartiality 
 which would induce us though perhaps no inatten- 
 tive observers, nor ignorant of the language or customs 
 
 is*
 
 174 DEDICATION. 
 
 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 lite- 
 rary, as well as political party, appears to run, or to have 
 run so high, that for a stranger to steer impartially be- 
 tween them is next to impossible. It may be enough, 
 then, at least for my purpose, to quote from their own 
 beautiful language "Mi pare che in un paese tutto 
 poetico, che vanta la lingua la piu nobile ed insienie la 
 piu dolce, tutte tutte le vie diverse si possono tentare, e 
 che sinche la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha perdu- 
 to 1' antico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la pri- 
 mal ' Italy has great names still Canova, Monti, 
 Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Visconti, Morelli, Cicogna- 
 ra, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, Aglietti, 
 and Vacca. will secure to the present generation an 
 honourable place in most of the departments of Art, 
 Science, and Belles Lettres; and in some the very high- 
 est Europe the world has but one Canova. 
 
 It has been somewhere said by Alfieri, that " La 
 pianta uomo nasce piu robusta in Italia che in qualun- 
 que altra terra e che gli stessi atroci delitti che vi si 
 commettono ne sono una prova." Without subscrib- 
 ing to the latter part of his proposition, a dangerous 
 doctrine, the truth of which may be disputed on better 
 grounds, namely, that the Italians are in no respect 
 more ferocious than their neighbours, that man must 
 be wilfully blind, or ignorantly heedless, who is not 
 struck with the extraordinary capacity of this people, 
 or, if such a word be admissible, their capabilities, the 
 facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of their con 
 ceptious, the fire of their genius, their sense of beauty, 
 and, amidst all the disadvantages of repeated revolu- 
 tions, the desolation of battles, and the despair of ages, 
 their still unquenched "longing after immortality," 
 the immortality of independence. And when we
 
 DEDICATION. 175 
 
 ouii.\ves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard 
 the simple lament of the labourers' chorus, " Roma ! 
 Roma! Roma! Roma non e piu come era prima," it 
 was difficult not to contrast this melancholy dirge with 
 the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation still yel- 
 led from the London taverns, over the carnage of 
 Mont St. Jean, and the betrayal of Genoa, of Italy, 
 of France, and of the world, by men whose conduct 
 you yourself have exposed in a work worthy of the 
 better days of our history. ' For me, 
 
 " Non movero mai corda 
 Ove la turba di sue ciance assorda." 
 
 What Italy has gained by the late transfer of na- 
 tions, it were useless for Englishmen to inquire, till it 
 becomes ascertained that England has acquired some- 
 thing more than a permanent army and a suspended 
 Habeas Corpus ; it is enough for them to look at 
 home. For what they have done abroad, and espe- 
 cially in the South, " Verily they will have their 
 reward," and at no very distant period. 
 
 Wishing you, rny dear Hobhouse, a safe and agree- 
 able return to that country whose real welfare can be 
 dearer to 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, 
 
 BYRON.
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 CANTO THE FOURTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 I STOOD hi Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs j 1 
 A palace and a prison on each hand : 
 I saw from out the wave her structures rise 
 As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: 
 A. thousand years their cloudy wings expand 
 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 ! i/M'w 
 
 TI. 
 
 She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, 2 
 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 
 Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
 In purple was she robed, and of her feast 
 Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. 
 
 1 See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. I. 
 
 8 Sabellicus, describing the appearance of Venice, has made use 
 of the above image, which would not be poetical were it not truo. 
 "Quo fit ut qui supreme urbem contempletur, turritam tclluris 
 imaginem medio Oceano figuratam se putet inspiccre." 
 
 177
 
 178 CH1LDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, 1 
 And silent rows the songless gondoliei ; 
 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 doth 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 ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But unto us she hath a spell beyond 
 Her name in story, and her long array 
 Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond 
 Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway ; 
 Ours is a trophy which will not decay 
 With the Rialto ; Shylock and the Moor, 
 And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away 
 The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er, 
 For us repeopled were the solitary shore. 
 
 v. 
 
 The beings of the mind are not of clay ; 
 
 Essentially immortal, they create 
 
 And multiply in us a brighter ray 
 
 And more beloved existence : that which Fate 
 
 Prohibits to dull life, in this our state 
 
 Of mortal bondage, 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. 
 
 1 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. II.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 179 
 
 VI. 
 
 Such is the refuge of our youth and age, 
 The first from Hope, the last from Vacancy ; 
 And this worn feeling peoples many a page, 
 And, may be, that which grows beneath mine 
 
 eye . 
 
 Yet there are things whose strong reality 
 Outshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues 
 More beautiful than our fantastic sky, 
 And the strange constellations which the Muse 
 O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse : 
 
 VII. 
 
 I saw or dream'd of such, but let them go, 
 They 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 for, and at moments found ; 
 Let these too go for waking Reason deems 
 Such overweening phantasies unsound, 
 And other voices speak, and other sights surround. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I've taught me other tongues and in strange 
 
 eyes 
 
 Have made me not a stranger ; to the mind 
 Which is itself, no changes bring surprise ; 
 Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find 
 A country with ay, or without mankind; 
 Yet was I born where men are proud to be, 
 Not without cause ; and should I leave behind 
 The inviolate island of the sage and free, 
 And seek me out a home by a remoter sea,;
 
 ISO CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 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 
 Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine 
 My hopes of being remember'd in my line 
 With my land's language : if too fond and far 
 These aspirations in their scope incline,- - 
 If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, 
 Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar 
 
 x. 
 
 My name from out the temple where the dead 
 Are honour'd by the nations let it be 
 And light the laurels on a loftier head ! 
 And be the Spartan's epitaph on me 
 " Sparta hath many a worthier son than he." 1 
 Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; 
 The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree 
 I planted, they have torn me, and I bleed : 
 I should have known what fruit would spring from 
 such a seed. 
 
 XI ' ' / /7/ 
 
 The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord ; 
 
 And, annual marriage now no more renew'd, 
 The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, 
 Neglected garment of her widowhood ! /vj-c-# 
 
 St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood 2 
 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. 
 
 1 The answer of the mother of Brasidas, the Lacedaemonian 
 general, to the strangers who praised the memory of her son. 
 3 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," N.O. III.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 181 
 
 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 of blind old Dandolo 
 
 ~ 
 
 1 a' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, 
 Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; ' ; 
 
 But is not Doria's menace come to pass? 3 
 Are they not bridled? Venice, lost and won, 
 Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done, 
 Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose ! 
 Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, 
 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," 4 which through fire 
 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 ! 
 For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. 
 
 *, s , 8 See Appendix, " Historical Notes," Nos. IV. V. VI. 
 
 4 That is, the Lion of St. Mark, the standard of the republic 
 vhio.h is the origin of the word Pantaloon Piantaleone, Pan 
 taleon, Pantaloon. 
 
 16
 
 182 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 Statues of glass all shiver'd the long file 
 Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ; 
 But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile 
 Bespeaks the pageaut of their splendid trust ; 
 Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, 
 Have yielded to the stranger : empty halls, 
 Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must 
 Too oft remind her who and what enthrals, 1 O^ 
 Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, 
 And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war, 
 Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse, 2 
 Her voice their only ransom from afar : 
 See ! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car 
 Of the o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins 
 Fall from his hands his idle scimitar 
 Starts from its belt he rends his captive's chains, 
 And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his 
 strains. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, 
 Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, 
 Thy choral memory of the bard divine, 
 Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot 
 Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot 
 Is shameful to the nations, most of all, 
 Albion ! to thee : the ocean queen should not 
 Abandon ocean's children ; in the fall 
 Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. 
 
 1 See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. VII. 
 8 The story is told in Plutarch's Life of Nicias.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 183 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 I loved her from my boyhood she to me 
 Was as a fairy city of the heart, 
 Rising like water-columns from the sea, 
 Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart ; 
 And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art, 1 
 Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, 
 Although I found her thus, we did not part, 
 Perchance even dearer in her day of woe 
 Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 I can repeople with the past and of 
 The present there is still for eye and thought, 
 And meditation chasten'd down enough ; 
 And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought ; 
 And of the happiest moments which were wrought 
 Within the web of my existence, some 
 From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught: 
 There are some feelings Time can not benumb, 
 Nor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and 
 dumb. 
 
 xx. 
 
 But from their nature will the tannen grow 2 
 Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks, 
 Rooted in barrenness, where naught below 
 Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks 
 Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks 
 The howling tempest, till its height and frame 
 Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks 
 Of bleak, gray granite into life it came, 
 And grew a giant tree ; the mind may grow the same. 
 
 1 Venice Preserved ; Mysteries of Udolpho ; the Ghost-Seer, 
 or Armenian ; the Merchant of Venice ; Othello. 
 
 * Tannen is the plural of tanne, a species of fir peculiar to the
 
 184 C HI LDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Existence may be borne, and the deep root 
 Oflife and sufferance make its firm abode 
 In bare and desolated bosoms : mute 
 The camel labours with the heaviest load, 
 And the wolf dies in silence, not bestow'd 
 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 destroyed, 
 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, bo w'd and bent, 
 Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, 
 And perish 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. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But ever and anon of griefs subdued 
 There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, 
 Scarce seen but with fresh bitterness imbued ; 
 And slight withal may be the things which bring 
 Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 
 Aside forever : it may be a sound 
 A tone of music summer's eve or spring 
 A flower the wind the ocean which shall 
 wound, [bound ; 
 
 Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly 
 
 Alps, which only thrives in very rocky parts, where scarcely soil 
 sufficient for its nourishment can he found. On theso spots it 
 grows to a greater height than any other mountain tree.
 
 CAN-TO IV. P I L G R I M A G E. 185 
 
 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 
 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 spectres whom no exorcism can bind, 
 The cold the changed perchance the dead 
 anew, [how few! 
 
 The mourn'd, the loved, the lost too many ! yet 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But my soul wanders ; I demand it back 
 To meditate amongst decay, and stand 
 A ruin amidst ruins ; there to track 
 Fallen states and buried greatness, o'er a land 
 Which was the mightiest in its old command, 
 And is the loveliest, and must ever be 
 The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, 
 Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, 
 The beautiful, the brave the lords of earth and sea. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 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 1 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. 
 
 1 [The whole of this canto is rich in description of nature. 
 The love of nature now appears as a distinct passion in Lord 
 
 16*
 
 186 C H I L I) E H A HOLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The 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, 
 Where the day joins the past eternity ; 
 While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest 
 Floats through the azure air an island of the blest \yy 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A single star is at her side, and reigns 
 With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still 
 Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains 
 Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill, 
 As day and night contending were, until 
 Nature reclaim'd her order : gently flows 
 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. 
 
 Byron's mind. It is a love that does not rest in beholding, nor is 
 satisfied with describing, what is before him. It has a power and 
 being, blending itself with the poet's very life. Though Lord 
 Byron had, with his real eyes, perhaps seen more of nature than 
 ever was before permitted to any great poet, yet he never before 
 seemed to open his whole heart to her genial impulses. But 
 in this he is changed; and in this Canto of Childe Harold, he 
 will stand a comparison with the best descriptive poets, in this 
 age of descriptive poetry. WILSON.] 
 
 1 The above description may seem fantastical or exaggerated 
 to those who have never seen an oriental or an Italian sky, yet 
 it is but a literal and hardly sufficient delineation of an August 
 f-voning, (the eighteenth,) as contemplated in one of many rides 
 along the oanks of the Brenta, near La Mini,
 
 CANTO IV. P I L G R I M A G K. 187 
 
 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, W-- 
 Tlieir 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. 
 
 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, 
 The pilgrims of his genius. He arose 
 To raise a language, and his land reclaim 
 From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes : 
 Watering the tree which bears his lady's name 1 
 With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died ; 2 
 The mountain-village where his latter days 
 Went 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 gaze 
 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 fane. 
 
 *, a See Appendix, "Historical Notes," Nos. VIII. and IX.
 
 188 CH1LDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt 1 
 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 
 Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, 
 And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, 
 Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours 
 With a calm languor, which, though to the eye 
 Idlesse it seem, hath 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 2 
 
 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, 
 
 1 ["Halfway up 
 
 He built his house, whence as by stealth he caught 
 Among the hills a glimpse of busy life 
 That soothed, not stirr'd." ROGERS.] 
 
 a The struggle is to the full as likely to be with demons as with 
 our better thoughts. Satan chose the wilderness for the tempta- 
 tion of our Saviour. And our unsullied John Locke preferred the 
 presence of a child to complete solitude.
 
 CAN-TO IV. PILGRIM A G E. 189 
 
 Deeming themselves predestined lo a doom 
 Which 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. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Ferrara! 1 in thy wide and grass-grown streets, 
 Whose symmetry was not for solitude, 
 There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats 
 Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood 
 Of Este, which for many an age made good 
 Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore 
 Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood 
 Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore 
 
 The wreath which Dante's bro walonehad worn before. 
 
 ^ 
 t 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And Tasso is their glory and their shame. 
 Hark to the 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 
 
 1 [In April, 1817, Lord Byron visited Ferrara, went over the 
 castle, cell, &c., and wrote, a few days after, the Lament of Tasso. 
 " One of the Ferrarese asked me," he says, in a letter to a friend, 
 " if I knew * Lord Byron,' an acquaintance of his, now at Naples. 
 I told him ' No !' which was true both ways, for I knew not the 
 impostor : and, in the other, no one knows himself. He stared 
 when told that I was the real Simon Pure. Another asked me, it 
 I had not translated Tasso. You see what Fame is ; how ac 
 curate ! how boundless ! I don't know how others feel, but I an 
 always the lighter and the better looked on when I have got rid ol 
 mine. It sits on me like armour on the Lord Mayor's champion 
 and I got rid of all the husk of literature, and the attendant babble 
 by answering that I had not translated Tasso, but a namesake 
 had ; and, by the blessing of Heaven, I looked so little like a poci 
 tii.it everybody believed me."]
 
 190 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 The insulted mind h sought to quench, and blend 
 With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell 
 Where he had plunged it. Glory without end 
 Scatter'd the clouds away and on that name attend 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The tears and praises of all time ; while thine 
 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 
 Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink 
 From thee ! if in another station born, 
 Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou madest to 
 mourn : 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 77/0?^ / form'd to eat, and be despised, and die, 
 Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou 
 Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty : 
 He ! with a glory round his furrow 'd brow, 
 Which emanated then, and dazzles now, 
 In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire, 
 And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow 1 
 No strain which shamed his country's creaking 
 
 lyre, 
 That whetstone of the teeth monotony in wire ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Peace to Tprquato'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. 
 Oh, victor unsurpass'd in modern song ! 
 Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long 
 
 1 See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. X.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 1U1 
 
 The tide of generations shall roll on, 
 And not the whole combined and countless throng 
 Compose a mind like thine ? though all in one 
 ' Condensed their scatter'd rays, they would not form 
 a sun. 
 
 XL. *P 
 
 Great as thou art, yet parallel'd by those, 
 Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine, 
 The Bards of Hell and Chivalry : first rose 
 The Tuscan father's comedy divine ; 
 Then, not unequal to the Florentine, 
 The southern Scott, 1 the minstrel who call'd forth 
 A new creation with his magic line, 
 And, like the Ariosto of the North, 2 
 Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly worth. 
 
 1 [" Scott," says Lord Byron, in his MS. Diary, for 1821, "is 
 certainly the most wonderful writer of the day. His novels are a 
 new literature in themselves, and his poetry as good as any if 
 not better (only on an erroneous system,) and only ceased to be 
 so popular, because the vulgar were tired of hearing ' Aristides 
 called the Just,' and Scott the Best, and ostracised him. I know 
 no reading to which I fall with such alacrity as a work of his. I 
 love him, too, for his manliness of character, for the extreme 
 pleasantness of his conversation, and his good-nature towards my- 
 self personally. May he prosper ! for he deserves it. In a letter, 
 written to Sir Walter, from Pisa, in 1822, he says " I owe to you 
 far more than the usual obligation for the courtesies of literature 
 and common friendship ; for you went out of your way, in 1817, to 
 do me a service, when it required not merely kindness, but courage, 
 to do so ; to have been recorded by you in such a manner, would 
 have been a proud memorial at any time ; but at such a time, when 
 ' All the world and his wife,' as the proverb goes, were trying to 
 trample upon me, was something still higher to my self-esteem. 
 Had it been a common criticism, how ever eloquent or panegyrical, 
 I should have felt pleased and grateful, but not to the extent which 
 the extraordinary good -hearted ness of the whole proceeding must 
 induce in any mind capable of such sensations."] 
 
 [" I do not know whether Scott will like it, but I have called 
 him the ' Ariosto of the North,' in my text. If he should not, say 
 so in time " Lord B. to Mr. Murray. August, 1617.]
 
 192 CHILDEHAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust 1 
 The iron crown of laurel's mimick'd leaves ; 
 Nor was the ominous element unjust, 
 For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves 
 Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves, 2 
 And the false semblance but disgraced his brow ; 
 Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves, 
 Know, that the lightning sanctifies below 3 
 Whate'er it strikes; yon head is doubly sacred now. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Italia ! oh Italia ! thou who hast 
 The fatal gift of beauty, which became 
 A funeral dower of present woes and past, 
 On thy sweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame, 
 And annals graved in characters of flame, 
 Oh, God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness 
 Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim 
 Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press 
 To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress; 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Then mightst thou more appal ; or, less desired, 
 Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored 
 For thy destructive charms ; then, still untired, 
 Would not be seen the armed torrents pour'd 
 Down the deep Alps ; nor would the hostile horda 
 Of many-nation'd spoilers from the Po 
 Quaff blood and water ; nor the stranger's sword 
 Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, 
 Victor or vanquished, thou the slave of friend or foe. 4 
 
 *, *, 8 See Appendix, Historical Notes," Nos. XL XII. XIII 
 4 The two stanzas xlii. and xliii. are, with the exception of a 
 
 line or two, a translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja:-- 
 
 " Italia. Italia, O tu cui feo la snrte !"
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 193 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him, 1 
 The Roman friend of Rome's least -mortal mind, 
 The friend of Tully : as my bark did skim 
 The bright blue waters with a fanning wind, 
 Came Megara before me, and behind 
 JEginaTay, Piraeus on the right, 
 And Corinth on the left: I lay reclined 
 Along the prow, and saw all these unite 
 In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight ; 
 
 XLV. 
 
 For Time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd 
 Barbaric dwellings on their shatter'd site, 
 Which only make more mourn'd and more endear "d 
 The few last rays of their far-scatter'd light, 
 And the crush'd relics of their vanish'd might. 
 The Roman saw these tombs in his own age, 
 These sepulchres of cities, which excite 
 Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page 
 The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrim- 
 age. 
 
 1 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 journeys and voyages. " On my return from Asia, as I 
 was sailing from jEgina towards Megara, I began to contemplate 
 the prospect of the countries around me : .<Egina was behind, 
 Megara before me ; Piraeus on the right. Corinth on the left: all 
 which towns, once famous and flourishing, now lie overturned 
 and buried in their ruins. Upon this sight, I could not but think 
 presently within myself, Alas ! how we poor mortals fret and vex 
 ourselves 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 me in one view." See MIDDLETON'S Ciccr, 
 vol. ii. D. 371. 
 
 17
 
 194 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 That page is now before me, and on mine 
 His 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, 1 
 Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Yet, Italy ! through every other land 
 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 ! 
 Europe, repentant of her parricide, 
 Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, 
 Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 
 Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps 
 A softer feeling 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. 
 
 1 It is Poggio, who, looking from the Capitoline hill upon 
 ruined Rome, breaks forth into the exclamation, " Ut nunc omni 
 decore nudata, prostrata jacet, instar gigantei caclaveris corrupt! 
 a!que undique exesi."
 
 CANTO TV. PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 195 
 
 A < 
 
 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 
 Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould : 
 
 L. 
 
 We gaze and turn away, and know not where, 
 Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart 2 
 Reels with its fulness ; there forever there 
 Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art, 
 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, confirm the Dardan 
 shepherd's prize. 
 
 1 See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. XIV. 
 
 ' [In 1817, Lord Byron visited Florence, on his way to Rome. 
 " I remained," he says, " but a day .- however, I went to the two 
 galleries, from which one returns drunk with beauty. The Venus 
 is more for admiration than love; but there are sculpture and 
 painting, which, for the first time, at all gave me an idea of what 
 people mean by their cant about those two most artificial of the 
 arts. What struck me most were, the mistress of Raphael, a por- 
 trait; the mistress of Titian, a portrait ; a Venus of Titian in the 
 Medici Gallery; the Venus; Canova's Venus, also, in the other 
 gallery : Titian's mistress is also in the other gallery, (that is, in the 
 Pitti Palace gallery ;) the Parcae of Michael Angelo, a picture ; 
 and the Antinous, the Alexander, and one or two not very decent 
 groups in marble ; the Genius of Death, a sleeping figure, &c. &c. 
 I also went to the Medici chapel. Fine frippery in great slabs of 
 various expensive stones, to commemorate fifty rotten and for- 
 gotten carea&ses. It is unfinished, and will remain so." We find
 
 196 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 Li. 
 
 Appear'dst thon not to Paris in this guise? 
 Or to more deeply blest Anchises ? or, 
 In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies 
 Before thee thy own vanquished Lord of War ? 
 And gazing in thy face as toward a star, 
 Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, 
 Feeding on thy sweet cheek I 1 while thy lips are 
 With lava kisses melting while they burn, [urn ! 2 
 Shower'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an 
 
 the following note of a second visit to the galleries in 1821, accom- 
 panied by the author of" The Pleasures of Memory :"- -" My for- 
 mer impressions were confirmed ; but there were too many visiters 
 to allow me to feel any thing properly. When we were (about 
 thirty or forty) all stuffed into the cabinet of gems and knick- 
 knackeries, in a corner of one of the galleries, I told Rogers that 'it 
 feltlikebeing in the watch-house.' I heard one bold Briton declare 
 to the woman on his arm, looking at the Venus of Titian, ' Well, 
 now, that is really very fine indeed !' an observation which, like 
 that of the landlord in Joseph Andrews, on ' the certainty of 
 death,' was (as the landlord's wife observed) extremely true.' 
 In the Pitti Palace, I did not omit Goldsmith's prescription fora 
 connoisseur, viz. that the pictures would have been better if the 
 painter had taken more pains, and to praise the works of Peter 
 Perugino.' "] 
 
 'Oi{iOa\^oi>s fOTiav. 
 
 - _" Atque oculos pascat uterque suos." OVID. Amor. lib. ii. 
 V. " rjThe dekght with which the pilgrim contemplates the ancient 
 Greek statues at Florence, and afterwards at Rome, is such as 
 might have been expected from any great poet, whose youthful 
 mind had, like his, been imbued with those classical ideas and 
 associations which afford so many sources of pleasure, through 
 every period of life. He has gazed upon these masterpieces of 
 art with a more susceptible, and, in spite of his disavowal, with a 
 more learned eye, than can be traced in the effusions of any poet 
 who had previously expressed, in any formal manner, his admira- 
 tion of their beauty. It may appear fanciful to say so ; but we 
 think the genius of Byron is, more than that of any other modern 
 poet, akin to that peculiar genius which seems to have been dif- 
 fused among all the poets and artists of ancient Greece; and in
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 197 
 
 LIT. 
 
 Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love, 
 Their full divinity inadequate 
 That feeling to express, or to improve, 
 The gods became as mortals, and man's fate 
 Has moments like their brightest ; but the weight 
 Of earth recoils upon us ; let it go! 
 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. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 I leave to learned fingers, and wise hands, 
 The artist and his ape, 1 to teach and tell 
 How well his connoisseurship understands 
 The graceful bend, and the voluptuous swell : 
 Let these describe the undescribable: 
 I would not their vile breath should crisp the stream 
 Wherein that image shall forever dwell ; 
 The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream 
 That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. 
 
 whose spirit, above all its other wonders, the great specimens of 
 sculpture seem to have been conceived and executed. His creations, 
 whether of beauty or of strength, are all single creations. He re- 
 quires no grouping to give effect to his favourites, or to tell his 
 story. His heroines are solitary symbols of loveliness, which 
 require no foil; his heroes stand alone as upon marble pedestals, 
 displaying the naked power of passion, or the wrapped up and 
 reposing energy of grief. The artist who would illustrate, as it is 
 called, the works of any of our other poets, must borrow the mimic 
 splendours of the pencil. He who would transfer into another 
 vehicle the spirit of Byron, must pour the liquid metal, or hew 
 the stubborn rock. What he loses in ease, he will gain in power. 
 He might draw from Medora, Gulnare, Lara, or Manfred, subjects 
 for relievos, worthy of enthusiasm almost as great as Harold has 
 himself displayed on the contemplation of the loveliest and the 
 sternest relics of the inimitable genius of the Greeks. WILSON.] 
 1 [Only a week before the poet visited the Florence gallery, he
 
 .98 C HI LDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 Liv. 
 
 In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie 1 
 Ashes which make it holier, dust which is 
 Even in itself an immortality, 
 Though there were nothing save the past, and this, 
 The particle of those sublimities 
 Which have relapsed to chaos : here repose 
 Angelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his, 2 
 The starry Galileo, with his woes ; 
 Here Machiavelli's earth return'd to whence it rose. 3 
 
 LV. 
 
 These are four minds, which, like the elements, 
 Might furnish forth creation: Italy ! [rents 
 
 Time, which hath wrong'd thee with ten thousand 
 Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, 
 And hath denied, to every other sky, 
 Spirits which soar from ruin : thy decay 
 Is still impregnate with divinity, 
 Which gilds it with revivifying ray ; 
 Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. 
 
 wrote thus to a friend : " I know nothing of painting. Depend 
 upon it, of all the arts, it is the most artificial and unnatural, and 
 that by which the nonsense of mankind is most imposed upon. I 
 never yet saw the picture or the statue which came a league within 
 my conception or expectation ; but I have seen many mountains, 
 and seas, and rivers, and views, and two or three women, who 
 went as far beyond it." Byron Letters.] 
 
 *, *, * See Appendix, " Historical Notes," Nos. XV. XVI. 
 XVII. ["The church of Santa Croce contains much illustrious 
 nothing. The tombs of Machiavelli, Michael Angelo, Galileo, and 
 Alfieri, make it the Westminster Abbey of Italy. I did not ad- 
 mire any of these tombs beyond their contents. That of Alfieri is 
 heavy ; and all of them seem to me overloaded. What is neces- 
 sary but a bust and name ? and perhaps a date ? the last for the 
 unchronological, of whom I am one. But all your allegory and 
 eulogy is infernal, and worse than the long wigs of English num- 
 skulls upon Roman bodies, in the statuary of the reigns of Charles 
 the Second, William, and Anne." Byron Letters, 1817.]
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 199 
 
 LVI. 
 
 But where repose the all Etruscan three 
 Dante, and Petrarch, and scarce less than they, 
 The Bard of Prose, creative spirit ! he 
 Of the Hundred Tales of love where did they lay 
 Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay 
 In death as life ? Are they resolved to dust, 
 And have their country's marbles naught to say. 
 Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust ? 
 Did they not to her breast their filial earth intrust ? 
 
 . 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar, 
 Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore : 8 
 Thy factions, in their worse than civil war, 
 Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore 
 Their children's children would in vain adore 
 With the remorse of ages ; and the crown 3 
 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. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeath'd 4 
 His dust, and lies it not her great among, 
 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 hyaena bigot's wrong, 
 No more amidst the meaner dead find room, 
 Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom ! 
 
 S 9 , 8 , See Appendix, "Historical Notes," Nos. XVII I. 
 XIX. XX. and XXI.
 
 200 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 Lix. 
 
 And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust; 
 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 ! horiour'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 stones? 1 
 Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues 
 Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones 
 Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dews 
 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 
 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 
 
 1 See Appendix, Historical Notes," No, XX11,
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 201 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Is of another temper, and I roam 
 By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles 
 Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home ; 
 For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles 
 Come back before me, as his skill beguiles 
 The host between the mountains and the shore, 
 Where Courage falls in her despairing files, 
 And torrents swoln to rivers with their gore, 
 Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd 
 o'er. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Like to a forest fell'd by mountain 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 reel'd unheededly away ! x 
 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. 
 
 The 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 birds 
 Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw 
 From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds 
 Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath 
 no words. 
 
 1 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. XXIII. [An earth-
 
 302 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IT. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; 
 Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
 Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 
 Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain 
 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 Sariguinetto tells ye where the dead 
 Made the earth wet, and turn'd the unwilling waters 
 red. 1 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 But thou, Clitumnus ! in thy sweetest wave 2 
 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 
 Grazes ; the purest god of gentle waters ! 
 And most serene of aspect, and most clear ; 
 Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters 
 A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! 
 
 quake which shook all Italy occurred during the battle, and was 
 unfelt by any of the combatants.] 
 
 1 ["The lovely peaceful mirror reflected the mountains of 
 Monte Pulciana, and the wild fowl skimming its ample surface, 
 touched the waters with their rapid wings, leaving circles and 
 trains of light to glitter in gray repose. As we moved along, one 
 set of interesting features yielded to another, and every change 
 excited new delight. Yet, was it not among these tranquil scenes 
 that Hannibal and Flaminius met 1 Was not the blush of blood 
 upon the silver lake of Thrasimene 1" H. W. WILLIAMS.] 
 
 9 No book of travels has omitted to expatiate on the temple of 
 the Clitumnus, between Foligno and Spoleto; and no site, or 
 scenery, even in Italy is more worthy a description. For an 
 account of the dilapidation of this temple, the reader is referred 
 to " Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe 
 Harold," p. 35.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 20? 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 And on thy happy shore a temple 1 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 
 Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling 
 tales. 
 
 iLXVTII. 
 
 Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! 
 If through the air a zephyr more serene 
 Win to the brow, 'tis his; and if ye trace 
 Along his margin a more eloquent green, 
 If on the heart the freshness of the scene 
 Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust 
 Of weary life a moment lave it clean 
 With Nature's baptism, 'tis to him ye must 
 Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. 2 
 
 1 [" This pretty little gem stands on the acclivity of a bank 
 overlooking its crystal waters, which have their source at the 
 distance of some hundred yards towards Spoleto. The temple, 
 fronting the river, is of an oblong form, in the Corinthian order. 
 Pour columns support the pediment, the shafts of which are 
 covered in spiral lines, and in forms to represent the scales of 
 fishes : the bases, too, are richly sculptured. Within the building 
 /3 a chapel, the walls of which are covered with many hundred 
 names ; but we saw none which we could recognise as British. 
 Can it be that this classical temple is seldom visited by our coun- 
 trymen, though celebrated by Dryden and Addison? To future 
 travellers from Britain it will surely be rendered interesting by 
 the beautiful lines of Lord Byron, flowing as sweetly as tho 
 lovely stream which they describe." H. W. WILLIAMS.] 
 
 8 [Perhaps there are no verses in our language of hap; ier 
 descriptive power than the two stanzas which characterize the
 
 204 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 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 set, 
 
 LXX. 
 
 And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again 
 Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, 
 With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, 
 Is an eternal April to the ground, 
 Making it all one emerald : how profound 
 The gulf! and how the giant element 
 From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, 
 Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent 
 With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent. 
 
 Clitumnus. In general poets find it so difficult to leave an inte- 
 resting subject, that they injure the distinctness of the description 
 by loading it so as to embarrass, rather than excite, the fancy of 
 the reader; or else, to avoid that fault, they confine themselves 
 to cold and abstract generalities. Byron has, in these stanzas, 
 admirably steered his course betwixt these extremes : while 
 they present the outlines of a picture as pure and as brilliant as 
 those of Claude Lorraine, the task of filling up the more minute 
 particulars is judiciously left to the imagination of the reader; 
 and it must be dull indeed if it does not supply what the poet has 
 left unsaid, or but generally and briefly intimated. While the eye 
 glances over the lines, we seem to feel the refreshing coolness of 
 the scene we hear the bubbling tale of the more rapid streams, 
 and see the slender proportions of the rural temple reflected in the 
 crystal depth of the calm pool. Sin WALTER SCOTT.")
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 205 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 
 More like the fountain of an infant sea 
 Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes 
 Of a new world, than only thus to be 
 Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, [back! 
 With many windings, through the vale: Look 
 Lo ! where it comes like an eternity, 
 As if to sweep down all things in its track, 
 Charming the eye with dread, a matchless cataract,^ 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, 
 From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, 
 An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, 2 
 Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn 
 Its~sfeadydyes, while all around is torn 
 By the distracted waters, bears serene 
 Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn : 
 Resembling, mid the torture of the scene, 
 Love \vatching Madness with unalterable mien. 
 
 1 I saw the Cascata del Marmore of Terni twice, at different 
 periods ; once from the summit of the precipice, and again from 
 the valley helow. The lower view is far to be preferred, if the 
 traveller has time for one only ; but in any point of view, either 
 from above or below, it is worth all the cascades and torrents of 
 Switzerland put together: the Staubach, Reichenbach, Pisse 
 Vache, fall of Arpenaz, &c. are rills in comparative appearance. 
 Of the fall of Schaffhausen I cannot speak, not yet having seen it. 
 [" The stunning sound, the mist, uncertainty, and tremendous 
 depth, bewildered the senses for a time, and the eye had little rest 
 from the impetuous and hurrying waters, to search into the mys- 
 terious and whitened gulf, which presented, through a cloud of 
 spray, the apparitions, as it were, of rocks and overhanging wood. 
 The wind, however, would sometimes remove for an instant this 
 misty veil, and display such a scene of havoc as appalled the soul.'* 
 H. W. WILLIAMS.] 
 
 8 Of the time, place, and qualities of this kind of iris, the reader 
 will see a short account, in a note to Manfred. The fall looks so 
 
 13
 
 20G CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Once more upon the woody Apennine 
 The infant Alps, which had I not before 
 Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine 
 Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar 1 
 The thundering lauwine might be worshipp'd 
 
 more ; 
 
 But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear 
 Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar 
 Glaciers of bleak Mont Blanc both far and near, 
 And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name; 
 And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly 
 Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame, 
 For still they soar'd unutterably high : 
 I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye ; 
 Athos, Olympus, ^Etna, Atlas, made 
 These hills seem things of lesser dignity, 
 All, save the lone Soracte's height, display'd 
 Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid 
 
 much like " the hell of waters," that Addison thought the descent 
 alluded to by the gulf in which Alecto plunged into the infernal 
 regions. It is singular enough, that two of the finest cascades in 
 Europe should be artificial this of the Velino, and the one at 
 Tivoli. The traveller is strongly recommended to trace the Velino, 
 at least as high as the little lake, called Pie 1 di Lup, The Reatine 
 territory was the Italian Tempe, (Cicer. Epist. ad Attic, xv. lib. 
 iv.,) and the ancient naturalists, (Plin. Hist. Nat. lib. ii. cap. Ixii.,) 
 amongst other beautiful varieties, remarked the daily rainbows 
 of the lake Velinus. A scholar of great name has devoted a 
 treatise to this district alone. See Aid. Manut. de Reatina Urbe 
 Agroque, ap. Sallengre, Thesaur. torn. i. p. 773. 
 
 1 In the greater part of Switzerland, the avalanches are known 
 by the name cf lauwine.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 207 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 For our remembrance, and from out the plain 
 Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, 
 And on the curl hangs pausing : not in vain 
 May he, who will, his recollections rake, 
 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 1 
 In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 
 
 1 These stanzas may probably remind the reader of Ensign 
 Northerton's remarks, " D n Homo," &c. ; but the reasons for 
 our dislike are not exactly the same. I wish to express, that we 
 become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty ; 
 that we learn by rote before we can get by heart ; that the fresh- 
 ness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened 
 and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can 
 neither feel nor understand the power of compositions which it 
 requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to 
 relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason, we never can be 
 aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeare 
 (" To be, or not to be," for instance,) from the habit of having 
 them hammered into us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of 
 mind, but of memory ; so that when we are old enough to enjoy 
 them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts 
 of the continent young persons are taught from more common 
 authors, and do not read the best classics till their maturity. 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, more attached to 
 Harrow than I have always been, and with reason ; a part of 
 the time passed there was the happiest of my life ; and my pre- 
 ceptor, the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury, was the best and worthiest 
 friend I ever possessed, whose warnings I have remembered but 
 too well, though too late when I have erred, and whose coun- 
 sels I have but followed when I have done well or wisely. If ever 
 this imperfect record of my feelings towards him should reach his 
 eyes, let it remind him of one who never thinks of him but with 
 gratitude and veneration of one who would more gladly boas* 
 of having been his pupil, if, by more closely following his injunc- 
 tions, he could reflect any honour upon his instructor.
 
 208 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 / 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Aught that recalls the daily drug which turn'd 
 My sickening memory; and, though time hath taught 
 My mind to meditate what then it learn'd, 
 Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought 
 By the impatience of my early thought, 
 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, 1 
 Not for thy faults, but minej it is a curse 
 To understand, not feel thy lyric flow, 
 To comprehend, but never love thy verse, 
 Although no deeper moralist rehearse 
 Our little life, nor bard prescribe his art, 
 Nor livelier satirist the conscience pierce, 
 Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, 
 Yet fare thee well upon Soracte's ridge we part. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! 
 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
 Lone mother of dead empires ! and control 
 In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
 What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see 
 The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
 O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye ! 
 Whose agonies are evils of a day 
 A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 
 
 1 [Lord Byron s prepossession against Horace is not without 
 a parallel. It was not till released from the duty of readino- 
 Virgil as a task, that Gray could feel himself capable of enjoyino- 
 the beauties of that poet. MOORE.]
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 209 
 
 LXXIX, 
 
 The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, 1 
 Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe j 
 An empty urn within her wither'd hands, 
 Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; 
 The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; 2 
 The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
 Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
 Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? 
 Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and 
 
 Fire 
 
 Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ; 
 She saw her glories star by star expire, 
 And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, 
 Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide 
 Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : 
 Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, 
 O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 
 And say, "here was or is," where all is doubly 
 
 night ? 
 
 1 [" I have been some days in Rome the Wonderful. I am 
 delighted with Rome. As a whole, ancient and modern, it 
 beats Greece, Constantinople, every thing at least that I have 
 ever seen. But I can't describe, because my first impressions are 
 always strong and confused, and my memory selects and reduces 
 them to order, like distance in the landscape, and blends them 
 better, although they may be less distinct. I have been on horse- 
 back most of the day, all days since my arrival. I have been to 
 Albano, its lakes, and to the top of the Alban Mount, and to 
 Frescati, Aricia, &c. As for the Coliseum, Pantheon, St. Peter's, 
 the Vatican, Palatine, &c. &c. they are quite inconceivable, and 
 must be *en." Byron Letters, May, 1817.] 
 
 * For a comment on this and the two following stanzas, the 
 reader may consult " Historical Illustrations," p. 40. 
 lb*
 
 210 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 'The double night of ages, and of her, 
 Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap 
 All round us ; we but feel our way to err : 
 The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 
 And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap ; 
 But Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
 Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap 
 Our hands, and cry " Eureka !" it is clear 
 When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 
 The trebly hundred triumphs ! l 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 
 free ! 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Oh thou, whose chariot roll'd on Fortune's wheel, 
 Triumphant Sylla ! Thou, who didst subdue 
 Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to feel 
 The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
 Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew 
 O'er prostrate Asia ; thou who with thy frown 
 Annihilated senates Roman, too, 
 With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down 
 With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown 
 
 1 Orosius gives 320 for the number of triumphs. He is fol- 
 lowed by Panvinius; and Panvinius by Mr. Gibbon ami tha 
 modern writprs.
 
 
 ANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 211 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 The dictatorial wreath, 1 couldst thou divine 
 To what would one day dwindle that which made 
 Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine 
 By aught than Romans Rome should thus be laid? 
 She who was named Eternal, and array'd 
 Her warriors but to conquer she who veil'd 
 Earth with her haughty shadow, and display'd, 
 Until the o'er-canopied horizon fail'd, 
 Her rushing wings Oh ! she who was Almighty hail'd ? 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Sylla was first of victors; but our own, 
 The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell ; he 
 Too swept off senates while he hew'd the throne 
 Down to a block immortal rebel ! See 
 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 [breath .* 
 Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield his 
 
 1 Certainly were it not for these two traits in the life of Sylla, 
 alluded to in this stanza, we should regard him as a monster un- 
 redeemed by any admirable quality. The atonement of his volun- 
 tary resignation of empire may perhaps be accepted by us, as it 
 seems to have satisfied the Romans, who if they had not respected 
 must have destroyed him. There could be no mean, no division 
 of opinion; they must have all thought, like Eucrates, that what 
 had appeared ambition was a love of glory, and that what had 
 been mistaken for pride was a real grandeur of soul. (" Seigneur, 
 vous changez toutes mes idees de la fa$on dont je vous vois agir. 
 Je croyais que vous aviez de 1'ambition, mais aucune amour pour 
 la gloire : je voyais bien que votre ame etait haute ; mais je ne 
 soup9onnais pas qu'elle fut grande." Dialogues de Sylla et 
 tTEucrate.} 
 
 * On the 3d of September Cromwell gained the victory of Dun- 
 bar : a year afterwards he obtained " his crowning mercy" of 
 Worcester; and a few years after, on the same day, which he had 
 ever esteemed the most fortunate- for him, died.
 
 212 CH1LDE HAROLD'S CAN.TO IV. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 The third of the same moon whose former course 
 Had all but crown'd him, on the selfsame day 
 Deposed him gently from his throne offeree, 
 And laid him with the earth's preceding clay. 
 And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway 
 And all we deem delightful, and consume 
 Our souls to compass through each arduous way, 
 Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb ? 
 Were they but so in man's, how different were his 
 doom! 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in 1 
 The austerest form of naked majesty, 
 Thou who beheldest, mid the assassins' din, 
 At thy bathed base the bloody Caesar lie, 
 Folding his robe in dying dignity, 
 An offering to thine altar from the queen 
 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 ? 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome ! 2 
 She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged 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, 
 And thy limbs black with lightning dost thou 
 
 yet 
 Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge 
 
 forget ? 
 
 *, * See Appendix, Historical Notes," Nos. XXIV. XXV.
 
 CANTO IV PILGRIMAGE. 213 
 
 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 
 
 steer'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, 
 But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a slave 
 
 xc. 
 
 The fool of false dominion and a kind 
 Of bastard Csesar, following him of old 
 With steps unequc\l ; for the Roman's mind 
 Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould, 1 
 With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold, 
 And an immortal instinct which redeem'd 
 The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold, 
 Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd 
 At Cleopatra's feet, and now himself he beam'd, 
 
 xci. 
 And came and saw and conquer'd! But the 
 
 man 
 
 Who would have tamed his eagles 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 
 A listener to itself, was strangely framed ; 
 With but one weakest weakness vanity, 
 Coquettish in ambition still he aim'd 
 At what? can he avouch or answer what he clao^ r ? 
 
 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. XX v\
 
 2i?4 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 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 ! arid for this the tears. 
 And blood of earth flow on as they have flow'd, 
 An universal deluge, which appears 
 Without an ark for wretched man's abode, 
 And ebbs but to reflow ! Renew thy rainbow, God ! 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 What from this barren being do we reap ? 
 Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, 1 
 Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, 
 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 their own judgments should become too bright, 
 And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too 
 much light. 
 
 xciv. 
 
 And thus they 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 
 
 1 " Omnes pene veteres ; qui nihil cognosci, nihil percepi, 
 
 n;nil sciri posse dixerunt; angustos sensus ; imbecillos animos, 
 brevia curricula vitae ; in profundo veritatem demersam ; opinioni- 
 bus et institutis omnia teneri ; nihil veritati relinqui : deinceps 
 omnia tenebris circurnfusa esse dixerunt." Academ. 1. 13. The 
 eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since Cicero wrote 
 this, have not removed any of the imperfections of humanity : and 
 the complaints of the ancient philosophers may, without injus- 
 tice or affectation, be transcribed in a poem written yesterday.
 
 CANTO IV. P 1 L G R I M A G E. 215 
 
 To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage 
 War for their chains, and, rather than be free, 
 Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage 
 Within the same arena where they see 
 Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree^. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 I speak not of men's creeds they rest between 
 Man and his Maker but of things allowed, 
 Averr'd, and known, and daily, hourly seen 
 The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd, 
 And the intent of tyranny avow'd, 
 The edict of earth's rulers, who are grown 
 The apes of him who humbled once the proud, 
 And shook them from their slumbers on the throne ; 
 Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had 
 done. 
 
 Q(& 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be, 
 And Freedom find no champion and no child 
 Such as Columbia saw arise when she 
 Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled ? 
 Or must such minds be nourish'd in the wild, 
 Deep in the unpruned forest, midst the roar 
 Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled 
 On infant Washington ? Has earth no more 
 Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such 
 shore ? 
 
 xcvu. 
 
 But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime ; 
 And fatal have her Saturnalia been 
 To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime ; 
 Because the deadly days which we have seen, 
 And vile Ambition, that built up between
 
 
 216 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, 
 And the base pageant last upon the scene, 
 Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall 
 Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst his 
 second fall. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, 
 Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; 
 Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, 
 The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; 
 Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, 
 Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth, 
 But the sap lasts, and still the seed we find 
 Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North ; 
 So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. 
 
 xcix. 
 
 There is a stern round tower of other days, 1 
 Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, 
 Such as an army's baffled 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 over all by time o'erthrown ; 
 What was this tower of strength? within its cave 
 f hat treasure lay so lock'd, so hid? A woman's grave. 
 
 c. 
 
 But who was she, the lady of the dead, 
 Tomb'd in a palace ? Was she chaste and fair ? 
 Worthy a king's or more a Roman's bed ? 
 What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear ? 
 What daughter of her beauties was the heir ? 
 
 1 Alluding to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, called Capo di 
 Uove. See " Historical Illustrations," p. 200.
 
 PILGRIMAGE. 217 
 
 How lived how loved how died she ? Was she 
 So honour'd and conspicuously there, [not 
 
 Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, 
 Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot ? 
 
 Wt- " -i_ b^Hfcltf <ffL ^r 
 
 ^ CI. 
 
 Was she as those who love their lords, or they 
 Who love the lords of others ? such have been 
 Even in the olden time, Rome's annals say. 
 Was she the matron of Cornelia's mien, 
 Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen, 
 Profuse of joy or 'gainst it did she war, 
 - Inveterate in virtue ? Did she lean 
 
 To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar 
 Love from amongst her griefs? for such the affections 
 are. 
 
 en. 
 
 Perchance she died in youth : it may be, bow'd 
 With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb 
 That weigh'd upon her gentle dust, a cloud 
 Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom 
 In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom 
 Heaven gives its favourites early death ; yet shed 1 
 A sunset charm around her, and illume 
 With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead, 
 Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. 
 
 cm. 
 
 Perchance she died in age surviving all, 
 Charms, kindred, children with the silver gray 
 On her long tresses, which might yet recall, 
 It may be, still a something of the day 
 When they were braided, and her proud array 
 
 *Oi> ol Stoi <t>i\ov(riv, &iro9vf\am trios' 
 Td yan SavtTv oi>x aiaxpov, dAX' aioxptoy SaveTv 
 
 Rich. Franc. Phil. Branck. Poefce Gnomici. p. 231. edit. 1784. 
 n
 
 218 C HI LDE HAROLD'S CA.NTO IV. 
 
 Arid lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed 
 By Rome But whither would Conjecture stray ? 
 Thus much alone we know Metella died, 
 The wealthiest Roman's wife : Behold his love or pride . 
 
 civ. 
 
 I know not why but standing thus by thee, 
 It seems as if I had thine inmate known, 
 Thou tomb ! and other days come back on me 
 With recollected music, though the tone 
 Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groan 
 Of dying thunder on the distant wind; 
 Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone 
 Till I had bodied forth the heated mind, [behind; 1 
 Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves 
 
 cv. 
 
 And from the planks, far 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 breakers, and the ceaseless roar 
 Which rushes on the solitary shore 
 Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear : 
 But could I gather from the wave-worn store 
 Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer,? 
 There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is 
 
 TTgift 
 
 1 [Four words, and two initials, compose the whole of the in- 
 scription, which, whatever was its ancient position, is now placed 
 in front of this towering sepulchre: C^CILUS . Q . CRETICI . 
 F . METELL^E . CRASSI. It is more likely to have heen the pride 
 than the love of Crassus, which raised so superb a memorial to a 
 wife whose name is not mentioned in history, unless she be sup- 
 pos^d to be that lady whose intimacy with Dolabella was so 
 offensive to Tullia, the daughter of Cicero; cr she who was 
 divorced by Lentulus Spinther ; or she, perhaps the same person, 
 trom whose ear the son of ./Esopus transferred a precious jewel 
 l-j enrich his daughter. HOBHOUSE.] 
 
 > *'
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 219 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Then let the winds howl on ! their harmony 
 Shall henceforth be my music, and the night 
 The sound shall temper with the owlet's 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 gray and bright, 
 And sailing pinions. Upon such a shrine 
 What are our petty griefs? let me not number mine. 
 
 cvn. 
 
 Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown 
 Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd 
 On what were chambers, arch crush'd column stro wn 
 In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd 
 In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, 
 Deeming it midnight : Temples, baths, or halls ? 
 Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning reap'd 
 From her research hath been, that these are walls 
 Behold the Imperial Mount ! 'tis thus the mighty falls. 1 
 
 cvur. 
 
 There is the moral of all human tales ; 2 
 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, 
 First Freedom, and then Glory when that fails, 
 Wealth, vice, corruption, barbarism at last. 
 
 1 The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the side 
 towards the Circus Maximus. The very soil is formed of crum- 
 bled brickwork. Nothing has been told, nothing can be told, to 
 satisfy the belief of any but a Roman antiquary. See " Historical 
 Illustrations," p. 206. ["The voice of Marius could not sound 
 more deep and solemn among the ruined arches of Carthage, than 
 1 he strains of the Pil trim amid the broken shrines and fallen 
 statues of her subduer." SIR WALTER SCOTT. J 
 
 * The author of the life of Cicero, speaking of the opinion 
 entertained of Britain by that orator and his contemporary Romans,
 
 . 
 
 2-20 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 i I And History, with all her volumes vast, 
 if Hath but one page, 'tis better written here, 
 ~VV here gorgeous*"Tyranny hath thus amass'd 
 All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear, 
 Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask Away with 
 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, 
 This mountain, whose obliterated plan 
 The pyramid of empires pinnacled, 
 Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van 
 Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd ! 
 Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared 
 to build ? 
 
 has the following eloquent passage : " From their railleries of 
 this kind, on the barbarity and misery of our island, one cannot 
 help reflecting on the surprising fate and revolutions of kingdoms ; 
 how Rome, once the mistress of the world, the seat of arts, empire, 
 and glory, now lies sunk in sloth, ignorance, and poverty, enslaved 
 to the most cruel as well as to the most contemptible of tyrants, 
 superstition and religious imposture : while this remote country, 
 anciently the jest and contempt of the polite Romans, is become 
 the happy seat of liberty, plenty, and letters; flourishing in all the 
 arts and refinements of civil life ; yet, running, perhaps, the same 
 course which Rome itself had run before it, from virtuous industry 
 to wealth ; from wealth to luxury ; from luxury to an impatience 
 of discipline, and corruption of morals : till, by a total degeneracy 
 and loss of virtue, being grown ripe for destruction, it fall a prey 
 at last to some hardy oppressor, and, with the loss of liberty, 
 losing every thing that is valuable, sinks gradually again into its 
 original barbarism." (See History of the Life. of M. Tullius 
 Cicero, sect. vi. vol. ii. p. 102.)
 
 CANTO IV. P I L G R I M A G E. 221 
 
 ex. 
 
 Tuily was not so eloquent as thou, 
 Thou nameless column with the buried base ! 
 What are the laurels of the Caesar's brow ? 
 Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 
 Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, 
 Titus or Trajan's ? No 'tis that of Time : 
 Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace 
 Scoffing ; and apostolic statues climb 
 To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime, 1 
 
 cxr. 
 
 Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, 
 And looking to the stars: they had contained 
 A spirit which with these would find a home, 
 The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign'd, 
 The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd, 
 But yielded back his conquest : 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. 2 
 
 1 The column of Trajan is surmounted by St. Peter; that of 
 Aurelius by St. Paul. See "Historical Illustrations," p. 214. 
 
 a Trajan was proverbially the best of the Roman princes ; and 
 it would be easier to find a sovereign uniting exactly the opposite 
 characteristics, than one possessed of all the happy qualities 
 ascribed to this emperor. "When he mounted the throne," says 
 the historian Dion, "he was strong in body, he was vigorous in 
 mind ; age had impaired none of his faculties ; he was altogether 
 free from envy and from detraction ; he honoured all the good, 
 and he advanced them ; and on this account they could not be the 
 objects of his fear, or of his hate; he never listened to informers ; 
 he gave not way to his anger; he abstained equally from unfair 
 exactions and unjust punishments ; he had rather be loved as a 
 man than honoured as a sovereign; he was affable with his peo- 
 ple, respectful to the senate, and universally beloved by both ; he 
 inspired none with dread but the enemies of his country." See 
 Eutrop. Brev. Hist. Rom. lib. viii. c. 5. Dion. Hist. Rom. lib. 
 Ixiii. c. 6, 7.
 
 222 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place 
 Where Rome embraced her heroes? where the steep 
 Tarpeian ? fittest goal for Treason's race, 
 The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap 
 Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap 
 Their spoils here ? Yes ; and in yon field below, 
 A thousand years of silenced factions sleep 
 The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, 
 And still the eloquent air breathes burns with Cicero ! 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 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 failed ; 
 But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd, 
 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 her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, 
 Redeemer of dark centuries of shame 
 The friend of Petrarch hope of Italy 
 Rienzi ! last of Romans P 1 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 chief 
 Her new-born Numa thou with reign, alas ! too brief. 
 
 1 The name and exploits of Rienzi must be familiar to the 
 reader of Gibbon. Some details and inedited manuscripts, rela- 
 uve to this unhappy hero, will be seen in the "Historical Illus- 
 trations of the Fourth Canto," p. 248
 
 CANTO IV. I L G R I M A G E. 2-23 
 
 cxv. 
 
 ]geria ! sweet creation of some heart 1 
 Which found no mortal resting-place so fair 
 As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art 
 Or wert, a young Aurora of the air, 
 The nympholepsy of some fond despair; 
 Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, 
 Who found a more than common votary there 
 Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth, 
 Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. 
 
 ex vi. 
 
 The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 
 With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face 
 Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, 
 Reflects the meek-^yed genius of the place, 
 Whose green, wild margin now no more erase 
 Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters sleep, 
 Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base 
 Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 
 The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, 
 creep, 
 
 ex vii. 
 
 Fantastically tangled : the green hills 
 Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass 
 The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 
 Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ; 
 Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, 
 Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 
 Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; 
 The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, 
 Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its 
 skies. 
 
 1 See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. XXVII.
 
 224 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 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? 
 This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting 
 Of an enamour'd goddess, and the cell 
 Haunted by holy Love the earliest oracle ! 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, 
 Blend a celestial with a human heart ; 
 And Love, which dies as it was 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 
 cloys ? 
 
 cxx. 
 
 Alas ! our young affections run to waste, 
 
 Or water but the desert ; whence arise 
 
 But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, 
 
 Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, 
 
 Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies, 
 
 And trees whose gums are poison ; such the 
 
 plants 
 
 Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies 
 O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants 
 For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 225 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 Oh Love ! no habitant of earth art thou 
 An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, 
 A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, 
 But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see 
 The naked eye, thy form, as it should be ; 
 The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, 
 Even with its own desiring fantasy, 
 And to a thought such shape and image given, 
 As haunts the unquench'd soul parch'd wearied 
 wrung and riven. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, 
 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, 
 The unreach'd Paradise of our despair, 
 Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, 
 And overpowers the page where it would bloom 
 again? 
 
 C XXIII. 
 
 Who loves, raves 'tis youth's frenzy but the 
 
 cure 
 
 Is bitterer still ; as charm by charm 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 ; 
 The stubborn heart, its alchymy begun, 
 Seems ever near the prize wealthiest when most 
 
 undone.
 
 226 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 We wither from our youth, we gasp away 
 Sick sick ; unfound the boon unslaked the thirst, 
 Though to the last, in verge of our decay, 
 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, 
 And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the 
 flame. 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Few none find what they love or could have 
 
 loved, 
 
 Though accident, blind contact, and the strong 
 Necessity of loving, have removed 
 Antipathies but to recur, ere long, 
 Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong ; 
 And Circumstance, that unspiritual god 
 And miscreator, makes and helps along 
 Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, 
 Whose touch turns Hope to dust, the dust we all 
 have trod. 
 
 cxxvi. 
 
 Our life is a false nature 'tis not in 
 The harmony of things, this hard decree, 
 This uneradicable taint of sin, 
 This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree, 
 Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be 
 The skies which rain their plagues on men likedew 
 Disease, death, bondage all the woes we see 
 And worse, the woes we see not which throb 
 
 through 
 The immedicable soul, with heartaches ever new
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAG E. 227 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 Yet let us ponder boldly 'tis a base 1 
 Abandonment of reason to resign 
 Our right of thought our last and only place 
 Of refuge ; this, at least, shall still be mine : 
 Though from our birth the faculty divine 
 Is chain'd and tortured cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, 
 And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine 
 Too brightly on the unprepared mind, 
 The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch 
 the blind. 
 
 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 
 
 1 " At all events," says the author of the Academical Questions, 
 " I trust, whatever may be the fate of my own speculations, that 
 philosophy will regain that estimation which it ought to possess. 
 The free and philosophic spirit of our nation has been the theme 
 of admiration to the world. This was the proud distinction of 
 Englishmen, and the luminous source of all their glory. Shall we 
 then forget the manly and dignified sentiments of our ancestors, 
 to prate in the language of the mother or the nurse about our 
 good old prejudices ? This is not the way to defend the cause of 
 truth. It was not thus that our fathers maintained it in the bril- 
 liant periods of our history. Prejudice may be trusted to guard 
 the outworks for a short space of time, while reason slumbers in. 
 the citadel ; but if the latter sink into a lethargy, the former wiK 
 quickly erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, ana 
 liberty support each ether ; he who will-not reason is a bigot; he 
 who cannot, is a fool ; and he who dares not, is a slave." Vo' , 
 . pref. p. 11, 15.
 
 228 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 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 hath 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, v 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Oh Time ! the beautifter of the dead, 
 Adorner of the ruin, comforter 
 And only healer when the heart hath bled 
 Time ! the corrector where our judgments err, 
 The test of truth, love, sole philosopher, 
 For ah besides are sophists, from thy thrift, 
 Which never loses though it doth defer 
 Time, the avenger ! unto thee I lift 
 My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a 
 gift: 
 
 cxxxi. 
 
 Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine 
 And temple more divinely desolate, 
 Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, 
 Ruins of years though few, yet full of fate : 
 If thou hast ever seen me too elate, 
 Hear me not ; but if calmly I have borne 
 Good, and reserved my pride, against the hate 
 
 i Which shall not whelm me, let me not have 
 worn 
 
 This iron in my soul in vain shall they not mourn? 

 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 229 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 And thou, who never yet of human wrong 
 Left the unbalanced scale, 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 unnatural retribution just, 
 Had it not been 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 must. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 It is not that I may not have incurr'd 
 For my ancestral faults or mine the wound 
 I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd 
 With a just weapon, it had flown unbound ; 
 But now my blood shall not sink in the ground ; 
 To thee I do devote it thou shalt take 
 The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and 
 found, 
 
 Which if / have not taken for the sake 
 
 But let that pass I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. 
 
 cxxxiv. 
 
 And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now 
 I shrink from what is suffer'd : let him speak 
 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 ! 
 
 1 See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. XXVIII. 
 20
 
 230 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 That curse shall be forgiveness. Have I not 
 
 Hear me, my mother earth ! behold it, Hea- 
 ven 
 
 Have I not had to wrestle with my lot ? 
 
 Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven? 
 
 Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, 
 
 Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied 
 away? 
 
 And only not to desperation driven, 
 
 Because not altogether of such clay 
 As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy 
 Have I not seen what human things could do ? 
 From the loud roar of foaming calumny 
 To the small whisper of the as paltry few, 
 And subtler venom of the reptile crew, 
 The Janus glance of whose significant eye, 
 Learning to lie with silence, would seem true, 
 And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, 
 Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. 1 
 
 1 [Between stanzas cxxxv. and cxxxvi. we find in the origi- 
 nal MS. the following : 
 " If to forgive be heaping coals of fire 
 
 As God hath spoken on the heads of foes, 
 
 Mine should be a volcano, and rise higher 
 
 Than, o'er the Titans crush'd, Olympus rose, 
 
 Or Athos soars, or blazing Etna glows : 
 
 True, they who stung were creeping things ; but what 
 
 Than serpents' teeth inflicts with deadlier throes 1 
 
 The lion may be goaded by the gnat. 
 
 Who sucks the slumberer's blood 1 ? The eagle] No: the 
 bat."]
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 231 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : 
 My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, 
 And my frame perish even in conquering pain ; 
 
 //But there is that within me which shall tire 
 ; Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; 
 Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 
 Like the remernber'd tone of a mute lyre, 
 Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move 
 
 In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 The seal is set. Now welcome, thou dreaa 
 
 power ! 
 
 Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here 
 Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight, hour 
 With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear ; 
 Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
 Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 
 Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear, 
 That we become a part of what has been, 
 And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. 
 
 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. 
 And wherefore slaughter'd ? wherefore, but be- 
 cause 
 
 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.
 
 032 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO I 1 
 
 CXL. 
 
 I see before me the Gladiator lie : 
 He leans upon his hand his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
 And his droop'd head sinks gradually low 
 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, 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch 
 who won. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 He 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 young barbarians all at play, 
 
 1 Whether the wonderful statue which suggested this image be 
 alaquearian gladiator, which, in spite of Winkelmann's criticism, 
 has been stoutly maintained ; or whether it be a Greek herald, as 
 that great antiquary positively asserted ;* or whether it is to be 
 thought a Spartan or barbarian shield-bearer, according to the 
 opinion of his Italian editor; it must assuredly seem a copy of 
 that masterpiece of Ctesilaus which represented " a wounded man 
 dying, who perfectly expressed what there remained of life in 
 him." Montfaucon and Maflei thought it the identical statue ; 
 but that statue was of bronze. The Gladiator was once in the 
 Villa Ludovizi, and was bought by Clement XII. The right 
 arm is an entire restoration of Michael Angelo. 
 
 * Either Polifontes, herald of Laius, killed by (Edipns ; or Cepreas, herald of 
 Knritheus, killed by the Athenians when he endeavoured todrag the Heraclidae 
 from the altar of mercy, and in whose honour they instituted annual games, 
 continued to the time of Hadrian ; or Anthemocritus, the Athenian herald, 
 killed by the Megarenses, who never recovered the impiety. See Storia delle 
 Arti. &.c. loin. ii. pag. 203207, lib. ix. cap. ii.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 233 
 
 There was their Dacian mother he, their sire, 
 Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday ' 
 All this rush'd with his blood Shall he expire 
 And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your 
 ire! 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam j. 
 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, 2 
 My voice soundsmuch and fall the stars' faint rays 
 On the arena void seats crush'd walls bow'd 
 And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely 
 loud. 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 A ruin yet what ruin ! from its mass 
 Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd; 
 Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass, 
 And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd. 
 Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but clear'd ? 
 Alas ! developed, opens the decay, 
 When the colossal fabric's form is near'd : 
 It will not bear the brightness of the day, [away. 
 Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 But when the rising moon begins to climb 
 Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; 
 When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, 
 And the low night-breeze waves along the air 
 The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, 
 
 \ See Appendix, "Historical Xot-s," Nos. XXIX. XXX. 
 aw*
 
 234 C II I L I) E II A R O L D ' S CANTO IV. 
 
 Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head ;' 
 When the light shines serene, but doth not glare, 
 Then in this magic circle raise the dead: 
 Heroes have trod this spot 'tis on their dust ye tread. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 " While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; 2 
 When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; [land 
 And when Rome falls the world." From our own 
 Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall 
 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, [will. 
 The world, the same wide den of thieves, or what ye 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime 
 Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, 
 From Jove to Jesus spared and blest by time ; 3 
 Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods 
 Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods 
 
 1 Suetonius informs us that Julius Csar was particularly 
 gratified by that decree of the senate which enabled him to wear 
 a wreath of laurel on all occasions. He was anxious, not to show 
 that he was the conqueror of the world, but to hide that he was 
 bald. A stranger at Rome would hardly have guessed at the 
 motive, nor should we without the help of the historian. 
 
 8 This is quoted in the " Decline and Fall of the Roman Em- 
 pire," as a proof that the Coliseum was entire, when seen by the 
 Anglo-Saxon pilgrims at the end of the seventh, or the beginning 
 of the eighth century. A notice on the Coliseum may be seen 
 in the " Historical Illustrations," p. 263. 
 
 8 " Though plundered of all its brass, except the ring which 
 was necessary to preserve the aperture above ; though exposed to 
 repeated fires ; though sometimes flooded by the river, and always 
 open to the rain, no monument of equal antiquity is so well pre- 
 served as this rotunda. It passed with little alteration from the 
 p igan into the present worship ; and so convenient were its 
 niches for the Christian nltar, that Michael Angelo, ever studious
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 235 
 
 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 ! 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts ! 
 Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads 
 A holiness appealing to all hearts 
 To art a model ; and to him who treads 
 Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds 
 Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those 
 Who worship, here are altars for their beads ; 
 And they who feel for genius may repose [close. 1 
 
 Their eyes on honour 'd forms, whose busts around them 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light 2 
 What do I gaze on ? 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 
 An old man, and a female young and fair, 
 Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein 
 -The blood is nectar : but what doth she there, 
 
 With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare? 
 
 of ancient beauty, introduced their design as a model in the Ca- 
 tholic church." FORSYTH'S Italy, p. 137, 2d edit. 
 
 1 The Pantheon has been made a receptacle for the busts of 
 modern great or, at least, distinguished men. The flood of light 
 which once fell through the large orb above on the whole circle 
 of divinities, now shines on a numerous assemblage of mortals, 
 some one or two of whom have been almost deified by the vene- 
 ration of their countrymen. For a notice of the Pantheon, see 
 ' Historical Illustrations," p. 287. 
 
 3 This and the three next stanzas allude to the story of the 
 Roman daughter, which is recalled to the traveller by the site, 
 or pretended site, of that adventure, now shown at the church ol .. 
 St. Nicholas in Carcere. The difficulties attendingthe full belief 
 of the tale ar- stated in "IIis'oric.,1 Illustrations," p. 295.
 
 23C CIIILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, 
 Where on the heart and from the heart we took 
 Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, 
 Blest into mother, in the innocent look, 
 Or even the piping cry of lips that brook 
 No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives 
 Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook 
 She sees her little bud put forth its leaves 
 What may the fruit be yet ? I know not Cain was 
 Eve's. 
 
 CL. 
 
 But here youth offers to old age the food, 
 
 The milk of his own gift : it is her sire 
 
 To whom she renders back the debt of blood 
 
 Born with her birth. No ; he shall not expire 
 
 While in those warm and lovely veins the fire 
 
 Of health and holy feeling can provide 
 
 Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises 
 
 higher 
 
 Than Egypt's river : from that gentle side 
 Drink, drink and live, old man! Heaven's realm 
 
 holds no such tide. 
 
 CLI. 
 
 The slarry fable of the milky way 
 
 Has not thy story's purity ; it is 
 
 A constellation of a sweeter ray, 
 
 And sacred Nature triumphs more in this 
 
 Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss 
 
 Where sparkle distant worlds : Oh, holiest 
 
 nurse ! 
 
 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.
 
 CANTO IV. P I L G R I M A (? E. '237 
 
 CLII. 
 
 Turn to the mole which Hadrian rear'd on high, 1 
 Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, 
 Colossal copyist of deformity, 
 Whose travell'd fantasy from the far Nile's 
 Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils 
 To build for giants, and for his vain earth, 
 His shrunken ashes, raise this dome: How smiles 
 The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth, 
 To view the huge design which sprung from such a 
 birth! 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 But^lojjthe_dojsx tne vast ar >d wondrous dome,* 
 To which Diana's marvel was a cell 
 Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! 
 I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle 
 Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell 
 The hyaena and the jackal in their shade ; 
 I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell 
 Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have sur- 
 
 vey'd 
 
 Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem 
 pray'd; 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 Rut thou, of temples old, or altars new, 
 Standest alone with nothing like to thee 
 Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. 
 Since Zion's desolation, when that He 
 Forsook his former city, what could be, 
 
 1 The castle of St. Angelo. See "Historical Illustrations." 
 a This and the six next stanzas have a reference to the church 
 of St. Peter's. For a measurement of the comparative length of 
 this basilica and the other great churches of Europe, see the 
 pavement of St. Peter's, and the Classical Tour through Italy, 
 vol. ii. p. 125, et seq. ch. iv.
 
 238 CH1LDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 Of earthly structures, in his honour piled, 
 Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, 
 Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
 In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 
 
 CLV. 
 
 Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; 1 
 And why? it is not lessen'd ; but thy mind, 
 Expanded by the genius of the spot, 
 Has grown colossal, and can only find 
 A fit abode wherein appear enshrined 
 Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou 
 Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, 
 See thy God face to face, as thou dost now 
 His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. 
 
 1 ["I remember very well," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, "my 
 own disappointment when I first visited the Vatican ; but on con- 
 fessing my feelings to a brother student, of whose ingenuousness I 
 had a high opinion, he acknowledged that the works of Raphael had 
 the same effect on him, or rather that they did not produce the effect 
 which he expected. This was a great relief to my mind ; and, on 
 inquiring further of other students, I found that those persons only 
 who, from natural imbecility, appeared to be incapable of relishing 
 those divine performances, made pretensions to instantaneous 
 raptures on first behold ing them. My not relishing them as I was 
 conscious I ought to have done, was one of the most humiliating 
 circumstances that ever happened to me; I found myself in the 
 midst of works executed upon principles with which I was unac- 
 quainted : I felt my ignorance, and stood abashed. All the undi- 
 gested notions of painting wiiieklhad brought with me from Eng- 
 land, where the art was in the lowest state it had ever been in, 
 were to be totally done away and eradicated from my mind. It 
 was necessary, as it is expressed on a very solemn occasion, that I 
 should become as a little child. Notwithstanding my disappoint- 
 ment, I proceeded to copy some of those excellent works. I 
 viewed them again and again; I even affected to feel their merit 
 and admire them more than I really did. In a short time, a new 
 taste and a new perception began to dawn upon me, and I was 
 convinced that I had originally formed a false opinion of the per- 
 fection of the art, and that this great painter was well entitled to 
 the high rank which he holds in the admiration of the world."]
 
 CANTO IV. P I L G R I M A G E. S39 
 
 CLVI. 
 
 Thou movest but increasing with the advance, 
 Like climbing some great Alp, which still dotb 
 
 rise, 
 
 Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; 
 Vastness which grows but grows to harmonize- 
 All musical in its immensities; 
 Rich marbles richer painting shrines when. 
 
 flame 
 
 The lamps of gold and haughty dome which vies 
 In air with earth's chief structures, though their 
 
 frame 
 Sits on the firm-set ground and this the clouds must 
 
 claim. 
 
 CLVII. 
 
 Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break, 
 To separate contemplation, the great whole ; 
 And as the ocean many bays will make, 
 That ask the eye so here condense thy soul 
 \ To more immediate objects, and control 
 I Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart 
 \ Its eloquent proportions, and unroll 
 In mighty graduations, part by part, 
 
 glory which at once upon thee did not dart, 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 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 
 Oar spirits to the size of that they contemplate.
 
 940 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 Then pause, and be enlighten'd ; there is more 
 In such a survey than the sating gaze 
 Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 
 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 
 Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions 
 
 can. 
 
 CLX. 
 
 Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
 Laocoon's torture dignifying pain 
 A father's love and mortal's agony 
 With an immortal's patience blending: Vain 
 The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain 
 And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, 
 The old man r s clench; the long envenom'd chain 
 Rivets the living links, the enormous asp 
 Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. 
 
 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 brow 
 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 
 And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, 
 Developing in that one glance the deity.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 311 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 But in his delicate form a dream of Love, 
 Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
 Long'd for a deathless lover from above, 
 And madden'd in that vision are exprest 
 All that ideal beauty ever blest 
 The mind with in its most unearthly mood, 
 When eacli conception was a heavenly guest 
 A ray of immortality and stood, 
 Starlike, around, until they gather'd to a god ! 
 
 CLXIII. 
 
 And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven 
 The fire 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. 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, 
 The being who upheld it through the past ? 
 Methinks he cometh late and tarries long. 
 He is no more these bieathings are his last ; 
 His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, 
 And he himself as nothing : if he was 
 Aught but a fantasy, and could be class'd 
 With forms which live and suffer let that 
 
 pass 
 
 His shadow Aides away into Destruction's mass, 
 21
 
 242 CH1LDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 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 tho 
 
 cloud 
 
 Between us sinks and all which ever glovv'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, 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 And send us prying into the abyss, 
 To gather what we shall be when the frame 
 Shall be resolved to something less than this 
 Its wretched essence ; and to dream of fame, 
 And wipe the dust from off the idle name 
 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, 
 A long low distant murmur of dread sound, 
 Such as arises when a nation bleeds 
 With some deep and immedicable wound ; 
 Through storm and darkness yawns the rending 
 
 ground, 
 
 The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief 
 Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd, 
 And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief 
 She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 243 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? 
 Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? 
 Could not thy grave forget thee, and lay low 
 Some less majestic, less beloved head ? 
 In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, 
 The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, 
 Death hush'd that pang for ever : with thee fled 
 The present happiness and promised joy 
 Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to 
 cloy. 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 Peasants bring forth in safety. Can it be, 
 
 Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored ! 
 
 Those who weep not for kings shall weep for 
 
 thee, 
 And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to 
 
 hoard 
 
 Her many griefs for ONE ; for she had pour'd 
 Her orison 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 ! 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; 
 Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust 
 The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, 
 The love of millions ! How we did intrust 
 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 
 Like stars to shepherds' eyes: 'twas ^ut a meteor 
 beam'd.
 
 U41 CHJLDE H.ARO.MD'S CANTO IV 
 
 CLXXI; 
 
 Woe unto us, not her; 1 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'erstung 
 Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate 2 
 Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath 
 
 flung 
 
 Against their blind omnipotence a weight 
 Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or 
 
 late, 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 These might have been her destiny ; but no, 
 Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair, 
 Good without effort, great without a foe : 
 But now a bride and mother and now there ! 
 How many ties did that stern moment tear ! 
 From thy sire's to his humblest subject's breast 
 Is link'd the electric chain of that despair, 
 Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest 
 The land which loved thee so that none could love 
 thee best. 
 
 1 [" The death of the Princess Charlotte has been a shock even 
 here, (Venice,) and must have been an earthquake at home. The 
 fate of this poor girl is melancholy in every respect; dying at 
 twenty or so, in childbed of a boy too, a present princess and 
 future queen, and just as she began to be happy, and to enjoy 
 herself, and the hopes which she inspired. I feel sorry in every 
 respect." Byron Letters.] 
 
 9 Mary died on the scaffold; Elizabeth of a broken heart; 
 Charles "V. a hermit; Louis XIV. a bankrupt in means and 
 ^lory; Cromwell of anxiety; and, "the greatest is behind," Na- 
 poleon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but super- 
 fluous list might be added of names equally illustrious and 
 unhappy.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 245 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 
 Lo, Nemi ! l navell'd in the woody hills 
 So far, that the uprooting wind which tears 
 The oak from his foundation, and which spills 
 The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears 
 Its form 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 naught can shake, 
 All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the 
 snake. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 And near Albano'g scarce divided waves 
 Shine from a sister valley ; and afar 
 The 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 right 
 Tally reposed from Rome ; and where yon bar 
 Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight, 
 The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's de- 
 light. 3 
 
 1 The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of Egeria, 
 and, from the shades which embosomed the temple of Diana, has 
 preserved to this day its distinctive appellation of The Grove. 
 Nemi is but an evening's ride from the comfortable inn of 
 Albano. 
 
 The whole declivity 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 this stanza; the Mediterranean; the wholo 
 scene of the latter half of the ^Eneid, and the coast from beyond 
 the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circaeum and the Cape 
 of Terracina. See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. XXXT 
 3**
 
 246 C HI LDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 But I forget. My Pilgrim's shrine is won, 
 And he and I must part, so let it be, 
 His task and mine alike are nearly done ; 
 Yet once more let us look upon the sea ; 
 The midland ocean breaks on him and me, 
 And from the Alban Mount we now behold 
 Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we 
 Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold 
 Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxino 
 roll'd 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 Upon the blue Symplegades : long years 
 Long, though not very many, since have done 
 Their work on both ; some suffering and some 
 
 tears 
 
 Have left us nearly where we had begun : 
 Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, 
 We have had our reward and it is here ; 
 That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun, 
 And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear 
 As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 Oh ! that the desert were my dwelling-place, 
 With one fair spirit for my minister, 
 That I might all forget the human race, 
 And, hating no one, love but only her ! 
 Ye elements ! in whose ennobling stir 
 I feel myself exalted Can ye not 
 Accord me such a being ? Do I err 
 In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? 
 Though with them to converse can rarely be OUT 
 lot.
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 247 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
 There is society, where none intrudes, 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 
 I love not man the less, but nature more, 
 From these our interviews, in which I steal 
 From all I may be, or have been before, 
 To mingle with the universe, and feel 
 What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean roll ! 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin his control 
 Stops with 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 thy depths with bubbling groan, 
 Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and un- 
 known. 
 
 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 
 
 For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
 Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
 And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 
 And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 
 His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
 And dashest him again to earth: there let him lay.
 
 248 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 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 mar 
 Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save 
 
 thee 
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are 
 
 they? 1 
 
 Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 
 And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
 The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
 Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou, 
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 
 
 1 [When Lord Byron wrote this stanza, he had, no doubt, the 
 following passage in Boswell's Johnson floating on his mind : 
 " Dining one day with General Paoli, and talking of his projected 
 journey to Italy, ' A man,' said Johnson, who has not been in 
 Italy, is always conscious of an inferiority, from his not having 
 seen what it is expected a man should see. The grand object of all 
 travelling is to see the shores of the Mediterranean. On those 
 shores were the four great empires of the world ; the Assyrian, 
 the Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman. All our religion, 
 almost all our law, almost all our arts, almost all that sets us 
 above savages, has come to us from the shores of the Mediterra- 
 nean.' The general observed, that ' The Mediterranean' would 
 he a noble subject for a poem." Lift of Johnson, vol. v. p. 154, 
 ed. 183.-O
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 849 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty'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 
 Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 And I have loved thee, ocean I 1 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. 
 
 1 ["This passagfe would, perhaps, be read without emotion, if 
 we did not know that Lord Byron was here describing his actual 
 feelings and habits, and that this was an unaffected picture of his 
 propensities and amusements even from childhood, when he 
 listened to the roar, and watched the bursts of the northern ocean 
 on the tempestuous shores of Aberdee-nshireT It was a fearful 
 and violent change atthe age often yearstoDe separated from this 
 congenial solitude, this independence so suited to his haughty 
 and contemplative spirit, this rude grandeur of nature, and 
 thrown among the mere worldly-minded and selfish ferocity, the 
 affected polish and repelling coxcombry, of a great public school. 
 How many thousand times did the moody, sullen, and indignant 
 boy wish himself back to the keen air and boisterous billows that 
 broke lonely upon the simple and soul-invigorating haunts of his 
 childhood ! How did he prefer some ghost-story ; some tale of 
 second-sight ; some relation of Robin Hood's feats; some Karrow. ~
 
 250' CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO IV. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 My task is done 1 my song hath ceased my theme 
 Has died into an echo ; it is fit 
 The spell should break of this protracted dream. 
 The torch shall be extinguish'^ which hath lit 
 My midnight lamp and what is writ, is writ : 
 
 ing narrative of buccaneer-exploits, to all of Horace, and Virgil, 
 and Homer, that was dinned into his repulsive spirit! To the 
 shock of this change is, I suspe'ct, to be traced much oftheeccen- 
 tricity of Lord Byron's future life. This fourth Canto is the 
 fruit of a mind which had stored itself with great care and toil, 
 and had digested with profound reflection and intense vigour what 
 it had learned : the sentiments are net such as lie on the surface, 
 but could only be awakened by long meditation. Whoever reads 
 it, and is not impressed with the many grand virtues as well as 
 gigantic powers of the mind that wrote it, seems to me to afford 
 a proof both of insensibility of heart, and great stupidity of intel- 
 lect." SIR E. BRYDGES.] 
 
 1 [" It was a thought worthy of the great spirit of Byron, after 
 exhibiting to us his Pilgrim amidst all the most striking scenes of 
 earthly grandeur and earthly decay, after teaching us, like him, 
 to sicken over the mutability, and vanity, and emptiness of human 
 U'reatnoss, to conduct him and us at last to the borders of " the 
 Great Deep." It is there that we may perceive an image, of the 
 awful and unchangeable abyss of eternity, into whose bosom so 
 much 1ms sunk, and all shall one day sink, ofMhat i-ternity 
 wherein the scorn and contempt of man, and the melancholy <>f 
 groat, and the fretting of little minds, shall be at rest for ever. 
 No one, but a true poet of man and of nature, would have dared to 
 frame such a termination for such a Pilgrimage. The image of 
 the wanderer may well be associated, for a time, with the rock of 
 Calpe, the shattered temples of Athens, or the gigantic fragments 
 of Rome ; but when we wish to think of this dark personification 
 as of a thing which is, where can we so well imagine him to have 
 his daily haunt as by the roaring of the waves ? It was thus that 
 Homer represented Achilles in his moments of ungovernable and 
 inconsolable grief for the loss of Patroclus. It was thus he chose 
 to depict the paternal despair of Chriseus 
 
 Bfj 3' dxeitiv icapa Iva T;o\v$\oia$Qio Sa^daartf." 
 
 WILSON.]
 
 CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 251 
 
 Would it were worthier ! but I am not now < 
 That which I have been and my visions flit J 
 Less palpably before me and the glow 
 Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low. 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been 
 A sound which makes us linger ; yet farewell 
 Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene 
 Which is his last, if in your memories dwell 
 A thought which once was his, if on ye swell 
 A single recollection, not in vain 
 He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell ; 
 Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, 
 If such there were with you, the moral of his strain.
 
 Jl
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 ci

 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO II. 
 
 Note [A]. REMOVAL OF THE WORKS OF ART FROM ATHENS. 
 See p. 75. 
 
 " To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath spared" 
 
 Stanza xii. line 2. 
 
 AT this moment, (January 3, 1810,) besides what has been al- 
 ready deposited in London, a Hydriot vessel is in the Pyraeus 
 to receive every portable relic. Thus, as I heard a young Greek 
 observe, in common with many of his countrymen for, lost as 
 they are, they yet feel on this occasion thus may Lord Elgin 
 boast of having ruined Athens. An Italian painter of the first 
 eminence, named Lusieri, is the agent of devastation ; and like 
 the Greek finder of Verres in Sicily, who followed the same pro- 
 fession, he has proved the able instrument of plunder. Between 
 this artist and the French Consul Fauvel, who wishes to rescue 
 the remains for his own government, there is now a violent dis- 
 pute concerning a car employed in their conveyance, the wheel 
 of which I wish they were both broken upon it! has been 
 locked up by the consul, and Lusieri has laid his complaint be- 
 fore the waywode. Lord Elgin has been extremely happy in his 
 choice of Signor Lusieri. During a residence of ten years in 
 Athens, he never had the curiosity to proceed as far as Sunium, 
 (now Cape Colonna,) till he accompanied us in our second ex 
 cursion. However, his works, as far as they go, are most beau- 
 tiful: but they are almost all -'nfinished. While he and his 
 patrons confine themselves to tasting medals, appreciating 
 cameos, sketching columns, and cheapening gems, their little 
 absurdities are as harmless as insect or fox-hunting, maiden 
 speechifying, barouche-driving, or any such pastime; but when 
 they carry away three or four shiploads of the most valuable and 
 
 255
 
 25G A P P E N D I X. 
 
 massy relics that time and barbarism have left to the most in- 
 jured and most celebrated of cities ; when they destroy, in a 
 vain attempt to tear down, those works which have been the ad- 
 miration of ages, I know no motive which can excuse, no name 
 which can designate, the perpetrators of this dastardly devasta- 
 tion. It was not the least of the crimes laid to the charge of 
 Verres, that he had plundered Sicily, in the manner since imi- 
 tated at Athens. The most unblushing impudence could hardly 
 go farther than to affix the name of its plunderer to the walls of 
 the Acropolis ; while the wanton and useless defacement of the 
 whole range of the basso-relievos, in one compartment of the 
 temple, will never permit that name to be pronounced by an ob- 
 server without execration. 
 
 On this occasion I speak impartially : I am not a collector or 
 admirer of collections, consequently no rival ; but I have some 
 early prepossession in favour of Greece, and do not think the 
 honour of England advanced by plunder, whether of India or 
 Attica. 
 
 Another noble lord has done better, because he has done less: 
 but some others, more or less noble, yet " all honourable men," 
 have done best, because, after a deal of excavation and execra- 
 tion, bribery to the waywode, mining and countermining, they 
 have done nothing at all. We had such ink-shed, and wine- 
 shed, which almost ended in bloodshed! Lord E.'s "prig" 
 see Jonathan Wild for the definition of " priggism" quarrelled 
 with another, Gropius* by name, (a very good name too for his 
 business,) and muttered something about satisfaction, in a verbal 
 answer to a note of the poor Prussian : this was stated at table 
 to Gropius, who laughed, but could eat no dinner afterwards. 
 The rivals were not reconciled when I left Greece. I have 
 reason to remember their squabble, for they wanted to make me 
 their arbitrator. 
 
 * This Sr. Gropius was employed by a noble lord for the sole purpose of 
 sketching, in which he excels; but I am sorry to say, that he has, through the 
 abused sanction of that most respectable name, been treading at humble dis- 
 tance in the steps of Sr. Lusieri. A shipful of his trophies was detained, and 
 I believe confiscated, at Constantinople, in 1810. I am most happy to be now 
 enabled to state, that "this was not in his bond ;" that he was employed solely 
 as a p.-uiiter, and that his noble patron disavows all connection with him, ex- 
 cept as an artist. If the error in the first and second edition of this poem has 
 given the noble lord a moment's pain, I am very sorry for it : Sr. Gropius has 
 assumed for years the name of his agent; and though I cannot much condemn 
 myself for sharing in the mistake of so many, I am happy in being one of the 
 first to be undeceived. Indeed, I have as much pleasure in contradicting thu 
 as I felt regret in stating it. Jfote to third edition.
 
 APPENDIX. 257 
 
 Note [B]. ALBANIA AND THE ALBANIANS. See p. 85. 
 
 " Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes 
 On ikee, thou rugged nurse of savage men!" 
 
 Stanza xxxvii. lines 5 and 6. 
 
 Albania comprises part of Macedonia, Illyria, Chaonia, and 
 Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish word for Alexander; and the 
 celebrated Scanderbeg (Lord Alexander) is alluded to in the third 
 and fourth lines of the thirty-eighth stanza. I do not know 
 whether I am correct in making Scanderbeg the countryman of 
 Alexander, who was born at Pella in Macedon, but Mr. Gibbon 
 terms him so, and adds Pyrrhus to the list, in speaking of his 
 exploits. 
 
 Of Albania, Gibbon remarks, that a country " within sight of 
 Italy is less known than the interior of America." Circum- 
 stances, of little consequence to mention, led Mr. Hobhouse and 
 myself into that country before we visited any other part of the 
 Ottoman dominions; and with the exception of Major Leake, 
 then officially resident at Joannina, no other Englishmen have 
 ever advanced beyond the capital into the interior, as that gen- 
 tleman very lately assured me. AH Pasha was at that time 
 (October, 1809) carrying on war against Ibrahim Pasha, whom 
 he had driven to Berat, a strong fortress, which he was then be- 
 sieging : on our arrival at Joannina we were invited to Tepaleni, 
 his highness's birth-place, and favourite serai, only one day's 
 distance from Berat ; at this juncture the vizier had made it his 
 head-quarters. After some stay in the capital, we accordingly 
 followed ; but though furnished with every accommodation, and 
 escorted by one of the vizier's secretaries, we were nine days 
 (on account of the rains) in accomplishing a journey which, on 
 our return, barely occupied four. On our route we passed two 
 cities, Argyrocastro and Libochabo, apparently little inferior to 
 Yanina in size ; and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to the 
 scenery in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, the frontier vil- 
 lage of Epirus and Albania Proper. 
 
 On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling to descant, be- 
 cause this will be done so much better by my fellow-traveller, in 
 a work which may probably precede this in publication, that I 
 as little wish to follow as I would to anticipate him. But some 
 few observations are necessary to the text. The Arnaouts, or 
 Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the High- 
 landers of Scotland, in dress, figure, and manner of living. 
 Their very mountains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. 
 
 22*
 
 258 APPENDIX. 
 
 The kilt, though \rhite; the spare, active form; their dialect, 
 Celtic in its sound, and their hardy habits, all carried me back 
 to Morven. No nation are so detested and dreaded by their 
 neighbours as the Albanese ; the Greeks hardly regard them as 
 Christians, or the Turks as Moslems; and in fact they are a 
 mixture of both, and sometimes neither. Their habits are pre- 
 datory all are armed ; and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Mon- 
 tenegrins, Chimariots, and Gegdes, are treacherous ; the others 
 differ somewhat in garb, and essentially in character. As far as 
 my own experience goes, I can speak favourably. I was at- 
 tended by two, an Infidel and a Mussulman, to Constantinople 
 and every other part of Turkey which came within my observa- 
 tion ; and more faithful in peril, or indefatigable in service, are 
 rarely to be found. The Infidel was named Basilius, the Mos- 
 lem, Dervish Tahiri ; the former a man of middle age, and the 
 latter about my own. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pasha 
 in person to attend us ; and Dervish was one of fifty who ac- 
 companied us through the forests of Acarnania to the banks of 
 Achelous, and onward to Messalonghi in j^Etolia. There I icok 
 him into my own service, and never had occasion to repent it till 
 the moment of my departure. 
 
 When, in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mr. Hob- 
 house for England, I was seized with a severe fever in the Morea, 
 these men saved my life by frightening away my physician, 
 whose throat they threatened to cut if I was not cured within a 
 given time. To this consolatory assurance of posthumous retri- 
 bution, and a resolute refusal of Dr. Romanelli's prescriptions, 
 I attributed my recovery. I had left my last remaining English 
 servant at Athens ; my dragoman was as ill as myself, and my 
 poor Arnaouts nursed me with an attention which would have 
 done honour to civilization. They had a variety of adventures, 
 for the Moslem, Dervish, being a remarkably handsome man, 
 was always squabbling with the husbands of Athens ; insomuch 
 that four of the principal Turks paid me a visit of remonstrance 
 at the convent, on the subject of his having taken a woman from 
 the bath whom he had lawfully bought, however a thing 
 quite contrary to etiquette. Basili also was extremely gallant 
 amongst his own persuasion, and had the greatest veneration for 
 the church, mixed with the highest contempt of churchmen, 
 whom he cuffed upon occasion in a most heterodox manner. 
 Yet he never passed a church without crossing himself; and I 
 lemember the risk he ran in entering St. Sophia, in Stambol, be 
 cause it had once been a place of his worship. On remonstra*-
 
 APPENDIX. 259 
 
 ing with him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably an- 
 swered, " Our church is holy, our priests are thieves ;" and then 
 he crossed himself as usual, and boxed the ears of the first 
 " papas" who refused to assist in any required operation, as was 
 always found to be necessary where a priest had any influence 
 with the Cogia Bashi of his village. Indeed, a more abandoned 
 race of miscreants cannot exist than the lower orders of the 
 Greek clergy. 
 
 When preparations were made for my return, my Albanians 
 were summoned to receive their pay. Basili took his with an 
 awkward show of regret at my intended departure, and marched 
 away to his quarters with his bag of piastres. I sent for Der- 
 vish, but for some time he was not to be found ; at last he en- 
 tered, just as Signor Logotheti, father to the ci-devant Anglo- 
 consul of Athens, and some other of my Greek acquaintances, 
 paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, but on a sudden 
 dashed it to the ground; and clasping his hands, which he 
 raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room weeping bitterly. 
 From that moment to the hour of my embarkation, he continued 
 his lamentations, and all our efforts to console him only producd 
 this answer, "M" a<j>tt>ct," "He leaves me." Signor Logotheti, 
 who never wept before for any thing less than the loss of a para, 
 (about the fourth of a farthing,) melted ; the padre of the con- 
 vent, my attendants, my visitors and I verily believe that even 
 Sterne's " foolish fat scullion" would have left her " fish-kettle" 
 to sympathize with the unaffected and unexpected sorrow of this 
 barbarian. 
 
 For my own part, when I remembered that, a short time be- 
 fore my departure from England, a noble and most intimate asso- 
 ciate had excused himself from taking leave of me because he 
 had to attend a relation " to a milliner's," I felt no less sur- 
 prised than humiliated by the present occurrence and the past 
 recollection. That Dervish would leave me with some regret 
 was to be expected : when master and man have been scram- 
 bling over the mountains of a dozen provinces together, they are 
 unwilling to separate ; but his present feelings, contrasted with 
 his native ferocity, improved my opinion of the human heart. I 
 believe this almost feudal fidelity is frequent amongst them. 
 One day, on our journey over Parnassus, an Englishman in my 
 service gave him a push in some dispute about the baggage, 
 which he unluckily mistook for a blow; he spoke not, but sa- 
 down leaning his head upon his hands. Foreseeing the conse- 
 quences, we endeavoured to explain away the affront, which
 
 260 APPENDIX. 
 
 produced the following answer: "I have been a robber; I 
 soldier; no captain ever struck me; you are my master, I have 
 eaten your bread, but by that bread ! (an usual oath) had it been 
 otherwise, I would have stabbed the dog your servant, and gone 
 to the mountains." So the affair ended, but from that day for- 
 ward he never thoroughly forgave the thoughtless fellow who 
 insulted him. Dervish excelled in the dance of his country, 
 conjectured to be a remnant of the ancient Pyrrhic : be that as 
 it may, it is manly, and requires wonderful agility. It is very 
 distinct from the slupid llomaika, the dull round-about of the 
 Greeks, of which our Athenian party had so many specimens. 
 
 The Albanians in general (I do not mean the cultivators of 
 the earth in the provinces, who have also that appellation, but 
 the mountaineers) have a fine cast of countenance ; and the most 
 beautiful women I ever beheld, in stature and in features, we 
 saw levelling the road broken down by the torrents between 
 Delvinachi and Libochabo. Their manner of walking is 
 truly theatrical ; but this strut is probably the effect of the ca- 
 pote, or cloak, depending from one shoulder. Their long hair 
 reminds you of the Spartans, and their courage in desultory 
 warfare is unquestionable. Though they have some cavalry 
 amongst the Gegdes, I never saw a good Arnaout horseman ; 
 my own preferred the English saddles, which, however, they 
 could never keep. But on foot they are not to be subdued by 
 fatigue. 
 
 Note [C.] SPECIMEN OF THE ALBANIAN OR ARNAOUT DIA- 
 LECT OF THE ILLYRIC. See p. 100. 
 
 " While, thus in concert" $~c. 
 
 Stanza Ixxii. 
 
 As a specimen of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect of the Illy- 
 ric, I here insert two of their most popular choral songs, which 
 are generally chanted in dancing by men or women indiscrimi 
 nately. The first words are merely a kind of chorus without 
 meaning, like some in our own and all other languages. 
 
 1. Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, 1. Lo, Lo, I come, I come ; be 
 Naciarura, popuso. thou silent. 
 
 2. Naciarura na civin 2. I come, I run ; open the door 
 Ha pen derini ti bin that I may enter.
 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 2G1 
 
 3. Ha pe uderi escrotini 
 Ti vin ti mar servetirii. 
 
 4. Caliriote me surme 
 Ea ha pe pse dua tive. 
 
 5. Buo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, 
 
 Gi egem spirta esimiro. 
 
 6. Caliriote vu le funde 
 Ede vete tunde tunde. 
 
 7. Caliriote me surme 
 Ti mi put e poi mi le. 
 
 8. Se ti puta citi mora 
 
 Si mi ri ni veti udo gia. 
 
 9. Va le ni il che cadale 
 Celo more, more celo. 
 
 10. Plu hari ti tirete 
 
 Plu huron cai pra seti. 
 
 3. Open the door by halves, that 
 I may take my turban. 
 
 4. Caliriotes* with the dark 
 
 eyes, open the gate that I 
 may enter. 
 
 5. Lo, Lo, I hear thee, my 
 
 soul. 
 
 6. An Arnaout girl, in costly 
 
 garb, walks with graceful 
 pride. 
 
 7. Caliriot maid of the dark 
 
 eyes, give me a kiss. 
 
 8. If I have kissed thee, what 
 
 hast thou gained 1 My soul 
 is consumed with fire. 
 
 9. Dance lightly, more gently, 
 
 and gently still. 
 
 10. Make not so much dust to 
 destroy your embroidered 
 hose. 
 
 The last stanza would puzzle a commentator: the men have 
 certainly buskins of the most beautiful texture, but the ladies 
 (to whom the above is supposed to be addressed) have nothing 
 under their little yellow boots and slippers but a well-turned and 
 sometimes very white ankle. The Arnaout girls are much 
 handsomer than the Greeks, and their dress is far more pictur- 
 esque. They preserve their shape much longer also, from being 
 always in the open air. It is to be observed, that the Arnaout 
 is not a written language : the words of this song, therefore, as 
 well as the one which follows, are spelt according to their pro- 
 nunciation. They are copied by one who speaks and under- 
 stands the dialect perfectly, and who is a native of Athens. 
 
 1. Ndi sefda tinde ulavossa 1. 1 am wounded by thy love, and 
 Vettimi upri vi lofsa. have loved but to scorch 
 
 myself. 
 
 2. Ah vaisisso mi privo lofse 2. Thou hast consumed me! Ah, 
 Si mi rini mi la vosse. maid ! thou hast struck me 
 
 to the heart. 
 
 *The Alhanese, particularly the women, are frequently termed "Call 
 lotes;" for what reason I inquired in vain.
 
 2C2 APPENDIX. 
 
 3. Uti tasa roba stua 3. 1 have said I wish no dowry, 
 Sitti eve tulati dua. but thine eyes and eyelashes. 
 
 4. Roba stinori ssidua 4. The accursed dowry I want 
 Qu mi sini vetti dua. not, but thee only. 
 
 5. Qurmini dua civileni 5. Give me thy charms, and le* 
 Roba ti siarmi tildi eni. the portion feed the flames 
 
 G. Utara pisa vaisisso me 6. I have loved thee, maid, with 
 
 simi rin ti hapti a sincere soul, butthou hast 
 
 Eti mi hire a piste si gui left me like a withered tree. 
 
 dendroi tiltati. 
 
 7. Udivuraudoriniudiricico- 7. If I have placed my hand on 
 
 va cilti mora thy bosom, what have I 
 
 Udorini talti hollna u ede gained 1 my hand is with- 
 
 caimoni mora. drawn, but retains the flame. 
 
 I believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a different measure, 
 ought to belong to another ballad. An idea something similar to 
 the thought in the last lines was expressed by Socrates, whose 
 arm having come in contact with one of his " vnwoATioi," Crito- 
 bulus or Cleobulus, the philosopher complained of a shooting 
 pain as far as his shoulder for some days after, and therefore very 
 properly resolved to teach his disciples in future without touch- 
 ing them. 
 
 Note [D.] THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT STATE OF GREECE. 
 See p. 103. 
 
 " Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! 
 Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, great /' 
 
 Stanza Ixxiii. 
 I. 
 
 Before I say any thing about a city of which everybody, tra- 
 veller or not, has thought it necessary to say something, I will 
 request Miss Owenson, when she next borrows an Athenian 
 heroine for her four volumes, to have the goodness to marry her 
 to somebody more of a gentleman than a " Disdar Aga," (who, by- 
 the-by, is not an Aga,) the most impolite of petty officers, the 
 greatest patron of larceny Athens ever saw, (except Lord E.,J 
 and the unworthy occupant of the Acropolis, on a handsome 
 annual stipend of 150 piastres, (eight pounds sterling,) out of 
 which he has only to pay his garrison, the most ill-regulated
 
 APPENDIX. 263 
 
 corps in the ill-regulated Ottoman Empire. I speak it tenderly, 
 seeing I was once the cause of the husband of "Ida of Athens" 
 nearly suffering the bastinado ; and because the said " Disdar" 
 is a turbulent husband, and beats his wife; so that I exhort and 
 beseech Miss Owenson to sue for a separate maintenance in 
 behalf of " Ida." Having premised thus much, on a matter of 
 such import to the readers of romances, I may now leave Ida, to 
 mention her birthplace. 
 
 Setting aside the magic of the name, and all those associations 
 which it would be pedantic and superfluous to recapitulate, the 
 very situation of Athens would render it the favourite of all who 
 have eyes for art or nature. The climate, to me at least, appeared 
 a perpetual spring ; during eight months I never passed a day 
 without being as many hours on horseback : rain is extremely 
 rare, snow never lies in the plains, and a cloudy day is an agree- 
 able rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of the East 
 which I visited, except Ionia and Attica, I perceived no such 
 superiority of climate to our own ; and at Constantinople, where 
 I passed May, June, and part of July, (1810,) youmight "damn 
 the climate, and complain of spleen," five days out of seven. 
 
 The air of the Morea is heavy and unwholesome, but the mo- 
 ment you pass the isthmus in the direction of Megara, the change 
 is strikingly perceptible. But I fear Hesiod will still be found 
 correct in his description of a Boeotian winter. 
 
 We found at Livadia an " esprit fort" in a Greek bishop, of all 
 freethinkers ! This worthy hypocrite rallied his own religion with 
 great intrepidity, (but not before his flock,) and talked of a mass 
 as a " coglioneria." It was impossible to think better of him for 
 this ; but, for a Boeotian, he was brisk with all his absurdity. 
 This phenomenon (with the exception indeed of Thebes, the 
 remains of Chseronea, the plain of Platea, Orchomenus, Livadia, 
 and its nominal cave of Trophonius) was the only remarkable 
 thing we saw before we passed Mount Cithaeron. 
 
 The fountain of Dirce turns a mill : at least my companion 
 (who, resolving to be at once cleanly and classical, bathed in it) 
 pronounced it to be the fountain of Dirce, and anybody who thinks 
 it worth while may contradict him. At Castri we drank of half 
 a dozen streamlets, some none of the purest, before we decided to 
 our satisfaction which was the true Castalian, and even that had 
 a villanous twang, probably from the snow, though it did not 
 throw us into an epic fever, like poor Dr. Chandler. 
 
 From Fort Phyle, of which large remains still exist, the Plain 
 of Athens, Pentelicus, Hymettus, the^gean, and the Acropo.is,
 
 261 APPENDIX. 
 
 _ 
 
 burst upon the eye at once; in my opinion, a more glorious pros- 
 pect than even Cintra or Istambol. Not the view from the 
 Troad, with Ida, the Hellespont, and the more distant Mount 
 Athos, can equal it, though so superior in extent. 
 
 I heard much of the beauty of Arcadia, but excepting the view 
 from the monastery of Megaspelion, (which is inferior to Zitza in 
 a command of country,) and the descent from the mountains on 
 the way from Tripolitza to Argos, Arcadia has little to recom- 
 mend it beyond the name. 
 
 " Sternitur, et dukes moriens reminiscitur Argos." 
 
 Virgil could have put this into the mouth of none but an Argive, 
 and (with reverence be it spoken,) it does not deserve the epithet. 
 And if the Polynices of Statius, " In mediis audit duo litora cam- 
 pis," did actually hear both shores in crossing the isthmus of 
 Corinth, he had better ears than have ever been worn in such a 
 journey since. 
 
 " Athens," says a celebrated topographer, " is still the most 
 polished city of Greece." Perhaps it may of Greece, but not of 
 the Greeks ; for Joanninain Epirus is universally allowed, amongst 
 themselves, to be superior in the wealth, refinement, learning, 
 and dialect of its inhabitants. The Athenians are remarkable 
 for their cunning ; and the lower orders are not improperly cha- 
 racterized in that proverb, which classes them with " the Jews of 
 Salonica, and the Turks of the Negropont." 
 
 Among the various foreigners resident in Athens, French, Ita- 
 lians, Germans, Ragusans, &c., there was never a difference of 
 opinion in their estimate of the Greek character, though on all 
 other topics they disputed with great acrimony. 
 
 M. Fauvel, the French consul, who has passed thirty years 
 principally at Athens, and to whose talents as an artist, and man- 
 ners as a gentleman, none who have known him can refuse their 
 testimony, has frequently declared in my hearing, that the Greeks 
 do not deserve to be emancipated ; reasoning on the grounds of 
 their " national and individual depravity !" while he forgot that 
 such depravity is to be attributed to causes which can only be 
 removed by the measure he reprobates. 
 
 M. Roque, a French merchant of respectability long settled in 
 Athens, asserted with the most amusing gravity, " Sir, they are 
 the same caiuiille that existed in the days of Themistccks .'" an 
 alarming remark to the " Laudator temporis acti." The ancienls 
 banished Themistocles; the moderns cheat Monsieur Roque: 
 thus great men have ever been treated !
 
 APPENDIX. 265 
 
 In short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and most of tho 
 Englishmen, Germans, Danes, &c. of passage, came over by de- 
 grees to their opinion, on much the same grounds that a Turk in 
 England would condemn the nation by wholesale, because he 
 was wronged by his lacquey, and overcharged by his washer- 
 woman. 
 
 Certainly it was not a little staggering when the Sieurs Fau- 
 vel and Lusiera, the two greatest demagogues of the day, who 
 divide between them the power of Pericles and the popularity of 
 Cleon, and puzzle the poor waywode with perpetual differences, 
 agreed in the utter condemnation, " nulla virtute redemptum," 
 of the Greeks in general, and of the Athenians in particular. 
 
 For my own humble opinion, I am loath to hazard it, knowing, 
 as I do, that there be now in MS. no less than five tours of the 
 first magnitude and of the most threatening aspect, all in typo- 
 graphical array, by persons of wit, and honour, and regular com- 
 monplace books : but, if I may say this without offence, it seems 
 to me rather hard to declare so positively and pertinaciously, as 
 almost everybody has declared, that the Greeks, because they 
 are very bad, will never be better. 
 
 Eton and Sonnini have led us astray by their panegyrics and 
 projects; but, on the other hand, De Pauw and Thornton have 
 debased the Greeks beyond their demerits. 
 
 The Greeks will never be independent; they will never be 
 sovereigns as heretofore, and God forbid they ever should ! but 
 they may be subjects without being slaves. Our colonies are 
 not independent, but they are free and industrious, and such may 
 Greece be hereafter. 
 
 At present, like the Catholics of Ireland and the Jews through- 
 out the world, and such other cudgelled and heterodox people, 
 they suffer all the moral and physical ills that can afflict humanity. 
 Their life is a struggle against truth ; they are vicious in their 
 own defence. They are so unused to kindness, that when they 
 occasionally meet with it they look upon it with suspicion, as a 
 dog often beaten snaps at your fingers if you attempt to caress 
 him. " They are ungrateful, notoriously, abominably ungrate- 
 ful 1" this is the general cry. Now, in the name of Nemesis ! 
 for what are they to be grateful ! Where is the human being 
 that ever conferred a benefit on Greek or Greeks ? They are to 
 be grateful to the Turks for their fetters, and to the Franks foi 
 their broken promises and lying counsels. They are to be grate- 
 ful to the artist who engraves their ruins, and to the antiquary 
 who carries them away ; to the traveller whose janissary flogs 
 
 23
 
 266 APPENDIX. 
 
 them, and to the scribbler whose journal abuses them ! This is 
 the amount of their obligations to foreigners. 
 
 II. 
 
 Franciscan Convent, Athens, January 23, 1811. 
 
 Amongst the remnants of the barbarous policy of the earlier 
 ages, are the traces of bondage which yet exist in different coun- 
 tries ; whose inhabitants, however divided in religion and man- 
 ners, almost all agree in oppression. 
 
 The English have at last compassionated their negroes, and 
 under a less bigoted government, may probably one day release 
 their Catholic brethren: but the interposition of foreigners alone 
 can emancipate the <Sreeks, who otherwise, appear to have as 
 small a chance of redemption from the Turks, as the Jews have 
 from mankind in general. 
 
 Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough; at least 
 the younger men of Europe devote much of their time to the 
 study of the Greek writers and history, which would be more 
 usefully spent in mastering their own. Of the moderns, we are 
 perhaps more neglectful than they deserve ; and while every man 
 of any pretensions to learning is tiring out his youth, and often 
 his age, in the study of the language and of the harangues of the 
 Athenian demagogues in favour of freedom, the real or supposed 
 descendants of these sturdy republicans are left to the actual 
 tyranny of their masters, although a very slight effort is required 
 to strike off their chains. 
 
 To talk, as the Greeks themselves do, of their rising again to 
 their pristine superiority, would be ridiculous : as the rest of the 
 world must resume its barbarism, after reasserting the sovereignty 
 of Greece : but there seems to be no very great obstacle, except 
 in the apathy of the Franks, to their becoming a useful depend- 
 ency, or even a free state with a proper guarantee ; under cor- 
 rection, however, be it spoken, for many and well informed men 
 doubt the practicability even of this. 
 
 The Greeks have never lost their hope, though they are now- 
 more divided in opinion on the subject of their probable deliver- 
 ers. Religion recommends the Russians ; but they have twice 
 been deceived and abandoned by that power, and the dreadful 
 lesson they received after the Muscovite desertion in the Morea 
 has never been forgotten. The French they dislike ; although 
 the subjugation of the rest of Europe will, probably, be attended 
 by the deliverance of continental Greece. The islanders look to
 
 APPENDIX. 26? 
 
 the English for succour, as they have very lately possessed them- 
 selves of the Ionian republic, Corfu excepted. But whoever 
 appear with arms in their hands will be welcome ; and when 
 that day arrives, Heaven have mercy on the Ottomans, they 
 cannot expect it from the Giaours. 
 
 But instead of considering what they have been, and specula- 
 ting on what they may be, let us look at them as they are. 
 
 And here it is impossible to reconcile the contrariety of opi- 
 nions ; some, particularly the merchants, decrying the Greeks in 
 the strongest language; others, generally travellers, turning 
 periods in their eulogy, and publishing very curious speculations 
 grafted on their former state, which can have no more effect en 
 their present lot, than the existence of the Incas on the future 
 fortunes of Peru. 
 
 One very ingenious person terms them the "natural allies cf 
 Englishmen ;" another, no less ingenious, will not allow them 
 to be the allies of anybody, and denies their very descent from 
 the ancients; a third, more ingenious than either, builds a Greek 
 empire on a Russian foundation, and realizes (on paper) all the 
 chimeras of Catharine II. As to the question of their descent, 
 what can it import whether the Mainotes are the lineal Laconians 
 or not 1 or the present Athenians as indigenous as the bees of 
 Hymettus or as the grasshoppers, to which they once likened 
 themselves 1 ? What Englishman cares if he be of a Danish, 
 Saxon, Norman, or Trojan blood 1 or who, except a Welshman, 
 is afflicted with a desire of being descended from Caractacus? 
 
 The poor Greeks do not so much abound in the good things of 
 this world, as to render even their claims to antiquity an object 
 of envy ; it is very cruel, then, in Mr. Thornton to disturb them 
 in the possession of all that time has left them ; viz. their pedi- 
 gree, of which they are the more tenacious, as it is all they can 
 call their own. It would be worth while to publish together, and 
 compare, the works of Messrs. Thornton and De Pauw, Eton 
 and Sonnini ; paradox on one side, and prejudice on the other. 
 Mr. Thornton conceives himself to have claims to public confi- 
 dence from a fourteen years' residence at Pera ; perhaps he may 
 on the subject of the Turks, but this can give him no more insight 
 into the real state of Greece and her inhabitants, than as many 
 years spent in Wapping into that of the Western Highlands. 
 
 The Greeks of Constantinople live in Fanal ; and if Mr. Thorn 
 ton did not oftener cross the Golden Horn than his brother mer- 
 chants are accustomed to jo, I should place no great reliance on 
 his infonnation. I actually heard one of these gentlemen boast 

 
 268 APPENDIX. 
 
 of their little general intercourse with the city, and assert of 
 himself, with an air of triumph, that he had been but Lur times 
 at Constantinople in as many years. 
 
 As to Mr. Thornton's voyages in the Black Sea with Greek 
 vessels, they gave him the same idea of Greece as a cruise to 
 Berwick in a Scotch smack would of Johnny Grot's house. 
 Upon what grounds then does he arrogate the right of condemn- 
 ing by wholesale a body of men, of whom he can know little'? 
 It is rather a curious circumstance that Mr. Thornton, who so 
 lavishly dispraises Pouqueville on every occasion of mentioning 
 the Turks, has yet recourse to him as authority on the Greeks, 
 and terms him an impartial observer. Now, Dr. Pouqueville is 
 as little entitled to that appellation, as Mr. Thornton to confer it 
 on him. 
 
 The fact is, we are deplorably in want of information on the 
 subject of the Greeks, and in particular their literature ; nor \3 
 there any probability of our being better acquainted, till our in- 
 tercourse becomes more intimate, or their independence con- 
 firmed : the relations of passing travellers are as little to be 
 depended on as the invectives of angry factors ; but till some- 
 thing more can be attained, we must be content with the little to 
 be acquired from similar sources.* 
 
 However defective these may be, they are preferable to the 
 paradoxes of men who have read superficially of the ancients, and 
 
 * A word, en passant, with Mr. Thornton and Dr. Pouqueville, who have 
 been guilty between them of sadly clipping the Sultan's Turkish. 
 
 Dr. Pouqueville tells a long story of a Moslem who swallowed corrosive sub- 
 limate in such quantities, that he acquired the name of " Suleyman Yeyen," i. e. 
 quoth the doctor, " Suleyman, the eater of corrosive sublimate." "Aha!" thinks 
 Mr. Thornton, (angry with the doctor for the fiftieth time,) "have I caught 
 you !" Then, in a note twice the thickness of the doctor's anecdote, he ques- 
 tions the doctor's proficiency in the Turkish tongue, and his veracity in his 
 own. "For," observes Mr. Thornton, (after inflicting on us the tough parti- 
 ciple of a Turkish verb,) " it means nothing more than Suleyman the eater," and 
 quite cashiers the supplementary "sublimate." Now, both are right, and both 
 are wrong. If Mr. Thornton, when he next resides " fourteen years in the 
 factory," will consult his Turkish dictionary, or ask any of his Stamboline ac- 
 quaintance, he will discover that "Suleyma'n yeyen," put together discreetly, 
 mean the " Swallower of sublimate," without any "Suleyman" in the case: 
 " Suleyma" signifying "corrosive sublimate," and not being a proper name on 
 this occasion, although it be an orthodox name enough with the addition of . 
 After Mr. Thornton's frequent hints of profound Orientalism, he might have 
 found this out before he sang such pieans over Dr. Pouqueville. 
 
 After this, I think "Travellers versus Factors" shall be our motto, though 
 the above Mr. Thornton has condemned "hoc genus omne," for mistake alid 
 misrepresentation "Ne Sutor ultra crepidam," "No merchant beyond his 
 Ifales."- N.B. For the benefit of Mr. Thornton. " Sutor" is not a proper name
 
 APPENDIX. 29 
 
 seen nothing of the moderns, such as De Pauw; who, when he 
 asserts that the British breed of horses is ruined by Newmarket, 
 and that the Spartans were cowards in the field, betrays an equal 
 knowledge of English horses and Spartan men. His "philoso- 
 phical observations" have a much better claim to the title of 
 " poetical." It could not be expected that he who so liberally 
 condemns some of the most celebrated institutions of the ancient, 
 should have mercy on the modern Greeks; and it fortunately 
 happens, that the absurdity of his hypothesis on their forefathers 
 refutes his sentence on themselves. 
 
 Let us trust, then, that, in spite of the prophecies of De Pauw, 
 and the doubts of Mr. Thornton, there is a reasonable hope of 
 the redemption of a race of men, who, whatever may be the 
 errors of their religion and policy, have been amply punished by 
 three centuries and a half of captivity. 
 
 III. 
 
 Jtthens, Franciscan Convent, March 17, 1811. 
 " I must have some talk with this learned Theban." 
 
 Some time after my return from Constantinople to this city, I 
 received the thirty-first number of the Edinburgh Review as a 
 great favour, and certainly at this distance an acceptable one, 
 from the captain of an English frigate off Salamis. In that num- 
 ber, Art. 3., containing the review of a French translation of 
 Strabo, there are introduced some remarks on the modern Greeks 
 and their literature, with a short account of Coray, a co-translator 
 in the French version. On those remarks I mean to ground a few 
 observations ; and the spot where I now write will, I hope, be 
 sufficient excuse for introducing them in a work in some degree 
 connected with the subject. Coray, the most celebrated of living 
 Greeks, at least among the Franks, was born at Scio, (in the Re- 
 view, Smyrna is stated, I have reason to think, incorrectly,) and 
 besides the translation of Beccaria and other works mentioned by 
 the Reviewer, has published a lexicon in Romaic and French, if I 
 may trust the assurance of some Danish travellers lately arrived 
 from Paris; but the latest we have seen here in French and 
 Greek is that of Gregory Zolikogloou.* Coray has recently been 
 
 * I have in my possession an excellent lexicon " rptyAuxrirov," which I re- 
 ceived in exchange from S. G , Esq., for a small gem : my antiquarian friends 
 have never forgotten it, or forgiven me. 
 23*
 
 370 APPENDIX. 
 
 involved in an unpleasant controversy with M. Gail,* a Parisian 
 commentator and editor of some translations from the Greek 
 poets, in consequence of the Institute having awarded him the 
 prize for his version of Hippocrates " Ilrpi iJdroc," &c. to the dis- 
 paragement, and consequently displeasure, of the said Gail. To 
 his exertions, literary and patriotic, great p-raise is undoubtedly 
 due ; but a part of that praise ought not to be withheld from the 
 two brothers Zosimado, (merchants settled in Leghorn,) who 
 sent him to Paris, and maintained him, for the express purpose 
 cf elucidating the ancient, and adding to the modern, researches 
 of his countrymen. Coray, however, is not considered by his 
 countrymen equal to some who lived in the two last centuries ; 
 more particularly Dorotheus of Mitylene. whose Hellenic writ- 
 ings are so much esteemed by the Greeks, that Meletius terms 
 
 him " Mtra TOV QovxvSiSriv KOI Hi/o0cojra apioroj 'EXXijfcoj'." (P. 22 1. 
 
 Ecclesiastical History, vol. iv.) 
 
 Panagiotes Kodrikas, the translator of Fontenelle, and Kama- 
 rases, who translated Ocellus Lucanus on the Universe into 
 French, Christodoulus, and more particularly Psalida, whom I 
 have conversed with in Joannina, are also in high repute among 
 their literati. The last-mentioned has published in Romaic and 
 Latin a work on "True Happiness," dedicated to Catherine II. 
 But Polyzois, who is stated by the" Reviewer to be the only mo- 
 dern except Coray who has distinguished himself by a know- 
 ledge of Hellenic, if he be the Polyzois Lampanitziotes of Ya- 
 nina, who has published a number of editions in Romaic, was 
 neither more nor less than an itinerant vender of books ; with 
 the contents of which he had no concern beyond his name on the 
 titlepage, placed there to secure his property in the publication ; 
 and he was, moreover, a man utterly destitute of scholastic ac- 
 quirements. As the name, however, is not uncommon, some 
 other Polyzois may have edited the Epistles of Aristaenetus. 
 
 It is to be regretted that the system of continental blockade 
 has closed the few channels through which the Greeks received 
 their publications, particularly Venice and Trieste. Even the 
 common grammars for children are become too dear for the lower 
 
 * In Gail's pamphlet against Coray, he talks of "throwing the insolont Hel- 
 lenist out of the windows." On this a French critic exclaims, " Ah, my God ! 
 tnrow an Hellenist out of the window ! what sacrilege !" It certainly would 
 he a serioj. business for those authors who dwell in the attics : but I have 
 rj'ioted the passage merely to prove the similarity of style among the contro- 
 versialists of all polished countries ; London or Edinburgh could hardly paral- 
 lel this Parisian ebullition
 
 APPENDIX 271 
 
 orders. Amongst their original works the Geography of Mele- 
 tius, Archbishop of Athens, and a multitude of theological quar- 
 tos and poetical pamphlets, are to be met with ; their grammars 
 and lexicons of two, three, and four languages, are numerous 
 and excellent. Their poetry is in rhyme. The most singular 
 piece I have lately seen is a satire in dialogue between a Rus- 
 sian, English, and French traveller, and the Wsywode of Wal- 
 lachia, (or Blackbey, as they term him,) an archbishop, a mer- 
 chant, and Cogia Bachi, (or primate,) in succession ; to all of 
 whom under the Turks the writer attributes the'r present dege- 
 neracy. Their songs are sometimes pretty and pathetic, but 
 their tunes generally unpleasing to the ear of a Frank ; the best 
 is the famous " Arfre iraTfcs ruv 'E\\ni>wv" by the unfortunate Riga. 
 But from a catalogue of more than sixty authors, now before me, 
 only fifteen can be found who have touched on any theme except 
 theology. 
 
 I am intrusted with a commission by a Greek of Athens named 
 Marmarotouri to make arrangements, if possible, for printing in 
 London a translation of Barthelemi's Anacharsis in Romaic, as 
 he has no other opportunity, unless he despatches the MS. to 
 Vienna by the Black Sea and Danube. 
 
 The Reviewer mentions a school established at Hecatonesi, 
 and suppressed at the instigation of Sebastian! : he means Cido- 
 nies, or, in Turkish, Haivali ; a town on the continent, where 
 that institution for a hundred students and three professors still 
 exists. It is true that this establishment was disturbed by the 
 Porte, under the ridiculous pretext that the Greeks were con- 
 structing a fortress instead of a college: but on investigation, 
 and the payment of some purses to the Divan, it has been per- 
 mitted to continue. The principal professor, named Ueniamin, 
 (i. e. Benjamin,) is stated to be a man of talent, but a free- 
 thinker. He was born in Lesbos, studied in Italy, and is master 
 of Hellenic, Latin, and some Frank languages ; besides a smat- 
 tering of the sciences. 
 
 Though it is not my intention to enter farther on this topic 
 than may allude to the article in question, I cannot but observe 
 that the Reviewer's lamentation over the fall of the Greeks ap- 
 pears singular, when he closes it with these words : " The 
 change is to be attributed to their misfortunes rather than to any 
 'physical degradation.'' " It may be true that the Greeks are 
 not physically degenerated, and that Constantinople contained 
 on the day when it changed masters as many men of six feel 
 and upwards as in the hour of prosperity ; but ancient history 

 
 272 APPENDIX. 
 
 and modern politics instruct us that something more than physl 
 cal perfection is necessary to preserve a state in vigour and inde- 
 pendence; and the Greeks, in particular, are a melancholy 
 example of the near connection between moral degradation and 
 national decay. 
 
 The Reviewer mentions a plan, "we believe" hy Potemkin, foi 
 the purification of the Romaic ; and I have endeavoured in vain 
 to procure any tidings or traces of its existence. There was an 
 academy at St. Petersburg for the Greeks ; but it was suppress- 
 ed by Paul, and has not been revived by his successor. 
 
 There is a slip of the pen, and it can only be a slip of the pen, 
 in p. 58, No. 31, of the Edinburgh Review, where these words 
 occur: "We are told that when the capital of the East yielded 
 to Solyman"- It may be presumed that this last word will, in a 
 future edition, be altered to Mahomet II.* The " ladies of Con- 
 stantinople," it seems, at that period spoke a dialect, " which 
 would not have disgraced the lips of an Athenian." I do not 
 know how that might be, but am sorry to say the ladies in gene- 
 ral, and the Athenians in particular, are much altered ; being far 
 from choice either in their dialect or expression, as the whole 
 Attic race are barbarous to a proverb : 
 
 " 1 A.6riva, irport] xapa, 
 Ti yaicapovs T/>0ij Ttopa." 
 
 In Gibbon, vol. x. p. 161, is the following sentence: "The 
 vulgar dialect of the city was gross and barbarous, though the 
 compositions of the church and palace sometimes affected to 
 copy the purity of the Attic models." Whatever may be assert- 
 ed on the subject, it is difficult to conceive that the "ladies of 
 
 * In a former number of the Edinburgh Review, 1808, it is observed, "Lord 
 Byron passed some of his early years in Scotland, where he might have learned 
 that pibroch does not mean a bagpipe, any more than duet means a fiddle." 
 Query, Was it in Scotland that the young gentlemen of the Edinburgh Re- 
 view learned that Solyma.ii means Mahomet II. , any more than criticism means 
 infallibility ? but thus it is, 
 
 "Caedimus inque vicem prajbemus crura sagittis." 
 
 The mistake seemed so completely a lapse of the pen, (from the great similarity 
 of the two words, and the total absence of error from the former pages of the 
 literary leviathan,) that I should have passed it over as in the text, had I not 
 perceived in the Edinburgh Review much facetious exultation on ail such de- 
 lections, particularly a recent one, where words and syllables are subjects of 
 disquisition and transposition; and the above-mentioned parallel passage in 
 my own c.ase irresistibly propelled me to hint how much easier it is to be criti- 
 r;tl than correct. The gentlemen, having enjoyed many a triumph on such 
 victories, will hardly begrudge me a slight ovation for the present.
 
 APPENDIX. 273 
 
 Constantinople," in the reign of the last Caesar, spoke a purer 
 dialect than Anna Comnena wrote three centuries before : and 
 those royal pages are not esteemed the best models of composition, 
 
 although the princess y\WTTai> ti\tv AKPIBaS Arrucioo-ai'. In the 
 
 Fanal, and in Yanina, the best Greek is spoken : in the latter 
 there is a flourishing school under the direction of Psalida. 
 
 There is now in Athens a pupil of Psalida's, who is making a 
 tour of observation through Greece : he is intelligent, and better 
 educated than a fellow-commoner of most colleges. I mention 
 this as a proof that the spirit of inquiry is not dormant among 
 the Greeks. 
 
 The Reviewer mentions Mr. Wright, the author of the beauti- 
 ful poem " Horse lonicae," as qualified to give details of these 
 nominal Romans and degenerate Greeks ; and also of their Ian- 
 guage : but Mr. Wright, though a good poet and an able man, 
 has made a mistake where he states the Albanian dialect of the 
 Romaic to approximate nearest to the Hellenic; for the Albanians 
 speak a Romaic as notoriously corrupt as the Scotch of Aberdeen- 
 shire, or the Italian of Naples. Yanina, (where, next to the 
 Fanal, the Greek is purest,) although the capital of AH Pasha's 
 dominions, is not in Albania but Epirus ; and beyond Delvinachi 
 in Albania Proper up to Argyrocastro and Tepaleen, (beyond 
 which I did not advance,) they speak worse Greek than even the 
 Athenians. I was attended for a year and a half by two of these 
 singular mountaineers, whoso mother tongue is Illyric, and I 
 never heard them or their countrymen (whom I have seen, not 
 only at home, but to the amount of twenty thousand in the army 
 of Vely Pasha) praised for their Greek, but often laughed at Tor 
 their provincial barbarisms. 
 
 I have in my possession about twenty-five letters, amongst 
 which some from the Bey of Corinth, written to me by Notarus, 
 the Cogia Baehi, and others by the dragoman of the Caimacam 
 of the Morea, (which last governs in Vely Pasha's absence,) are 
 said to be favourable specimens of their epistolary style. I also 
 received some at Constantinople from private persons, written 
 in a most hyperbolical style, but in the true antique character. 
 
 The Reviewer proceeds, after some remarks on the tongue in 
 it* past and present state, to a paradox (page 59) on the great 
 mischief the knowledge of his own language has done to Coray, 
 \\ ho, it seems, is less likely to understand the ancient Greek, 
 because he is perfect master of the modern ! This observation 
 follows a paragraph, recommending, in explicit terms, the stuay 
 of the Romaic, as "a powerful auxiliary," not only to the travellei
 
 274 APPENDIX. 
 
 and foreign merchant, but also to the classical scholar; in short, 
 to everybody except the only person who can be thoroughly 
 acquainted with its uses ; and, by a parity of reasoning, our old 
 language is conjectured to be probably more attainable Dy 
 " foreigners" than by ourselves ! Now, I am inclined to think, 
 that a Dutch tyro in our tongue (albeit himself of Saxon blood) 
 would be sadly perplexed with " Sir Tristram," or any other 
 given " Auchinleck MS.," with or without a grammar or glossary ; 
 and to most apprehensions it seems evident, that none but a native 
 can acquire a competent, far less complete, knowledge of OUT ob- 
 solete idioms. We may give the critic credit for his ingenuity, 
 but no more believe him than we do Smollett's Lismahago, who 
 maintains that the purest English is spoken in Edinburgh. That 
 Coray may err is very possible; but if he does, the fault is in 
 the man rather than in his mother tongue, which is, as it ou^ht 
 to be, of the greatest aid to the native student. Here the Re- 
 viewer proceeds to business on Strabo's translators, and here I 
 close my remarks. 
 
 Sir W. Drummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aberdeen, Dr. Clarke, 
 Captain Leake, Mr. Gell, Mr. Walpole, and many others now in 
 England, have all the requisites to furnish details of this fallen 
 people. The few observations I have offered I should have left 
 where I made them, had not the article in question, and, above all, 
 the spot where I read it, induced me to advert to those pages, 
 which the advantage of my present situation enabled me to clear, 
 or at least to make the attempt. 
 
 I have endeavoured to waive the personal feelings, which rise 
 in despite of me in touching upon any part of the Edinburgh Re- 
 view; not from a wish to conciliate the favour of its writers, or 
 to cancel the remembrance of a syllable I have formerly publish- 
 ed, but simply from a sense of the impropriety of mixing up 
 private resentments with a disquisition of the present kind, and 
 more particularly at this distance of time and place. 
 
 Note [E.] ON THE PRESENT STATE OF TURKEY AND THE 
 TURKS. See p. 103. 
 
 The difficulties of travelling in Turkey have been much exag- 
 gerated, or rather have considerably diminished, of late years. 
 The Mussulmans have been beaten into a kind of sullen civility, 
 very comfortable to voyagers. 
 
 It is hazardous to say much on the subject of Turks and Tur-
 
 
 APPENDIX. 275 
 
 key; since it is possible to live amongst them twenty years 
 without acquiring information, at least from themselves. As far 
 as my own slight experience carried me, I have no complaint to 
 make ; but am indebted for many civilities (I might almost say 
 for friendship) and much hospitality, to Ali Pasha, his son Veil 
 Pasha of the Morea, and several others of high rank in the pro- 
 vinces. Suleyman Aga, late Governor of Athens, and now of 
 Thebes, was a bon meant, and as social a being as ever sat cross- 
 legged at a tray or a table. During the carnival, when oar Eng- 
 lish party were masquerading, both himself and his successor 
 were more happy to " receive masks," than any dowager in 
 Grosvenor-square. 
 
 On one occasion of his supping at the convent, his friend and 
 visitor, the Cadi of Thebes, was carried from table perfectly 
 qualified for any club in Christendom ; while the worthy way- 
 wode himself triumphed in his fall. 
 
 In aH money transactions with the Moslems, I ever found the 
 strictest honour, the highest disinterestedness. In transacting 
 business with them, there are none of those dirty peculations, 
 under the name of interest, difference of exchange, commission, 
 &c. &c. uniformly found in applying to a Greek consul to cash 
 bills, even on the first houses in Pera. 
 
 With regard to presents, an established custom in the East, 
 you will rarely find yourself a loser ; as one worth acceptance is 
 generally returned by another of similar value a horse, or a 
 shawl. 
 
 In the capital and at court the citizens and courtiers are formed 
 in the same school with those of Christianity; but there does 
 not exist a more honourable, friendly, and high-spirited character 
 than the true Turkish provincial aga, or Moslem country gentle- 
 man. It is not meant here to designate the governors of towns, 
 but those agas who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess lands 
 and houses, of more or less extent, in Greece and Asia Minor. 
 
 The lower orders are in as tolerable discipline as the rabble in 
 countries with greater pretensions to civilization. A Moslem, in 
 walking the streets of our country towns, would be more incom- 
 moded in England than a Frank in a similar situation in Turkey. 
 Regimentals are the best travelling dress. 
 
 The best accounts of the religion and different sects of Islam- 
 ism, may be found in D'Ohsson's French; of their manners, 
 &c. perhaps in Thornton's English. The Ottomans, with all 
 their defects, are not a people to be despised. Equal, at least, to 
 the Spaniards, they are superior to the Portuguese. If it he d'ffi
 
 * 
 
 
 
 276 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 cult to pronounce what they are, we can at least say what they 
 are not: they are not treacherous, they are not cowardly, they do 
 not burn heretics, they are not assassins, nor has an enemy 
 advanced to their capital. They are faithful to their sultan till 
 he becomes unfit to govern, and devout to their God without an 
 inquisition. Were they driven from St. Sophia to-morrow, ana 
 the French or Russians enthroned in their stead, it would become 
 a question whether Europe would gain by the exchange. Eng- 
 land would certainly be the loser. 
 
 With regard to that ignorance of which they are so generally, 
 and sometimes justly accused, it may be doubted, always except- 
 ing France and England, in what useful points of knowledge 
 they are excelled by other nations. Is it in the common arts of 
 life ? In their manufactures 1 Is a Turkish sabre inferior to a 
 Toledo! or is a Turk worse clothed or lodged, or fed and taught, 
 than a Spaniard? Are their pashas worse educated than a 
 grandee ? or an effendi than a Knight of St. Jago ? I think not. 
 
 I remember Mahmout, the grandson of Ali Pasha, asking whe- 
 ther my fellow-traveller and myself were in the upper or lower 
 House of Parliament. Now, this question from a boy of ten 
 years old proved that his education had not been neglected. It 
 may be doubted if an English boy at that age knows the differ- 
 ence of the Divan from a College of Dervises; but I am very 
 sure a Spaniard does not. How little Mahmout, surrounded, as 
 he had been, entirely by his Turkish tutors, had learned that 
 there was such a thing as a Parliament, it were useless to con- 
 jecture, unless we suppose that his instructors did not confine 
 his studies to the Koran. 
 
 In all the mosques there are schools established, which are 
 very regularly attended; and the poor are taught without the 
 church of Turkey being put into peril. I believe the system is 
 not yet printed ; (though there is such a thing as a Turkish press, 
 and books printed on the late military institution of the Nizam 
 Gedidd ;) nor have I heard whether the Mufti and the Mollas have 
 subscribed, or the Caimacam and the Tefterdar taken the alarm, 
 for fear the ingenuous youth of the turban should be taught not to 
 "pray to God their way." The Greeks also a kind of Eastern 
 Irish Papists have a college of their own at Maynooth, no, at 
 Haivali; where the heterodox receive much the same kind of 
 countenance from the Ottoman as the Catholic college from the 
 English legislature. Who shall then affirm that the Turks are 
 ignorant bigots, when they thus evince the exact proportion of 
 Christian charity which is tolerated in the most prosperous and
 
 9 
 
 
 APPENDIX. 277 
 
 orthodox of all possible kingdoms * But though they allow all 
 this, they will not suffer the Greeks to participate in their privi- 
 leges : no, let them fight their battles, and pay their haratch, 
 (taxes,) be drubbed in this world, and damned in the next. And 
 shall we then emancipate our Irish Helots? Mahomet forbid! 
 We should then be bad Mussulmans, and worse Christians : at 
 present we unite the best of both Jesuitical faith, and something 
 not much inferior to Turkish toleration. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO III. 
 
 Note [F.] 
 
 ** Not vainly did the early Persian make 
 His altar the high places and the peak 
 Of earth o 1 ergazing mountains, $rc." Stanza xci. 
 
 It is to be recollected, that the most beautiful and impressive 
 doctrines of the divine Founder of Christianity were delivered, 
 not in the Temple, but on the Mount. To waive the question of 
 devotion, and turn to human eloquence, the most effectual and 
 splendid specimens were not pronounced within walls. Demos- 
 thenes addressed the public and popular assemblies. Cicero 
 spoke in the forum. That this added to their effect on the mind 
 of both orators and hearers, may be conceived from the difference 
 between what we read of the emotions then and there produced, 
 and those we ourselves experience in the perusal in the closet. 
 It is one thing to read the Iliad at Siga3um, and on the tumuli, 
 or by the springs with Mount Ida above, and the plain and rivers 
 and Archipelago around you ; and another to trim your taper over 
 it in a snug library this I know. Were the early and rapid pro- 
 gress of what is called Methodism to be attributed to any cause 
 beyond the enthusiasm excited by its vehement faith and doctrines, 
 (the truth or error of which I presume neither to canvass nor to 
 question,) I should venture to ascribe it to the practice of preach- 
 ing in the fields, and the unstudied and extemporaneous effusions 
 of its teachers. The Mussulmans, whose erroneous devotion (at 
 least in the lower orders) is most sincere, and therefore impress- 
 ive, are accustomed to repeat their prescribed orisons and pray- 
 ers, wherever they may be, at the stated hours of course, 
 frequently in the open air, kneeling upon a light mat, (which thej 
 carry for the purpose of a bed or cushion as required ;) the cere 
 21
 
 
 
 278 APPENDIX. 
 
 mony lasts some minutes, during which they are totally absorbed, 
 and only living in their supplication : nothing can disturb them. 
 On me the simple and entire sincerity of these men, and the 
 spirit which appeared to be within and upon them, made a far 
 greater impression than any general rite which was ever per- 
 formed in places of worship, of which I have seen those of al- 
 most every persuasion under the sun, including most of our own 
 sectaries, and the Greek, the Catholic, the Armenian, the Lu- 
 theran, the Jewish, and the Mahometan. Many of the negroes, 
 of whom there are numbers in the Turkish empire, are idolaters, 
 and have free exercise of their belief and its rites : some of these 
 I had a distant view of at Patras ; and, from what I could make 
 out of them, they appeared to be of a truly pagan description, 
 and not very agreeable to a spectator. 
 
 Note [G.] 
 
 " Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, 
 Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne 
 To which the steps are mountains , where the god 
 Is a pervading life and light," &c. Stanza c. See p. 161. 
 
 Rousseau's Heloi'se, Lettre 17, part. 4, note. "Ces montagnes 
 sont si hautes qu'une demi-heure apres le soleil couche, leurs 
 sommets sont eclaires de ses rayons ; dont le rouge forme sur 
 ces cimes blanches une belle couleur de rose, qu'on apercoit de 
 fort loin." This applies more particularly to the heights over 
 Meillerie. " J'allai a Vevay loger a la Clef, et pendant deux 
 jours que j'y restai sans voir personne, je pris pour cette ville un 
 amour qui m'a suivi dans tous mes voyages, et qui m'y a fait 
 etablir enfin les heros de mon roman. Je dirais volontiers a 
 ceux qui ont du gout et qui sont sensibles : Allez a Vevay 
 visitez le pays, examinez les sites, promenez-vous sur le lac, et 
 dites si la Nature n'a pas fait ce beau pays pour une Julie, pour 
 une Claire, et pour un St. Preux ; mais ne les y cherchez pas." 
 Les Confessions, livre iv. p. 306. Lyon, ed. 1796. In July, 1816, 
 I made a voyage round the Lake of Geneva; and, as far as my 
 own observations have led me in a not uninteresting nor inatten- 
 tive survey of all the scenes most celebrated by Rousseau in his 
 " Heloi'se," I can safely say, that in this there is no exaggera- 
 tion. It would be difficult to see Clarens (with the scenes 
 around it, Vevay, Chillon, Boveret, St. Gingo, Meillerie, Eivan, 
 and the entrances of the Rhone) without being forcibly struck 
 

 
 APPENDIX. 279 
 
 with its peculiar adaptation to the persons and events with 
 which it has been peopled. But this is not all: the feeling 
 with which all around Clarens, and the opposite rocks of Meil- 
 lerie, is invested, is of a still higher and more comprehensive 
 order than the mere sympathy with individual passion ; it is a 
 sense of the existence of love in its most extended and sublime 
 capacity, and of our own participation of its good and of its 
 glory: it is the great principle of the universe, which is there 
 more condensed, but not less manifested ; and of which, though 
 knowing ourselves a part, we lose our individuality, and mingle 
 in the beauty of the whole. If Rousseau had never written, nor 
 lived, the same associations would not less have belonged to 
 such scenes. He has added to the interest of his works by their 
 adoption ; he has shown his sense of their beauty by the selec- 
 tion ; but they have done that for him which no human being 
 could do for them. I had the fortune (good or evil as it might 
 be) to sail from Meillerie (where we landed for some time) to St. 
 Gingo during a lake storm, which added to the magnificence of 
 all around, although occasionally accompanied by danger to the 
 boat, which was small and overloaded. It was over this very 
 part of the lake that Rousseau has driven the boat of St. Preux 
 and Madame Wolmar to Meillerie for shelter during a tempest. 
 On gaining the shore at St. Gingo, I found that the wind had 
 been sufficiently strong to blow down some fine old chestnut 
 trees on the lower part of the mountains. On the opposite height 
 of Clarens is a chateau. The hills are covered with vineyards, 
 and interspersed with some small but beautiful woods ; one of 
 these was named the "Bosquet de Julie;" and it is remarkable 
 that, though long ago cut down by the brutal selfishness of the 
 monks of St. Bernard, (to whom the land appertained,) that the 
 ground might be enclosed into a vineyard for the miserable 
 drones of an execrable superstition, the inhabitants of Clarens 
 still point out the spot where its trees stood, piling it by the 
 name which consecrated and survived them. Rousseau has not 
 been particularly fortunate in the preservation of the " local habi- 
 tations" he has given to " airy nothings." The Prior of Great 
 St. Bernard has cut down some of his woods for the sake of a 
 few casks of wine, and Bonaparte has levelled part of the rocks 
 of Meillerie in improving the road to the Simplon. The road is 
 an excellent one; but I cannot quite agree with the remark 
 which I heard made, that " La route vaut mieux que les souve- 
 nirs."
 
 230 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 HISTORICAL NOTES TO CANTO IV. 
 
 No. I. STATE DUNGEONS OF VENICE. 
 
 " I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; 
 Jl palace and a prison on each hand." Stanza i 
 
 The communication between the ducal palace and the prisons 
 of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above 
 the water, and divided by a stone wall into a passage and a cell. 
 The state dungeons, called pozzi, or wells, were sunk in the 
 thick walls of the palace ; and the prisoner when taken out to 
 die was conducted across the gallery to the other side, and being 
 then led back into the other compartment, or cell, upon the 
 brido-e, was there strangled. The low portal through which the 
 criminal was taken into this cell is now walled up ; but the pas- 
 sage is still open, and is still known by the name of the Bridge 
 of Sighs. The pozzi are under the flooring of the chamber at the 
 foot of the bridge. They were formerly twelve ; but on the first 
 arrival of the French, the Venetians hastily blocked or broke up 
 the deeper of these dungeons. You may still, however, descend 
 by a trap-door, and crawl down through holes, half choked by 
 rubbish, to the depth of two stories below the first range. If you 
 are in want of consolation for the extinction of patrician power, 
 perhaps you may find it there; scarcely a ray of light glimmers 
 into the narrow gallery which leads to the cells, and the places 
 of confinement themselves are totally dark. A small hole in the 
 wall admitted the damp air of the passages, and served for the 
 introduction of the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a 
 foot from the ground, was the only furniture. The conductors 
 tell you that alight was not allowed. The cells are about five 
 paces in length, two and a half in width, and seven feet in 
 height. They are directly beneath one another, and respiration 
 is somewhat difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was 
 found when the republicans descended into these hideous re- 
 cesses, and he is said to have been confined sixteen years. But 
 the inmates of the dungeons beneath had left traces of their re- 
 pentance, or of their despair, which are still visible, and may, 
 perhaps, owe something to recent ingenuity. Some of the de- 
 tained appear to nave offended against, and others to have be- 
 lono-ed to, the sacred body, not only from their signatures, but
 
 APPENDIX. 281 
 
 from the churches and belfries which they have scratched upon 
 the walls. The reader may not object to see a specimen of the 
 records prompted by so terrific a solitude. As nearly as they 
 could be copied by more than one pencil, three of them are as 
 follows : - 
 
 1. NOX TI FIDAR AD ALCCNO PENSA C TACI 
 SE FUGIR VUOI DE SPIONI INSID1E 6 LACCI 
 IL PENT1RTI PENTIRTI NULLA GIOVA 
 
 MA BEN DI VALOR TUO LA VERA PROVA 
 
 1607. ADI 2. GENARO. FUI RE- 
 TENTO P' LA BESTIEMMA P' AVER DATO 
 DA MANZAR A UN MORTO 
 
 IACOMO . GRITTI . SCRISSE. 
 
 2. UN PARLAR POCHO et 
 NEGARE PRONTO et 
 
 UN PENSAR AL FINE PUO DARE LA VITA 
 
 A NOI ALTRI HESCHINI 
 
 1605. 
 
 EGO IOHN BAPTISTA AD 
 ECCLESIAM CORTELLARIU3. 
 
 3. DE CHI MI FIDO GCARDAMI DIO 
 
 DE CHI NON MI FIDO MI GUARDARO IO 
 
 A TA H A NA 
 
 V . LA 8 . C . K . R . 
 
 The copyist has followed, not corrected, the solecisms ; some 
 of which are, however, not quite so decided, since the letters 
 were evidently scratched in the dark. It only need be observed, 
 that bestemmia and mangiar may be read in the first inscription, 
 which was probably written by a prisoner confined for some act 
 of impiety committed at a funeral ; that Cartellarius is the name 
 of a parish on terra firma, near the sea ; and that the last initials 
 evidently are put for Viva la santa Chiesa Kattolica Ruma.no.. 
 
 No. II. SONGS OF THE GONDOLIERS. 
 l ln Venice Tassel's echoes are no more." Stanza iii. 
 
 The well known song of the gondoliers, of alternate stanza 
 
 from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with the independence of 
 24*
 
 282 APPENDIX. 
 
 Venice. Editions of the poem, with the original in one column, 
 and the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by thehoatmen, 
 were once common, and are still to be found. The following 
 extract will serve to show the difference between the Tuscan epic 
 and the " Canta alia Barcariola." 
 
 ORIGINAL. 
 
 Canto 1' arme pietose, e '1 capitano 
 
 Che '1 gran Sepolcro libero di Cristo. 
 Molto egli opro col senno, e con la mano 
 
 Molto soffri nei glorioso acquisto ; 
 E in van 1' Inferno a lui s' oppose, e in Yano 
 
 S' armo d' Asia, e di Libia il popol misto, 
 Che il Ciel gli die favore, e sotto a i Santi 
 Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti. 
 
 VENETIAN. 
 
 L' arme pietose de cantar gho vogia, 
 
 E de Goffredo la immortal braura 
 Che al fin 1' ha libera co strassia, e dogia 
 
 Del nostro buon Gesu la Sepoltura 
 De mezo mondo unito, e de quel Bogia 
 
 Missier Pluton non 1' ha bu mai paura 
 Dio 1' ha agiutii, e i compagni sparpagnai 
 Tutti '1 gh' i ha messi insieme i di del Dai. 
 
 Sume of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up and continue 
 a stanza of their once familiar bard. 
 
 On the 7th of last January, the author of Childe Harold, and 
 another Englishman, the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lido 
 with two singers, one of whom was a carpenter, and the other a 
 gondolier. The former placed himself at the prow, the latter at 
 the stern of the boat. A little after leaving the quay of the 
 Piazzetta, they began to sing, and continued their exercise until 
 they arrived at the island. They gave us, amongst other essays, 
 the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida; and did not 
 sing the Venetian, but the Tuscan verses. The carpenter, how- 
 ever, who was the cleverer of the two, and was frequently obliged 
 to prompt his companion, told us that he could translate the 
 original. He added, that he could sing almost three hundred 
 stanzas, but had not spirits (morbin was the word he used) to 
 learn any mole, or to sing what he already knew ; a man must 
 have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat, and, said the 
 poor fellow, " ook a* my clothes and at me ; I am starving."
 
 APPENDIX. 283 
 
 This speech was more affecting than his performance, which 
 habit alone can make attractive. The recitative was shrill, 
 screaming, and monotonous ; and the gondolier behind assisted 
 his voice by holding his hand to one side of his mouth. The 
 carpenter used a quiet action, which he evidently endeavoured to 
 restrain; but was too much interested in his subject altogether 
 to repress. From these men we learned that singing is not con- 
 fined to the gondoliers, and that, although the chant is seldom, if 
 ever, voluntary, there are still several amongst the lower classes 
 who are acquainted with a few stanzas. 
 
 It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to row and 
 sing at the same time. Although the verses of the Jerusalem 
 are no longer casually heard, there is yet much music upon the 
 Venetian canals ; and upon holidays, those strangers who are not 
 near or informed enough to distinguish the words, may fancy that 
 many of the gondolas still resound with the strains of Tasso. 
 The writer of some remarks which appeared in the " Curiosities 
 of Literature," must excuse his being twice quoted ; for, with 
 the exception of some phrases a little too ambitious and extravagant, 
 he has furnished a very exact, as well as agreeable, description : 
 
 "In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long passages from 
 Ariosto and Tasso, and often chant them with a peculiar melody. 
 But this talent seems at present on the decline : at least, after 
 taking some pains, I could find no more than tsvo persons who 
 delivered to me in this way a passage from Tasso. I must add, 
 that the late Mr. Berry once chanted to me a passage in Tasso 
 in the manner, as he assured me, of the gondoliers. 
 
 "There are always two concerned, who alternately sing the 
 strophes. We know the melody eventually by Rousseau, to 
 whose songs it is printed ; it has properly no melodiour move- 
 ment, and is a sort of medium between the canto fermo and the 
 canto figurato ; it approaches to the former by recitativical decla- 
 mation, and to the latter by passages and course, by which one 
 syllable is detained and embellished. 
 
 " I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placed himself 
 forward and the other aft, and thus proceeded to St. Georgio. 
 One began the song: when he had ended his strophe, the other 
 took up the lay, and so continued the song alternately. Through- 
 out the whole of it, the same notes invariably returned; but, 
 according to the subject matter of the strope, they laid a'greater 
 or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, and sometimes on another 
 note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the whole strophi- 
 as the object of the poem altered.
 
 284 APPENDIX. 
 
 " On tlie whole, however, the sounds were hoarse and scream- 
 ing: they seemed, in the manner of all rude, uncivilized men, to 
 make the excellency of their singing in the force of their voice: 
 one seemed desirous of conquering the other by the strength of 
 his lungs; and so far from receiving delight from this scene, 
 (shut up as I was in the box of the gondola,) I found myself in 
 a very unpleasant situation. 
 
 " My companion, to whom I communicated this circumstance, 
 being very desirous to keep up the credit of his countrymen, as- 
 sured me that this singing was very delightful when heard at a 
 distance. Accordingly we got out upon the shore, leaving one of 
 the singers in the gondola, while the other went to the distance 
 of some hundred paces. They now began to sing against one 
 another, and I kept walking up and down between them both, so 
 as always to leave him who was to begin his part. I frequently 
 stood still and hearkened to the one and to the other. 
 
 " Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong decla- 
 matory, and, as it were, shrieking sound, met the ear from far, 
 and called forth the attention; the quickly succeeding transitions, 
 which necessarily required to be sung in a lower tone, seemed 
 like plaintive strains succeeding the vociferations of emotion or 
 of pain. The other, who listened attentively, immediately began 
 where the former left off, answering him in the milder or more 
 vehement notes, according as the purport of the strophe required. 
 The sleepy canals, the lofty buildings, the splendour of the moon, 
 the deep shadows of the few gondolas that moved like spirits 
 hither and thither, increased the striking peculiarity of the scene ; 
 and amidst all these circumstances, it was easy to confess the 
 character of this wonderful harmony. 
 
 "It suits perfectly well with an idle solitary mariner, lying at 
 length in his vessel at rest on one of these canals, waiting for his 
 company, or for a fare, the tiresomeness of which situation is some- 
 what alleviated by the songs and poetical stories he has in 
 memory. He often raises his voice as loud as he can, which 
 extends itself to a vast distance over the tranquil mirror ; and as 
 all is still around, he is, as it were, in a solitude in the midst of 
 a large and populous town. Here is no rattling of carriages, no 
 noise of foot passengers; a silent gondola glides now and then 
 by him, of which the splashings of the oars are scarcely to be 
 heard. 
 
 " At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to 
 h:ai. Melody and verst immediately attach the two strangers ; 
 he jecomes the responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself
 
 APPENDIX. 285 
 
 to be heard as he had heard the other. By a tacit convention 
 they alternate verse for verse ; though the song should last the 
 whole night through, they entertain themselves without fatigue: 
 the hearers, who are passing between the two, take part in the 
 amusement. 
 
 "This vocal performance sounds best at a great distance, and 
 is then inexpressibly charming, as it only fulfils its design in the 
 sentiment of remoteness. It is plaintive, but not dismal in its 
 sound, and at times it is scarcely possible to refrain from tears. 
 My companion, who otherwise was not a very delicately organized 
 person, said quite unexpectedly : E singolare come quel canto 
 intenerisce, e molto piu quando lo cantano meglio. 
 
 " I was told that the women of Libo, the long row of islands 
 that divides the Adriatic from the Lagoons,* particularly the 
 women of the extreme districts of Malamocco and Palestrina, 
 sing in like manner the works of Tasso to these and similar 
 tunes. 
 
 " They have the custom, when their husbands are fishing out 
 at sea, to sit along the shore in the evenings and vociferate these 
 songs, and continue to do so with great violence, till each of 
 them can distinguish the responses of her own husband at a 
 distance."")" 
 
 The love of music and of poetry distinguishes all classes of 
 Venetians, even amongst the tuneful sons of Italy. The city 
 itself can occasionally furnish respectable audiences for two and 
 even three opera-houses at a time ; and there are few events in 
 private life that do not call forth a printed and circulated sonnet. 
 Does a physician or a lawyer take his degree, or a clergyman 
 preach his maiden sermon, has a surgeon performed an operation, 
 would a harlequin announce his departure or his benefit, are you 
 to be congratulated on a marriage, or a birth, or a lawsuit, the 
 muses are invoked to furnish the same number of syllables, and 
 the individual triumphs blaze abroad in virgin white or party- 
 coloured placards on half the corners of the capital. The last 
 courtesy of a favourite " prima donna" brings down a shcwer of 
 these poetical tributes from those upper regions, from which, in 
 our theatres, nothing but cupids and snow-storms are accustomed 
 to descend. There is a poetry in the very life of a Venetian, 
 which, in its common course, is varied with those surprises and 
 
 * The writer meant Lido, which is not a long row of islands, but a long 
 Island : lithis, the shore. 
 
 + furiosities of Literature, vol. ii. p. 156, edit. 1807; and Appendix xxix. hi 
 Black's Life of Tasso.
 
 286 APPENDIX. 
 
 
 changes so recommendable in fiction, but so different from the 
 sober monotony of northern existence; amusements are raised 
 into duties, duties are softened into amusements, and every object 
 being considered as equally making a part of the business of life, 
 is announced and performed with the same earnest indifference 
 and gay assiduity. The Venetian gazette constantly closes its 
 columns with the following triple advertisement : 
 
 Charade. 
 
 Exposition of the most Holy Sacrament in the church of 
 St. 
 
 Tfieatres. 
 
 St. Moses, opera. 
 
 St. Benedict, a comedy of characters. 
 St. Luke, repose. 
 
 When it is recollected what the Catholics believe their con- 
 secrated wafer to be, we may perhaps think it worthy of a more 
 respectable niche than between poetry and the playhouse. 
 
 No. III. THE LION AND HORSES OK ST. MARK'S. 
 
 " St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood 
 Stand," Stanza xi. 
 
 The lion has lost nothing by his journey to the Invalides, but the 
 gospel which supported the paw that is now on a level with the 
 other foot. The horses also are returned to the ill-chosen spot 
 whence they set out, and are, as before, half-hidden, under the 
 porch window of St. Mark's church. Their history, after a des- 
 perate struggle, has been satisfactorily explored. The decisions 
 and doubts of Erizzo and Zanetti, and, lastly, of the Count Leo- 
 pold Cicognara, would have given them a Roman extraction, and 
 a pedigree not more ancient than the reign of Nero. But M. de 
 Schlegel stepped in to teach the Venetians the value of their own 
 treasures, and a Greek vindicated, at last and forever, the pre- 
 tension of his countrymen to this noble production.* M. Mustoxidi 
 has not been left without a reply ; but, as yet, he has received no 
 
 * Sui quattro cavalli della Basilica di S. Marco in Venezia. Lettera di 
 Andrea Mustoxidi Corcirese. Padua, 1316.
 
 APPENDIX. 287 
 
 answer. It should seem that the horses are irrevocably Chian, 
 and were transferred to Constantinople byTheodosius. Lapidary 
 writing is a favourite play of the Italians, and has conferred re- 
 putation on more than one of their literary characters. One of 
 the best specimens of Bodoni's typography is a respectable 
 volume of inscriptions, all written by his friend Pacciaudi. Se- 
 veral were prepared for the recovered horses. It is to be hoped 
 the best was not selected, when the following words were 
 ranged in gold letters above the cathedral porch :- 
 
 QUATUOR EQUORUM SIGNA A VENETIS BYZANTIO CAPTA 
 AD TEMP D MAR A R S MCCIV POSITA QVJS HOSTILIS 
 CUPIDITAS A MDCCIIIC ABSTULERAT FRANC I IMP PACIS 
 ORBI DAT.E TROPHJEUM A MDCCCXV VICTOR REDUXIT. 
 
 Nothing shall be said of the Latin, but it may be permitted to 
 observe, that the injustice of the Venetians in transporting the 
 horses from Constantinople was at least equal to that of the 
 French in carrying them to Paris, and that it would have been 
 more prudent to have avoided all allusions to either robbery. An 
 apostolic prince should, perhaps, have objected to affixing over 
 the principal entrance of a metropolitan church an inscription 
 having reference to any other triumphs than those of religion. 
 Nothing less than the pacification of the world can excuse such 
 a solecism. 
 
 No. IV. SUBMISSION OF BARBAROSSA TO POPE ALEXANDER III. 
 
 "77te Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns 
 *2n emperor tramples where an emperor knelt." Stanza xii. 
 
 After many vain efforts on the part of the Italians entirely to 
 throw off the yoke of Frederic Barbarossa, and as fruitless at- 
 tempts of the emperor to make himself absolute master through- 
 out the whole of his Cisalpine dominions, the bloody struggles 
 of four-and-twenty years were happily brought to a close in the 
 city of Venice. The articles of a treaty had been previously 
 agreed upon between Pope Alexander III. and Barbarossa ; and 
 the fo/mer having received a safe-conduct, had already arrived at 
 Venice from Ferrara, in company with the ambassadors of the 
 King of Sicily and the consuls of the Lombard league. There 
 still remained, however, many points to adjust, and for several 
 days the peace was believed to be impracticable. At this June 
 lure it was suddenly reported that the emperor had amved at
 
 288 APPENDIX. 
 
 Chioza, a town fifteen miles from the capital. The Venetians 
 rose tumultuously, and insisted upon immediately conducting 
 him to the city. The Lombards took the alarm, and departed 
 towards Treviso. The pope himself was apprehensive of some 
 disaster if Frederic should suddenly advance upon him, but was 
 reassured by the prudence and address of Sebastiani Ziani, the 
 doge. Several embassies passed between Chioza and the capi- 
 tal, until, at last, the emperor, relaxing somewhat of his preten- 
 sions, " laid aside his leonine ferocity, and put on the mildness 
 of the lamb."* 
 
 On Saturday, the 23d of July, in the year 1177, six Venetian 
 galleys transferred Frederic, in great pomp, from Chioza to the 
 island of Lido, a mile from Venice. Early the next morning the 
 pope, accompanied by the Sicilian ambassadors, and by the 
 envoys of Lombardy, whom he had recalled from the main land, 
 together with a great concourse of people, repaired from the pa- 
 triarchal palace to St. Mark's church, and solemnly absolved 
 the emperor and his partisans from the excommunication 
 pronounced against him. The Chancellor of the Empire, on 
 the part of his master, renounced the anti-popes and their schis- 
 matic adherents. Immediately the doge, with a great suite 
 both of the clergy and laity, got on board the galleys, and, wait- 
 ing on Frederic, rowed him in mighty state from the Lido to the 
 capital. The emperor descended from the galley at the quay of 
 the Piazzetta. The doge, the patriarch, his bishops and clergy, 
 and the people of Venice with their crosses and their standards, 
 marched in solemn procession before him to the church of St. 
 Mark. Alexander was seated before the vestibule of the basilica, 
 attended by his bishops and cardinals, by the patriarch of Aqui- 
 leja, by the archbishops and bishops of Lombardy, all of them 
 in state, and clothed in their church robes. Frederic approached 
 " moved by the Holy Spirit, venerating the Almighty in the 
 person of Alexander, laying aside his imperial dignity, and 
 throwing off his mantle, he prostrated himself at full length at 
 the feet of the pope. Alexander, with tears in his eyes, raised 
 him benignantly from the ground, kissed him, blessed him ; and 
 immediately the Germans of the train sang, with a loud voice, 
 ' We praise thee, O Lord.' The emperor then taking the pope 
 by the right hand, led him to the church, and having received 
 
 * "Quibus auditis, impr rator, operante eo, qui corda principium sicnt vult et 
 quando vult huniiliter inclinat, leonina feriiate deposits, ovinain mansuetiidi- 
 ncm induit." Romualdi Salernitani Chronicon, apud Script. Her. Hal. tern, 
 vii. p. 22P .
 
 APPENDIX. 289 
 
 his benediction, returned to the ducal palace."* The ceremony 
 of humiliation was repeated the next day. The pope himself, 
 at the request of Frederic, said mass at St. Mark's. The empe- 
 ror again laid aside his imperial mantle, and, taking a wand in 
 his hand, officiated as verger, driving the laity from the choir, 
 and preceding the pontiff to the altar. Alexander, after reciting 
 the gospel, preached to the people. The emperor put himself 
 close to the pulpit, in the attitude of listening ; and the pontiff, 
 touched by this mark of his attention, (for he knew that Frederic 
 did not understand a word he said,) commanded the patriarch of 
 Aquileja to translate the Latin discourse into the German tongue. 
 The creed was then chanted. Frederic made his oblation, and 
 kissed the pope's feet, and, mass being over, led him by the 
 hand to his white horse. He held the stirrup, and would have 
 led the horse's rein to the water side, had not the pope accepted 
 of the inclination for the performance, and affectionately dismiss- 
 ed him with his benediction. Such is the substance of the ac- 
 count left by the archbishop of Salerno, who was present at the 
 ceremony, and whose story is confirmed by every subsequent 
 narration. It would be not worth so minute a record, were it not 
 the triumph of liberty as well as of superstition. The states of 
 Lombardy owed to it the confirmation of their privileges ; and 
 Alexander had reason to thank the Almighty, who had enabled 
 an infirm, unarmed old man to subdue a terrible and potent so- 
 vereign. | 
 
 No. V. HENRY DANDOLO. 
 
 "Oh, for one hour of blind old Dandolo! 
 Th? octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe ." Stanza xii. 
 
 The reader will recollect the exclamation of the highlander, 
 Oh for one hour of Dundee ! Henry Dandolo, when elected doge, 
 in 1192, was eighty-five years of age. When he commanded the 
 Venetians at the taking of Constantinople, he was consequently 
 ninety-seven years old. At this age he annexed the fourth and a 
 half of the whole empire of Romania,^: for so the Roman empire 
 
 * Rer. Ital. torn. vii. p. 231. 
 
 t See the above-cited Rorauald of Salerno. In a second sermon which Alex- 
 ander preached, on the first day of August, before the emperor, he compared Fr 
 deric tu the prodigal son, and himself to the forgiving father. 
 
 t Mr. Gibbon has omitted the important a, and has written Romani instead 
 of Romanise. Decline and Fall, chap. Ixi. note 9. But tile title acquired by 
 
 25
 
 290 APPENDIX. 
 
 was then called, to the title and to the territories of the Venetian 
 doge. The three-eighths of this empire were preserved in the 
 diplomas until the dukedom of Giovanni Dolfino, who made use 
 of the above designation in the year 1357.* 
 
 Dandolo led the attack on Constantinople in person ; two ships, 
 the Paradise and the Pilgrim, were tied together, and a drawbridge 
 or ladder let down from their higher yards to the walls. The 
 doge was one of the first to rush into the city. Then was com- 
 pleted, said the Venetians, the prophecy of the Erythraean sibyl : 
 " A gathering together of the powerful shall be made amidst the 
 waves of the Adriatic, under a blind leader ; they shall beset the 
 goat they shall profane Byzantium they shall blacken her 
 buildings her spoils shall be dispersed ; a new goat shall bleat 
 until they have measured out and run over fifty-four feet, nine 
 inches and a half."| Dandolo died on the first of June, 1205, 
 having reigned thirteen years, six months and five days, and was 
 buried in the church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople. Strangely 
 enough it must sound, that the name of the rebel apothecary who 
 received the doge's sword, and annihilated the ancient govern- 
 ment, in 1796-7, was Dandolo. 
 
 No. VI. THE WAR OF CHIOZA. 
 
 " But is not Dorians menace come to pass ; 
 Are they not bridled ?" Stanza xiii. 
 
 After the loss of the battle of Pola, and the taking of Chioza on 
 the 16th of August, 1379, by the united armament of the Genoese 
 and Francesco da Carrara, Signor of Padua, the Venetians were 
 reduced to the utmost despair. An embassy was sent tothecon 
 querors with a blank sheet of paper, praying them to prescribe 
 what terms they pleased, and leave to Venice only her independ- 
 
 Dandolo runs thus in the chronicle of his namesake, the Doge Andrew Dandolo. 
 " Ducali titulo addidit, ' Quartx partis et dimidix totius imperil Romania,' " 
 And. Dand. Chronicon, cap. iii. pars xxxvii. ap. Script. Rer. Ital. torn. xii. page 
 331. And the Romania is observed in the subsequent acts of the doges. In- 
 deed, the continental possessions of the Greek empire in Europe were then ge- 
 nerally known by the name of Romania, and that appellation is still seen in the 
 maps of Turkey as applied to Thrace. 
 
 * See the continuation ofDandolo's Chronicle, ibid. p. 498. Mr. Gibbon ap 
 pears not to include Dolfino, following Sanudo, who says, " il qual titolo si us6 
 fin al Doge Giovanni Dolfino." See Vite de' Duchi di Venezia, ap. Script. 
 Her. Ital. torn. xxii. 530. 641. 
 
 i Chronicon, ibid, pars xxxiv.
 
 APPENDIX. 291 
 
 ence. The Prince of Padua was inclined to listen to these pro. 
 posals, but the Genoese, who, after the victory at Pola, had 
 shouted, " To Venice, to Venice, and long live St. George !" 
 determined to annihilate their rival ; and Peter Doria, their com- 
 mander-in-chief, returned this answer to the suppliants : " On 
 God's faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no peace from 
 the Signer of Padua, nor from our commune of Genoa, until we 
 have first put a rein upon those unbridled horses of yours, that 
 are upon the porch of your evangelist St. Mark. When we 
 have bridled them, we shall keep you quiet. And this is the 
 pleasure of us and of our commune. As for these my brothers 
 of Genoa, that you have brought with you to give up to us, I 
 will not have them ; take them back ; for, in a few days hence, 
 I shall come and let them out of prison myself, both these and 
 all the others." In fact, the Genoese did advance as far as Ma- 
 lamocco, within five miles of the capital ; but their own danger 
 and the pride of their enemies gave courage to the Venetians, 
 who made prodigious efforts, and many individual sacrifices, all 
 of them carefully recorded by their historians. Vettor Pisani 
 was put at the head of thirty-four galleys. The Genoese broke 
 up from Malamocco, and retired to Chioza in October; but they 
 again threatened Venice, which was reduced to extremities. At 
 this time, the 1st of January, 1380, arrived Carlo Zeno, who had 
 been cruising on the Genoese coast with fourteen galleys. The 
 Venetians were now strong enough to besiege the Genoese. 
 Doria was killed on the 22d of January, by a stone bullet 195 
 pounds weight, discharged from a bombard called the Trevisan. 
 Chioza was then closely invested : 5000 auxiliaries, amongst 
 whom were some English condottieri, commanded by one Captain 
 Ceccho, joined the Venetians. The Genoese, in their turn, 
 prayed for conditions, hut none were granted, until, at last, they 
 surrendered at discretion ; and, on the 24th of June, 1380, the 
 Doge Contarini made his triumphal entry into Chioza. Four 
 thousand prisoners, nineteen galleys, many smaller vessels and 
 barks, with all the ammunition and arms, and outfit of the expe- 
 dition, fell into the hands of the conquerors, who, had it not been 
 for the inexorable answer of Doria, would have gladly reduced 
 their dominion to the city of Venice. An account of these trans- 
 actions is found in a work called the War of Chioza, written by 
 Daniel Chinazzo, who was in Venice at the time.
 
 292 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 No. VII. VENICE UNDER THE GOVERNMENT OF AUSTRIA. 
 
 " Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must 
 
 Too oft remind her who and what enthrals." Stanza xv. 
 
 The population of Venice at the end of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury amounted to nearly two hundred thousand souls. At the 
 iast census, taken two years ago, it was no more than about one 
 hundred and three thousand : and it diminishes daily. The com- 
 merce and the official employments, which were to be the unex- 
 hausted source of Venetian grandeur, have both expired. Most 
 of the patrician mansions are deserted, and would gradually dis- 
 appear, had not the government, alarmed by the demolition of 
 seventy-two, during the last two years, expressly forbidden this 
 sad resource of poverty. Many remnants of the Venetian nobility 
 are now scattered and confounded with the wealthier Jews upon 
 the banks of the Brenta, whose Palladian palaces have sunk, or 
 are sinking, in the general decay. Of the " gentiluomo Veneto," 
 the name is still known, and that is all. He is but the shadow 
 of his former self, but he is polite and kind. It surely may be 
 pardoned to him if he is querulous. Whatever may have been 
 the vices of the republic, and although the natural term of its 
 existence may be thought by foreigners to have arrived in the due 
 course of mortality, only one sentiment can be expected from the 
 Venetians themselves. At no time were the subjects of the re- 
 public so unanimous in their resolution to rally round the stand- 
 ard of St. Mark, as when it was for the last time unfurled ; and 
 the cowardice and the treachery of the few patricians who 
 recommended the fatal neutrality were confined to the persons 
 of the traitors themselves. The present race cannot be thought 
 to regret the loss of their aristocratical forms and too despotic 
 government ; they think only on their vanished independence. 
 They pine away at the remembrance, and on this subject suspend 
 for a moment their gay good humour. Venice may be said, in 
 the words of the Scripture, "to die daily;" and so general and 
 so apparent is the decline, as to become painful to a stranger, not 
 reconciled to the sight of a whole nation expiring as it were 
 before his eyes. So artificial a creation, having lost that princi- 
 ple which called it into life and supported its existence, must 
 fall to pieces at once, and sink more rapidly than it rose. The 
 abhorrence of slavery which drove the Venetians to the sea, has, 
 since their disaster, forced them to the land, where they may be
 
 APPENDIX. 293 
 
 at least overlooked amongst the crowd of dependants, and not 
 present the humiliating spectacle of a whole nation loaded with 
 recent chains. Their liveliness, their affability, and that happy 
 indifference which constitution alone can give, (for philosophy 
 aspires to it in vain,) have not sunk under circumstances ; but 
 many peculiarities of costume and manner have by degrees been 
 lost, and the nobles, with a pride common to all Italians who 
 have been masters, have not been persuaded to parade their in- 
 significance. That splendour which was a proof and a portion 
 of their power, they would not degrade into the trappings of 
 their subjection. They retired from the space which they had 
 occupied in the eyes of their fellow-citizens ; their continuance 
 in which would have been a symptom of acquiescence, and an 
 insult to those who suffered by the common misfortune. Those 
 who remained in the degraded capital might be said rather to 
 haunt the scenes of their departed power, than to live in them. 
 The reflection, "who and what enthrals," will hardly bear a 
 comment from one who is, nationally, the friend and the ally of 
 the conqueror. It may, however, be allowed to say thus much, 
 that to those who wish to recover their independence, any mas- 
 ters must be an object of detestation ; and it may be safely fore- 
 told that this unprofitable aversion will not have been corrected 
 before Venice shall have sunk into the slime of her choked 
 canals. 
 
 No. VIII. LAURA. 
 
 " Watering the tree which bears his lady's name 
 With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame." 
 
 Stanza xxv. 
 
 Thanks to the critical acumen of a Scotchman, we now know 
 as little of Laura as ever.* The discoveries of the Abbe de 
 Sade, his triumphs, his sneers, can no longer instruct or amuse. 
 We must not, however, think that these memoirs are as much a 
 romance as Belisarius or the Incas, although we are told so by 
 Dr. Beattie, a great name, but a little authority.f His " labour" 
 has not been in vain, notwithstanding his " love" has, like most 
 
 * See An Historical and Critical Essay on the Life and Character of Petrarch, 
 end a Dissertation on an Historical Hypothesis* of the Abb de Sade. 
 I Life of Beattie, by Sir \V. Forbep, vol. ii. p. 100. 
 25*
 
 2i4 APPENDIX. 
 
 other passions, made him ridiculous.* The hypothesis which 
 overpowered the struggling Italians, and carried along less in- 
 terested critics in its current, is run out. We have another proof 
 that we can be never sure that the paradox, the most singular, 
 and therefore having the most agreeable and authentic air, will 
 not give place to the re-established ancient prejudice. 
 
 It seems, then, first, that Laura was born, lived, died, and was 
 buried, not in Avignon, but in the country. The fountains of 
 the Sorga, the thickets of Cabrieres, may resume their preten- 
 sions, and the exploded de la Bastie again be heard with compla- 
 cency. The hypothesis of the Abbe had no stronger props than 
 tho parchment sonnet and medal found on the skeleton of the 
 wife of Hugo de Sade, and the manuscript note to the Virgil of 
 Petrarch, now in the Ambrosian library. If these proofs were 
 both incontestable, the poetry was written, the medal composed, 
 cast, and deposited within the space of twelve hours : and these 
 deliberate duties were performed round the carcass of one who 
 died of the plague, and was hurried to the grave on the day of 
 her death. These documents, therefore, are too decisive : they 
 prove not the fact, but the forgery. Either the sonnet or the 
 Virgilian note must be a falsification. The Abbe cites both as 
 incontestably true ; the consequent deduction is inevitable they 
 are both evidently false."]" 
 
 Secondly, Laura was never married, and was a haughty virgin 
 rather than that tender and prudent wife who honoured Avignon, 
 by making that town the theatre of an honest French passion, 
 and played off for one-and-twenty years her little machinery of 
 alternate favours and refusals}: upon the first poet of the age. It 
 was, indeed, rather too unfair that a female should be made re- 
 sponsible for eleven children upon the faith of a misinterpreted 
 abbreviation, and the decision of a librarian.^ It is, however, 
 
 * Mr. Gibbon called his Memoirs "a labour of love," (see Decline and Fall, 
 chap. Ixx. note 1,) and followed him with confidence and delight. The com- 
 piler of a very voluminous work must take much criticism upon trust. Mr. 
 Gibbon has done so, though not as readily as some other authors. 
 
 t The sonnet bad before awakened the suspicions of Mr. Horace Walpole. 
 See his letter to Warton in 1763. 
 
 t"Par ce petit manege, cette alternative de faveurs et de rigueurs bien 
 niunagoe, une femme tendre et sage amuse, pendant vingt et un ana, le plus 
 grand pogte de son siecle, sans faire la moindre brfcche & son honneur." 
 Mem. pour la Vie de Pe'trarque, Preface aux Francais. 
 
 $ In a dialogue with St. \ugustin, Petrarch has described Laura as having a 
 body exhausted with repeated ptubs. The old editors read and printed pertur- 
 bationibu-s : but M. Capperonier, librarian to the French king in 1762, who saw 
 the MS. in the Paris library, made an attestation that " on lit et qu'on doit lire,
 
 APPENDIX. 295 
 
 satisfactory to think that the love of Petrarch was not platonic. 
 The happiness which he prayed to possess but once and for a 
 moment was surely not of the mind,* and something so very 
 real as a marriage project, with one who has been idly called a 
 shadowy nymph, may be, perhaps, detected in at least six 
 places of his own sonnets. The love of Petrarch was neither 
 platonic nor poetical : and if in one passage of his works he 
 calls it " amore veementeissimo ma unico ed onesto," he con- 
 fesses, in a letter to a friend, that it was guilty and perverse, that 
 it absorbed him quite, and mastered his heart. 
 
 In this case, however, he was perhaps alarmed for the culpa- 
 bility of his wishes ; for the Abbe de Sade himself, who certainly 
 would not have been scrupulously delicate if he could have 
 proved his descent from Petrarch as well as Laura, is forced into 
 a stout defence of his virtuous grandmother. As far as relates 
 to the poet, we have no security for the innocence, except per- 
 haps in the constancy of his pursuit. He assures us in his 
 epistle to posterity, that, when arrived at his fortieth year, he 
 not only had in horror, but had lost all recollection and image of 
 any " irregularity." But the birth of his natural daughter can- 
 not be assigned earlier than his thirty-ninth year ; and either the 
 memory or the morality of the poet must have failed him, when 
 he forgot or was guilty of this slip.\ The weakest argument for 
 the purity of this love has been drawn from the permanence of 
 its effects, which survived the object of his passion. The re- 
 flection of M. de la Bastie, that virtue alone is capable of mak- 
 ing impressions which death cannot efface, is one of those which 
 everybody applauds, and everybody finds not to be true, the 
 moment he examines his own breast or the records of human 
 feeling.:}: Such apophthegms can do nothing for Petrarch or for 
 the cause of morality, except with the very weak and the very 
 
 partnbus exhaustum." De Sade joined the names of Messrs. Boudot and Bejot 
 with M. Capperonier, and, in the whole discussion on this ptubs, showed him- 
 self a downright literary rogue. See Riflessioni, &c. p. 367. Thomas Aquinas 
 is called in to settle whether Petrarch's mistress was a chaste maid or a cun- 
 tinfnl wife. 
 
 "Pigmalion, quanto lodar ti dei 
 Dell' imagine tua, se mille volte 
 N' avesti quel ch' i' sol una vorrei." 
 
 Sonetto 58. quando giunse a Simon Valto concetto. 
 Le Rime, &c. par. i. pag. 189. edit. Ven. 1756. 
 
 t " A questa confessione cosi sincera diede torse occasione una nuova caduta 
 eh" ei fece." Tiraboschi, Storia, tc. v. 492. 
 
 t M. de Bimard, Baron de la Bastie, in the Memoircs de 1'Academie des In- 
 scriptions et Belles Lettres for 1740 and 1751. See also Riflessioni, &c. p 295
 
 296 APPENDIX. 
 
 young. He that has made even a little progress beyond igno 
 ranee and pupillage cannot be edified with any thing but truth. 
 What is called vindicating the honour of an individual or a na- 
 tion, is the most futile, tedious, and uninstructive of all writing ; 
 although it will always meet with more applause than that sober 
 criticism, which is attributed to the malicious desire of reducing 
 =i great man to the common standard of humanity. It is, after 
 ill, not unlikely that our historian was right in retaining his 
 favourite hypothetic salvo, which secures the author, although 
 it scarcely saves the honour of the still unknown mistress of 
 Petrarch.* 
 
 No. IX. PETRARCH. 
 " They keep his dust in Jlrqud, where he died." Stanza xxxi. 
 
 Petrarch retired to Arqua immediately on his return from the 
 unsuccessful attempt to visit Urban V. at Rome, in the year 1370, 
 and, with the exception of his celebrated visit to Venice in com- 
 pany with Francesco Novello da Carrara, he appears to have 
 passed the four last years of his life between that charming soli- 
 tude and Padua. For four months previous to his death he was 
 in a state of continual languor, and in the morning of July the 
 19th, in the year 1374, was found dead in his library chair with 
 his head resting upon a book. The chair is still shown amongst 
 the precious relics of Arqua, which, from the uninterrupted ve- 
 neration that has been attached to every thing relative to this 
 great man from the moment of his death to the present hour, 
 have, it may be hoped, a better chance of authenticity than the 
 Shakspearian memorials of Stratford-upon-Avon. 
 
 Arqua (for the last syllable is accented in pronunciation, 
 although the analogy of the English language has been observed 
 in the verse) is twelve miles from Padua, and about three miles 
 on the right of the high road to Rovigo, in the bosom of the Eu- 
 ganean hills. After a walk of twenty minutes across a flat well- 
 wooded meadow, you come to a little blue lake, clear but fathom- 
 less, and to the foot of a succession of acclivities and hills, 
 clothed with vineyards and orchards, rich with fir and pome- 
 granate trees, and every sunny fruit shrub. From the banks of 
 
 * "And if the virtue or prudence of Laura was inexorable, he enjoyed, ana 
 might boast of enjoying, the nymph of poetry." Decline and Fall, chap. Ixx 
 p. 327. vol. xii. 8vo. Perhaps the if is here meant for although.
 
 APPENDIX. 297 
 
 the lake the road winds into the hills, and the church of Arqua 
 is soon seen between a cleft where two ridges slope towards each 
 other, and nearly enclose the village. The houses are scattered 
 at intervals on the steep sides of these summits ; and that of the 
 poet is on the edge of a 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 woods of mulberry and willow, thickened into a dark mass 
 by festoons 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. The climate of these 
 volcanic hills is warmer, and the vintage begins a week sooner 
 than in the plains of Padua. Petrarch is laid, for he cannot be 
 said to be buried, in a sarcophagus of red marble, raised on four 
 pilasters on an elevated base, and preserved from an association 
 with meaner tombs. It stands conspicuously alone, but will be 
 soon overshadowed by four lately planted laurels. Petrarch's 
 Fountain, for here every thing is Petrarch's, springs and expands 
 itself beneath an artificial arch, a little below the church, and 
 abounds plentifully, in the driest season, with that soft water 
 which was the ancient wealth of the Euganean hills. It would 
 be more attractive, were it not, in some seasons, beset with hor- 
 nets and wasps. No other coincidence could assimilate the 
 tombs of Petrarch and Archilochus. The revolutions of centu- 
 ries have spared these sequestered valleys, and the only violence 
 which has been offered to the ashes of Petrarch was prompted, 
 not by hate, but veneration. An attempt was made to rob the 
 sarcophagus of its treasure, and one of the arms was stolen by a 
 Florentine through a rent which is still visible. The injury is 
 not forgotten, but has served to identify the poet with the country 
 where he was born, but where he would not live. A peasant boy 
 of Arqua being asked who Petrarch was, replied, " that the people 
 of the parsonage knew all about him, but that he only knew that 
 he was a Florentine." 
 
 Mr. Forsyth* was not quite correct in saying that Petrarch 
 never returned to Tuscany after he had once quitted it when a 
 boy. It appears he did pass through Florence on his way 
 from Parma to Rome, and on his return in the year 1350, and 
 remained there long enough to form some acquaintance with 
 its most distinguished inhabitants. A Florentine gentleman, 
 ashamed of the aversion of the poet for his native country, was 
 
 * Remarks, &c. on Italy, p. 95, note, 2d edit.
 
 298 APPENDIX. 
 
 eager to point out this trivial error in our accomplished traveller, 
 whom he knew and respected for an extraordinary capacity, 
 extensive erudition, and refined taste, joined to that engaging 
 simplicity of manners which has been so frequently recognised 
 as the surest, though it is certainly not an indispensable trait of 
 superior genius. 
 
 Every footstep of Laura's lover has been anxiously traced and 
 recorded. The house in which he lodged is shown in Venice. 
 The inhabitants of Arezzo, in order to decide the ancient contro- 
 versy between their city and the neighbouring Ancisa, where 
 Petrarch was carried when seven months old, and remained until 
 his seventh year, have designated by a long inscription the spot 
 where their great fellow-citizen was born. A tablet has been 
 raised to him at Parma, in the chapel of St. Agatha, at the 
 cathedral, because he was archdeacon of that society, and was 
 only snatched from his intended sepulture in their church by a 
 foreign death. Another tablet, with a bust, has been erected to 
 him at Pavia, on account of his having passed the autumn of 
 1368 in that city, with his son-in-law Brossano. The political 
 condition which has for ages precluded the Italians from the cri- 
 ticism of the living, has concentrated their attention to the illus- 
 tration of the dead. 
 
 No. X TASSO. 
 
 " In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire ? 
 And Soileau, whose rash envy," $rc. Stanza xxxviii. 
 
 Perhaps the couplet in which Boileau depreciates Tasso may 
 serve as well as any other specimen to justify the opinion given 
 of the harmony of French verse : 
 
 " A Malherbe, k Racan, prefere Theophile, 
 Et le clinquant du Tasse & tout 1'or de Virgile." Sat. ix. 
 
 The biographer Serassi,* out of tenderness to the reputation 
 either of the Italian or the French poet, is eager to observe that 
 the satirist recanted or explained away this censure, and subse- 
 quently allowed the author of the Jerusalem to be a " genius, 
 sublime, vast, and happily born for the higher nights of poetry." 
 To this we will add, that the recantation is far from satisfactory. 
 
 * La Vita del Tasgo, lib. iii.
 
 APPENDIX. M) 
 
 when we examine the whole anecdote as reported by Olivet.* 
 The sentence pronounced against him by Bohoursf is recorded 
 only to the confusion of the critic, whose palinodia the Italian 
 makes no effort to discover, and would not, perhaps, accept. As 
 to the opposition which the Jerusalem encountered from the 
 Cruscan academy, who degraded Tasso from all competition with 
 Ariosto, below Bojardo and Pulci, the disgrace of such opposition 
 must also in some measure be laid to the charge of Alfonso, and 
 the court of Ferrara. For Leonard Salviati, the principal and 
 nearly the sole origin of this attack, was, there can be no doubt,^: 
 influenced by a hope to acquire the favour of the House of Este : 
 an object which he thought attainable by exalting the reputation 
 of a native poet at the expense of a rival, then a. prisoner of state. 
 The hopes and efforts of Salviati must serve to show the contem- 
 porary opinion as to the nature of the poet's imprisonment; and 
 will fill up the measure of our indignation at the tyrant jailer. 
 In fact, the antagonist of Tasso was not disappointed in the 
 reception given to his criticism; he was called to the court of 
 Ferrara, where, having endeavoured to heighten his claims to 
 favour, by panegyrics on the family of his sovereign, || he was in 
 turn abandoned, and expired in neglected poverty. The opposi- 
 tion of the Cruscans was brought to a close in six years after the 
 commencement of the controversy ; and if the academy owed its 
 first renown to having almost opened with such a paradox,^" it 
 is probable that, on the other hand, the care of his reputation 
 alleviated rather than aggravated the imprisonment of the injured 
 
 * Ilistoire de l'Acadmie Franchise depuis 1652 jusqu'a. 1700, par I'Abb6 
 d'OHvet. " Mais, ensuite, venant 4 1'usage qu'il a fait de ses talens, j'aurais 
 montre" que le bon sens n'est pas toujours ce qui domine chez lui," p. 182. 
 Boileau said, he had not changed his opinion. " J'en ai si peu change, dit-il," 
 &c. p. 181. 
 
 t La Maniere de bien Penser. Philanthes is for TBFSO, and says in the out- 
 set, " De tous les beaux esprits que I'ltalie a portes, le Tasse est peut-etre celui 
 qui pense le plus nobleinent." But Bohours seems to speak in Eudoxus, who 
 closes with the absurd comparison ; " Faites valoir le Tasse tant qu'il voul 
 plaira, je m'en tiens pour moi a Virgile," &c. 
 
 J La Vita, &c. lib. iii. p. 90, torn. ii. The English reader may see an account 
 of the opposition of the Crusca to Tasso, in Dr. Black, Life, &c. chap. xvii. 
 vol. ii. 
 
 } For a further, and it is hoped, decisive proof, that Tasso was neither more 
 nor less than a prisoner of state, the reader is referred to " Historical Illustra- 
 tions of the IVlh Canto of Childe Harold," page 5, and following. 
 
 A Orazioni funebri . . . delle lodi di Don Luigi, Cardinal d'Este . . . delle 
 oili di Donno Alfonso d' Este. See La Vita, lib. iii. p. 117. 
 
 TJ It was founded in 1582, and the Cruscan answer to Pelleprino's Caraffa, 01 
 tpica poesi^, was publUbed in 1584.
 
 300 APPENDIX. 
 
 poet. The defence of his father and of himself, for both were 
 involved in the censure of Salviati, found employment for many 
 of his solitary hours, and the captive could have heen but little 
 embarrassed to reply to accusations, where, amongst other delin- 
 quencies, he was charged with invidiously omitting, in his com- 
 parison between France and Italy, to make any mention of the 
 cupola of St. Maria del Fiore at Florence.* The late b'ographer 
 of Ariosto seems as if willing to renew the controversy by doubt- 
 ing the interpretation of Tasso's self-estimationj" related in 
 Serassi's life of the poet. But Tiraboschi had before laid that 
 rivalry at rest,^: by showing, that between Ariosto and Tasso it 
 is not a question of comparison, but of preference. 
 
 No. XI. ARIOSTO. 
 
 " The lightning rent from Jlriosto's bust 
 The iron crown of laurePs mimicked leaves."- Stanza xli. 
 
 Before the remains of Ariosto were removed from the Benedic- 
 tine church to the library of Ferrara, his bust, which surmounted 
 the tomb, was struck by lightning, and a crown of iron laurels 
 melted away. The event has been recorded by a writer of the 
 last century. The transfer of these sacred ashes, on the 6th of 
 June, 1801, was one of the most brilliant spectacles of the short- 
 lived Italian Republic ; and to consecrate the memory of the 
 ceremony, the once famous fallen Intrepidi were revived and re- 
 formed into the Ariostean academy. The large public place 
 through which the procession paraded was then for the first time 
 called Ariosto Square. The author of the Orlando is jealously 
 claimed as the Homer, not of Italy, but Ferrara.|| The mother 
 of Ariosto was of Reggio, and the house in which he was born 
 is carefully distinguished by a tablet with these words : " Qui 
 nacque Ludovico Ariosto il giorno 8. di Settembre dell' anno 
 
 " Cotanto pote sempre In lui il veleno dclla sna pessima volontacontro alia 
 nazion Fiorentina." La Vita, lib. iii. pp. 96. 96. torn. ii. 
 
 t La Vita di M. L. Ariocto, scritta dull' Abate Girolamo Baruffaldi Giuniore, 
 &c. Ferrara, 1807, lib. iii. p. 202. See " Historical Illustrations," &.c. p. 26. 
 
 t Storia delta Lett. &c. lib. iii. torn. vii. par. iii. p. 1220. sect. 4. 
 
 Op. di Bianconi, vol. iii. p. 176, ed. Milano, 1802; lettera al Signor Guido 
 Savini Arcifisiocritico, still' indole di 1111 fulmiue caduto in Dresda 1'anno 1759. 
 
 il " Appassionata ammirittore ed invitto apologista dell' Omera Ferrarese " 
 The title was first given l>j' Ta?so. and is quoted to the confusion of the Tassisti, 
 lib. iii. pp. 2tt2. 265. La Vita di M. L. Ariosto, &c.
 
 APPENDIX. 301 
 
 1474." But the Ferrarese make light of the accident by which 
 their poet was born abroad, and claim him exclusively for their 
 own. They possess his bones, they show his arm-chair, and 
 his inkstand, and his autographs. 
 
 " Hie illius arma, 
 
 Hie currus fuit " 
 
 The house where he lived, the room where he died, are desig- 
 nated by his own replaced memorial,* and by a recent inscrip- 
 tion. The Ferrarese are more jealous of their claims since the 
 animosity of Denina, arising from a cause which their apologists 
 mysteriously hint is not unknown to them, ventured to degrade 
 their soil and climate to a Boeotian incapacity for all spiritual 
 productions. A quarto volume has been called forth by the de- 
 traction, and this supplement to Barotti's Memoirs of the illus- 
 trious Ferrarese has been considered a triumphant reply to the 
 " Quadro Storico Statistico dell' Alta Italia." 
 
 No. XII. ANCIENT SUPERSTITIONS RESPECTING LIGHTNING. 
 
 " For the true laurel-wreath which glory weaves 
 Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves." Stanza xli. 
 
 The eagle, the sea calf, the laurel, and the white vine, were 
 amongst the most approved preservatives against lightning: 
 Jupiter chose the first, Augustus Caesar the second, and Tibe- 
 rius never failed to wear a wreath of the third when the sky 
 threatened a thunder-storm. f These superstitions may be re- 
 ceived without a sneer in a country where the magical proper- 
 ties of the hazel twig have not lost all their credit ; and perhaps 
 the reader may not be much surprised to find that a commentator 
 on Suetonius has taken upon himself gravely to disprove the 
 imputed virtues of the crown of Tiberius, by mentioning that a 
 few years before he wrote a laurel was actually struck by light- 
 ning at Rome.^: 
 
 * " Parva sed apta mihi, sed nulli obnoxia, sed non 
 
 Sordida, parta meo sed tamen sere doraus." 
 
 f Plin. Nat. Hist, lib. ii. cap. 55 Columella, lib. x. Sueton. in Vit. August. 
 rap. xc. et in Vit. Tiberii, rap. l.iix. 
 t Note 2, p. 40U, edit. l,ugd. Bat. 1667.
 
 303 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. XIII. 
 "Know that the lightning sanctifies below" Stanza xli. 
 
 The Curtian lake and the Ruminal fig-tree in the Forum, hav- 
 ing been touched by lightning, were held sacred, and the memo- 
 ry of the accident was preserved by aputeal, or altar resembling 
 the mouth of a well, with a little chapel covering the cavity sup- 
 posed to be made by the thunderbolt. Bodies scathed and per- 
 sons struck dead were thought to be incorruptible ;* and a stroke 
 not fatal conferred perpetual dignity upon the man so distin- 
 guished by Heaven.f 
 
 Those killed by lightning were wrapped in a white garment, 
 and buried where they fell. The superstition was not confined 
 to the worshippers of Jupiter: the Lombards believed in the 
 omens furnished by lightning; and a Christian priest confesses 
 that, by a diabolical skill in interpreting thunder, a seer foretold 
 to Agilulf, duke of Turin, an event which came to pass, and 
 gave him a queen and a crown.}: There was, however, some- 
 thing equivocal in this sign, which the ancient inhabitants of 
 Rome did not always consider propitious; and as the fears are 
 likely to last longer than the consolations of superstition, it is 
 not strange that the Romans of the age of Leo X. should have 
 been so much terrified at some misinterpreted storms as to re- 
 quire the exhortations of a scholar, who arrayed all the learning 
 on thunder and lightning to prove the omen favourable; begin- 
 ning with the flash which struck the walls of Velitrae, and in- 
 cluding that which played upon a gate at Florence, and foretold 
 the pontificate of one of its citizens. 
 
 No. XIV. THE VENUS OF MEDICIS. 
 " There, too, the goddess loves in stone." Stanza xlix. 
 
 The view of the Venus of Medicis instantly suggests the lines 
 in the Seasons, and the comparison of the object with the descrip- 
 
 * Vid. J. C. Bullenger, de Terrs Motii et Fulminib. lib. v. cap. xi. 
 
 t OMcif KcpavvuOns art^s iari, oQsv na\ wj Seuj ri/zrai. Plut. Sympos. 
 vid. J. C. Rulleng. ut sup. 
 
 t Pauli Diaconi de Gestis Langobard. lib. iii. cap. xiv. 
 
 Jl P. Valerian! de fulminu m significationibus declamatio, ap. Orav. Antiq. 
 Rom. torn. v. p. 593. The declamation is addressed to Julian of Medicis.
 
 APPENDIX. 303 
 
 tion proves, not only the correctness of the portrait, but the pe- 
 culiar turn of thought, and, if the term may be used, the sexual 
 imagination of the descriptive poet. The same conclusion may 
 be deduced from another hint in the same episode of Musidora ; 
 for Thomson's notion of the privileges of favoured love must 
 have been either very primitive, or rather deficient in delicacy, 
 when he made his grateful nymph inform her discreet Damon 
 that in some happier moment he might perhaps be the companion 
 of her bath : 
 
 "The time may come you need not fly." 
 
 The reader will recollect the anecdote told in the Life of Dr. 
 Johnson. We will not leave the Florentine gallery without a 
 word on the Whetter. It seems strange that the character of that 
 disputed statue should not be entirely decided, at least in the 
 mind of any one who has seen a sarcophagus in the vestibule of 
 the Basilica of St. Paul without the walls, at Rome, where the 
 whole group of the fable of Marsyas is seen in tolerable preser- 
 vation ; and the Scythian slave whetting the knife is represented 
 exactly in the same position as this celebrated masterpiece. The 
 slave is not naked ; but it is easier to get rid of this difficulty 
 than to suppose the knife in the hand of the Florentine statue an 
 instrument for shaving, which it must be, if, as Lanzi supposes, 
 the man is no other than the barber of Julius Caesar. Winkel- 
 mann, illustrating a bas-relief of the same subject, follows the 
 opinion of Leonard Agostini, and his authority might have been 
 thought conclusive, even if the resemblance did not strike the 
 most careless observer.* Amongst the bronzes of the same 
 princely collection is still to be seen the inscribed tablet copied 
 and commented upon by Mr. Gibbon.f Our historian found 
 some difficulties, but did not desist from his illustration : he 
 might be vexed to hear that his criticism has been thrown away 
 on an inscription now generally recognised to be a forgery. 
 
 No. XV. MADAME DE STAEL. 
 " In Santa Grace's holy precincts lie." Stanza liv. 
 
 This name will recall the memory, not only of those whose 
 tombs have raised the Santa Croce into the centre of pilgrimage, 
 
 * See Mnnim. Ant. Ined. par. i. cap. zvii. n. xlii. pag. 50; and Storia dell' 
 Arii. Ac. lib. xi. cap. i. torn. ii. pag. 314, not. B. 
 t Notnina gentesque Antique Italiz, p. 201, edit, oct.
 
 304 APPENDIX. 
 
 the Mecca of Italy, but of her whose eloquence was poured over 
 the illustrious ashes, and whose voice is now as mute as those 
 she sung. CORINNA is no more ; and with her should expire the 
 fear, the flattery, and the envy, which threw too dazzling or too 
 dark a cloud round the march of genius, and forbade the steady 
 gaze of disinterested criticism. We have her picture embel- 
 lished or distorted, as friendship or detraction has held the pen- 
 cil : the impartial portrait was hardly to be expected from a con- 
 temporary. The immediate voice of her survivors will, it is 
 probable, be far from affording a just estimate of her singular 
 capacity. The gallantry, the love of wonder, and the hope of 
 associated fame, which blunted the edge of censure, must cease 
 to exist. The dead have no sex ; they can surprise by no new 
 miracles ; they can confer no privilege : Corinna has ceased to 
 be a woman she is only an author: and it may be foreseen that 
 many will repay themselves for former complaisance, by a seve- 
 rity to which the extravagance of previous praises may perhaps 
 give the colour of truth. The latest posterity, for to the latest 
 posterity they will assuredly descend, will have to pronounce 
 upon her various productions; and the longer the vista through 
 which they are seen, the more accurately minute will be the ob- 
 ject, the more certain the justice, of the decision. She will 
 enter into that existence in which the great writers of all ages 
 and nations are, as it were, associated in a world of their own, 
 and, from that superior sphere, shed their eternal influence for 
 the control and consolation of mankind. But the individual will 
 gradually disappear as the author is more distinctly seen : some 
 one, therefore, of all those whom the charms of involuntary wit, 
 and of easy hospitality, attracted within the friendly circles of 
 Coppet, should rescue from oblivion those virtues which, al- 
 though they are said to love the shade, are, in fact, more fre- 
 quently chilled than excited by the domestic cares of private life. 
 Some one should be found to portray the unaffected graces with 
 which she adorned those dearer relationships, the performance 
 of whose duties is rather discovered amongst the interior secrets, 
 than seen in the outward management, of family intercourse ; 
 and which, indeed, it requires the delicacy of genuine affection 
 to qualify for the eye of an indifferent spectator. Some one 
 should be found, not to celebrate, but to describe, the amiable 
 mistress of an open mansion, the centre of a society, ever va- 
 ried, and always pleased, the creator of which, divested of the 
 ambition and the arts of public rivalry, shone forth only to give 
 fresh animation to those around her. The mother tenderly affec-
 
 APPENDIX. 305 
 
 tionate and tenderly beloved, the friend unboundedly generous, 
 but still esteemed, the charitable patroness of all distress, can- 
 not be forgotten by those whom she cherished, and protected, 
 and fed. Her loss will be mourned the most where she was 
 known the best; and, to the sorrows of very many friends, and 
 more dependants, may be offered the disinterested regret of a 
 stranger, who, amidst the sublimer scenes of the Leman lake, 
 received his chief satisfaction from contemplating the engaging 
 qualities of the incomparable Corinna. 
 
 No. XVI. ALFIERI. 
 
 " Here repose 
 Angela's, Alficrrs bones." Stanza liv. 
 
 Alfieri is the great name of this age. The Italians, without 
 waiting for the hundred years, consider him as " a poet good in 
 law." His memory is the more dear to them because he is the 
 bard of freedom; and because, as such, his tragedies can 
 receive no countenance from any of their sovereigns. They 
 are but very seldom, and but very few of them, allowed 
 to be acted. It was observed by Cicero, that nowhere were 
 the true opinions and feelings of the Romans so clearly 
 shown as at the theatre.* In the autumn of 1816, a cele- 
 brated improwisatore exhibited his talents at the Opera- 
 house of Milan. The reading of the theses handed in for 
 the subjects of his poetry was received by a very numerous au- 
 dience, for the most part in silence, or with laughter; but when 
 the assistant, unfolding one of the papers, exclaimed, The apo- 
 theosis of Victor Jl/ficri, the whole theatre burst into a shout, and 
 the applause was continued for some moments. The lot did not 
 fall on Alfieri ; and the Signer Sgricci had to pour forth his ex- 
 temporary commonplaces on the bombardment of Algiers. The 
 
 * The free expression of their honest sentiments survived their liberties. 
 Titius, the friend of Antony, presented them with games in the theatre of Pom- 
 pey. They did not suffer the brilliancy of the spectacle to efface from their 
 memory that the man who furnished them with the entertainment had mur- 
 dered the son of Pompey : they drove him from the theatre with curses. The 
 moral sense of a populace, spontaneously expressed, is never wrong. Even 
 the soldiers of the triumvirs joined in the execration of the citizens, by shout- 
 ing round the chariots of Lepidus and Plancus, who had proscribed their bro- 
 thers, De Germaitis non de Oallu duo triumphant Consults ; a saying worth a 
 record, were it nothing but a good pun. [C. Veil. Paterculi Hist. lib. ii. cap 
 Ixxix. pag 73. edit. Elzevir. 1639. Ihi I lib. ii. cap. Uxvii.] 
 
 ac
 
 306 APPENDIX. 
 
 choice, indeed, is not left to accident quite so much as might be 
 thought from a first view of the ceremony; and the police not 
 only takes care to look at the papers beforehand, but, in case of 
 any prudential after-thought, steps in to correct the blindness of 
 chance. The proposal for deifying Alfieri was received with 
 immediate enthusiasm, the rather because it was conjectured, 
 here would be no opportunity of carrying it into effect. 
 
 No. XVII. MACHIAVELLI. 
 
 "Here Machiavelli s earth returned to whenct, it rcsj." 
 
 Stanza lir. 
 
 The affectation of simplicity in sepulchral inscriptions, which 
 so often leaves us uncertain whether the structure before us is an 
 actual depository, or a cenotaph, or a simple memorial not of 
 death but life, has given to the tomb of Machiavelli no informa- 
 tion as to the place or time of the birth or death, the age or pa- 
 rentage, of the historian. 
 
 TANTO NOMINI NVLLVM PAR ELOGIVM 
 NICCOLAVS MACHIAVELLI. 
 
 There seems at least no reason why the name should not have 
 been put above the sentence which alludes to it. 
 
 It will readily be imagined that the prejudices which have 
 passed the name of Machiavelli into an epithet proverbial of 
 iniquity exist no longer at Florence. His memory was perse- 
 cuted, as his life had been, for an attachment to liberty incom- 
 patible with the new system of despotism which succeeded the 
 fall of the free governments of Italy. He was put to the torture 
 for being a "libertine," that is, for wishing to restore the repub- 
 lic of Florence; and such are the undying efforts of those who 
 are interested in the perversion, not only of the nature of actions, 
 but the meaning of words, that what was once patriotism, has 
 by degrees come to signify debauch. We have ourselves outlived 
 the old meaning of " liberality," which is now another word for 
 treason in one country and for infatuation in all. It seems to 
 have been a strange mistake to accuse the author of " The 
 Prince," as being a pander to tyranny ; and to think that the In- 
 quisition would condemn his work for such a delinquency. The 
 fact is, that Machiavelli, as is usual with those against whom 
 no crime can be proved, was suspected of and charged with 
 atheism; and the first and last most violent opposers of "The
 
 APPENDIX. 307 
 
 Prince" were both Jesuits, one of whom persuaded the Inquisi- 
 tion, "benche fosse tardo," to prohibit the treatise, and the other 
 qualified the secretary of the Florentine republic as no better 
 than a fool. The father Possevin was proved never to have read 
 the book, and the father Lucchesini not to have understood it. 
 It is clear, however, that such critics must have objected not to 
 the slavery of the doctrines, but to the supposed tendency of a 
 lesson which shows how distinct are the interests of a monarch 
 from the happiness of mankind. The Jesuits are re-established 
 in Italy, and the last chapter of " The Prince" may again call 
 forth a particular refutation from those who are employed once 
 more in moulding the minds of the rising generation, so as to 
 receive the impressions of despotism. The chapter bears for 
 title, " Esortazione a liberare la Italia dai Barbari," and con- 
 cludes with a libertine excitement to the future redemption of 
 Italy. " Non si deve adunque lasciar passare questa occasione, 
 acciocche la Italia vegga dopo tanto tempo apparire un suo re- 
 dentore. Ne posso esprimere con qual amore ei fusse ricevuto 
 in tutte quelle provincie, che hanno patito per queste illuvioni 
 esterne, con qual sete di vendetta, con che ostinata fede, con che 
 lacrime. Quali porte se li serrerebeno ? Quali popoli li neg- 
 herebbono la obbedienza ? Quale Italiano li negherebbe 1'osse- 
 
 ? AD OGNCNO Pl'ZZA tjUESTO BARBARO DOMINIO."* 
 
 No. XVIII. DANTE. 
 
 " Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar." Stanza Ivii. 
 
 Dante was born in Florence, in the year 1261. He fought in 
 two battles, was fourteen times ambassador, and once prior of 
 the republic. When the party of Charles of Anjou triumphed 
 over the Bianchi, he was absent on an embassy to Pope Boni- 
 face VIII., and was condemned to two years' banishment, and to 
 a fine of 8000 lire ; on the non-payment of which he was fur- 
 ther punished by the sequestration of all his property. The re- 
 public, however, was not content with this satisfaction, for in 
 1772 was discovered in the archives at Florence a sentence in 
 which Dante is the eleventh of a list of fifteen condemned in 
 1302 to be burnt alive ; Tails perveniens igne comburatur sic quod 
 
 * II Principe di Niceolb Machiavelli,kc.,con la prefazione e le note istoriche 
 f politiche di M. Amelot de la Houssaye e 1' esame e confutazione dell' opera . . . 
 
 Cosmopoli, 1760.
 
 308 APPENDIX. 
 
 moriatur. The pretext for this judgment was a proof of unfair 
 barter, extortions, and illicit gains. Baracteriarum iniquarum, 
 cxtorsionum el illicitorum lucrorum,* and with such an accusation 
 it is not strange that Dante should have always protested his in- 
 nocence, and the injustice of his fellow-citizens. His appeal to 
 Florence was accompanied hy another to the Emperor Henry ; 
 and the death of that sovereign in 1313 was the signal for a sen- 
 tence of irrevocable banishment. He had before lingered near 
 Tuscany with hopes of recall ; then travelled into the north of 
 Italy, where Verona had to boast of his longest residence ; and 
 he finally settled at Ravenna, which was his ordinary but not 
 constant abode until his death. The refusal of the Venetians to 
 grant him a public audience, on the part of Guido Novello da 
 Polenta, his protector, is said to have been the principal cause 
 of this event, which happened in 1321. He was buried ("in 
 sacra minorum rede") at Ravenna, in a handsome tomb, which 
 was erected by Guido, restored by Bernardo Bembo in 1483, 
 praetor for that republic which had refused to hear him ; again 
 restored by Cardinal Corsi, in 1692, and replaced by a more 
 magnificent sepulchre, constructed in 1780 at the expense of the 
 Cardinal Luigi Valenti Gonzaga. The offence or misfortune of 
 Dante was an attachment to a defeated party, and, as his least 
 favourable biographers allege against him, too great a freedom 
 of speech and haughtiness of manner. But the next age paid 
 honours almost divine to the exile. The Florentines, having in 
 vain and frequently attempted to recover his body, crowned his 
 image in a church,! an ^ h* 8 picture is still one of the idols of 
 their cathedral. They struck medals, they raised statues to him. 
 The cities of Italy, not being able to dispute about his own birth, 
 contended for that of his great poem ; and the Florentines thought 
 it for their honour to prove that he had finished the seventh 
 canto before they drove him from his native city. Fifty-one 
 years after his death, they endowed a professorial chair for the 
 expounding of his verses, and Boccaccio was appointed to this 
 patriotic employment. The example was imitated by Bologna 
 and Pisa, and the commentators, if they performed but little ser- 
 vice to literature, augmented the veneration which beheld a 
 sacred or moral allegory in all the images of his mystic muse. 
 His birth and his infancy were discovered to have been distin- 
 
 * Storia della Lett. Ital. torn. v. lib. iii. par. 2, p. 448. Tiraboschi is incor 
 rect ; the dates of the three decrees against Dante are A. D. 1302, 1314, and 1316. 
 
 t So relates Ficino, but some think his coronation only an allegory. See 
 sStoria, &c. ut sup. p. 453.
 
 APPENDIX. 309 
 
 gnished above those of ordinary men : the author of the Deca- 
 meron, his earliest biographer, relates that his mother was 
 warned in a dream of the importance of her pregnancy : and it 
 was found, by others, that at ten years of age he had manifested 
 his precocious passion for that wisdom or theology, which, under 
 the name of Beatrice, had been mistaken for a substantial mis- 
 tress. When the Divine Comedy had been recognised as a 
 mere mortal production, and at the distance of two centuries, 
 when criticism and competition had sobered the judgment of 
 the Italians, Dante was seriously declared superior to Homer ;* 
 and though the preference appeared to some casuists "an here- 
 tical blasphemy worthy of the flames," the contest was vigo- 
 rously maintained for nearly fifty years. In later times it was 
 made a question which of the Lords of Verona could boast of 
 having patronised him,-)" and the jealous skepticism of one 
 writer would not allow Ravenna the undoubted possession of 
 his bones. Even the critical Tiraboschi was inclined to believe 
 that the poet had foreseen and foretold one of the discoveries of 
 Galileo. Like the great originals of other nations, his popu- 
 larity has not always maintained the same level. The last age 
 seemed inclined to undervalue him as a model and a study : and 
 Bettinelli one day rebuked his pupil Monti, for poring over the 
 harsh and obsolete extravagances of the Commedia. The pre- 
 sent generation having recovered from the Gallic idolatries of 
 Cesarotti, has returned to the ancient worship, and the Danleg- 
 giare of the northern Italians is thought even indiscreet by the 
 more moderate Tuscans. 
 
 There is still much curious information relative to the life and 
 writings of this great poet, which has not as yet been collected 
 even by the Italians ; but the celebrated Ugo Foscolo meditates 
 to supply this defect, and it is not to be regretted that this na- 
 tional work has been reserved for one so devoted to his country 
 and the cause of truth. 
 
 * By Varchi, in his Ercolano. The controversy continued from 1570 to 1616. 
 See Storia, &c. torn. vii. lib. iii. par. iii. p. 1280. 
 
 t ttio. .lacopo Dionisi Canonico di Verona. Serie di Aneddoti, n. 2. Sea 
 Storia, Jtc. torn, v lib. i. par. i. p. 24.
 
 310 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. XIX. TOMB OF THE SCIPIOS. 
 
 " Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ; 
 Thy factions, in their worse than civil war, 
 Proscribed," $~c. Stanza Ivii. 
 
 The elder Scipio Africanus, had a tomb if he was not buried 
 at Liternum, whither he had retired to voluntary banishment. 
 This tomb was near the sea-shore, and the story of an inscription 
 upon it, Ingrata Patria, having given a name to a modern tower, 
 is, if not true, an agreeable fiction. If he was not buried, he 
 certainly lived there.* 
 
 In cosi angusta e solitaria villa 
 
 Era '1 grand' uomo che d' Africa s' appella 
 
 Perche prima col ferro al vivo aprilla.j" 
 
 Ingratitude is generally supposed the vice peculiar to repub- 
 lics ; and it seems to be forgotten that for one instance of popu- 
 lar inconstancy, we have a hundred examples of the fall of 
 courtly favourites. Besides, a people have often repented a 
 monarch seldom or never. Leaving apart many familiar proofs 
 of this fact, a short story may show the difference between even 
 an aristocracy and the multitude. 
 
 Vettor Pisani, having been defeated in 1354 at Portolongo, 
 and many years afterwards in the more decisive action of Pola, 
 by the Genoese, was recalled by the Venetian government, and 
 thrown into chains. The Avvogadori proposed to behead him, 
 but the supreme tribunal was content with the sentence of im- 
 prisonment. Whilst Pisani was suffering this unmerited dis- 
 grace, Chioza, in the vicinity of the capital,:}: was, by the as- 
 sistance of the Signor of Padua, delivered into the hands of 
 Pietro Doria. At the intelligence of that disaster, the great bell 
 of St. Mark's tower tolled to arms, and the people and the sol- 
 diery of the galleys were summoned to the repulse of the ap- 
 proaching enemy ; but they protested they would not move a 
 step, unless Pisani were liberated and placed at their head. The 
 great council was instantly assembled : the prisoner was called 
 before them, and the Doge, Andrea Contarini, informed him of 
 the demands of the people, and the necessities of the state, 
 whose only hope of safety was reposed in his efforts, and who 
 
 * Vitam Literni egit sine desiderio urbis. See T. Liv. Hist. lib. xxxviii. Livy 
 reports that some said he was buried at Liternum, others at Rome. Ibid. cap. Iv. 
 1 Trionfo della Castita. J See Note VI. page 290.
 
 APPENDIX. 311 
 
 implored him to forget the indignities he had endured in her ser- 
 vice. " I have submitted," replied the magnanimous republican, 
 " I have submitted to your deliberations without complaint ; I 
 have supported patiently the pains of imprisonment, for they 
 were inflicted at your command : this is no time to inquire whe- 
 ther I deserved them the good of the republic may have seemed 
 to require it, and that which the republic resolves is always re- 
 solved wisely. Behold me ready to lay down my life for the 
 preservation of my country." Pisani was appointed generalis- 
 simo, and by his exertions, in conjunction with those of Carlo 
 Zeno, the Venetians soon recovered the ascendancy over their 
 maritime rivals. 
 
 The Italian communities were no less unjust to their citizens 
 than the Greek republics. Liberty, both with the one and the 
 other, seems to have been a national, not an individual object: 
 and, notwithstanding the boasted equality before the laws, which 
 an ancient Greek writer* considered the great distinctive mark 
 between his countrymen and the barbarians, the mutual rights of 
 fellow-citizens seem never to have been the principal scope of the 
 old democracies. The world may have not yet seen an essay 
 by the author of the Italian Republics, in which the distinction 
 between the liberty of former states and the signification at- 
 tached to that word by the happier constitution of England, is 
 ingeniously developed. The Italians, however, when they had 
 ceased to be free, still looked back with a sigh upon those times 
 of turbulence, when every citizen might rise to a share of sovereign 
 power, and have never been taught fully to appreciate the repose 
 of a monarchy. Sperone Speroni, when Francis Maria II. Duke 
 of Rovere proposed the question, " Which was preferable, the 
 republic or the principality the perfect and not durable, or the 
 less perfect and not so liable to change," replied, " That our hap- 
 piness is to be measured by its quality, not by its duration ; and 
 that he preferred to live for one day like a man, than for a hun- 
 dred years like a brute, a stock, or a stone." This was thought, 
 and called, a magnificent answer, down to the last days of Italian 
 servitude.]" 
 
 * The Greek boasted that he was iVovfyoj. See the last chapter of the first 
 book or Dionysius of Halicarnassus. 
 
 t " E intorno alia magnifica risposta," kc. Serassi, Vita del Tasso, lib. iii. pag. 
 119, torn. ii. edit. 3, Bergamo.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. XX. PETRARCH'S CROWN. 
 
 " And the crown 
 
 Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, 
 Upon afar and foreign soil had grown." Stanza Ivii. 
 
 The Florentines did not take the opportunity of Petrarch' 
 short visit to their city in 1350, to revoke the decree which con- 
 fiscated the property of his father, who had been banished shortly 
 after the exile of Dante. His crown did not dazzle them ; but 
 when in the next year they were in want of his assistance in the 
 formation of their university, they repented of their injustice, and 
 Boccaccio was sent to Padua to entreat the laureate to conclude 
 his wanderings in the bosom of his native country, where he 
 might finish his immortal Africa, and enjoy, with his recovered 
 possessions, the esteem of all classes of his fellow-citizens. 
 They gave him the option of the book and the science he might 
 condescend to expound : they called him the glory of his country, 
 who was dear, and who would be dearer to them; and they 
 added, that if there was any thing unpleasing in their letter, he 
 ought to return amongst them, were it only to correct their 
 style.* Petrarch seemed at first to listen to the flattery and to 
 the entreaties of his friend, but he did not return to Florence, and 
 preferred a pilgrimage to the tomb of Laura and the shades of 
 Vaucluse. 
 
 No. XXI. BOCCACCIO. 
 
 " Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeathed 
 His dust." Stanza Iviii. 
 
 Boccaccio was buried in the church of St. Michael and St. 
 James, at Certaldo, a small town in the Valdelsa, which was by 
 some supposed the place of his birth. There he passed the latter 
 part of his life in a course of laborious study, which shortened his 
 existence ; and there might his ashes have been secure, if not of 
 honour at least of repose. But the "hyena bigots" of Certaldo 
 
 * " Accingiti innoltre, se ci 6 lecito ancor 1' esortarti, a compire V immortal 
 tna Africa . . . Se ti avviene d' incontrare nel nostro stile cosache tidispiaccia, 
 i& debb' essere un altro motive ad esandire i desiderj della tua patria." Storia 
 della Lett. Ital. torn. v. par. i. lib. i. pag. 76.
 
 APPENDIX. 313 
 
 lore up the tombstone of Boccaccio, and ejected it from the holy 
 precincts of St. Michael and St. James. The occasion, and, it 
 may be hoped, the excuse, of this ejectment was the making of a 
 new floor for the church ; but the fact is, that the tombstone was 
 taken up and thrown aside at the bottom of the building. Igno- 
 rance may share the sin with bigotry. It would be painful to 
 relate such an exception to the devotion of the Italians for their 
 great names, could it not be accompanied by a trait more honour- 
 ably conformable to the general character of the nation. The 
 principal person of the district, the last branch of the house of 
 Medicis, afforded that protection to the memory of the insulted 
 dead which her best ancestors had dispensed upon all contempo- 
 rary merit. The Marchioness Lenzoni rescued the tombstone of 
 Boccaccio from the neglect in which it had some time lain, and 
 found for it an honourable elevation in her own mansion. She 
 has done more; the house in which the poet lived has been as 
 little respected as his tomb, and is falling to ruin over the head 
 of one indifferent to the name of its former tenant. It consists of 
 two or three little chambers, and a low tower, on which Cosmo 
 II. affixed an inscription. This house she has taken measures 
 to purchase, and proposes to devote to it that care and consi- 
 deration which are attached to the cradle and to the roof o/ 
 genius. 
 
 This is not the place to undertake the defence of Boccaccio ; 
 but the man who exhausted his little patrimony in the acquire- 
 ment of learning; who was amongst the first, if not the first, to 
 allure the science and the poetry of Greece to the bosom of Italy; 
 who not only invented a new style, but founded, or certainly 
 fixed, a new language ; who, besides the esteem of every polite 
 court of Europe, was thought worthy of employment by the pre- 
 dominant republic of his own country, and, what is more, of the 
 friendship of Petrarch, who lived the life of a philosopher and a 
 freeman, and who died in the pursuit of knowledge, such a man 
 might have found more consideration than he has met with from 
 the priest of Certaldo, and from a late English traveller, who 
 strikes off his portrait as an odious, contemptible, licentious 
 writer, whose impure remains should be suffered to rot without 
 a record.* That English traveller, unfortunately for those who 
 
 * Classical Tonr, chap. li. vol. ii. p. 355, edit. 3d. " Of Boccaccio, the modern 
 Petronins, we say nothing ; the abuse of genius is more odious and more con- 
 temptible than its absence ; and it imports little where the impure remains of a 
 licentious author are consigned to their kindred dust, Fot the same reason 
 27
 
 314 APPENDIX. 
 
 have to deplore the loss of a very amiable person, is beyond z\l 
 criticism ; but the mortality which did not protect Boccacio fron 1 
 Mr. Eustace, must not defend Mr. Eustace from the impartial 
 judgment of his successors. Death may canonize his virtues, not 
 his errors ; and it may be modestly pronounced that he_ trans 
 gressed, not only as an author, but as a man, when he evoked the 
 shade of Boccaccio in company of that of Aretine, amidst the 
 sepulchres of Santa Croce, merely to dismiss it with indignity. 
 As far as respects 
 
 "II flagello de' Principi, 
 II divin Pietro Aretino," 
 
 it is of little import what censure is passed upon a coxcomb who 
 owes his present existence to the above burlesque character given 
 to him by the poet, whose amber has preserved many other grubs 
 and worms : but to classify Boccaccio with such a person, and to 
 excommunicate his very ashes, must of itself make us doubt of 
 the qualification of the classical tourist for writing upon Italian, 
 or, indeed, upon any other literature ; for ignorance on one point 
 may incapacitate an author merely for that particular topic, but 
 subjection to a professional prejudice must render him an unsafe 
 director on all occasions. Any perversion and injustice may be 
 made what is vulgarly called "a case of conscience," and this poor 
 excuse is all that can be offered for the priest of Certaldo, or the 
 author of the Classical Tour. It would have answered the pur- 
 pose to confine the censure to the novels of Boccaccio; and 
 gratitude to that source which supplied the muse of Dryden with 
 her last and most harmonious numbers might, perhaps, have 
 restricted that censure to the objectionable qualities of the hun- 
 dred tales. At any rate, the repentance of Boccaccio might have 
 arrested his exhumation, and it should have been recollected and 
 told, that in his old age he wrote a letter entreating his friend to 
 discourage the reading of the Decameron, for the sake of modesty, 
 and for the sake of the author, who would not have an apologist 
 always at hand to state in his excuse that he wrote it when young, 
 and at the command of his superiors.* It is neither the licen- 
 
 the traveller may pass unnoticed the tomb of the malignant Aretino." This 
 dubious phrase is hardly enough to save the tourist from the suspicion of an- 
 other blunder respecting the burial-place of Aretino, whose tomb was in the 
 church of St. Luke at Venice, and gave rise to the famous controversy of 
 which some notice is taken in Bayle. Now the words of Mr. Eustace would 
 lead us to think the tomb was at Florence, or at least was to be somewhere re- 
 cognised. Whether the inscription so much disputed was ever written on the 
 tomb cannot now be. decided, for all memorial of this author has disappeared 
 from the church of St. Luke. 
 * "Nonenimubuiueest, qui inexcusationemmeainconsurgens dicat, juveni*
 
 APPENDIX. n 
 
 
 
 liousness of the writer, nor the evil propensities of the reader, 
 which have given to the Decameron alone, of all the works of 
 Boccaccio, a perpetual popularity. The establishment of a new 
 and delightful dialect conferred an immortality on the works in 
 which it was first fixed. The sonnets of Petrarch were, for the 
 same reason, fated to survive his self-admired Africa, the " fa- 
 vourite of kings." The invariable traits of nature and feeling 
 with which the novels, as well as the verses, abound, have doubt- 
 less been the chief source of the foreign celebrity of both authors ; 
 but Boccaccio, as a man, is no more to be estimated by that work, 
 than Petrarch is to be regarded in no other light than as the lover 
 of Laura. Even, however, had the father of the Tuscan prosa 
 been known only as the author of the Decameron, a considerate 
 writer would have been cautious to pronounce a sentence irrecon- 
 cilable with the unerring voice of many ages and nations. An 
 irrevocable value has never been stamped upon any work solely 
 recommended by impurity. 
 
 The true source of the outcry against Boccaccio, which began 
 at a very early period, was the choice of his scandalous person- 
 ages in the cloisters as well as the courts ; but the princes only 
 laughed at the gallant adventures so unjustly charged upon queen 
 Theodelinda, whilst the priesthood cried shame upon the de- 
 bauches drawn from the convent and the hermitage ; and most 
 probably for the opposite reason, namely, that the picture was 
 faithful to the life. Two of the novels are allowed to be facts 
 usefully turned into tales to deride the canonization of rogues and 
 laymen. Ser Ciappelletto and Marcellinus are cited with applause 
 even by the decent Muratori.* The great Arnaud, as he is quoted 
 in Bayle, states, that a new edition of the novels was proposed, 
 of which the expurgation consisted in omitting the words 
 " monk" and " nun," and tacking the immoralities to other names. 
 The literary history of Italy particularizes no such edition ; but 
 it was not long before the whole of Europe had but one opinion, 
 of the Decameron ; and the absolution of the author seems to have 
 been a point settled at least a hundred years ago. " On se feroit 
 siffler si 1'on pretendoit convaincre Boccace de n'avoir pas ele 
 honnete homme, puis qu'il a fait le Decameron." So said one 
 'jf the best men, and perhaps the best critic that ever lived the 
 
 pr.ripsit, et majoris coactus imperio." The letter was addressed to Maghinard 
 of Cavalcanti, marshal of the kingdom of Sicily. See Tiraboschi, Storia, fcc 
 torn. v. par. ii. iib. iii. 
 * Dissertazioni sopra le Anticlmi Ttaliane, Diss. Iviii. , '
 
 316 APPENDIX. 
 
 
 
 very martyr to impartiality.* But as this information, that in the 
 beginning of the last century, one would have been hooted at for 
 pretending that Boccaccio was not a good man, may seem to come 
 from one of those enemies who are to be suspected, even when 
 they make us a present of truth, a more acceptable contrast with 
 the proscription of the body, soul, and muse of Boccaccio may be 
 found in a few words from the virtuous, the patriotic contempo- 
 rary, who thought one of the tales of this impure writer worthy a 
 Latin version from his own pen. " I have remarked elsewhere," 
 says Petrarch, writing to Boccaccio, " that the book itself has 
 been worried by certain dogs, but stoutly defended by your staff 
 and voice. Nor was I astonished, for 1 have had proof of the 
 vigour of your mind, and I know you have fallen on that unac- 
 commodating, incapable race of mortals, who, whatever they 
 either like not, or know not, or cannot do, are sure to reprehend in 
 others ; and on those occasions only put on a show of learning 
 and eloquence, but otherwise are entirely dumb."* 
 
 It is satisfactory to find that all the priesthood do not resemble 
 those of Certaldo, and that one of them who did not possess the 
 bones of Boccaccio would not lose the opportunity of raising a 
 cenotaph to his memory. Bevius, canon of Padua, at the begin- 
 ning of the sixteenth century, erected at Arqua, opposite to the 
 tomb of the Laureate, a tablet, in which he associated Boccaccio 
 to the equal honours of Dante and of Petrarch. 
 
 No. XXII. THE MEDICI. 
 " What is her pyramid of precious stones?" Stanza Ix. 
 
 Our veneration for the Medici begins with Cosmo, and expires 
 with his grandson ; that stream is pure only at the source ; and 
 it is in search of some memorial of the virtuous republicans of the 
 family, that we visit the church of St. Lorenzo at Florence. The 
 tawdry, glaring, unfinished chapel in that church, designed for the 
 mausoleum of the dukes of Tuscany, set round with crowns and 
 coffins, gives birth to no emotions but those of contempt for the 
 lavish vanity of a race of despots, whilst the pavement slab, simply 
 inscribed to the father of his country, reconciles us to the name 
 
 * F.r.laircissement, &c. &c. p. 638, edit. Basle, 1741, in the Supplement to Bay le's 
 Dictionary, 
 t Opp. torn. i. p. 510, edit. Basil.
 
 APPENDIX. 317 
 
 of Medici.* It was very natural for Corinaaf to suppose that tho 
 statue raised to the Duke of Urbino in the capclla d depositi was 
 intended for his great namesake; but the magnificent Lorenzo is 
 only the sharer of a coffin half hidden in a niche of the sacristy. 
 The decay of Tuscany dates from the sovereignty of the Medici. 
 Of the sepulchral peace which succeeded to the establishment of 
 the reigning families in Italy, our own Sidney has given us a 
 glowing, but a faithful picture. " Notwithstanding all the sedi- 
 tions of Florence, and other cities of Tuscany, the horrid factions 
 of Guelphs and Ghibelins, Neri and Bianchi, nobles and com- 
 mons, they continued populous, strong, and exceeding rich ; but 
 in the space of less than a hundred and fifty years, the peaceable 
 reign of the Medices is said to have destroyed nine parts in ten 
 of the people of that province. Amongst other things, it is re- 
 markable, that when Philip II. of Spain gave Sienna to the Duke 
 of Florence, his ambassador then at Rome sent him word, that he 
 had given away more than 65,000 subjects ; and it is not believed 
 there are now 20,000 souls inhabiting that city and territory. 
 Pisa, Pistoia, Arezzo, Cortona, and other towns, that were then 
 good and populous, are in the like proportion diminished, and 
 Florence more than any. When that city had been long troubled 
 with seditions, tumults, and war, for the most part unprosperous, 
 they still retained such strength, that when Charles VIII. of 
 France, being admitted as a friend with his whole army, which 
 soon after conquered the kingdom of Naples, thought to master 
 them, the people, taking arms, struck such a terror into him, that 
 he was glad to depart upon such conditions as they thought fit to 
 impose. Machiavel reports, that in that time Florence alone, 
 with the Val d'Arno, a small territory belonging to that city, 
 could, in a few hours, by the sound of a bell, bring together 
 135,000 well-armed men; whereas now that city, with all the 
 others in the province, are brought to such despicable weakness, 
 emptiness, poverty, and baseness, that they can neither resist the 
 oppression of their own prince, nor defend him or themselves if 
 they were assaulted by a foreign enemy. The people are dis- 
 persed or destroyed, and the best families sent to seek habitations 
 in Venice, Genoa, Rome, Naples, and Lucca. This is not tho 
 effect of war or pestilence : they enjoy a perfect peace, and suffer 
 no other plague than the government they are under.":}: From 
 
 * Cosmus Mediceg, Decreto Publico, Pater Patrite. 
 f Corinne, liv. xviii. chap. iii. vol. iii. page 218. 
 
 t On Government, chap. ii. sect. xxvi. pag. 203, edit. 1751 . Sidney is, together 
 with Locke and Hundley, one of Mr. Hume's "despicable" writers. 
 27*
 
 318 APPENDIX. 
 
 the usurper Cosmo down to the imbecile Gaston, we look in vain 
 fur any of those unmixed qualities which should raise a patriot to 
 the command of his fellow citizens. The grand dukes, and par- 
 ticularly the third Cosmo, had operated so entire a change in the 
 Tuscan character, that the candid Florentines, in excuse for 
 some imperfections in the philanthropic system of Leopold, are 
 obliged to confess that the sovereign was the only liberal man in 
 his dominions. Yet that excellent prince himself had no othei 
 notion of a national assembly, than of a body to represent the 
 wants and wishes, not the will, of the people. 
 
 No. XXIII. BATTLE OF THRASIMENE. 
 "An earthquake reePd unheededly away." Stanza Ixiii. 
 
 " And such was their mutual animosity, so intent were they 
 upon the battle, that the earthquake, which overthrew in great 
 part many of the cities of Italy, which turned the course of rapid 
 streams, poured back the sea upon the rivers, and tore down the 
 very mountains, was not felt by one of the combatants."* Such 
 is the description of Livy. It may be doubted whether modern 
 tactics would admit of such an abstraction. 
 
 The site of the battle of Thrasimene is not to be mistaken. 
 The traveller from the village under Cortona to Casa di Piano, 
 the next stage on the way to Rome, has for the first two or three 
 miles, around him, but more particularly to the right, that flat 
 land which Hannibal laid waste in order to induce the Consul 
 Flaminius to move from Arezzo. On his left, and in front of him, 
 is a ridge of hills, bending down towards the lake of Thrasimene, 
 called by Livy "monies Cortonenses," and now named the Gua- 
 landra. These hills he approaches at Ossaja, a village which the 
 itineraries pretend to have been so denominated from the bones 
 found there : but there have been no bones found there, and the 
 battle was fought on the other side of the hill. From Ossaja 
 the road begins to rise a little, but does not pass into the roots of 
 the mountains until the sixty-seventh milestone from Florence. 
 The ascent thence is not steep but perpetual, and continues for 
 twenty minutes. The lake is soon seen below on the right, with 
 Horghetto, a round tower, close upon the water ; and the undu- 
 
 * Tit. Liv. lib. xiii. cap. xii.
 
 APPENDIX. 319 
 
 lating hills partially covered with wood, amongst which the road 
 winds, sink by degrees into the marshes near to this tower. 
 Lower than the road, down to the right of these woody hillocks, 
 Hannibal placed his horse* in the jaws of, or rather above the 
 pass, which was between the lake and the present road, and most 
 probably close to Borghetto, just under the lowest of the 
 " tumuli."! On a summit to the left, above the road, is an old 
 circular ruin, which the peasants call "the tower of Hannibal the 
 Carthaginian." Arrived at the highest point of the road, the 
 traveller has a partial view of the fatal plain, which opens fully 
 upon him as he descends the Gualandra. He soon finds himself 
 i ii a vale enclosed to the left, and in front, and behind, by the 
 Gualandra hills, bending round in a segment larger than a semi- 
 circle, and running down at each end to the lake, which obliques 
 to the right, and forms the chord of the mountain arc. The posi- 
 tion cannot be guessed at from the plains of Cortona, nor appears 
 to be so completely enclosed unless to one who is fairly within 
 the hills. It then, indeed, appears " a place made as it were on 
 purpose for a snare," locus insidits natus. " Borghetto is then 
 found to stand in a narrow marshy pass close to the hill, and to 
 the lake, whilst there is no other outlet at the opposite turn of 
 the mountains than through the little town of Passignano, which 
 is pushed into the water by the foot of a high rocky acclivity." 
 There is a woody eminence branching down from the mountains 
 into the upper end of the plain nearer to the side of Passignano, 
 and on this stands a white village called Torre. Polybius seems 
 to allude to this eminence as the one on which Hannibal en- 
 camped, and drew out his heavy-armed Africans and Spaniards 
 in a conspicuous position.^: From this spot he despatched his 
 Balearic and light-armed troops round through the Gualandra 
 heights to the right, so as to arrive unseen and form an ambush 
 amongst the broken acclivities which the road now passes, and 
 to be ready to act upon the left flank and above the enemy, whilst 
 the horse shut up the pass behind. Flaminius came to the lake 
 near Borghetto at sunset; and, without sending any spies before 
 him, marched through the pass the next morning before the day 
 had quite broken, so that he perceived nothing of the horse and 
 light troops above and about him, and saw only the heavy-armed 
 
 * Tit. Liv. lib. xxii. cap. iv. t Ibid. 
 
 t Hist. lib. iii. cap. 83. The account in Polybius is not so easily reconcilable 
 with present appearances as that in Livy ; he talks of hills to the right and left 
 of the pass and valley ; but when Flaminius entered he had the lake at the rigb-: 
 of both.
 
 320 APPENDIX. 
 
 Carthaginians in front on the hill of Torre. The consul began 
 to draw out his army in the flat, and in the mean time the horse 
 in ambush occupied the pass behind him at Borghetto. Thus the 
 Romans were completely enclosed, having the lake on the right, 
 the main army on the hill of Torre in front, the Gualandra hills 
 filled with the light-armed on their left flank, and being pre- 
 vented from receding by the cavalry, who, the farther they ad- 
 vanced, stopped up all the outlets in the rear. A fog rising 
 from the lake now spread itself over the army of the consul, but 
 the high lands were in the sunshine, and all the different corps in 
 ambush looked toward the hill of Torre for the order of attack. 
 Hannibal gave the signal, and moved down from his post on the 
 height. At the same moment all his troops on the eminences 
 behind and in the flank of Flaminius rushed forward as it were 
 with one accord into the plain. The Romans, who were forming 
 their array in the mist, suddenly heard the shouts of the enemy 
 amongst them, on every side, and before they could fall into their 
 ranks, or draw their swords, or see by whom they were attacked, 
 felt at once that they were surrounded and lost. 
 
 There are two little rivulets which run from the Gualandra into 
 the lake. The traveller crosses the first of these at about a mile after 
 he comes into the plain, and this divides the Tuscan from the 
 papal territories. The second, about a quarter of a mile further 
 on, is called "the bloody rivulet ;" and the peasants point out an 
 open spot to the left, between the " Sanguinetto" and the hills, 
 which, they say, was the principal scene of slaughter. The other 
 part of the plain is covered with thick-set olive-trees in corn 
 grounds, and is nowhere quite level except near the edge of the 
 lake. It is, indeed, most probable that the battle was fought near 
 this end of the valley, for the six thousand Romans, who, at the 
 beginning of the action, broke through the enemy, escaped to the 
 summit of an eminence which must have been in this quarter, 
 otherwise they would have had to traverse the whole plain, and 
 to pierce through the main army of Hannibal. 
 
 The Romans fought desperately for three hours ; but the death 
 of Flaminius was the signal for a general dispersion. The Car- 
 thaginian horse then burst in upon the fugitives, and the lake, 
 the marsh about Borghetto, but chiefly the plain of the San- 
 guinetto and the passes of the Gualandra, were strewed with 
 dead. Near some old walls on a bleak ridge to the left above the 
 rivulet, many human bones have been repeatedly found, and this 
 has confirmed the pretensions and the name of the "stream of 
 blood."
 
 APPENDIX. 321 
 
 Every district of Italy has its hero. In the north some painter 
 is the usual genius of the place, and the foreign Julio Romano 
 more than divides Mantua with her native Virgil.* To the south 
 we hear of Roman names. Near Thrasimene tradition is still 
 faithful to the fame of an enemy, and Hannibal the Carthaginian 
 is the only ancient name remembered on the banks of the Perugian 
 lake. Flaminius is unknown ; but the postilions on that road 
 have been taught to show the very spot where 11 Console Romano 
 was slain. Of all who fought and fell in the battle of Thrasimene, 
 the historian himself has, besides the generals and Maharbal, 
 preserved indeed only a single name. You overtake the Car- 
 thaginian again on the same road to Rome. The antiquary, that 
 is, the hostler of the post-house at Spoleto, tells you that his town 
 repulsed the victorious enemy, and shows you the gate still called 
 Porta di rfnnibale. It is hardly worth while to remark that a 
 French travel writer, well known by the name of the President 
 Dupaty, saw Thrasimene in the lake of Bolsena, which lay con- 
 veniently on his way from Sienna to Rome. 
 
 No. XXIV STATUE OF PGMPEY. 
 
 " And thou, dread statue ! still existent in 
 The auslerest form of naked majesty.'''' Stanza Ixxxvii. 
 
 The projected division of the Spada Pompey has already been 
 recorded by the historian of the Decline and Fall of the Roman 
 Empire. Mr. Gibbon found it in the memorials of Flaminius 
 Vacca ; and it may be added to his mention of it, that Pope 
 Julius III. gave the contending owners five hundred crowns for 
 the statue, and presented it to Cardinal Capo di Ferro, who had 
 prevented the judgment of Solomon from being executed upon 
 the image. In a more civilized age this statue was exposed to an 
 actual operation : for the French, who acted the Brutus of 
 Voltaire in the Coliseum, resolved that their Caesar should fall at 
 the base of that Pompey, which was supposed to have been 
 sprinkled with the blood of the original dictator. The nine-foot 
 hero was therefore removed to the arena of the amphitheatre, avid, 
 to facilitate its transport, suffered the temporary amputation of its 
 
 * About the middle of the twelfth century the coins of Mantua bore on one 
 side the imape and figure of Virgil. Zecca d' Italia, pi. xvii. i. 6. Voyage dam 
 lo Milanais, &c. par A. Z. Millin, torn. ii. pag. 294. Paris, 1817.
 
 322 APPENDIX. 
 
 right arm. The repuhlican tragedians had to plead that the arm 
 was a restoration : but their accusers do not believe that the inte- 
 grity of the statue would have protected it. The love of finding 
 every coincidence has discovered the true Caesarian ichor in a stain 
 near the right knee ; but colder criticism has rejected not only the 
 blood, but the portrait, and assigned the globe of power rather to 
 the first of the emperors than to the last of the republican masters 
 of Rome. Winkelmann* is loath to allow an heroic statue of a 
 Roman citizen, but the Grimani Agrippa, a contemporary almost, 
 is heroic ; and naked Roman figures were only very rare, net 
 absolutely forbidden. The face accords much better with the 
 "hominem integrum et castum et gravem,"| than with any of the 
 busts of Augustus, and is too stern for him who was beautiful, 
 says Suetonius, at all periods of his life. The pretended likeness 
 to Alexander the Great cannot be discerned, but the traits re- 
 semble the medal of Pompey.^l The objectionable globe may not 
 have been an ill-applied flattery to him who found Asia Minor 
 the boundary, and left it the centre of the Roman empire. It 
 seems that Winkelmann has made a mistake in thinking that no 
 proof of the identity of this statue with that which received the 
 bloody sacrifice can be derived from the spot where it was dis- 
 covered. Flaminius Vacca says sotlo una cantina, and this 
 cantina is known to have been in the Vicolo de' Leutari, near 
 the Cancellaria.; a position corresponding exactly to that of 
 the Janus before the basilica of Pompey's theatre, to which 
 Augustus transferred the statue after the curia was either burnt 
 or taken down.|| Part of the Pompeian shade, the portico, ex- 
 isted in the beginning of the fifteenth century, and the atrium was 
 called Satrum. So says Blondus. At all events, so imposing is 
 the stern majesty of the statue, and so memorable is the stor} 1 , 
 that the play of the imagination leaves no room for the exercise of 
 the judgment; and the fiction, if a fiction it is, operates on the 
 spectator with an effect not less powerful than truth. 
 
 * Storia delle Arti, &c. lib. ix. cap. 1. pag. 321, 322. torn. ii. 
 t Cicer. Epist. ad Atticum, xi. 6. 
 J Published by Causeus, in his Museum Romanum. 
 $ Storia de'.'.e Arti, &c. 1. ix. c. i. 
 
 I! Sueton. in vit. August, cap. 31. and in vit. C. J. Ctesar. cap. 88. Appian 
 pays it was burnt down. See a note of Pitisr.us to Suetonius, p:ig. 221.
 
 APPENDIX. 323 
 
 No. XXV THE BRONZE WOLF. 
 
 "And ihou, the thunder-stricken nurse nf Rome!" 
 
 Stanza Ixxxviii. 
 
 Ancient Rome, like modern Sienna, abounded most probably 
 with images of the foster-mother of her founder ; but there were 
 two she-wolves, of whom history makes particular mention. One 
 of these, of brass in ancient work, was seen by Dionysius* at the 
 temple of Romulus, under the Palatine, and is universally believed 
 to be that mentioned by the Latin historian, as having been made 
 from the money collected by a fine on usurers, and as standing 
 under the Ruminal figtree.f The other was that which Cicero^ 
 has celebrated both in prose and verse, and which the historian 
 Dion also records as having suffered the same accident as is 
 alluded to by the orator. The question agitated by the anti- 
 quaries is, whether the wolf now in the Conservator's Palace is 
 that of Livy and Dionysius, or that of Cicero, or whether it is 
 neither one nor the other. The earlier writers differ as much a? 
 the moderns; Lucius Faunus|| says, that it is the one alluded to 
 by both, which is impossible, and also by Virgil, which may be. 
 Fulvius Ursinus^f calls it the wolf of Dionysius, and Marlianus** 
 talks of it as the one mentioned by Cicero. To him Rycquius 
 tremblingly assents. fj~ Nardini is inclined to suppose it may be 
 one of the many wolves preserved in ancient Rome ; but of the 
 
 * Antiq. Horn. lib. I. 
 t Liv. Hist. lib. x. cap. Ixix. 
 
 j "Turn statua Natts, turn simulacra Deorum, Romuliisque et Remus euro 
 altrice bellua vi fulminis ictis conciderunt." De Divinat. ii. 20. "Tactugest 
 ille etiam qui hanc urbem condidit Romulus, quern inauratum in Capitolio 
 parvum atque lactantcm, uberibus lupinis inhiantem fuisse nieministis." In 
 Catilin. iii. 8. 
 
 " Hie silvestris erat Romani nominis altrix 
 Martia, qua; parvos Mavortis semine naloa 
 Uberibus gravidis vitali rore rigebat 
 Qtie linn cum pueris flammato fulminis ict 
 Concidit, atque avulsa pedum vestigia liquat. 
 
 De Consulatu, lib. ii. (lib. i. de Divinat. 'cap. ii.) 
 $ Dion. Hist. lib. xxxvii. p. 37. edit. Rob. Steph. 1548. 
 
 Lac. Fauni de Antiq. Urb. Rom. lib. ii. cap. vii. ap. Sallengre, torn. >. 
 p. 217. 
 
 IT Ap. Nardini, Roma Vetus, 1. v. c. iv. 
 ** Marliani Urb. Rom. Topograph. lib. ii. cap. ix. 
 
 ft Just. Rycquii de Cupit. Roman. Coiuin. cap. xxiv ""g. 250. edit. Lugd. 
 Bai. 10'JG.
 
 321 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 two rather bends to the Ciceronian statue.* Montfatic.onf 
 mentions it as a point without doubt. Of the later writers the 
 decisive Winkelmann:}: proclaims it as having been found at the 
 church of Saint Theodore, where, or near where, was the temple 
 of Romulus, and consequently makes it the wolf of Dionysius. 
 His authority is Lucius Faunus, who, however, only says that it 
 was placed, not found, at the Ficus Ruminalis, by the Comitium, 
 by which he does not seem to allude to the church of Saint 
 Theodore. Rycquius was the first to make the mistake, and 
 Winkelmann followed Rycquius. 
 
 Flaininius Vacca tells quite a different story, and says he had 
 heard the wolf with the twins was found near the arch of 
 Septinnus Severus. The commentator on Winkelmann is of the 
 same opinion with that learned person, and is incensed at Nardini 
 for not having remarked that Cicero, in speaking of the wolf 
 struck with lightning in the capitol, makes use of the past tense. 
 But, with the Abate's leave, Nardini dees not positively assert the 
 statue to be that mentioned by Cicero, and, if he had, the as- 
 sumption would not perhaps have been so exceedingly indiscreet. 
 The Abate is himself obliged to own that there are marks very 
 like the scathing of lightning in the hinder legs of the present 
 wolf; and, to get rid of this, adds, that the wolf seen by Dio- 
 nysius might have been also struck by lightning, or otherwise 
 injured. ^ 
 
 Let us examine the subject by a reference to the words of 
 Cicero. The orator in two places seems to particularize the 
 Romulus and the Remus, especially the first, which his audience 
 remembered to have been in the Capitol, as being struck with 
 lightning. In his verses he records that the twins and wolf both 
 fell, and that the latter left behind the marks of her feet. Cicero 
 does not say that the wolf was consumed : and Dion only mentions 
 that it fell down, without alluding, as the Abate had made him, 
 to the force of the blow, or the firmness with which it had been 
 fixed. The whole strength, therefore, of the Abate's argument 
 hangs upon the past tense; which, however, may be somewhat 
 diminished by remarking that the phrase only shows that the 
 statue was not then standing in its former position. Winkelmann 
 
 * Nardini, Roma Veins, lib. v. cap. iv. 
 
 t Diarium Italic, torn. i. p. 174. 
 
 J Storia delle Arti, &.c. lib. iii. cap. iii. g. ii. note 10. Winkelmann has made 
 a strange blunder in the note, by saying the Ciceronian wolf was not in the 
 Capitol, and that Dion was wrong in saying so. 
 
 ) Flam Vacca MuuiurK-, num. iii. p. i. ap. Muiilfauc,on, Diar. Ital. torn. i.
 
 APPENDIX. 325 
 
 has observed that the present twins are modern ; and it is equally 
 clear that there are marks of gilding on the wolf, which might 
 *herefore he supposed to make part of the ancient group. It is 
 known that the sacred images of the Capitol were not destroyed 
 when injured by time or accident, hut were put into certain under- 
 ground depositories, called favissa;.* It may be thought possible 
 that the wolf had been so deposited, and had been replaced in 
 some conspicuous situation when the Capitol was rebuilt by 
 Vespasian. Rycquius, without mentioning his authority, tells that 
 it was transferred from the Comitium to the Lateran, and thence 
 brought to the Capitol. If it was found near the arch of Severus, 
 it may have been one of the images which Orosiusf says was 
 thrown down in the Forum by lightning when Alaric took the 
 city That it is of very high antiquity the workmanship is a 
 decisive proof; and that circumstance induced Winkelmann to 
 believe it the wolf of Dionysius. The Capitoline wolf, however, 
 may have been of the same early date as that at the temple of 
 Romulus. Lactantiusij: asserts that in his time the Romans 
 worshipped a wolf; and it is known that the Lupercalia held out 
 to a very late period after every other observance of the ancient 
 superstition had totally expired. This may account for the pre- 
 servation of the ancient image longer than any other early 
 symbols of Paganism. 
 
 It may be permitted, however, to remark, that the wolf was a 
 Roman symbol, but that the worship of that symbol is an in- 
 ference drawn by the zeal of Lactantius. The early Christian 
 writers are not to be trusted in the charges which they make 
 against the Pagans. Eusebius accused the Romans to their faces 
 of worshipping Simon Magus, and raising a statue to him in the 
 island of the Tyber. The Romans had probably never heard of 
 such a person before, who came, however, to play a considerable, 
 though scandalous part in the church history, and has left several 
 
 * Luc. Faun. ibid. 
 
 t See note to stanza Ixxx. in "Historical Illustrations." 
 
 J " Uornuli nutrix Lupa honoribus est affecta divinis, et ferrem, si animal 
 ipsum fuisset, cujns figuram gerit." Lactant. de Falsa Religione, lib. i. cap. xx. 
 pag. 101, edit, varior. 1660; that is to say, he would rather adore a wolf than 
 a prostitute. His commentator has observed that the opinion of Livy concern- 
 ing Laurentia being figured in this wolf was not universal. Strabo thought 
 so. Rycquius is wrong in saying that Lactantius mentions the wolf was in the 
 Capitol. 
 
 $ To A.D. 496. "Quis credere possit," says Baronius, [Ann.Eccles. torn. viii. 
 p. 602. in an. 496,] " viguisse adhuc Roms'ad Gelasii tempora, quse fuere ante 
 exordia urbis allata in Italian! Lupercalia 1" Gelasius wrote a letter, which 
 occupies four folio pages, to Andromachus the senator, and others, to show that 
 tli-j riles should be given up.
 
 326 APPENDIX. 
 
 tokens of his aerial combat with St. Peter at Rome , notwith- 
 standing that an inscription found in this very island of the Tyber 
 showed the Simon Magus of Eusebius to be a certain indio-enal 
 
 o O 
 
 god called Semo Sangus of Fidius.* 
 
 Even when the worship of the founder of Rome had been 
 abandoned, it was thought expedient to humour the habits of the 
 good matrons of the city, by sending them -with their sick infants 
 to the church of Saint Theodore, as they had before carried them 
 to the temple of Romulus. f The practice is continued to this 
 day : and the site of the above church seems to be thereby 
 identified with that of the temple ; so that if the wolf had been 
 really found there, as Winkelmann says, there would be no doubt 
 of the present statue being that seen by Dionysius. ButFaunus, 
 in saying that it was at the Ficus Ruminalis by the Comitium, is 
 only talking of its ancient position as recorded by Pliny ; and even 
 if he had been remarking where it was found, would not have 
 alluded to the church of Saint Theodore, but to a very different 
 place, near which it was then thought the Ficus Ruminalis had 
 been, and also the Comitium; that is, the three columns by the 
 church of Santa Maria Liberatrice, at the corner of the Palatine 
 looking on the Forum. 
 
 It is, in fact, a mere conjecture where the image was actually 
 dug up ; and perhaps, on the whole, the marks of the gilding, and 
 of the lightning, are a better argument in favour of its being the 
 Ciceronian wolf than any that can be adduced for the contrary 
 opinion. At any rate, it is reasonably selected in the text of the 
 poem as one of the most interesting relics of the ancient city,^: 
 and is certainly the figure, if not the very animal to which Virgil 
 alludes in his beautiful verses : 
 
 " Geminos huic ubera circum 
 Ludere pendentes pueros, et lambere matrem 
 Impavidos : illam tereti cervice reflexam 
 Mulcere alternos, et corpore fingere lingua. 
 
 * Eccles. Hist. lib. ii. cap. xiii. p. 40. Justin Martyr had told the story before ; 
 but Baronius himself was obliged to detect this fable. See Nardini, Roma Vet. 
 lib. vii. cap. xii. 
 
 t Rione xii. Ripa, accurata e succincta Descrizione, &c. di Roma Moderna, 
 dell' Ab. Ridolf. Venuti. 1766. 
 
 t Donatus,lib. xi. cap. IS, gives a medal representing on one side the wolf in 
 the same position as that in the Capitol ; and in the reverse the wolf with the 
 bead not reverted. It is of the time of Antoninus Pius. 
 
 It JEa. viii. 631. See Dr. Middleton, in his Letter from Rome, who inclines to 
 he Ciceronian wolf, but without examining the subject.
 
 APPENDIX. 327 
 
 No. XXVI. JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 " For the Roman's mind 
 Was modelfd in a less terrestrial mould" Stanza xc. 
 
 It is possible to be a very great man and to be still very inferior 
 to Julius Cesar, the most complete character, so Lord Bacon 
 thought, of all antiquity. Nature seems incapable of such extra- 
 ordinary combinations as composed his versatile capacity, which 
 was the wonder even of the Romans themselves. The first gene- 
 ral the only triumphant politician inferior to none in eloquence 
 comparable to any in the attainments of wisdom, in an age 
 made up of the greatest commanders, statesmen, orators, and 
 philosophers that ever appeared in the world an author who 
 composed a perfect specimen of military annals in his travelling 
 carriage at one time in a controversy with Cato, at another 
 writing a treatise on punning, and collecting a set of good sayings 
 fighting and making love at the same moment, and willing to 
 abandon both his empire and his mistress for a sight of the 
 Fountains of the Nile. Such did Julius Caesar appear to his 
 contemporaries and to those of the subsequent ages who were the 
 most inclined to deplore and execrate his fatal genius. 
 
 But we must not be so much dazzled with his surpassing glory, 
 or with his magnanimous, his amiable qualities, as to forget the 
 decision of his impartial countrymen : 
 
 HE WAS JUSTLY SLAIN.* 
 
 No. XXVII. EGERIA. 
 
 " Egeria, sweet creation of some heart 
 
 Which found no mortal resting-place so fair 
 As thine ideal breast." Stanza cxv. 
 
 The respectable authority of Flaminius Vacca would incline us 
 to believe in the claims of the Egerian grotto. f He assures us 
 
 * "Jure ciesuR existimetnr," says Suetonius, after a ftrr estimate of his cha- 
 racter, and making use of a phrase which was a formula in I-ivy's time. 
 " Muliuin jure ctesiim pronuntiavit, etiam si regni crimine insons fuerit :" 
 [lib. iv. cap. 4:] and which was continued in the legal judgments pronounced 
 in justifiable homicides, such as killing housebreakers. See Sueton. in vit. C. 
 J. CiEgar. with the commentary of Pitiscus, p. 184. 
 
 t Memorie, Ac ap. Nardini, pag. 13. He does not give the inscription.
 
 328 APPENDIX. 
 
 that he saw an inscription in the pavement, stating that the 
 fountain was that of Egeria, dedicated to the nymphs. The 
 inscription is not there at this day ; but Montfaucon quotes two 
 lines* of Ovid from a stone in the Villa Giustiniani, which he 
 seems to think had been brought from the same grotto. 
 
 This grotto and valley were formerly frequented in summer, 
 and particularly the first Sunday in May, by the modern Romans, 
 who attached a salubrious quality to the fountain, which trickles 
 from an orifice at the bottom of the vault, and, overflowing 
 the little pools, creeps down the matted grass into the brook 
 below. The brook is the Ovidian Almo, whose name and quali- 
 ties are lost in the modern Aquataccio. The valley itself is 
 called Valle di Caflfarelli, from the dukes of that name who made 
 over their fountain to the Pallavicini, with sixty rulbia of adjoin- 
 ing land. 
 
 There can be little doubt that this long dell is the Egerian 
 valley of Juvenal, and the pausing-place of Umbritius, notwith- 
 standing the generality of his commentators have supposed the 
 descent of the satirist and his friend to have been into theArician 
 grove, where the nymph met Hippolitus, and where she was more 
 peculiarly worshipped. 
 
 The step from the Porta Capena to the Albanhill, fifteen miles 
 distant, would be too considerable, unless we were to believe in 
 the wild conjecture of Vossius, who makes that gate travel from 
 its present station, where he pretends it was during the reign of 
 the kings, as far as the Arician grove, and then makes it recede 
 to its old site with the shrinking city.f The tufo, or pumice 
 which the poet prefers to marble, is the substance composing the 
 bank in which the grotto is sunk. 
 
 The modern topographers^: find in the grotto the statue of the 
 nymph, and nine niches for the Muses ; and a late traveller has 
 discovered that the cave is restored to that simplicity which the 
 poet regretted had been exchanged for injudicious ornament. But 
 the headless statue is palpably rather a male than a nymph, and 
 
 * "In villa Justiniana extat ingens lapis quadratus solidus, in quo sculpla 
 hiEC duo Ovidii carmina sunt : 
 
 ' Egeria est qure prcebet aquas dea grata Camcenis 
 
 Ilia Numce conjunx consiliumque fuit.' 
 
 Qui lapis videtur eodem Egerhe fonte, aut ejus vicinia isthuc comportatus." 
 Diarium Italic, p. 153. 
 
 t De Magnit. Vet. Rom. ap. GroBV. An. Rom. torn. iv. p. 1507. 
 
 J Echinard, Descrizione di Roma e dell' Agro Romano, corretto dalP Abate 
 Venuti, in Roma, 1750. They believe in the grotto and nymph. "Simulacro 
 <ii qnesto fonte, essendovi sculpite le acque a pie di esso." 
 
 $ Classical Tour, chap. vi. p. 217. vol. ii.
 
 APPENDIX. 329 
 
 has none of the attributes ascribed to it at present visible. The 
 nine Muses could hardly have stood in six niches ; and Juvenal 
 certainly does not allude to any individual cave.* Nothing can 
 be collected from the satirist but that somewhere near the Porta 
 Capena was a spot in which it was supposed Numa held nightly 
 consultations with his nymph, and where there was a grove and 
 a sacred fountain, and fanes once consecrated to the Muses ; and 
 that from this spot there was a descent into the valley of Egeria, 
 where were several artificial caves. It is clear that the statues 
 of the Muses made no part of the decoration which the satirist 
 thought misplaced in these caves ; for he expressly assigns other 
 fanes (delubra) to these divinities above the valley, and moreover 
 tells us that they had been ejected to make room for the Jews. 
 In fact, the little temple, now called that of Bacchus, was formerly 
 thought to belong to the Muses, and Nardini f places them in a 
 poplar grove, which was in his time above the valley. 
 
 It is probable, from the inscription and position, that the cave 
 now shown may be one of the " artificial caverns," of which, 
 indeed, there is another a little way higher up the valley, under 
 a tuft of alder bushes : but a single grotto of Egeria is a mere 
 modern invention, grafted upon the application of the epithet 
 Egerian to these nymphea in general, and which might send us 
 to look for the haunts of Numa upon the banks of the Thames. 
 
 Our English Juvenal was not seduced into mistranslation by 
 his acquaintance with Pope : he carefully preserves the correct 
 plural 
 
 " Thence slowly winding down the vale, we view 
 The Egerian grots . oh, how unlike the true !" 
 
 The valley abounds with springs,}: and over these springs, 
 which the Muses might haunt from their neighbouring groves, 
 Egeria presided : hence she was said to supply them with water ; 
 and she was the nymph of the grottos through which the fountains 
 were taught to flow. 
 
 The whole of the monuments in the vicinity of the Egerian 
 valley have received names at will, which have been changed at 
 will. Venuti owns he can see no traces of the temples of Jove, 
 Saturn, Juno, Venus, and Diana, which Nardini found, or hoped 
 to find. The mutatorium of Caracalla's circus, the temple of 
 
 * Sat. in. 
 
 t Lib. iii. cap. iii. 
 
 t " Undique e solo aquae scaturiiint." Nardini, lib. iii. cap. 111. 
 $ Echinard, &.c. Cic. cit. p. 297, 298. 
 28
 
 330 APPENDIX. 
 
 Honour and Virtue, the temple of Bacchus, and, ahove all, the 
 temple of the god Rediculus, are the antiquaries' despair. 
 
 The circus of Caracalla depends on a medal of that emperor 
 cited by Fulvius Ursinus, of which the reverse shows a circus, 
 supposed, however, by some to represent the Circus Maximus. 
 It gives a very good idea of that place of exercise. The soil has 
 been but little raised, if we may judge from the small cellular 
 structure at the end of the Spina, which was probably the chapel 
 of the god Consus. This cell is half beneath the soil, as it must 
 have been in the circus itself; for Dionysius* could not be per- 
 suaded to believe that this divinity was the Roman Neptune, 
 because his altar was under ground. 
 
 No. XXVIII. THE ROMAN NEMESIS. 
 
 " Great Nemesis ! 
 Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long." 
 
 Stanza cxxxii. 
 
 We read in Suetonius, that Augustus, from a warning received 
 in a dream,| counterfeited, once a year, the beggar, sitting before 
 the gate of his palace with his hand hollowed and stretched out 
 for charity. A statue formerly in the villa Borghese, and which 
 should be now at Paris, represents the emperor in that posture 
 of supplication. The object of this self-degradation was the 
 appeasement of Nemesis, the perpetual attendant on good fortune, 
 of whose power the Roman conquerors were also reminded by 
 certain symbols attached to their cars of triumph. The symbols 
 were the whip and the crotalo, which were discovered in the 
 Nemesis of the Vatican. The attitude of beggary made the above 
 statue pass for that of Belisarius : and until the criticism of 
 Winkelmann^: had rectified the mistake, one fiction was called 
 
 * Antiq. Rom. lib. ii. cap. xxxi. 
 
 t Sueton. in vit. Augusti, cap. 91. Casaubon, in the note, refers to Plutarch's 
 Lives of Camillas and ^Emilius Paulus, and also to his apophthegms, for the 
 character of this deity. The hollowed hand was reckoned the last degree of 
 degradation ; and when the dead body of the praefect Rufinus was borne about 
 in triumph by the people, the indignity was increased by putting his hand in that 
 position. 
 
 t Storia delle Arti, &c. lib. xii. cap. iii. torn. ii. p. 422. Visconti calls the 
 statue, however, a Cybele. It is given in the Museo Pio-clement. torn. i. par
 
 APPENDIX. 331 
 
 in to support another. It was the same fear of the sudden termi- 
 nation of prosperity that made Amasis king of Egypt warn his 
 friend Polycrates of Samos, that the gods loved those whose lives 
 were checkered with good and evil fortunes. Nemesis was sup- 
 posed to lie in wait particularly for the prudent ; that is, for those 
 whose caution rendered them accessible only to mere accidents : 
 and her first altar was raised on the banks of the Phrygian 
 jEsepus by Adrastus, probably the prince of that name who 
 killed the son of Croesus by mistake. Hence the goddess was 
 called Adrastea.* 
 
 The Roman Nemesis was sacred and august.- there was a 
 temple to her in the Palatine under the name of Rhamnusia:]" 
 so great, indeed, was the propensity of the ancients to trust to the 
 revolution of events, and to believe in the divinity of Fortune, 
 that in the same Palatine there was a temple to the Fortune of 
 the day.^ This is the last superstition which retains its hold over 
 the human heart; and, from concentrating in one object the 
 credulity so natural to man, has always appeared strongest in 
 those unembarrassed by other articles of belief. The antiquaries 
 have supposed this goddess to be synonymous with Fortune and 
 with Fate : but it was in her vindictive quality that she was 
 worshipped under the name of Nemesis. 
 
 No. XXIX. GLADIATORS. 
 
 " Ffe, their sire. 
 Butchered to make a Roman holiday." Stanza cxli. 
 
 Gladiators were of two kinds, compelled and voluntary ; and 
 were supplied from several conditions; from slaves sold for that 
 
 40. The Abate Fea (Spiegazione dei Kami. Storia, &c. torn. iii. p. 513) calls 
 it a Clirisippus. 
 
 * Diet, de Bayle, article Adrastea. 
 
 + It is enumerated by the regionary Victor. 
 
 t Fortunae hujusce diei. Cicero mentions her, de Legib. lib. ii. 
 
 DEAE SEMESI 
 
 S1VE FOBTBNAE 
 
 PISTORIV8 
 
 BVGIANV8 
 
 V. C. LEGAT. 
 
 LEO. XIII. O. 
 
 CORD. 
 
 See Questiones Romans, &c. ap. Grzv. Antiq. Rom. torn. v. p. 942. Bee also 
 Muratori, Nov. Thesaur. Inscrip. Vet. torn. i. p. 88, 89, where there are thrs 
 Latin and one Greek inscription to Nemesis, and others to Fate.
 
 332 APPENDIX. 
 
 purpose; from culprits ; from barbarian captives either taken in 
 war, and, after being led in triumph, set apart for the games, or 
 those seized and condemned as rebels ; also from free citizens, 
 some fighting for hire, (auctorati,') others from a depraved ambi- 
 tion ; at last even knights and senators were exhibited, a disgrace 
 of which the first tyrant was naturally the first inventor.* In the 
 end, dwarfs, and even women fought; an enormity prohibited by 
 Severus. Of these, the most to be pitied, undoubtedly, were the 
 barbarian captives ; and to this species a Christian writer^ justly 
 applies the epithet "innocent," to distinguish them from the 
 professional gladiators. Aurelian and Claudius supplied great 
 numbers of these unfortunate victims ; the one after his triumph, 
 and the other on the pretext of a rebellion.^: No war, says 
 Lipsius, was ever so destructive to the human race as these 
 sports. In spite of the laws of Constantine and Constans, 
 gladiatorial shows survived the old established religion more than 
 seventy years ; but they owed their final extinction to the courage 
 of a Christian. In the year 404, on the kalends of January, they 
 were exhibiting the shows in the Flavian amphitheatre before the 
 usual immense concourse of people. Almachius, or Telemachus, 
 an eastern monk, who had travelled to Rome intent on his holy 
 purpose, rushed into the midst of the area, and endeavoured to 
 separate the combatants. The praetor Alypius, a person incredibly 
 attached to these games,|| gave instant orders to the gladiators to 
 slay him ; and Telemachus gained the crown of martyrdom and 
 the title of saint, which surely has never either before or since 
 been awarded for a more noble exploit. Honorius immediately 
 abolished the shows, which were never afterwards revived. The 
 story is told by Theodoret^f and Cassiodorus,** and seems 
 worthy of credit notwithstanding its place in the Roman martyr- 
 ology. (( Besides the torrents of blood which flowed at the 
 funerals in the amphitheatres, the circus, the forums, and other 
 public places, gladiators were introduced at feasts, and tore each 
 
 * Julius Ctesar, who rose by the fall of the aristocracy, brought Furius Lep- 
 tinus and A. Calenus upon the arena. 
 
 t Tertullian, "certe quidem et innocentes gladiatores in ludum veniunt, et 
 voluptatis publics hostile fiant." Just. Lips. Saturn. Sermon, lib. li. cap. iii. 
 
 t Vopiscus, in vit. Aurel. and in vit. Claud, ibid. 
 
 $ Just. Lips. ibid. lib. i. cap. xii. 
 
 II Augustinus (lib. vi. confess, cap. viii.) " Alypiumsuum gladiatorii spectaculi 
 inhiatu incredibiliter abreptum," scribit. ib. lib. i. cap. xii. 
 
 IT Hist. Eccles. cap. xxvi. lib. v. 
 
 ** Cassiod. Tripartita, 1. x. c. xi. Saturn, ib. ib. 
 
 Tt Baronius, ad ann. et in notis ad Martyrol. Rom. I. Jan. See Marangon 
 delle memorie sacre e profane dell' Anfiteatro Flavio, p. 25, edit. 1746.
 
 APPENDIX. 333 
 
 other to pieces amidst the supper tables, to the great delight, and 
 applause of the guests. Yet Lipsius permits himself to sup- 
 pose the loss of courage, and the evident degeneracy of mankind, 
 to be nearly connected with the abolition of these bloody spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 No. XXX. 
 
 " He re, where the Roman million's blame or praise 
 
 Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd." Stanza cxlii. 
 
 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 to be inclined, they turned down 
 their thumbs, and he was slain. They were occasionally so 
 savage that they were impatient if a combat lasted longer than 
 ordinary without wounds or death. The emperor's presence ge- 
 nerally saved the vanquished ; and it is recorded as an instance 
 of Caracalla's ferocity, that he sent those who supplicated him 
 for life, in a spectacle, at Nicomedia, to ask the people; in other 
 words, handed them over to be slain. A similar ceremony is 
 observed at the Spanish bull-fights. The magistrate presides ; 
 and after the horsemen and piccadores have fought the bull, the 
 matadore steps forward and bows to him for permission to kill the 
 animal. If the bull has done his duty by killing two or three 
 horses, or a man, which last is rare, the people interfere with 
 shouts, the ladies wave their handkerchiefs, and the animal is 
 saved. The wounds and death of the horses are accompanied 
 with the loudest acclamations, and many gestures of delight, 
 especially from the female portion of the audient^s, including 
 those of the gentlest blood. Every thing depends on habit The 
 author of Childe Harold, the author of this note, and one or two 
 other Englishmen, who have certainly in other days borne the 
 sight of a pitched battle, were, during the summer of 1809, in the 
 governor's box at the great amphitheatre of Santa Maria, opposite 
 to Cadiz. The death of one or two horses completely satisfied 
 their curiosity. A gentleman present, observing them shudder
 
 334 APPENDIX. 
 
 and look pale, noticed that unusual reception of so delightful a 
 sport to some young ladies, who stared and smiled, and continued 
 their applauses as another horse fell bleeding to the ground. 
 One bull killed three horses off his own horns. He was saved by 
 acclamations, which were redoubled when it was known he be- 
 longed to a priest. 
 
 An Englishman, who can be much pleased with seeing two men 
 beat themselves to pieces, cannot bear to look at a horse galloping 
 round an arena with his bowels trailing on the ground, and turns 
 from the spectacle and the spectators with horror and disgust 
 
 No. XXXI. THE ALBAN HILL. 
 
 "And afar 
 
 TJie Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves 
 The Latian coast, $~c. $~c. Stanza clxxiv. 
 
 The whole declivity 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 Mediterranean ; the 
 whole scene of the latter half of the ^Eneid, and the coast from 
 beyond the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circaeum and 
 the Cape of Terracina. 
 
 The site of Cicero's villa may be supposed either at the Grotto 
 Ferrata, or at the Tusculum of Prince Lucien Bonaparte. 
 
 The former was thought some years ago the actual site, as may 
 be seen from Myddleton's Life of Cicero. At present it has lost 
 something of its credit, except for the Domenichinos. Nine 
 monks of the Greek order live there, and the adjoining villa is a 
 cardinal's summer-house. The other villa, called Rufinella, is on 
 the summit of the hill above Frascati, and many rich remains of 
 Tusculum have been found there, besides seventy-two statues of 
 different merit and preservation, and seven busts. 
 
 From the same eminence are seen the Sabine hills, embosomed 
 in which lies the long valley of Rustica. There are several cir- 
 cumstances which tend to establish the identity of this valley 
 with the "Z7s<j'ca" of Horace; and it seems possible that the 
 mosaic pavement which the peasants uncover by throwing up the
 
 
 APPENDIX. 335 
 
 earth of a vineyard may belong to his villa. Rustica is pro- 
 nounced short, not according to our stress upon "Usticaecu- 
 bantis." It is more rational to think that we are wrong, than that 
 the inhabitants of this secluded valley have changed their tone 
 in this word. The addition of the consonant prefixed is no- 
 thing; yet it is necessary to be aware that Rustica may be a modern 
 name which the peasants may have caught from the antiquaries. 
 The villa, or the mosaic, is in the vineyard on a knoll covered 
 with chestnut trees. A stream runs down the valley ; and 
 although it is not true, as said in the guide books, that this stream 
 is called Licenza, yet there is a village on a rock at the head of 
 the valley which is so denominated, and which may have taken 
 its name from the Digentia. Licenza contains 700 inhabitants. 
 On a peak a little way beyond is Civitella, containing 300. On 
 the banks of the Anio, a little before you turn up into Valle 
 Rustica to the left, about an hour from the villa, is a town called 
 Vicovaro, another favourable coincidence with the Varia of the 
 poet. At the end of the valley, towards the Anio, there is a bare 
 hill, crowned with a little town called Bardela. At the foot of 
 this hill the rivulet Licenza flows, and is almost absorbed in a 
 wide sandy bed before it reaches the Anio. Nothing can be more 
 fortunate for the lines of the poet, whether in a metaphorical or 
 direct sense : 
 
 " Me quotiens reficit gelidus Digentia rivus, 
 Quern Mandela bibit rugosus frigore pagus. 
 
 The stream is clear high up the valley, but before it reaches the 
 hill of Bardela looks green and yellow, like a sulphur rivulet. 
 
 Rocca Giovane, a ruined village in the hills, half an hour's 
 walk from the vineyard where the pavement is shown, does seem 
 to be the site of the fane of Vacuna, and an inscription found 
 there tells that this temple of the Sabine Victory was repaired by 
 Vespasian. With these helps, and a position corresponding 
 exactly to every thing which the poet has told us of his retreat, 
 we may feel tolerably secure of our site. 
 
 The hill which should be Lucretilis is called Campanile, and 
 by following up the rivulet to the pretended Bandusia, you come 
 to the roots of the higher mountain Gennaro. Singularly enough, 
 the only spot of ploughed land in the whole vallay is on the knoll 
 where this Bandusia rises. 
 
 " . . . . tu fiigus amabile 
 Fessis vomere tauris 
 Prsebes, et pecori vago."
 
 336 APPENDIX. 
 
 The peasants show another spring near the mosaic pavement 
 which they call " Oradina," and which flows down the hills into 
 a tank, or mill-dam, and thence trickles over into the Digentia. 
 But we must not hope 
 
 " To trace the Muses upwards to their spring," 
 
 by exploring the windings of the romantic valley in search of th 
 Bandusian fountain. It seems strange that any one should have 
 thought Bandusia a fountain of the Digentia Horace has not 
 let drop a word of it ; and this immortal spring has in fact been 
 discovered in possession of the holders of many good things in 
 Italy, the monks. It was attached to the church of St. Gervais 
 and Protais near Venusia, where it was most likely to be found.* 
 We shall not be so lucky as a late traveller in rinding the occa- 
 sional pine still pendant on the poetic villa. There is not a pine 
 in the whole valley, but there are two cypresses, which he evi- 
 dently took, or mistook, for the tree in the ode.f The truth is, 
 that the pine is now, as it was in the days of Virgil, a garden 
 tree, and it was not at all likely to be found in the craggy accli- 
 vities of the valley of Rustica. Horace probably had one of them 
 in the orchard close above his farm, immediately overshadowing 
 his villa, not on the rocky heights at some distance from his 
 abode. The tourist may have easily supposed himself to have 
 seen this pine figured in the above cypresses ; for the orange and 
 lemon trees which throw such a bloom over his description of 
 the royal gardens at Naples, unless they have been since dis- 
 placed, were assuredly only acacias and other common garden 
 shrubs.:}: 
 
 No. XXXII. EUSTACE'S CLASSICAL TOUR. 
 
 .The extreme disappointment experienced by choosing the 
 Classical Tourist as a guide in Italy must be allowed to find vent 
 in a few observations, which, it is asserted without fear of contra- 
 
 See Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto, p. 43.' 
 
 t See Classical Tour, &c. chap. vii. p. 250, vol. ii. 
 
 t " Under our windows, and bordering on the beach, is the royal garden, laid 
 out in parterres, and walks shaded by rows of orange trees." Classical Tour, 
 &c. chap xi. vol. ii. oct. 365.
 
 APPENDIX. 337 
 
 diction, will be confirmed by every one who has selected the 
 same conductor through the same country. This author is in 
 fact one of the most inaccurate, unsatisfactory writers that have 
 in our times attained a temporary reputation, and is very seldom 
 to be trusted even when he speaks of objects which he must be 
 presumed to have seen. His errors, from the simple exaggera- 
 tion to the downright misstatement, are so frequent as to induce 
 a suspicion that he had either never visited the spots described, 
 or had trusted to the fidelity of former writers. Indeed, the 
 Classical Tour has every characteristic of a mere compilation of 
 former notices, strung together upon a very slender thread of per- 
 sonal observation, and swelled out by those decorations which are 
 so easily supplied by a systematic adoption of all the common- 
 places of praise, applied to every thing, and therefore signifying 
 nothing. 
 
 The style which one person thinks cloggy and cumbrous, and 
 unsuitable, may be to the taste of others, and such may expe- 
 rience some salutary excitement in ploughing through the periods 
 of the Classical Tour. It must be said, however, that polish and 
 weight are apt to beget an expectation of value. It is amongst 
 the pains of theniamned to toil up a climax with a huge round 
 stone. 
 
 The tourist had the choice of his words, but there was no such 
 latitude allowed to that of his sentiments. The love of virtue 
 and of liberty, which must have distinguished the character, 
 certainly adorns the prsges of Mr. Eustace ; and the gentlemanly 
 spirit, so recommendatory either in an author or his productions, 
 is very conspicuous throughout the Classical Tour. But these 
 generous qualities are the foliage of such a performance, and may 
 be spread about it so prominently and profusely, as to embarrass 
 those who wish to see and find the fruit at hand. The unction 
 of the divine, and the exhortations of the moralist, may have made 
 this work something more and better than a book of travels, hut 
 they have not made it a book of travels ; and this observation 
 applies more especially to that enticing method of instruction 
 conveyed by the perpetual introduction of the same Gallic Helo 
 to reel and bluster before the rising generation, and terrify it into 
 decency by the display of all the excesses of the revolution. An 
 animosity against atheists and regicides in general, and French- 
 men specifically, may be honourable, and may be useful as a 
 record ; but that antidote should either be administered in any 
 work rather than a tour, or, at least, should be served up apart, 
 and not so mixed with the whole mass of information and reflec
 
 338 APPENDIX. 
 
 tion, as to give a bitterness to every page : for who would choose 
 to have the antipathies of any man, however just, for his travel- 
 ling companions 1 A tourist, unless he aspires to the credit of 
 prophecy, is not answerable for the changes which may take place 
 in the country which he describes ; but his reader may very fairly 
 esteem all his political portraits and deductions as so much waste 
 paper, the moment they cease to assist, and more particularly if 
 they obstruct, his actual survey. 
 
 Neither encomium nor accusation of any government, 01 
 governors, is meant to be here offered ; but it is stated as an 
 incontrovertible fact, that the change operated, either by the 
 address of the late imperial system, or by the disappointment of 
 every expectation by those who have succeeded to the Italian 
 thrones, has been so considerable, and so apparent, as not only 
 to put Mr. Eustace's antigallican philippics entirely out of date, 
 but even to throw some suspicion upon the competency and 
 candour of the author himself. A remarkable example may be 
 found in the instance of Bologna, over whose papal attachments, 
 and consequent desolation, the tourist pours forth such strains of 
 condolence and revenge, made louder by the borrowed trumpet 
 of Mr. Burke. Now Bologna is at this moment, and has been 
 for some years, notorious amongst the states of Italy for its at- 
 tachment to revolutionary principles, and was almost the only 
 city which made any demonstrations in favour of the unfortunate 
 Murat. This change may, however, have been made since Mr. 
 Eustace visited this country ; but the traveller Whom he has 
 thrilled with horror at the projected stripping of the copper from 
 the cupola of St. Peter's, must be much relieved to find that sa- 
 crilege out of the power of the French, or any other plunderers, 
 the cupola being covered with lead.* 
 
 If the conspiring voice of otherwise rival critics had not given 
 considerable currency to the Classical Tour, it would have been 
 unnecessary to warn the reader, that however it may adorn his 
 library, it will be of little or no service to him in his carriage ; 
 and if the judgment of those critics had hitherto been suspended, 
 no attempt would have been made to anticipate their decision. 
 As it is, those who stand in the relation of posterity to Mr. 
 Eustace may be permitted to appeal from contemporary praises, 
 
 * "What, then, will be the astonishment, or rather horror, of my reader, 
 
 when I inform him the French Committee turned its attention to 
 
 Saint Peter's, and employed a company of Jews to estimate and purchase the 
 gold, silver, and bronze that adorn the inside of the edifice, as welt as the copper 
 that covers the vault and dome on the outside." Chap. iv. p. 130, vol. ii. The 
 itory about the Jews is positively denied at Rome.
 
 APPENDIX. 339 
 
 and are perhaps more likely to be just in proportion as the cause 
 of love and hatred are the farther removed. This appeal had, in 
 some measure, been made before the above remarks were written ; 
 for one of the most respectable of the Florentine publishers, who had 
 been persuaded by the repeated inquiries of those on their journey 
 southwards, to reprint a cheap edition of the ClassicalTour, was, 
 by the concurring advice of returning travellers, induced to 
 abandon his design, although he had already arranged his types 
 and paper, and had struck off one or two of the first sheets. 
 
 The writer of these notes would wish to part (like Mr. Gibbon') 
 on good terms with the Pope and the Cardinals, but he does not. 
 think it necessary to extend the same discreet silence to their 
 humble partisans. 
 
 END OF CHILDE HAROLD.
 
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 Fontenelle and Malapeyere. With numerous Emendations 
 and Additions, by CAMPBELL MORFIT, Practical and Ana- 
 lytical Chemist. Complete in one volume, octavo $5.00 
 
 This important Treatise will be found to cover the whole field in the most 
 masterly manner, and it is believed that in no other branch of applied science 
 could more signal service be rendered to American Manufacturers. 
 
 The publisher is not aware that in any other work heretofore issued in this 
 country, more space has been devoted to this subject than a single chapter ; and 
 in offering this volume to so large and intelligent a class as American Tanners 
 and Leather Dressers, he feels confident of their substantial support and en- 
 couragement. 
 
 CONTENTS. Introduction, Dignity of Labour, Tan and Tannin, Gallic Acid, 
 Extractive Tanning Materials, Oak Barks, Barking of Trees, Method of Esti- 
 mating the Tanning Power of Astringent Substances, Tan, the Structure and 
 Composition of Skin, Different kinds of Skin suitable for Tanning, Preliminary 
 Treatment of Skins, Tanning Process, Improved Processes. Vauquelin's Pro- 
 cess, Accelerating Processes, Keasley's, Trumbull's, Hibbards, and Leprieur's 
 Processes, Tanning with Extract of Oak-Bark, Hemlock Tanning, with Myrtle 
 Plant, English Harness Leather, Calf Skins, Goat and Sheep Skins, Horse Hides, 
 Buck, Wolf, and Dog Skins, Buffalo, or " Grecian" Leather, Russia Leather, 
 Bed Skins, Wallachia Leather, Mineral Tanning, Texture and Quality of Leather, 
 and the Means of Discovering its Defects, Tawing, Hungary Leather, Oiled 
 Leather, Tanning as practised by the Mongol Tartars, Shagreen, Parchment, 
 Leather Bottles, Tanning of Cordage and Sail Cloth, Glazed or " Patent" Lea- 
 ther, Helverson's Process for Rendering Hides Hard and Transparent, Currying, 
 Currying of Calf Skins, Currying of Goat Skins, Red Leather, Fair Leather, 
 M"ater Proof Dressing, Perkins' Machine for Pommelling and Graining Leather, 
 Splitting, Shaving, fleshing and Cleansing Machines, Embossing of Leather, 
 Gut Dressing. 
 
 Mortimer Pyrotechnist's Companion 
 
 Or, A Familiar System of Fire-works. By G. W. MORTIMER 
 Illustrated by numerous Engravings. 12mo 75 cts.
 
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 Napier Manual of Electro- Metallurgy : 
 
 Including the Application of the Art to Manufacturing Processes. 
 By JAMES NAPIER. From the second London edition, re- 
 vised and enlarged. Illustrated by Engravings. In one 
 volume, 12mo $1.25 
 
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 CONTEXTS. History of the Art of Electro-Metallurgy, Description of Galvanic 
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 ments on the Deposition of other Metals as Coatings, Theoretical Observation*. 
 
 Neill Fruit, Floiver, and Kitchen Garden. 
 
 By PATRICK NEILL, LL.D., F.R.S.E., Secretary to the Royal 
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 9
 
 HENRY CAREY BAIRD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Nystrom A Treatise on Screw- Propellers 
 
 and their Steam-Engines : 
 
 With Practical Rules and Examples by which to Calculate and 
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 all its Various Branches : 
 
 To which is added an Essay on the Manufacture of Steel, by 
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 and fifty Wood Engravings. Third edition. In one volume, 
 
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 hesitate to set it down as a work of great importance to all connected with the 
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 stances, to the satisfaction of the most fastidious, is written in that clear and 
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 and consequently will be of much advantage to those works where the proprie- 
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 London Morning Journal. 
 
 Painter, (The] Gilder, and Varnisher's 
 
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 ARROWSMITH. In one volume, 12mo 75 cts.
 
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 Perkins Practical Treatise on Gas and 
 
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 By E. E. PERKINS. 12mo. (In press.) 
 
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 portant matters in the book, will be found the following : 
 
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 11
 
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 Scott The Practical Cotton-spinner and 
 
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 Treatise (A) on a Box of Instruments, 
 
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 Turnbull A Treatise on Experimental 
 
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 XI
 
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 23
 
 HENRY CASEY BAIED'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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 This book is DUE on tbs last date stamped below. 
 
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