I Qia .s^lOS7\NGE! " fV3J0 sKlOjiui v/ ^^ X 1 icv 1 n 1 , ~7 ^' =5 i aan# THE ^)0Ctit mtovi^^ OF LORD BYRON; INCLUDING HIS DON JUAN-ALL HIS MINOR POEMS, AND THE SCPPHESSED PIECES OF eain, anU tf)t FIsion oi ^ntiQwunt, jlLt COMPLETE. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. Second Edition, PHILADELPHIA: rUELIRHED AT TIIL U'ASHINGTON PRESS. J 829. CONTENTS or VOL. I. Scours ot 3Jl3lene00. Page On leaving Newstead Abbey, T On a view of the School of Harrow on the hill, 8 £pitaph on a friend, 10 A Fragment, ib. The Tear, 11 Occasional Prologue, 13 On the Death of Mr. Fox, 14 Stanzas, 15 The first Kiss of Love, 16 ToM 17 To VV^oman, ib. To M. S. G 18 To a beautiful Quaker, 19 To Mary on receiving her Picture, 21 Love's last Adieu, 22 To Marion, , 24 Oscar of Alva, 25 Translations, Imitations, &c. 34 Fugitive Pieces, &c 50 The Death of Calmur & Orla, in imitation of Macpherson's Ossian, 76 ToE. N. L. Esq 79 English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, 85 Preface to Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, 121 To lantbe, 123 jv. CONTENTS. CI) (Itre J^arolK's Dil^ilmase. Canto 1 125 Canto II 149 Canto III i'-2 Canto IV 203 Notes, &c 244 The Giaour, 201 Notes to the Giaour, 321 To Thomas Moore, Esq 329 CJe Corsair* Canto 1 331 Canto II 346 Canto III 360 Notes to the Corsair, 377 Lara, 383 Note to Lara, 414 The Bride of Abydos, 419 Notes to the Bride of Abydos, 449 The Seigeof Corinth, 452 Notes to the Seige of Corinth, 484 Parisina, - 489 Notes to Parisina, ^03 The Prisoner of Chilon, 507 Notes to the Prisoner of Chilon, 519 Beppo, a Venetian Story, 523 Notes to Beppo, 544 HOURS OF IDLENESS. PREFACE. wtMAfvymwi/wAi IN submilting to tlie Public eye the following collection, I have not only to combat the difficulties that writers of verse generally encounter, but may incur the charge of presump- tion, for obiruding myself on the world, when, without doubt, I might be, at my age, more usefully employed. These productions are tlie fruits of the lighter tiours of a young man who has lately completed his nineteenth year. As they bear the internal evidence of a boyish naind, this is, perhaps, unnecessary information. Some few were written during the disadvantages of illness, and depression of spirits ; Hinder the former influence, " Childish Recollections," in particular, were composed. This consideration, though it eaniiot excite the voice of praise, may, at least, arrest the arm of censure. A considerable portion of these Poems has been privately printed, at the request, and for the perusal, of my friends. I am sensible that the partial, and, frequently, inju- dicious admiration of a social circle, is not the criterion by which poetical genius is to be estimated, yet, " to do greatly"' we must " dare greatly !" and I have hazarded my reputa- tion and feelings in publishing this volume. " I have pass'd the Rubicon," and must stand or fall by the " cast of the die." In the latter event, I shall submit without a murmur, for, though not without solicitude for the fate of these effu* sions, my expectations are by no means sanguine. It is probable that I may have dared much, and done little ; for, in the words of CnwpEft, " It is one thing to write what may please our friends, who, because they are such, are apt to be a little biassed in our favour, and another, to write what may please every body, because they who have no connection with, or even knowledge of the author, will be sure to find fault if they can." To the truth of this, however, I do not wholly iv PREFACE, subscribe ; on the contrary, I feel convinced that, these trifles will not be treated with injustice. Their merit, if they possess any, will be liberally allowed ; their nunnerous faults, on the other hand, cannot expect that favour, which has been denied to others, of maturer years, decided character, and far greater ability. I have not aimed at exclusive originality, still less have I have studied any particular model for imitation; some translations are given, of which many are paraphrastic. In the original pieces, there may appear a casual coincidence with authors whose works I have been accustomed to read, but I have not been guilty of intentional plagiarism. To produce any thing entirely new, in an age so fertile in rhyme, would be a Herculean task, as every subject has already been treated to its utmost extent. — Poetry, however, is not my primary vocation ; to divert the dull moments of indisposition, or the monotony of a vacant hour, urged me " to this sin ;" little can be expected from so unpromising a muse. My wreath, scanty as it must be, is all I shall derive from these produc- tions ; and I shall never attempt to replace its fading leaves, or pluck a single additional sprig from groves, where I am, at best, an intruder. Though accustomed, in my younger days, to rove a careless mountaineer on the Highlands of Scotland, I have not, of late years, had the benefit of such pure air, or so elevated a residence, as might enable me to enter the lists with genuine bards, who have enjoyed both these advantages. But they derive considerable fame, and a few, not less pro- from their productions, while I shall expiate my rashness, as an interloper, certainly without the latter, and in all pro- bability, with a very slight share of the former. I leave to others " virum volitare per ora." I look to the few who will hear with patience "dulce est desipere in loco."— To the for- mer worthies, I resign, without repining, the hope of immor. tality, and content myself with the not very magnificent pros- pect, of ranking " amongst the mob of gentlemen who write," my readers must determine whether I dare say " with ease," or the honour of a posthumous page in " The Catalogue of Koyal and Noble Authors," a work to which the Peerage is under infinite obligations, inasmuch as many names of consi- derable lengtii, sound, and antiquity, are thereby rescued from the obscurity which unluckily overshadows several volumi- nous productions of their illustrious bearers. With slight hopes, and some fears, I publish this first, and last attempt. To the dictates of young ambition, may be ascribed many actions more criminal, and equally absurd. To a few of my own age, the contents may afford amusement, I trust, they will, at least, be found harmless. It is highly im- PREFACE. V probable, from my situation, and pursuits hereafler, that I should ever obtrude myself a second time on the Public ; nor even, in the very doubtlul event of present indulgence, shall I be tempted to commit a future trespass of the same nature. The opinion of Dr. Johnson on the Poems of a noble relatioR of mine,* " That when a man of rank appeared in the cha- •' racier of an author, his merit should be handsomely ac- " knowledged," can have little weight with veibal, and still less with periodical censors, but were it otherwise, I should be loth to avail myself of the privilege, and would rather in- cur the bitterest censure of anonymous criticism, than triumph in honors granted solely to a title. * The Earl of Carlisle, whose worts have long received the meed of public applause, to which, by their intrinsic worth, they were well intitled. t,^^ A SERIES OF POEMS, ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED. ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBE\, AVhy dost thou build the hall. Son of the winged days ? Thou lookesc" ftom thy tower to-day, yet a few years, and the blast of the desart comes, it howls in thy empty court. Ossu:*. THRO' thybattlemetJts, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle ; Thou, the hall of my fathers art gone to decay ; In thy once snniiing garden, the hemlock and thistle Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way. Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who, proudly to battle, Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, The escutcheon and shield, which with ev'ry blast rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, Raise aflame in the breast, for the war-laurell'd wreath ; Near Askalon's towers, John of Horision* slumbers, Unnerv'd is the hand of his minstrel, by death. Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley of Cressy, For the safety of Edward and England they fell ; My fathfs ! the tears of your country redress you ; How you fought ! how you died ! still her annals can telh • Horiston Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the Byron family. 8 HOURS OF IDLENESS. On Marston,* with Rupert, f 'gainst traitors contending, Four broihers enrich'd, with their hlood, the bleak field ; For the rights of a monarcl), their country defendiug^ Titl death their attachment to royalty seal'd. Shades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant, departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu ! Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparling New courage, he'll think upon glory, and you. Though a tear dim his eye, at this sad separation, 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret ; Far distant he goes, with the same emulation. The fame of bis fathers he ne'er can forget. That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish, He vows, that he ne'er will disgrace your renown j Like you will he live, or like you will he perish ; When decay'd may he mingle his dust with your own. I SOS, LINES OK A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND SCHOOL 01' HARROW, ON THE HILL. Ob ! mihi prsteritos referat si Jupiter annos. YE scenes of ray childhood, whose lov'd recollection. Embitters the present, compared with the past ; "Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection. And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last. 2. Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace t'ne resemblance. Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied ; How welcome to me, your ne'er fading remembrance. Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd. * The baule of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were deflated. f Son of the Elector Palaiine, and related to Charles 1, He afterwards commanded the fleit, in the reign of CharUs the Second. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 9 3. Again I revisit the hills where we sported. The streams, where we swam, and the fields where we fought The school, where loud warn'd, by the bell, we resorted, To pore o'er the precepts by Pedagogues taught. 4. Again I behold, where for hours I have ponder'd. As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay ; Or round the steep brow of the Churchyard I wander'd, To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. 5. I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded, Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown ; While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded, I fancied that Mossof * himself was outshone. 6. Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation, By my daughters, of kingdom and reason dcpriv'dj Till, fir'd by loud plaudits, and self adulation, I regarded myself, as a Garrick reviv'd. 7. Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you, Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast ; ThougETsad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you, Your pleasures may still be, in fancy, possest. 8. To Ida, full oft may remembrance restore rae, While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll. Since Darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me, More dear is the beam of the past to my soul. 9. But, if through the course of the years which await me. Some new scene of pleasure should open to view, I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me, " Oh ! tuch were the days which my infancy knew. 1806. * Mossop, a cotemporary of Garrick, famous for his per- formance of Zanga, iu Young's tragedy of the Revenge. 10 HOURS OF IDLENESS. EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. AffTTjp irpiv fxtv eXa^wicr evi fuoiuiv 'twoc. Lazrtid*. OH ! Friend ! for ever lov'd, for ever dear ! What fruitless tears have bath'd tby honour'd bier! What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, While thou wast struggling in the pangs of death ! Could tears retard the tyrant in his course; Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force; Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey; Thou still bad'st lived, to bless my aching sight, Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight; If, yet, thy gentle spirit hoTfr nigh The spot, where now thy mould'ring ashes lie. Here, wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, But living statues, there, are seen to weep; Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, AflBiction's self deplores thy youthful doom. What though thy sire lament his failing line, A father's sorrows cannot equal mine ! Though none like thee, his dying hour will cheer, Yet other oflspring soothe his anguish here; But, who with me shall hold thy former place? Thine image, what new friendship can efface? Ah ! none I a father's tears will cease to flow, Time will assuige an infant brother's woe; To all, save one, is consolation known. While solitary Friendship sighs alone. 1803. A FPvAGMENT. WHEN, to their airy hall, my Fa'.hers' voiee. Shall call my spirit, joyful in tht-ir choice; When, pois'd upon the gale, ray form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, de&ccnd the mountain's side ; HOURS OF IDLENESS. 11 Oh ! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns, To mark the spot, where earth to earth returns : No lengthen'd scroll of virtue and renown ; My epitaph shall be, my name alone : If that with honour fail to crown my clay, Oh ! may no other fame my deeds repay ; That, only that, shall single out the spot, By that remember'd, or with that forgot. 1 803. THE TEAR. O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacroi Ducentium ortus ex animo ; quater Felix ! in imo qui scatentem Pec: ore te, pia Nymj.ha, sensit.— Ghat. WHEN Fiiendship or Love Our sympathies move ; When Truth, in a glance, should appear, The lips may beguile, With a dimple or smile. But the test of affeciion 's a Tear. 2. Too oft is a smile But the hypocrite's wile, To mask detestution, or fear ; Give me the soft sijih, Whilst the soul-telling eye Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear. 3. Mild Charity's glow. To us mortals below. Shows the soul fiotn barbaritj clear; Compassion will mell. Where this virtue is felt, And its dew ia dili'us'd in a Tear. 4. The man doom'd to sail, Wiih llie blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer, As he bends o'er the wave, Which may soon be his grave. The green sparkles bright with a Tear. 12 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 5. The Soldier braves death. For a fanciful wreath, In Glory's romantic career ; But he raises the foe, When in battle laid low, And bathes ev'ry wound with a Tear. 6. If, with high-bounding pride. He return to his bride. Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear; All his toils are repaid. When, embracing the maid. From her eyelid he kisses the Tear, » 7. Sweet scene of my youth. Seat of Friendship and Truth, Where Love chas'd each fast-fleeting year j Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, For a last look I turned, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. 8. Though my vows I can pour. To my Mary no more. My Mary, to Love once so dear ; In the shade of her bow'r, I remember the hour, She rewarded those vows with a Tear. 9. By another possest, May she live ever blestj Her name still my heart must revere; With a sigh I resign. What I once thought was mine. And forgive her deceit with a Tear. 10. Ye friends of my heart. Ere from you I depart, This hope to my breast is most near; If again we shall meet, In this rural retreat, May we meet, as we part, witli a Tear. II. When my soul wings her flight. To the regions of night. And my corse shall recline on its bier ; HOURS OF IDLENESS. 13 As ye pass by the tomb, Where my ashes consume, Oil ! moibten their dust with a Tear. 12. May no marble bestow The splendour of woe, Which the diildren of vanity rear; No fiction of fame Shall blazon my name, All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear. 1806. ^frt^^ff^^^ AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF " THE WHEEL OP FORTUNE," AT A PRIVATE THEATRE, SINCE, the refinement of this polish'd age Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; •Since, taste has now expung'd licentious wit, Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ ; Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek. Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek ; Oh ! let the modest Muse some pity claim, And meet indulgence, though she find not fame. Still, not for her alone, we wish respect. Others appear more conscious of defect ; To-night, no vet'ran Roscii you behold, In all the arts of scenic action old ; No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here, No SiDDONS draw the sympathetic tear ; To night, you throng to witness the debut. Of embryo Actors, to the drama new ; Here, then, our almost unfiedg'd wings we try ; Clip not our pinions, ere the birds can fly ; Failing in this our first attempt to soar. Drooping, alas ! we fall to rise no more. Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays. Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise, But all our Dramatis Persona; wait, In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate. No venal views our progress can retard. Your generous plaudits are our sole reward ; For these, each Hero all his power displays. Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze : B 14 HOURS OF IDLENESS. Surely, the last will some protection find, None, to the softer sex, can prove unkind ; Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female shield^ The sternest Censor to the fair must yield. Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail. Should, after all, our best endeavours fail ; Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live, And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive. •f<-^^^^^^^^<^ ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX. THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROl^PTU APPEARED IN A MORNING PAl'ER. " OUR Nation's foes lament on Fox's death, *' But bless the hour, when Pitt resign'd his breath ; ♦' These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth undue, " We give the palm, where Justice points it due." TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE TIECES, SENT THE FiJtLOWING REPLY. Ob ! factious viper I whose envenom 'd tooth. Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth ; What, tho' our " nation's foes" lament the fate, With generous feeling, of the good and great ; Shall dastard tongues, essay to blast the name Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame? When Pitt expir'd, in plenitude of power, Though ill success obscur'd his dyirg hour, Pity her dewy wings before him spread, For noble spirits " war not with the dead," His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave, As all his errors slumber'd in the grave ; He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state ; When, lo ! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd, Who, for a time, the ruiii'd fabric rear'd ; He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, With him, our fast reviving hopes have died Not one great people, only, raise his urn, All Europe's far extended regions mourn. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 15 « These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth undue, " To give the palm, where Justice points it due;" Yet, let not canker'd calumny assail. Or round our statesman wind lier gloomy veil. Fox ! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, Whose dear remains in bonour'd marble sleep. For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan, While friends and foes, alike, his talents own. Fox ! shall, in Britain's future annals, shine, Nor e'en to Pitt, the patriot's palm resign ; Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask. For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dar'd to ask. •r**^* rfV-^i^V^i^VW** STANZAS TO A LADY, WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOENS. THIS votive pledge of fond esteem, Perhaps, dear girl ! for me thou'lt prize; It sings of love's enchanting dream, A theme we never can despise. 2, Who blames it, but the envious fool. The old and disappointed maid ? Or pupil of the prudish school, In single sorrow, doom'd to fade? 3. Then read, dear girl, with feeling read, For thou wilt ne'er be one of those ; To thee, in vain, I shall not plead, In pity for the poet's woes. 4. He was, in sooth, a genuine bard ; His wag no faint fictitious flame ; Like his, may Love be thy reward ; But not thy haples? fate the same. It HOURS OF IDLENESS. THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE. ANACRlOiT. ^^ji^^-f^^^ iAA#^i^ AWAY, with your fictions of flimsy romance, Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove ; Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love, 2. Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow, Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove ; From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, Could you ever have tasted the flrst kiss of lovf. 3. If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse, Or the Nine be dispos'd from your service to rove, Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse, And try the effect of the first kiss of love. 4. 1 hate you, ye cold compositions of art, Tho' Prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove; I court the effusions, that spring from the heart. Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love. 5. Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes, Perhaps, may amuse, yet they never can move ; Arcadia displays but a region of dreams, What are visions like these, to the first kiss ef love ? 6. Oh ! cease to affirm, that man, since his birth. From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove j Some portion of Paradise still is on earth. And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love. 7. When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past. For years fleet away with the wings of the dove ; The dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 17 TO M. OH ! did those eyes, instead of fire, With bright, but mild affection shine ; Though they might kindle less desire. Love, more than mortal, would be thine. 2. For thou art form'd so heav'nly fair, Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam. We must admire, but still despair; That fatal glance forbids esteem. 3. When nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth. So much perfection in thee shone. She fear'd, that, too divine for earth, The skies might claim thee for their own. 4. Therefore, to guard her dearest work. Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk. Within those "■•jce celestial eyes. 5. These might the boldest sylph appal, Whew gleaming with meridian blaze ; Thy beauty must enrapture all. But, who can dare tliine ardent gaze? 6. 'Tis said, that Berenice's hair. In stars adorns the vault of heaven ; But they would ne'er permit thee there. Thou would'st so far outshine the seven. 7. For did those eyes as planets roll, Thy sister lights would scarce appear; E'en suns, which systems now control. Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. 180G. */,«>yAVAM/./>VJ« TO WOMAN. WOMAN, experience might have told me. That all must love thee, who behold thee ; Surely, experience might have taught, Thy firmest promises are nought ; £2 18 HOURS OF IDLENESS. But, plac'd in all thy charms before me, All I forget, but to adore thee. Oh Memory ! thou choicest blessing. When join'd with hope, when still possessing j But how much curst by every lover. When hope is fled, and passion 's over. Woman, that fair and fond deceiver. How prompt are striplings to believe her; How throbs the pulse, when first we view The eye, that rolls in glossy blue ; Or sparkles black, or mildly throws A beam from under hazel brows j How quick we credit every oath. And Lear her plight the willing troth ; Fondly we hope, 'twill last for aye, When, lo ! she changes in a day : This record will for ever stand, " Woman, thy vows are trac'd in sand."* TO M. S.'G. WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgiw; Extend not your anger to sleep ; For, in visions alone, your affectiou can live, I rise, and it leaves me to weep. 2> Then, Morpheus ! envelope my faculties fast, Shed o'er me your languor benign ; Should the dream of to-night, but resemble the last. What rapture celestial is mine. 3. They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, Mortality's emblem is given ; To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,. If this be a foretaste of Heaven. 4. Ah ! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow. Nor deem me too happy in this ; If I Ein in my dream, I atona for it now. Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss. * The last line is almost a, liter Awake, with it my fancy teems, In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams; The vision channs the hours away, And bids me curse Aurora's ray; For breaking slumbers of delight. Which make mc wiuh for endless night. 20 HOURS OF IDLENESS. Since, ob ! whate'er my future fate, Shall joy or woe my gteps await Tempted by love, by storms beset, Thine image I can ne'er forget. Alas! again, no more we meet. No more our former looks repeat ; Then let me breathe this parting prayer. The dictate of my bosom's care : " May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker, " That anguish never can o'ertake her; " That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her, " But bliss be aye, Iier heart's partaker. " Oh! may the happy mortal, fated •' To be, by dearest ties, related ; " For lior, each hour, new joy discover, " And lose the husband in the lover. " May that fair bosom never know, " What 'tis to feel the restless woe, " Which stings the soul with vain regret, " Of him, who never can forget," TO — OH ! yes, I will own we were dear to each other, The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are true; The Love which you felt, was the love of a brother, Nor less the afl'ection I chevish'd for you. 2. But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion, Th' attachment of years in a moment expires; Like Love too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, Eut glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires. S. Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together, And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow; In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather. But winter's rude tempests are gathering now. 4. No more with Affection shall Memory blending The wonted delights of our childhood retrace ; When pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending. And what would be Justice, appears a disgrace. 5. However, dear S , for I still must esteem you^ TJie few, whom I love, I can never upbraid. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 21 The chance which has lost, may in future redeem you, Repentance will cancel the vow you have made. 6. I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection. With me no corroding resentment shall live; Jly bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection, That both may be wrong, and that both fhould forgive. 7. You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence, If danger demanded, were wholly your own ; You knew me unalter'd, by years or by distance. Devoted to love and to friendship alone. 8. You know — but away with the vain retrospection. The bond of afFtciion no longer endures ; Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection. And sigh for the friend \^ho was formerly yoursi 9. For the present we part — I will hope not for ever. For time and regret will restore you at last; To forget our dissension we both should endeavour, I ask no atonement, but days like the past. TO MARY, ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. THIS faint resemblance of thy charms, Though strong as mortal art could give,. My constant heart of fear disarms. Revives my hopes, and bids me live. 2. Here, I can trace the locks of gold, Which down thy snowy forehead waive; The cheeks, which sprung from Beauty's mould. The lips, which made me Beauty's slave. 3. Here, I can trace — — ah no ! that eye. Whose azure floats in liquid fire. Must all the painter's art defy. And bid him from the task retire. 4. Here, I behold its beauteous hue, But Where's the beam so sweetly straying ? Which gave a lustre to its blue. Like Lun& o'er the ocean playing. 22 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 5. Sweet copy ! far more dear to me, Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be, Save her, who plac'd thee next mv heart. 6. She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear, Lest time might shake my wavering soul. Unconscious, that her image there. Held every sense in fast control. 7. Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheerj My hope, in gloomy moments, raise ; In life's last conflict, 'twill appear, " And meet my fond expiring gaze. LOVE'S LAST ADIEU ! Aft c', asi i^ie (psvyei, ANACREOJf. THE roses of love, glad the garden of life. Though nurtur'd 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew, Till Time crops the leaves, with unmerciful knife, Or prunes them for ever, in love's last adieu ! 2. Id vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart. In vain, do we vow, for an age to be true; The chance of an hour, may command us to part. Or death disunite us, in love's last adieu ! 5. Still, Hope breathing peace, through the grief swollen breast. Will whisper, " our meeting we yet may renew •" With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow's represt. Nor taste we the poison, of love's last adieu ! 4. Oh ! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth. Love twiii'd round their childhood, Iiis flow'rs as they grew ; They flourish awl)ile, in the season of truth, Till cl)iird by the winter of love's last adieu ! HOURS OF IDLENESS, 23 5. Sweet lady i why thus doth a tear steal its way, Down a cheek, which outrivals thy bosom in hue ? Yet, why do 1 ask ? to distraction a prey, Thy reason has perish'd, with love's last adieu ! 6. Oh ! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind? From ci;ies to caves of the forest he flew : There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind, The mountains reverberate love's last adieu ! 7. Now, hate rules a heart, which in love's easy chains. Once, passion's tumultuous blandishments knew ; Despair, now, enflames the dark tide of his veins, He ponders, in frenzy, on love's last adieu ! 8. How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel. His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few j Who laughs at the pang, that he never can feel. And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu! 9. Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast, No more, with love's former devotion, we sue ; He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast, The shroud of affection is love's last adieu ! 10. In this life of probation, for rapture divine, Astrea * declares that some penance is due ; From him, who has worship'd at love's gentle shrine, The atonement is ample, in love's last adieu! II. Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light. Must myrtle and cypress, alternately, strew ; His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight, His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu ! DAM.^TAS. IN law an infant, |- and in years a boy. In mind a slave to every vicious joy. * The Goddess of Justice. f In Law, every person is an infant, who has not attained the age of '^l> 24 HOURS OF IDLENESS. From every sense of sbame and virtue wean'd, In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend ; Vers'd in hypocrisy, while yet a child, Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild ; Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool, Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school ; Pamactas ran through all the maze of sin, And found the goal, when others just begin : Ev'n still conflicting passions shake his soul, And bid him drain the dregs of pleasures bowl ; But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain. And, what was once his bliss, appears bis bane. TO MARION. M A RION ! Why that pensive brow ? What disgust to life hast thou ? Change that discontented air ; Frowns become not one so fair. 'Tis not Love disturbs thy rest. Love's a stranger to thy breast ; He, in dimpling smiles, appears, Or mourns in sweetly timid tears ; Or bends the languid eyelid down. But shuns the cold forbidding frown. Then resume thy former fire, Some will love, and all admire; While that icy aspect chills us, Nought but cool indifF'rence thrills us. Would'st thou wand'ring hearts beguile, Smile, at least, or seem to smile ; Eyes, like thine, were never meant To hide their orbs, in dark restraint ; Spite of all thou fain would'st say, Still in truant beams they play. Thy lips, — but here my modest Muse Her impulse chaste must needs refuse. She blushes, curtsies, frowns, — in short she Dreads, lest the subject should transport me; And flying ofT", in search of Reason, Brings Prudence back in proper season. All I shall, therefore, say, (whate'er I think, is neither here nor there,) Is that such lips, of looks endearing, Were form'd for better things, than sneering ; HOURS OF IDLENESS. i^ tDf soothing compliments divested, Advice, at least, 's disinterested ; Such is my artless song to thee, From all the flow of flatt'ry free ; Counsel, like mine, is as a brother's, My heart is given to some others; That is to say, unskill'd to cozen, It shares itself amongst a dozen. Marion ! adieu ! oh ! prithee slight not This warning, tho' it may delight not; And, lest my precepts be displeasing, To those, who think remonstrance teazing, At once, I'll tell thee our opinion, Concerning woman's soft dominion : Howe'er we gaze with admiration. On eyes of blue, or lips carnation ; Howe'er the flowing locks attract us ; Howe'er those beaulias may distract us; Still fickle, we are prone to rove, These cannot fix our souls to love ; It is not too severe a stricture. To say they form a pretty picture. But, would'st thou see the secret chain. Which binds us in your humble train, i To hail you queens of all creation, Know, in a word, 'tis Animation. OSCAR OF ALVA.* A TALE. HOW sweetly shines, through azure skies. The lamp of Heav'n on Lora's shore ; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, And hear the din of arms no more. 2. But often has yon rolling moon, On Alva's casques of silver play'd ; And view'd, at midnight's silent noon, Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd. * The Catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of " Jeronymo and Lorenzo,' in the first volume of •' The Armenian, or Ghost Seer." It also bears some resemblance .0 a scene in the third act of " Macbeth," C 2$ HOURS OF IDLENESS. s. And on the crimson'd rocks beneath. Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death. She view'd the gasping warrior low. 4. When many an eye, which ne'er again Could view the rising orb of day, Turn'd feebly from the gory plain, Beheld in death her fading ray. 5. Once, to those eyes the lamp of Love, They blest her dear propitious light ; But now she glimmer'd from aboTe, A sad funereal torch of night. 6. Faded is Alva's noble race, And grey her towers are seen afar ; No more her heroes urge the chace, Or roll the crimson tide of war. 7. But, who was last of Alva's clan ? Why grows the moss on Alva's stone? Her towers resound no steps of man, They echo to the gale alone. 8. And when that gale is fierce and high, A sound is heard in yonder ball. It rises hoarsely through the sky, And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall. 9. Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs, It shakes the shield of Oscar brave ; But, there no more his bannert rise, No more his plumes of sable wave. 10. Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, When Angus hall'd his eldest born ; The vassals round their chieftain's hearth, Crowd to applaud the happy morn. II. They feast upon the mountain deer. The Pibroch rais'd its piercing note, To gladden more their Highland cheer. The strains in martial numbers float. 12. And they who heard the war-notes wild, Hop'd that, one day, the Pibroch's strain HOURS OF IDLENESS. 27; Should play before the Hero's child, While he should lead the Tartaa train. 13. Another year is quickly past. And Angus hails another son, His natal day is like the last, Nor soon the jocund feast was done; 14. Taught by their sire to bend the bow, On Alva's dusky hills of wind ; The boys in childhood chas'd the roe, And left their hounds in speed behind. 15. But ere their years of youth are o'er. They mingle in the ranks of war ;. They lightly wheel the bright claymore. And send the whistling arrow far. 16. Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair. Wildly it stream'd along the gale; But Allan's locks were bright and fair. And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale. 17. But Oscar own'd a hero's soul, His dark eye shone through beams of truth j Allan had early learn'd control. And smooth his words had been from youth. 18. Both, both were brave, the Saxon spear. Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel ; And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear. But Oscar's bosom knew to feel. 19. While Allan's soul belied his form. Unworthy with such charms to dwell ; Keen as the lightning of the storm. On foes his deadly vengeance fell. 20. From high Southannon's distant tower, Arriv'd a young and noble dame; With Kenneth's lands to form her dower, Glenalvon's blue-ey'd daughter came. 21. And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bridsj^ And Angus on his Oscar smil'd. It sooth'd the father's feudal pride. Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child.^ i$ HOURS OF IDLENESSi- 22. Hark ! to the Pibrocli's pleasing notej Hark to ilie swelling nuptial song ; In joyous strains tlie voices float, And still the choral peal prolong. 23. See how the Heroes' blood-red plumes^ Assembl'd wave in Alva's hall; Each youth his varied plaid assunnes. Attending on their chieftain's call. 24. It i£rnot war their aid demands, The Pibroch plays the song of peace ; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands, Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. 25. But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late ; Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame ? "While thronging guests and ladies waity. Nor Oscar nor his brother came. 26. At length young Allan join'd the bride, " Why comes not Oscar ?" Angus said j *' Is he not here?" the Youth reply'd, With me be ro»'d not o'er the glade. 27. " Perchance, forgetful of the day, " 'Tis his to chace the bounding roe; " Or Ocean's waves prolong his stay, " Yet, Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 28. " Oh no," the anguish 'd Sire rejoin'd, " Nor chace, nor wave my boy delay ; *' Would he to Mora seem unkind ? " Would aught to her impede his way ? 29. " Oh ! search, yc Chiefs ! oh ! search around : " Allan, with these through Alva fly ; " Till Oscar, till my son is found, " Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply. 30. All is confusion, — through the vale, The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, It rises on the murm'ring gale, Till night expands her dusky wings. 31. It breaks the stillness of the night. But echoes through her shades in vain ; HOURS OF IDLENESS. 2$ It sounds through morning's misty light, But Oscar comes not o'er the plain. 32. Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief For Oscar search'd each mountain cave; Then hope is lost, in boundless grief, His locks in grey-torn ringlets waive. 33. *< Oscar, my Son, — thou God of Heav'n, " Restore the prop of sinking age; " Or, if that hope no more is given, " Yield his assassin to my rage, 34. " Yes, on some desart rocky shore, " My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie ; « Then grant, thou God, I ask no more, " With him his frantic Sire may die. 35. " Yet, he may live, — away despair ; •' Be calm, my soul, he yet may live; " T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear, " O God ! my impious prayer forgive ? 36. " What, if he live, for me no more, " I sink forgotten in the dust, " The hope of Alva's age is o'er, " Alas ! can pangs like these be just ?" 37. Thus did the hapless parent mourn, Till Time, who soothes severest woe ; Had bade serenity return, And made the tear-drop cease to flow : 38. For still some latent hope surviv'd. That Oscar might once more appear ; His hope now droop'd, and now reviv'd,. Till Time had told a tedious year; 39. Days roll'd along, the orb of light. Again had run his destin'd race ; No Oscar bless'd his father's sight. And sorrow left a fainter trace. 40. For youthful Allan still renaain'd. And now his father's only joy ; And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd, For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy.. C 2, 30 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 41. She thought that Oscar low was laid, And Allan's face was wond'rous fair. If Oscar liv'd, some other maid Had claim'd his faithleas bosom's care. 42; And Angus said, if one year more. In fruitless hope was pass'd away ; His fondest scruples should be o'er. And he would name their nuptial day. 43. Slow roU'd the moons, but blest at last, Arriv'd the dearly destin'd morn ; The year of anxious trembling past, Wliat smiles the lovers' cheeks adorn ! 44. Hark to the Pibroch's pleasing note. Hark to the swelling nuptial song ; In joyous strains the voices float. And still the choral peal prolong. 45. Again the clan in festive crowd. Throng through the gate of Alva's ball ; The sounds of mirth re-echo loud ; And all their former joy recall. 46. But, who is he, whose darken'd brow Glooms in the midst of general mirth ? Before his eye's far fiercer glow, The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. 47. Dark is the robe which wraps his form, And tall his plume of gory red ; His voice is like the rising Btorm, But light and trackless is his tread. 48. 'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes rounds The bridegroom's health is deeply quaft ; \Viib shouts the vaultfj roofs resound. And all combine to bail the draught. « 49. Sudden the.»iranger chief arose. And all the clamorous crowd are bush'd ; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush'd. 50. « OW man," he cry'd, « this pledge is done, " Thou saw'st, 'twas duly drank by me, HOURS OF IDLENESS. St " It hail'd the nuptuals of thy son, " Now will I claim a pledge from thee. 51. " While all around is mirth and joy, " To bless thy Allan's happy lot; " Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy ? " Say, why should Oscar be forgot?" 52. " Alas !" the hapless sire reply'd, The big tear starting as he spoke; " When Oscar left my hall, or died, " This aged heart was almost broke. 53. " Thrice has the earth revolv'd her course, " Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight ; " And Allan is my last resource, " Since martial Oscar's death, or flight." 54. " 'Tis well," reply'd the stranger, stern. And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye, " Thy Oscar's fate, I fain would learn, " Perhaps the Hero did not die. 55. " Perchance, if those, whom most he lov'd, " Would call, thy Oscar might return ; ♦' Perchance, the Chief has only rov'd, " For him thy Beltane* yet may burn. 56. *' Fill high the bowl, the tabls round, «< We will not claim the pledge by stealth; •' With wine let every cup be crown'd, " Pledge me departed Oscar's health." 57. " With all my soul," old Angus said, And fiU'd his goblet to the brim ; " Here's to my boy ! alive or dead, " I ne'er chall find a son like him." 58. *' Bravely, eld man, this health has sped, " But why does Allan trembling stand ? " Come, drink remembrance of the dead, " And raise thy cup withj^naer band." * Beltane-Tree— A Highland festival, on the lit of Maj,, held near fires, lighted for the occasion. 32 HOURS OF IDLENES& 59. The crimson glow of Allan's face, Was turii'd at once to ghastly hue ; The drops of death each other chase Adown in agonizing dew. 60. Thrice did he raise the goblet high, And thrice his lips refused to taste; For thrice he caught the stranger's eye, On his with deadly fury plac'd. 61. " And is it thus, a brother hails, *' A brother's fond remembrance here? " If thus affection's strength prevails, " What might we not expect from fear ?' 62. Rous'd by the sneer, he rais'd the bowl, " Would, Oscar now could share our mirth t" Internal fears appall'd his soul. He said, and dash'd the cup to earth. 63. *♦ 'Tis he, I hear my murderer's voice,'' Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form ; " A murderer's voice !" the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm. 64. The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, The stranger 's gone, — amidst the crew A form was seen, in tartan green. And tall the shade terrific grew. 65. His waist was bound, with a broad belt round, His plume of sable stream'd on liigh ; But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there^. And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye. 6G. And thrice he smil'd, with his eye so wild. On Angus, bending low the knee; And ihrice he frow;i'd, on a chief on the gi'ouRd, Whom shivering crowds with horror see. 67. The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole, The thunders through the welkin ring; And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm,. Was borne on higli, by the wliirlwind's wing. 68. Cold was the feast, the revel ccas'd, Who lies upon the stony floor? HOURS OF IDLENESS. S& Old Angus prest, the earth with his breast, At length his life-pulse throbs once more. 69. " Away, away, let the leech essay, " To pour the light on Allan's eyes;" His sand is done — his race is run, Oh ! never more shall Allan rise! 70. But Oscar's breast i« cold as clay. His locks are lifted by the gale; And Allan's barbed arrow lay, With him in dark Glentanar's vale. 71. And whence the dreadful stranger came. Or who, no naortal wight can tell; But no one doubts the form of flame. For Alva's sons knew Oscar well. 72. Ambition nerv'd young Allan's band, Exulting demons wing'd his dart,^ While Envy wav'd her burning brand, And pour'd her venom round his heart. 73. Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow, Whose streaming life-blood stains his side? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low. The dart has drank his vital tide. 74. X And Mora's eye could Allan move. She bade his wounded pride rebel: Alas ! that eyes which beam'd with love, Should urge the soul to deeds of Hell. 75. Lo ! seest thou not a lonely tomb. Which rises o'er a warrior dead? It glimmers thro* the twilight gloom ; Oh ! that is Allan's nuptial bed, 76. Far, distant far, the noble grave. Which held his clan's great ashes, stood ; And o'er his corse no banners wave, For they were stain'd with kindred blood. 77. What minstrel grey, what hoary bard, Sliall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise ? The song is glory's chief reward, But who can strike a inurd'rer's praise? 54 HOURS OF IDLENESS 78. Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, No minstrel dare the theme awake ; Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, His harp in shuddering chords would break. 79. No lyre of fame, no hallowed verse. Shall sound his glories high in air, A dying father's bitter curse, A brother's death-groan echoes there. Cranslations mxts Mxitatiom. M^>A^MA*AAM^^lM4l« ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL. WHEK DTING. ANIMULA ! vagula, blandula, Hospes, comesque, corporis, Quae nunc abibis in loca? PalliduJa, rigida, nudula. Nee, ut soles, dabis jocos. TRANSLATION. AH ! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite. Friend and associate of this clay ! To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight? No more, with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. HOURS OF IDLENESS. 5$ TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. AD LESBIAM. EQUAL to Jove, that youth must be, Greater than Jove, he seems to me, Who, free from Jealousy's alarms. Securely views thy matchless charms ; That cheek, which «ver dimpling glows. That mouth, from whence such music flows, To him, alike, are always known, Reserv'd for him, and him alone. Ah, Lesbia ! though 'tis death to me, I cannot choose but look on thee ; But, at the sight, my senses fly, I needs must gaze, but gazing die ; Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, Parch'd to the throat, my tongue adheres ; Wy pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, My limbs deny their slight support ; Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, With deadly languor droops my head. My ears with tingling echoes ring, And life itself is on the wing; My eyes refuse the cheering light, Their orbs are veil'd in starless night; Such pangs my nature sinks beneath, And feels a temporary death. TRANSLATION Of the Epitaph on Virgil afid TiIuUhs, Br DOMITIUS MAUSUS. HE, who sublime, in epic numbers roll'd, And be, wlio struck the softer lyre of love. By Death's* unequal hand alike control'd Fit comrades in Elysian regions move. » The hand of Death is said to be unjust, or unequal, as Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus, at his decease. «6 HOURS OF IDLENESS. TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. "luctus de horte passeris." YE Cupids, droop each little head, Nor let your wings with joy be spread. My Lesbia's fav'rite bird is dead, Whom dearer than her eyes she lov'd : For he was gentle, and so true, Obedient to her call he flew. No fear, no wild alarm he knew, But lightly o'er her bosom mov'd : And softly fluttering here and there, He never sought to cleave the air; But cbirrup'd oft, and free from care, Tun'd to Iier ear his grateful strain. Now having pass'd the gloomy boarn, From whence he never can return, His death, and Lesbia's grief, I mourn, Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain. Oh ! curst be thou, devouring grave ! Whose jaws eternal victims crave. From whom no earthly power can save, For thou hast ta'en the bird away : From thee, my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow. Her swollen cheeics, with weeping, glow. Thou art the cause of all her woe. Receptacle of life's decay. IMITATED FROM CATULLUS, TO ELLEN. OH ! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still, would I steep my lips in bliss. And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be. Still would I kiss, and cling to thee; Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still, would we kiss, and kiss for ever; E'en though the number did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed ; To part would be a vain endeavour. Could I desist ? — ah I never — never. TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. TRANSLATION FROM ANACREGN. TO HIS LYRE. I wisli to tune my guivering lyre, To deeds of fame, and notes of fire ; To echo from its rising swell. How heroes fought, and nations fell ; Whsn Atrens' sons advanc'd to war. Or Tyrian Cadmus rov'd afar; But still, to martial strains unknown. My lyre recurs to love alone, Fir'd with the hope of future fame, I seek some nobler hero's name ; Tiie dying chords are strung anew. To war, to war, my harp is due; With glowing strings, the epic strain. To Jove's great son I raise again, Alcides and his glorious deeds, Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds; All, all in vain, my wayward lyre, Wakes silver notes of soft desire, Adieu ye chiefs, renown'd in arms. Adieu the clang of war's alarms. To other deeds my soul is strung. And sweeter notes shall now be sung ; My harp shall all its powers reveal, To tell the tale my heart must feel. Love, love alone, my lyre shall claim. In songs of bliss, and sighs of flame.. ODE III. 'TWAS now the hour when night had driven, Her car half round yon sable heaven, Bootes only seem'd to roll His Arctic charge around the Pole; While mortals lost in gentle sleep, Forgot to smile, or ceas'd to weep ; At this lone hour, the Paphian boy, Descending from the realms of joy, D 58 TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. Quick to my gate, directs his course. And knocks with all his little force ; ]\]y visions fled, alarm'd I rose, " What stranger breaks my blest repose ?" Alas ! replies the wily child. In faltering accents, sweetly mild ; " A hapless infant here I roam, " Far from my dear maternal home ; " Oh ! shield me from the wintry blast, " The nightly storm is pouring fast, " No prowling robber lingers here ; " A wandering baby, wlio can fear?" I heard his seeming artless tale, I heard his sighs upon the gale ; My breast was never pity's foe, But felt for all the baby's woe, J drew the bar, and by the light. Young Love, the infant, met my sight ; His bow across his shoulders flung, And thence his fatal quiver hung, (Ah ! little did I think the dart. Would rankle soon within my heart ;) With care I tend my weary guest, His little fingers chill my breast, His glossy curls, his azure wing. Which droop with nightly showers, I wring; His shivering limbs the embers warm, And, now, reviving from the storm. Scarce had he felt his wonted glow. Than swift he seized his slender bow ; •' I fain would know my gentle host," He cried, " if this its strength has loef ; " I fear, relax'd with midnight dews, " The strings their former aid refuse ; With poison tipt, his arrow flies. Deep in my torlur'd heart it lies ; Then loud the joyous urchin laught, " Wy bow can still impel the shaft; " 'Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it, " Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it ?" TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. S9 FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES, FROM THE PROMETHEOS VINCXUS OF ^SCHYLUS. GREAT Jove ! to whose Almiglity throne, Both Goda and mortals homage pay, Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall, In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall : My voice shall raise no impious strain, 'Gainst him who lules the sky and azure main. « « * * * * How different now thy joyless fate, Since first Hesione thy bride. When plac'd aloft in godlike state. The blushing beauty by thy side. Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd. And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd ; The Nymphs and Tritons danc'd around, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd nor Jove relentless frown'd. Harrow, December 1, 1804. ^ #^ a captive to the crew. What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare? Ah ! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share ! What force, wliat aid, what stratagem essay, Back to redeem the Latian spoilers' prey! His life a votive ransom nobly give, Or die with him, for whom he wish'd to live ! Poising with strengtli his lifted lance on high, On Luna's orb he cast his phrenzied eye — «' Goddess serene, transcending every star ! •' Queen of the sky ! whose beams are seen afar ; '■ By night, heaven owns thy sway, by day, the grove, «' Wben, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove; " If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace " Thine altars, with the prbduce of the chace; " Speed, speed, my dart, to pierce yoss vaunting crowd, " To free my friend, and scatter far the proud." Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung, Through parting shades the hurling vreapon sung; The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay, Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay ; He sobs, he dies, — t!ie troop, in wild amcze, Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze; While pale they stare— thro' Tagus' temples riven, A second shaft, with equal force, is driven ; Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes, Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies. Burning with wrath, he vicw'd his soldiers fall ; •' Thou youtli accurst, thy life shall pay for all ;" Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive ha drew. And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew. Nisus, no more the blackening shade conceals. Forth, forth he starts, and ail bis love reveals — Aghast, confu'i'd, his fears to madness rise. And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies ; " Me, me, your vengeance hurl, on me alone, " Here sheath the steel, my blood is all your own ; " Ye starry Spheres ! thou conscious Heaven attest : " He could not — durst not — lo ; the guile confest ! " All, all was mine — his early fate suspend, *' He only lov'd, too well, his hapless friend ^8 TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. " Spare, spare ye Chiefs ! from him your rage remove, " His fault was friendship, all his crime was love." He pray'd in vain, the dark assassin's sword, Pierc'd the fair side, the snowy bosom gor'd ; Lowly to earili, inclines his plume-clad crest ; And sanguine torrents, mantle o'er his breast. As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air. Languid in death, expires beneath the share; Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower, Declining gently, falls a fading flower; Thus sweetly drooping, bends his iovely head, And lingering Beauty hovers round the dead. Birt fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide, Revenge his leader, and Despair his guide ; Volscens he seeks, amidst the gathering host, Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost; Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe. Rage nerves liis arm. Fate gleams in ev'ry blow ; In vain beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds. Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds; In viewless circles wheel'd. bis falchion flies. Nor quits the Hero's grasp, till Volscens dies, Deep in his throat, its end the weapon found. The tyrant's soul fled groaning tlirough the wound. Thus Nisus all his fond affection prov'd. Dying, reveng'd the fate of him he lov'd ; Then on his bosom, sought his wonted place, And death was heavenly, in his friend's embrace ! Celestial pair ! if aught my verse can claim. Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame ! Ages on ages, shall your fate admire No future day, shall see your names expire ; While stands the Capitol, immortal dome ! And vanquish'd millions, hail their empress, Rome TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. WHEN fierce conflicting passions urge The breast, where love is wont to glow. What mind can stem the stormy surge. Which rolls the tide of human woe ? TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. 49 The hope of praise, the dread of shame, Can rouse the tortur'd breast no more ; The wild desire, the guilty flame, Absorbs eacb wish it felt before. 2. But, if alTection gently thrills The soul, by purer dreams possest, The pleasing balm of mortal ills, In love can soothe the aching breast ; If thus, thou com'st in gentle guise. Fair Venus ! from thy native heaven, What heart, unfeeling, would despise The sweetest boon the gods have given ? 3. But, never from thy golden bow, May I beneath the shaft expire. Whose creeping venom, sure and slow, Awakes an all-consuming fire ; Ye racking doubts ! ye jealous fears ! With others wage internal war ; Repentance ! source of future tears, From me be ever distant far. 4. May no distracting thoughts destroy The holy calm of sacred love ! May all the hours be wing'd with joy, Which hover faithful hearts above ! Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine. May I with some fond lover sigh ! Whose heart may mingle pure with mine. With me to live, with me to die. 5. My native soil, belov'd before. Now dearer, as my peaceful home. Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore, A hapless, banished wretch to roam ; This very day, this very hour, May I resign this fleeting breath, Nor quit my silent humble bower ; A doom, to me, far worse than death. 6. Have I not heard the exile sigh ? And seen the exile's silent tear? Through distant climes condumn'd to fly, A pensive, weary wand'rcr here; £ 50 FUGITIVE PIECES. Ah ! hapless dame!* no sire bewails, No friend thy wretched fate deplores, Ko kindred voice with rapture hails Thy steps, within a stranger's doors. 7. Perish the fiend ! whose iron heart, To fair affection's truth unknown. Bids her, he fondly lov'd depart, Unpitied, lielpless, and alone ; Who ne'er unlocks, wiih silver key,f The milder treasures of his soul , May such a friend be far from me, And Ocean's storms between us roll ! * Medea, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was deserted by bim for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. The Chorus from which this is taken here address Medea ; though a considerable liberty is taken with the original, by expanding the idea, as also in some other parts of the translation. f The original is " Ka3'apa^ avoiL.ai'ri K\r?i?a pf- Viov" literally, " disclosing the bright Key of the mind." m-r J^utjitibt pieces* THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE EXAMINATION.* HIGH in the midst, surroanded by his peers, Magnus his ample front sublime uprears ; Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a God, While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod. * No refleciton is here intended against the person men- tioned under the name of Magnus. He is merely represented as performing an unavoidable function of his office; indeed. FUGITIVE PIECES. SI As ail around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, His voice, in thunder, shakes the sounding dome ; Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools, UnskiU'd to plod in mathematic rules. Happy the youih ! in Euclid's axioms tried, Though little vers'd in any art beside ; Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen, Scans Atiic metres, with a critic's ken. What ! though he knows not how his fathers bled, When civil discord pil'd the fields with dead ; When Edward bade his conquering bands advance. Or Henry trampled on the crest of France ; Though, marv'lling at the name of Magna Charta, Yet, well he recollects the laws of Sparta ; Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made, Whilst Elackstone 's on the shelf, neglected, laid; Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame. Of Avon's bard, rememb'ring scarce the name. Such is the youth, whose scientific pate, Class honours, medals, fellowships, await ; Or, even, perhaps, the declamation prize. If, to sucti glorlou3 height, he lifts his eyes. But, lo ! no common orator can hope. The envied silver cup within his scope ; Not that our heads much eloquence require, Th' Athenian's glowing style, or Tully's fire. A manner clear or warm is useless, since We do not try, by speaking, to convince ; Be other orators of pleasing proud. We speak, to please ourselves, not move the crowd : Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, A proper mixture of the squeak and groan ; No borrow'd grace of action, must be seen. The slightest motion would displease the dean ; Whilst ev'ry staring graduate would prate, Againit what he could never imitate. The man, who hopes to obtain the promis'd cup, Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up ; such an attempt could only recoil upon myself; as that gentle- man is now as much distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified propriety with which he fills his situation, as he was in his younger days, for \nt and conviviality. 52 FUGITIVE pieces: Nor stop, but rattle over every word. No matter what, so it can not be heard ; Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest ; Who speaks the fastest 's sure to speak the b€St ? Who utters most within the shortest space, May, safely, hope to win the wordy race. The sons of science, these, who thus repaid, Linger in ease, in Granta's sluggish shade; Where on Cam's sedgy banks supine they lie. Unknown, unhonour'd live, — unwept for, die; Dull as the pictures, which adorn their halls, They think all learning fix'd within their walls ; In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, All modern arts, affecting to despise ; Yet prizing Bentley's,* Brunck's* or PoRsoN'sf note. More than the verse, on which the critic wrote ; With eager haste, they court the lord of power. Whether 'tis Pitt or P — ttt rules the hour ;^ To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head. While distant mitres, to their eyes are spread ; But, should a storm o'erwhelra him with disgrace. They'd fly to seek the next, who fiU'd his placo. Such are ihe men, who learning's treasures guard, Such is their practice, such is their reward; This much, at least, we may presume to say ; The premium can't exceed tho price they pay. 1806. • * Celebrated Critics. f The present Greek Professor at Trinity College, Cam- bridge ; a man whose powers of mind, and writings, may perhaps justify their preference. I Since this was written. Lord H. P — y, has lost his place, and subsequently, (I had almost said consequently) the honour of representing the University ; a fact so glaring requires no comment. FUGITIVE PIECES. 53 ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT VERSES, Sent hy a Frietid to tJie Anthw^, COMPLAINING THAT ONE OF HIS DESCRIITCIONS WAS EATHEa TOO WARMLY DRAWN. " But, if any old Lady, Knight, Priest, or Physician, " Should condemn me lor printing a second edition ; " If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse, " May I venture to give her a smack of my muse ?" Anstey's New Bath Guide, page 169. CANDOUR compels me, B— h— n ! to commend, Tlie verse, which blends the censor with the friend j Your strong, jet just, reproof, extorts applause, From me, the heedless and imprudent cause; For this wild error, which pervades my strain, I sue for pardon, — must I sue in vain ? The wise, sometimes, from Wisdom's ways depart j Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart ? Precepts of prudence curb, but can't controJ, The fierce emotions of the flowing soul. When Love's delirium haunts the glowing mind. Limping Decorum lingers far behind ; Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace, Outstript and vanquish'd in the mental chase ; The young, the old, have worn the chains of love. Let those, they ne'er confin'd, my lay reprove : Let those, whose souls contemn the pleasing power, Their censures on the hapless victim shower ; Oh ! how I hate the nerveless frigid song. The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng; Whose labour'd lines in chilling numbers flow, To paint a pang the author ne'er can know. The artless Helicon, I boast, is Youth ; My Lyre, the Heart ; — my muse, the simple Truth : Far be't from me, the " virgin's mind" to " taint," Seduction's dread, is here no slight restraint ; The maid, whose virgin breast is void of guile. Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile; Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer, Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not severe ; She, whom a conscious grace shall thus refine. Will ne'er be " tainted" by a strain of mine. s2 J4 FUGITIVE PIECES. But, for the nymph, whose premature deslrea Torment her bosom with unholy fires, No net to snare her willing heart is spread, She %vould have fallen, tho' she ne'er had read. For me, I fain would please the chosen few, Whose souls, to feeling, and to nature true, Will spare the childish verse, and not destroy, The light effusions of a heedless boy. ' I seek not glory from the senseless crowd, Of fancied laurels, I shall ne'er be proud ; Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize, Their sneers, or censures, I alike despise. GRANTA, A MEDLEY. ApyvpeaiQ Xoy-^aiai fJ^axs (cat Travra Kpar/jffatg. OH ! could Le Sage's* demon's gift. Be realiz'd at my desire ; This night my trembling form he'd lift, To place it on St. Mary's spire, 2, Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls Pedantic inmates full display ; Fellows, who dream on lawn, or staJis, The price of venal votes to pay. 3. Then would I view each rival wight, P — tty and P — Im — s — n survey ; Who canvass there, with all their might. Against the next elective day. 4. Lo ! candidates and voters lie. All luU'd in sleep, a goodly number ! A race renown'd for piety. Whose conscience wont disturb their slumber. ♦ The Diable Boiteux of La Sage, where Asmodeus, the Demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and uii- xoofs the houses for his inspection. FUGITIVE PIECES. S5 5. Lord H , indeed, may net demur, Fellows are sage, reflecting, men ; They know preferment can occur, But very seldom, now and then. 6. The know the Chancellor has got Some pretty livings, in disposal ; Each hopes that one may be his lot, And, therefore, smiles on his proposal. 7. Now, from the soporific scene, I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later. To view, unheeded, and unseen, The studious sons of Alma Mater. 8. There, in apartments small and damp The candidate for College prizes, Sits poring by the midnight lamp, Goes late to bed, yet early rises. 9. He surely well deserves to gain them, With all the honours of his college. Who, striving hardly to obtain them. Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge* 10. Who sacrifices hours of rest, To scan precisely metres Attic ; Or agitates his anxious breast. In solving problems malhematic. 11. Who reads false quantities in Sele,* Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle ; Depriv'd of many a wholesome meal, In barbarous latinf doom'd to wrangle* 12. Renouncing every pleasing page, From authors of historic us« ; Preferring to the lettered sage. The square of the hypothenuse.|- * Sele's publication on Greek metres, displays considera- ble talent and ingenuity ; but, as might be expected in so difi. ficult a work, is not remarkable for accuracy. f The Latin of the schools is of the canine species, and not very intelligible. i The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hy- 56 FUGITIVE PIECES. 15. Still harmless are these occupations, That hurt none but the hapless student, Compared with other recreations. Which bring together the imprudent. 14. Whose daring revels shock the sight, When vice and infamy combine} When diunkenness and dice unite, As every sense is steep'd in wine. 15. Not so, the methodistic crew, Who plans of reformation lay; In humble attitude they sue, And for the sins of others pray. 16. Forgetting that their pride of spirit, Their exultation in their triiil j Detracts, most largely, from the merit Of all their boasted self-denial. 17. 'Tis morn, — from these I turn my sight. What scene is this, which meets the eye? A numerous crowd, array'd in white,* Across the green in numbers fly. 18. Loud rings, in air, tho chapel bell ; 'Tis hush'd; What sounds are these I hear? The organ's soft celestial swell. Rolls deeply on the listening ear. 19. To this is join'd the sacred song. The royal minstrel's hallowed strain ; Though he, who hears the music long, Will naver wish to hear again. 20. Our choir would scarcely be excus'd, Even a as band of raw beginners; All mercy, now, must be refu»'d To such a set of croaking sinners. 21. If David, when his toils were ended. Had heard these blockheads sing before him, pothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right angled triangle. * On a Saint Day, the Students wear surplices, in ChapeL FUGITIVE PIECES. 57 To us, his psalms bad ne'er descended, In furiou* mood he would have tore 'em. 22. The luckless Israelites, when taken, By some inhuman tyrant's order,^ Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken. On Babylonian river's border. 23. Oh ! had they sung in noteg like these, Inspir'd by stratagem, or fear ; They D^.ight have set their hearts at ease, The devil a soul had ttay'd to bear. 24. But, if I scribble longer now, The deuce a soul will stay to read ; iVIy pen is blunt, my ink is low, 'Tis almost time to stop, indeed. 25. Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires, No more, like Cleofas, I fly, Ko more thy theme my muse inspires, Tlje reader 's lir'd, and so am I. 1806, LACHIN Y. GAIR. Lachin r. QAiR, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch ka Gaer, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern High- lands, near Invercauld. One of our modern Tourists men- tions it as the highest mountain perhaps in Great Britain ; be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and pictusesque, amongst our " Caledonian Alps." Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows; near Lachin y. Gair, I spent some of tha early part of my life, the recollection of which, has given birth to the following Stanzas. AVV AT, ye gay landscapes ! ye gardens of roses ! In you let the minions of luxury rove; Restore me the Rocks, where the snow-fluke reposes, Though still they are sacred to freedom and^love; Yet, Caledonia ! belov'd are thy mountains, Round their white summits though elements war, 58 FUGITIVE PIECES. Though cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth flowing fountaifls, I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr, 2. Ah ! there my young footsteps, in infancy wander'd. My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid ;* On chieftains, long perish'd, my memory ponder'd, As daily I strode through the pine cover'd glade ; I sought not my liome, till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; For Fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, Disclos'd by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. 3. " Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your voices " Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?" Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, And ride* on the wind, o'er his own Highland Tale -. Round Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car ; Clouds there encircle the forms of my Fathers, They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr. 4. " 111 starred.f though brave, did no visions fcireboding. " Tell you that Fate had forsaken your cause ?'* Ah ! were you dcsiin'd to die at Culioden,| Victory crown'd not your fall wiih cpplause, Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber, You rest with your clan, in the caves of Braemar,|j The Pibroch^ resounds, to the piper's loud number, Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. • This word ia erroneously pronounced plad, the proper pronunciation (according to the Scotch) is shewn by the Or- thography. + I allude here to my maternal ancestors, the " Gordons," many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charlus, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Stlt- AftTS. George, the 2d Earl of Huntley, married the Princess Aonabella Smart, daughter of James the First of Scotland, by her he left four sons ; the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors. I Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden, I am not certain ; but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the n:ime of the principal action, " pars pro toto." i| A tract of the Highlands so called ; there is also a Castio of Braemar. *j The B?gpipe. FUGITIVE PIECES. 59 5. Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left youj- Years must elapse, e'er I ' ead jou again ; Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain ; England ! thy beauties are tame and domestic, To one, who has rov'd on the mountains afar ; Oh ! for the crags that are wild and majestic, The steep, frovining glories of dark Loch na Garr. TO ROMANCE. PARENT of golden dreams, Romance, Auspicious Queen ! of cbildish j^^ys, Who lead'st along in airy dance, Tliy votive train of girls and boys ; At length, in spells no longer bound, I break the fetters of my youth. No more I tread thy mystic round. But leave thy realms for those of Truth. 2. And, yet, 'tis hard to quit the dreams, Which haunt the unsuspicious soul. Where every nymph a goddess seems, Whose eyes through rays immortal roll ; While P'ancy holds her boundless reign, And all assume a varied hue. When Virgins seem no longer vain. And even Woman's smiles are true. 3. And must we own thee, but a name, And from thy hall of clouds descend? Nor find a Sylph in every dame, A Pyladee* in every friend ; But leave, at once, thy realms of air, To mingling bands of fairy elves ; * It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the com- panion of Orestes, and a partner in one of tliose friendships, which with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus aud Eury- alus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down to pos- terity, as remarkable instances of attachments which in all probability never existed, beyond the imagination of the Poet, the page of an antieut historian, or a modern novelist. 60 FUGITIVE PIECES, Confess that Woman 's false as fair, And friends have feeling for — — themselves. 4. With shame, I own, I've .At thy sway, Repentant, now thy reign is o'er, No more thy precepts I obey, No more on fancied pinions soar ; Fond fool ! to love a sparkling eye, And think that eye to Truth v»as dear, To trust a passing wanton's sigh. And melt beneath a wanton's tear. 5. Romance ! disgusted with deceit, Far from thy motley court I fly. Where Affectation hold» her seat. And sickly Sensibility ; Whose silly tears can never flow. For any pangs excepting thine. Who turns aside from real woe. To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. 6. Now join with sable Sympathy, With cypress crown'd, array'd in weed), Who heaves with thee her simple sigh. Whose breast for every bosom bleeds ; And call thy sylvan female quire, To mourn a swain for ever gone, Wlio once could glow with equal fire, Bui bends not now before thy throne« 7. Ye genial nymphs ! whose ready tears, On all occasions swiftly flow, Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears, With fancied flames and phrenzy glow ; Say, will you mourn my absent name. Apostate from your gentle train ? An infant Bard at least may claim, From you a sympathetic strain. 8. Adieu, fond race, a long adieu. The hour of fate is hov'ring nigh. Even now the gulph appears in view. Where unlamented you must lie ; Oblivion's blackening lake i« seen, Convuls'd by gales you cannot weather. Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas I must perish altogether. FUGITIVE PIECES. 61 ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY* It is tlie voice of years that are gone! they roll before me, wi(h all their deeds. Ossian. NEWSTEAD! fast falling, once resplendent dome ! Religion's shrine ! repentant HEURv'sf pride! Of warriors, monks, and dames, the cloister'd tomb ; Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide, Hail ! to thy pile ! more honour'd in thy fall, Than modern mansions, in their pillar'd state; Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall, Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate. No mail-clad Serfs, | obedient to their Lord, In grim array, the crimson cross(| demand ; Or gay assemble round the festive board, Tbeir chief's retainers, an immortal band. Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye Retrace their progress, through the lapse of time; Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die, A votive pilgrim, in Judea's clime. But not from thee, dark pile ! departs the Chief, His feudal realm in other regions lay ; In thee, the wounded conscience courts relief, Retiring from the garish blaze of day. Yes, in thy gloomy cells and shades profound. The Monk abjur'd a world, he ne'er could view; Or blood-stained Guilt, repenting solace found, Or Innocence, from stern Oppression, flew. * As one poem, on this subject, is printed in the begin- ning, the author had, originally, no intention of inserting the following; it is now added, at the particular request of some friends. f Henry II. founded Newstead, soon after the murder of Thomas a Becket. ^ This word is used by Walter Scolt, in i>is poem, " The Wild Huntsman :" synonymous with Vassal. II The lied Cross was the badge of the Crusaders. F 62 FUGITIVE PIECES. A Monarch bade thee, from that wild arise. Where Sherwood's outlaws, once were wout to prowl ; And Superstition's crimes of various dyes, Sought shelter in the Priest's protecting cowl. Where, now, the grass exhales a murky dew, The humid pail of lit'e-exlinguish'd clay ; In sainted fame, the sacred fathers grew, Nor raised their pious voices but to pray. Where, now, the bats their wavering wings extend, Soon as the Gloaming* spreads her waning shade; The choii did oft their mingling vetpers blend, Or matin orisons to Maryf paid. Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield ; Abbots to Abbots, in a line succeed ; Religion's charter, their protecting shield, Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed. One holy Henry| rear'd thegotbic walls, And bids the pious inmates rest in peace; Another Henry the kind gift recalls, And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease. Vain is each threat, or supplicating prayer, He drives them, exiles, from their blest abode ; To roam a dreary world, in deep despair. No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God. Hark ! bow the hall, resounding to the strain, Shakes with the martial music's novel din ! The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign. High crested banners, wave thy walls within. Of changing sentinels, the distant hum. The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd arms. The braying trumpet, and the hoarser drum. Unite in concert with increas'd alarms. * As " Gloaming," the Scottish word for Twilight, is far more poetical, and has been recommended by many eminent literary men, particularly Dr. Moore, in his Letters to Burns, I have ventured to use it on account of its harmony. f The Priory was dedicated to (he Virgin. f At the dissolution of the Monasteries, Henry VIII. be- • towed Newstcad Abbey on Sir John Byron. FUGITIVE PIECES. 65 An abbey once, a regal fortress* now, Encircled by insulting rebel powers ; Wars dread machines o'erhang thy threat'ning brow, And dart destruction, in sulphureous showers. Ah! vain defence ! the hostile traitor's siege. Though oft repuls'd, by guile o'ercomes ihe braTe; His thronging foes oppress the faithful Liege, Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave. Not unaveng'd, the raging Baron yields, The blood of traitors smears the purple plain ; Unconquer'd, still, his faulchion there he wields, And days of glory, yet for him remain. Still in that hour the warrior wish'd to strew, Self-gatbet'd laurels, on a self-sought grave ; But Charles' protecting genius hither flew, The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to save. Trembling she snatch'd himf from the unequal strife. In other fields, the torrent to repel ; For nobler combats, here, reserv'd his life. To lead the band where godlike Falkland || fell. From thee, poor pile! to lawless plunder given. While dying groans their painful requiem sound. Far different incense, now ascends to heaven. Such victims wallow on the gory ground. There, many a pale and ruthless Robber's corse. Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod ; O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd with horse. Corruption's heap the savage spoilers trod. * Newstead sustained a considerable siege, in the war be- tween Charles I. and his Parliament. f Lord Byron, and his brother. Sir William, held high commands in the Royal Army; the former was General-in- Chief in Ireland, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Governor to James Duke of York, afterwards the unhappy James II. The latter had a principal share in many actions. Vide, Clarendon, Hume, &c. II Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accom- plished man of his age, was killed at the battle of New- bery, charging in the ranks of Lord jByron's Regiment of Cavalry. 64 FUGITIVE PIECES. Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds o'erspread^ Ransack'd, resign, perforce, their inorial mould ; From ruffian fangs, escape not e'en the dead, Rak'd from repose, in search for buried gold. Hush'd is the liarp, unstrung the warlike lyre, The minstrel's palsied hand reclines in death ; No itiore he strikes the quivering chords wiih fire. Or sings the glories of the martial wreath. At length the sated murderers, gorged with prey. Retire, the clamsur of the fight is o'er ; Silence again lesurnes her awful sway, And sable Horror guards the massy door.. Here, Desolation holds her dreary court, What satellites declare her dismal reign ! Shrieking their dirge, ill omeu'd birds resort. To flit their vigils, in the hoary fan'.-. Soon a new Morn's restoring beams dispel The clouds of Anarchy from Britain's skies; The fierce Usurper seeks his native hell, And Nature triumphs, as the Tyrant dies. With storms she welcomes his expiring groans, Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring breath; Earth shudders, as her caves receive his bones, Loathing* the ulfeiing of so dark a death. "o The legal Ruler ,f now, resumes the helm, He guides thro' gentle seas, the prow of state ; Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peaceful realm, And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied Hate. The gloomy tenants, Newstead ! of thy cells, Howling, resign their violated nest; * This is an historical fact ; a violent tempest occurred immediately subsequent to the death or interment of Crom- well, whici) occasioned many disputes between his Partizans and the Cavaliers, both interpreted the circumstance into divine interposition, but whether as approbation or condemna- tion, we leave to the Casuists of that age to decide ; I have made such use of the occurence as suited the subject of my poem, f Charles II. FUGITIVE PIECES. 65 Again, the Master on bis tenure dwells, Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptur'd zest. Vassals, within thy hospitable pale, Loudly carousing bless their Lord's return ; Culture, again, adorns the gladdening vale, And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn. A thousand songs, on tuneful echo, float. Unwonted foliage manilcs o'er the trees; And, hark ! the horns pioclaim a mellow note, The hunter's cry hangs lengthening on the breeze. Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake. What fears ! what anxious hopes ! attend the chace ! The dying stag seeks refuge in the lake, Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race. Ah ! happy days I too happy to endure ! Such simple sports, our plain forefathers knew ; No splendid vices glitter'd to allure, Their joys were many, as their cares were few. From these descending, Sons to Sires succeed. Time steals along, and Death uprears his dart j Another Chief impels the foaming steed, Another Crowd pursue the panting hart. Newstead ! what saddening change of scene is thine ! Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay : The last and youngest of a noble line. Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway. Deserted now, he scans thy grey worn towers ; Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep; Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers ; These, these he views, and views them but to weep. Yet are his tears, no emblems of regret, Cherish'd affection only bids them flow ; Pride, Hope, and Love, forbid him to forget. But warm his bosom with empassion'd glow. Yet, he prefers thee, to the gilded domes, Or gewgaw grottos, of the vainly great ; Yet, lingers mid thy damp and mossy tombs, Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of fate. r 2 €6 FUGITIVE PIECES. Haply thy sun, emerging, yet, may shine. Thee to irradiate with meridian ray ; Fortune may smile upon a future line. And heaven restore an ever cloudless day. CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. I cannot but remember such thinga were. And were most dear to me. Macbeth. WHEN slow Disease with all her host of Pains, Chills the warm tide, which flows along the veing ; When Health affrighted spreads lier rosy wing, And flies with every changing gale of spring; Not to the aching frame alone confin'd. Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind : What grisly forms, the spectre train of woe ! Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow, With Resignation wage relentless strife, While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life. Yet less the pang, when, through the tedious hour, Remembrance sheds around her genial power. Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given. When Love was bliss, and Beauiy form'd our heaven ; Or dear to youth, portrays each childish scene. Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been, As when, through clouds that pour the summer storm, The orb of day unveils liis distant form. Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain. And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain j Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams, The Sun of Memory, glowing through my dreams, Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze, To scenes far distant points his paler rays. Still rules my senses with unbounded sway,' The past confounding with the present day. Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought. Which still recurs, unlook'd for, and unsought; ]\Iy soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields,. And reams romantic o'er her airy fields ; FUGITIVE PIECES. 67 Scenes of my youth, develop'd, crowd to view, To which I long have bade a last adieu ! Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes j Friends lost to me, for aye, except in dreams; Some, who in marble prematurely sleep, Whose forms I now remember, but to weep ; Some, who yet urge the same scholastic course : Of early science, future fame the source : Who, still contending in the studious race, In quick rotation, fill the senior placo ! 40 These, with a thousand visions, now unite; To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight. Ida ! blest spot, where Science holds her reign, How joyous, once, I join'd thy youthful train ; Bright, in idea, gleams thy lofty spire. Again, I mingle with thy playful choir ; Our tricks of mischief, every childish game, Unchang'd by time or distance, seem the same ; Through winding paths, along the glade I trace. The social smile of ev'ry welcome face. My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy or woe. Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe, Our feuds dissolv'd, but not my friendship past, I bless the former, and forgive the last. Hours of my youth, when nurtur'd in my breast, To Love a stranger. Friendship made me blest j Friendship, the dear peculiar liond of youth. When every artless bosom throbs with truth ; Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign. And check each impulse with prudential rein ; 60 When, all we feel, our honest souls disclose, In love to friends, in open hate to foes; No varnish'd t«les the lips of youth repeat. No dear bought knowledge purchas'd by deceit ; Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years, Matur'd by age, the garb of Prudence wears; When, now, the Boy is ripen'd into Man, His careful Sire chalks forth some wary plan ; Instructs his Son from Candour's path to shrink, Sinoothly to speak, and cautiously to think ; Still to assent, and never to deny, A patron'* praise can well reward the lie ; And who, when Fortune's warnin.'r voice is heard,. Would lose his opening prospects for a word ? Although, against that word, his heart rebel, Aad Truth, indignant, all his bosom swell. % 68 FUGITIVE PIECES. Away with themes like this, not mine the task, From flattering fiends to tear the hateful mask ; L t keener harJs delight in Satire's silng, Wy Fancy soars not on Detraction's wing ; 80 Once, and but once, she aim'J a deadly blow, To hurl Defiance on a secret Foe ; But when that Foe, from feeling or from shame, The cause unknown, yet still to me the same, ^ Warn'd by some friendly hint, percbatice, relir'd. With this submission, all her rage expir'd. From dreaded pangs that feeble Foe to save, She hush'd her young resentmenf, and forgave : Or, if my Muse a IVdani's portrait drew, Poraposus' virtues are but known to few ; ^ I never fear'd the young usurper's nod. And he who wields, must, sometiiries, feel the rod. If since, ori Granta's failings, known to all, Who share the converse of a college hall, She sometimes tiifled in a ligh'.er strain,^ ' Tis past, and thus ^he will not sin ag^iin. Soon must her early song for ever cease. And, all may rail, when I shall rest in peace. »■ Here, first remember'd he the joyous band, Who hail'd me chief, obedient to command ; 100 Who join'd with me, in every boyish sport, Their first adviser, and their iast resort. Nor shrunk before the upstart pedant's frown. Or all the sable gloiies cf his gown ; Who, thus transplanted from his father's school, Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule, Succeeded him, whom all units to praise, The dear precep or of my early days ; Probus,* the pride of science, and the boast, To Ida, now, alas ! for ever lost. .'1.; v.l) , /t. _ * This most able and excellent man retired from his situa- tion in ilarch 1805, after having resided 35 years at H.— the last 20 as Head Master ; an office he held with equal ho- nour to himself, and advantage to the very extensive School over which he presided ; panegyric would here be superfluous, it would be useless to enumerate qualifications which were never doubted ; a considerable contest took place between three rival candidates for his vacant Chair, of this I can only say <' Si mea, cum vestris valuissent Vota, Pelasgi ! *' Nor foret amjiguus tanti ccrtaminis Hseres." FUGITIVE PIECES. 69 With him, for ypara, we search'd the classic page, And fear'd the Master, though we lov'd the Sage; Retir'd at last, his small, yet peaceful seat, From learning's labour is the blest retreat. Pomposus fills his magisterial chair ; Pomposus governs, — but my Muse forbear: Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot, His name and precepts be alike forgot ; No more his mention shall my verse degrade, To him my tribute is already paid. 120 High, thro' those elms with hoary branches crown'd. Fair Ida's bower adorns the landscape round ; There Science from her favour'd seat surveys The vale, where rural Nature claims her praise ; To her awhile resigns her youthful train, Who move in joy, and dance along the plain. In scatter'd groups each favoured haunt pursue, Repeat old pastimes, and discover new ; Flush 'd with his rays, beneath the noon-tide Sun, In rival bands, between tiie wickets run, Drive o'er the sward the ball with active force, Or chase with nimble feet its rapid course. But these with slower steps direct their way, Where Brent's cool waves in limpid currents stray ; While yonder few search out some green retreat, And arbours shade them from the summer heat : Others, again, a pert, and lively crew, Some rough, and thoughtless stranger plac'd iu view, Wiih frolick quaint, their antic jests expose And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes ; 140 Nor rest with this, but many a passing fray. Tradition treasures for a future day ; " 'Twas here the galher'd swains for vengeance fought, " And here we earn'd the conquest dearly bought, *' Here have we fled before superior might, " And here renew'd the wild tumultuous fight." While thus our souls with early passions swell. In lingering tones resounds the distant bell ; Th' allotted hour of daily sport is o'er, And Learning beckons from her temple's door. No splendid tablets grace her simple hall, But ruder records fill the dusky wall ; There, deeply carv'd, behold ! each Tyro's name Secures its owner's academic fame ; Here, mingling view the names of Sire, and Son The one long grav'd, the other just begun, 70 FUGITIVE PIECES. Tliese shall survive alike when Son and Sire, Beneath one common stroke of fate expire, Perhaps, tlieir last memorial tliese alone, Denied, in Death, a monumental stone, 160 Whilst to the gale, in mournful cadence wave, The sighing weeds, that hide tiieir nameless grave. And, here, my name and many an early friend's Along the wall in lengthened line extends, Though, still, our deeds amuse the youthful race, Who tread our steps, and fill our former place, Who young obeyed their lords in silent awe. Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was law : And now, in turn, possess the reins of power, To rule tiie little Tyrants of an hour ; Though sometimes, with the Tales of anlietU day, They pass the dreary Winter's eve away ; " And, thus, our former rulers stemm'd the tide, " And, thus, they dealt the combat, side by side; " Just in this place, ihe mouldering walls they scaled, *' Nor bults, nor bars, against their strength availed ; *' Hare, Probus came, the rising fray to queil, " And, here, he faultered forth his last farewell, " And, here, one night, abroad they dared to roara, " While bold Pomposus bravely staid at home." 180 While thus iliey speak, the hour must soon arrive, When names of these, like ours, alone survive; Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm The faint remembrance of our fairy realm. Dear honest race, though now we meet no more, One last, long look, on what we were before ; Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu ! Drew tears from eyes unus'd to weep with you ; Through splendid circles. Fashion's gaudy world, Where Folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd, I plung'd to drown in noise my fond regret. And all I sought or hop'd, was to forget : Vain wish ! if, chance, some well remember'd face, Some old companion of my early race, Advanc'd to claim his friend with honest joy. My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy ; The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around. Were quite forgotten, when my friend was found j The sniiles of Beauty, (for nlan ! I've known What 'tis to bend before Love's mighty throne;) 200 Tiie smiles of Beauty, though those smiles were dear. Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near; FUGITIVE PIECES. 71 My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise, The woods of Ida danc'd before my eyes ; I saw the sprightly wand'rers pour along, I saw, and joiii'd again, the joyous throng; Panting again, I trac'd her lofty grove, And Friendship's feelings Iriumph'd over Love. Yet, why should I alone ■with such delight, Retrace the circuit of my former flight? Is there no cause beyond the common claim, Endear'd to all in childhood's very name ? Ah ! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here, Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear To one, who thus for kindred hearts must roam. And seek abroad, the love denied at home : Those hearts, dear Ida, have I found in thee, A home, a world, a paradise to me. Stern Death, forbade my orphan youth to share. The tender guidance of a Father's care ; 220 Can Rank, orev'n a Guardian's name supply. The Love, which glistens in a Father's eye ? For this, can Wealth, or Title's sound atone, Made, by a Parent's early loss, my own ? What Brother springs a Brother's love to seek ? What Sisier's gentle kiss has prest my cheek? For me, how dull the Vfscant moments rise. To no fond bosom link'd by kindred lies; Oft, in the progress of some fleeting dieara. Fraternal soiiles, collected round me seem, While SI ill the visions to my heart are prest, The voice of Love will murmur in my rest ; I hear, I wake, and in the sound rejoice, 1 hear again, — but ah ! no Brother's voice. A Heriiiit, midst of crowds, I fain must sti^ay Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill ihe wav ; While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine, I cannot call one single blossom mine : What then rtmains? in solitude to groan, To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone ? 24G Thus, must J cling to some endearing band, And none more dear, than Ida's social band. Alonzo! best and dearest of my friends. Thy name ennobles him, who thus commends ; From this fond tribute, thou can'st gain no praise. The praise is his, who now that tribute pays. 72 FUGITIVE PIECES. Oh ! in tlie promise of tliy early youth, If hope anticipate the words of truth ; Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name. To build his own upon thy deathlets fame. Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list Of those, with whom I liv'd supremely blest ; Oft have we drain'd the font of antient lore, Though, drinking deeply, thirsting still the more. Yet, when confinement's liny^^n.^verse at ha- libee,'' i. e. the gallows. • " Good night to Marmion" — tha pathetic gnd also pro- phetic exclamation of Henry Blouni, Esquire, on the death of honest Marmion. AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 91 While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot, Resign their hallowed bays to Walter Scoii. The time has been when yet the Muse was young, When Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung. An Epic scarce ten centuries could claim, While awe-struck nations hailed the magic name : The work of each immortal Bard appears The single wonder of a thousand years,* Empires have mouldered from the face of earth, Tongues have expired v.ith those who gave them birth, 1 SO Without the glory such a strain can give. As even in ruin bids the language live. Not so with us, though minor Bards content, On one great work a life of labour spent : With eagle pinion soaring to the skies, Behold the Ballad-naonger Southey rise ! To him let Camoeks, Milton, Tasso, yield, Whose annual strains, like armies take the field. First in the ranks, see Joan of Arc advance. The scourge of England, and the boast of France I 200 Though burnt by wicked BEnroRD for a witch, Behold her statue, plactd in Glory's niche; Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, A virgin Phoenix from her ashes risen. Next see tremendous Thalaba come on,f Arabia's monstrous, wild, and wond'rous son ; Domdaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew More mad magicians than the world e'«r knew. Immortal Hero I all thy foes o'ercome, For ever reign — the rival of Tom Thumb ! 210 Since startled metre fled before thy face, Well wert thou doomed the last of all thy race ! • As the Odyssey is so closely connected with the story of the Iliad, tli(|||||tanay almost be classed as one grand historical poem. In aTTudinw to Milton and Tasso, we consider the " Paradise Lost," and «' Gierusalemme Liberata" as their standard efforts, since neither the " Jerusalem Conquered" of the Italian, nor the ♦« Paradise Regained" of the English Bard, obtained a proportionate celebrity to their former Poems. Query : Which of Mr. Southey's will survive ? f Thalaba, Mr. Soiithey's second poem, is written in open defiance of precedent and poetry. Mr. S. wished to produca Bornething novel, and succeeded to a miracle. Joan of Arc was marvellous enough, but Thalaba was one of those poems- •« which," in the words of Pobson, " will be read when He- wer and Virgil are forgotten, b\H-—nol till Uim." 92 ENGLISH BARDS, Well might triumphant Genii bear thee heBce, Illustrious conqueror of common tense ! Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his saili, Cacique in Mexico, and Prince in Wales ; Tells us strange taUs, as other travellers do, More old than Mandeville's and not so true. Oh! SouTHET, SouTHEy!* cease thy Taried song! A Bard may chaunt tco often and too longi 220 As thou art strong in verss, in mercy spare ! A fourth, alas ! were more than we could bear. But if, in spite of all the world can lay, Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way ; If still in Berkley Ballads most uncivil. Thou wilt devote old women to the devil.f ^ The babij unborn thy dread intent may rue : " God help tiiee " SouTHEr, and thy readers too. ^ Next come* the dull disciple of thy school, That mild apostate from poetic rule, 230 The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay As soft as evening in hit farourite PJay ; Who warns his friend " to shake off toil and trouble, And quit his books for fear of growing double ;"y Wbo, both by precept and example, si ows That proie is versa, and verse is merely prese, * We beg Mr: SouTHEy's pardon : " Madoc di&dains the degraded title of Epic." See his preface. Why is Epic de- graded ? and by whom ? Certainly the late Romaunts of Mas- ters Cottle, Laureat Pye, OaiLvy, Hole, and gentle Mis- treis Cowley, have not exalted the Epic Muse, but as Mr. Socthey's poem <' disJains the appellation," allow us to ask has he suljsiituted any thing better in its stead ? or muit he be content to rival Sir Richaud BLACKHoaK, in the quantity as well as quality of his verse ? f See the Old Women of Berkley, a BWad by Mr. SouTHET, wherein an aged Gentlewoman is cmied away by Beelzebub, on a "high-trotting horse." \ The last line, " God help thee," is an evident plagiarism from the Anti-jacobin to Mr. Southey^ on his Dactylics: " God help thee, silly one." — Poetry of the Anti-jacobin, page 23. II Lyrical Ballads, page 4 — " The tables turntd." Slanzal. " Up> up my friend, and clear your looks, " Why all this toil and trouble ? " Up, up my friend, and quit your books, ** Or surely you'll grow double." AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 95 Convincing all by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane ; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme, Contain the essence of the true sublime : 240 Thus when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of " an idiot Boy ;" A moon-struek silly lad who lost his way. And, like his bard, confounded night with day,* So close on each pathetic part he dwells, And each adventure so sublimely tells, That all who view the " idiot in his glory," Conceive the Bard the hero of the story. Shall gentle Coleridcse pass unnoticed hers. To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear ? 250 Though themes of innocence amuse him best. Yet still obscurity 's a welcome guest. If inspiration should her aid refuse To him who takes a Pixy for a Mu8e,f Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass The bard who soars to elegize an ass. How well the subject suits his noble mind ! " A fellow feeling makes us wond'rous kind." Oh !' wonder-working Lewis ; Monk or Bard, Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a cburch-jard ! 260 Lo, Wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow, Thy Muse a Sprite, Apollo's sexton thou ' Whether on antient tombs thou tak'st thy stand. By gibb'ring spectres hailed, tl)y kindred band ; Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page, To please the females of our modest age, All hail, M. P.| ! from whose infernal brain Thin ftheeted pbantocns glide, a grisly train ; • Mr. W. ^ his preface, labours hard to prove that prose and verse are much .the same, and certainly his precept* and practice are strictly conformable : '♦ And thus fo Betty's questions he " Made answer like a traveller bold, " The cock did crow to-whno, fo-whoo ; *' And the sun did sliine so cold," &-c. &c. Lyrical Ballads, page 129. ■f Coleridge's Poems, page 11. Songs of the Pixies, i. e. Devonshire Fairies. Page 42, we have " Lines to a young Lady," and page 52, " Lines to a young Ass." \ " For every one knows liula Matt 's an M. P-"— See e. 94 ENGLISH BARD3, At whose aommand " grim women" throng in crowds. And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, 270 With " small grey men," — " wild yagers," and what not, To crown with honour, thee and Walter Scott; Again all hail ! If tales like thine may plwst, St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease ; Even Satan's self with ihee might dread to dwell. And in thy skull discern a deeper hell. Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir. Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire. With sparkling eyes and cheek by passion flushed. Strikes his wild Lyre whilst liitening damea are husljcd? 280 'Tis Little ! young Catullus of his day, As swset, but as immoral in hia lay ! Grieved to condemn, ihe muse must still be just, Nor spare melodious advocates of lust. Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns ; From grosser incense with disgust she turns ; Yet, kind to youth, this expiation o'er, She bids thee " mend thy line and sin no more," For thca, tranilator of the tinsel eong. To whom such glittering ornaments belong, 290 Hibernian Strangford ! with thine eyes of blue* And boasted locks of red or auburn hue. Whose plaintive strain each love-sick Miss admires, And o'er harmonious fusiain half expires. Learn, if thou can'st, to yield thine author's sense. Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence, Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place By dressing Caraoene in a suit of lace ? Mend, Strangford ! mend thy morals and thy taste : Be warm, but pure, be amorous, but be chaste ; 300 Cease to deceive; thy pilfered harp restore. Nor teach the Lusian Bard to copy Mooke. ^ Poem to Mr. Lewis, in the Staibsman, supposed to be written by Mr. Jektll. * The reader who may wish for an explanation of this, may refer to " Strangford's Camoens," page 127, note to page 56, or to the last page of the Edinburgh Review of Strakgford's Camozns. It is also to be remarked, that the things given to the public as Poems of Camoens, are no mor« to be found in the original Portuguese than in the Song of Solomon. AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 'SS In many marble-covered volumes view Hatley, in vain attempting something new; Whether he spin his comedies in rhyme, Or scrawl, ai Wood and Barclay walk 'gainst time, His style in youth or age is still tlie same ; For ever feeble and for ever tame, Triumphant first see " Temper's Triumph's" shine ! At least I'm sure they triumphed over mine. 310 Of •' Music's Triumph's" all v»ho road may swear That luckless Music never triumphed there.* Moravians rise ! bestow some meet reward On dull devotion — lo ! the Sabbath Bard, Sepulchral Grahame, pours his notes sublime, In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme, Breaks into blank the Gospel of Si. Luke, And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch ; And, undisturbed by conscientious qualms. Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the P«almg.f 320 Hail Sympathy ! thy soft idea brings A thousand visions of a thousand things. And shows, dissolved in thine own melting tears. The maudlin Prince of mournful sonneteers, And art thou not their Prince, harmonious BowtES? Thou first, great oracle of tender souls ? Whether in sighing winds thou seek'st relief, Or consolation in a yellow leaf; Whether thy muse most lami'ntably tells What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells,^ 330 Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend. Id every chime th»t jingled from Ostend ? * Hatley's two moat notorious verse productions are, " Triumph's of Temper," and '♦ Triumphs of Mu»ic. " He hat also written much Comedy in rhyme, Epi»tles, &c. &;c. As he is rsther an elegant writer of notes and biography, let u» recommend Pope's Advice to Wycherly, to Mr. H's consideration? viz. "to convert his poetry iiiio^proie," vfhich may be easily done by tzking aw»y the final syllable of each couplet. f Mr. Grahame lias poured forsh two volumes of Cant, under the name of " Sabbath Walks," and " Biblical Pic- lures." I See Bowles's Sonnets, &c. — " Sonnets to Oxford," and " Stanzas on hearing the Bells of Ostend." S)|f ENGLISH BARDS, Ah ! how much juster were thy Muse's hap, If to thy bells thou would'st but add a cap ! Delightful Bowles ! still blessing, and still bleat. All love thy strain, but children like it best. 'Tis thine with gentle Little's moral song. To soothe the mania of the amorous throng ! With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears, Ere Miss, as yet, completes her infant years : 540 But in her teens thy whining powers are vain ; She quits poor Bowles, for Little's purer strain. Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine The lofty numbers of a harp like thine -. *' Awake a louder and a loftier strain,"* Such as none heard batbro, or will again ; Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood. Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud. By more or lesj, are sung in every book. From Capfkin Noah down to Captain Cock. 350 Nor this alone, but pausing on the road, The Bard sighs forth a gentle episode ;•}■ And gravely tells — atiend each beauteous Miss ! — - When first Madeira trembled to a kiss. BowLHS ! in thy memory, let this precept dwoll. Stick to thy Sonneis, man ! at least they sell. But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thoe for a scribe; If chance some bard, though once by dunces feared, Now, prone in dust, can only be revered : 360 If Pope, whose fame and genius from the first Have foiled the best of Critics, needs the worst, Do thou essay ; each fault, each failing scan ; The firat of poets was, alas ! but man! * " Awake a louder," &c. &c. is the first line in Bowles's " Spirit of Discovery ;" a very spirited and pretty dwarf Epic. Among other exquisite lines we have the following: — " A kiss, " Stole on the list'ning silence, never yet, *' Here heard : they trembled even as if the power," &c. &c. — That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss, very much astonished, as well they might be, at such a pheno- menon. •f The Episode above alluded to, is the story of " Robert a Machin," and " Anna d'Arfet," a pair of constant lover*, who performed the kiss above-mentioned, that startled the woods of Madeira. AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 97 Rake from each antient dunghill every pearl, Consult Lord Fanny and confide in Curll ;* Let all the scandals of a former age, Perch on thy pen and flutter o'er thy page; Affect a candour which thou can'st not feel, Clothe envy in the garb of honest zeal ; S70 Write as if St. Johns soul could still inspire. And do from hate what Mallet! did for hire. Oh ! had'si tliou lived in that congenial lime, To rave with Dennis, and with Ralph to rhyme,! Thronged with the rest around his living head, Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead, A meet reward had crowned thy glorious gains. And linked thee to the Dunciad for thy pains. || Another Epic ! who inflicts again More books of blank upon the sons of men ? 380 Eceotian Cottle, rich I5ribtowa's boast, Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast. And sends his goods to market — all alive ! Lines forty thousand, Cantos twenty-five ! Fresh fish from Helicon ! who'll buy ? who'll buy ? The precious bargain 's cheap — in faith not I, Too much in turtle, Bristol's sons delight, Too much o'er bowls of Rack prolong the night; If commerce fills the purse she clogs the brain, And Amos Cottle strikes the Lyre in vain. 390 In him an author's luckles* lot behold ! Condemned to make the books which once he sold, Oil! Amos Cottle! Phoebus! — what a name To fill the speaking trump of future fame I * Curll is one of the heroes of the Dunciad, and was a Bookseller. Lord Fanny is the poetical name of Lord Her- vey, author of " Lines to the Imitator of Horace." f Lord 13onKGB«oKE hired Mallet to traduce PorK after his decease, because the Poet had ntained some copies of a work by Lord Bolingbroke, (the Patriot King) which that splendid, but malignant genius, had ordered to be destroyed. ! Dennis the critic, and Kalph the iliymester. •« Silence, ye wohes! While Ralph to Cynthia howls, " Making night hideous, answer him ye owls!" Dunciad. II See Bowles's late edition of Pope's woiks, for which he received SOO pounds : thus Mr. B. has experienced hew much easier it is to profit by the reputation of another, than to ele- vate his own. I 9S ENGLISH BARDS, Oh! Amos Cottle! for a moment think "What meagre profits spring from pen and ink ! "When thus devoted to poetic dreams, Who will peruse thy prostituted reams? Oh ! pen perverted ! paper misapplied ! Had Cottle* itill adorned the counter's side, 400 Bent o'er iha desk, or born to useful toils, Been taught to make the paper which he soils, Ploughed, delved, or plied the oar with lusty limb, He had not sung of Wales, nur I of him. As Sisyphus against the infernal steep II )il3 the hug.» rock, whose motions ne'er may sleep, So up thy bill, ambrosial Richmond ! heaves . Dull JVlAURiCEf all his granite weigh? of leaves : Smooth solid monuments of mental pain ! The petrifactions of a plodding brain, 410 That ere they reach the top fall lumbering back again. With broken lyre and cheek serenely pale, L,o ! sad Alc.eus wanders down the vale ! Though fair they rose, and might have bloomed at last, His hopes have perished by the northern blast : Kipped in the bud by Caledonian gales, His blossoms wither as the blast prevails ! O'er his lost works let classic Sheffield weep ; May no rude hand disturb their early sleep.| Yet say I why should the bard at once resign 420 His claim to favour from the sacred Nine? * Mr. Cottle, Amos or Joseph, I don't know which, but one or both, once sellers of books they did not wiite, and noiv ■writers of books thai do not sell, have publisi ed a pair of Epics " Alfred" (poor Alfred ! Pye has been at him too I) •' Alfred" and the " Fall of Cambria." + Mr. Maukice haih manufactured the component parts of a ponderous q'larto, upon tlie beauties of " Richmond Hill " and the like : it also takes in a charming view of Turn- ham green, Hammersmith, Brtniford, Old and New, and the parts adjacent. I Poor Montgomery I though praised by every English Preview, has been bitieriy revikd by the Edi.vburgh. After all, the Bard of Sheffield is a man of considerable genius : his «' Wanderer of Siviizerland" is worth a thousand " Lyrical Ballads," and at leait fifty " Degraded Epics." AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 99 For ever startled by the mingled howl Of Northern wolves that still in darkness prowl: A coward brood which mangle as they prey, By hellish instinct, all that cross their way : Aged or young, the living and the dead, No m«rcy find — these harpies must be fed. Why do the injured unresisting yield The calm possession of their native field ? Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat, 430 Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to Akthur's stat?* Health to immortal Jeffrey ! once in name, England could boast a judge almost the same : In soul so like, so merciful, yet just, Some think that Satan has resigned his trust. And given the Spirit to the world again, To sentence Letters as he sentenced men ; With hand less mighty, but with heart as black, With voice as willing to decree the rackj Bred in the Courts beiimes, though all that law 440 As yet hath taught him, is to find a flaw. Since well instructed in the patriot school To rail at party, though a party tool, Who knows? if chance his patrons should restore Back to the sway they forfeited before. His scribbling toils some recompence may meet, And raise this Daniel to the Judgment Seat. Let Jeffries' shade indulge the pious hope. And greeting thus present him wiih a rope : " Heir to my virtues ! man of equal mind ! 450 " Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind, " This cord receive! for thee reserved with care, " To yield in judgment, and at length to wear." Health to great Jeffrey ! Heaven preserve bis life, To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife, And guard it sacred in his future wars, Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars ! Can none remember that eventful day. That ever glorious, almost faiai fray, When Little's leadlebs pistol met his eye, 460 And Bow-street Myrmidons stood laughing by ?■{• * Arthur's seat; the hill which overhangs Edinburgh. + In 1806, Messrs. Jeffrey and Moore, met at Chalk-farm. The duel was prevented by the interference of the Magistracy ; and, on examination, the balls of the pistols, like the courage 100 ENGLISH BARDS, Ob ! (lay disastrous ! on her firm set rock, Duiiedin's castle felt a secret shock ; Dark roU'd the sympathetic waves of Forth, Low groaned iho startled whirlwinds of the North ; Tweed ruffled half his wave to form a tear, The oT;her half pursued liis calm career ;* Arthur's steep summit nodded to its base. The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her pUce ; The Tolhouih felt — for marble sometimes can, 470 On such occasions, feel as much as man — The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms, If Jeffrey died, except within her arms;-|- Nay, last not least, on that portentous morn The sixteenth story where himself was born, ^ His patrimonial garret fell to ground. And pale Edina sliuddeied at the sound : Strewed were the streets around with milk-white reams, Flowed all the Caiiongate with inky streams; This of his candour seemed the sable dew, 480 That of his valour showed the bloodless hue. And all with justice deemed the two combined The mingled emblems of his mighty mind. But Caledonia's Goddess hovered o'er The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moore ; From either pistol snatched the vengeful iead. And straight restored it to her favourite's head, That head, with greater than magnetic power. Caught it, as Danae the golden shower, And though the thickening dross will acarce refine, 490 Augments its ore, and is itself a mine. «' My son," she cried, " ne'er thirst for gore again, ' Resign the pistol, and resume the pen ; of the combatants, were found to have evap rated. This in- cident gave occasion to much waggery in the daily prints. * The Tweed here behaved with proper decorum, it would have been highly reprehensible in tha English half of, the River to liave shown the smallest symptom of apprehension. + This display of sympathy on the part of the Tolbooth, (the principal prison in Edinburgh) which truly seems to have been most affected on this occasion, is much to be com- mended. It was to be apprehended, that the many unhappy criminals executed in the front, might have rendered the edifice more callous. Shs is said to be of the softer sex, be- cause her delicacy of feeling on this day wus truly fern i rune ; though, like most feminine impulses, perhaps a little selfish. ' AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 101 " O'er politics and Poesy preside, ♦' Boast of thy country and Britannia's guide! " For long as Albion's heedless sons submit, " Or Scottish taste decides on Englibh wit, " So long shall last thine unmolested reign, " Nor any dare to lake thy name in vain. " Behold a choien band shall aid thy plan, 500 " And own thee chieftain of the critic clan; " First in the ranks illustrious shall be seen " The travelled Thane! Athenian Aberdeen.* " Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer, (• and sometimes " In gratitude ihou'lt praise his rugged rhymes. " Smug Sydneyj: loo ihj bitter page shall seek, " And classic Hallam|| much renowned for Greek. " Scott may perchance his name and influence lend, " And paltry Pillans§ bliall traduce his friend; " Wl.ile gay Thalia's luckless votary, LAMBE.f 510 " As he himself was damned, shall try to damn. " Known by the name! unbounded by i he sway I " Thy Holland's banquets shall each toil repay ; " W hi! e grateful Britain yields the praise she owes, " To Holland's hirelings, and to Learning's foes. * His Lordship has been much abroad, is a Member of the Athenian Society, and Reviewer of " Cell's Topography of Troy." f Mr. Herbert is a Translator of Icelandic and other poetry. One of the principal pieces is a " Song on the reco- very of Thor's Hammer ;" the translation is a pleasant chaunt in the vulgar tongue, and ended thus : — •' Instead of money and rings, I wot, *• The hammer's bruises were her lot, •' Thus Odin's son his hammer got." I The Rev. Sydney Smith, the reputed author of Peter Plymley's Letters, at5d sundry Criticisms. II Mr. Hallam reviewed Payne Knighst's Taste, and was exceedingly severe on some Greek verses therein : it vvdS not discovered that the lines were Pindar's, till the press rendered it iinpossible to cat-eel the critique, which still stands an ever< lastiu}! moiuimeni of Hallam's ingenuity. § Pillans is a tutor at Eton, ^ The Hon. G. Lambe reviewed " Beresford's Miseries," and is moreover Author of a Farce enacted with much ap- plause al the Priory, Slanmore; and damned with great ex- pedition at tlie late Theatre, Covtnt-Gardeu. It was eiilitkd i« Whistle for it," X 2 102 ENGLISH BARDS, " Yet mark one caution, ere thy next Review •' Spread its liglit wings of SafFron and of Blue. *' Beware lest blundering Brougham* destroy the sale, " Turn Beef to Bannocks, Cauliflowers to Kail." Thus having said, the kilted Goddess kist 520 Her son, and vanished in a Scottish mist.f Illustrious Holland ! — hard would be his lot, His hirelings mentioned, and himself forgot ! Holland, witli Henry Petty at his back. The whipper-in and huntsman of the pack. Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House, Where Scotchmen feed, and Critics may carouse ! Long, long beneath that hospitable roof. Shall Grub Sireet dine, while duns are kept aloof. See honest Hallam lay aside his fork, 530 Resume his pen, review his Lordship's work, And grateful to the founder of the feast. Declare his landlord can translate at least!:]: Dunedin ! view thy children with delight. They write for food, and feed because they write : * Mr. Brougham, in No. XXV. of the Edinburgh Re- view, throughout the article concerning Don Pedro de Ce- vallos, has displayed more politics than policy; many of the worthy Burgesses of Edinburgh being so incenstd at the infamous principles it evinces, as to have withdrawn their subscriptions. It seems, that Mr. Brougham is not a Pict, as I supposed, but a Borderer, and his name is pronounced Broom, from Trent to Tay ; — So be it. ■f I ought to apologise to the worthy Deities for introducing a new Goddess with short petticoats to their notice ; but, alas ! what was to be done? I could not say Caledonia's Genius, it being well known there is no Genius to be found from Clackinannan to Caithness, yet without supernatural agency, how was Jeffrey to be saved ? The national " Kelpies," &c. are too unpoetical, and the " Brownies" and " gude neigh- bours," (spirits of a good disposition) refused to extricate him. A Goddess, therefore, has been called for the purpose, and great ought to be the gratitude of Jeffrey, seeing it is the only communication he ever held, or is likely to hold, •with any thing heavenly. I Lord H. has translated some specimens of Lope de Vega, inserted in his life of the author ; both are bepraised by hh- Miinteresled guests. AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. lOS And lest, when heated with the unusual grape. Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape. And tinge with red the female reader's cheek, My lady skims the cream of each critique ; Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul, 540 Reforms each error, and refines the whole.* Now to the Drama turn — oh motley sight ! What precious scenes the wondering eyes invite! Puns, and a Prince within a harrel pent.f And Didbin's nonsense yield complete content. Though now, thank Heaven ! the Ilosciomania's o'er, And full grown actors are endured once more; Yet, what avails their vain attempts to please, While British critics sutler scenes like these? While Reynolds vents his — - " dammes, — poohs," and "zounds,":|: 550 And common place, and common sense confounds ? While Kenny's World just suffered to proceed, Proclaims the audience very kind indeed ? And BEAUJroNT's pilfered Caratach affords A tragedy complete in all but words ?|| Who but must mourn, while these are all the rage, The degradation of our vaunted stage ? Heavens ! is all sense of shame, and talent gone ? Have we no living Bard of merit? — none? Awake, George CoLMAN, Cujiberland, awake! 560 Ring the alarum bell, let folly quake! Oh ! Sheridan ! if aught can move thy pen. Let Comedy resume her throne again, Abjure the mummery of German schools, Leave new Pizarros to translating fools ; * Certain it is, her Ladyship is susoected of having dfg» played her matchless wit in the Edinburgh Review — how- ever that may be, we know from good authority, thai the manuscripts are submitted to her perusal — no doubt for correction. ■f In the melo-drama of Tvkeli, that heroic prince is cl apt into a barrel on the stage, a new asylum for distressed heroes. I All these are favourite expressions of Mr. R. and pro- minent in his Comedies, living and defunct. II Mr. T. Sheridan, the new Manager of Drury-Lane Thea- tre, stripped the Tragedy of Bonduca, of ihe Dialogue, and exhibited the scenes as the spectacles of Caractacus. — Wai this worthy of his sire? or of himself? 104 ENGLISH BARDS, Give as ihy last memorial to the age, One classic drama, and reform the stage. Gods ! o'er ihose boards shall Folly rear her head. Where Garrick trod, and Kemble lives to tread? On those shall Farce display buffoonery's mask. And Hook conceal his heroes in a cask? 570 Shall sapient managers new scenes produce From CHERav, Skeffikgton, and Mother Goose? While SHjiKSPEARE, Otway, AIassinger, forgot, On stalls must moulder, or in closets rot? Lo ! with what pomp the daily prim* proclaim. The rival candidates for Attic fame ! In grim array tliough Lewis' spectres rise, Still SKEFFiNGTon and Goose divide the prize. And sure great Skeffington must claim our'praise, 580 For Skinless coats, and Skeletons of Plays, Kenowned alike, whose genius ne'er confines Her flight to garnish Greenwood's gay designs;* Nor sleeps wiilj " Sleeping Beauties," but anon In five facetious acts comes thundering on,f While poor John Bull, bewildered with the scene, Siares, wondering what the devil it can mean ; But as some hands applaud, a venal few ! Rather than sleep, why John applauds it too. Such are we now, ah ! wherefore should we turn 590 To what our fathers were, unless to mourn ? Degenerate Britons! are ye dead to shame, Or, kind to dullness, do you fear to blame ? Well may the nobles of our present race Watch eath distortion of a Naldi's face ; Well may they smile on Italy's buffoons, And worship Catalani's patiialoons,| Since their own Drama yields no fairer trace Of wit than puns, of humour than grimace. * Mr, Greenwood is, we believe, Scene-Palntcr to Drury Lane Theatre — as such Mr. S. is much indebted to him. + Mr. S. is the illustrious author of the " Sleeping Beauty ;" and some Comedies, particularly " Maids and Bachelors." Baccalaurei baculo magis quam lauro digni. \ Naldi and Catalani require little notice, — for the visage of the one, and the salary of the other, will enable us long to recollect these amusing vagabonds ; besides, we are still black and blue from the squeeze on the first night of th« Lady's appearance in irow^ers. AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 105 Then let Aosonia, skilled in every art 6C0 To soften manners, but corrupt the heart. Pour her exotic foiiies o'er the town, To sanction Vice and hunt decorum down ; Let wedded strumpets lanfjuish o'er Deshayes, And l)iess the promise which his form displays; While Gayton bounds before the enraptured looks Of hoary iVIarquisses, and stripling Dukes: Let high-born Jctcliers eye the lively Preslk Twirl her light limbs that spurn the needless veil; Let Angiolinj bare her breast of snow, 610 Wave the white arm and point the pliant toe: Collini trill her love-inspiring song. Strain her fair neck and charm the listening throng ! Raise not your scythe, Suppressors of our vice ! Reforming Saints ! too delicately nice ! By whose decrees, our sinful souls to save. No Sunday tai.kards foam, no barbers shave, And beer undrawn and bean's unniown display Your holy rev'rence for the Sabbath-day. Or, hail at once the patron and tire pile 620 Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle!* Where yon proud palace, Fashion's hallowed fane,^ Spreads wide ner portals for the motley train. Behold the new Pt-tronius-f of the day, The Arbiter of pleasure and of play ! There the hired Eunuch, the Hesperian choir, The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyie. The song from Italy, the step from France, The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance. The smile of beauty, and the Hush of wine, 630 For fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and Lords, combine ; Each to his humour, — Comus all allows ; Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse. Talk not to us, ye »taiving sons of trade ! Of piteous ruin which ourselves have made ; In Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask, Nor think of Poverty, except " en mastjue," * To prevent any blunder, such as mistaking a street for a man, I beg leave to state, that it is the Insiiiniion, and not the Uuke of that name which is here alluded to. f Potronius, '« Arbiter elegantiarum" to Nero, " and a very pretty fellow in his day," as Mr. Congrevk's Old Bachelor saitb. ^0^ ENGLISH BARDS, When for the night some lately titled ass Appears the beggar which his grandsire was. The curtain dropped, the gay Burietla o'er, 640 The audience take their turn upon the floor: Now round the room the circling dow'gers sweep, Now m loose walu the thin-clad daughters leap ; The first in lengthened line majestic swim, The last display the free, unfettered limb : Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair With art the charms which Nature could not spare; These after husbands wing their eager flight. Nor leave much mystery for t!ie nuptial night. Oh ! blest retreats of infamy and ease ! » 650 Where all forgotten but the power to please, Each maid may give a loo»e to fjenial thought. Each swain may teach new systems, or be taught ; There the blight youngster, just returned from Spain, Cuts the light pack, or calls the ratiling main ; The jovial Caster's set, and seven's the nick. Or ~ done ! — a thousand on the coming trick ! If mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire. And all your hope or wi:.h is to expire. Here's Powell's pistol ready for your life. GGq And, kinder siiil, a Paget for your wife. Fit consummation of an earthly race Begun in folly, ended in disgrace. While none hut menials o'er the bed of death. Wash thy red wounds, or watch thy wavering breath j Traduced by liars, and forgot by all, The mangled victim of a drunken brawl, To live like Clodius,* and like Falkland^ fall. * Mutato nomine de te Fabula narraiur. f I knew the late Lord Falkland well. On Sunday nigtit I l)eheid him pTs'ding at his owu table, in all the honest pride of hospitality ; on Wednesday morning at three o' Clock, I saw, stretched before me, all that remained of courage, feeling, and a host of passions. He wag a gallant and suc- cessful officer ; his faults were the faults of a sailor; as such, Britons will forgive them. He died like a brave man in a better cause; for bad he fallen in like manner on the deck of the frigate to which he was just appointed, his last moments would have been held up by his countrymeu as ao example to succeeJiug heroes. AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 107 Truth ! rouse some genuine Bard, and guide his hand To drive this pestilence from out the land. 670 Even I — least tbiiiking of a thoughtless throng, Just skilled to know the right and chuse the wrong, Freed at that age when Reason's sliield is lost. To fight my course through passion's countless host, Whom every path of pleasure's flowery way, Has lured in turn, and all have led astray — E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel Such scenes, such men destroy the public weal; Altho' some kind, censorious friend will say, *' What art thou better, meddling fool, than they?" 680 And every Brother Rake will smile to sse That Miracle, a Moialist in me. No matter — when some Bard in virtue strong, GiFFORD perchance, shall raise the chastening iong. Then sleep my pen for ever ! and my voice Be only heard to hail him and rejoice ; Rejoice and yield my feeble praise, though I May feel the lash which virtue must apply. As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals, From silly Hafiz* up to simple Bowles, 690 Why should we call them from their dark abode, In broad St. Giles's or in Tottenham Road? Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare To scrawl in verse) from Bond-street, or the Square ? If things of ton their harmless lays indite, Most wisely doomed to shun the public sight, What harm ? in spite of every critic elf. Sir T. may read his stanzas to himself; Miles Andrews still his strength in couplets try, And live in prologues, though his dramas die. 700 Lords too are Bards : such things at times befal, And 'tis some praise in Peers to write at all. Yet, did or taste or reason sway ihe limes, Ah ! who would take their titles with their rhymes? Roscommon ; Sheffield ! wiih your spirits fled, No future laurels deck a nol)!e head ; No Muse will cheer with renovating smile, I'he paralytic puling of Carlisle ; * What would be the sentiments of the Persian Anacreon, Hafiz, could lie rise from his splendid sepulchre at Sheeraz, where he reposes with Ferdousi and Sadi, the Oriental HoMEK and Catullus, and behold his name assumed by one Stott of Dromoke, the most impudtnt and execrable of literary poachers for the Daily Prints ? 108 ENGLISH BARDS, The puny Schoolboy and his early lay Men pardon if his follies pass away ; 710 But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse. Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes arrow worse? M'hat heterogeneous honours deck the Peer ! Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer I* So dull in youth, so drivelling in his sge, His scenes alone had damned our sinking stage ; But Managers for once cried, " hold, enough !" Nor drugged their audience with the tragic stuff. Yet at their judgment let his Lordship laugh, And case his volumes in congenial calf. 720 Yes ! doff that covering where Morocco shines, And hang a calf-skin+ on those recreant lines. With you, ye Druids ! rich in native lead, Who daily scribble for your daily bread ; With you I war not : Gifford's heavy hand Has crubhed, without remorse, your numerous band. On " all the Talents" vent your venal spleen, Want your defence, let Pity be your screen. Let Monodies on Fox regale your crew. And Melville's Manile| prove a Blanket too ! 730 One common Lethe waits each hapless Bard, And Peace he with you ! 'tis your best reward. Such damning fame as Uunciads only give Could bid your lines beyond a morning live ; But now at once your fleeting labours close. With names of greater note in blest repose. Far be't from me unkindly to upbraid Tt)e lovely Rosa's Prose in Masquerade, Whose sirams, the faithful eciioes of her mind, Leave wondering comprehension far behind. || 740 * The Earl of Carlisle has lately published an eighleen- penny pamphlet on the state t)f the Stage, and offers his plan for building a new theatre: it is to be hoped his Lordship will he permitted to bring any thing for the Stage, except his own tragedies. f " Dolf that lion's hide: *' And bang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs." Shak. King John. Lord C.'s works, resplendently bound, form a conspicuons ornament to his book shelves : <' The rest is all but leather and prunella." \ Melville's Mantle, a parody on " Elijah's Mantle." a poem. Ij This lovely Utile Jessica, the daughter of the noted Jew, AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 109 Though Crusca's Bards no more our Journals fill. Some stragglers skirmisli round their columns still ; Last of the howling host which once was Bell's, Matilda snivels yet, and Hafiz yells; And Merrf's metaphors appear anew, Chain'd to the signature of O. P. Q,.* When some brisk youth, the tenant of a stall, Employs a pen less pointed than his awl, Leaves his snug shop, forsakes his store of shoes, St. Crispin quit*, and cobbles for the Muse, V50 Heavens ! how tlie vulgar stare ! how crowds applaud ! How ladies read, and Literati laud ' If chance some wicked wag should pass his jest, 'Tis sheer ill-nature; don't the world know best? Genius must guide when wits admire the rhyme, And Capel LoFiif declares 'tis quite sublime. Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade! Swains ! quit the plough, resign the useless spade ; Lo ! Burns and Bloomfield,:]: nay, a greater far, GiFFOKD, was born beneath an adverse star, 760 Forsook the labours of a servile state, Stemm'd the rude storm, and triumphed over Fate. Then why no more? if Phoebus smil'd on you, Bloomfield ! why not on brother Nathan too? Him too the Mania, not the Muse, has seized ; Not inspiration, but a mind diseased. ~ And now no Boor can seek his last abode. No common be enclosed without an ode. Oh ! since increased refinement deigns to smile On Britain's sons, and bless our genial Isle, 770 Let Poesy go forth, pervade the whole. Alike the rustic, and mechanic soul — K , seems to be a follower of the Delia Crusca School, and has published two volumes of very respectable absurdi- ties in rhyme, as times go ; besides sundry novels in the style of the first edition of the Monk. * These are the signatures of various worthies vrbo figure in the poetical departments of the newspapers. •j- Capel Lofft, Esq. the Maecenas of Shoemakers, and Pre- facewriier-General to distressed versemen ; a kind of gratis Accoucher to those who wish to be delivered of rhyme, but do not know how to bring it forth. \ Sec Nathaniel Bloomfikld's ode, elegy, or whatever else he or any one else chooses to call it, on the enclosure of •' Honington Green." K 110 ENGLISH BARDS, Ye tuneful cobblers ! still your notes prolong, Compose at once a slipper and a song ; So shall the fair your handiwork peruse ; Your sonnets sure to please — perhaps your shoes. May Moorland* weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill ! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, 780 And pay for poems — when they pay for coats. To the fam'd throng now paid the tribute due, Neglected Genius let me turn to you. Come forthj oh Campbell !f give thy talents scope; Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope ? And thou, melodious Rogers! rise at lasty Recall the pleasing memory of the past ; Arise ! let blest remembrance still inspire, And strike to wonted tones thy hallowed lyre! Restore Apollo to his vacant throne, Assert thy country's honour and thine owu, 790 W'hat? must deserted Poesy still weep Where her last hopes with pious Cowper sleep? Unless, perchance, from his cold bier she turns. To deck the turf that wraps her minstrel Burns ! No ! tho' contempt hath marked the spurious bruud, The race who rhyme from folly, or for food ; Y'et still some genuine sons 'tis hers to boast, Who, least afiecting, still affect the most ; I'eel as they write, and write but as they feel — 13ear witness Gifford, Sothfbv, and Mackiel^ 800 *' Why slumbers Gifford?" once was asked in vain:|| Why slumbers Gifford? let us ask again. * Vide " Recollections of a Weaver in the Moorlands of Stafl'ordshire." f It would be superfluous to recall to the ri;ind of the rea- der, the author of " The Pleasures of Memory" and " The Pleasures of Hope," the most beautiful Didactic Poems in our language, if v.e except Pope's Essay on Man; but so many poetasters have started up, that even the names of Campbell aiid Rogers are become strange. ^ GiFFOKij, author of the fiaviad and Mafviad, the first satires of the day, and translator of Juvenal. SoTHEBV, translator of Wieland's Oberon, and Virgil's Georgics, and author of Saul, an epic poem. Macneil, whose poems are deservedly popular ; particu- larly " Scotland's Scaith, or tlie Waes of War," of wbick ten thousand copies were sold in one month. ji Mr. Gif FORB promised publicly that the Baviad and Mas- AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. Ill v\re there no follies for his pen to purge ? Are there no fools whose backs demand the scourge ? Are there no sins for Satire's Bard to greet ? Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street? Shall Peers or Princes tread pollution's path, And 'scape alike ihe Law's and Muse's wrath? Nor blaze with guilty glare through future time, Eternal beacons of consummate crime? 810 Arouse thee, Giffobd ! be thy promise claimed, Make bad men better, or at least ashamed. Unhappy White !* while life was in its spring, And thy young Muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came; and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, When Science 'self destroyed her favourite son ! Yet! she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, She sowed the seeds, but death has reaped the fruit. 820 'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low — So the struck Eagle stretched upon the plain. No more through rolling clouds to soar again. Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel, While the same plumage that had warmed his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. 830 There be, who say, in these enlightened days That splendid lies are all the Poet's praise ; That strained invention, ever on the wing. Alone impels the modern Bard to sing. viad should not be bis last original works : let him remember, " Mox in reluctante Dracones." • Henry Kirke White, died at Cambridge, in October, 1806", in consequence of loo much exertion in the pursuit of studies that would have matured a mind which disease and po- verty could not impair, and which death itself destroyed rather than subdued. His poems abound in such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a pe- riod was allotted to talents, which would have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume. 112 ENGLISH BARDS, 'Tis true, that all who rhyme, nay, all who write. Shrink from that fatal word to Genius — Trite ; Yet Truth sometimes will lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires. This fact in Virtue's name let Crabbe attest. Though Nature's sternest Painter, yet the best. 840 And here let Shee* and Genius find a place. Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace ; To guide whose hand the sister arts combine, And trace tlie Poet's or the Painter's line ; Whose magic touch can bid the canvas glow, Or pour the easy rhyme's harmonious flow, While honours doubly merited attend The Poet's rival, but the Painter's friend. Blest is the man ! who dares approach the bower Where dwelt the Muses at their natal hour ; 850 Whose steps have pressed, whose eye has marked afar The clime that nursed the sons of Song and War, The scenes which Glory still must hover o'er; Her place of binh, her own Achaiau shore. But doubly blest is he, whose heart expands With hallowed feelings for those classic lands ; Who rends the veil of ages long gone by. And views their remnants with a poet's eye ! Wright !f 'twas thy happy lot at once to view Those shores of glory and to sing them too ; 860 And sure no common Muse inspired thy pen To hail the land of Gods and Godlike men. And you, associate Bards,^ who snatched to light Those gems too long withheld from modern sight ; Whose mingling taste corabin'd to cull the wreath Where Attic flowers Aonian odours breailie, And all their renovated fragrance flung, To grace the beauties of your native tongue ; * Mr. Shee, author of " Rhymes on Art," and "Elements of Art." f Mr. Wright, late Consul- General for the Seven Islands, is author of a very beautiful poem just published ; it is enti- tled, " Horfc lonicae," and is descriptive of the Isles and the adjacent coast of Greece. :f The translators of the Anthology have since published separate poems which evince genius that only requires oppor- tunity to attain eminence. SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 113 Now let those minds that nobly could transfuse The glorious spirit of the Grecian Muse, 870 Though soft the tcho, scorn a borrowed tone; Resign Achaia's lyre and strike your own. Let these, or such as these, with just applause, Restore the Muse's violated laws; But not in flimsy Darwin's pompous chime, That mighty master of unmeaning rhyme ; Whose gilded cymbals, more adorned than clear, The eye delighted but fatigued the ear, In show the simple lyre could once surpass, But now worn down, appear in native brass ; 880 While all his train of hovering sylphs around, Evaporate in similies and sound : Him let them shun, with him let tinsel die — False glare attracts, but more ofiends the eye.* Yet let them not to vulgar Wordsworth stoop The meanest object of the lowly group ; Whose verse of all but childish prattle void, . Seems blessed harmony to Lajibe and Lloyd. j- Let thein — but hold, my Muse, nor dare to teach A strain, far, far beyond thy humble reach ; 890 The native genius with iheir feeling given Will point the path, and peal their notes to heaven. And thou, too, Scott If resign to minstrels rude The wilder Slogan of a Border feud. Let others spin their meagre lines for hire; Enough for Genius if itself inspire ! Let SouTHEY sing, although his teeming muse. Prolific every spring, be too profuse ; Let simple Wordjwokth chime bis childish verse, And brother Coleridge lull the babe at nurse; 9Z0 Let Spectre-mongering Lewis, aim at most, To rouse the Galleries, or to raise a ghost ; ♦ The neglect of the " Botanic Garden," is some proof of returning taste; the scenery is is sole recommendaiion. ■f Messrs. Lajibe and Lloyd, the most ignoble followers of Southey and Co. ^ By the bye, I hope that in Mr, Scott's nest poem his hero or heroine will be less addicted to " Gramarye," and niore to Grammar, than the Lady of the Lay, and her Bravo, William of Deloraine. k2 114 ENGLISH BARDS Let Moore be lewd, let Strangford steal from Moore ; And sivear that Camoens sang such notes of yore; Let Hayley bobble on ; Montgojiery rare ; And godly Grahame chaunt a stupid stave ; Let sonnetteering Bowles his strains refine, And whine and whimper to the fourteenth line ; Let Stotx, Carlisle, Matilda, and the rest Of Grub-street, and of Grosvenor-place the best, 910 Scrawl on, 'till death release us from the strain, Or common sense assert her rights again ; But Thou, with powers that mock the aid of praise, Shouldst leave to humbler Bards ignoble lays — Thy Country's voice, the voice of all the Nine, Demand a hallowed harp — that harp is thine. Say ! will not Caledonia's annals yield The glorious record of some nobler field, Than the vile foray of a plundering clan, Whose proudest deeds disgrace the name of man ? 920 Or Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food For outlawed Sherwood's tales of Robin Hood? Scotland ! still proudly claim thy native Bard, And be thy praise his first, his best reward ! Yet not with thee alone his name should live. But own the vast renown a world can give ; Be known, perchance, when Albion is no more, And tell the tale of what she was before ; To future times her faded fame recall, And save her glory, though his Country fall. 930' Yet what avails the sanguine Poet's hope To conquer ages, and with lime to cope ? New eras spread their wings, new nations rise. And other Victors* fill the applauding skies j A few brief generations fleet along, "Whose sons forget the Poet and his song — E'en now what once loved Minstrels scarce may claim The transient mention of a dubious name ! When Fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast, Though long the sound the echo sleeps at last, 940' And Glory, like the Phoenix 'midst lier fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires. Shall hoary Granta call her sable sons ^Expert in science, more expert at puns ? * " Tollers humo, \ictorquc virum volitare per ora." VlRGU.. \ AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 115 Shall these approach the Muse ? ah no ! she flies, And even spurns the great Seatonian prize, Though Printers condescend the press to soil With rhyme by Hoare, and Epic blank by — Hoyle : Mot him whose pa^e, if slill upheld oy whist, Requires no sacred theme to bid us list,* 950 Ye! who in Granta's honours would surpass Must mount her Pegasus, a full-grown ass ; A foal well worthy of her antient dam, Whose Helicon is duller than her Cam. There Clarke, still striving piteously " to please," Forgetting doggrel leads not to degrees, A would-be Satirist, a hired buffoon, A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon. Condemned to drudge, the meanest of the mean. And furbish falsehoods for a magazine, 960 Devotes to scandal his congenial mind ; Himself a living libel on mankind,f Oh dark asylum of a Vandal race l^ At once the boast of learning, and disgrace; So sunk in dullness and so lost in shame That Smythe and Hodgson |! scarce redtem thy famef * The •' Games of Hoyle," well known to the votaries of Whist, Chess, &c. are not to be superseiled hy the vagaries of his poetical namesake, whose poem comprised, as expressly staled in the advertisement, all the " Ph.gucb of Egypt," f This person who has lately betrayed tlie most rapid symp- toms of confirmed authorship, is writer of a poem denominated the " Art of Pleasing," as " Lucus a non lucendo," con- taining little pleasantry, and less poetry. He also acts as monthly stipendiary and collector of caluninits for the Satirist. If this unfortunate young man would excliaiige the magazines for the mathematics, and endeavour to take a decent degree in his University, it mijjht eventually prove more serviceable than his present salary. I »' Into Cambridgeshire the Emperor Probus transported a considerable body of Vandals." — Gibl)on's Decline and Fall, page 83, vol. 2. There is no reason to doubt the trutb of this assertion, the breed is still in high perfection. II This gentleman's name requires no praise ; the man who in translation displays unquestiouable genius, may well be ex- pected to excel in original composition, of which ii is to be hoped we ihall toon see a splendid specimen. 116 ENGLISH BARDS, But where fair Isis rolls her purer wave, J'he partial Muse delighted loves to lave, On her green banks a greener wreath is wove, I'o crown the Bards thut haunt her clas^ic grove. 970 Where Richards wakes a genuine poet's fires, And modern Britons justly praise their Sires.* For me, who thus unasked have dared to tell My country what her sons should know too well, Zeal for her honour bade me here engage The host of idiots that infest her age. No just applause her honoured name shall lose, As first in fieedom, dearest to 'he Muse. Oh ! would thy Bards but emulate thy fame. And rise, more woitliy^ Albion, of thy name !" 080 \\ hat Athens was in science, Uoaie in power, What Tyre appeared in her meridian hour, 'Tis thine at once, fair Albion, to have been, £arth's chief dictatress, Ocean's mighty queen : But Rome decayed, and Athens strewed the plain. And Tyre's [jroud piers lie shattered in the main ; Like these thy streugtli may sink in ruin hurled, And Britain fall, the bulwark of the World. But let me cease, and dread Cassandra's fate, With warning ever ever scoffed at, 'till loo late, 9&0 To themes less lofty still iny lay confine. And urge thy Bards to gain a name like thine. Then hapless Britain ! be thy rulers blest ! The Senate's oracles, the people's jest ; Still hear thy moiley orators dispense The flowers of rhetoric, though not of sense, While Canning's colleagues hate hitn for his wit. And old dame FoKTLANDf fills the place of Pitt. Yet once again adieu ! ere this the sail That wafts me hence is shivering in the gale- 1000 And Afric"s coast and Calpe't| adverse height. And Stambour>|{ minarets must greet my sight. , The " Aboriginal Britons," an excellent poem by Rich- AKllS. f- A friend of mine being asked why his Grace of P. was likened to an old woman? replied, " he supposed it was be- cause he was past beating." '" I Calpe is tlie antient name of Gibraltar. II Slamboul u the Turkish word for Constantinople. AND SCOTCli REVIEWERS. 117 Thence shall I stray through Beauty's* native clime, Where Kafff is clad in rocks, and crown'd with snowg sublime. But should I back return, no letter'd rage Shall drag my common-place book on the stage. Let vain Valentia^ rival luckless Carr, And equal him whose vvorks be sought to mar ; Let Aberdeen and Elgin§ still pursue The shade of fame through regions of Vertu ; 1010 Waste useless thousands on their Phidian freaks, Mis-shapen monuments and maimed antiques; And make their grand saloons a general mart For all ihe mutilated blocks of art. Of Dardan tours let Dilettanti tell, I leave topography to classic Gell ;^ And, quite content, no more shall interpose To stun mankind with Poesy or prose. Thus far I've held my undisturbed eareer, 1020 Prepared for rancour, steel'd 'gainst selfish fear : This thing of rhyme I ne'er disdained to own — Though not obtrusive, yet not quite unknown, My voice was heard again, though not so loud, My page, though nameless, never disavovjed, And now, at once I tear the veil away ; Cheer on the pack ! the Quarry stands at bay, Unscar'd by all the din of Melbourne House, By Lambe's resentment, or by Holland's spouse. By Jeffrey's harmless pistol, Hallam's rage, Euina's brawny sons and brimstone page. 1030 * Georgia, remarkable for the beauty of its inhabitants. f Mount Caucasus. \ Lord Valentia (whose tremendous travels are forth- coming with due decorations, graphical, topographical, arid typographical) deposed, on Sir John Carr's unlucky suit, that Dubois' satire prevented his purchase of the " Stranger in IreUnd."— Oh, fie, my Lord ! has your Lordship no more feeling for a fellow -tourist ? but " two of a trade," they say, &c. &c. § Lord Elgin woultl fain persuade us that all the figures, with or without noses, in his slone shop, are the work of Phi- dias ! " Credat Judaeus!" ^ Mr. Gell's I'opography of Troy and Ithaca, cannot fail to ensure the approbation of every man possessed of classi- cal taste, as well for the information Mr. G. conveys to the mind of the reader, as for the ability and research his respec- tive works display. 118 ENGLISH BARDS, &c. Our men in Buckram shall have blows enough, And feel, they too, are '• penetrable stuff;'* And though I hope not hence unscath'd to go, Who conquers me shall find a stubborn foe. The time hath been vf hen no harsh sound would fall From lips that now may seem imbued with gall, Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise The meanest thing that crawled beneath my eyes; But now, so callous grown, so chann'd since youth, I've learned to think, and sternly speak the truth ; 1040 Learned to deride the critic's starch decree, And break him on the wheel he meant for me ; To spurn the rod a scribbler bids me kiss, Nor care how courts and crowds applaud or hiss : Nay more, though all my rival rhymesters frown, I too can bunt a poetaster down ; And, arm'd in proof, the gauntlet cast at once To Scotch marauder and to Southern dunce, Thus much I've dared to do ; how far my lay Hath wronged those righteous times let oihers say ; 1050 This, let the world, which knows not how to spare, Yet rarely blames unjustly, now declare- IKD or ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. PREFACE TO CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. I have now waited till almost all our periodical journals Lave distributed their usual portion of criticism. To the justice ot the p^enerality of their criticisms I have nothina; to object ; it woukl ill become me to quarrel with their very slijrht degree of cen- sure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind they liad 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 iiidillerent character of tie " vagrant ChiJde^' — (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrarj-, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage) — it has been stated, that besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as tlie times of the knights were times of love, honor, and soi'orth. Now it so happens, that tlie good old times, when " Vumour da Ion vietijo tons, Vaiiimir antif/ue" flourished, were the most profli- gate of all possible centuries. Those who liave any doubts on this subject may consult St. Palaye, passi)n, and more particu- larly vol. 11. p. 09. The vows of chivalry were no belter kept than any other vows whatsoever, and the songs of the Trouba- dours were not more decent, and certainly were much less re- fined, than those of Ovid. The " fours iVumour, purlemens d'unviur, on de courtesie et de geidilesse,'" had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Holland on the same subject with Palaye.— VVhatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage Childe Harokl, he was so far perfectly knightly in liis attributes— " No waiter, but a kuight templar."* JJy the by, I fear that Sir Tristram and Sir • The Rovers Anlijacobin. 122 PREFACE. Lancelot were no better than they should be, aKhough very poetical personages, and true knights " mns pair." though \ not " sans reprocke." — 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 indiiierent memory. So -much i'or chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Maria Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honors lances were shivered, and knights imhorsed. Before tlie days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern limes), few exceptions will be found to this statement, and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages. I now leave " Childe Harold" to live h\)i day, such as be is : it had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have di'awn an amiable character, ft ^ad been easy to varnish over Ills faults, to make him do more and express less ; but he never was intended as an example, further than to shew, that early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of past plea- sures, and disappointment in new ones ; and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel, (except ambi- tion, 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 Timoii, perhaps a poetical Zeluco. TO lANTHE. Not in those climes where I have late been straj inp, Though Beauty there long hath been matchless deemed ; Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms which it sighs but to have only dreamed, Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seeme-d : Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as they beamed — To such as see thee not my words were weak ; To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak ? Ah ! may'st 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. Young Peri of the West ! — 'tis well for me My years already doubly numlier thine ; My loveless eye unmoved maj' 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 mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hour* decreed. 12 1 TO lANTIIE. Oh ! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, fi lance o'er this page— nor to my verse deny That smile for which my verse niitjht vainly ligh. 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 its kinder eyes a look shall cast On Harold's page, Jantlie's here enshrined Shall thus be first behehl, forgotten la«t ; My days once numbered, should this homage past Attract tliy fairy fingers near the lyre Of him who hailed thee, loveliest as thou wast. Such Is the most my memorj- may desire ; Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship le** require ? A llOMAUNT. CANTO I. Oh, thou ! in Hollas ileenied of hoav'niy birth, Muse! formeii or lableil 111 llio minstril's will ! Since shnmed full oil by later lyres on earth, Mine dares not call thee from tliy sacred hill : Yet there I've ■wnndered by thy vaunted rill ; Yes I sijfhed o'er Delphi's lonjx deserted shrine, ( 1 ) Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still ; Nor mote my shell awake the wear> Nine To grace so plain a tale — this lowly lay of mine. II. Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt n youth, >S'ho ne in virtue's ways did take didiiiht ; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Nighl. Ah, me ! in sooili he was a shameless wight. Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; Fe\T earthly thmgs louiul favour in his sight Save concubines and CiiTunl companie. And flauuling wiissailers of high luid low degree. III. riiilde Harold was he liight : — but whence his name wVnd lineage long, it suits me not to saj ; Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, And had been glorious in another day : But one sad losel soils a name lor aye. However mighlx in the olden time ; Nor all that Heralds rake from cotlined clay, Nor Horid prose, nor honied lines of rhyme, Cuu blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crmre. L 2 126 CHILDE HAROLD'S IV. Clulde Harold basked him in the noon-tide sun, Disporting there lilce any other fly ; Nor deemed before his little day was done One blast might chill him into misery. But long ere scarce a third of his passed by, Worse tlian adversity the Childe befell ; He telt the fulness of satiety : Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seemed to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell. V. For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run. Nor made atonement when he did amiss. Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one. And tliat lov'd 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, Aud spoiled her goodly lands to gild his waste. Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned 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, But pride congealed the drop within his ee : Apart he stalked in joyless reverie. And from his native land resolved to go. And visit scorching climes beyond the sea ; With pleasure drugged he almost long'd for woe, And e'eu lor change of scene would seek the shades below. vir. The Childe departed from his father's hall : It was a vast and venerable pile ; So old, it seemed only not to fail. Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle. Monastic dome I condemned to uses vile ! Where Superstition once had made her den Now Paphiaii girls were known to sing and smile; And monks mic;ht deem their time was come agen. If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy rnen. vnr. Yet oft times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash across Childe Harold's brow, As il the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurked below: But this none kuew, nor haply cared to know ; PII.GRTMAnF,. J27 For his was not that open, artless soul That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow ; Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, Whate'er his grief mote be, which he could not controul. IX. And none did love him— though to hall and bower He gathered revellers from far and near, He knew them ilatt'rers of the lestal hour ; The heartless parasites of present cheer. Vea! none did love him — not his lemans dear — But pomp and power alone are woman's care, And where these are light Eros finds a feere ; Maidens, like mollis, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair. 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. Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel ; Ye, who have known what His to doat upon A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. XL His house, his home, his heritage, his lands. The laughing dames in whom he did delight, 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 brimmed with every costly wine, And all that mote to luxury invite, Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine. And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central line. XII. The soils were filled, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home; And last the white rocks faded from his view. And soon were lost in circumambient foam ; And tiien, 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. XIII. But when the sun was sinking iu the sea, He seized his harp, which he at times could itring. 128 rHTLDK HAROLD'S And strike albeit with untaught melody, When deemed he no strange ear was listening : And now his finger* 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 he poured his last " Good Night. 1. " Adieu, adieu ! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue ; The Night-winds sigh — the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild seamew. Yon Sun th;rt sets upon the sea We follow in his flight ; Farewell awhile 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, 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. " Come hither, hither, my little page ! Why dost thou weep and wail ? 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 fakoln scarce can fly More merrily along." <' Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind ; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that T Am sorrowful in mind ; For I have from my fatlier gone, A mother whom I love. And have no frieml, save these alone,. But thee — and one above. PILGRIMAGE. 129 " My falber blessed me fervently, Yet did not much complain ; But sorely will my 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. 6. " Come hither, hither my staunch yeoman AVhy dost thou look so pale ? Or dost thou dread a French foeman ? 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. "My spouse and bo3-s 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. 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. For pleasures past I do not grieve. Nor perils gathering near ; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. 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 me ? Perchance my dog will whine in vain, Till fed by stranger hands ; 130 CHILDE HAROLD'S But long ere I come back ngain, He'd tear me where he stands. 10. " With thee, m}' 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 j'e deserts and ye caves ! My native Land — Good Night !" XIV. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless l^iy. Four days are sped, but with the fil'th, anon. New shores descried make every bosom gay ; And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep. His fabled golden tribute bent to pay ; And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap. XV. Oh, Christ ! it is a godly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land ! What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree ! What godly 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's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. XVL What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold ! Her image floating on that noble tide. Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, 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 lorA XVH. But whoso enterefh within this town. That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, Disconsolate will wander up and down, PILGRIxMAGE. 131 'Mid many things unsisbtly to strange ee ; For hut and palace show like filthily : The dingy denizens are reared in dirt ; Ne personage of high or mean degree Doth care lor cleanness of surtout or shirt, [unhurt, Though shent with Egjpt's plague, unkempt, ujiwashed. XVIII. Poor, paltry slaves ! yet born 'midst noblest scenes — Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men ? Lo ! Cinlra's 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, AVhoto the awe-struck world unlocked Elysium's gates? XIX. The horrid cratrs, by toppling convent crowned ; The cork-trees'hoar that cloathe the shaggy steep. The mounl:un moss by scorching skies imbrowned, 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 clill" to valley leap, The vine on high, the willow branch below, Mixed in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. XX. Then slowly climb the many-winding way. And Irequent turn to linger as you go. From loltier rocks new loveliness s\ivTey, And rest ye at our " Lady's house of woe ;" (2) Where frugal monks their little relics show. And sundry legends to the stranger tell : Here impiovis men have punished been, and lo ! Deep in yon cave llonoiius long did dwell, In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell. XXI. And here and there as up the crags you spring, Murk many rude-carved crosses near the path : Yet deem not these devotion's ollering — TBose are memorials frail of murderous wrath ; _ For wheresoe'er the jhrieking victim hath I'oured 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 Throughoul this purple land, where law secures not lif«. (i) 132 CIIILDE HAROLD'S XXII. On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, Are domes where whilome kings did make repair ; But now tlie wild flowers round tiiem only breathe ; Yet ruined splendor still is lingering there. And yoiidar towers the Prince's palace fair : There thou too, V'athek ! England's wealtliiest son. Once formed thy Paradise, as not aware Vv'hen wanton wealth her mightiest deeds hath done, Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. XXIII. Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan. Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow : But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as tJiou ! «• Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow- To hails deserted, portals gaping wide : Fresh lessons to the tliinking 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 ! (4) Oh ! dome displeasing unto British eye ! With diadem hight foolscap, lo ! a fiend, A little fiend that scofls incessantlj-. There sits in parchment robe arrayed, and by His side is hung a seal and sable scroll, Where blazoned glare names known to chivalry. And sundry signatures adorn the roll, Where at the Urchin points and laughs with all his soul. XXV. Convention is the dwarfish demon st3'led That foiled the knights in Marialva's dome : Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, And turned a nation's shallow joy to gloom. Here Folly dashed to earth the victors plume, And policy regained what arms had lost : For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom! Woe to the conqu'ring, not the conquered host, Since balTled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast ! XXVI. And ever since that martial synod met, Britannia 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 I \ PILGRIMAGE. ISS Will not our own and fellow-nalions sneer, To view these champions cheated of their lame, By foes in fight o'ertlirown, yet victors here. Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming year ? XXVII. So deemed the Childe, as o'er the mountains lie 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 awhile he learned to moralise, For Meditation fixed at times on him ; And conscious Reason whispered to despise His early youth, misspent in maddest whim ; But as he gazed on Truth his aching eyes grew dlin. XXVIII. To horse ! to horse ! he quits, for ever 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 fixed as yet the goal Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage ; And o'er him many changing scenes must roll Ere toil Tiis thirst for travel can assuage, Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage. XXIX. Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, (5) Where dwelt of yore the Lusian's luckless queen ; 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 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. 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 thase, And marvel men should quit their easy chair, The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, Oh ! there is sweetne?;s 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: M 134 CHILDE HAROLD'S Immense horison-bounded pliiins succeed I Fat iis the e)e discerns, willioutcn end, Spain's realms appear wiiereoii lier sJiepherds tend Flocks, wJiose rich fleece right well the trader knows — Now must the pastor's arm his lambs delend : For Spain is compassed bj' unyielding loes, And all must shield their all, or share Subjeotion's woes. XXXII. Where Lusitania and her sister meet. Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide ? Or ere the jealous queens of nations great, Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide? Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride ? Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ? — Ne barrier wail, 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 dislinguisheth the brook, Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. Here leans the idle shepherd on hit crook. And vacant on the rippling waves doth look ; That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest loemen flow ; For proud each peasant as the noblest duke ; Well doth the Spani>h hind the ditterence know »Twi.\t bmi and Lusiun slave, the lowest ol the low. (fl) XXXIV. But e'er the mingling bounds have far been passed Dark Guadiana rolls his power along In sullen billows murmuring and vast. So noted ancient rouialelays among. Whilome upon his bunks did legions throng (Ji Moor and knieht, in mailtO .'plendour dresf : Here ceased the swilt their race, here sunk the strong ; The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Mixed on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts opprefcsttd. XXXV. Oh, lovely Spain ! renowned, romantic land ! Where is that standard which Pelagio bore. When Cava's traitor-sire first called the baud That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore ? (") Where arc 1l;ose bloody banners which of yoie Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, And drove at last the siioilers to tl»eir shore ? Red gleamed tfie cross, and waned the crescent pale. While Allies acUoes Ihrillid with Moorish jnation*' vyail. / PIJ.GRIMAGE. 13» XXXVI. Teems not each ilitty with tlie glorious talc? ^h! s«ich, alas! the hero's amplest iate! When granite moulders €-ind 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 Fhittery sleeps with thee, and history does thee wrong? XXXVII. Awake, ye sons of Spain ! awake ! advance f ' Lo ! chivahy, your ancient goddess, cries. But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Nor shakes her crimson plumage iti the skies : Now on 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 ? xxxviir. Hark ! — heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ? Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ; Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? — the fires of death, Tlie bale-fires flash on high ; — from rock to rock Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, lied Buttle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. xxxix. I>o ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deep'ning in tlie sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorchelh all it glares upon ; Ilestless it rolls, now fi.ved, and now tmon Flashing afaf, — and at liis iron feet Destruc'tion cowers to mark what deeds are done : For on this morn three pnteiit nations meet, To shed before his ghrine the blood he deems most sweet. XL. By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to 'see {For one who hath »o I'riend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mixed eml)rc»idecy, Their various arms that glitter in the air! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their Iitir, And gnaslj their lmig<, louit yelling for the pit*y ! 136 CHILDE HAROLD'S All join the chase, but few the triumph share ; The (Jrave shall bear the chiele.st jiri/e away, And havoc scarce tor joy can number Iheir array. XLI. Tliree hosts combine to oiler sacrifice ; Three lontjues |)reler strange orisons on high ; Three gaucty standards flout the pale blue skies 5 The shouts are — I'rance, Spain, Albion, Victory ! The loe, the victim, and the fond ally That fights lor all, but ever fights in vain. Are met — as if at liume they could not die — To feed the crow on Talavera's plain. And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. XLII. There shall they rot — Ambition's honoured fools ! Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay ! Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools. The broken tools, that tyrants cast away iiy myriads, wiien they dare to pave their way With human hearts — to what? — a dream alone. Can despot* comp;iss 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 ? XLiir. Oh, Albnern I glorious field of grief ! As o'er thy (tlain the pilgrim pricked his steed, Who could loresee Ihee in a space so brief, A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed ! Peace to the perished I 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! 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. Jn sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim W^ho strike, blest hirelings ! for their country's good, And die, that living might have proved her shame ; Perished, perchance, in some domestic feud^ Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. XLV. Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued : Yet is she free — the spoiler's wished-for prey ? ' PILGRIMAGK. 127 Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely ilonies with traces rtnle. Inevitable hour ! '(laitist late to strive Where Desolation plants her I'amislied brooil, Is vain : or Ilion, Tyre mia^ht yet survive, And Virtue vanquish all, and Mtirder cease to thrive. XLVI. But all unconscious ol' t^)e coming doom, The feast, the song, the revel here abounds; Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, Nor bleed tbese patriots with their country's wound* : Not here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds : Here Folly still his votaries enthralls ; 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. XLVII. Not so the rustic — with his trembling mate He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar. Lest he should view his vinejard desolate, Blasted below the dun hot breath ol war. No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star Fandango twirls his jocund caslanet : 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 hnppy yet ! XLVIIL How carols now the lusty muleteer? Of love, romance, devotion is his lay. As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheerr His quick bells wildly jingling on the way? No ! as he speeds he chaunts " Viva el Rey !" (8) And checks his song to execrate Godoy, The royal wittol Charles, and curse tike day When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy,- And gore-faced Treason sprung irom her adulterate joy.- XLIX. On yon long, level plain, at distance crowned With crags, whereon tho.se Moorish turrets re.ft, Wide scatlereil hoof-marks dint the wounded ground;: And 'scathed by fire, the green sward's darkened vest Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest : Here was the camp, the watch-llame, and the host — • Here the bold peasant stormed the dr;tgon's nest ; Still does he mark it wiih triumphant boai»t, And points to yonder clills, which oft were won and lost. L. And wliomsoe'pr along the path vou meet M -2 138 CHILDE HAROLD'S Bears in liis cap tlie baclcfe of crimson hue. Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet : (9) AVoe to the man that walks in public view Without ol loyaltj' this token true : Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke ; And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue, If subtle poniards, wrapt 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, Tlie bristling palisade, the fosse o'er-flowed. The stationed bands, tlie never-vacant watch. The magazine in rocky durance stow'ed, » The bolstered steed beneath the shed of thatch. The ball-piled pyramid, the ever blazing match, (10) LII. 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 j The West must own the Scouvger of the world- Ah ! Spain ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day. When soars Gaul's \'idture, with his wings unfurled. And thou shall view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurled. LNI. And must they fnll ? the young, the proud, the brave, To swell one bloated Chief's unwholesome reign ? No step between submission and a grave ? The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ? And doth the Power that man a PILGRIMAGE 139 LV. Ye who shall marvel when j ou hear her tale, Oh ! hail you known her in her solter hour, Marked 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 lairy form, with more than female grace. Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, Thiu the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's learful 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 flushed hope is lost ? Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, Foiled by a woman's hand, before a battered wall ? (11 ) LVII. Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, But formed 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. LVIIL The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impressed Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch : (12) 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 wooed 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 ! LIX. Jklatch me, ye climes ! which poets love to laud ; Match me, ye harams of the land ! where now I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Beauties that ev'ii a cynic must avow ; Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, 140 CHILDE HAROLD'S Wlih Spain's dark-glancinjo: daughters— deipfti to know, Tbere your wise Propiiet's paradise we find, His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind. LX. Oh, thou Parnassus ! (13) whom I now survey, Not in the phrenzy 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 numblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thuie Echoes with his string. Though from thy heights no more one muse will ware ht»r wing. LXI. Oft have I dreamed of Thee! whose glorious name Who knows n^t, knows not man's diviuest 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 tiiy cloudy canopy III silent joy to think at last I look on Thee ? LXII. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been. Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot. Shall I urmioved behold the hallowed scene> Which others rave of, though Ihey know it not ? Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, And thou, the nmses' seat, art now their grave. 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. LXIII. Of thee hereafter. — Even amidst my strain I turned aside to pay my homage here ; Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain ; Her fate to every freeborn bosom dear. And hailed thee, not perchance without a tear. Now to my theme — but from thy holy haunt Let me some remnant, some memorial tear; Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, Nor let thy votary's hope be deenaed an idle vaunt. LXIV. But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount ! when fJreece was yoaiig^ See round thy giant base a brighter choir. ' PILGRIMAGE. HI Nor e'er did Delphi when her priestess sunp The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire. Behold H train more fitting to inspire The song of love, than Andalusia's maids, Nurst in the glowijig lap of soft desire : Ah ! that to these were given such peaceful shades As Greece can still bestow, though Glory flj her glades. LXV. Fair is the proud Seville, lei her country boast Her strength, herwealth, her site of ancient days; (14) But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast. Calls lorth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! While boyish blood is mantling who can 'scape The fascination of thy magic gaze ? A cherub-liydra 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 uU must yield to thee— The Pleasures lied, but sought as warm a clime ; And Venus, constant to her native sea, To nought else constant, hither deigned to flee ^ And fixed her shrine within these walls of white : Though not to one dome circumscribethshe Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, A thousand altars rise, lor ever blazing bright. LXVII. From morn till night, from night till startled Mora Peeps blushing on the Revels laughing crew, The song is heard, the rosy garland worn, Devices quaint, and frolics evernev*', Tread on each others kibes. A long adieu lie bids to sober joy that here sojourns : Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu Of true devotion monkish incence burns, And Love and Prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. LXVIII. The sabbath comes, adayof blessedrest; What hallows it ui)on this Christian shore ? Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast : Hark ! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar ? Crashing tlie lance, he snulls the spouting gore Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his (lorn ; The thronged Aienashukes with shouts for more ; Yells the nuid crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n ullects to mourn. 142 eHILDE HAROLD'S LXIX. The st'veiitli iluy this : the Jubi>ee of niMii. Lomloii .' right well Ihoii know'st the day of prayer Then fhy spruce citizen, washed artizan, And siniin; apprentice, gulp their weekly air : Tiij- coacii of Hackiiej-, whiskey, one-horse chair, And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl, To Hampstead, lireiitlord, Harrow, make repair ; Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Provoking envious jibe from each pedestrian churl. LXX. Some o'er thy Thamis row thy ribbon'd fair, Others along the safer Turnpike fly, Some llichmond-hill ascend, some scud to W'are, And many to the steep of Highg'ite hie. ^ Ask ye, Boeotian shades, the reason why ?(15) 'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, Grasped in the holy hand of Mystery, In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn,- And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn. LXX I. 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 teazed 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, Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion shars* LXXH. The lists are op'd, the spacious area cleared, Thousands on ttiousands piled are seated round ; Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, Ne vacant s|)ace for l«ted wight is found Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, Skill'd in tlie ogle of a roguish eye. Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound; None through their cold disdain are doomed to die, As moon-struck bards comi)lain, by Love's sad archery* LXXHL Hushed is the din of tongues — on gallant steeds, A\'ith milk-white-crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance, 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. PILGRIMAGE. US t TJie crowds loud shout, and ladii-s' lovely glance, Best prize of better acts, they bear awa)-. And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. Lxxn^ In costly sheen and gaudy cloak arrayed But all afoot, the liglit limbed Mattadorfl Stands in the centre, eager to invade The lord of lowing herds j but not before The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speeil : His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more Can man atchieve, without the friendly steed, Alas ! too oft condemned for him to bear and bleed. 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 loot, The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe. Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit His first attack, v/ide waving to and fro His angry tail 5 red rolls his eye's dilated glow. LXXVL Sudden he stops ; his eye is fixed :— away Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare the spear ; Now is thy time, to perish, or display The skill that yet may cbeck his mad career. With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer ; On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ; Streams from his flunk the crimson torrent clear : He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ; [woes. Dart follows dart ) lance, lance ; loud bellowings speak his LXXVII. Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail. Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse j Though man and man's avenging arms assail, Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. One gallant steed is stretched a mangled corse ; Another, hideous sight ! unseamed appears. His gory chest unveils life's panting source. Though death-struck, still his feeble frame ho rears, Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharmed he bears. LXXVHI. Foiled, bleeding, breathless, i'urious to the last, l''ull in the centre stands the bull at bay, 'Mid wounds, and clinging durts, and lunce4brus(, 144 CHILDE HAROLD'S 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 tJiundering way — Vain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand, Wraps ills fierce eje — 'tis past — he sinks upon the sand ! LXXIX. Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine. Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. He stops— he starts— and of Albania! (II) let me bend my eyes On thee, thou rugged imrse 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 sailed, and passed the barren spot, (12) Where sad Penelope o'erlooked the wave ; And onward viewed the mount, not yet forgot, The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. 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, That only Heaven to which Earth's children may aspire. A'L. 'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve Childe Harold hailed Leucadia's cape afar ; A spot he longed to see, nor cared to leave : Oft did he mark the scenes of vanished war,_ Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar ; (13) Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight (Born beneath some remote inglorious star) In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight, But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at martial wight. XLI. Bnt when he saw the evening star above Leucadia's far-projecting rock of woe, And hailed the last resort of fruitless love, (14) He felt, or deemed he felt, no common glow : And as the stately vessel glided slow Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, He watched the billows' melancholy How, And sunk albeit in Uionght as he was wont, More placid seemeil his eye, and smooth his pallid frOMt. XLII. Mom dawns ; and with it stern Albania's hills. Dark Sulis' rocks, and Pijidns' inland peak, R«bed half in mist, bedewed with snowy rills, O 1^1 CHILDE HAROLD'S Anayed in many a dun and purple streak, Arise ; and, as the c1o\r!s along them break, Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer: Here roams the woli, the eagle whets his beak, Birds, beasts ol' prey, and wilder men appear, And gathering storms around convulse the closing year. XLIII. Now Harold iVIt himself at length alone, Am\ bade to Christian tongues a long adieu ; Novv he adventured on a shore unknown. Which all admire, but many dread to view : His breeist was armed 'gainst fate, his wants were few ; Peril be 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. Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed summar's heat. XLIV. Here the red cross, for still the cross is here. Though sadly scoffed at by the circumcised, Forgets that pride to pampered Priesthood dear j Churchman and votary alike despised. Foul Sui)erstition ! 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 ? XLV. Ambracia's gulph behold, where once was lost A world lor woman, lovely, harmless thing ! In yonder rippling bay, their naval host Did many a Koman chief and Asian king (15) To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring: Look where the second Cicsar's trophies rose ! (16) Now, like the hands that reared them, withering : Imperial Anarchs, doubling human woes ! God '. was thy globe ordained for such to win and loss XLVI. From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, Ev'n to the centre of Illyria's vales, Childe Harold passed 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 fait Tempe boast A i.harni they know not ; loved Parnassus fails. Though classic ground aiul consecrated most. To Biatch icme .spots that lurk within this lowering coast. PILGlirMAGE. 1«9 XLVri. Fie passed Iilesik Pindus, Acherusia's lake, (17) And left the primal city of the land, And onwards did his further journey take To greet Albania's chief, ( 18) whose ihead command Is lawless law ; for with a bloody liand He sways a nation, turbulent and bold : Yet here and there some daring- mounlain-band Disdain his power, and from then rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. (19) XLviir, Monastic Zitza ! (20) from thy shady brow. Thou small, but favoured spot of holy giound ! 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 Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul. 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 deemed of dignity, The convent's white walls glisten fair on high ; Here dwells the Caloyer, (21) nor rude is he. Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by Is welcome still ; nor heedless will he tiee 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, impreg;nate with disease ; Then let his Iwigth the loitering pilgrim lay. And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. LI. Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, (22) Chimipra's Alps extend from lelt to right ^ Beneath, a living valley seems to stir ; Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-fir Nodd'uig above j behold black Acheron ! (2'.i) 160 CIIILDE HAROLD'S Once consecrated to the sepulchrji, Pluto ! W this be hell I look upon. Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none ! LIT. Ne city's lowers pollute the lovely view ; Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, Veiled 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 (24) Doth lean his bo\isli lorm along the rock, Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock. LIII. Oh ! where, Dodona ! is thine aged grove. Prophetic fount, and oracle divine ? What valley echoed the response of Jove ? What trace remaineth of tlie thunderer's shine ? All, all forgotten — and shall D.nn 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 ? (stroke. When nations, tongues, and worlds, must sink beneath th« 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 : Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie. Where some bold river breaks the long expanse. And woods along the banks are waving high. Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance. Or with the moon-beam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. LV. The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, (25) And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by ; (28) 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 Tepaien, Whose walls o'erlook the stream ; and drawing nigh, He heard the busy hum of warrior men Swelling the breeze that sighed along the lengthening gleu. LVL He passed the sacred Haram's silent tower. And underneath the wide o'erarching gate Surveyed the dwelling of this chief of power, PILGRIMAGE. Ifil Where all around proclaimed his high estate. Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, While bus)' preparation shook the court, Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait ; Within, a palace, and without, a fort : Here meu of every clime appear to make resort. LVII. Richly caparisoned, a ready row Of armed horse, and many a warlike store Circled the wide extending court below : Above, strange groups adorned the corridore; And olt-times thruugh the Area's echoing door Some high capped Tartar spurred 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 dny. LVIII. The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee. With shawl-kirt head and ornamented gun. And gold-embroidered garments, fair to see ; 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 mixed conspicuous : some recline in groups, Scanning the motley scene that varies round ; There some grave Moslem to devotion «toops, And some that smoke, and some that play, are found ; Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground ; Half whispering there \he 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 !" LX. .Tust as the season Ramazani's fast Through the long day its pi'oance did maintain : But when the lingering t^^ilight 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 seemed made in v;iin, But from the chambers came the mingling din, As page and slave anon were passing out anil in. O 2 1«2 CHILDE HAROLD'S LXI. Here woman's voice is never heard : apart, And scarce permitted, guarded, veiled, 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. Lxn. In mavble-paved pavilion, where a spring Of living water from the centre rose, Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fli)ig. And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, Ali reclined, a man of war and woes ; Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace. While Gentleness her milder radiance throws Along that aged venerable face. The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace. Lxni. It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard 111 suits the passions which belong to youth ; Love conquers age--so Hafiz hath averred, 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 marked him with a tjger's tooth ; Blood follows l)lood, and through their mortal spaa. In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood begun. LXIV. 'Mid many things most new to ear and eye The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, And gazed around on Moslem luxury. 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 aliborreth artificial joys, And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zcBt of both de»tr«ys. 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 Thau they in doubtful time of troublous ne«d : PILGRIMAGE, 163 Their wvnth how deadly ! but their friendship sure, When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed, Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief rnay lead. , 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 awhile the victim of distress; Thatsaddening hour when bad men hotlier press : But these did shelter him beneath their roof. When less barbarians would have cheered him less, And fellow country- men have stood aloof — (27) In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof I 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 awhile 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 stretched the welcome hand. Led them o'er rocks and past the dangero\is swamp. Kinder than polished slaves, though not so bland. And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp, And filled the bowl, and trimmed the 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* LXIX. It came to pass, that wht;n he did address Himself to quit at length this mountain-land. Combined marauders half-way barred 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 seasoned, and with labours tanned, 'i'ill he did greet white Achelous' tide. And from his further bank ^tolia'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'f jrovo, 161 CHILDE HAROLD'S NodJiiij^ at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast, As winds come lisrhtly 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, For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence glean. LXXI On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed. The feast was done, the red wine circling fast, (28) And he that unawares had there ygazcd With gaping wonderment had stared aghast; For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past, The native revels of the troop began ; Each Palikar (29) his sabre from him cast. And bounding hand in hand, man linked to man. Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled clan. Lxxir. Childe Harold at a little distance stood And viewed, but not displeased, the revelrie, Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude : In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see Their barbarous, j'et their not indecent, glee ; And, as the ftames along their faces gleamed. Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free. The long wild locks that to their girilles streamed. While thus in concert they thislay half sang, halfscreamed:(30) 1. (.31) Tambourgi ! Tambourgi ! • thy 'larum afar Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war ; All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, Chjmariot, lUyrian, and dark Suliote ! 2. Oh ! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, Id 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 ? •Drummer. PILGRIMACE. 165 4. Mncedonia 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 Parp:a that dwell by the wares, And teach the pale franks what it is to be slaves, Shall leave on the beach the loner galley a"*^ oar, And track to his covert the captive on shore. 6. I ask not the pleasures that riches supply, My sal re «hall win what the feeble must buy ; Shall win the youno^ bride with her long flowing hair, Ajid manT a maid from her mother shall tear. I love tha fair face of the maid in her youth. Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall sooth ; Lot her brin^ from the chamber her many-toned lyre, And slug ui & song on the fall of her sire. 8. Remember the moment when Previsa fell, (32) The shrieks of the conquered, the conquerors' yell ; The rools that we fired, and the plunder we shared, The wealthy we slaughtered, 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 dfiys of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 10. Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped. Let the yellow-haired* Giaoursf view his horsetailj with dread ; When his Delhis§ come dashing in blood o'er the banks ! How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks ! • Yellow is the epithet given by the Russians. + Infidel. I Horse-tails are the in.-ignia of a Pacha. § Horsemen, answering to our forlorn hope. 1«8 CIIILDE HAROLD'S 11. Selictar !• unsheath then our chief's scimitar ; Tambourgi I thy 'laiuni ii,-ives promise of war, Ve mountains, that see us descend to the shore. Shall view us as victors, or view us no more ! Lxxrii, Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! (a.l) fnimurtal, though no more : thouifii fallen, ffreat ! Who now shall lead tliy scattered children forth, And long accustomed bondage uncreate ? Not such thy sons who whilome did await, Tlie hopeless warriors of a willing doom, In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait— Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume, ^ Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb ? Lxxrv. Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow (34) Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plaiu ? Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, But every carle can lord it o'er thy land ; 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 unmanned. 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 burned 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. Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page. LXXVI. Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow 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. • Sword-bearer. PILGRIMAGE. IttT LXXVII. The city won for Allah from the Giaour, The Giaoiir from Othman's race ai^ain may wrest ; And the Serai's impenetrable tower Receive the fiery Frank, her former giiest ; (35) On Wahub's rebel brood who dared divest The (36) prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil, May wind their path of blood along the West ; But ne'er will Freedom seek this iated soil. But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil. LXXVIII. Vet mark their mirth — ere lenten dajs begin, That penance which their holy rites prepare To shrive from man his wei^jht 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 merrj- Carnival. LAXIX. And whose more rife with merriment than thine, Oh Slamhoul ; once the empress of their reign ? Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrinej 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, Xor oft I've seen such sight, nor heard such song, As wooed the eye, and thrilled the Bosphorus along. LXXX. Ivoud was the lightsome tumult of the shore, Oit Music changed, but never ceased her tone. And timely echoed back the measured oar. And rippling waters made a pleasant moan : The Queen of tides on high consenting shone. And when a transient bree/e swept o'er the wave, 'Twas as if darting from her heavenly throne, A brighter glance her lurm reflected gave, Till sparkling billows seemed to light the banks they lave. LXXXI. (ilnnced many a light ciiii[ue along the foum. Danced on the shore the daiigiiters 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 prest, returned the pressure still : lOS CHILDE HAROLD'S Oh Love ! young Love ! bound in thy rosy baud, Let safic or oytiic prattle as he will, 7'heso hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill ! LXXXIL But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain. Even through the closest searment hall betrayed? To such the gentle murmurs of the main , Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain ; To such the gladness ol the gamesome crowd Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain : How do tliey loathe the laughter idly loud. And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud I LXXXHL This must he feel, the true-born son of 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 losil. Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost. And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword: Ah ! Greece ! they love thee letist who owe thee mo»l ; Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record Of hero feires, who shame thy now degenerate hord« ! 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 may'st thou be restored ; but not till then. A thousand years scarce serve to Ibrm a stale ; An hour may laj- it in the dust : and when Can man its shattered splendour renovate, Recal its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fata ? LXXXV. Aud yet how lovely in thine age of woe, Land of lost gods and godlike men ! art thou ! Thy viiles of ever-green, thy hills of snow (."H) Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now ; Thy, f.ines, tliy temples to thy surface bow, i^)mmingling slowly with heroic earth, Broke by the share of every rustic plough; So perish n.oMumeuts of mortal birth, So j»eris;i all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; LXXXVL Save where some solitary rolunin mourns Above its prostrate brethren of the cave; (iS^ Sa»e where Tvitonia's airy shrine adorns PILGRIMAGE. U Colonna's cliffs, and gleams along the wave ; Save o'er some warrior's haU'-lorgotten grave, Where the gray stones and unmolested grass Ages, but not oblivion, feeblj- brave, While strangers only not regardless pass. Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh "Alas!" LXXXVIf. 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 Hymetlus 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 msrbles glare ; Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. Lxxxviir. 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 dreiims have dwelt upon ; Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wolJ Defies the power which crushed thy temples gone ; Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon, LXXXfX. 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 bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, As on the morn to distant Glory denr. When Marathon became a magic word ; (39) Which uttered, to the hearer's eye appear The camp, the Jiost, the fight, the conqueror's career. A'C. 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? Wiiat sacred trophy marks the hallowed ground, Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear ! The rifled urn, the violated mo\nuI, The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns arouHj* P no CIIILUE HAROLD>.>i XCI. "\'ct 1o 111? romnanls of iliy spletnloiir past Shall iiilnrims, pensive, liiil uiuveaiied, throne;; Lonp: shall Ihe voyager, vvilh th' Ionian blast, Ilaii the liri,ii:lit clinie of battle and of sons; Long shall thine annals anil in)niortal tongue riirwiUi thy fame the youth of many a shor*» ; Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! "Which sages venerate and bards adore, As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lor«. XCII. The parted bosom clings to wonted home. If aught that's kim'.red cheer the welcome health ; He that is lonely hither let him roam, ^ And gaze complacent on c^geiiial earth, (ireece in no lightsome land of social mirth; IJut he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, And scarce regret the region of his birth, When wandering slow by Deli)hi's sacred side, Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian diaJ. xcni. Let such approach this consecrated land, And pass iiv peace along the magic waste : liut spare its rcjics — 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 may'st thou prosper where thy youth was roared. By every honest joy of love and life endeared I XCIV. For thee, who thus in too protracted song- Has soo'hed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng Of louder minstrels in these later da3s ; To such resign the strife for fading hays — 111 may such contest now the spirit move Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise ; Since cold cacii kinder heart that might approve, And none are lelt to please when none are lelt to love. xcv. Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one ! Whom youth and youth's aliection bovind to nie ; Who did lor me what none beside ha\e done, Nor ihrank from one albeit unwoiHiy thee. V'/I.at in n.y being? thou hast ceased to l)e .' Ntr stai*( to welcome here thy vasdtrt.r kon;t», IMLGIUMAGE. 171 Who niounis oVr hours which we no more shall see- VV'oiild they lunl never been, or wer« to come ! Would he h;iil ne'er returneil to lind fresh causa to rjatn ! XCVL Oh ! ever lovint;, loveh", and helovfd ! Mow selftsli Sorrow poiulers on the past, ' And clinics to tlion;,^;its now better lar removed! Hut Time shall tear thy shadow from me hist. All thou coiild'sl have of iinne, slevn Death ! thou bast ; Tile, parent, friend, and now tiie more than friend : Ne'er yet for one thine arrows tiew so fust. And .!?rief with t^rief contiiuiing still to blend, Ilatli snatched the little joy that life had yet to lend. XCVII. Then must I [dnnge again into the crowd, And follow all that I'eui'e disdains to seek ? U'hei'e Revel culls, and Lmi^hter, vainly loud, Fhish to the heart, distorts tho hollow cheek, To leave the fla^ffins spirit doubly weak ; Still o'er the features, which perltuce they cht'er. To feii^n the pleasure or conceal the piqu ' ; Smiles fovni the cliannel of n future t;ar, Or raiae the wrilhill^;• lip with wcU-Jissembled sneer. XCVIII. What is the worst of woes tinit wait on asje ? What stamps tlic wrinkle deeper on th:^ brow ? To view each loved one blott.'d from liie's pac;c', And be alone on earlii, as I am ikjv,-. ]3efore the Chastener lamildy let me bow, O'er hearts divided and o'er tiopes deslrojed : Roll on, vain days ! full reckless may ye tkiw, Pince Time hatli reft whate'er my soul enjoyed, And with the ills of Kid mine earlier years alloyed. 1T2 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO III. I. Ik thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! Alia ! sole iluuafhter of my bouse and heart ? When hist I saw thy yoiintf blue eyes they smiled. And then 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 tip their voices; I depart, Whither I know not ; but the hour'* gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glud mint eye. II. Once more upon the waters ! yet once more ! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar ! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Slill 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 • III. 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 appears. 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 es-jiy as I have sung to sing. Y'et lhouf?h a dreary strain, to this I cling ; So liiat it wean me from the weary dream Of selfish grief or gladness — so it lling PILGRLMAGE. ITS ForgetfulneiS around nie— it sliall seem To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. y. He, who grown agetl in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the deiiliis of life, So tlKil r.'j wonder waits him ; nor below Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife, Cut to liis heart again with tlii; keen Icnife Of silent, sliarp endiirance : he can tell M'hy tiiought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife, With airy images, and shapes wiiich dwell Still unimpaired, 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 lancy, gaining as we give The life we image, even as F do now. \Vhatam I? Nothing; but not so art thou. Sou! of my thouglit ! with wliom I traverse earth, Invisible i)ut gazing, as I glow Mixi'd with tliy spirit, blended willi thy birth. And feeling still with thee in my crushed feeliiigs' dearth. VII. Vet must I think less wildly : — I /laiuj thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, > In its own eddy boiling and o\-r«ruught, A whirling gulf of phantasy and Uame : And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, Mysprhigsof lile were poisoneL. 'Tis too late! Yet am I changed ; though still enough the same In strength to bear what time can not ab;ile. And feed on biltiT iruits witliunt accusing Fate. VIII. Something too much of this:— hut now 'lis pa.,t And the spell closes with its .>-ilent seal. Long absent H.vaoLi) re-appears at la>l ; He of the breast which fain no more would feel, Wruti'^r with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal ; Vet TniM, wh > changes all, .'lai altered him In soui and a-pect as in age ; jears steal Fire from tiie mind as vigour from the lindi ; And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. IX. His bad been quaOed too quickly, ml h- i'aiwA The dregs were wormwood ; but he filled again. And from a purer fount, on liolier gionnd. And deemed its spring perpetual ; i;'u( in vaii: 1 174 CHILDE HAROLD'S Slill roiiti;! him cliinrr invisibly a chain Whicl) trailed lor ever, letterinj^ though unseen, Aiu! heavy Ihough it clanked not ; worn with pain, WhiLii i)ined although it spoke not, and grew keen. Entering with every step, he took, through many a scea*. X. Secure in guarded coldness, he had mixed Again in fancied saiVty with his kind, And deemed his spirit now so tirmly fixed And sheathed with an invulnerable mind. That, il no joy, no sorrow lurked behind ; And lie, as one, might midst the many stand Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find Fit speculation! such as in strange land . lie found in wonder-works of God and Nature's hand. XI. But who can view the ripened rose, 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, rolled On with the giddy circle, chasing 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 IJis thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompelled, He would not yield dominion of his mind To spirits against whom his own rebelled ; 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 rolled the ocean, thereon was his home ; Where a blue sky, anil glowing clime, extends, He had the passion and the power to roam ; The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam. Were unto him companionship ; tliey spake A mutual language, clearer than the tome Ol his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake For Nature's pages gla.-sed by sunbeams on the lake. XIV, Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars. PILGRIMAGE. lU Till he had peopled them with beings bright As their own beams ; and earth, and earth-born jnr«, And human frailties, were forgotten quite : Could he have kept his spirit to that flight He had been happy; but this clay will sink Its spark immortal, envying it the light To which it mounts, as it to break the link That keeps us irom yon heaven which woos us to its brink. XV. But in Man's dwellings he became a thing Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, Drooped as a wild-born falcon with dipt wing, To whom the boundless air alone were home : 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 wanders forth again, With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom ; The very knowledge that he lived in vain, That all was over on this side the tomb. Had made Despair a smilingness assume, Which, though 'twere wild,— as on the plundered wreck When mariners would madly meet their doom With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,— Did yet inspire a cheer which he forebore to check. XVII. Stop! — for thy tread is on an Empire's dust ! An Earthquake's spoil Is sepulchred below ! Is the spot marked with no colossal bust ? Nor column tropliied lor triumphal show? None ; but the moral's trutli 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 hath gained by thee, Thou first and last ol fields ! king-making Victor) ? xvni. And Harold stands upon this place of skulls. The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ! How in an hour tlip 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. Pierced by the shaft of bandeil nations through ; Ambition's life and labours all were \ain ; H« wears th« shattered links of the world's broken chain. 179 CHILDE HAROLD'S 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 kinn^s true sovereignty? Wliat ! shall reviving Thraldom again be The patched-up idol of enlighteneti daj-s ? Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we Pay the Wolf homage ; prolteritig lowly gaze And servile kuees to thrones ? No j jn'ove before je praiss ! XX. If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more ! In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with liot tears For Europe's flowers long rooted up beforg 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 tljat most endears Glory, is when tlie myrlle wreathes a sword Such as Ilarmodius (2j drew on Athens' tyrant lord. XXL There was a sound of revelry liy night, And Belgium's capital had gatheretl then' Her Beauty and her Cliivalry, and bright l"he lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily : and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell. Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again. And (3) all went merry as a marriage-bell ; But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! XXIL Did ye not hear it ?— No ; 'twas but tlie wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; On with the dance! let joy be unconlined ; No sleep till morn, when Vouth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with tiyiiig feet — But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, As it the clouds its chIio would repeat; /' And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! ' Arm! Arm! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! XXIII. Within R windowed 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 lie deemed it near. His heart more tiuly knew that pi'al loo well PILGRIMAGE. 1"" Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the veii;^e,iiice blood alone could quell ; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. XXIV. Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which hut an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, ami choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could gues* If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. Since upon nights 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 thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips — " The foe ! They come ! thej? come!" XXVI. 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 fiUf Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, [ear*. And (4) Evan's, (5) Donald's fame rings in each clansman'* XXII. And Ardennes (8) waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with natures tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. Over the unrelurning brave, — alas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In 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, Lfuit eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, l"« CHILDE HAROLD'S. The midniglit brought the sii^nal-sound of strife, The mom the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's niafTnificeiilly-.slern array ! The thiirulei-clotuls close o'er it, which when rent, The earth is covered thick wilh olher clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, loe, — in one red burial bleut I XXIX. Their praise is hymned b)" loftier harps than mine j Yet one I would select from that proitd throng, Partly because they blend me witli his line, And partly that I diil his sire some wrong, And partly that bright names will hallow song ; And his was of the bravest, and when sriowered The death bolts deadliest the thinned files along. Even where the thickest of war's tempest lowered They reached no nobler breast than thine, young galiantHownrd. 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 Iresh green free, Whicli living waves where thou didst cease to live. And saw around me the wild 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, 1 turned from all she brought to those sLe could not bring. (7) XXXI. I turned 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 truinp, not Glory's, must awake Those whom they thirst for, tho' the sound of I'anio May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake The fever of vain longing, and the name So honoured but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. XXXIII. They mourn, but smile at length ; and smiling, niour» : 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 ruined wall Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone ; The bars survive the captive they enthral ; The day drags thro' tho' storms keep out the sun : And Ihun the heait will break, yet brokenly liv« oh : PILGRIMAGE. no XXXIII. Even as n broken mirror, which the p^lfiss In every CraEfment multiplies ; and makes A thousand i masses ot" one tliat was, The same, and stili the more, the more it breaks ; And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold. And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow, aches. Yet withers on till all without is old, Shewing no visible sign, for such things are untold. XXXIV. There is a very life in our despair, Vitality of poison, — a quick root Which feeds these deadly branches ; for it wero As nothing did we die ; but Life will suit Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit. Like to tlie apples on the (8) Dead Sea's shore All ashes to the taste : Did man compute Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er {scor#. Sach hours 'gainst years of life — say, would he uainv tkrao- XXXV. The Psalmist numbered out the years of man : They are enough; and if thy tale be true. Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting spau, More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say — " Here, where the sword united nations drew, " Our conntrymen were warring on that day !" And this is much, and all which will not pass uway, XXXVI. There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men. Whose spirit antitheticuilly mixt One moment of the mightiest, and again On Utile ol)jects with like firmness fixt. Extreme iii all things I hadst tiiou been betwixt, 'I'hy throne had still been thine, or never been ; Tor daring made thy rise as fall : thoii scek'it tven now to re-a>sume the imperial mien. And shake again the worlil, the 'I'hunderer of the aoerta ! XXXVII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art Ihou ! She Irendile.s at thee still, and th}' wild name Was ne'er more bruited In nuMi's minds than novr 'J'hat thou art rntthing, save the jest of I'.ime, Whf) wooed thee once, thy vassal, and b'Tann 'fin* flatterer of thy fierceness, till Ihou wbvI 1«0 CHILDE HAROLD'S A god unto thyself ; nor less the same To the iislouiuled kina^Llomsall inert, Who deemed tliee lur a timewhate'er thou didst assert. xxxviir. Oh, more or less than man — in hip;h or low, Hattlini;- witli nations, tlyinsr from Ihe field; Now makinsj: nionarehs' necks thy ibotslool, now More than tliy meanest soldier taught to yield ; An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor However lieeply in men's spirit skilled. Look throutrh thine own, nor curb the lust of war. Nor learn tlu't tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star. XXXIX. Yet well thy soul Iiath brooked the turning tide With that iiiilanght inn;i1e philoso[ihy. Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deej) pride, Is gall and wornnvootl to an enemy. Whe/i the whole host of hatred ,stood hard by, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled With a sedate and all-enduring eye ; — VVhen Fortune fled her spoiled and favourite child, He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled. XL. Sager than in thy fortunes; lor in them Ambition steeled thee on too far to show, That just halitual 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 turned into thine overthrow; 'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose; So lialh it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose. XLI. If, like a tower \ipon a headlong rock, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone. Such scorn of man had helped to brave the sliock ; liut men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy throae. Their admiration thy best weapon shone ; Tlie part of Philip's son, was thine, not then (Unless aside thy |)urple had been thrown) Like stern Diogenes to mock at men ; For sceptered cj nics earth were far too wide a den. (9) XLin But quiet to (luick hoscpis !« a hell, And tlitrc hath been thy bane ; there is a firo PILGRIMAGE. ISI 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 lever 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 ^A'liich would unteach mankind the lust to shins or rule : XLIV. Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last. And yet so nursed and bigotted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past. Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and snpineness, and so die ; Even as a flame unled, 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 ab(jve 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. 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, Tin©, And chiefless castles breathing slern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. Q 182 CHILDE HAROLD'S XLVII. And fliere they sland, as stands a loffy mind, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, All tentir.tless, save to the crannying wind. Or holding dark communion with the cloud. There was a day when they were joungaiid proud. Banners on high, and battles passed below ; , But they wlio I'ought are in a bloody shroud, And those which waved are shredle.^s 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 (10) conquerors should have ? But History's purchased page to call them great ? A wider space, an ornamental grave ? Their hopes were not less warm, tiieir souls were full asbravu. XLIX. In their baronial feuds and single fields, AV'hat 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 discoloured Rhjne 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, Kor 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 lieav'n ; and to seem such to me Even now what wants thy stream ? — that it should Lethe be. LI. A thousand battles have assailed thy banks. But tliese and halt their fame have passed away. And Slaughter heaped on high his weltering ranks ; Their very graves are gone, and what are they ? Thy tide washed down the blood of yesterday, And all was stainless, and on thy clear str«am Glassed with its dancing light the sunny ray : PILGRIMAGE. 18S But o'er the blackened memory's blighting dream Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as Ihey seem. LII. Thus Harold inly said, and passed along, ■» Yet not insensibly to all which here Awoke the jocund birtis to ear!;, song In glens which might have made even exile dear : Though on his brow were gra\en lines austere, And tranfiuil sternness which had ta'en the place Of feelings fierier far but less severe, Joj' was not alwa3's 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 could coldly gaze On such as smile upon us ; the heart must Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust Hath weaned it from all worldings : tVius he felt, For there was soft remembrance, a id sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his o'.vi would melt. And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. Liy. And he had learned to love, — 1 know^ not why, For this in such as him seems strange of mooil, — The helpless looks of blooming infancy, Even in its earliest nature ; 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 nipped affections have to grow. In him this glowed when all beside had ceased to glow. LV. Aud there was one soft breast, as hath been said, Which unto his was bound by stronger ties That the church links wiihal ; 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 loreign shore Well to that heart might his tlu'se absent greetings pour ! J. The castled crag of Dracheijfels (11 ) Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between tlie banks wliicli bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossomed trees, J 84 CHILDE HAROLD'S And fields which promise corn and wine, And scattered cities crowning these. Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strewed a scene, which I should see With double joy wert thou wilh me ! 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 Through green leaves lift their walls of gray. And many a rock which steeply lours. And noble arch in proud decay, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; But one thing want these banks of Rhine,^ir- Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine 1 3. I send the lilies given to me ; Though long before thy hand they touch* I know that they must withered be. But yet reject them not as such ; For I have cherished them as dear. Because they yet may meel thine eye And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, Andknow'st them gathered by the Rhine, And offered 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 de^ir, 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. Our enemy's, — but let not that forbid Honour to Marceau ! o'er whose early tomb Tears, big tears, gushed from the rough soldier's lid. Lamenting and yet envying such a doom. Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. PILCrRIMAGE. 1«* LVII. Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career, — His mourners were two hosts, his Iriends and I'oes ; And fitly may the strant?er lingering here Pray lor his gallant spirit's bright repose ; For he wits Freedom's champion, one of those, The lew in number, who had not o'erstept The charter to chastise, which she bestows On such as wield hei- weapons ; he had kept The whiteness ot his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. (12) LVIII. Here Ehrenbreitstein, (13) with her shattered 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 baflfled foes was watched along the plain : But Peace destroyed what war could never blight, And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain- On which the iron shower for years had poured in 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 coloured by thy every hue ; And if reluctantly the eyes resign Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine ! '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 Ji« CHILDE HAROLD'S A race of faces happy as the scene, Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, Still springinging 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 exi>ands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain Man below. LXTII. But ere these matchless heights I dare to sc*an, There is a spot should not be passed in vain, — Morat ! the proud, the patriot field where man May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain. Nor blush for those who conquered on that plain ; Here Burgundy bequeathed his tombless host, A bony heap, through ages to remain. Themselves their monument ;— The Stygian coast Unsepulchred they roamed, and shrieked each wanderine ghost. (14) ^ Lxrv. 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 prmid, brotherly, and civic band. All unbought cbanipions in no i)rincely cause Of vice-entailed Corruption ; they no land Doomed to bewail ihe blasphemy of laws Making kings' rights divine, by some Draconic clause, LXV. By n lone wall a lonelier column rears A gray and grief-worn a«pect of old days, 'Tis (he last remnant of the wreck of year«. And looks as with Ihe wild-bewildered gaze Of one to stone converted by amaze. Yet SI ill with consciousness ; and there it stands Making a marvel that it not decays, When the coeval jiride of human hands. Levelled (15) Aventicum, hath strewed her subject lands LXVI. And there— oh ! sweet and sacred be the name !— Julia— the daughter, the devoted — gav« PILGRIMAGE. lit Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave, .lustice is sworn 'gainst tears and her's would crav» The life she lived in ; but the judp^e 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. (16) Lxvn. But these are deeds which should not pass away. And names that must not wither, tho' the earth Forgets her empires with a just decay, Th' enslavers and th' enslaved, their death and bir(h ) 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 anow, (17) Imperishably pure beyond all things below. Lxvnr. Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face. 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 tit mind the might which I behold ; But soon in me shall Loneliness renew Thoughts hid, but not less cherished than of old. Ere mingling with the herd had penned me in their fold. LXIX. To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind j All are not fit with Ihem to stir and toil. Nor is it discontent to keep the mind v Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil 111 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 ©f li/e becomes a hopeless flight To thpse that walk in darkness j on the sea, The boldest steer but where their ports invite, But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Who3« bark drives oq and on, and anchored ne'er shall be» 188 CHILDE HAROLD'S LXXI. Is it not better, then to be alone, And love Earth only for its eartlily sake ? By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, (18) Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake. Which feeds it as a mother who doth make A fair but froward infant her own care, Kissin.Q; its cries away as these awake ; — Is it not better thus our lives to- wear, Than join the crushing crowd, doomed to inflict or bear ? Lxxir. I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me ; and to me. High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture ; I can see Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be A link reluctant in a flesiily chain. Classed amonj; creatures, when the soul can flee, And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not iu vain. LXXIII. And thus I am absorbed, and this is life : I look upon the peopled desart past, As on a place of agony and strife Where for some sin, to Sorrow I was cast, 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 il would cope with, on delighted wing, Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling. LXXIV. And when, at length, tiie 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 AH objects, if compared with these ? and stent A tide of sull'ering, rather than forego Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm PILGRIMAGE. !«» Of those whose eyes are only turned below, Gazing upon the grounil, 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, A native of the land where I respire The clear air for a while^a passing guest, Where he became a being,— whose desire Was to be glorious ; 'twas a foolish quest, Tlie which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest. LXXVIl. Here the self-lorturhig sophist, wild Rousseau, 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 Of words like sunbeams, dazzling as they past The eyes which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. LXXVI II. 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 enamoured, were in him the same- But his was not the love of living dame, Nor of the dead that rise upon our dreams, But of ideal beauty, which became In him existence, and o'erflowing teems Along his burning page, distempered though it seems. LXXIX. This breathed itself to life in Jiilie, this Invested her with all that's wild and sweet ; This hallowed, too, the memorable kiss Which every morn his fevered lip would greet, From her's who but with friendship his would meet ; But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast Flashed the thrilled spirit's love devourii.g heat ; In that absorbing sigh perchance more !)lest, Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. (19) LXXX. His life was one long war with self-sought foes, Or friends by him self-banished ; for his mind Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind, I!»a CIIILDE HAROLD'S 'Gainst whom he vnged with fury straiifre and hlind. But he was p'lrenzied,— wherefore, who may know ? Since cuuse miglit be whi.'h sivill touhl never find ; J3ut he was plirenzied liy disease of woe, fo that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. LXXXI. For then lie was inspired, and from him came As from the Pythian 's mystic cave of yore, Those oracles which set the worhi in flame, Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more. Did he not this for France ? which lay before Bowed to the inborn tyramiy of years ? Broken and trembling-, to the yok:- she bore, Till by the voice of him and his compeers, Roused up to too mvich wrath which follows overgrown fears ? LXXXI I, . They made themselves a fearful monument ! / iThe wreck of old opinions — things which grew vj Breathed from the birth of time : the veil they rent And what bt-hind it lay, all earth shall view. But good with ill they also overthrow. Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild Upon llie same foundation, and renew Dungeons ami thrones, which the same hour re-filled, As heretofore, because ambition was self-willed. LXXXITL 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 own natural charities. But they. Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt They were not eagles, nourished with the day ; What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey ? Lxxxiy. What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? The heart's bleed longest, and but to 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 Fixed Passion holds his breath, until the hour ^Vhich 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, PILGRIMAGE. ]-8rt 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 imperial hill. CXI. Thus far I have proceeded in a theme Renewed with no kind auspices : — to feel We are not what we have been, and to deem We are not wliat wo 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. CXII. And for these words thus woven into song, It may be that they are a harmless wile,— Tiie coljuring of the scenes which fleet along. Which I would sei^e, in passing, to begaib My breast, or that of .thers, 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 ; stool a.i I stand alone, -r^iiumbdreJ or forgo f. CXIII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me ; PILGRIMAGE. 197 I have not flatteredits rank breath, ]ior bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, ^ Nor coined my cheek to smiles,— nor cried aloud In worship of an echo ; in the crowd They could not deem me one of surdi ; I stood Among them, but not of tliem ; in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed (24) my mind, which thus itself subdued. CA'-IV, I have not loved the world nor the world me, — But let us part fair foes; [ do believe, Tho' I have found them not, that there may be Words which are things, — hopes which will not deceive, And virtues M'hich are merciful, nor weave Snares for the failing; I would deem O'er others' griefs that some sini'.erely grieve: That two, or one, are almost what they seem, — That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. CXV. My daughter ! with thy name this F.onrr begun — My daughter ! with thy name thus nmch 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 mine 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 : iis it is, • I know not what is there, yet something like to this. CXVII. Yet, tho' dull Hate as duty should be taught, I know that thou wilt love me ; tho' my name Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught With desolation, — and a broken claim : Though the grave closed between ns, — 'twere the same, 1 know that thou wilt love me ; though to drain jl/y blood from out thy being, were an u\m, R 2 198 CHILDE HAROLD'S Aiul an atlainment,— nil would be in vain, — Still thou would'st love me, still that more than life retain. CXVIH. The chiM of love, — tho' 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 tempered, and thy hope far hisfher. Sweet be thy cradled slumbers ! O'er the sea, And from the mountains where 1 now respire, Fain would I waft sucJi blessing upon thee, As with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to me ! PILGRIMAGE. J 09 Feuice, January 2, 1818. TO JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ, A. M. F. R. S. &c. &c. &c. MY DEAR HOBHOUSE, After an interval of eiarlit years between the com- position of tlie first and last cantos of Cliiltle Harold, the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the public. In parting with so old a friend it is not extraordinary 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 jioem on the poet, — to one, whom I have known long and ac- companied far, whom I have found wakeful over my sickness and kind in my sorrow, glad in my prosperity, and firm in my adversity, true in counsel 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 the longest, the most thoughtful and comprt- hensive of my compositions, I wish to do honour to myself by the record of many years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of 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 yon, nor even for others, but to relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, 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 exertion. Even the recurrence to the date of this letler, the anniversary of the most iinfortunate day of my past existence, but whicii cannot poison my future while I retain the resource of your friendship, and of my own faculties, will henceforth have a more agreeable recollection for both, inasnnich 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. 200 CniLDE HAROLD'S It lias bfiMi om- Ibrtiine to traverse tosather, ;it various pe- riods, the countries of chivalry, history, ami I'able— Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy ; and what Athens and Con- stantinople were to us a lew years ago, Venice and Rome have been more recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accompanied me from first to l.ist ; and perhaps it may be a pardonable 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 objects it woulil fain describe ; and however unworthy it may be deemed of those, magical and memorable abodes, however short it may fall of ouAlistant conceptions 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 scource of pleasure in the pro- duction, and I part with it with a kind of regset, which I hardly suspected that events could have left me for imaginary objects. With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be found less of the pilgrim than in any of the preceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his own person. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawing a line wiiich every on^^ seemed determined not to per- ceive : "like the Chinese in Goldsmith's * Citizen of the World,' whom' nobody would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, and imagined, that I had drawn a distinction V.e- tween the author and the pilgrim ; and the very anxiety fo preserve this dilference, and disappointment at finding it una- vailing, so lar crushed my efforts in the comjiosition, that I de- termined to abandon it 'altogether— and have done so- The opinions which have been, or may be, formed on that subject, are now a mailer of indifference; the work is to depend on ilself, and not on the writer; and the author who has no re- sources in his own mind beyond the reputation, 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 intention, either in tlie text or in the notes, to have touched upon the present state of Italian literature, and perhaps of manners. But the text, within the limits I proposed, I soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth of external objects, and the conse- quent reflections ; and lor the whole of the notes, excepting a few of the shortest, I am indebted to yourself, and these were necessarily 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 re- quires an attention and impartiality which would induce us,— though perhaps no inattentive observers, nor ignorant of the language or customs of the people amongst whom we have re- tenUy abode,— to distrust; or at least defer our judgment, and ' PILGRIMAGE. 201 more nnno ,vly examine our information. The state of literary, itsfwell as political party appears to run, or to have run, so high, that for a straniifer to steer impartially between them is next to imi)os«ible. It may be enough then, at least for ni}- purpose, to (|uote from tiieir own beautiiul language — ' Mi pare che in un paese Intto poetico, che vanta la lingua la piii nobileed insieme la pill (lolce, tutte tutte le vie diverse si possono tentare, e che sinche la patria di Allieri e di Monti non ha perduto 1' antico va'.ore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la prima.' Italy has great names still— Canova, Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Piiideraonte, Vis- conti, Morelii, Cicognara, Albriz/J, Mezzophanli, Mai, Mus- toxidi, Aglietti, and Vacca, will secure to the present genera- tion an honourable place in most of the departments of Art, Science, and Belles Lettres ; and in some the very highest- Europe— the World — has but one Canova. It bus been somewhere said by Alfieri,that ' La pianta uomo nasce piii robusta in Italia che in qualunque altra terra — e che gli stassi atroci delitti che vi si coniniettono ne sono una prova. Without subscribing to the latter part of bis proposition, a dan- gerous doctrine, the truth of which may be disputed on better grounds, namely, that the Italians are in no respect more fe- rocious than their neighbours ; that man must be wilfully blind, or ignorantly heedless, who is not struck with the extraordi- nary capacity of this people, or if such a word be admissible, their capabiiUies, the facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of their conceptions, the fire of their genius, their sense of beauty, and amidst all the disadvantages of repeated revolutions, the de- solation of battles and the despair of ages, their still unquenchetl " longing after immortality,"— the immortality of indepen- dence. And when we ourselves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard the simple lament of the labourers' chorus, "Roma! Roma"! Roma I Roma non e piii come era prima," it was diiricult not to coiitrast this melancholy dirge with the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation still yelled from the London taverns, over the carnage of Mont St. Jean, and the betrayal of Geno;i., 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 lat.^ transfer of nations, it were useless for Knglishmeu to inquire, Ull it becomes ascer- tained that England has acquired something more than a per- manent army and a susjjende I Habeas Corpus ; it is enougli for them to look at home. For what they have done abroad, and especially in the South, " Verily they will have their re- ward," and-atno very distant period. 202 CHLDE HAROLD'S Wishing joii, n\y dear Mobbouse, n safe and agreeable re- iiirn to tiial country whose real well'are 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 IVieiid^ muoN. PILGRIMACE. 205 €i)il^t W^.avoWss JJilgrimage. CANTO IV Visto ho Tosyana, Lombardia, Ilomagna, Quel Monte che divide, e quel che serra Italia, e uii mare e Faltro, che la bagna. Ariosto, Saliva iii. I. I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; A palace and a prison on each hand : I saw from out the wave her structure 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 Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred Isles I II. She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters ajid their powers : And such she was ; — her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. In purple was she robed, and of her feast Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased. in. In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more. And silent rows the songless gondolier; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not aiwajs now the ear; I'hose days are gone — but beauty still is hire, States fall, arts faile— but Nature doth not die. Nor yet forget how Venice once was de«r, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the eavlh, the mai'iiie ol Italy ! 204 CHILDE HAROLD'S IV. Bui unto us slie bath a spell beyond Her name in story, and her long array Of mighty shadows, whose dim I'orms despond Above the dogeless city's vanished sway ; Ours is a trophy which will not decay With tile Rialto ; Siiylock and the Moor, And Pierre, can not be swept or worn away — The keystones of tlie aich ! though all were o'er. For us repeopled were the solitary shore. V. The bei!!gs of the mind are not of clay ; Essentially immortal, tl'.ey create And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence : that which F^te Prohibits to dull life, in this our state Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied First exiles, then reiilaces whai we hate ; Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 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 Oiitshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues More beautiful than our lantastic sky. And the strange consteihitions which the Muse O'er her wild universe is skilful to ditluse : VH. 1 saw or dreamed of such, — but let them go — They came like truth, and disappeared like dreams; And whatsoe'er they were — are now but so : I could replace them if 1 would, still teems My mind with many a form which aptly seems Such as ] sougiit for, and at moments found ; Letthese too go— for waking Reason deems Such over-weening phantasies unsound. And other voices speak, and other sights surround- vin. I've taught me other ton^^ues— and in strange eves Have ma.le me not a stranger ; to the mind AVhich is itself, no changes bring surprise ; I^'or is it harsh to make, nor hard to find A country with— oy, or without mankind ; Vet was I born where men arc proud to be, ' PILGRIMAGE. 20.5 Not without cause ; and should I leave behind The inviolate island of the sage anil free,- And seek me out a home by a remoter sea. IX. Perhaps I loved it well : and should I lay My cishes in a soil which is not mine, My spirit shall resume it— if we may Unbodied choose a sanctuarj'» I twine My hopes of being remembered 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 honoured 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 be." Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree T planted — they have torn me — and I bleed : I ijiould have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. XI. The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord. And, annual marriage now no more renewed, The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored. Neglected garment of her widowhood ! St. Mark yet sees his Lion where he stood, Stand but in mockery of his withered power. Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued. And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour W^hen Venice was a queen with an unequalled dower. XIL The Suabian sued, and now the Au strian reigns An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains Clank over sceptered cities ; nations melt From power's high pinnacle, wlien they have felt The sunshine for a while, and downward go Like lauwine loosened from the mountain's belt Oh ! for one hour of blind old Dandolo ! Til' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. xiir. Before St. Mark still glows his steeds of brass, Their gilded collars glittering in the sun : But is not Doria's menace come to pass? S ■206 CHILUE HAROLD S Are they r/ot bridled ? Venice, lost ami wwi. Her thirteen hundreii years ol Ireedom iloiic, Sinks like a sea-weed, into wlience she rose ! Uetter be whelmed benealh the waves and shun. Even iT» destruction's depth, her foreign lots. From whom submission uriugs an inlamous reijose. XIV. In youth she was all glory— a new Tyre, Her very by-word sprung t'roni-Vietory, Tlie " i'lanter ot the Lion,-' wliich llao' Fire And blood she bore o'er subject earth and*ea ; Tho' making many slaves, her>ell still Tree, And Europe's bulwark 'gainst tne Otlomite y Witness Troy's rival, Candia ! \'ou(li il, ye Immortal waves that sr.w Lepanto's liglu ! For ye are names no time nor t.\r. iiny can blight. XV. Statutes of glass — all sliiveved — tlie long file Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ; But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile Bespeaks the p'ageant of thei.- spk-ndid trust ; Their sceptre broken, and theii sword in rust, ^ Have yielded to the stranger : empty halls, Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must Too oft remind her wuo and what enthrals, Have tiung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. XV]. When Athens' armies fell at S3racuse, And fettered thousands bore the yoke of war, lU'demptioii rose up in the Attic Muse, Her voice their only ransom from alar: See ! as they chauiit the tragic h3mn, the car Ol the o'ei mastered victor stops, the reins Fall from his hands— ids idle scimitar Starts from its belt— he rends his captive's chains, And bills bim thuuk the b;ud for heedoiii and his strains. XVH. Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, Were all in) i)rouil hisunic deeus loigol, Tliy choral memory oi thv,- Hard divine, Thy love of 'I';isso, should liave cut the knot Vv'hich ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy bil Is shameful to the nations,— most of all, AU)ion ! tothes : the Ocean queen shoiiiJ not A!)rt«don Ocean's childn n ; in the fall Of Venice think ol thine, de-pite thy watery w«ll. I \ PILUKiiVIAGE. 20T XVIII. I loved liei liom my bo3l)uoil — she (o me \\';is iis a lairy ciij ol the heart, , Rising like water columns trom (lie sea, Ol ji)y the sojitnrn, anil of wealth the mart ; And Olway, Radciiil'e, Schiller, Siiakes^ieare's art. Had stamped her image in me, and even so, Although I iouiid her ihus, we did not part, ferchance even dearer in her day of woe. Than when she was a boast, a marvel, auil a show. XTX. I can repeoplc with the past — and of Tiie preseiii, there is still ior eye and thought, And meditation chastened down, enough ; And more, it may he, than I hoped or sought ; And of the happiest moments which were wrought Within the weli of my existence, some I'roin thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught : There are some feelings Tune can not benumb. Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. XX. Hut from their nature will the ta::nen grow i>oltirst on kiHie.st and lenst shelU red rocks, Hooted in barrenness, where nought below Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks Of eddying storms ; yel springs the trunk, and mocks The howling tempest, till its height and frame Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks Of blakc, gray granite, into life it came. And grew a giant iree ;— the mind may grow the same. XXI. Existence may be borne, and the deep root Of life and sutlerance make its firm abode In bare and desolated bo.>oms ; mute The camel labours witii the iieaviest load, And the wolf dies in silence,- — not bestowed In vain should such example be ; if tiny, Things of ignoble or of savage mood, Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay May temper it to bear, — it is but lor u day. XXIJ. All suffering doth destroy, or is dastroyed, Kven by the sufferer ; aiul, in each event Ends :— Some, with hope replenished and rebuoyed, Return to whence they came— with like iiiL-nt, AimI weave their web again ; some, bowed and bent, VViwc gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, 208 CHILDE HAROLD'S And perish with the reed on which they leant ; Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime, According as their souls were formed to sink or climb- XXIII. But ever and anon of griefs suhdued 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 for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring, A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound. Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV. And how and why we know not, nor can tiace Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, But feel the shock renewed, nor can eft'uce The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, Which out of things familiar, undesigned, 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, The mourned, the loved, the lost— too many yet how few ! XXV. But my soul wanders ; I demand it back To meditate amongst decay, and stand A ruin amidst ruins ; there to track Fallen states and buried greatness, o'er a land Which iras the mightiest in its old command, And is the loveliest, and must ever be The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, AVherein were cast the heroic and the free, The beautiful the brave — the lords of earth and sea, XXVI. The commonwealth of kinds, the men of Rome ! And even since, and now, fair Italy! Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; Even in tliy desart, what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste JMore rich than other climes' fertility ; , Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which can not be defaced. 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 PILGRIMAGE. 209 RIelfed to one vast Iris of the Wesf, M''here the Da)' Joins the past Eternity ; \Vhile on the other hand, meelv Dian's crest Floats thro' the azure air — an island of tlie blest ! 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 Ilolled o'er the peak of the far Rhsetian hill. As Day and Night obntending were, until Nature reclaimed lier order : gently flows The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil The odorous purple of a new-bom rose, Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within i« glows, XXIX. Filleil with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety ditt'uset 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 ; — reared in air Pillared 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 langua re, and his land reclaim From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes ; Watering the tree which bears his lady's name With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. XXXI. They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died ; The mountain-village where his latter lUiys . Went down the vale of years ; and 'tis their pride — An honest pride — and let it be their praise, To oiler to tire passing stranger's gaze His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plaitt And venerably simple, such as raise A feeling more accordant with his strain Than if a pyramid formed his monumental fane. XXXII. And the soft quiet hamlet wJiere he dwelt Is one of that complexion which seems made For those who tlieir mortality liave felt, S2 210 CHILDE HAROLD'S Ami sou2:ht a refuge for their hopes decayed In Ihe deep umbrage of a green hill's shade, AVhich shows a distant prospect far away Of busy cities, now in vain displayed, 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-bj', Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours With a calm languor, which, though to the eye Idlesse it seem, hath its morality. II from society we learn to live, "Tis solitude should teach us how lo die ; It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give No hollow aid ; alone — man with his Go<.l must strive : XXXIV. Or, it may be, with demons, wiio impair The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey III melancholy bosoms, such as were Of moody texture IVoni their earliest da)'. And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay. Deeming themselves predestined to a doom U hich is not of the jutngs that p:iss away ; i^Iaking the sun like blood, tiie earth a tomb, " The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom, XXXV. Ferrara ! in thy wide and grass-grown streets. Whose symmetry was not lor solitude, There seems as Hwere a curse upon the seats Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood Of Este, which for many an age made good Its strength within tliy walls, and was of yore Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood Of petty power impelled, of those who wore The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn before. XXXVI. And Tasso is their glory and their shame, Hark to his strain ! ami then survey iiis cell ! And see how dearly earned Torquato's fame. And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell j The miserable despot could not quell The insulted mind he sought lo quench, and blemi With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell Where he Lath plunged it. Glory without end, Scattered the clouds away— and on that name attend. ' PILGRIMAGE. iil XXXVII. The teais and praises of all time ; while thine Would rot in its, oblivion — in the sink Of worthless diist, which from the boasted line Is shaking into nothing ; but the link Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn — Alfonso 1 how thy ducal pageants shrink From thee ! if in another station born, Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad'st to mourn : XXXVIII. Thou ! formed 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 furrowed brow. Which emanated then, and dazzjes now In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire. And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow No strain which shamed his country's creaking lyre, Tiiat whetstone of the teeth— monotony in wire ! XXXIX. Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! 'twas his In life and death to be the mark where Wrong Aimed with her poisoned arrows ; but to miss. Oh, victor unsurpassed in modern song ! Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long The tide of generations shall roll on. And not the whole combined and countless throng ' Compose a mind like thine? though all in one Condensed their scattered rays, they would not form a sun. XL. Great as thou art, yet paralleled by those, Thy countryman, before thee born to shine, The Bards of Hell and Chivalry ; first rose The Tuscan father's come-d children would in vain adore AVith the remorse ol ages ; and the crown • Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, Upon a far and foreign soil had grov.ii. His file, his fame, his grave, though rifled— not thine own. LVIII. Boccaccio to his parent earth bequealhed His dust, — and lies it not her Great among, With many a sweet and solemn requiem bieiilLed U'er him who formed the Tuscan's siren tongue? That music in itself, whose si.unds are song, 1"he poetr} of speech? No ; — even iiis tomb Upton), nnist bear tlie h3iL'iia bigot's wrong, No more amidst tlie meaner deail find room, Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told lor ivhuni ? LIX. .\nd Sunle Croce wants their mighty dust ; Vet for this want more noted, as of yore Ttie Ca'sar'.-. pageant, sboin ot Brutus' bust. Did but of Home's best Son remind her more : . Httppier Kavenna I on thy hoary shore, I'orlress of tailing empire ! honoured sleeps Tne immoiial exile-; — Aiqua, loo, her store (Jl tuiieitd u-lics proudly clain'is iind kei'ps. While Florence vainly begs iier baiiisiied diond and weeps. LX. What is a pyramid of precious stones? Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues, Ol gem and maibie, to encrust the 1 tnej. •2\S CHILD E HAROLD'S Of merchiint-tlukes ? the momenlary dews Which, spiirkling to the twilit^hi stars, infuse Freshness in the green turfs that wrap the deac!, Whose names are mausok'ums of the Muse, Are s^ently prest with far more reverent tread Than ever placed the slab which paves the princely bead. LXL There he no more thinc^s to greet 11>e heart and ej-es In Ariio's dome of Art's most princely shrine, AV'here Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies ; There be no more marbles yet— but not for mine; For I have been accustomed to entwine My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, Tiiaii 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 LXIL Is of another Jemper, and I roam By Thrasiniene'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 scattered o'er, Lxin. Like to a forest felled by mountain winds ; And such the storm of battle on this day, And such the phrenzy, whose convulsion blinds To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray. An earthquake reeled unheededly away ! None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet. And yawning forth a grave for tliose who lay Upon tlieir bucklers for a windiug sheet; Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet ! LXIV. The Earth to them was jis a rolling bark ^\'hich bore them to Eternity ; tliey saw The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, In them suspended, recked 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. / PILGRLMAGE. 217 LXV. Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain l!ent b)- 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 Sanguinetto tells ye where the d'jaci Made the earth wet, and turned the uiuvilling waters red. LXVI. But thou, Clitumnus ! in thy sweetest \va,t. Of the most living crystal tiiat was e'er The hauut of river nymph, to gaze and lave iler limbs where notliiiig hid them, thou dost rear 'i'liy 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 nnprofaueil by slaugliters — A mirrror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters — LXVII. And on thy happy shore a temple still. Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, Upon a mild declivity of hill. Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps The fumy darter with thii glittering scales, Who dwells and revels in lii} glassy deeps ; While, chance, some scattered water lily sails Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales. Lxviir. Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! If through the air a zei)h3r more serene Win to the brow, 'lis his ; and if ye trace Along his margin a more eloepient green, If on the heart the Ireshness oi' the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and Irom the dry dust Of weary life a motnent lave it clean With Nature's baptism, — 'lis to him ye mijst Puy orisons for this suspension of disgust. Lxrx. The roar of waters I — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light Tlie flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endles:? torture ; while the sweat T i>18 CHILDE HAROLD'S ()1 llieiv great agony, wrung out from this Their I'hlegetlion, curls round the rocks of jet Tluit gad the gulph around, in pitiless horror set, LXX. And mounts in spra3S the skies, and thence again. Jxeturns in !in uncreasing shower, which round, With its uneniptied cloud of gentle ruin, Is an eternal April to the ground, ]\Iaking it all one emerald ; how profound The gulf! and how the giant element From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound. Crushing the cliti's, which, downward worn and rent With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent LXXI. To the broad column which rolls on, and sliows 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 iiow gushingly, AV'ith many windings, through the vale :— Look back ! 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, fiike Hope upon a death-bed, and unworn Its steady dyes, while all around is torn By the distracted waters, bears serene Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn. Resembling, 'mid th.e torture of the scene. Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. LXXIII. Once more upon the woody Appenine, The infant Alps, which— had 1 not before Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar The thundering lauwine — might be worshipped more ; But I have seen the soaring Jungi'rau rear Her never trodden snow, and seen the hoar, (ilaciers of bleak Mont-Blanc both far and near, And in Chimari heard the (hunder-hills of fear, LXXIV. Th' Acrocerannian mountains of old name ; And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly Like ispirits'of the spot, as 'twere for fame, ' PILGRIMAGE. 219 For still they soared umitteralily higb : I've looked on Ida with a Trojan's eye ; Athos, Olympus, ^Etna, Atlas, made These hills seem thiiijjfs of lesser dignity, All, save the lone Soracte's height, displayed Not MOW in snow, which asks the lyric llomiu's aid LXXV. For our remembrance, and fVoni ont 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 ^\nd quote in classic raptures, and awake The bills with Latian echoes ; I abhorred Too much, to conqusr i'ov the poet's snke, The drilled dull lesson, forced down word by word In my repugnant youth, with pleiisure to rfconl LXXVI. Aught that recals the daily dni r wjij^li Iwrncd My sickening niamory ; und, liioiigh (inie iiaih langht ?il'y mind to meuiiate what then it lejirned, Yet sn<-li the fixed inveteracy wroni^hf By the impatience of my early tliougbt, 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 il then detested, still ablior. LXXVII. Then farewell, Horace ; whom I bated so, Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse . To understand, not feel thy lyric flow, To comprehend, but never love thy verse. Although no deeper Moralist rehearse Our little life, nor Bard prescribe thy art, Nor livelier Satirist the conscience pierce, Awakening without woumling the touched hear!, Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXVIII. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart nnist turn to lliee. Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sutlerance ! Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and jdod 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. 220 CH(1>I) ilAUOLDS i.XXiX. The Niobe cJ nations I tliere she slaiitl---, Childless and crowiil^-ss, in her voiceless woe ; An einpl3- uin williin hei- witliei'il lifinds, ^Vliuse iioly dwst was scatteiTd long ago ; The Scipios' lomh conlains no ashes now ; 'I'he very seiutlehres lie tenanlless Ol' their heioic dwellers : dost thou flow, Old Tiher ! through a marble v. ildevness ? llise, with th}- yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! LXXX. The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt ni)on the seven-hiU'd city's ir.ide ; Slie saw her glories star by star expire, And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, ^ Where the car climbed the Capitol ; I'ar 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 ? 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 their ample lap ; But Home 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. Lxxxir. Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 'I'he trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! Alas, for Tally's voice, and Virgil's lay. And Livy's pictured page 1 — but these shall be Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. Ahis, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free ? Lxxxin. Oh thou, whose chariot rolled on Fortune's wheel, Triunipliant Sylla ! Thou, who didst subdue Thy country's foes ere thou would pause to feel The wrath of thine ov.n wrongs, or reap the due Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew O'er prostrate Asia ; — thou, who with thy frown PILGRIMAGE. 221 Annihilated senates— Roman, too, Willi till thy vices, ibr thou didst lay do-.vii H'ith an atonin^f smile a more than eavtlily crown — LA'XXiy. The dictatorial wreath, — could thou divine To \vhat would one day dwindle that which made Tiiee more than mortal? an 1 that so ?upine ' By aught than Romans Rome should thus be laid ? She who was named Eternal, and arrayed Her warriors but to conquer — she who veiled R.irth with her haughty shadow, and displayed Until the o'er-canopied horizon tailed, Her rushing wings — Oh ! she wlio was Almighty hailed ! Sylla was first of victors ; but our own The sagest ol' usurpers, Cromwell; he Too swept oft' senates while he hewed 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 Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield his breath. LXXXVI. The third of the same moon whose former course Had all but crownetl him, o;; the selfsame day Deposed him gently from his throne of force. Anil laid him with the earth's preceding clay. ^ And showed 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 diiferent were Ijis doom ! LXXXVH. And ihou, dread statue ! yet existent in The austerest form of naked majesty. Thou who heheldest, 'mid the assassins' din. At thy bathed base the bloody Cwsar lie, i'olding his robe in dying dignity. An otlering (o thine altar from the queen Of Gods and men, great Nemesis ! aid he die, And ihon, too, perish, Pompey? have ye been \Htors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene ? Lxxxviir! And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome ! She-woll ! whose brazen-imaged dugs impart The milk of conquest yet within the dome T 2 22i CHLDE MAIIOLD'S Where, ns :i monument of antiqui' art, Thou standest : — Mother of the nii'^lily heart, Which llie p:re,.t Inumler sucked from th)- wild teat, Scorched li}' tiie Roman Jove's eiherial dart. And thy limbs black with lightning— dost thou yet Guard tliine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge forget? LXXXIX. Thou dost ; — but all t])y foster-babes are dead — The men ol' iron ; and Die world hath reared Cities from out their sepulchres : men bled In imitation of the thing's they feared, And loughl and con(|uered, and the same course steered. At apish liistanj-e ; but as yet none have. Nor could, the same supremacy have neared. Save one vain man, vilio is not in the grave. But, vanquit-lied by himself, to his own slaves a slave — XC. The fool of false dominion— and a kind Of bastard Ciesar, following him of olil With stejis unequal; for the Roman's mind Was motli'Ilcil in a less terrestrial mould, W'ith jiassions fiercer, 3et a judgment cold, And an immortal instinct which redeemed The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold, Alcides \\itli the distal!' now beseemed Al Cleopatra's feet, — and now himself he beamed. XCI. And crime — and saw — and conqiiered ! Rut the man AVho would have tamed his eagles down to flee, Like a trained falcon, in the (iallic van, AVhich he, in sooth, long led to victory. With a deaf heart which never seemed to be A listener tg itself, was stran.gely framed ; With but one v\eakest weakness — vanity, Cociuettish in aiiibilion--sti!l he aimed — At what ? can he avouch — or answer what he alarmed ? XCII. And would be all or nolliing — nor could wait For the sure grave to level him ; few years Had fixed him with the Crt>sars in his late. On whom v.e tread : for t/iix the conqueror rears Tlie arch of triumph I and for this the tears And blooil of earth flow on as the}- have Mowed, An universal deluge, whicii apjjcars Without an ark for wretched man's abode, And ebbs but to reflow !— Renew thy rainbow. Cod! PILGRIMAGE. 223 XCIII. What from this b:irivn beina; do we reap ? Our senses narrow, and our reason trail, Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, And all things weighed in custom's ialsest scale ; Opinion an omnipotence,— whose veil Mantles the earth with darkness, until right And wrong are accitlents, iind 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 tramiiled nature, and so die, Bequeathing their hereditary rage To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage War for their ch-iins, and rather tlian be free. Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage AVithin 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 tilings allowed, Averred, and known,— and daily, hourly seen — The yoke that is upon us doubly bowed And the intent of tyrainiy avowed. The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown , Tiie apes of him who humbled once the i)voud, And siiook them from tlieir shnnl)ers on tlie throne; Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. XCVI. Can tyrants but by tjrants conquered be, And freedom IiikI no champion and no child Such as Columlna saw arise when she Sprung lorth a I'allas, armed and nndefiled ? Or nnisl such minds be nomi^hed in the wild, Deep in the unprimed forest, 'midst the roar Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled On infant Washington ? Mas Earth no more Such seeds within lier breast, or Europe no such shore? XCVH. Bat France got drunk witii hlood to vomit crime, And fatal have her Saturnalia been To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime ; IJccause the deadly days which we have seen. And vi!e ambition, that built up between Man unJ his boiK's an adamantine wall, 224 ' CHILDE HAROLD'S And the base pageant last upon the scene, Ave grown the pretext for the eternal thrall Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst — his second fall. XCVIII. Yet, Freedom ! yet tby banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the"th\mder-storm.«g«/«s/ 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. Chopped 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, 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 c;reen leaves over all by time o'erthrow-n ; — What was this tower of strength ? within its cave What treasure laj' so locked, so hid?— A woman's grave. C. But who was she, the lady of the dead, Tombed in a palace ? Was she chaste and fair? Worthy a kii\g's— or more— a Roman's bed ? What race of chiefs anil heroes did slie bear ? What daugliter of her beauties was the heir ? How lived — how loved — liow died she ? Was she not So honoured— and conspicuously there. Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, Placed to commemora+e a more tlian mortal lot? cr. Was she as those who love their lords, or they Who love the lords of others ? such have been. Even in the olden time Rome's annals say. Was she a matron of Cornelia's mien. Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen, I'roluse 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. cir. Perchance she died in youth : it may be, bowed With woes far heavier tlian tii? ponderous tomb That weighed upon her gentle dusi, a cloud Might ijatlier o'er h.ir heaiily, and a ffloom 111 her dark eye, [irophetic ol the doom Heaven gives its tavoiirites — early de-sth ; yet shed A sunsel ciiarm around lier, and, illume Witii })ectic light, the Hesperus ol the dead, Of lur consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. CHI. Perchance she died in age — surviving all, Cluirms, kindred, children —with the silver gray On her long tresses, which may yet recal, It may brt, still a something of thed-iy AVhen they were braideil, ami her proud array And lovely form were envied, inaised, and cyt^xX 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, Tliou 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 sione Till I had bodied fortli the heated mind Forms from the floating wreck which ruin leiives behind ; CV. And from the planks, far shattered o'er the rocks, Built me a litlly liark of hope, once more To battle with the ocean and the shocks Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar AV^hicii rushes on the solitary shore VV'here all lies foundered 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 here. CVI. Then let the winds howl on ! their harmony Shall henceforth be my music, ami the night The sound shall temper with the owlet's cry, As I now hear them, in the fading light ])im o'er the bird of darkness' native site, Answering each other on the I'alatine, With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright, And sailing pinions — Upon such a shrine VVliat are our petty griefs?— let me not number mine. 226 CHILDE HAROLD'S CVII. Cypress and i^y, weed and wallflower grown Matted and massed together, hillocks heiiped On what were chambers, arch crushed, column strown In i'ragments choaked up vaults, and frescos steeped In subterranean damps, where the owl peeped, Deeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls ? Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning reaped From her research hath been, that these are walls — Behold the Imperial Mount ! His thus the mightj- falls. CVIII. There is the moral of all human tales ; 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom and (hen Glorj- — when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption — barbarism athsf. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page, —'tis better written here, Where gorgeous Tyranny had thus amassed All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear, Heart, squl could seek, tongue ask — Away with words ! dn 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 ra3's with added ilame were filled ! Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared to build ex. Tully was not so eloquent as thou. Thou nameless column with the buried base '. What are the laurels of the Ctesar's brow ? Crown me with ivy from Lis dwelling-place. AV'hose arch or pillar meets me in the face, Titus or Trajan's ? No— 'tis that of Time : Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace Scofling ; and apostolic statutes climb To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime, CXI. 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 reio^ned, The Roman globe, for after none sustained. PILGRIMAGE. 227 But yielded back his conquest : — he was more Than a mere Alexander, and, unstained, With household blood and wine, serenely wore His sovereign virtues — still we Trajan's name adore. CXII. Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place AVhere Rome embraced her heroes ? where the steep Tarpeian ? fittest goal of Treason's race, The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap Their spoils here ? Yes ; and in yon field below, A thousand years of silenced factions sleep — The Forum, where the immortal accents glow. And still the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicero ! cxin. The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood : Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, From the first hour of empire in the bud To that when further worlds to conquer failed ; But long before had Freedom's face Keen veiled ; And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; Till every lawless soldier who assailed 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 ! While the tree <3f Fieedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf, Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — The forum's champion, and the people chief — Her new-born Numa thou— with reign, alas! too brief. , cxv. Egeria ! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air, 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 art a beautil'ul thought, and softly bodied forth. CXVI. The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled With thine Elysian water-drops; the face 223 CHILD Z HAROLD'S Of lliv c.ive-giianied spring, with years unwriiikled. Reflects the meek-ejed genius ol' llie place, Whose green wild margin, now no more erase Art's works ; nor niu>t the delicate waters sleep, Prisoned in marble, bubbling liom tiie base Of the clelt statue, with a geiitJe leap The rill luiis o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creep, cxvu. Fantastically tai;:rled; the green liilis Are clotlied with early blossoms, through ihe grass The ((iiick-eyed lizard rustles, and the l^iils Of sumrner-bivils sing vv'elcome as ye pass ; Flowers fresh in hue, and many in tiieir class, ImpJoie tiie pausing step, and with their dyes Dance in the soit breeze in a lairy niiu^s; * The sweetness of llie violets deep blue eyes, Kissed by tha breath of heaven, seenss coloured by its skies. ' cxvni. Here dids-t, liioii dw.di> in this eacli-inted cover Egeria 1 th}' all heavehly iDosom bi-.iling For the lar iootsleps ol thy mortal lover; The purple Miunight veiled that mystic meeting With her most starry canopy, and seating Tbv>elf by tliine adorer, what befel ? This Cf.ve was surely shaped out for the greeting Of an enaniuureil (ioddess, and the cell Haunted by hclj Love — the eailiest oracle ! CXIX. And didst (hou not, thy Itreast to his replyifig, Blend a celestial wilh a human heart ; And Love, which dies as it w);s bom, in sighing, Share with immortal tian>porls ': 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 Ironi out the soul the deadly weed which cloys ? cxx. Alas I our young afiections run to waste, (.)t water but the desert ; whence arise But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, Rank at the cbie, though tenipling to the eyes, Flowers wiiose wild otiours breathe but agonies, And trees whose gums are poison ; such the plan's Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants For some celostiul .ruil ioibidusii to our wants. , PILGRIMAGE. 229 CXXI. Oh Love ! no habitant of earth thou art — An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, But never yet hath seen, or e'er shall see The naked eye, thy form, as it should be ; The mind hath made thee, ifs it peopled heaven, Even with its own desiring phantasy, And to a thought such shape and image given, [rivea- As haunts the unquenched soul, parched, wearied, wrung, aud 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 shew so fair ? Where are the charms and virtues which we dare Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men, The unreached Paradise of our despair, Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, And overpowers the page where it would bloom again ? CXXIII. 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 alchemy begun, Sefems ever near the prise— weallhiest^ when most undone. - 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 lale— so are we doubly curst. Love, fame, ambition, avarice— 'lis the same. Each idle— and all ill -and none the worst — For all are meteors Vvith a different name. And Death the sable smoke sphere vanishes the flame. CXXV. Few— none— find what they love, or could have loved, Thougii accident, blind contact, and the strong Necessity of loving, have removed Antipalliies — but to recur, erelong, Enveiiumed with iirecoverabie wrong ; And Circumstance, that mi'^piritual god ^Viid miscrcator, makes and helps along U 230 CHILDE HAROLD'S Our coming evils wilh a crutch-like rod, Whose toucli 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 brandies be The slvies which rain their plagues on men like dew — Disease, death, bondage— all the woes we see— And worse, the woes we see not — which throb tlirough The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. cxxvir. Vet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base Abandonment of reason to resign Our right of thought — our last and only place Of refuge ; this, at least shall still be mine : Tiioiigh from our birth tlie faculty divine fs chained and tortured — cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine Too briglitly on the unprepared mind, he 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 CXXIX. Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, And shadows forih its glory. There is given Into 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 ruined battlement, For which tlu' palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. ^ CXXX. Oh time I the beautifier of the dead, Adorner of the ruin, comforter And only healer when the heart hath bled — Time ! the corrector where our judgments err PILGRIMAGE. ' 231 The test of truth, love,— sole phifosopher, For all beside are sophists, Ironi thy thrift, Which never loses though it doth defer — Time, the avenger I unto thee I lift My hands, and eyes, aud 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 orterings here are mine, Ruinsof years— though few, yet full of fate: If thou hast ever seen me too elate, Ileur me not : but if calmly I have borne (Jood, and reserved my pride against the liate Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn Tiiis iron in my soul in vain— shall they not mourn ? CXXXII. And thou, who never yet of human wrong Lost (he unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! Here, Mhere the 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 but 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, find must. CXXXIIL It is not that I may not have incurred For my ancestral faults or mine the wound I bleed withal, and, had it been conferred With a just weapon, it had flowed unbound ; But now my blood shall not sink in the ground ; To thee I do devote it— t/ioic 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 Irom what is sulfered ; let hiin 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 feeek. Not in the air shall these my words disperse. Though 1 be ashes ; a far hour shall wreak The deep i)rophetic fulness of this verse, And pile on human heads the mountiiin of my curse; 232 CHILDE HAROLD'S CXXXV. Tliat curse f^hall be Forgiveness. — Have I not — Hear me, my mother E;irth ! behold it, Heaven ! — Have I not Lad to wrestle with my lot ? Have I not siillered Ihinjr^s to be I'orp^iven ? Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven, Hopes sapped, name bliirhted, Lite's lite lied away ? And only not to desperarion driven, Because not aliogether o!' such clay As rots into the souls ot those whom. J surv?y. CXXXVL From mightv wrongs to petty perfidy Have I not seen what human things could do? From the loud roar ot Ibaming calumny To the small whisper oi' 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. cxxxvn. 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 lire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre. Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. CXXXVHI. The seal is set — Now welcome, thou dread power ! Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, jet 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 murmured pity, or loud-roared applause. As man was slaughtered by his fellow man. And wherefore slaughtered? wherefore, but beoouse Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws, And the imperial pleasure. Wherefore not ? * PILGRIMAGE. 23:5 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. CXL. I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand— his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agonj-, And his drooped head sinks jifradually 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 iiiin — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wietcli who won. CXLL He heard it, but he heeded not— his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay There where his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire. Butchered to make a Roman holiday — All this rushed with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire I CXLH. But here, where Murder breathed her bloody stream ; And here, where buzzing nations choaked the ways, And roared or murmuied 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. My voice sounds much— and lall the stars' faint rays On the arena void— seats crushed— walls bowed— And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. CXLHI. A ruin — yet what ruin ! from ils mass Walls, prtlaces, liaU-cilies, have been reared; Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. Hath it indeed been plundered, or but cleared ? Alas ! developed, opens the decay. When the colossal fabric's form is neared: ll will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, maji, have reft away. cxLl\^ Hut when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, U 2 >234 CHILDE HAROLD'S Ami Ihc Itiw night-breeze weaves alonc^ the air 'I'he garliuiil-rorest, which the gray walls wear, Like laurels on the hald first Caesar's head ? V\'hen the liglit shines serene but cloth not glare, Then in this magic circle raise the dead : Ileroes have trod tliis ^iiot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. CXLV. " While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; " When falls the Coliseum, Jlome shall fall ; " And when Rome ialls— the World." From our own land Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall In Saxon limes, which we are wont to call Ancient ; and these three mortal things are still On tiieir ioundations, and unaltered ; 11 ; Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skiW, The World, the same wide den— of thieves, or what ye will. CXLVL Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, From Jove to Jesus— spared and blest by time; Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods His way through thorns to ashes — glorious doom ! Shalt thou not last ? Time's scj the and tyrant's rods Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Rome ! cxLvn, Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts ! Despoiled jet perfect, with thy circle spreads A holiness appealing to all hearts — To art a model ; and lo him who treads Rome for the sake of ages. Glory sheds Her liglit tinou2,ii tliy sole apertine ; to those Who worship, here are altars lor llieir beads ; And tliey who feel for genius may repose Their eyes on honomed iorms, whose busts around lh«m close. CXLVIH. There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light AVlial ik) 1 g.ize on ? Nothing: Look again! Two forms are slowly shadowed on my sight — Two insulated phantoms of the brain : ■ ]t is not so ; I see tlum iull and plain — An old man, and a female joung and fair, t Fresh as a inirsing niotlier, in wliose vein The blood is nectar :— but what tioth she there, With her unmaniled neck, and bosom white and bare ? ' PILGRIMAGE. 235 CXLIX. Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, . Where on the heart and from tlie 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 ^bolds no such tide. CLI. The starry fable of the rnilky way lias 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 ^Vhere sparkle ilistant 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. CLII. Turn to the Mole which Hadrian reared on high, Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles. Colossal cop)isl of deibrmily, \Vliose travelled phantasy from the f;ir Nile's Enormous model, doomed the artist's toils To build for giants, and for his vain earth His shrunken ashes raise this doom : How smiles' The gazer's eye with philosojihic mirth. To view the huge design which spnmg from such n birth ! CLII I. But lo ! the dome— the vast and wondrous dome. To which Diana's marvel was a cell — 'Christ's migiily shrine above his martyr's tomb ! I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell The hy;ena and the jatkall in llie shade } 236 CHILDE HAROLD'S 1 have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell Their glitterinpf mass i' the sun, and have surveyed Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem prayed ; CLIV. But 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 lormer city, what could be, 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 notj And why ? it is not lessened ; 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 defied. See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. CLVI. Thou niovest— but increasing with the advance, Like climbing some great Alp which still doth rise, Deceived by his gigantic elegance ; Vastness which grows — but grows to harmonize — All music in its immensities ; Rich marbles — richer painting —shrines where 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. CLVH. 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 iiere condense thy soul To more immediate objects, and control Thy thouglits until thy mind hath got by heart Its eloquent proportions, and unroll In mighty graduations, part by part, The 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 ' PILGRIMAGE. . 237 Outstrips our faint expression ; even so this Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great Defies at first our Nature's littleness, Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. CLIX. Then pause, and be enlightened ; 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 I'ormer 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 mortars 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's clinch ; the long envenomed chain Rivets the living links, — the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. CLXI. Or vievp the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and light — The Sun in human limbs arrayed, 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 tiieir full ligiitnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity. CLXII. But in his delicate form— a dream of Love, Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast V , Longed lor a deathless lover from above, And maddened in that vision — are exprest All that ideal beauty ever blessed The mind with in its most unearthly mood, When each conce|)lion was a heavenly guest— A ray of immortality — and stood, Btarlike, around, until tiii'y gathered to a goil ! ' 238 CHILDE HAROLD'S CLXIIl. And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven Tile fire which we endure, it was repaid By bini to whom the energy was given Which this poetic marble hath arrayed With an eternal glory — which, if made By human hands, is not of human thought ; And Time himself, hath hallowed it, nor laid One ringlet in the dust — nor halh it caught A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 'twas CLXIV. [wiougbt. But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, The being who upheld it through the past? Methlnks he cometh late and tarries long. He is no more — these breathings are his last ; Hi,? wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, And he himself as nothing :— if he was Aught but a phantasy, and could be classed With forms which live and suffer — let that pass — His shadow fades away into Destructiou's mass, 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 the cloud Between us sinks and all which ever glowed, Till Glory's self is twilight, and displays A melancholy halo scarce allowed 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. CLXVH. Hark ! forth from the abyss 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 grourvl. The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief PILGRIMAGE. 239 Seems royal still, though with her head discrowned, And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief. CLXVIII. Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ? Fond hope of many natious, art thou dead ? Could not the 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 nioment, o'er thy boy, Death hushed that pang for ever : with thee fled The present happiness and promised joy Which filled the imperial isles so. full it seemed to cloy. CLXIX. Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be. Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored ! Those who wept not for kings shall weep for thee, And freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her many griefs for One ; for she had poured Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head Beheld her Isis. — 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-haired Daughter of the Isles is laid, The love of millions ! How we did entrust Futurity to her ! and, though it must Darken above our bones, yet fondly deemed Our children should obey her child, and blessed Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seemed Like stars to shepherds' eyes:^'lwas but a meteor beamed. CLXXL Woe unto us, not her ; for she sleeps well : The fickle reed of popular breath, the tongue Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, NVliich from the l)irth of nionarciiy hath rung Itii knell in princely ears, till the o'ersiung Nations have armed in madness, Hie strange fate U'hich tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung Again.st their blind omnipotence a weight VV'itbiu the opposing scale, wiiich crushes soon or late, — CLXXII. These might have been her destiny ; but no. Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair, <;(iod without effort, great without a foe; 15ul now a bride and mother — and now there I 210 CHILDE HAROLD'S How many ties did that stern moment tear ! From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast Is linked the electric chain of that despair, Whose shock was as an eartluiuake's, and opprest The land which lovetl thee so Ihat none could love thee best. CLXxnr. IjO, Nemi ! navelled in the woody hills So far, that the uprooling wind which tears The oak from its foundation, and which .-.pills The ocean o'er its l)oundary, and bears Its foam ac,ainst the skies, reluctant spares The oval mirror of thy jrlassy lake ; And, calm as cherished iiate, its surface wears A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake. All coiled into itself and round, as sleeps th? snake. CLXXIV. And near Albano's 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 re-ascendincf star Rose o'er an empire ; — but beneath thy right TuUy reposed from Rome ; — and where yon bar Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight The Sabine farm was tilled, the weary bard's delight. CLXXV. But I forget. — My pilgrim's shrine is won, And he and T 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 Allian ?.loinit we now behold Our fijend of youth, that ocean, which when we Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roU'd. CLXXVl. I'pon the l)lue Symplegades: long years — Long, thoiigli not very many, since have done Their work on both ; some sufleri ng and some tears Have left us nearly where we had begun : Y«t not in in vain our mortal race hath ruji. We have had our reward — and it is here; That we can yet feel gladden 'd by tlie sun, And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. CLXXVfl. Oh' llial the Desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair i^pirit for my minister. PILGRIMAGE. 211 That I mi 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 mfuie — as I do here. CLXXXV, My tiisk is done— riiy 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 extinguished which ha'h lit My midnight lamp — and what is writ, is writ — Would it were worthier ! but I am not now That which I have been — and my visions fiit , Less palpably before me — and the glow Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint, ane stanzas were written in Castri (Delphos,) at the loot of Parnassus, now called Liakura. (14) Fair is ■proud Seville ; let her country hoast Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days. Stanza Ixv. lines 1 and 2. Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans. (15) Ask ye, Bwotian shades ! the reason why 9 Stanza Ixx. line 5. This was written at Thebes, and consequently in the best situation for asking and answering such a question ; not as the birth-place of Pindar, but as the capital of Boeotia, where the first riddle was propounded and solved. (16) Some hitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. Stanza Ixxxii. line last. " Medio de fonte leporum " Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat." Luc. (17) A traitor only fell beneath the feud. Stanza Ixxxv. line 7. Alluding to the conduct and death of Solano, the Governor of Cadiz. (18) fVar even to the knife. Stanza Ixxxvi. line last. " War to the knife." Palafox's answer to the French (ie- neral at the siege of Saragoza. (19) And thou my friend, Sfc. Stanza xci. line I. The Honourable I*. W**. of Ibe Guards, who died of a fever at Coimbra. I had known him ten years, the better half of his life, and the iiappiest part of mine. In the thort space of one month I have lost her who gave me being, and most of those who made that being tolerable. To me the lines of Young are no fiction : 248 NOTE!? TO THE FIRST CANTO, ETC. " Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain, And thrice ere thrice 3on moon had filled her horn." 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 gra- duate on record at Cambridge, have sufficiently established his fame on the spot where is was acquired, while his softer quali- ties live in the recollection of friends whd loved him too well to envy his superiority. NOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO, ETC. 249 NOTES TO CANTO II. »>*««44«— (1.) despite of war and wasting fire — Stanza i. line 4. Part of the Acropolis was destroyed by the explosion of a magazine during the Venetian siege. (2.) But worse than steel and flame, and ages slow. Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire Of men who never felt the sacred glow That thoughts of thee and thine on polished breasts bestow. Stanza i.line 6. We can all feel, or imagine, the regret with which thg ruins of cities, onc3 the capitals of empires, are beheld } the reflec- tions suggesfeij by such obiect=; arj to > tritu to ri»'iiiiro recapi- tulation. But never did the littleness of man, and the vanity of his very best virtues, oC pairiolisui to exalt, and of valour to defend his country, appear more conspicuous tlian in the record of what Athens was, and the certainty of what she now is. This theatre of contention between mighty factions, of the struggles of orators, the exaltation and deposition of tyrants, the triumph and punishment of generals, is now become a scene of petty intrigue and perpetual disturliance, between the bick- ering agents nf certain JJiitisli nobilily and gentry. " The wild foxes, the owls, and sei-p.nits in the ruins of Bal)ylon," were surel}' less degrading than such inhabitants. The Turlvs have the plea of comiuest for their tyranny, and the Greeks have only sull'ered the fortune of war, incidental to the bravest ; but how are the mi:(Uty fallen, when two painters contest the privilege of plundering the Farthenun, and triumph in turn, ac- cording to the tenor of each succeeding firman ! Sylla could but punisli, I'hilip s\d5due, and Xerxes burn Atiiens ; but it remained lor the paltry Antiquarian, ami his despicable agents, to render her contemjjtible as himself and Ids [lursuits. The Partlienon, before its destruction in part, by fire during theVenetian siege, bad been a temple, a church, and a mosque. 250 NOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO OF In ench jioint of view it is an object of regard ; it changed its worshippers : but still it was a place of worshipthrice sa- cred to devotion : its violation is a triple sacrilege. But " Man, vain man, Drest in a little brief authority, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep." (3.) Far on the solitary shore he sleeps. Stanza v. line 2. It was not always the custom of the Greeks to burn their dead : the jjreater Ajax in particular was interred entire. — Almost all the chiefs became gods after their decease, and he was indeed neglected, who had not annual cfamesnear his tomb, or festivals in honour of his memory by his countrymen, aa Achilles, Brasidas, &c. and at last even Antinous, whose death was as heroic as his life was infamous. (i-) Here, son of Saturn I was thy favorite throne > Stanza x. line 3. The temple of Jupiter Olympies, of which sixteen columns entirely of marble yet survive ; originally there were 150. These columns, however, are by many supposed to have belonged to the Pantheon. (5.) And hear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine. Stanza xi line last. The ship was wrecked in the Archipelago. (6.) To rive what Goth, and Turk, ami Time, hath spared. Stanza xii. line 2. At this moment (Januarys, 1S09), besides what has been ;ilready deposited in London, an Hydriot vessel is in the Pinpus 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 /w/er of Terres in Sicily, who followed the same profession, 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 dispute concerning a car employed in their conveyance, the wheel of which— I wish they were both broke upon it— has CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 251 been locked up by the Consul, and Lusieri has laid his complaint before the Waywode. Lord Elsiu 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*, till he accompanied us in our second excursion. However, his works, as far as they go, are most beautiful ; but they are almost all unfinished. While he and his patrons confine themselves to tasting medals, appreciating cameos, sketohing columns, and cheapening gems, their little absur- dities are as harmless as insect or fox-hunting, maiden-speech- ifying, barouch-drivlng, or any such pastime ; but when they carry away three or four shiploads of the most valuable and 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 » Now Cape Colonna. In all Attica, if we except Athens itself and Marathon, there is no scene more interesting than Cipe Colonna. To the anti(iuary and artist, sixteen columns are an inexhaustible source of observation and design ; to_>the jihiloioplier, the supposed scene of some of Plato's conversa- 1 ions will not be unwelcome ; and the traveller will be struck with the beauty of the prospect over " Is/es that crown the Sgcun deep :" but for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's Shipwreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten in the recollection of Falconer and Campbell: " Here in the dead of night by Lonna's steep, The seamen's cry was heard along the deep." This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea irom a great dis- tance. In two journejs which T made, and one voyage to Cepe Colonna, tlie view from either side, by land, was less striking ttian the approach I'rom the isles. In our second land excursion, we had a narrow escape from a party of Mainnotes, concealed in the caverns beneath. We were told afterwards, by one of their prisoners subsequently ransomed, that they were deterred trom attacking us by the appearance of my two Albanians: • oniecliiring very sagaciously, but lalsely, that we had a com- plete guard'of these" Arnaoiits at hand, they remaini'd statio- nary, "and thus saved our party, which was too small to have opjiosed any ellectual resistance. Colonna is no less a resort of painters than of pirates ; there " The hireling artist plants las paltry desk, And makes degraded Nature picturesque." (S(;e Hodgson's Lady Jane Grey, *c.) But here Nature, willi tiie aid of Art, has done thr.t for her- self. I was lortunate enough to engage a very superior (ierman artist ; and hope to renew my aciinaintance with iliis and many other Levantine scenes, by the arrival of bis performances. 252 NOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO OF ailmiiation of ages, I know no motive which can excuse, no name which can designate, the perpetrators of this clastardly devastation. It was not the least of the crimes laid to the charge of V'erres, that he had plundered Sicily, in the manner since imitated at Athens. — The most unl)lushing impudence could hard]}- gr) farther Hum to aflix the nsmie of its plunderer Id the walls of the Acropolis : while the wanton and useless defacement iif the whole range of ihe basso-relievos, in one compartment of the temple, will never permit that name to be pronounced by an observer without execration- On this occasion I speak impartially; lam not a collector or admirer of collections, consequently no rival ; but I have some early prepossessions, in favour of Greece, and do not think the honour of England advanced by pluniler, whether of India or Attica. iVnother iiolile Lord had done better, because he has done less : but some others, more or less noble, yet " all honourable men," have done /,et:f, because, alter a deal of excavation and execration, bribery lo the Waywode, mining and coun- termining, 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 Wylde for the defination of "prig- gism," — quarrelled with another, (irojjiits* by name (a very good name too for his business) ami 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. Gro;)ius was employed by a noble Lord for the vole purpose of sketching, in which he excels; but [ am sorry to say, that he has, throvigh the abused sanction of that most respectable name, been tieading at humble distance in the s1ep^ of Sr. Lusicii. A shipful of his trophies was detained, and I believe confiscated at Constantinople in 1810. I am most hap|)y to be now enabled to state, that " this was not in his bond ;" lliat he was employed solely as a painter, and that his noble patron disavows all connexion with him, except as an artist. U 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 coiulemn myself for shuring in the mistake of so many, I am hajjpy in being one of the first to be undeceived. Indeed, I have as much plea- sure in contradicting this, tu I felt regret in stating it. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGfi. 253 (7) Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, Yet felt some portion of their mother'' s pain. Stanza xii. lines 7 and 8. Tciiniiot resist availing myself of the permission of my friend Dr. Clarke, whose )iame requires no comment with the public, but whose sanction will add ten fold weight to my testimony, to ii'.sert the following extract from u very obliging letter of his to me, as a note lo the above lines : " VVhen the last of the Metopes was taken from the Parthe- non, 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 to the building, took his pipe from his mouth, dropped a tear, and in a supplicating tone of voice, said to Lusieri, TeXcj ! — I was present." The Disdar alluded to was the father of the present Disdar. (8) Where was thine ■i'Egis, Pallas I that appalled Stern Aluric and Havoc on their way 9 Stanza xiv. lines 1 and 2. According to Zozimus, Minerva and Achilles frightened Alaric from the Acropolis ; but others relate that the Gothic king was nearly as mischievous as the Scottish peer. — See Chandler. (9) tlu: netted canopy. Stanza xviii. line 2. The netting to prevent blocks or splinters from falling on deck during action. (10) But not in silence pass Calypso's isles. Stanza xxix. line 1. Goza is said to have been the island of Calypso. (11) Land of Albania ! let me bend mine eyes On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men ! Stanza xxxviii. lines 6 and 6. Albania comprises part of Macedonia, Illyria, Chaonia, and Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish word for Alexander ; and the celebrnted St;anderbeg (Lord Alexander) is alluded t(j in the third and fourth lines of the thirty-eight stanza. I do not know whether I am correct in making Scanderbeg the countryninn of Alexander, who was born at I'ella iu Rlrxedon, but Mr. Y 254 NOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO OF Gibbon terms him so, and adds Pyrrhus to the list, in speaking of his exploits. Of Albiinia Gibbon remnrks, that a country "within sight of Italy is less known than the interior of America." Circum- stances, of little consequence to mention, led IVIr. Hobhouse and myself into that country bel'ore we visited any other part of the Ottoman dominions ; nnd with the exception of Major Leake, then officially resident at Joannina, no other English- men have ever advanced beyond the capital into the interior, as that gentleman very hitely assured me. Ali Pacha was at that time (October, 1809) carrying on war against Ibrahim Pacha, whom he had driven to Berat, a strung fortress which he was then besieging ; 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 liis head-quarters. After some stay in the capital, we accordingly followed ; but tho' 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, b:nely occupied four. On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastro and Libo- chabo, apparently little inferior to Yanina in size ; and no pen or pencil can ever do justice to the scenery in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, the frontier village of Epirus and Alba- nia proper. On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling to descant, because 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 1 would to anticipate him. But some few obsr-rvations are necessary to the text. The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, in dress, figure, ami manner of living. Their very mountains seemed Caledo- nian, with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white; 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 neigiibours as the Albanese : the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turks as Moslems; and in fact tlipy are a mixture of both, and some- times neither. Their iiabits are predatory ; all are armed ; and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Montenegrins, Chimariots, and (jegdes are treacherous : the others ditler somewhat in garb, and essentially in character. As far as my own experience goes, I can speak favourably. I was attended by two, an In- fidel and a Mussulman, to Constantinople and every other ]>art of Turkey v.liich came within my oliservation ; and more faith- fnl in peril, or indefatigable in service, are rarely to be fo\m(i. The Infidel was named Basilius, the Moslem, Dervish Tahiri : CHiLDE Harold's pilgrimage. 255 fhe former a man of middle age, and the latter about my own. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pacha in person to attend us ; and Dervish was one ot fifty who accompanied us through the forests of Acarnania to the banks of -Vctielous, and onward to Messalonghi in /Etolia- Th^^re I took him into my own service and never had occasion to repent it till the moment of my de- parture. When in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mr. H. for England, I was seized wieh a severe fever in the Morea, these men saved my life by friglitening away my Physician, whose throat they threatened to cut if I was not cured within a given time. To this consolatory assurance of posthumous retribution, and a resolute refusal of Dr. Romanelli's [irescriptions, 1 attri- buted my recovery. I had left my last remaining servant at Athens; my dragoman was as ill as myself, and my poor Ar- naouts nursed me with an attention which would have tloiie 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 llie prin- cipal Turks paiil 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 persua- sions, and had the greatest veneration for the church, mixed with the highest contempt of churchmen, whom he cuifed upon occasion in a most heterodox manner. Yet he never passed a church without crossing himself ; and I remember the risk he ran in entering St. Sophia, in Stambol, because it had once been a place of his worship. On remonstrating with him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably answered, " our church is holy, our priests are thieves ;" and then he crossetf 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 wiih the Cogia Bashi of his village. Indeed a more abandoned race of mis- creants cannot exist than the lower order of the preek clergy. When preparations were made for my return, my Albanians were summoned to receive their pay. iiasili took his with an awkward show of regritat 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 entered, just as Signior Logotheti, father to the ci-devant Anglo-consul of Athens, and some other of my Greek ac- quaintances paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, but on a sudden ditshed it to tlie ground ; and clasping his hands, which he raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room weeping bit- terly. From that moment to the hour of my embarkation, he 256 NOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO OF continued liis lamentation, and all our efforts to console him onij- produced tiiis answer, "lie leaves me." Signor Logotbeti, wlio never wept before for anj' thing less than the loss of a para*, melted; the padre of the convent, m)' attendants, my visitors — andl believe that even Sterne's " I'oolish fat scullion," would have left her " fisli ketlle" to sympathize with the un- alTected and Mnexi)ected sorrow of this barbarian. For my own part, when I remembered that, a short time before my departure from England, a noble and most intimate iissoeiate had excused himself from taking leave of me because lie had to attend a relation " to a milliner's," I felt no less surprised than humiliated by tlie present occurrence and the pcLst recollection- That Dervish would leave me with some regret was to he expected : wlien ma>ter and man have been^ scrambling over the mountains of a dozen provinces together, they are unwil- ling 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 sat down leaning his liead upon his bands. Foreseeing the conse- quences, we endeavoured to explain away the affront, which produced the following answer : — " I have been a robber, I atn a soldier ; no captain ever struck me ; yoti are my master, I hare eaten your bread, but by ^Aa^iread ! (a 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 this day forward 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 Pjrrhic : be that as it may, it is manly, and requires wonderful agility. It is very distinct from the stupid Ilomaika, 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 e.irth in the provinces, who have also that appellation, but the mountaineers) have a fine cast of countenance ; and the most beaiilil'ul women I ever beheld, in stature and in features, we saw levelling the roml broken down by the tor- rents between Delvinachi and Libochabo. Their manner of walking is truly theatrical ; but this strut is probably the effect of the capote, or cloak, depending from one shoulder. Their long hair reminds 30U of the Spartans, and their courage in Para, about the fourth of a farthing. ChlLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 257 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, how- ever, they could never keep. But on foot they are not to be subdued by fatigue. (12) and passed the barren spot, fVhere sad Penelope overlooked the wave. Stanza sxxix. lines 1 and 2. Ithaca. 03) Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar. Stanza xl. line 5. Actium and Trafalgar need no farther mention. The battle of Lepanto, equally blootly and considerable, but less known, was fought in the Gulf of Patras ; here the author of Don Quixote lost his left hand. And hailed the last resort of fruitless love. Stanza xli. line 3. Leucadia, now Santa Maura. From the promontory ( the Lover's Leap j SapphO is said to have thrown herself. (15) many a Roman chief and Asian king. Stanza xlv. line 4. It is said, that on the day previous to the battle of Actium Anthony had thirteen kings at his levee. (16) Look where the second Ccesar's trophies rose ! Stanza xlv. line 6. Nicopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at some distance from Actium, where the wall of the Hippodrome survives in a few fragments. (H) Acherusia's hike. Slanza'xlvii. line 1. According to Pouqueville, the lake of Yanina; but Pou- queville is always out. 258 KOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO OF (IS) To greet Albania's chief. Stanza xlvii. line 4. The celebrated Ali Pacha. Of this extraordinary man Ihere is an incorrect account in Pouq^ueville's Travels. (19) Vet here and there some darinff monntain band Disdain his po'ver, and from their rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. Stanza xlvii. line 7. Five thousand Suliots, among, the rocks and in the castle of Suli, withstood 30,000 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. (20) Monastic Zitza ! Sfc. Stanza xlviii. line I. Tke convent and village of Zitza are four hours' journey fioni Joannina, or Yanina, the capital of the Pachalick. In the valley the river Kalamas (once the Acheron) flows, and liot far from Zitza forms a fine cataract. The situation is jierhaps the finest in Greece, though the approach to Delvi- nachi and parts of Acarnania and -^toliamay contest the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and in Attica, even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are verj- inferior ; as also everj- scene in Ionia, or the Troad ; I am almost inclined to add the approach to Con- stantinople ; but from the difl\irent features of the last, a com- l)arison can hardlv be made. Ne7-e dwells the caloyer. Stanza xlix. line 6. The Greek monks are so called. (22) Nature's volcanic amphitheatre^ Stanza li. line 2. The Chimariot mountains appear to have been volcanic. (23) leholl black Acheron ? Stanza li.line 6. KovF called Ka'amas. in his white capote — Stanza lii. line 7. Albanese cloke. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 259 (25) The sun had sunk behind vast Tomer it. Stanza Iv. line 1. Anciently Mount Tomarus. (26) And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by. \ Stanza Iv. line 2. 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, Mr. Hobhouse, In the summer it must be much narrower. It certainly is the finest river in the Levant ; neither Achelous, Alpheus, Acheron, Scamander nor Cayster, approached it in breadth or beauty. (27) And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof. Stanza Ixvi. line 8. Alluding to the wreckers of Cornwall. (28) the red wine circling fust. Stanza Ixxi. line 7. The Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from wine, and indeed very few of the others. (29) Each Palikar his sabre from him cast. Stanza Ixxi. line 7. Palikar, shortened when addressed to a single person, from ^«^^! heeti guilty betsveen them of sadly clipping liie Sultan's 'J'uikisli. Dr. Ponqueville t. ll- a long story of a Moslem who swal- lowed corrossive sublimale in such quantities that he acquired the name of " S'tfeyma/i Yei/eii," i. e. quoth the Doctor, '' Siifei/niaii, the eater of corrossive sufilimate." " Aha" thinks i\Ir. Thornton (angry with the Doctor for the fiftieth time) "have 1 caught yon?" — Then, in a note twice the thickness of the Doctor's anecdote, he questions the Doctor's jiroficiency in the Tmki>h tongue, and his veracity in his own. 'tpor," observes Mr. 'i'hornton (after inflicting on us the tough participle of a Turkish verb) " it means nothing more than Siileyman the cater," and quite cashiers the supplementary ^' snblimatc." Now both are right, and both are wrong. If jMr. Thornton, wiien he next resides " fourteen years in the factory," will consult his Turkish dii-lionary, or ask any of his Slamboiine acquaintance, he will discover that Sidei/ma'n ycyi?//," put tcigt-ther discreetly, mean the " Siral/ower of s!/b- //wrt^?" without any " S'/Zei/man" in the case: ^' Sii/ei/?na" signifying " eorro.sire si//i/i)nafe," and not being a proper name (.11 this occasion, althougii it bean orthodox name enough with the addition of w. After Mr. Thornton's fregruent hints of profound Orientalism, he might have found this out before he Siing such [la^ans over Dr. Ponqueville. Alter this, I think " Travellers in'rs/ts Factors" shall be our motto, tho\igh the above ?vlr. Thornton has condemned "hoc geinis omne," lor mistake and misrepresentation. " Ne Sutor ultra crepidam," — "No merchant bexond his bales." N. B. Tor the benefit of Mr, Thornton " Sutur" is not a proper name, ' CHILDE HAROLD'S PILCni.AIAGE, -6D men. His "philo'sophical observations," have a nnicli better claim tothetiUt-of " poetical." Itcoiikl not be expected that he who so liberally condemns some of the most celebrated in- stitutions of the ancient, should have mercy on the modern Greeks; and it fortunately happens, that the absurdity of his hypothesis on their fore-fathers, refutes his sentence on them- selves. Let us trust, then, that in spite of the prophecies of De Pauw, and the doubts of .Mr. Thornton, there is a reasonable hoi^e 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. Athens, Franciscan Convent, March 17, 1^11. " I must have some talk with this learned Theban." Some time after my return from Constantinople to this city, I received the ihirty-lirst numiier of the Edinburgh Review as a great favour, and certainly at this distance an acceptable one, from the captain of an English frigate oft" Salamis. In that number, 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 these remarks I mean to ground a few observations, and the spot where t now write will, I hope, be sufTicient excuse for introducing them in a work in some degree connected with the subject. Coray, the most celebrated of living (ireeks, at least among the Franks, was born at Scio (in the Ueview Smyrna is stated, I have reason to think, incorrectly), and, besides the translation of Beccaria anil otiier works mentioned by the reviewer, has piiblisheil a lexicon in Romaic and French, if I may trust the assurance of some Danish travellers lately arrived from I'aris ; huttlie latest we have seen iiere in French and (ireek is that of Gregory Zolikogloon. Coray has recently been involved in an unpleasant controversy wilh'^M. Gail,* a Parisian commen- • In Gail's pamphlet against Coray, he talks cf " throwing the insolent Helleniste out of the windows.'" On this a French critic exclaims, " Ah, my God ! throw an Helleniste out of the window! what a sacrilege !" it certainly would be a s( - rious business fur those authors who dwell in the attics: but I Z2 270 NOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO 07 tator ami alitor of some translations from the Greek poets, in cojiseqiience of the Institute iiavinir awarded him the prize for his version of Hippocrates' teji v^xtu", ttc. to the disparage- ment, and conse()ueiUl)' tlispleasure, of the saiti Gail. To his exertions liteiary and patriotic great praise is undoubtedly due, hut a part of tliat praise ouglit not to be withheld irom the two hrotht-rs Zosimado (merciiants settled in Legliorn) wlio sent him to Paris, and maintHined him, for the express purpose ot etucidaling the ancient, and adding to the nK)dern, researches of his countrymen. Coray, however, is not considered by his countrymen eijiial to some who lived in the two last centuries ; more particularly Dorotlu'us of Mitylene, whose Hellenic writings are so nmch esteemed by tlie Greeks that Miletius terms him, — " jw.£Ta rov &8icv^i^r,v x.m ^ivotpavTo, aci7To? '£Mjivia;» " (P. ^24. Ecclesiastical History, vol. iv.) Panagiotes Kodrikas, tiie Translator of Tontenelle, and Kamarascs, who translated Ocellus Lucanus on the Universe into Frencl), Cliri-iodouhis, and more particularly Psalida, ^vhom I have conversed with in Joannin >, are also in high re- late among their literati. The last-mentioned has published in iloniair and Latin a work on " True Happiness," dedicated to Catherine II. But Polyzois, who is stated by the reviewer to he the only modern except Coray who has distinguished himself by a knowl.-'dge of Hellenic, if he be the Polyzois Lampanitziotes of Yanina, has pub'islied a number of editions in Romaic, was neitiier more or less liian an itinerant vender of books ; with the contents of which he had no concern be- yond his name on the title paa:e, placed there to secure his jjroperty in tt)e publication ; and he was, moreover, a man utterly destitute of scholastic acquirements. As the name, however, is not uncommon, some other Polyzois may have edited the Ei'istle of Aristienefus. It is to be regretted tiiat the sjstem of continental blockade Ins closed liie lew channels through wliich the Greeks received liieir publications, particularly Venice and Trieste. Even the common Granmiais for children are become too dear for the lower orders. x\mongst their original works the Geograpliy of Meletius, Archbishop of Athens, and a multitude of theo- I'lrical quartos and poetical pamphlets are to be met withT* tneir gramunirs and lexicons of iwo, tiiree, and four languaa-es ;-.re numerous and excellent. Their poetry is in rhyme, I'he most singular piet-e I have lately seen is a satire in dialogue between a Russian, English, and French trav^dler, and the h:'.ve quotetl ih'^ passaare nu'rely to prove the similarity of style aniong the controver. ialists o) all polished coinitries; London or Edinburgh could hardly parallel this Parisian ebullition. / CKILDE H.inOLD's PILGRIMAGE, 271 WaywoJe of H'allacliia (or BlMckbey, as tliey term him), an iiictibisiiop, a mercliunt, ami Cogia Baclii (or primate), in succession ; to ail of wliom under the Turks the writer attri- butes then" present degeneracy. Their songs are sometimes pretty and pathetic, but their tunes generally unpleasing to the ear of a Frank : the best is the famous " Aeute Trails; Tt^ h.>.\-/:vu», by the unfortunate Riga. But from a catalogue of more than sixty aulhois, now before me, only fifteen can be found who have touched on any theme except theolo^-y. I am entrusted with a commission by a (iieek of Atuens named .Murmarotouri to make arrangemenfs, if possible, lor printing in London a translation of Barthelemi's Anarcharsis in Romaic, as he has no other opportunity, unless he dispatches the MS. to Vienna jjy the Black Sea and' Danube. The reviewer mentions a school established al Hecafonesi and suppressed at the instigation of Sebastian! : he means Ci- donles, or, in Turkish, Ilaivali ; a town on the continent where that institution lor a Innidred students and three profes- sors still exists. It is true that this establishment was disturbed by the Porte, imder the ridiculous pretext that the Greeks were constructing a fortress instead of a college ; but on in- vestigation, and the payment of some purses to the Divan, it ha.s been permitted to continue. The principal professor, nameil Venuimin, (i. e. Benjamin), is stated to be a man of talent, but a freethinker. He was born in Lesbos, studied in Italy, and is master of Hellenic Latin, and some Frank lan- guuffes: besides a smattering 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 ttiat the reviewer's lamentation over the fall of the Greeks appears singular, when he closes it with these words: " ifye chu?ige is to be atlribnted to their misfortunes rather than to any ' physical degradation.' " It may be true that the Greeks are not physically degenerated, and that Constantinople con- tained on the day when it changed masters as many men of six feet and upv.ards as in the hour of prosperity ; but ancient his- tiiiy an i modern politics instruct us that somelhitig more than physical periection is necessary to preserve a state in vigor and independence; and the Greeks, in particular, are a melancholy example of the near connection between moral degradation and national decay. Tiie reviewer mentions a plan " ve believe" by Potemkin f jr the puriricrition of the Romaic, and J have endeavoured in vain to procure any tidings or traces of its existence. There was an academy in SI. Petersburg!! for the Greeks ; but it was suppressed by Paul, and has not been revived by his suc- cessor. There is a slip of the pen, and if can only be a slip of the 272 NOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO OF pen, ill p. 58, No. 31. of the Edinburgh Review, where these words occur: — " We are told that wlien the capital of the East yielded to So/i/man" — It may be presumed that this last word will, i» a future edition, be altered to Mahomet IJ.* The " ladies of Constantinople," itseems at that period spoke a dialect, " which would not have disgraced the lips of an Athenian." I do not know how that might be, b\it am sorry To say the ladies in general and the Athenians in particular, are much altered ; being far from choice either in Iheir dialect or expri-'ssioiis, as the whol ; Att ic race are barbarous to a proverb : '' n A5r;ia Tr^orri y^u^ct In Gibbon, vol. x. p. 161, is the lollowing 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 moilels." Whatever may be as- serted on the subject it is difficult to conceive that the ladies of Constantinople in the reign of the last Cffisar, spoke a purer dialect than Anna Comnena wrote three centuries before : and those royal pages are not esteemed the best models of compo- sition, although the princess yXuTTctv nym axpifw? ArTiKii^aaait 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 Psaliila's, who is making a tour of observation througli Greece : he is intelligent, and » In a former number of the Edinburgh Review, 180S, it is observed ; " Lord Byron passed some of his early jears in Scotland, where he might have learned that pibroch does not mean a bagpipe, ».ny more than duet means iijiddle." Query — Was it in Scotland that the young genllemen of the Edin- burgh Review learned that S'llyman means Mahomet If. any more than criticism means i)iJuUibiUty f — but thus it is, " Caedinius inque vicem priebemus crura sagittis." The mistake seemed so completely a lapse of the pen (from the great simitariii/ of the two wovils, and the total absence of error from the former pages of the literarv leviathan) that f should have passed it over as in the text, had I not perceived in the Edinburgh Review some facetious exultation on all such detections, particularly a recent one, where words and sylb.- bles are subjects of disquisilion and transposition ; and the above mention'^d parallel passage in my own case irresistibly propelled me to hint how much easier it is to be critical than correct. The gentlemen, having enjoyed many a triuhiph on such vic- tories, will hardly begrudge me asiiglit ovation for the prescni. CHiLPE iiAROLn's piLonniAGr. 273 belter eilucati'il lluin a fellow-commoner of most colleges, I metitioti this Hsa|>iool that the spirit of inquiry is not dormant amongst the (Greeks, Tlie lleviewer mentions Mr. Wright, the author of the beautiful poem " Hone loiiicie" asqunUfiedto give details of these nominal llomaiis and degenerdte (Greeks, and also of their language: but INIr. VVriglit, though a good poet and an able man, has made a mistake where he states the Albaien dia- lect of the llomaic to approximote nearest to the Hellenic- : for the Albanians speak a iloniaic as notoriously corrupt as the Scofcii of Aberdeenshire, or the Italian of Naples. Yunina, (where, next to the Fanal, the Greek is purest) althoua:h the capital of Ali Pacha's dominions, is not in Albauia but Epirus : and beyond Dehinachi in Alb-ania Proper up to Argyrocastro and Tepaleen ('beyond wliich I did not advance) they speak worse Greek than even the ^Uhenians. I was attended for a year and a half by two of ISiese singular mountaineers, whose motiier ton'4;iie is Illyric, and I never heard them or their coun1ryiii/ii (wh(nn I have seen, Jiot ojily ut home, but to the amount of twenty thousand in t!ie army of Vely Pacha) praised for their Greek, buiofton laughesd at for their provincial barbarisms. I have in my possessioa about twenty-five letters, amongst which some Ironi the Bey of Corinth, written to me by No- taras, the Cogia Bachi, and others by the dragoman of the Calmacam of the INlorea (which last governs in Vely Pacha's absence) are said to be favorable specimens of their einstolary style. I also received some at Constanlino[de from private jiersons written in a most hyperbolical st3le, but in the tnie antique character. The Reviewer proceeds, after some remarks on the tongir? in its past and present state, to a paradox (page 69) on (he great n^ischief the knowledge of his own language has done to Coray,. who, it seems, is less likely to untlerstand the ancient Greek, because he is perfect master of the modern ! This observation follows a paragraph, recommending, in explicit terms, the study of the Romaic, as" a povveriul aux- iliary," not only to tlje traveller and foreign uierchant, but also to the cla>sical scholar ; in short, to every body except the only person who can be Ihorouglily ac([Mainted with its uses ; and by a parity of reasoning, our old language is conjectured to be probably more attainable by " Ibreigners,"' than by ourselves ! Nov/ I am inclined to think, that a Dutch Tyro in our tongue (albeit himself of Saxon blood) would be sadly perplexed with " Sir Tristrem," or any other given " Audiinlech MS." with or without a grannnar or glossary; and to most apprehensions it seems evident, that none but a native can ac(juire a competent, far less complete, Knowledge of our obselete idioms. We may give tiie critic 274 XOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO OF credit for his ina;eiiuify, liiit no more believe him than we do Smollett's LisriiahiiiJo, who mjiintains that the purest EnsH-^h is spoken in Ediiiburf^h. That Coray may err is very possible ; but it he does, the i'ault is in the man ratlier tiian in his mother tongue, which is, as it ought to be, of the greatest aid to the native student. — Here the Reviewer proceecLs to business on Strabo's translators, and here I close my remarks. Sir VV. Drummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aberdeen, Dr. Clarke, Cai)tain Leake, Mr. Gell, Mr. VV^alpole, and many others now in England, have all the requisites to I'urnish de- tails of this fallen people. The few observations I have offered I should have left where 1 made them, had not the article in question, and above all the spot where I read it, induced me to advert to those pages whicii the advantage of my present si- tuation enabled me to clear, or least to make the attempt. I have endeavoured to wave the personal leelings, which rise in de.spite of me in touching upon any part of the Edin- burgh Review ; not from a wish to conciliate tiie favour of its writers, or to cancel the remembrance of a syllable I have formerly published, but simply from a sense of the impropriety of mixing up private resentments with a disquisition of the present time, and more particularly at this distance of time unil place. ADDITIONAL NOTE, ON THE TURK. The difficulties of travelling in Turkey have been much ex- ^afirgerated, 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 nnil Turkey ; since it is possible to live amongst them twenty years without ac(£ulring inlormation, at least from them- selves. As far as my own slight experience carried me I havfl no complaint to make ; but am indebted for many civilities ( I might almost say friendship) and much hospitalit}-, to Ali Paclia, his son Veli Pacha of the Morea, and several others of high rank in tiie provinces. Suleyman Aga, late (iover- nor of Athens, and now of Thebes, was a ban vivunt, and as social a being as ever sat cross-legged at a tray or a table. During tlie carnival, when our English party were masquera- ding, botli himself and his successor were more happy to " re- ceive 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 per- fectly qualified for any club in Christendom ; while the wor- thy Waywode hinself triumphed in his fall. Ill all moiiey traiisactions with the Moslems, I ever found CHiLyiE Harold's pilgrimage. 2T5 ;he strictest honor, the hic^hest disinterestedness. In transacting business with them, there are none oC those dirty peculations, under the name of interest, dill'erence of exchange, com- mission, tfec. -o scanty a juimber, it is impossible to discover any nation with so great a proportion of books and their authors, as the CHILOE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 277 Greeks of the present century. " Ay," but say the generous advocates of oppression, who, while they assert the ignorance of the Greeks, wish to prevent them from dispelling it, " ay, but these are mostly, if not all, ecclesiastical tracts, am! consequently good for nothing." Well ! and pray what else «an they write about ? It is pleasant enough to hear a Frank, particularly an Englishman, who may abuse the government of his own country ; or a Frenchman, who may abuse every government except his own, and who may range at will over every philosophical, religious, scientific, sceptical, or moral subject, sneering at the Greek legends. A Greek must not write on politics, and cannot touch on science for want of in- struction ; if he doubts, he is excommunicated and damned ; therefore, his countrymen are not poisoned with modern philo- sophy ; and as to morals, thanks to the I'urks ! there are no such things. — What then is left him, if he has a turn for scrib- bling? Religion and holy biography ; and it is natural enough that those who have so little in this life should look to the next. It is no great wonder then thtit in a catalogue now before me of fifty-five Greek writers, many of whom were lately living, not above fifteen should have touched on any thing but religion. The catalogue alluded to is contained in the twenty-sixth chapter of the fourth volume of Meletius's Ec- clesiastical History. From this I subjoin an extract of those who have wTitten on general subjects. LIST OF ROMAIC AUTHORS.* Neophitus, Diakonos (the deacon) of the Morea, has pub- lished an extensive grammar, and also some political regulations which last were left unfinished at his death. Prokopius, of Moscopolis (a town in Epirus), has written and published a catalogue of the learned Greeks. Seraphin, of Periclea, is the author of many works in the Turkish language, but Greek character ; for the Christians of Caramania who do not speak Romaic, but read the cha- racter. Eustatbius Psalidas, of Bucharest, a physician, made the tour of England for the purpose of study (;{«§n' /i*aS>?a«4i?,) but though his name is enumerated, it is not statcnl that he has written any thing. • It is to be observed that the names given are not in chro- nological order, but consist of some selected at a venture from amongst those who flourished from the taking of Constantino- ple to the time of Miletius. 2 A 2T8 NOTES TO THE SECOND CANTO OF Kallinikus Torgeraus, Pntriarch of ConstaTitlnople ; many poems of his are extant, and also prose tracts, and a cata- logue of patriarchs since the last taking of Constantinople. Anastasius Macedoii, of Naxos, member of the royal aca- demy of Warsaw. A church biographer. Cemetrius Pamperesa Moscopolite, has written many works particularly " A Commentary on Hesiod's Shield of Hercules" and two hundred tales (of what is not specified) and has pub- lishetl his correspondence with the celebrated George of Tre- bizond, his cotemporary. Meletius, a celebrated geographer ; and author of the book from whence these notices are taken. Dorotlieus, of JMitylene, an Aristotelian philosopher ; his Hellenic works are in great repute, and he is esteemed by the modems (I quote the words of Meletius) )tai ^era Tof GsKf^Jr/j ^iK/puvTo, a^aro(;'EWr,tniiv . I add further, on the au- thority of a well-informed Greek, that he was so famous amongst his countrymen, Ihatthey were accustomed to say, if Thucydides and Xenophon were wanting he was capable of repairing the loss. Marinus Count Tharboures, of Cephalonia, professor of ohemistry in the academy of Padua, and member of tliat aca*iemy and those of Stockholm and UpsaL He has publisbeil at Venice, an account of some marine animal, and a treatise on the properties of iron. Marcus, brother to the former, famous in mechanic?.— He removed to St. Petersburgh the immense rock on which the statue of Peter the Great was fixed in 1769. Se" on logic and physics. John Kamarases, a B3Zantine, has translated into French Ocellus on the Universe. He is said to be an excellent Hel- lenist, and Latin scholar. (>regorio Demetrius ])ublished, in Vienna, a geographical work : he has also translated several Italian authors, and prin- ted his versions at Venice. Of Coray and Psalida some account has been already given. 280 NOTES TO THE THIRP CANTO Or NOTES TO CANTO III. — »t**99**< — (1) fn "pride of place" here last the eagle flew. Stanzji xviii. line 6. " Pride of place" is a term of falconry, and means the high- est pitch of nii^lit. — See M;icbeth, &c. " An Eagle towering in his pride of place Was by a mousing Owl hawked at and "killed." (2) Such as Hannodius drew on Athens' tyrant lord. Stanza xx. line 9. See the famous Song on Ilarmodius and Aristogilon. The best English translation is in Bland's Anthology, by Mr. Denman. " With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," (fee. (3) And all went merry us a marriage-hell. Sianza xxi. lino 8. On the night previous to the action, it is said that a ball was given at Brussels. (4^«»»*«»— One fatal remembrance— one soivow that throws Its bleak shade alike o*et' mtr joys andnnr wi}c^= To which Life nothing darker nor Irighter mn bt'ing, For which Jo^j huth no buliu, and Affliction no ding. MOORB. No breath of air to brtjak tlig wave That roU« beneath the Atheninn'g grave, That tomb (1) which, Rleamins o'er the cliff, First greets the homeward-veerino; skilf, High o'er the land he saved in vain— When shall such hero live again ? Fair clime ! where every season smiles Benignant o'er those blessed isles, Which seen from far Colonna's height. Make ?laJ the heart that hails the sight. And lend to loneliness delight. There mildly dimpling— Ocean's cheek Reflects the tints of many a jieak Caught by the laughing tides that lave These Edens of the eastern wave : And if at times the transient breeze Break the blue crystal of the seas, Or sweep one blossom from the trees, How welcome is each gentle air. That wakes and wafts the odours there I For there — the Hose o'er crag or vale, Sultana of the Nightingale, (2) 2«I2 THE r.[Aori{. Tho m:ii(l lor wliom liis nii'lnciy — His thousand songs are heard on higii, Blooms blushingto her lover's tale; His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows, Far iVoni thewinlcrsol the west ]?y every breeze and season blest. Returns the sweets by nature given In soltest incense back to heaven ; .\nd grateful yieldsthat sniiliiigsky i Jer lairesl hue and fragrant sigh. And many a summer Hower is there, And many a shade that love might share. And many a grotto, meant for rest. That holds the pirate lor a guest; Whose bark in sheltering cove below Luvks J'or the passing peaceful prow, '1 ill i he gay niaiiner's guitar (3) Is heard, and seen the evening star ; Then stealing with the muffled oar, I'arshaded by the rocky shore. Rush the night-prowlers on the prey, And turn to groans his roundelay. Strange— that where Nature lov'd to trace, As if lor Gods a dwelling place, And every charm and grace hath mixed Within the paradise she fixed — There man enamour'd of distress, Should mar it into wilderness, And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower That tasks not one laborious hour ; Nor claims the culture of his hand To bloom along the fairy land. But springs as to preclude his care, And sweetly woos him — but to spare ! Strange that where all is peace beside. There passion riots in her pride, And lust and rapine wildly reign To darken o'er the lair domain. It is as though the fiends prevail'd Against the seraphs they assail'd. And fixed on heavenly thrones, should dwell The freed inheritors of hell — So soft the scene, so form'd for joy, So curst the tyrants that destroy ! He who hath bent him o'er the dead, Ere the first day of death is fled ; The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress ; THE GIAOUR. 2«3 (Before Decay's effacing fingprs y Have swept the lines wliere lle^ulj' lingers,) ^t-re>^ And marked the mild angelic air, — The rapture of repose that's there — The fixed yet tender traits that streak, The languor of that placid cheek, And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not — wins not — weeps not — now — And but for that chill changeless brow. Where cold Obstruction's apathy (4) Appals the gazing mourner's heart. As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon — "^'es — but ibr these and these alone. Some moments — aj'e — one treacherous hour. He still might doubt the tyrant's power. So fair — so calm —so softlj^ seal'd The first — last look — by death reveal'd (5) Such is the aspect of this shore — 'Tis Greece — but living Greece no more I So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start- for soul is wanting there. Here is the loveliness in death. That parts not quite with with parting breath; But beauty wiih that fearful bloom. That hue which haunts it to the tomb — Expression's last receding ray, / z^'' A gilded halo hovering round decay, *7A^M^^-^^^*^'^r. ' Spark of that flame — perchance of heavenly birth — ^*^^j Which gleams — bnt warms no more its cherish'd earth ! Clime of the unforgotten brave ! Whose land irom plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave — Shrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee ! Approach thou craven crouching slave — Say, is not this Thermopylae ? These waters blue that round you lave Oh servile ollspring of the free — Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes — their story not unknown — Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of your former fires, And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name oi fear, That Tyranny shall quake to hear, 2 B 2 •284 THE GIAOUR. And leave his sons a hope, a fame, Tliey too will rather die than shame ; For Freedom's b;ittle once bepjun, IJequealiifd by bleeding Sire to Son, Thoufib liallled otl is ever won. Uear witness, Greece, thy living page. Attest it many a deathless age ! AViiile kinsfs in dusty darkness hid. Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes— though the general doom Hath swept the column irom the tomb, A mightier monument command, Tlie mountains of their native land ! There points thy muse to stranger's eye, Tbe graves of those that cannot die ! ^ 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace. Each step Iroui splendour to disgrace, Enough — no foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell. And self-abasement pav'd the way To villain-bonds and despot-sway. What can he tell who treads thy shore ? No legend of thine olden time, No theme on which the muse might soar, High as tliine own in days of yore^ When man was worthy of thy clime. The hearts within thy valleys bred, The fiery souls that might have led Thy sons to deeds sublime ; Now crawl from cradle to the grave, Slaves— nay the boudsmen of a slave, (6) And callous, save to crime ; Stained with each evil which pollutes Mankind, where least above the brutes; Without even savage virtue blest, Without one free or valiant breast. Still to the neighbouring ports they waft Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft. In this the subtle Greek is found. For this, and this alone, renown'd. In vain might Liberty invoke 'I'he spirit to its bondage broke. Or raise the neck that courts the 3oke : No more her sorrow I bewail, Yet this will be a mournful tale. And Ihev who listen may believe, Who heard it first had cause to grieve. THE GIAOUR. 295 Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing, The shadows of the rock advancing, Start on the fisher's eye like boat Of island-pirate or Mainote ; And fearful for his light caique He shuns the near but doubtful creek. Though worn and weary with his toil. And cuniber'd with his scaly spoil, Slowly, yet strongly, plies the oar. Till Port Leone's safer shore Receives him by the lovely light That best becomes an Eastern night. Who thundering comes on blackest steed ? With slacken'd bit and hoof of speed. Beneath the clattering iron's sound The cavern'd echoes wake around In lash for lash, and bound for bound ; The foam that streaks the courser's side, Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide : And though to-morrow's tempest lower, 'Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour! (T) I know thee not, I loath thy race, But in thy lineaments T trace What time shall strengthen, not eftace ; Though young and pale, that sallow front Is scath'd by fiery passion's brunt, Though bent on earth thine evil eye As meteor-like thou glidest by, Right well I view, and deem thee one Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. On^on he hastened — and he drew My gaze of wonder as he fiew : Thougli like a demon of the night He pxssed and vanished from my sight ; His aspect and his air impressed A troubled memoiy on my breast ; And long upon my startled ear Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. He spurs his steed — he nears the steep — That jutting shadows o'er the deep — He winds around — he hurries by — The rock relieves him from mii\e eye— For well 1 ween unwelcome lie Whose glance is fixed on those that flee ; And not a star but sliines too bright On him v.ho takes such timeless flight. 29tf THE GIAOUR. He wound along — but ere be passed One glance he snatched — as If his last, A moment checked his wheeling steed — A moment breathed him from his speed — A moment on his stirrup stood — Why looks he o'er the olive wood ? — The crescent glimmers on the hill, The Mosque's high lamps are quivering still ; Though too remote for sound to wake In echoes of the far tophaike, (8) The flashes of each jojous peal Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal. To-night — set Rhamazani's sun — To-night —the Bairam feast's begun — To-night — but who and what art thou Of foreign garb and fearful brow ? And what are these to thine or thee, That thou should'st either pause or flee ? He stood — some dread was on his face — Soon Hatred settled in its place — It rose not with the reddening flush Of transient Anger's darkening blush, But pale as marble o'er the tomb, Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. His brow was bent — his eye was glazed — He raised his arm, and fiercely raised ; And sternly shook his hand on high, As doubting to return or fly ; — Impatient of his flight delayed. Here loud his raven charger neighed — Down glanced that hand, and grasped his bladi That sound had burst his waking dream, As Slumber starts at owlet's scream. — The spur hath lanced his courser's sides — Away — away — for life he ritles — Swift as the hurled on high jerreed, (9) - Springs to the touch his startled steed. The rock is doubled — and the shore Shakes with the clattering tramp no more — The crag is won — no more is seen His Christian crest and haughty mien. — 'Twas but an instant — though so long When thus dilated in my song — 'Twas but an instant that he stood, Then sped as if by death pursued ; But in that instant, o'er his soul Winters of Memory seem'd to roll ; And gather in that drop of time A life of pain, an age of crime. THE GIAOUR. -"J" O'er him who loves, or hnfes, or Tears Such moment pours the ij;rief of years — ■\Vhat felt he tlien— at once opprest By all that most distracts the breast? That pause— which pondered o'er his fate, Oh, who its dreary length shall date ! Though in Time's record nearly nought, It was Eternity to Thought ! For infinite as boundless space The thought that Conscience must embrace. Which in itself can comprehend Woe without name — or hope — or end. — The hour is past, the Giaour is gone, And did he fly or fall alone ? Woe to that hour he came or went, The curse of Hassan's sin was sent To turn a palace to a tomb ; He came, he went, like the Simoom (10) That harbinger of fate and gloom. Beneath whose widely- wasting breath The very cypress droops to death — Dark tree— .still sad, when others' grief is fled, The only constant mourner o'er the dead ! The steed is vanished from the stall No serf is seen in Hassan's hall ; The lonely Spider's thin grey pall Waves slowly widening o'er the wall ; The Bat builds in his Haram bower ; And in the fortress of his power The Owl usurps the beacon-tower; The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim. With baffled thirst, and hunger, grim. For the stream hiis shrunk from its marble bed. Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread- 'Twas sweet of yore to see it play And chase the sultriness of diay — As springing high the silver dew In whirls fantastically flew. And flung luxurious coolness round The air, and verdure o'er the ground.— 'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright, To view the wave of watery light, And hear its melody by night. — And oft had Hassan's Childhood played Around the verge of that cascade ; And oft had Hassan's Youth along It's bank been sootluid by beauty's song; And softer seemed each melting tone Of Music mingled with its own. — 298 THE GIAOUR. But ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose Along the brink at Twilight's close — The stream that filled that font is fled— The blood that warmed his heart is shed ! — And here no more shall human voice Be heard to rage — regret — rejoice — The last sad note that swelled the gale Was woman's wildest funeral wail — That quenched in silence — all is still, But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill- Though raves the gust, and floods the rain, No hand shall close its clasp again. On desart sands 'twere joy to scan, The rudest steps of fellow man. So here the very voice of Grief Might w'ake an Echo like relief — At least 'twould say, " all are not gone ; " There lingers Lile, though but in one"— For many a gilded chamber's there, Unmeet for solitude to share ; Within that dome as yet Decay Hath slowly worked her cankering way— But gloom is gathered o'er the gate, Nor there the Fakir's self will wait ; Nor there will wandering Dervise stay. For Bounty cheers not his delay : Nor there will weary stranger halt To share the sacred "bread and salt." (11) Alike must VVealth and Poverty Pass heedless and unheeded by, For Courtesy and Pity died With Hassan on the mountain side. — His roof — that refuge unto men — Is Desolation's hungry den. — The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour ' Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre ! (12) I hear the sound of coming feet, But not a voice mine ear to greet — More near — each turban I can scan. And silver- sheathed ataghan ; (13) The foremost of the band is seen An Emir by his garb of green : (H) " Ho ! who art thou ?— this low salam (15) " Replies of Moslem faith I am. " The burthen ye so gently bear, " Seems one that claims your utmost care, THE GIAOUR. 299 " And, doubtless, holds some precious freight, " My humble bark would gladly wait. " Thou speakest sooth, tby skiff unmoor, " And waft us from the silent shore ; •' Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply " The nearest oar that's scatter'd by, " And midway to those rocks where sleep " The channell'd waters dark and deep — " Rest from your task— so— bravely done,. " Our course has been right swiftly run. " Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow, " That one of— • • • • Sullen It plunged, and slowly sank. The calm was rippled to the bank ; I watch'd it as it sank, methought Some motion from the current caught Bestirr'd it more,— 'twas but the beam That checquer'd o'er the living stream — I gazed, still vanishing from view. Like lessening pebble U withdrew ; Still less and less a speck of white That gemm'd the tide, then mock'd the sight ; And all its hidden secrets sleep. Known but to Genii of the deep. Which trembling in their coral caves. They dare not whisper to the waves. As rising on its purple wing The insect-queen (16) of eastern spring. O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer Invites the young pursuer near. And leads him on from flower to flower A weary chase and wasted hour. Then leaves him, as if soars on high With panting heart and tearful eye : So Beauty lures the full grown child With hue as bright, and wing as wild ; A chase of idle hopes and fears. Begun in folly, closed in tears. If won, to equal ills betrayed. Woe waits the insect and the maid, A life of pain, the loss of peace. From infant's play, and man's caprice : The lovely toy so fiercely sought Hath lost its charm by being caught ; 300 THE GIAOUR. For every (ouch that wooed its stay Hath hriishVl its hriglitesl hues awiiy, Till cliaini, and hue, aud beauty gone, 'Tis let to fly or fall alone. W'Mi wounded wine;, or bleedinf); breast, Ah ! where shall either victim rest ? Can this witii laded pinion soar From rose to tulip as before ? Or Beauty, blighted in an hour, Find joy within her broken bower? No : gayer insects fluttering by Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die. And lovelier things have mercy shewn To every failing but their own. And every woe a tear can claim Except an, erring sister's shame. The mind, that broods o'er guilty woes, Is like the Scorpion girt by fire. In circle narrowing as it glows The flames around their captive close, Till inly searched by thousand throes, And maddening in her ire. One sad and sole relief she knows. The sting she nourished for her foes. Whose venom never yet was vain. Gives but one pang, and cures all pain. And darts into her desperate brain. — So do the dark in soul expire. Or live like Scorpion girt by fire— (17) So writhes the mind Remorse halh riven. Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heav'n. Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death ! — Black Hassan from the Haram flies. Nor bends on woman's form his eyes. The unwonted chase each hour employs, Yet shares he not the hunter's joys. Not thus wjis Hassan wont to fly When Leila dwell in his Serai, Doth Leila there no longer dwell ? That tale can only Hassan tell ? Strange rumours in our city say I'pon that eve she fled away. When Rhamazan's (IS) la.st sun was set, And flashiiig from each miaarct ' THE GIAOUR. 301 Millions of lamps proclaimed the feast Of Bairam through the boundless East. 'Twas then she went as to the bath, Which Hassan vainly search'd in wrath. For she was flown her master's rage In likeness of a Georgian page ; And far beyond the Moslem's power Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaour, Somewhat of this had Hassan deem'd, But still so fond, so fair she seem'd, Too well he trusted to the slave Whose treachery deserved a grave : And on that eve had gone to mosque. And thence to feast in his kiosk, Such is the tale his Nubians tell, Who did not watch their charge too well ; But others say, that on that night. By pale Phingari's (19) trembling light. The Giaour upon his jet black steed Was seen, but seen alone to speed With bloody spur along the shore, Nor maid nor page behind him bore. Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell, But look on those of the Gazelle, It will assist thy fancy well : As large, as languishingly dark. But Soul beamed forth in every spark That darted from beneath the lid. Bright as the jewel of Giamschid. (20) Yea, Soul, and should our prophet say That form was nought but breathing clay, By Alia ! I would answer nay ; Though on Al-Sirat's (21) arch I stood, Which totters o'er the fiery flood, With Paradise within my view. And all his Houris beckoning through. Oh ! who young Leila's glance could read And keep that portion of his creed (22) Which saith, that woman is but dust, A soulless toy for tyrant's lust? On her might Muftis gaze, and own That through her eye the immortal shone — On her fair cheeks unfading hue, The young pomegranate's (23) blossoms strew Their bloom in bushes ever new — Her hair in hyacinthine (24) flow 2 C ;!02 THE GIAOUR. WIk'ii left to roll its folds below ; As midst her handimiids in the hall She stood superior to them all, Hath swept the marble where her feet Gleamed whiter than the mountain sleet Ere from the cloud that gave it birth, It fell, and caught one stain of earth ; The cygnet nobly walks the water- So moved on earth Circassia's daughter— The loveliest bird of Franguestan ! (25) As rears her crest the ruffied Swan, And spurns the wave with wings of pride, AVhen pass the steps of stranger man Along the banks that bound her tide ; Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck Thus armed with beauty would she check Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze Shrvmk from the charms it meant to praise. Thus high and gracel'ul washer gait ; Her heart as tender to her mate ; Her mate— stern Hassan, who was he ? Alas ! that name was not for thee ! Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en With twenty vassals in his train, Each armed as best becomes a man. With arquebuss and ataghan ; The chief before, as decked for war, Bears in his belt the scimitar Stained with the best of Arnaout blood, When in the pass the rebels stood, And few returned to tell the tale Of what befell in Fame's vale, The pistols which his girdle bore Were those that once a pasha wore. Which still though gemmed and bossed with gold. Even robbers tremble to behold. 'Tis said, he goes to woo a bride More true than her who left his side ; The faithless slave that broke her bower, And worse than faithless, for a Giaour ! The sun's last rays are on the hill. And sparkle in the fountain rill. Whose welcome waters, cool and clear ; Draw blessings from the mountaineer : THE GIAOUR. 302 Here may the loiterini^ merchant Greek Find that repose 'twere vain to seek In cities lodged too near his lord, And trembling for his secret hoard — Here may he rest where none can see, In crowds a slava, in deserts free ; And with forbidden wine may stain The bowl a Moslem must not drain. The foremost Tartar's in the gap, Conspicuous by his yellow cap ; The rest in lengthening line the while Wind slowly through the long defile ; Above, the mountain rears a peak, Where vultures whet their thirsty beak, And their's may be a feast to night, Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light ; Beneath, a river's wintry stream Has shrunk before the summer beam, And left a channel bleak and bare, Save shrubs that spring to perish tliere ; Each side the midway path there lay Small broken crags of granite grey, By time, or mountain lightning, riven From summits clad in mists of heaven ; For where is he that hath beheld The peak of Liakura unveiled ? They reach the grove of pine at last, " Bismillah ! (26 j now the peril's past; " For yonder view the opening plain, " And there we'll prick our steeds amain ;" The Chiaus spake, and as he said, A bullet whistled o'er his head ; The foremost Tartar bites the ground ! Scarce had they time to check the rein Swift from their steeds the riders bound. But three shall never mount again, Unseen the foes that gave the wound, The dying ask revenge in vain. With steel unsheath'd, and carbine bent, Some o'er their courser's harness leant, Half sheltered by the steed. Some fly behind the nearest rock. And there await the coming shock, Nor tamely stand to bleed 504 THE GIAOUR. Uent'ulh llie sliafi of foes nnseen, Who (lave not quit their craggy screen. Stern Hassan only from his horse Disdains fo licjlit, nnil keeps bis course, Till liery flashes in the van Proclaim too sure the rohher's clan Have well seenr'd the only way Could now avail the promis'd prey ; Then curl'd his very beard (-27) with ire, And glared his eye with fiercer fire. " Though far and near the bullets hiss, " I've scaped a bloodier hour than this." And now the foe their covert quit. And call his vassals to submit ; But Hassan's frown and furious word Are dreaded more tlian hostile sword" Nor of his little band a man Resigned carbine or ataghan, Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun ! (28) ]n fuller sigjit, more near and near, 'i'he lately anibush'd foes appear, And issuing from the grove, advance Some who on battle charger prance. Who leads them on with loreign brand Far flashino; in his red right hand ? " 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 1 know him now ; •' I know him by his pallid brow ; " I know him by the evil eye (29) " That aids his envious treachery : " f know him by his jet-black barb, " Though now arrayed in Arnaout garb, " Apostate from his own vile faith, " It shall not save him from the death : " 'Tis he ! well met in any hour, " Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaour !" As rolls the river into ocean, In sable torrent wildly streaming ; As the sea-tide's opposing motion. In azure column proudly gleaming, Beats back the current many a rood. In curling foam and mingling flood, While eddying whirl, and bieaking wave, Housed by the blast of winter, rave ; Though sparkling spray, in thundering clash. The lightnings of the waters flash In awful whiteness o'er the shore, That shines and shakes beneath the roar ; THE GIAOUR. S'^i Tlius — as the stream and ocean greet, With waves that niaddeH as they meet — Thus join the bauds, whom mutual wrong, Andtate, and fury, drive along, The bicliering salires' shivering jar ; And peaJing wide or ringing near Its echoes on tlie (hrol)l)ing ear, Tile death-shot hissing i'rom afar; Tlie shock, the shout, tlie groan of war, lleverlierate along that vale, More suited to the shepherd's tale : Though few the numbers — their's the strife. That 'neither spares nor speaks for life ! Ah ! fondly youthful hearts can press, To seize and share the dear caress j But Love itself could never pant For all that Beauty siglis to grant, With half the fervour Ilate bestows Upon tile last embrace of fues, Wlien grappling in tiie fight they fold Tiiose arms that ne'er shall lose their hold : Friends meet to part ; Love laughs at faith ; True k)es, once met, are joinM till death. With sabre shiver'd to the hilt. Yet dripping with the blood he spilt; Yet strained within the sever'd hand VV'hich quivers round the faithless brand : His turban far behind him roll'd, And cleft in twain its firmest fold ; His flowing robe by falchion torn And crimson as those clouds of morn That, streaked witli dusky red, portend The day shall have a stormy end ; A stain on every bush that bore A fragment of his palampore, (39) His breast with wounds unnuuiber'd riven. His back to earth, his face to heaven, Fall'n Hassan lies — his unclosed eye Vet lowering on his enemj-. As if the hour that seal'd his fate Surviving lelt his quenchless liale ; And o'er him bends that foe with brow As dark as his that bled below— " Yes, Leila sleeps beneath li.' wave, " But his shall be a redder gra^e ; 2 C 2 306 THE GIAOUR. " Her spirit pointed well the steel " Which taught that felon heart to feel. " He called the Prophet, but his power " Wa-s vain against the vengeful Giaour: •' He called on Alia — but the word " Arose unheeded and unheard. " Thou Paynim fool ! could Leila's prayer " Be pa.'s'd, and thine accorded there ? " I watch'd mj- time, I leagued with these, " The traiiov in his turn to seize ; " My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done, " And now I go — but go alone." • * • » • • The browsing camels' bells are tinkling: His mother looked from h;^r lattice high — She saw the dews of eve besprinkling The pasture green beneath her eye, She saw the planets faintly twinkling ; " 'Tis twilight— sure his train is nigh." She could not rest in the garden-bower. But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower " Why comes he not ? his steeds are fleet, " Nor shrink they from the summer heat ; " Why sends not tlie bridegi-oom his promis'd gift : " Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift ? " Oh, false reproach ! jon Tartar now " Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow, " And warily the steep descends, " And now within the valley bends ; " And he bears the gift at his saddle bow — " How could I deem his courser slow ? " Right well my largess shall repay " His welcome speed, and weary way." The Tartar 'lighted at the gate. But scarce upheld his fainting weight : His swarthy visage spake distress. But this might be from weariness ; His garb wilh sanguine spots was dyed. But these might be from his courser's side ; He drew the token from his vest — Anr?el of Death ! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest! His calpac (HI) rent — his caftan red — " Lady, a fearful l)ride thy son hath wed : " Me, not from mercy, did they spare, " But this empurpled pledge to bear. " Peace to the brave ! whose blood is spilt : " Woe to the Giaour I for his the guilt." THE GIAOUR. 307 A turban (42) carved in coarsest stone, A pillar witii rank weeds o'ergrown, Whereon can now be scarcely read The Koran verse that mourns the dead, Point out the spot where Hassan fell A victim in that lonely dell. There sleeps as true an Osmanlie As e'er at Mecca bent the knee ; As ever scorn "d forbidden wine, Or pray'd with face towards the shrine. In orisons resumed anew At solemn solemn sound of " Alia Hu !" (33) Yet died he by a stranger's hand, And stranger in his native land ; Yet died he as in arms he stood, And unavenged, at least in blood. But him the maids of Paradise Impatient to their balls invite, And the dark heaven of Houri's eyes On him shall glance for ever bright ; They come— their kerchiefs green they wave, (34) And welcome with a kiss the brave ! Who fall in battle 'gainst a Giaour Is worthiest an immortal bower. But thou, false Infidel ! shalt writhe ; Beneath avenging Moiikir's (3.5) scythe ; And from its torment 'scape alone To wander round lost Eblis' (36) throne ; And fire iinquenched, unquenchable, Around, williin, thy heart shall dwell ; Nor ear can hear, nor tongue can tell, The tortures of that inward hell ! But first, on earth as Vampire (3T) sent, Thy cor-e shall from its tomb be rent : Then glia^tl}- haunt thy native place. And suck the blood of all thy race ; Th'jre from Ihy daughter, sister, wife. At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the ban(iuet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse ; Thy victims, ere they yet expire, Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them. Thy flowers are withered on the stem. But one that for tliy crime must fall. The youngest, mo4 beloved of all, Shall bless thee with a fatlier's name — That word shall wrap thy heart in flame ! 308 THE GIAOUR. Yet must thou end thy task, and mark Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark, And the last glassy glance must view Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue ; Then with unhallowed band shall tear The tresses of her yellow hair, Of which in life a lock when shorn Affection's fondest pledge was worn ; But now is borne away by thee. Memorial of thine agony ! Wet with thine own best blood shall drip (36) Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip ; Then stalking to thy sullen grave. Go— and with Gouls and Afrits rave; Till these in horror shrink away From spectre more accursed than they ! " How name j-e jon lone Caloyer ? " His features I have scatnied before " In mine own land : 'tis many a year, *' Since, dashing by the lonely shore, " I saw him urge as fleet a steed " As ever served a horseman's need. "But once I saw that face, yet then " It was so marked with inward pain, " I could not pass it by again ; " It breathes the same dark spirit now, " As death were stamped upon his brow." " 'Tis twice three years at summer tide " Since first among our I'reres he came ; " And here it soothes him to al)ide " For some dark deed he will not name. " But never at our vesper prayer, " Nor e'er before confession chair " Kneels he, or recks he when arise " Incense or anthem to the skies, " But broods within his cell alone, " His faith and race alike unknown. " The sea from Paynim land he crost, " And here ascended from the coast; " Yet seems he not of Othman race, " But only Christian in his fare : " I'd judge him some stray renegade, " Repentant of the change lie made, " Save that he shuns our holy shrine, " Nor tasks 14je sacred bread and wine ; , THE GIAOUR. 30^ " Great largess to these walls be brought, " And thus our Abbot's favour bought ; " But were I a prior, not a day " Should brook such stranger's further stay, " Or pent within our penance cell, " Should doom him there for aye to dwell ; " Much in his visions mutters he " Of maiden 'whelmed beneath the sea ; " Of sabres clashing, foemen flying, " M'^rongs avenged, and Moslem dying. " On cliff he halh been known to stand, " And rave as to some bloody hand " Fresh severed from its parent limb, " Invisible to all but him, " Which beckons onward to his grave, " And lures to leap into the wave." Dark and unearthly is the scowl That glares beneath his dusky cowl ; The flash of that dilating eye Reveals too much of times gone by ; Though varying, indistinct it's hue. Oft will his glance the gazer rue, For in it lurks that nameless spell Which speaks, itself unspeakable, A spirit yet unquelled and high, That claims and keeps ascendancy. And like the bird whose pinions quake, But cannot fly the gazing snake. Till other quails beneath his look. Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook, From him the half affrighted Friar, When met alone, would fain retire As if that eye and bitter smile Transferred to others fear and guile. Not oft to smile descendeth he. And when he doth Mis sad to see That he but mocks at misery. How that pale lip will curl and quiver ! Then fix once more as if for ever ; As if his sorrow or disdain Forbade him e'er to smile again. Well were it so— such ghastly mirth From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth. But sadder still it were to trace What once were feelings in that face : Time hath not yet the features fixed ; But brighter traits with evil mixed, 310 THE GIAOUR. A nd there are hues not nlways faded, Which speak a mind not all degraded Even by the crimes through which it waded ; The common crowd but see the gloom Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom ; The close observer can espy A noble soul, and lineage high ; Alas ! though both bestowed in vain, Which Grief can change, and Guilt could stain. ft was no vulgar tenement To which sucii lofty gifts were lenf^ And still with lillle less than dread On such the sight was riveted. The roofless cot, decayed and rent, Will scarcely delay the passer by u The tower by war or tempest bent, While yet may frown one battlement, Demands and taunts (he stranger's eye ; Each ivied arch, and pillar lone, Pleads haughtily for glories gone ! " His floating robe around him folding, " Slow sleeps he through the columned aisle ; " With dread beheld, with gloom beholding " The rites that sanctify the pile. " But when the anthem shakes the choir, "And kneel the monks, his steps retire ; " By yonder lone and wavering torch " His aspect glares within the porch ; " There will he pause till all is done — " And hear the prayer, but utter none. " See — by the half illumined wall " His hood fly back, his dark hair fall, " That pale brow wildly wreathing round, " As if the Gorgon there had bound " The sablest of the serpent-braid " That o'er her fearful forehead strayed : " For he declines the convent oath, " And leaves those locks unhallowed growth, " But wears our garb in all beside j " And, not from piety but pride, " Gives wealth to walls that never heard " Of his one holy vow nor word. " Lo .' — mark ye, as the harmony " Peals louder praises to the sky, " That livid cheek, that stony aiiu " Of mix'd defiance and despair f " Saint Francis keep him him from the shrine ! THE GIAOUR. 311 "Else may we dread the wrath divine " Made manifest by awful sign. " If ever evil angel bore " The form of mortal, such he wore ! " By all my hope of sins forgiven, " Such looks are not of earth nor heaven ! To love the softest hearts are prone, But such can ne'er be all his own : Too timid in his woes to share, Too meek to meet, or brave despair ; And sterner hearts alone may feel The wound that time can never heal. The rugged metal of the mine Must burn before its surface shine, But plunged within the furnace flame, It bends and melts — though still the same : Then temper'd to thy want, or will, 'Twill serve thee to defend or kill ; A breast plate for thine hour of need. Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed ; But if a dagger's form it bear. Let those who shape its edge beware ! Thus passion's fire, and woman's heart. Can turn and tame the sterner heart: From these its form and tone are ta'en. And what they make it must remain, But break — before it bend again. If solitude succeed to grief. Release from pain is slight relief; • The vacant bosom's wilderness Might thank the pang that made it less. We loathe what none are left to share : Eren bliss — 'twere woe alone to bear j The heart once left thus desolate Must fly at last for ease — to hate. ft is as if the dead could feel The icy worm around them steal. And shudder as the reptiles creep To revel o'er their rotting sleep, Without the power to scare away The cold consumers of their clay ; It is as if the desert bird, (39) Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream To still her famish'd nestlings' scream, Nor mourns a life to them transferred, 312 THE GIAOUR. Should rend her rash devoted breast, And find them flown her empty nest. The keenest pangs.the wretched And Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemploy'd. Who would be doom'd to gaze upon A sky without a cloud or sun ? \ Lefs hideous I'ar the tempest's roar Than ne'er to brave (he billows more — ThrowMi, when the war of winds is o'er, A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, 'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay. Unseen to drop by dull decay ; — Better to sink beneath the shock, «■ Than moulder piecemeal on the rock ! " Father ! thy days have passed in peace, " Mid counted beads, and countless prayer ; " To bid the sins of others cease, " Thyself without a crime or care, "Save transient ills that all must bear, " Has been thy lot from youth to age ; " And thou wilt bless thee from the rage " Of passions fierce and uncontroU'd, " Such as the penitents unfold, " Whose secret sins and sorrows rest " Within thy pure and pitying breast. " My days, though few, have pass'd below, " In much of joy, but more of woe ; " Yet still in hours of love or strife, " I've 'scaped the weariness of life; " Now leagued with friends, now girt by foe " 1 loathed the languor of repose. " Now nothing left to love or hate, " No more with hope or pride elate, " I'd rather be the the thing that crawls " Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls, " Than pass my dull, unvarying days, " Condemn'd to meditate and gaze. " Yet, lurks a wish within my breast " For rest — but not to feel 'tis rest. •' Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil ; " And I shall sleep without the dream " Of what I was, and would be still, " Dark as to thee my deeds may seem : THE GIAOUR. 3TS "■' M.v mpmor)' now is l)ut tbetomb *' Ol jnjs lon^ tlcacl ; my liope, their iloom : ■" Tt»uii)' — need I mom; / *' I loved her, frlai' : nay, adored— " Hat these are words that all can use— " I proved it more in deed than word ; *' There's blood upon that dinted sword, " A stain its steel can never lose : " 'Twas .-bed for her who died for me, " It wiirm'd the heart of one abhorr'J ; "Nay, start not— no— nor bend lliy knee, " Nor 'midst my sins such act record ; " ThoH wilt absolve me from the deed, " For he was hostile to thy creed ! *' The v <' And stung my every thought to strife. " Alike all time, abhor'd all place, " Shuddering- I shrunk from Nature's face, <' Where every hue that charmed before '< The blackness of my bosom wore, " The rest thou dost already know, « And all my sins, and half my woe, " But talk no more of penitence ; «< Thou see'st I soon shall part from hence : " And if thy holy tale were true, " The deed that's done canst thou undo ? « Think me not thankless— but this grief « Lo'oks not to priesthood for relief. (41) <' My soul's estate in secret guess ; <'But would'st thou pity more, say less. " When thou canst bid my Leila live, " Then will I sue thee to forgive ! " Then plead my cause in that high place <' Where purchased masses proffer grace. " Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung " From forest-cave her shrieking young, " And calm the lonely lioness : " But soothe not — mock not my distress ! « In earlier days and calmer hours, " When heart with heart delights to blend, " Where bloom my native valley's bowers " I had —Ah ! have I now ? a friend ! " To him this pledge I charge thee send, " Memorial of a youthful vow ; " I would remind him of my end : <' Though souls absorbed like mine allow " Brief thought to distant frienship's claim, «' Yet dear to him my blighted name. " 'Tis strange— he prophesied my doom, " And 1 have smiled~I then could smile — " When Prudence would bis voice assume, " And warn— I reck'd not what— the while : " But now remembrance whispers o'er "Those accents scarcely mark'd before. « Say — that his bodings came to pass, " And he will start to hear the truth, " And wish his words had not been sooth : '• Tell him, unheeding as I was, 2 D 2 31» THE GIAOIR. " Through many ii busy bitter scene " 01 all our golden youlli liud been, " In pain, my lalteriiig loiicrne had tried " To bless his memory ere I ilied ; " But heaven iu wrath would turn away, " If Guilt should lor the puiUless pruy, " I do not ask him not to blame, " Too gentle he to wound my name ; " And what have I to do witii lame ? " F do not iisk him not to mourn, " Such cold request niiffht sound like scorn ; " And what than friendship's manly tear " May better grace a brother's bier? " But bear this ring, his own of old, " And tell him — wiiul thou dost behold ! " The wither'd frame, the ruin'd mind, «' The wreck by passion left behind, " A shrivell'd scroll, a seatter'd leaf, " Seur'd by the autumn blast ol grief ! " Tell me no more of fancj's gleam, ^' No, father, no, 'twas not a dream ; " Alas ! the dreamer first must sleep, " 1 only watch'd, and wish'd to weep ; " But could not, for my burning brow " Throbh'd to the very brain as now : " I wish'd but for a single tear, " As something welcome, jiew, and dear: " I wish'd it then, I wish it still, "Despair is stronger than my will. " Waste not thine orison, despair " Is mightier than thy pious prayer; " I would not if I might, be blest : " I want no paradise, but rest. " 'Twas then, I tell thee, father ! then " I saw her : yes, she lived again ; " And shining in het white symar, (42) " As through yon pale grey cloud the star " Which now 1 gaze on, as on her, *' Who look'd ami looks far lovelier, " Dimly I view its trembling spark, " To-morrow's night shall be more dark; " And I before its rays ajjpear, " That lifeless thing the living fear. " I wander, father ! for my soul " Is fleeting towards its final goal. " I saw her, friar, and I rose " Forgetful of our former vvoes; THE GIAOUR. 319 " Ami rushing lioni my couch, I dart, " Anil clasi) lier lo my despersiti- heart ; " I chisi)— what is it 'that 1 clasp : " No breathing I'orm within my srasp, "No heart that beats reply to mine, " Vet, LeilH ! yet the form is thine ! " And art thou, dearest, changed so much. " As meet my eye, yet mork my touch ? " Ah ! were thy beauties e'er so cold, " I care not, so my amis enlold " 'ilie all they ever wish'd to hold. " Alas! around a shadow prest, " 'I'hey shrink upon my lonely breast ; " Yet still 'Us there ! in silence stands, " And beckons with beseeching hands ! " With braided hair, and bright-black eye— " 1 knew 'twc.s lalse — she could not die ! " Rut he is de&tl ! within the deU " I saw him buried where he fell " He comes not, lor he cannot break " From earth : why then art thou awake? " They told me wild waves roU'd above " The face I view, the form I love ; " Tliey told me — 'twas a hideous tale ; " I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail, " If true, and from thine ocean-cave " Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave ; " Oil ! pass thy dewy fingers o'er " This brow, that then will burn no more ; " Or place them on my hopeless heart '< But, shape or shade : whate'er thou art, " In nier(>. The flowered shawls generally worn hy persons of rank. HI. The "Calpac" is tlie solid cap, or centre part ol tlie liead-dress ; the shawl is wound round it, and lornis the tuiiiaii.- '.i2. The turban, pillar, and inscriptive verse, decorate the tombs of the Osmanlies, whether in the cemetery or the wild- erness. Ill the mountains you frequently pass similar memen- tos ; and on iiKjuiry you are iiiforined, tiiat the} record some victim of rebellion, plunder, or revenge. 33. "AllaHu!" the concluding words of the Muezzin's call to prayer from tlie highest gallerj- on the exterior of the iMinaret. On a still evening, when the Muezzin has a fine voice, which is frequently tlie case, the elfect is solemn and beautiful beyond all the bells in Christendom. 3f. The following is a part of a battle song of the Turks : " i see — 1 ;-ee a dark-eyed girl of Paradise, and she waves a " liaiidkerchief, a kerchief of green j and cries «loud, Come, " kiss nie, for I love thee," &c. 35. Monkir and Nekir are the inquisitors of the dead, before whom the corpse undergoes a slight noviciate and prepa- ratory training for daniiutlion. If the answers are none of the clearest, he is hauled up with a scj-the and thumped down Willi a red hot mace till properly seasoned, with a variety ol subsidiary probations. The olHce of these angels is no sine- cure ; there are but two, and the number of the orthodox deceased being a small proportion to the remainder, their hands are always full. 36. Eblis, the original Prince of Darkness. 37. The Vampire superstition is still general in the Levant. Honest Tournelort tells a long story, which Mr. Southey, in Uuf notes on Tliaiaba, quotes, about these " \'roiirolochas" as he calls them. The llomaic term is *' Vardoulacha." I recollect a whole family being terrified at the scream of a child, which they imagined must proceed from such a visita- liou. The Greeks never mention the word without horror. I find that " HioiH-olokas" is an old legiliinate lleUeiiic appel- KOTES TO THS GIAOUR. 325 lAtion — at least is so applied to Arsenius, who, -according to the Greeks, was after his death animated by the Devil. — The moderns, however, use the word I mention. .38. The freshness, of the face, and the wetness of the lip with blood, are the never-failing signs of a Vampire. The stories toki in Hungary and Greece of these foul feeders are singular, and some of them most incredibly attested. 39. The .pelican is, I believe, the bird so libelled, by the imputation of feeding her chickens with her blood. 40. This superstition of a second-hearing (for I never met with downright second-sight in the Eiist) fell once under my own observation. — On my third journey to Cape Colonna, early in ISll, as we passed through the defile that leads from the hamlet between Keratia and Colonna, I observed Dervish Tahiri riding rather out of the path, and leaning his head upon his hand, as if in pain. I rode up and inquired. " We are in jjeril," he answered. " What peril? we are not now in Albania nor in the passes to Ephesus, Messalunghi, or Lepanto; there are jjlenty of us, well armed, and the Choriates have not cou- rage to he thieves."—" True, Aiiendi, but nevertheless the shot is ringing in my ears" — "The shot! not a tophaike has been fired this morning." — "I hear it notwithstanding — Bom Bom — as plain as I hear jour voice" — " Psha." — " As you .ple-ase, Allendi ; if it is written, so it will be." — I left this quick- eared predestinarian, and rode up to Baslli, his Christian com- patriot, whose ears, (hough not at all prophetic, by no means relished the intelligence. We all arrived at Colonna, remained some hours, and returned leisurely, saying a variety of brilliant thuigs, in more languages than spoiled the building of Babel, upon the mistaken seer: Romaic, Arnaout, Turkish, Italian, and English were all exercised, in various conceits, ujkui llie uniortunate Mussulman. While we were contempla- ting the beautiful prosect, Dervish was occupied about tbp columns. — I thought he was deranged into an antiquarian, and asked him if he h.id become a " Palao-casfro" miin : "No," said he, " but these pillars will be uselul in making a stand :" and aihled other remarks, which at least evinced his own belief in his troublesome faculty ni fon-hcuring. On our return lo Alliens, we heard from Leone (a prisoner set ashore some daj-s after) of the intended attack of the Mainotes^ mentioned, witJi the cause of its not taking place, in the notes to Childe Harold, Canto H. — I was at some pains to question the man, and he described the dresses, arms, and marks of the horses of our party so accurately, that, with other circumstances, we could not doubt of /«■* having been in "villainous company," and ourselves in a bad neighbourhood. Dervish became a sooth- 2 E 326 KOTES TO THE GIAOUR. 5;;yer for life, and I dare siiy is now hearinoj more niusquefrj' llinn ev«r will be fired, to the great refreshment of tiie Arnc- outs of Berat and his native mountains. — I shall mention one trait more of this singular race. In March, 1811, a remarkably stout and active Arnaout came (I believe the fiftieth on the 5-iime errand) to offer himself as an attendant, which was de- rlined: "Well, Affendi," quoth he, "may you live! — you would have found me useful. I shall leave the town for tlie hills to-morrow ; in the winter 1 return, perhaps you will then receive me." Dervish, who was present, remarked as a thing of course, and of no conseqence, " In the mean time he will join the Klephtes," (robbers,) which was true to the letter. If not cut oil", they come down in the winter, and pass it un- molested in some town, where they are often as well known as their exploits. 41. The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had so little effect upon the patient, that it could have no hopes from the reader. It may be sufficient to sa)-, that it was of a custo- mary length (as may be perceived from the interruptions aud uneasiness of the penitent,) and was delivered in the usual tone of all orthodox preachers. 42. " Symar,"— Shroud. 43. The circumstance to which the above story relates \vi\f- not very uncommon in Turkey. A few years ago, the wife of Mucthar Pacha complained to his father of his son's supposed infidelity ; he asked with whom ; and she had the liarbarily to give in a list of the twelve handsomest women in Ya- iiina. They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and drowned in the lake the same niglit ! One of the guards who was l)resent inlbrmed me, that not one of the victims uttered a cry, ov shewed a symptom of terror at so sudden a wrench " from all we know, from all we love." The fate of Phrosine, the fairest of this sacrifice, is the subject of many a Romaic and Arnaout ditty. The story in tiie text is one told of a young Venetian many years ago, and now nearly forgotten. X heard it by accident recited by one of the coffee-house story- tellers, who abound in tlie Levant, and sing or recite their narratives. The additions and interpolations by the translator will be easily distinguished from the rest by the want of Eastern Imagery ; and 1 regret that my memory has retained so few fragments of the original. For the contents of some of the notes I am iiidebted partly to D'Herbelot, and partly to that eastern, and, as Mr. Weber justly entitles it, "sublime tale," the " Caliph Vathek." I *o not know from what source the author of that singular NOTES TO THE GIAOUR. .327 volume may Lave drawn his materialf? ; some of his incidents are lo be found in the " Bibliotheqiie Orientale;" but lor correctness ot costume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imifations; 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 trati-;- lation. As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it: his " Happy Valley" wiil not bear a comparison with th« " Hall of Eblis." END OP THE eiAOUB. TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. My Br.iR MOOKE, i DEDICATE to you llie liiJ-t production with which I shall trespass on public patienc?, and your indulgence, lor some years; and I own that I feel anxious to avail myself of 1h^s latest and only opportunity of adorning my pages with a name, '.-onsecrated by unshaken public principle, and the most un- doubted and various talents. While Ireland ranks yon among lb? ^iTiest of her patriots; while j-ou stand alone the first of her hards in her estimation, and Britain repeats and ratifies the decree, permit one, whose only regret, since our first acquain- tance, has been the years he had lost before it commenced, to add the humble but sincere suflrage of friendship, to the voice of more than one nation. It will at least prove to you, that I have neither forgotten the gratification derived from your society, nor abandoned the prospect of its renewal, whenever your leisure or inclination allows you to atone to j"our friends for too long an absence. It is said among those friends, I trust truly, that you are engaged in the composition of a poem ' whosi^ scene will be laid in the East ; ncie can do those scenes «o much justice. The wrongs of your own country, the mag- nificent and fiery spirit of her sons, the beauty and feeling of her da\ighters, may there be found ; and Collins, when he de- nominated his Oriental his Irish Eclogues, was not aware how true, was a part of his parallel. Your imagination will create a warmer sun, and less clouded sky ; but wlldness, tenderness, and originality are part of your national claim of oriental de- scent, to which you have already thus far proved your title. more clearly than the most zealous of your country's anti- quarians. Mny I add a few wordn on a subject on which all men ar« f'lpposed to be fluent, and none agreeable? — Self. I have written mufh, and published more than enough to demand a longer silence than I now meditate ; b\it for .some years to <'om? it is my intention to tempt no further the award of *' (iods, men, nor columns." In the present romposilion I have attempted not the most difllc\ilt, but, perhaps, ihe best adapted measure to our language, llie good old and now ne- glected hcroifc couplet. The stanza of Spencer is perhaps too slow and di^ified for narrative ; though, I confess, irt is the 2 E 2 338 DEDICATlOjr. meafiure most after m)' own heart : Scott alone, of the present generation, has hitherto completely triumphed over the fatal facility of the oclo-syllabic verse ; and this is not the least victory of his fertile and mighty p^cnias : in blank verse, Mil- ton, Thomson, and our dramatists, are the beacons that shine along the deep, but warn us from the rough and barren rock ©n which they are kindled. The heroic couplet is not the most popular measure certainly ; but as I did not deviate into t!ie other from a wish to flatter what is called public opinion, 1 shall quit it without i'urther apology, and take my chance once more with that versification, in which I have hitherto published nothing but compositions whose former circulation is part of my present, and will be of my future regret. \V'ith regard to my story, and stories in general, I should have been glad to have rendered njy personages more perfect and amiable, if possible, inasmuch as I havt* been sometimes criticised, and considered no le.s.s responsible for their deeds, and qualities than if all had been personal. Be \t so— if I have deviated into the gloomy vanity of " drawing from self," the pictures are probably like, since they are unfavourable ; and if not, those who know me are undeceived, and those who do not, I have little interest in undeceiving. I have no particular desire that any but my acquaintance should think the author better than the beings of his imagining ; but I cannot help a little surprise, and perhaps amusement, at some odd critical exceptions in the present instance, when I see severa^bards (far more deserving, I allow) in very reputable plight, and quite exempted from all participation in the faults of those heroes, who, nevertheless, might be found with little more morality than " Tiie Giaour," and perhaps — but no— I must admit Childe Harold to be a very repulsive person;ige ; and as to his identity, those v^•ho like It must give him whatever •' alias" they please. If, however, it were worth while to remove the impression, it might be of some service to me, that the man who is alike the delight of his readers and his friends, the poet of all circles, and the idol of his own, permits me here and elsewhere tu sabscribe myself, most truly, and adectionately, his obedient servant, BYRON. January 2, 181 'I. ®!)^ €m*0mv< A TAIiE. — «»*»»♦♦< — CANTO I. -I suoi pensieriin lui dormir non ponno." Tasso, Canto decimo, Gerusalcmme LiberaUt- -nessum mnc;i;;ior dolore, " Che ricordarsi del tempo felice "'Nella miseria, " Dante. I. " Oe'p. the glad waters of the dark blue sea, "Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, " Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, " Survey our empire, and beholil our home I "These are our realms, no limits to their sway — " Our flag the sceplre all who meet obej'. " Our's the wild life in tumult still to range " From (oil to rest, and joy in every change. " Oh, who can tell ? not thou, luxurious slave ! " Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; " Not thou, vain lord of w-;intonness and ease ! " Whom slumber soothes not— pleasure cannot please- *' Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, "And danced in triumpli o'er the waters wide, " The exulting sense — the pulse's maddening play, " That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way ? " That for itself can woo the approaching fight, " And turn what some deem dangor to delight : 332 THE CORSAlil. " That seeks what cravens shun with more than zanl, " And wliere the feebler faint— c;in only feel— « Peel — to the risina; bosom's inmost core, " Its hope nwalien and its spirit soar ? " No dveail of death— if with us die our foes— " S.ivc that it seems even duller than repose : " Come when it will— we snatch the life of life— « ^V'lien lost— what recks it— by disease or strife ? " Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay " Clins to liis couch, and sicken years away ; " Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head ! « 0„rs— the fresh turf, and not tlie feverish bed. " M'hilegasp by pasp he falters fortli his soul, " Our's with one paiiej— one bound— escapes contru!. " His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave, " And they who loath'd his life may gild his c:rave : i< Ours— are the tears, though few, sincerely shed, <' When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres o>ir dead. " For us, even banquets fond regret supply " In the red cup that crowns our menioiy : " And the brief epitaph in danger's day, "When those who win at length divide the prey, "And cr}-, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow " How had the brave who fell exulted mto!" ir. Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle Around the kindling watch-five rang the while; Such were the sounds that thriU'd the rocks along And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song ! In scatter'd groups upon the goliien sand, They game — carouse — converse — or whet the braml ; Select the arms — to each his blade assign, And careless eye the blood that dims its shine; Jvfpair the boat, replace the helm or oar. While others straggling muse along ihe shore ; For the wild bird the busy springes set, Or spread beneath the sim the dripping net; Gaze where some distant sail a spink supplies, With all the thirsting i>ye of Enterprise ; Tell o'er the tales of many a night of toil, And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil : No matter where — their chief's allotment this ; Theirs, to believe no (irey nor plan amiss. But who that Chikk? his name on every shore Is famed and fear'd — they ask and know no more. With these he mingles not but to comnuind ; Few are his words, but kee:^ bis eye and ii;ind. THE CORSAIR. 333 ^e'er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess, But they forgive his silence for success. Ne'er for his lip the purpling cup they fill, That goblet passes him untasted still— And for his fare — the rudest of his crew Would that, in turn, have pass'd untasted too; Earth's coarsest bread ,the garden' homeliest roots. And scarce the summer luxury of fruits. His short repast in humbleness supply With all a better hermit's board would scarce deny. But while he thus the grosser joys of sense, His mind seems nourish'dby that abstinence. "Steer to that shore!"— they sail. '-Do this !"— 'lis done : "Now form and follow me !" — the spoil is won. Thus prompt his accents and his actions still, And all obey and few inquire his will ; To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye Convey reproof, nor further deign reply. HI. " A sail ! — a sail !" — a pronaised prize to Hope ! Her nation— flag — how speaks the telescope ? No prize, alas ! — but yet a welcome sail : The blood-red signal glitters in the gale- Yes — she is ours — a home returning bark — Blow fair, thou breeze ! — she anchors ere the dark. Already doubled is the cape-^our bay Receives that prow which proudly spurn? the spray. How gloriously her gallant course she goes ! Her white wings flying — never from her foes- She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife. Who would not brave the battle fire — the wreck — To move the monarch of her peopled deck ? IV. Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings ; The sails are furl'd ; and anchoring round she swings ; And gathering loiterers on the land discern Her boat descending from the latticed stern. 'Tis mann'd— the oars keep concert to the strand, Till grates her keel upon the shallow sand. Hail to the welcome shout ! — the friendly speech ! When hand grasps hand uniting on the beach ; The smile, the (luestion, and Un; (juick reply. And the heart's promise of festivity ; ^ ■,m THE CORSAIR. The tidings .«pread, and gathering grows the crowd: The hum of voices, and the laughter loud, And woman's gentler anxious tone is heard — Friends, — husbands' — lovers' names in each dear word ; " Oh I are they safe ? we nsli not of success — " But shall we see them ? will their accents bless ? " From where th» battle roars — the billows chafe — " They doubtless boldly did — but who are safe ? " Here let them haste to gladden and surprise, "And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes I" vr. "Where is our chief ? for him we bear report — "And doubt that joy — which hails our coming — short ; " Yet thus sincere — 'tis cheering, though so brief; " But, Juan ! instant guide us to our chief: " Our greeting paid, we'll feast on our return, " And all shail hear what each may wish to learn." Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way, To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay, By bushy brake and wild flowers blossoming, And freshness breathing from each silver spring, AVhose scatter'd streams from granite basins burst, Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst ; From crag to crag they mount — Near yonder cave, What lonely straggler looks along the wave ? In pensive posture leaning on the brand, Not oft a resting-statr to that red hand ? " 'Tis he — 'tis Conrad— here — as wont — alone ; " On^Juan ! — on — and make our purpose known. " The bark hn views — and tell him we would greet " His ear with tidings he must (quickly meet : " U'e dare not yet approach — lliou know'st liis mood, " When strange or uninvited st/'ps intrude." VTI. Him Juan sought, and told of their intent — He spake not — but a sign express'd assent. These .Tuau calls — they come — to their salute He bends him slightly, but liis lips are mute. " These letters. Chief, are from the Greek— the spy, " Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh : " Whate'er his tidings, we can well report "Much that" — "Peace, peace!" — he cuts tiieir prating shorl. THE CORSAIR. SSr. Wondering tbey turn, abash'd, while each to each Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech : Thev watch his glance with many a stealing look, To gather how that eye the tidings took ; But this, as if he guess'd, with head aside, Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride. He read the scroll— " My tablets, Juan, hark — " ^^'here is Gonsalvo ?" " In the anchor'd bark." " There let liim stay — to him this order bear " Back to your duty — for my course pr<;pare : " Myself this enterprise to night will share." " To-night, Lord Conrad?" " Ay ! at set of sun : " The breeze will freshen when the day is done. " My corslet — cloak — one hour — and we are gone. " Sling on thy bugle — see that free from i itst ." My carbine-lock springs wortliy of my ;. .st ; " Be the edge sharpen'd of my boarding-braiid, " And give its guard more room to fit my iiand. " This let the Armourer with speed disjiose ; " Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes: " Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired, " To tell us when the hour of stay's expued." vin. They make obeisance, and retire in haste, Too soon to seek again the watery waste : Vet they repine not — so that Conrad guides, And who dare question aught that he decides ? That man of loneliness and mystery, Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh ; Wliose name njipals the fiercest of his crew. And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue 5 Still sways their souls with that commanding art That dazzles,, leads, jet chills the vulgar heart. What is that spell, that thus his lawless train Confess and envj , yet oppose in vain ? ^V'hat should it be, that thus their faith can bind ? The power of Thought — the magic of the Mind ! LiidvM with success, assumed and kept with skill. That moulds another's weakness to its will ; ^V^ields with their hands, but, still to these unknown. Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own. Such hath it been — shall be — beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one ! 'Tis Nature's doom— but let the wretch who toils Accuse not, hate not liiin who wears the spoils. 136 THE CORSAIR. Oh ! if ho knew the weitrht of splendid chains, How light the balance of Lis humbler pains ! IX. I'niike the heroes of each ancient race, Demons in act, but Gods at least in face, In Conrad's form seems little to admire. Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire : Robust but not Herculean— to the sight Ko giant frame sets forth his common height; Yet^ in the whole, wlio paused to look again. Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men ; They gaze and marvel how — and still confess That thus it is, but why they they cannot guess. Sun-burnt liis cheek, his forehead high and pale The sable curls in wild profusion veil ; And oft perforce his rising lip reveals The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals. Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien, Still seems there something he would not have seen : His features' deepening lines and varying hue At times attracted, yet perplexed the view. As if within that murkiness of mind Work'd feelings fearful, and yet undefined; vSuch might it be — that none could truly tell — Too close inquiry Ills slern glaiice would quell. There breathe but few whose aspect might defy The full encounter of his searching eye : He had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek. At once the observer's purpose to esp)-. And on himself roll back his scrutiny. Lest he to Conrad rather should betray Some secret lliouglit, than drag that chief's to day. There was a laugiiiiig Devil in his sneer, Tliat raised emotions both of rage -and fear ; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled— and Mercy sigh'd farewell ! X> Slight are the outward signs of evil thought, Within — ^witljin — 'twas there the spirit wrouo:].! ! LoVe shows all changes— Hate, Ambition, Guile, .Betray no lurther than the bitter smile ; Tiie lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown Along the goveru'd aspect, speak alone THE CORSAIR. 337 Of deeper passions ; and to judge their mien, He, who would see, must be himself unseen. Then — with the hurried tread, the upward eye, The clenched hand, the pause of agony, That listens, starting, lest the step too near Approach intrusive on that mood of fear : Then — with each feature working from the heart. With feelings loosed to strengthen— not depart : That rise — convulse — contend — that freeze, or glow, Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow ; Then — Stranger ! if thou canst, and tremblest not, Behold his soul — the rest that soothes his lot ! Mark — how that lone and blighted bosom sears The scathing thought of execrated years ! Behold — but who hath seen, or e'er shall «ee, Man as himself— the secret spirit free ; XI. Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent To lead the guilty — guilt's worst instrument — His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven. Warp'd by the world in Disappointment's school. In words too wise in conduct there a fool ; Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop, Doom'd by his very virtues for a dupe. He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill, And not the traitors who betray'd him still ; Nor deem'd that gifts bestowed on better men Had left him joy, and means to give again. Fear'd — shunn'd — belied — ere youth had lost her force. He hated man too much to ieel remorse. And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call, To pay the injuries of some on all. He knew himself a villain — but lie deem'd The rest no better than the thing they seem'd ; And scorn'd the best as hypocrites who hid Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did. He knew himself detested, but he knew The hearts that loathed him, crouch'd and dreaded too. Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt From all affection and from all contempt : His name could sadden, and Lis acts surprise; But they that fear'd him tiared jiot to despise : Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake The slumbering venom of the folded snake : The first m;iy turn — but not avenge the blow : The lust expires — but leaves no living foe j 2 F 338 THE CORSAIR. Fast to the doom'd ofiender's form it clings, And he may crush — not conquer — still it stings ! XII. None are all evil— quickening round his heart, One softer feeling would not yet depart ; Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled By passions worthy of a fool or child : Yet 'gainst that passion vainly still he strove, And even in him it asks the name of Love ! Yes, it was love— unchangeable — unchanged. Felt but one from whom he never ranged ; TJliough fairest captives daily met his eye, He sliunn'd, nor sought, b it coldly pass'd them by : Though many a beauty droop'd in prison'd bower, None ever sooth'd bis most unguarded hour. Yes — it was Love — if thoughts of tenderness. Tried in temptation, strengthened by distress. Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime. And yet — Oh more than all ! untired by time ; AVhich nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile, Could render sullen were she near to smile. Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent On her one murmur of his discontent ; Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part. Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart; Which nought removed, nor menacetl to remove — If there be love in mortals — this was love ! He was a villain — aj- — reproaches shower On him— but not the passion, nor its power. Which only proved, all other virtues gone. Not guilt itself could quench this loveliest one ! xin. He paused a moment— till his hastening men Pass'd the first winding downward to the glen. " Strange tidings !— many a peril liave I past, "Nor know I why this next appears the last ! " Yet so my heart forebodes, I must not fear, " Nor shall my followers find me ialter here. " 'Tis rash to meet, but surer death to wait " Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate ; " And, if my plan i)ut hold, and Fortune smile, <' We'll furnish mourners for our funeral pile. " Ay — lei, them slumber — peaceful be their dreams " Mt)rn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams '' As kindle high to-night (but blow thou breeze !) " To warm these slow avengers of the seas. THR CORSAIR. 330 " Now to Medora — oh m)' sinking heart, " Lonpjniay her own be lighter than thou art ! "Yet was I brave-mean lioast where all are brave ! "Ev'n insects sting for aught the}' seek to save. "This common courage which with brutes we share, " That owes its deadliest efforts to despair, "Small merit claims— but 'twas my nobler hope " To teach my lew with numbers still to cope ; " Long have I led them— not to vainly bleed : " No medium now — we perish or succeed ! " So let it be — it irks not me to die ; " But thus to urge them whence they cannot fl}'. " My lot hath long had little of my care, " But chafes my pride thus batlled in the snare : " Is this my skill ? my craft ? to set at last " Hope, power, and life upon a single cast? " Oh Fate ! accuse thy folly, not thy fate — " She may redeem thee still— nor yet too late." XIV. Thus with himself communion held he, till He reach'd the summit of his tower-crown 'd hill : There at the portal paused — for wild and soft He heard those accents never heard too oft ; Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung, And these the notes his bird of beauty sung : 1. " Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells. Lonely and lost to light for evermore. Save when to tliine my lieart responsive swells, Then trembles into silence as before. " There in the centre a sepulchral lamp Burns the slow flame, eternal but unseen ; Which not the darkness of despair can damp. Though vain its ray as it had never been. " Remi^mber me — Oh ! jia^s not thou my grave Without one thought whose relics thur<' recline ; The only pang my bosom dare not brave Must be to iind forgetfulness in tliine. 340 THE CORSAIR. " My foiulest— faititest — latest accents hear — Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove ; Then give me all I ever usk'd — a tear, The first— last— sole reward of so much love !" lie pass'd the portal— cross'd the corridore, And reacli'd tlie chamber as the strain gave o'er : " My own Medora ! sure thy song is sad — " " In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have it glad ? " Without thine ear to listen to my lay " Still must my song, my thoughts, my soul betray : " Still must each accent to my bosom suit," " My heart unhush'd— although my lips were mute ! " Oh ! many a night on this lone couch reclined, " My dreaming fe"ar with storms hath wing'd the wind, " And deem'd the breath that faintly fann'd thy sail " The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale ; " Though soft, it seem'd the low prophetic dirge, " That mourn'd thee floating, on the savage surge : " Still would I rise to rouse the beacon fire, " Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire ; « And many a restless hour outwatch'd each star, " And morning came— and still thou wert afar. " Oh ! how the chill blast on my bosom blew, " And day broke dreary on my troubled view, " And still I gazed and gazed— and not a prow " Was granted to my lears— my truth— my vow ! " At length— "twas noon— I hail'd and and blest the mast " That met my sight— it near'd— Alas ! it past ! " Another came— Oh God ! 'twas thine at last ! " Would that those days were over ! wilt thou ne'er, " My Conrad ! learn the joys of peace to share ? *' Sure (hou hast more than wealth, and many a home " As bright as this invites us not to roam : " Thou know'st it is not peril that I fear, " I only tremble when thou art not here ; " Then not for mine, but that far dearer life, " Which flies from love and languishes for strife — " How strange that heart, to me so tender still, "Should war with nature and its better will !" " Yea, stnmge indeed— that heart hath long been changed ; " Worm-like 'twas trampled— adder-like avenged, " Without one hope on earth beyond thy love, " And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above. THE CORSAIR. 311 " Yet Ihe same feeling whicli Hum doslcoiiJenin, *' My ver}- love to tliee is Imte to I hem, " So closely mingling here, th.tt diseiitwineJ. " I cease to love thee when I lovetl niaiikiiiil : " Yet dread not this — the proof of all the p.ist " Assures Hie future that my love will last ; " But— Oh, Me lora ! nerve thy ejentle heart, " This hour again — but not for long— we part." " This hour we part!— my heart forelio led thi>; : " Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss. " This liour — it cannot be — this hour away I " Yon bark hath hardly anchor'd in the bay : " Her consort still is absent, and her crew " Have need of rest before the}' toil anew : " My love ! thou mock'st my weakness ; and woulJst steel " My breast before the time when it must feel ; "But trifle now no more with my distress, "Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness. " Be silent, Conrad ! — dearest ! come and share " The feast these hands delighted to prepare ; " Light toil ! to cull and dress thy frugal fare ! " See, I have pluck'd tiia fruit that promised best, " And where not sure, perplex'd, but pleased, I guess'J " At such as seem'd the fairest: thrice the hill " My steps have wound to try the coolest rill ; " Yes ! thy sherbet to-night will sweetly flow, " See how it sparkles in its vase of snow ! " The grspes' gay juice thy bosom never cheers ; " Thou more than Moslem when the cup appears : " Think not I mean to chide — for I rejoice " What others deem a penance is thy choice. "But come, the board is spread : our silver liimp " Is trimm'd, and heeds not the Sirocco's damp : "Then shall my handmaids Nvhile the time along, " And join with me the dunce, or wake the song ; j " Or my guitar, which still thou lov'st to hear, " Shall soothe or lull — or, should it vex thine ear, " We'll turn the tale, by Ariosto told, "Of fair Olympia loved and left of old. (1) " Why - thou wert worse than he who broke his vow " To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now ; " Or even that traitor chief— I've seen thee smile, " When the clear sky show'd Ariadne's Isle, " Which I have pointed from these clitls the while : " And thus half sportive, half in fear, I said, " Lest Time should raise that doubt to more than divjad, " Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main : " And he deceived me — for — he came again '" 2 F 2 342 THE CORSAIR. * " Again — iigain — and oft again — my love ! " It tliere be life below, and hope above, " He will return — bnt now, the moments bring '■ The time of parting with redoubled wing : " The whj — the where— what I)oots it now to tell ? •'Since all nmstend in that wild Mord — farewell ! '•Yet woulil I fain — did time allow — disclose — " Fear not — these are no formidable foes ; '• And here shall watch a more than wonted guard, <' For sudden siege and long defence prepared : " Nor be thou lonely — though thy lord's away, " Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay ; "And this thy comfort — that, when next we meet, " Security shall make repose more sweet. " List I- 'tis the bugle — Ju;m shrilly blew-?^ " One kiss - one more— another — Oh ! Adieu !" She rose — she sprung — she clung to his embrace. Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face. He dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye. Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony. Her long fair hair lay floating^o'er his arms, In all the wildness of dishevell'd charms ; Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt So full — that feeling seem'd almost unfelt ! Hark — peals the thunder of the signal-gun ! It told 'twas sunset — and he cursed that sun. Again— again — that form he madly press'd, Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd ! And tottering to the couch his bride he bore. One moment gazed — as if to gaze no more ; Felt — that for him earth held but her alone, Kiss'd her cold forehead — turn'd — is Conrad gone ? XV. " And is he gone ?" — on sudden solitude How oft that feari'ul question will intrude I " 'Twas but an instant past— and here he stood ! " And now" — williout the portal's porch she rush'd, And then at length her tears in I'reedom gush'd ; Big — bright— and fast, unknown to her they fell ; ■ But still her lips refused to send — " Farewell !" For in that word — that fatal word — howe'er AVe promise, — hope— believe — there breathes despair. O'er every feature of that still, pale face, Had sorrow fixM what time can ne'er erase : The tender blue of that large loving eye Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy, THE CORSAIR. 343 Till— Oh, how far ! — it caught a glimpse of him, And then it fiow'd — and phrensied seem'd to swim Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dew'd With drops of sadness oft to be renew'd. <' He's gone !" — against her heart that hand is driven, Convuls'ed and quick — then gently raised to heaven ; She look'd and saw the heaving of the main j The white sail set— she dared not look again ; But turn'd with sickening soul within the .gate— " It is no dream — and I am desolate !" XVI. From crag to crag desending — swiftly sped Stern Conrad down, nor once he turn'd his head ; But shrunk whene'er the windings of his way Forced on his eye what he would not suney. His lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep. That hail'd him first when homeward from the deep : And she — the dim and melancholy star. Whose ray of beauty reach'd him from afar, On her he must not gaze, he must not think. There he might rest — but on Destruction's brink : Yet once almost he stopp'd— and nearly gave His fate to chance, his projects to the wave ; But no — it must not be— a worthy chief May melt, yet not belray to woman's grief. He sees his iKirk, he notes how fair the wind, And sternly gathers all his might of mind : Again he burries on — and as he hears The clang of tumult vibrate on his ears, The bmy sounds, the bustle of the shore, 'i'he shout, the signal, and the dashing oar ; As marks his e3e the seaboy on the mast, The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast, Tbe waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge That mute adieu to those who stem the surge ; And more tlian all, his blood-reg flag alolt. He marvell'd how his heart could seem so soft. Fire in his glance, and wildness in his breast, He feels of all his former self possest; lie bounds — he tlies — until his footsteps reach The verge where ends the dill", begins tiie beach, 'J'tiere checks his speed ; but pauses less to breathe 'l"he breezy freshness of the deep beneatli, Than there his wonted statelier step renew ; Nor nish, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view : For well had Conrad learn'd to curb the crowd, By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud ; 344 THE CORSAIR. His was the lofty pori, the distant mien, That seems to shun the sight— find awes if seen : The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye, That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy ; All these he wielded to command assent : ]Jat where he wish'd to win, so well unbent, That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard, And others gifts show'd mean beside his word, ^Vhen echo'd to the heart as from his own His deep yet tender melody of tone : I}ut such was foreign to his wonted mood, He cared not what' he soften'd, but subdued ; The evil passions of his youth had made Him value less who loved — than what obey'd. xvn. Around him mustering ranged his ready guard. Before him Juan stands — "Are all prepared?" " They are — nay more— embark'd ; tlie latest boat " Waits but my chief " " My sword, and my capote. Soon firmly girded on, iind lightly slung, His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung : " Call Peiiro liere I" He comes— and Conrad bends, With all the courtesy he deigns his iriends ; " fleceive rlirse tablets, and jir-ruse with care, " Words of hicrh trust and tru;li are graven there; " Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark " Arrives, let him alike these orders mark : <' In three days (serve the breeze) the sun fhnll shine " On our return — till then all peace be thine !" This said, his brother Piralt 's Land he wrung. Then to his l)oat with haughty gesture sprung. Flash'd tlie dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke. Around the AVaves' phosphoric (2) brightness broke ; They gain the vessel— on the deck hestands. Shrieks the shrill whistle— ply the busy hands- He marks how well the ship hsr helm obe3S, How gallant all her crew— and deigns to praise. His eyes of pride to joung Gonsalvo turn — *" Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn ? Alas ! those eyes beheld his rocky tower. And live a moment o'er the parting hour ; She — his Medora — ilid she mark the prow? Ah ! never loved he half so much as now ! liut much must yet be done ere daw-n of day — Again he mans himself and turns away ; Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo beiuls. And there unfolds his iilaji— his meaiis-and ends; THE CORSAIR. 345 Before them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart, And all that speaks and aids the naval art ; They to the midnight watch protract debate } To anxious ej'es what hour is ever late ? Meantime, the steady breeze serenely blew, And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew ; Pass'd the high headlands of each clustering isle To gain their port — long — long ere morning smile : And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay, Count they each sail — and mark how there supine The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine. Secure, unnoted, Conrad's prow pass'd by, And anchor'd where his ambush meant to lie ; Screen'dfrom espial by the jutting cape, That rears on high its rude fantastic shape. Then rose his band to duty — not from sleep — Equipp'd for deeds alike on land or deep : While lean'd their leader o'er the fretting flood, And calmly talk'd — and yet he talk'd of blood ! 340 THE CORSAIR. STl^e ^ov^niv* CANTO II. " Coiiosceste i dubiosi desiri?" Dante. In Coron's bay floats many a galley light, Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright, For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night : A feast for promised triumph yet to come, When he shall drag the fetter'd Rovers home; This hath he sworn by Alia and his sword, And faithful to his firman and his word. His summon'd prows collect along the coast, And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast : Already shared the captives and the prize, Though far the distant foe they thus despise ; 'Tis but to sail— no doubt to-morrow's Sun Will see thi! Pirates bound^their haven won ! Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will, Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill. Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek To flesh their glowing valour on the Greek ; Flow well such deed becomes the turban'd brave — To bare the sabre's edge before a slave ! infest his dwelling — but forbear to slay. Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day. And do not deign to smite because they may ! Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow, To keep in practice for the coming foe : Revel and rout the evening hours beguile. And they who wish to wear a head must smile; For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer, And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear. THE CORSAIR. 347 If. High in his hall reclines the turban'd Seyd ; Around — the bearded chiefs he came to lead. Removed the banquet, and the last pihift' — Forbidden draughts, His said, he dared lo quaflj Though to the rest the sober berry's juice (3) The slaves bear round lor rigid Moslems' use ; The long Chibouque's (4) dissolving cloud supply, While dance the Almas (5) to wild minstrelsy. The rising morn will view the chiefs embark ; But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark: And revellers may more securely sleep On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep ; Feast there who can — nor combat till they must. And less to conquest than to Korans trust ; And yet the mimbers crowded in his host Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast. III. With cautious reverence from the outer gate Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait, Bows his bent head — his hand salutes the floor, Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore : " A captive Dervise, froi>i the pirate's nest ," Escaped, is here -himself would tell the rest." He took the sign fromSeyd's assenting eye, And led the holy man in silence nigh. His arms were lolded on his dark-green vest. His step was feeble, and his look deprest ; Yet worn he seeni'd of hardship more than years, And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears. Vow'd to his God— his sable locks he wore, And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er : Around his form his loose long robe was thrown, And wrapt a breast liestow'don heaven alone ; Submissive, 3-et with self-possession maini'd. He calmly met the curious eyes that scann'd ; And question of his coming lain would seek, Before the Pacha's will allow'd to speak. IV. " Whence com'st thou, Dervise ?" " From the outlaw's den, " A fugitive—" " Thy capture where and when ?" " From Scalanovo's port to Scio's isle, " The Saick was i)ound ; but Alia did not smile 348 THE CORSAIR. " Upon our course — the Moslem merchant's gains " The Rovers won : our limbs have worn their chains. " I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast, " Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost; " At length a fisher's humble boat by night "Afforded hope, and offer'd chance of flight: " I seized the hour, and find my safety here — '< With thee — most mighty Pacha ! who can fear?" " How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared, «' Their plunder'd wealth, and robber's rock, to guard? <' Dream Ihey of this ourpreparalion, doom'd '< To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed ?" " Pacha ! the fetter'd captive's mourning eye, " That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy ; " I only heard the recliless waters roar, " Those waves that would not bear me from the shore ; " I only mark'd the glorious sun and sky. " Too bright — too blue — for my captivity ; " And felt— that all which Freedom's bosom cheers, " Must break my chain before it dried my tears. ■ " This may'st thou judge, at least, from my escape, " They little deem of anght in peril's shape ; " Else vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance " That leads me here — if eyed with vigilance : " The careless guard that did not see me fly, " May watch as idly when thy power is nigh : " Pacha !— my limbs are faint — and nature craves " Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves : " Permit my absence — peace be with thee ! Peace " With all around '—now grant repose— release." " Stay, Dervise ! I liave more to question — stay, " I do conmiand thee — sit — dost hear — obey ! " More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring ; " Thou shall not pine where all are banqueting : " The supper done— prepare thee to reply, " Clearly and full— I love not mystery." 'Tweie vain to guess what shook the pious man, Who Idok'd not lovingly on that Divan ; Nor show'd liigh rclisli for the baiuiuet prest. And less respect for every fellow guest. 'Twas but a moment's peevish hectic past. Along liis clieek, and tranii\iillized as last : He sate him down in silence, and his look Resumed liie calnniess which before forsook : The feast was usher'd in — but sumptuous fare He shunn'd as if some poison mingled there. THE CORSAIR. 349 For one so long condemnM to toil and fast, Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast. " What ails thee, Dervise ? eat— dost thou suppose " This feast a Christian's ? or my friends thy foes ? " Why dost thou shun the salt ? that sacred pledge, " Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge, " Makes even contending tribes in peace unite, " And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight !" " Salt seasons dainties — and my food is still " The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill ; " And my stern vow and order's (6) laws oppose " To break or mingle bread with I'riends or foes ; " It may seem strange— if there be aught to dread, " That peril rests upon my single head ; " But for thy sway— nay more— thy Sultan's throne, '' I taste not bread nor banquet— save alone ; " Infringed our order's rule, the Prophet's rage " To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage." " Well^as thou wilt— ^ascetic as thou art — " One question answer ; then in peace depart. " How many ?— Ha ! it cannot sure be day? " What star— what sun is bursting on the bay? " It shines a lake of fire ! — away — away ! " Ho ! treachery ! my guards ! my scimitar ! " The galleys feed the Hames— and I afar ! " Accursed Dervise!— these thy tidings — thou " Some villain spy — seize— cleave him — slay him now !" Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light, Nor less his change of form appall'd the sight : Up rose that Dervise— not in saintly garb. But like a warrior bounding on his barb, Dash'd his high cap, and tore his robe away — Shone his mail'd breast, and flash'd his sabre's ray ! His close but glittering casque, and sable plume, More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom. Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Al'rit sprite ! Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight. The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow Of flames on high, and torches from below ; The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell — For swords began to clash, and shouts to swell. Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell ! Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves ; Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry. They seize that Derviie !— seize on Zatanai ! (T) 2 G 350 THE CORSAIR. He saw their terror — clieck'd the first despair That urged him but to stand and perish there, Since far too early and too well obe} 'd, The flame was kindled e'er the signal made ; He saw tlieir terror — from his baldric drew His bugle — brief the blast— but shrilly blew ; 'Tis answer'd — " Well ye !«peed, my gallant crew ! " Why did I doubt their quickness of career ? " And deem design had left nie single here :" Sweeps his long arm — that sabre's whirling sway Sheds fast atonement IVjr its first delay ; Completes his fury, what their fear begun, And makes the many basely quail to one. The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, And scarce an arm dare rise to guard his head : liven Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelm'd, with rage, surprise, Retreats before him, though he still defies. No craven he^and jet be dreads the blow. So much Confusion magnifies his foe! His blazing gallies still distract his sight. He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight ; (S) For now the pirates pass'd the Haram gate. And hurst within — and it were death to wait ; ^V'here wild Amazement shrieking — kneeling — throws The sword aside —in vain^the blood o'erflows ! The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within. Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life, Proclaim'd how well he did the work of strife: They shout to find him grim and lonely there, A glutted tiger mangling in his lair ! But short their greeting- — shorter his reply— " 'Tis well — but Seyd escapes — and he must die — " Much hath been done — but more remains to do — " Their galleys blaze — why not their city too ':" Quick at the word— they seized him each a torch, And fire the dome from minaret to porch. A stern delight was fix'd in Conrad's eje, But sudden sunk — for on his ear the cry Of women struck, and like a deadly knell Knock'd at that heart unmoved by battle's yell. " Oh ! burst the Haram — wrong not on your lives " One lemale form — remember — 7ve have wives. " On them such outrage Vengeance will repay ; " Man is our^foe, and such 'tis ours to slay : " But still we spared— must spare the weaker prey. ' THE CORSAIR. 351 " Oh I I for:?ot — but Heaven will not forgive " If at my word the helpless cease to live : " Follow who will — I go — we yet have time " Our souls to lighten of at least a crime." He climbs the crackling stair — he bursts the door, Nor feels his feet glow scorching with the floor ; .His breath choked gasping with the volumed smoke, But still from room to room his way he broke. They search — they find — they save : with lusty arms Eacli hears a prize of unregarded charms ; Calm their loud fears ; sustain their sinking frames With all the care defenceless beauty claims : So well could Conrad tame iheir fiercest mood, And check the very hands with gore imbrued. J5ut who is she ? whom Conrad's arms convey From reeking l)ile and combat's wreck — away — Who but tlie love of him he dooms to bleed ? The Haram tjueen — but still the slave of Seyd ! VI. Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare, (9) Few words to reassure the trembling fair ; For in that pause compassion snatch'd from war, The foe before retiring, fast and far. With wonder saw their footsteps unpursued. First slowlier fled— then rallied— then withstood. This Seyd perceives, then first perceives how few, Compared with his, the Corsair's roving crew, And blushes o'er his error, as he eyes The ruin wrought by panic and surprise. Alia il Alia ! Vengeance swells the cry — Shame mounts to rage that must atone or die ! And flame for flame and blood for blood must lell, The tide of triumph ebbs that flow'd too well^ When wrath returns to renovated strife. And those who fought for conquest strike for life. Conrad behehi the danger— he beheld His loUo-.vers faint by freshening foesrepell'd : " One ellbrt— one— to break the circling host !!' They form— unite— chargi — w.iver— all is lost ! Within a narrower ring compress'd, beset, Hopeless, not heartless, strive and struggle yet — Ah ! now they fight in firmest file no mure, Hemm'd in — cut off— cleft down— and trampled o'er', But each strikes singly, silently, and home. And sinks outwearied rallier tlian o'ercome, His last faint quittance rendering vvith his breath, Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of death! 352 THE CORSAIR. VII. But first, ere came llie ralljinp host to blows. And rank to rank, and hand to hand oppose, Gulnare and all her Ilaram handmaids freed, Safe in the dome of one who held their creed. By Conrad's mandate salel}' were bestowed. And dried those tears for life and fame that flow'd : And when that dark-eyed lady, young Gulnare, Recall'd (hose thoughts late wandering in despair, Much did she marvel o'er the courtesy That smooth'd his accents ; softened in his eye : 'Twas strange — t/iat robber thus with gore bedew'd, Seem'd gentler then than Sejd in fondest mood. The Pacha woo'd as if he deem'd the sla^■t Must seem delighted with the heart he gave ; The Corsair vow'd protection, soothed atiVight, As if his homage were a woman's right. " The wisli is wrong — nay, worse for female— vain : " Yet much I long to view that chief again ; " If but to thank lor, what my fear forgot, " The life — my loving lord remember'd not !" VIII. And him she saw, where thickest carnage spread. But gather'd breathing from the happier dead j Far from his band, and battling with a host That deem right dearly won the field he lost, Fell'd — bleeding — baffled of the death he sought, And snatch'd to expiate all the ills he wrought ; Preserved to linger and to live in vain. While Vengeance ponder'd o'er new plans of pain, And staunrh'd the blood she saves to shed again — But drop by drop, for Seyd's unglutted eye AVould doom him ever dying — ne'er to die ! Can this be he? triumphant late she saw, When his red hand's wild gesture waved, a law ! 'Tis he indeed — disarm'd but undeprest. His sole regret the life he still possest ; His wounds too slight, though taken with that will, Which would have kiss'd the hand that then could kill. Oh were there none, of all the many given. To send his soul — he scarcely ask'd to heaven ? Must he alone of all retain his breath, Who more than all had striven and struck for death ? He deeply felt — what mortal hearts must feel. When thus reversed on faithless fortune's wheel, / THE CORSAIIl. 353 For crimes committed, and the victor's thre.-it Of lingering tortures to repay the debt — He deeply, darkly felt; but evil pride That led to perpetrate — now serves to hide. Still in liis stern and self-collected mien A conqueror's more than captive's air is seen, Though faint with Wiisting toil and sti'lVnirv.' wound, But few that saw — so calmly gazed around : Thougli the far shouting of the distant crowd, Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud. The better warriors who beli-^ld him near Insulted not the foe who taught them fear ; Aud the grim guards that to his durance led, In silence eyed him with a secret dread. IX. The Leech Avas sent— but not in mercj-— there. To note liow much the life yet left could bear ; He f.-und enough to load with heaviest chain. And promise feeling for the wrench of pain : To-morrow — yea — to-morrow's evening sun Will sinking see impalement's pangs begun. And rising with the wonted blush of morn Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne. Of torments this the longest and the worst, Which adds all other agony to thirst. That day by day death still forbears to slake, While i'amish'd vultures flit around the stake. " Oh! water — water!" — smiling Hate denies The Tictim's prayer— for if he drinks— he dies. This was his doom : — the Leech, the guard, were gone, And left proud Conrad fetter'd and alone- X. 'Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew— It even were doubtful if their victim knew. There is a war, a chaos of the mind, When all its elements convulsed — combined — Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force. And gnashing with impenitent Remorse ; That juggling fiend — who never spake before— But cries " 1 warn'd thee !" when the deed is o'er. Vain voice ! the spirit burning but unbent. May writhe— rebel— the weak alone repent! Even in that lonely hour when most it feels, And, to itself, all— all that self reveals, 2 G 2 354 THE CORSAIR. No single passion, and no ruling Ihought That leaves the rest unseen, unsought; But the wild prospect when the soul reviews — All rushing through their thousand avenues. Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret, Eudanger'd glory, lite itself beset ; The joy untasted, the contempt or hate '(iainst those who lain would triumph in our fate; The iiopeless past, the hasting future driven Too quickly on to guess if hell or heaven ; Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remembered not So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot ; Things light or lovely in their acted time, But now to stern reflection each a crime ; The withering sense of evil unreveal'd, Not cankering less because the more conctp.l'd — All, in a word, Ironi which all eyes must start, That opening sepulchre — the naked heart Bares with its buried woes, till Pride awake, To snatch the mirror from the soul — and break. Ay — Pride can veil, and courage brave it all. All— all — before — beyond — the deadliest fall. Each hath some fear, and he who least betrays, The only hypocrite deserving praise : Kot the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies ; But he who looks on death — and silent dies. So steel'd by pondering o'er his far career. He half-way meets him should he menace near ! XL In the high chamber of his highest tower Sate Conrad, fetter'd in the Pacha's power. His palace perish'd in the flame — this I'ort Contain'd at once his captive and his court. Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame, His foe, if vanquish'd, had but shared the same : Alone he sate — in solitude had scann'd His guilty bosom, but that breiist he mann'd : One thought alone he could not — dared not meet — " Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet ? Then — only then — his clanking hands he raised. And strain'd with rage the chain on which he gazed ; But soon he found — or feign'd — or dream'd relief. And smiled in self-derision of his grief, " And now come torture when it will — or may, " More neex) of rest to nerve me for the day !" Tills said, with languor to his mat he crept, And, whatsoe'er his visions, quickly slept. ' THE CORSAIR. 355 'Twas hardly mklnighl when that fray hegiin, For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done ; And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time. She scarce had left an uncommitted crime. One hour beheld him since the tide he stemm'd — Disguised — discover 'd — conquerring — ta'en— condemn 'd — A chief on land — an outlaw on the deep- Destroying— saving — prison'd— and asleep ! XH. He slept in calmest seeming — for his breath Was hush'd so deep — Ah ! happy if in death ! He slept — Who o'er his placid slumber bends ? His foes are gone — and here he hath no friends ; Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace ? No, 'tis an earthly form with heavenly face ! Its white arm raised a lamp — yet gently hid, Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain, And once unclosed — but once may close again. That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair, And auburn waves of gemm'd and braided hair ; With shape of fairy lightness — naked loot. That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute — Through guards and dunnest night how came it there ? Ah ! rather ask what will not woman dare ? Whom youth and pity lead like thee, Guluare ! She could not sleep— and while the Pacha's rest In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest, She left his side — his signet-riug she bore, Vr'hich oft in sport adorn'd her hand before — And with it, scarcely question'd won her way Ulirough drowsy guards that must that sign obey. "Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows, Their eyes had envied Conrad his repose ; And chill and notlding at the turret door, I'hey stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more : Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring, Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. XIII. She gazed in wonder, " Can he calmly sleep, " While other eyes his fall or ravage weep? "And mine in restlessness are wandering here — " What sudden spell hath made Ihis man so dear ? " True — 'tis to him my life, and more, I owe, " And me and mine he spared from worse than woe j 356 THE CORSAIR. " 'Tis late to think — but soft— his slumber breaks — " How heavily he sighs! — he starts — awakes !" He raised his head— and dazzled with the light, His eye seem'd dubious if it saw aright: He moved his hand — the grating of his chain Too harshly told him that he lived again. " What is that form? if not a shape of air, " Methinks my jailor's face shows wond'rous fair ! " Pirate I thou knovv'st me not— but I am one " Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done ; ♦' Look on me — ^and remember her, thy hand " Snatch d from the flames, and thy more fearful band " I come througli darkness — and I scarce know why — " Yet not to hurt — I would not see thee die." " If so, kind latly ! thine the only eye " That would not here in that gay hope delight : " Theirs is the chance — and let them use their right. " But still I thank their courtesy or thine, " That would confess me at so lair a shrine !" Strange though it seem— yet with extremest grief Is link'd a mirth — it doth not bring relief — That playfulness of Sorrow ne'er be^'uiles, And smiles in bitterness —but still it smiles ; And sometimes with the wisest and the best, Till even the sculluld (10) echoes with their jest ! Yet not the joy to which it seems akin — It may deceive all hearts, save that within. Whate'er it was that flash 'd on Conrad now, A laughing wildness half unbent his brow : And these his accents had a sound of mirth, ' As if the last he could enjoy on earth ; Yet 'gainst his nature — for through that short life, Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife. XIV^ " Corsair ! thy doom is named — but I have power " To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour. " Thee would I spare — nay more — would save thee now, " But this — lime — hope — nor even thy strength allow; " But all I can, f will : at least delay " The sentence that remits thee scarce a day. " More now were ruin — even thyself were loth " The vain attempt should bring but doom to both." ' THE CORSAIR. 357 And hoped titat peril might not prove in vain. He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray'd One pitying flash to mar the form it made : His steel and impious prayer attract alike — The storm roll'd onward, and disdain'd to strike ; Its peal wax'd fainter — ceased — he felt alone. As if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan ! VHI. The midnight pass'd — and to the massy door A light step came— it paused — it moved once more ; Slovv turns the grating bolt and sullen key : 'Tis as his heart forboded — that fair she ! AVhate'er her sins, to him a guardian saint, And beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint ; Yet changed since last within that cell she came, More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame : On him she cast her dark and hurried eye, Which spoke before her accents — " thou must die • " Yes, thou must die— there is but one resource, "< The last — the worst — if torture were not worse." " Lady ! I look to none — my lips proclaim " What last proclaim'd they— Conrad still the same : " Why should'st thou seek an outlaw's life to spare, " And change the sentence I deserve to bear ? "Well have I earn'd— nor here alone — the meed " Of Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed." " Why should I seek ? because— Oh ! didst thou not " Redeem my life from worse than slavery's lot? THE CORSAIR. 36T « Why should I seek ?— hath misery made thee blind " To'the fond \vorkinQ;s of a woman's mind ! " And must I say? albeit my heart rebel " With all that woman feels, hut should not tell — " Because— despite thy crimes— that heart is moved : " It fear'd thee— thank'd thee— pitied— madden'd—lov'd. " Reply not, tell not now tliy tale again, " Thou lov'st another — and I love in vain : " Though fond as mine her bosom, form more fair, " I rush through peril which she would not dare- '< If that thy heart to hers were truly dear, " Were I thine own — thou wert not lonely here , '•' An outlaw's spouse— arid leave her lord to roam ! " What hath such gentle dame to do with home ? " But speak not now— o'er thine and o'er my head <' Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread ; " If thou hast courage still, and wouldst be free, " Receive this poniard— rise— and follow me 1" " Ay— in my chains ! my steps will gently tread, " With these adornments, o'er each slumbering head ? " Thou hast forgot— is this a garb for flight ? " Or is that instrument more fit for fight ':" " Misdoubting Corsair ! I have gain'd the guard, " Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward. " A single word of mine removes that chain ! " Without some aid how here could I remain ? '< Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time, '< If in a\ight evil, for thy sake the crime : " The crime — 'tis none to punish those of Seyd. <' That hated tyrant, Conrad— he must bleed ! <' I see thee shudder — but my soul is changed— " Wrong'd, spnrn'd, reviled— and it shall be avenged — " Accused of what till now my heart disdain'd — " Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chain'd — " Ves, smile ' — but he had little cause to sneer, " I was not treacherous then— nor thou too dear; <' But he has said it — and the jealous well, " Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel, " Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell. " I never loved — he bought me — somewhat high — " Since with me came a heart he could not buy. «' 1 was a slave unmurnuiring : he hath said, " But for his rescue I with thee hath fled. " 'Twas false thou kimw'st— but let such augurs rue, " Their words are omens Insult renders true. ' " Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer ; " This fleeting grace was only to prepare 368 THE CORSAIR. " New torments for thy life, and my despair. " Mine too he threatens ; but his dotage stiU " Would fain reserve me for his lordly will : " When wearier of these fleeting charms and me, " There yawns the sack — and jonder roll^ the sea ! " \Vhat, am I then a toy for dotard's play, " To wear but till the gilding frets away ? " I saw thee — loved thee — owe thee all— would save, " If but to show how grateful is a slave. " But had he not thus menaced fame and life, " (And well he lieeps his oaths pronounced in strife) " I still had saved thee — but the Pacha spared. " Now I am all thine own — for all prepared : "Thou lov'st nie not — nor know'st — or but the worst. " Alas ! this love that hatred are the first — ^^ " Oh ! couldst thou prove my truth, thou would'st not start, " Nor fsar the fire that lights an Eastern heart, " 'Tis now the beacon of ihy safety — now '* It points wilhin the port a Mainote prow : " But in one chamber, where our path must lead, " There sleeps — he must not wake— the oppressor Seyd !" " Gulnare — Gulnare — T never felt till now " My aiiject fortune, wither'd fame so low : " Seyd is mine enemy : had swept my band *' From Earth with ruthless but with open hand, " And therefore came I, in my bark of war, " To smite the smiter with the scimitar : " Such is my weapon —not the sceret knile — " Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life. "Thine saved I gladly, Lady, not for this — " Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss. " Now fare thee well —more peace be with thy breast ! " Night wears apace — my last of earthly rest !'' " Rest ! Rest ! by sunrise must thy sinews shake, " And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake, " I heard the oider — saw — I will not see — " If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee. " My life — my love— my hatred — all below " Are on this cast — Corsair ! 'tis but a blow ! " Without it flight were idle — how evade " His sure pursuit ? my wrongs too unrepaid, " My youth disgraced — the long, long wasted years, " One blow shall cancel with our future fears, " But since the dagger suits thee less than brand, " I'll try the firmness of a female hand. " Tiie guards are gain'd— one moment all were o'er — " Corsair ! we meet in safety or no more ; / THE CORSAIR. 369 " If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud " Will hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud." She turn'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply, But his glance foUow'd far with eager eye : And gathering, as he could, the links that bound His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound. Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude. He, fast as fetter'd limbs allow, pursued. 'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where That passage led ; nor lamp nor guard were there : He sees a dusky glimmering — shall he seek Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak ? Chance guides his steps — a freshness seems to bear Fnll on his brow, as if from morning air — He reach'd an open gallery — on his eye Gleam'd the last star of night, tlie clearing sky : Yet scarcely heeded these — another light From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. Towards it he moved ; a scarcely closing door Reveal'd the ray within but nothing more. With hasty step a figure outward past. Then paused — and turu'd — and paused — 'tis She at last ! No poniard in that hand — nor sign of ill — " Thanks to that softening heart — she could not kill I" Agaui he look'd, the wildness of her eye, Starts from the day abrupt aud fearfully- She stopp'd — threw back her dark far-floating hair, That nearly veil'd her face and bosom fair : As if she late had bent her leaning head Above some object of her doubt or dread. They meet — upon her brow — unknown — forgot — Her hurrying hand had left — 'twas but a spot — Its hue Wiis all he saw, aud scarce withstood — Ob ! slight but certain pledge of crime — 'tis blood ! X. He had seen battle— he had brooded lone O'er promised pangs to sentenced guilt foreshown : He had been tempted— chaslen'd — and the chain Yet on his arms might ever there remain : But ne'er from strife — captivity — remorse — From all his feelings in their inmost force — So thrill'd — so shudder'd every creeping vein, As now they froze before that purple stain. That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak, Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek ! Blood he had view'd — could view unmoved — but then Jt flow'd in combat, or was shed by men ! 3T0 THE CORSAIR. XI. " 'Tis clone— he nearly waked— but it is done. " Corsair ! he perish'd— thou art dearly won. " All words would now be vain — away- away \ " Our bark is tossing— 'tis already day. " The few gain'd over, now are wholly mine, " And these thy yet surviving band shall join : " Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand, " When once our sail forsakes this hated strand." XII. She clapp'd her hands— and through the galleiy pour Equipp'd for flight, her vassals— Greek and Moor ; Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind ; Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind ! But on his heavy heart such sadness sate. As if they there transferred that iron weight. No words are utter'd— at her sign, a door Reveals the secret passage to the shore ; The city lies behind— they speed, they reach The ghul waves dancing on the yellow beach ; And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd. Nor cared he now if "rescued or betray'd ; Resistance were as useless as if Seyd Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed- XIII. Embark'd, the sail unfurl'd, the light breeze blew-- How much had Conrad's memory to review ! Sunk he in Contemplation, till the cape Where last he anchor^l rear'd its giant shape. Ah ! since that fatal night, though brief the time, Had svvept an age of terror, grief, and crime. As its far shadow frown 'd above the mast, He veil'd his face, and sorrow-'d as he past ; • He thought of all— Gonsalvo and his band. His fleeting triumph and his failing hand ; He thought on her afar, his lonely bride : He turned and saw — Guluare, the homicide ! XIV. She watch 'd his features till she could not bear Their freezing aspect and averted air. And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye. Fell quench 'd in tears, too late to shed or dry. THE CORSAIR. 371 She knelt beside bitn and his hand she prest, " Thou may'st forgive though AUa's self detest; " But for that deed of darkness what wert thou ? " Reproach me — but not yet — Oh ! spare me now ! " I am not what I seem — this fearful night " My brain bewilder'd — do not madden quite ! " If I had never loved — though less my guilt, " Thou hadst not lived to — hate me — if thou wilt." XV. She wrongs'his thoughts, they more himself upbraid Than her, though undesigned, the wretch he made ; But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest, They bleed within that silent cell— his breast. Still onv/ard, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge, The blue waves sport around the stern they urge ; Far on the horizon's verge appears a speck, A spot — a mast — a sail — an armed deck ! Their little bark her men of watch descr}', And ampler canvass woos the wind from high ; She bears her down majestically near. Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier ; A flash is seen, the ball beyond their bow Booms harmless, hissing to the deep belovi*. Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance, A long, long absent gladness in his glance ? " 'Tis mine —my blood-red flag I again — again — " I um not all deserted on the main !" They own the signal, answer to the hail, Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail. " 'Tis Conrad ! Conrad!" shouting from the deck, Command nor duty could their transport check ! With light alacrity and gaze of pride, They view him mount once more his vessel's side ; A smile relaxing in each rugged face. Their arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace. He, half forgetting danger and defeat, Returns their greeting as a chief may greet, Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand, And feels he yet can conquer and command ! XVI. These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow. Yet grieve to win him back without a blow ; They sail'd prepar'd for vengeance— had they known A woman's hand seeur'd that deed her own, 3t2 THE CORSAIR. She were tlieir queen— less scrupulous are they Than haugbly Conrad how they win their way. With many an asking smile, and wondering stare, They whisper round, and gaze upon Giilnare; Aud her, at once above — beneath her sex. Whom blood appall 'd not, their regards [lerplex. To Conrad turns her laint imploring eye, She drops her veil, and stands in silence by ; Her arms are meekly folded on that breast, Which — Conrad sale — to fate resign'd the rest. Though worse than frenzy could that bosom fill. Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill. The worst of crimes hath left her woman still ! xvn. This Conrad mark'd and felt — ah ! could he less? — Hate of that deed — but grief for her distress; M^hat she has done no tears can wash away, And Heaven must punish on its angry day ! But — it was done : he knew, whate'er her guilt, For him that poinard smote, that blood was spilt ; And he was free ! — and she ibr him had given Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven ! And now he turned him to that dark- eyed slave Whose brow was bowed beneath the glance he gave, Who now seeniM changed and humbled : — faint and meek, But varying oft the colour of her cheek To deeper shades of paleness — all its red That fearful spot which stain'd it from the dead ! Me took that hand— it trembled — now too late — So soft in love— so wildly nerved in hate ; He clasp'd that hand— it trembled — and his own Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone. " Gulnare I" — but she replied not — " dear Gulnare '." She raised her eye — her only answer there — At once she sought and sunk in his embrace : If he had driven her from that resting-place. His had been more or less than mortal heart, But — good or ill — it bade her not depart. Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast. His latest virtue then had joined the rest. Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss That ask'd Irom ibrni so fair no more than this. The first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith— To lips where Love hath lavish'd all his breath. To lips — whose broken sighs such fragrance fling, As he had fann'd them freshly with his wing ! THE CORSAIR. 373 XVTIT. They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle. To them the very rocics appear to smile ; The haven hums with many a cheering sound, The beacons blaze their wonted stations round, The boats are darling o'er the curly bay, And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray : Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill discordant shriek. Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak ! Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams, Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams. Oh ! what can sanctify the joys of home. Like Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam ? XIX. The lights are high on beacon and from bower, And midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower : He looks in vain — 'tis strange — and all remark. Amid so many, her's alone is dark. 'l"is strange — of yore its welcome never fail'd. Nor now, perchance, extinguish'd, only veil'd. With the first boat descends he for the shore. And looks impatient on the lingering oar. Oh ! for a wing beyond the falcon's flight, , To bear him like an arrow to that heiglit ! With the first pause the resting rowers gave, He waits not — looks not — leaps into the wave, Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and high Ascends the path familiar to his eye. He reached his turret door — he paused — no sound Broke from within ; and all was night around. He knock'd, and loudly - footstep nor reply Announced that any heard or deem'd him nigh ; He knock'd — hut faintly — for his Irenibling hand Refused to aid his heavy heart's demand. The portal opens — 'tis a well known face — But not the form he pante<.l to embrace. Its lips are silent — twice his own essay'd. And lail'd to IVame the question they dehiy'd ; He snatch'il the lamp— its ligiit will answer all — It quits his grasp, ( xpiring in llie fall. He would not wait for that reviving ray — As soon could he have linger'd there for day ; But, glimmering tlirough the dusky corridore, Another chequers o'er the shadow'd floor ; 2 I 374 < ' THE CORSAIR. His steps the chamber gain — his e)'es behold All that his heart believ'd not — yet foretold ! XX. He turn'd not — spoke not — sunk not — fix'd his look, And set tlie .-mxious frame that lately shook : He gazed — how long we gaze despite of pain, And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain ! In life itself she was so still and fair. That death with gentler aspect wither'd there ; And the cold flowers (16) her colder hand contain'd, In that last grasp as tenderly were strain 'd As if she scarcely felt, but feign'd a sleep, And made it almost mockery yet to weep : The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow* And veii'd — thought shrinks from all that lurk'd below- Oh ! o'er the eye Death most exerts his might. And hurls the spirit from her throne of light ! Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse. But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips — Yet, yet they seem as they forebore to smile. And wish'd repose— but only for a while ; But the white shroud, and each extended tress. Long— fair — but spread in utter lifelessnesss. Which, late the sport of every summer wind, Escaped tlie baflled wreath that strove to bind : These — and the pale pure cheek, became the bier — But she is nothing — wherefore is he here ? XXI. He ask'd no question — all were answer'd now By the first glance on that still — marble brow. It was enough— she died— wliat reck'd it how ? The love of youth, the hope of better years, The source of soltest wishes, tenderest fears, The only living thing he could not hate, Was relt at once— and he deserved his fate, But did not feel it less ; — the good explore, For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar: The proud — flie wayward — who have fix'd below Their joy, and find this earth enough for woe. Lose in that one their all— perchance a mite — But who in patience parts with all delight ? Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern Mask hearts where grief hath little left to learn ; And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost. In smile* that least belit who wear tiiem most. THE CORSAIR. 375 XXII. By those (hat deepest feel is ill exprest The indistinctness of the suftering breast ; Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, Which seeks from all the rei'uge found in none ; No words suffice the secret soul to show ; For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. Oil Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion prest, And stupor almost luU'd it into rest ; So feeble now — his mother's softness crept To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept : It was the very weakness of his brain, Which thus confess'd without relieving pain. None saw his trickling tears — perchance, if seen. That useless flood of grief had never been. Nor long they flow'd — he dried them to depart, In helpless — hopeless — brokenness of heart: The sun goes forth — but Conrad's day is dim ; And the night cometh — ne'er to pass from him. There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, On Grief's vain eye — the blindest of the blind I Which may not — dare to see — but turns aside To blackest shade — nor will endure a guide ! XXIII. His heart was form'd for softness— warp'd to wrong ; Betray'd too early, and beguiled too long ; Each feeling pure — as falls the dropping dew Within the grot ; like that had harden'd too ; Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass'd. But sunk, and chill'd, and petrified at la.-t. Yet tempests wear, and lightening cleaves the rock, If such his heart, so shatter'd it the shock. There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, Though dark the shade — it shelf er'd— saved till now. The thunder came — that bolt hath blasted both, The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth : The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell Its tale, but shrunk and wither'd where it fell. And of its cold protector, blacken round But shiver'd fragments on the barren ground ! XXIV. 'Tis morn — to venture on his lonely hour Few dare ; though now Anselmo sought his tower. 376 THE CORSxVIR. He wjis not there — nor «een alone; the shore ; Ere ni^'ht, alarniM, their i.'le is traversed o'er : Another morn —another hiils them seek, And shont his name till echo waxeth weak ; Mount — grotto — cavern— valley search'il in vain, Tliey find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain : Tlieir hope revives — they follow o'er tlie maiii. 'Tis idle all — moons roll on moons away, And Conrad comes not — came not since that day : Nor trace, nor tidins^s of his doom declare A\^here lives his ,;,^rief, or perish'd his despair ! Loni,'- niourn'd his band whom none could mourn beside : And fair the nioiuaiient they g'ave his bride : For him thi-y riiise not the recording- stone — His death yet dubious, deeds too widely kjjown ; He left a Corsair's name to other limes, Link'd with one virtue, and a thousand crimes. (17) END OF THE CORSAIR. N O T E S. The time in this poem m;iy seem too short for the occur- rences, but the whole of the .Esfeati isles are within a few hours' sail of the continent, and tlie reader must be kind enouj^h to take the vind as I have often found it. (1.) Of fair Olympia loved and kfl of old. Orlando, Canto 10. (^■) Around the waves' phosphoric brightness broke- By night, p:irticularly in a warm latitude, every «troke of thp oar, every motion of the boat or ship, is followed by a slight flash like sheet lightning from the water. (3.) Though to the rest the sober berry's juice. Coffee. (4.) The long Chibouque' s dissolving cloud supply. Pipe. (5.) While dance the Almas to ivild jninstrelsy. Dancing girls. Note to Canto II. page 91, line 5. It has been objected that Conrad's enterint? disguised as a spy is out of nature. — Perhaps so. I find something not unlike it in history. " Anxious to explore with his own eyes the slate of the Vandals, Majorian ventured, after disguising the colour of his hair, to visit Cartilage in the character of his own ambassador ; and Genseric was alterwards niortiliei! by the discovery, that he had entertained and dismissed the Emperor of tlit^ Romans. Such an anecdote may be rejected as an improbable liirtion : 2 I 2 378 NOTES TO THE CORSAIR. but it is a ficlion wliicii would not have been imas;ineJ unless in the lite ol' a hero." Gihboji, D. and F. Fot. VI. p. 180. That Conrad is a character not altogether out ot nature I shall attempt to prove by some historical coincidences which I have met witli since writin^^ " The Corsair." " Ecrelin prisoniiier," (lit Rolandini, " s'enfermoit dans uti silence menayant, il fixoit sur la terre son visaq,e teroce, et ne donnoit point d'essor a sa prolonde indignation. — De toutes parts cependant les soldats et les peuples accouroient ; ils vo\i- loient voir cet homme, jadis si puissant, et la joie universelle eclatoitde toutes parts. • • « • • " Eccelin etoit d'une petite taille ; mais tout I'aspect de sa personne, tons ses mouvement, indiipioient uii soldat. — Son langage etoit amer, son deportement superb^ — et par son seul egard, il iaisoit trembler les plus hardis." Histiumdi, tome III. pitge 219, 229. " Cizericus (Genseric, king of the Vandals, the conqueror ot both Carthage and Rome,) statura mediooris, et equi casu claudicans,' animo profundus, sermone rarus, luxurise contemp- tor, iru turbsdus, habentli ciipidus, ad solicitandas geutes pro- videntissimus," &c.