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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNI.^ 
 
 Received. ^-^fiO^o^j^ iS8 ^^ 
 
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 Aae%ions No.-Z-^^O^^ Shelf Xo.C^ \ 
 
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 University of California • Berkeley 
 
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CHILDE HAROLD S 
 
 PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 A ROMAUJNT, 
 
 IN FOUR CANTOS. 
 
 BY THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 
 
 1819. 
 
z-5r^7 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY T. DAVISON, WHITEFRIARft* 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 VOLUME IT. 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Page 
 
 Canto III. ..«..?. 1 
 
 Notes . 6.5 
 
 Canto IV. . . . . , . #81 
 
 Notes . , . . . , , . 18S 
 
■ i 
 
 " Afin que cette application vous for9flt de penser a autre 
 
 chose ; il n*y a en verite de remade que celui-1^ et le temps." 
 
 Lettre du Roi de Prusse a jyAkmhert, SepL 7, 1776. 
 
 VOL. 4l) 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/childeharoldspil02byrorich 
 
^^ OF THE ^ 
 
 fUNIVEESIT" 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 I. 
 
 Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! 
 Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart > 
 When last I saw thy young 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 up their voices : I depart. 
 Whither I know not ; but the hour 's gone by. 
 When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad 
 mine eye. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III, 
 
 II. 
 
 Once more upon the waters ! yet once more ! 
 And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
 That knows his rider. 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, 
 Still must I on -, for I am as a weed. 
 Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail 
 Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath 
 prevail. 
 
 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. 
 
CftTito IJL PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Since my young days of passion — joy, or pain. 
 Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string, 
 And both may jar : it may be, that in vain 
 I would essay as I have sung to sing. 
 Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling ; 
 So that it wean me from the weary dream 
 Of selfish grief or gladness — so it fling 
 Forgetfulness around me — it shall seem 
 To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. 
 
 ' V. 
 He. who^r own aged in this world nf wne., 
 In deeds^jiot^years^jiifiimn^ 
 So that no wonder waits him ; nor below 
 Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife. 
 Cut to his heart again with the keen knife 
 Of silent, sharp endurance : he can tell 
 Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife 
 With airy images, and shapes which dwell 
 Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted cell. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto UL 
 
 VI. 
 *Tis to cr^Cj andJn creating^JiYe 
 A being more intense^ that we endow 
 With form our fancy^ gaining as we give 
 The life we image^ even as I do now. 
 What am I } Nothing ; but not so art thou. 
 Soul of my thought ! with whom I traverse earth. 
 Invisible but gazing, as I glow 
 Mix*d with thy spirit, blended with thy birth. 
 And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings* 
 dearth. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet must I think less wildly : — I have thought 
 Too long and darkly, till my brain became. 
 In its owrl eddy boiling and o'erwrought, 
 A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame : 
 And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame. 
 My springs of life were poisonM. 'Tis too late ! 
 Yet am I chang'd 5 though still enough the same 
 In strength to bear what time can not abate. 
 And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate. 
 
Canto Hi. PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Something too much of this : — ^but now 'tis past. 
 
 And the spell closes with its silent seal. 
 
 Long ab sent Harol d re-ap pears a t jast 5 
 
 He of the breast which fain no. more would feel. 
 
 Wrung with the wounds which kill not^ but ne'er 
 
 heal 5 
 Yet Time, who changes all, had altered him 
 In soul and aspect as in age : years steal 
 Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb ; 
 And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. 
 
 IX. 
 
 His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found 
 The dregs were wormwood ; but he fill'd again. 
 And from a purer fount, on holier ground, 
 And deem'd its spring perpetual 3 but in vain ! 
 
 . StiU round him clung invisibly a chain 
 
 Which gall'd for ever, fettering though unseen. 
 And heavy though it clank'd not 3 worn with pain. 
 Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen. 
 
 Entering with every step, he took, through many a 
 scene. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III, 
 
 X. 
 
 Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd 
 Again in fancied safety with his kind. 
 And deeni'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd 
 And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind. 
 That, if no joy, no Sorrow lurk'd behind 3 
 And he, as one, might midst the many stand 
 Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find 
 Fit speculation ! such as in strange land 
 He found in wonder-works of God andNature'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. 
 
Canto III* 
 
 XII. 
 
 But soon he knew himself the most unfit 
 Of men to herd with Man ; with whom he held 
 Little in common j untaught to submit 
 His thoughts to others^ though his soul was quell'd 
 In youth by his own thoughts 3 still uncompell'd, 
 He would not yield dominion of his mind 
 To spirits against whom his own rebell'd 5 
 Proud though in desolation 5 which could find 
 A life within itself, to breathe without mankind. 
 
 XIII. 
 Where rose the mountains, there to him were 
 
 friends 5 
 Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home 3 
 Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends. 
 He had the passion and the power to roam 5 
 The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam. 
 Were unto him companionship 3 they spake 
 A mutual language, clearer than the tome 
 Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake 
 For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. 
 
10 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Like the Chaldean^ he could watch the stars, 
 Till he had peopled them with beings bright 
 As their own beams -, and earth, and earth-born jars, 
 x'Vnd 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 if to break the link 
 That keeps us from 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, 
 Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with dipt wing. 
 To whom the boundless air alone were home : 
 Then came his fit again, which to overcome. 
 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. 
 
Canto 111, PILGRIMAGE. U 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again^ 
 
 With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom j 
 
 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 forbore to check. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Stop !— for thy tread is on an Empire's dust ! 
 An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! 
 Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? 
 Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? 
 None 3 but the moral's truth tells simpler so. 
 As the ground was before, thus let it be 5 — 
 How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! 
 And is this all the world has gained by thee. 
 Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory ? 
 
12 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cuato llC 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And Harold stands upon this place of skulls. 
 The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ! 
 How in an hour the power which gave annuls 
 Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too ! 
 In ^* pride of place** ^ here last the eagle flew. 
 Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, 
 Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through 5 
 Ambition's life and labours all were vain j 
 He wears the shattered links of the workVs broken 
 chain. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 X Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit 
 And foam in fetters 5 — but is Earth more free ? 
 Did nations combat to make One submit ; 
 Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty ? 
 What ! shall reviving Thraldom again be 
 The patched-up idol of enlightened days ? 
 Shall wj, who struck the Lion down, shall we 
 Pay the Wolf homage ? proflFering lowly gaze 
 
 And servile knees to thrones? No 5 'prove before ye 
 praise ! 
 
Canto III. 
 
 PILGK IMAGE. 
 
 13 
 
 XX. 
 
 If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more ! 
 In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with hot tears 
 For Europe's flowers long rooted up before 
 The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain years 
 Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears. 
 Have all been borne, and broken by the accord 
 Of roused-up millions : all that most endears 
 Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword 
 Such as Harmodius^ drew on Athens* tyrant lord. 
 
 XXI, 
 
 Therfi_ffias a sound of revelry by night, — 
 And Belgium,*s capital had gathered then , 
 Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
 \The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ^ 
 A thousand hearts beat happily 5 and when 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 
 Soft eyes look' d love to eyes which spalM tgain, 
 And^ all went merry as a marriage-bell p' 
 But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising 
 knell! 
 
 % 
 
14 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III. 
 
 XXII. 
 Did ye not hear it } — No -, 'twas but the wind. 
 Or the car rattling o*er the stony street ; 
 On with the dance I let joy be unconfined ; 
 No sleep till morn> when Youth and Pleasure meet 
 To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet — 
 But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeat j 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
 Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
 Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear 
 That sound the first amidst the festival, 
 y And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear 5 
 
 ^^And when they smiled because he deem'd it near. 
 His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
 Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier. 
 And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
 
 He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 
 
Canto JIL PILGRIMAGE. 15 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro. 
 And gathering tears^ and tremblings of distress. 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
 Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
 And there were sudde-n partings, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 
 If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
 Since upon 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 throng'd the citizens with terror dumb. 
 Or whispering, with white lips — '' The foe ! They 
 come ! they come !" 
 
l6 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto ILL 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And wild andhigh the '' Cameron's gathering" rose 1 
 The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
 Have heard^ and heard, too^ have her Saxon foes: — 
 How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills. 
 Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
 Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
 With the fierce native daring which instils 
 The stirring memory of a thousand years^ 
 And * Evan's, * Donald's fame rings in each clans- 
 man's ears! 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 And Ardennes^ waves above them her green leaves, 
 Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass. 
 Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
 Over the unreturning 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. 
 
Canto HI. PILGRIMAGE. 17 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. 
 Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay. 
 The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 
 The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
 Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
 The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 
 The earth is covered thick with other clay. 
 Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent. 
 Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial 
 blent ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine ; 
 Yet one I would select from that proud throng, 
 Partly because they blend me with his line. 
 And partly that I did his sire some wrong. 
 And partly that bright names will hallow song ; 
 And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd 
 The death- bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along. 
 Even where the thickest of war's tempest lowered. 
 They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, 
 gallant Howard ! 
 
 VOL. ,11. c 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S Cantn III. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, 
 And mine were nothing, had I such to give -, 
 But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree. 
 Which living waves where thou didst cease to live. 
 And saw around me the wide field revive 
 With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring 
 Come forth her work of gladness to contrive. 
 With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 
 I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not 
 bring.'' 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each 
 
 And one as all a ghastly gap did make 
 
 In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach 
 
 Forgetf ulness were mercy for their sake ; 
 
 The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake 
 
 Those whom they thirst for 5 though the sound of 
 
 Fame 
 May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake 
 The fever of vain longing, and the name 
 So honoured but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. 
 
Ganto til. ' TlLdRlUAQt, 1^ 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, 
 
 mourn : 
 The tree will wither long before it fall ; 
 The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn ; 
 The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall 
 In massy hoariness ; the ruined wall 
 Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone 5 
 The bars survive the captive they enthral ; 
 The day drags through though storms keep out 
 the sun ; 
 And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on: 
 
 XXXIII. 
 Even as a broken mirror, which the glass 
 In every fragment multiplies ; and makes 
 A thousand images of one that was. 
 The sam6> and still 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. 
 
 c2 
 
20 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 There is a very life in our despair. 
 
 Vitality of poison,— a quick root 
 
 Which feeds these deadly branches ; for it were 
 
 , As nothing did we die 5 but Life will suit 
 Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, 
 Like to the apples on the^ Dead Sea*s shore. 
 All ashes to the taste : Did man compute 
 Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er 
 
 Such hours 'gainst years of life, — say, would he name 
 threescore ? 
 
 XXXV. (?^^^ 
 
 The Psalmist numbered out the years of man : ^ 
 They are enough 3 and if thy tale he truCy 
 Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span. 
 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 countrymen were warring on that day !" 
 And this is much, and all which will not pass away. 
 
Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 21 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men. 
 Whose spirit antithetically mixt 
 One moment of the mightiest, and again 
 On little objects with like firmness fixt^ 
 
 , Ex:treme in all things ! hadst thou been betwixt. 
 Thy throne had still been thine, or never been j 
 For daring made thy rise as fall : thou seek'st 
 Even now to re-assume the imperial mien. 
 
 And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene ! 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou ! 
 She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name 
 Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now 
 That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, 
 Who wooed thee once, thy vassal, and became 
 
 t The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert ; 
 A god unto thyself 3 nor less the same 
 To tl\e astounded kingdoms all inert, 
 
 Who deem'd thee for a time whatever thou didst assert. 
 
22 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III, 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Oh, more or less than man — in high or low. 
 Battling with nations, flying from the field 3 
 Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now 
 More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield 3 
 An empire thou could st crush, command, rebuild. 
 But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor. 
 However deeply in men's spirits skill'd. 
 Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war. 
 Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Yet weU thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide 
 With that untaught innate philosophy. 
 Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride. 
 Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. 
 When the whole host of hatred stood hard by. 
 To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast 
 
 smiled 
 With a sedate and all-enduring eye 5 — 
 When Fortune fled her spoiFd and favourite child. 
 He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled. 
 
Canto IIL PILGRIMAGE. 23 
 
 XL. 
 
 Sager than in thy fortunes j for in them 
 Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show 
 That just habitual scorn which could contemn 
 Men and their thoughts ; 'twas wise to feel, not so 
 To wear it ever on thy lip and brow. 
 And spurn the instruments thou wert to use 
 Till they were turn*d unto thine overthrow : 
 'Tis but a "worthless world to win or lose 3 
 So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, 
 Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone. 
 Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock ; 
 But men's thoughts were the steps which paved 
 thy throne. 
 
 Their a dmiration thy best weapon shone.; 
 
 The part of Philip's son was thine, not then 
 (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) 
 Like stern Diogenes to mock at mea^ 
 For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a deii.^ 
 
24 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell. 
 And there hath beenJjuizJiane ; there is a fire 
 And motion of the soul which will not dwell 
 In its own narrow being, but aspire 
 Beyond the fitting medium of desire 5 
 And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore. 
 Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire 
 Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core. 
 Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. 
 
 XLIII. 
 This makes the madmen who have made men mad 
 By their contagion ; Conquerors and Kings, 
 Founders of sects and systems, to whom add 
 Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things 
 Which stir too strongly the soul* s secret springs. 
 And are themselves the fools to those they fool j 
 Envied, yet how unenviable ! what stings 
 Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school 
 Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or 
 rule: 
 
Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 25 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Their breath is agitation, and their life 
 A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last. 
 And yet so nurs'd and bigotted to strife. 
 That should their days, surviving perils past. 
 Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast 
 With sorrow and supineness, and so die ; 
 Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste 
 With its own flickering, or a sword ] 
 
 Which eats into itself, and rusts mgilojJ^Hifv^^ ^ ^ ^^^ /fi 
 
 (UFIVEESIT 
 
 He who ascends to mountain-tops, shafSa^^^V ' '^ "t-J^^ 
 
 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 cf^org the sun of glory_gloWa 
 
 And far beneath the eaitjrand ocean. spread, 
 
 iZaMw^WnLamicy: mcks^jindlQudl^L-blow- _ 
 
 Contending tempests_QnJiisjQaked head. 
 And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. 
 
26 CaiLDE IIAIIOLDS Canto III. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Awa-L^^ ^^^^^ • ^'^^ Wisdom's world wilUbe 
 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 3 streams and dells. 
 Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, 
 
 vine. 
 And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells 
 From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, 
 i^ Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd. 
 All tenantless, save to the crannying wind. 
 Or holding dark communion with the cloud. 
 There was a day when they were young and proud. 
 Banners on high, and battles pass'd below ; 
 But they who fought are in a bloody shroud. 
 And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, 
 And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. 
 
Canlo III. PILGaiMAGE. 27 
 
 XLVIII. 
 Beneath these battlements, within those walls. 
 Power dwelt amidst her passions ; in proud state 
 Each robber chief upheld his armed haUs, 
 Doing his evil will, nor less elate 
 Than mightier heroes of a longer date. 
 What want these outlaws^® conquerors should have ? 
 But History's purchased page to call them great ? 
 A wider space, an ornamented grave } 
 Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full 
 as^ave. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 In their baronial feuds and single fields,^ 
 
 What deeds of prowess unrecorded diedi 
 
 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 Rhine beneath its ruin run. 
 
29 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III. 
 
 L. 
 
 But Thou^ exulting and abounding river! 
 Making thy waves a blessing as they flow 
 Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever 
 Could man but leave thy bright creation so^ 
 Nor its fair promise from the surface mow 
 With the sharp scythe of conflict, — then to see 
 Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know 
 Earth paved like Heaven ; and to seem such to me 
 Even now what wants thy stream ? — that it should 
 Lethe be. 
 
 LI. 
 
 A thousand battles have assaird thy banks. 
 But these and half their fame have pass*d away. 
 And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks j 
 Their very graves are gone, and what are they ? 
 Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday. 
 And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream 
 Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray 3 
 But o'er the blackened memory's blighting dream 
 Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they 
 seem. 
 
Cemto llf. PILGRIMAGE. 29 
 
 LII. 
 Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, 
 
 " Yet not insensibly to all which here 
 Awoke the jocund birds to early song 
 In glens which might have made even exile dear; 
 Though on his brow were graven lines austere. 
 And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place 
 Of feelings fierier far but less severe, 
 Joy was not always absent from his face. 
 
 But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient 
 trace, 
 
 LI II. 
 
 Nor was all love shut from him, though his days 
 Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. 
 It is in vain that we would coldly gaze 
 On such as smile upon us ; the heart must 
 Leap kindly back to kindness^ though disgust 
 Hath weanM it from all worldlings : thus he felt. 
 For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust 
 In one fond breast, to which his own would melt. 
 And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. 
 
30 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IfL. 
 
 LIV. 
 And he had learn'd to love, — I know not why. 
 For this in such as him seems strange of mood, — > 
 The helpless looks of blooming infancy. 
 Even in its earliest nurture 3 what subdued. 
 To change like this, a mind so far imbued 
 With scorn of man, it little boots to know j 
 But thus it was ; and though in solitude 
 Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow. 
 In him this glowed when all beside had ceased to glow, j 
 
 LV. 
 
 And there was one soft breast, as hath been said. 
 Which unto his was bound by stronger ties 
 Than the church links withal j and, though unwed, 
 That love was pure, and, far above disguise, 
 Had stood the test of mortal enmities 
 Still undivided, and cemented more 
 By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ; 
 But this was firm, and from a foreign shore 
 Well to that heart might his these absent greetings 
 pour! 
 
Canto IK. PILGRIMAGE. ' 31 
 
 1. 
 
 The castled crag of Drachenfels " 
 Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
 Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
 Between the banks which bear the vine. 
 And hills all rich with blossomed trees. 
 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 with 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 grey. 
 
 And many a rock which steeply lours. 
 
 And noble arch in proud decay. 
 
 Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers 3 
 
 But one thing want these banks of Rhine,— 
 
 Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 
 
32 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto HI. 
 
 3. 
 I send the lilies given to me 3 
 Though long before thy hand they touch, 
 I know that they must withered be. 
 But yet reject them not as such 5 
 For I have cherish'd them as dear. 
 Because they yet may meet thine eye. 
 And guide thy soul to mine even here. 
 When thou behold*st them drooping nigh. 
 And knowst 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 5 
 Nor could on earth a spot be found 
 To nature and to me so dear. 
 Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
 Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! 
 
Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 33 
 
 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, gush'd from the rough soldier's lid. 
 Lamenting and yet envying such a doom. 
 Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. 
 
 LVII. 
 Briejf, brave, and glorious was his young career, — 
 His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes j 
 And fitly may the stranger lingering here 
 Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose ; 
 For he was Freedom's champion, one of those. 
 The few in number, who had not o'erstept 
 The charter to chastise which she bestows 
 On such as wield her weapons ; he had kept 
 The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him 
 wept. '2 
 
 VOL. 'II. D 
 
34 CHILDE HAROLD'S Catito lit. 
 
 LVIII. 
 Here Ehrenbreitstein, ^^ 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 baffled foes was watch'd 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 pourM in 
 vain. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Adieu to thee, fair Rhine ! How long deliglUed 
 The stranger fain would linger on his way ! 
 Thine is a scene alike where souls united 
 Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray 5 
 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. 
 
Canto in. PILGRIMAGE. 35 
 
 LX. 
 
 Adieu to thee again ! a vain adieu ! 
 There can be no farewell to scene like thine 5 
 The mind is coloured by thy every hue ; 
 And if reluctantly the eyes resign 
 Their cherish'd 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 3 and these withal 
 A race of faces happy as the scene. 
 Whose fertile bounties here extend to all. 
 Still springing o*er thy banks, though Empires near 
 them fall. 
 
 D2 
 
36 CHTLDE HAROLD'S Canto ///, 
 
 LXII. 
 
 But these recede. Above me are the Alps, 
 The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls 
 Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps. 
 And throned Eternity in icy halls 
 Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls 
 The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! 
 All that expands the spirit, yet appals. 
 Gather around these summits, as to show 
 How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yiet leave vain 
 man below. 
 
 Lxni. 
 
 But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan. 
 There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain, — 
 Mprat !_ 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 toijabless host, 
 A bony heap, through ages to remain. 
 Themselves their monument j — the Stygian coast 
 Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wan- 
 dering ghost. ^* 
 
Canto III. PILGRIMAQE. 3? 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 While Waterloo with Cannae's carnage vies, 
 Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand j 
 They were true Glory*s stainless victories, 
 Won by the unambitious heart and hand 
 Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band. 
 All unbought champions in no princely cause 
 Of vice-entail'd Corruption 3 they no land 
 Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws 
 Making kings* rights divine, by some Draconic 
 clause. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 By a lone wall a lonelier column rears 
 A gray and grief- worn aspect of old days, 
 Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years. 
 And looks as with the wild-bewildered gaze 
 Of one to stone converted by amaze. 
 Yet still with consciousness 3 and there it stands 
 Making a marvel that it not decays. 
 When the coeval pride of human hands, 
 Levell'd^^ Aventicum, hath strewed her subject lands. 
 
38 CHILDE HAROLD'S tatUo J J J, 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 And there — oh ! sweet and sacred be the name ! — 
 Julia — the daughter, the devoted — gave 
 Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim 
 Nearest to Heaven's^ broke o'er a father's grave. 
 Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and her's would crave 
 The life she lived in 5 but the judge was just. 
 And then she died on him she could not save. 
 - Their tomb was simple, and without a bust, 
 And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one 
 dust.i^ 
 
 LXVIL 
 
 But these are deeds which should not pass away. 
 And names that must not wither, though the earth 
 Forgets her empires with a just decay, 
 The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and 
 
 birth ; 
 The high, the mountain-majesty of worth 
 Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe. 
 And from its immortality look forth 
 In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow, ^"^ 
 Imperishably pure beyond all things below. 
 
Canto in, PILGRIMAGE. 3^ 
 
 / Lxviir. 
 
 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 fit mind the might which I behold j 
 But soon in me shall Loneliness renew 
 Thoughts hid, but not less cherish' d than of old. 
 Ere mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their 
 fold. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind )_ . 
 All are not fit with them to stir and toil. 
 Nor is it discontent to keep the mind 
 Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil 
 In the hot throng, where we become the spoil 
 Of our infection, till too late and long 
 We may deplore and struggle with the coil. 
 In wretched interchange^f wrong for wrong 
 'Midst a contentious world, striving where none are 
 strong. 
 
40 CIIILDE HAROLD'S Canto 111. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 There, in a moment, we may plunge our years 
 In fatal penitence, and in the blight 
 Of our own soul, turn all our blood to tears, 
 And colour things to come with hues of Night ; 
 The race of life becomes a hopeless flight 
 To those that walk in darkness : on the sea. 
 The boldest steer but where their ports invite. 
 But there are wanderers o*er Eternity 
 Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne*er 
 shall be. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 t Is it not better, then, to be alone. 
 And love Earth only^ for its -earthly sake? 
 By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, ^** 
 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. 
 Kissing its cries away as these awake 5— 
 Is it not better thus our lives to wear, 
 
 Than join the crushing crowd, doom*d to inflict or 
 bear? 
 
Canto 111. PILGRIMAGE. 41' 
 
 LXXII. 
 I live not in myself, but I become 
 Portion of that around me ; and to me, 
 
 ' Pligh 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 fleshly chain, 
 Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee. 
 And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain 
 
 Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life : 
 I look upon the peopled 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 it would cope with^ on delighted wing. 
 Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being 
 clino:. 
 
42 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 And wheGj at length, the mind shall be all free 
 From what it hates in this degraded form. 
 Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be 
 Existent happier in the fly and worm, — 
 When elements to elements conform. 
 And dust is as it should be, shall I not 
 Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm ? 
 The bodiless thought ? the Spirit of each spot } 
 Of which, even now, I share jit times the immortal 
 lot? 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part 
 Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? 
 Is not the love of these deep in my heart 
 With a pure passion ? should I not contemn 
 All objects, if compared with these ? and stem 
 A tide of suffering, rather than forego 
 Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 
 Of those whose eyes are only turn'd below, 
 Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare 
 not glow ? 
 
Canto IIL PILGRIMAGE. 43 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 But this is not my theme ; and I return 
 To that which is immediate, and requite 
 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, — whpse^ desire _. 
 
 Wasjbo j) e glorio us ; ^twag a^fooHslupest^ 
 
 Th e which to gain a ndjkeepjjie„sacilficftd all rest> 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Here the^elf- torturing sophist^ wild RousseaUy-^ 
 The apostle of affliction, he who threw- 
 ^ Enchantment qver^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 shedjears feelingly and 
 fast." ^ 
 
^4 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cantc UL 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 His love was passion's essence — as a tree 
 On fire by lightning j with ethereal flame 
 Kindled he was, and blasted 5 for to be 
 Thus^ and enamoured, were in him the same. 
 But his was not the love of living dame. 
 Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams. 
 But of idQal beauty:,, whidi became 
 In him existence, and overflowing teems 
 Along his burning page, distempered though it seems. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 This breathed itself to life in Julie, this 
 Invested her with all that's wild and sweet 5 
 This hallowed, too, the memorable kiss 
 Which every morn his fevered lip would greet. 
 From her's, who but with friendship his would 
 
 meet 5 
 But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast 
 Flash*d the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat ; 
 In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest. 
 Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. ^^ 
 
Canh) III. PILGRIMAGE. ^ 45 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 His life was one long war with self-sought foes, 
 Or friends by him self-banish'd ; for his mind 
 Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose 
 For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind, 
 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. 
 But he was phrenzied, — wherefore, who may know } 
 Since cause might be which skill could never find ; 
 But he was phrenzied by disease or woe. 
 To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning 
 show. 
 
 Lxxxr. 
 
 For then he was inspired, and from him came. 
 As from the Pythian*s mystic cave of yore. 
 Those oracles which set the world in flame. 
 Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more : 
 Did he not this for France ? which lay before 
 Bowed to the inborn tyranny of years 'i 
 Broken and trembling, to the yoke she bore, 
 Till by the voice of him and his compeers. 
 Roused up to too much wrath which follows 
 overgrown fears } 
 
45 CHILD E HAROLD'S Canto I IF. 
 
 LXXXIL 
 
 They made themselves a fearful monument ! 
 The wreck of old opinions — things which grew 
 Breathed from the birth of time : the veil they rent. 
 And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. 
 But good with ill they also overthrew, 
 Leaving but ruins, where^vith to rebuild 
 Upon the same foundation, and renew 
 Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour 
 re-fiU'd, 
 As heretofore, because ambUipn was-selfjadllM. 
 
 LXXXIIt. 
 
 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 j pity ceased to melt 
 With her once 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? 
 
Canto in, PILGRIMAGE. 47 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? 
 The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear 
 That which disfigures it ; and they who war 
 With their own hopes^ and have been vanquish'd 
 
 bear 
 Silence, but not submission : in his lair 
 Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour 
 Which shall atone for years 5 none need despair : 
 It came, it cometh, and will come, — the power 
 To punish or for give :;— in one we shall_be_slower. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake^ 
 With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
 Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
 
 . Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
 This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
 Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
 Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved. 
 
 That I with stern delights should e'er have been so 
 moved. 
 
4S CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 It is the hush of night, and all between 
 Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear. 
 Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
 Sa^'e darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear 
 Precipitously steep -, and drawing near. 
 There breathes a living fragrance from the shore. 
 Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
 Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. 
 Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more 3 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 He is an evening reveller, who makes 
 His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; 
 At intervals, some bird from out the brakes. 
 Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
 There seems a floating whisper on the hill. 
 But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
 All silently their tears of love instil. 
 Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
 Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 
 
Canto III. . PILGRIMAGE. 49 
 
 Lxxxviir. 
 
 Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! 
 If in your bright leaves we would read the fate 
 Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven. 
 T hat in our aspirations t o be great, 
 Qur jestinies ove rleap their mortal state,__ 
 
 A nd claim a kindre_d wit h yo u; for ye are 
 
 A beauty and a mystery, and create 
 
 In us such love and reverence from afar. 
 That fortune^ame,pqwer^ life, have. n^ themr 
 selves a star. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 All heaven and earth are still— though not in sleep. 
 But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 
 And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep :-^ 
 All heaven and earth are still : iFrom the high host 
 Of stars, to the luU'd lake and mountain-coast. 
 All is concentered in a life intense. 
 Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 
 But hath a part of being, and a sense 
 Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
50 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto UL 
 
 xc. 
 
 Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
 In solitude, where we are le ast alone ; 
 A truth, which through our being then doth melt 
 And purifies from self : it is a tone. 
 The soul and source of music, which makes known 
 Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm. 
 Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone. 
 Binding all things with beauty ; — 'twould disarm 
 The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Not vainly did the early Persian make 
 His altar the high places and the peak 
 Of earth-o*ergazing mountains, -° and thus take 
 A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek 
 The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, 
 Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare 
 Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, 
 With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, 
 Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer 1' 
 
Canto in. PILGRIMAGE. 51 
 
 XCIL 
 
 The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh 
 
 night," 
 And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong. 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
 From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
 Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud. 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue. 
 And Jura answers, through her misty shroud. 
 Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! 
 Thou Wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
 A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — 
 A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
 How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea. 
 And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
 And now again His black, — and now, the glee 
 Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain- mirth. 
 As if they did rejoice o*er a young earthquake's birth. 
 
 e2 
 
52 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto lit 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Now, where the swift Rh one cleaveshi s way bet ween 
 Heights which appear as lovers who have parted 
 In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, 
 That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted 
 Though in their souls, which thus each other 
 thwarted, 
 ' Love was the very root of the fond rage 
 
 Which blighted their life's bloom, and then de- 
 parted : — 
 Itself expired, but leaving them an age 
 Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Now, where the quick Rhonethus hath cleft his way 
 The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : 
 For here, not one, but many, make their play. 
 And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand. 
 Flashing and cast around : of all the band, 
 The brightest through these parted hills hathfork'd 
 His lightnings, — as if he did understand. 
 That in such gaps as desolation work'd. 
 There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein 
 lurk'd. 
 
Canto III PILGRIMAGE. 53 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake^ lightnings ! ye ! €L 
 With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul h 
 To make these felt and feeling, well may be O- 
 Things that have made me watchful 3 the far roll ^ 
 Of your departing voices, is the knoll h 
 Of what in me is sleepless, — if 1 rest. C 
 But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal } t>- 
 Are ye like those within the human breast ?c 
 Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? c 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Could I embody and unbosom now 
 That which is most within me, — could I wreak 
 My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
 Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weiak. 
 All that I would have sought, and all I seek> 
 Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word, 
 And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; 
 But as it is, I live and die unheard. 
 With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. 
 
"54 CniLD£ HAllOLL'S Cunto IJL 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 The morn is up again^ the dewy morn. 
 With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom. 
 Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn. 
 And living as if earth contain'd no tomb, — 
 And glowing into day : we may resume 
 The march of our existence : and thus I, 
 Still on thy shores, fair Leman ! may find room 
 And food for meditation, nor pass by 
 Much, that may give us pause, if pondered fittingly. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 Clarens ! sweet Clarens, birth-place of deep Love ! 
 Thine air is the young breathof passionate thought ; 
 Thy trees take root in Love j the snows above 
 The very Glaciers have his colours caught. 
 And sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought '*^ 
 By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks. 
 The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought 
 In them a refuge from the worldly shocks. 
 Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos« 
 then mocks. 
 
Canto HI. PILGRIMAGE. 55 
 
 c. 
 
 Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,— 
 Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne 
 To which the steps are mountains ; where the god 
 Is a pervading life and light^— so shown 
 Not on those summits solely^ nor alone 
 In the still cave and forest ; o'er the flower 
 His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown. 
 His soft and summer breath, whose tender power 
 Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate 
 hour. 
 
 CI. 
 
 All things are here of him ; from the black pines. 
 Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 
 Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines 
 Which slope his green path downward to the shore, 
 Where the bowed waters meet him, and adore. 
 Kissing his feet with murmurs j and the wood. 
 The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar. 
 But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it 
 stood 
 Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude, 
 
56 CH1LD£ HAROLD'S CatUo 111, 
 
 CIT. 
 
 A populous solitude of bees and birds, 
 And fairy-form'd and inany-coloured things. 
 Who worship him with notes more sweet than 
 
 words, 
 And innocently open their glad wings. 
 Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs, 
 And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend 
 Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
 The swiftest thought of beauty^ here extend. 
 Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. 
 
 cm. 
 
 He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, 
 And make his heart a spirit 5 he who knows 
 That tender mystery, will love the more, 
 For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes. 
 And the world's waste, have driven him far from 
 
 those. 
 For 'tis his nature to advance or die 5 
 He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
 Into a boundless blessing, which may vie 
 With the immortal lights, in its eternity I 
 
Canta III. PiLGRlMAGZ. 5J 
 
 CIV. 
 
 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot. 
 Peopling it with affections 3 but he found 
 It was the scene which passion must allot 
 To the mind's purified beings 3 'twas the ground 
 Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound. 
 And hallowed it with lo^ eliness : 'tis lone. 
 And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, 
 And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone 
 Plath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a 
 throne. 
 
 Lausanne ! and Ferney ! ye have been the abodes*' 
 Of names which unto you beq[ueath'd a name j 
 Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, 
 A path to perpetuity of fame : 
 They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim. 
 Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile 
 Thoughts which should call down thunder, and 
 
 the flame 
 Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while 
 On man and man's research could deign do more than 
 smile. 
 
58 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto HI, 
 
 CVI. 
 
 The one was fire and fickleness, a child. 
 Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, 
 A wit as various, — gay, grave, sage, or wild, — 
 Historian, bard, philosopher, combined -, 
 He multiplied himself among mankind, 
 The Proteus of their talents : But his own 
 Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as the wind. 
 Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, — 
 Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought. 
 And hiving wisdom with each studious year. 
 In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought. 
 And shaped his weapon with an edge severe. 
 Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer ; 
 The lord of irony, — that master-spell. 
 Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from 
 
 fear. 
 And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell, 
 Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. 
 
Caufo III. PILGRIMAGE. ^9 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Yet, peace be with their ashes,-— ^or by them. 
 If merited, the penalty is paid 3 
 It is not ours to judge, — far less condemn 5 
 The hour must come when such things shall bemade 
 Kngwn_unt9jall>=rrOr hope^nd dread allay *d _ 
 By slumber, on one pillow, — in the dust, 
 Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay'd 5. 
 And when it shall revive, as is our trust, 
 'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 But let me quit man's works, again to read 
 His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend 
 This page, which from my reveries I feed. 
 Until it seems prolonging without end. 
 The clouds above me to the white Alps tend. 
 And I must pierce them, and survey whatever 
 May be permitted, as my steps I bend 
 To their most great and growing region, where 
 The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air. 
 
60 
 
 ClilLDE HAROLDS Canto III. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Italia ! too^ Italia ! looking on thee, 
 Full flashes on the soul the light of ages. 
 Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee. 
 To the last halo of the chiefs and sages. 
 Who glorify thy consecrated pages ; 
 Thou wert the throne and grave of empires j 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 hilK 
 
 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 what we should be, — and to steel 
 The heart against itself; and to conceal. 
 With a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught, — 
 Passion or feeling, purpose, grief or zeal, — 
 Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought, 
 Is a stern task of soul : — No matter, — it is taught. 
 
Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 61 
 
 CXII. 
 
 And for these words, thus woven into song, 
 It may be that they are a harmless wile, — 
 The colouring of the scenes which fleet along. 
 Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile 
 My breast, or that of others, for a while. 
 Fame is the t hirst of youth, — but I am not 
 So young as to regard men's frown or smile, 
 As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot 
 I stood and stand alone, — remembe: 
 
 (university 
 
 cxiii. ■ 
 
 I have not loved the world, nor i 
 
 • I have not flattered it*s rank breath, 
 To it's idolatries a patient knee, — 
 Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles, — nor cried aloud 
 In worship of an echo ; in the crowd 
 They could not deem me one of such 5 I stood 
 Among them, but not of them ; in a shroud 
 Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and 
 still could, 
 
 Had I not filed ** my mind, which thus itself subdued. 
 
62 CHILDK HAROLD'S Cantn III, 
 
 CXIV. 
 I have not loved the world, nor the world me, — 
 But let us part fair foes j I do believe. 
 Though I have found them not, that there may be 
 Words which are things,— hopes which will not 
 
 deceive. 
 And virtues which are merciful, nor weave 
 Snares for the failing : I would also deem 
 O'er others' griefs that some sincerely 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 song begun — 
 My daughter ! with thy name thus much shall end — 
 I see thee not, — I hear thee not^ — but none 
 Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend 
 To whom the shadows of far years extend : 
 Albeit my brow thou never should'st 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. 
 
Canto III, PILGRIMAGE. 63 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 To aid thy mind's developement, — 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 reserv'd for me ; 
 Yet this was in my nature : — as it is, 
 I know not what is there, yet something like to this^ 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught, 
 I know that thou wilt love me ; though my name 
 Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught 
 With desolation, — and a broken claim : 
 Though the grave closed between us, — 'twere the 
 
 same, 
 I know that thou wilt love me ; though to drain 
 My blood from out thy being, were an aim. 
 And an attainment, — all would be in vain, — 
 Still thou would*st love me, still that more than life 
 
 retain. 
 
64 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Canto IIL 
 
 CXVIIL 
 The child of love, — though born in bitterness, 
 And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire 
 These were the elements, — and thine no less. 
 As yet such are around thee,— but thy fire 
 Shall be more tempered, and thy hope far higher. 
 Sweet be thy cradled slumbers ! O'er the sea. 
 And from the mountains where I now respire. 
 Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee. 
 As, with a sigh, I deem thou might' st have been to 
 me! 
 
/- 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 ▼OL n. 
 
/ 
 
 / 
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Note 1, page 12, line 5. 
 Jn " pride of place" here last the eagleflew, 
 " Pride of place" is a term of falconry, and means the 
 highest pitch of flight. — See Macbeth, &c. 
 " An Eagle towering in his pride of place 
 " Was by a mousmg Owl hawked at and killed." 
 
 Note 1, page 13, line 9. 
 Such as Harmodius drew on Athens* tyrant lord. 
 See the famous Song on Harmodius and Aristogiton. — The 
 best English translation is in Bland's Anthology, by Mr. 
 Denman. 
 
 ** With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," &c. 
 
 Note 3, page 13, line 17. 
 And all went merry as a man'iage'bell. 
 On the night previous to the action, it is said that u ball 
 was given at Brussels. 
 
 f2 
 
\ \ 
 
 68 KOTES TO THE THIRD CANTO OF 
 
 Notes 4 and 5, pdge 16, line p. 
 ^nd Evan^s, Donald's fame rings in each clansman*s ears. 
 Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the " gentle 
 Lochiel" of the *' forty- five.'* 
 
 Note 6, page 16, line 10. 
 And Ardennes uaves above them her green leaves. 
 The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the 
 " forest of Ardennes," famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and im- 
 mortal in Shakespeare's ** As you like it." It is also celebrated 
 in Tacitus as being the spot of successful defence by the Ger- 
 mans against the Roman encroachments. — I have ventured to 
 adopt the name connected "with nobler associations than those 
 of mere slaughter. 
 
 Note 7, page 18, line 9. 
 I turned from aU she broughl to those she could not bring. 
 My guide from Mont St. Jean over the field seemed 
 intelligent and accurate. The place where Major Howard fell 
 was not far from two tall and solitary trees (there was a third 
 cut down, or shivered in the battle) which stand a few yards 
 from each other at a pathway's side. — ^Beneath these he died 
 and was buried. The body has since been removed to 
 England. A small hollow for the present marks where it lay, 
 hot will probably soon be effaced ; the plough has been upon 
 it, and the grain is. 
 
CIIILDE HAKOLD^^ PILGRIMAGE. 69 
 
 After pointing out the different spots where Picton and 
 other gallant men had perished ; the guide said, ** here Major 
 Howard lay; I was near him when wounded." I told him 
 my relationship, and he seemed then still more anxious to 
 point out the particular spot and circumstances. The place 
 is one of the most marked in the field from the peculiarity of 
 the two trees abovementioned. 
 
 I went on horseback twice over the field, comparing it with 
 m^ recollection of similar scenes. As a plain, Waterloo seems 
 marked out for the scene of some great action, though this 
 may be mere imagination : I have viewed with attention those 
 ' of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Chaeronea, and Marathon ; 
 and the field around Mont St. Jean and Hougoumont appears 
 to want little but a better cause, and that undefinable but im- 
 pressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a cele- 
 brated spot, to vie in interest with any or all of these, except 
 perhaps the last mentioned. 
 
 Note 8, page 20, line 6. 
 Like to the apples on the Dead Sea*s shore. 
 The (fabled) apples on the.brink of the lake Asphaltes were 
 said to be fwr without, and within ashes. — Vide Tacitus, His- 
 tor. I. 5. 7. 
 
 Note 9, page 23, line last. 
 For iceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. 
 The great error of Napoleon, <* if we have writ our annaU 
 
70 NOTES TO THE THIRD CANTO OF 
 
 true,** was a continued obtrusion on mankind of bis want of 
 all community of feeling for or with them ; perhaps more offen-' 
 sive to human yanity than the active cruelty of more trembling 
 and suspicious tyranny. 
 
 Such were his speeches to public assemblies as well as indi- 
 viduals; and the single expression which he is said to haye 
 used on returning to Paris after the Russian winter had 
 destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, " This is 
 pleasanter than Moscow," would probably alienate more favour 
 irom Ills cause than the destruction and reverses which led ta 
 the remark. 
 
 Note 1 0, page 27, line 6. 
 
 What v)ant these outlaws amquer&rs should have ? 
 
 " What wants that knave 
 
 " That a king should have ?" 
 
 was King James's question on meeting Johnny Armstrong 
 
 aud his followers in full accoutrements. — See the Ballad. 
 
 Note 11, page 31, line 1. 
 The castled crag of Drachevfels. 
 The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest summit of 
 " the Seven Mountains," over the Rhine banks ; it is in ruins, 
 and connected with some singular traditions : it is the first in 
 view on the road from Bonn, but on the opposite side of the 
 river ^ cm this bank, nearly facing it, are the remains of another 
 
CIIILDE HAIlOLD'ii PILGRIMAGE. 7^ 
 
 called the Jew's castle, and a large cross commemorative of 
 the murder of a chief by his brother : the number of castles 
 and cities along the course of the Rhine on both sides is rery 
 great, and their situations remarkably beautiful. 
 
 Note 12, page 33, line last. 
 The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o^er him wept. 
 The monument of the young and lamented General Marceau 
 (killed by a rifle-ball at Alterkirchen on the last day of the 
 fourth year of the French republic) still remains as described. 
 The inscriptions on his monument are rather too long, and 
 not required : his name was enough ; France adored, and her 
 enemies admired 5 both wept over him.— His funeral was at- 
 tended by the generals and detachments from both armies. In 
 the same grave General Hoche is interred, a gallant man also 
 in every sense of the word, but though he distinguished him- 
 self greatly in battle, he had not the good fortune to die there 5 
 his death was attended by suspicions of poison. 
 
 A separate monument (not over his body, which is buried 
 by Marceau' s) is raised for him near Andernach, opposite to 
 which one of his most memorable exploits was performed, in 
 throwing a bridge to an island on the Rhine. The shape and 
 style are different from that of Marceau's, and the inscription 
 more simple and pleasing. 
 
 " The Army of the Sambre and Meuse 
 
 *' to its Commander in Chief 
 
 *' Hoche." 
 
/ ^ ^ NOTES TO THE THIRD CANTO OF 
 
 Tbb is all, and as it should be. Hoche was esteemed 
 among the jfirst of France's earlier generals before Buonaparte 
 monopolized her triumphs. — He was the destined commander 
 of the invading army of Ireland. 
 
 Note 13, page 34, line 1. 
 Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall. 
 Ehrenbreitstein, i. e. ** the broad Stone of Honour,'^ one of 
 tiie strongest fortresses in Europe, was dismantled and blown 
 up by the French at the truce of Leoben. — It had been and 
 could only be reduced by famine or treachery. It yielded to 
 the former, aided by surprise. After having seen the forti- 
 fications of Gibraltar and Malta, it did not much strike by 
 comparison, but the situation is commanding. General Mar- 
 ceau besieged it in vain for some time, and I slept in a room 
 where I was shown a window at which he is said to have been 
 standing observing the progress of the siege by moonlight, 
 when a ball struck immediately below it. 
 
 Note 14, page 36, line last. 
 Unsepulchred they roam^dy and shrieked each wandering ghost. 
 The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of bones dimi- 
 nished to a small number by the Burgundian legion in the 
 service of France, who anxiously effaced this record of their 
 ancestors* less successful invasions. A few still remain not- 
 witlistanding the pains taken by the Burgundians for ages. 
 
CiliLDE HAKOLD'S FJLGKliVlAGE, 73 
 
 (eU who passed that way removing a bone to their own 
 country) and the less justifiable larcenies of the Swiss postillions, 
 who carried them off to sell for knife-handles, a purpose for 
 which the whiteness imbibed by the bleaching of years had 
 rendered them in great request. Of these relics I ventured 
 to bring away as much as may have made the quarter of a 
 hero, for which the sole excuse is, that if I had not, the next 
 passer by might have perverted them to worse uses than the 
 careful preservation which I intend for them. 
 
 Note 15, page 37, line last. 
 Levelled Aventicum hath strewed her subject lands. 
 Aventicum (near Morat) was the Roman capital of Helvetia, 
 where Avenches now stands. 
 
 Note 16, page 38, line 9. 
 
 And held within their urn one miudf one heart, one dust. 
 
 Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian priestess, died soon after 
 
 a vain endeavour to save her father, condemned to death as a 
 
 traitor by Aulus Caecina. Her epitaph was discovered many 
 
 years ago ; — it is thus— 
 
 Julia Alpinula 
 
 Hicjac^o 
 
 Infelicis patris, iufelix proles 
 
 Deae Aventiae Sacerdos j 
 
 Exorare patris negem uou potui 
 
74 NOTES TO THE THIRD CANTO OF 
 
 Male mori in fatis ille erat. "^ 
 
 Vixi annos XXIII. 
 
 I know of no human composition so affecting as this, nor a 
 history of deeper interest. These are the names and actions 
 which ought not to perish, and to which we turn with a true 
 and healthy tenderness, from the wretched and glittering de- 
 tail of a confused mass of conquests and battles, with which 
 the mind is roused for a time to a false and feverish sympathy, 
 from whence it recurs at length with ail the nausea consequent 
 on such intoxication. 
 
 Note 17, page 38, line 17. 
 / In the sun^sface, like yonder Alpine snow. 
 This is written in the eye of Mont Blanc (June 3d, 1816) 
 which even at this distance dazzles mine. 
 
 (July 20th.) I this day observed for some time the distinct 
 reflection of Mont Blanc and Mont Argeniiere in the calm of 
 the lake, which I was crossing in ray boat j the distance of 
 these mountains from their mirror is 60 miles. 
 
 Note 18, page 40, line 12. 
 By the blue rtishing of the arrowy Rhone. 
 The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of 
 tint which I have never seen equalled in water, salt or fresh, 
 except in the Mediterranean and Archipelago. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 7^ 
 
 Note 1 9, page 44, line last. 
 Hum vulgar minds may be uith all they seek possest. 
 This refers to the account in his *• Confessions'* of his pas- 
 sion for the Comtesse d'Houdetot (the mistress of St. Lambert) 
 and his long walk every morning for the sake of the single kiss 
 which was the common salutation of French acquaintance. — 
 Rousseau's description of his feelings on this occasion may be 
 considered as the most passionate, yet not impure description 
 and expression of love that ever kin.dlcd into words ; which 
 after all must be felt, from their very force, to be inadequate 
 to the delineation : a painting can give no sufficient idea of 
 the ocean. 
 
 Note 20, page 50, line 12. 
 Of eavth-o'er gazing mountains f and thus take. 
 
 It is to be recollected, that the most beautiful and im- 
 pressive doctrines of the divine Founder of Christianity were 
 delivered, not in the Temple, but on the Mount, 
 
 To wave the question of devotion, and turn to human elo- 
 quence, — the most effectual and splendid specimens were not 
 pronounced within walls. Demosthenes addressed the public 
 and popular assemblies. Cicero spoke in the forum. That 
 this added to their effect on the mind of both orator and 
 liearers, may be conceived from the difference between what 
 we read of the emotions then and there produced, and those 
 we ourselves experience in the perusal in the closet. It is one 
 
J6 NOTES TO TH£ THIKD CANTO OF 
 
 thing to read the Iliad at Sigaeum and on the tumuli, or by 
 the springs with mount Ida above, and the plain and rivers 
 and Archipelago around you : and another to trim your taper 
 over it in a snug library — this I know. 
 
 Were the early and rapid progress of what is called Me- 
 ^thodism to be attributed to any cause beyond the enthusiasm 
 excited by its vehement faith and doctrines (the truth or error 
 of which I presume neither to canvass nor to question) I should 
 venture to ascribe it to the practice of preaching in Xhe fields, 
 and the unstudied and extemporaneous effusions of its teachers. 
 
 The Mussulmans, whose erroneous devotion (at least in the 
 lower orders) is most sincere, and therefore impressive, are 
 accustomed to repeat their prescribed orisons and prayers 
 wherever they may be at the stated hours — of course fre- 
 quently in the open air, kneeling upon a light mat (which they 
 carry for the purpose of a bed or cushion as required); the 
 ceremony lasts some minutes, during which they are totally 
 absorbed, and only living in their supplication ; nothing can 
 disturb them. On me the simple and entire sincerity of these 
 men, and the spirit which appeared to be within and upon 
 them, made a far greater impression than any general rite 
 which was ever performed in places of worship, of which I 
 have seen those of almost every persuasion under the sun : 
 including most of our own sectaries, and the Greek, the 
 Catholic, the Armenian, the Lutheran, the Jewish, and the Ma- 
 hometan, Many of the negroes, oi" whom there are numbers 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 77 
 
 in the Turkish empire, are idolaters, and have free exercise of 
 their belief and its rites : some of these I had a distant view of 
 at Patras, and from what I could make out of them, they ap- 
 peared to be of a truly Pagan description, and not very agree- 
 able to a spectator. 
 
 Note 21, page 51, line 1. 
 
 The sky is changed ! — and such a change I Oh night. 
 
 The thunder-storms to which these lines refer occurred on 
 
 the 1 3th of June, 1 8 1 6, at midnight. I have seen among the 
 
 Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari several more terrible, 
 
 but none more beautiful. 
 
 Note 22, page 54, line 14. 
 And sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought. 
 
 Kousseau's Heloise, Lettre 17, part 4, note. " Ces mon- 
 " tagnes sont si hautes qu'une demi-heure apres le soleil 
 ** couche, leurs sommets sont encore eclaires de ses rayons , 
 ** dont le rouge forme sur ces cimes blanches une belle couleur 
 " de rose qu'on apperjoit de fort loin." 
 
 This applies more particularly to the heights over Meillerie. 
 
 " J'alld a Vevay loger ^ la Clef, et pendant deux jours que 
 ** j*y restai sans voir personne, je pris pour cette ville un 
 *' amour qui m*a suivi dans tous mes voyages, et qui m*y a 
 *' fait etablir enfin les heros de mon roman. Je dirois vo- 
 " lontiers ^ ceux qui ont du goftt et qui sont sensibles : alez a 
 
?8 NOTES TO THE THIRD CANTO OF 
 
 •* Vevai — visitez le pays, examinez les sites, promenez-vous suf 
 " le lac, et dites si la Nature n*a pas fait ce beau pays pour 
 " une Julie, pour une Claire et pour un St. Preux ; niais ne 
 " les y cherchez pas." Les Confessions, livre iv. page 306. 
 Lyons ed. 1796. 
 
 In July, 1 816, 1 made a voyage round the Lake of Geneva ; 
 and, as far as my own observations have led me in a not unin- 
 terested nor inattentive survey of all the scenes most celebrated 
 by Rousseau in his " Heloise," I can safely say, that in this 
 there is no exaggeration. It would be difficult to see Clarens 
 (with the scenes around it, Vevay, Chillon, Boveret, St. Gingo, 
 Meillerie, Eivan, and the entrances of the Rhone), without 
 being forcibly struck with its peculiar adaptation to the persons 
 and events with which it has been peopled. But this is not all ; 
 the feeling with which all around Clarens, and the opposite 
 rocks of Meillerie, is invested, is of a still higher and more 
 comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individual 
 passion; it is a sense of the existence of love in its most ex- 
 tended and sublime capacity, and of our own participation of 
 its good and of its glory : it is the great principle of the uni- 
 verse, which is there more condensed, but not less manifested ; 
 and of which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose our 
 individuality, and mingle in the beauty of the whole. 
 
 If Rousseau had never written, nor lived, the same associa- 
 tions would not less have belonged to such scenes. He has 
 added to the interest of his works by their adoption ; he has 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 79 
 
 ^ewn his sense of their beauty by the selection; but they 
 have done that for him which no human being could do for 
 them. 
 
 I had the fortune (good or evil as it might be) to sail from 
 Meillerie (where we landed for some time), to St. Gingo 
 during a lake storm, which added to the magnificence of all 
 around, although occasionally accompanied by danger to the 
 boat, which was small and overloaded. It was over this very 
 part of the lake that Rousseau has driven the boat of St. Preux 
 and Madame Wolmar to Meillerie for shelter during a tempest. 
 
 On gaining the shore at St. Gingo, T found that the wind 
 had been sufficiently strong to blow down some fine old ches- 
 nut trees on the lower part of the mountains. 
 
 On the opposite height of Clarens is a chateau. The hills 
 are covered with vineyards, and interspersed with some small 
 but beautiful woods ; one of these was named the " Bosquet 
 de Julie," and it is remarkable that, though long ago cut down 
 by the brutal selfishness of the monks of St. Bernard, (to 
 whom the land appertained), that the ground might be in- 
 closed into a vineyard for the miserable drones of an execrable 
 superstition, the inhabitants of Clarens still point out the spot 
 where its trees stood, calling it by the name which consecrated 
 and survived them. 
 
 Rousseau has not been particularly fortunate in the pre- 
 servation of the " local habitations" he has given to ** airy 
 nothings." The Prior of Great St Bernard has cut down 
 
80 NOTES TO THE THIRD «ANTO, &e. 
 
 sorae of his woods for llie sake of a few casks of wine, and 
 Buonaparte has levelled part of the rocks of Meillerie in im- 
 proving the road to the Siraplon. The road is an excellent one, 
 but 1 cannot quite agree with a remark which I heard made, 
 that " La route vaut mieux que les souvenirs." 
 
 Note 23, page 57, line 10. 
 Latisanne ! and Femey ! yc have been the abodes. 
 Voltaire and Gibbon. 
 
 Note 24, page 6 1 , line last. 
 Had I notjiled my mind, rehich thus itself subdued, 
 
 «• If it be thus, ^ 
 
 " Tor Banquo's issue have IJiled my mind.'* 
 
 Macbeth, 
 
 Note 25, page 62, line 7. 
 0*cr others' griefs that some sincerely grieve. 
 It is said by Rochefoucault that " there is alivays something 
 '* In the misfortunes of men's best friends not displeasing to 
 ** them." 
 
CANTO IV. 
 
 Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna» 
 
 Quel Monte die divide, e quel che serra 
 Italia, e un raare e Paltro, che la bagna. 
 
 Ariosto, Satira iii. 
 
 VOL, 'II. 
 
FenicCf January 2, 1812 
 
 TO 
 
 JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. A. M. F. R. S. 
 
 S^c, Sfc, &^c* 
 
 MY DEAR HOBHOUSE,, 
 
 After an interval of eight year:s 
 between the composition of the first and last cantos 
 of Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poefti 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 
 
 o2 
 
84 
 
 through the poem on the poet, — to one, whom I 
 have known long, and accompanied 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 j — 
 to yourself. 
 
 In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth, and 
 in dedicating to you in its complete, or at least con- 
 cluded state, a poetical work which is the longest^ 
 the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my 
 compositions, I wrish 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 id not for minds like ours to give or to receive 
 flattery 3 yet the praises of sincerity have ever 
 been permitted to the voice of friendship 3 and it 
 is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve 
 a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, been 
 so mu eh accustomed to the encounter of good-wiU 
 as to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus at- 
 tempt to commemorate your good qualities, or 
 rather the advantages which I have derived from 
 
85 
 
 their exertion. Even the recurrence of the date 
 of this letter, the anniversary of the most un- 
 fortunate day of my past existence, but which 
 cannot poison my future while I retain the re- 
 source of your friendship, and of my own faculties, 
 will henceforth have a more agreeable recollection 
 for both, iaasiimch as it will remind us of this my 
 attempt to thank you for an indefatigable regard, 
 such as few men have experienced, and no one 
 could experience without thinking better of his 
 species and of himself. 
 
 It has been our fortune to traverse together, at 
 various periods, the countries of chivalry, history, 
 and fable — Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy ^ 
 and what Athens and Constantinople were to us 
 a few years ago, Venice and Rome have been 
 more recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, 
 or both, have accompanied me from first to last j 
 and perhaps it may be a pardonable vanity which 
 induces me to reflect with complacency on a com- 
 position which in some degree connects me with 
 the spot where it was produced, and the objects it 
 would fain describe 5 and however unworthy it 
 
80 
 
 may be deemed of those magical and memorable 
 abodes^ however short it may fall of our distant 
 conceptions and immediate impressions^ yet as a 
 mark of respect for what is venerable, and of 
 feeling for what i§ glorious, it has been to me a 
 source of pleasure in the production, and I part 
 with it with a kind of regret, which I hardly 
 suspected that events could have left me for 
 imaginary objects. 
 
 With regard to the conduct of the last canto, 
 there will be found less of the pilgrim than in 
 any of the preceding, and that little slightly, if at 
 all, separated from the author speaking in his own 
 person. The fact is, that I had become weary of 
 drawing a line which every one seemed deter- 
 mined not to perceive : like the Chinese in Gold- 
 smith'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 between the author and the pilgrim; 
 and the very anxiety to preserve this difference, 
 and disappointment at finding it unavailing, so 
 far crushed my efforts in the composition, that I 
 
s; 
 
 determined to abandon it altogether — and have 
 done so. The opinions which have been, or may 
 be, formed on that subject, are notv a matter of 
 indifference j the work is to depend on itself, and 
 not on the writer; and the author, who has no 
 resources in his own mind beyond the 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 the 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 consequent reflections -, and for 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 5 and requires 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 recently abode, — to distrust, or at 
 least defer our judgment, and more narrowly ex- 
 amine our information. The state of literary, 
 as well as political party, appears to run, or to 
 have run, so high, that for a stranger to steer im- 
 partially between them is next to impossible. It 
 may be enough then, at least for my purpose, to 
 quote from their own beautiful language — " Mi 
 pare che in un paese tutto poetico, che vanta la 
 lingua la piil nobile ed insieme la piCi dolce, tutte 
 tutte le vie diverse si possono tentare, e che sinche 
 la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha perduto 
 r antico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la pri- 
 ma." Italy has great names still— Can ova, Monti, 
 Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Visconti, Morelli, Ci- 
 cognara, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, 
 Aglietti, and Vacca, will secure to the present 
 generation an honourable place in most of the de- 
 partments of Art, Science, and Belles Lettres 5 and 
 in some the very highest — Europe— the World 
 — has but one Canova. 
 
 It has been somewhere said by Alfieri, that '* La 
 pianta uomo nasce piCi robusta in Italia che in 
 qualunque altra terra — e che gli stessi atroci delitti 
 
89 
 
 che vi si commettono ne sono una prova." With- 
 out subscribing to the latter part of his proposi- 
 tion^ a dangerous doctrine, the truth of which may 
 be disputed on better grounds, namely, that the 
 Italians are in no respect more ferocious than their 
 neighbours, that man must be wilfully blind, or 
 ignorantly heedless, who is not struck with the ex- 
 traordinary capacity of this people, or, if such a 
 word be admissible, their capabilities, the facility 
 of their acquisitions, the rapidity of their concep- 
 tions, the fire of their genius, their sense of beauty, 
 and amidst all the disadvantages of repeated revo- 
 lutions, the desolation of battles and the despair 
 of ages, their still unquenched '^ longing after 
 immortality," — the immortality of independence. 
 And when we ourselves, in riding round the walls 
 of Rome, heard the simple lament of the labourers* 
 chorus, *^Roma! Roma! Roma! Roma non h 
 piii come era prima," it was difficult not to con- 
 trast 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 Genoa, of Italy, of 
 France, and of the world, by men whose conduct 
 
 V^ OF THE '/^ 
 
 [UNIVERSITY 
 
 ^0E15 
 
90 
 
 you yourself have exposed in a work worthy of 
 the better days of our history. For me, 
 
 " Non movero mai coida 
 
 ** Ove la turba di sue ciance assorda." 
 
 What Italy has gained by the late transfer of 
 nations, it were useless for Englishmen to inquire, 
 till it becomes ascertained that England has ac- 
 quired something more than a permanent army 
 ^nd a suspended Habeas Corpus ; it is enough for 
 them to look at home. For what they have done 
 abroad, and especially in the South, '' Verily they 
 liiill have their reward," and at no very distant 
 period. 
 
 Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and 
 agreeable return to that country whose real wel- 
 fare can be dearer to none than to yourself, I de- 
 dicate to you this poem in its completed state j 
 and repeat once more how truly I am ever 
 Your obliged 
 And aflfectionatc friend, 
 
 ByRON. 
 
ef^mt w^vow^ mimm^Q^. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 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 structures rise 
 As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : 
 A thousand years their cloudy wings expand 
 Around me, and a dying Glory smiles 
 0*er the far times, when many a subject land 
 Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles^ 
 Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred 
 isles ! 
 
9^ CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV, 
 
 II. 
 
 She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, * A 
 Rising with her tiara of proud towers /3 
 At airy distance, with majestic motion, /3^ 
 A ruler of the waters and their powers : t3 
 And such she was ; —her daughters had their dowers 2> 
 From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Q 
 Pour*d in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. /? 
 in purple was she robed, and of her feast C 
 Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. C 
 
 In Venice Tasso*s echoes are no more, ' / "^ 
 And silent rows the songless gondolier j I J 
 Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, H 
 And music meets not always now the ear : \i 
 Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. [3 
 States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die, O 
 Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, ^ 
 The pleasant place of all festivity, C 
 The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy ! ^ 
 
Cmto IK PILGRIMAGE. 93 
 
 IV. 
 
 But unto us she hath a spell beyond n 
 Iler name in story, and her long array /> 
 Of mighty shadows^ whose dim forms despond y\ 
 Above the dogeless city's vanished sway ; fS 
 Ours is a trophy which will not decay /3 
 With the Rialto 3 Shylock and the Moor, C 
 And Pierre, can not be swept or worn away — ^ 
 The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er, C~ 
 For us repeopled were the solitary shore. 
 
 The beings of the mind are not of clay 5 
 Essentially immortal, they create 
 And multiply in us a brighter ray 
 And more beloved existence : that which Fate 
 Prohibits to dull life, in this our state 
 Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied 
 First exiles, then replaces what we hate -, 
 Watering the heart whose early flowers have died. 
 And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 
 
94 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cmito IV, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Such is the refuge of our youth and age. 
 The first from Hope^ the last from Vacancy -, 
 And this worn feeling peoples many a page, 
 And^ may be, that which grows beneath mine eye : 
 Yet there are things whose strong reality 
 Outshines our fairy-land 3 in shape and hues 
 More beautiful than our fantastic sky. 
 And the strange constellations which the Muse 
 O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse : 
 
 VII. 
 
 I saw or dreamM of such, — but let tliem go — 
 They came like truth, and disappear' d 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 I sought for, and at moments found 3 
 Let these too go — for waking Reason deems 
 Such over-weening phantasies unsound. 
 And other voices speak, and other sights surround. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. QB 
 
 VIII. 
 I've taught me other tongues — and in strange eyes 
 Have made me not a stranger 3 to the mind 
 Which is itself, no changes bring surprise ; 
 Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find 
 A country with — ay, or without mankind 3 
 Yet was I born where men are proud to be. 
 Not without cause ; and should I leave behind 
 The inviolate island of the sage and free. 
 And seek me out a home by a remoter sea. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Perhaps I loved it well : and should I lay 
 My ashes in a soil which is not mine. 
 My spirit shall resume it^if we may 
 Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine 
 My hopes of being remember'd in my line 
 With my land's language : if too fond and far 
 These aspirations in their scope incline, — 
 If my fame should be, as my fortunes are. 
 Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar 
 
9^ CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV, 
 
 X. 
 
 My name from out the temple where the dead 
 Are honour*d by the nations — let it be — 
 And light the laurels on a loftier head ! 
 And be the Spartan's epitaph on me— - 
 ^' Sparta hath many a worthier son than he.'* * 
 Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need 5 
 The thorns which I have reapM are of the tree 
 I planted, — they have torn me, — and 1 bleed : 
 I should have known what fruit would spring from 
 such a seed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord j 
 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 wither'd power. 
 Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued. 
 And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour 
 When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower. 
 
CantQ IV. ' PILGRIMAGK. 97 
 
 I 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — ^ 
 An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; 
 Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains 
 Clank over sceptred cities 3 nations melt 
 From power*s high pinnacle, when they have felt 
 The sunshine for a while, and downward go 
 Like lauwine loosenM from the mountain's belt ; 
 Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo ! ^ 
 Th* octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass. 
 Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; 
 But is not Doria's menace come to pass ? ^ 
 Are they not bridled? — Venice, lost and won. 
 Her thirteen hundred yearr of freedom done, 
 Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose ! 
 Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, 
 Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes, 
 From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
98 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 In youth she was all glory, — a new Tyre, — 
 Her very by-word sprung from victory. 
 The '^ Planter of the Lion," ^ which through fire 
 And blood she bore o*er subject earth and sea 5 
 Though making many slaves, herself still free. 
 And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite j 
 Witness Troy's rival, Candia ! Vouch it, ye 
 Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight ! 
 For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Statues of glass — all shiverM — the long file 
 Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ; 
 But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile 
 Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ; 
 Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, 
 Have yielded to the stranger : empty halls, 
 Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must 
 Too oft remind her who and what enthrals, ^° 
 Have flung a desolate cloud o*er Venice* lovely walls. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 99 
 
 XVI. 
 When Athens* armies fell at Syracuse, 
 And fetter*d thousands bore the yoke of war. 
 Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse, " 
 Her voice their only ransom from afar : 
 See ! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car 
 Of the overmaster' d victor stops, the reins 
 Fall from his hands — his idle scimitar 
 Starts from its belt— he rends his captive's chains. 
 And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his 
 strains. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine. 
 Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot. 
 Thy choral memory of the Bard divine, 
 Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot 
 Which ties thee to thy tyrants 3 and thy lot 
 Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, 
 Albion ! to thee : the Ocean queen should not 
 Abandon Ocein*s children ; in the fall 
 Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. 
 
 H 2 
 
lOO CHILDE HAROLD'S Cnvtn IV, 
 
 xviir. 
 
 I loved her from my boyhood — she to me 
 Was as a fairy city of the heart, 
 Rising like water-columns from the sea. 
 Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; 
 And Otway, RadclifFe, Schiller /Shakspeare's art, '* 
 Had stamped her image in me, and even so. 
 Although I found her thus, we did not part, 
 Perchance even dearer in her day of woe. 
 Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 I can repeople with the past — and of 
 The present there is still for eye and thought. 
 And meditation chastened down, enough ; 
 And more, it may be, than T hoped or sought; 
 And of the happiest moments which were wrought 
 Within the web of my existence, some 
 From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught: 
 There are some feelings Time can not benumb. 
 Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and 
 dumb. 
 
CayUo ly. PILGRIMAGE. 101 
 
 XX. 
 
 But from their nature will the tannen grow ^^ 
 Loftiest on loftiest and least sheltered rocks. 
 Rooted in barrenness, where nought below 
 Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks 
 Of eddying storms 5 yet springs the trunk, and 
 
 mocks 
 The howling tempest, till its height and frame 
 Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks 
 Of bleak, gray, granite, into life it came. 
 And grew a giant tree j — the mind may grow the same. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Existence may be borne, and the deep root 
 Of life and sufferance make its firm abode 
 In bare and desolated bosoms : mute 
 The camel labours with the heaviest load. 
 And the wolf dies in silence, — not bestow'd 
 In vain should such example be ; if they. 
 Things of ignoble or of savage mood. 
 Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay 
 May temper it to bear, — it is but for a day. 
 
302 CHI LDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 All sufifering doth destroy, or is destroyed. 
 Even by the sufferer ; and, in each event 
 Ends: — Some, with hope replenish'dandrebuoy'd. 
 Return to w^hence they came — with like intent. 
 And weave their web again ; some, bow'd and bent. 
 Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time. 
 And perish with the reed on which they leant 5 
 Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime. 
 According as their souls were form'd to sink or climb: 
 
 XXIII. 
 But ever and anon of griefs subdued 
 There comes £^ 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 ', 
 
Canto IV, PI LG II i Ai AGE. 1 03 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And how and why we know not, nor can trace 
 Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, 
 But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface 
 The blight and blackening which it leaves behind. 
 Which out of things familiar, 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 mourn'd, the loved, the lost — too many ! — yet 
 how few ! 
 
 XXV. — ■ 
 
 But my soul wanders 3 I demand it back 
 To meditate amongst decay, and stand 
 A ruin amidst ruins ; there to track 
 FaU'n states and buried greatness, o*er a land 
 Which rvas the mightiest in its old command. 
 And is the loveliest, and must ever be 
 The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand. 
 Wherein were cast the heroic and the free. 
 
 The beautiful, the brave — the lords of earth and sea. 
 
104 CHILDE HAROLD'S Ctnite IF, 
 
 XXVI. 
 The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome ! 
 And even since, and now, fair Italy ! 
 Thou art the garden of the world, the home 
 Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree 5 
 Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? 
 Thy very weeds are beautiful^ thy waste 
 More rich than other climes' fertility 3 
 Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced 
 With an immaculate charm which can not be defaced. 
 
 fe^-^^-^t^-^ 
 
 UU^^JycvAXXVII. 
 
 The Moon i^ ^p, 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 5 Heaven is free 
 From clouds, but of all colours seems to be 
 Melted to one vast Iris of the West, 
 "Where the Day joins the past Eternity 3 
 While, 6n the other hand, meek Dian's crest 
 Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest ^ 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 'JW 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A single star is at her side, and reigns 
 With her o'er half the lovely heaven 5 but still '* 
 Yon sunny sea heaves brightly^ and remains 
 Roird o'erjihepeiik of the far Rhaetian hill;, 
 As Day and Night contending were, until 
 Nature reclaim'd her order : — gently flows 
 The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil 
 The odorous purple of a new-born rose. 
 Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within 
 it glows, 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar. 
 Comes down upon the waters 5 all its hues. 
 From the rich sunset to the rising star. 
 Their magical variety diffuse : 
 And now they change ; a paler shadow strews 
 Its mantle o*er the mountains 5 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. 
 
106 CIllLDK HAROLD'S Canto IK 
 
 XXX. 
 
 There is a tomb in Arqua ; — rear'd in air, 
 Pillar*d in their sarcophagus, repose 
 The bones of Laiira*s lover : here repair 
 Many familiar with his well-sung woes. 
 The pilgrims of his genius. He arose 
 To raise a language, and his land reclaim 
 From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes : 
 Watering the tree which bears his lady's name ** 
 With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died 5 »* 
 The mountain- village where his latter days 
 Went down the vale of years ; and 'tis their pride^ 
 An honest pride — and let it be their praise. 
 To offer to the passing stranger's gaze 
 His mansion and his sepulchre 5 both plain 
 And venerably simple, such as raise 
 A feeling more accordant with his strain 
 Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane. 
 
Canto JV. PILGRIMAGE. 107 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt 
 Is one of that complexion which seems made 
 For those who their mortality have felt. 
 And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd 
 In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade. 
 Which shows a distant prospect far away 
 Of busy cities, now in vain displayed, 
 For they can lure no further 5 and the ray 
 Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers. 
 And shining in the brawling brook, where-by. 
 Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours 
 With a calm languor, which, though to the eye 
 Idlesse it seem, hath its morality. . 
 
 Cl f from society we learn t o live,_ 
 * Tis solitude should teach us ho w to d ie ; 
 It hath no flatterers j vanity can giv e 
 No hollow aidxalpne— man with his God must strive : 
 
108 CHILDt HAROLD'S Canto IV^ 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Or, it may be^ with demons, who impair ^^ 
 The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey 
 In melancholy bosoms, such as were 
 Of moody texture from their earliest day. 
 And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay. 
 Deeming themselves predestined to a doom 
 Which is not of the pangs that pass away ; 
 Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb. 
 The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Ferrara ! in thy wide and grass-grown streets. 
 Whose symmetry was not for solitude. 
 There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats 
 Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood 
 Of Este, which for many an age made good 
 Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore 
 Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood 
 Of petty power impelled, of those who wore 
 The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn 
 before. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 10^ 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And Tasso is their glory and their shame. 
 Hark to his strain ! and then survey his cell ! 
 And see how dearly earn*d Torquato's fame. 
 And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell : 
 The miserable despot could not quell 
 The insulted mind he snught to quench., and blend 
 With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell 
 Where he had plung*d it. Glory without end 
 Scatter 'd the clouds away — and on that name attend 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The tears and praises of all time 3 while thine -- -;^ 
 Would rot in its oblivion — in the sink ^ 
 
 Of worthless dust, which from thy boasted line 
 Is shaken into nothing -, but the link 
 Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think 
 Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn — 
 Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink 
 From thee ! if in another station boru, 
 Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad*st to mourn : 
 
no CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Thou! form*d to eat, and be despis'd, and die. 
 Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou 
 Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty : 
 He! with a glory round his furrow*d brow. 
 Which emanated then, and dazzles now 
 In face of all his fdes^ the Cruscan quire. 
 And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow '^ 
 No strain which shamed his country' screaking lyre, 
 That whetstone of the teeth — monotony in wire ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Peace to Torquato's injur'd shade ! 'twas his 
 In life and death to be the mark where Wrong 
 Aim'd with her poison'd arrows j but to miss. 
 Oh, victor unsurpass'd in modern song ! 
 Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long 
 The tide of generations shall roll on. 
 And not the whole combined and countless throng 
 Compose a mind like thine ? though all in one 
 Condensed their scattered rays, they would not form 
 a sun. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. Ill 
 
 XL. 
 
 Great as thou art, yet parallel'd by those. 
 Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine. 
 The Bards of Hell and Chivalry : first rose 
 The Tuscan father*s comedy divine ; /^ c^^h-^^ M^. 
 Then, not unequal to the Florentine, 
 The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd forth 
 A new creation with his magic line, 
 And, like the Ariosto of the North, 
 Sang lady e-love and war, romance and knightly worth. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust^^ 
 The iron crown of laurel's mimic*d leaves ; 
 Nor was the ominous element unjust. 
 For the true laurel- wreath which Glory weaves '-^^ 
 Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves. 
 And the false semblance but disgraced his brow ; 
 Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves. 
 Know, that the lightning sanctifies below '^^ 
 Whatever it strikes ; — ^yon head is doubly sacred now. 
 
112 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto ]V. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast^^ 
 The fatal gift of beauty, which became 
 A funeral dower of present woes and past. 
 On thy sweet brow is sorrow plough' d by shame, 
 And annals graved in characters of flame. 
 Oh God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness 
 Less lovely or more powerful, and could'st claim 
 Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press 
 To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress ; 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Then might'st thou more appal ; or, less desired. 
 Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored 
 For thy destructive charms ; then, still un tired. 
 Would not be seen the arnied torrents pour'd 
 Down the deep Alps j nor would the hostile horde 
 Of many-nation*d spoilers from the Po 
 Quaff blood and water ; nor the stranger's sword 
 Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, 
 Victor or vanquished, thou the slave of friend or foe- 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 1 13 
 
 XLIV. 
 Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him, '^^ 
 The Roman friend of Rome's least-mortal mind. 
 The friend of TuUy : as my bark did skim 
 The bright blue waters with a fanning wind. 
 Came Megara before me, and behind 
 -/Egina lay, Piraeus on the right, 
 And Corinth on the left ; I lay reclined 
 Along the prow, and saw all these unite 
 In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight j 
 
 XLV. 
 
 For Time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd 
 Barbaric dwellings on their shattered site. 
 Which only make more mourn'd and more endear*d 
 The few last rays of their far-scatter'd light. 
 And the crush'd relics of their vanish^ might. 
 The Roman saw these tombs in his own age. 
 These sepulchres of cities, which excite 
 Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page 
 The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. 
 
114 CHILDE HAROLDS Canto IV. 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 That page is now before me, and on mine 
 His country's ruin added to the mass 
 Of perish'd states he mourn'd in their decline. 
 And I in desolation : all that was 
 Of then destruction is ; and now, alas ! " 
 Rome — Rome imperial, bows her to the storm. 
 In the same dust and blackness, and we pass 
 The skeleton of her Titanic form, ^^ 
 Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Yet, Italy ! through every other land 
 
 Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to 
 
 side; 
 Mother of Arts ! as once of arms , thy hand 
 Was then our guardian, and is still our guide ; 
 Parent of our Religion ! whom the wide 
 Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven ! 
 Europe, repentant of her parricide, 
 Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven. 
 Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. ' 115 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 But Arno wins us to the fair white walls. 
 Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps 
 A softer feeling for her fairy halls. 
 Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps 
 Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps 
 To laughing life, with her redundant horn. 
 Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps 
 Was modern Luxury of Commerce born, 
 And buried Learning rose, redeemed to a new morn. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills ®^ 
 
 The air around with beauty 5 we inhale 
 
 The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils 
 
 Part of its immortality ; the veil 
 
 Of heaven is half undrawn -, within the pale 
 
 We stand, and in that form and face behold 
 
 What Mind can make, when Nature's self would 
 
 fail; 
 And to the fond idolaters of old 
 Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould : 
 
 I 2 
 
116 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV, 
 
 L. 
 
 We gaze and turn away, and know not where. 
 Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart 
 Reels with its fulness 5 there — for ever there — 
 Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art, 
 We stand as captives, and would not depart. - 
 Away ! — there need no words, nor terms precise. 
 The paltry jargon of the marble mart, 
 Where Pedantry gulls Folly — we have eyes : 
 Blood — pulse — and breast, confirm theDardan Shep- 
 herd's prize. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise ? 
 Or to more deeply blest Anchises ? or. 
 In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies 
 Before thee thy own vanquished Lord of War ? 
 And gazing in thy face as toward a star. 
 Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn. 
 Feeding on thy sweet cheek ! ^^ while thy lips are 
 With lava kisses melting while they burn, 
 Showered on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from 
 an urn ! 
 
Canto I y. PILGRIMAGE. 11? 
 
 Lll. 
 
 Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love. 
 Their full divinity inadequate 
 That feeling to express, or to improve, 
 The gods become as mortals, and man's fate 
 Has moments like thdr brightest ; but the weight 
 Of earth recoils upon us ; — let it go ! 
 We can recal such visions, and create. 
 From w^hat has been, or might be, things which 
 grow 
 Into thy statue's form, and look like gods below. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 I leave to learned fingers, and wise hands, 
 The artist and his ape, to teach and tell 
 
 I How well his connoisseurship understands 
 The graceful bend, and the voluptuous swell : 
 Let these describe the undescribable : 
 I would not their vile breath should crisp the stream 
 Wherein that image shall for ever dwell -, 
 The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream 
 
 That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. 
 
1 18 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 In Santa Croce's holj^ precincts lie^'^ 
 Ashes which make it holier, dust which is 
 Even in itself an immortality, 
 Though there were nothing save the past, and this. 
 The particle of those sublimities 
 Which have relaps*d to chaos : — ^here repose 
 Angelo*s, Alfieri's bones, and his, ^ 
 The starry Galileo, with his woes 3 
 Here Machiavelli's earth, returned to whence it rose. ^^ 
 
 LV. 
 These are four minds, which, like the elements. 
 Might furnish forth creation : — Italy ! 
 Time, which hath wronged thee with ten thousand 
 
 rents 
 Of thine imperial garment, shall deny. 
 And hath denied, to every other sky. 
 Spirits which soar from ruin : — thy decay 
 Is still impregnate with divinity. 
 Which gilds it with revivifying ray 5 
 Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE, H9 
 
 LVI. 
 
 But where repose the all Etruscan three — 
 Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, 
 ' The Bard of Prose, creative spirit ! he 
 . Of the Hundred Tales of love — where did they lay 
 Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay 
 In death as life ? Are they resolved to dust, 
 And have their country's marbles nought to say ? 
 Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust ? 
 Did they not to her breast their filial earth entrust ? 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar, ^o 
 Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore 3 ^* 
 Thy factions, in their worse than civil war. 
 Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore 
 Their children's children would in vain adore 
 With the remorse of ages 3 and the crown ^^ 
 Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore. 
 Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, 
 His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not 
 thine own. 
 
120 CHILD li HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeathed ^s 
 His dust, — and lies it not her Great among. 
 With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed 
 O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue ? 
 That music in itself, whose sounds are song. 
 The poetry of speech ? No 3— even his tomb 
 Uptorn, must bear the hyaena bigot's wrong. 
 No more amidst the meaner dead find room. 
 Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for xjohom I 
 
 LIX. 
 
 And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust 5 
 Yet for this want more noted, as of yore 
 The Caesar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, 
 Did but of Rome's best Son remind her more : 
 Happier Ravenna ! on thy hoary shore. 
 Fortress of falling empire ! honour'd sleeps 
 (VsA^r^ The immortal exile 3-— Arqua, too, her store \^iX^^4V^V 
 Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keeps. 
 While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and 
 weeps. 
 
Canto }V. PI LGk IMAGE. 121 
 
 LX. 
 
 What is her pyramid of precious stones } ^4 
 Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues 
 Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones 
 Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dews 
 Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse 
 Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead. 
 Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse, 
 Are gently ^presi with far more reverent tread 
 Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 There be more things to greet the heart and eyes 
 In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine, 
 Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies ; 
 There be morejiiaiT^b_yet— -but not for mine j 
 For I have been accustom'd to entwine 
 My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields. 
 Than Art in galleries i_ though ajwqrk divine 
 Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields 
 Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields 
 
i22 CUILDi: HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Is of another temper, and I roam 
 By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles 
 Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home 5 
 For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles 
 Come ba^k before m^ as JiisjkiU. beguiles 
 The host between the mountains and the shore. 
 Where Courage falls in her despairing files, ' 
 And torrents, swqliLt(Lrivers_wjthjtheir gore, 
 
 Reek^through the sultry plain^ with Ipgjnns^ogtt^^r^ 
 
 o'er, 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Like to a forest fell' d_ by mountain wjnds ; 
 And such the storm of battle on this_day, 
 ^ And such the phrensy, whose convulsion blinds 
 
 J To aU save carnage, that, beneath the fray, 
 Ot4>vv^vuiAii earthquake reel'd unheededly away ! ^^ 
 None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet. 
 And yawning forth a grave for those who lay 
 Upon their bucklers for a winding sheet ; 
 Such is the absorbing hate when warring nationsmeet ! 
 
Canto 7V. PILGRIMAGE, 125 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 The Earth to them was as a rolling bark 
 Which bore them to Eternitj^^ they saw 
 The Ocean rounds but hadao lime to mark 
 , The motions^f their vessel -, Nature's law. 
 In them susjgended^reck^djipl_ofJ^^ 
 Which rei^ns^when^^ , and the birds 
 
 Plunge in JJifijcilQiidsjorj'efuge and withdraw 
 From^the[rJLQwn:itopjpling^nestS3 and bellowing 
 
 herds 
 St umble o 'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath 
 
 no words. 
 
 LXV. 
 Far other scene is Thrasimene now j 
 Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
 Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 
 Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain 
 Lay where theLrrpolsjLLejJ^utaii^ hath ta'en— 
 A little rill of scanty stream and bed — 
 A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain ^ 
 And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead 
 Made the earth wet, and turn'd the unwilling waters 
 
 red. 
 
124 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 But thou, Clitumnus! in tKy sweetest wave^^ 
 Of the most living ciystal that was e'er 
 The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave 
 Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear 
 Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer 
 Grazes ; the purest god of gentle waters ! 
 And most serene of aspect, and most clear ; 
 Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters— 
 A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 And on thy happy shore a temple still. 
 Of small and delicate proportion, keeps. 
 Upon a mild declivity of hill. 
 Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps 
 Thy current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps 
 The finny darter with the glittering scales. 
 Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps 5 
 While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails 
 Down where the shallower wave still tells its bub- 
 bling tales. 
 
PILGRIMAGE. 125 
 
 LXVIIL 
 
 Pass not unblest the Genius of the place I 
 If through the air a zephyr more serene 
 AVin to the brow^ 'tis his ; and if ye trace 
 Along his margin a more eloquent green. 
 If on the heart the freshness of the scene 
 Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust 
 Of weary life a moment lave it clean 
 With Nature's baptism, — 'tis to him ye must 
 Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. 
 
 / 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 "I^l^Jlo^T of-WaMrsJt^from the headlong height 
 Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice 5 
 The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 
 The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss -, 
 The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss. 
 And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat 
 Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
 Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
 That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set. 
 
126 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again 
 Returns in an unceasing shower, which round. 
 With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain. 
 Is an eternal April to the ground. 
 Making it all one emerald : — how profound 
 The gulf ! and how the giant element 
 From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound. 
 Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent / 
 With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent/ 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 K To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 
 •1 More like the fountain of an infant sea 
 \ Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes 
 Of a new world, than only thus to be 
 Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly. 
 With 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, ^^ 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 12/ 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, 
 From side to side, beneath the glittering morn. 
 An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, ^^ 
 Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn 
 Its steady dyes, while all around is torn 
 By the distracted waters, bears serene 
 Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn : 
 Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene. 
 Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 Once more upon the woody Apennine, 
 The infant Alps, which — had I not before 
 Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine 
 Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar 
 The thundering lauwine — might be worshipp*d 
 
 more ; ^^ 
 But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear 
 Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar 
 Glaciers of bleak Mont-Blanc both far and near, 
 And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, 
 
128 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name ; 
 'And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly 
 Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame. 
 For still they soar*d unutterably high : 
 I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye; 
 Athos, Olympus, ^tna, Atlas, ma^e 
 These hills seem things of lesser dignity. 
 All, save the lone Soracte*s height, display*d 
 Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid 
 
 Lxxy. ~)^i>\U 
 
 For our remembrance, and from-out the plain 
 Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break. 
 And on the curl hangs pausing : not in vain 
 May he, who will, his recollections rake 
 And quote in classic raptures, and awake 
 The hills with Latian echoes ; I abhor r'd 
 Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake. 
 The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word byword ^ 
 In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 
 
C(mto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 1 29 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Aught that recals the daily drug which turn'd 
 My sickening memory^ and, though Time hath 
 
 taught 
 My mind to meditate what then it learn 'd, 
 Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought 
 By the impatience of my early thought, • 
 That, with tji^ freshness wearing out before 
 My mind could relish what it might have sought, 
 If free toxhoose^ i cannot now restore 
 Its health; but what it then detested, still abhor. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Then farewell, Horace ; whom I hated so. 
 Not for thy faults, but mine 3 it is a curse 
 To understand, not feel thy lyric flow. 
 To comprehend, but never love thy verse, 
 Although no deeper Moralist rehearse 
 Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art. 
 Nor livelier Satirist the conscience j)ierce. 
 Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart. 
 Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. 
 
 VOL. II. !<;. 
 
ISO CHI LDE HAROLD'S Ccn?^) IV- 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Oh Rome ! my countiy ! city of the soul ! 
 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
 Lone mother of dead empires ! and control 
 In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
 What are our woes and sufiPerance } Come and see 
 The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
 OV.r 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. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 i The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, ^ 
 \ Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; 
 An empty urn within her withered hands. 
 Whose holy dust was scattered long ago 3 
 The Scipios* tomb contains no ashes now ; ** 
 The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
 Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
 Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness } 
 Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress! 
 
Cu'Ho iV. TiLGRlMAGE. 131 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and 
 
 Fire, 
 Have dealt upon the seven-hiird city's pride ; 
 She saw her glories star by star expire. 
 And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride. 
 Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide 
 Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — 
 Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, 
 0*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 3 we but feel our way to err : 
 The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 
 And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap j 
 But Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
 Stumbling o*er recollections -, now we clap 
 Our hands, and cry " Eureka !'* it is clear — 
 When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cow to IF. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 
 The trebly hundred triumphs ! *^ and the day 
 When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
 The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! 
 Alas, for TuUy's voice, and Virgil's lay. 
 And L ivy's pictured page ! — but these shall be 
 Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
 Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
 That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was 
 free ! 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Oh thou, whose chariot roU'd on Fortune's wheel, '*^ 
 Triumphant Sylla ! Thou, who didst subdue 
 Thy country's foes ere thou would pause to feel 
 The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
 Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew 
 O'er prostrate Asia 5-:-thou, who with thy frown 
 Annihilated senates — Roman, too. 
 With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down 
 With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown — 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 133 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 The dictatorial wreath, — couldst thou divine 
 To what would one day dwindle that which made 
 Thee more than mortal } and that so supine 
 By aught than Romans Rome should thus be laid ? 
 She who was named Eternal, and array'd 
 Her warriors but to conquer — she who veil'd 
 Earth with her haughty shadow, and displayed. 
 Until the o*er-canopied horizon fail'd. 
 Her rushing jvings^-^hj^she^ who was Almighty 
 hail'd ! 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Sylla was first of victors 3 but our own 
 The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell ; he 
 Too swept off senates while he hevv'd the throne 
 Down to a block — immortal rebel ! See 
 What crimes it costs to be a moment free 
 And famous through all ages ! but beneath 
 His fate the moral lurks of destiny 5 
 His day of double victory and death 
 Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield his 
 breathe 
 
J 34 CHILDE HAROLD'S Conte IV. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 The third of the same moon whose former course 
 Had all but erown'd him, on the selfsame day 
 Deposed him gently from his throne of force, 
 And 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 different were his 
 doom ! 
 
 LXXXVII. (^.rwli^ 
 
 And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in^* fj^ \ 
 
 The austerest form of naked majesty. 
 Thou who beheldest, 'mid the assassins' din. 
 At thy bath*d base the bloody Caesar lie. 
 Folding his robe in dying dignity, 
 An offering to thine altar from the queen 
 Of gods and ipien, great Nemesis ! did he die. 
 And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye been 
 Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene } 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. ^ v^ OF Tdi5 'A 
 
 (UNIVEESIT 
 Lxxxviii. \^ I Tr •" TJ ^'V^! 
 
 And thou, the thunder-stricken nurseCrf-Renae!^ "' 
 She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged dugs impart 
 The milk of conquest yet within the dome 
 Where, as a monument of antique art, 
 Thou standest : — Motlier xif the mighty heart. 
 Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat, 
 Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's etherial dart. 
 And thy limbs black with lightning — dost thou yet 
 Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge 
 
 forget? 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 Thou dost ; — but all thy foster-babes are dead — 
 The men of iron 5 and the world hath rear'd 
 Cities from out their sepulchres : men bled 
 In imitation of the things they fear'd, 
 And fought and conquer'd, and the same course 
 
 steer'd, 
 At apish distance 5 but as yet none have, 
 Nor could, the same supremacy have near'd, 
 Save one vain man, who is not in the grave. 
 But, vanquished by himself, to his own slaves a 
 
 slave — 
 
136 CHILDE HAROLD'S Ctmto IK 
 
 xc. 
 
 The fool of false dominion — and a kind 
 Of bastard Caesar, following him of old 
 With steps unequal ; for the Roman's mind 
 Was modeird in a less terrestrial mould, "^^ 
 With passions fiercer, )'et a judgment cold, 
 And an immortal instinct which redeem'd 
 The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold, 
 Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd 
 At Cleopatra's feet, — and now himself he beam'd. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 And came — and saw — and conquer'd ! But the man 
 Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee. 
 Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van. 
 Which he, in sooth, long led to victory. 
 With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be 
 A listener to itself, was strangely framed } 
 With but one weakest weakness — vanity, 
 Coquettish in ambition — still he aim'd — 
 At what ? can he avouch — or answer what he claimed } 
 
Canto 1 K PllGKI MAC E. 137 
 
 XCII. 
 
 And would be all or npthing — nor could wait 
 For the sure grave to level him ; few years 
 Had fix'd him with the Caesars in his fate. 
 On whom we tread : For this the conqueror rears 
 The arch of triumph ! and for this the tears 
 And blood of earth flow on as they have flow*d, 
 An universal deluge, which appears 
 Without an ark for wretched man's abode, 
 And ebbs but to reflow ! — Renew thy rainbow, God ! 
 
 XCIII. 
 What from this barren being do we reap ? 
 Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, ^^ 
 Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep. 
 And all things weigh'd in custom's falsest scale 5 
 Opinion an omnipotence, — whose veil 
 Mantles the earth with darkness, until right 
 And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale 
 f Lesttheir own judgments should become too bright, 
 And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too 
 much light. 
 
138 CHILDK HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 And thus they plod in sluggish misery. 
 Rotting from sire to son, and age to age. 
 Proud of their trampled nature, and so die. 
 Bequeathing their hereditary rage 
 To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage 
 War for their chains, and rather than be free. 
 Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage 
 Within the same arena where they see 
 Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 I speak not of men's creeds — they rest between 
 Manjiidhi&Jklaker — but of things allowed, 
 Averr*d, and known, — and daily, hourly seen — 
 The yoke that is upon us doubly bow*d, 
 Arul-the4ntent QLtj^^anny a^^w*d, 
 Th^ijdict of Earth's rulers, who are grown 
 The apes of him who humbled once the proud. 
 And shook them from their slumbers on the throne ; 
 Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. 
 
Cavto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 139 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be. 
 And Freedom find no champion and no child 
 Such as Columbia saw arise when she 
 Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled ? • 
 Or must such minds be nourished in the wild, 
 Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar 
 Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled 
 On infant Washington ? Has Earth no more 
 Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore I 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime^ 
 And fatal have her Saturnalia been 
 To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime } 
 Because the deadly days which we have seen. 
 And vile Ambition, that built up between 
 Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, 
 And the base pageant last upon the scene. 
 Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall 
 Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst — ^his 
 second fall. 
 
140 CHILDE HAROLD'S Ctmto IV. 
 
 xcviir. ^ 
 
 Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying. 
 Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; 
 Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying. 
 The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; 
 Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, 
 Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth. 
 But the sap lasts, — and still the seed we find 
 Sown deep^ even in the bosom of the North ; 
 So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 There is a stern round tower of other days,**^ 
 Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone. 
 Such as an army's baffled strength delays. 
 Standing with half its battlements alone. 
 And with two thousand years of ivy grown. 
 The garland of eternity, where wave 
 The green leaves over all by time o'erthrown ;-r- 
 What was this tower of strength ? within its cave 
 What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid? — A woman's 
 grave. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 141 
 
 c. 
 
 But who was she, the lady of the dead, 
 Tomb'd in a palace? Was she chaste and fair? 
 Worthy a king's — or more— a Roman's bed ? 
 What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear? 
 What daughter of her beauties was the heir ? 
 How lived — how loved-r-how died she ? Was she 
 
 not 
 So honoured — and conspicuously there. 
 Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, 
 Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot ? 
 
 CI. 
 
 Was she as those who love their lords, or they 
 Who love the lords of others ? such have been. 
 Even in the olden time Rome's annals say. 
 Was she a matron of Cornelia's mien, 
 Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen. 
 Profuse of jpy-r-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 af- 
 fections are. 
 
Vt2 CUILDii HAROLD'S Canto 11 
 
 CII. 
 
 Perchance she died in youth : it may be, bow'd 
 With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb 
 That weighed upon her gentle dust, a cloud 
 Might gather o*er her beauty, and a gloom 
 In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom 
 Heaven gives its favourites — early death 3 yet shed ^° 
 A sunset charm around her, and illume 
 With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead. 
 Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. 
 
 cm. 
 
 Perchance she died in age — surviving all. 
 Charms, kindred, children — with the silver gray 
 On her long tresses, which might yet recal. 
 It may be, still a something of the day 
 When they were braided, and her proud array 
 And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed 
 
 By Rome But whither would Conjecture stray } 
 
 Thus much alone we know — MeteUa died. 
 The wealthiest Roman's wife ; Behold his love or 
 pride ! 
 
Canto IV. , PILGRIMAGE. 143 
 
 CIV. 
 
 I know not why — but standing thus by thee 
 It seems as if 1 had thine inmate known, 
 Thou tomb ! and other days come back on me 
 With recollected music, though the tone 
 Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groan 
 Of dying thunder on the distant wind 3 
 Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone 
 Till I bad bodied forth the heated mind 
 Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves 
 behind 3 
 
 CV. 
 
 And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks. 
 Built me a little bark of hope, once more 
 To battle with the ocean and the shocks 
 Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar 
 Which rushes on the solitary shore 
 Where all lies founder' d that was ever dear : 
 But could I gather from the wave-worn store 
 Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer ? 
 There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what 
 is here. 
 
144 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Then let the winds howl on ! their harmony 
 Shall henceforth be my music, and the night 
 The sound shall temper with the owlet's cry. 
 As I now hear them, in the fading light 
 Dim o*er the bird of darkness* native site, 
 Answering each other on the Palatine, 
 With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright. 
 And sailing pinions. — Upon such a shrine 
 What are our petty griefs } — let me not number mine. 
 
 CVII. 
 Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown 
 Matted and mass VI together, hillocks heap'd 
 On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column 
 
 strown 
 In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd 
 In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, 
 Deeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls? 
 Pronounce who can j for all that Learning reap'd 
 From her research hath been, that these are walls — 
 Behold the ImperialMount! 'tis thus themighty falls.** 
 
Ciinto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 145 
 
 . CVIII. 
 
 Tliere is the moral of all human tales -, ^^ 
 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past. 
 First Freed onu and then Glory — when that fails. 
 Wealth, vice, co rruption — b arbarism at last. 
 And History, with all her volumes vast, 
 Hath hut o ne pag e, — 'tis better written here. 
 Where goj-gegu^-Tyranny-hadthns R.mass^d 
 All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear, 
 Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask — — Away with 
 words ! draw near, 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Admire, exult — despise — laugh, weep, — for here 
 There is such matter for all feeling : — Man ! 
 Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. 
 Ages and realms are crowded in this span, 
 This mountain, whose obliterated plan 
 The pyramid of empires pinnacled, 
 Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van 
 Till, the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd ! 
 Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared 
 to build } 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
14S CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Tully was not so eloquent as thou, 
 Thou nameless column with the buried base ! 
 What are the laurels of the Caesar's brow ? 
 Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 
 Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, 
 Titus or Trajan's ? No — 'tis that of Time : 
 Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace 
 Scoffing 5 and apostolic statues 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 contain'd 
 A spirit which with these would find a home. 
 The last of those who o*er the whole earth reignM, 
 The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd. 
 But yielded back his conquests : — he was more 
 Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd 
 With household blood and wine, serenely wore 
 His sovereign virtues — still we Trajan's name adore. ^ 
 
Canto IV. riLORIMAGE. 147 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place 
 Where Rome embraced her heroes ? where the steep 
 Tarpeian ? fittest goal of Treason's race. 
 The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap 
 Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap 
 Their spoils here } Yes -, and in yon field below, 
 A thousand years of silenced factions sleep — 
 The Forum, where the immortal accents glow^ 
 And still the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicero ! 
 
 CXTII. 
 
 The field of freedoir u faction, fame, and bloodj 
 Here a proud^p^ople^s^assions were exhaled, 
 From the first hour of enipire in the bud 
 To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd ; 
 But long before had Freedom's face been veiPd, 
 And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; 
 Till every lawless soldier who assail'd 
 Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes. 
 Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. 
 
 L2 
 
14 S CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV- 
 
 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 *^ 
 Of Freedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf, 
 Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — 
 The forum's champion^ and the people's chief — 
 Her new-born Numa thou — with reign, alas! too brief. 
 
 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 5 
 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 wertabeautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. 
 
Canto IV, PILGRIMAGE. 149 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 
 With thine Elysian water-drops 5 the face 
 Of thy cave-guarded spring, withyears unwrinkled. 
 Reflects the meek-eyed genius of Jhe place, 
 Whose^reen, wild margin now no more erase 
 Art's works 5 nor must the delicate waters sleep, 
 Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base 
 Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 
 The rill runs o'er^ and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, 
 creep, 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Fantastically tangled 3 the green hills 
 Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass 
 The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 
 Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ; 
 Flowers fresh in hue, aiid many in their classy 
 Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 
 Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass 3 
 The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, 
 Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by 
 its skies. 
 
150 CHILDt HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 Here didst thou dwells in this enchanted cover, 
 Egeria! thy all heavenly bosom beating 
 For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover j 
 The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting 
 With her most starry canopy, and seating 
 Thyself by thine adorer, what befel ? 
 This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting 
 Of an enamour'd Goddess, and the cell 
 Haunted by holy Love — the earliest oracle ! 
 
 < CXIX. 
 
 And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying. 
 Blend a celestial with a human heart 5 
 And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, 
 Share with immortal transports \ could thine art 
 M^e them indeed immortal, and impart 
 The purity of heaven to earthly joys, 
 Expel the venom and not blunt the dart— 
 The dull satiety which all destroys — 
 And root from out the soul the deadly weed which 
 cloys ? 
 
CntUi) IV, P I LG R I M A G E. 151 
 
 / cxx. 
 
 / Alas ! our young affections run to waste, ^' 
 Or water but the desert ; whence arise 
 But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, 
 Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, 
 Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies. 
 And trees whose gums are poison -, such the plants 
 Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies 
 O'er the woddCajsyilderness, and vainly pants 
 
 For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. 
 
 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, nor e/er shall see 
 The naked eye, thy form, as it should be 5 ^ 
 The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven. 
 Even with its own desiring phantasy, 
 And to a thought such shape and image given. 
 As haunts the unquench'd soul-r-parch'd — wearied— 
 wrung — and riven. 
 
152 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cunto IV, 
 
 CXXIL 
 
 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 unreach*d 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 j 
 The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun. 
 Seems ever near the prize, — wealthiest when most 
 undone. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 153 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 We wither from our youth, we gasp away- 
 Sick — sick 5 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 latCj—sq are we doubly curst. 
 Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same, ^ 
 Each idle — and all ill — and none the worst — 
 For all are meteors with a different name. 
 And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame. 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Few — none — find what they love or could have 
 
 loved. 
 Though accident, blind contact, and the strong 
 Necessity of loving, have removed 
 Antipathies — but to recur, ere long, 
 Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong ; 
 And Circumstance, that unspiritual god 
 And miscreator, makes and helps along 
 Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod. 
 Whose touch turns Hope to dust, — the dust we all 
 
 have trod. 
 
 J-- 
 
154 CHILDK HAROLD'S Canto IK 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 Our life i s a false nature — 'tis not in 
 The harmony of things, — th^s^jiard decree. 
 This uneradicable taint of sin, 
 This boundless upas, this all-blasting" tree, 
 Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be 
 Theskieswhichraintheirplaguesonnienlikedew — 
 Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see — 
 And worse, the woes we see not — which throb 
 through 
 The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base s? 
 Abandonment of reason to resign 
 Our right of thought — our last and only place 
 Of r efug e ; this, at least, shall still be mine : 
 Though from our birth the faculty divine 
 Is chain'd and tortured — cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, 
 And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine 
 Too brightly on the unprepared mind. 
 The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the 
 blind. 
 
Canto IV, PILGRIMAGE. 155 
 
 CXXVIIL 
 
 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 3 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 5 and the azure gloom 
 Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven. 
 Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument. 
 And shadows forth its glory. There is given 
 Unto the things of earth, which time hath bent, 
 A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant 
 His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power 
 And magic in the ruin'd battlement, 
 For which the palace of the present hour 
 Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. 
 
156 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV: 
 
 CXXX. 
 
 Oh Time ! the beautifier of the dead, 
 Adorner of the ruin, comforter 
 And only healer when the heart haJi J>led — 
 Time! the corj;ectorjwhere our judgments err. 
 The test of truth, lqve,r-sole^hilosopher. 
 For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift. 
 Which never loses though it doth defer — 
 Time, the avenger 1 ujxto thee I lift 
 My hand^aiid eyes^and heart^^^ crave of thee a gift : 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine 
 And temple more divinely desolate. 
 Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, 
 Ruins of years — though few, yet full of fate :— 
 If thou hast ever seen me too elate. 
 Hear me nof ; but if calmly I have borne 
 Good, and reserved my pride against the hate 
 Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn 
 This iron in my soul in vain — shall they not mourn > 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 157 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 And thou, who never yet of human wrong 
 Lost the unbalanced scale, great Nenaesis ! ^^ 
 HerC;, where the ancient paid thee homage long — 
 Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss. 
 And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss 
 For that unnatural retribution — ^just, 
 Had it 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, 
 and must. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 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 
 
 Witli a just weapon, it had flow'd unbound 5 
 
 But now my blood shall not sink in the ground ; 
 
 To thee I do devote it — thou shalt take 
 
 The vengeance, which shall yetbesoughtandfound. 
 
 Which if I have not taken for the sake 
 
 But let that pass — I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. 
 
158 CHILDE HAROLDS Canto IV. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now 
 I shrink from what is sufFerM : let him speak 
 Who hath beheld decline upon my brow. 
 Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak ; 
 But in this page a record will I seek. 
 Not in the air shall these my words disperse. 
 Though I be ashes ; a far hour shall wreak 
 The deep prophetic fulness of this verse. 
 And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse ! 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 That curse shall be Forgiveness. — Have I not — 
 Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven!— 
 Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? 
 Have I not sufFer'd things to be forgiven ? 
 Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, 
 Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied away? 
 And only not to desperation driven. 
 Because not altogether of such clay 
 ' As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 159 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy 
 Have I not seen what human things could do ? 
 From the loud roar of foaming calumny 
 To thermal I whisper of the as paltry few. 
 And subtler venom of the reptile crew. 
 The Janus glance of whose significant eye, 
 Learning to lie with silence, would seem true, 
 / And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, 
 f)eal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : 
 My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire. 
 And my frame perish even in conquering j^ain. 
 But there is that within me which shall tire 
 Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; 
 Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 
 Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre, 
 Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move 
 In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. 
 
l60 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IF. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 The seal is set.— Now welcome, thou dread power 
 Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here 
 Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour 
 With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear 5 
 Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
 Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 
 Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear 
 That we become a part of what has been, 
 And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 And here the buzz of eager nations ran, 
 In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, 
 As man was slaughter d by his fellow man. 
 And wherefore slaughter'd ? wherefore , butbeeause 
 Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws. 
 And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not ? 
 What matters where we fall to fill the maws 
 Of worms-r-on battle-plains or listed spot ? 
 Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. lOl 
 
 CXL. 
 
 I see before me the Gladiator lie : ^^ 
 / He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony. 
 And his drooped head sinks gradually low — 
 And through his side the last drops^^bbing slow 
 From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. 
 Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
 The arena swims around him — he is gone, 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch 
 who won. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 He heard it, but he heeded not — hic^ eyes 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away; 
 He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, 
 But where his rude hut by the Danube lay 
 * There were his young barbarians all at play. 
 There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
 
 j Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — ^^ 
 All this rush'd with his blood-i-Shall he expire 
 
 And unavenged ? — ^Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! 
 
 VOL. II, M 
 
l62 CHILDE HAROLD'S Ctmto JV. 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam; 
 And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, 
 And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain stream 
 Dashing or winding as its torrent strays 3 
 Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise 
 Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, ^' 
 My voice sounds much-landfall the stars* faint rays 
 On the arena void-r-seats crush' d — walls bow'd — 
 And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely 
 loud. 
 
 CXLIIL 
 
 A ruin — yet what ruin ! from its mass 
 Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd 5 
 Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass 
 And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. 
 Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but clear'd ? 
 Alas ! developed, opens the decay. 
 When the colossal fabric's form is near'd : 
 It will not bear the brightness of the day. 
 Which streams too much on all years, man, have 
 reft away. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. lOi 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 But when the rising moon begins to climb 
 Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; 
 When the stars twinkle through the loops of time. 
 And the low night-breeze waves along the air 
 The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear. 
 Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head ; ^^ 
 When the light shines serene but doth not glare, 
 Then in this magic circle raise the dead : 
 Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 / '^ While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand 5 ^' 
 I " When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall 5 
 I *^ And when Rome falls — the World/' From our 
 own land 
 Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall 
 In Seixon times, which we are wont to czdl 
 Ancient 3 and these three mortal things are still 
 On their foundations, and unalter'd all ; 
 Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, 
 The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what 
 ye will. 
 
 M 2 
 
164 CHXLDE HAROLD'S Canto IV, 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 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 dome ! 
 Shalt thou not last ? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods 
 Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home 
 Of art and piety — Pantheon I — pride of Rome 1 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts ! 
 Despoil' d yet perfect, with thy circle spreads 
 A holiness appealing to all hearts — 
 To art a model 3 and to him who treads 
 Rome for the sake of ages. Glory sheds 
 Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those 
 Who worship, here are altars for their beads -, 
 And they who feel for genius may repose 
 Their eyes^on honour'd forms, whose busts around 
 them close. •* 
 
Cuido IV. PILGRIMAGE. 1 65 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light ^^ 
 What do I gaze on ? Nothing : Look again 1 
 Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sight — 
 Two insulated phantoms of the brain : 
 It is not so 3 I see them full and plain — 
 An old man, and a female young and fair. 
 Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein 
 The blood is nectar : — but what doth she there. 
 With her unman tied neck, and bosom white and bare ? 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life. 
 Where on the heart and/rom the heart we took 
 Our firsr 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. 
 
166 CHILDE HAROLD'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 lovejy veins the fire 
 Of health and holy feeling can provide 
 
 ' Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher 
 Than Egypt's river : — from that gentle side 
 
 Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's realm 
 holds no such tide. 
 
 CLI. 
 
 The starry fable of the milky way 
 Has not thy story's purity ; it is 
 A constellation of a sweeter ray. 
 And sacred Nature triumphs more in this 
 Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss 
 Where sparkle distant worlds : — Oh, holiest nurse ! 
 No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss 
 To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source 
 With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. 
 
Cantv 1 V\ PI LG It 1 MAG E. 1 ^7 
 
 CLII. 
 
 Ii^x^ J Turn to the Mole which Hadrian rear*d on high, ^^ 
 C Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, 
 Colossal copyist of deformity. 
 Whose travell'd phantasy from the far Nile's 
 Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils 
 To build for giants, and for his vain earth 
 His shrunken ashes raise this dome : How smiles 
 The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth. 
 To view the huge design which sprung from such a 
 birth ! 
 
 CLHI. 
 
 But lo ! the dome — the vast and wondrous dome,^^ 
 s^llj To which Diana's marvel was a cell- 
 Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! 
 I have beheld the Ephesian's miracles- 
 Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell 
 The hyaena and the jackall in their shade ; 
 I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell 
 Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd 
 Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd ; 
 
l68 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV, 
 
 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 former city, what could be. 
 Of earthly structures, in his honour piled. 
 Of a sublimer aspect ? Majesty, 
 Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
 In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 
 
 CLV. 
 
 Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; 
 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 defined. 
 See thy God face to face, as thou dost now 
 His Holy of Holies^ nor be blasted by his brow. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. IGQ 
 
 CLVL 
 
 Thou movest — but increasing with the advance. 
 
 Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, 
 
 Deceived by its gigantic elegance 3 
 
 Vastness which grows — but grows to harmonize — 
 
 All musical in its immensities 3 
 
 Rich marbles — richer painting — shrines where 
 
 flame 
 The lamps of gold — and haughty dome which vies 
 In air with Earth's chief structures, thoug 
 
 Sits on the firm-set ground — and thisj»e cro&dsairuMJ b ' 
 
 claim. PNIVERSIT' 
 
 CLVII. \ /y. Olr ^v 
 
 Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thott must break 
 To separate contemplation, the great whole;' 
 And as the ocean many bays will make, 
 , That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul 
 ^' / To more immediate objects, and control 
 / Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart 
 i Its eloquent proportions, and unroll 
 In mighty graduations, part by part, 
 The glory which at once upon thee did not dart. 
 
170 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV, 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 Not by its fault— but thine : Our outward sense 
 Is but of gradual grasp — and as it is 
 That what we have of feeling most intense 
 Outstrips our faint expression } even so this 
 Outshining and overwhelming 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 enlighten*d ; there is more 
 In such a survey than the sating gaze 
 Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 
 The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
 Of art and its great masters, who could raise 
 What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan 5 
 The fountain of sublimity displays 
 Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 
 Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions 
 can. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGK. 171 
 
 CLX. 
 
 Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
 Laocoon's torture dignifying pain — 
 A father's love and mortal's agony 
 With an immortaVs patience blending : — Vain 
 The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain 
 And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp. 
 The old man's clench ; the long envenom'd chain 
 Rivets the living links, — the enormous asp 
 Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 Or view the Lord of the unerring bow. 
 The God of life, and poesy, and light — 
 The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow 
 All radiant from his triumph in the fight 5 
 The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright 
 With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye 
 , And nostril beautiful disdain, and might, 
 / And majesty, flash their full lightnings by. 
 Developing in that one glance the Deity. 
 
17^ CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV, 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 But in his delicate form — a dream of Love, 
 Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
 Loiig'd for a deathless lover from above. 
 And madden'd in that vision— are exprest 
 All that ideal beauty ever bless'd 
 The mind with in its most unearthly mood. 
 When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
 A ray of immortality — and stood. 
 Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god! 
 
 CLXIII. 
 
 And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven 
 The fire which we endure, it was repaid 
 By him to whom the energy was given 
 Which this poetic marble hath array*d 
 With an eternal glory — which, if made 
 By human hands, is not of human thought 5 
 And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid 
 One ringlet in the dust — nor hath it caught 
 A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 
 'twas wrought. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 173 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, 
 The being who upheld it through the past ? 
 Methinks he cometh late and tarries long. 
 He is no more — these breathings are his last ; 
 His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast. 
 And he himself as nothing : — if he was 
 Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd 
 With forms which live and suffer — ^let that pass- 
 His shadow fades away into Destruction'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 5 and the 
 
 cloud 
 Between us sinks and all which ever glow*d. 
 Till Glory's self is twilight, and displays 
 A melancholy halo scarce allow' d 
 To hover on the verge of darkness 5 rays 
 Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze. 
 
174 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 And send us prying into the abyss. 
 To gather what we shall be when the frame 
 Shall be resolvM to something less than this 
 Its wretched essence } and to dream of fame. 
 And wipe the dust from oflF 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. 
 
 CLXVIl. 
 
 Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, 
 A long low distant murmur of dread sound, 
 Such as arises when a nation bleeds 
 With some deep and immedicable wound 5 
 Through storm and darkness yawns the rending 
 
 ground. 
 The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief 
 Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd, 
 And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief 
 She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 175 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ? 
 Fond hope of many nations, 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 moment, o'er thy boy. 
 Death hush'd that pang for ever : with thee fled 
 The present happiness and promised joy 
 Which tiird the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be. 
 Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored 1 
 Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee. 
 And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard 
 Her many griefs for One 5 for she had pour'd 
 Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head 
 Beheld her Iris. — Thou, too, lonely lord. 
 And desolate consort — vainly wert thou wed ! 
 The husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! 
 
176 CHI LDE HAROLD'S Canto IV. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made } 
 Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust 
 The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid. 
 The love of millions ! How we did entrust 
 Futurity to her ! and, though it must 
 Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd 
 Our children should obey her child, and bless'd 
 Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd 
 Like stars to shepherds* eyes :— 'twas but a meteor 
 beam'd. 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 Woe unto us, not her j for she sleeps well : 
 The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue 
 Of hollow counsel, the false oracle. 
 Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung 
 Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung 
 Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate^^ 
 Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath 
 
 flung 
 Against their blind omnipotence a weight 
 Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or 
 
 late, — 
 
Canfo IV, PI LG RIM AGE. 177 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 These might have been her destiny j but no, 
 Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair. 
 Good without effort, great without a foe j 
 But now a bride and mother — and now there / 
 How many ties did that stern moment tear! 
 From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast 
 Is link*d the electric chain of that despair. 
 Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest 
 The land which lov'd thee so that none could love 
 thee best. 
 
 CLXXIIL 
 
 7® Lo, Nemi ! navell'd in the woody hills 
 So far, that the uprooting wind which tears 
 The oak from his foundation, and which spills 
 The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears 
 Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares 
 Tlie oval mirror of thy glassy lake ; 
 And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears 
 A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake. 
 All coiled into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
l/S CHILDE HAROLD'S Cmito IV, 
 
 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 IV^an/* whose re-ascending star 
 Rose o'er an empire 3 — but beneath thy right 
 TuUy repos'd from Rome 3— and where yon bar 
 Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight 
 The Sabine farm was tiird, the weary bard's delight. "^^ 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 But I forget. — My pilgrim's shrine is won. 
 And he and I must part, — so let it be, — 
 His task and mine alike are nearly done ; 
 Yet once more let us look upon the sea -, 
 The midland ocean breaks on him and me. 
 And from the Alban Mount we now behold 
 Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we 
 Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold 
 Those waves, we foUow'd on till the dark Euxine rolVd 
 
Canto IV, PILGRIMAGE. 1 79 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 Upon the blue Symplegades : long years — 
 Long, though not very many, since have done 
 Their work on both j some suffering and some tears 
 Have left us nearly where we had begun : 
 / Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, 
 / We have had our reward — and it is here -, 
 I That we can yet feel gladden' d by the sun. 
 
 And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear 
 As if thiere were no man to trouble what is clear. 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 Oh ! that the Desert were my dwelling-place. 
 With one fair Spirit for my minister, 
 That I might all forget the human race. 
 And, hating no one, love but only her! 
 Ye Elements ! — in whose ennobling stir 
 1 feel myself exalted — Can ye not 
 Accord me such a being? Do 1 err 
 In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? 
 Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. 
 
 N 2 
 
ISO CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV, 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore. 
 There is society, where none intrudes. 
 By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : 
 I love not Man the less, but Nature more. 
 From these our interviews, in which I steal 
 From all I may be, or have been before. 
 To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
 What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal. 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — rolll 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
 Stops with the shore; — upon the watery plain 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. 
 When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
 Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, andunknown. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 181 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields 
 
 Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 
 
 And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he 
 
 wields 
 For earth's destruction thou dost all desgise. 
 Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
 And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 
 And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies 
 His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
 And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay., 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 The armaments which thunders trike the v^alls 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake. 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals. 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war j 
 These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake. 
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
 Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar* 
 
182 CHILDE HAROLD'S CutUo IV, 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — 
 -^ Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? 
 
 ■ Thy waters wasted them while they were free. 
 And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
 The stranger, slave, or savage 3 their decay 
 Has dried up realms to deserts: — not so thou, 
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves* play — 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — 
 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 
 
 CLXXXIIL 
 
 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time. 
 Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
 Icin^ the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime — 
 The image of Eternity — the throne 
 Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
 The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
 Obeys thee 3 thougoest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
 
Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 183 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 / And I have loved thee. Ocean! and my joy 
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
 I wanton*d with thy breakers— they to me 
 Were a delight -, and if the freshening sea 
 Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, 
 / For I was as it were a child of thee, 
 j And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
 1 And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 
 My task is done — my song hath ceased — my theme 
 Has died into an echo 5 it is fit 
 The spell should break of this protracted dream. 
 The torch shall be extinguished which hath 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 flit 
 Less palpably before me — and the glow 
 Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint, and low. 
 
164 CIIILDK HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Canto IV. 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been — 
 A sound which makes us linger 5 — yet — farewell! 
 Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene 
 Which is his last, if in your memories dwell 
 A thought which once was his, if on ye swell 
 A single recollection, not in vain 
 He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell j 
 Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain. 
 If such there were — with^yw, the moral of his strain? 
 
NOT 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Note 1 , page 9 1 , line 1 . 
 I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; 
 A palace and a prison on each hand. 
 
 The communication between the Ducal paljice and the prisons 
 of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above 
 the water, and divided by a stone wall into a passage and a cell. 
 The state dungeons, called " pozzi," or wells, were sunk in t;he 
 thick walls of the palace; and the prisoner when taken out to die 
 ■was conducted across the gallery to the other side, and being then 
 led back into the other compartment, or cell, upon the bridge, 
 was there strangled. The low portal through which the criminal 
 was taken into this cell is now walled up j but the passage is still 
 open, and is still known by the name of the Bridge of Sighs. 
 The pozzi are under the flooring of the chamber at the foot of the 
 bridge. They were formerly twelve, but on the first arrival of 
 the French, the Venetians hastily blocked or broke up the deeper 
 of these dungeons. You may still, however, descend by a trap- 
 door, and crawl down through holes, half choked by rubbish, to 
 the depth of two stories below the first range. If you are in want 
 of consolation for the extinction of patrician power, perhaps you 
 may find it there ; scarcely a ray of light glimmers into the nar- 
 row gallery which leads to the cells, and the places of con- 
 finement themselves are totally dark. A small hole in the wall 
 admitted the damp air of the passages, and served for the intro- 
 duction of the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a foot 
 
186 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 from the ground, was the only furniture. The conductors tell 
 you that a light was not allowed. The cells are about five paces 
 in length, two and a half in width, and seven feet in height. 
 They are directly beneath one another, and respiration is some- 
 what difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was found 
 when the republicans descended into these hideous recesses, and 
 he is said to have been confined sixteen years. But the inmates 
 of the dungeons beneath had left traces of their repentance, or of 
 their despair, which are still visible, and may perhaps owe some- 
 thing to recent ingenuity. Some of the detained appear to have 
 oflfended against, and others to have belonged to, the sacred body, 
 not only from their signatures, but from l^e churches and belfries 
 which they have scratched upon the walls. The reader may not 
 object to see a specimen of the records prompted by so terrific a 
 solitude. As nearly as they could be copied by more than one 
 pencil, three of them are as follows: 
 
 1. 
 
 NGN TI FIDAR AD ALCUNO PENSA e TACI 
 SE FUGIR VUOI DE SPIONI INSIDIE e LACCI 
 IL PENTIRTI PENTIRTI NULLA GIOVA 
 MA BEN DI VALOR TUO LA VERA PROVA 
 
 1607. ADI 2. GENARO. FUI RE- 
 TENTO P* LA BESTIEiMMA P' AVER DATO 
 DA MANZAR A UN MORTO 
 
 lACOMO . GRITTI. SCRISSE, 
 
 2. 
 
 UN PARLAR POCHO Ct 
 
 14EGARE PRONTO et 
 
 UN PENSAR AL FINE PUG DARE LA VITA 
 
 A NOI ALTRI MESCHINI 
 
 1605 
 
 EGO IGHN BAPTISTA AD 
 ECCLESIAM CORTELLARItf. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 187 
 
 3. 
 »E CHI MI FIDO GUARDAMl DIO 
 DE CHI NON MI FIDO Ml GUARDARO lO 
 
 V. LA 5*^^ C". K*. r'^'^. 
 
 The copyist has followed, not corrected the solecisms; some of 
 ^hich are however not quite so decided, since the letters were 
 evidently scratched in the dark. It only need be observed, that 
 Bestemmia and Mangiar may be read in the first inscription, which , 
 was probably written by a prisoner confined for some act of im- 
 piety committed at a funeral : that Cortellarius is the name of a 
 parish on terra firma, near the sea: and that the last initials evi- 
 dently are put for Viva la santa Chiesa KattoLica Romana. 
 
 Note 2, page 92, line 1. 
 She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean 
 liisingy with her tiara of proud towers. 
 An old writer, describing the appearance of Venice, has made 
 use of the above image, which would not be poetical were it not 
 true. 
 
 " Quo Jit ut qui supeme urhem contempletur^ turritam telluris 
 imagintm medio (Jceano Jiguratam se putet inspicere *." 
 
 Note 3, page 92, line 10. 
 hi Venice Tasso^s echoes are no more. 
 The well known song of the gondoliers, of alternate stanzas, 
 from Tasso*s Jerusalem, has died with the independence of 
 Venice. Editions of the poem, with the original on one column, 
 and the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the boatmen, 
 were once common, and are still to be found. The following ex- 
 tract will serve to shew the dilFerence between the Tuscan epic 
 and the ** Canta alia Barcariola." 
 
 » Marci Antonii Sabelli de Venetae Urbis situnarratio, edit. Taurin. 
 lai, lib. i. fol. 202. 
 
ISp NOTES TO THE FOURTH CA^TO OF 
 
 Original. 
 Canto r anne pietose, e '1 capitano 
 
 Che '1 gran Sepolcro liber6 di Cristo. 
 Molto egli opro col senno, e con la luano 
 
 Molto sofFri nel glorioso acquisto ; 
 E in van 1' Inferno a lui s' oppose, e in vano 
 S' arm6 d' Asia, e di Libia il popol m sto, 
 Che il Ciel gli di^ favore, e sotto a i Santi 
 I Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti. i 
 
 Venetian. 
 L' arrae pietose de cantar gho vogia, 
 
 E de Goffredo la immortal braura 
 Che al fin 1' ha libera co strassia, e dogia 
 
 Del nostro buon Gesu la Sepoltura 
 De mezo mondo unito, e de quel Bogia 
 
 Missier Pluton no 1' ha bu mai paura : 
 Dio r ha agiuta, e i compagni sparpagnai 
 Tutti '1 gh' i ha messi insieme i di del Dai. 
 
 Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up and con- 
 tinue a stanza of iheir once familiar bard. 
 
 On the 7lh of last January, the author of Childe Harold, and 
 another Englishman, the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lidp 
 with two singers, one of whom was a carpenter, and the other a 
 gondolier. The former placed himself at the prow, the latter ajt 
 the stern of the boat. A little after leaving the quay of the 
 Piazzetta, they began to sing, and continued their exercise until 
 we arrived at the island. They gave us, amongst other essays, 
 the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida; and did not 
 sing the Venetian, but the Tuscan verses. The carpenter, 
 however, who was the cleverer of the two, and was frequently 
 obliged to prompt his companion, told us that he could iranslate the - 
 original. He added, that he could sing almost three hundred 
 stanzas, but had not spirits fmorhin was the word he used) to 
 learn any more, or to sing what he already knew: a man mu!»t 
 have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat, and, said the 
 poor fellow, *' look at my clothes and at me, I am starvhig.** 
 
CniLDE HAROLD'S riLGRIMAGE* 189 
 
 This speech was more affecting than his performance, which habit 
 alone can make attractive. The recitative was shrill, screaming, 
 and monotonous, and the gondolier behind assisted his voice by 
 holding his hand to one side of his mouth. The carpenter used a 
 quiet action, which he evidently endeavoured to restrain ; but 
 was too much interested in his subject altogether to repress. 
 From these men we learnt that singing is not confined to the gon- 
 doliers, and that, although the chant is seldom, if ever, voluntary, 
 there are still several amongst the lower classes who are acquainted 
 with a few stanzas. 
 
 It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to row and 
 sing at the same time. Although the verses of tlie Jerusalem are 
 no longer casually heard, there is yet much music upon the Ve- 
 netian canals; and upon holiday. s, those strangers who are not 
 near or informed enough to distinguish the words, may fancy that 
 many of the gondolas still resound with the strains of Tasso. 
 The writer of some remarks which appeared in the Curiosities of 
 Literature must excuse his being twice quoted ; for, with the ex- 
 ception of some phrases a little too ambitious and extravagant, he 
 has furnished a very exact, as well as agreeable, description. 
 
 " In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long passages from 
 Ariosto and Tasso, and often chant them with a peculiar melody. 
 But this talent seems at present on tiie decline : — at least, after 
 taking some pains, I could find no more than two persons who 
 delivered to me in this way a passage from Tasso. I must add, 
 that the late Mr. Berry once chanted to me a passage in Tasso in 
 the manner, as he assured me, of the gondoliers. 
 
 *' There are always two concerned, who alternately sing the 
 strophes. We know the melody eventually by Rousseau, to 
 whose songs it is printed ; it has properly no melodious move- 
 ment, and is a sort of medium between the canto ferrao and the 
 canto figurato; it approaches to the former by recitativical de- 
 clamation, and to the latter by passages and course, by which 
 one syllabic is detained and embellished. 
 
190 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 " I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placed him- 
 self forwards, and the other aft, and thus proceeded to St. Georgio. 
 One began the song : when he had ended his strophe, the other 
 took up the lay, and so continued the song alternately. Through- 
 out the whole of it, the same notes invariably returned, but, ac- 
 cording to the subject matter of the strophe, they laid a greater 
 or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, and sometimes on another 
 note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the whole strophe as . 
 the object of the poem altered, 
 
 " On the whole, however, the sounds were hoarse and scream- 
 ing : they seemed, in the manner of all rude uncivilized men, to 
 make the excellency of their singing in the force of their voice : 
 one seemed desirous of conquering the other by the strength of 
 his lungs; and so far from receiving delight from this scene (shut 
 up as I was in the box of the gondola), I found myself in a very 
 unpleasant situation. 
 
 " My companion, to whom I communicated this circumstance, 
 being very desirous to keep up the credit of his countrymen, as- 
 sured me that this singing was very delightful when heard at a 
 distance. Accordingly we got out upon the shore, leaving one of 
 the singers in the gondola, while the other went to the distance 
 of some hundred paces. They now began to sing against one 
 another, and I kept walking up and down between them both, so 
 as always to leave him who was to begin his pa'-t, I frequently 
 stood still and hearkened to the one and to the other. 
 
 ** Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong de- 
 clamatory, and, as it were, shrieking sound, met the ear from far, 
 and called forth the attention; the quickly succeeding transitions, 
 which necessarily required to be sung in a lower tone, seemed 
 like plaintive strains succeeding the vociferations of emotion or of 
 pain. The other, who listened attentively, immediately began 
 'where the former left off, answering him in milder or more vehe- 
 ment notes, according as the purport of the strophe required. 
 The sleepy canals, the lofty buildings, the splendour of the moon 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. IQl 
 
 the deep shadows of the few gondolas, that moved like spirits 
 hither and thither, increased the striking peculiarity of the scene; 
 and amidst all these circumstances it was easy to confess the cha- 
 racter of this wonderful harmony. 
 
 " It suits perfectly well with an idle solitary mariner, lying at 
 length in his vessel at rest on one of these canals, waiting for his 
 company, or for a fare, the tiresomeness of which situation is 
 somewhat alleviated by the songs and poetical stories he has in 
 memory. He often raises his voice as loud as he can, which ex- 
 tends itself to a vast distance over the tranquil mirror, and as all 
 is still around, he is, as it were, in a solitude in the midst of a 
 large and populous town. Here is no rattling of carriages, no 
 noise of foot passengers: a silent gondola glides now and then by 
 him, of which the splashing of the oars are scarcely to be heard, 
 " At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to 
 him. Melody and verse immediately attach the two strangers ; 
 he becomes the responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself 
 to be heard as he had heard the other. By a tacit convention 
 they alternate verse for verse ; though the song should last the 
 whole night through, they entertain themselves without fatigue; 
 the hearers, who are passing between the two, take part in the 
 amusement. 
 
 ** Th|s vocal performance sounds best at a great distance, and 
 is then inexpressibly charming, as it only fulfils its design in the 
 sentiment of remoteness. It is plaintive, but not dismal in its 
 sound, and at times it is scarcely possible to refrain from tears. 
 My Companion, who otherwise was not a very delicately or- 
 ganized person, said quite unexpectedly : e singolare come quel 
 canto intenerisce, e molto piu quando lo cantano meglio. 
 
 *• I was told that the women of Libo, the long row of islands 
 that divides the Adriatic from the Lagoun8,» particulariy the 
 
 » The writer meant Lido, which is not a long row of islands, but ft 
 long island : littusy the shore. 
 
\Q2 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 women of the extreme districts of Malamoccaand Palestrina, sing 
 in like manner the works of Tasso to these and similar tunes. 
 
 *' They have the custom, when their husbands are fishing out 
 at sea, to sit along the shore in the evenings and vociferate these 
 songs, and continue to do so with great violence, till each of them 
 can distinguish the responses of her own husband at a distance."* 
 
 The love of music and of poetry distinguishes all classes of Ve- 
 netians, even amongst the tuneful sons of Italy. The city itself 
 can occasionally furnish respectable audiences for two and even 
 three opera-houses at a time ; and tliere are few events in private 
 life that do not call forth a printed and circulated sonnet. Does 
 a physician or a lawyer take his degree, or a clergyman preach 
 his maiden sermon, has a surgeon performed an operation, would 
 a harlequin announce his departure or his benefit, are you to be 
 congratulated on a marriage, or a birth, or a lawsuit, the Muses 
 are invoked to furnish the same number of syllables, and the in- 
 dividual triumphs blaze abroad in virgin white or party-coloured 
 placards on half the corners of the capital. The last curtsey 
 of a favourite " prima donna*' brings down a shower of these 
 poetical tributes from those upper regions, from which, in our 
 theatres, nothing but cupids and snow storms are accustomed to 
 descend. There is a poetry in the very life of a Venetian, which, 
 in its common course, is varied with those surprises and changes 
 so recommendable in fiction, but so different from the sober mo- 
 notony of northern existence ; amusements are raised into duties, 
 duties are softened into amusements, and every object being con- 
 sidered as equally making a part of the business of life, is an- 
 nounced and performed with the same earnest indifference and 
 gay assiduity. The Venetian gazette constantly' closes its columns 
 with the following triple advertisement. 
 
 I [Curiosities of Literature, vol. ii. p. 166. edit. 1807; and Appendix 
 xxix. to Black's Life of Tasso.] 
 
CHlLDt HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. IQS 
 
 Charade. 
 
 Exposition of the moet Holy Sacrament in the church of St. 
 
 Theatres. 
 
 St. Moses, opera. 
 
 St. Benedict, a comedy of characters. 
 
 St. Luke, repose. 
 
 When it is recollected what the Catholics believe their conse- 
 crated wafer to be, we may perhaps think it worthy of a more re- 
 epectable niche than between poetry and the playhouse. 
 
 Note 4, page 96, line 5. 
 Sparta hath many a worthier son than he. 
 The answer of the mother of Brasidas to the strangers who 
 praised the memory of her son. 
 
 Note 5, page 96, line 14. 
 
 St, Mark yet sees his lion where he stood 
 
 Stand, 
 
 The lion has lost nothing by his journey to the Invalides, but 
 the gospel which supported the paw that is now on a level with 
 the other foot; The horses also are retm-ned to the ill-chosen spot 
 whence they set out, and are, as before, half hidden under the 
 porch window of St. Mark's church. 
 
 Their history, after a desperate struggle, has been satisfactorily 
 explored. The decisions and doubts of Erizzo and Zanetti, and 
 lastly, of the Count Leopold Cicognara, would have given them a 
 Roman extraction, and a pedigree not more ancient than the reign 
 of Nero. But M. de Schlegel stepped in to teach the Venetians 
 the value of their own treasures, and a Greek vindicated, at last 
 and for ever, the pretension of his countrymen to this noble pro- 
 
194 ^^OTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 duction. * Mr. Mustoxidi has not been left without a reply ; bat, 
 as yet, he has received no answer. It should seem that the horses 
 are irrevocably Chian, and were transferred to Constantinople by 
 Theodosius. Lapidary writing is a favourite play of the Italians, 
 and has conferred reputation on more than one of their literary 
 characters. One of the best specimens of Bodoni's typograpln^ is 
 a respectable volume of inscriptions, all written by his friend Pac- 
 ciaudi. Several were prepared for the recovered horses. It is 
 to be hoped the best was not selected, when the following words 
 were ranged in gold letters above the cathedral porch. 
 
 QUATUOR . EQUORUM . SIGNA . A . VENETIS . BYZANTIO ... 
 CAPTA . AD . TEMP . 1) . MAR . A . R . S . MCCIV . POSITA . 
 QU^ . HOSTILIS . CUPIDITAS . A . MDCCIllC . ABSTULERAT , 
 FRANC . I . IMP . PACIS . ORBI . DAT^ . TROPHiEUM . A . 
 MDCCCXV . \ICTOR . REDUXIT. 
 
 Nothing shall be said of the Latin, but it may be permitted to 
 observe, that the injustice of the Venetians in transporting the 
 horses from Constantinople was at least equal to that of the French 
 in carrying them to Paris, and that it would have been more pru- 
 dent to have avoided all allusions to either robbery. An apostolic 
 prince should, perhaps, have objected to affixing over the principal 
 entrance of a metropolitan church, an inscription having a reference 
 to any other triumphs than those of religion. Nothing less than 
 the pacification of the world can excuse such a solecism. 
 
 Note 6, page 97, lines 1 and 2, 
 The Suahian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — 
 An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt. 
 After many vain efforts on the part of the Italians entirely to 
 throw oflf the yoke of Frederic Barbarossa, and as fruitless attempts 
 
 * Sui quattro cavalli della Basilica di S. Marco in Venezia. Letters 
 di Andrea Mustoxidi Corcirese. Padua per Bettoni e compag. . , . 
 1816. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 195 
 
 of the Emperor to make himself absolute master throughout the 
 •whole of his Cisalpine dominions, the bloody struggles of four and 
 twenty years were happily brought to a close in the city of Venice. 
 The articles of a treaty had been previously agreed upon between 
 Pope Alexander III. and Barbarossa, and the former having re- 
 ceived a safe conduct, had already arrived at Venice from Ferrara, 
 in company with the ambassadors of the king of Sicily and the 
 consuls of the Lombard league. There still remained, however, 
 many points to adjust^ and for several days the peace was believed 
 to be impracticable. At this juncture it v^^as suddenly reported 
 that the Emperor had arrived at Chioza, a town fifteen miles from 
 the capital. The Venetians rose tumultuously, and insisted upon 
 immediately conducting him to the city. The Lombards took the 
 alarm, and departed towards Treviso. The Pope himself was ap- 
 prehensive of some disaster if Frederic should suddenly advance 
 upon him, but was reassured by the prudence and address of Se- 
 bastian Ziani, the doge. Several embassies passed between Chioza 
 and the capital, until, at last, the Emperor relaxing somewhat of 
 his pretensions, " laid aside his leonine ferocity, and put on the 
 mildness of the lamb." * 
 
 On Saturday the 23d of July, in the year 1 1 77>, six Venetian 
 galleys transferred Frederic, in great pomp, from Chioza to the 
 island of Lido, a mile from Venice. Early the next morning the 
 Pope, accompanied by the Sicilian ambassadors, and by the en- 
 voys of Lombardy, whom he had recalled from the main land, 
 together with a great concourse of people, repaired from the pa- 
 triarchal palace to Saint Mark's church, and solemnly absolved 
 the Emperor and his partisans from the excommunication pro- 
 nounced against him. The Chancellor of the Empire, on the part 
 of his master, renounced the anti-popes and their schismatic ad- 
 
 * ** Quibus auditis, imperator, operante eo, qui corda principum sicut 
 vult et quando vult humiliter inclinat, leonina feritate deposita, ovinam 
 mansuetudinem induit." Romualdi Salernitani. Chronicon. apud Script. 
 Rer. Ital. Tom. VII. p. 229. 
 
19^ NOTE5 TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 herents. Iniineclialely the Doge, witli a great suite both of tl^e 
 clergy and laity, got on board the galleys, and waiting on Fre- 
 deric, rowed him in mighty state from the Lido to the capital. 
 The Emperor descended from the galley at the quay of the Piaz- 
 zetta. The doge, the patriarch, his bishops and clergy, and the 
 people of Venice with their crosses and their standards, marched 
 in solemn procession before him to the church of Saint Mark's. 
 Alexander was seated before the vestibule of the basilica, attended 
 by his bishops and cardinals, by the patriarch of Aquileja, by the 
 archbishops and bishops of Lombardy, all of them in state, and 
 clothed in their church robes. Frederic approached — " moved 
 by the Holy Spirit, venerating the Almighty in the person of 
 Alexander, laying aside his imperial dignity, and throwing off his 
 mantle, he prostrated himself at full length at the feet of the 
 Pope. Alexander, with tears in his eyes, raised him benignantly 
 from the ground, kissed him, blessed him ; and immediately the 
 Germans of the train sang, with a loud voice, * We praise thee, 
 O Lord.' The Emperor then taking the Pope by the right hand, 
 led him to the church, and having received his benediction, re- 
 turned to the ducal palace."^ The ceremony of humiliation was 
 repeated the next day. The Pope himself, at the request of Fre- 
 deric, said mass at St. Mark's. The Emperor again laid aside his 
 imperial mantle, and, taking a wand in his hand, officiated as 
 verger, driving the laity from the choir, and preceding the pontiff 
 to the altar. Alexander, after reciting tlie gospel, preached to 
 the people. The Emperor put himself close to the pulpit in the 
 attitude of listemng ; and the pontiiF, touched by this mark of his 
 attention, for he knew that Frederic did not understand a word 
 he said, commanded the patriarch of Aquileja to translate the 
 Latin discourse into the German tongue. The creed was then 
 chanted. Frederic made his oblation and kissed the Pope's feet, 
 and, mass bemg over, led him by the hand to his white horse. 
 
 » Ibid, page 23 1 . 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILORIMAGE. 197 
 
 He held the stirrup, and would have led the horse's rein to the 
 water side, had not the Pope accepted of the inclination for the 
 performance, and affectionately dismissed him with his benedic- 
 tion. Such is the substance of the account left by the archbishop 
 of Salerno, who was present at the ceremony, and whose story is 
 confirmed by every subsequent narration. It would be not worth 
 so minute a record, were it not the triumph of liberty as well as 
 of superstition. The states of Lombardy owed to it the confirma- 
 tion of their privileges ; and Alexander had reason to thank the 
 Almighty, who had enabled an infirm, unarmed old man to subdue 
 a terrible and potent sovereign. » 
 
 Note 7, page 97, lines 8 and 9, 
 
 Ohjfor one hour ofbliiid old Davdolo/ 
 
 TW octogenarian chief y Byzantium's conquering fue. 
 
 Tlie reader will recollect the exclamation of the highlander. Oh 
 
 for one hour of Dundee / Henry Dandolo, when elected Doge, 
 
 in 1192, was eighty-five years of age. When he commanded the 
 
 Venetians at the taking of Constantinople, he was consequently 
 
 ninety-seven years old. At this age he annexed the fourlh and 
 
 a half of the whole empire of Romania, ^ for so the Roman empire 
 
 was then called, to the title and to the territories of the Venetian 
 
 Doge. The three-eighths of this empire were preserved in the 
 
 ^ See the above cited Romuald of Salerno. In a second sermon which 
 Alexander preached, on the first day of August, before the Emperor, he 
 compared Frederic to the prodigal son, and himself to the forgiving 
 father. 
 
 "^ Mr. Gibbon has omitted the important a:, and has written Romani 
 instead of Romanise. Decline and Fall, cap. Ixi. note Q. But the title 
 acquired by Dandolo runs thus in the Chronicle of his namesake, the 
 Doge Andrew Dandolo. Ducali titulo addidit. ** Quartet partis et 
 dimidicc totius imperii Romanicc" And. Dand. Chronicon. cap. iii. - 
 pars xxxvii. ap. Script. Rer. Ital. torn. xii. page 331. And the Roma- 
 uicE is observed in the subsequent acts of the Doges. Indeed the conti- 
 nental possessions of the Greek empire in Europe were then generally 
 known by the name of Ronfiaraa, and that appellation is still seen in th* 
 maps of Turkey as appHed to Thrace. 
 
198 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 diplomas until the dukedom of Giovanni Dolfino, who made use 
 of the above designation in the year 1357. * 
 
 Dandolo led the attack on Constantinople in person : two ships, 
 the Paradise and the Pilgrim, were tied together, and a draw- 
 bridge or ladder let down from their higher yards to the walls. 
 The Doge was one of the first to rush into the city. Then was 
 completed, said the Venetians, the prophecy of the Erythraean 
 sybil. " A gathering together of the powerful shall be made 
 amidst the waves of the Adriatic, under a blind leader; they shall 
 beset the goat — they shall profane Byzantium — they shall blacken 
 her buildings — her spoils shall be dispersed ; a new goat shall 
 bleat until they have measured out and run over fifty-four feet, 
 nine inches, and a half." ^ 
 
 Dandolo died on the first day of June 1203, having reigned 
 thirteen years, six months, and five days, and was buried in the 
 church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople. Strangely enough it 
 must sound, that the name of the rebel apothecary who received 
 the Doge's sword, and annihilated the ancient government in 
 1796-7, was Dandolo. 
 
 Note 8, page 97, lines 12 and 13. 
 
 But is not Dorians menace come to pass ? 
 
 Are they not bridled ? 
 
 After the loss of the battle of Pola, and the taking of Chioza on 
 
 the 16th of August, 1379, by the united armament of the Ge- 
 
 Boese and Francesco da Carrara, Signer of Padua, the Venetians 
 
 » See the continuation of Dandolo's Chronicle, ibid, page 498. Mr» 
 Gibbon appears not to include Dolfino, following Sanudo, who says, 
 ** il qual titolo si usb Jin al Doge Giovanni Dolfino." See Vite de* 
 Duchi di Venezia. ap. Script. Rer. Ital. torn. xxii. 630. 641. 
 
 ^ " Fiet potentium, in aquis Adriuticis congregatio, cccco prcEduce, 
 Hircum ambigent, Byzantium prophanabunt, ccdificia denigrabunt; 
 spolia dispergentur, Hircusnovus balabit usque dum liv pedes e£ ix 
 pollicesy et semis precmensurati discwrant," [Chronicon, ibid, pars 
 xxxiv.] 
 
CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGEIMAGE. IQQ 
 
 'Were reduced to the utmost despair. An embassy was sent to 
 the conquerors with a blank sheet of paper, praying them to pre- 
 scribe what terms they pleased, and leave to Venice only her in- 
 dependence. The Prince of Padua was inclined to listen to these 
 proposals, but the Genoese, who, after the victory at Pola, 
 had shouted, ** to Venice, to Venice, and long live St. George,'' 
 determined to annihilate their rival, and Peter Doria, their com- 
 mander in chief, returned this answer to the suppliants : " On 
 God's faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no peace from 
 the Signer of Padua, nor from our commune of Genoa, until we 
 have first put a rein upon those unbridled horses of j'ours, that 
 are upon the Porch of your evangelist St. Mark. When we have 
 bridled them, we shall keep you quiet. And this is the pleasure 
 of us and of our commune. As for these my brothers of Genoa, 
 that you have brought with you to give up to us, I will not have 
 tliem : take them back ; for, in a few days hence, I shall come 
 and let them out of prison njyself, both these and all the others." ^ 
 In fact, the Genoese did advance as far as Malaraacco, within 
 five miles of the capital ; but their own danger and tJie pride of 
 their enemies gave courage to the Venetians, who made prodi- 
 gious efforts, and many individual sacrifices, all of them carefully 
 recorded by their historians. Vettor Pisani was put at the head 
 of thirty-four galleys. The Genoese broke up from Malamocco, 
 and retired to Chioza in October ; but tliey again threatened Ve- 
 nice, which was reduced to extremities. At this time, the 1st of 
 January, 1380, arrived Carlo Zeno, who had been cruising on the 
 
 1 " Alia fh di Dio, Signori Veneziani, non havcrete mai pace dal 
 Signore di Padoua, nt dal 7iostro commune di Genova, se primiera- 
 mente non mettemo le briglie a quelli vostri cavalli sfrenati, che sono 
 su la Rcza del Vostro Evangelista S. Marco. Imbrenati che gli 
 havremo, m farem,o stare in buona pace. E qucsta e la intcnzione 
 nostra, e del nostra commune. Questi miei fratelli Genovesi che 
 havete m,enati con voi per donarci, non li voglio; rimanetegli in 
 dietro perche io inttndo da qui a pochi giorm vcnirgU a riscuotcr 
 dalle voatre prigio7ii, e loro e gli altri." 
 
200 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 Genoese coast with fourteen galleys. The Venetians were i\ow 
 strong enough to hesiege the Genoese. Doria was killed on the 
 22d of January by a stone bullet 195 pounds weight, discharged 
 from a bombard called the Trevisan. Chioza was then closely 
 invested: 5000 auxiliaries, amongst whom were some Enghsh 
 Condottieri, commanded by one Captain Ceccho, joined the Ve- 
 netians. The Genoese, in their turn, prayed for conditions, but 
 none were granted, until, at last, the^^ surrendered at discretion ; 
 and, on the 24th of June 1380, the Doge Contarini made his 
 triumphal entry into Chioza. Four thousand prisoners, nineteen 
 galleys, many smaller vessels and barks, with all the ammunition 
 and arms, and outfit of the expedition, fell into the hands of the 
 conquerors, who, had it not been for the inexorable answer of 
 Doria, would have gladly reduced their dominion to the city of 
 Venice. An account of these transactions is found in a work 
 called the War of Chioza, written by Daniel Chinazzo, who was 
 in Venice at the time. * 
 
 Note 9, page 98, line 3. 
 The " Planter of the Lion.'* 
 Plant the Lion — that is, the Lion of St. Mark, the standard of 
 the republic, which is the origin of the word Pantaloon — Pianta- 
 leone, Pantaleon, Pantaloon. 
 
 Note 10, page 98, lines 17 and 18. 
 Thin streets and foreign aspects, mch as must 
 Too oft remind her zvho and what enthrals. 
 The population of Venice at the end of the seventeenth century 
 amounted to nearly two hundred thousand souls. At the last 
 census, taken two years ago, it was no more than about one hun- 
 dred and three thousand, and it diminishes daily. The commerce 
 and the official employments, which were to be the unexhausted 
 
 1 " Chronaca della guerra di Chioza," &c. Script. Rer. Italic, torn. xv» 
 
 pp. 699 to 80*. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 20i 
 
 source of Venetian grandeur, have both expired.* Most of the 
 patrician mansions are deserted, and would gradually disappear, 
 had not the government, alarmed by the demolition of seventy- 
 two, during the last two years, expressly forbidden this sad re- 
 source of poverty. Many remnants of the Venetian nobility are 
 now scattered and confounded with the wealthier Jews upon the 
 banks of the Brenta, .whose palladian palaces have sunk, or are 
 sinking, in the general decay. Of the " gentil uomo Veneto,'* 
 the name is still known, and that is all. He is but the shadow of 
 his former self, but he is polite and kind. It surely may be par- 
 doned to hira if he is querulous. Whatever may have been the 
 vices of the republic, and although the natural term of its exist- 
 ence may be thought by foreigners to have arrived in the due 
 course of mortality, only one sentiment can be expected from the 
 Venetians themselves. At no time were the subjects uf the re- 
 public so unanimous in their resolution to rally round the standard 
 of St. Mark, as when it was for the last time unfurled ; and the 
 cowardice and the treachery of the few patricians who recom- 
 mended the fatal neutrality, were confined to the persons of the 
 traitors themselves. The present race cannot be thought to regret 
 the loss of their aristocratical forms, and too despotic government; 
 they think only on their vanished independence. They pine 
 away at the remembrance, and on this subject suspend for a raor 
 ment their gay good humour. Venice may be said, in the words 
 of the scripture, ** to die daily ;" and so general and so apparent 
 is the decline, as to become painful to a stranger, not reconciled 
 to the sight of a whole nation expiring as it were before his eyes. 
 So artificial a creation having lost that principle which called it 
 into life and supported its existence, must fall to pieces at once, 
 and sink more rapidly than it rose. The abhorrence of slavery 
 
 1 ** NonnuUomm ^ nobilitate immensse sunt opes, acleo ut vix aesti- 
 mari possint : id quod tribus ^ rebus oritur, parsimonia, commercio, 
 atque iis emolumentis, quae e Repub. percipiunt, quae banc ob causam 
 4iuturna fore cieditur."— See dc Princiimtibvis Italiae, Tractatus. edit. 
 J631. 
 
202 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 which drove the Venetians to the sea, has, smce their disaster, 
 forced them to the land, where they may be at least overlooked 
 amongst the crowd of dependants, and not present the humiliating 
 spectacle of a whole nation loaded with recent chains. Their 
 liveliness, their affability, and that happy indifference which con- 
 stitution alone can give, for philosophy aspires to it in vain, have 
 not sunk under circumstances ; but many peculiarities of costume 
 and manner have by degrees been lost, and the nobles, with a 
 pride common to all Italians who have been masters, have not 
 been persuaded to parade their insignificance. That splendour 
 which was a proof and a portion of their power, they would not 
 degrade into the trappings of their subjection. They retired from 
 the space which they had occupied in the eyes of their fellow 
 citizens ; their continuance in which would have been a symptom 
 of acquiescence, and an insult to those who suffered by the com- 
 mon misfortune. Those who remained in the degraded capital, 
 might be said rather to haunt the scenes of their departed power, 
 than to live in them. The reflection, " who and what enthrals,** 
 will hardly bear a comment from one who is, nationally, the 
 friend and the ally of the conqueror. It may, however, be 
 allowed to say thus much, that to those who wish to recover their 
 independence, any masters must be an object of detestation ; and it 
 may be safely foretold that this unprofitable aversion will not have 
 been corrected before Venice shall have sunk into the slime of 
 her choked canals. 
 
 Note 11, page 99, line 3. 
 * Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse. 
 
 The story is told m Plutarch's life of Nicias. 
 
 Note 12, page 100, line 5. 
 And Otwai/t Radclijfe, Schiller , Shakspeare^s art, 
 Venice Preserved ; Mysteries of Udolpho ; the Ghost-seer, or 
 Armenian ; the Merchant of Venice ; Othello. 
 
CllILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 203 
 
 Note 13, page 101, lines 1 and 2. 
 
 But from their nature will the tannen grow 
 
 Loftiest on loftiest and least sheltered rocks, 
 
 Tannen is the plural of tanne, a species of fir peculiar to the 
 
 Alps, which only thrives in very rockj" parts, where scarcely soil 
 
 sufficient for its nourishment can be found. On these spots it 
 
 grows to a greater height than any other mountain tree. 
 
 Note 14, page 105, lines 3 and 4. 
 yi single star is at her side, and reigns 
 With her o'er half the hwely heaven^ 
 The above description may seem fantastical or exaggerated to 
 those who have never seen an Oriental or an Italian sky, yet it is 
 but a literal and hardly sufficient delineation of an August even- 
 ing (the eighteenth) as contemplated in one of many rides along 
 the banks of the Brenta near La Mii a. 
 
 Note 15, page 106, lines 8 and 9. 
 Watering the tree which bears his ladyh name 
 With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. 
 Thanks to the critical acumen of a Scotchman, we now know as 
 little of Laura as ever, * The discoveries of the Abbe de Sade, 
 his triumphs, his sneers, can no longer instruct or amuse. ^ We 
 must not, however, think that these memoirs are as much a ro- 
 mance as Belisarius or the Incas, although we are told so by Dr. 
 Beattie, a great name but a little authority. 3 His •* laboui"" has 
 
 1 See An historical and critical Essay on the Life and Character of 
 Petrarch; and a Dissertation on an Historical Hypothesis of the Abbe 
 de Sade : the first appeared about the year 178 i ; the other is inserted 
 in the fourth volume of the Transactions of the Royal Society of Edin- 
 burgh, and both have been incorporated into a work, published, under 
 the first title, by Ballantyne in 1810. 
 
 « Memoires pour la Vie de Petrarque. 
 
 ' Life of Beattie, by Sir S. Forbes, t. ii. p. 106. 
 
204 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 not been in vain, notwithstanding his «* love" lias, like most uther 
 passions, made him ridiculous.* The hypothesis which over- 
 powered the struggling Italians, and carried along less interested 
 critics in its current, is run out. We have another proof that we 
 can be never sure that the paradox, the most singular, and there- 
 fore having the most agreeable and authentic air, will not give 
 place to the re-established ancient prejudice. 
 
 It seems, then, first, that Laura was born, lived, died, and was 
 buried, not in Avignon, but in the country. The fountains of the 
 Sorga, the thickets of Cabrieres, may resume their pretensions, 
 and the exploded de la Bastie again be heard with complacency. 
 The hypothesis of the Abbe had no stronger props than the 
 parchment sonnet and medal found on the skeleton of the wife of 
 Hugo de Sade, and the manuscript note to the Virgil of Petrarch, 
 now in the Ambrosian library. If these proofs were both incon- 
 testable, the poetry was written, the medal composed, cast, and 
 deposited within the space of twelve hours ; and these deliberate 
 duties were performed round the carcase of one who died of the 
 plague, and was hurried to the grave on the day of her death. 
 These documents, therefore, are too decisive : they prove not the 
 fact, but the forgery. Either the sonnet or the Virgilian note 
 must be a falsification. The Abbe cites both as incontestably 
 true ; the consequent deduction is inevitable — they are both evi- 
 dently false. * 
 
 Secondly, Laura was never married, and was a haughty virgin 
 rather than that tender and prudent wife who honoured Avignon 
 by making that town the theatre of an honest French passion, 
 
 1 Mr. Gibbon called his Memoirs ** a labour qf love,** (see Decline 
 and Fall, cap. Ixx. note 1.), and followed him with confidence and de- 
 light. The compiler of a very voluminous work must take much criti- 
 cism upon trust ; Mr. Gibbon has done so, though not so readily as 
 some other authors. 
 
 » The sonnet had before awakened the suspicions of Mr. Horace ^V al- 
 pole. See his letter to NVharton in 1763. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 205 
 
 and played oflf for one and twenty years her little machinery of 
 alternate favours and refusals * upon the first poet of the age. It 
 was, indeed, rather too unfair that a female should be made re- 
 sponsible for eleven children upon the faith of a misinterpreted 
 abbreviation, and the decision of a librarian.* It is, however, 
 satisfactory to think that the love of Petrarch was not platonic. 
 The happiness which he prayed to possess but once and for a 
 moment was surely not of the mind, 3 and something so very real 
 as a marriage project, with one who has been idly called a sha- 
 dowy nymph, may be, perhaps, detected in at least six places of 
 his own sonnets. * The love of Petrarch was neither platonic nor 
 poetical ; and if in one passage of his works he calls it '* amore 
 veementeissimo ma unico ed onesto," he confesses in a letter to a 
 friend, that it was guilty and perverse, that it absorbed him quite 
 and mastered his heart. 5 
 
 1 ** Par ce petit manage, cette alternative de faveurs et de rigueurs 
 bien in^nag6e, une feinme tendre et sage amuse, pendant vingt et un 
 ans, le plus grand poete de son si^ele, sans faire la moindre br^che k 
 son honneur." Mem. pour la Vie de Petrarque, Preface aux Francois. 
 The Italian editor of the London edition of Petrarch, who has translated 
 Lord Woodhouselee, renders the " femme tendre et sage" ** raffinata 
 civetta." Riflessioni intorno a madonna Laura, p. i34, vol. iii. ed. 
 ]811. 
 
 2 In a dialogue with St. Augustin, Petrarch has described Laura as 
 having a body exhausted With repeated ptubs. The old editors read and 
 printed perturbationibus ; but Mr. Capperonier, librarian to the French 
 King in 176'2, who saw the MS. in the Paris library, made an attestation 
 that ** on lit et qu'on doit lire, partubus exhaustum." De Sade joined 
 the names of Messrs. Boudot and Bejot with Mr. Capperonier, and in 
 the whole discussion on this ptubs, showed himself a downright literary 
 rogue. See Riflessioni, &c. p. 26?. Thomas Aquinas is called in to 
 settle whether Petrarch's mistress was a chaste maid or a continent wife. 
 
 3 *' Pigmalion, quanto lodar ti dei 
 Deir imagine tua, se mille volte 
 N' avesti quel ch' i' sol una vorrei." 
 
 Sonetto 58. quando giunse a Sitnon Valto concetto 
 JJ, Rime ^c. par. i. pag. IHQ. edit. Ven. 1756. 
 
 4 See Riflessioni, &c. p. 29I. 
 
 5 " Quella rcae perversa passione che solo tutto mi occupara e mi 
 regnavn nel ouore." 
 
20d NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 In this case, however, he was perhaps alarmed for tlie culpa- 
 bility of his wishes ; for the Abbe de Sade himself, who certainly 
 would not have been scrupulously delicate if he could have proved 
 his descent from Petrarch as well as Laura, is forced into a stout 
 defence of his virtuous grandmother. As far as relates to the 
 poet, we have no security for the innocence, except perhaps in 
 the constancy of his pursuit. . He assures us in his epistle to 
 posterity that, when arrived at his fortieth year, he not only 
 had in horror, but had lost all recollection and image of any 
 ** irregularit^^"^ But the birth of his natural daugliter cannot 
 be assigned earlier than his thirty-ninth year ; and either the 
 memory or the morality of the poet must have failed him, when 
 he forgot or was guilty of this slip. * The weakest argument for 
 the purity of this love has been drawn from the permanence of 
 effects, which survived the object of his passion. The reflection 
 of Mr. de la Bastie, that virtue alone is capable of making im- 
 pressions which death cannot efface, is one of those which every 
 body applauds, and every body finds not to be true, the moment 
 he examines his own breast or the records of human feeling. 3 
 Such apothegms can do nothing for Petrarch or for the cause of 
 morality, except with the very weak and the very young. He 
 that has made even a little progress beyond ignorance and pu- 
 pilage, cannot be edified with any thing but truth. What is 
 called vindicating the honour of an individual or a nation, is the 
 most futile, tedious, and uninstructive of all writing.; although it 
 will always meet with more applause than that sober criticism, 
 which is attributed to the malicious desire of reducing a great 
 man to the common standard of humanity. It is, after all, not 
 
 * Azion disonesta are his words. 
 
 ^ " A questa confessione cosi sincera diede forse occasione una nuova 
 caduta ch* ei fece." Tiraboschi, Storia, &c. torn. v. lib. iv. par. ii. 
 pag. 49^. 
 
 ^ ** II rCy a que la veHu scule qui soit capable dc faire des impres- 
 sions que la mart n'efface pas." M. de Bimard, Baron de la Bastie, in 
 the Memoires de TAcademie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres for 1740 
 aad 1751. See also Riflessioni, &c. p. ?9J. 
 
CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 207 
 
 unlikely, that our historian was right in retaining his favourite 
 hypothetic salvo, which secures the author, although it scarcely 
 saves the honour of the still unknown mistress of Petrarch. » 
 
 Note 16, page 106, line 10. 
 They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died, 
 
 Petrarch retired to Arqua immediately on his return from the 
 unsuccessful attempt to vis-it Urban V. at Rome, in the year 1370, 
 and, with the exception of his celebrated visit to Venice in com- 
 pany with Francesco Novello da Carrara, he appears to have 
 passed the four last years of his life between that charming soli- 
 tude and Padua. For four months previous to his death he was 
 in a state of continual languor, and in tiie morning of July the 
 19th, in the year 1374, was found dead in his library chair with 
 his head resting upon a book. The chair is still shown amongst 
 the precious relics of Arqua, which, from the uninterrupted ve- 
 neration that has been attached to every thing relative to this 
 great man from the moment of his death to the present hour, 
 have, it may be hoped, a better chance of authenticity than the 
 Shakesperian memorials of Stratford upon Avon. 
 
 Arqua (for the last syllable is accented in pronunciation, al- 
 though the analogy of the English language has been observed in 
 the verse) is twelve miles from Padua, and about three miles 
 on the right of the high road to Rovigo, in the bosom of the Eu- 
 ganean hills. After a walk of twenty minutes across a flat well 
 wooded meadow, you come to a little blue lake, clear, but fa- 
 thomless, and to the foot of a succession of acclivities and hills, 
 clothed with vineyards and orchards, rich with fir and pomegra- 
 nate trees, and every sunny fruit shrub. From the banks of the 
 
 I '* And if the virtue or prudence of Laura was inexorable, he en- 
 joyed, and might boast of enjoying the nymph of poetry." Deehne and 
 Fall, cap. Ixx. p. 327. vol. xii. oct. Perhaps the if\s here meant for 
 although. 
 
208 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 lake the road winds into the hills, and the church of Arqna is 
 fcoon seen between a cleft where two ridges slope towards each 
 other, and nearly inclose the village. The houses are scattered 
 at intervals on the steep sides of these summits j and that of the 
 poet is on the edge of a little knoll overlooking two descents, and 
 commanding a view not only of the glowing gardens in the dales 
 immediately^ beneath, but of the wide plains, above whose low 
 woods of mulberry and willow thickened into a dark mass by fes- 
 toons of vines, tall single cypresses, and the spires of towns are 
 seen in the distance, which stretches to the mouths of the Po and 
 the shores of the Adriatic. The climate of these volcanic hills is 
 warmer, and the vintage begins a week sooner than in the plains 
 of Padua, Petrarch is laid, for he cannot be said to be buried, 
 in a sarcophagus of red marble, raised on four pilasters on an ele- 
 vated base, and preserved from an association with meaner tombs. 
 It stands conspicuously alone, but will be soon overshadowed by 
 four lately planted laurels. Petrarch's fountain, for here every 
 thing is Petrarch's, springs and expands itself beneath an arti- 
 ficial arch, a little below the church, and abounds plentifully, in 
 the driest season, with that soft water which was the ancient 
 wealth of the Euganean hills. It would be more attractive, were 
 it not, in some seasons, beset with hornets and wasps. No other 
 coincidence could assimilate the tombs of Petrarch and Archilo- 
 chus The revolutions of centuries have spared these seques- 
 tered vallies, and the only violence which has been offered to the 
 ashes of Petrarch was prompted, not by hate, but veneration. An 
 attempt was made to rob the sarcophagus of its treasure, and one 
 of the arms was stolen by a Florentine through a rent which is 
 still visible. The injury is not forgotten, but has served to iden- 
 tify the poet with the country where he was born, but where he 
 would not live. A peasant boy of Arqua being asked who Petrarch 
 was, replied, " that the people of the parsonage knew all about 
 him, but that he only knew that he was a Florentine." 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 209 
 
 Mr. Forsyth* was not quite correct in saying that Petrarch 
 never returned to Tuscany after he had once quitted it when a 
 boy. It appears he did pass through Florence on his way from 
 Parma to Rome, and on his return in the year 1350, and re- 
 mained there long enough to form some acquaintance with its 
 most distinguished inhabitants. A Florentine gentleman, ashamed 
 of the aversion of the poet for his native country, was eager to 
 point out this trivial error in our accomplished traveller, whom 
 he knew and respected for an extraordinary capacity, extensive 
 erudition, and refined taste, joined to that engaging simplicity 
 of manners which has been so frequently recognized as the surest, 
 though it is certainly not an indispensable, trait of superior ge- 
 nius. 
 
 Every footstep of Laura's lover has been anxiously traced and 
 recorded. The house in which he lodged is shewn in Venice. 
 The inhabitants of Arezzo, in order to decide the ancient contro- 
 versy between their city and the neighbouring Ancisa, where 
 Petrarch was carried when seven months old, and remained until 
 his seventh year, have designated by a long inscription the spot 
 where their great fellow citizen was born. A tablet has been 
 raised to him at Parma, in the chapel of St. Agatha, at the cathe- 
 dral, ^ because he was archdeacon of that society, and was only 
 
 » Remarks, &c. on Italy, p. 95, note, Cnd edit. 
 
 2 D. O. M. 
 
 Francisco Petrarchae 
 
 Parmensi Archidiacono. 
 
 Parentibus praeclaris genere perantiquo 
 
 Ethices Christianae scriptori eximio 
 
 Romanae linguae restitutori ' 
 
 Etruscae principi 
 
 AfricaB ob carmen hac in urbe peractum regibus accito 
 
 S. P. Q. R. laurea donato. 
 
 Tanti Viri 
 
 Juvenilium juvenis senilium senex 
 
 Studiosissimus 
 
 Comes Nicolaus Canonieus Cicognarus 
 
 Marmorea proxima ara excitata. 
 
 VOL. 'II. P 
 
210 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO O^ 
 
 snatched from his fntended sepulture In their church by & foreign 
 death. Another tablet with a bust has been erected to liira at 
 Pavia, on account of his having passed the autumn of 1368 in 
 that city, with his son in law Brossano. The political condition 
 which has for ages precluded the Italians from the criticism of the 
 living, has concentrated their attention to the illustration of the 
 dead. 
 
 Note 17, page 108, line 1. 
 Or it may be vith dcemons* 
 Tlie struggle is to the full as likely to be with daemons as with 
 our better thoughts. Satan chose the wilderness for the tempta- 
 tion of our Saviour. And our unsullied John Locke preferred 
 the presence of a child to complete solitude. 
 
 Note 18, page 1 10, lines 6 and 7. 
 In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire ; 
 And BoUeau, whose rash envy^ <^c. 
 Perhaps the couplet in which Boileau depreciates Tasso, may 
 serve as well as any other specimen to justify the opiuion given 
 of the harmony of French verse. 
 
 A Malerbe, k Racan, preferer Theophile, 
 
 Et le clinquant du Tasse a tout Tor de Virgile, 
 
 Sat. ix. vers. 176. 
 
 The biographer Serassi,* out of tenderness to the reputation 
 either of the Italian or the French poet, is eager to observe that 
 the satirist recanted or explained away tliis censure, anrl eubsc- 
 
 Ibique condito 
 
 Divas Januariae cruento corpore 
 
 H. M. P. 
 
 Suffectum 
 
 Sed infra meritum Francisci eepulchro 
 
 Summa hac in aede efferri mandanti* 
 
 Si Parmae occumberet 
 
 Extera morte heu nobis crepti. 
 
 > La vita del Tasso, lib. iii. p. '*'8*. tom. il. edit. Rprgj po ngo. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 211 
 
 quently allowed the author of the Jerusalem to be a " genius, 
 sublime, vast, and happily born for the higher flights of poetry." 
 To this we will add, that the recantation is far from satisfactory, 
 when we examine the whole anecdote as reported by Olivet. » 
 The sentence 'pronounced against him by Bohours, * is recorded 
 only to the confusion of the critic, whose palinodia the Italian 
 makes no effort to discover, and would not perhaps accept. As 
 to the opposition which the Jerusalem encountered from the Crus- 
 can academy, who degraded Tasso from all competition with 
 Ariosto, below Bojardo and Pulci, the disgrace of such opposition 
 must also in some measure be laid to the charge of Alfonso, and 
 the court of Ferrara. For Leonard Salviati, the principal and 
 nearh^ the sole origin of this attack, was, there can be no doubt, 3 
 influenced by a hope to acquire the favour of the House of Este : 
 an object which he thought attainable by exalting the reputation 
 of a native poet at the expense of a rival, theu a prisoner of state. 
 The hopes and eff"orts of Salviati must serve to show the cotem- 
 porary opinion as to the nature of the poet's imprisonment; and 
 will fill up the measure of our indignation at the tyrant jailer. * 
 In fact, the antagonist of Tasso was not disappointed in the recep- 
 
 1 Histoire de TAcademie Francoise depuis 1652, jusqu'^ 1700, par 
 I'abb^ d'Olivet, p. 181, edit. Amsterdam 1730. ** Mais, ensuite, venant 
 k I'usage qu'il a fait de ses talens, j'aurois montr^ que le bons sens n'est 
 pas toujours ce qui domine chez lui " p. 182. Boileau said he had not 
 changed his opinion. *' J'en ai si pen change, dit il," &c. p. 181. 
 
 2 La mani^re de bien penser dans les ouvrages de I'esprit, sec. dial. p. 
 89, edit. 1692. Philanthes is for Tasso, and says in the outset, *' de tous 
 les beaux esprits que I'ltalie a portes, le Tasse est pent etre celui qui 
 pense le plus noblement." But Bohours seems to speak in Eudoxus, 
 who closes with the absurd comparison: ** Faites valoir le Tasse tant 
 qu'il vous plaira, je m'en tiens pour moi a Virgile," &c. ibid. p. 102. 
 
 3 La Vita, &c. lib. iii. p. 90. torn. ii. The English reader may see 
 an account of the opposition of the Crusca to Tasso, in Dr. Black, Life, 
 &c. cap. xvii. vol. ii. 
 
 4 For further, and, it is hoped, decisive proof, that Tasso was neither 
 more nor less than a prisoner of state, the reader is referred to '« Histo- 
 rical Illustrations of the IVth Canto of Childe Harold," 
 pag. bt and following. 
 
 p2 
 
212 ICOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 tion given to his criticism ; he was called to the court of Ferrara, 
 where, having endeavoured to heighten his claims to favour, by 
 panegyrics on the family of his sovereign ; ^ he was in his turn 
 abandoned, and expired in neglected poverty. The opposition 
 of the Cniscans was brought to a close in six years after the com- 
 mencement of the controversy ; and if the academy owed its first 
 renown to having almost opened with such a paradox,^ it is pro- 
 bable that, on the other hand, the care of his reputation alleviated 
 rather than aggravated the imprisonment of the injured poet. 
 The defence of his father and of himself, for both were involved 
 in the censure of Salviati, found employment for many of his soli- 
 tary hours, and the captive could have been but little embarrassed 
 to reply to accusations, where, amongst other delinquencies, he 
 was charged with invidiously omitting, in his comparison between 
 France and Italy, to make any mention of the cupola of St. Ma- 
 ria del Fiore at Florence. ^ The late biographer of Ariosto seems 
 as if willing to renew the controversy by doubting the interpreta- 
 tion of Tasso*s self-estimation 4 related in Serassi's life of the poet. 
 But Tiraboschi had before laid that rivalry at rest,"* by showing, 
 that between Ariosto and Tasso it is not a question of comparison^ 
 but of preference. 
 
 Note 1 9, page 111, lines 1 and IK 
 The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust 
 The iron crown of' laurel*s mimic' d leaves. 
 Before the remains of Ariosto M'ere removed from the Bene- 
 dictine church to the library of Ferrara, his bust, which sur- 
 
 » Orazioni funebri . . delle lodi di Don Luigi Cardinal d'Este .... 
 delle lodi di Donno Alfonso d'Este. See La Vita, lib. iii. page il7. 
 
 a It was founded in 158?, and the Crusean answer to Pellegrino's 
 Caraffa or epica poesia was published in 1 o84. 
 
 3 ** Cotanto pot«i sempre in lui il veleno della sua pessima volenti 
 contro alia naziou Fiorentina." La Vita, lib. iii. p. Qd, y8, torn, ii. 
 
 4 La Vita di M. L. Ariosto, scritta dall' Abate Girolaino Baruffaldi 
 Giuniore, &e., Ferrara 18()7, lib. iii. pag. i.62. See Historical Illustra- 
 tions. Ac. p. £6. 
 
 5 Storia della Lett. &c. lib. iii. torn. vii. par. iii. pag. \Q^o. sect. 4. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PlLCrlUMAGE. 2J3 
 
 naounted the tomb, was struck by lightning, and a crown of iron 
 laurels melted away. The event has been recorded by a writer 
 of the last century. ^ The transfer of these sacred ashes on the 
 6th of June 1801 was one of the most brilliant spectacles of the 
 short-lived Italian Republic, and to consecrate the memory of the 
 ceremony, the once famous fallen Intrepidi were revived and re- 
 formed into the Ariostean academy. The large public place 
 through which the procession paraded was then for the first time 
 •called Ariosto Square. The author of the Orlando is jealously 
 claimed as the Homer, not of Italy, but Ferrara. * The mother of 
 Ariosto was of Reggio, and the house in which he was born is 
 carefully distinguished by a tablet with these words : ** Qui nacque 
 Ludovico Ariosto it giorno 8 di Settembre dell* anno 1474." But 
 the Ferrarese make light of the accident by which their poet was 
 born abroad, and claiiu him exclusively for their own. They pos- 
 sess his bones, they show his arm-chair, and his inkstand, and his 
 autographs. 
 
 ** Hie illius arma 
 
 Hie currus fuit " 
 
 The house where he lived, the room where he died, are desig- 
 nated by his own replaced memorial, ^ and by a recent inscription. 
 The Ferrarese are more jealous of their claims since the animosity 
 of Denina, arising from a cause which their apologists mysteriously 
 hint is not unknown to them, ventured to degrade their soil and 
 climate to a Boeotian incapacity for all spiritual productions. A 
 
 » «« Mi racoon tarono que' monaci, ch' essendo caduto un fulmine nella 
 lore chiesa schiant6 esso dalle tempie la eorona di lauro a quell' immor- 
 talepoeta." Op. di Bianconi, vol. iii. p. 1?^. ed. Milano, 180^; lettera 
 al Signer Guide Savini Arcifisieeritice, sull' indole di un fulmine caduto 
 in Dresda I'anno 1760. 
 
 2 " Appassionato aramiratore ed invitto apologista dell' Omero Fer- 
 rarese" The title was first given by Tasso, and is quoted to the confu- 
 sion of the Tassisti, lib. iii. pp. i62. il6b. La Vita di M L. Ariosto, &c» 
 3 • ' Parva sed apta niihi, sed nulli ebnoxia, sed non 
 Sordida, parta meo sed tainen aeie domus." 
 
214 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 quarto volume has been called forth by the detraction, and this 
 supplement to Barotti's Memoirs of the illustrious Ferrarese has 
 been considered a triumphant reply to the ** Quadro Storico Sta- 
 tistico dell' Alta Italia." 
 
 Note 20, page 111, lines 13 and 14. 
 
 For the true laurel-wreath -which Glm-y weaves 
 
 Is of the tree no holt of thunder cleaves. 
 The eagle, the sea calf, the laurel, * and the white vine, ' were 
 amongst the most approved preservatives against lightning : Ju- 
 piter chose the first, Augustus Caesar the second,^ and Tiberius 
 never failed to wear a wreath of the third when the sky threat- 
 ened a thunder-storm. ^ These superstitions may be received 
 without a sneer in a country where the magical properties of the 
 hazel twig have not lost all their credit; and perhaps the reader 
 may not be much surprised to find that a commentator on Sueto- 
 nius has taken upon himself gravely to disprove the imputed 
 virtues of the crown of Tiberius, by mentioning that a few years 
 before he wrote a laurel was actually struck by lightning at 
 E,ome. 5 
 
 Note 21, page HI, line 17. 
 Know that the lightning sanctifies below. 
 The Curtian lake and the Ruminal fig-tree in the Forum, 
 having been touched by lightning, were held sacred, and the 
 memory of the accident was preserved by a puteal, or altar, re- 
 sembling the mouth of a well, with a little chapel covering the ca- 
 rity supposed to be made by the thunderbolt Bodies scathed and 
 
 1 Aquila, vitulus marinus, et launis, fulmine non feriuntur. Plin. 
 Nat. Hist. lib. ii. cap. Iv. 
 
 o Columella, lib. x. 
 . 3 Sueton. in Vit. August, cap. xc. 
 
 4 Id. in Vit. Tiberii, cap. Ixix. 
 
 5 Note 2. pag. 409. edit. Lugd. Bat. 166I. 
 
CHIL'DE HAROLD'S PiLGtwiMAGE. 215 
 
 persons struck dead were thought to be incorruplible y ' and ' 
 a stroke not fatal conferred perpetual dignity upon the man so 
 distinguished by heaven.* 
 
 Those killed by lightning were wrapped in a white garment, 
 and buried where they fell. The superstition was not confined 
 to the worshippers of Jupiter : the Lombards believed in the 
 oraens furnished by lightning, and a Christian priest confesses 
 that, by a diabolical skill in interpreting thunder, a seer foretold 
 to Agilulf, duke of Turin, an event which came to pass, and gave 
 him a queen and a crown. ^ There was, however, something 
 equivocal in this sign, which the ancient inhabitants of Rome did 
 not always consider propitious ; and as the fears are likely to last 
 longer than the consolations of superstition, it is not strange that 
 the Romans of the age of Leo X. should have been so much ter- 
 rified at some misinterpreted storms as to require the exhortations 
 of a scholar who arrayed all the learning on thunder and lightning 
 to prove the omen favourable : beginning with the flash which 
 struck the walls of Velitrse, and including that which played 
 upon a gate at Florence, and foretold tlie ponliricatc of one of its 
 ^citizens. * 
 
 - Note 22, page 1 12, line I. 
 /ta/ja, oh Italia, ^c. 
 
 Tlie two stanzas, XLIL and XLIIL are, with the exception of 
 a Hue or two, a translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja; 
 ** Italia, Italia, O tu cui feo la sorte." 
 
 » Vid. J. C. Bullenger, de Terra motu et Fulrainib. lib. v. cap. xi. 
 
 Sympos. vid. J. C. Bulleng. ut sup. 
 
 3 Pauli Diaconi, de gestis Langobard. lib. iiL cap. xiv. fo. 15. edit. 
 Tauriu. i:'57. 
 
 4 I. P. Valeriani, de fulminum signiiieationibus deelamatio, ap. Graiv. 
 Antiq. Rom. torn. v. pag. 593. Tiic declamation is addressed to Julian 
 of Medicis. 
 
216 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 Note 23, page 1 13, lines 1 and 2. 
 
 Wandering in youths I traced the path of /lim. 
 
 The Roman friend of Romt's least mortal mind. 
 
 The celebrated letter of Servius Sulpicius to Cicero on the 
 
 death of his daughter, describes as it then was, and now is, a path 
 
 which I often traced in Greece, both b^ sea and land, in dilFereut 
 
 journeys and voyages. 
 
 " On my return from Asia, as I was sailing from ^gina towards 
 Megara, 1 began to contemplate the prospect of the countries 
 around me : ^gina was behind, JMegara before me ; Piraeus on 
 the right, Corinth on the left ; all which towns, once famous and 
 flourishing, now lie overturned and buiied in their ruins. Upon 
 this sight, I could not but think presently within myself, Alas ! 
 how do we poor mortals fret and vex ourselves if any of our 
 friends happen to die or be killed, whose life is yet so short, 
 when the carcases of so many noble cities lie here exposed before 
 me in one view." * 
 
 Note 24, page 1 14, lines 7 and 8. 
 And we pass 
 The skeleton of her Titanic form. 
 It is Poggio who, looking from the Capitoline hill upon ruined 
 Rome, breaks forth into the exclamation, ** Ut nunc orani decore 
 nudata, prostrata jacet, instar glgantei cadaveris corrupti atque 
 undique exesi.'"* 
 
 Note 25, page 115, line 10. 
 There too the goddess loves in stone. 
 The view of the Venus of Medicis instantly suggests the lines 
 in the Seasons^ and the comparison of the object with the descrip- 
 
 i Dr. Middleton— History of the Life of M. TuUius Cicero, sect. vii. 
 paf». 371. vol. ii. 
 
 « De fortunse varietate urbis Romae et de ruinis ejusdem descriptio, 
 ap. Sallengre, Thesaur. torn. i. p. 501. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 21 7 
 
 tion proves, not only the correctness of the portrait, but the pe- 
 culiar turn of thouglit, and, if the term may be used, the sexual 
 imagination of the descriptive poet. The same conclusion may 
 be deduced from another hint in the same episode of Musidora ; 
 for Thomson's notion of the privileges of favoured love must have 
 been either very primitive, or rather deficient in delicacy, when 
 he made his grateful nymph inform her discreet Damon that in 
 some happier moment he might perhaps be the companion of her 
 bath: 
 
 " The time may come you need not fly." 
 
 The reader will recollect the anecdote told in the life of Dr. John- 
 son. We will not leave the Florentine gallery without a word on 
 the Whetter. It seems strange that the character of that disputed 
 statue should not be entirely decided, at least in the mind of any 
 one who has seen a sarcophagus in the vestibule of the Basilica 
 of St. Paul without the walls, at Rome, where the whole group 
 of the fable of Marsyas is seen in tolerable preservation ; and the 
 Scythian slave whetting the knife is represented exactly in the 
 same position as this celebrated masterpiece. The slave is not 
 naked : but it is easier to get rid of this difficulty than to suppose 
 the knife in the hand of the Florentine statue an instrument for 
 shaving, which it must be, if, as Lanzi supposes, the man is no 
 other than the barber of Julius Caesar. Wiukelmami, illustrating 
 a bas relief of the same subject, follows the opinion of Leonard 
 Agoslini, and his authority might have been thought conclusive, 
 even if the resemblance did not strike the most careless observer. * 
 Amongst the bronzes of the same princely collection, is still to 
 be seen the inscribed tablet copied and commented upon by Mr. 
 Gibbon. * Our historian found some difficulties, but did not de- 
 sist from his illustration : he might be vexed to hear that his cri- 
 
 * See Monim. Ant. ined. par. i. cap. xvii. n. xlii. pag. 50; and Storia 
 delle arti, &c. lib. xi. cap. i. torn. ii. pag. 314. not. b. 
 2 Nomina gentesque Antiqua; Italia;, p. 204. edit. oct. 
 
218 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 licistn has been thrown away on an Inscription now generally re- 
 cognized to be a forgery. 
 
 Note 26, page 116, lines 15 and 16. 
 His eyes to thee upturn, 
 Feeding on thy sweet cheek. 
 
 ** Atque oculos pascat uterque sues.** 
 
 Ovid. Amor. lib. ii. 
 
 Note 27, page 118, line 1. 
 In Santa Croce^s holy precincts lie. 
 This name will recal the memory, not only of those whose 
 tombs have raised the Santa Croce into the centre of pilgrimage, 
 the Mecca of Italy, but of her whose eloquence was poured over 
 the illustrious ashes, and whose voice is now as mute as those she 
 sung. CoRiNNA is no more; and with her should expire the 
 fear, the flattery, and the envy, which threw too dazzling or too 
 dark a cloud round the march of genius, and forbad the steady 
 gaze of disinterested criticism. We have her picture embellished 
 or distorted, as friendship or detraction has held the pencil : the 
 impartial portrait was hardly to be expected from a cotemporary. 
 The immediate voice of her survivors will, it is probable, be far 
 from affording a just estimate of her singular capacity. The gal- 
 lantry, the love of wonder, and the hope of associated fame, which 
 blunted the edge of censure, must cease to exist. — The dead have 
 no sex ; they can surprise by no new miracles j they can confer 
 no privilege : Corinna has ceased to be a woman — she is only an 
 author : and it may be foreseen that many Avill repay themselves 
 for former complaisance, by a severity to which the extravagance 
 of previous praises may perhaps give the colour of truth, llie 
 laiest posterity, for to the latest posterity they will assuredly de- 
 scend, will have to pronounce upon her various productions; and 
 the longer the vista through which they are seen, the more ac- 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 219 
 
 curately minute will be the object, the more certain the justice, 
 of the decision. She will enter into that existence in which the 
 great writers of all ages and nations are, as it were, associated in 
 a world of their own, and, from that superior sphere, shed their 
 eternal influence for the control and consolation of mankind. But 
 the individual will gradually disappear as the author is more 
 distinctly seen : some one, therefore, of all those whom the 
 charms of involuntary wit, and of easy hospitality, attracted 
 within the friendly circles of Coppet, should rescue from oblivion 
 those virtues which, although they are said to love the shade, are, 
 in fact, more frequently chilled than excited by the domestic cares 
 of private life. Some one should be found to pourtray the un- 
 affected graces with which she adorned those dearer relationships, 
 the performance of whose duties is rather discovered amongst tlie 
 interior secrets, than seen in the outward management, of family 
 intercourse; and which, indeed, it requires the delicacy of ge- 
 nuine affection to qualify for the eye of an indifferent spectator. 
 Some one should be found, not to celebrate, but to describe, the 
 amiable mistress of an open mansion, the centre of a society, ever 
 varied, and always pleased, the creator of which, divested of the 
 ambition and the arts of public rivalry, shone forth only to give 
 fresh animation to those around her. The mother tenderly affec- 
 tionate and tenderly beloved, the friend unboundedly generous, 
 but still esteemed, the charitable patroness of all distress, cannot 
 be forgotten by those whom she cherished, and protected, and 
 fed. Her loss will be mourned the most where she was known 
 the best ; and, to the sorrows of very many friends and more de- 
 pendants, may be offered the disinterested regret of a stranger, 
 who, amidst the sublimer scenes of the Leman lake, received his 
 chief satisfaction from contemplating the engaging qualities of the 
 incomparable Corimia. 
 
220 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 Note 28, page 118, lines 6 and 7. 
 Here repose 
 AngeWsy AlfierVs bones. 
 Alfieri is the great name of this age. The Italians, without 
 waiting for the hundred ^ears, consider him as " a poet good in 
 law." — His memory is the more dear to them because he is the 
 bard of freedom; and because, as such, his tragedies can receive 
 no countenance from any of their sovereigns. They are but very 
 seldom, and but very few of them, allowed to be acted. It was 
 observed by Cicero, that nowhere were the true opinions and 
 feelings of the Romans so clearly shown as at the theatre. * III 
 the autumn of 1 b 1 6, a celebrated improvisatore exhibited his ta- 
 lents at the Opera-house of Milan. Tiie reading of the theses 
 handed in for the subjects of his poetry was received by a very 
 numerous audience, for the most part in silence, or with laughter ; 
 but when the assistant, unfolding one of the papers, exclaimed, 
 " The apotheosis of Victor Aljieri,''' the whole theatre burst into a 
 shout, and the applause was continued for some moments, llie 
 lot did not fall on Alfieri ; and the Signor Sgricci had to pour forth 
 his extemporary common-places on the bombardment of Algiers. 
 The choice, indeed, is not left to accident quite so much as might 
 be thought from a first view of the ceremony' ; and the police not 
 only takes care to look at the papers beforehand, but, in case of 
 any prudential after-thought, steps in to correct tlie blindness of 
 
 1 The free expression of their honest sentiments survived their liber- 
 ties. Titius, the friend of Antony, presented them with games in the 
 theatre of Pompey. They did not suffer the brilliancy of the spectacle 
 to efface from their memory that the man who furnished them with the 
 entertainment had murdered the son of Pompey : they drove him from 
 the theatre with curses. The moral sense of a populace, spontaneously 
 expressed, is never wrong. Even the soldiers of the triumvirs joined in 
 the execration of the citizens, by shouting round the chariots of Lepidus 
 and Plancus, who had proscribed their brothers, De Gernianis nan dt 
 Gallis duo triumphant Consules, a saying worth a record, were it no- 
 thing but a good pun. [C. Veil. Paterculi Hist. lib. ii. cap. Ixxix. 
 pag. 78. edit. Elzevir, l63ij. Ibid. lib. ii. cap. lxx\ii.] 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 221 
 
 chance. The proposal for deifying Alfieri was received with im- 
 mediate enthusiasm, the rather because it was conjectured there 
 would be no opportunity of carrying it into effect. 
 
 Note 29, page 1 1 8, line 9. 
 Here MachiaveUi's earth returned to whence it rose. 
 The affectation of simplicity in sepulchral inscriptions, which 
 so often leaves us uncertain whether the structure before us is an 
 actual depository, or a cenotaph, or a simple memorial not of 
 death but life, has given to the tomb of Machiavelli no informa- 
 tion as to the place or time of the birth or death, the age or pa- 
 rentage, of the historian. 
 
 TANTO NOMINI NVLLVM PAR ELOGIVM 
 NICCOLAVS MACHIAVELLI. 
 
 There seems at least no reason why the name should not have 
 been put above the sentence which alludes to it. 
 
 It will readily be imagined that the prejudices which have 
 passed the name of Machiavelli into an epithet proverbial of 
 iniquity, exist no longer at Florence. His memory was perse- 
 cuted as his life had been for an attachment to liberty, incompa- 
 tible with the new system of despotism, which succeeded the fall 
 of the free governments of Italy. He was put to the torture for 
 being a " libertine" that is, for wishing to restore the republic of 
 Florence ; and such are the undying efforts of those who are in- 
 terested in the perversion not only of the nature of actions, but 
 the meaning of words, that what was once patriotism^ has by de- 
 grees come to signify debauch. We have ourselves outlived the 
 old meaning of ' liberality,' which is now another word for trea- 
 son in one country and for infatuatioa in all. It seems to have 
 been a strange mistake to accuse the author of the Prince, as 
 being a pandar to tyranny ; and to think that the inquisition 
 would condemn his work for such a delinquency. The fact is 
 that Machiavelli, as is usual with those against whom no crime 
 
222 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 can be proved, was suspected of and charged with atheism ; and 
 the first and last most violent opposers of the Prince were both 
 Jesuits, one of whora persuaded the Inquisition " bench^ fosse 
 tardo," to prohibit the treatise, and the other quahfied the secre- 
 tary of the Florentine republic as no better than a fool. The 
 father Possevin was proved never to have read the book, and the 
 father Lucchesini not to have understood it. It is clear, however, 
 that such critics must have objected not to the slavery of the doc- 
 trines, but to the supposed tendency of a lesson which shows how 
 distinct are the interests of a monarch from the happiness of man- 
 kind. The Jesuits are re-established in Italy, and the last chap- 
 ter of the Prince may again call forth a particular refutation, from 
 those who are employed once more in moulding the minds of the 
 rising generation, so as to receive the impressions of despotism. 
 The chapter bears for title, " Esortazione a liberare la Italia dai 
 Barbari," and concludes witii a libertine excitement to the future 
 redemption of Italy. " Non si deve adunque lasciir passare questa 
 occasione, acciocche la Italia vegga dopo tanto tempo apparire un suo 
 rtdentore. Ne pnsso esprimtre con qual amove ei fusse ricevuto in 
 tutte quelle provincief che hanno patilo per queste illuvioni esterne, 
 con qual sete di vendetta, con che ostinata fede, con che lacrime, 
 Quaii parte se li serrerebeno ? Quali popoli li ncgherehbeno la abbe- 
 dienza? Quale Italiano li negherebbe Vossequio? AD OGNUNO 
 PUZZA QUESTO BARBARO DOMINIO." ^ 
 
 Note 30, page 119, line 10. 
 
 Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar. 
 
 Dante was born in Florence in the year 1261. He fought in 
 
 two battles, was fourteen times ambassador, and once prior of the 
 
 republic. When the party of Charles of Anjou triumphed over 
 
 the Bianchi, he was absent on an embassy to Pope Boniface VIII, 
 
 1 II Principe di Niccol6 Machiavelli, &c. con la prefazione eie note 
 istoriche c politiche di M^ Amelot de la Houssaye e I'esame e confuta- 
 «ione deir opera .... Cosmopoli, 1769. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 223 
 
 and was condemned to two years banishment, and to a fine of 
 8000 lire ; on the nonpayment of which he was further punished 
 by the sequestration of ail his property. The republic, however, 
 was not content with this satisfaction, for in 1772 was discovered 
 in the archives at Florence a sentence in which Dante is the ele- 
 venth of a list of fifteen condemned in 1 302 to be burnt alive ; 
 Talis perveniens igne comburatur sic quod moriatur. The pretext 
 for this judgment was a proof of unfair barter, extortions, and 
 illicit gains. Baracteriarum iniquaTum, extorsionum, et illicitorum 
 lucrorum, ^ and with such an accusation it is not strange that 
 Dante should have always protested his innocence, and the in- 
 justice of his fellow-citizens. His appeal to Florence wag accom- 
 panied by another to the Emperor Henry, and the death of that 
 sovereign in 1313 was the signal for a sentence of irrevocable 
 banishment. He had before lingered near Tuscany with hopes 
 of recal ; then travelled into the north of Italy, where Verona 
 had to boast of his longest residence, and he finally settled at 
 Ravenna, which was his ordinary but not constant abode until his 
 , death. The refusal of the Venetians to grant him a public au- 
 dience, on the part of Guido Novello da Polenta his protector, is 
 said to have been the principal cause of this event, which hap- 
 pened in 1321. He was buried (" in sacra minorum aede,") at 
 Ravenna, in a handsome tomb, which was erected by Guido, 
 restored by Bernardo Bembo in 1483, pretor for that republic 
 which had refused to hear him, again restored by Cardinal Corsi 
 in 1692, and replaced by a more magnificent sepulchre, con- 
 structed in 1780 at the expense of the Cardinal Luigi Valenti 
 Gonzaga. The offence or misfortune" of Dante was an attachment 
 to a defeated party, and, as his least favourable biographers 
 allege against him, too great a freedom of speech and haughtiness 
 of manner. But the next age paid honours almost divine to the 
 
 » Storia della Lett. Ital. torn. v. lib. iii. par. 2. p. 448. Tiraboschi is 
 incorrect: the dates of the three decrees against Dante are A.D. 13<)e, 
 1314, and 1316. 
 
224 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 exile. The Florentines, having in vain and frcqucnlly attempted 
 to recover his body, crowned his image in a church, * and his 
 picture is still one of the idols of their cathedral. They struck 
 medals, they raised statues to him. The cities of Italy, not being 
 able to dispute about his own birth, contended for that of his 
 great poem, and the Florentines thought it for their honour to 
 prove that he had finished the seventli Canto, before they drove 
 him from his native city. Fifty-one years after his death, they 
 endowed a professorial chair for the expounding of his Yerses, 
 and Boccaccio was appointed to this patriotic employment. The 
 example was imitated by Bologna and Pisa, and the comraenta* 
 tors, if they performed but little service to literature, augmented 
 the veneration which beheld a sacred or moral allegory in all the 
 'images of his mystic muse. His birth and his infancy were dis- 
 covered to have been distinguished above those of ordinary men : 
 the author of the Decameron, his earliest biographer, relates that 
 his mother was warned in a dream of the importance of her preg- 
 nancy ; and it was found, by others, that at ten years of age he 
 had manifested his precocious passion for that wisdom or theology, 
 which, under the name of Beatrice, had been mistaken for a sub- 
 stantial mistress. When the Divine Comedy had been recognized 
 as a mere mortal production, and at the distance of two centuries, 
 when criticism and competition had sobered the judgment of 
 Italians, Dante was seriously declared superior to Homer, ^ and 
 though the preference appeared to some casuists " an heretical 
 blasphemy worthy of the flames," the contest was vigorously 
 maintained for nearly fifty years. In later times it was made a 
 question which of the Lords of Verona could boast of having pa- 
 tronised him, 3 and the jealous scepticism of one writer would not 
 
 1 So relates Ficino, but some thiiak his coronation only an allegory. 
 See Storia, &c. utsup. p. 453. 
 
 2 By Varchi in his Ercolano. The controversy continued from 1570 
 to l6l6. See Storia, &c. torn. vii. lib. iii. par. iii. p. 1280. 
 
 3 Gio. Jacopo Dionisi canonico di Verona. Serie di Aneddoti, n. 2, 
 See Storin, &o. torn. v. lib. i. par. i. p. 24. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 225 
 
 allow Ravenna the undoubted possession of his bones. Even the 
 critical Tiraboschi was inclined to believe that the poet had fore- 
 seen and foretold one of the discoveries of Galileo. Like the 
 great originals of other nations, his popularity has not always 
 maintained the same level. The last age seemed inclined to 
 undervalue him as a model and a study ; and Bettinelli one day 
 rebuked his pupil Monti, for poring over the harsh, and obsolete 
 extravagances of the Commedia. The present generation having 
 recovered from the Gallic idolatries of Cesarotti, has returned to 
 the ancient worship, and the Danteggiare of the northern Italians 
 is thought even indiscreet by the more moderate Tuscans. 
 
 There is still much curious information relative to the life and 
 writings of this great poet which has not as yet been collected 
 even by the Italians ; but the celebrated Ugo Fosculo meditates 
 to supply this defect, and it is not to be regretted that this na- 
 tional work has been reserved for one so devoted to his country 
 and the cause of truth. 
 
 Note 31, page 119, lines 10, 11, and 12. 
 
 Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ; 
 
 7 hy factions, in their worse than civil war, 
 
 Prosaibed, S^c. 
 The elder Scipio Africanus had a tomb if he was not buried at 
 Liternura, whither he had retired to voluntary banishment. This 
 tomb was near the sea-shore, and the story of an inscription upon 
 it, Ingrata Patria, having given a name to a modern tower, is, if 
 not true, an agreeable fiction. If he was not buried, he certainly 
 lived there. ^ 
 
 In cosi angusta e solitaria villa 
 
 Era '1 grand' uomo che d'Africa s'appella 
 
 Perch^ prima col ferro al vivo aprilla.* 
 
 * Vitam Litemi egit sine desiderio urbis. See T. Li v. Hist. lib. 
 xxxviii. Livy reports that some said he was buried at Liternum, others 
 at Rome, lb. cap. LV. 
 
 2 Trionfo della Caatita. 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
72Q NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 Ingratitude is generally supposed the vice peculiar to republics ; 
 and it seems to be forgotten tliat for one instance of popular in- 
 constancy, we have a hundred examples of the fall of courtly 
 favourites. Besides, a people have often repented — a monarch 
 seldom or never. Leaving apart many familiar proofs of this 
 fact, a short story may show the difference between even an 
 aristocracy and the multitude. 
 
 Vettor Pisani, having been defeated in 1354 at Portolongo, 
 and many years afterwards in the more decisive action of Pola, 
 by the Genoese, was recalled by the Venetian government, and 
 thrown into chains. The Avvogadori proposed to behead him, 
 but the supreme tribunal was content with the sentence of im- 
 prisonment. Whilst Pisani was suffering this unmerited disgrace, 
 Chioza, in the vicinity of the capital, ^ was, by the assistance of 
 the Signor of Paclua, delivered into the hands of Pietro Doria. 
 At the intelligence of that disaster, the great bell of St. Mark*s 
 tower tolled to arms, and the people and the soldiery of the gal- 
 lies were summoned to the repulse of the approaching enemy ; 
 but they protested they would not move a step, unless Pisani 
 were liberated and placed at their head. The great council was 
 instantly assembled : the prisoner was called before them, and 
 the Doge, Andrea Contarini, informed him of the demands of the 
 people and the necessities of the state, whose only hope of safety 
 was reposed on his efforts, and who implored him to forget the 
 indignities he had endured in her service. " I have submitted,** 
 replied the magnanimous republican, " I have submitted to 3'our 
 deliberations without complaint; I have supported patiently the 
 pains of imprisonment, for they were inflicted at your command : 
 this is no time to inquire whether I deserved them — the good of 
 the republic may have seemed to require it, and that which the 
 republic resolves is always resolved wisely. Behold me ready to 
 lay down my life for the preservation of my country." Pisani 
 was appointed generalissimo, and by his exertions, in conjunction 
 
 ^S^ note 8, page 198. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 22/ 
 
 with those of Carlo Zeno, the Venetians soon recovered the 
 ascendancy over their maritime rivals. 
 
 The Italian communities were no less unjust to their citizens 
 than the Greek republics. Liberty, both with the one and the 
 other, seems to have been a national, not an individual object : 
 and, notwithstanding the boasted equality hefure the laws which 
 an ancient Greek writer ^ considered the great distinctive mark 
 between his countrymen and the barbarians, the mutual rights of 
 fellow-citizens seem never to have been the principal scope of the 
 old democracies. The world may have not yet seen an essay by 
 the author of the Italian Eepublics, in which tlie distinction be- 
 tween the liberty of former states, and the signification attached 
 to that word by the happier constitution of England, is ingeniously 
 developed. The Italians, however, when they had ceased to be 
 free, still looked back with a sigh upon those times of turbulence, 
 when every citizen might rise to a share of sovereign power, and 
 have never been taught fully to appreciate the repose of a mo- 
 narchy. Sperone Speroni, when Francis Maria II. Duke of Ro- 
 vere, proposed the question, " which was preferable, the repubhc 
 or the principality — the perfect and not durable, or the less per- 
 fect and not so hable to change,*' replied, " that our happiness is 
 to be measured by its quality, not by its duration ; and that he 
 preferred to live for one day like a man, than for a hundred 
 years like a brute, a stock, or a stone." This was thought, and 
 called, a magnificent answer, down to the last days of Italian 
 servitude. ^ 
 
 » The Greek boasted that he was 'o-ovo/utoj. See — the last chapter of 
 the first book of Dionysiiis of Haliearnassus. 
 
 2 " E intorno alia magnifica risposta," &c. Serassi Vita del Tasso> 
 lib. iii. pag. 149. torn. ii. edit. 2. Bergamo. 
 
228 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 Note 32, page 119, lines 15, 16, and 17, 
 j^nd the crown 
 
 If'hich Petrarch^s laureate brow supremely wore 
 
 Upon afar and foreign soil had grown. 
 The Florentines did not take the opportunity of Petrarch's short 
 visit to their city in 1350 to revoke the decree which confiscated 
 the property of his father, who had been banished shortly after 
 the exile of Dante. His crown did not dazzle them ; but when 
 in the next year they were in want of his assistance in the forma- 
 tion of their university, they repented of their injustice, and Boc- 
 caccio was sent to Padua to intreat the laureate to conclude his 
 wanderings in the bosom of his native country, where he might 
 finish his immortal Africa^ and enjoy, with his recovered posses- 
 sions, the esteem of all classes of his fellow-citizens. They gave 
 him the option of the book and the science he might condescend 
 to expound : they called liim the glory of his country, who was 
 dear, and would be dearer to them ; and they added, that if there 
 was any thing unpleasing in their letter, he ought to return 
 amongst them, were it only to correct their style. * Petrarch 
 seemed at first to listen to the flattery and to the intreaties of his 
 friend, but he did not return to Florence, and preferred a pil- 
 grimage to the tomb of Laura and the shades of Vaucleuse. 
 
 Note 33, page 120, lines 1 and 2, 
 
 Boccaccio to his parent earth hequeath'd 
 
 His dust. 
 
 Boccaccio was buried in the church of St. Michael and St. 
 
 James, at Certaldo, a small town in the Valdelsa, which was by 
 
 some supposed the place of his birth. There he passed the latter 
 
 1 ** Accingiti innoltre, se ci ^ lecito ancor Tesortarti, a compire rim- 
 mortal tua Africa .... Se ti avviene d'incontrare nel nostro stile cosa 
 che ti dispiaccia, ei6 debb' essere un altro raotivo ad esaudire i desideij 
 della tua patria." Storia della Lett. Ital. torn. v. par. i. lib. i. pag. 76. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 229 
 
 part of his life in a course of laborious study, which shortened his 
 existence; and there might his ashes have been secure, if not of 
 honour, at least of repose. But the '* hjaena bigots" of Certaldo 
 tore up the tombstone of Boccaccio, and ejected it from the holy 
 precincts of St. Michael and St. James. The occasion, and, it 
 may be hoped, the excuse, of this ejectment was the making of 
 a new floor for the church ; but the fact is, that the tombstone 
 was taken up and thrown aside at the bottom of the building. 
 Ignorance may share the sin with bigotry. It would be painful 
 to relate such an exception to the devotion of the Italians for their 
 great names, could it not be accompanied by a trait more honour- 
 ably conformable to the general character of the nation. The 
 principal person of the district, the last branch of the house of 
 Medicis, afforded that protection to the memory of the insulted 
 dead which her best ancestors had dispensed upon all cotem- 
 porary merit. The Marchioness Lenzoni rescued the tombstone 
 of Boccaccio from the neglect in which it had sometime laui, and 
 found for it an honourable elevation in her own mansion. She 
 has done more : the house in which the poet lived has been as 
 little respected as his tomb, and is falling to ruin over the head 
 of one indifferent to the name of its former tenant. It consists of 
 two or three little chambers, and a low tower, on which Cosmo 
 II. affixed an inscription. This house she has taken measures to 
 purchase, and proposes to devote to it that care and consideration 
 which are attached to the cradle and to the roof of genius. 
 
 This is not the place to undertake the defence of Boccaccio ; 
 bat the man who exhausted his little patrimony in the acquire- 
 ment of learning, who was amongst the first, if not the first, to 
 allure the science and the poetry of Greece to the bosom of Italy ; 
 — who not only invented a new style, but founded, or certainly 
 fixed, a new language ; who, besides the esteem of every polite 
 court of Europe, was thought worthy of employment by thej pre- 
 dominant lepublic of his own country, and, what is more, of the 
 fk'iendship of Petrarch, who lived the life of a philosopher and a 
 
230 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 freeman, and who died in the pursuit of knowledge, — such a man 
 might have found more consideration than he has met with from 
 the priest of Certaldo, and from a late English traveller, who 
 strikes off his portrait as an odious, contemptible, licentious 
 writer, whose impure remains should be suffered to rot without " 
 a record. * That English traveller, unfortunately for those who 
 have to deplore the loss of a very amiable person, is beyond all 
 criticism ; but the mortality which did not protect Boccaccio from 
 Mr. Eustace, must not defend Mr. Eustace from the impartial 
 judgment of his successors. — Death may canonize his virtues, not 
 his errors ; and it may be modestly pronounced that he trans- 
 gressed, not only as an author, but as a man, when he evoked 
 the shade of Boccaccio in company with that of Aretine, amidst 
 the sepulchres of Santa Croce, merely to dismiss it with indignity. 
 As far as respects 
 
 ** II flagello de' Principi, 
 II divin Pietro Aretino," 
 
 it is of little import what censure is passed upon a coxcomb who 
 owes his present existence to the above burlesque character given 
 to him by the poet whose amber has preserved many other grubs 
 and worms : but to classify Boccaccio with such a person, and to 
 excommunicate his very ashes, must of itself make us doubt of the 
 
 1 Classical Tour, cap. ix. vol. ii. p. 355. edit. 3d. ** Of Boccaccio, 
 the modern Petronius, we say nothing ; the abuse of genius is more 
 odious and more contemptible than its absence; and it imports little 
 where the impure remains of a licentious author are consigned to their 
 kindred dust. For the same reason the traveller may pass unnoticed the 
 tomb of the malignant Aretino." 
 
 This dubious phrase is hardly enough to save the tourist from the sus- 
 picion of another blunder respecting the burial-place of Aretine, whose 
 tomb was in the church of St. Luke at Venice, and gave rise to the 
 famous controversy of which some notice is taken in Bayle. Now the 
 words of Mr. Eustace would lead us to think the tomb was at Florence, 
 or at least was to be somewhere recognized. Whether the inscription so 
 much disputed was ever written on the tomb cannot now be decided, for 
 all memorial of this author has disappeared from the church of St. Luke. 
 
GHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. . 23 1 
 
 qualification of the classical tourist for writing upon Italian, or, 
 indeed, upon any other literature ; for ignorance on one point 
 may incapacitate an author merely for that particular topic, but 
 subjection to a professional prejudice must render him an unsafe 
 director on all occasions. Any perversion and injustice may be 
 made what is vulgarly called " a case of conscience," and this 
 poor excuse is all that can be offered for the priest of Certaldo, or 
 the author of the Classical Tour, It would have answered the 
 purpose to confine the censure to the novels of Boccaccio, and 
 gratitude to that source which supplied the muse of Dryden with 
 her last and most harmonious immbers, might perhaps have re- 
 stricted that censure to the objectionable qualities of the hundred 
 tales. At any rate the repentance of Boccaccio might have ar- 
 rested his exhumation, and it should have been recollected and 
 told, that in his old age he wrote a letter intreating his friend to 
 discourage the reading of the Decameron, for the sake of mo- 
 desty, and for the sake of the author, who would not have an 
 apologist always at hand to state in his excuse that he wrote it 
 when young, and at the command of his superiors. * It is neither 
 the licentiousness of the writer, nor the evil propensities of the 
 reader, which have given to the Decameron alone, of all the 
 works of Boccaccio, a perpetual popularity. The establishment 
 of a new and delightful dialect conferred an immortality on the 
 works in which it was first fixed. The sonnets of Petrarch were, 
 for the same reason, fated to survive his self-admired Africa, the 
 ** favourite of kings,** The invariable traits of nature and feeling 
 with which the novels, as well as the verses, abound, have doubtless 
 been the chief source of ihe foreign celebrity of both authors ; but 
 Boccaccio, as a man, is no luore to be estimated by that work, than 
 
 * ** Non enim ubique est, qui in excusationem meam consurgens 
 dicat, juvenis scripsit, et majoris coactus iraperio." The letter was ad- 
 dressed to Maghinard of Cavalcanti, marshal of the kingdom of Sicily. 
 See Tiraboschi, Storia, &c. torn. v. par. ii. lib. iii. pag. 525. ed. Veu. 
 
232 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 Petrarch is to be regarded in no other light than as the lover of 
 Laura, Even, however, had the father of the Tuscan prose been 
 known on]3r as the author of the Decameron, a considerate writer 
 would have been cautious to pronounce a sentence irreconcilable 
 with the unerring voice of many ages and nations. An irrevoca- 
 ble value has never been stamped upon any work solely recom- 
 mended by impurity. 
 
 The true source of the outcr^^ against Boccaccio, which began 
 at a very early period, was the choice of his scandalous personages 
 in the cloisters as well as the courts ; but the princes only laughed 
 at the gallant adventures so unjustly charged upon Queen Theo- 
 d('linda, whilst the priesthood cried shame upon the debauches 
 drawn from the convent and the hermitage; and, most probably 
 for the opposite reason, namely, that the picture was faithful to 
 the life. Two of the novels are allowed to be facts usefully 
 turned into tales, to deride the canonization of rogues and laymen. 
 Ser Ciappelletto and Marcellinus are cited with applause even by 
 the decent Muratori. * The great Arnaud, as he is quoted in 
 Bayle, states, that a new edition of the novels was proposed, of 
 which the expurgation consisted in omitting the words ** monk" 
 and ** nun,'' and tacking the immoralities to other names. The 
 literary history of Italy particularises no such edition ; but it was 
 not long before the whole of Europe had but one opinion of the 
 Decameron j and the absolution of the author seems to have been 
 a point settled at least a hundred years ago : " On se feroit siffler 
 si Ton pretendoit convaincre Boccace de n'avoir pas ete honnete 
 liomme, puis qu'il a fait le Decameron." So said one of the best 
 men, and perhaps the best critic, that ever lived — the very mar- 
 tyr to impartiality. ' But as this information, that in the begin- 
 ning of the last century one would have been hooted at for pre- 
 
 1 Dissertazioni sopra le antichita Italiane. Diss. Iviii. p. £53. torn, iii* 
 edit. Milan, 1731. 
 
 4 Eclair cissement, &c. &c. p. 6\y6, edit. Basle, J741. in the Supple- 
 ment to Bayle's Dictionary. 
 
CHTLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 233 
 
 tending that Boccaccio was not a good man, may seem to come 
 from one of those enemies who are to be suspected, even when 
 they make us a present of truth, a more acceptable contrast with 
 the proscription of the body, soul, and muse of Boccaccio may be 
 found in a few words from the virtuous, the patriotic cotemporary, 
 who thought one of the tales of this impure writer worthy a Latin 
 version from his own pen. " I have remarked elsewhere," says 
 Petrarch, writing to Boccaccio, " that the book itself' has been wor- 
 ried by certain dogs, but stoutly defended by your staff and voice, 
 Nor was I astonished, for 1 have had proof of the vigour of your 
 viindy and I know you have fallen on that unaccommodating incapa- 
 ble race of mortals whoy whatever they either like not, or know not, or 
 cannot do, are sure to reprehend in others ; and on those occasions 
 only put on a show of learning and eloquence, but otherwise are en- 
 tirely dumb." * 
 
 It is satisfactory to find that all the priesthood do not resemble 
 those of Certaldo, and that one of them who did not possess the 
 bones of Boccaccio would not lose the opportunity of raising a 
 cenotaph to his raemorj?. Be vius, canon of Padua, at the begin- 
 ning of the 16th century erected at Arqua, opposite to the tomb 
 of the Laureate, a tablet, in which he associated Boccaccj^.lU-flBr'- 
 equal honours of Dante and of Petrarch, y^^\% t *• * ^ ff n^\ 
 
 TVT . O. ,.. ,. , /^^ OF TBJC ^ 
 
 Note 34, page 121, hne 1. /^ #h t ffl 
 
 What is her pyramid of precious jflndEJ X^IVillii^*«^* *• 
 Our veneration for the Medici begins with OB6mo/<uid expicoflET 
 \vith his grandson ; that stream is pure only at : 
 it is in search of some memorial of the virtuous republieans of Ihe 
 
 1 *' Animadverti alicubi librum ipsum canum dentibus lacessitiim, 
 tuo tamen baculo egregi^ tuaque voce defensam. Nee miratus sum : 
 nam et vires ingenii tui novi, et seio expertus esses homiiium genus in- 
 solens et ignavum, qui quicquid ipsi vel nolunt vel nesciunt, vel non 
 possunt, in aliis reprehendunt : ad hoc unum docti et arguti, sed eUii4 
 gues ad reliqua." .. , , Epist. Joan. Boccatio. opp. torn. i. p. 540. edit, 
 Basil. 
 
234 NOTES TO THE. FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 family, that we visit the church of St. Lorenzo at Florence. The 
 tawdry, glaring, unfinished chapel in that church, designed for 
 the mausoleum of the Dukes of Tuscany, set round with crowns 
 and coffins, gives birth to no emotions but those of contempt for 
 the lavish vanity of a race of despots, whilst the pavement slab 
 simply inscribed to the Father of his Country, reconciles us to the 
 name of Medici. * It was very natural for Corinna* to suppose 
 that the statue raised to the Duke of Urbino in the capella de* de- 
 positi was intended for his great namesake ; but the magnificent 
 Lorenzo is only the sharer of a coffin half hidden in a niche of the 
 sacristy. The decay of Tuscany dates from the sovereignty of 
 the Medici. Of the sepulchral peace which succeeded to the 
 establishment of the reigning families in Italy, our own Sidney 
 has given us a glowing, but a faithful picture. " Notwithstand- 
 ing all the seditions of Florence, and other cities of Tuscany, the 
 horrid factions of Guelphs and Ghibelins, Neri and Bianchi, no- 
 bles and commons, they continued populous, strong, and exceed- 
 ing rich ; but in the space of less than a hundred and fifty years, 
 the peaceable reign cf the Medices is thought to have destroyed 
 nine parts in ten of the people of that province. Amongst other 
 things it is remarkable, that when Philip the Second of Spain gave 
 Sienna to the Duke of Florence, his embassador then at Rome 
 sent him word, that he had given away more than 630,000 sub- 
 jects ; and it is not believed there are now 20,000 souls inhabit- 
 ing that city and territory. Pisa, Pistoia, Arezzo, Cortona, and 
 other towns, that were then good and populous, are in the like 
 proportion diminished, and Florence more than any. When that 
 city had been long troubled with seduions, tumults, and wars, for 
 the most part unprosperous, they still retained such strength, that 
 when Charles VIII. of France, being admitted as a friend with 
 his whole army, which soon after conquered the kingdom of Na- 
 ples, thought to master them, tlie people taking arms, struck such 
 
 1 Cosmus Medices, Decreto Publico. Pater Patriae. 
 ' Corinne, Liv. xviii. cap. iii. vol. iii. page ^^48. 
 
CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 235 
 
 a terror Into him, that he was glad to depart upon such conditions 
 as they thought lit to impose. Machiavel reports, that in that 
 time Florence alone, with the Val d'Arno, a small territory be- 
 longing to that city, could, in a few hours, by the sound of a bell, 
 bring together 133,000 well-armed men; whereas now that city, 
 with all the others in that province, are brought to such despica- 
 ble weakness, emptiness, poverty and baseness, that they can 
 neither resist the oppressions of their own prince, nor defend him 
 or themselves if they were assaulted by a foreign enemy. The 
 people are dispersed or destroyed, and the best families sent to 
 seek habitations in Venice, Genoa, Rome, Naples, and Lucca. 
 This is not the effect of war or pestilence ; they enjoy a perfect 
 peace, and suffer no other plague than the government they are 
 under." * From the usurper Cosmo down to the imbecil Gaston, 
 we look in vain for any of those unmixed qualities which should 
 raise a patriot to the command of his fellow citizens. The Grand 
 Dukes, and particularly the third Cosmo, had operated so entire 
 a change in the Tuscan character, that the candid Florentines in 
 excuse for some imperfections in the philanthropic system of Leo- 
 pold, are obliged to confess that the sovereign was the only liberal 
 man in his dominions. Yet that excellent prince himself had no 
 other notion of a national assembly, than of a body to represent 
 the wants and wishes, not the will of the people. 
 
 Note 35, page 122, line 14. 
 
 An earthquake reeVd unheededly away. 
 
 *' And such was their mutual animosity, so intent were they upon 
 
 the battle, that the earthquake, which overthrew in great part many 
 
 of the cities of Italy, which turned the course of rapid streams, poured 
 
 back the sea upon the rivers, and tore down the very mountains, was 
 
 * On Government, chap. ii. sect. xxvi. pag. 208. edit. 1751. Sidney 
 is, together with Locke and Hoadley, one of Mr. Hume'd " UespicablQ"^ 
 writers. 
 
236 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 not felt by one of the combatants.**^ Such is the description of 
 Livy. It may be doubted whether modern tactics would admit 
 of such an abstraction. 
 
 The site of the battle of Thrasimene is not to be mistaken. The 
 traveller from the village under Cortona to Casa di Piano, the 
 next stage on the way to Home, has for the first two or three 
 miles, around him, but more particularly to the right, that flat 
 land which Hannibal laid waste in order to induce the Consul 
 Flaminius to move from Arezzo. On his left, and in front of him, 
 is a ridge of hills, bending down towards the lake of Thrasimene, 
 called by Livy " montes Cortonenses,'' and now named the Gua- 
 landra. These hills he approaches at Ossaja, a village which the 
 itineraries pretend to have been so denominated from the bones 
 found there : but there have been no bones found there, and the 
 battle was fought on the other side of the hill. From Ossaja the 
 road begins to rise a little, but does not pass into the roots of the 
 mountains until the sixt^'-seventh milestone from Florence. The 
 ascent thence is not steep but perpetual, and continues for twenty 
 minutes. The lake is soon seen below on the right, with Bor- 
 ghetto, a round tower close upon the water ; and the undulating 
 hills partially covered with wood, amongst which the road winds, 
 sink by degrees into the marshes near to this tower. Lower 
 than the road, down to the right amidst these woody hillocks, 
 Hannibal placed his horse, ^ in the jaws of or rather above the 
 pass, which was between the lake and the present road, and most 
 probably close to Borghetto, just under the lowest of the tumuli." 3 
 On a summit to the left, above the roa4^ is an old circular ruin 
 
 > " Tantusquefuit ardor animorum, adeo intentus pugnae animus, ut 
 eum terrae motum qui multarum urbium Italiae magnas partes prostra- 
 ^it, avertitque cursu rapido amnes, mare fluniinibus invexit, montes 
 lapsu ingenti proruit, nemo pugnantium senserit." . . . Tit. Liv. lib. 
 xxii. cap. xii. 
 
 1 " Equites ad ipsas fauces saltus turaulis apte tegentibus locat." 
 *F. Livii, lib. xxii. cap. iv. 
 
 5 Ubi maxima montes Cortonenscs Thrasimenus subit." Ibid, 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 23/ 
 
 which the peasants call " the Tower of Hannibal the Carthagi- 
 nian." Arrived at the highest point of the road, the traveller 
 has a partial view of the fatal plain which opens fully upon him 
 as he descends the Gualandra. He soon finds himself in a vale 
 inclosed to the left and in front and behind hira by the Gualan- 
 dra hills, bending round in a segment larger than a semicircle, 
 and running down at each end to the lake, which obliques to the 
 right and forms the chord of this mountain arc. The position, 
 cannot be guessed at from the plains of Cortona, nor appears to 
 be so completely inclosed unless to one who is fairly within the 
 hills. It then, indeed, appears " a place made as it were on 
 purpose for a snare," locus insidiis iiatus. ** Borghetto is then 
 found to stand in a narrow marshy pass close to the hill and to 
 the lake, whilst there is no other outlet at the opposite turn of the 
 mountains than through the little town of Passignano, which is 
 pushed into the water by the foot of a high rocky acclivity." * 
 There is a woody eminence branching, down from the mountains 
 into the upper end of the plain nearer to the side pf Passignano, 
 and on this stands a white village called Torre. Pol3'bius seems 
 to allude to this eminence as the one on which Hannibal encamped 
 and drew out his heavy-armed Africans and Spaniards in a con- 
 spicuous position. ^ From this spot he dispatched his Balearic 
 and light-armed troops round through the Gualandra heights to 
 the right, so as to arrive unseen and form an ambush amongst the 
 broken acclivities which the road now passes, and to be ready to 
 act upon the left flank and above the enemy, whilst the horse shut 
 up the pass behind. Flarainius came to the lake near Borghetto 
 at sunset ; and, without sending any spies before him, marched 
 
 1 " Inde coUes assurgunt." Ibid. 
 
 * Toy jutiV yutTft wgo^rcoTrov trig tzro^tiaj Xo^ov uvro; nariXa^iro yutl rovg 
 Ai^vag xal TOi/j I^rjoag iyjx>y Itt avTOv xaTs-TTpaTOTrliji/crs. Hist, 
 lib. iii. cap. 83. The account in Polybius is not so easily reconcileable 
 with present appearances as that in Livy : he talks of hills to the right 
 and left of the pass and valley; but when Flaminius entered he had the 
 lake at the right of both. 
 
238 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 tiirough the pass the next moming before the day had quite 
 • broken, so that he perceived nothing of the horse and light troops 
 above and about him, and saw only the heavy-armed Carthagi- 
 nians in front on the hill of Torre. > The consul began to draw 
 out his array in the flat, and in the mean time the horse in ambush 
 occupied the pass behind him at Borghetto. Thus the Romans 
 were completely inclosed, having the lake on the right, the main 
 army on the hill of Torre in front, the Gualandra hills filled with 
 the light-armed on their left flank, and being prevented from re- 
 ceding by the cavalry, who, the farther they advanced, stopped 
 up all the outlets in the rear. A fog rising from the lake now 
 spread itself over the army of the consul, but the high lands were 
 in the sunshine, and all the different corps in ambush looked to- 
 wards the hill of Torre for the order of attack. Hannibal gave the 
 signal, and moved down from his post on the height. At the 
 same moment all his troops on the eminences behind and in the 
 flank of Flaminius, rushed forwards as it were with one accord 
 into the plain. The Romans, who were forming their array in 
 the mist, suddenly heard the shouts of the enemy amongst them, 
 on every side, and before they could fall into their ranks, or draw 
 their swords, or see by whom they were attacked, felt at once 
 that they were surrounded and lost. 
 
 There are two little rivulets which run from the Gualandra into 
 the lake. The traveller crosses the first of these at about a mile 
 after he comes into the plain, and this divides the Tuscan from 
 the Papal territories. The second, about a quarter of a mile fur- 
 ther on, is called " the bloody rivulet," and the peasants point 
 out an open spot to the left between the " Sanguinetto" and the 
 hills, which, they say, was the principal scene of slaughter. Tlie 
 other part of the plain is covered with thick set olive-trees in 
 corn-grounds, and is nowhere quite level except near the edge 
 of the lake. It is, indeed, most probable that the battle was 
 
 ' *' A tergo et super caput decepere insidise," T. Liv. &c. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 239 
 
 fought near this end of the valley, for the six thousand Romans , 
 who, at the beginning of the action, broke through the enemj^ 
 escaped to the summit of an eminence which must have been in 
 this quarter, otherwise they would have had to traverse the whole 
 plain and to pierce through the main array of Hannibal. 
 
 The Romans fought desperately for three hours^ but the death 
 of Flaminius was the signal for u general dispersion. The Car- 
 thaginian horse then burst in upon the fugitives, and the lake, the 
 marsh about Borghetto, but chiefly the plain of the Sanguinetto 
 and the passes of the Gualandra, were strewed with dead. Near 
 some old walls on a bleak ridge to the left above the rivulet many 
 human bones have been repeatedly found, and this has confirmed 
 the pretensions and the name of the ** stream of blood." 
 
 Every district of Italy has its hero. In the north some painter 
 is the usual genius of the place, and the foreign Julio Romano 
 more than divides Mantua with her native Virgil. * To the south 
 we hear of Roman names. Near Thrasimene tradition is still 
 faithful to the fame of an enemy, and Hannibal the Carthaginian 
 is the only ancient name remembered on the banks of the Peru- 
 gian lake. Flaminius is unknown; but the postilions on that 
 road have been taught to show the very spot where il Console 
 Romano was slain. Of all who fought and fell in the battle of 
 Thrasimene, the historian himself has, besides the generals and 
 Maharbal, preserved indeed only a single name. You overtake 
 the Carthaginian again on the same road to Rome. The anti- 
 quary, that is, the hostler, of the posthouse at Spoleto, tells you 
 that his town repulsed the victorious enemy, and shows you the 
 gate still called Porta di Annibale. It is hardly worth while to 
 remark that a French travel writer, well known by the name of 
 the President Dupaty, saw Thrasimene in the lake of Bolsena, 
 which lay conveniently on his way from Sienna to Rome. 
 
 1 About the middle of the Xllth century the coins of Mantua bore 
 on one side the image and figure of Virgil. Zecca d' Italia, pi. xvii. i. t). 
 . . . Voyage dans le Milanais, Arc. par A. Z. Millin. torn. ii. pag. 294. 
 Paris, 1817. 
 
240 NOTES TO THE FOUrvTII CANTO OF 
 
 Note 36, page 124, line 1. { 
 
 But thou, Clitumnus. 
 No book of travels has omitted to expatiate on the temple of* 
 the Clitumnus, between Foligno and Spoleto; and no site, or 
 scenery, even in Italy, is more worthy a description. For an 
 account of the dilapidation of this temple, the reader is referred 
 to Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. 
 
 Note 37, page 126, line 18. 
 Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract, 
 I saw the " Cascata del marmore" of Terni twice, at different 
 periods; once from the summit of the precipice, and again from 
 the valley below. The lower view is far to be preferred, if the 
 traveller has time for one only ; but in any point of view, either 
 from above or below, it is worth all the cascades and torrents of 
 Switzerland put together: the Staubach, Reichenbach, Pisse 
 Vache, fall of Arpenaz, &c. are rills in comparative appear- 
 ance. Of the fall of SchafFhausen I cannot speak, not yet having 
 seen it. 
 
 Note 38, page 127, line 3. 
 An Iris sits amidst the infernal surge. 
 Of the time, place, and qualities of this kind of Iris the reader 
 may have seen a short account in a note to Manfred, The fall 
 looks so much like '* the hell of waters" that Addison thought the 
 descent alluded to by the gulf in which Alecto plunged into the 
 infernal regions. It is singular enough that two of the finest ca«i- 
 cades in Europe should be artificial — this of the Velino, and the 
 one at Tivoli. The traveller is strongly recommended to trace 
 the Velino, at least as high as the little lake, called Pi^ di Lup. . 
 The Reatine territory was the Italian Tempe, * and the ancient 
 naturalist, amongst other beautiful varieties, remarked the daily 
 
 » •' Reatini me ad sua Tempe duxerunt." Cicer. epist. ad Attic, xv. 
 lib. iv. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 241 
 
 rainbows of the lake Velinus. » A scholar of great name has de- 
 •voted a treatise to this district alone. ^ 
 
 Note 39, page 127, line 14. 
 The thundering lauwine. 
 In the greater part of Switzerland the avalanches are known by 
 the name of lauwine. 
 
 Note 40, page 128, lines 15, 16, and 17. 
 I abhorred 
 Too much, to conquer for the poeVs sake, 
 The drilL'd dull lesson, forced down word by word. 
 These stanzas may probably remind the reader of Ensign 
 Northerto7i's remarks : " D — n Homo," &c. but the reasons for 
 our dislike are not exactly the same. I wish to express that we 
 become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty ; 
 that we learn by rote before we can get by heart ; that the fresh- 
 ness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deaden- 
 ed and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, at an age when 
 we can neither feel nor understand the power of compositions 
 which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and 
 Greek, to relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason we 
 never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of 
 Shakespeare, (" To be or not to be," for instance), from the habit 
 of having them hammered into us at eight years old, as an exer- 
 cise, not of mind but of memory : so that when we are old enough 
 to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In 
 some parts of the Continent, young persons are taught from more 
 common authors, and do not read the best classics till their ma- 
 turity. I certainly do not speak on this point from any pique or 
 
 1 ** In eodem lacu nuUo non die apparere arcus." Plin. Hist. Nat. 
 lib. ii. cap. Ixii. 
 
 2 Aid. Manut. de Reatina urbe agroque. ap. Sallengre Thesaur. torn, i, 
 p. 773. 
 
 VOX. II. R 
 
242 NOTES IX) THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 aversion towards the place of my education. I was not a slow, 
 though an idle boy ; and I believe no one could, or can be more 
 attached to Harrow than I have always been, and with reason ; 
 — a part of the time passed there was the happiest of my life ; 
 and my preceptor, (the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury), was the best 
 and worthiest friend I ever possessed, whose warnings I have re- 
 membered but too well, though too late— when 1 have erred, and 
 whose counsels I have but followed when I have done well or 
 wisely. If ever this imperfect record of my feelings towards him 
 should reach his eyes, let it remind him of one who never thinks 
 of him but with gratitude and veneration — of one who would more 
 gladly boast of having been his pupil, if, by more closely following 
 his injunctions, he could reflect any honour upon his instructor. 
 
 Note 41, page 130, line 14. 
 The Scipios* tomb contains no ashes now. 
 For a comment on this and the two following stanzas, the reader 
 may consult Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe 
 Harold. 
 
 Note 42, page 132, luie 2. 
 The trebly hu7idred triumphs. 
 Orosius gives three hundred and twenty for the number of 
 triumphs. He is followed by Panvinius ; and Panvinius by Mr. 
 Gibbon and the modern writers. 
 
 Note 43, page 132, line 10. 
 Oh thou, whose chariot roWd 07i Fortu7ie*s wheelf ^c. 
 Certainly were it not for these two traits in the life of Sylla, 
 alluded to in this stanza, we should regard him as a monster un- 
 redeemed by any admirable quality. The atonement of his volun- 
 tary resignation of empire may perhaps be accepted by us, as it 
 seems to have satisfied the Romans, who if they had not respected 
 must have destroyed him. There could be no mean, no division 
 
CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 243 
 
 of opinion; they must have all thought, lilse Eucrate?, that what 
 had appeared ambition was a love of glory, and that wliat had 
 been mistaken for pride was a real grandeur of soul. ^ 
 
 ^^J Note 44, page 134, line 4. 
 
 And laid him with the earth^s preceding clay. 
 
 ' On the third of September Cromwell gained the victory of 
 Dunbar; a year afterwards he obtained ** his crowning mercy" 
 of Worcester; and a few years after, on the same day, which he 
 had ever esteemed the most fortunate for him, died. 
 
 Note 45, page 134, lines 10 and II. 
 And thou, dread statue ! still existent in 
 TJie auster est form of naked majesty. 
 
 The projected division of the Spada Pompey has already been 
 recorded by the historian of the Decline and Fall of tlie Komnn 
 Empire. Mr. Gibbon found it in the memorials of Flaminins 
 Vacca, 2 and it may be added to his mention of it that Pope Julius 
 III. gave the contending owners five hundred crowns for the sta- 
 tue; and presented it to Cardinal Capo di Ferro, who had pre- 
 vented the judgment of Solomon from being executed upon the 
 image. In a more civilized age this statue was exposed to an 
 actual operation : for the French who acted the Brutus of Voltaire 
 in the Coliseum, resolved that their Csesar should fall at the base 
 of that Pompey, which was supposed to have been sprinkled with 
 the blood of the original dictator. The nine foot hero was there- 
 fore removed to the Arena of the amphitheatre, and to facilitate 
 its transport suffered the temporary amputation of its right arm. 
 The republican tragedians had to plead that the arm was a re- 
 
 1 " Seignei.ir, vous cliangez toutes mes idees de la fa^on dont je voua 
 vois agir. Je croyois que vous aviez de rambition, mais aucun amour 
 pour la gloire: je voyois bien que votre ame etoit haute; mais je ne 
 soupgonnois pas qu'elle f^t grande." 
 
 Dialogue de Sylla et d'Euerate* 
 
 ^ Memorie, num. Ivii, pag. 9. ftp. Montfaueon Diarium Italicum. 
 
 n 2 
 
244 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 storation : but their accusers do not believe that the integritj of 
 the statue would have protected it. The love of finding every 
 coincidence has discovered the true Csesarean ichor in a stain 
 near the right knee ; but colder criticism has rejected not only 
 the blood but the portrait, and assigned the glebe of power rather 
 to the first of the eraperors than to the last of the republican 
 masters of Rome. Winkelmann * is loth to allow an heroic statue 
 of a Roman citizen, but the Grimani Agrippa, a cotemporary 
 almost, is heroic ; and naked Roman figures were only very rare, 
 not absolutely forbidden. The face accords much better with the 
 " hominem integrum et castum et gravem"^ than with any of the 
 busts of Augustus, and is too stern for him who was beautiful, 
 says Suetonius, at all periods of his life. The pretended likeness 
 to Alexander the Great cannot be discerned, but the traits resem- 
 ble the medal of Pompey.^ The objectionable globe may not 
 have been an ill applied flattery to him who found Asia Minor 
 the boundary, and left it the centre of the Roman empire. It 
 seems that Winkelmann has made a mistake in thinking that no 
 proof of the identity of this statue, with that which received the 
 bloody sacrifice, can be derived from the spot where it was dis- 
 covered. * Flaminius Vacca says sotto una cantinaf and this can- 
 tina is known to have been in the Vicolo de' Leutari near the 
 Cancellaria, a position corresponding exactly to that of the Janus 
 before the basilica of Pompey^s theatre, to which Augustus trans- 
 ferred the statue after the curia was either burnt, or taken down. & 
 Part of the Pompeian shade, ^ the portico, existed in tlie begin- 
 
 1 Storia delle arti, &c. lib. ix. cap. i. pag. 321, 322, torn. ii. 
 a Cicer. Epist. ad Atticum, xi. 6. 
 
 3 Published by Causeus in his M useum Romanum. 
 
 4 Storia delle arti, &c. ibid. 
 
 5 Sueton. in vit. August, cap. 31, and in vit. C. J. Csesar, cap. 88. 
 Appian says it was burnt down. See a note of Pitiscus to Suetonius^ 
 pag. 224. 
 
 6 »« Tu modo Pompeia lenta spatiarc sub umbra." 
 
 Ovid. ar. aman. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 245 
 
 iilng of the XVth century, and the atrium vfus still called Satrum. 
 So says Blondus. ^ At all events, so imposing is the stern majesty 
 of tlie statue, and so memorable is the story, that the play of the 
 imagination leaves no room for the exercise of the judgment, and 
 the fiction, if a fiction it is, operates on the spectator with an 
 effect not less powerful than truth. 
 
 Note 46, page 135, line 1. 
 And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome ! 
 
 Ancient Rome, like modern Sienna, abounded most probably 
 with images of the foster-mother of her founder: but there were 
 two she-wolves of whom history makes particular mention. One 
 of these, of brass in ancient worky was seen by Dionysius* at the 
 temple of Romulus, under the Palatine, and is universally be- 
 lieved to be that mentioned by tlie Latin historian, as having 
 been made from the money collected by a fine on usurers, and 
 as standing under the Ruminal fig-tree. 3 The other was that 
 which Cicero* has celebrated both in prose and verse, and which 
 the historian Dion also records as having suffered the same acci- 
 dent as is alluded to by the orator. 5 The question agitated by 
 
 1 Roma instaurata, lib. ii. fo. 31. 
 
 ^ XaXx£a 7rot?i/u,aTa maXaiag Ipyacriag. Antiq. Rom. lib. i. 
 
 3 •* Ad ficum Ruminalem simulacra infantium conditorum urbis sub 
 uberibus lupaj posuerunt." Liv. Hist. lib. x. cap. Ixix. This was in 
 the year U. C. 4 Jo, or 457. 
 
 4 " Turn statua Nattae, tum simulacra Deorum, Romulusque et Re- 
 mus cum altrice bellua vi fulminis icti conciderunt." De Divinat. ii. 20. 
 ** Tactus est ille etiam qui hanc urbem condidit Romulus, quem inaura- 
 tum in Capitolio parvura atque lactantem, uberibus lupinis inhiantem 
 fuisse meministis." In Catilin. iii. 8. 
 
 '* Hie silvestris erat Romani nominis altrix 
 Martia, quae parvos Mavortis semine natos 
 Uberibus gravidis vitali rore rigebat 
 Quae turn cum pueris flaramato fulminis ictu 
 Concidit, atque avulsa pedum vestigia liquit." 
 
 De Consulatu. lib. ii. (lib. i. de Divinat. cap. ii.) 
 
 5 Ev yctf Tiv HaTi^jToiXtcy (iv^f irtVTf; is woAXol viio %^avyMy crvviyjuy- 
 
 ii/^ijaav, x-al ci>yaX(xccTcc aXXa Tf, Hta OiOf i-Til nioyog i5j:ufA£V0V, lixuTv 
 
2>l6 ^OT£S 10 TH£ FOUllTIl CANTO OF 
 
 the antiquaries is, "whether the wolf now in the conservators' pa- 
 lace is that of Livy and Dionvsius, or that of Cicero, or whether 
 it is neither one or the other. The earlier writers differ as much 
 as the moderns: Lucius Faunus * says, that it is the one alluded 
 to by both, which is impossible, and also by Virgil, which may 
 be. Fulvius Ursinus^ calls it the wolf of Dionysius, and Marlia- 
 nus^ talks of it as the one mentioned by Cicero. To him Rjc- 
 quius tremblingly assents. ^ Nardini is inclined to suppose it may 
 be one of the many wolves preserved in ancient Rome ; but of 
 
 Ti ri; Xv5cr'iv»jf avv T£ tw pcojOtoJ xai aw tw ptUjUi/Xw I^pu/m/v*! IttVo-jj. 
 Dion. Hist. lib. xxxvii. pag. 37 edit. Rob. Steph. 1648. He goes on to 
 mention that the letters of the columns on which the laws were written 
 were liquified and become a^vl^rl. All that the Romans did was to 
 erect a large statue to Jupiter, looking towards the east : no mention is 
 afterwards made of the wolf. This happened in A. U. C. 689. The 
 Abate Fea, in noticing this passage of Dion, (Storia delle arti, &c. 
 tom. i. pag. 202. notex.), says, xVow ostante, aggiunge Dione, cfiefosac 
 ben fermata, (the wolf), by which it is clear the Abate translated the 
 Xylandro-Leuclavian version, which puts quamvis atabilita for the ori- 
 ginal l^pt;|urv»], a word that does not mean btn-fernuila, but only raised, 
 as may be distinctly seen from another passage of the same Dion: 
 *H^o:>X>i3">i fxh evil ^Ayfi'mta; xal tov AvyovaToy lyTctv^a, i^fvcrai. 
 Hist. lib. Ivi. Dion says that Agrippa *• wished to raiae a statue of 
 Augustus in the Pantheon." 
 
 1 " In eadem porticu oenea lupa, cujus uberibus Romulus ac Remus 
 lactantes inhiant, conspicitur: de hac Cicero et Virgilius semper intel- 
 lexere. Livius hoc signum ab ^dilibus ex pecuniis quibus mulctati 
 essent fceneratores, positum innuit. Antea in Comitiis ad Ficum Ru- 
 minalem, quo loco pueri fuerant expositi locatum pro certo est." Luc. 
 Fauni. de Antiq. Urb. Rom. lib. ii. cap. vii. ap. Sallengre, tom. 1. p. 217. 
 In his XVIIth chapter he repeats that the statues were there, but not 
 that they were fou?id there. 
 
 '2 Ap. Nardini. Roma Vetus. lib. v. cap. iv. 
 
 3 Marliani. Urb. Rom. topograph, lib. ii. cap. ix. He mentions an- 
 other wolf and twins in the Vatican, lib. v. cap. xxi. 
 
 4 ** Non desunt qui banc ipsam esse putcnt, quam adpinximus, quae 
 ^ comitio in Basilicam Lateranam, cum nonnullis aliis antiquitatum re- 
 liquiis, atque hinc in Capitolium postea relata sit, quamvis Marlianus 
 antiquam Capitolinam esse maluit a Tullio descriptam, cui ut in re 
 nimis dubia, trepide adsentimur." Just. Rycquii de Capit. Roman. 
 Oomm. cap, xxiv. pag. tiiO. edit. Lugd. Bat. 1 (jt;6. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 247 
 
 the two rather bends to the Ciceronian statue.* Montfaucon;^ 
 mentions it as a point without doubt. Of the latter writers the 
 decisive Winkelraann 3 proclaims it as having been found at the 
 church of Saint Theodore, where, or near where, was the temple 
 of Romulus, and consequently makes it the wolf of Dionysius. 
 His authority is Lucius Faunus, who, however, only says that it 
 was 'placed, not founds at the Ficus Ruminalis by the Comitium, 
 by which he does not seem to allude to the church of Saint Theo- 
 dore. Rycquius was the first to make the mistake, and Winkel- 
 raann followed Rycquius. 
 
 Flaminius Vacca tells quite a different story, and says he had 
 heard the wolf with the twins was found ^ near the arch of Septi- 
 mius Severus. The commentator on Winkelmann is of the same 
 opinion with that learned person, and is incensed at Nardini for 
 not having remarked that Cicero, in speaking of the wolf struck 
 with lightning in the Capitol, makes use of the past tense. But, 
 with the Abate's leave, Nardini does not positively assert the 
 statue to be that mentioned by Cicero, and, if he had, the assump- 
 tion would not perhaps have been so exceedingly indiscreet. The 
 Abate himself is obliged to own that there are marks very like 
 the scathing of lightning in the hinder legs of the present wolf; 
 and, to get rid of this, adds, that the wolf seen by Dionysius might 
 have been also struck by lightning, or otherwise injured. 
 
 Let us examine the subject by a reference to the words of Ci- 
 cero. The orator in two places seems to particularize the Romulus 
 and the Remus, especially the first, which his audience remem- 
 
 » Nardini Roma Vetus. lib. v. cap. iv. 
 
 3 '* Lupa hodieque in capitolinis prostat aedibus, cum vestigio fulminis 
 quo ictam narrat Cicero." Diarium. Italic, tom. i. p. 174. 
 
 3 Storia delle arti, &c. lib. iii. cap. iii. § ii. note 10. Winkelmann 
 has made a strange blunder in the note, by saying the Ciceronian wolf 
 was not in the Capitol, and that Dion was wrong in saying so. 
 
 4 " Intesi dire, che I'Ercnlo di bronzo, che oggi si trova nella sala di 
 Campidoglio, fu trovato nel foro Romano appresso I'arco di Settimio ; 
 e vi fu trovata anche la lupa di bronzo che allata Romolo e Remo, e 
 sta nella Loggia de conservatori." Flam. Vacca. Memorie. num. iii. 
 pag. 1. ap. Montfaucon diar. Ital. tom. i. 
 
248 KOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 bered to have been In the Capitol, as being struck with lightning. 
 In his verses he records that the twins and wolf both fell, and that 
 the latter left behind the marks of her feet. Cicero does not say 
 that the wolf was consumed : and Dion only mentions that it fell 
 down, without alluding, as the Abate has made iiim, to the force 
 of the blow, or the firmness with which it had been fixed. The 
 whole strength, therefore, of the Abate's argument, hangs upon 
 the past tense : which, however, may be somewhat diminished 
 by remarking that the phrase only shows that the statue was not 
 then standing in its former position, Winkelmann has observed, 
 that the present twins are modern; and it is equally clear that 
 there are marks of gilding on the wolf, which migb.t therefore be 
 supposed to make part of the ancient group. It is known that 
 the sacred images of the Capitol were not destroyed when hijured 
 by time or accident, but were put into certain underground depo- 
 sitaries called favisscE. * It may be thought possible that the wolf 
 had been so deposited, and had been replaced in some conspi- 
 cuous situation when the Capitol was rebuilt by Vespasian. Rjc- 
 quius, without mentioning his authority, tells that it was trans- 
 ferred fironi the Comitium to the Lateran, and thence brought to 
 the Capitol. If it was found near the arch of Severus, it may have 
 been one of the images which Orosius ^ says was thrown down in 
 the Forum by lightning when Alaric took the city. That it is of 
 very high antiquity the workmanship is a decisive proof; and 
 that circumstance induced Winkelmann to believe it the wolf of 
 Dionyaius. The Capitoline wolf, however, may have been of tlie 
 same early date as that at the temple of Romulus. Lactantius ' 
 
 1 Luc. Faun. ibid. 
 
 ^ See note to stanza LXXX.nn Historical Illustrations. 
 
 3 *♦ Romuli nutrix Lupa honoribus est affecta divinis, et ferrem si 
 animal ipsum fuisset, cujus figuram gerit." Lactant. de falsa rcligione. 
 Lib. 1. cap. 2<>. pag. loi. edit, varior. 1060; that is to say, he would 
 rather adore a wolf than a prostitute. His commentator has observed 
 that the opinion of Livy concerning Laurentia being figured in this wolf 
 was not universal. Strabo thought so. Rycquius is wrong in saying 
 that Lactantius mentions the wolf was in the CapitoL 
 
CUILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 249 
 
 asserts that in his time the Romans worsliipped a wolf; and it is 
 known that the Lupercalia held out to a very late period i after 
 every other observance of the ancient superstition had totally ex- 
 pired. This may 'account for the preservation of the ancient 
 image longer than the other early symbols of Paganism. 
 
 It may be permitted, however, to remark that the wolf was a 
 Roman symbol, but .that the worship of that symbol is an infer- 
 ence drawn by the zeal of Lactantius. The early Christian writers 
 are not to be trusted in the charges which they make against the 
 Pagans. Eusebius accused the Romans to their faces of worship- 
 ping Simon Magus, and raising a statue to him in the island of 
 the Tyber. The Romans had probably never heard of such a 
 person before, who came, however, to play a considerable, though 
 scandalous part in the church history, and has left several tokens 
 of his aerial combat with St. Peter at Rome ; notwithstanding that 
 an inscription found in this very island of the Tyber shewed the 
 Simon Magus of Eusebius to be a certain indigenal god, called 
 Semo Sangus or Fidius. '•* 
 
 Even when the worship of the founder of Rome had been aban- 
 doned, it was thought expedient to humour the habits of the good 
 matrons of the city by sending them with their sick infants to the 
 church of Saint Theodore, as they had before carried them to the 
 temple of Romulus. 3 The practice is continued to this day ; and 
 
 1 To A. D. 496. Quis credere possit, says Baronius, [Ann. Ecele. 
 torn. viii. p. 602. in an. 496.] ** viguisse adhue Roma ad Gelasii tem- 
 pera, quae fuere ante exordia urbis allata in Italiam Lupercalia ?" Ge- 
 lasius wrote a letter which occupies four folio pages to Andromachus, 
 the senator, and others, to show that the rites should be given up. 
 
 2 Eusebius has these words; xat avJ^iavrt itct^ vuTy wi "^io,, 
 
 t'Ttiypa'phv pwjotcaxriV lavryiv ClfJiwyi deuj CccyarM. Ecclesi. Hist. Lib. ii. 
 cap. xiii. p. 40. Justin Martyr had told the story before; but Baronius 
 himself was obliged to detect this fable. See Nardini Roma Vet. lib. vii, 
 cap. xii. 
 
 3 ** In essa gli antichr pontefici per toglier 1 
 
 ?c^' .,, , 
 
 or THE '^ \ 
 
 
/ : . / 
 
 250 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 the site of the above church seems to be thereby identified with 
 that of the temple: so that if the wolf had been really found 
 there, as Winkelraann says, there would be no doubt of the pre- 
 sent statue being that seen hy Diouysius. * But Faunus, in saying 
 that it was at the Ficus E-inuinalis b^' the Comitium, is onl^ talk- 
 ing of its ancient position as recorded by Pliny ; and even if he 
 had been remarking where it was found, would not have alluded 
 to the church of Saint Theodore, but to a very different place, 
 near which it was then thought the Ficus Rurainalis had been, and 
 also the Comitium; that is, the three columns by the church of 
 Santa Maria Liberatrice, at the corner of the Palatine looking on 
 the Forum. 
 
 It is, in fact, a mere conjecture where the image was actually 
 dug up,^ and perhaps, on the whole, the marks of the gilding, 
 and of the lightning, are a better argument in favour of its being 
 the Ciceronian wolf than any that can be adduced for the con- 
 trary opinion. At any rate, it is reasonably selected in the text 
 of the poem as one of the most interesting relics of ihe ancient 
 
 percali istituiti in onore di Romolo, introdussero Tuso di portarvi Bam- 
 bini oppressi da infermita occulte, accio si liberino per TintercessioRe di 
 questo Santo, come di continue si sperimenta." Rione xii. Ripa accu- 
 rata e succincta descrizione, &c. di Roma Moderna dell' Ab. Ridolf. Ve- 
 nuti, 1766. 
 
 1 Nardini, lib. v. cap. 11. convicts Pomponius Lsetus crassi err or is ^ 
 in putting the Ruminal fig-tree at the church of Saint Theodore: but, 
 as Livy says, the wolf was at the Ficus Ruminalis, and Dionysius at the 
 temple of Romulus, he is obliged, (cap. iv.) to own that the two were 
 close together, as well as the Lupercal cave, shaded, as it were, by the 
 fig-tree. 
 
 2 ** Ad comitium ficus olim Ruminalis germinabat, sub qua lupse 
 Tumam, hoc est, mammam, docente Varrone, suxerant olim Romulus et 
 Remus ; non procul a templo hodie D. Mariae Liberatricis appellate ubi 
 
 forsan inventa nobilis ilia aenea statua lupa? geminos puerulos lactantis, 
 quam hodie in capitolis videmus." Olai Borrichii antiqua Urbis Romana 
 facies, cap. x. See also cap. xii. Bonichius wrote after Nardini in 
 16B7. Ap. Graev. Autiq. Rom. torn. iv. p. Ij22. 
 
r X 
 
 childeK^arolb's pilgrimage. 251 
 
 city, * and is certainly the figure, if not the very animal to which 
 
 Virgil alludes in his beautiful verses ; 
 
 ** Geminos huic ubera circum 
 Ludere pendentes pueros et lambere matrem 
 Impavidos : illam teriti cervice reflexam 
 Mulcere alternos, et fingere corpora lingua." ^J 
 
 Note 47, page 1 36, lines 3 and 4. 
 "Pot the Romanes mind 
 Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould. 
 It is possible to be a very great man and to be still very in- 
 ferior to Julius Caesar, the most complete character, so Lord 
 Bacon thought, of all antiquity. Nature seems incapable of such 
 extraordinary combinations as composed his versatile capacity, 
 which was the wonder even of the Romans themselves. The first 
 general — the only triumphant politician — inferior to none in elo- 
 quence — comparable to any in the attainments of wisdom, in an 
 age made up of the greatest commanders, statesmen, orators and 
 philosophers that ever appeared in the world — an author who 
 composed a perfect specimen of military annals in his travelling 
 carriage — at one time in a controversy with Cato, at another 
 writing a treatise on punning, and collecting a set of good sayings 
 — fighting 3 and making love at the same moment, and willhig to 
 
 1 Donatus, lib. xi. cap. 18. gives a medal representing on one side 
 the wolf in the same position es that in the Capitol ; and in the reverse 
 the wolf with the head not reverted. It is of the time of Antoninus 
 Pius. 
 
 2 ^n. viii. 6.31. See — Dr. Middleton, in his Letter from Rome, who 
 inclines to the Ciceronian wolf, but without examining the subject. 
 
 3 In his tenth book, Lucan shews him sprinkled with the blood of 
 Pharsalia in the arms of Cleopatra, 
 
 Sanguine Thcssalicas cladis perfusus adulter 
 Admisit Venerem curis, et miscuit arrais. 
 After feasting with his mistress, he sits up all night to converse with 
 the ^Egyptian sages, and tells Achoreus, 
 
 Spes sit mihi certa videndi 
 Niliucos fontes, bellum civile relinquam. 
 
252 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 abandon both his empire and his mistress for a sight of the Fouu-' 
 tains of the Nile. Such did JuUus Caesar appear to his cotera- 
 poraries and to those of the subsequent ages, who were the most 
 inclined to' deplore and execrate his fatal genius. 
 
 But we must not be so much dazzled with his surpassing glory 
 or with his magnanimous, his amiable qualkies, as to forget tlie 
 decision of his impartial countryman : 
 
 HE WAS JUSTLY SLAIN.* 
 
 Note 48, page 1 37, lines 10 and 11. 
 
 What from this harrtn being do we reap? 
 
 Our senses narrow, and our reason frail. 
 **.... omnes pene veteres ; qui nihil cognosci, nihil percepi, 
 nihil sciri posse dixerunt; angustos sensus; imbecillos aniraos, 
 brevia curricula vitee j in profundo veritatem demersani ; opi- 
 nionibus et institutis omnia teneri; nihil veritati relinqui : dein- 
 ceps omnia tenebris circumfusa esse dixerunt." * The eighteen 
 hundred years which have elapsed since Cicero wrote this, have 
 not removed any of the imperfections of humanity : and the com- 
 plaints of the ancient philosophers may, without injustice or 
 affectation, be transcribed in a poem written yesterday. 
 
 ** Sic velut in tuta securi pace trahebant 
 Noctis iter medium." 
 Immediately ufterwards, he is fighting again and defending every 
 position. 
 
 ** Sed adest defensor ubique 
 Caesar et hos aditus gladiis, hos ignibus arcet 
 
 caeca nocte carinis 
 
 Insiluit Caesar semper feliciter usus 
 Praecipiti cursu bellorum et tempore rapto." 
 1 «* Jure caesus existemetur," says Suetonius after a fair estimation of 
 his character, and making use of a phrase which was a formula in Livy's 
 time. *• Melium jure coesum proiiuntiavit, etiam si regni crimine insons 
 fuerit:" [lib. iv. cap. 48.] and which was continued in the legal judg- 
 jnents pronounced in justifiable homicides, such as killing housebreakers, 
 ijee Sueton. in vit. C. J. C'asar, with the commentary of Pitiscu5, p. ii>4. 
 3 Academ. 1.13. 
 
CHILDli HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 253 
 
 Note 49, page 140, line 10. 
 There is a stern round tower of other days. 
 Alluding to the tombj of Cecilia JVIetella, called Capo di Bove, 
 in the Appian Way. See — Historical Illustrations of the IVth 
 Canto of Childe Harold. 
 
 Note 30, page 142, lines 5 and 6. 
 Prophetic of' the doom 
 Heaven gives its favourites — early death. 
 'Ov 6» ^sol (pi'Kovc-iv a7io^yri<j%si yio; 
 To yag 6a,ysiv oujc tuay(^^oy «,XX* aicry^^wg Qayiiy. 
 
 Rich. Franc. Phil. Brunck. Poetae Gnomici, 
 p. 231, edit. 1784. 
 
 Note 51, page 144, line 18. 
 Behold the Imperial Mount! *lis thv^ the mighty falls. 
 The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the side to- 
 wards the Circus Maximus. The very soil is formed of crumbled 
 brick-work. Nothing has been told, nothing can be told, to sa- 
 tisfy the belief of any but a Roman antiquary, — See — Historical 
 Illustrations, page 206. 
 
 Note 52, page 145, lines 1, 2, and 3. 
 
 There is the moral of all human tales ; 
 
 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, 
 
 First FreeJom, and then Glory, 8^c, 
 The author of the Life of Cicero, speaking of the opinion enter- 
 tained of Britain by that orator and his cotemporary Romans, has 
 the following eloquent passage ; *' From their railleries of this 
 kind, on the barbarity and misery of our island, one cannot help 
 reflecting on the surprising fate and revolutions of kingdoms, how 
 Rome, once the mistress of the world, the seat of arts, empire and 
 glory, now lies sunk in sloth, ignorance and poverty, enslaved to 
 
254 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 the most cniel as well as to the most contemptible of tyrants, su- 
 perstition and religious imposture : while this remote country, an- 
 ciently the jest and contempt of the polite Romans, is become the 
 happy seat of liberty, plenty and letters; flourishing in all the 
 arts and refinements of civil life; yet running perhaps the same 
 course which Rome itself had run before it, from virtuous industry 
 to wealth ; from wealth to luxury ; from luxury to an impatience 
 of discipline, and corruption of morals : till by a total degeneracy 
 and loss of virtue, being grown ripe for destruction, it fall a prey 
 at last to some hardy oppressor, and, with the loss of liberty, losing 
 every thing that is valuable, sinks gradually again into its original 
 barbarism." > 
 
 Note 53, page 146, lines 8 and 9. 
 
 ^nd apostolic statues climb 
 To crush the imperial ur7i, xvhose ashes slept sublime. 
 The column of Trajan is surmounted by St. Peter; that of 
 Aurelius by St. Paul. See — Historical Illustrations of the IVth 
 Canto, &c. 
 
 Note 54, page 146, line 18. 
 Still rve Trajan^ s name adore. 
 Trajan was proverbially the best of the Roman princes :' and 
 it would be easier to find a sovereign uniting exactly the oppo- 
 site characteristics, than one possessed of all the happy qualities 
 ascribed to this emperor. ** When he mounted the throne," says 
 
 1 The History of the Life of M. Tullius Cicero, sect. vi. vol. ii. p. 
 10?. The contrast has been reversed in a late extraordinary instance. 
 A gentleman was thrown into prison at Paris ; efforts were made for his 
 release. The French minister continued to detain him, under the pre- 
 text that he was not an Englishman, but only a Roman. See ** In- 
 teresting facts relating to Joachim Murat," pag. 1.39. 
 
 « '• Hujus tantiim memoriae delatura est ut, usque ad nostram setatem 
 non aliter in Senatu principibus acclamatur, nisi, felicior . avgvsto 
 . UBMOB . TBAJANO." Eutrop. Brev. Hist. Rom. lib. viii. cap. v. 
 
1 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 255 
 
 the historian Dion, * ** he was strong in body, he was vigorous in 
 mind ; age had impaired none of his facuUies ; he was altogether 
 free from envy and from detraction; he honoured all the gocd 
 and he advanced them ; and on this account they could not be 
 the objects of his fear, or of his hate ; he never listened to in- 
 formers; he gave not way to his anger; he abstained equally 
 from unfair exactions and unjust punishments; he had rather be 
 loved as a man than honoured as a sovereign ; he was affab'e 
 with his people, respectful to the senate, and universally beloved 
 by both; he inspired none with dread but ^the enemies of his 
 country." \ 
 
 Note 55, page 148, line if. 
 Rierizif last of Romans* \ 
 The name and exploits of Rienzi must be /ramiliar to the reader 
 of Gibbon. Some details and inedited .Manuscripts relative to 
 this unhappy hero, will be seen in the Illustrations of the IVth 
 Canto. 
 
 Note 56, page 148, lines 10, 11, and 19. 
 Egeria ! sweet creation of some heart 
 Which found no mortal resting-place so fair 
 As thine ideal breast. 
 The respectable authority of Flaminius Vacca would incline us 
 
 * Tto Tt ya^ cw/otaTi sppujzo ^a\^n "^'^XV 'I'^t^^^^Vf ^S 
 
 fxr\9^ uVo yri^vjg ay£'Kvvi<T^ai . . . xal owr' l^QS^i, o'jtb xaBn^ti Tiva, 
 cc'h'k^ %oli nayv TTavraj Tovg ayuQovg eTifj.cc aai^^a.ya'Kvvs* xdi Six. 
 TovTO ouTE l(po^'si':6 riyce, avTwv, ovTi s^xtcni . . Si^^oXaig te nyua-Ta 
 eTtia-Tivt xal opyTJ wic-ra, I^ov'Kovto' twV T£ ^g»i/ot£^T«)» twv a'K'Kwroiwif 
 lera xat (fovwv twv aSixwy aTt'nyjro . • . . jJ^iXov/t-tnto; ts oz7y iV* 
 AyroTf fjM'^Xoy rj rifXiofxivog fX***'?^* xat'^'iy^uTS Jt^^^Sb^^^c"* iTiitixeiag 
 ci/VeytVETO, jtat ':^ yn^oiioia (JS(/.yo7[ori:u)g cujotiXst* ayccTtytT^ (J-h itaffk* 
 <po^s^og ^l (xn^svl, wXriV TroXsjixiotf, w v. Hist. Rom. lib. Ixviii. cap. vi. 
 & vii. torn. ii. p. 1123, 1124. edit. Hamb. 1760. 
 
256 
 
 NOTtS TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 to believe in the claims of the Egerian grotto. * He assures us 
 that he saw an inscription in the pavement, stating that the foun- 
 tain was that of Egeria dedicated to the nyraphs. The inscrip- 
 tion is not there at this day ; but Montfaucon quotes two lines ^ 
 of Ovid from a stone in the Villa Giustiniani, which he seems to 
 think had been brought from the same grotto. 
 
 This grotto and valley were formerly frequented in summer, 
 and particularly the first Sunday in May, by the modern Romans, 
 who attached a salubrious quality to the fountain which trickles 
 from an orifice at the bottom of the vault, and, overflowing the 
 little pools, creeps down the matted grass into the brook below. 
 The brook is the Ovidian Almo, whose name and qualities are 
 lost in the modern Aquataccio. The valley itself is called Valle 
 di CafFarelli, from the dukes of that name who made over their 
 fountain to the Pallavicini, with sixty ruhbia of adjoining land. 
 
 There can be little doubt that this long dell is the Egerian 
 valley of Juvenal, and the pausing place ofUmbritius, notwith- 
 standing the generality of his commentators have supposed the 
 descent of the satirist and his friend to have been into the 
 Arician grove, where the nymph met Hippolitus, and where she 
 was more peculiarly worshipped. 
 
 The step from the Porta Capena to the Alban hill, fifteen miles 
 distant, would be too considerable, unless we were to believe in 
 
 1 *« Poco lontano dal detto luogo si scende ad un casaletto, del quale 
 ne sono Padroni li Cafarelli, che eon questo nome i chiamato il luogo ; 
 vi e una fontana sotto una gran volta antica, che al presente si gode, e 
 li Komani vi vanno Testate a ricrearsi ; nel pavimento di essa fonte si 
 legge in un epitaffio essere quella la fonte di Egeria, dedieata alle ninfe, 
 e questa, dice I'epitaffio, essere la medesima fonte in cui fu convertita." 
 Memorie, &c. ap. Nardini, pag. 13. He does not give the inscription. 
 
 ft *' In villa Justiniana extat ingens lapis quadratus solidus in quo 
 sculpta haec duo Ovidii carmina sunt 
 
 ^Egeria est quae prabet aquas dea grata Camoenis 
 Ilia Numa; conjunx consiliumque fuit. 
 Qui lapis videtur ex eodem Egeria; fonte, aut ejus vicinia isthuc coia- 
 portatus " Diarium. Italic p. 153. 
 
tiiiLDE iiaHold^s pilgrimage. I6f 
 
 Itlie wild conjecture of Vossius, who makes that gate travel from 
 Its present station, where he pretends it was during the reign of 
 the Kings, as far as the Arician grove, and then makes it recede 
 to its old site with the shrinking city. * The tufo, br pumice, 
 which the poet prefers to marble, is the substan(5e composing the 
 bank in which the grotto is sunk. 
 
 The modern topographers ^ find in the grotto the statue of the 
 tiymph and nine niches for the Muses, and a late traveller^ has 
 discovered that the cave is restored to that simplicity which the 
 poet regretted had been exchanged for injudicious ornament. 
 But the headless statue is palpably rather a male than a nymph, 
 and has none of the attributes ascribed to it at present visi- 
 ble. The nine Muses could hardly have stood in six niches; 
 and Juvenal certainly does not allude to any individual cave. * 
 Nothing can be collected from the satirist but that somewhere 
 hear the Porta Capena was a spot in which it was supposed 
 Numa held nightly consultations with his nymph, and where 
 there was a grove and a sacred fountain, and fanes once conse- 
 crated to the Muses ; and that from this spot there was a descent 
 into the valley of Egeria, where were several artificial caves. It 
 is clear that the statues of the Muses made no part of the decora- 
 
 1 De Magnit. Vet. Rom. Ap. Graev. Ant. Rom. tom. iv. p. 150t. 
 a Echinard. Descriiione di Roma e dell' agro Romano corretto dall* 
 Abate Venuti in Roma, 1750. They believe in the grotto and nymph, 
 " Simulacro di questo fonte, essendovi sculpite le acque a pie di esso." 
 a Classical Tour, chap. vi. p. 217. vol. ii. 
 
 4 *' Substitit ad veteres arcus, madidamque Capenam^ 
 Hie ubi nocturnae Numa constituebat amicae. 
 Nunc sacri fontis nemus, et delubra locantur 
 Judaeis quorum cophinum fcenumque supellex. 
 Omnis enim populo mercedem pendere jussa est 
 Arbor, et ejectis mendicat silva Camoenis. 
 In vallem Egeriae descendimus, et speluncas 
 Dissimiles veris : quanto pra2stantius esset 
 Numen aquae, viridi si margine clauderet undas 
 Herba, nee ingenuum violarent marmora tophum." 
 
 Sat. Ill, 
 VOL. II. « 
 
258 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 tion which the satirist thought misplaced in these caves ; for he 
 expressly assigns other fanes (delubra) to these divinities above 
 the valley, and moreover tells us that they had been ejected to 
 make room for the Jews. In fact the little temple, now called 
 that of Bacchus, was formerly thought to belong to the Muses, 
 and Nardini * places them iu a poplar grove, which was in hi* 
 time above the valley. 
 
 It is probable, from the inscription and position, that the cave 
 now shown may be one of the " artificial caverns," of which, 
 indeed, there is another a little way higher up the valley, under 
 a tuft of alder bushes : but a single grotto of Egeria is a mere 
 modern invention, grafted upon the application of the epithet 
 Egerian to these nymphea in general, and which might send us to 
 look for the haunts of Numa upon the banks of the Thames. 
 
 Our English Juvenal was not seduced into mistranslation by 
 his acquaintance with Pope: he carefully preserves the correct 
 ploi'al — 
 
 ** Thence slowly winding down the vale, we view 
 The Egerian grots; oh, how unlike the true!" 
 
 The valley abounds with springs, ^ and over these springs, 
 which the Muses might haunt from their neighbouring groves, 
 Egeria presided : hence she was said to supply them with water ; 
 and she was the nymph of the grottos through which the fountains 
 were taught to flow. 
 
 The whole of the monuments in the vicinity of the Egerian 
 valley have received names at will, which have been changed at 
 will, Venuti 3 owns he can see no traces of the temples of Jove, 
 Saturn, Juno, Venus, and Diana, which Nardini found, or hoped 
 to find. The mutatorium of Caracalla's circus, the temple of 
 
 ) Lib. iii. cap. iii. 
 
 « «* Undique e solo aqus scaturiunt." Nardini, lib. iii. cap. iii, 
 
 3 Kchiaard, &c. Cic. cit.-p. 297-29B. 
 
CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 259 
 
 Honour and Virtue, the temple of Bacchus, and, above all, the 
 temple of the god Rediculus, are the antiquaries' despair. 
 
 The circus of Caracalla depends on a medal of that emperor 
 cited by Fulvius Ursinus, of which the reverse shows a circus, 
 supposed, however, by some to represent the Circus Maximus. 
 It gives a very good idea of that place of exercise. The soil has 
 been but little raised, if we may judge from the small cellular 
 structure at the end of the Spina, which was probably the chapel 
 of the god Consus. This cell is half beneath the soil, as it must 
 have been in the circus itself, for Dionysius * could not be per- 
 suaded to believe that this divinity was the Roman Neptune, be- 
 cause his altar was underground. 
 
 Note 57, page 154, line 10. 
 Yet let us ponder holdly, 
 " At all events," says the author of the Academical Questions, 
 ** I trust, whatever may be the fate of my own speculations, that 
 philosophy will regain that estimation which it ought to possess. 
 The free and philosophic spirit of our nation has been the theme 
 of admiration to the world. This was the proud distinction of 
 Englishmen and the luminous source of all their glory. Shall we 
 then forget the manly and dignified sentiments of our ancestors, to 
 prate in the language of the mother or the nurse about our good 
 old prejudices? This is not the way to defend the cause of truth. 
 It was not thus that our fathers maintained it in the brilliant pe- 
 riods of our history. Prejudice may be trusted to guard the out- 
 works for a short space of time while reason slumbers in the cita- 
 del : but if the latter sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly 
 erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty, 
 support each other ; he who will not reason, is a bigot ; he who 
 cannot, is a fool ; and he who dares not, is a slave." Preface, 
 p. xiv, XV. vol. i. Ib05. 
 
 * Antiq. Rom. lib. ii. cap. xxxi. 
 
 S2 
 
266 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 Note 58, page 137, lines 2 and 3. 
 Great Nemesis ! 
 Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long. 
 We read in Suetonius that Augustus, from a warning received 
 in a dream, * counterfeited, once a ^ear, the beggar, sitting before 
 the gate of his palace with his hand hollowed and stretched out 
 for charity. A statue formerly in the Villa Borghese, and which 
 should be now at Paris, represents the Emperor in that posture 
 of supplication. The object of this self degradation was the ap- 
 peasement of Nemesis, the perpetual attendant on good fortune, 
 of whose power the Roman conquerors were also jeminded by 
 certain symbols attached to their cars of triumph. The symbols 
 were the whip and the crotalo, which were discovered in the Ne- 
 mesis of the Vatican. The attitude of beggary made the above 
 statue pass for that of Belisarius : and until the criticism of Win- 
 kelmann * had rectified the mistake, one fiction was called in to 
 support another. It was the same fear of the sudden termination 
 of prosperity that made Amasis king of Egypt warn his friend 
 Polycrates of Saraos, that the gods loved those whose lives were 
 chequered with good and evil fortunes. Nemesis was supposed 
 to lie in wait particularly for the prudent ; that is, for those whos© 
 caution rendered them accessible only to mere accidents : and her 
 first altar was raised on the banks of the Phrygian iEsepus by 
 Adrastus, probably the prince of that name who killed the son of 
 Crcesus by mistake. Hence the goddess was called Adrastea. 3 
 
 1 Sueton. in vit. Augusti. cap. Ql. Casaubon, in the note, refers to 
 Plutarch's Lives of Camillus and ^milius Paulus, and also to his apo- 
 thegms, for the character of this deity. The hollowed hand was reckonetl 
 the last degree of degradation : and when the dead body of the prsefect 
 Rufinus was borne about in triumph by the people, the indignity was in- 
 creased by putting his hand in that position. 
 
 « Storia delle arti, &c. lib. xii. cap. iii. torn. ii. p. 422. Visconti calla 
 the statue, however, a Cybele. It is given in the Museo Pio-Clement* 
 torn. i. par. 40. The Abate Pea (Spiegazione dei Rami. Storia, &6» 
 torn. iii. p. 513.) calls it a Chrisippus. 
 
 3 Diet, de Bayle, article Adrastea. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 26l 
 
 The Roman Nemesis was sacred and august : there was a temple 
 to her in the Palatine utider the name of Hharanusia : ^ so great 
 indeed was the propensity of the ancients to trust to the revolu- 
 tion of events, and to believe in the divinity of Fortune, that in 
 the same Palatine there was a temple to the Fortune of the day. ' 
 This is the last superstition which retains its hold over the human 
 heart ; and from concentrating in one object the credulity so na- 
 tural to man, has airways appeared strongest in those unembarrassed 
 by other articles of belief. The antiquaries have supposed this 
 goddess to be synonymous with fortune and with fate : 3 but it 
 was in her vindictive quality that she was worshipped under the 
 name of Nemesis. 
 
 Note 59, page 161, line 1. 
 
 I see before me the Gladiator lie. 
 
 Whether the wonderful statue which suggested this image be a 
 
 laquearian gladiator, which in spite of Winkelmann's criticism has 
 
 been stoutly maintained, 4 or whether it be a Greek herald, as 
 
 that great antiquary positively asserted, 5 or whether it is to be 
 
 * It is enumerated by the regionary Victor. 
 
 a Fortunae hujusce diei. Cicero mentions her, delegib. lib ii. 
 
 ^ DEAE NEMESI 
 
 SIV^ FORTUNAE 
 
 PISTORIVS 
 
 RVGIANVS 
 
 V. C. LEGAT. 
 
 LEG. XIU. 6. 
 
 GORD. 
 
 See Questiones Romans. &c. Ap. Graev. Antiq Roman, torn. v. p. 942. 
 
 See also Muratori. Nov. Thesaur. Inscrip. Vet. torn. i. p. 88, 89, where 
 
 there are three Latin and one Greek inscription to Nemesis, and others 
 
 to Fate. 
 
 4 By the Abate Bracci, dissertazione supra un clipeo votivQ, &c. Pre- 
 face, pag. 7. who accounts for the cord round the neck, but not for the 
 horn, which it does not appear the gladiators themselves ever used. 
 Note A, Storia delle arti, tom. ii. p. 205. 
 
 5 Either Polifontes, herald of Laius, killed by CEdipus; or Cepreas, 
 
2iffi2 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 thought a Spartan or barbarian shield-bearer, according to the 
 opinion of his Italian editor, * it must assuredly seem a copy of 
 that masterpiece of Ctesilaus which represented " a wounded 
 man dying who perfectly expressed what there remained of life 
 in him." 2 MonlfauconS and Maffei* thought it the identical 
 statue ; but that statue was of bronze. The gladiator was once in 
 the villa Ludovizi, and was bought by Clement XII. The right 
 arm is an entire restoration of Michael Angelo. 5 
 
 Note 60, page IGl, lines 15 and 16. 
 
 lie, their sire, 
 Butchered to make a 'Roman holiday. 
 Gladiators were of two kinds, compelled and voluntary ; and 
 were supplied from several conditions ; from slaves sold for that 
 purpose ; from culprits ; from barbarian captives either taken in 
 war, and, after being led in triumph, set apart for the games, or 
 those seized and condemned as rebels ; also from free citizens, 
 some fighting for hire (aiictorati), others from a depraved ambi- 
 tion : at last even knights and senators were exhibited, a disgrace 
 of which the first tyrant was naturally the first inventor. ^ In the 
 end, dwarfs, and even women, fought ; an enormity prohibited by 
 Severus. Of these the most to be pitied undoubtedly were the 
 
 herald of Euritheus, killed by the Athenians whsn he endeavoured to 
 drag the Heraclidae from the altar of mercy, and in whose honour they 
 instituted annual games, continued to the time of Hadrian ; or Anthe- 
 mocritus, the Athenian herald, killed by the Megarenses, who never re- 
 covered the impiety. See Storia, delle arti, &c. torn. ii. pag. iJ03, 204, 
 205, C06, 207. lib. ix. cap. ii. 
 
 1 Storia, &c. torn. ii. p. 20?. Not. (A). 
 
 2 «* Vulneratum defici en tem fecit in quo possit intelligi quantum restat 
 animae." Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. xxxiv. cap. 8. 
 
 3 Antiq. torn. iii. par. 2. tab. 155. 
 
 4 Race. stat. tab. 64. 
 
 5 Mus. Capitol, torn. iii. p. 354. edit. J 755. 
 
 6 Julius Caesar, who rose by the fall of the aristocracy, brought Furiu* 
 Leptinus and A. Calenus upon the arena. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 263 
 
 barbarian captives ; and to this species a Christian writer^ justlj 
 applies the epithet " innocent," to distinguish them from the pro- 
 fessional gladiators. Aurelian and Claudius supplied great num- 
 bers of these unfortunate victims ; the one after his triumph, and 
 the other on the pretext of a rebellion. ^ No war, says Lipsius, 3 
 was ever so destructive to the human race as these sports. In 
 spite of the laws of Constantine and Constans, gladiatorial shows 
 survived the old established religion more than seventy years ; 
 but they owed their final extinction to the courage of a Christian. 
 In the year 404, on the kalends of January, they were exhibiting 
 the shows in the Flavian amphitheatre before the usual immense 
 concourse of people. Almachius or Telemachus, an eastern monk, 
 who had travelled to Home intent on his holy purpose, rushed 
 into the midst of the area, and endeavoured to separate the com- 
 batants. The praetor Alypius, a person incredibly attached to 
 these games, * gave instant orders to the gladiators to slay him ; 
 and Telemachus gained the crown of martyrdom, and the title of 
 saint, which surely has never either before or since been awarded 
 for a more noble exploit. Honorius immediately abolished the 
 shows, which were never afterwards revived. Tlie story is told 
 by Theodorets and Cassiodorus,^ and seems worthy of credit not- 
 withstanding its place in the Roman martyrology. 7 Besides the 
 
 TertuUian, ** certe quidem et innocentes gladiatores in ludum ve- 
 niunt, at voluptatis publicae hostiae fiant." Just. Lips. Saturn. Sermon, 
 lib. ii. cap. iii. 
 
 2 Vopiscus. in vit. Aurel. and, in vit. Claud, ibid. 
 
 3 *' Credo im6 scio nullum bellum tantam cladem vastitiemque generi 
 humano intulisse, quam hos ad voluptatem ludos." Just. Lips. ibid, 
 lib. i. cap. xii. 
 
 4 Augustinus, (lib. vi. confess, cap. viii.) '* Alypium suum gladiatrii 
 spectaculi inhiatu incredibiliter abreptum," scribit. ib. lib. i. cap. xii. 
 
 5 Hist. Eccles. cap. xxvi. lib. v. 
 
 6 Cassiod. Tripartita. 1. x. c. xi. Saturn, ib. ib. 
 
 7 Baronius. ad. ann. et in notis ad Martyrol. Rom. 1. Jan. See — Ma- 
 rangoni delle memorie sacre e profane dell' Anfiteatro Flavio, p. 25. edit. 
 1746. 
 
264 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 torrents of blood which flowed at the fiinerals, in the amphithea- 
 tres, the circus, the forums, and other public places, gladiators 
 were introduced at feasts, and tore each other to pieces amidst 
 the supper tables, to the great delight and applause of the guests. 
 Yet Lipsius permits himself to suppose the loss of courage, and 
 the evident degeneracy of mankind, to be nearly connected with 
 the abolition of these bloody spectacles. ^ 
 
 Note 61, page 162, lines 5 and 6. 
 HerCy^ where the Roman million's blame or praise 
 Was death or life, the -playthings of a crowd. 
 When one gladiator wounded another, he shouted " he has it,'* 
 " hoc habet," or " habet.'* The wounded combatant dropped his 
 weapon, and advancing to the edge of the arena, supplicated the 
 spectators. If he had fought well, the people saved him ; if 
 otherwise, or as they hrippened to be inclined, they turned down 
 their thumbs, and he was slain. They were occasionally so savage 
 that they were impatient if a combat lasted longer than ordinary 
 without wounds or death. The emperor's presence generally 
 saved the vanquished : and it is recorded as an instance of Cara- 
 calla's ferocity, that he sent those who supplicated him for life, ia 
 a spectacle at Nicomedia, to ask the people ; in other words, 
 handed them over to be slain. A similar ceremony is observed 
 at the Spanish bull-fights. The magistrate presides ; and after 
 the horsemen and piccadores have fought the bull, the niatadore 
 steps forward and bows to him for permission to kill the animaL 
 If the bull has done his duty by killing two or three horses, or a 
 man, which last is rare, the people interfere with shouts, the ladies 
 
 1 " Quod ? non tu Lipsi momentum aliquod habuisse censes ad virtu- 
 tem ? Magnum. Tempera nostra, nosque ipsos videamus. Oppidum 
 ecce unum alterumve captum, direptum est ; tumultus circa nos, non ia 
 nobis : et tamen concidimus et turbamur. Ubi robur, ubi tot per annos 
 meditata sapientiae studia ? ubi ille animus qui possit dicere, si fractiis 
 xllahatur orbis ?" &c. ibid. lib. ii. cap. xxv. The prototype of M.r» 
 Windham's panegyric on bull-baiting. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 205 
 
 wave their handkerchiefs, and the animal is saved. The wounds 
 and death of the horses are accompanied with the loudest ac- 
 clamations, and many gestures of delight, especially from the 
 female portion of the audience, including those of the gentlest 
 blood. Every thing depends on habit. The author of Chiide 
 Harold, the writer of this note, and one or two other Englishmen, 
 who have certainly in other days borne the sight of a pitched 
 battle, were, during the summer of 1809, in the governor's box at 
 the great amphitheatre of Santa Maria, opposite to Cadiz. The 
 death of one or two horses completely satisfied their curiosity. 
 A gentleman present, observing them shudder and look pale, no- 
 ticed that unusual reception of so delightful a sport to some young 
 ladies, who stared and smiled, and continued their applauses a» 
 another horse fell bleeding to the ground. One bull killed three 
 horses off his ovm horns. He was saved by acclamations which 
 were redoubled when it was known he belonged to a priest. 
 
 An Englishman who can be much pleased with seeing two men 
 beat themselves to pieces, cannot bear to look at a horse gallop- 
 ing round an arena with his bowels trailing on the ground, and 
 turns from the spectacle and the spectators with horror and 
 disgust. 
 
 Note 62, page 1 63, line 6. 
 hike laurels on the bald first Ccesat^s brow. 
 Suetonius informs us that Julius Caesar was particularly grati- 
 fied by that decree of the senate, which enabled him to wear a 
 wreath of laurel on all occasions. He was anxious, not to show 
 that he was the conqueror of the world, but to hide that he was 
 bald. A stranger at Rome would hardly have guessed at the 
 motive, nor should we without the help of the historian. 
 
 Note e'i, page 163, line 10. 
 While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand. 
 lliis is quoted in the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire ; 
 
266 KOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 and a notice on the Coliseum may be seen in tlie Historicai 
 Illustrations to tlie IVtii Canto of Childe Harold. 
 
 Note 64, page 164, line 3. 
 
 spared and blest by time. 
 
 *' Though plundered of all its brass, except the ring which was 
 necessary to preserve the aperture above ; though exposed to re- 
 peated fires, though sometimes flooded by the river, and always 
 open to the rain, no monument of equal antiquity is so well pre- 
 served as this rot undo. It passed with little alteration from the 
 Pagan into the present worship; and so convenient were its 
 niches for the Christian altar, that Michael Angelo, ever studious 
 of ancient beauty, introduced their design as a model in the Ca- 
 tholic church." 
 
 Forsyth's Remarks, &c. on Italy, p. 137. sec. edit. 
 
 Note 63, page 164, lines 17 and 18. 
 And they who feel for genius may repose 
 Their eyes on honoured forms, uhose busts around them close. 
 The Pantheon has been made a receptacle for the busts of mo- 
 dern great, or, at least, distinguished, men. The flood of light 
 which once fell through the large orb above on the whole circle 
 of divinities, now shines on a nulnerous assemblage of mortals, 
 some one or two of whom have been almost deified by the ve- 
 neration of their countrymen. 
 
 Note 66, page 165, line 1. 
 There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light. 
 This and the three next stanzas allude to the story of the Ro- 
 man daughter, which is recalled to the traveller, by the site or 
 pretended site of that adventure now shown at the church of St. 
 Nicholas in carcere. The difiiculties attending the full belief of 
 the tale are stated in Historical Illustrations, &c. 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 26? 
 
 Note 67, page 167, line 1 . 
 Turn to the Mole which Hadrian reared on high. 
 The castle of St. Angelo. See — Historical Illustrations. 
 
 Note 68, page 167. 
 This and the six next stanzas have a reference to the church of 
 St. Peter's. For a measurement of the comparative length of this 
 basilica, and the other great churches of Europe, see the pavement 
 of St. Peter's, and the Classical Tour through Italy, vol. ii. pag. 
 123. et seq. chap. iv. 
 
 Note 69, page 176, lines 15 and 16. 
 the strange fate 
 Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns. 
 Mary died on the scaiiold; Elizabeth of a broken hearty 
 Charles V. a hermit; Louis XIV. a bankrupt in means and 
 glory ; Cromwell of anxiety ; and, ** the greatest is behind,'* Na- 
 poleon Jives a prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but super- 
 fluous list might be added of names equally illustrious and un- 
 happy. 
 
 Note 70, page 177, line 10. 
 
 Lo, Nemi ! navelVd in the woody hills. 
 
 The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat ofEgeria, 
 
 and, from the shades which embosomed the temple of Diana, has 
 
 preserved to this day its distinctive appellation of The Grove. 
 
 Nemi is but an evening's ride from the comfortable inn of Aibano. 
 
 Note 71, page 178, lines 2, 3, and 4. 
 And afar 
 The Tyber winds, and the broad ocean laves 
 The Latian coast, 8^c. S^c. 
 The whole declivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalled beauty. 
 
268 NOTES TO THE JP^RTH CANTO OF 
 
 and from the convent on the highest point, which has succeeded 
 to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the prospect embraces all the 
 objects alluded to in the cited stanza : the Mediterranean ; the 
 whole scene of the latter half of the ^neid, and the coast from 
 beyond the mouth of the Tyber to the headland of Circaeum and 
 the Cape of Terracina. 
 
 The site of Cicero's villa may be supposed either at the Grotta 
 Ferrata, or at the Tusculum of Prince Lucien Buonaparte. 
 
 The former was thought some years ago the actual site, as 
 may be seen from Middleton's Life of Cicero. At present it has 
 lost something of its credit, except for the Domenichinos. Nine 
 monks of the Greek order live there, and the adjoining villa is a 
 cardinal's summer-house. The other villa, called Rufinella, is on 
 the summit of the hill above Frascati, and many rich remains of 
 Tusculum have been found there, besides seventy-two statues of 
 diflferent merit and preservation, and seven busts. 
 
 From the same eminence are seen the Sabine hills, embosomed 
 in which lies the long valley of Rustica. There are several cir- 
 cumstances which tend to establish the identity of this valley 
 with the " Ustica" of Horace; and it seems possible that the 
 mosaic pavement which the peasants uncover by throwing up the 
 earth of a vineyard, may belong to his villa. Rustica is pro- 
 nounced short, not according to our stress upon — " Ustica cu- 
 bantis.*' — It is more rational to think that we are wrong than that 
 the inhabitants of this secluded valley have changed their tone 
 in this word. The addition of the consonant prefixed is nothing : 
 yet it is necessary to be aware that Rustica may be a modem 
 name which the peasaijjts may have caught from the antiquaries. 
 
 The villa, or the mosaic, is in a vineyard on a knoll covered 
 with chestnut trees. A stream runs down the valley, and al- 
 though it is not true, as said in the guide books, that thb stream 
 is called Licenza, yet there is a village on a rock at the head of 
 the valley which is so denominated, and which may have taken 
 its name from the Digentia. Licenza contains 700 inhabitants. 
 
ClllLDE HAR013.1^?S PILGRIMAGE. 26g 
 
 On a peak a little way beymid is Civitella, containing 300. On 
 \the banks of the Anio, a little before you turn up into Valle Rus- 
 tica, to the left, about an hour from the villas is a town called 
 Vico-varo, another favourable coincidence with the Varia of the 
 poet. At the end of the valley, towards the Anio, there is a bare 
 hill, crowned with a little town called Bardela. At the foot of 
 this hill the rivulet of Licenza flows, and is almost absorbed in a 
 wide sandy bed before it reaches the Anio. Nothing can be 
 more fortunate for the lines of the poet, whether in a metaphorical 
 or direct sense : 
 
 ** Me quotiens reficit gelidus Digentia rivus. 
 Quern Mandela bibit nigosus frigore paguS." 
 
 The stream is clear high up the valley, but before it reaches the 
 hill of Bardela looks green and yellow like a sulphur rivulet. 
 
 Rocca Giovane, a ruined village in the hills, half an hour's walk 
 from the vineyard where the pavement is shown, does seem to be 
 the site of the fane of Vacuna, and an inscription found there tells 
 that this temple of the Sabine victory was repaired by Vespasian. * 
 With these helps, and a position corresponding exactly to every 
 thing which the poet has told us of his retreat, we may feel 
 tolerably secure of our site. 
 
 The hill which should be Lucretilis is called Campanile, and 
 by following up the rivulet to the pretended Bandnsia, you come 
 to the roots of the higher mountain Gennaro. Singularly enough, 
 the only spot of ploughed land in tlie whole valley is on the knoll 
 where this Bandusia rises, 
 
 **.... tu frigus amabile 
 Fessis vomere tauris 
 Praebes, et pecori vago." 
 
 1 MP. C^SAR VESPASIANVS 
 
 PONTIFEX MAXIMVS. TRIE. 
 
 POTEST. CENSOR. ^DEM 
 
 VICTORIA. VETVSTATE ILLAPSAM.- 
 
 SVA. IMPKNSA. RESTITVIT. 
 
270 NOTES TO THE FOURTH CANTO OF 
 
 The peasants show another spring near the mosaic pavement 
 which they call " Oradina," and which flows down the hills into 
 a tank, or mill-dam, and thence trickles over into the Digentia. 
 But we must not hope 
 
 ** To trace the Muses upwards to theu- spring'* 
 
 by exploring the windings of the romantic valley in search of the 
 Bandusian fountain. It seems strange that any one should have 
 thought Bandusia a fountain of the Digentia — Horace has not let 
 drop a word of it ; and this immortal spring has in fact been dis- 
 covered in possession of the holders of many good things in Italy, 
 the monks. It was attached to the church of St. Gervais and Pro- 
 tais near Venusia, where it was most likely to be found. ^ We 
 shall not be so lucky as a late traveller in finding the occasional 
 pine still pendant on the poetic villa. There is not a pine in the 
 whole valley, but there are two cypresses, which he evidently 
 took, or mistook, for the tree in the ode.^ The truth is, that the 
 pine is now, as it was in the days of Virgil, a garden tree, and it 
 was not at all likely to be found in the craggy acclivities of the 
 valley of Rustica. . Horace probably had one of them in the 
 orchard close above his farm, immediately overshadowing his 
 villa, not on the rocky heights at some distance from his abode. 
 The tourist may have easily supposed himself to have seen this 
 pine figured in the above cypresses, for the orange and lemon 
 trees which throw such a bloom over his description of the royal 
 gardens at Naples, unless they have been since displaced, were 
 assuredly only acacias and other common garden shrubs. 3 The 
 extreme disappointment experienced by choosing the Classical 
 Tourist as a guide in Italy must be allowed to find vent in a few 
 observations, which, it is asserted without fear of contradiction, 
 
 1 See — Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto, p. 43. 
 
 5 See — Classical Tour, &;c. chap. vii. p. 'i50. vol. ii. 
 
 3 «* Under our windows, and bordering on the beach, is the royal gar- 
 den, laid out in parterres, and walks shaded by rows of orange trees." 
 Ckkssical Tour, &c. chap. xi. vol. ii. oct. 365. 
 
CHILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 2?! 
 
 will be confirmed by every one who has selected the same con- 
 ductor through the same country. This author is in fact one of 
 the most inaccurate, unsatisfactory writers that have in our times 
 attained a temporary reputation, and is very seldom to be trusted 
 even when he speaks of objects which he must be presumed to 
 h^ve seen. His errors, from the simple exaggeration to the down- 
 right mistatement, are so frequent as to induce a suspicion that 
 he had either never visited the spots described, or had trusted to 
 the fidelity of former writers. Indeed the Classical Tour has 
 every characteristic of a mere compilation of former notices, 
 strung together upon a very slender thread of personal observa- 
 tion, and swelled out by those decorations which are so easily 
 supplied by a systematic adoption of all the common places of 
 praise, applied to every thing, and therefore signifying nothing. 
 
 The style which one person thinks cloggy and cumbrous, and 
 unsuitable, may be to the taste of others, and such may experience 
 some salutary excitement in ploughing through the periods of the 
 Classical Tour. It must be said, however, that polish and weight 
 are apt to beget an expectation of value. It is amongst the pains 
 of the damned to toil up a climax with a huge round stone. 
 
 The tourist had the choice of his words, but there was no such 
 latitude allowed to that of his sentiments. The love of virtue and 
 of liberty, which must have distinguished the character, certainly 
 adorns the pages of Mr. Eustace, and the gentlemanly spirit, so 
 recommendator3'^ either in an author or his productions, is very 
 conspicuous throughout the Classical Tour. But these generous 
 qualities are the foliage of such a performance, and may be spread 
 about it so prominently and profusely, as to embarrass those who 
 wish to see and find the fruit at hand. The unction of the divine, 
 and the exhortations of the moralist, may have made this work 
 something more and better than a book of travels, but they have 
 not made it a book of travels ; and this observation applies more 
 especially to that enticmg method of instruction conveyed by the 
 perpetual introduction of the same Gallic Helot to reel and. 
 
17^ NOTES TO THE FOURTH CA^fo OF 
 
 bluster before the rising generation, and terrify it into dedeticf 
 by the display of all the excesses of the revolution. An animosity 
 against atheists and regicides in general, and Frenchmen speci- 
 fically, may be honourable, and may be useful, as a record ; but 
 that antidote should either be administered in any work rather 
 than a tour, or, at least, should be served up apart, artd not so 
 mixed with the whole mass of information and reflection, as to 
 give a bitterness to every page : for who would choose to have 
 the antipathies of any man, however just, for his travelling com- 
 panions? A tourist, unless he aspires to the credit of prophecy, is 
 not answerable for the changes which may take place in the coun- 
 try which he describes ; but his reader may very fairly esteem 
 all his political portraits and deductions as so much waste paper, 
 the moment they cease to assist, and more particularly if they 
 obstruct, his actual survey. 
 
 Neither encomium nor accusation of any government, or go- 
 vernors, is meant to be here offered, but it is stated as an incon- 
 trovertible fact, that the change operated, either by the address 
 of the late imperial system, or by the disappointment of every 
 expectation by those who have succeeded to the Italian thrones, 
 has been so considerable, and is so apparent, as not only to put 
 Mr. Eustace's Antigallican philippics entirely out of date, but 
 eveii to throw some suspicion upon the competency and candour 
 of the author himself. A remarkable example may be found in 
 the instance of Bologna, over whose papal attachments, and con- 
 sequent desolation, the tourist pours forth such strains of con- 
 dolence and revenge, made louder by the borrowed trumpet of 
 Mr. Burke. Now Bologna is at this moment, and has been for 
 some years, notorious amongst the states of Italy for its attach- 
 ment to revolutionary principles, and was almost the only city 
 which made any demonstrations in favour of the unfortunate 
 Murat. This change may, however, have been made since Mr. 
 Eustace visited this country ; but the traveller whom he has 
 thrilled with horror at the projected stripping of the copper from* 
 
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 273 
 
 the cupola of St. Peter's, must be much relieved to find that sa- 
 crilege out of the power of the French, or any other plunderers, 
 the cupola being covered with lead. * 
 
 If the conspiring voice of otherwise rival critics had not given 
 considerable currency to the Classical Tour, it would have been 
 unnecessary to warn the reader, that however it may adorn his 
 library, it will be of little or no service to him in his carriage ; 
 and if the judgment of those critics had hitherto been suspended, 
 no attempt would have been made to anticipate their decision. 
 As it is, those who stand in the relation of posterity to Mr. 
 Eustace, may be permitted to appeal from coteraporary praises, 
 and are perhaps more likely to be just in proportion as the causes 
 of love and hatred are the farther removed. This appeal had, in 
 some measure, been made before the above remarks were written ; 
 for one of the most respectable of the Florentine publishers, who 
 had been persuaded by the repeated inquiries of those on their 
 journey southwards to reprint a cheap edition of the Classical 
 Tour, was, by the concurring advice of returning travellers, in- 
 duced to abandon his design, although he had already arranged 
 his types and paper, and had struck off one w two of the first 
 sheets. 
 
 The writer of these notes would wish to part (like Mr. Gibbon) 
 on good terms with the Pope and the Cardinals, but he does not 
 think it necessary to extend the same discreet silence to their 
 humble partisans. 
 
 1 *' What, then, will be the astonishment, or rather the horror, of my 
 
 reader when I inform him the French Committee 
 
 turned its attention to Saint Peter's, and employed a company of Jews 
 to estimate and purchase the gold, silver, and bronze that adorn the in- 
 side of the edifice, as well as the copper that covers the vaults and dome 
 on the outside." Chap. iv. p. 130. vol. ii. The story about the Jew* is 
 positively denied at Rome. 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
 / V*^ or THB ^r 
 
 ^IP 
 
After the frank avowal contained in the prefatory address, it 
 may appear somewhat a presumption to attempt the task which 
 is there formally declined as above the means of the author who 
 writes, and of the friend to whera he addresses, the letter. 
 
 In fact it had been the wish of Lord Byron, and of the compiler 
 of the foregoing notes, to say something of the literary and poli- 
 tical condition of Italy, and they had made preparation of some 
 materials, the deliberate rejection of which was the ori^ of the 
 above confession. 
 
 Time and opportunity have, however, very much increased 
 those materials in number, and, it is believed, in value, and the 
 consequence has been the appearance of a short memoir on Ita- 
 lian literature, at the end of the Historical Illustrations of the I Vth 
 Canto, and the commencement of a longer treatise, which will be 
 published separately in the com*se of the present year. 
 
 This latter work will attempt a survey of the revolutions of 
 Italy, from the French invasion in 1796 to the present day. It 
 is compiled from information on which the author believes he may 
 implicitiy rely, and it contains a series of facts and portraits 
 which, he presumes, are for the most part unknown to his coun- 
 trymen. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRlAKft 
 
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