Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

PILGRIMAGE.

BY LORD BYRON.

A NEW KDITION, WITH ALL '

KMTED BY THOMAS IIOOEE.

PHILADELPHIA:
HENKT CAREY BAIED,

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L'uiiivers est une espece de livre, dont o
mi^re p^ge quand on n'a yu que son pays,
aasez grand nombre, qne j'ai trouve egalement m
examen ite m'a paint els iafnictueux. Je haissais ma patrii
Toules les impertmences des peuples divers, parmi lesquela j'i
veeu, m'ont reconcilie avec elle. Quand je n'aiirais tire d'auti
biinefice de mes voyages que eelui-l&, je n'ea regtetterais ni It
frais ni ks fatigues,

Lb Cosmopolite.*

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[to the first and second cantos.]

The following poem was written, for the most part,
amidst the scenes which it attempts to describe. It
was begun in Albania ; and the parts relative to Spain
and Portugal were composed from the author's ob-
servations in those countries. Thus much it may be
necessary to state for the correctness of the descrip-
tions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in
Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece.
There, for the present, the poem stops: its reception
will determine whether the author may venture to
conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through
Ionia and Phrygia; these two cantos are merely
experimental.

A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of
giving some connection to the piece ; which, however,
makes no pretension to regularity. It has been sug-
gested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a
high value, that in this fictitious character, " Childe
Harold," I may incur the snspicion of having intended
some real personage ; this I beg leave, once for all, to
disclaim — Harold is the child of imagination, for the
purpose I have stated. In some very trivial particu-
lars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for

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4 PREFACE.

such a notion; but in the main points, I should hope,
none whatever.

It is almost superfluous to mention that the appel-
lation " Childe," as " Childii Waters," " Childe
Childers," &c., is used as more consonant with the
old structure of versiflcation which I have adopted.
The " Good Night," in the beginning of the first canto,
was suggested by "Lord Maxwell's Good Night,"
in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott.^

With the difi'erent poems which have been pub-
lished on Spanish subjects, there may be found some
slight coincidence in the first part, which treats of the
Peninsula, but it can only be casual; as, with the
exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of
this poem was written in the Levant.

The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most
successful poels, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie
makes the following observation; — "Not long ago, I
began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in
which I propose to give full scope to my inclination,
and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or senti-
mental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me ;
for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted
admits ecLUally of all these kinds of composition."^ —
Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by
the example of some in the highest order of Italian
poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar
variations in the following composition ; satisfied that
if they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the
execution, rather than in the design sanctioned by the
practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie.

London, February, 1813.

' [See Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works, vol. ii. p. 141, ed,
1834.]
' Beattie's Letters.

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ADDITION TO THE PREFACE.

I HAVE now waited till almost all our periodical
journals have distnbuted their usual portion of criti-
cism. To the justice of the generality of their criti-
cisms I have nothing to object : it would ill become me
to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure,
when, perhaps, if they had been less kind they had
been more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and
each my best thanks for their liberality, on one point
alone shall I venture an observation. Amongst the
many objections justly urged to the very indilTerent
character of the "vagrant Childe," (whom, notwith-
standing many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to
be a fictitious personage,) it has been stated, that,
besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as
the times of the knights were times of love, honour,
and so forth. Now, it so happens that the good old
times, when " I'amour du bon vieux tems, I'amour
antique" flourished, were the most profligate of all
possible centuries. Those who have any doubt on
this subject may consult Sainte-Palaye,j!?«s5iOT, and
more particularly vol. ii.p. 69.* The vows of chivalry
were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever ;

' ["Qu'on Use dans I'Auteur du roraan de Gerard de Eous-
siilon, en Provencal, les details tres-citeonstaneies danslesquels-
il entre sur la reception faite par leComte Gerard it I'ambassadeur
du roi Charles; on y verra des partieularites singulieres, qui
donnent une strange idee dea mieuTS et de la politesse de eea
si^elea ausai corrompus qu'ignorans." — Mimoitss sur I'Jncienne
Clievakrie, par M. de !a Cuine de Sainte-Palaye, Paris, 1781.]

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6 PREFACE-

and the songs of the troubadours were not more
decent, and certainly were much less refined, than
those of Ovid. The "Cours d'amour, parlemens
d'amour, on de courtesie et de gentilesse" had much
more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See
Roland on the same subject with Sainte-Palaye.
Whatever other objection may be urged to that most
unamiable personage, Childe Harold, he was so farper-
fectly knightly in his attributes — "No waiter, but a
knight templar.'" By-the-by, I fear that Sir Tris-
tram and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should
be, although very poetical personages and true knights
"sans peur," though not "sans reproche." If the
story of the institution of the "Garter" be not a fable,
the knights of that order have for several centuries
borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indiffer-
ent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not
have regretted that its days are over, though Marie-
Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in
whose honours lances were shivered, and knights
unhorsed.

Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of
Sir Joseph Banks, (the most chaste and celebrated of
ancient and modem times,) few exceptions will be
found to this statement; and I fear a little investiga-
tion will teach us not to regret these monstrous
mummeries of the middle ages.

I now leave " Childe Harold" to live his day, such
as he is ; it had been more agreeable, and certainly
more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It
had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him
do more and express less ; but he never was intended
as an example, further than to show, that early

' The Rovers, or the Douhle Arrangement, — [By Messrs.
Canning and Frere; first puhlished in the Anti-jacobin, or
Weekly Examiner.]

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PRKTACR. 7

perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of
past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and
that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of
travel (except ambition, the most powerful of ail
excitements) are lost on a soul so constituted, or
rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem,
this character would have deepened as he drew to tiie
close ; for the outline which I once meant to fill up
for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a
modern Timon,' perhaps a poetical Zelnco.^
London, 1813.

* [In one of his early poems — " Child sh Recoil c n ,"
Lord Byron compares himself to the Athei n m an hrope of
whose bitter aj>ophthegms many are upon ec d h ugl no
authentic particulars of his life have come d wn to —
" Weary of love, of life, devoured with spleen,
I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen," &c.]

" [It waa Dr Moore's object, in this powerful romance, (now
unjustly n^lected,) to trace the fatal effects resulting from a
fond mother's unconditional compliance with the humouTS end
passions of an only child. With high advantages of person,
birth, fortune, and ability, Zcluco is represented as miserable,
through every scone of life, owing lo the spirit of unbridled self-
indulgence thus pampered in infancv.l

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TO lANTHE.'

Not in those climes where I have latebeen straying,
Though beauty long hath there heen matchless

deem'd ;
Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd ;
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which varied as they

heam'd —
To such as see thee not my words were weak ;
To those who gaze on thee what language could they

speak ?

Ah ! mayst thou ever be what now thou art,
Nor iinbeseera the promise of thy spring,
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart,
Love's image upon earth without his wing.
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining !
And surely she who now so fondly rears
Thy youth, in thee thus hourly brightening.
Beholds the rainbow of her future years,
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears.

' [The Lady Charlotte Harley, second dajig-hter of Edward,
fifth Earl of Oxford, (now Lady Charlotte Bacon,) in the autumn
of 1 813, when these lines were addressed to her, had not completed
her eleventh year. Mr. Westall'a poitrait of the juvenile beauty,
painted at Lord Byron's Tequest, is engraved in " Finden's Illus-
ttalions of the Life and Works of Lord Byron."]

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10 TO lANTHE.

Young Peri' of the west! — 'tis well for me
My years already doubly number thine ;
My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee,
And safely view thy ripening beauties shine;
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in dechne ;
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bJeed,^
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign
To those whose admiration shali succeed,
But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours
decreed.

Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle's,^
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells.
Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh
Could I to thee be ever more than friend :
This much, dear maid, accord ; nor question why
To one so young my strain I would commend,
But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined;
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast
On Harold's page, lanthe's here enshrined
Shall thus he first beheld, forgotten last :
My days once numher'd, should this homage past
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre
Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast.
Such is the most my memory may desire ;
Though more than Hope can claim,, could Friend-
ship less req^uire ?

' IPeri, tha Persian terra for a beautiful intermediate order of
beings, is generally supposed to be another form of our own
word iliiry.]

' [A species of the antelope. "You have the eyes of a ga-
zelle," is considered all over the East as the greatest eompliment
tliat Ma be paid to a woman.]

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OHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

CANTO THE FIRST.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

Oh, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birlh,
Muse ! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will !
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth.
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill :
Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill ;
Yes ! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine,*
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still ;
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine
To grace so plain a tale — this lowly lay of miiie.^

* Thelittlevillagcof Castrislandsparfly onthe she of Delphi.
Along the patli of the mcmiitaiii, fiom Chxysso, are the remains
of sepulchres hewnin and from ttie rock. " One," said the guide,
" of a king who hroke his neck hunting." His majesty had cer-
t^nly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little
aboTC Castiiiaaeave, snpposed the Pythian, of immense depth ;
the upper part of it is paved, and now a eow-honse. On the other
side of Castri stands a Greek monastery ; some way above which
is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent,
and apparently leading to the interior of the mountain! probahly
to the Coryiiian Cavern mentioned by Pansaniaa. From this part
descend the fountain and the " Dews of Caslalie." — [" We were
sprinkled," aayaMr, Hobhouse, "withthespray of the immortal
rill, and here, if anywhere, should have felt the poetic inspiration :
we draidt deep, too, of the spring ; but — (I can answer for myself)
I — without feeling sensible of any extraordinary effect." — B.]

» [This slanEa is not in the original MS.]

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14 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cakt.) I.

II.
Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth,
Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight;
But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
Ah me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ;
Few earthly things found favour in his sight'
Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

Childe Harold^ was he hight : — but whence his

name
And lineage long, it suits me not to say ;
Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame.
And had been glorious in another day :
But one sad losel soils a name for aye.
However mighty in the olden time ;
Nor all that heralds rake from cotfin'd clay,
Nor florid prose, nor- honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

IV-

Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun,
Disporting there like any other fly ;
Nor deem'd before his little day was done
One blast might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by,
Worse than adversity the Childe befell;
He felt the fulness of satiety :
Then loathed he in his native land to dwell.
Which seem'd to him more lone than eremite's sad
cell.

i (_" He cheer'd the bad and did the good affright;

With concubiaes," &e.— MS.]
a ["Childe Buron."— MS.]

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. 15

For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run,
Nor made atonement when he did amiss,
Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but ona,*
And that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his.
Ah, happy she ! to 'scape from him whose kiss
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste ;
Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss.
And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his ivaste.
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deign'd to taste,

VI.

And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart,
And from his fellow bacchanals would flee;
'Tis said, at limes the sullen tear would start,
But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee :
Apart he stalk'd in joyless revery,^
And from Iiis native land resolved to go.
And visit scorching climes beyond the sea ;
With pleasure drugg'd, he almost fong'd for woe,
And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades
below,^

* rSee StanKas written to a Lady, on leaving England:
WorltB, vol. vii. p. 303 ;~

[" And I must from this land be g-one,
Beea.uEe I cannot love but one."]
" r" And strdght he fell into a rcvery." — MS.]
' In these stanzas, and indeed throughout his works, we must
not accept too literally Lord Byron's testimony against himself —
he took a morbid pleaanre in darkening every shadow of hlsself-
portraitute. His interior at Newstead had, no doubt, been, in
some points, loose and irregular enougti; but it certainly never
exiiibited any thing of the profuse and Sata.nic luxury which the
language in the text might seem to indicate. In fact, the narrow-
ness of his means at the time the verses refer to would alone have
precluded this. His household economy, while he remained at
the Abbey, is Itnown to have been conducted on a very moderate
scale ; and, besides, his usual companions, though far from being
averse to convivial indulgences, were not only, as Mr. Moore

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IS HI LDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

VII.

The Childe departed from his father's hall :
It was a vast and venerable pile ;
So old, it seemed only not to fall.
Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle.
Monastic dome ! condemn'd to uses vile !
Where Superstition once had made her den,
Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smilo ;
And monks might deem their time was come agen,
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.

Yet ofl-times in his maddest mirthful mood
Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's

brow,
As if the memory of some deadly {end
Or disappointed passion lurk'd below :
But this hone knew, nor haply cared to know ;
For his was not that open, artless'soul
That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow,
Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole,
Whate'er the grief mote be, which he could not control.

And none did love him — though to hall and bower
He gather'd revellers frorn far and near.
He knew them flatterers of the festal hour ;
The heartless parasites of present cheer.
Yea ! none did love him — nor his lemans dear —
But pomp and power alone are woman's care,
And where these are light Eros finds a feere ;
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might

Bays, "of iialiits and tastes too intellectual foT mare vulgar
deliauchery," but, assureiHy, quite incapable of playing the parts
of flatterers and parasites.]

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CiNTo I. PILGRIMAGE. t7

Childe Harold had a mother — not forgot,
Though parting from that mother he did shun;
A sister whom he loved, but saw her not
Before his weary pilgrimage begun ;
If friends he had, he bade adieu to none.
\ et deem not thence his breast a breast of steel :*
Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon
A few dear objects, will in sadness feel
Such partings brealt the heart they fondly hope to heal.

XI.

His house, his home, his heritage, his lands.
The laughing dames in whom he did delight,^
Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite,
And long had fed his youthful appetite:
His goblets brjmm'd with every costly wine,
And all that mote to luxury invite.
Without a sigh he lefi, to cross the brine, [line.'
And traverse Paynim shores, and pass earth's central

The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew,
As glad to waft him from his native home ;
And fast the white rocks faded from his view.
And soon were lost in circumambient foam:
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam
Repented he, but in his bosom slept
The silent thought, nor from his lips did come
One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept.
And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.

' ["Yet clGcm him not from this with breast of steel." — MS.]
• [" His house, his home, his Tassals and his lands,

The Dalikhs," &«.— MS.]
' [Lord Byion originally intended to visit India.]

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IS CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

XIII.

But when the sun was sinking in the sea.
He seized his harp, which he at times could siring
And strike, albeit with untaught melody,
When deem'd he no strange ear was listening:
And now his fingers o'er it he did fling,
And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight.
While flew the vessel on her snowy wing,
And fleeting shores receded from his sight,
Thus to the elements hepour'd his last " Good-night."*
1.
"Adieu, adieu! my native shore

Fades o'er the waters blue ;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,

And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea

We follow in his flight ;
Farewell a while to him and thee,
My native Land — Good-night !
2.
"A few short hours and he will rise

To give the morrow birth ;
And I shall hail the main and skies.

But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hali,

Its hearth is desolate ;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ;
My dog howls at the gate,

3.
" Come hither, hither, my little page !^
Why dost thou weep and wail ?

1 [See Lord Maxwell's " Good Night," in Scott's Minatrelay

of the Scottish Bordei : Poetical Works, vol. ii. p. 141, ed. 1834 —

" Adieu, madame, my mother dear," &c.]

» [Tliis " little page" was Robert Riishton, the son of one of

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. li)

Or dost tliou dread the billow's rage,

Or tremble at tlie gale ?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye ;

Our ship is swift and strong :
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly

More merrily along. "^
4.
'Let winds be shrill, let waves roil high,

I fear not wave nor wind .-^
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I

Am sorrowful in mind f
For I have from my father gone,

A mother whom I love.
And have no friend, save thee alone,

But thee — and One above.
5.
' My father bless'd me fervently,

Yet did not much complain ;

Lord Byion's tenants. "Robert I take with me," says the poet,
in a letter to his mother; " I like him, because, lilte myself, he
seems a friendless animal: tell hia father he ia well and doing well."

>■ £« Our best g-oshawk can hardly fly
So merrily along." — MS.]

' [" Oh master dear t I do not cry

From fear of wave or wind." — MS.]

3 Seeing that the boy was " sorrowful" at the separation from
his parents, Lord Byron, on reaching Gibiallar, sent him back to
England under the care of his oH servant Joe Murray. " Piay,"
he says to his mother, " show the lad every kindness, as he ia my
great favourite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy,
which leaves a most favourable impression of his thoughtfulness
and kindliness. " I have," be says, " sent Robert home, because
the country which I am about to travel through is in a state
which renders it unsafe, pariicularly for one so yonng. I allow
you to deduct from yoor rent live-and-twenty pounds a year for
his education, for three years, provided I do not return before
that time, and I desire he may ho considered as in my service.
He has behaved extremely well."]

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CIIILDE HAROLD'S

But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.' —

"Enough, enough, my little lad !
Such tears become thine eye ;

If I thy guileless bosom had,
Mine own would not be dry,'

" Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,'

Why dost thou look so pale ?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?

Or shiver at the gale ?" —
' Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ?

Sir Childe, I'm not so weak ;
But thinking on an absent wife

Will blanch a faithful cheek.

' [Here follows in the original MS : —

' My motiier is a high-boro dame.
And much misliketh me ;
She saLth my riot bringeth shame

On all m.y ancestry r
I had asister once, I ween,

Whose tears perhaps will flow :
But her fair face I have not seen
For three long years and nnoe.']
' [William Fletcher, the faithful valet; who, after a service
of twenty years, ("during which," he says, " his Lcrd was more
to him thanafaAer,")reoeived the PiJgmn's last words atMissii-
longhi, and did not quit his remains, until he had seen them
deposited in the family vault at HucknaJi. This nnsophislicated
"yeoman" was a constant source of pleasantry to his master: —
e.g. "Fletcher,"hesaysinalettertohiamotlier, "isnotvajiant;
he requires comforts that I can dispense with, and sighs for beer,
and beef, and tea, and his wife, and the deril knows what besides.
We were one night lost in a ftunder-storm, and since, nearly
wrecked. In both cases he was sorely bewildered; from appre-
hensions of famine and handitti in the iirst, and drowning in the
secono instance. His eyes were a little hurt hy the lightning, or

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. 21

7.
' My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,

Along the bordering lake,
And when they on their father call,
What answer shall she make?' —
" Enough, enough, my yeoman good,

Thy grief let none gainsay ;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.^
8.
« For who would trust the seeming sighs

Of wife or paramour?
Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes

We late saw streaming o'er.^
For pleasures past I do not grieve,

Nor perils gathering near ;
My greatest grief is that I leave
No thing that claims a tear.^
crying I don't know which. I did what I could to console him,
but found him incorrigible. Hesenda six sighs to Sally. lahall
settle him in a ferm ; for he has served me faithfully, and Sally
is a good woman'." After all his adventures by flood and field,
short commona included, this humble Achates of Iha poothaa
now established himself as the keeper of an Italian warehouse,
in Charles Street, Berkeley Square, where, if he does not thrive,
every one who knows any thing of his character will say he
deserves to do so.]
» ["Enough, enough, my yeoman good.

All this is well to-say ;
But if I in thy sandals stood,
I'd laugh to get away." — MS.]
* [" For whowonld fiust a paramour,

Or e'en a wedded freeie,
Though her hlue eyes were streaming o'er,
And torn her yellow hair V — MS.]
' [" I leave England without regret — I shall return to it with-
out pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to
transportation; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but
wltat was as sour aa a crab." — Lord B. to Mr. Hodgson.^

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33 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

9.
"And now I'miii the world alone,

Upon the wide, wide sea :
But why should I for others groan.

When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog' will whine in vain,

Till fed by stranger hands ;
But long ere I come back again
He'd tear me where he stands.^
10.
"With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go

Athwart the foaming brine ;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to.

So not again to mine,
Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves !

And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves !
My native land — Good-night !"^
' [From the following passage in a letter to Mr. Dallas, it
would appear that that gentleman had recommended the sup-
pression or altoration of this stanza; — "Ido not mean to exchange
the ninth verse of the ' Good Nig'ht,' I have no reason to sup-
pose my dog bettor than hia brother brutes, mankind ; and Argus
we know to be a fable."]

» [Here follows in the original MS. —

" Methinks it would my bosom glad
To change my proud estate.
And be again a laughing lad

With one beloved playmate.
Since youth I scatce have passed an hour

Without disgust or pain.
Except sometimes in lady's bower,
Or when the bowl I drain."]
' [Originally, the "little page" and the "yeoman" were intro-
dueed in the following stanzas: —

"And of hia train there was a henehman page,
A peasant boy, who served his master well;
And often would his pranksome prate engage
Childe Harold's ear, when his proud heart did swell

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. 23

XIV.

On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone,
And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay.
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon,
New shores descried make every bosom gay ;
And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way,
And Tagus dashing onward to the deep,
His fabled golden tribute bent to pay ;
And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, [reap.
And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics

Oh, Christ ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land !
What froils of fragrance blush on every tree !
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand !
But man would mar them with an impious hand :
And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge
'Gainst those who most transgresshis high command,
With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge
Gaul'slocust host,andearthfrom fellest foeman purge.'

with sable llioughts that he disdain'd to tell ;
Then would he smile on him, and Alwin smiled,
"When aught that from his young lips archly fell
The gloomy film from Harold's eye beguiled;
And pleased for a glimpse appear'd the -woeful Childe.
" Him and one yeoman only did he take
To travel eastward to a far countrie; ■
And, though the boy was grieved to leave the lake
On whose fait banks he grew from infancy,
Eftsoons his little heart beat merrily
Wilh hope of foreign nations to behold.
And many things right marvellous to see.
Of which our vaunting voyagers oft have told.
In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old,"]
' ["These Lusian brutes, and earth from worst of wretches
purge." — MS.]

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a4 CHILDE HAROLD'S Caw to I.

What beauties doth Lishoa' first unfold !
Her image floating on that noble tide,
Which poets vaiuly pave with sands of gold,''
But now whereon ^ thousand keels did ride
Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,
And to the Luaians did her aid afford :
A nation swoln with ignorance and pride.
Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword
To save ihem from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord.^

XVII.

Bat whoso entereth withhi this town,
That, sheening far, celestial seems to be.
Disconsolate will wander up and down,
Mid many things unsightly to strange ee ;^
For hut and palace show like filthily ;
The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt ;
No personage of high or mean degree
Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,
Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, un-
wash'd ; unhurt.

* [" A friend advises UHsaiponl ,- but lAaboa ia the Portuguese
word, consequently the best. Ulissipont ispedantio; and as I
had iv^ged in Ilellaa and Eros not long before, there would have
been soniething like an affectation of Greek terms, which I
wished to avoid. On the submission otLusiiania to the Moors,
they changed the name of the capital, which till then had been
Ulisipo, or Lispo ; because, in the Arabic alphabet, the letter p
ia not used. Hence, I believe, Lisboa ; whence, again, the
French Lishonne, and our Lisbon, — God knows which the earlier
corruption!" — Byron, MS.]

^ ["Which poets, prone to lie, havepayed with gold." — MS.]

* [By comparing this and lie thirlaen following stanzas
with the account of his progress which Lord Byron sent home
to his mother, the reader will see that they are the exact echoes
o' the thoughts which occurred to his mind as he went over the
spots described. — Moore.]

* ["Mid many things that grieve both nose and ee."~MS.]

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. S5

XVIII.

Poor, paltry slaves ! yet born 'midst noblest scenes —
Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men?
Lo! Cintra's" glorious Eden intervenes
In variegated maze of mount and glen.
Ah, me ! what hand can pencil guide, or pen,
To follow half on which the eye dilates
Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken
Than those whereof such things the bard relates.
Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's
gates ?

XIX.

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd.
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep.
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd.
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep,
The tender azure of the unrntfled deep,
The orange lints that gild the greenest bough,
The torrents that from cliff to valley leap.
The vine on high, the willow branch below,
Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.

Then slowly climb the many-winding way.
And frequent turn to linger as you go,

* ["To make iuaenda for the filthineas of Lisbon, and its still
filthier inlialjitaQts, the village of Cintra, about fifteen miles from
tbe capital, is, perliaps, in every reapQCt, the most delighlfol in
Europe. It contains beauties of every description, nafiiral and
oilificial : palaces and gardens rising in the midst of rocks, cal^
racts, and precipices ; convents on stupendous heights ; a distant
view of the sea and the Tagaa; and, besides, (though that is a
secondary consideration,) is remarkable as th<i scene of Sir Hew
Dalrymple's convention. It nnitea in itself all Ihc wildness of
the western HigUands with the verdure of tlie soutli of France."
—LordB. to Mrs. Byron, 1909.]

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36 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto

From loftier rocks new loveliness survey
And rest ye at " Our Lady's house of woe ;'"
Where frugal monks Iheir little relics show.
And sundry legends to the stranger lell:
Here impious men have punish'd been, and, lo !
Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell,
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Heli.

And here and there, as up the crags you spring,
Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path :
Yet deem not these devotion's ofl'ering —
These are memorials frail of murderous wrath ;
For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath
Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife,
Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath ;
And grove and glen with thousand such are rife
Throughout this purple land, where law secures not
life.^

' Tlie ooiiTent of " Our Lady of Punisliment," Missa Siiiora
de Fena, on the summit of the rock. Below, at eomo distance, is
tlie Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug iiis den, over wiiicli
is his epitaph. From thehilla, the sea adds to the beauty of the
view. — Note to ls( Edition.. — Since the publication of this poem,
I have been informed of the misapprehension of the term JVossa
Seiiora de Femi. It wM owing to the want of the Hide or mark
over the n, which alters the signification of the word : with it,
Pciia, signifies a rock ; without it, Pena has the sense I adopted.
/ do not think it necessary to alter the passage } as, though the
common aceeptalioQ affixed to it is " Our Lady of the Rock I
may well assume the other sense from the severities pract aed
tliere. — A'ofe to Qd Edition.

3 It is a well known fact, that in the year ISOil, the as-^ass na
tions in the atreets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined
by the Portognese to theii countrymen ; but that Eng! ahmen
were daily butchered ; and so far from redress being oblo ned,
we were requested not to inlerfereif we perceived any compatriot
defending liimself against his allies. 1 was once stopped in the

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PILGRIMAGE.

Oil sloping mounds, or in llie vale beneath,
Are domes where whilome kings did make repair:
But now ihe wild flowers round them only breathe;
Yet niin'd splendour still is lingering there.
And yonder towers the prince's palace fair :
There thou too, Vathek !* England's wealthiest son,
Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware

way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the
atreeta were not moie empty than tliey generally are at that hour,
opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend : had we
not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt tiiat we
should have "adorned a tale" instead of telling one. The crime
of assassination is not confined to Portugal ; in Sicily and Malta
we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and
not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished !

' Q" Vathek" {says Lord Byron, in one of hia diaries) " waa
one of the tales I had a very early admiration of. For correctness
of costame, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it ftr
snrpaases all European imitations; and bears such marks of
originality, that those who have visited the East will find some
difficulty in believing it to be more than a translation. As an
eastern tale, even Rasselas must bovif before it ; his ' happy val-
ley' will not bear a comparison with the ' Hall of Eblis.' " —
William Beckford, Esq., son of the once-celebrated alderman,
and heir to his enormous wealth, published, at tlie early age of
eighteen, » Memoire of extraordinary Paintsrs ;" and in the year
after, the romance thus eulogized. After sitting for Hindon in
several parliaments, this gifted peKon was induced to fix, for a
time, his residence in Portugal, where the memory of his mag-
nifieencB vras fresh at the period of Lord Byron's pilgrimage.
Keturningto England, lie realiaed all the outward shows of Gothic
grandeur in his unsubstantial pageant of Fonthill Abbey ; and
has more recently been indulging his fancy with another, probably
not more lasting, monument of architectural caprice, in the vici-
nity of Bath. It is much to be regretted, that, after a lapse of
fifty years, Mr. Becfcford's literary reputation should continue to
rest on his juvenile performances. It is said, however, tliat ho
has prepared several works for posthumous publication 3

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28 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

When wantonWealthhermightiest deeds hath done.
Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun.'

XXIII.

Here didst thou dwe]l,here schemes of pleasure plan,
Beneath yon moiuitain's ever beauteous brow:
But now, as if a thing unbless'd by man,
Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou t
Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow
To halls deserted, portals gaping wide :
Fresh lessons fo the thinking bosom, how
Vain are the pleasaunces on earfh supplied ;
Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungenlie tide !

XXIV-

Eehold the hall where chiefs were late convened!^
Oh ! dome displeasing unto British eye !
With diadem hight foolscap, lo ! a fiend,
A little fiend that scoffs incessantly,
There sits in parchment robe array'd and by
His side is hung a seal and sable scroll,
Where blazon'd glare names Itnown to chivalry,
And sundry signatures adorn Ihe roll.
Whereat the urchin points and laughs with all his soul.^

* [" When Wealth and Taste their worst and beat have done,
Meek Peace pollution's lure voluptuous still mast shun."
—MS.]

" The Convenlion of Ointra was signed in the palace of the
Maichese Marialva.— ["The armistice, the negotiations, the con-
vention itself, and the esecution of its provisions, were all com-
menced, conducted, and concluded, at the distance of thirty miles
from Cintra, with which place they had not the slightest con-
nection, polidcal, military, or local; yet Lord Byron has gravely
asserted, in piose and verse, that the convention was signed at
the Marijms of Marialva's house at Cintra; and the author of
' The Diary of an Invalid,' improving' upon iJie poet's discovery,
detected the stains of the ink spilt by Junot upon the occasion."
— JVnpier's nialory (if ike Penins-jtar War.J

' The passage stuod iliiferently in tJie original MS. Some

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flANTo I. PILGRIMAGE. S3

XXV.
Convenlion is the dwarfish demon styled
That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome :
Of brains (if brains they had) he them begniled,
And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom.
Here Folly daah'd to earlh the victor's plume,
And policy regained what arms had lost :
For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom !

verses which the poet ornitted at ihe entreaty of his friends can
tiavi offend no one, and may perhaps amuse many : —
In golden characters right well design'd,
First on the list appeareth one " Junot ;"
Then certain other glorious namea we find,
Which rhyme compelleth me to place below !
Dull victors t bafiled by a vanquish'd foe.
Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due.
Stand, worthy of each other, in a row —
Sir Arthur, Harry, and tiie diszard Hew
Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dnpe of t'other tew.
Convention is the dwarfish demon styled
That foil'd the knighte in Marialva's dome ;
Of brains (if brains they had) he fliem beguiled
And tum'd a nation's shallow joy to srlooro.
For well I wot, when first the news did come,
That Vimiera's field by Grsinl was lost,
For paragraph ne paper scarce had room,
Snch pseans teem'd for our triumphant host,
In Courier, Chronicle, and eke in Morning Post:
But when convention sent his handy-work.
Pens, tongues, feet, hands, combined in wild uproar;
Mayor, alderman, laid down the uplifted fork ;
The Bench of Bishops half forgot to snore;
Stern Cohbetl, who for one whole week forbore
To (luestion aught, once more with transport leapt,
And bit his devilish quill ageo, and swore
With foe such treaty never should be kept, [slept!

Then burst the blatant* beast, and roar'd, and raged, and —

* "Blalantlieast"— allgurororthemob,IIhlnItflrBlus6dby Sinolleltinhiii

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30 CIIILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

Woe to the conf|ueriiig, not the conqner'd host,
Since baliled Triimiph droops on Liisitania'a coast !

And ever since that martial synod met,
Britannia sickens, Cintra ! at thy name ;
And folks in office at (he meiiiion fret,
And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame.
How will posterity the deed proclaim !
Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer
To view these champions cheated of their fame.
By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, [year?
Where Scorn her finger points througli many a coming

xxvii.
So deem'd the Childe as o'er the mountains he
Did take his way in solitary guise :
Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee,
More restless than the swallow in the skies :
Though here a while he learn'd to moralize,
For Meditation fix'd at times on him ;
And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise
His early youth, misspent in maddest whim ;
But as he gazed o» truth his aching eyes grew dim.

Thus unto Heaven appeal'il the people: Heaven,
Whioh lovea the lieges of our gracious king.
Decreed that, ere our generals were forgiven,
Inquiry shoald be held about the thing.
Bat Mercy cloak'd the babes beneath her wing ;
And as liiey spared our foes, so spared we tliem ;
(Where waqthe pity of our sires for Byngi*)
Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn ;
Then live, ye gallant knights ! and bless youj j iidges' phlegm !

* By this query it is nnt meant that our foolieh generals shoHld Have been

[BoECrnke['8"Bosw9ll," YoL.i. p. Sflaittnil 1I19 QuartcrLy Review, sol. iiTiL.
p. SOT, whcte the question, ivlietber the ailiniial irgs or was not d political

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. 31

xxviir.
To tiorse .' to horse !' he cjuiis, forever quils
A scene of peace, though soothing to his soal ;
Again he rouses from his moping fits,
But seeks not now the harbt and the bowl.
Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal
Where he shal! rest him on his pilgrimage ;
And o'er him many changing scenes must roll
Ere toil his thirst for travel ean assnage,
Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage.

XXIX. ■
Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay.
Where dwelt of yore the Ltisians' luckless queen ;^
And church and court did mingle their array,
And mass and revel were alternate seen ;
Lordlings and freres — ill-sorted fry, i ween !
But here the Babylonian whore hath biiill^
A dome, where flannts she in such glorious sheen,
That men forgot the blood which she hath spilt,
And bow the knee to pomp, that loves to varnish guilt.

' [" After remaining ten days in Lisbon, wb sent our baggage
and part of our servants by sea to Gibraltar, and travelled on
horseback to Seville; a distance of nearly four hundred miles.
The horses are esoeilent: we rode seventy miles a-day. E"^
and wine, and hard beds, are all Uie aeeommodation we found,
and, in stieh torrid weather, quite enough." — 3. Leliers, 1809.1

" " Her luckless majesty went subsequently mad ; and Dr
Willis, who ao desterously cudgelled kingly pericraniums, could
malts nothing of liers." — Byron MS. £The queen laboured
under a melancholy kind of derangement, from which she never
recovered. She died at the BroEils, in 1816.]

° The extent of Mafra is prodi^ous: it contains a palace,
convent, and most superb church. The eis organs are the most
beautiful I ever beheld, in point of decoration; we did not hear
them, but were told that their tones were correspondent to theii
Bplendour. Maira is termed the Escurial of Portugal. [" About
ten miles to the right of Cintra," says Lord Byron, in a letter to

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33 CHILDE SIAROLD'S Cak-to 1.

XXX
O'er vales that teem with fruits, vomaHtic hills,
{Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race !)
Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills,
Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant

pkce.
Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase.
And marvel men should quit their easy chair,
The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace,
Oh ! there is sweetness in the mountain air,
And life, that bloaled Ease can never hope (o share.

More bleak to view the hills at leiigih recede,
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend ;
Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed !
Far as the eye discerns, withouten end,
Spain's realms appear, whereon her shepherds tend
Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader

knows —
Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend :
For Spain is compassed by unyielding foes,
And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's

woes.

hia mother, » is the palace of Mafra, the boast of Portugal, as il
might be of any country, in point of magnificence, without ele-
gance. There is a convent annexed ; the monks, who poBses^
large revenues, are coarteoua enough, and understand Latin; so
that we liad a long conversation. They have a large library, and
iisked me if tlie Bnglisk had ony books in liieir country." — Mafra
was erected by John V., in puraaance of a vow, made in a danger-
ous fit of illness, to found a convent for the use of the poorest
friary in the kingdom. Upon inquiry, this poorest was found at
Mafra; where twelve Franciscans lived togetlier in a hut.
There is a magnificent view of the existing edifice in Finden's
" Illustrations."]

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PILGRIMAGE.

Where Lusitania and her sLster meet,
Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide?
Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet,
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide?
Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride?
Or fetico of art, like China's vasty wall ? — ^
Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide,
Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall,
Rise like the rocks that part Hispanla's land from
Gaul:

But these between a silver streamlet glides.
And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook.
Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides.
Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook,
And vacant on the rippling waves doth look.
That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow ;
For prond each peasant as the noblest duke:
Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know
'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low.'

But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd,
Dark Gnadiana rolls his power aloag^

' [Or arl'a vain fence, like China's vasty wall 1— MS,]
' As I found Has Portuguese, so I have characterized them.
That they are since improved, at least in conrage, is evident.
The late exploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of
Ciolra. He has, indeed, done wonders: he has, perhaps,
changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions
aod baffled an eneniy who never retreated before his predeces
Eors.— 1813.
3 ^" But ere the bounds of Spain have far been pass'd.
Forever famed in many a noted song." — MS.]

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34 CIULDE HAROL-D'S Canto I.

Ill sullen billows, mnrmuring and vast.
So noted ancient roundelaj's among.'
Whilome upon his banks did legions throng
Of Moor and knighc, in mailed splendour drest :
Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the

strong ;
The Payiiiui turban and the Christian crest
Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floafiitg hosts

oppress'd.

Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd romantic land !
Where is that standard which Pelagio bore,
When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band
Thatdyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore?^
Where ave those bloody banners which of yore
Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to ihe gale,
And drove at last the spoilers to their shore ?
Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale,
While Afric's echoes thriU'd with Moorish matrons'
wai!.
' [Lord Byron aeema to have thus eatly ooqnifed enough of
Spanish to anderstand and appreciate the grand body of ancient
popufar po«try, — uneqaalled in Europe, — wHeh must ever fonn
the pride of that mf^nificent language. See his beautiful version
of one of She best of the ballads of the Grenada war — thu "Ro-
mance mviy doloroao del sitio y toma de Albania." Vol. ii. p.

" Count Juliali's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelag^us pre-
served his independence in thefastnessesof theAsturias, and the
descendants of his followers, after some centuries, completed
their struggle by the conquest of Grenada. — ["Almost all the
Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition, ascribe the
invasion of the Moors to the forcible TiolatLon by Eoderiok of
Florinda, called by theMoors Caha, or Cava. She was the daugh-
tsr of Count Julian, one of the Gjthic monarch's principal lieu-
tenants, who, when the crirrie was perpetrated, was engaged in the
defence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the in-
gratitude of his sovereign, and the dishonour of his danghter.

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P I L G 11 1 M A G E.

Teems r:ot each dilty with the glorious taie ?
Ah ! such, alas ! the hero's amplest fate !
When granite moulders and when records fail,
A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date.
Pride ! bend thine eye from heaven to thine esta
See how the mighty shrink into a song !
Caa volume, pillar, pile, preserve thee great ?
Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue,
When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History dc
thee wrong?

Awake, ye sons of Spain! awake! advance!
Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ;
But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance.
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies :
Nor in the smoke of blazing bolts she flies,
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar :
In every peal she calls — " Awake ! arise I"
Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore,
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore .

Hark ! heard yon not those hoofs of dreadful note ?
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ?

ount Jalian forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot, and,
forming an allianoe with Musa, then the Caliph's lieutenant in
Africa, he countenanced the inTasion of Spain hy a body of Sara-
cens and Africans, commanded hy the celebrated Tarilt; the issue
of which wa3thedefeat and deatli of Bodericlt, and the occupation
of almost the whole peninsula hy the Moors. The Spaniards, in
detestation of Florinda's memory, are said, hy Cervantes, never
to bestow that name upon any human female, reserviBg it for their
dogs." — Sir Waiter Scott, Poetical Works, vol. is. p. 375.]

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3G CHILDE HAROLD'S Cn.NTo 1.

Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smoie ;
Nor saved your brethren ere ihey sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves?— -the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high; — from rock to rock
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ;
Death rides upon the sulphury siroc/
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock

Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands,
His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun.
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ;
Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon
Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ;
For on this morn three potent nations meet,
To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most
sweet'

By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there)
Thftir rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery,
Their various arms that glitter in the air !

I Q " from rock to rook

Blue columna soar aloft in sulphurous wreath,
Fragments on fragments in confusion knock." — MS.]
' ["A. bolder prosopopceia," sajs a nameless criUc, "or one
better 'ms^lned or expressed, cannot easily be found in the whole
ra ire of ancient and modem poetry. Unlike the 'plume of
Ho or the ' eagle-winged Victory,' described by our great
ej e [ oet this gigantic figure isadistinctobject, perfectin linea-
ments tremendous in operation, and vested with all the attributes
I d to eioite terror and admiration."]

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Cakto I. P 1 L G li I M A G E. 37

What gallant war-hounds rouse them from Iheir lair.
And gnash Iheir fangs, loud yelling for the prey !
All join the chase, bat few Ihe triumph share;
The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.

XL I.

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ;
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ;
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies ;
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory !
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,
Are met — as if at home they could not die-
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain.
And fertilize Ihe field that each pretends to' gain"

' [We think it right to restore here a note which Lord Byion
himself suppressed with reluctance, at the urgent request of a
tViend. It alludes, inter alia, to the llien recent publication of
Sir Walter Scott'fi "Vision of Don Roderick," of which work Ihe
profits had been handsomely ^7eft to the cause of Portuguese
patriotism ; — " We have heard wonders of the Portuguese lal»ly,
«id their gallantry. Pray Heaven it continue; jet 'would it
were bedtime, Hal, and alt were well !' Tliey must flght a great
many hours, hy ' Shrewsbury clock,' before the number of their
slain equals tjiat of our own countrymen butchered by these kind
creatures, now metamorphosed into > oa^adores,' and what not. I
merely state a iact, not confined to Portugal; for in Sicily and
Malta we areknocked on the head at a handsome average nightly,
and not a Sicilian and Maltese is ever punished ! The neglect of
protection is disgraceful to out government and governors ; for
the murders are as notorious as the moon that shines upon them,
and the apathy that overloolia them. The Portuguese, it is to he
hoped, are complimented with the ' Forlorn Hope,' — if the cowards
arebecomebrave, (like the restof their kind, in a corner,) pray lot
them display it. But there is a subscription for these 'apan-liiXst,^
(they need not be ashamed of the epithet once applied to the
Spartans;) and all the charitable patconymies, from ostentatious
A. to diilident Z., and 1/. Is. Od. from ' An Admirer of Valour,' are
in requisition for the lists at Lloyd's, and the honour of British

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38 CIIILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

XLII.

Thero shall they rot^Atnbilioii's honoiir'd fools !^
Yes, Ilononr decks the turf that wraps their clay !
Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools,
The broken tools that tyrants cast away

bevsevolenoe. Well! we have fought, and sahsciibed, and bestowed
peerages, and buried the killed by our friends and foes; and, lo!
all this is to be done over again! Like Lien Chi, (in Goldsmith's
Citizejiof the World,) as we 'grow older, we grow never the
better.' It would be pleasant to learn who will subscribe for us,
in or about the year 1815, and what nation will send lifty lliousand
men, first to be decimated in thecapital, and then declmaWd again
(intiio Irish fashion, nine out of ten) in the 'bed of honour;'
which, as Sergeant Kite says, is conside bly laig nd more
commodious than ' the bed of Ware.' Th n tl y m t h ve a
poettowiitethe 'Vision of Don PerceYal,' dff lyb tow

the profits of the well and widely printed q rto to b ild the
' Backwynd' and the ' Canongate,' or fui h w l Its f the
half-roasted Highlanders. Lord Wellington 1 h cted

marvels; and so did his oriental brother wh 1 w h riot-
eering over the French flag, and heard clipping had Spanish,
after listening to thespeech of a patriotic cobhler of Cadiz, on the
event of his own entry into Uiat city, and the exit of som^ five
thousand bold Britons out of this 'best of all possible worlds.'
Sorely were we puzzled how to dispose of that same victory of
Talavera; and a victory it surely was somewhere, for everybody
claimed it. The Spanish despatch and mob called it Cnesta's,
and made no great mention of the viscount; the French called it
theirs, (to my great discomfiture, — for a French consul stopped
my mouth in Greece with a pestilent Paris gazptte, just as I had
liiUed Sebastian! 'in buckram,' and King Joseph 'in Kendal
green,') — and we have not yet determined wAat to call it, or
whaei for, certes, it was none of our own. Howbeit, Massena's
retreat is a great comfort; and as we have not been in the habit
of pursuing for some years past, no wonder we are a little awkward
at first. No doubt we shall improve ; or, if not, we have only lo
talce to our old way of retrograding, and there we ate at
home."]

» [There let them rot— while rhymers tell the fools

How honour decks the twrf that wraps their clay !

Liars, avaunt !"— MS.]

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. S9

By myriads, when tiiey dare to pave their way
With human hearts— to what? — a dream alone.
Can despots compass aught thai hails their sway ?
Or call with truth one span of earth their own,
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by
bone.

Oh, Albuera, glorious field of grief !

As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed.

Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief,

A scene where mingling foes should hoaat and

bleed.
Peace to the perish'd ! may the warrior's meed
And tears of triumph their reward prolong!
Till others fall where other chieftains lead,
Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,
And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient

Enough of Battle's minions! let them play
Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame :
Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay,
Though thousands fall to deck some single name.
In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim.
Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's

good.
And die, that living might have proved her shame ;
Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud.
Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued.

1 [This stanza ia not in the original MS. It was written at
Newalead, in August, 1811, shortly after the liattle of Albuera,
wliieli took place on the IGth of May.]

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CIllLDl'; HAROLD'S

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way
Where proud Sevilia' triumphs unsubdued :
Yet is she free — the spoiler's wish'd-for prey !
Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude,
Blackening her lovely domes with traces rnde.
Inevitable hour ! 'Gainst fate to strive
Where desolation plants her famish'd brood
Is vain, or IHon, Tyre might yet survive.
And Virtue vanquish all, and murder cease to thrive.

XLVt.

But all unconscious of the coming doom,

The feast, the song, the revel here abounds ;

Strange modes of merriment the hours consume,

Norbleedlhese patriots with their country's wounds;

Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck^ sounds;

Here Folly still his votaries inthi'alls;

And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight

rounds ;
Girt with the silent crimes of capitals,
Still to the last kind vice clings to the tottering walls.

1 (I" At Seville, we lodged in the house of two Spanish un-
married ladies, women of character, the eldest a fine woman, the
youngest pretty. The freedom ofmanner,which is general here,
astonished me not a little ; and, in the concse of fiirther observ-
ation, I find that reserve is not the characteriatie of Spanish
helles. The eldest honoured your unworthy son with very par-
ticular attention, embracing him with great tenderness at parting,
(I was there bat three days,) after cutting off a lock of his hair,
and presenting him with one of her own, about three feet in length,
which I send, and beg yon will retain till my return. Her lasl
words were, ' Adios, to hermoso! megnsto mucho.' 'Adieu, you
pretty fellow ! you please me much.' " — Lard B. to his Maiher,
Aug. 1S09.]

' [A kind of fiddle, with only two strings, played on by a bow,
said to have been brought by the Moors into Spain.]

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I' 1 L G R I M A G E.

Not SO ihe nislic — wilh his trembling mate
He iurksj nor casts his heavy eye afar.
Lest he should view his vineyard desolate,
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war.
No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star
Fandango twirls his jocund castanet :
Ah, monatchs ! could ye taste the mirth ye mar,
Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret;
The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy
yet!

How carols now tho lusty muleteer ?
Of love, romance, devotion is his lay.
As whiiome he was wont the leagues to cheer,
His quick bells wildly jingling on the way ?
No ! as he speeds, he chants " Viva el Rey!"*
And checks his song to execrate Godoy,
The royal wjttol Charles, and curse the day
When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyedboy,
And gore-faced treason sprung from her adulterate
joy.

' "VivS, el Key Fernando!" Long live King Ferdinand ! is
the chorus of most of the Spanish patriolic songs. They are
chiefly in dispraise of the old king Charles, the queen, and the
Prince of Peace. I have heard many of them ; some of the airs
are beaaliful. Don Mannel Godoy, the Pn'neipe de la Paz, of an
ancient but decayed family, was bom at Badajoz, on the frontiers
of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish
guards; till his person attracted the queen's eyes, and raised him
to the dukedom of Alcudia, &c. &c. It is to this man that the
Spaniards nniversally impute the ruin of their country. — [Sec,
for ample patticulaia concerning the flagitious court of Charles
IV., Southey's History of the Peninsular War, vol. 1,]

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OHILDE HAROLD'S

On yon long, level plain, at distance croivii'd
With crags, whereou those Moorish turrels rest,
Widescatter'dhoof-marksdintthe wounded ground,
And,scathedbyfire,thegreenswavd'sdarken'dvest.
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest:
Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host,
Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest;
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast,
Andpointstoyonder cliffs, which oft were won andlosf.

And whomsoe'er along the path you meet
Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue,
Whichtellsyou whom to shun and whom to greet:'
Woe to the man that walks in public view.
Without of loyalty this token true :
Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke ;
And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue.
If subtle poniards, wrap'd beneath the cloak,
■ Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's
smoke.

At every turn Moreria's dusky height
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load ;
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road.
The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflow'd,
The stationed bands, the never-vacant watch,
The magazine in rocky durance stow'd.
The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch.
The ball-piled pyramid,^ the ever blazing match,

1 Tliered oockade, witll "Fernando Septimo," in the centre,

" All who have seun a battery will recollect the pyramidal

form in which shot nnd sheila are piled. The Sierra Morena was

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PILGiUMACE.

Portend Iho deeds to come : — but he whose nod
Has fumbled feebler despots from their sway,
A moment patiseth ere he lifts the rod ;
A little moment deigneth to delay :
Soon will his legions sweep through these their way ;
The West must own the scourger of the world.
Ah ! Spain ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day
When soars Gaul's vultiirc, with his wings unfurl 'd,
And thoushaltview thy sons in crowds to Hadeshurl'd.

LIU.

And must they fall ? the young, the proud, the brave.
To swell one bloated chief's unwholesome reign?
No step between submission and a grave ?
The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ?
And doth the power that man adores ordain
Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal ?
Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain?
And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal, [of steel?
The Veteran's skill, Youth's fire, andManhood's heart

Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused,
Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar,
And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused,
Snug the loud song, and dared the deed of war?
And she, whom once the semblance of a scar
Appall'd, an owlet's lantm chill'd with dread,
Now views the column-scattering bayonet j?r,
The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead
Stallis with Mini-^rva's step where Mars might quake
to tread,

fortified in every defile thraiigh which I passed in my way la

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44 CHiLDF. HAROLD'S Canto I.

LV.

Ye who shall marvel when yon hear her tale,
Oh ! had you knowH her iti her softer hour,
Mark'cl herblack eye that mocks her coal-black veil,
Heard her light, lively tones in lady's bower,
Seen her longlocks that foil the painter's power,
Her fairy form, with more than female grace.
Scarce wonld yon deem that Saragoza's tower
Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face,
Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chaso.

LVI,

Her lover sinks — she sheds no ill-timed tear ;
Her chief is slain — she fills his fatal post ;
Her fellows flee — she checks their base career ;
The foe retires — she heads the sallying host :
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost ?
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall ?
What maid retrievewhen man's flush 'd hope is lost?
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a battcr'd wall ?'

<■ Such were tlie exploits of the maid of Saragoaa, who by her
valour eleritGil herself to the highest rank of heroines. When
the author was at Seville, she walked d^ly od the Prado, deco.
rated with medals and orders, by command of the Junta. — [The
exploits of Augustina, the famous heroine of both the sieges of
Saragoaa, are recorded at length in one of the most splendid
chapters of Soathey's History of the Peninsular War. At the
time when she first attracted notice, by mounting a battery where
her lover had fallen, and working a gan in his room, she was in
her twenty-second year, exceedingly pretty, and in a soft feminine
style of beauty. She baa further had the honour tobe painted by
Wilkie, and alluded to in Wordsworth's Dissertation on the Con-
vention (misnamed) of Cintra; where a noble passage concludes
in these words : — " Saragoaa has exemplified a melancholy, yea,
a dismal tiuth, — yet consolatory and fall of joy, — that when a

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PILGRIMAGK.

Y(it are Spaiij's maids no race of Amazons,
Bat fovm'd for all the wuching arts of love :
Though thus ill arms they emulate her sons.
And in the horrid phalanx dare to more,
'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove,
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate :
In softness as in firmness far above
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate ;
Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchani
great.

The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch :'
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest,
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such ;
Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how much
Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek,
Which glows yet smoother from his amorous

clutch!
Who round the North for paler dames would
seek?
How poor their forms appear I iiow languid, wan, and

people are called snddenly to fight for Iheir liberty, anii are sorely
pressed upon, their best field of battle ie the floors upon whioh
their children have played ; the chamhera where the family of
each man has slept; upon or under the roofs by whioh they have
been sheltered; in the gardens of tlioir recreation; in the street,
or in the niailiet-place ; before Oie altars of their temples, ami
among their congregated dwellings, biasing or uprooted."]
' " SigiUa in mento impressa Amoris digitulo

Vestigio demonstrant moUitudinem." — Aul. Gel,

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CillLDF, HAROLD'S

Match mc, ye climes ! which poets love lo laud ;
Match me, ye harems of the land ! where now^
I strike my strahi, far distant, to applaud
lieaiiiies that even a cynic must avow f
Match me those Houms, whom ye scarce allow
Ti) taste the gale, lest Love should ride the wind,
With Spain's dark-glancing daughters' — deign to

know,
There your wise Prophet's paradise we find,
His black-eyed maids of heaven, angelically kind.

Oh, thou Parnassus !^ whom I now survey,

Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye,

Not in the fabled landscape of a lay,

But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky.

In the wild pomp of mounlain-majesty !

What marvel if I thus essay to sing ?

The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by

Would gladly woo
Tliongh from thy hei
wave her

,hine Echoes with his string,
ghts no more one Muse will

' Tliis stanza was written in Turkey.

" [" Baautiea that need not fear a broken vow." — MS.]

■ [" LoDg black hair, dark languishing eyes, clear oSive com-
plexions, and forms more graceful in motion than can be con.
ceivBd by an Englishman, used to the drowsy, listless air of hia
countrywomen, added to the most becoming diess, and, at tliu
same time, the most decent in the world, render a Spanish beauty
irresistihle." — Lord Syron to his Mbllier, Aug. 1809.]

* These stanzas were written in Castri, (Delphos,) at the foot
of Paroasaui., now called Aiantpa, (Liakura,) Dec. 1809.

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PILGRIMAGK.

Oft liavo I dream'd of Thee '. whose glorious name
Who knows not, knows not man's diviiiest lore :
And now I view Ihee, 'tis, alas ! with shame
That I in feeblest accents must adore.
When I recount thy worshippers of yore,
I tremble and can only bend i)ie knee;
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar,
JBut gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy
In silent joy to think at last 1 look on thee F

LXII.

Happier in this than mightiest bards have been,
Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot,
Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene,
Which others rave of, though they know ituot?
Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot,
And thou, the Muses' seat, art now iheir grave,'
Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot,
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave,
And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave.

> [" Upon Parnasmis, going tothe fonnbdn of Delphi, (Oaetri,)
in 180!), I saw a fliglit of twelve eagles, (Hobhouee aajB they
were vultures — at least in ooQVBrsation,) and I seized the omen.
On tlie daj before, I composed the lines to Parnassus, (in Childe
Harold,) and on beholding the birds, liad a hope that Apollo had
accepted my homage. I have at least had the name and fame of
apoet, duringtlie poetical period of life; (from twenty to thirty;)
whether it will last is another matter : but 1 have been a votary
of the deity and the place, and anr grateful for what he has done
in my behalf, leaving the future in his hands, as I left the past," —
B.Mary, 1831.]

' [" Casting the eye ovec the site of ancient Delphi, one can-
not possibly imagine what has become of the walls of the nume
Tons buildings which are mentioned in the history of its former
magnificence, — buildings which covered two miles of ground.
Witn the exception of the few terraces or supporting walls, no-
thing now appears. The various robberies of Scylla, Nero, and
e inconsiderable; for the removal of the statues

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49 CHILDE lIAIi01,D'y Cakto I

Lxiir.
Of thechcreaffer.— rEveii amidst mjr siraiii
I turn'd aside to pay my homage here;
Forgot the laud, the sons, the maids of Spain;
Her fate, to every freeborii bosom dear;
And iiail'd thee, not perchance without a tear.
Now to my theme — but from thy holy haunt
Let me some remnant, some memorial bear ;
Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant,' -
Nor let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vannt.

Butne'erdidstlhou, fair mount! when Greece was

young.
See round thy giant base a brighter choir,
Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung
The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire,
Behold a train more fitting to inspire
The song of love than Andalusia's maids.
Nursed in the glowing lap of soft desire :
Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades
As Greece canstill bestow, though Glory fly her glades.

of bronze, and marble, and ii^ory, could not gceally affect the
general appearance of the city. The aeelivity of tlie hill, and
the foundations being placed on rock, without cement, would no
doubt render them comparalivelj easy to be removed or hurled
down into the vale below ; but tJie vale exhibits no appearance of
accumulation of hewn stones ; and the modern village could have
consumed but few. In the course of so many centuries, the debris
from tho mountdn must iiare covered up a great deal, and even
the rubbish itself may have acquired a soil sufSoient to conceal
many nohle remains from the light of day. Yetweseeno swell-
ings or riangs in the ground, indicating thegravesof the temples.
All therefore is mystery, and the Greeks may truly say, ' Where
stood the wallsof our fathers!' scarce their mossy tombs remain!"
H. W. Wilhamsh Teaaels in Greecs, vol. ii. p. 354.]

• [" Some glorious thought to my petition grant," — MS.]

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PILGRIMAGE.

Pair is proud Seville ; let her country boast
Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days ;*
But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast.
Calls forth a sweeter though ignoble praise.
Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways !
While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape
The fascination of thy magic gaze ?^
A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape,
And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape.

When Paphos fell by time — accursed time !
The queen who conquers all must yield to thee —
The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime ;
And Venus, constant to her native sea,
To naught else constant, hither deign'd to flee ;
And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white ;
Though not to one dome circumscribeih she
Her worship, but, devoted to her rite,
A thousand altars rise, forever blazing bright.'

LXVII.

From morn till night, from night till startled morn
Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew,
The song is heard, the rosy garland worn ;
Devices quaint, and frolics ever new,

• Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans.
' ["The lurking lures of thy enchanting gaze."— MS.]
■ [" Cadiz, sweet Cadiz ! — it is the first spot in the creation.
The beauty of its streets and mansions is only excelled by the
liveliness of its inhabitants. It is a complete Cythera, foil of the
finest women in Spain ; the Cadiz belles being the Lancashire
witches of their land.'"— Lord S. io kis Mother, 1809.]

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50 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cahto I.

Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu
He bids to sober joy that here sojourns :
Naught interrupts the riot, though in lieu
Of true devotion moniiish incense burns,
And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns.'

Lxvni.
The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest:
What hallows it upon this Christian shore ?
Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast :
Hark ! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar ?
Crashing ihe lance, he snuffs the spouting gore
Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn;
The throng'd arena shakes with shouts for more ;
Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn,
Nor shrinks the female eye, nor even affects to mourn.

The seventh day this; the jubilee of man.
London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer:
Then thy spruce citizen, washed artisan.
And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air:
Thy coach of hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair,
And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl:
To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair;
Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl.
Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl.

Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair,
Others along the safer turnpike fly ;
Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware,
And many to the steep of Highgate hie.

' [" — Monkish temples share
The hours misspent, and all in tuina is Iotb and prayer." — MS.

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Canto I. P I L G 11 1 M A G E. 51

Ask ye, Bceotian shades ! the reason why ?'
'Tis to the worship of the solemn horn,
GraspM m the holy hand of mystery.
In whose dread name both raenand maids are sworu,
And consecrate the oath^ with draught, and dance
till morn.^

A!i have their fooleries — not alike are thine,
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark-blue sea !
Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine,
Thy saint adorers connt the rosary :
Much is the Virgin teased to shrive them free
{Well do I ween the only virgin there)
From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be ;
Then to the crowded circus forth they fare ; [share.
Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion

* This was written at Thebes, and consequently in the best
situation for asking and answering such a question; not as the
birthplace of Pindar, but as the capital of Bceotia, where the first
riddle was compounded and solved.

^ [Lord Byron alludes to a ridiculous custom which formerly
prevailed at the public-houses in Highgate, of administering a
burlesque oath to ail travellers of the middling' rank who stopped
there. The party was sworn on a pair of horns, fastened, "never
to kiss the maid when he could kiss the mistress; never to eat
brown bread when he could get white ; never to drinlt small beer
when he could get strong ;" with many oilier injunctions of the
like kind, — to all which was added the saving clause, — "unless
you like it best."]

' [In thus mixing up the light with the solemn, it was the
intention of the poet to imitate Atiosto. But it is far easier to
rise, with grace, from tlie level of a stran generally familiar, into
an occasional short burst of pathos or splendour, than to interrupt
thus a prolonged tone of solemnity by any descent into the lu-
dicrous or burlesque. In the former case, the ttansitionmay have
the effect of softening or elevating; while, in the latter, it almost
invariably shocks ; — for the same reason, perhaps, that a trait of
pathos or high feeling, in comedy, has a peculiar charm ; while
omio scenes into tragedy, however sanctioned

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53 CHILDE HAROLD'S Camto I.

I. XX II.

The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd,
Thousands on thousands piled are seated round;
Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard,
Ne vacant space for lated wight is found :
Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound,
Skili'd in the ogle of a roguish eyo.
Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound ;
None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die.
As moon-struck bards complain, by Love'ssadarchery.

LXXIII.

Hush'd is the din of tongues — on gallant steeds,
With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised

lance.
Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds,
And lowly bending to the lists advance ;
Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance :
If in the dangerous game they shine to-day.
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance.
Best prize of better acts, they bear away.
And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay.

In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd,
But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore
Stands in the centre, eager to invade
The lord of lowing herds ; hut not before
The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er.
Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed:
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more
Can man achieve without his friendly steed —
Alas! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed.

among us by lialiit and authority, rarely fails to offend. The poet
washimselfetinvmcedof thefailureof Iheespetiment, andinnone
of the sncceeding cantos of Chijde Haiold repeated it. — Moore.]

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. 53

Thrice sounds ihe clarion ; lo ! Ihe signal falls,
The den expands, and Expectation mute
Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls.
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute,
And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot.
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe :
Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit
His first attack, wide waving to and fro
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow.

LSXVI.

Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd ; away.
Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare the spear :
Now is thy time, to perish, or display
The skill that yet may check his mad career.
With well-timed croupe' the nimble coursers veer ;
On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ;
Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear :
He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ;
Dart follows dart ; lance, lance ; loud bello wings spealc
his woes.

Again he comes j nor dart nor lance avail.
Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse ;
Though man and man's avenging arms assail,
Vain are his weapons, vainer in his force.
One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse :
Another hideous sight ! unseam'd appears,
His gory chest unveils life's panting source ;
Though death -struck, slill his feeble frame he rears ;
ilaggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he
bears.
' [" The croupe is a particular leap taught in the manage." —

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54 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

Lxxvrn.
Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last,
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay.
Mid wounds, and clinging dart, and lances brast,
And foes disabled in the brutal fray ;
And now the matadores around him play,
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand :
Once more through all he bursts his thundering

way —
Vain rage ! the mantle q.uits the conynge hand.
Wraps his fierce eye — 'tis past — he sinks upon the

IXXIX.

Where his va^t neck just mingles with the spine.
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies.
He stops — he starts — disdaining to decline :
Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries.
Without a groan, without a struggle dies.
The decorated car appears — on high
The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar eyes — '
Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy,
Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.

' [The reader will do well to compare Lord Byron's animated
pictoie of the popular "sport" of the Spanish nation, with the
very circumstantial details contained in the ohanning " Letters of
Don Lencadio Doblado," (i.e. the Rev. Blanco White,) published
in 1833. So inveterate waa, at one time, the rage of the peoplefor
this amusement, that even boys mimicked its features in theii
play. In the slaughter-house itself the professional bull.fighter
gave public lessons; and such was the force of depraved oustoni,
that ladies of the highest rank were not ashamed to appear amidst
the filth and horror of the shambles. The Spaniards received this
aport from the Mixirs, among whom it was celebrated with great
pomp and splendour. See various Notes to Mr. Lockhart's Col-
lection of Ancient Spanish Ballads, 1833.]

* [" The trophy corse is reared— disgusting prize—
Or, "The eorso is reared— sparkling the chariot flies."— MS.]

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P I L GR I M A G E.

Such the ungentle sport that oft invites
The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain.
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights
111 vengeance, gloating on another's pain.
What private feuds the troubled village stain !
Thoughnowonephalanx'd host shouldmeet the foe,
Enough, aias ! in humbler homes remain.
To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow,
For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm
stream must flow.*

But Jealousy has fled : his bars, his bolts.
His wither'd sentinel, Duenna sage !
And all whereat the generous soul revolts,
Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage.
Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age.
Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen,
(Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,)
With braided tresses bounding o'er the green.
While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving
queen ?

Oh ! many a time and oft, had Harold loved.
Or dream'd he loved, since rapture is a dream ;
But now his wayward bosom was unmoved,
For not yet had he drank of Lethe's stream;

» ["The Spaniards are as levengeful as ever. At Santa Otella
I heard a young peasant threaten to Btab a woman, (an. oM one,
to be oiire, which mitigates the offence,) and was told, on express-
ing aome amall surprise, that this ethic was by no means un.
common."— MS.]

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66 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem
Love has no gift so grateful as his wiags :
How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem,
Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs'
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom
flings.^

Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind,
Though now it moved him as it moves the wise;
Not that Philosophy on such a mind
E'er deign'd to bend her chastely-awful eyes :
But Passion raves itself to resi, or flies ;
And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb,
Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise:
Pleasiue's pall'd victim ! life-abhorring gloom
Wrote on his faded brow cursed Cain's unresting
doom.

Stili he beheld, nor mingled with the throng :
But view'd them not with misanthropic hate ;
Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the son^ ;
But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate ?
Naught that he saw his sadness could abate ;
Yet once he stniggled 'gainst the demon's sway,
And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate,
Pour'd forth this unpremeditated lay.
To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier
day.

' " Medio Ae fonle leporiim

Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat." — Luc.
' [" Full from the heart of Joy's delicious springs

Some bitter buhhies up, and e'en on roses Ktinga." — MS.]

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PILGRIMAGE.

Nay, smile not at my sullen brow ;

Alas ! I cannot smile again :
Yet Heaven avert that ever tiiou

Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.

2
And dost thou ask what secret woe

I bear, corroding joy and youth ?
And wilt thou vainly seek to know

A pang, even thou mast fail to soothe ?
3.
It is not love, it is not hate,

Nor low Ambition's honours lost,
That bids me loathe my present state,

And fly from all I prized the most :
4.
It is that weariness which springs

From all I meet, or hear, or see :
To me no pleasure Beauty brings ;

Thine eyes have scarce a charm for mo.

5.
H is that settled, ceaseless gloom

The fabled Hebrew wanderer liore ;
That will not look beyond the tomb,
But cannot hope for rest before.

6.
What exile from himself can flee ?'

To zones though more and more remote,

[■" What exile from nimself can flee?
To other zones, h owe' er remote,
Still, Btill purBuing dings to me
The blight of life— the demon Thought."— MS.]

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CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

Still, still pursues, where'er I be,

The blight of life— the demon Thought.*
7.

Yet others rapt in pleasure seem,
And taste of all that I forsake ;

Oh ! may they still of transport dream,
And ne'er, at least like me, awake !

8.
Through many a clime 'tis mine to go,

With many a retrospection cursed ;
And all my solace is to know,

Whate'er betides, I've known the worst.

9.
What is that worst ? Nay, do not ask —

In pity from the search forbear :
Smile on — nor venture to unmask

Man's heart, and view the hell that's there."

[" Written Jamiaiy 25, 1810.'"— MS.]
[In place oftlLi3song,whicti was written at Athens, January
1810, and which contains, as Moore says, "some of the
touches of sadness that evel Byron's pen let fall," we
the first draught of the Canto, the following : —

Oh never talk again to me

Of northern climes and British ladies ;
It has not heen jour lot to see,

Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz,
Although her eye be not of blue,

Nor fair her locks, like English lasses.
How far its own expressive hue

The languid aaure eye surpasses !

3.
Prometheua-like, from heaven she stole

The fire, that through those silken lashes
In darkest glances seems to roll.

From eyes that cannot hide their flashes :

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:;akto I. PILGRIMAGE. 5!

Adieijj fair Cadiz ! yea, a long adieu !

Who may forget how well thy walls have stood?

When all were changing thou alone wert true,

First to be free and last to he subdued :

And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude,

And as along her Iioaom steal

In lengthen'd flow her raTen tresses.

You'd swear each clustering lock could feel,
And curi'd to giYe her neck caresses,

Our English maids are long to woo,

And if their charms be fair to view.

Their lips are slow at Love's confession:

But born beneath a brighter sun.

For lave ordain'd the Spanish maid is,

And who, — when fondly, fairly won, —
Enchants you like the girl of Cadial

The Spanish maid is no coquette.

Nor joys to see a lover tremble i
And if she love, or if she hate.

Alike she knows not to dissemble.
Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold —

Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely;
And, though it will not bend to gold,

'Twill love you long and love you dearly.

The Spanish girl that meets your love

Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial,
For every thought is bent to prove

Her passion in the hour of trial.
When thronsing foemen menace Spain

She dares the deed and shares the danger ;
And should her lover press the plain.

She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.

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60 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye ;
A traitor only fell beneath the feud :*
Here all were noble, save Nobility ;
Nonehugg'd a conqueror's chain,save fallen Chivalry !

Lxxxvr.
Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate !
They fight for freedom who were never free ;
A kingless people for a nerveless state,
Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee,
True to the veriest slaves of treachery ;
Fond of a land which gave them naught hut life,
Pride points the path that leads to liberty ;
Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife.
War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!'"*

6.
And when, beneath the evening star,

She mingles in the gay bolero.
Or eings to her attuned guitar

Of Christian knight or Moorish hero,
Or counts har beads with fiiirj hand

Beneath the twinlding rays of Hesper,
Or joins devotion's choral band,

To chant the sweet and haliow'd vesper ; — ■

In each her charms the heart must move

Of all who venture to behold her ;
Then let not maids less fair reproTe
Because her bosom is not colder :
Through many a clime 'tis mine to roam,

"Where many a soft and melting maid is.
But none abroad and few at home.

May match the dark-eyed girl of Cadiz.
* Alluding to tba conduct and death of Solano, the governor
ofCadii.in May, 1809.

= " War to the knife." Palafox's answer to the French general
at the siege of Saragoza. [In his proclamations, also, he stated.

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. 61

Lxxxvii.
Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know,
Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife :
Whate'er keen vengeance urged oti foreign foe
Can act, is acting there against man's iife :
From flasliing scimitar to secret knife.
War mouideth there each weapon to his need —
So may he guard the sister and the wife,
So may he make each cursed oppressor bleed —
So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed M

that, should the French commit any robberies, devastations, and
raurders, no quarter should be given them. The dogs by whom
he was beset, he said, scarcely left him time to ciean his sworf
from their blood, but they stilt foand their grave at Saragoza.
AH his addresses were in the same spirit. "His language," says
Mr. Southej, " had the high tone, and something of the inflation
of Spanish romance, suiting thecharacter of those to whom it was
directed." See History of 1/ie Peninsular War, vol. iii. p. 163.]
' The Canto, in the original MS., closes with the following

Ye who would more of Spain and Spaniards knnw.
Sights, saints, antiques, arts, anecdotes, and war,
Go ! hie ye hence to Paternoster Row —
Are they not written in the Book of Carr,*
Green Erin's knight and Europe's wandering star !
Then listen, readers, to the Man of Ink,
Hear what he did, and songht, and wrote afar;
All these are coop'd within one quarto's hrink.
This borrow, steal, — don't buy, — and teil us what you think.

There may you read, with spectacles on eyes,
How many Wellesleys did embark for Spain,
As if therein tliey meant to colonize,
How many troops y-crossed the langhing main

* PorpByry said, (hst (he prophecies of Daniel were wrlllen after their corn-

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Flows there a tear of pity for the dead ?

Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain ;

Look on the hands with female slaughter red;

Then to the dogs resign the iinburied slain,

Then to the vulture let each corse remain ;

Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw.

Let their bleached bones, and blood's unbleaching

stain,
Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe :
Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw !

That ne'er beheld the sad return ag^in :
How many buildings are in such a place,
How many leaguoR from, this Ut yonder plain.
How many relics each cathedral grace,
And whore GJralda stands on her gigantic base.

There may yiu read (Oh, Phfebua, save Sir John !
That there my words prophetic may not err)
All that was said, or sang, or lost, or won.
By Taunting Wellesley or by blundering Frere,
He that wrote half the "Needy Knifegrinder."*
Thns poesy the way to grandeur paves —
Who would not such diplomatists prefer!
But cease, my Muse, thy speed some respite craves.
Leave legates to their house, and armies to their graves.

Yet here of mention may he made.

Who for the Junta raodell'd sapient laws,
Tanght them to govern ere they were obey'd ;
Certfls, fit teacher to command, because
His soul Soeratio no Xantippe awes ;
Bless'd with a dame in Virtue's bosom nursed, —
With her let silent admiration pause ! —
True to het second husband and her first ;
On saeh unshaken fame let Satire do its worst.

• [The '■ Needy Kntfegrinder," in Ihe Amijarobin, waea jojnl prodi

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. 63

LXXXIX.

Nor yet, alas ! the dreadful work is done ;
Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees :
It deepens still, the work is scarce begun,
Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees.
Fallen nations gaze on Spain ; if freed, she frees
More than her fell Pizarros once enchain'd :
Strange retribution ! now Columbia's ease
Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd,
While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder unre-
st rain 'd.

Not all the blood at Talavera shed,
Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight,
Not Albuera lavish of the dead,
Have won for Spain her well-asserted right.
When shall her Olive-Branch be free from blight ?
When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil?
How many a doubtful day shall sink in night,
Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil.
And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil !

xoi.
And thou, my friend !' — since unavailing woe
Bursts from my heart,and mingles with the strain —
Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low,
Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain :

' The Honourable John WingfiQld, of the Guards, who died
of a fever at Coinibra, (May 14, 1811.) I had known him ten
years, the better half of his life, and the happiest part of mine.
In the short space of one month, I have lost her who gave me
being, and most of those who had made that being tolerable.
To me the lines of Young are no fiction : —
» Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ?
Thy shaft flaw thrice, and thrice my peace was siain,
And thiicB ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her hom.

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64 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I.

But thus unlanrell'd to descend in vain.
By all forgotten, save the lonely breast,
And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain.
While Glory crowns so many a. meaner crest !
What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest ?

I should liave ventured averse to the memory of the late Charles
Sltinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were
he not too much above aU praise of mine. His powers of mind,
shown in the attainment of greater honours, against the ablest
candidates, than those of any graduate on record at Cambridge,
have sufficiently established his fame on the spot where it was
acquired; while his softer qualities live in the recollection of
friends who loved him too well to envy his superiority. — [This
and the following stanza were added in August, 1811. In one of
his schoolboy poems, entitled "Childish Recollections," Lord
Byron has tlius drawn tho portrait of young Wingfield; —
" Alonzo, hest and dearest of ray friends.
Thy name ennobles him who thus commends :
From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise ;
The praise is his who now that tribute pays.
Oh ! in the promise of thy early youth,
If hope anticipates the words of truth,
Some loiUer bard shall sing thy glorious name.
To build his own upon thy deathless fame,
Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list
Of those with whom I lived supremely blest,
01^ have we drain'd the font of ancient lore.
Though drinking deeply, thirsting still for more;
Yet when confinement's lingering hour was done,
Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one.
In every element, unchanged, the same,
All, all that brothers should be, but the name."
Malthews, the idol of Lord Byron at college, was drowned, whilo
bathingin theCam, on theSdof August. The following pas sage
of a letter from Newstead to his friend Scrope Davies, written
immediately after the event, bears the impress of strongand even
agonized feelings; — "My dearest Davies, some curse hangs over
me and mine. My mother lies a corpse in the house ; one of my
best friends is drowned in a ditch ; what can I say, or think, or
do ? I received a letter from him the day before yesterday. My
dear Scrope, if you can spare a moment do come down to me— I

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Canto I. PILGRIMAGE. 65

xcii.
Oh, known the earhest, and esteem'd the most P
Dear to a heart where naught was left so dear !
Though to my hopeless days forever lost,
111 dreams deny me not to see thee here !
And Mom in seci-et shall renew the tear
Of Consciousness awaking to her woes,
And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier.
Till my frail frame return to whence it rose,
And mourn'd and mourner lie united in repose.

SCIII.

Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage :
Ye who of him may further seek to know,
Shall find some tidings in a- future page,
If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe.
Is this loo much ? stern critic ! say not so :
Patience ! and ye shall hear what he beheld
In other lands, where he was doom'd to go :
Lands that contain the monuments of Eld,
Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands
were quel I 'd.^

want a friend. Matthews's last letter was -wiitten on Friday, — on
Saturday he was not. In ability, wlio was like Matthews 1 How
did we all shrink before liim! You do me but justice in saying I
would have risked my paltry existence to have preserved his.
This very evening did I mean to write, inviting him, as I invite
you, my very dear friend, to Tisit me. What will our poor Hob-
house feel 1 His letters breathe but of Matthews. Come to me,
Bcrope, I am almost desolate — left almost alone in the world !"
Matthews was tiie son of John Matthews, Esq., (the representa-
tive of Herefordshire, in tiie parliament of 1S03 — ISOfi,) and brother
of the authoi of " The Diary of an Invalid," also untimely
snatched away.]

' ["Beloved the most." — MS.]

" ["Dec. 30tb, 1909."— MS.]

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OHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

CANTO THE SECOND.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

Come, bine-eyed maid of heaven! — but thou, alas!
Didsl never yet one mortal song inspire —
Goddess of Wisdom ! here thy temple was,
And is, despite of war and wasting fire,'
And years that bade thy worship to expire :
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow,
Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire
Of Qien who never felt the sacred glow [bestow.
That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd broasts

' Part of the Acropolis was destroyed by the explosion of a
magazine daring the Venetian siege. — [On the highest part of
Lycahettua, aa Chandler waa informed by an eyewitness, the
Venetians, in 1687, placed four mortars and six pieces of cannon,
when they battered the Acropolis. One of the bombs was fata.1
to some of the sculptuxeonthewestfront of the Parthenon. "In
1667," says Mr. Hobhouse, " every antiquity of which there is
now any trace in the Acropolis was in a tolerable state of pre
servalion. This great temple might, at that period, be called
entire ; — having been previously a Christian church, it was then
a mosque, the most beautiful in the world. The portion yeC stand'
ing cannot Ml to fill the mind of the moat indifferent spectator with
sentiments ofastonishmentandawe; and the aamereflectlons arise
upon the sight even of the enormous masses of marble ruins
which are spread upon the area of the temple."]

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70 CIIILDE HAROLD'S C A!) to II.

II.

Ancient of days! augiist Athena !' where.
Where are thy men of might ? thy grand in soul ?
Gone — glimmering throngti the dream of things

that were :
First in tlie race that led to Glory's goal,
They won and pass'd away — is this the whole ?
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour !
The warrior's weapon and the sopMst's stole
Are soughtin vain, and o'er each mouldering tower,
Dim with the mist of years,gray flits the shade of power.
* We can all feel, or imagine the regret with which the ruina
of cities, ones the capitals of empires, are beheld: the reflections
suggested by snch objects are too trite to requite recapitulation.
But never did the litdeness of man and the vanity of hia very
beat virtues, of patriotism to exalt, and of valour to defend his
country, appear more conspicuous than in the record of what
Athens was, and the certaintyof what she now is. This theatre
of contention between mighty factions, of the struggles of orators,
lie exaltation and deposition of tyrants, the triumph and puniah-
metit of generals, is now become a scene of petty intrigue and per-
petual disturbance, between the bickering agents of certain British
nobility and gentry. "The wild foxes, the owls and serpents in
theruins of Babylon," were surely less degrading than such inlia-
bitanta. The Turks haye the plea of eonqaest for their tyranny,
and the Greelcs have only suffered the fortune of war, incidental
to the bravest ; hut how are the mighty fallen, when two piiinters
contest the privilege of plundering the Paithenon, and triumph
in turn, according to the tenor of each succeeding firman ! Sylla
couid but punish, Philip subdue, andXerses burn Athens; but it
remained for the paltry antiquarian, and his despicable agents, to
render her contemptible as himself and his pursuits. The Par-
thenon, before its destruction in part by fire, during the Venetian
siege, had been a temple, a church, and amosque. In each point
of view it is an object of regard ; it changed its worshippers ; but
still it was a place of worsHp thrice sacred to devotion : its vio-
lation is a triple sacrifice. But —

" Man, proud man,
Dress'd in a little brief authority.
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep."

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Canto II. PILGRIMAGE. 71

III.
Son of the morning, rise ! approach you here !
Come— but molest not yon defenceless urn ■
Look on this spot — a nation's sepulchre !
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn.
Even gods must yield — religions take their turn :
'Twas Jove's — 'tis Mahomet's — and other creeds
Will rise with other years, till man shall learn
Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; [reeds.'
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on

IV.

Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven —
Is't not enough, unhappy thing, to know
Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given,
That b*eing, thou wouldst be again, and go,
* [In the original MS.wefindthefollowingnoteto this and the
five sncceeding stanzas, which had been prepared for publication,
but was ailerwards withdrawn, " ftom afear," says the poet, " that
it might be considered rather as an attach, than a defence of reli'
gion." — "In this ageof bigotry, when the poritan and priest have
changed places, and the wretched Catholic is visited with the ' sins
of his fathers,' even unto generatiorts far beyond the pale of the
commandment, the cast of opinion in these slanzas will, doubtless,
meet with many a conlemptuons anathema. But let it be remem-
bered, that the spirit they breathe is desponding, not sneeiing,
skepticism ; that he who has seen the Greek and Moslem super-
slilions contending for mastery over the former shrines of Poly-
theism — who has left in his own ' Pharisees, thanking God that
they are not like publicans and sinners,' and Spaniards in theirs,
abhorring the heretics, who have holpen them in their need, — wOI
be not a little bewildered, ^nd begin to think, that as only one of
them can be right, they may, taost of them, be wrong. With
regard to morals, and the effect (if religion on mankind, it appears,
from all historical testimony, to have had less effect in making
them love their neighbours, than inducing that cordial Christian
abhorrence between sectaries and schismatics. The Turks and
Quakers are the most tolerant ; if an Infidel pays his hecatch tn
the former, he may pray how, when, and where he pleases ; and
the mild tenets and devout demeanour of the latter, make their
-ives the tniest commentary on the Sermon on the Mount."]

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72 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto I

Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so
On earth no more, but tningled with the sliies ?
Still wilt thou dream' on future joy and woo ?
Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies:
That little urn saith more than thousand liomilies.

Or burst ihe banish'd hero's lofty mound;
Far on the solitary shore he sleeps ;*
He fell, and falling nations mouni'd around ;
But now not one of saddening thousands weeps,
Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps
Where demi-gods appcar'd, as records tell.
Remove yon skull from out the scatter'd heaps;
Is that a temple where a God may dwell ?
Why, even the worm atlast disdains her shatter'dcell !

Look on its broken arch, its rnin'd wall,
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul :
Yes, this was once Ambilion's airy hall,
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul :
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole.
The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit,
And Passion's host, that never brook'd control :
Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ.
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ?

> ["Still will thou harp."— MS.]

' It was not always the custom of tlie Greelis to burn theii
dead ; the greater Ajax, in particular, was interred entire. Almost
all the chiefs became gods after their decode ; and he was indeed
neglected, who had not annual games near his tomb, or festivals
in honour of his memory by his countrymen, as Achilles, Brasid as,
&c., and at last even Actinous, whose death was as heroic as his
life was infamoDs.

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Caj«to II. PILGEIMAGE. 73

VII.

Well didst thou speak, Alliena's wisest son !
" All that we kno*f is, nothing can be known."
Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun?
Each hath his pang, but feeble sufferers groan
With brain-born dreanas of evil all their own.
Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best ;
Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron :
There no forced banquet claims the sated guest,

But Silence spreads the couch of every welcome rest,
vni.
Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be
A land of souls beyond that sable shore,
To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee
And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore ;
How sweet it were in concert to adore
With those who made our mortal labours light !
To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more !
Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight,

The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the
right !'

IX.

There, thou ! — wliose love and life together fled,
Have left me here to love and live in vain —
Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead
When busy Memory flashes on my brain ?
* [la the oii^nal MS., for this laagnificent stanza, we find
what follows : —

" Frown not upon me, churlish priest ! that I

Look not for life, where life may never hej

I am no sneerer at th j fantasy :

Thou pitiest rae, — al^ '. I envy thee,

Thou boid discoverer in an nnlcnown sea,

Of happy isles and happier tenants there;

I ask thee not to prove a Sadducee ;

Still dream of Paradise, thou know'st not where.
But lovest too well to bid thine erring brother share."]

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7t CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto II.

"Well — T will dream that we may meet again,
And woo tlje vision lo my vacant breast :
If anglit of young Remembrance then remain,
Be as it may Fuimity's behest,
For me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest !'

Here let me sit upon this massy stone,^
The marble column's yet imshaken base ;
Here, son of Saturn ! was thy favourite throne:*
Mightiest of many such ! Hence let me trace
The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place.
It may not be : nor even can Fancy's eye
Ilestore what Time hath labour'd to deface.
Yet these proud pillars claim no passing sigh ;
Unmov'd the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols by.

But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane
On high, where Pallas liiigei'd, loath to flee
1 [Lord Byron wrote this stanza at Newstead, in October, 1811,
on Iiearingofthe death of his Oambridgefriend, young Eddlestone;
"making," he says, "the sixth, within four months, of friends and
relations that I Lave lost between May and the end of August."]
* Q" The thought and the expression," says Professor Clarke,
in a letter to the poet, " are here so truly Petrarch's, that I would
ask you whether you ever read, —
Poi ijuando '1 veio sgombra
Quel dolce error pur li medesmo assido.
Me freddo, pietra morta in pletra viva ;
In guisa d' uom cb^ pensi e piange e scriva.'
' Thus rendered by Wtlmot, —
' But when rode truth destroys
The loved illusion of the dreamed sweets,
Is'i me down oil the cold rugged siune.
Less cold, leas dead than I, and think and weep alone.' "]
' The lemple of Jupiter Olymplus, of which sixteen columns,
entirely of mathle, yet survive: originally there were one hundred
and fii\y. These columns, however, are by many supposed to
have belonged to the Pantheon.

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Canto II. PILGRIMAGE, 75

The latest relic of her ancient reigti;
The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was he ?
Ehish, Caledonia ! such thy sons could be !
England ! I joy no child he was of thine :
Thy free-born men should spare what once was free;
Yet they could violate each saddening shrine,
And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine. ^

XII,

But most the modern Pict's ignohle boast,
To rive what Goth and Turk, and Time hathspared;*
Cold as the crags upon his native coast,^
His mind as barren and his heart as hard,
Is he whose head conceived, whose hand prepared
Aught to displace Athena's poor remains :
Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard,
Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains,^
AndneverkneWjlill then, the weight of despot's chains.

XIII.

What ! shall it e'er be said by British tongue

Aibion was happy in Athena's tears?

Though in thy name the slave her bosom wrung.

Tell not the deed to blushing Europe's ears;

* The ship was wrecked in the Archipelago.

" See Appendix, Note A, for some strictures on the removal of
the works of art from Athena.

3 ["Cold and accursed as his native coast" — MS.]

' I cannot resist availing inyselfof the perniissionof my friend
Dr. Clarke, whose name requires no comment witli the public,
hut whose sanction will add tenfold weight to my testimony, to
insert the following extract from a very obliging letter of his to
me, as a note to the above lines : — " When the last of the Metopes
was taken from the Parthenon, and, in moving of it, great partof
the snperstractare with one of the triglyphs was thrown down hy
the workmen whom Lord Elginemployed, the disdar, who beheld
the mischief done in the building, took his pipe from his mouth,
dropped a tear, and, inasupplicating tone of voice, said to Lusieri,
TiXot! — I was. present." The disdar alluded, to was the father
of the present disdar.

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76 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto 11,

The ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears
The last poor plunder from a bleeding land :
Yes, she, whose generous aid her name endears,
Tore down those remnants with a harpy's hand,
Which envious Eld forbore, and tyrants left to stand.'

XIV.

Where was thine ^gis, Pallas! that appall'd
Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way ?'
Where Peleus' son ? whom hell in vain enthrall'd,
His shades from hades upon that dreary day
Bursting to light in terrible array !
What ! could not Pluto spare the chief once more,
To scare a second robber from his prey ?
Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore,
Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield before.

' [Atlei stanza xiii. the original MS, lias tlie following :—
"Come, then, ya classic thanes of each degree,
Dark Hamiiton and sullen Aberdeen,
Come pilfer all the Pilgiira loves to see,
All that yet consecrates the fading scene :
Oh ! better were it ye had never been,
Noc ye, nor Elgin, nor that lesser wight.
The victim sad of vase-collecting spleen,
House-furnisher withal, one Thomas bight.
Than ye should bear one stone from wrong'd Athena's site.
"Or will the gentle dilettanti crew
Now delegate the task to digging Gell,
That mighty limner of a bird's-eye view,
How like to nature let his volumes tell ;
Who can with him the folio's limits swell
With ail the author saw, or said he saw'
Who can topographize or delve so well %
No boaster he, nor impudent and raw,
His pencil, pen, and shade, alike without a flaw."]
* According to Zosimus, MinervaandAchillesfrightenedAlario
from the Acropolis; but others relate that the Gotliio king was
nearly as mischievonB as the Scottish peer.— See Chandler.

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PILGRIMAGE.

Cold is the heart, fair Greece ! that looks on thee,
Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved ;
Dull is the eye that will not weep to see
Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed
By British hands, which it bad best behooved
To guard those relics ne'er to be restored.
Cursed be the hour when from their isle they roved,
And once again thy hapless bosom gored,
And snatch'd thy shrinking gods to northern climes
abhorr'd !

XVI.

But where is Harold ? shall I then forget
To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave ?
Little reck'd be of all ihat men regret ;
No loved-one now in feign'd lament could rave ;
No friend the parting band extended gave,
Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes :
Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave ;
But Harold felt not as in other times.
And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes.

He that has sail'd upon the dark-blue sea
Has view'd at times, I ween, a full fair sight ;
When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be,
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight ;
Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right,
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow,
The convoy spread like wild swans in ibeii

flight,
The dullest sailer wearing bravely now,
So gayly curl the waves before each dashing prow

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78 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto II.

XVIII.
And, oh! the Httle warlike world within !
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy/
The hoarse eommandj tho busy humming din,
When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high :
Hark, to the boatswain's call, the cheering cry !
While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides ;
Or schoolboy midshipman that, standing by,
Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides,
And well ihe docile crew that skilful urchin guides.

White is the glassy deck, without a stain,
Where on the watch the staid lieutenant walks :
Look on that part which sacred doth remain
For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks,
Silent and feared by all — not oft he talks
With aught beneath him, if he would preserve
That strict restraint, which, broken, ever balks
Conquest and Fame : but Britons rarely swerve
From law, however stern, which tends their strength
to nerve. ^

Blow ! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale :
Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray ;
Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail,
That lagging barks may make their lazy way.
Ah ! grievance sore, and listless, dull delay,
To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze !
What leagues are lost, before the dawn of day,
Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas,
Theflappingsailhaiil'ddownto halt for logslike these!

■ To prevent blocks or splinters from falling on deck during

■ [" From Disriplitie's stern law," &c.— MS.]

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Canto 11. P 1 L G li I H[ A G E. 79

The moon is up ; by Heaven, a lovely eve !
Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand ;
Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe ■
Such be our fate when we return to land !
Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand
Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love;'
A circle there of merry listeners stand,
Or to some well-known measure featly move,
Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove.

XXII.

Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy shore ;
Europe and Afric on each other gaze !
Lands of the dark-eyed maid and dusky Moor
Ahke beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze :
How softly on the Spanish shore she plays,
Disclosing rock and slope, and forest brown.
Distinct, though darkening with her waning phase ;
But Mauritania's giant shadows frown,
From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombredown.

XXIII.
'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel
We once have loved, though love is at an end :
The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,
Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend."
Who with the weight of years would wish to bend.
When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy ?
Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend,
Death hath but little left him to destroy !
Ah ! happy years ! once more who would not be a boy.'

' ["Plies the brisk instrument that sailors love." — MS.]
' [''BleeiJa the lone heart, once boundless in its zeal,

And friendless now, yet dreams it had a friend." — MS.]

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side,
To gaze on Dian's wave-reflecied sphere.
The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride,
And flies unconscious o'er each backward year.
None are so desolate biif something dear.
Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd
A thought and claims the homage of a tear;
A flashing pang ! of which the weary breast
Would stilf, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest.

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,

To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,

Where ihings that own not man's dominion

dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ;
To climb the trackless mountain ail unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold ;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ;
This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold
Converse with nature's charms, and view her stores

unroll'd.

But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless ;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress !
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less,
Of all that flatter'd, foUow'd, sought, and sued ;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude !

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Canto II. PILGRIMAGE. 81

More blest (he life of godl^ eremke,
Such as on lonely Athos may be seen,'
Walching at eve upon the giant height,
Which look o'er waves so blue, skies so serene,
That he who there at such an hour hath been
Will wistful linger on that hallow'd spot ;
Then slowly tear him from the witching scene,
Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot,
hen turn to hate a world he had almost forgot.

XXVIII-

Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track
Oft trod, that never ieaves a trace behind ;
Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack.
And each well known caprice of wave and wind ;
Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find,
Coop'd in their winged sea-girt citadel ;
The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind.
As breezes rise and fall and billows swell,
Till on some jocund morn — lo, land! and all is well :

But not in silence pass Calypso's isles,^
The sister tenants of the middle deep ;

^ [One of Lord Byron'schief delights was, Bshe himself statea
in one of I1L3 journals, after bathing ia some retired spot, to seat
himself on a high rock above the sea, and there remain for hours,
gizing upon the akj and the waters. » He led the life," says
Sir Egerton Brydges, "as he wrote the strains, of a true poet.
He codd sleep, and very frequently did sleep, wrapped up in his
rough great coat, on the hard boards of a deck, while the winds
aiid the waves were roaring round him on every side, and could
subsist on a crust and a glass of water. It would be difKeult to
persuade me, that he who is a eoxoomb in his manners, and arti-
ficial in his habits of life, could write good poetry,"

' Goia is said to have been the island of Calypso. — f" The

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83 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto II

There for the weary still a haven smiles.
Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep,
And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep
For him who dared prefer a mortal bride :
Here, too, his hoy essay'd the dreadful leap
Stem Mentor urged from high to yonder tide ;
While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly
sigh'd.

Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone :
But trust not this : too easy youth, beware !
A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne,
And thou mayst find a new Calypso there.
Sweet Florence ! could another ever share
This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine :
But check'd by every lie, I may not dare
To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine,
Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine.

XXXI.

Thus Harold deem'd, as on that lady's eye'
He look'd, and met its beam without a thought,
Save Admiration glancing harmless by:
Love kept aloof, albeit not far remote,
Who knew his votary often lost and caught,
But knew him as his worshipper no more,
And ne'er again the boy his bosom sought :
Since now he vainly urged him to adore,
Well deem'd the little god his ancient sway was o'er.

identityofthahabitationassigned by poets to the nymph Calypso,
has occasioned much discussion and variety of opinion. Some
place it at Malta, and ?ome at Goza." — ft'ir B. C. Hoarc's Classical
Tour.]
i ["Thus Harold spoke," &c MS.]

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Canto II. PILGRIMAGE. 83

Fair Florence' found, in sooth with some amaze,
One who, 'twas said, still sigli'd to all he saw,
Wuhstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze,
Which others hail'd with real or mimic awe,
Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their law;
All that gay Beauty from her houdsmen claims :
And much she marvell'd that a youth so raw
Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told flames.
Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely
anger darnes.

Little knew she that seeming marble heart,
Now mask'd in silence or withheld by pride.
Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art,^
And spread its snares licentious far and wide;'
Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside.
As long as aught was worthy to pursue :
But Harold on such arts uo more relied;
And had he doted on those eyes so blue,
Yet never would he join the lover's whining crew.

' [For an account of tiiis accomplished but eccentric laily,
whose acquaintance the poet formed at Malta, see Miscellaneous
Poems, September, 1809, " To Florence." — " In one so imagi-
native as Lord Byron, who, while he infused so mach of his life
into his poetry, mingled also not a little of poetry with his life,
it is difficult," says Moore, "in unravelling the texture of his
feelings, to diatingaish at all times between the fanciful and the
real. His desetiption here, for instance, of the unmoved and '
' loveless heart,' witt which iie contemplated even the charms of
this attractive person, is wholly at variance with the statements
in many of his letters; and, above all, with one of the most
graceful of his lesser poems, addressed to this same Jady, during
a thunder-storm on his road te Zitaa."]

' [Against this line it is sufficient Ui set the poet's own decla.
ration, in 1821. — ■' I am not a Joseph, nor a Scipio ; but I can
safely affirm, that I never in my life seduced any woman,"]

' [" We have here another iaatance of his propensity to self-

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84 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto H.

Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs ;
What careih she for hearts when once possess'd ?
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes ;
But not too humbly, or she will despise
Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes :
Disguise even tenderness, if Ihou art wise ;
Brisk Confidence* still best with woman copes:

Pique her and soQthe in turn, soon Passion crowns thy
hopes.

ssxv.
'Tis an old lesson ; Time approves it true,
And those who know it best, deplore it most ;
When all is won that all desire to woo.
The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost :
Youth wasted, minds degraded, honour lost,
These are thy fruits, successful Passion ! these !
If, kindly cruel, early Hope is crost.
Still to the last it rankles, a disease,

Not to be cured when Love itself forgets to please.
XXXVI.
Away ! nor let me loiter in my song.
For we have many a mountain-path to tread.
And many a varied shore to sail along,
By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led —
Climes, fair wiihal as ever mortal head
Imagined in its little schemes of thought ;
Or e'er in new Utopias were ared.
To teach man what he might be, or he ought;

If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught.

misrepresentation. Howevei great might have been the irregn-
Isrities of hia college life, such phrases as ' the spoiler's art,' and
'spreading snares,' were in no wise applicable to them." — ■
Moore.]
' [" BrisSi mpudence," fcc— MS.]

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P I L G K I M A G E.

Dear Nature is tiie kindest motlier still,

Though always changing in her aspect mild ;

From her bare bosom let me take my fill,

Her never-weaned, though not her favoat'd child.

Oh ! she is fairest in her features wild,

Where nothing polish'd dares pollute her path ;

To me by day or night she ever smiled,

Though I have mark'd her when none other hath.

And sought her more and more, and loved her best in
wrath.

XXXVIII.
Land of Albania ! where Iskander rose.
Theme of the yonng, and beacon of the wise,
And he his namesake, whose oft-baflled foes
Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprize:
Land of Albania !' let me bend mine eyes
On thee, tiiou rugged nurse of savage men I
The cross descends, thy minarets arise.
And the paie crescent sparkles in the glen.

Through many a cypress grove within each city's kea
XXXIX.
Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot.
Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave;^
And onward view'd the mount, nor yet forgot,
The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave.

" See Appendix, NotB [B].

' Ithaca, — [" Sept. 24th," says Mr. Hobhouse, " we were in
the channel, withlfliaca, then in tlie hands of the French, to the
west of ns. We were oloae to it, and saw a few shrubs on a
brown heathy land, two little towns in the bills, scattered amongst
trees, and a windmill or two, with a tower on the heights. That
lUiaca was not very strongly garrisoned jou will easily believe,
when I tell, that a month al^rwards, when the Ionian Islands
were invested by a British squadron, it was surrendered into the
hands of a sergeant and seven men," For a very curious ac onnt

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86 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cab to 11.

Dark Sappho ! could not verse iinmorlal save
That breast imbued with such immortal fire?
Could she not live who life eternal gave ?
If life eternal may await the lyre, [aspire.

That only heaven to which Earth's children may

'Twas on a Grecian aaliimn's gentle eve
Chiide Harold liail'd Leucadia's cape afarj^
A spot he longed to see nor cared to leave :
Oft did he mark the scene of vanish'd war,
Actinm, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar f
Mark ihem unmoved, for he would not d
(Born beneath some remote inglorious star)
in themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight, [wight.
But loath'd the bravo's trade, and laughed at martial

But when he saw the evening star above
Leucadia's far projecting rock of woe,
And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love,
He felt, ordeem'd he felt, no common glow:
And as the stately vessel glided slow
Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount,
He watched the billows' melancholy flow,

of thestate of thekingdom of UJysses in 1816, see Williams'a
Travels, vol. ii. p. 427.]

• Leocadia, now Sa t M n From l1ie promontory (the
Lover's Leap) Sappho d to ha th own berself. — [" Sept.

38tli, we doubled the p m ut ry f S nta Maura, and saw the
precipice which the fat f S ppl h poetry of Ovid, and the
rocks so formidable to tl n nt ma n rs, have made forever
memorable." — Hobhou k ]

9 Actium and Trafalga d n f Ih mention. The battle
of Lepan to, equally bloody and consideralle, but less known, was
fought in the Gulf of Patras. Here the author of Den Quixote
lost his left band.

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Canto II. PILGRIMAGE. 87

And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont,
More placid seem'dhiseye, and smooth hispallid front.'

XLII.

Morn dawns; and with it stern Albania's hills,
Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' iniand peak.
Robed hairin mist, bsdew'd with snowy rills,
Array'd in many a dun and purple streak,
Arise ; and, as the clouds along them break,
Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer ;
Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak.
Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear,

Andgatberingstorms around convulse the closing year.
xLiri.
Now Harold felt himself at length alone,
And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu ;
Now he adventured on a shore unknown.
Which all admire, but many dread to view :
His breast wasarm'd 'gainst fate,his wants were few.
Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet :
The scene was savage, but the scene was new ;
This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet, [heat.

Beatbackkeenwinter'sblast,and welcomed summer's

XLIV.

Here the red cross, for still the cross is here.
Though sadly SCO A'd at by the circumcised,
Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear ;
Churchman and votary alike despised.
Foul Superstition ! howsoe'er disguised.
Idol, saint, virgin, prophet crescent, cross.
For whatsoever symbol thou art prized,
Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss !
Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross?

' [" And roused him moTO from thought than he was wont,
While Pleasure almost seemed to smooth his placid
&ont."~MS.]

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88 CHILDI-: HAROLD'S Canto II,

XLV.

Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost
A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing !
In yonder rippling bay, their naval host
Did many a Roman chief and Asian king*
To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring :
Look where the second Cfesar's trophies rose :*
Now, hke Ihe hands that rear'd them, withering :
Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes I
Goo I was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and lose?

XLVI.

From the dark barriers of that rugged clime,
Kven to the centre of Illyria's vales,
Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a moiint sublime.
Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales ;
Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales
Are rarely seen ; nor can fair Tempe boast
A charm they know not ; loved Parnassus fails,
Though classic groundand consecrated most, [coast.
To match some spots that lurk within this lowering

He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake,*
And left the primal city of the land,'

> It is said, that, on the day previous to the battle of Aetium,
Antony tiad thirteen kioga at his levee. — ["To-day" (Nov. 13,)
" I saw the remains of the town of Aetium, near which Antony
lost the world, in a small bay, where two frigates could hardly
manteuvre: a broken wall is the sole remnant. On another part
of tiie gulf stand the ruins of Nicopolis, built by Augustus, Ln
honour of his victory." — Lord Syroa to Ms Mot/ier, 1809.]

» Nieopolia, whose tuins are most extfinaive, is at some distance
from Aotium, where the wall of the Hippodrome survives in a few.
fragments. These ruins are lai^ masses of brickwork, the
bricks of which are joined by interstices of mortar, as large ss
the bricks themselves, and equally durable.

» According to Pouqueville, the lalte of Yanina : hut Pouque-
ville is always out.

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Cakto li. P I L G R I MAG E. 89

And onwards did his further journey (aki;

To greet Albania's chief,' whose dread command

Is lawless law ; for with a bloody hand

He sways a nation, turbulent and bold :

Yet here and (here some daring mountain-band

Disdain his power, and from Iheir loclty hold

Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold.^
XI. VIII.
Monastic Zifza P from thy shady brow,
Thou small but favour'd spot of holy ground !
Where'er we gaze, around, above, below,
What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found !
Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound,
And bluest skies that harmonize the whole ;
Beneath, rhe distant torrent's rushing sound
Tells where the voiumed cataract doth roll [soul.

Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the

^ The celebrated A]i Paslia. Of tliia extraordinary man there
incorrect account in PooqueTilk's Travels. — [" I left Malla
in the Spider brig-of-war, on the 21st of September, and arrived
[n eight days at Prevesa. I thence hava traversed Iheinleriorof
theprovince of Albama.onavisitto thepasha.asfaras Tepaleeu,
his highness's country palace, where I stayed three days. The
name of the pasha is Ali, and he is considered a man of the first
abilities ; be governsthe wholeof Albania, {the ancient IJIyricum,)
Epiras, and part of Macedonia." — £orrf B, to his Mother.']

" Five thousand Suliotes, among the rocks and in the castle of
Snli, withstood thirty tiiousand Albanians for eighteen years; the
castle at last was taken by bribery. In tliis contest there were
several acts performed not unworthy of the better days of Greece.

■ The convent and village ofZitia are four hoiirs'Jonrney from
Joannina, or Yanina, the capital of the pashalick. In the valley
theriveiKalamus (once the Acheron) flows, and, not for from Zit-
za, forms a fine cataract. The situation is perhaps the finest in
Greece, though (he approach to Delvinachi and parts of Acamania
and jBtolia may contest -the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and, in
Attica, even Cape Colonnaand PorlRaphti, are very inferior; as
also every scene in Ionia, or the Troad : I am almost inclined to
add the approach to Constantinople ; but, from the different fea-

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90 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto II.

SLIX.

Amidst the gvove that crowns you tufted hill,
Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh
Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still,
Might well itself be deera'd of dignity,
The convent's white walls glisten fair on high :
Here dwells the caloyer,' nor rude is he,
Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by
Is welcome still ; nor heedless will he flee
From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see.

L.

Here in the sultriest season let him rest.
Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees ;
Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast,
From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze :
The plain is far beneath— oh ! let him seize
Pure pleasure while he can : the scorching ray
Here piereeth not, impregnate with disease :
Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay.
And gaze, nntired, the mom, the noon, the eve away.

tares of the last, a comparison can hardly be made. [" Zitza,"
saya the poet's companion, " is a village inhabited by Greek
peasants. Perhaps there is not in the world a more romantic
prospect than that which is viewed from the summit of the hill.
The foreground is a genfle declivity, teimtnating on every side in
an extensive landscape of green bills and dale, enriched with
vineyards, and dotted with frequent flocks."]

' The Greek monks are so called. — [» We went into the mo-
nastery," says Mr. Hohhoiise, "after some parley with one of
the monks, d^rough a small door plated with iron, on which the
marks of violence were very apparent, and which, before the
country had been tranquillized under the powGrftl government
of All, had been battered in vain by the troops of robbers then,
by turns, infesting every district. The prior, an humble, meek-
manneied man, entertained us in a warm chamber with grapes,
and a pleasant white wine, not trodden out, as tie told us, by the
feet, hut pressed from the grape by the hand ; and we were so

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Canto H. P I L fi R I M A G E. 91

Dnsky and huge, enlarging on the sight,
Nature's volcanic ampliilheatre.i
ChimEera's alps extend from left to right :
Berjeath a living valley seems to stir; [fir

Flocks piay, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-
Nodding above ; behold black Acheron !^
Once consecrated to the sepulchre.
Pluto ! if this be hell I look upon, [none.

Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for

LII,

Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view ;
Unseen is Yanina, though not remote,
Veil'd by the screen of hills : here men are few,
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot :
But, peering down each precipice, the goat
Browseth; and, pensive o'er his scattered flock,
The little shepherd in his white capote'
Doth lean his boyish form along the rock.
Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock.

LI II.

Oh ! where, Dodona ! is thine aged grove.

Prophetic fount, and oracle divine ?

What valley echoed the response of Jove ?

What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's shrine ?

All, all forgotten — and shall man repine

That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke ?

Cease, fool ! the fate of gods may well be thine :

Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak ?
When nations, tongues, and worlds mnst sink beneath

the stroke !
well pleased with every thing about us, that we agreed to lodge
with him on our return from the vizier."]

• The ChimaTiot mountains appear to have been volcanic.

■ Now called Kalamas.

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93 CHir.DE HAROLD'S Canto II.

Liv.
Epirus' bonuds recede, and moimtains fail ;
Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye
Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale
As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye :
Even on a plain no humble beauties lie.
Where some bold river breaks tiie long expanse,
And woods along the banks are waving high,
Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, [trance.
Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn

The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit,^
And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by f
The shades of wonted night were gathering yet,
When, down the steep banks winding warily,
Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky,
The glittering minarets of Tepalen,
Whose walls o'erlook thestream ; and drawing nigh,
He heard the busy hum of warrior-men [glen.'
Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening

* Anciently Mount Tomarus.

* The river Laos was full at the dme the author passed it;
and, immediately above T epaleen, was to the eye as wide aa the
Thames at Westminster; at least in the opinion of the author
and his fellow-traveller. In tJiesummerit must be much narrow,
ec. It certainly is the finest river in the Levant ; neither Ache-
lous, Alpheus, Acheron, Scamander, nor Cayster, approached it
in breadth or beauty.

' [" A!i Pasha, heating that an Englishman of rank was inhis
dominions, left orders, in Vanina, with the commandant, to pr»>-
vide a house, and supply me with every kind of necessary grafis.
I rode out on the vizier's horses, and saw the palaces of himself
and grandsons. I shall never forget the singular scene on entering
Tepaleen, atfivein theaftemoon, (Oct. 11,) as the sun was going
down. It brought to my mind (witli some change of dress, how-
ever) Scott's description of Branksome Castle in his Lay, and
the feudal system. The Albanians in their dresses (the most

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PILGRIMAGE.

He pass'd the sacred harem's silent tower,
Aud underneath the wide o'erarching gate
Survey'd the dweUing of this chief of power,
Where ali around proclaim'd his high estate.
Amidst no common pomp the despot sate.
While busy preparation shoolt the court;
Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait;
Wiihin a palace, and without, a fort;
Here men of every clime appear to make resort.

IVII.

Richly caparison'd, a ready row
Of armed horse, and many a warlike store,
Circled the wide-extending court below;
Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridore ;
And oft-times through the area's echoing door,
Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away :
The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor,
Here mingled in their many-hned array.
While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close
of day.

magnificent in the world, consisting of a lonn; wlvile kilt, gold,
worked cloak, crimson velvet gold-laoed jacket and waistcoat,
eilvei-niounted pistols and daggers;) tlieTartara, with their higl»
caps ; tlie Turks in their vast pelisses and turbans ; the soldiers
and black slaves with the horses, tlie former in groups, in an im-
mense large open gallery, in front of the palace, the latter placed
in a kind of cloister below it;, two hundred steeds ready capari-
soned to move in a moment; couriers entering or passing out
with despatches ; the kettledrums beating; boys calling the hour
from the minaret of the mosque ; — vdtogetiier, with the singular
j^pearance of Ihe building itself, funned a new and delightful
Bpectiicle to a stranger. I was conducted to a very handsome
apartment, and my health inquired after by the vinicr's secretary
4 la mode Turque." — Byron Letlers.l

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94 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto U.

LVIII,

The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee
With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun,
The goid-embroidered garments, fair to see j
The crimson-scarfed men of Macedoti ;
The Delhi with his cap of terror on,
And crooked giaive; the lively, supplo Greek;
And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son ;
The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak,
Master of all around, loo potent to be meek,

I.IX.

Are mix'd conspicuous: some recline in groups,
Scanning the motley scene that varies round;
There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops,
And somethatsmoke, and some that play, are foimd;
Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground ;
Haif whispering there the Greek is heard to prate ;
Hark! from the mosque (he nightly solemn sound.
The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret,
" There is no god but God ! — to prayer— lo ! God is
" great !"^

IX.

Just at this season Ramazani's fast^

Through the long day its penance did maintain :

' t"On OUT arrival at Tepaleen, we were lodged in the palace.
Dufing the night wa were disturbed by Ihe perpetual carousal
which seemed to he kept up in the gallery, and hy the drum, and
the voice of the ' Mueaiin,' orchanter, calling the Turks to pray-
ers from the minaret of the mosque attached to the palace. The
chantfiT was a boy, anil he sang out his hymn in a sort of loud
melancholy recitative. He was a longtime repeating thepurport
of these few words: ' God most high! I bear witness that there
is no god but God, and Mahomet is his prophet : come to prajei ;
come to the aaylurn of salvation ; great God ! tiiere is no God but
God '" — HoeaousE.]

' I" We were a littie unfortnnate in the time we chose for
travelling, for it was during tiieRamazan, 01 Turkish Lent, which

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Canto IL PILGRIMAGE. 05

But when the lingering twilight hour was past,
Revel and feast assumed the rule again :
Now all was buslie, and the menial train
Prepared and spread the plenteous board within;
The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain,
But from the chambers came the mingling din,
As page and slave anon were passing out and in.

LXI.

Here woman's Voice is never heard : apart,
And scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to move,
She yields to one her person and her heart.
Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove :
For, not imhappy in her master's love,
And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares.
Blest cares ! all other feelings far above !
Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears.
Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares.

LXII.

In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring
Of living water from the centre rose,
Whose bubbluig did a genial freshness fling.
And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose,
Ali rechned, a man of war and woes :'
fell Uiis year in October, and was hailed at the rising of the now
moon, on the evening of tlie 8th, by every demonstration of joy :
but although, dniing this month, the strictest abstinence is ob-
served in the daytime, yet with the setting oflhe sun the feasting
commences; then is the time for paying and receiving visits, and
for tlie amusements ofTurkey, puppet-shows, jugglers, dancers,
and atory-telleis." — Hobhouse,]

* ["On thelSttijIwaaintroduced to AliPaaha. I was dressed
in a full suit of staff tmifotm, with a very magnificent sabre, &,a
The vizier received me in a large room paved with marble ; a
fountain was playing in the centre ; the apartment was surrounded
by scarlet ottomans. He received me standing, a wonderfiil com-
pliment from a Mussulman, and made me sit down on his right
hand. His first question was, why, at so early an age,I left my
country T Hothensaid,the English minister. Captain Leake, had

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96 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto II.

Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace,
While Gentleness her milder radiance throws
Along that aged venerable face, [grace.

The deeds that Jurli beneath, and stain him with dis-

Lxm.
It is not that yon hoary lengthened board
III suits the passions which belong to youth ;
Love conquers age— so Hafiz hath averr'd.
So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth—
But crimes that scorn the tender voice of ruth,
Beseeming all men ill, but most the man
In years, have marli'd him with a tiger's tooth ;'
Blood follows blood, and through their mortal span.
In bloodier acts conclude those who with bloodbegan.^

told himi was of a great iamily, and desired his respects to my
mother ; which I now, in the name of Ali Pasha, present to you.
He said he was certain 1 was a man of birth, because I had small
ears, curling liair.and little white hands. He toid me to consider
him as a father whilst I was in Turkey, and said he looked on me
as hia own son. Indeed, he treated me like a child, sending me
almoads and sng^ared sherbet, fruit, and sweetoteats, twenty times
a day. I then, after coffee and pipps, retired." — B. iokiaMotha:'\

* [Mr. Hobhonse desciibas tbe vizier as "a short man, about
five feet five inches in height, and very fat; possessing a very
pleasing face, fair and round, with blue quick eyes, not at all
settled into a Turkish gravity." Dr. Holland happily compares
the spirit which lurked under All's usual exterior, as " the fire
of a atove, burning fiercely under a smooth and polished surface."
When the doctor returned from Albania, in 1813, he brought a
letter from the pasha to Lord Byron. "It is," says the poet, "in
Latin, and begins ' Eiccetlentissime, netnon Carissime,' and ends
about a gun he wants made for him. Hetells me that, last spring,
he toot a tDwn, a hostile town, where, forty-two years ago, hia
mother and sisters were treated as Miss Cunegunde was by the
Bulgarian cavalry. He takes the town, selects all the survivors
of the exploit — children, grandchildren, &c., to the tune of six
hundred, and has them shot before his face. So much for ' dearest
friend.' "]

' [The fate of Ali was precisely such as the poet anticipated.

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PILGRIMAGE.

Mid many things most new to ear and eye
The pilgi'im rested here his weary feet,
And gazed around on Moslem hixtiryV
Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat
Of Weahh and Wantonness, the choice retreat
Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise :
And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet ;
But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, [destroys.

And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both

LXV.

Fierce are Albania's children, yet they laclc
Not virtues, were those virtues more mature.
Where is the foe that ever saw their back ?
Who can so well the toil of war endure?
Their native fastnesses not more secure
Than they in doublful time of troublous need ;
Their wrath how deadly ! but their friendship sure,
When Gratitude or Valour bids Ihem bleed,
Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead.

For a circumstantial account of his assassinaUon, in February,
1822, see Walsh's "Journey fcom Constantinople to England,"
p. 60. His head wassentto Constantinople,andexhibitedatthe
gates of the seraglio. As the name of Ali had made a cons-derable
noise in England, in consequence of hia negotiations with Sir
Thomas Maitland, and still more, perhaps, these stanzas of Lord
Byron, a merchant of Constantinople thought itivould be no bad
speculation to purchase the head and consign it to a London
showman ; but this scheme was defeated by the piety of an old
serrant of the pasha, who bribed the executioner with a higher
price, and bestowed decent sepulture on the relie.]
> [" Childe Harold with the chief held colloquy.

Yet what they spake it boots not to repeat,

Converse may little charm strange ear or eye;

Albeit he rested in that spacious seat

Of Moslem luxury," &c.— MS.]

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08 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto 11.

Lxvr.
Childe Harold saw lliem in their chiefiain's tower.
Thronging to war in splendour and success;
And after viewed them, when, within their power,
Himself a while the victim of distress ;
That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press:
But these did shelter him beneath their roof,
When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less,
And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof —

In aught thai tries the heart how few withstand the
proof !

LXVII.

It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark
Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore,
When all around was desolate and dark ;
To land was perilous, to sojourn more ;
Yet for a while the mariners forbore,
Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk ;
At length they ventuiedforth, though doubling sore
That those who loathe alike the Frank and Tiirk
Might once again renew their ancient bulchcr-work.

Vain fear! the Suliotes sfretch'd the welcome hand,
Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp,
Kinder than polish'd slaves, though not so bland.
And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments

damp,
And fiU'd the bowl, and trimm'dthe cheerful lamp,
And spread theirfare ; though homely, all they had:
Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp —
To vest the weary and to soothe the sad,
Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad.

* Alluding to the wrecliers of Cornwall.

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PILGRIMAGE.

It came to pass, that when he did address
Himself to quit at length this mountain-land,
Combined marauders halfway barr'd egress,
Aud wasted far and near with glaive and brand ;
And therefore did he take a trusty band
To traverse Acarnania's forest wide,
In war well season'd, and with labours tann'd,
Til! he did greet white Achelous' tide,
And from iiis further bank ^tolia's w6lds espied.

LXX.

Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove.
And weary waves retire to gleam at rest,
How brown the foliage of the green hill's grove.
Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast.
As winds come lightly whispering from the west,
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene i —
Here Harold was received a welcome guest ;
Not did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, [glean.
For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence

LXXI.

On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed.
The feast was done, the red wine circling fast,'
And he that unawares had there ygazed,
With gaping wonderment had stared aghast;
For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past.
The native revels of the troop began ;
Each Palikar* his sabre from him cast,
And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man,

Yelling their tmcouth dirge, long daunced the Idrtled
clan.^
' The Albanian Mussnlmans do not abstain from, wine, and,

indeed, very few of the others.

1 Paliltar, shortened when addressed fo a single person, from

OoSmipi, a general nams for a soldier amongst tlie Greeks and

Albanese who speak Romaic : it means, properly, " a lad."
" [The following is Mr. Hobhou9e's animated dosciiplioii of

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100 OHILDE HAROLD'S Canto 11.

LXKII.

Childe Ilaroid at a liltle distance stood,
And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie,
Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude:
In sooth it was no vulgar sight to see
Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee ;
And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd,
Tlieir gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free,
The long wild locks that to iheir girdles stream'd,
While thus in concert (hey this lay half sang, half

screamed : — '
this scene: — "In the evening the gales were secured, and pre.
parations weremade for feeding our Albanians. Agoat was killed
and Toasted whole, and foul lires were kindled in the yard, round
which the soldiers seated therof elves in parties. After eating and
drinking, the greatest part of them assembled round the largest
of the fires, and whilst ourselves and the elders of the party were
seated on the ground, danced round the blaze, to their own songs,
with astonishing energy. Al! their songs were relations of some
robbing exploits. One of them, which detained them more than
an hoar, began thus — ' When we set out from Parga, there were
sixty of ns:' then came the burden of the verse, —

' Robbers all at Pai^ ! — Robbers ail at Parga ['
'KXc^rEis irorE Hapyai—KXc^tnit aoTc Tlapyal.'
and, as they roared out this stave, tiej whirled round the iire,
dropped, and rebounded from tiieir knees, and again whirled round,
as the chorus was again repeated. Theripplingof the waves upon
thepebbljmarginwhere we were seated, filled up tiie pauses of the
song with a milder, and not more monotonous music. Tbe night
was very dark ; but, bj the flashes of the flres, we cau^t a glimpse
of the woods, the rocks, and the lake, which, together with the wild
appearance of the dancers, presented us with a scene that would
have made a fine picture in the hands of such an artist as the author
of the Mysteries of Udolpho. As we were acquainted with the
character of the Albanians, it did not at all diminish our pleasure to
know, that every one of our guard had been robbers, and some of
them a very short time before. It was eleven o'clock before wo
had retired to our room, at which time the Albanians, wrapping
themselves up in their capotes, went
' [For a specimen of the jUbaniii
Tllyric, see Appendix, Nfto [C].]

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Canto IJ. PILGRIMAGE. 101

I.
Tamboubgi ! Tambourgi !' thy 'larum afar
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war ;
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
Chimariotj Illyrian, and dark Suliote !^

8.
Oh ! who is more brave than a dark SGhote,
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote ?
To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock,
And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock.

3.
Shall the sons of Chimavi, who never forgive
The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live ?
Let those guns so uneiTingsuch vengeance forego ?
What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe ?

4.
Macedonia sends forth her invincible race ;
For a time they abandon the cave and the chase :
But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before
The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er.

5.
Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves,
And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves.
Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar,
And track to his covert the captive on shore.

6.
I ask not the pleasures that riches supply.
My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy ;
Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair,
And many a maid from her mother shall tear.

■ Drummer.

' These Btanzaa are partly taken from different Albanese
songs, as far as I was able to make them out liy the exposition
of the Albanese in Romaie and Italian.

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103 CHILDE IIARO LD'S Canto II.

7,
I love the fair face of the maid in iier yoiitli,
Her caresses sliall lull me, her music shall soothe ;
Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre.
And sing us a song on ihe fall of lier sire.

Remember the moment when Previsa fell,'
The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors' yell ;
The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared.
The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared.

I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear ;
He neither must know who would serve the vizier :
Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw
A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw.

Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped,

Let the yellow-hair'd* Giaours^ view his horsetail^

with dread.
When his Delhis' come dashing in blood o'er ihe banks.
How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks !

Selictar !* unsheathe then our chiePs scimitar:
Tambourgi ! thy 'larum gives promise of war.
Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore.
Shall view us as victors, or view us no more !

' It was taken by storm froni the French.

" Yellow is tliB epithet ^ven to the Russians.

= Infidel.

• The insignia of a pasha.

* Horsemen, n
" Sword-b

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Canto II. PILGRIMAGE. 103

I.XXIII.

Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! ,
Iminortal, though no more ; though fallen great !
Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth,
And long accustom'd hondage uhcreate ?
Not such thy sons who whilonie did await,
The hopeless warriors of a willing doom,
In bleak Thermopylee's sepulchral strait —
Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume,
Leap fromEurotas'han]ts,andcall thee from the tomb?

LXXIV.

Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow^
Thou sat'st with Thrasyhulus and his train,
Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which now
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain?
Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain,
But every carle can lord it o'er thy land ;
Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain,
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand ;
From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed, un-
man n'd.

LXXV.

In all save form alone, how changed ! and who
That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye.
Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew
With thy nnquenched beam, lost Liberty !
And many dream withal the hour is nigh
That gives them back their fathers' heritage :
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh,
Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, [page.
Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful

' Some Thoughts on the preaent state of Greece and Turkey
will be found in the Appendix, Notes [D] and [E].

^ Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, has still
considerable^ remains ; it was seiaed bvThraaybulus, prefioua to
the expulsion of the Thirty.

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104 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto II.

I, XX VI.
Hereditary bondsmen '. know ye not
Who would be free themselves must sirike the biow?
By their right arms the conquest must be wrought?
Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? no !
True, they may lay your proud despoilers low.
But not for you will Freedom's altars flame.
Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er your foe!
Greece! change thy lords, thy state is still the same,
Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of shame.

I. XXVI I.
The city won for Allah from the Giaour,
The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest;
And the serai's impenetrable tower
Receive the fiery Prank, her former giiesl;'
Or Wahab's reve! brood who dared divest
The prophet's^ tomb of all its pious spoil.
May wind their path of blood along the West ;
But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil,
Butslave succeed toslave through years of endless toil.

Yet mark their mirth — ere lenfen days begin
That penance which their holy rites prepare
To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin,
By daily abstinence and nightly prayer;
But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear.
Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all.
To take of pleasaunce each his secret share,
Jn motley robe to dance at masking ball,
And join the mimic train of merry Carnival.

> When taken by the Latins, and retained for several years,
" Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the Wa-
habees, a sect yearly increasing.

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Canto II. P I L (3 E I M A G E. 105

LX'XIS.

And wliose more rife with merriment than thine,
Oh Stambonl !* once the empress of their reign ?
Though turbans now pollnte Sophia's shrine,
And Greece her very altars eyes in vain :
(Alas ! her woes will slill pervade my strain !)
Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng.
All felt the common joy they now must feign, "
Nor oft I've seen such sights, nor heard such song,~
As woo'd the eye, and thrill'd the Bosphorus along.^
' [Of ConBlantinople Lord Byronsays, — "Ihave seen the ruins
of Athens, of Ephesus, and Delhi ; I have trarersed great psrt of
Turliey and many other parts of Europe, and some of Asia; but
I never beheld a work of nature or art which yielded an impression
lilce the prospect on each side, from the Seven Towers to the end
of the Golden Horn."]

* ["Theview of Constantinople," says Mr. Rose, "which ap.
peared intersected by groves of cypress, (for such is the effect of ils
greatburial-grouiidsplantedwiththesetrees,) its gilded domes and
minarets reflee^ng the first tays of the sun ; the deep blue sea ' in
which it glassed itself,' and Ikal sea covered with beautiful boats
and barges darting in every direction in perfect silence, amid sea.
fowl, who sat at rest upon the waters, altogether conveyed such an
imjifession as I had never received, and probably never shall again
receive, from the view of any otherplace." The following sonnel,
by the same author, has been so often quoted, that, but for its exqui-
site beauty, we should not have ventured to reprint it here: —
"A glorious form thy shining city wore,
Mid cypress thickets of perennial green.
With minaret and golden dome between.
While thy sea softly kiss'd ils grassy shore ;
Darting aeross whose blue expanse was seen
Of sculptured barlts and galleys many a score ;
Whence noise was none save that of plashing oarf
Nor word was spoke, to break the calm serene.
Unheard is whisker'd boatman's hail or joke ;

Who, mute as Sinbad's man of copper, rows.
And only intermits the sturdy stroke.
When fearless gul! too nigh his pinnace goes.

I, hardly conscious if I dream'd or woke,
Mack'd that strange piece of action and repose.")

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Loud was the lightsome tiimiilt on the shore.
Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone.
And timely echo'd back the measured oar.
And rippling waters made a pleasant moan :
The queen of tides on high consenting shone,
And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave,
'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne,
A brighter glance her form reflected gave,
Till sparkling billows seem'd to light the banks they
lave.

Glanced many a light caique along the foam.
Danced on the shore the daughters of the land,
Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home,
While many a languid eye and thrilling hand
Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand,
Or gently press'd, return'd the pressure still :
Oh Love ! yoimg Love ! bound in thy rosy band,
Let sage or cynic prattle as he will,
rhese hours, and only these, redeem Life's years

of iin

But, midst the throng in merry masquerade.
Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain,
Even through the closest searraent half hetray'd ?
To such the gentle murmurs of the main
Seem to re-eeho ali they monrn in vain ;
To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd
Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain :
How do they loathe the laughter idly loud,
And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud!

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PILGRIMAGE.

Th\s must ho feel, the true-born son of Greece,
If Greece one trne-born patriot still can boast :
Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace,
The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost,
Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost,
And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword :
Ah! Greece! they love thee least who owe thee most;
Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record
Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde !

1 XXXIV.
When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood,
When Thebes Epamiiiondas rears again,
When Athens' children are with hearts endued.
When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men,
Then mayst thou be restored ; but not till then.
A thousand years scarce serve to form a slate ;
An hour may lay it in Ihe dust : and when
Can man ils shafter'd splendour renovate.
Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate ?

Lxxxv.

And ycthow lovely in thine age of woe.
Land of lost gods and godlike men, art thou !
Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow,'
Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now :
Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow,
Comminghng slowly with heroic earth,
Broke by the share of every rustic plough :
So perish monuments of mortal birth.
So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth;

' On many of the moantains, particularly Lialiura, the snniv
never is entiiely melted, notwithstanding the intense heat ot iliti

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108 CllILDE HAROLD'S Canto 11

Save where some solitary column mourns
Above its prostrate brethren of the cave;^
Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns
Coloima's clifi',' and gleams along the wave ;
Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave,
Where the gray stones and unmolested grass
Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave,
While strangers only not regardless pass,
Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh
"Alas!"

1 Of Mount Pentelious, from whence the marljle was dug that
constructed the public edifices of Athens. The modem name is
Mount Mendeii. An immense cave, formed by the quarries, still
lemdns, ajid will till the end of time.

* In aUAttica,ifwe except Athens itself and Marathon, there is
no scene more interesting than Cape Colonna. To the antiquary
and artist, sixteen columnsare aninexhaustiblesource of observa-
tion and design ; to the philosopher, the supposed scene of some
of Plato's conversations will not be unwelcome (and the traveller
will be struck with the beauty of the prospect over " Isles lliat
crown the jBgean deep ;" but, for an Englishman, Colonna has
yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's Ship-
wreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten, in the recollection of
Falconer and Campbell : —

" Here in the dead of night by Lonna's steep.
The seaman's cry was heard along tho deep."
This t«mple of Minerva maybe seen at sea from a great distance.
In two journeys which I made, and one voyage to Cape Colonna,
the view from either side, by land, was less striking than the ap-
proach from the isles. In our second land excursion, we had a
narrow escape from a party of Mainotes, concealed inthecavems
hiiueath. We were told afterwards, by one of their prisoners, snh-
BOiiuently ransomed, that they were deterred from attacking us by
I lie appearance of my two Albanians : conjecturing very sagacious-
ly, but falsely, that we had a complete guard of these Arnaouts
at hand, they remained stationary, and thas saved our party,
which was tao small to have opposed any effectual resistance,
fli'l'.iiina h no less a resort of painters than of pirates; there

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P I J. G R T M A G E.

Yet are ihy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ;
Sweet are thy groves, aud verdant are ihy fields,
Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled,
And still his honied wealth Hymeltns yields;
There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds,
The fieeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air;
Apollo still Ihy long, long summer gilds,
Still in his beam Mendeh's marbles glare ;
Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair.'

Where'er we tread 'lis haunted, holy ground;
No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould.
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around,
And all the Muse's tales seem truly told,
Till the sense aches wilh gazing to behold
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon :
Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold
Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone:
4ge shakes Athena'stower,but spares gray Marathon.

" The hireling' artist plants his paltry desk,
And makes degraded nature picturesque."'

(See Hodgson's Lady Jane Grey, &«.)
But there Nature, with the aid of Art, has done that for herself.
I was fortunate enough to engage a very saperior German artist ;
and hope to renew my acquaintance with this and many other
LeYantine aeenea, by the arrtvai of his performances.

* [The following passage, in Harris's Philosophical Inqui-
ries, contains the pith of tliis stanza: — "Notwithstanding the
various fortunes of Athens, as a city, Attica is still femous for
olives, and Mount Hymettus for honey. Hnman institutions
perish, but Nature is permanent." I recollect having; once
pointed out this coincidence to Lord Byron, but he assured me
that he had never seen this work of Harris. — Moore.]

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no CHir.DE HAROLD'S CawTO II.

LXXXIX.

The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same ;
Unchanged in all except its foreign lord —
Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame
The battle-field, where Persia's victim horde
First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,
As on the morn to distant Glory dear,
When Marathon became a magic word ;'
Which littered, to the hearer's eye appear
The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career.

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ;
The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ;
Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below;
Death in the front, Destruction in the rear !
Such was the scene — what now remaineth here ?
What sacred trophy marks the haliow'd ground.
Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear ?
The rifled urn, the violated mound,
The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spurns
around.

Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past
Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng ;

1 "Siste Viator — heroacaleas 1" was the epitaph on the famous
Count Merci; — what thenmust be out feelings when slandirgon
the tumulus of the two hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon!
The principal barrow has recently been opened by FaoTel : few
or no relics, as vases, &c. wcrG found by the excavator. The
plain of Marathon was offered to me for sale at the Bum of sixteen
thousand piastres^ aboot nine hundred pounds! Alas! — "Ex-
pende^quot /ifiras induce summo — invenies!" — was the dadt
of Miltiades worth no morel It could sciircely have fetched less
if sold by weight.

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Oanto II. P I L G li I M A G E.

Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast,
Hai! the bright clime of battle and of song;
Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue
Fill with !hy fame the youth of many a shore;
Boast of the aged ! lesson of the yonng!
Which sages venerate and hards adore,
As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore.

The parted bosom clings to wonted home.
If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth;
He that is lonely, hither let him roam,
And gaze complacent on congenial earth.
Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth :
But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide,
And scarce regret the region of his birth.
When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side,
Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and ~

xciri-
Let such approach this consecrated land,
And pass in peace along the magic waste ;
But spare its relics — let no busy hand
Deface the scenes, already how defaced !
Not for such purpose were these altars placec
Revere the remnants nations once revered :
So may our country's name be undisgraced.
So maystthou prosper where thy youth was re
By every honest joy of love and life endear'd !

xciv.
For thee, who thus in too protracted song
Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious la;

1 [The original MS. closes with this stanza. The rei
a^ded while the canto was passing through the press.]

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113 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto II.

Soon shall thy voice be lost amid tiie throng
Of louder minstrels in these later days :
To such resign the strife for fading hays —
III may such contest now the spirit move
Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise,
Since cold each kinder heart that might approve,
And none are left to please where none are left to love.

xcv.
Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one !
Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me ;
Who did for me what none beside have done,
Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee.
What is my being ? thou hast ceased to be !
Nor stay'd to welcome here thy wanderer home,
Who mournso'erhourswhich we no more shall see — ■
Would ihey had never been, or were to come !
Would hehadne'erretLirn'dtofindfreshcause to roam!

xcvi.
Oh ! ever loving, lovely, and beloved !
How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past,
And clings to thoughts now better far removed !
But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last.
All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death ! thou

hast;
The parent, friend, and now the more than friend :
Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast,
And grief with grief continuing still to blend.
Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend

XCVII.

Then must I plunge again into the crowd.
And follow alJ that Peace disdains to seek?
Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud,
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek.

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t;,iNT!) n. PILGRIMAGE. 113

To leave (he flagging spirit doubly weak ;
Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer.
To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ;
Smiles form the channel of a future fear,
Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembied sneer.

XCVIII.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age ?
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow ?
To view each loved one blotted from life's page,
And be alone on earth, as I am now.'
Before the Chastener humbly let me bow,
O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroy'd :
Roil on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow,
Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd,
And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd,

* [This stanza was written October II, 18 II; upon which day
fiiepoet, in a letter to a friend, says, — "1 have been again shocked
with a death, and have lost one very dear to me in happier times;
hut ' I have almost forgot the taste of grief,' and ' supped Ml of
horrors' till I have become callous, nor have I a tear left for an event
which, five years ago, would have bowed down my head to liiB
earlji. It seems as though I were to experience in in)> youth tiae
greatest misery of age. My friends fall around me, and I shall
beleft a lonely tree before I am withered. Other men can always
lake refuge in their families : I have no resource but my own re-
flections, and they present no prospect here oi hereafter, except
the selfish satisfaction of surviving my friends. I airl indeed very
wretched, and you will excuse my saying so, as yon know I am
not apt to cant of sensibility." In reference to this stanza,
" Siirely," SEdd Professor Olaike to the author of the " Pursuits
of Literature," " Lord Byron cannot have experienced such kean
anguish as these exquisite allusions to what older men may have
felt seem to denote." — "I fear he has," answered Matthias;
'■ he could not otherwise have written such a poem."]

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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

CANTO THE THIRD.

"Afin que cette application vous for^flt da penser i autre
chose ; il n'y a en verito de remede que celui-lil et la temps." —
LcUn du Rai de Prusse a n'Mcmbert, 8i:pi. 7, 1776.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

Is thy face like thy mothec's, my fair child !
Ada ,' sole elaughter of my house and heart ?^
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled.
And when we parted, — not as how 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 f hut the hour's gone hy,
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad
mine eye.

» r«BeganJulyl0th,181G. Diodati, near Lake of Geneva."—
MS.]

* [111 a hitherto unpuhlished letter, dated Verona, November G,
1816, Lord Byron saya — " By the way, Ada's name (which I
found in our ]>edigree, under King John's reign) is the same with
tliat of the sister of Charlemagne, as I redde, the other day, in a
book treating on the Rhine."]

' [Lord Byron quitted England, for the second and last time,
on the 35lh of April, I81G, attended by William Fieleher and
Robert Rushton, the "yeoman" and "page" of Canto I,; his
physician, Dr. Polidori; and a Swiss valet.]

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Once more upon the waters ! yet once more !
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.' Welcome to the roar!
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead !
Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed,
And the rent canvass fluttering strew the gale,*
Still must I on ; for I am as a weed.
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath
prevail.

In 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 wi'h me, as the rushing wind
Bears the cloud onwjards : in that tale I find
The furrows of lon^ 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 lire,^where not a flower ap-
pears.

' [In tlie " Two Noble Kinsmen" of Beaumont and Fletcliar,
(a play to which the picture of passionate friendship delineated in
the characters of Paiamon and Arcite would he sure to draw the
attention of Byron in his boyhood,) we find the following paa-

" Oh, never
Shall we two exercise, like twins of Honour,
Onr arms again, and fttl our fiery ftorses
lAke proud seas under us."
Out of tills somewhat forced simile, by a judicious transposition
of the comparison, and by the substitution of the more definite
word " waves" foi " seas," Lord Byron's clear and noble thought
has been produced, — Moore,]

' [" And the rent canvass tattering;." — MS.]

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PILGRIMAGE.

Since my young days of passion — joy, or pain,
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string,
And both may jar r 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.

He who, grown aged in this world of woe,
Ii) deeds, not years, piercing the depths of Ufe,
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.

'Tis to create, and in creating live
A being more intense, that we endow
With form our fancy, gaining as we give
The life we image, even as I do now.
What am I ? Nothing : but not so art thou,
Soul of my thought ! with whom I traverse earth,
Invisible but gazing, as I glow
Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth.
And feeling stilt with thee in my crush'd feelings'
dearth.

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»20 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III.

Yet must I think less wildly : — I have thought
Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
In its own eddy, boiling and o'erwrought,
A whirling gulf of phantasy and 0ame :
And thns, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late !
Yet am I changed ; (hough still enough the same
In strength to bear what lime can not abate,
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.

vm.
Something too much of this: — but now 'tis past,
And the spell closes with its silent seal.
Long absent Hasold reappears at last ;
He of the breast which fain no more would feel.
Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er
Yet Time, who changes all,hadalter'dhim [heal;
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.

' ["The first and second cantos of Childe Harold's Pilgriraaga
produced, on their appearance in 1813, an effect upon the public,
at least equal to anj work which has appeared within this orthe
last century, nnd placed at once upon Lord Byron's head the gar.
land for which other men of genius have toiled long, and which
they have gained lat«. He was placed pre-eminent among the
literary men of his country by general acclamation. It waa amidst
such feelings of admiration that he entered the public stage.
Every thing in his manner, person, and conversation, tended to
maintain the charm which his genius had flung around him ; and
those admitted to his conversation, far from finding that the in-
spired poet sunk intfl ordinary mortality, feit themselves attached
to him, not only by many noble qualities, but by the interest of a
mysterious, nndefined, and almost painful curiosity. A coante-
nance exquisitely modelled tothe expression of feelingand passion,
and exhibiting the remarkable contrast of very dark hair and eye-
brows, with alight and expressive eye, presented tothephysiog.

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Cabto III. PILGRIMAGE. 121

His had been quaiPd too quickly, and he found
The dregs were wormwood ; hut he fill'd again,
And from a purer fount, on holier ground, .
And deem'd its spring perpetual ; but in vain !
Still round him clung invisibly a chain
Which gali'd forever, fettering though unseen.
And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with pain,
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,
Entering with every step he took through many a

Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd
Again in fancied safety with his kind.
And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd
And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind.
That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind ;
And he, as one, might midst the many stand
Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find
Fit speculation ; such as in strange land
He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's
hand,

nomisttho most interesting subject for the exercise of his art.
The predominating expression waB that of duep and habitual
thought, which gave way to the niostrapid play of features when
he engaged in. interesting discussion ; so that a brother poet com-
pared them to the sculpture of a beautiful alabaster vase, only
seen to perfection when lighted np from within. The dashes of
mirth, gayety, indignation, or satirical dislike, which frequently
animated Lord Byron's countenance, might, during an evening's
conversation, be mistaken, by a stranger, for the habitual ex-
pression, so easily and so happily was it formed for them all; but
those who had an opportunity ofstudying his features for a length
of lime, and upon various occasions, both of rest and emotion,
will agree that their proper language was that of melancholy.
Sometimes shades of this gloom interrupted even his gayest and
most happy moments," — Sib Walter Scott.]

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

But who can vitw 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 alt grow old ?
Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb ?
Haroldonce more within the vortex, roll'd
On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,
Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond prime.

But soon he knew himself the most unfit
Of men to herd with man ; with whom he held
Little in common ; untaught to submit
His thoughts to others, though his soul was CLuell'd
In youth by his own thoughts ; still uncompell'd,
He would not yield dominion of his mind
To spirits against whom his own rebell'd ;
Proud (hough in desolation; which could find
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.

Whererosethemountains, there to him were friends;
Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home;
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
He had the passion and the power to roam ;
The desert, forest, caverti, breaker's foam.
Were unto him companionship ; 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.

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 133

XIP.

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,
And human frailties, were forgotten quite :
Could he have kept his spirit to thai flight
He had been happy ; hut this clay will sink
Its spark immortal, envying it the light
To which it mounts, as if to break the link [brink.
That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its

But in man's dwellings he became a thing
Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome,
Droop'd as a wiJd born falcon with ciipp'd wing.
To whom the boundless air alone were home :
Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,
As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat
His breast and beak against his wiry dome
Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat
Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat.

XTI,

Self-exiled Harold^ wanders forth again,
With naught of hope left, bat with less of gloom ;
The very knowledge that he lived in vain.
That ail was over on this side the tomb,

* ["In the third canto of Childe Harold there is much in.
equality. The thoughts and images are soiiictimeslahoured; but
Btill they are a very great improvement upon the first two cantos.
Lord Byron here speaks in hia own language and character, not
in the tone of others ;— jisiaj ffcribin g, not inventing; thererore
he has not, and cannot have, the freedom with which fiction is
. Sometimes be has a conciseness which is very powei>
ut almost abrupt. From trusting himself alone, and working
out his own deep-buried flioughts, he now, perhaps, fell into a
habit of labouring, even where there was no occasion to labonr.
In the first sixteen stanzas there is yet a mighty but groaning

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134 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto m.

Had made Despair a smilingness assume [wrecK,
Which, though 'twere wild, — as on the plunder'd
When mariners would madly meet their doom
With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck, —
Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.'

Slop l^for thy tread is on an em])ire's dust !
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below !
Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust?
Nor column trophied for triumphal show ?
None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so,
As the ground was before, thus let it be ; —
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow !
And is this all the world has gain'd by thee.
Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory ?

burst of dark and appalling strength. It was. unquestionably the
nnesaggerated picture of a most tempestuous and sombre, but
magnificent aoul." — Bay dues.]

'^ [These stanzas — in which the author, adopting rnore dis-
tinetly the character of Childe Haiold than in the original poem,
assigns the cause why he.haa, resumed his pilgrim's staff, when it
was hoped hshadsatdownforlifeadenizanof his native country,
I — abound with much moral interest and poetical beanty. The
commentary through which the meaning' of this melancholy tale
is rendered obvious, is sttll in vivid remembrance; for the snors
of those who excel their fellows Ingiftsandaccomplishmenlsarfi^
not soon forgotten. Those scenes, everraost painful to tiie bosbin,
were rendered yet more so by public discussion ; and it is at least
posaibla that amongst those who exclaimed most loudly on this
unhappy occasion, were some in whose eyes litera y p n y
exaggerated Lord Byron's offence. The scene may b d bed
ioafew words; — tJie' wise condemned — the good r gr d — h
multitude, idly or maliciously inquisitive, rushed f m pi to
place, gathering gossip, which they mangled and ggerated
while ttiey repealed it; and impudence, ererready h tch 1
into notoriety, hooked on, as Falstaff enjoins Bardolph,! I te d,
bullied, and talked of" pleading acausc," and-' taking a aide." —
Sir Waiter Scott.}

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. las

xvni.
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 ;
Ambition's life and labours ai! were vain ; [chain.
He wears the shattered links of the world's broken

Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit
And foam in fetters; — but is earth more free ?
Did nations combat to make one submit ;
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty ?
What ! shall reviving Thraldom again be
The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days !
Shall we, who struck the iion down, shall we
Pay the wolf homage ? proffering lowly gaze
And servile knees to thrones ? No ; prove before ye
praise!

» "Pride of jilace"is a term of falconry, and aieatis the highest
pitch of flight. See Macbeth, &c.

" An eagle towering in his pride of place," &c.
^ yn the original draught of this stanza, (which, as weil as the
preeiiing- one, was wiittfln after a visit to tie field of Waterloo,)
the Jines stood —

" Here his last flight the haughtj eagle flew,
Then tore with bloody beak the fatal plain." — .
On seeing these lines, Mr. Iteinagle sketched a apiriled chained
eagle, grasping the earth with his tubus. The circumstance being
mentioned to Lord Byron, he wrote thus to a friend at Brussels,
— "Eeinagle is a better poet and abetlerornithologistthanlam
eagles, and all birds of prey, attack with Iheir talons, and noi
with their beaks : and I have altered the line thus : —

'Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain.'
HiiB is, I tliink, a betler line, besides its poetical justice."]

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136 CHII..DE HAROLD'S Canto III.

If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more !
In vain fair cheeks were fiirrow'd with hot tears
For Europe's flowers, long rooted up before
The trampter of her vineyards ; in vain years
Of deathj 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.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathet'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
, And all went merry as a marriage-bel! ;'
Buthush! hark! adeep sound strikes likearisingknell!

• See the famous song on Harmodius and Aristogiton.. The
best English ttanslation is in Bland's Anthology, bj Mr. (now
Lord Chief Justice) Denman, —

"With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," &c.

' [There can be no more remarkable proof of the greatness of
Iiord Byron's genius, than the spirit andinleiesthehas contrived .
to communicate to his picture of the often-drawn and difficult
scene of thebreaking up from Brussels before the great battle. It
is a trite remark, that poets generally fail in the representetion of
great events, whore the interest is recent, and the particulars
are consequently clearly and commonly known. Itrequiredsome
courage to venture on a theme beset with so many dangers, and
deformed with the wrecks of so many former adventurers. See,
however, with whit easy strength he enters upon it, and with
how much grace he gradually finds his way back to his own pe-
caliar vein of sentiment and diction! — Jeffrey.]

' On the night previous to the action, it is said tliat a ball was
jrii''n at Brussels. — [The popular error of the Duke of Wellington

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 137

Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 'twas but liie wind
Or (he car rattling o'er the stony street ;
On with the dance ! let joy be uiiconfined ;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet —
But hark ! — that heavy sound brealrs in once more,
As if ihe clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Arm! arm! it is— it is the cannon's opening roar!

XXIII.

Within a window'd niche of that high hal!
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone wiih Death's prophetic ear ;
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,"
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell:
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.^

having beRn surprised, on the eve of the battle of Waterloo, at a
ball given by the Dutchess of Richmond, at BTUSsels, was first
corrected on authority, in the History of Napoleon Bonaparte,
which forms a portion of the "Family Library." The' duke had
received intelligence of Napoleon's decisive operationa, aud it was
intended to put off the ball ; but, on reHection, it seemed highly
important that the people of Brussels Bhouldfae kept in ignorance
as to thecouraeof events, and ihe duke not only desired that the
ball should proceed, but the general officers received his commands
to appear at it — each tilting care to quit the apartment as quietiy
as possible at ten o'clock, and proceed to join his respective di-

* [Thefatherof the Duke of Brunswick, who fell at Quatre-
bras, received his death-wound at Jena.]

' [Tliis stanza is very grand, even from its total unadornment.
It is only a versification of the common narrative : but here may
well be applied a position of Johnson, that " where truth is suf-
ficient to fill the mind, fiction is worse than useless," — Bhydoes.1

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128 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III.

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro.
And gathering tears and tvembUngs of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which hut an hour ago
Blusli'd at the praise of their own loveliness
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er mighi be repeated ; who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise !

XXV.

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed.
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ;
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips — " The foe ! They
come ! they come !"

And wild andhigh the " Cameron's gathering" rose !
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: —
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years, [ears !
And Evan's, Donald's' fame rings in each clansman's

' Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the " geMle
Lochiel" of the "forty-five."

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Canto HI. PILGRIMAGE. 139

XXVII.

And Ai'denncs' waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if auglit inanimate e'er grieve,
Over the unreturiiing 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.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life.
Last eve irt 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 thinider-cloiids close o'er it, which when rent.
The earih is cover'd thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent
Rider and horse, — friend, foe,— in one red burial
blent !*

' The wood of Soigniea is supposed tobeareninantof theforest
of Ardeimea, famous in BoiaTdo's Orlando, and immortal in Shaj;-
epeare's "As you like it." It is also celebrated in Tacitus, as
being' the spot of successful defence by the Germans against tho
Raman encroachments. I have ventured to adopt Che name con-
nected with nobler associations than those of mere slaughter.

* [Childe Harold, though be shuns to celebrate the victory of
Waterloo, gives as here a most beautifal description of the evening
which preceded thn battle of Quatra Bras, the alarm which callod
out the troops, and tlie hurry and confusion which preceded their
march. I am not sure that any verses in our language surpass,
in vigour and in feeling, this most beautiful description. — Sie;
Walter Scott.]

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130 CHILDE HAROLD'S Camto III.

XXIX.
Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps tlian 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 showcr'd
The death-boits deadliest the thinn'd files along,
Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd,
They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young,
gallant Howard P

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,
1 turn'd from all she brought to those she could not
bring.^

1 [See English Bards and Scateh Reviewers.]
" [" In the late battles, like all tbe world,I liavelostaconnec.
tion — poor Frederick Howard, tlie best of his race. I had little
intereoorse of late years with his family; but I never saw or heard
but good of him." — Lord B. ia Mr. Moore.']

» 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
atapathwaj'sside. Beneath these hedied and was buried. The
body has since been removed to England. A small hollow for the
present marks where it liiy, but will probably soonbe effaced ; the
plough has been upon it, and tbe grain is. 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 wlien

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PILGRIMAGE.

I tiirn'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 Illness were mercy for ttieir sake ;

The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake

Those whom they thirst for ; though the sound of

Fame
May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake
The fever of vain longing, and the name
So honour'd hut assumes a stronger, bitterer claim.

XXXII.
They mourn, but smile at length ; and, smiling,

mourn ;
The tree will wisher long before it fall ;
The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn ;
The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall
In massy hoariness ; the ruin'd wall
Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone;
The bars survive the captive they enthral ;
The day drags through though storms keep out the

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on :

wounded." I told him my relationship, andheaeemed then still
more anxlouB to point out the particular spot and circumstances.
The place is one of the most marked in the field, from the pecu.
liarity of the two trees above mentioned. I wont on horseback
twice over the field, comparing it with my recollection of similar
scenes. As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene
of some great action, though this may be mere imagination : 1
have viewed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea.
Leuctra, Ghteronea, and Marathon ; and the field around Mont
St, Jean and Hougonmont appears to want little but a better
cause, and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse
of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest witii
any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last mentioned.

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133 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was
The same, and still the more, the more it hreaks ;
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold.
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
Yet withers on lill all without is old.
Showing no visible sign, for such things are unfold.*

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 ; hut 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 houiB 'gainstyearsofiife,— -say, would he name
threescore ?

The psalmist number'd out the years of man :
They are enough ; and if thy tale be true,
Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span,
More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo !

^ [There is a richness and energy in this passage, which ia
peculiar to Lord Byron, among all modem poels; a throng of
glowing images, poured forth at once, witb a facility and profusion,
which must appear mere wastefulness to more economical writers,
and a certain negligence and harshness of diction, which, can be-
long only to an autiior who is oppressed with the exuberance and
rapidity of his conceptions. — Jepfhey.]

' The (fabled) apples on the brink of the lake Asphaltes were
said to be fair without, and, within, ashes. Vide Tacitus, His.
tor. lib. V. 7.

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 133

Millions of tongues record thee, and anew
Their children's lips shall echo them, and say —
"Here, where the sword united nations drew,
Our coantrymen were warring on that day !"
And this is much, and a,il which will not pass away.

There sunk ttie greatest, nor the worst of men,
Whose spirit antithetically mix'd
One moment of the mightiest, and again
On Httle objects with like firmness fix'd.
Extreme in all things ! hadst thou been betwixt,
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been;
For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st
Even now to reassumc the imperial mien.
And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the
scene!

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou !
She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name
Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now
That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame,
Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became
The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert
A god unto thyself; nor less the same
To the astounded kingdoms all inert,
Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst
assert.

XXXVIII.
Oh, more or less than man — in high or low,
Battling with nations, flyivig from the field;
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield:

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134 CHILDE HAROLD'S Camto III.

An empire thou couidst crush, command, rebuild,
Bat govern, not thy peltiest passion, nor.
However deeply in men's spirits sidll'd,
Look through thine own, nor curb the hist of war,
Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest
star.

Yet well thy soul halh brook'd the turning tide
With that untaught innate philosophy,
Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride.
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.
When the whole host of hatred stood hard by.
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled
With a sedate and all-enduring eye ; —
When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child,
He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled.

Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them
Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show
That just habitual scorn, which could contemn
Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so
To wear it ever on thy lip and brow,
And spurn the instruments thou wert to use
Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow ;
'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ;
So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose.

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.

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 135

Their admiration thy best weapon shone ;
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then
(Unless asitle tiiy purple had been thrown)
Like stern Diogenes to mock at men ;
For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den.'

XL II.

But quiet to qiiick bosoms is a hell,
And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire
And motion of the soul which will not dwell
In its own narrow being, but aspire
Beyond the fitting medium of desire ;
And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core,
Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.

XLIII.

This makes the madmen who have made men mad
By their contagion ; conquerors and kings.
Founders of sects and systems, to whom add
Sophists, bards, statesmen, all unquiet things
Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs.
And are themselves the fools to those they fool ;
Envied, yet how unenviable ! what stings
Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school
Whichwouldunteachmankindthelusttd shine or rule;

' Thagteat error of Napoleon, "ifwe have writ OUT annala true,"
was a eoutinued obtrusion on mankind of his want of all com-
munity of feeling for or with them; perhaps more olTenaiTe to
human vanity tiian the active cruelty of more tcembling and
snapioious tyranny. Such were his speeches to public assemblies
as well as individuals; and the single expression which he is said
to hare used on returning to Paris after the Russian winter had
destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, "Thisisplea-
santer than Moscow," would probably alienate more favour from
Ills cause than the destruction and reverses which led to tlie
remark.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Their breath is agitation, and their hfe
A storm whereon they ride, to sinlc at last.
And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife,
That should their days, surviving perils past,
Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast
With sorrow and supineness, and so die ;
Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste
With its own flickering, or a sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriousiy.

XLV.

He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;
He who surpasses or subdues mankind.
Must look down on the hate of those below.
Thoiigh high above the sun of glory glow.
And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,
Roundhim are icy rocks, and loudly blow
Contending tempests on his naked head,
And thus reward tlie toils which to those summits

' [This is certainly splendidly written, but we trust it is not
.true. Prom. Macedonia's madman to the Swede — from Nimrod
to Bonaparte, — the hunters of men have pursued their sport
with as much gayety, and as little remorse, as the hunters of other
animals; and have lived as cheerily in their days of action, and as
comfortable in their repose, as the followers of better pursnils.
It would be strange, therefore, if the other active, but more
innocent spirits, whom Lord Byron has here placed in the same
predicament, and who share all their sources of enj oyment, wifliout
the guilt and the hardness which they cannot fail of conttacling,
Bhould.be more miserable or more unfriended than those splendid
corses of their kind ; and it would be passing strange, and pitiful,
if the most precious gifts of Provideoee should produce only
inhappinesa, and mankind reg-ard with hostility their greatest
nenefactois. — JEFrnEv.]

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 137

Away with these I true Wisdom's world will be
Within its own creation, or in thine,
Maternal Nature ! for who teems like thee,
Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine ?
There Harold gazes on a work divine,
A blending of all beauties ; streams and dells.
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine,
And chiefiesB castles breaihing stern farewells
From gay but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.

XLVII.

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind.
Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd,
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.
Or holding dark communion with the cloud.
There was a day when they were young and proud,
Banners on high, and battles pass'd below ;
But they who fought are in a bloody shroud,
And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,
And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.

Beneath these balllemenls, within those walls
Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state
Each robber chief upheld his armed halls.
Doing his evil will, nor less elate
Than mightier heroes of a longer date.
What want these outlaws' 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 sonls were full
as brave.

' "What wants thatlinavc that a king' shouW have?" waa
King James's question on meeting Johnny Armstrong and iiis
" "" ■ — See thR Ballad.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

In their baronial feuds and siiigle fields,
What deeds of prowess unrecorded died !
And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields,
With emblems well devised by amorous pride,
Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide ;
But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on
Keen contest and destruction near allied.
And many a tower, for some fair mischief won,
Saw the discoiour'd Rhine beneath its ruin run.

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.

A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks.
But these and half their fame have pass'd away,
And Slaughter heap'don high his weltering ranks;
Their very graves are gone, and what are they ?
Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday.
And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream
Glass'd with its danciug light the sunny ray ;
But o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream
Thy waves would vainly roil, all sweeping as they

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PILGRIMAGE.

Thus Harold inly said, and passed along,
Yet not insensibly to all which here
Awoke the jocund birds to early song
In glens which might have made even exile dear :
Though on his brow were graven lines austere,
And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place
Of feelings fierier far but less severe,
Joy was not always absent from his face,
But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient
trace.

iiii.
Nor was all love shut from bim, though his days
Of passion had consumed themselves to dust.
It is in vain that we would coldly gaze
Ou such as smile upon us ; the heart must
Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust
Hath wean'd it from all worldings: thus he felt.
For there was sotl remembrance, and sweet trust
In one fond breast, to which- his own would melt.
And in its tenderer hour on that his hosom dwelt.

And he had leam'd to love, — I know not why,
For this in such as bim seems strange o^ mood, — ■
The helpless looks of blooming infancy.
Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued.
To change like this, a mind so far imbued
With scorn of mftn, it little boots to know ;
But thus it was ; and though in solitude
Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow.
In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to
glow.

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141) CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto lit.

And there was one soft breasi, as hath been said,
Which unio his was bound by stronger ties
Than the church links withal ; and, though unwed,
That love was pure, and far above disguise,
Had stood the test of mortal enmities
Stiil undivided, and cemented more
By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ;
But this was firm, and from a foreign shore [pour !
Weli to that heart might his these absent greetings

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 blossom'd trees.
And fields which promise corn and wine.
And scatter'd cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine.
Have strew'd a scene, which J should see
With double joy wert ihou 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

• The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest summit of
"the Seven Mountains," over the Rhine banks: itie in ruins, and
connected with some singular traditions. ItistheSrstin view on
IheroadfromBonn, but on the opposite side of the river; on Ihia
bank, nearly facing it, are the remains of another, called the Jew's
Castle, and a large cross, commemorative of the murder of a
chief by his brother. The number of castles and cities along the
courseof the Rhine on both sides is very great, and their situa-
tions remarkably beauiirul.

' ""These verses were written on the banlcs of the Rhine, in

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 141

Through green leaves lift Iheir walls of grayi
And many a rock which steeply lowers,
And noble arch in proud decay,
Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ;
But one thing want these banks of Rhine, —
Thy gentle hand lo clasp in mine !

3.
I send the iilies given to me ;
Though long before thy hand they touch,
I know that they must wither'd be.
But yet reject them not as such ;
For I have cherish'd ihem as dear,
Because tlicy yet may meet thine eye,
And guide thy soul lo mine even here.
When thou behold'st them drooping nigh,
And know'st them gathered by the Rhine,
And offer'd from my heart to thine !

4.
The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round:
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
Through life to dwell delighted here ;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear,
Could thy dear eyes in following mine.
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine !

LVI.

By Cohlentz, on a rise of gentle ground,
There is a small and simple pyramid,
Crowning the summit of the verdant mound;
Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid,

May. The original pencilling ia before ns. It ie needless to
o^3ervc, that they were addressed by the poet to his sister.]

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U2 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto HI

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 n

Lvir.
Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career, —
His mourners were two hosts, his friends and

foes;
And fitly may the stranger lingering here
Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose ;
For he was Freedom's champion, one of those,
The few in number, who had 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.'

' The nJonument of the young and lamented General Marceau
fkillad by a rifle-ball at Alterliirohen, ontlielastday of thefourth
year of the French republic) still remains as described. The in-
scriptions on his monuiiient are rather too long, and not required:
his name was enough; France adored, and her enemies admired;
both wept OTCT him. His funeral was attended by the generals
and detachments from both armies, in the same grave General
Hoehe is interred, a gallant man alsoin every sense ol the word;
hut though he distinguished himself greatly in battle, he had not
the good fortune to die there: his death was attended by suspi-
cions of poison. A separalemonunient(notoverhisbody, which
is buried by Marceau's) is raised for him near Andernach, opposite
to which one of his most memorable exploits was pertbrmed, in
throwing a bridge to an island on tlie Rhine. The shape andstyle
are different from that of Marceaa's, and the Inscription more
simple and pleasing:— "The Army of the Sambre and Meuse to
its Commander-in-chief, Hoche." Thisis all, and as it should be,
Hoche was esteemed among the first of France's earlier generals,
before Bonaparte monopolized her triumphs. He was the dea«
tined commander of the invading army of Ireland.

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Cfl.NTo III. PILGRIMAGE. H3

Lvzir.
Here Ehreiibreitslein,' with lier shattcr'd wall
Black with the miner's blast, upon her height
Yet shows of what she was, when shell and hall
Rebounding idly on her strength did light :
A tower of victory ! from whence the flight
Of baffled foes was watch'd along the plain :
But Peace destroy'd what War could never blight,
And laid those proud roofs bare lo Summer's rain —
On which the iron sho wer for years had pour'din vain.

LIX.

Adieu to thee, fair Rhine ! How long delighted
The stranger fain would linger on his way!
Thine is a scene alike where souls united
Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray;
And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey
On self-condemning bosoms, it were here,
Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay,
Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere,
Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year.

Adieu to ihee again ! a vain adieu !
There can be no farewell to scene like thine ;
The mind is colour'd by thy every hue;
And if reluctantly the eyes resign

* Ehrenbreitstein,!. e. "the broad stone of honour," one of the
strongest forttesaeB iu 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 tlie former,
aided by surprise. After having seen the fortifications of Gibraltai
»ndMaJta,it didnotmnchstriliehy comparison; but the situation
is commanding. General Marceau besieged it in vaiu for some
time, and I slept in a room where I was shown a window atwhich
he is said to have been standing' observing the progress of the
siege by moonlight, when a ball struck immediately below it.

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in OHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III.

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 atiaching maze
The brilliant, fair, and soft, — the glories of old days,

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 b
The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been.
In mockery of man's art ; and these withal
A race of faces happy as the scene.
Whose fertile bounties here extend to all.
Still springing o'er thy banks, though empires near
them fall.

LXII.

But these recede. Above me are the Alps,
The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps.
And throned Eternity in icy halls
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow !
All that expands the spirit, yet appals.
Gather around these summits, as to show
How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain
man below.

* [On taking Hockheim, t!ie Austrians, in one part of the en-
gagement, got to the brow of the hill, whence they had thedr first
view of the Rhine. They instantly halted — not a gun was filed
— not a voice heard ; but they stood gaaing' on the rirer with
those feelings which the events of the iast fifteen years at once
called ap. Prince Schwartzenherg' rode up to know the cause of
this sadden stop ; then they gave three cheers, rushed after the
enemy, and drove them into the water.]

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Canto 111. PILGRIMAGE. 145

LXIII.

But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan,
There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain, —
Moral ! the proud, the patriot field ! where man
May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain.
Nor blush for those who conquer'd on that plain ;
Here Burgundy hequeatli'd his tomhless host,
A bony heap, through ages to remain,
Themselves their monument ; — the Stygian coast
TJnsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wander-
ing ghost.'

While Waterloo with Cannse's carnage vies.
Moral and Marathon twin names shall stand ;
They were true Glory's stainless victories,
Won by the unambitious heart and hand
Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band,
All imbought champions in no princely cause
Of vice-entail'd Corruption ; they no land
Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws
Making kings' rights divine, by some Draconic
clause.

' The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of bones diminished
to a small number by the Burgundian legion in the service of
France ; who ansionslj effaced this record of their ancestors' less
successful invasions. A few still remwn, notwithstanding the
pains taken by the Burgundians forages, (all wto passed that way
removing a bone to their own country,) and the less Justifiable
larcenies of the Swiss postilions, who carried them off to sell for
knife-handles ; a purpose for which the whiteness imbibed by the
bleaching of years had rendered them in great request. Of these
relics I ventured to hring away as much as may have made a
quarter of a hero, for which the sole excuse is, that if I had not,
the nest passer-hy might have perverted them to worse uses than
the careful preservation which I intend for them.

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U6 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cauto III.

By a ione wall a lonelier column rears
A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days ;
'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years.
And looks as with the wild, bewilder'd gaze
Of one to stone converted by amaae,
Yet still with conscionsriess ; and there it stands
Mailing a marvel that it not decays,
When the coeval pride of human hands,
Levell'd Aventicum,' hath strew'd her subject lands.

Lxvr.
And there-— oh! sweet and sacred be the name I —
Jiilia — Ihe daughter, the devoted— gave
Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim
Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave.
Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crava
The life she lived in; but the judge was jnst.
And then she died on him she could not save.
Their tomb was simple and without a bust,
And held within iheir urn one mind, one heart, one
dust.^

* Aventicum, near Moral, was the Roman capital of Helvetia,
where Avenchca now stands.

* Julia Alpinula, ayoung Avenlian priestess, died soon after a
vain endeavour to save her father, condemned to death asa traitor
by Aiilus Csecina. Her epitaph -was discovered many years ago;
— itisthus: — "Julia Alpinula: Hie jaceo. Infelicis patris in-
felix proles. De« Aventire Sacerdos. Exorare patris necem now
potui; Halemoriinfatisilleerat. Vixi annossxm." — I know
of no human composition so affecting as this, nor n history of
deeper interest. These are the names and actions which ought
not to perish, and to which we turn with a true and healthy
tenderness, from the wretched and glittering detail of a confused
mass of conquests and battles, with which the mind is ronsed for
a time to a false and feverish sympathy, from whence it recurs at
length with all the nausea consequent on such int

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Canto HI. PILGRIMAGE. 147

LKvir.
Bu-t these are deeds which should not pass away,
And names that must not wither, though the earth
Forgets her empires with a just decay, [birth ;
The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and
The high, the mountain-majesty of worth
Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe,
And from its immortality look forth
In the sun's face, liiie yonder Alpine snow,'
Imperishably pure beyond all things below.

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 fer height and hue :
There is too much of man here, to look through
With a fit mind the might which I behold ;
But soon in me shall Loneliness renew
Thoughts hid, but not less cherish'd than of old,
Ere mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their
fold.

' This ia written in the eye of Mont Bhnc, (June 3d, 1816.)
which even at this distance daazles mine. — (July 20th.) I this
day observed for some time the distinct reflection of Mont Blanc
and Mont Argentifire inthecalm of tbelalcc,whiclil wascrassing
in my boat ; the distance of these mountains from their mirror is
8i\ty miles.

" In the exquisite lines which the poet, at this time, addressed
to his sister, there is the following touching stan/a : —
" I did remind thee of oui own dear lake.
By the old hall which may be mine no more.
Leman's is fair ; but think not I forsake
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore:
Sad havoc Time mnst with my memory make
Ere thai or ihoit can fade these eyes before ;
Though, like all things which I have loved, they are
Resign'd forever, or divided tar,"

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143 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III.

LXIX.

To fly from, need not be to hale, mankind :
All are not fit with them to stir and toil,
Nor is it discontent to lieep the mind
Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil
In the hot throng, where we become Ihe spoil
Of our infection, till too late and long
We may deplore and struggle with the coil.
In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong
Midst a contentious world, striving where none are
strong.

LXX.

There, in a moment, we may plunge our years
In fatal penitence, and in the blight
Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears,
And colour things to come with hues of Night ;
The race of life becomes a hopeless flight
To those that walk in darkness : on the sea,
The boldest steer but where their ports invite,
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity [be.

Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall

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,

• The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of tint
which I have nevei seen equalled in water, salt or fresh, escept
in the Mediterranean and Archipelago. — [See Don Juan, c. xiv.
si. 87, for aheautifulcompariaon: —

"There was no great disparity of years.

Though much in temper ; but they never ciash'd :
They moved lilce stars united in their spheres,
Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 149

Which feeds it as a mother who doth make
A fair but froward infant her own care,
Kissing its cries away as these awake ; —
Is it not tetter thus our lives to wear,
Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or
bear?

LXXII.

I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me ; and to me
High mountains are a feeling,' but the hum
Of human cities torture : I can see
Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be
A link reluctant in a 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.

And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life ;
I look upon the peopled desert past,
As on a place of agony and strife,
Where, for some sin, to sorrow I was cast.

Where mingled and yet separate appears

The river from the lake, all blu^y daah'il
Through the serene and placid glassy deep.
Which fain would lull its river child to sleep." — ]
' ["Mr. Hobhouse and myself are jusl returned from a journey
of lakes and mountains. We have been to the Grindelwald, and
tiie Jungfrau, and stood on the summit of the Wergen Alp; and
seen torrents of 900 feet in fell, and glaciers of all dimensions ; we
have heard shepherds' pipes, and avalanches, and looked on the
clouds foaming up from the valleys belownslikethe spray of the
ocean of hell. Chamoani, and that which itinberits, we saw a
month ago; but, though Mont Blanc ia higher, it is not equal in
wildness to the Jungfrau, the Eighers, the Shreckhorn, and the
Rose Giaeiers,"— 5. Lellers, Sept. 1016.]

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150 CHiLDE HAROLD'S Cahto III.

To act and suffer, but remount at last
With a fresh pinion ; which I feel to spring.
Though young, yet waxing vigorous, as the blast
Which it would cope with, on delighted wing.
Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being
cling.

Lxxrv.
And when, at length, the mind shall be all free
From what it hates in this degraded form,
Reft of its carnal life, save what shall he
Existent happier in the fly and worm, —
When elements to elements conform.
And dust is as it should he, shall I not
Feel all I see, less dazzling, hut moro warm ?
The bodiless thought ? the Spirit of each spot ?
Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot?

LXXV.

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part
Of me and of my soul, as I of them ?
Is not the love of these deep in my heart
With a pure passion ? should T not contemn
All objects, if compared with thee ? and stem
A tide of suffering, rather than forego
Such feeling 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 ?

I.XXVI.
But this is not my theme ; and I return
To that which is immediate, and require
Those who find contemplation in the urn,
To look on One, whose dust was once all fire,
A naSive of the land where I respire

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Canto m. PILGRIMAGE. 151

The clear air for a while — a passing guest,
Where he hecame a being, — whose desire
Was to be glorious; 'twas a foolish quest,
The which to gain and keep he sacrificed all rest.
Lxxvn.
Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,'
The apostle of affliction, he who threw
Enchantment over passion, and from woo
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
Theeyes,whicho'erthemshedlears feelingly and fast.
' £" I have traveraad all Rousseau's ground with the ' Heloise'
before me, aiid am struck to a degree that I cannot expresa with
the force and accuracy of his descriptions, and the beaaty of their
reality. Meiherie, Ciarens, and Vevay, and the ChSteau de
Chillon, are places of which Ishall say little; becansealllcnnld
say must fall short of the impressions they stamp." — B. Letters.^
' ["It is evident that the impassioned parts of Rousseau's
romance haxl made a deep impression upon the feelings of the
noble poet. The enthusiasm expressed by Lord Bjron.is no
small tribute to the power possessed hy Jean Jacques over the
passions; and, to say truth, we needed some such evidence i for,
though almost ashamed to avow the truth, — still, like the barber
of Midas, we must speak or die, — we have never been ahle to feel
the interest or discover llie merit of this fat-famed performance.
That there is much eloquence in the letters we readily admit :
there iay Rousseau's strength. But his lovers, the celebrated St.
Preux and Julie, have, ftom the earliest moment we have heard
the tale (whieh we well remember) down to the present hour,
totally failed to interest us. There might be some constitutional
hardness of heart: but like Lance's pebble-hearted cur,Crab, we
remained dry-eyed while all wept around us. And still, on re-
suming the volume, even now, we can see little in the loves of
these two tiresome pedants to interest our feelings for eiUier ol'
them. To state our opinion in language (see Burke's Reflections)
much better than nur own, we arc unfortunate enough to regard
this far-famed history of philosophical gallantry as an ' unfasK-

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OHILDE HAROLD'S

His love was passion's essence — as a tree
On fire by lightning : wiih ethereal flame
Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be
Thus, and enamour'd, were. in him the same.
But his was not the love of living dame,
Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams,
But of ideal beauty, which became
In him existence, and o'erflowing teems
Along hisburningpage, distemper'd though it seems

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this
Invested her with all that's wild and sweet;
This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss'
Which every moni his fever'd lip would greet,
From hers, who but with fiiendshiphis would meet;
But to thaf 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 ihey seek possest.'

ioned, indeiieate, som, gloomy, ferocious medley of pedantry and
lewdness ; of metaphysical speculationB, blended wilhthecoBrsest
sensualiJy.' " — Sir Walter Scott.]

* This refers lo the acconntin his "Confessions" of hiapasKion
for the Comt«s3e d'Houdetot, (the mistress of St. Lambert,) and
his long walk eTery morning, for the sate of the single liiss which
was the common salntation of French acquaintance. Roussean'a
description of hia feelings on this occ^ion may be considered as
the most passionate, yet not impure, description and expresaion of
love that ever kindled into words; which, after all, must be felt,
from their very force, tobeinadequate to the delineation; a pain-
ting oan give no sufficient idea of the ocean.

' ["Lord Byron's character of Rooaseau is drawn with great
force, great power of diaorimination, and great eloquence. Iknow
not that he says any tiling which has not been said before : — but
wliathesaysissTie3,apparently,from the recesses of his own mind.
It is a little laboured, which, possibly, may be caused by the form
of flic stanza into which it was necessary to throw it; but it

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Cakto m. PILGRIMAGE. 153

His life was one long war wiUi 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,
Buthe was frenzied,~wherefore, who may know?
Since cause might be which skill couid never find;
But he was frenzied by disease or woe, [show.
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning

For then he was inspired, and from him came.
As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore,
Those oracles which set the world in flame,
Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more :
Did he not this for France ? which lay before
Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years ?
Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore,
Till by the voice of him and his compeers, [fears?
Rousedup to loo much wrath, which follows o'ergrown

LXXXII.

They made themselves a fearful monument !
The wreck of old opinions — things which grew,
Breathed from the birth of time : the veil they rent.
And what behind it lay, all earth shall view.
But good with ill they also overthrew.
Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild
Upon the same foundation, and renew
Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refill'd.
As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd,

cannot be doubted that the poet feit a sympathy for the entlm-
aiastic tendcnieas of Rousseau's genius, whieH lie could not hare
recojrnised with such extreme fervour, except from a C(
of having at least occasionally experienced similar ei
SlB B. BayoGES.]

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CHILDfi HAROLD'S

But this will not endiire, nor be endured !
Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt.
They might have used it better, but, allured
By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt
On one another ; pity ceased to melt
With her once natural charities. But they,
Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt,
They were not eagles, nourishM with the day ;
What marvel then, at Eimes, if they mistook their
prey?

IXXKIV.

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 (heir own hopes, and have been vanquish'd.

bear
Silence, bat not submission ; in his lair
Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour
Which shall atone for years ; none need despair :
It came, it comelh, and will come, — the power
To punish or forgive — in one we shall he slower.

Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake,
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing
Which warns me, with its silliness, 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, hut thy soft murmuring
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved,
That I with stern delights should e'er have been
moved.

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Canto III. P J LG R IM AG E. 155

LXXXVI.

It is the hush of night, and all between
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear,
Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen,
Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear
Precipitously steep ; and, drawing near.
There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar,
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more :

LXXXVI I.

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 iioaiing whisper on the hill,
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews
Ail silently their tears of love insti!.
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.'

' fDuring Lord Byron's stay in Switzerland, he tool; up hia
residence at the Carapagne-Diodati, in the village of Coligny. It
stands at the top of a lapidly descending Tineyard ; the windows
commanding', one iv ay, a noble view of the lake and of Geneva;
the other, up the lake. Every evening, the poet embarked on the
lake; and to the feelingscreated by these excursions we owe these
delightful stanzas. Of iiismode ofpassing a day, the following,
from his Journal, ia a pleasant specimen : —

" September 18. Called. Got up at fivo. Stopped at Vevay
two hours. View from the churchyard superb ; within ii Ludlow
(the regicide's) monument — black marble— long inscription;
Ijatin, but simple. Near him Broughton (who read King
Ijharles'a sentence to Charles Stuart) is buried, with a queer
and rather canting inscription. Ludlow's house shown.
Walked down to the lake side ; servants, carriages, saddle-
horses, — all set ofT, and left us planles !d, hy some mistake,
Hobhouseran on before, and overtook them. Arrived at Clarens.
Went to Chillon through scenery worthy of I know not whom ;

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Ye stars which are the poetry of heaven !
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named them-
selves a star.

All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep,
Bot breathless, as we grow when feeUng most;
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : —
All heaven and earth are still ; From the high host
Of stars, to the luil'd lake and mountain-coast.
All is concenter'd in a life intense,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
But hath a part of being, and a sense
Of that which is of all Creator and defence.

went over the castia ag^n. Met an English party in a carriage;
a lady in it fast asleep — fast asleep in the most anti-narcotic spot
in the woild, — excellent ! after a sliglit and short dinner, visited
the Chfltean de Clarens. Saw all worth seeing-, and then de-
scended to the ' Bosquet de Julie,' &e. &c. ; our guide full of
Rousseau, whom he is eternally confounding witli St. Preux, and
mixing the man and the book. Went agdn as far as Chillon,to
revisit the little torrent from the hill hehind it. The corporal
who showed the wonders of Chillon was as drunk as Blucher, and
(to ray mind) as great a man : he was deaf also ; and, thinking
every one else so, roared ont^e legends of thecasde so fearfully,
that Hobhouse got out of humour. However, wesaw things from
tiie gallows to the dungeons. Sunset reflected in the lake. Nino
o'clock — going to bed. Have to get up at five to-morrow."] —

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Cakto HI. PILGRIMAGK. 157

XC.
Then stirs ihe feeling infinite, so felt
In solitude, where we are least alone ;
A truth ■which through our being then doth melt,
And purifies from self: it is a tone,
The sonl and source of music, which makes known
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone.
Binding all things with beatity ; — 'twoidd disarm
The spectre Death, had he substantial power to
harm.

Not vainly did the early Persian make
His aitar 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 idoi-dweliings, Goth or Greek,
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air,
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer !

xcn.
The sky is changed — and such a change ! Oh

night.
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong.
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud.
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud !

1 See Appendix, Note [F].

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J53 CHILDE HAROLD'S Cakto II!.

xcjii.
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 'tis black, — and now, the glee
Of the ioud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth.
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth."

Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way be ■

tween
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more; though broken-
hearted ; [thwarted.
Though in their souls, which thus each other
Love was the very root of the fond rage
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then de-
parted : —
Itself expired, but leaving them an age
Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage.

* The thunder-storm to which these lines refer occurred on the
13th of June, 1816, at midnight. I have seen among the Acroce-
launian mountains of Chimari, seireral more terrible, but none
more heautiful.

" [This is one of the most beautiful paBSages of the poem.
The " fierce and far delight" of a thunder-storm is here described
in verse almost as vivid as its lightnings. Tlie live Ihundet
" leaping among the rattJing crags" — the voice of mountains, as
if shontmg to each other — the plashing of the big rain — the
gleaming of the wide lake, lighted like a phosphoric sea — present
a picture of sublime terror, yet of enjoyment, often attempted, bul
never so well, certainly never hetter, brought out in poetry. —
Sin Walter Scott.]

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 159

NoWj where the quicl; Rhone thus hath cleft liis way,
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand :
For here, not one, hut many, make their play.
And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand,
Flashing and cast around; of alt the band,
The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'fi
His lightnings, — as if he did understand.
That ill such gaps as desolation work'd.

There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein
lurk'd.

xcvr.
Skyj mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye !
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul,
To make these felt and feeling, well may bo
Things that have made me watchful ; the far roll
Of your departed voices, is the knoll
Of what in tne is sleepless, — if I rest.'
But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ?
Are ye like those within the human breast?

Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest ?

'^ [The Joufoal of his Swiss tour, which Lord Byron kept for
his sister, closes with the following moumful passage: — "In the
weather, for this tour, of thirteen days, I have been very fdrtunata
— fortunate in a companion" (Mr. Hohhouse) — " fortunate in our
prospects, and exempt from even the little petty accidents aiid
delays which often render joufneys in a less wild country disap-
pointing. I was disposed to be pleased. I am a lover of nature,
and an admirer of beauty. 1 can bear ftittgue, and welcome pri-
vation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world.
But in all this, — therecollectionof bitterness, and more especially
of recent and more home desolation, which must accompany me
through life, has preyed upon me here ; and neither the music
of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, noi the torrent,
the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one
moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me xo
lose my own wretched identity,inthemajesty,andthepowcr.anil
'he glory, around, above, and beneath me."]

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160 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III.

xcvii.
Could I imbody and unbosom now
That which is most within me, — coiild I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions,feelings, strong or weak,
All that I would have sought, and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word.
And that one word were Lightning, I would speak;
But as it is, I-live and die unheard.
With amost voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.

xcvin.
The morn is up again, the dewy morn,
With breath ah 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 res\ime
The march of our existence : and thus I,
Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may lind room
And food for meditation, nor pass by
Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly.

xcix.
Clarens ! sweet Clarens,' birthplace of deep Love !
Thiiieair is the young breath of passionate thought;
Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above
The very glaciers have his colours caught.
And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought

1 [Stanzas xcix, to ex ae xqu s t Th y have every thing
which makes a poetical p t e f 1 1 and pa ti ular scenery-
perfect. Thcyeshibita n ul abnll yandf ceoffancy;
but the very fidelity c aalttle tn and labour ol
language. The poet seen to ha e b n b gr sed by the
attention to give vigour a d fi 1 mag y th t he hoth neg-

lected and disdiiined to render himself more harmonious by diffiiser
words, which, while they might have improved the effect upon the
ear, might have weakened the impression upon llie mind. This

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. 161

By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks,
The periiianent 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.

Clareiis 1 tiy 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 hfe and light, — so shown
Not on those smnn:iits 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.'

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 bis green path downward to the shore,
Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore.
Kissing his feet with murmurs ; and the wood.
The covert of old trees with trunks all hoar.
But light leaves,youngas joy, stands where it stood,
Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude.

mastfiry over new matter — this supply of powers equal not only
to an untouched subject, but that subject one of peculiar and un-
equalled grandeur and beauty — waa sufficient to occupy the
strongest poetical faculties, young as t)»e author ivaa, without
adding to it all the practical dtill of the artist The stanBas, too,
on Voltaireand Gibbon are discriminative, sagacious, and just.
They are among the proofs of that very great variety of talent
which this Canto of Lord Byron exhibits. — Sib E. BnyDCES.]
* See Appendix, note [_G].

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163 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III.

A populous solitude of bees and birds,
And fairy-form' d and raany-colonr'd things.
Who worship him with notes more sweet than

words,
And innocently open their glad wings,
Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs,
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend.
Mingling and made by Love, unto one mighty end.

cm.
He who hath loved not, here would learn that

lore,
And make his heart a spirit; he who knows
That tender mystery, will love the more.
For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes,
And the world's waste, have driven liim far from

those,
For 'tis his nature to advance or die ;
He stands not still, but or decays, or grows
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie
With the immortal lights, in its eternity !

CIV.

'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot,
Peopling it with affections; but he found
It was the scene which passion must allot
To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground
Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound.
And hallow'd it with loveliness : 'tis lone,
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound,
And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a
throne.

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PILGRlMAGt:.

Lausanne ! and Feriicy! ye have been the abodes
Of names which unto you bequeaih'd a name ;'
MortalSjWho sought and found, by dangerous roads,
A palh to perpetuity of fame ;
They were gigantic minds, and their sleep aim
Was, Tiian-iilie, 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 mora
than smile.

The one was Ave 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 mnitiplied himself among mankind,
The Profeus of their talents : But his own
Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as the wind.
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, —
Now too'erihrow a fool, and now to shake a throne.

The ofher, 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 weit.

' Vohaitfi and Gibbon.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Yet peace be with their ashes, — for by them,

If merited, the penalty is paid ;

It is not ours to judge, — far less condemn :

The hour must come when snch things shall be

made
Known unto all, — or hope and dread alJay'd
By slumber, on one pillow,- — in the dust.
Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay'd ;
And when it shall revise, as is our trust,
'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just.

But let mc quit man's works, again to read
His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend
This page, which from my reveries I feed.
Until it seems prolonging without end.
The clouds above me to the white Alps tend.
And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er
May be permitted as my steps I bend
To their most great and growing region, where
The earth to her embrace compels the powers of

Italia ! too, Italia ! looking on thee.
Full flashes on the soul the light of ages,
Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won ihee,
To the last halo of the chiefs and sages
Who glorify thy consecrated pages ;
Thou wertthe throne and grave of empires; still,
The fount at which the panting mind assuages
Her thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill.
Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperia.
hill.

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Canto III. PILGRIMAGE. US

CXI,

Thus far have I proceeded in a theme
Renew'd with no kind auspices : — to feel
We are not what we have heen, 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 tasit of soul : — No matter, — it is taught.

cxii.

And for these words, thus woven into song,
It may be that they are a harmless wile, —
The colouring of the scenes which fleet along,
Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile
My breast, or that of others, for a while.
Fame is the thirst of youth, — but I am not
So young as to regard men's frown or smile,
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot;
I stood and stand alone, — remembcr'd or forgot.

CXIII,

I have not loved the world, nor the world me ;
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor b:)w'd
To its idolatries a patient knee, —
Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles,— nor cried aloud
In worship of an echo; in the crowd
They could not deem me one of such; I stood
Among them, but not of them ; in a shroud
Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still
could,
Had I not filed' my mind, which thus itself subdued.

' "If it be thus.

For Bain^uo's issun have 1 fikd my mind." — Macbeth.

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IGG CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto III.

cxrv.
I have not loved the world, nor the world me, —
But let us part fair foes; I do believe,
Though I have found them not, that there may he
Words which are things, — hopes which will not ds-
And virtues which are merciful, nor weave [ceive,
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.'

' It is said byRochefoucau]t,that "there is always something
in the misfortunes of men's best friends not displeasing to them,"

' ["It is not the temper and lalenls-of the poet, hut the use to
which he puts them, on which his happiness ot misery is pounded.
A powerful and unbridled imagination is tlie author and architect
of its own disappointments. Its fiiscinations, its esa^erated
pictures of good and evil, and the mental distress to which they
give rise, are the natural and necessary evils attending on thflt
quick suscepcihility of feeling and fancy incident to the poetical
temperament. But the Giver of all talents, while ho has qualified
them each with its separate and peculiar alloy, has endowed the
owner with the power of purifying and refining them. Bat, as if
to moderate thearrogance of genius, it is justly and wisely made
requisite, that he must regulate and lame the lire of his fancy, and
descend from the heights to which she exalts him, in order to
obtain ease of mind and tranquillity. The materials of happi-
ness, tliat is, of such degreeof happiness as isconsistentwithour
present Slate, lie around us in profusion. But the man of talents
must stoop to gather them, otherwise they would be beyond the
reach of the masg of society, for whose benefit, as weH as for his.
Providence has created them. There is no royal and no poetical
path to contenbnent and heart's ease: that by which they are
attained is open to all clfisses of manlund, and lies within thentost
limited range of intellect. To narrow our wishes and desires
within the scope of our powers of attainment; to consider our
misfortunes, however peculiarin their character, as our inevitable
share in the patrimony of Adam; to bridle those irritable feelings,
which ungoverned are sure to become governors; to shun that
intensity of galling and self-wounding reflection which our poet
has so forciblv described in its own burning language : —

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PILGRIMAGE.

My daughter ! wiUi thy name this song begun—
My daughter! with thy name thus much shall

end —
[ see thee not — I hear thee not, — but none
Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend
To whom the shadows of far years extend :
Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold,
My voice shall with thy future visions blend,
And reach into thy heart, — when mind is cold —
A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould.

To aid thy mind's development, — to watch
Thy dawn of liitle joys, — to sit and see
Almost thy very growth, — to view thee catch
Knowledge of objects, — wonders yet to thee !
To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee,
And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,-^
This, it should seem, was not reserved for me;
Yet this was in my nature : — as it is,
I know not what is there, yet something liko to this

'I have thought
Too long and darkly, till my brain became.
In ils own eddy, toiling and o'erwronght,

A whirling gulf of fantasy and flame'

— to stoop, in ahort, to the realities of life; repent if we have
offended, and pardon if we have been trespassed against ; to look
on the world less as our foe than as a doubtful and capricious
friend, whose applause we ought as faras possible to deserve, but
neitherfocourt nor contemn — such seem the most obvious and
certain means of keeping or regaining mental tranquillitj .
' Semita certe
Tram^uillse per virtutem patet unica vitfe." — Sir W. Scott.]

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168 CIIILDE HAROLD'S CaNT., HI.

cxvil.
Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught,
I know that thou wiit love me: tViough 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 tl,9

same,
I know that thou wilt love me ; though to drain
My blood from out thy being were an aim,
And an attainment, — all would be in vain, —
Still thou wouldst love me, slill that more than Hfe
retain.

The child of love, — though born in bitterness,
And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire
These were the elements, — and thine no less.
As yet such are around thee, — but thy fire
Shall be more temper'd, and thy hope far higher.
Sweet be thy cradled slumbers! O'er the sea,
And from the mountains where I now respire,
Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee.
As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to
me !'

* ["Byron, July 4th. 1816. Diodflti."— MS.]

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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE

CANTO THE f n U R T H.

Vlsto ho Toscaiia, Lombardia, Romagna,
Quel MoDte ehe divide, e qnel che serra
Ilalia, e an mare e 1' altro, che la bagna.

Ariosto, Satira iii.

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JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. A.M. F.R.S

Feniee, Jamim-y 2, 1818.

Mt deab Hobhouse,
After an interval of eigiit years between the compo-
Bition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the
conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the
public. In parting with so old a friend, it is not extra-
ordinary that I should recur to one stilt older and
better, — to one who has beheld the birth and death of
the other, and to whom I am far more indebted for
the social advantages of an enlightened friendship,
than — though not ungrateful — I can, or could be, to
Childe Harold, for any public favour reflected through
the poem on the poet, — to one, whom I have known
long, and accompanied far, whom I hare found wake-
ful over my sickness, and kind in my sorrow, glad in
my prosperity, and firm in my adversity, true in coun-
sel and trusty in peril, — to a fiuend often tried and
never found wanting ; — £o yourself.

In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth; and in
dedicating to you in its complete, or at least concluded
state, a poetical work which is the longest, the most
thoughtful and comprehensive of my compositions, I
wish to do honour to myself by the record of many
years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of

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173 DEDICATION.

steadiness, and of honour. It is not for minds like
ours to give or to receive flattery ; yet the praises of
sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of
friendship ; and it is not for you, nor even for others,
but to relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or late-
ly, been so much accustomed to the encounter of good-
will as to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus
attempt to commemorate your good quahties, or rather
the advantages which I have derived from their exer-
tion. Even the recurrence of the date of this letter,
the anniversary of the most unfortunate day of my
past existence, but which cannot poison my future
while I retain the resource of your friendship, and of
my own faculties, will henceforth have a more agreea-
ble recollection for both, inasmuch as it will remind us
of this my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable
regard, such aa few men have experienced, and no
one could experience without thinking better of his
species and of himself

It has been our fortune to traverse together, at vari-
ous periods, the countries of chivalry, history, and fable
— Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy; aiid what
Athens and Constantinople were to us a few years ago,
Venice and Rome have been more recently. The
poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accompanied
me from first to last ; and perhaps it may be a pardon-
able vanity which induces me to reflect with compla-
cency on a composition which in some degree connects
me with the spot where it was produced, and the ob-
jects it would fain describe; and however unworthy it
may be deemed of those magical and memorable
abodes, however short it may fall of our distant con-
ceptions and immediate impressions, yet as a mark of
respect for what is venerable, and of feeling for what
is glorious, it has be:en to me a source of pleasure in
the production, and I part with it with a kind of regret.

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DEDICATION. 173

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 pre-
ceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from
the author speaking in his own person. The fact is,
that I had become weary of drawing a line which
every one seemed determined not to perceive : like ihe
Chinese in Goldsmith's "Citizen of the World," whom
nobody would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain
that I asserted, and imagined that I had drawn, a dis-
tinction between the author and the pilgrim: and the
very anxiety to preserve this diiference, and disap-
pointment at finding it unavailing, so far crushed my
efforts in the composition, that I determined to aban-
don it altogether — and have done so. The opinions
which have been, or may be, formed on that subject,
are now a matter of indifference : the work is to depend
on itself, and not on the writer; and the author, who
has no resources in his own mind beyond the reputa-
tion, transient or permanent, which is to arise from
his literary efforts, deserves the fate of authors.

In the course of the following canto it was my inten-
tion, either in the text or in the notes, to have touched
upon the present state of Italian literature, and perhaps
of manners. But the text, within thelimitsi proposed,
I soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth of ex-
ternal objects, and the consequent reflections ; and for
the whole of the notes, excepting a few of the short-
est, I am indebted to yourself, and these were neces-
sarily limited to the elucidation of the text.

It is also a delicate, and no very grateful task, to
dissert upon the literature and manners of a nation so
dissimilar: and requires an attention and impartiality
which would induce us — though perhaps no inatten-
tive observers, nor ignorant of the language or customs

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174 DEDICATION.

of the people amongst whom we have recently abode
— to distrust, or at least defer our judgment, and more
narrowly examine our iiiformatioii. The state of lite-
rary, as wellas political party, appears to run,orto Aoce
run so high, that for a stranger to steer impartially be-
tween them is next to impossible. It may be enough,
then, at least for my purpose, to quote from their own
beautiful language — "Mi pare che in un paese tutto
poeiico, che vanta la lingua la piu nobile ed insieme la
piiidolce, tutte tuttele vie diverse si possonotentare,e
che sinche la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha perdu-
to I' ant ico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la pri-
ma." Italy has great names still — Canova, Monti,
Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Visconti, Morelli, Cicogna-
ra, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, Aghetti,
and Vacca, will secure to the present generation an
honourable place in most of the departments of Art,
Science, and Belles Lettres; and in some the very high-
est — Europe — the world has bnt one Canova.

It has been somewhere said by Alfieri, that " La
pianta uomo nasce piil robusta in Italia che in qualun-
que altra terra — e che gli stessi atroci delitti che vi si
eommettono no sono una prova." Without subscrib-
ing to the latter part of his proposition, a dangerous
doctrine, the-truth of which may be disputed on bettor
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 extraordinarycapacity of this people,
or, if such a word be admissible, tbeir capabilities, the
facility of their acquisitions^ the rapidity of their con
ceptions, the fire of their genius, their sense of beauty,
and, amidst all the disadvantages of repeated revolu-
tions, the desolation of battles, and the despair of ages,
their still unquencbed "longing after immortaUty,"
— the immonality of independence. And when we

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DEDICATION. 175

ourselves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard
the simple lament of the labourers' chorusj " Roma !
Roma! Roma! Roma non 6 piii come era prima," it
was difBcult not to contrast this melancholy dirge wilh
the bacchanal roar of the songs of exullation still yel-
led from the London taverns, over the carnage of
Mont St. Jean, and the betrayal of Genoa, of Italy,
of France, and of the world, by men whose conduct
you yourself have exposed in a work worthy of the
better days of our history. For me, —
"Non movero mai corda
Ove la turba di sue ciance asBOtda,"

What Italy has gained by the late transfer of na-
tions, it were useless for Englishmen to inqnire, till it
becomes ascertained that. England has acquired some-
thing more than a permanent army and a suspended
Habeas Corpus ; it is enough for them to look at
home. For what they have done abroad, and espe-
cially in the South, " Verily they will have their
reward," and at no very distant period.

Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and agree-
able return to that country whose real welfare can be
dearer to none than to yourself, I dedicate to you this
l)oem in its completed state ; and repeat once more
how truly I am ever,

Your obliged

And alFeciionate friend,

Byhon.

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CHILDK HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

I STOOD ill Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ;'
A palace and a prison on eacii hand :
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand :-
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,^
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their.powers :
And such she was; — her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the eshanstless East
Pour'd in her lap ali gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased.

* See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No, I.

" Sabe)licus, describing the appearance of Venice, lias rnade use
of the above ima^e, which would not he poetical were it not true,
— "Quo fit ut qui superne urbetn contempletur, torritam telluris
imaginem medio Ooeano figuratam se putet inapicere."

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UHILDE HAROLD'S

In Venice Tasso's echoes are no move,'
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear ;
Those days are gone — ^but beauty sUll is here.
States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear.
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revei of the earth, the masque of Italy !

But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway ;
Ours is a trophy which wili not decay
With the Rialto ; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away —
The keystones of (he arch ! though all were o'e.
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.

The beings of the mind are not of clay ;
Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in lis 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.

> See Appendix, " Histovical Notes," No. II.

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P [ L G R i M A G E.

yuch is ihe refuge of our yoiUh and age.
The first from Hope, the last from Vacancy ;
And this worn feeling peoples many a page,
And, may be, that which grows beneath mine

eye,
Yet there are things whose strong reality
Outshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues
More beautiful than our fantastic sky,
And the strange constellations which the Muse
O'er her wild universe is skilful to diifuse :

I saw or dream'd of such, — but let them go, —
They came like truth, and disappeav'd like dreams;
And whatsoe'er they were — are now but so :
I could replace them if I would ; slill teems
My mind with many a form which aptly seems
Such as I sought for, and at moments found ;
Let these too go — for waking Reason deems
Such overweening phantasies unsound,
And other voices speak, and other sights surround.

VIII.

I've taught me other tongues — and in strange

eyes
Have made me not a stranger ; to the mind
Which is itself, no changes bring surprise ;
Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find
A country with — ay, or without mankind;
Yet was I born where men are proud to be.
Not without cause ; and should I leave behind
The inviolate island of the sage and free,
And seek me out a home by a remoter sea,

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

s I loved it well ; and should I iay
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
AVith 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

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 ;
The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted, — they have torn me, — and I bleed :
I should have known what fruit would spring from
such a seed.

The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord ;
And, annual marriage now no more renew'd.
The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored.
Neglected garment of her widowhood !
St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood'
Stand, but in mockery of his withter'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.

' The answer of the mollier of Braaidas, the Lacediemonian
general, to the strangers wlio praised the memory of her son.
' See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. HI.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 181

XII.

The Siiabian sued, and now the Auslrian reigns — '
An emperor tramples where an emperor knelt;
Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains
Clank over sceptred cities ; nations melt
From power's high pinnacle, when they have felE
The sunshine for a while, and downward go
Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's helt;
Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo !^
Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe.

Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass,
Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ;
Bnt is not Doria's menace come to pass?^
Are they not bridled?— Venice, lost and won,
Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done.
Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose !
Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun.
Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes,
From whom submission wrings an infamous repose.

In youth she was ail 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 ;
Though making many slaves, herself still free,
And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite ;
Witness Troy's rival, Candia ! Vouch it, ye
Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight !
For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight,

', =, ^ See Appandis, "Historical Notes," Noa. IV. V. VI.

• That 13, the Lion of St. Mark, the standard of tlie republic ,
which ia the origin of the word Pantaloon — Pinntaleone, Pan
taleon, Pantaloon.

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183 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the long file
Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ;
But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile
Bespeaks the 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 walla.

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 o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins
Fall from his hands— his idle scimitar
Starts from its belt — he rends his captive's chains,
And bids him thank the bard for freedom and hia
strains.

xvn.
Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine,
Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot.
Thy choral memory of the hard divine.
Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot
Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot
Is shameful to the nations,— most of all,'
Albion ! to thee : the ocean queen should not
Abandon ocean's children ; in the fall
Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery walL

* See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. Vll.
' The Btoiy Is told in Plutarch's Life of NicLas.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 183

I loved her from my boyhood— she to rae
Was as a fairy city of the heart,
Rising lilce w ate r-cohi runs from Ihe sea,
Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart ;
And Otway, Radciiffe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art,'
Had stsmp'd her image in me, and even so.
Although I found her thus, we did not part,
Perchance even dearer in her day of woe
Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show-

I can repeople with the past — and of
The present there is still for eye and thought.
And meditation chasten'd down enough ;
And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought ;
And of the happiest moments which were wrought
Within the web of my existence, some
From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught:
There are some feelings Time can not benumb.
Nor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and
dnmb.

But from their nature will the tannen grow^
Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks,
Rooted in barrenness, where naught below
Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks
Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks
The howling tempest, till its height and frame
Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks
Of bleak, gray granite into life it came,
And grew a giant tree; — the mind may grow the same.

• Venice Preserved; Mysteries of Ui^olplio; flie Gliosl-Seer,
or Armenian ; the Merchant of Venice ; Othello.

' Tannen is the plural of iaime, a species of fir peculiar to the

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184 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto )V.

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.

sxir.

All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd.
Even by the suiferer ; and, in each event.
Ends : — Some, with hope replenish'd and rebuoy'd,
Return to whence ihey came — with hke intent.
And weave their web again; some, bow'dand bent.
Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time,
And perish with the reed on which they leant ;
Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime,
According as their souls were form'd to sink or climb.

XXIII.
But ever and anon of griefs subdued
There comes a token like a scorpion's sting.
Scarce seen but with fresh bitterness imbued ;
And sHght withal may be the tilings which bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside forever : it may be a sound —
A tone of music — snmmer's eve — or spring —
A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall
wound, [bound ;

Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly

Alps, which only tlirivea in very loclcy parts, wliere scarcely soil
Bufficient for its nourishment can be fonnd. On these spots it
grows to a greater hciglit than any other m

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 195

XXIV.
And how and why we know not, nor can trace
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind,
But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface
The blight and blackening which it leaves behind,
Which out of things familiar, undesign'd.
When least we deem of such, calls up to view
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind,
The cold — the changed — perchance the dead —
anew, [how few!

The mourn'd, the loved, the lost — too many ! — yet

XXV.

But my soul wanders ; I demand it back
To meditate amongst decay, and stand
A ruin amidst ruins; there to track
Fallen states and buried greatness, o'er a land
Which was the mightiest in its old command,
And is the loveliest, and must ever be
The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand.
Wherein were cast the heroic and th« free.
The beautiful, the brave — the lords of earth and sea.

XKVI.

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 Natiire^ can decree ,
Even ill thy desert, what is like to thee ?
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste
More rich than other climes' fertility ;
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.

' [The whole of this canto is rich in dcBcription of nature.
The love of nature now appears as a distinct passion in Lord

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CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

The moon is up, and yet it is not night —
Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea
Of glory streams along the Alpine height
Of blue Friuli's mountains; heaven is free
From clouds, bnt of all colours seems to be
Melted to one vast iris of the west,
Where the day joins the past eternity ;
While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest
Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest !*

sxviij.
A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Roird o'er the peak of the far Rhsetian hiil,
As day and night contending were, until
Nature reclaim'd her order ; — geiilly flows
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil
The odorous pnrple of a new-born rose,
Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within
it glows.

Byron's mind. It is a love tliat does not rest in beholding', nor is
satisfied with describing', what is before him. It has a power and
being, blending itself with tlie poet's very life. Though Lord
Byron had, witli liis real eyes, perhaps seen more of nature than
ever was before permitted to any great poet, yet he never before
seemed to open his whole heart to her genial impulses. Bnt
in this he is changed ; and in this Canto of Childe Harold, he
will stand a comparison with the best descriptive poets, in tJiis
age of descriptive poetry. — 'WiiflON.]

» The above description may seem fantaslieal or exaggerated
to those who have never seen an oriental or an Ilalian sky, yet
it is hut a literal and hardly sufficient delineation of an August
evening, (the eighteenth,) as contemplated in one of many lidea
along the banlss of the Brenta, near La Mini.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 18'

Fiird with the face of heaven, which, from afar,
Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star.
Their magical variety diffuse :
And now they change; a paler shadow strews
Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,
The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all i(
gray.

XXX.

There is a tomb in Arqua; — rear'd in air,
Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose
The bones of Laura's iover ; here repair
Many familiar with his well-sung woes,
The pilgrims of his genius. He arose
To raise a language, and his laud 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.

They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died ;*
The mountain-village where his latter days
Went down the vale of years; and 'tis their

pride —
An honest pride — and let it be their praise,
To offer to the passing stranger's gaze
His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plain
And venerably simple, such as raise
A feeling more accordant with his strain
Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane.

\ " Sfe Ajipendix, " Historical Nolea," Noa. VIII. and IX.

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19g CHILDE HAROLD'S Cantu 1

And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt'
Is one of that complexion which seems made
For those who iheir mortaHty have felt,
And sotight a refuge from their hopes decay'd
In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade,
Which shows a distant prospect far away
Of busy cities, now in vain display'd,
For they can lure no furlher ; and the ray
Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday,

Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers,
And shining in the brawling brook, where-by,
Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours
With a cairn languor, which, though to the eye
Idiesse it seem, hath its morality.
If from society we learn to live,
'Tis solitude should teach us how to die :
It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give
No hollow aid; alone — man with his God must strive:

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,

1 ["Halfway op

He built his house, whence as by stealth he caught
Among the hills a glimpse of busy life
That soothed, not stirr'd." — Rogers.]
" Thestruggleis to the full as likely to be -with demons as with
out better thoughts. Satan chose the wilderness foi the tempta-
tion of OUT Saviour. And our unsullied JohnLocte preferred the
ptesence of a child to complete solitude.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 189

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 sorercigns, and the antique brood
Of Este, which for many an age made good
Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore
Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood
Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore
The wreath which Daiite'sbrowalonehad worn before.

And Tasso is Iheir glory and their shame.
Hark to the strain ! and then survey his cell !
And see how dearly earn'd Torquato's fame,
And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell:
The miserable despot could not quell

* [In April, 1817, Lord Byron visited Ferrara, went over the
castle, cell, &c., and wrote, a few days after, the Lament of faaso.
— "Oiia of theFerrareseaskedme,''hesays,inaletter toafriend,
" if I knew ' Lord Byron,' an acquaintance of his, now at Naples,
I told him ' No !' whicii waa true both ways, for I l;new not the
impostor; and, in the other, no one knows liimself. He stared
when told that I was the real Simon Pvire. Another asked me, i;
I had not translated Tasso. You see what Fame is; how ac
curate ! how boundless ! I don't know how others feel, bat 1 an
always the lighter and the better looked onwhenlhave gotrid ol
mine. It sits on melikearmour on the Lord Mayor's champion
and I got ridof all thehuskof lilBrature,andtheattendant babble
by answering that I had not translated Tasso, but a namcsaloj
had; and, by the blessingof Heaven, Hooked so little likea poet,
that everybody believed rai*."]

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190 C HI L D E H A R L D'S Canto IV.

The insulted mind he sought fo quench, and blend
With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell
Where he had plunged it. Glory without end
Scattered the clouds away — and on that name attend

XKXVII,

The tears and praises of all time ; while thine
Would rot in its oblivion — in the sink
Of worthless dust, which from thy boasted line
Is shaken into nothing ; but the link
Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think
Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn —
Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink
From thee ! if in another station born,
Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou madest to

XXXVIII.

Thou ! form'd to eat, and be despised, and die,
Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou
Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty :
He ! with a glory round his fiirrow'd brow,
Which emanated then, and dazzles now.
In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire,
And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow'
No strain which shamed his country's creaking
lyre.
That whetstone of the teeth — monotony in wire !

Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! 'twas his
In life and death to be the mark where Wrong
Aim'd with her poison'd arrows ; hut to miss.
Oh, victor unsurpass'd in modern song !
Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long

' See Appendix, " Historical Notos," No. X.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. IDl

The fide of generations shall roll on,
And not the whole combined and countless throng
Compose a mind like thine ? though all in one
Condensed their scatter'd rays, they would not form

Great as thou art, yet parallel'd by those,
Thy countrymen, before thee bom lo shine,
The Bards of Hell and Chivalry : first rose
The Tuscan father's comedy divine ;
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,^
Sangladye-loveaiidp'ar, romance and knightly worth.
' [" Soott," says Lord Byron, in his MS. Diary, for 1831, " is
certainly the most wonderfiil writer of tlio day. His novels are a
new literature in themselves, and his poetry as good as any — if
not better (only on an erroneous system,) — and only ceased to bo
so popular, because the vulgar were tired of hearing ' Aiistides
called tlie Just,' and Scott the Best, and ostracised him. I know
no reading to which I fall with such alacrity as aworkof his. I
love him, too, for his manliness of character, for the extreme
pleasantness of his conversation, and his good-nature towards my-
self personally. May he prosper! forhe deserves it. In a letter,
wtittentoSir Walter, from Pisa, in 1823, he says — "lowetoyou
far more than the usual obligation for the courtesies of Jileratuie
and common friendship ; for you wentoutof youtway, inl8I7,to
do me a service, when it required not merely kindness, but couK^^e,
to do so ; to have been recorded by you in such a manner, would
have been a proud memorial at any time ; hut at such a time, when
> All the world and his wife,' as the proverb goes, were trying to
trample upon me, was something still higher to my Belf-esteem,
Had it beenacommon criticism, however eloquentor panegyrical,
I should have felt pleased and grateful, but not to the extent which
the extraordinary good-hearted ness of the whole proceedingmnst
induce in any mind capable of such sensations."]

» ["I do not know whether Scott will like it, but I have called
him the 'Ariosto of the North,' in my text. If heshou!dnot,say
so in time"' — LordB. to M: Murray. August, 1S17.]

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

The lightning rent from Arioslo's bust'
The iron crown of laurel's mimiclc'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'
Whate'er it strikes; — yon head is doubly sacred now.

. xLir.
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 ihy nakedness
Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim
Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press
To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress;

Then raightst thou more appal ; or, less desired.
Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored
For thy destructive charms ; then, still untired.
Would not be seen the armed torrents pour'd
Down the deep Alps ; nor would the hostile 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 vancLuish'd, thou the slave of friend or foe.*

S a, 3 gee Appendix, " Historical Notes," Nos, XI. XII. XIH
* The two stanaas xlii. and xliii. are, witli the exception of a

line or two, a translation of tt\e famous sonnet of Filicaja :

" Italia, Italia, tu cni feo la aorte !"

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!anto IV. PILGRIMAGE. JOi

XLIV.

Wandering in youth, I traced the path of hifii,'
The Roman friend of Rome's least -mortal miiid,
The friend of Tuliy : as my bark did skim
The bright blue waters with a fanning wind,
Came Megara before me, and behind
JSgina lay, Pirseus on the right,
And Corinth on the left: I lay reclined
Along the prow, and saw all these unite
.a ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight ;

For Time hath not rebuilt them, but nprear'd
Barbaric dwellings on their shaiter'd site,
Which only make more mourn'd and more endear'd
The few last rays of their fiir-scalter'd light,
And the crush'd relics of their vanish'd might.
The Roman saw these tombs in his own age.
These sepulchres of cities, which excite
Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page
The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrim-

* The celebrated teller of Servius Sulpicius to Cicero, on the
death of his daughter, describes as it then was, and now is, a
path which I often traced in Greece, both by sea and land, in
different journeys and voyages. " On my return from Asia, as I
was sailing from jEgina towards Megara, I began to contemplate
the prospect of the conntties around me : jEgina was behind,
Megara before me ; Pinous on the right. Corinth on the left : all
which towns, once famous and flourishing, now lie overturned
and buried in their ruins.. Upon this sight, I could not biit think
presently within myself, Alae! how we poormortalsfret and vex
ourselves if any of our friends happen to die or be killed, whose
life is yet so short, when the caicassesof so many noble citieslie
liero exposed before me in one view." — See Middleton's Cicero,
voL ii. o. 371.

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194 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

That page is now before me, and on mine
Ifis country's riiin added to the mass
Of pelish'd states he mourn'd Id their decline,
And I in desolation : all that vjas
Of then destruction is ; and now, alas !
Rome-— Rome inaperial, bows horto 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.

XL VII.

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.

XLVII!.

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, ledeem'd to a new morn,

1 It is Poggio, who, looking- from the Capitoline hill upon
ruined Itome, breaks fortli into the exclamation, " Ut iranc omni
decore nudaCa, piostrata jacet, instar gigaotei cadavcris corropti
affjne unditjue exesi."

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PILGRIMAGE.

There, loo, tlie goddess loves in stone, and fills*
The air around with beauty ; we inhale
The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld) instils
Part of its immortality ; the veil
Of heai'en is half undrawn; within the pale
We stand, and in that form and fate behold
What Mind can make, when Nature's self wouldfail ;
And to the fond idolaters of old
Envy the innate flash which such a soid could mould :
t.
We gaze and turn away, and know not where.
Dazzled and drimk with beauty, till the heart^
Reels with its fidness ; there — forever there—
Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art,
We stand as captives, and would not depart.
Away ! — there need no words, nor terms precise,
The paltry jargon of the marble mart,
Where Pedantry gulls Folly — we have eyes
Blood — pulse — and- breast, confirm the Dardan
shepherd's prize.
' See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. XIV.
' [In 1817, Lord Bjron visited Florence, on his way to Rome.
"I remained," he says, "bul a dat/ ! however, I went to tlie two
galleries, from whieli one returns drank loilh beauty. The Venus
is more for admiration tlian love; but there are sculpture and
painting, which, for the (irst time, at all gave me an ideaof what
people mean by their cant about those two most artificial of the
aits. What struck me most were, the mistress of Raphael, apor-
trait; the mistress of Titian, a portrait ; a Venus of Titian in the
Medici Gallery; the Venus; Canova's Venus, also, in the other
gallery : Titian's mistress is also in the other gallery, (that is, in the
Pitd Palace gallery;) the Paiwe of Michael Angelo, a picture;
and the Antinous, the Alexander, and one or two not very decent
groups in marble; the Geniusof Death, aaleepingligure,&c.&c.
I also went to the Medici chapel. Fine frippery in great slabs of
various expensive stones, to commemorate fifty rotten and for-
gotten oaniasaes. It is unfinished, and will remwn so." We find

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196 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise?
Or to more deeply blest Aiichises? or,
In all thy gerfect goddess-ship, when lies
Before f hce Ihy own vanquish'd Lord of War ?
And gazing in thy face as toward a star>
Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee npturn,
Feeding on thy sweet check !' while thy lips arc
With lava kisses melting while they burn, [urnP
Shower'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an

tlie following note of aseeonilyisittothe jraHeriesin 1831, accom-
panied by the author of "The Pleasures of Memory;"- -"My for-
mer impreasiona were confirmed ; Imttliere were too many visiters
to allow me to feel any thing properly. When wo were {about
thirty or forty) ail stuffed into the cabinet of gems and knick-
knackeries, in a corner of one of the gnlleiiea, 1 told Rogera that ' il
feltlike beingio the watch-house.' Iheard one bold Briton declare
to the woman onhisarni, lookingatthe Venua ofFidan, 'Well,
now, that is really very line indeed !' — an observation which, like
that of Ihe landlord in Joseph Andrews, on ' the certainty of
death,' was (as the landlord's wife observed) 'extremely true.'
In the Pitti Palace, I did not omit Goldsmith's prescription fora
connoisseur, viz. 'that- the pictures would have been better if tlie
painter had taken more pains, and to praise the works of Peler
PerugLno.' "]

'OjiBatiiois iariSe,

" Atque oculos pascat uterque sues." — Ovjd. Jmor. lib. ii.
^ [The delightwith which the pilgrim contemplates theancient
Greek statnes at Florence, and afterwards at Rome, is^ euch as
might have been expected from any great poet, whose youthful
mind had, like his, been imbued with those classical ideas and
associations which afford so many sources of pleasure, through
every period of life. He has gazed upon these masterpieces of
art with a more susceptible, and,inspite of bia disavowal, with a
more learned eye, than can be traced in the effusions of any poel
who had previously expressed, in any formal manner, his admiia.
tion of their heauty. It may appear fanciful to say so ; — hut we
think the genius of Byron is, more than that of any other modern
poet, akin to that peculiar genius which seems tn have been dif-
fused among all tlie poets and artists of ancient Greece! and in

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Cakto IV. PILGRIMAGE. J97

Ltl.

Glowing, and circumfLised in speechless love,
Their full divinity inadequate
That feeling to express, or to improve,
The gods became as mortals, and man's fate
Has moments like their brightest ; but the weight
Of earth recoils upon us ; — let it go !
We can recall such visions, and create,
From what has been, or mightbe, things which grow
Into thy statue's form, and look like gods below.

LIII.

I leave to learned lingers, and wise hands,
The artist and his ape,' to teach and tell
How well his connoisseurship understands
The graceful bend, and the voluptuous swell :
Let these describe the undescribable:
I would not their vile breath should crisp theslream
Wherein that imago shall forever dwell ;
The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream
That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam.

u ho&e bpirit, above all ile other wonders, the great apeciraena of
aiulpture seem Co have been conceived and executed. His creations,
whftherof beauty or of strength, aroal! single creations. Herc-
qnires no grouping to give effect to his favourites, or to tell his
atory. His heroines are solitary symbols of loveliness, which
require no foil; his heroes stand silone as upon marble pedestals,
difplayin^ the naked power of passion, or the wrapped up and
reposing energy of grief. The artist who would illustrate, as it is
called, the works of any of our other poets, must borrow the mimie
splendours of the pencil. He who would transfer into another
vehii-le the spirit of Byron, must pour the liquid metal, or hew
the stubborn rock. What he loses in ease, hewill gain in power.
He might draw from Medora, Gulnare, Lara, or Manfred, subjects
for relievos, wortliy of enthusiasm almost as great as Harold has
himself displayed on the contemplation of the loveliest and the
BtCTnest relics of the inimitable genius of the Greeks. — Wilson.]
* [Only a week before the poet visited the Florence gallery, he

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

111 Santa Crocc's holy 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 relapsed to chaos : — here repose

Augelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his,**

The starry Galileo, with his woes ;

Here Machiavelli's earth return'd to whence it rose.*
iv,
These are four minds, which, like the elements,
Might furnish forth creation ; — Italy ! [rents

Time, which hath wrong'd thee with ten thousand
Of thine imperial garment, shall deny,
And hath denied, to every other sky,
Spirits which soar from ruin : — thy decay
Is still impregnate with divinity.
Which gilds it with revivifying ray ;

Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day.

wrote tlius to a friend : — "I know nothing of painting. Depend
upon it, of all ilie arts, it is the most aitificial snd uflnatural, and
tbat by which Che nonsense of mankind is most imposed upon. I
never yet saw the picture or the statue which came aleague within
niy conception or expectation ; but I have seen many mountains,
and seas, and rivers, and views, and two or ttiree women, who
went as far beyond it." — S)/ron Letters.']

S=, 'See Appendix, "Historical Notes," Nos. XV. XVI.
SVII. — ["The church of SanlaCroee contains mnch illustrious
nothing. The tomhs of Machiavelli, Michael Angelo, Galileo, and
Alfieri, make it the Westminster Ahbey of Italy. I did not ad-
mire any of these tombs — beyond their contents. That of Alfieri is
heavy; and all of them seem to me overloaded. Whatis neces-
sary but a bust and name ? and perhaps a dale % the last for the
nnchronolo^cal, of whom I am one. Bat all your allegory and
eulogy is infernal, and worse than thelong wigs of English nnm-
skuUs upon Roman bCdies, in the statuary of the reigns of Charles
the Second, William, and Anne." — Byron Letters, 1817.]

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PILGRIMAGE.

But where repose the all Etruscan three —
Dante, and Petrarch, and scarce less than ttiey,
The Bard of Prose, creative spirit ! he
Of the Hundred Tales of love—- where did they lay
Their bones, distingiiish'd from our common clay
III death as life ? Are they resolved to dust,
And have their country's marbles naught to say.
Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust ?
Did they not to her breast their filial earth intrust ?

Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar,
Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore :^
Thy factions, in their worse than civil war,
Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore
Their children's children would in vain adore
With the remorse of ages ; and the crown^
Which Petrarch's iaureate brow supremely wore,
Upon a far and foreign soil had grown.
His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not thine
own.

LVIII.

Boccaccio to his parent, earth bequeath'd'*
His dust, — and lies it not her great among,
With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed
O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue ?
That music in itself, whose sounds are song,
The poetry of speech ? No ; — even his tomb
Uptorn, must bear the hyEena bigot's wrong.
No more amidst the meaner dead find room,
Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom !

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300 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

LIX.

And Santa Croce wants iheir mighly dust;
Yet for this want more noted, as of yore
The Csesar'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 I honour'd sleeps
The immortal exile ;-i— Arqua, too, her store
Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keeps,
While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead, and
weeps.

What is her pyramid of precious stones ?'
Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues
Of gem and marble, to encrust ihe bones
Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dews
Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse
Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead,
Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse,
Are gently prest with far more reverent tread
Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely
head.

LXI.

There be more things to greet the heart and eyes
In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine.
Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies;
There be more marvels yet — but not for mine ;
For I have been accustom'd to entwine
My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields,
Than Art in galleries : though a work divine
Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields
Less than It feels, because the weapon which it wields

' Sco Appendix, " Histoncal Notes," No. XXIT,

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PILGRIMAGE.

Is of anolher temper, and I roam
By Thrasimenc's lake, in the defiles
Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home;
For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles
Come back before me, as his skill beguiles
The host between the mountains and the shore.
Where Courage falls in her despairing files,
And torrents swoln to rivers with their gore,
Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd
o'er.

IXIII.

Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds ;
And such the storm of battle on this day,
And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds
To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray.
An earthquake reel'd unheededjy away !'
None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet.
And yawning forth a grave for those who lay
Upon their bucklers for a winding sheet ;
Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations
meet !

LXIV.

The earth to them was as a rolling bark
Which bore them to eternity; they saw
The ocean round, but had no time to mark
The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law.
In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe
Whichreignswhenmountainstvcmble, and the birds
Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw
From their do wn-toppling nests ; and hello wing herds
Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath
no words.

' See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. XXTIL— [An earth-

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803 ClIILDE HAROLD'S Canto, IV.

LXV.

Far other scene is Thrasimene now ;
Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain
Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ;
Her aged trees rise thiclc as once the slain
Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta'cii —
A httle rill of scaniy 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 walcrs

But thou, Clititmnus ! in thy sweetest wave'
Of the most living crystal that was e'er
The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave
Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear
Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer
Grazes ; the purest god of gentle waters !
And most serene of aspect, and most clear ;
Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters —
A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters !

quake whicli shook all Italy occurred during the battle, and was
unfelt by any of the combatants.]

' ["The loTcly peaceful mirror reflected the mountains of
Monte I^llciana, and the wild fo>v] skimming lis ample surface,
tonohed the waters with their rapid wings, leaving circles and
trains of light to glitter in gray repose. As we moved along, one
set of interesting features yielded to another, and every change
excited new delight. Yet, wasitnotamong these tranquil scenes
that Hannibal and Flamiotiis met] "Was not the blnsh of blood
upon the silver lake of Thrasimene 1" — H. W. Williahs.]

' 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 tlie dilapidation of this temple, the reader is referred
to "Historical Illustralions of the Fourth Canto of Childo
Harold," p. 35.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 203

ixvit.
And on ihy 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 fiimy darter with the glittering scales,
Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps;
While, chance, some scatter'd water Jily sails
Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling

ixviir.
Pass not nnblest the Genius of the place !
If through the air a zephyr more serene
Win to the brow, 'tis his ; and if ye trace
Along his margin a more eloquent green.
If on the heart the freshness of the scene
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust
Of weary hfe a moment lave it clean
With Nature's baptism, — 'tis to him ye must
Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust.*

» [" This pretty little gem stands on the ac«!irtty of a bank
overlooking its crystal waters, which have tlielr source at the
distance of some hundred yards towards Spoleto. The temple,
fronting the river, is of an oblong form, in the Corinthian order.
Pont coluranB support the pediment, the shafts of which are
covered in spiral lines, and in forms to represent tJie scales of
fishes: thebases, loo, are richly sculptured. Within the building
h a chapel, the wails of which are covered with many hundred
jiames ; but we saw none which we could recognise as British.
Can it be that this classical 1«niplc isseldom visited by outconn^
trjmen, though celebrated by Diyden and Addisonl To future
travellers from Britain it will surely be rendered interesting by
the beautiful lines of Lord Byron, flowing as sweetly as the
lovely stream which they describe." — H, W. Williams.]

" [Perhaps there are no versus in onr language of happier
descriptive power than the two stanzas which characterize the

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S04 CniLDE HAROLD'S Canto IV

LXIX.

The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height
Veliiio cleaves the wave-worn precipice ;
The fall of waters ! rapid as the light
The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss;
The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss,
And boil iu endless torture ; while the sweat
Of their great agony, wrung out from this
Their Phlegelhoti, curls round the roclfs of jet
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set,

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round,
With its unempiied cloud of gentle rain,
Is an eternal April to the gronnd,
Making it all one emerald : — how profound
The gulf! and how the giant element
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound.
Crushing the cliifs, which, downward worn and rent
Withhis fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent.

Clitumnus. In general poeta find it so difficult to leave ao inte-
resting' subject, fiat they injure the disdnctness of the description
by loading it so &s to embajrasa, rather than excite, the fancy of
the reader ; or else, to avoid that fanlt, they confine themselves
to cold and abstract generalities. Byron has, in these stanzas,
admirably steered his couree betwixt these extremes : while
tliey present the ontlinea of a picture as pure and as brilliant as
tliose of Claude Lonaine, the Issk of filling up the more minute
patticolars is judiciously left to the imagination of the reader ;
and it must be dull indeed if it does not supply what the poet has
left ansdd, or but generally and briefly intimated. While the eye
glances over the lines, we seem to feel the refreshing coolness of
the scene — we hear the bubbling tale of the more rapid streams,
and see the slender proportions of the rural temple reflected in the
crystal deptii of the calm i)oi>i. — Sin Waltbb Scott.]

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PILGRIMAGE.

To tliD broad eohTmii whicli rolls oh, and shows

More like the fountain of ati infant sea

Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes

Of a new world, tlian only thus to be.

Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, [back!

With many windings, through the vale: — Look

Lo ! where U comes like an eternity,

As if to sweep down all things in its. track,

Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract,'
Lxsn.
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.

' I saw the Cascati del Marmora of Terni twice, at different
periods; once from tlieaummit of the precipice, and again from
the Talley below. The lower view ia far to be preferred, if tlie
traveller has dme for one only ; but in any point of Tiew, either
from above or below, it is worth all the cascades and torrents of
Switzerland put together: the Staubacli, Reichenbach, Fisse
Vacho, fell of Arpenaz, &e. are rills in comparative appearance.
Of the falLof Schaifhaasenl cannot speak, not yet liavingseen it.
["The stunning sound, the mist, uncertainty, and tremendous
depth, bewildered ijie senses for a time, and the eye had little rest
from the impetuous and hurrying waters, to search into the mys-
terious and whitened gulf, which presenWd, through a cloud of
spray, the apparitions, as it were, of rocks and overhanging wood.
Tile wind, liowevet, would sometimes remove for an iiistanttbis
misty veil, and display such a atene of havoc as appalled the soul.'*
— H. W. Williams.]

s Of the time, place, and qnalides of this kind of iris, the reade'
will see a short account, in a note to Minfrcd. The fall looks so

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206 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

LXSIII.

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 iaawine — might be worshipp'd

more;
But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear
Her never-trodden snow, and seea the hoar
Glaciers of bleak Mont Blanc both far and near.
And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear,

LXXIV.

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

much lilte "tlieheOof waters," that Addison thought Ihe descant
alluded to by the golf in which Alecto plunged into the infernal
regiona. It is singular enough, that two of the finest cascades in
Europe should be artificial — this of the Velino, and the one at
Tivoi. The travelleris stronglyrecommended to traoethe Velino,
at least as liigh as the little lake, called i'lViliXup. TheRealJne
territory was the Italian Tempe, {Cicer. Epist. ad Attic, xr. lib.
iv.,) and the ancient naturalists, (Plin.Hist. Nat. lib. ii. cap. kii.,)
amongst other beautiful varieties, remarked the daily rainbows
of the lake Velinas. A scholar of great name has devoted a
treatise to this district alone. See Aid. Manut. de Reatina Urbe
Agrotjue, ap. Sallengre, Tboaanr. tom. i. p. 773.

^ InUiD greater pact of Switzerland, the avaliinehes are known
by the name of lauwine.

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Canto IV. P i L Li R i M A G E. 207

For our remembrance, and from out the plain
Heaves like a long-swept wave abonE 10 break,
And on the cnrl 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 ahhorr'd
Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake,
The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by word*
In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record

^ These stanaas may probatjly remind the reader of Ensign
Northerton's remarks, "D — nHorao,"&c.; but the-rfiasons for
our dislike are not exactly the same. I wish to express, that we
become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty;
that we learn by rote before we can get by heart; that the fresh-
ness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened
and destroyed, by the didactic andeipation, at an age when we can
neither feel nor understand the power of compositions which it
requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to
relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason, we never can be
aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeare
("To be, or not to be," for instance,) from the habit of having
them hammered into us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of
mind, but of memory ; so that when we are old enough to enjoy
them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts
of the continent young persons are taught from more common
authors, and do not read the best classics till llieii' maturity. I
certainly do not speak on this point from any pique or aversion
towards the place of ray 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 heen, and with reason; — a part of
the time passed tliere was the happiest of my life ; and my pre-
ceptor, the Rev. Dt. Joseph Drnry, was the best and worthiest
friend I ever possessed, whose warnings I have remembered bat
too well, though too late when I have erred, — and whose coun-
sels 1 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 whenever thinks of himbnt widi
gratitude and veneration— of one who would more gladly boas'
of having been his pupil, if, by more closely following his injunc-
tions, he could refioct any honour upon his in

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208 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

LXKVr.
Alight that recalls the daily drug which tura'd
Mysickeiiiiigtiieniory; and, though time hath taught
My mind to meditate what then it learii'd,
Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought
By the impatience of my early thought,
That, with the freshness wearing out before
My mind could relish what it might have sought,
If free to choose, I cannot now restore

Its heaUh ; but what it tlien detested, still ahhor.

Lxxyii.

Then farewell, Horace ; whom I hated so,'
Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse
To understand, not feel thy lyric flow.
To comprehend, but never love thy verse.
Although no deeper moralist rehearse
Our little life, nor bard prescribe his art,
Nor livelier satirist the conscience pierce.
Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart.
Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part.

Lxxvin.
Oh Rome ! ray country ! city of the soul !
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires ! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance ? Come tind see
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples. Ye !
Whose agonies are evils of a day — ^
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay,

' [Lord Byron's prepossession against Horace is not witliout
a patallel. It was not til! released from the duty of reading
Virgil as a task, tlmt Gray could feel himself capable of enjoying
the beauties of that poet. — Mooke.]

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PILGRIMAGE.

The Niobc of nations ! there she stands,'
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now f
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow.
Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? '
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.

LXXX.

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and

Fire
Have dealt upon the seren-hili'd city's pride ;
She saw her glories star by star expire,
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,
Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : —
Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void.
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light.
And say, "here was or is," where all is doubly
night?

* ["I liavB been some days ia Rome the Wonilerfu]. I am
delighted with Rome. As a wlioie, — ancient and modem, — it
beats Greece, Oonstandnople, every thing — at least that I have
ever seen. But I ean't describe, because my first imptessiona are
always strong and confuEed, and my memory selecis and rednces
them t^i order, like distance in the landscape, and blends (hem
better, although &ey may be less distinct. I have been on horse-
back most of tlie day, all days since my arrival. I have been to
Albano, its lakes, and to the top of the Alban Mount, and to
Freseati, Aricia, Sx. As for the Coliseum, Pantheon, St. Peter's,
the Vatican, Palatine, &c. &o. — they arequite inconceivable, and
must be ssen." — Bifran Letters, May, 1S17.]

" For a comment on this and the two following stanias, the
reader may consult " Historical Illustrations," p. 40.

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210 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

The double night of ages, and of her,
Night's daiighler, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap
All round us ; we but feel our way to err ;
The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map,
And ICnowledge spreads them on her ample lap ;
But Rome is as the desert, where we steer
StumbUng o'er recollections ; now we clap
Our hands, and cry " Eureka !" it is clear —
When but some false mirage of ruin rises near.

Alas ! the lofly 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 Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay,
And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be
Her resurrection ! all beside — decay.
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we sec
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was

Oh thou, whose chariot roli'don Fortune's wheel,
Triumphant Sylla ! Tlion, who didst subdue
Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to fee!
The wrath of Ihy own wrongs, or reap ihe due
Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew
O'er prostrate Asia ; — thou who with thy Irown
Annihilated senates — Roman, too,
With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down
With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown —

• Orosiaa gives 320 for the number cf triumphs. He is fol-
lowed by Panyinms; an J Piiiiviiiius bj Mr. Gibbon anil the

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Canto I v. PILGRIMAGE. 211

LSXXIV.

The dictatorial wrealh,'— coiildst 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 concjiier — she who veil'd
Earth with her haughty shadow, and display'd,
Until the o'er-canopied horizon fall'd,
Her rushing wings — Oh ! she who was Almighty haii'd?

Sylla was first of victors ; but our own,
The sagest of usurpers, Cromwelt ; he
Too swept off senates while he hew'd the throne
Down to a block — immortal rebel ! See
What crimes it costs to be a moment free
And famous through all ages ! but beneath
His fate the mora! lurks of destiny :
His day of double victory and death [breath."

Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield his

'■ Certainly were it not for tlieae two traits in the life of Sylla,
alluded to ill this stanza, we shoald tcgnrd him as a monster un-
redeemed by any admirablequaHty. The aSonenteni of his volun-
tary resignation of empire may perhaps be accepted by ns, as it
seems to have satisfied tlie Romans, who if they had not respected
must ha?e destroyed him. There could be no mean, no division
of opinion; they must have all thonght, like Biicrates, that what
hid appeared ambition was a love of g:lory, and that what had
liuen mistaken forpride was area! grandeur of soul. — (" Seigneur,
vous ehangez toutes mes idies de la fa^on dont je vous vois agir.
Je croyaia que vous aviez de i'ambidon, mais a'ucune amour pour
la gloire ; je voyais bien que votre Ama etiit haute ; mds je ne
soup^onnais pas qn'eile fut gmnde." — Dialugues de ^.'ia et
d' Eticritie.)

' On the 3d of September Cromwell gained the victory of Dun-
bar: year afterwards he obtained "his drowning mercy" of
Worcester; and a few years after, on the sameday, wliichliehud
ever esteemed tlie most fortunate for him, died.

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CniLDE HAROLD'S

The third of the same moon whose former course
Had ah but crown'd him, on the selfsame day-
Deposed him gently from his throne of force,
And laid him with the earth's preceding clay.
And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway,
And ail we deem delightful, and consume
Our souls to compass through each arduous way,
Are in hereyes less happy than the tomh?
Were they but so in man's, how different were his
doom .'

LXXXVII,

And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in'
The ansterest form of naked majesty.
Thou who beheldest, mid the assassins' din,
At thy bathed base the bloody Ceesar lie,
Folding his robe in dying dignity.
An offering to thine altar from the queen
Of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die.
And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye been
Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene ?

Lxxxvni.
And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome !*
She-wolf! whose brazen -imaged dugs impart
The milk of conquest yet within the dome
Where, as a monument of antique art,
Thou standest : — Mother of the mighty heart.
Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat,
Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's ethereal dart,
And thy limbs black with lightning — dost thou

Guard thine immortal cabs, nor thy fond charge
forget ?

', ' See Appendix, "Historical Notes," Nos. XXIV. XXV.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 913

LKXXIX.

Thou dost ; — but ail thy foster-bfibes are dead —

The men of iron ; and the world hath rcar'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

Eteer'd,
At apish distance ; but as yet none have, -
JSJor could, the same supremacy have near'd,
Save one vain man, who is not in the grave,
Biit,vanqiiish'd by himself, lo his own slaves a slave —

The fooi of false dominion — and a kind
Of bastard Caesar, following him of old
With Eleps unequal; for the Roman's mind
Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould,'
With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold,
And an immortal instinct which redeem'd
The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold,
Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd
At Cleopatra's fe.et, — and now himself he beam'd,

xci.
And came — and saw — and conquer'd ! But th

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 lo be
A listener to itself, was strangely framed ;
With but one weakest weakness— vanity,
Coquettish in ambition — still he aira'd —
At what? can he avouch — or answer what he claim'c

» See Appendix, " Historical Notes," No. XXVI.

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2i4 CIIILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV

xcrr.
And would be all or nothing — nor could wait
For the sure grave to level him ; few years
Had fix'd him wifh the Cfesars in his fate,
Oh whom we tread : For this the conqueror reai-s
The arch of triumph ! and for this the tears
And blood of earth flow on as they have Qovf'd,
All universal deluge, which appears
Without an ark for wretched man's abode,
And ebbs but to reflow 1— Renew thy rainbow, God ! .

xcin.
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 ;
Opinion an omnipotence, — whose veil
Mantles the earth with darlmess, until right
And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale
Lest their own judgments should become too bright,
And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too
much light.

xciv.
And thus they piod in sluggish misery,
Rotting from sire to son, and age to age.
Proud of their trampled nature, and so die,
Bequeathing their hereditary rage

' " Omnes pene veteres ; qui nihil cognosci, nihil pereepi,

miiil sciri posse dixernot ; angosws sensus ; imbeoilloa animos,
brevia ciifrieula vitie ; in profiinJo veritatem demarsamj optnioni-
bus et inatitotis omnia leneri; niliil veritati relinqui: deinceps
omnia tenebria ciTCuinfiisa essedixernnt." — Academ. 1. 13. The
eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since Cicero wrote
this, have not removed any of the iroperfecdons of humanity : and
the complaints of the ancient philosophers may, without injas-
tice or affecta.tlon, be transcribed in a poem written yesterday.

Ho,t,db, Google

Cabto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 215

To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage
War for their chains, and, raiher than be free,
Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage
Within Ihe same arena where they see
Thciir fellows fall before, like leaves of the same free.

I speak not of men's creeds — they rest between
Man and his Maker — bnt of things allow'd,
Averr'd, and known, — and daily, hourly seen —
The yoke that is upon iis doubly bow'd,
And the intent of tyranny avow'd.
The edict of earth's rulers, who are grown
The apes of him who humbled once the proud.
And shook themfrom their slumbers on the throne;
Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had
done.

Can tyrants but by tyrants conqucr'd be.
And Freedom find no champion and no child
Such as Columbia saw arise when she
Sprung forth a Pailas, arra'd and undefiled ?
Or must such minds be noiirish'd in the wild,
Deep in the unpruned forest, midst the roar
Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled
On infant Washington ? Has earth no more
Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such
shore ?

xcvii.
But France got drunk with blood lo 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 btiilt up between

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316 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

Man and his hopes an adamantine wall,
And the base pageant last upon the scene.
Are grown the pretext for the eternal ihrall
Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst — his
second fall,

xcvirr.
Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying.
Streams like Ihe ihniider-storm against the wind;
Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying,
The loudest still the tempest leaves behind;
Thy tree hath lost ilS blossoms, and the rind,
Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth,
But the sap lasfs, — and sdll the seed we find
Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North ;
So shall a better spring less bitler fruit bring forlh.

xcix.
There ia 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 ; —
What was this tower of strength ? wilhin its cave
WhattreasurelaysoIock'd,sohid? — A woman's grave.

But who was she, the lady of the dead,
Tomb'd in a paiaee ? 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 ?

* Alluding to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, called Capo di
Bove. See " Historical lllustratiooE," p. 200.

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Camto IV. P I L C R I M A G E. 317

How lived — how loved — how died she ? Was she
So honom'd — and conspicuously there, [not

Where meaner relics must not dare to rot,
Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot?

Was she as those who love their lords, or ihey
Who love the lords of others ? such have been
Even in the oiden time, Rome's annals say.
Was she the matron of Cornelia's mien,
Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen,
Profuse of joy — or 'gainst it did she war,
Inveterate in virtue? Did she lean
To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar
Love from amongst her griefs? — for such the affections

Perchance she died in youth : it may be, bow'd
With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb
That weigh'd upon her gentle dust, a cloud
Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom
In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom
Heaven gives its favourites — early death; yet shed'
A sunset charm around her, and illume
With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead,
Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red.

cm.
Perchance she died in age — surviving all.
Charms, kindred, children — with the silver gray
On her long tresses, which might yet recall,
It may be, still a something of the day
When they were braided, and her proud array

Rich. Franc. Phil. Brunei;. Poetfe Gnoniici. p. 231. edit. 1784,

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219 CHILDE HAROLD'S Oamto IV.

And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed
By Rome — But whitlier would Conjecture stray ?
Thus much alone we know — MetelJa died,
The wealthiest Koman's wife: Beholdhislove or pride.

CIV.

I know not why — bnt standing thiis by thee.
It seems as if I had thine inmate known.
Thou tomb ! and other days come back on me
With recollected nmsic, though the tone
Is changed and solemn, like the clondy groan
Of dying thunder on the distant wind;
Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone
Till I had bodied forth the heated mind, [behind;*
Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves

cv.
And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks,
Bnilt 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 ray rude boat, where should I steer ?
There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what Is
here,

^ [Four words, and two initials, compose the whole of Ihe in-
scription, which, whatever was ilsancient position, 19 now placed
in front of this towering sepulchre: CaiciLi« . Q . Chetici .
F . Metells . Cbassi. It is more liltely to have heen the pride
than the love of Crassas, which raised so superb a memorial toa
wife whose name is not mentioned in history, unless she he sup-
posed to be that lady whose intimacy with Dolabella was so
offensive to Tnllia, the daughter of Cicero; ci she who was
divorced by Lentulus Spint.her ; or she, perhaps the same person,
from whose ear the son of jEsopus transferred a precious jewel
ii enrich his daughter. — Hobhouse.]

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PILGRIMAG E.

Thcti 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, ali glistening gray and bright,
And sailing pinions. — Upon such a shrine
"What are our petty griefs? — let me not number mine.

cvn.
Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown
Matted and masa'd together, hillocks heap'd
Ob what werechambers, 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 ; for all that Learning reap'd
From her research hath been, that these arc walls —
Behold the Imperial Motmt ! 'tis thus the mighty falls>

cvin.
There is the moral of all human tales f
'Tis btit the same rehearsal of the past.
First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails,
Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last.

* The Palatine is one mass of rains, particularly on the side
towards tlie Circus Maximus, Tiie very soil is formed of crum-
bled brickwork. Nothing has been told, nothing can be told, to
satisfythebeliefof any but a Roman antiquary. See " Historical
IllQEtrationB," p. 206. — ["The voice of Marius could not sound
more deep and solemn amongthe mined arches of Carthage, than
the strains of the Pilgrim amid the broken shrines and fallen
statues of her subduer." — Sir Walter Scott.]

' The autfaot of the life of Cicero, speaking of the opinion
enteitainedofBritainby that orator and his contemporary Romans,

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S20 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

And History, with all her volumes vast.
Hath but one page, — 'tis hetter written here.
Where gorgeous Tyranny halh thus amass'd
All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear.
Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask — Away with
words! draw near,

Admire, exult — despise — laugh, weep,-^for here
There is such matter for all feeling : — Man !
Thon 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 ihose who dared
to build?

has tha following eloquent paasago : — " From their railleries of
this kind, on the barharity and miBery of our island, one cannot
help reflecting on the suiprising fate and roTolutions of kingdoms ;
how Rome, once the mistress of the world, the seat of arts, empire,
andglory, now lies aankin sloth, ignorance, and poverty, enslared
to the most cruel aa well as to the most contemptible of tyrants,
auperstition and religious tmpoatuie : while this remote country,
anciently the jest and contempt of the polite Romans, is become
the happy seat of liberty, plenty, and letters; flourishing in all the
arts and refinements of civil life ; yet, ranning, perhaps, the same
course which Rome itself had ran 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 fell a prey
at last to some hardy oppressor, and, with the loss of liberty,
losing every thing that is valuable, sinks gradually again into ila
original barbarism." (See History of the Life of M. Tulliua
Cicero, sect. vi. vol, ii. p. lOS.)

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 221

Tuily was not so eloquent as thou.
Thou nameless column wilh the buried base !
What are the laurels of the Ctesar's brow ?
Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place.
Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face,
Titus or Trajan's ? No — 'tis that of Time ;
Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace
Scoffing ; and apostolic statues climb
To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime,'

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 eartit reigti'd,
The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd.
But yielded back his conquest : — he was more
Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd
With household blood and wine, serenely wore
His sovereign virtues — still we Trajan's name adore.^

' The column of Trajan is surmounted by St. Pcfet ; that of
Aureliua by St. Paul. See "Historical IlluBtrations," p. 314.

" Trajan was pronerhiaUy the best of the Roman princes ; and
it would be easier to find a sovereign anitingesactly thoopposits
eharacleristioB, than one possessed of al! the happy qualities
ascribed to this emperor. "When he mounted the throne," says
the historian Dion, "he was strong in body, he was vigorous in
mind ; age had impaired none of his faculties ; he was altogether
free from envy and from detraction ; he honoured all the good,
and he advanced them; and on this account they could not be the
objeetg of Ms fear, or of his hate; he never listened to informers;
he gave not way to his anger; he abstained equally from unfair
exactions and unjust punishments ; he had rather be loved as a
man than honoured as a sovereign; he was affable with his peo-
ple, respectful to the senate, and universally beloved by both ; he
inspired none with dread but the enemies of his country." See
Butrop. Brer, Hisi. Rom. lib. riii. c. 5. Dion. Hist. Rom. lib.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place
Where Rome embraced her iieroes? where the steep
Tarpeian ? fittest goal for Treason's race.
The promoLtory whence the Trailor'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,
Andstill the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicero!

CXIII.

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood :
Here a proud people's passions were exhaled.
From the first hour of empire in the bud
To that when further worlds to conquer failed ;
But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd,
And Anarchy assumed her attributes ;
Tih every lawless soldier who assail 'd
Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes.
Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes.

ex IV.

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 wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf,
Even for thy tomb a garland let it be —
The forum's champion, and the people's chief —
Her new-born Numa thou — with reignjalas' too brief

' The name and exploits of Bietizi must be familnr to the
reader of Gibbon. Some details and ineditcd nnnu'enpts, reli
live to this unhappy hero, will be seen in the " Histoncil Illiis.
trations of tlie P'trarth Canto," p. 248

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Canto IV. I L G R I M A G E. 293

cxv.
Egeria ! sweet creation of some heart'
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art
Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air,
The nympholepsy of some fond despair ;
Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth,
Who found a more than common votary there
Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth,

Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.

CXVI.

The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled
With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face
Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled,
Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place.
Whose green, wild margin now no more erase
Art's works ; iior must the delicate waters sleep,
Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base
Of the cleft slatue, with a gentle leap
The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy,
creep.

Fantastically tangled : the green hills
Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass
The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills
Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ;
Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class.
Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes
Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ;
The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes,
iiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its
skies.

' See Appp.nilix, "Historical Notes," No. XXVIL

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover,
Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beating
For the far footsteps of thy inoitai lover ;
The purple Midnight veil'd that mysiic meeting
Wllh her most starry canopy, and seating
Thyself by thine adorer, what befell ?
This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting
Of an enaniour'd goddess, and the cell
Haunted by holy Love — the earliest oracle !

And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying.
Blend a celestial with a human heart ;
And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing,
Share with immortal transports ? could thine art
Make them indeed immorlal, and impart
The ptirity 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 ?

Alas ! our yonng affections run to waste.

Or water but the desert ; whence arise

But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste.

Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes.

Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies,

And trees whose gums are poison ; such the

plants
Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies
O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants
For some celestial frnit forbidden to our wants.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE;. 395

cxxi.

Oh Love ! no habiianl of earih art Ihoii —
An unseen seraph, we believe in thee,
A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart.
But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see
The naked eye, thy form, as it should be ;
The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven.
Even with its own desiring fantasy,
And to a thought snch shape and image given,
As haunts the unquench'd soul — parch'd — wearied —
wrung — and riven.

cxxii.
Of its own beauty is the mind diseased.
And fevers into false creation : — where,
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ?
In him alone. Can Nature show so fair ?
Where are the charms and virtues which we dare
Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men.
The nnreach'd Paradise of our despair,
Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen.
And overpowers the page where it would bloom
again ?

CXXII I.
Who ioves, raves — 'tis youth's frenzy — but the

Is bitterer still ; aa charm by charm unwinds
Which robed our idols, and we see too sure
Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's
Ideal shape of such ; yet still it binds
The fatal spell, and still it draws us on,
Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds ;
The stubborn heart, itsalchymy begun.
Seems ever near the prize — wealthiesr when most
undone.

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CHILDE HAROLD'S

Wc wither from our youth, we gasp away —
Sick — sick ; unfouiid the boon — unslaked the thirst,
Though to the last, in verge of our decay,
Some, phantom lures, such, as we sought at first —
But all too late, — so are we doubly curst.
Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same,
Each idle — and all ill — and none the worst —
For all are meteors with a diiferent name,
And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the

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 miscreafor, makes and helps along
Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod,
Whose touch turns Hope to dusf, — the dust we all

have trod.

cxxvi.
Our life is a false nature — 'tis not in
The harmony of things, — this hard decree,
This uneradicahle taint of sin,
This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree.
Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be
Theskies whichrain their plagueson men likedew — ■
Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see —
And worse, the woes we see not — which throb
through
The immedicable soul, with heartaches ever new

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 237

Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base*

Abandonment of reason to resign

Our right of thought — oar last and only place

Of refuge ; this, at least, shall still be mine ;

Though from our birth the faculty divine

Is chain'd and tortured — cabin'd, cribb'd, confined,

And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine

Too brightly on the unprepared mind,

The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch
the blind.

cxxvni.
Arches on arches ! as it_were that Rome,
Collecting the chief trophies of her line.
Would build up all her triumphs in one dome.
Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine
As 'twere its natural torches, for divine
Should be the light which slream9.here,to iUume
This long-explored but still exiiaustless mine
Of contemplation ; and the azure gloom

Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume

' "At all eveiits,"sayatheauthorof the Academical Questions,
" I tniat, whatever may be the fete of my own speeulationa, that
philosophy will regain that eetimadon which it ought to possess.
The free and philosophic spirit of our nation has heen the theme
of admiration to the world. This wm the proud diatinc^on of
Englishmen, and the luminous acnrce of all their glory. Shall we
ihen forget the manly and dignified aentimentB of our ancestors,
to prate in the language of the mother oi 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 maintjiined it in the hril.
Hant periods of our history. Prejudice may be trusted to guard
the outworks for a short space of time, while reason slumbers in
the citadel; but if the latter sink into aleUiargy, the former will
quickly erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and
liberty support each ether ; he who will not reason is-a bigot ; he
who -cannot, is a fool; and he who dares not, is a slave." — Vol.
. ptef. p. 14. 15.

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229 CHILDR HAROLD'S Canto IV.

Hues which have words, and speak to ye of

heaven,
Floats o'er ihis vast and wondrous monument,
And shadows forth its glory. There is given
Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent,
A spirit's feehng, 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.

Oh Time ! the beantifier of the dead,
Adorner of the ruin, comforter
And only healer when the heart hath bled —
Time ! the corrector where our judgments err,
The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher,
For all besides are sophists, from thy thrift.
Which never loses though it doth defer-—
Time, the avenger ! unto thee I lift
My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a
gift:

Amidst (his 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,
Sear nae not ; 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 ?

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 220

csxxii.
And thoii, who never yet of human wrong
Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis !'
Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long —
Thoii, who didst call the Furies from the abyss.
And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss
For that unnatural retribution — ^just,
Had it not been from hands less near — in this
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust !
Dost thou not hear my heart P—Awake ! thou shalt,
and must.

It is not that I may not have incurr'd
For my ancestral faults or mine the wound
I bleed withai, and, had it been lonferr'd
With a just weapon, it had flown imbound ;
But now my blood shall not sink in the ground ;
To thee I do devote it — thou shall take
The vengeance, whicU siiall yet be sought and
found.

Which if / have not taken for the sake

But let that pass— I sleep, but thou shaltyet awake.

cxxxiv.
And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now
I shrink from what is suffer'd ; let him speak
Who hath beheld decline upon ray brow,
Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak ;
But in this page a record wiU 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 !

' See Appendix, "Histoiical Notes," No. XXVIII.

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230 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

cxxxv.

That curse shall be forgiveness, — Have I not —

Hear nic, my mother earth ! behold it. Hea-
ven —

Have I not had to wrestle with my lot ?

Have I not suffer'd things to he forgiven?

Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven,

Hopes sapp'd, name blighted. Life's lite lied
away?

And only not to desperation driven,

Because not altogether of such clay
As rots into the souls of those whom I survey.

From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy
Have I not seen what human things could do?
From the loud roar of foaming calumny
To the small whisper of the as paltry few.
And subtler venom of the reptile crew.
The Janus glance of whose significant eye,
Learning to lie with silence, would see-m true,
And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh,
Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy.'

' [Between stanzas cxsxv. and cxsxvi. we find in the origi.
nal MS. the following- : —
"If to foTgirebe heaping coals of fire —

As God hath spoken— on the heads of foes,

Mine should be a volcano, and rise higher

Than, o'er the Titans cmsh'd, Olympus rose,

Or Alhos soars, ot blaaing- Etna glows ; —

True, they who stung weiejjreeping things; but what

Than serpents' teeth inflicts with deadlier throesl

The lion may be goaded by the gnat. —
Who sucks tlie slumhercr's blood ^ — The eagle! — No: the
bat."]

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PILGRIMAGE.

But 1 have lived, and iiavc not lived in vain:
My mind may lose its force, ray blood its fire,
And my frame peri&h even in conquering pain ;
But there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire;
Something unearlhly, which they deem not of,
Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyro,
Shall on their softcn'd spirits sink, and move
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.

The seal is set. — Now welcome, thou dreaa

power !
Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here
Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour
With a deep awe, yet all dislinct from fear;
Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear
Their ivy jnantles, and the solemn scene
Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear.
That we become a part of what has been,
And grow unlo the spot, all-seeing but unseen.

And here the buzz of eager nations ran.
In mumim'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause.
As man was slaughter'd by his fellow man.
And wherefore slaughter'd? wherefore, but be-
cause
Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws,
And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not?
What matters where we fall to fill the maws
Of worms — on bat lie-plains or listed spot?
Oolh are but theatres where the chief actors rot.

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CillLDE HAROLD'S

I see before me the Gladiator lie :
He leans upon his hand— his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony.
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low —
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now
The arena swims around him — he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which haii'd the wretch
who won.

CXI I.
He heard it, but he licodcd not — ^his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away ;*
He reclt'd not of the hfe he lost nor prize.
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There ivere his young barljavians all at play,

' Whether tlie wonderfiil statue which suggested thisia
a laquearian gladiator, which, iu spitfl of Winkelmann's
has been stoutly maintained ; or whether it be a Greek herald, as
that great antiquary positively asserted ;* or whether it is to be
thought a Spartan or barbarian shield-bearer, according to the
opinion of his Italian editor ; it must assuredly seem a copy of
that masterpiece of Ct«8iiaus which represented " a wounded man
dying, who perfectly ejcpressed what there remained of life in
him." Montfaugon and Maffei thought it the identical statue;
but that statue was of bronze. The Gladiator was once in the
Villa Ludoviii, and was bought by Clement XII. The right
n of Michael Angelo.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 333

There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire,
Eutcher'd to make a Koman hoHday — '
All this riish'd wicli his blood — Shall he exph-e
And unavenged? — Arise! ye Goths, and glut your

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 ;
Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise
Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd,^
My voice soundsmiich — and fall the stars' faint rays
On the arena void — seats crush'd — waits bow'd —
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely
loud.

CXLIII.

A rnhi — yet what ruin ! from its mass
Walls, palaces, half-eitics, have been rear'd;
Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass.
And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd.
Haih it indeed been pluuder'd, or but clear'd ?
Alas ! developed, opens the decay,
When the colossal fabric's form is near'd :
It will not bear the brightness of the day, [away.
Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft

■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,

', a See Appendix, " Historical Notes," Nos. XXIX. XXX.

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234 CUILDE HAROLD'S Camto IV.

Like laurels on the bald first Ccesar's head ;'
When the light shines serene, but doth not glare>
Then in this magic circle raise (he dead;
Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread.

CXLV,

" While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ;*
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; [land
And when Rome falls — the world." From our own
Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall
In Saxon times, which we are wont to call
Ancient ; and these three mortal things are still
On their foundations, and unalter'd all ; .
Rome and her ruin past Redemption's skill, [will.
The world, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye

. CXLVI.

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime —
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods,
From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time f
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods
* Suetonius informs us that Julius Ciesar was paiticularly
gratified by that decree of the senate which enabled hiin to wear
a wreath of laurel on all occasions. He was anxious, not to show
tiiat he was the conqueror of the world, but to hide that he was
bald. A sb-ang-er at Borne woald hardly have guessed at the
motive, nor should we without the help of the historian.

' This is quoted in the " Decline and Fall of the Roman Em-
pire," as a proof that the Coliseum was entire, when seen by the
Anglo-Sason pilgrims at the end of the seventh, orthe heginniQg
of the eighth century. A notice on tlie Coliseum may be seen
ill the " Historical Iltustralions," p. S63.

' "Though plundered of all its brass, except tlie ring which
was necessary to preserve the aperture above ; though exposed to
repeated fires ; though sometimes flooded by the river, and always
open to the rain, no monument of equal antiquity is so well pre-
served as this rotunda. It passed with little alteration from the
pagan into the present worship; and so convenient were its
niches for the Christian altar, that Michael Angel o, ever studious

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Camto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 935

His way throiigii thorns to ashes— glorious dome !
Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrants' roda
Shiver upon thee— sanctuary and home
Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Rome !

CXLVII.

Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts !
Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads
A holiness appealing to all hearts —
To art a model ; and to him who treads
Rome for the sake of ages, Glorysheds
Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those
Who worship, here are altars for their beads ;
And they who feel for genius may repose [close.'
Theireyesonhonour'd forms, whose busts arotmd them
cxiviii.
There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light'
What do I gaze on ? Nothing : Look again !
Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sight — ■
Two insulated phantoms of the brain :
It is not so ; I see them full and plain —
An old man, and a female young and fair,
Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein
The blood is neclar : — but what doth she ihere,
With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare?
of ancient beauty, introduced their design as a model in the Ca-
tholic church." — Forsvth's Ba!j/, p. 137, 3d edit.

' The Pantheon has been made a receptacle for the busts of
modem great or, at least, distinguished men. The flood of light
which once fell through Ihe lai^e orb above on the whole circle
of divinities, now shines on a numerous assemblage of mortals,
some one or two of wliom have been almost deified by Wie vene-
ration of their countrymen. For a notice of the Pantheon, see
'Historical Illustrations," p. 387.

» This and the three next stanzas allude to the story of the
Roman daughter, which is recalled to the trEvelteT by the site,
or pretended site, of that adventure, now shown at the church ol
St. Nicholas in C'arcere, The difficulties attending the full belief
of the ta!e are stated in " His'-oric:il Illuslriitions," p. 395.

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336 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

Full swells the deep pure foiinlain of young life,
Where on the heart and from the heart we took
Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife,
Blest into mother, in the innocent look.
Or even the piping cry of lips that brook
No pain and. small suspense, a joy pejceives
Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook
She sees her little bud put forlh its leaves —
What may the fruit be yet ? — I know not— Cain was
Eve's.

But here youth offers to old age the food,

The milk of his own gift : — it is her sire '

To whom she renders back the debt of blood

Born with her birth. No ; he shall not expire

While in those warm and lovely veins the fire

Of health and holy feehng can provide

Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises

higher
Than Egypt's river : — from that gentle side
Brink, drink and live, old man! Heaven's realm
holds no such tide.

The slarry fable of the milky way

Has not thy story's purity ; it is

A constellation of a sweeter ray,

And sacred Nature triumphs more in this

Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss

Where sparkle distant worlds :-— Oh, holiest

nurse !
No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss
To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source
With life as our freed souls rejoin the universe.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 337

(.Lll.

Turn to tlie mole which Hadrian rear'd on high,'
Imperial mimic of old Kgypt's piles,
Colossal copyist of deformity,
Whose travell'd fanlasy 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
birtli!

CI.III.

But lo ! the dome — the vast and wondrous dome,^
To which Diana's marvel was a cell —
Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb !
I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle —
Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell
The hyjEua and the jackal in their shade ;
I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell
Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have sur-
vey 'd
Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem
pray'd ;

CLIV.

But thou, of temples old, or altars new,
Staudest alone — with nothing like lo thee —
Worthiest of God, the holy and the true.
Since Zion's desolation, when that He
Forsook his former city, what could be,

' The castie of St. Aiig^lo. See "Historical IHuBtrations."
' This and the six next stanzas have a reference to the church
of St. Peter's. Fox a measnremerit of the comparative length of
this basilica and the other great churches of Europe, see the
pavement of St. Peter's, and the Classical Tnur through Italy,
vol. ii. p. 123, et seq. ch. iv.

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238 ClIILDE HAROLD'S Carto IV.

Of earthly structures, in his honour piled,
Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty,
Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.

CLV.

Enter: ils grandeur overwhelms ihee not;'
And why ? it is not lessen'd ; but thy mind,
Expanded by the genius of the spot,
Has grown colossal, and can only find
A fit abode wherein appear enshrined
Thy hopes of immortalily ; and thou
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined.
See tliy God face to face, as thou dost now
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow,

" ["I remember very well," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, "my
own disappointment when 1 first visited theVatican; but on con-
fessing my feelings to a brother student, of whose ingenuousness I
had a high opinion, he acknowledged that the works ofRaphael had
the same effect on him, or rather that they did not produce the effect
which he expected. This wasa great relief to my niiod; and, on
inquiring further of other students, I found that those persons only
who, ftom natural imbecility, appeared to be incapahloof relishing
those divine performances,, made pretensions to instantaneous
raptures on first beholding them. — My not relishing them as I was
conscious J ought to have done, was one of the most humiliating
circumstances that ever happened to mo ; I found myself in the
midst of works executed upon principles with which I was unac-
quainted: I felt my ignorance, and stood abashed. All the undi-
gested notions of painting wMohlhad brought with me from Eng-
land, where the art was in the lowest state it had erer been in,
wore to be totally done away and eradicated ftom my mind. It
was necessary, as it is expressed on a very solemn occasion, that I
should become as a little child. Notwithstanding my disappoint,
ment, I proceeded to copy some of those excellent works. I
Tiewed them agdn and again ; I even affected to feel their merit
and admire them more than 1 really did. In a short time, a new
taste and a new perception began to dawn upon me, and I was
convinced that I had originally formed a false opinion of the pei"
feclion of the art, and that this great painter was well entitled to
the high rank which he holds in the admiration of the wirid."]

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Canto IV, PILGKIMAGE. Sj39

CLVI.
Thou movest — bm increasing with the advance,
Lilce climbing some great Alp, which still doth

rise,
Deceived by its gigantic elegance ;
Vastness which grows — but grows to harmonize —
Ail musical in its immensities;
Rich marbles — richer painting— shrines where

flame
The lamps of gold— and haughty dome which vies
In air with earth's chief structures, tho\igh their

frame
Sits on the firm-set ground — and this the clouds must

claim.

CI.VJI.

Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break.
To separate contemplation, the great whole ;
And as the ocean many bays will make,
That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul
To more immediate objects, and control
Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart
Its eloquent proportions, and unroll
In mighty graduations, part by part.
The glory which at once upon thee did not dart,

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

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•240 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

Then pause, and be etilighten'd ; there is more
In such a survey than the sating gaze
Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore
The worship of the place, or the mere praise
Of art and its great masters, who could raise
What former time, nor skill, nor thought could

plan ;
The fountain of sublimity displays
Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of

man
Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions

Or, turning to the Vatican, go see
Laocoon's torture dignifying pain —
A father's love and mortal's agony
With an immortal's patience blending; — Vain
The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp.
The old man's clench; the long envenom'd chain
Rivets the living links, — the enormous asp
Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp.

CLXI.

Or view the lord of the unerring bow,
The god of life, and poesy, and light —
The sun in human limbs array'd, and brow
All radiant from his triumph in the fight ;
The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright
With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye
And nostril beautiful-disdain, and might
And majesty, flash their fnll lightnings by,
Developing in that one glance the deity.

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CsNTO IV. P 1 L li I M A G E. !

ci.xii.
But in his delicafe form— a dream of Love,
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast
Loiig'd for a deathless lover from above,
And maddeii'd in that vision — are exprest
All that ideal beauty ever blest
The mind with in its most unearthly mood.
When each conception was a heavenly guest
A ray of immovtality — and stood.

Starlike, around, until they gathev'd to a god I

And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven
The fire which we endure, it was repaid
By him to whom the energy was given
Which this poetic marble hath array'd
With an eternal glory—which, if made
By human hands, is not of human thought ;
And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid
One ringlet in the dust — nor hath it caught
A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with w
'twas wrought.

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 fantasy, and could be class'd
With forms which live and suffer — let that
pass —
His shadow fades away into Destruciion's mass.

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243 CHILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV.

CLXV.

Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all
That we inherit in its mortal shroud,
And spreads the dim and universal pall
Through which all things grow phantoms; and 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; rays
Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the

CLXVI.

And send us prying into the abyss,
To gather what we shall be when the frame
Shall be resolved to something less than this
Its wretched essence; and to dream of fame.
And wipe the dust from off the idle name
We never more shall hear,— but never more,
Oh, happier thought ! can we be made the same :
It is enough in sooth that once we bore
These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat
was gore.

OLxvir.
Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds,
A- long low distant murmur of dread sound.
Such as arises when a nation bleeds
With some deep and immedicable wound;
Through storm and darkness yawns the rending

ground,
The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief
Seems royal stiil, though with her head discrown'd,
And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief
She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief.

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CiKTo IV. P I L G H I M A G K. 343

CLXVIII.

Scion of cbiefs and monarchs, where art thou?
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ?
Could not thy grave forget thee, and lay low
Some less majeslic, less beloved head ?
In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled,
The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy,
Death hush'd that pang for ever : with thee fled
The present happiness and promised joy
Which fill'd the imperial isles so fnll it seem'd to
cloy.

CLXIX.

Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be,

Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored !

Those who weep not for kings shall weep for

thee,
And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to

hoard
Her many griefs for One ; for she had pour'd
Her orison for thee, and o'er thy head
Beheld her Iris, — Thou, too, lonely lord.
And desolate consort — vainly wert thou wed !
The husband of a year ! the father of the dead !

CLXX.

Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ;
Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust
The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid.
The love of millions ! How we did intrust
Futurity to her ! and, though it must
Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd
Our children should obey her child, and bless'd
Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seera'd
Like stars to shepherds' eyes:— 'twas but a meteor
bcam'd.

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'Hi CHILDE HAROLD'S Cakto IV

CLXXl.

Woe unio us, not her ;' for she sleeps well ;
'i'lie fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue
Of hollow counsel, the false oracle,
Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung
lis knell in princely ears, lill 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

These might have been her destiny ; but no.
Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair,
Good without effort, great without a foe :
But now a bride and mother — and now there!
How many ties did that stem moment tear !
From thy sire's to his humblest subject's breast
Is link'd the electric chain of that despair,
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest
The land which loved thee so that none could love
thee best.

' ["The daath of llie Princess Charlotte lias been a shock oven
Jiere, (Venice,) and must have been an earthquake at home. The
late of thia poor giri is melancholy in every respect; dying at
twenty or so, in childbed~of a boy too, a present princess and
future queen, and just as she began to be happy, and to enjoy
herself, and the hopes which she inspired. I feel sorry in every
respscl." — Byron LelUrs.']

" Mary died on the scaffold; Elisabeth of a broken heart;
OharleB V. a hermit; Louis XIV. a bankrupt in means and
glory ; Cromwell of anxiety ; and; " the greatest is behind," Na.
po\eon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but super-
fluous list might he added of names equally illustrious and
unhappy.

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PILGRIMAGE.

Lo, Nemi !' navell'd in the woody hills
So far, tliat the uprooting wind which tears
The oak from his foundation, and which spills
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears
Its form against the skies, reluctant spares
The oval mirror of thy glassy lake ;
And, calm as eherish'd hate, its surface wears
A deep cold settled aspect naught can shake,
All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the
snake.

CLXXIV".

And near Albaao's scarce divided waves
Shine from a sister valley ; — and afar
The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves
The Latian coast where sprting the Epic war,
" Arms and the Man," whose reascending star
Rose o'er an empire : — but beneath thy right
Tally reposed from Rome ; — and where yon bar
Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight,
The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's de-
light."

' The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of Egeria,
and, from the shades which embosomed the temple of Diana, baa
pteaerved to this day its distinctive appellation of The Grose.
Nemi is but an evening's ride from the eomfortahle inn of
Albano.

^ The whole declivity of the Albanhill is of unrivalled beauty,
and from the convent on the highest point, which has succeeded
to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the prospect embraces all the
objects alluded to in this stansa; the Mediterranean; the whole
scene of the latter half of the ^neid, and the cbast from beyond
the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circffium and the Cape
of Terracina.— See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. XXXI

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CHII.de HAROLD'^

But I forget. — My Pilgrim's sliriiie 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 unfoid
Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine
roU'd

Upon the blue Symplegades: long years —
Long, though not very many, since have done
Their work on both; some suffering and,soi

tears
Have left us nearly where we had begun :
Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run.
We have had our reward — and it is here ;
That we can yet feel gliidden'd by the sun.
And reap from earlh, sea, joy almost as dear
As if there were no man to trouble what is clear.

Oh ! that the desert were my dwelling-piace,
With one fair spirit for my minister.
That I might all forget'the human race,
And, hating no one, love but only her !
Ye elements ! — in whose ennobling stir
I feel myself exalted — Can ye not
Accord me such a being ? Do I err
In deeming such inhabit many a spot ?
Though with them to converse can rarely be
lot.

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE,

cixxviii.
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 thesB our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may he, or have been before,
To mingle with the universe, and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot ail conceal.

Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean — roll !
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control
Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain.
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan.
Without a grave, uiiknell'd, uncoffin'd, and u
known.

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

w.iclds
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies;
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dnshcst him again to earih: — there let him lay.

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248 CIIILDE HAROLD'S Canto IV

CLXXXl.

The armaments which thunderslrike the 'tails
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And raonarchs tremble in theif capitals.
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title lake
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy f3ake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

cixxxir.
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save

thee —
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what arc

they?'
Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou,
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play —
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow^
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

' [When Lord Byron wrote this stanza, he had, no doubl, the
following passage in Boswell's Johnson jloatiag on his mind : —
"Dining- one day with General Paoli, and talkingof his projected
journey W Italy, — ' A man,' said Johnson, ' who has not been in
Italy, is always conscious of an inferiority, from his not having
seen what it is expected a man should see. The grand object of all
travelling is to see the shores of the Mediterranean. On those
shores were the four great empires of the world ; the Assyrian,
the Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman. All our religion,
almost all our law, almost all our arts, almost all that sets us
above savages, has come to iis from the shores of the Mediterra-
nean.' Tlie general observed, that ' The Mediterranean' would
he a nnble subject for a poem." — Life o/"/o7insori, vol. v. p. 154,
cd. 1835.]

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Cahto IV, PILGRIMAGE. a4U

CLXxxiir.
Thou glorious inirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime —
The image of Eternity — the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
Tlie monsters of the deep are made ; each zone
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

CLXXXIV.

And I have loved thee, ocean !' and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy
I wanton'd wilh 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 ihee.
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.

' ["Thia passage would, perliaps, be read witlioot emotion, if
we did not know that Lord Byron was here describing' his actual
feelings and habits, and that this was an unaffected picture of his
propensities and wnuseoienta even from childhood, — when he
listened to the roar, and watched the bursts of the northern ocean
on the tempestnons shores of Aberdeenshire. It was a fearful
and violent change attbe age often years to be separated from thia
congenial solitude, — thia independence so suited to his haughty
and contemplative spirit, — this rude grandeur of nature, — and
thrown among the mere worldly-minded and selfish ferocity, the
affected polish and repelling coxcombry, of a great public school.
How many thousand times did the moody, sullen, and indignant
boy wish himself back to the keen air and boisterous billows that
broke lonely upon the simple and soul-invigorating haunts of his
childhood ! How did he prefer some ghost-story; some tale of
second-sight i some relation of Robin Hood's feats ; some harrow-

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OHILDE HAROLD'S

My task is done' — my song hath ceased — my theme
Has died into an echo ; it is fit
The spell should break of this protracted dream.
The lorch shall be extiuguish'd which hath lit
My midnight lamp — and what is writ, is writ; —

ing narrative of buccaiieer-exploila, to all of Horace, and Virgil,
and Homer, that was dinned into his repulsive spirit! To the
shock of this change is, I suspect, to be traced much of Iheeccen-
Micity of Lord Byron's future life. This foailh Canto is the
ftait of a mind ivbich had stored itself with great care and toil,
and had digested with profound reflection and intense vigour what
it had learned : the sentiments are net such as lie on the surface,
bat could only be awakened by long meditation. Whoever reads
it, and is not impressed with the many grand virtues as well as
gigantic powers of the mind that wrote it, seems t* me to afford
a proof both of insensibility of heart, and great stupidity of intel-
lect." — SiK E. Bbydoes.]

' [" It was a thought wortliyof the great spiritof Byron, after
exhihitiag to us his Pilgrim amidst all ^e most striking scenes of
earthly grandeur and earthly decay, — after teaching as, like him,
to sicken over the mutability, and vanity, and emptiness of human
greatness, to conduct him and us at last to the borders of ■' the
Great Deep." It is there that we may perceive an image of the
awful and unchangeable abyss of eternity, into whoso bosom so
much has sunk, and all shall one day sink, — of that eternity
wherein the scorn and contempt of man, and the melancholy of
great, and the fretting of little minds, shall he at rest for ever.
No one, but a true poet of roan and of nature, would have dared to
frame such a termination for such a Pilgrimage. The image of
the wanderer may well be associated, for a time, with the rock of
Calpe, the shattered temples of Athens, or the gigantic fr^ments
of Rome; but when we wish to think of this dark personification
as of a thing which is, where can we bo well imagine him to have
his daily haunt as by the roaring of the waves 1 It was thus that
Homer represented Achilles in his moments of ungovernable and
inconsolable grief for the lossof Patroclus. Itwas^usbechose
to depict the paternal desjjair of Chtiseus —

—Wilson.]

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Canto IV. PILGRIMAGE. 251

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 ray spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.

Cixxxvi.

Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been —
A sound which makes us linger ;— yet— farewell
Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene
Which is his last, if in your memories dwell
A thought which once was his, if on ye swell
A single recollection, not in vain
He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell ;
Farewell ! with Mm alone may rest the pain,
If such there were — with.^ou, the moral of his strain.

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APPENDIX.

Ho,t,db, Google

Ho,t,db, Google

APPENDIX.

NOTES TO CANTO II.

Note [A]. — Remotai. of the Works of Art f
See p. 75.

At this momenl, (January 3, 1810,) besides what haa heen al-
ready deposited in London, a Hjdriot vessel is in the Pyiteus
to receive every poiteoift reiic. Thus, as 1 heard a young Grealc
observe, in common witli many of liis countrymen — for, lost as
they ate, they yet feel on this occasion — thus may Lord Elgin
boast of having ruined Athens. An Italian pointer of the first
emini5nce, named Lusieri, is the ageiit of devastarion ; and like
the Greek finder of Verres in Sicily, who followed the same pro-
fession, he has proved the able instrument of plunder. Between
this artist and the French Consul Fauvel, who wishes to rescue
the remains for his own government, there is now a violent dis-
pute concerning a oar employed in their conveyance, the wheel
of which — I wish they were boUi broken upon it ! — has been
locked up by the consul, and Lusieri has laid his complaint he-
fore thewaywode. Lord Bl^n has been extremely happy in his
choice of Signor Lusieri. During a residence of ten years in
Athena, he never had the curiosity lo proceed as far as Snnium,
(now Cape Colonna,) till he accompanied us in our second ex
cursion. However, his works, as far as they go, are most beau-
tiful : but they are almost all unfinished. While he and his
patrons confine themselves to tasting medals, appreciating
cameos, sketching columns, and cheapening gems, their little
absurdities are as harmless as insect or fox-honting, mddou
speechifying, barouche-driving, or any such pastime ; but when
they carry away three or four shiploads of the most valuable and

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256 APPENDIX.

massy relics that time and barbarism have left to the most in-
jured and most celebrated, of cities; wHen thej destroy, in a
vain attempt to tear down, those works which have been the ad-
miration of ages, I know no motive which can excusB, no name
which can designate, the perpetrators of this dastardly devasta-
tion. It was not the least of the crimes laid to the charge of
Verres, that he had plundered Sicily, in the manner since imi-
tated at Athens. The most unblushing impndonce could hardly
go farther than to oiBs the name of its plunderer to liie walls of
the Acropolis; while the wanton and useless defacement of the
whole range of tiie basso-relievos, in one compartment of the
temple, will never pennit that name to be pronounced by an ob-
server without execration.

On this occasion I spealt impartially : I am not a coUeotoi or
admh^r of collections, consequGnUy no rival ; but I have some
early prepossession in favour of Greece, and do not think the
honour of England advanced by plunder, whether of India or

Another noble lord has done better, because he has done less:
but some others, more or less noble, jet "all honourable men,"
have done best, because, after a deal of escavation and execra-
tion, bribery to the waywode, mining' and countermining, they
have done nothing at all. We had saeh iok-ahed, and wine-
shed, which almost ended in bloodshed ! Lord B.'s " prig" —
see Jonathan Wild for the definition of " priggism" — quarrelled
with another, Grapias* by name, (a very good name too for his
business,) and muttered something about satisfaction, in a verbal
answer to a nol« of the poor Prussian : this was stated at table
to Gropius, who laughed, but could eat no dinner afterwards.
The rivals were not reconciled when I left Greece. I have
reason to remember their squabble, for they wanted to make me
their arbitrator.

* This at

. Gropius y

(as ein|rtoys(] by a nobis

: ioid tor

the sole porposa of

Bkeicl.inB,i

n wbjcli h9

ition of tlio

keen Irea

ding Bl hnmble dis-

-Ashlpfalof

hia trophi,

ss was delsined. «nd

I believe CO

nflscatea, a

inoplB, in 1810.

losl happy to bs now

enmbledioc

ilale,[BM"

,01 in his bond!

r that he

nBipiinlB.

', end thai t

lolionwith him, ei-

irtjst. Iftl

Kond edition of this posm has

gi.en (He i

lOblelordB

Dionienl's

p!.tn,lainver

y flotiy fo

assumeilfl)!

isassntj ind though I c

iiinol iinich condemn

myself for •

am happj

Mnbsinsonsoflhe

Inconlrsdlcliogtlils

Bsl fell res

■,g-a..-J^ot

fMUHWftiirici

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APPENDIX. 257

Nolo [B]. — Albabia ah» ths Aibanians. See p. S5.

>' Land of Albania! lei me bend mine eyes
On ihee, ikon rugged nurse of savage men /"

Stanza xxxvii. lines 5 and 6.

Albania comprises part of Macedonia, Dl^ria, Chaonia, anit
Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish word for Alexander; and the
celebrated Scanderbeg (Lord Alexander) ia alladed to in the third
and fourth lines of the thirtj-^ighth stanaa. I do not know
whetlier I am correct in making Scanderbeg the countryman of
Alexander, who was born at Pelia in Macedon, but Mr. Gibbon
terms him so, and adds Pjrrhua to the Ust, in speaking of his
esploita.

Of Albaiua, Gibbon remarks, that a country " within sight of
Italy is less known than the interior of America," Circum-
atances, of little conseqoence to mention, led Mr. Hobhonse and
myself into that country before we visited any other part of tlie
Ottoman dominions; and with tJie esceptioo of Major Leake,
then officially resident at Joannina, no other Englishmen have
ever advanced beyond the capital into the interior, as that gen-
tleman very lately assured me. Ali Pasha was at that time
(October, 1809J carrying on war against Ibrahim Pasha, whom
lie had driven to Berat, a strong fortress, which he was then be-
sieging: on our arrival at Joannina we were invited to Tepaleni,
his highness's birth-place, and favourite serai, only one day's
distance from Berat ; at this juncture tiie vizier had made it his
head-quarters. After some stay in the capital, we accordingly
followed ; bat though furnished with every accommodation, and
escorted by one of the vizier's secretaries, we were nine days
(on account of the rains) iri accomplishing a journey which, on
our return, barely occupied four. On our rente we passed two
cities, Argyrocastro and Libochabo, apparently little inferior U>
Yanina in size; and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to iJie
scenery in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, the frontier vil-
lage of Epiras and Albania Proper.

On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling to descant, be-
cause this will be done so much better by my fellow-traveller, in
a work which may probably precede this in publication, that i
as little wish to follow as I would to anticipate him. But some
few observations are necessary to the text. The Arnaouts, or
Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the High-
landers of Scotiand, in dress, figure, and manner of living.
Their very mountains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate-

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258 APPENDIX.

The kilt, though white; the spare, acliye fonn; their dialect,
Celtic in its sound, and their hardy hahits, all carried me back
to Motven. No nation are so detested and dreaded hy their
neighbours z» the Albanese ; the Greeks hardly regard them aa
Christians, or the Turks as Moslems; and in fact they axe a
iniKtnre of both, and sometiraee neither. Their habits are pre-
datory — all are armed ; and the red-shawled Amaouts, the Mon-
tenegrins, Chimariots, and Gegdes, are treacherous ; the others
differ somewhat in garh, and essentially in character. As fer aa
my own experience goes, I can speak favourably. I was at-
tended by two, an Infidel and a Mnssnbnan, to Constantinople
and every olher part of Turkey which came within mj obserra-
tion ; and more laidiful in peril, or indefatigable in service, are
raiely tohe found. The Infidel was named Basilius, the Mos-
lem, Dervish Tahiri; the former a man of middle age, and the
latter about my own. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pasha
in person to attend us ; and Dervish was one of fifty who ac-
companied us through the forests of Acarnania to the banks of
Achelous, and onward to Messalonghi in jEtolia. There I K>ok
him into my own service, and never had occasion to repent it tJll
the moment of my departure.

When, in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mr. Hob-
house for England, I was seiaed with a severe fever in the Morea,
these men saved my life by frightening away my physician,
whose throat they threatened to cut if I was not cured within a
given time. To this consolatory assurance of posthumous retri-
bution, and a resolute refusal of Dr. Romanelli's prescriptions,
I attributed my recovery. I had left my last remaining English
servant at Athens ; my dragoman was as ill as myself, and my
poor Arnaouts nursed me witii an attention which would have
done honour to civilization. They had a variety of adventures,
for the Moslem, Dervish, being a remarkably handsome man,
was always squabbling with the husbands of Athens; insomoch
tiiat four of the principal Turks paid me a visit of remonstrance
at the convent, on the subject of his having taken a woman from
the bath — whom he had lawfully hought, howevei- — a thing
quite contrary to etiquette. Basili also vras extremely gaUant
amongst his own persuasion, and had the greatest veneration for
the church, raised with the highest contempt of churchmen,
whom he cuffed upon occasion in a most heterodox manner-
Yet he never passed a church without crossing himself; and I
lemember the risk he ran in entering St. Sophia, in Stambol, be
cause it had once been a place of his worship. On remonsteat-

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APPENDIX, 259

ing witli him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably !ui-
swered, " Our church is holy, our piiests are thieves ;" and then
lie crossed himself as usual, and boxed the ears of the first
" papas" who refused to assist in any required operation, as was
always found to be necessary where a priest had any influence
wilh the Cogia Bashi of his vill^e. Indeed, a more abandoned
race of miscreants cannot exist tlian the lower orders of the
Greek clergy.

When preparations were made for my return, my Albanians
were summoned to receive their pay. BasLli loolc his witli an
awkward show of regret at my intended departure, and marched
away to his quarters with liis bag of piastres. I sent for Der-
Tish, but for some time he was not to be found ; at last he en-
tered, just as Signer Logotheti, father to the ci-devant Anglo-
consul of Athens, and some other of my Greek acquaintances,
paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, tnt on a sudden
dashed it to the ground; and clasping his hands, which he
raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room weeping bitterly.
From that moment to the h'lur of my embarkation, he continued
his lamentations, and all our efforts to console him only producd
this answer, "M'atffiHi," "He leaves me." Signer Logotheti,
who never wept before for any thing less than tiie loss of a para,
(about the fourth of a farthing,) melted; the padre of the con-
vent, my attendants, my visiters — and I verily believe that even
Sterne's " foolish fat acuDion" would have left her " fish-kettle"
to sympathize with the nnaffected and uneipected sorrow of this
barbarian.

For my own part, when I remembered that, a short time be-
fore my departure from England, a noble and most intimale asso-
ciate had excused himself from taking leave of me because he
had to attend a relation "to a milliner's," I felt no less sur-
prised than humiliated by the present occurrence and the past
recollection. That Dervish would leave me with some regret
was to be especled; when master and man have been scram-
bling over the mountains of a doaen provinces together, they are
unwilling to separate i but his present feelings, contrasted with
his native ferocity, improved my opinion of the human heart 1
believe this almost feudal fidelity is frequent amongst them.
One day, on our journey over Parnassus, an Englishman in my
service gave him a pnsh in some dispute about the baggage,
which he unluckily mistook for a blow ; he spoke not, but sat
down leaning his head upon his hands. Foreseeing the conse-
quences, we endeavoured to explain away the affront, wbicJi

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SGO A P P I-: N D J X.

produced the following answer; — "I kave been a robber; 1 am a
soldier; no captain ever strack me ; you are my master, I have
eaten your bread, but by t/mt bread ! (an usual oath) had it been
otherwise, I would have stabbed tJie dog your servant, and gone
to the mountains." So the affair ended, but from that day for-
ward he never thoroughly forgave the thoughtless fellow who
insulted him. Dervish excelled in the dance of his country,
conjectured to be a remnant of the ancient Pyrrhic ; be that as
it may, it is manly, and requires wonderful agility. It is very
dis^ct from the Blnpid Romaika, the dull round-abont of tiie
Greeks, of which our Athfenian party had so many specimens.

The Albanians in general (I do not mean the cultivators of
the earth in the provinces, who have also that appellation, but
the mountaineers) have a fine cast of countenance ; and the most
beautiful women I ever beheld, in stature and in features, wo
saw levelling the Toad broken down by the torrents between
Delvinachi and Liboohabo. Tlieir manner of viralking is
truly theatrical ; but this strut is probably the effect of the ca-
pote, or cloak, depending from one shoulder. Their long hair
reminds you of the Spartans, and their courage in desultory .
warfare is unqneslionable. Though they have some cavalry
amongst the Gegdes, I never saw a good Amaout horseman;
my own preferred the English saddles, which, however, they
could never keep. But on foot they are not to be subdued by
fetigue.

Nolo [C.]— RpECiMRN OF THE ALBANIAN OR AkNAOUT DcA

r.K0T OF THE Ili.vric. See p. 100,

As a specimen of the Albanian or Amaout dialect of the Illy-
ric, I here insert two of their most popular choral songs, which
are generally chanted in dancing by men or women indiscrimi-
nately. The first words are merely a kind of chorus without
meaning, like some in our own and all other languages.

1, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, 1. Lo, Lo, I come, I come; tie

Naciarura, popuso. thou silent.

3. Naciarura na civin 3, 1 come, I run; open the door

Ila pen derini ti hin. that I may enter.

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APPENDIX.

2til

Ea ha p6 pse dua dve.

>. Buo, Bo, Ba, Bo, Do,
Gi egom spitta eaimiro.

I. Caliriote vv le funde
Ede vete tandn tunde.

t. Caliriote me sutme
Ti mi put e poi mi le.

i. Se tl puta (Ali mora
Si mi ri ni veti iido gia.

}. Va le ni il che eadale
Celo more, more celo.

), Plu hari ti drete
Plu huron cai pra scti.

3. Opfin the door by halves, that

I may take my turban,
i. Caliriotea* with tho dark
eyes, open the gate that I

5. Lo, Lo, I hear thee, my

6. An Arnaout girl, in costly

garb, walks with graceful

7. Caliriot maid of the dark

eyes, give me a kiss.
S. If I have kissed thee, what

hast thou gained ? My soul

is consumed with fire,
9 D g y m e gentJy

and ntly
Mai m h d

The last stanza would p m h n n h

certainly buskins of the m bea textu b h d s

{to whom the above is supp d to b ddr d h n h ng
under their little yellow bo ts and pp bu w tu ed a d
sometimes very white ank Th Ar tn s a mu h

handsomer than the Greeks, and iheir dress is fer more pictur-
esque. Tl>ey preserve their shape much longer also, from being
always in the open air. It is to be observed, that the Amaout
is not a written lang^iage : the words of this song, therefore, as
well as the one which follows, are spelt according to their pro-
nnnciation. They are copied by one who speaks and nnder-
stands the dialect perfectly, and who is a native of Athens.

I am wounded by thy love, and
have loved but lo scorcli
myself.

. Ah vaisisso mi privo lolae 3. Thon hastconsnmed me! Ah,
Si mi rini mi la vosse. maid ! thou hast struck me

to the heart.

1 . Ndi sefda tinde
Vettinii upri vi lofsa.

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3. Uti tasa loba si

Qun

APPENDIX.

3. I have said I wish no dowry,
but thine eyes and eyelashes.

4. The accursed dowry I want
not, but thee only.

5. Give me thy charms, and 1ft
the portion feed the flamef.

G. I have loved thue, maid, witli
a sincere soul, but thou hast
left me like a withered tree.

7. If I hare placed iny hand on

tjiy bosom, what have I

giunedl my hand is with-

caimoni mora. drawn, but retains the flame.

I believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a diflerent measure,
ong-ht to belong to another ballad. An idea something similar to
ttfi thought in the last lines was expressed by Soetates, whose
arm having come in contact with one of his '^inatoXtiai," Crito-
bulus or Cleohulus, the philosopher complained of a shooting
pain as tar as his shoulder for some days after, and therefore very
properly resolved to teach his disciples in future without touch-
ing them.

5. Qnrmini dua civileni

Roba ti siainii tildi eni.
G. Utara pisa vaisisso me
simi rin d hapti
Eti. mi hire a piste si gui
dendroi tiltati.
7. Udi vura udorinl udiri cico-
va cilti mora
Udorini tahi hollna u ede

Note [D.] — Thoughts o

THE Present State <
e p. 103,

''Fair Greece! sadreltc of departed Worlh!
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great !'

Stanza l:fxiii.
I.
Before I say any thing about a city of which everybody, tra-
veller or not, has thouglit it necessary to say something, I will
request Miss Owenson, when she next barrows an Athenian
heroine for her four volumes, to have the, goodness to marry her
to somebody more of a gentleman than a" Disdar Aga," (who, by-
Uie-by, IS not an Ajra,) the most impolite of petty officers, the
greatest patron of larceny Alliens evtr saw, (except Lord B.,J
and the unworthy occupant of the Acropolis, on a handsome
annual stipend ot 150 piastrei, (eight pounds sterling,) out of
which he hi", only to pij his ffatrison, the most ill-regulated

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APPENDIX. SC3

corps in the ill-regulated Ottoman Empire. I speak it tenderly,
seeing I waa oaee the cause of tiiB husband of " Ida of Athens"
nearly sulTering the bastinado ; and because the said "Disdar"
is a turbulent husband, and beats his wife ; so that 1 e::hott and
beseech Miss Owenson to sue for a separate maintenance in
behalf of "Ida." HaTing premised thus much, on a matter of
such import to the readers of romances, I may now leave Ida, to
mention her birthplace.

Setting aside Qie ma^c of the name, and all those associations
which it would be pedantic and superfluous to recapitulate, the
very situation of Athens would render it the favourite of all who
have eyes for art ornature. The climate, to me at least, appeared
a perpetual spring! during eight months I never passed a day
without being as many hours on horseback : rain is extremely
rare, snow never lies in the plains, and a cloudy day is an agree-
able rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of the East
which I visited, except Ionia and Attica, I perceived no such
superiority of climate to our own ; and at Constantinople, where
I passed May, June, and part of July, (1810,) you might "damn
the climate, and complain of spleen," five days out of seven.

The air of the'Morea is heavy and unwholesome, bat tlie mo-
ment you pass the isthmus in t!ie direction of Megara, the change
is strikingly perceptible. But I fear Hesiod will still be found
correct in his description of a Bteotian winter.

We found at Livadia an "esprit fort" in aGceek bishop, of all
freethinkers ! This worthy hypocrite rallied his own religion with
great intrepidity, (but not before his flock,) and talked of a mass
as a « ooglioneria." It was impossible to think better of bim for
this; but, for a Bteotian, he was brisk witli all his absurdity.
This phenomenon (witli the exception indeed" of Thebes, the
remains of Ohteronea, the plain of Platea, Orchomenus, Livadia,
and its nominal cave of Trophonius) was the only remarkable
thing we saw before we passed Mount Cithreron.

The fountidn of Dirce turns a mill; at least my companion
(who, resolving to be at once cleanly and classical, bathed in it)
pronounced it to be the fountMn of Dirce, and anybody who thinks
it worth while may contradict him. At Castri we drank of half
a dozen streamlets, some none of the purest, before we decided to
our satisfaction which was the true Castalian, and even that had
a villanous twang, probably from the snow, though it did not
throw us into an opio fever, like poor Dr. Chandler.

From Fort Phyle, of which large remains still exist, the Plain
of Ath(<ns, Pentelicus, Hymettus, the Mge.an, and the Acropolis,

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aci ATPl'INDIX.

burst upon the eye at once; in my opinion, a more glorions pros-
pect than even Cintra or istainbol. Not the view from the
'ftood, with Ida, the Hellespont, and the more distant Mount
Athos, can eqvmlit, though so superior in extent.

I heard much of the' beauty of Arcadia, but excepting the Tiew
from the monastery of Megaspelion, (which is inferior to Zitza in
a command of country,) and the descent from the mountains on
tlie way from Tripolitaa to Argos, Arcadia has little to recom-
mend it heyond the name.

" Sternitur, et dulces moriens reminiscilur Argos."

Virgil could have put this into the mcutli of none hut an Argive,
and (witli reverence be it spolien,) it does notdeserve the epithet.
And if the Polyniees of Stalius, " In mediis audit duo litoracam-
pis," did aetnally hear both shores in crossing tlic jsllimua of
Corinth, he had better ears than have ever been worn in such a
journey since.

"Athens," says a celebrated topographer, "is still the most
polished city of Greece." Perhaps it may of Grease, but not of
the Gree&Bf for Joanninain Epirus is universally allowed, amongst
themselves, to be superior in the' wealth, refinement, learning,
and dialect of its inhabitants. The Athenians are remarltable
for their cunning ; and the lower orders are not improperly cha-
racterized in that proverb, which, classes them with " the Jewscf
Salonica, and the Turks of tlie Negtopont."

Amongtho various foreigners resident in Athens, Trench, Ita-
lians, Germans, Ragusans, &.C., there was neVer a difference of
opinion in their estimate of the Greek character, though on all
other topics they disputed with great acrimony.

M. Pauvei, the French consul, who has passed thirty years
principally at Athens, and to whose talents as an artist, and man.
ners as.a gentleman, none who have known him can refuse their
testimony, has frequently declared in my hearing, that the Greeks
■do not deserve to be emancipated ; reasoning on the grounds of
their "national and iiidividnal depravity!" while he forgot that
snch depravity is to be attributed to causes which can only be
removed by the measore he reprobates.

M. Roque, a French merchant of respectability long settled in
Athens, asserted with the most amnsing gravity, "Sir, they are
the same eanmlle that existed in the days of Themiitotlea !" an
alarming remark to the " Laudator temporis acti.'' The ai
banished Themistocles ; tlie moderns cheat Monsieur T
thus great men have ever been treated !

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APPENDIX, 9fl5

[n short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and most of tliE
Englishmen, Germans, Danos, &c. of passage, came over by de.
grees to thoir opinion, on much the same grounds that a Turk in
Kngiand would condemn the nation by wholesale, because he
was wronged hj his lacquey, and ororcharged by liis washer-

Certainly it was not a little staggering when the Sieurs Fau-
rel and Lusiera, the two greatest dema^gues of the day, who
diyide between them the power of Pericles and the popularity of
Oleon, and puzzle the poor waywode with perpetual differences, ,
agreed in the utler eondemoalion, "nulla virtute redemptnra,"
of the Greeks in general, and of the Athenians in particular.

For my own humble opinion, I am loath to hazard it, knowing,
as I do, that there be now in MS. no less than five tours of the
first magnitude and of the most threatening aspect, all in typo-
graphicji array, by persons of wit, and honour, and regular com-
monplace books : hut, if I may say this wilhbnt offence, it seems
to me rather hard to declare so positively and pertinaciously, ^
almost everybody has declared, tliat the Greeks, because they
are very bad, will never be better.

Eton and Sonnini have led us astray by their panegyrics and
projects; but, on the other hand, De Pauw and Thornton have
debased the Greeks beyond their demerits.

The Greeks will never be independent; they will never be
sovereigns as heretofore, and God forbid they ever should ! but
tUey may be subjects without being slaves. Our colonies are
not independent, but they are free and industrious, and such may
Greece be hereaflier.

At present, like the Catholics of Ireland and the Jews through-
out the world, and such other cudgelled and heterodox people,
they satFer all the moral and physiod ills that can afflict humanity.
Their life is a struggle against truth ; they are vicious in their
own defence. They are so unused to kindness, that when they
occasionally meet with it they look upon it with suspicion, as a
dog oflen beaten snaps at your fingers if yon attempt to caress
him. " They are ungrateful, notoriously, abominably ungrate-
ful !" — this is the general cry. Now, in the name of Nemesis 1
for what are they to be grateful ! Where is tke human being
that ever conferred a benefit on Greek or Greeks 1 They are to
be grateful to the Turks for their fetters, and to the Frwika foi
their broken promises. and lying counsels. They are to be grate-
ful to the arlist who engraves their ruins, and to the antiquary
who carries them away ; to the traveller whose janissary flogs

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366 APPENDIX.

them, and to the scribbler whose journal abuses them ! This ia
the amount of their obligations to foreigners.

Framiican Convent, J^thciis, January 23, 18U.

Amongst tlie remnants of the barharous policy of the earlier
ages, are the traces of bondage which yet exist in different coun-
tries } whose inhabitants, however divided in religion and man-
ners, almost all agree in oppression.

The English hare at last compassionated their negroes, add
under a less bigoted government, may probably one day release
theu" Catiiolic brethren ; but the interposition of foreigners alone
can emancipate the Greeks, who otherwise, appear to have as
small a chance of redempdon from the Turks, as the Jews have
from mankind in general.

Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough; at least
the younger men of Europe devote much of their time to the
study of the Greek writers and history, which would be more
usefully spent in mastering Uieir own. Of tlie moderns, we are
perhaps more n^lectful than they deserve; and whileeveryman
of any pretensions to learning is tiring out his youth, and often
his age, in the study of the language and of theliarangues of the
Athenian demagogues in favour of freedom, the real or supposed
descendants of these sturdy republicans are left to the actual
tyranny of their mastere, alliough a very slight effort is required
to strike off their clisuns.

To talk, as the Greeks themselves do, of their rising again to
their pristine superiority, would be ridiculous : as the rest of the
world must resume its barbarism, after reasserting the sovereignty
of Greece : but there seems to be no very great obstacle, except
in the apathy of the Franks, to tiieir becoming a useful depend-
ency, or even a free state widi a proper guarantee ; — under cor-
rection, however, be it spoken, for many and well informed men
doubt the practicability even of tiis.

The Greeks have never lost their hope, though they are now
more divided in opinion on the subject of their probable deliver-
ers. Religion recommends l3ie Russians ; but they have twice
been deceived and abandoned by that power, and the dreadful
lesson they received atter the Muscovite desertion in the Morea
has never been forgotten. The French they dislike ; although
the Kubjugauon of the rest of Europe will, probably, be attended
by the deliverance of continental Greece. The islanders look to

Hosted by Google

APPENDIX. 867

;!ie English Tor succour, asthey hare very lately possessed Ihem-
selvea of the Ionian republic, Corfu excepted. But whoever
appear with arms in tboit liands will be welcome; and when
that day arrivea. Heaven have mercy on the Ottomans, they
cannot expect it from the Giaours.

But instead of considering what they have been, and specula-
ting on what they may be, let us look at them as they are.

And here it is impossible to reconcile the contrariety of opi-
nions ; some, particularly the merchants, decrying the Greeks in
the BtrongBat language; others, generally travellers, turning
periods in their eulogy, and publishing very curious speculations
grafted on, their former state, which can have no more effect on
thwr present lot, than the existence of the Ineas on the future
fortunes of Peru.

One very ingenious person tfinns them the "natural allies of
Englishmen ;" another, no less ingenious, will not allow them
to be (he allies of anybody, and denies their very descent from
the ancients; a third, more ingenions than either, buildsa Greek
empire on a Russian foundation, and realizes (on paper) all the
chimeras of Catharine II. As to the question of their descent,
what can it import whether the Mainotes aire the lineal Laconians
or not 1 or the present Athenians as indigenous as the bees of
Hymettus or as the grasshoppers, t« wliich they once likened
themselves 1 What Englishman cares if he be of a Danish,
Saxon, Norman, or Trojan blood? or who, except a Welshman,
is afflicted with a desire of being descended from Caractacus?

The poor Greeks do not so much ahound in the good things of
this world, as to render even their claims to antiquity an object
ofenvyi it is very croel, then, in Mr. Thornton to disturb them
in the possession of all that time has left them ; vis. their pedi-
gree, of which they are the more tenacious, as it is all they can
call Iteir own. It would be worth while to publish togetlier, and
compare, the works of Messrs, Thornton and De Pauw, Eton
andSonnini; paradox on one side, and prejudice on the other.
Mr. Thornton conceives himself to have claims to puhlic confi-
dence from a fourteen years' residence at Pera; perhaps he may
on the subject of the Turks, but this can give him no more insight
into the real state of Greece and her inhabitants, than as many
years spent in Wapping into that of the Western Highlands.

The Greeks ofConstantinopleliveinFanali and jf Mr. Thorn
ton did not oftener cross the Golden Horn than his brother mer-
chants are accustomed to do, I should place no great reliance on
hia infonnadon. I actually heard one of these gentlemen boast

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268 APPENDIX.

of their little general intercourse with the city, and assert of
himself, with an air of tiiuraph, that he had been but four times
at Constantinople in as many years.

As lo Mr. Thornton's voyages in the Black Sea with Greek
vessels, they gave him. the same idea of Greece as a cruise to
Berwick in a Scotch smack wonld of Johnny Grot's house.
Upon what grounds then does he arrogate the right of condemn-
ing by wliolesale a body of men, of whom he can know little %
It is rather a curious circumstance that Mr. Thornton, who so
lavishly dispraises Pouqueville on every occasion of mentioning
the Turks, has yet recourse to him as authority on the Greeks,
and. terms him an impartial observer. Now, Dr. Pouqueville is
as little entitled to tliat appellatjon, as Mr. Thornton to confer it

The fact is, we are deplorably in want of informadon on the
subject of the Greeks, and in particular their literature; nor is
there any probability of our being better acquainted, till oat in-

firn»ed; the relations of passing- trarellers are as little to be
depended on as the invectives of angry factors ; but till some-
thing more can be attained, we must be content with the little to
be acquired from similar sources.*

However defective these may be, they a
paradoxes of men who have read superficially of the ai

* A watt

, e» passant, will

I Mt. THomton c

indDr

. l-onqueTlUe, who 1

,ave

iHen B"ilty

sadly clipping lh(

n's Turkish.

noryofa Moslem who.

iwalloweacoftoBlvei

mb-

1 ha acquired Ibe

iC'SideymaaTcyBs,-'

quoth ILe 6

Inha

Mr. ThQint.

in, (iraBry wlih i

h lime,) "have I cai

Jght

jlhethicfcnesaortbBdi

ffitor'a anecdote, he q-

(tons Ihe dc

>ctofa proficiBBcj

■ in the Turkish

tongue

1, and hie veracity tn his

o„„._"Fo,

IS on aa the tough panl-

djileofBTi

Irtish VBri.,)" It li

™ean«ooilH„grnc

.reiha,

and

qutte casliie

Now

, bolb are right, and 1

ire wrong.

" fourteen years h.

fectory," w

iU consult his Totktah dictionary, c

inyafLisSlambohnc

lac-

thai "SBiWBO'B

Kijeii,

" put togelher dlscrei

3ily.

■StOeyiQau" in the c:

"SiOcsim"

Btgnlfying "cor™

lud not

.Selug a proper nam.

Ihia occaaio

a, ollliauih U be an orthodoi nam<

1 enough wHh [he addition <

lit bints of piafoi

ienlalisiD, he might 1

founauiiao

ut before ha aang

Buch pieaoa over

luquavllle.

lall he our molto, the

the above Mr. Thornton bs?

condemned "bo.

B genu:

.lation. "NeBu

tor nllia eiopida

No niBrcbanl beyond

I«1bs." n

or" is not a proper nc

Ho,t,db, Google

APPENDIX. 309

seen nothing of the modems, such as De Pauw ; who, when he
asserts that the British breed of horses is ruined by Newmarket,
and that the Spartans were cowards in the field, betrays an equal
knowledge of English horses and Spartan men. His " philoso-
]>liioal observations" have a niueh better claim to the title of
" poetical." It could not be expected that he who so liberally
condemns some of the most celebrated institutions of the ancient,
should have mercy on the modern Greelts; and it fortunately
happens, that the ahsurdity of his hypothesis on their forefathers
refutes his sentence on themselves.

Let us bust, then, that, in spite of the prophecies of De Pauw,
and the doubts of Mr. Thornton, there is a reasonable hope of
the redemption of a race of men, who, whatever may be the
errors of their religion and policy, have been amply punished by
three centuries andahalf of captivity,

HI.
Athens, iJJvHJCiscon Convenl, March 17, 1811.
" I must have some talk with this learned Theban."
Some time after my return from Constantinople to this city, I
received the tWrty-lirst number of the Edinburgh Review as a
great favour, and certainly at this distance an acceptable one,
from the captain of an English frigate off Salamis. In tiiat num-
ber. Art. 3., containing the review of a French translation of
Strabo, there are introduced some remarks on the modem Greeks
and their literature, with a short account of Coray, a co-translator
in the French version. On those remarks I mean to ground a few
observations ; and the spot where I now write will, I hope, ho
sufficient excuse for introducing them in a work in some degree
connected wiiJi the subject. Coray, the most celebrated of living
Greeks, at least among the Franks, was bom at Scio, (in the Re-
view, Smyrna is stated, I have reason to think, incorrectly,) and
besides the translation of Becearia and other works mentioned by
the Reviewer, lias pnbUshed a lexicon in Romaic andFrench, if I
may trust the assurance of some Danish travellers lately arrived
from Paris; but the latest we have seen here in French and
Greek is that of Gregory Zolikogloou.* Coray has recently been

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270 APPENDIX.

involved in an unpleasant controversy with M. Gail,* a Parisian
commentator and editor of some translations from the Greek
poels, in consequence of tlie Institute having awarded him tlie
prize for hia version of Hippocrates " Htpi iJuj-op," &c. to the dis-
paragement, and conse<)uently displeasure, of lie said Gail. To
his exertions, literary and patriotic, great praise is uhdonbtedly
due; but a part of that praise ought not t* be withheld from tho
two brothers Zosimado, (merchants settled in Leghorn,) who
sent him to Paris, and maintdned liim, for the express purpose
of elucidating the ancient, and adding to the modern, researches
of his countrymen. Coray, however, is not considered by his
countrymen equal to some who lived in the two last centuries ;
more particularly Dorothens of Mitylene, whose Hellenic writ-
ings are so much esteemed by the Greelta, that Meletius terms

him "HsrarJiie™icl>J/Jut>caiaEi.o0wra5piuTOs'E*J5i'ti'"-" (P. 334.

Ecclesiastical History, vol. iv.)

Panagiotes Kodrikas, the translator of rontenclle, and Kama-
rases, who translated Ocellus Lucanus on the Universe into
French, Christodonlus, and more particularly Psalida, whom I
have conversed with in Joannina, are also in high repute among
their literati. Tlie last-mendoned has published in Romaic and
Latin a work on " True Happiness," dedicated to Catlterine II.
But PolyBois, who is stated by the Reviewer to be the only mo-
dern except Coray who has distinguished himself by a know-
ledge of Hellenic-, if he be the Poljzois Lampanitsio1«s of Ya-
nina, who has published a number of editions in Romaic, was
neither more nor less than an itinerant vender of books; with
the contents of which he had no concern beyond his name on the
titlepage, placed there to secure his property in the publication ;
and he was, moreover, a man ujterly destitute of scholastic ac-
quirements. As the name, however, is not uncommon, some
other Polyaois may have edited the Epistles of Arislanetus.

It is to be regretted that the system of continental blockade
has clcsed the few channels through which the Greeks received
their publiealtions, particularly Venice and Trieste. Even the
n grammars for children aie become too dear for the lower

tmphlet agalnet Corn;

Ho,t,db, Google

APPENDIX 971

orders. Amongst their original works the Geography of Melc-
tius, Archbishop of Athena, and a multitude of theological quar-
tos and poetical pamplilels, are to bo met with; their grammars
and lesieona of two, three, and four languages, are numerous
and excellent. Their poetry is in rhyme. Tlie most singular
piece I have lately seen is a satire in dialogue between a Rus-
sian, English, and French traveller, and the Waywode of Wal-
lachia, (or Blaokhey, as iJiey term him,) an archbishop, a mer-
chant, and Co^a Bacht, (or primate,) iu succession ; to all of
whom under the Turks the writer attributes the'r present dege-
neracy. Their songs axe sometimes pretty and patlietic, but*
their tunes generally unpleasing to the ear of a Frank ; the best
is the famous " Arfi-sirarJd riu»'EXX4vcu«," by the Unfortunate Kjga.
But from a catalogue of more than sixty authors, now before me,
only fifteen can be found Who have touched on any theme except
theology.

I am intrusted with a commission by a Greek of Athens named
Marmarotoari to make arrangements, if possible, for printing in
London a trarlslation of Barthelemi's Anachareis in Romaic, as
he has no other opportunity, unless he despatches the MS. to
Vienna by the Black Sea and Danube.

The Reviewer mentions a school established at Hecatonesi,
and suppressed at the instigatiou of Sebastian! : he means Cido-
nies, or, iri Turkish, H^vali ; a town on the continent, where
that institution for a hundred students and three professors slill
eiists. It IB true that this establishment was disturbed by the
Porte, under the ridiculous pretext that the Greeks were con-
strutting 3 fortress instead of a college; but on investigation,
and the payment of some purses to the Divan, it has been per-
mitted to continue. The principal professor, named Ueniamin,
(i. e. Benjamin,) is stated to be a man of talent, but a free-
thinker. He was bom in Lesbos, studied in Italy, and is master
of Hellenic, Latin, and some 'Frank languages } besides a smat-
tering of the sciences.

Though it is not myintention to enlar iarther on this topic
than may allude to the article in question, 1 cannot but observe
that the Reviewer's lamentation over the tall of the Greeks ap-
pears singular, when he closes it with these words ; " The
change ts tahe aitriiated to their misforiuttes rather than to unit
'phi/sical degradation ' " It may be true that the Greeks are
not physically degenerated, and that Constantinople contained
on the d ly when it changed masters as many men of six feet
and upwards aa m the hour of prosperity ; but ancient history

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973 APPENDIX.

and modem politics instiTict us that somothing moie than pliysi-
eal perfection is necessary to preserve a state in vigour and inde-
pendence; and the Greeks, in particular, are a melancholy
example of the near connection between mqral degradation and
national decay.

The Reviewer mentions a plan, "we belitve" by Polemkin, for
the purification of the Romaic; and I have endearoated in vain
to procure any tidings or traces of its existence. There was an
academy at St. Petersburg for the Greeks ; but it was suppress-
ed by Panl, and has not been revived by his successor.

There is a ^Ip of the pen, and it can only be a slip of the pen,
in p. 58, No. 31, of the Edinburgh Review, where these words
occur: — "We are told that when the capital of the East yielded
to Sol^man." — It may be presumed that this last Word will, in a
future edition, be altered to Mahomet II.* The "ladies of Con-
stantinople," it seems, at that period spoke a dialect, "which
would not have disgraced the lips of an Athenian." I do not
know how that might he, but am sorry to say the ladies in gene-
ral, and the Athenians in, particular, are much altered ; being far
from choice either in their dialect or expression, as the whole
Attic race are barharous to a proverb ; —

In Gibbon, vol. x. p. 161, is the following si
vulgar dialect of the city was gross and barbarous, though the
compositions of the church and palace sometimes affected to
copy the purity of the Attic models." Whatever may be assert-
ed on the subject, it is difficult to conceive tliat the "ladies of

* In a ronner n

lumber of (he

EdLnb.

irgh Rev

few,

,1808,

itisalj9er7erl,"Lord

Byron passed eoine of hla oailj

years n

1 ecollan

d,»

bete J

lemigblha

mat j«6r«* doe.

ia^j-ips

B MtlU-"

«uery,-WM H

bllrgll He-

ISohp^nmo

ans Mai

nil)

in/uffiijljly?— bW

.IhlHttfe,

The mialaiLe seemefl so oomplElcly a lapse of the pen, (from the great similarily

perculved In the Edinburgh Review much fbceliam eiultalion on all eucli de-
leclionH, pntticularly a recant one, where words sn^ syllables ate subjoou of

rnL tlKLU correct- The ffettUBmsn, having enjoyed many a friUTirpjk on such
rl(;nrias, will )iacdly begrudge me a slighl oeaiiaa for the prCEent.

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APPENDIX. 373

Coiffitantinople," in the reign of the last C«sai, spolie a purer
dialeot than Anna Comnena wrote three centuries before: and
those royal p^ea are not esteemed the best models of oompoBition,
although the princess yXoirT-a* tix" AKPoas Arrmjoiwai.. In the
Fanal, and in Yanina, the best Greek is spoken: in the latter
there is a flourisliing school under the direction of Psaiida.

There is now in Athens a pupil of Psalida's, who is making a
tour of ohserration through Greece: he is intelligentj and bettor
educated than a fellow-commoner of most colleges. I mention
this as a proof that the spirit of inquiry is not dormant among
the Greeks.

The Reviewer mentions Mr. Wright, the author of the beauti-
ful poem " Hotie lonifife," as qualified to ^ve details of these
nominal Romans and degenerate Greeks ; and also of ttieir Ian.
guage: but Mr. Wright, though a good poet and an able man,
has made a mistake where he slates the Albanian dialect of the
Romaic to approximate nearest to the Hellenic; for the Albanians
apeak a Romaic as notoriously corrupt as the Scotch of Aherdeen-
shire, or the Italian of Naples. Yanina, (where, nest to the
Fanal, the Greek ie purest,) although the capital of Ali Pasha's
dominions, is not in Albania but Epirus ; and beyond Delvinachi
in Albania Proper np to Argyrocastro and Tepaleen, (beyond
which I did not advance,) they speak worse Greek than even the
Athenians. I was attended for a year and a half by two of these
singular mountaineers, whoso mother tongue is lUyric, and I
never heard them or their countrymen (whom I have seen, not
only at home, hut to the amount of twenty thousand in the army
of Vely Pasha) praised for their Greek, but often laughed at for
their provincial barbarisms,

I have in my possession about twen^.Sve letters, amongst
which some from the Bey of Corinth, written to me by Notarus,
the Co^a Bachi, and o&ersby the dragoman of the Caimacam
of the Morea, (which last governs in Vely Pasha'sabsenee,)are
said to be iavourable specimens of their epistolary style. I also
leceived some at Constantinople from private persons, written
in a most hyperbolical style, bnt in the true antique character.

The Reviewer proceeds, alter some remarks on the tongue in
its past and present state, to a parados (page 59) on the great
mischief the knowledge of his own language has done to Coray,
who, it seems, is less likely to understand the ancient Greek,
because he is perfect master of the modern! This observation
follows a paragraph, recommending, in explicit terms, the study
of tbe Romaic, as " a powerful auxiliary," net only to the traveller

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374 APPENDIX.

and foreign merchant, Irat also to the classical scholar ; in short,
to everjbady except the only person who can be thoroughly
acquaiated with its nses ; and, by aparity of reasoning, our old
language is conjectured to be probably more attainable Dy
"foreigners" than by ourselves! Now, I am inclined to think,
that a Dutch tyro in our tongue (albeit himself of Sason blood)
would be sadly perplexed with "Sir Tristram," or any other
given " AuiShinlcck MS.," with or without a grammar or glossary ;
and to most apprehensions it seema evident, that none but a native
can acquire a competent, far less complete, knowledge of our oh.
solete idioms. We may give the critic credit for his ingenuity,
boi no more believe him Ihan we do Smollett's Lismahago, who
maintains that the purest English is spoken in Edinburgh. That
Coray may err is very possible; but if he does, the fault is in
the man rather than in bis mother tongue, whicli is, as it ought
to be, of the greatest aid to the native student^ — Here the Re-
viewer proceeds to business on Sttabo's translators, and here I
close my remarks.

Sir W. Drummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aberdeen, Dr. Clarte,
Captain Leake, Mr. Gell, Mr. Walpole, and many others now in
England, have aU the requisites to furnish details of this fallert
jieople. The few observations I have offered I shonld have left
where I madeOiem,hadnottbearticleinqucstion, and, above all,
the spot where I read it, induced me to advert to those pages,
which the advantage of my present situation enabled mo' to clear,
or at least to make the attempt.

I have endeavoured to waive the personal feelings, which riso
in despite of me in touching upon any part of the Bdinbui^h Re-
view ; not from a wish to conciliate the favour of its writers, or
to cancel the remembrance of a syllable I have formerly pnblish-
ed, but simply from a sense of the impropriety of mixing up
private resentments with a disqaiaition of the present kind, and
more particularly at this distance of time and place.

Note [E.] — On the phe^eht State op Tuiikev ano the
■ Tunics. Seep. 103.

Tne diiBeuities of travelling in Turkey have been much exag-
gerated, or rather have considerably diminished, of late years.
The Mussulmans have been beaten into a kind of sullen civility,
very comfortable to voyagers.

o say much on the subject of Tarlis and Tiir-

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APPENDIX. 275

key; since it is possible to live amongst them twenty years
without acquiring information, at least from themselves. As far
as my own alight eitpeiience carried me, I have no complaint to
make ; hut am indebted for many civilities (I might almost say
for friendBhip) and much hospitality, to AH Pasha, his son Veil
Pasha of iJie Moiea, and several others of high rank in die pro-
vinces. Suleyman Aga, lato Governor of Athens, and now of
Thebes, was a bon vivanf, and as social a being as eve^ satcross-
legged at a tray or a table. During (he carnival, when our Eng-
lish party vrere masquerading, both himself and his suceessor
were more happy to " receive masks," than any dowager in
Grosveuor-square.

On one occasion of his supping at the convent, his friend and
visiter, the Cadi of Thebes, was carried from table perfectly
qualified for any club in Christendom ; while the wotUiy way-
wode himself triumphed in bis fall.

In all money transactions with the Moslems, I ever found the
strictest hononr, the highest disinterGstedness. In transacting
business with them, there are none of those dirty peculations,
under the name of interest, difference of exchange, commission,
&c &c. uniformly found in applying to a Greek consul to cash
bills, even on the first houses in Pera.

With regard to presents, an established custom in the East,
yon will rarely find yourself a loser ; as one worth acceptance is
generally returned by another of similar value — a horse, or a

In the capital and at court the citjiens and courtiers are formed
in the same school with those of Christianity; but there does
not exist a more honourable, friendly, and high-spirited character
than the true Turkish provincial aga, or Moslem country gentle-
man. It is not meant here to designate the governors of towns,
but those agas who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess lands
and houses, ^f more or less extent, in Greece and Asia Minor.

The lower orders are in as tolerable discipline as the rabble in
countries with greater pretensions to civilization. A Moslem, in
walking the streets of our country towns, would be more incom-
moded in England than a Frank in a similar situation in Turkey.
Regimentals are the best travelling dress.

The beat accounts of the religion and different sects of Islam,
ism, may be found in D'Ohsson's French; of their manners,
&c. perhaps in Thornton's English. The Ottomans, with all
their defects, are not a people to be despised. Equal, at least, to
the Spaniards, they are superior to the Portuguese. If itbediffi

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876 APPENDIX.

cult to pronounce what they ave, we can at least say what they
are not i they are not treacherous, they are not cowardly thty do
twt burn heretics, they are not assassins, nor his an enemy
advanced to t!i£ir capital. They are Mthful to their sultan till
he becomes unfit to govern, and devout to their God without an
inquisition. Were Ihey driven from St. Sophia to morr w, and
the French or Russians enthconed in their stead, it would become
a question whether Europe would gain by the eschinge Eng
land would certainly be the loser.

With regard to that ignorance of ■which they are so generally
andsometimes justly accused, it may be doubted, always except-
ing France and England, in what usefiil points of Lnowledge
they are excelled by oth&r nations. Is it in the common arts of
lifet In theii manufactures 1 IsaTuikish sabre inferior to a
Toledo^ oris a Turk worse clothed or lodged, or fed and taught,
than a Spaniard? Are their paslas worse educated than a
grandee? or aneffendi thanaKnight of St. Jago? I think not.

I remember Mahmout, the grandson of Ali Pasha, askingwhe-
thermy fellow-traveller and myself were in the upper or lower
House of Parliament. Now, this question from a boy of ten
years old proved that his education had not been neglected. It
may be doubted if an English boy at that age knows the differ-
ence of the Divan from a College of Dervises ; but I am very
sure a Spaniard docs not. How little Mahmout, surrounded, as
he had been, entirely by his Turkish tutors, had learned that
there was such a thing as a Parliament, it were useless to con-
jecture, unless we suppose that his instructors did not confine
his studies to the Koran.

In all the mosques there are schools established, which are
Tery regularly attended; and the poor are taught without the
church of Turkey being put into peril. I believe the system is
not yet printed ; (though there is such a thing as aTurkish press,
and books printed on the late military institution of the Nizam
Gedidd ;) nor have I heard whether the Mufti and tiie Mollas have
subscribed, or the Caimacam and the Tefterdar taken the alarm,
for fear the ingenuous youth of the turban should be taught not to
" pray to God their way." The Greeks also — a kind of Eastom
Irish Papists — have a college of tlieir own at Maynooth, — no, at
Haivali; where the heterodox receive much the same kind of
countenance from the Ottoman as the Catholic college from the
English legislature. Who shall then afBrm that the Turks axe
ignorant bigots, when they tlius evince the exact proportion of
Christian uVinritj which is tolerated in the most prosperous and

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A P P J:: N D 1 X. a77

orthodox of all possible Jiingdoms T But though they allow all
this, they will not suffer the Greeks to paTlacipate iii their privi-
leges : no, let them fight their battles, aud pay their haratch,
(taxes,) be drubbed in this world, and damned in the next. And
shall we then emancipate oox Irish Helots t Mahomet forbid !
We sbonld then be bad Mussulmans, and worse Christians; at
present we unite the best of both — Jesuitical faith, and somethina;
not much inferior to Turkish toleration.

NOTES TO CANTO III.

"IVbt vainly did the early Persian make
Bis altar the liigh places and the peak
Of earth o'ergazing mouiUaiiK, §'c." — Stanza xci.

It is to be recollected, that flie most beautiful and impressive
doctrines of the divine Founder of Christianity were delivered,
not in the Temple, but on the Moant. To waive the question of
devotion, and turn to human eloquence, — the most effectual and
splendid specimens were not pronounced within walls, Demos-
thenes addressed the public and popular assemblies. Cicero
spoke in the forum. That this added to their effect on the mind
of both orators and hearers, may be conceived from the difference
between what we read of the emotions llten and there produced,
and those we ourselves experien.ce in the perusal in the closet.
It is one thing to read the Iliad at Sigteum, and on flie 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 — (Aislknow. Were the early and rapid pro-
gress of what is called Methodism to be attributed to any cause
beyond the enthusiasm excited by its vehement faith and doctrines,
(the truth or error of which I presume neither to canvass nor to
question,) 1 should venture to aacri.be it to the practice of preach,
ing in the jiefiis, and the unstudied and extemporaneous effusions
of its teachers. — The Mussulmans, whose erroneous devotion (at
least in the lower orders) is most sincere, and therefore impress-
ive, are accustomed to repeat their prescribed orisons and pray-
ers, wherever they may be, at the stated hours — of course,
frequently in the open air, kneeling upon a light mat, (which thej
carry for the purpose of a bed or cushion as required ;) the cere

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278 APPENDIX.

mony lasls some minntea, duringwhich they are totally absorbed,
and only liviog in their supplication r nothing can disturb them.
On me the simple and entire sinceiity of these men, and the
spirit which appeared to be within and npon them, made a far
greater impiesaion than any general rile which was ever per-
formed in places of worship, of which I have seen those of al-
most every persHasion under the sun, including most of our own
sectaries, and tJie Greek, the Catholic, the Armenian, the Lii-
dieran, the Jewish, and the Mahometan. Many of the negroes,
of whom Uiere are numbers in the Turkish empire, are idolaters,
and have free exercise of their belief and ilsritfis; some of these
I had a distant view of at Patras ; and, fiom what I could make
ont of them, they appeared t« be of a truly pagan description,
and not very

Note [G.]

" ClareTis ! hy litanenly fed ihy patlts are trod, —
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne
7h which Ike steps are mountains ; wJiere the god
Is apervading life and UgU," ^e, — Stanza c. See p. 161.

Rousseao's Helo'ise, Lettre 17, part. 4, note. " Ces montagnes
sont si hantes gn'une demi-heure apres le soleil couche, leurs
sommets sont eclaires de ses rayons; dontle rouge forme sur
ces cimes blanches une belie eoulettr de rose, qvi'on aperijoit de
fort loin." — This applies more particularly to the heights over
Meillerie. — " J'allai k Vevay loger ^ la Olef, et pendant deux
jours que ]'y restai sans voir personne, je pris ponr cette ville un
amour qui m'a snivi dans tons mes voyages, et qui m'y a fait
etablii enfin lea h6ros de mon roman. Je dirais voiontiers a
ceux qui ont da goflt et qui sont sensihles : Allez a Vevay —
visilez le pays, examlnez les sites, promenez-vons sur le lac, et
dites si la Nature n'a pas feit ce bean pays ponr une Julie, pour
une Claire, et pour un St. Preux ; maia ne lea y cherchez pas."
Les Oinfessiom, livre iv. p. 306. Lyon, ed. 1796.— In July, 18l'6,
I made a voyage round ^e Lake of Geneva; and, as far as my
own observations have led me in a not uninteresting nor inatten-
tive survey of all the scenes moat celebrated by Rousseau in his
" Helo'fse," I can safely say, that in Biis there is no exaggera-
tion. It would be difficult to see Ciarena (with tlie scenes
around it, Vevay, Chillon, BOveret, St. Gingo, Meillerie, Eivan,
and th? entrances of flie Rhone) without being forcibly struck

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APPENDIX. 279

with its peculiar adaptation to the persons and events witli
which it has been peopled. But tliis is not all: the feeling
with whieli all around Olarens, and the opposite locks of Meil-
lerie, is invested, is of a atill higher and more comprehensive
order than the mere sympathy with individual passion ; it is a
sense of the existence of love in its most extended and anWime
capacity, and of our own participation of its good and of its
glory; it is the great principle of the nniverse, which is there
more condensed, but not less manifested ; and of which, though
knowing ourselves a part, we lose onr individuality, and mingle
in the beauty of the whole. — If RoossSau had never written, nor
lived, the same associations would not leas have belonged to
such scenes. He ha3 added to the interest of his works by their
adoption ; he has shown his sense of Iheit beauty by the selec-
tion ; but they have done that for him which no human being
could do for them. — I had the fortune (good or evil as it mi^t
be) to sail from MeiUeiie (where we landed for some time) to St.
Gingo during a lake storm, which added to tJio magnificence of
all around, although occasionally accompanied by danger to the
boat, which was small and overloaded. It was over this very
part of the lake that Rousseau has driven the boat of St. Preux
and Madame Wolmar to Meillerie for shelter during a tempest.
On gaining the shore at St. Gingo, I found that the wind had
been sufficiently strong to blow down some fine old chestnut
trees on the lower part of the mountains. On the opposite height
of Clarens is a chfiteau. 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 tiie land appertained,) that the
ground might be enclosed into a vineyard for the miserable
drones of an execrable superstition, the inhabitants of Olarens
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 preservation of the " local habi-
tationa" he has pven to " airy nothings." The Prior of Great
St. Bernard has cut down some of his woods for the sake of a
few casks of wine, and Bonaparte has levelled part of the rocks
of Meillerie in improving the road to the Simplon. The road is
an excellent one; but I cannot quite agree with the remarl;
which I heard made, that " La route vaat miaux que les soove-

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APPENDIX.

HISTORICAL NOTES TO CANTO IV.

No. I. — Statb DDNGBONa OF Venice.

" I stood in Venice, an the Bridge of Sighs ;
Apalace and apriaon on each AaW." — Stanza i

The eoramunieatioii between tlie dncal palace and the prisons
of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or coveted 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 sunlt in tiie
Uiick walls of Ihe palace ; and the prisoner when taken ont to
die was conducted across the gallery So the other side, and being
then led back into the other compartment, or cell, npon the
bridge, was there strangled. The low portal through which the
criminal was taken into this cell is now walled np ; but the pas-
sage is still open, and is still known by the name of the Bridge
of Sighs. The pozzi are under the flooring of the chamber at the
foot of the bridge. They were formerly twelve ; hut on the first
arrival of the French, the Venetians hastily blocked or broke up
the deeper of these dungeons. You may slill, however, descend
by a trap-dooT, and crawl down throngh holes, half choked by
rubbish, to the depth of two stories below the first range. Jf 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 tlie narrow gallery which leads to the cells, and the places
of confinement themselves are totally dark. A small hole in the
wall admitted the damp air of the passages, and served for the
inttoduetton of the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a
foot 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 somewhat difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was
found when the republicans descended into these hideons re-
cesses, and he is said to have been confined sixteen years. But
the inmates of the dungeons beneath had left traces of their re-
pentance, or of their d^pair, which are still visible, and may,
perhaps, owe something to recent ingenuity. Some of the de-
tained appear to have offended against; and ofliers to have be-
longed to, the sacred body, not only from their signatures, bnt

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APPENDIX. 281

from^ the churches and belfries which thej have scratched npon
Lho walls. The reader may not object to see a specimen of tho
records prompted bj so terrific a solitude. As nearly as they
could be copied by more than one pencil, three of thein are as
fL>llowa : —

The copyist has followed, not corrected, the solecisms ; some
of which are, however, not quite so decided, since the letters
were eTidenfly scratched in the dark. It only need be observed,
tliat beslemtnia and mangiar may be read in the first inscription,
which was probably written by a prisoner confined for some act
of impiety committed at a funeral ; that CiH-lellarius is the name
of a parish on terra firma, near the sea ; and that the last initials
evidently are put for Viva la santa Ckiesa KaltoUai Romana.

No. n. — Songs op the Gcndoliehs.
'In Venice Thsso's echoes are no more." — Stanza iii.
The well Imown song of the gondoliers, of alternate Stan
from I'aBBo's Jerusalem, has died witli the independence

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28S A.P1'ENDIX.

Venicej Editions of the poem, with the original in one coltjmn,
and the Venetian variations on the otiier, as sung by llie boatmen,
were once common, and are still to be found. The following
extract wDl serve to ehow the difference between the Tusnanepie
and the " Canta alia Barcariola."

Canto 1' armc pietose, e '1 capilano

Che '1 gran Sepolcro libero di Cristo,
Molto egli oprd co] senno, e con la mano

Molto soffri nei glorioso acijuisto ;
E in van 1' Inferno a !ai s' oppose, e in Tano

S' arm6 d' Asia, e di Libia il popol misto,
Che il Ciel gli die favore, e aotto a i Santi
Segni ridusBe i suoi compagni enanti.

TENET! AW.

L' amie pietose de cantar gho vo^a,

E de GofTredo la immortal braura
Clie al fin 1' ha libera co strasaia, e dogia

Del nostro buon Gesu la Sepoltura
De mezo mondo anito, e de qnel Bogia

Miasier Pluton non 1' ha bu mai paura
Dio 1' ha agiula, e i compagni aparpagnai
Tutti '1 gh' i ha messi insieme i di del Dai.

Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up and continue
a stanxa of theii once familiar bard.

On the 7th of last January, the author of Childe Harold, and
another Englishman, the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lido
with two singers, one of whom was a carpenter, and the other a
gondolier. The former placed himself at the prow, tlie latter at
the stem of the boat. A little after leaving the quay of the
PjaEzetta, they began to sing, and continued tfieir exercise until
they arrived at the island. They gave us, amongst other essays,
the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida; and did not
sing the Venetian, but the Tuscan verses. Tlie carpenter, how-
ever, who was the clevererof thetwo, and was frequently obliged
to' prompt his companion, told us that he could translate the
ori^nal. He added, that he conld sing almost three hundred
stanzas, but had not spirits (morhin vras the word he used) to
learn any more, or to eing what he already tnew ; a man must
have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat, and, said the
poOT fellow, " iook al my clothes and at me; I am starving."

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APPENDIX. 383

This speech was more affecting than his performance, which
habit alone can make attractive. The recitative was shrill,
Boreaming, and monotonous; and the gondolier behind assisted
hia voice bj holding his hand to one side of his mouth. The
carpenter used a quiet acdon, which he evidently endeavoured to
restrain; but was too much interested in his subject altogether
to repress. From these men we learned that singing is not con-
lined to the gondoliers, and that, although the chant is seldom, if
ever, voluntary, there are sdll several amongst the lower classes
who are acquainted with a few stanzas.

It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to row and
sing at the same time. Although the verses of the Jerusalem
are no longer casually heard, there is yet much music upon the
Venetian canals; and upon holidays, those strangers who are not
near or informed enough to distinguish the words, may fancy that
many of the gondolas still resound witJi t!ie strains of Tasso.
The writer of some remarks which appeared in the "Curiosities
of Literature," mast excuse his being twice quoted; for, with
the exception of same phrases a litile too ambiiioas !tnd extravagant,
he lias furnished a very exaitt, as well as agreeable, description : —

» In Venice the gondoHers know by heart long passages from
Ariosto and Taaso, and often chant them with apeculiar melody.
But this talent seems at present on the decline : — at least, after
taking some pinns, 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 hy Kousseau, to
whose songs it is printed ; it has properly no melodious move'
ment, and is a sort of medium between the canto ferino and Uie
canto figurato ; it approaches to the former by recitadvioal decla-
mation, and to the latter by passages and course, by which one
syllable is detained and embellished.

"I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placed himself
forward and the other aft, and thus proceeded to St. Georgio.
One began the song; when he had ended his strophe, the other
took up the lay, andsocontinuedthesongnltoroalpjy. Through-
out the whole of it, the same notes invariably returned; but,
according to the subject matter of the strope, they laid a greater
or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, and sometimes on anofhnr
note, and indeed changed the enunci^ilion of the whole strophe-
as thi! object of the poem altered.

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384 A P P K N D ! X.

" Ou tlie whole, however, the sounds were hoarse and scream-
ing: they seemed, in the manner of. all rude, uncivilized men, to
make the excellency of Uieir singing iu the force of their voice ;
one seemed desirous of con(|U6ring the other hy the strength of
his lungs ; and so far from receiving delight from tliis scene,
(shut up as I was in the bos 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 iieard at a
distance. Accordingly'we gotoutupon theshore, leavingoneof
the singers in the gondola, while the other went to the distance
of some hundred paces. They now began to sing against one
another, and I kept walking up and down between them both, so
as always to leave him who was to begin his part. I frequently
stood still and hearkened to the one and to the other.

" Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong decla-
matory, and, as it were, shrieking sound, met the ear from far,
and called forth the attention; the c[uickly 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 atlentively, immediately began
where the former left off, answering him in the milder or more
vehement notes, according as (he purport of the strophe required.
The sleepy canals, the lofty buildings, tlie splendour of the moon,
tiie deep shadows of the few gondolas that moved like spirits
hither and thtiher, increased thestrikingpeculiarityof thescene;
and amidst all these circumstances, it was easy to confess Ihe
character of this wonderful harmony.

"It suits perfectly well with an idle soliKiTy mariner, lying at
length in his vessel at rest an one of these canals, waiting for his
company, or for a fare, the tiresomeness of which situation is some-
what alleviated by the songs and poetical stories he has in
memory. He often raises his voice as loud as he can, which
extends itself to a vast distance over the tranquil mirror ; and as
all is still around, he is, as it were, in a solitude in the midst of
a large and'popnious town. Here is no rattling of carriages, no
noise of foot passengers ; a silent gondola glides now and then
by him, of which the splashings of the oars are scarcely to be

" At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to
h:ni. Melody and verst; immediately attach the two strangers ;
he becomes the responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself

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A P P R N D I X. 285

to be heard as he had heard the other. By a tacit conTention
they alternate verse for verse ; though tlie song' should last the
whole night through, they entertain themselves without fatigue :
the hearers, who are passing; between the two, take part in the

"This vocal performance sounds best at a great distance, and
is then inexpressibly charming, as it only fulfils its design in the
sentiment of remoteness. It is plaintive, hut not dismal in its
sound, and at times it is scarcely . possible to refrain from tears.
Mj companion, who otherwisewasnotavery delicately organized
person, said quite unexpectedly : — E singolare come quel canto
inteneiisce, e moito pii quando lo cantano meglio.

" 1 was told that the women of Libo, the long row of islands
that divides the Adriatic from the Lagoons,* particularly the
women of the extreme districts of Malamoeco and Palestrina,
sing in like manner the works of Tasso to these and similar

" They have the custom, when thf'ir husbands are fishing out
at sea, to sit along the shore in the evenings and vociferate these
aongs, and continue to do so with great violunce, till each of
them can distinguish the responses of her own husband at a
distance."!

The love of music and of poetry distinguishes all classes of
Venetians, even amongst the tuneful sons ot Italy The city
itself can occasionally furnish respectible "udjences for two and
even three opera-houses at a time ; and there are few events in
private life that do not call fortti a printed. and circnlated Ronnet.
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 annonnce his deparlure or his benefit, are you
to he congratulated on a marriage, or a birth, or a lawsuit, the
muses are invoked to furnish the same number of ayllablea, and
the individual triumphs blaze abroad in virgin white or party-
coloared placards on half the oomers of the capital. The last
courtesy of a favourite " prima donna" brings down a shcwerof
these poetical tributes from those upper regions, from which, in
our theatres, nothing but cupida 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

Black's Life of Tas

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286 APPENDIX.

changes so recommendable in. fiction, tut bo different from the
Bobei monotony of northorn existence; amusements are raised
into'duties, duties are softened into amusements, and every object
being considered as equally making apartof thebusines'sof life,
is announced and performed with, tlie SEune earnest indifPeronee
and gay assiduity. The Venetian ^ette constantly closes its
columns will) the following triple advertisement ; —

Qiarade.

Rxposition of the most Holy Sacrament in the cliurcb of
St. "

TJieaircs.
St. Moses, opera.

St. Benedict, a comedy of characters.
St. Luke, repose.
When it is recollected what the Catholics believe their con-
secrated wafer to be, we may perhaps think it worthy of a more
respectable niche than between poetry and the playhouse.

No. III. — The Lion and Hobsks of Sr. Mabk's.

The lion has lost nothing by his journey to the Invalides, tat the
gospel which supported the paw that is now on alevel with the
other foot. The horses also are returned to the ill-chosen spot
whence they set out, and are, as before, half-hidden, under the
porch window of St. Mark's church. Their history, after a des-
perate struggle, has been satisfactorily explored. The decisions
and doubts of Erizzo and Zanetti, and, lastly, of the Count Leo-
pold Cicognara, would have given them a Roman extraction, and
a pedigree not more ancient ^lan the reign of Nero. But M. de
Schlege) stepped in to teach the Venetians the value of their own .
treasures, and a Greek vindioated, at last and forever, the pre-
tension of his countrymen to ^is noble production.* M. Musloxidi
has not been left without a teply ; but, as yet, he has received no

* Sai narauo cavalli della R.Tsilica di S. Marco <n Veneiia. Lelletn dl
Andrea Miieloji.li Corclrese Pudun, ISie.

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APPENDIX. 387

answer. , It siiould soBin that the horses are irrevocably Chian,
and ware transferred to Constantinople bjTheodoaius. Lapidary
writing is a favourite play of the Italians, and has conferred re-
putation on more than one of their literary characters. One of
tJie best specimens of Bodoni's typography ia a respectable
volume of inscriptionH, all written by his friend Pacoiaudi. Se-
veral were prepared for the recoyered horses. It is to be hoped
the best was not selected, when the following words were
ranged in gold letters above the cathedral porch : —

(JUATUOR ■ EIJIIOBUM • SIOSA ■ A ■ VEMETIS ■ BVZANTIO ■ OAPTA ■

Nothing shall be said of the La^n, bat it may be permitted to
observe, that the injustice of the Venetians in transporting the
horses from Constantinople was at least equal to that of the
French in carrying them to Paris, and that it would have been
more prudent to have avoided all allusions to either robbery. An
apostolic prince should, perhaps, have objected to affixing over
the principal entrance of a metropolitan church an inscription
having reference to any other triumphs than those of religion.
Nothing less than the pacification of the world can excuse such
a solecism.

F Bakbahossa to Pope Ale\andeb III.

"'I%e Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns —
An emperor traiiipks where an emperor knelt." Stanza xii.

After many vdn elforts on the part of the Italians entirely to
throw off the yoke of Frederic Barbarossa, and as fruitlwe at-
tempts of the emperor to make himself absolute master through-
out the whole of his Cisalpine dominions, the bloody struggles
of four-and-twentj years were happily brought t« a close in the
city of Venice. The articles of a treaty had been previously
agreed upon between Pope Alexander HI. and Barbarossa ; and
the former having received a safe-conduct, had already arrived at
Venice from Ferrara, in company with the ambassadors of the
King of Sicily and the consuls of the Lombard league. There
stil! remained,- however, many points to adjust, and for eevera:!
days the peace was believed to be impracticable. At this junc-
ture it was suddenly reported that the emperor had arrived at

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S88 APPENDIX.

ChioEa, a town fifteen miles from the capital, ITie Venetians
rose tumultuoualy, and insisted npon immediately conducting
him to the city. The Lombards took the alarm, and departed
towards Treviso. The pope himself was apprehensive of some
disaster if Frederic should suddenly advance upon him, but was
reassured by the prudence and address of Sebastian! Ziani, the
doge. Several embassies passed between Chioza and the capi-
tal, until, at last, the emperor, relaxing somewhat of his preten-
sions, "laid aside hia leonine ferocity, and put on the mildness
of the lamb.'"*

On Saturday, the 23d of July, in the year 1177, six Venetian
galleys transferred Frederic, in great pomp, from Chioza to the
si nd f L lo, a mile from Venice. Early the next morning the
p p mpanied by the Sicilian ambassadors, and by the

en y f Lombardy, whom' he had recalled from the main land,
t th th a great concourse of people, repaired from the pa-
tn hi palace to St. Mark's church, and solemnly absolved
th mp r and hia partisans from the excommunication
p need against him. The Chancellor of the Empire, on

th p rt f his master, renounced the anti-popes and their schis.
m ti adh rents. Immediately the doge, with a great euit«
b th f th clergy and laity, got on board the galleys, and, wail-
ing on Frederic, rowed him in mighty state from the Lido to the
capital. The emperor descended from the galley at the qnaj of
the Piazzetta. The doge, the patriarch, his bishops and clergy,
and the people of Venice wilh their crosses and their standards,
marched in solemn procession before him to the church of St.
Mark. Alexander waa seated before the vestibule of the basilica,
attended by hia bishops and cardinals, by tiie patriarch of Aqui-
leja, by the archbishops and bishops of Lombardy, all of them
in state, and clothed in their chnreh 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 load voice,
' We praise thee, Lord,' The emperor then taking the pope
by the right hand, led him to the church, and having received

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APPENDIX. 28!)

bis benediction, leturncd to the dueal palace."* The ceremony
of humiliation was repealed tiie next day. The pope himself,
at the request of Frederic, said mass at St. Mark's. The empe-
ror again laid aside his imperial mantle, and, taking a wand in
his hand, officiated as verger, driving the laity from the choir,
and preceding the pontiff to the altar. Alesander, after reciting
the gospel, preached to the people. The emperor put himself
close to the pulpit, in the attitude of listening; and the pontiff,
touched by ttiis mark of his attention, (for he knew thatFrederii;
did not understand a word he said,) commanded the patriarch of
Aquileja to translate the Latin discourse into the German tongue.
The creed was then chanted. Frederic made his oblation, and
kissed the pope's feet, and, mass being over, led him by the
hand to his white horse. He held the stirrup, and woald have
led the horse's rein to the water side, had not Uie pope accepted
of the inclination for the performance, and affectionately dismiss-
ed him with hia benediction. Such is the substance of the ac-
count left by the archbishop of Salerno, who was present at the
ceremony, and whose story is confirmed by every subsequent
narration. It would be not worth so minute a record, were it not
the tttumph of liberly as well as of superstition. The states of
Lombardy owed to it Ihe confirmation of their privileges; and
Alexander had reason to thank the Almighty, who had enabled
an infirm, unarmed old man to subdue a tflrrible and potent so-
vereign.!

No. V". — Henhy Danuolo.

^^ Ok, for one /tour of blind old Bandiiio .'
Th' adogenarian chief, Byxanliuiri's conquering foe" Stanza xii.

The reader will recollect the exclamation of the highlander.
Oh for tme hour of Dundee ! Henry Dandolo, when elected doge,
in 1193, was eighty-five years of age. When he commanded the
Venetians at the taking of Constantinople, he was consequentiy
ninety-seven years old. At this age he armexed the fourth and a
half of the whole empire of Romania,^! for so the Roman empire

achecl,ontbeeisIda.y

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APPENDIX.

waB then called, to the tide and to the territories of the Venetian
doge. The three-eighliia of this empire were preserved in the
dipiomas until the dukedom of Gioyanni Dollino, who made use
of the above designation in the yeax 1357.*

Dandolo led the attatdt on Constantinople in person ; two ships,
theParadise and the Pilgrim, were tied together, and a drawbridge
or ladder let down from their higher yards lo the walls. The
doge was one of the first to rush into the city. Then was com-
pleted, said the Venetians, the prophecy of the Etythriean sibyl : —
" A ga^ering together of the powerful shall be miide amidst the
■waves of the Adriatic, nnder a blind leader ; they shall beset t!ie
goat — they shall profane Byzantium — they shall blaclten her
buildings — het spoils shall be dispersed ; a new goat shall bleat
until they have measured ont and run over fifty-four feet, nine
inches and a half,"j- Dandolo died on the first of June, 1205,
having reigned thirteen years, six months and five days, and was
buried in the church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople. Strangely
enough it must sound, that the name of the rebel apothecary who
received the doge's sword, and annihilated the ancient govern-
ment, in 179C-7, was Dandolo.

No. VI. — The War of Chioba.

" Sut !8 not Duria's menace coTne lo pass ;
Jhe they noihridhdV — Stanza xiii.

After the loss of the battle of Pola, and the taking of Ghioza on
the 16th of August, 1379, by the united armament of the Genoese
and Francesco da Carrara, Signoi of Padua, the Venetians were
reduced to the utmost despair. An embassy was sent to the con-
querors with a blank sheet of paper, praying them to prescribe
what terms they pieced, and leave to Venice only her inJepend-

randolD rnns thus in the chrontcle of lila namEzako, the Doge Andrew Dandolo.

And. Dand. Cbronicon, cap. Ul, pan ixxvlL ap. Script. Ber. Ital. t

om.xii.page

> doges. In-

rere Uisn ge-

Uaeeniuthe

maps of Turkey as apHied «• Ttoace.

.Gibbon ap

pears not to tndude Dniflno. following Sanndo, who says, "ilqua

ititoloaiusC

, ap. Script.

Ber,IUl,l<.n,..«ii.530.MI. ■

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APPENDIX. 291

ence. Tlifi Prinoe of Padua was inclined, to listen to these pro-
posals, but the GenoeBe, viho, after the rictorj at Pola, had
shouted, " To Venice, to Venice, and long live St. George 1"
determined to anbihilate their lival ; and Peiei Doria, their com-
mand er-in-cliief, retnined this answer to the euppliants : ■< On
God's faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no peace from
the Signer of Padua, nor ftoni our commune of Genoa, nntil we
have first put a rein upon those onhtidled horses of yours, that
are upon the porch of your evangelist St. Mark. When we
have bridled them, we shall keep you quiet. And this is the
pleasure of us and of our commune. . As for diese my brothers
of Genoa, that you have brought wllh yon to give up to us, I
will not have them } take ttiem back ; for, In a few days hence,
I shall come and lei them out of prison myself, both these and
all the others," In fact, the Genoese did advance as fer as Ma.
lamocco, within five miles of the capital ; but their own danger
and the pride of their enemies gave courage to the Venetians,
who made prodigious efforts, and many individual sacrifices, all
of them carefully recorded hy their historians. Vettor Pisani
was put at the head of thirty-four galleys. The Genoese hroke
up from Malamocco, and retired to Chioaa in October; hutthey
again threatened Venice, which was reduced to extrenuties. At
this time, the 1st of January, 1380, arrived Carlo Zeno, who had
been cruising on the Genoese coast with fourteen galleys. The
Venetians Were now strong enough to besiege the Genoese.
Doria was killed on the 3Sd of January, by a stone ballet 195
pounds weight, dischai^ed from a bombard called the Trevisan.
Chioza was then closely invested : 5000 auxiliaries, amongst
whom were some English condottieri, commanded by one Captain
Ceccho, joined the Venetians. The Genoese, in their turn,
prayed for conditions, hut none wore granted, until, at last, Ihcy
surrendered at discretion ; and, on the 31th of June, 1380, the
Doge Contarini made his triumphal entry into Chioza. Four
thousand prisoners, nineteen galleys, many smaller vessels and
harks, with all the ammunition and arms, and outfit of the expe-
dition, fell into the hands of the conquerors, who, had it not been
for the inexorable answer of Doria, would have gladly reduced
their dominion to the city of Venice. An account of these trans-
actions is found in a work called the War of Chioza, written by
Daniel Chinaazo, who was in Venice at the time.

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APPENDIX.

No. Vn. — Venice ukdkh the GoyEftNMENT of Austria.

" IViin streets, and foreign aspects, such, as must

Ibo oft remind ker viho and what entkrah." — Stenaa sv.

The population of Venice at the end of the seventeenth cen-
tury araonnted t« nearly two hundred thousand soula. At tfie
last census, taken two years !igo, it was no more than ahont one
hundred and three thousand; and it diminishes daily. Thecom-
mercG and the official employments, which were to he the unex-
hausted source of Venetian grandeur, haTehoth expired. Most
of the patrician mansions are deserted, and would gradually dia-
appear, had not the government, alaiuied by the demolition of
seventy-two, during the last two years, expressly forbidden this
sad resource of poverty. Many remnants of the Venetian nobDity
are now scattered and confounded with the wealthier Jews upon
the banks of the Brenta, whose Palladian palaces have sunk, or
are sinking,in the general decay. Of the " gentiluomo Veneto,"
tJie name is still known, and that is all. He is but the shadow
of his former self, but he is polite and kind. It surely may be
pardoned to him if he is querulous. Whatever may have been
the vices of the republic, and although the natural term of its
existence may be thought by foreigners to have arrived in the due
course of mortality, only one sentiment can he expected from the
Venetians themselves. At no time were die subjects of the re-
public so unanimous in their resolution to rally round the stand,
ard of St. Mark, as when it was for the last time unfurled ; and
the cowardice and the treachery of the few patricians who
recommended the fatal neutrality were confined to the persona
of the traitors themselves. The present race cannot he thought
to regret the loss of their axistoeratieal forms and too despotic
government; they think only on their vanished independence.
They pine away at the remembrance, and on this subject suspend
for a moment their gay good humour. Venice may he 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
recwiciled ta the sight of a whole nation expiring as it were
before his eyes. So artificial a creation, having lost that princi-
ple which called it into life and supported its exisfenee, must
fall to pieces at once, and sink more rapidly than it rose. The
abhorrence of slavery which drove the Veneljane to the sea, has,
since their disaster, forced them to the land, where they may be

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APPENDIS. 293

at least overlooked amongst the crowd of dependants, and not
present the hnroitiating apectaclo of a whole nation loaded with
recent chains. Their liveliness, tlieir affability, and that happy
indifference wliich constitution alone can ^ve, (fon philosophy
aspires to it in vain,) have not sunk under circumstances; but
many peculiarities of costume and manner liave by degrees been
lost, and the nobles, with a pride common to all Mians who
have been masters, have not been persuaded to parade their in-
significance. That splendour which was a proof and a portion
of their power, they would not degrade into the trappings of
Iheir subjection. They retired firom the space which they had
occupied in the eyes of their fellow-citizens; their continuance
in which would liave been a symptom of acquiescence, and an
insult to those who suffered by the common misfortune. Those
who remained in the degraded capital might be said vadier to
haunt the scenes of flieir departed power, than to live in them.
The reflection, " who and what enthrals," will hardly hear a
comment from one who is, nalionaily, the friend and the ally of
the conqueror. It may, however, be allowed to say thus much,
that to those who wish to recover their independence, any mas-
ters must bean object of detestation; and it may be safely fore-
told that this unprofitable aversion will not have been corrected
before Venice shall have sunk into the slime of her choked

No. Vni.— Lauha.

" Watering ike Iree wMck hears his lady's name
With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame."

Stanza xxv.
Thardts to the critical acumen of a Scotchman, we now know
as little of Laura as ever.* The discoveries of the Abbe de
Sade, bis triumphs, his sneers, can no longer instruct or amuse.
We must not, however, think that these memoirs are as much a
romance as Belisarios or the Tncas, although we are told so by
Dr. Beattie, a great name, but a little authority.]" His " labour"
has not been in vain, notwithstanding his " love" has, like most

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334 APPENDIX.

other passions, made him ridiculous.* The hypothesis which
overpowered the struggling Italians, and carried along less in-
terested critics in its current, ia run out. We have another proof
that we can be never sur« that the paradox, the most singular,
and therefore having the most agreeable and authentic air, will
not give place to the re-established ancient prejudice.

It seema, then, first, that Laura was bom, lived, died, and was
buried, not in Avignon, but in the country. The fountdns of
the Sorga, the thickets of Cabrieres, may resume their preten-
sions, and the exploded de la Bastte again be heard with compla-
cency. The hypotliesis 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 Ambiosian library. If these proofe were
both incontestable, the poetry was written, the medal composed,
cast, and deposited within the space of twelve hours ; and these
deliberate duties were performed round the carcass of one who
died of the plague, and was hurried to the grave on the day of
her death. These documents, therefore, are too decisive ; they
prove not the fact, but the forgery. Either the sonnet or the
Virgilian note must be a Mslfication. The Abbe cites both as
incontestabiy true ; the consequent deduction is inevitable— they
are both evidently false. "["

Secondly, Laura was never married, and was a haughty virgin
rather than that tender and prudent wife who honoured Avignon,
by malring that town the theatre of an honest French passion,
and played off for one-and-twenty years her litlk maeliinert/ of
alternate favours and refiisals:^ "pen 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 feith of a misinterpreted
abbreviation, and the decision of a libraiian.J It is, however.

*Kr CJibt

nn call

Bil lUa Ueuu

lira "alaboi

.r,

iflov

chap. lix. D(

ind flillowed

pll« of a V,

iry voli

imlnouB woi

. thnngh noi

ss readQy a

+ The soDi

picion

SsshBletle

arton in nea

t" force

mil

iQ3n«ge, cet

ie fa'

mSnag^e, in

endai

erand poSIe

de ei

a Vied

le Pttrartine

, Preface au

Tan?.

lU. SI. Aupi

stin.Petrar.

;hl

.aa.d.

hody e:ibau!

lid

>M M. .

Oepporonler,

th<

inch king In 1763, w

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APPENDIX. 395

Batisfactory to think thit tiie lovo of Petrarch was not platonic.
The h ppmos vh 1 he {.rayed to possess but once and for a
mome t was surely not f tl e njnd * and something so very
real as a n arnage p oject mth one who has been idiy called a
shadowy nympi may I e pe 1 aps detected in at least six
places of his own sonnets The love of Petrarch was neither
platon c nor poet cal and if in one passage of bis works he
calls U amore veementeiss mo ma un co ed onesto," he con-
fesses, in a letter to a friend, that it was guilty and perverse, that
it abeoibed bim quite, and mastered his heart.

In this case, however, he was perhaps alarmed for the culpa-
bility of his wishes ; for the Abbe de Sade himself, who certainly
would not have been sonipulously delicate if he could have
proved bis descent from Petrarch as well as Laura, is forced into
a stout defence of his virtuous grandiooflier. As far as relates
to the poet, we have no security for the innocence, except per-
haps in the constancy of his pursuit. He assures us in his
epistle to posterity, that, when arrived at his fortieth year, he
not only had in horror, but had lost all recollection and image of
any "irregularity." But the birth of his nataral daughter can-
not be assigned earlier than his thiity-ninth year; and either the
memory or the morality of the poet must have failed him, when
he forgot or was guilty of this sUp.^ The weakest argument for
the purity of this love has been drawn from the permanence of
its effects, which survived Ihe ohject of his passion. The re-
flection of M. de la Bastie, that virtue alone is capable of mak-
ing impressions which death cannot efface, is one of those which
everybody applauds, and everybody finds not to be true, tlie
moment he examines his own breast or the records of human
feeling.^; Such apophthegms can do nothing for Petrarch or for
the cause of morally, except with the very weak and the very

paituhns eihnnstum." He Sade joiDod tbe ngmeaofMoe^ra.Boiiaot snil Bejot
self B downright literary rogue, See Riflessioiil, &c. p. W7. Tbojnas Aquinas

Dell' imagine Iqa, se rnUle voile
N' BVMti quel ch' 1' Bol una vorrei."

Lc Rime, &t. pat. i. pag. IW. edit. Ven. llSfl.
\ " A questa confessinne cnslaincera diede forse occastone nnanuDvacadula

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S9G APPENDIX.

youjiff. He that has made even a little progreas Iieyond igno
ranee and pupillage cannot be edified witli any thing- but truth.
What ia called vindicating the honour of an individual oi a na-
tion, is the most futile, tedions, and uninstructive of all writingj
alUiough it v/ill 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 unlikely that our historian was right in retaining his
fjTourite hypothetic salvo, which secures the author, alttiough
it scarcely saves the honQur of the still unknown n '
Petriirch.*

No. IX. — Petrabcb.
" They keep his dit.it in Arqua, where he died." — Stanza sxxi.

Petrarch retirod to Arqua im.raediate!y on his return from the
unsuccessful attempt to visit Urban V. at Rome, in the year 1370,
and, with the exception of his celebrated visit to Venice in com-
pany with Francesco Novello da Carrara, he appears to have
passed the four last years of his life between that charming soli-
tude and Padua, For four months prevLoas to his death he was
in a state of continual languor, and in the morning of July Ijie
19th, in the year 1374, was found dead in his library chair witJi
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 belter chance of authenticity than the
Shakspearian memorials of Stratford-upon-Avon.

Arqua (for the last syllable is accented in pronunciation,
although the analogy of the English language has been observed
in the verse) is twelve miles from Padua, and about three miles
on the right of the high road to Rovigo, In the bosom of the Eu-
ganean hills. After a vralk of twenty minutes across a flatweli-
wooded meadow, you come to a little blue lake, clear but fathom-
less, and to the foot of a succession of acclivities and hills,
clothed with vineyards and orchards, rich with fit and pome-
granate trees, and every suimy fruit shrub. From the banks of

♦ "And ir the virtue orprndenco of Laurawaa incioiEible, he enjoyed, a nu

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APPENDIX. 397

the lake the xoai winds into the hills, and the church of Arqua
is soon seen between a c!eft where two ridges slope towards each
other, and nearly enclose the village. The houses are scattered
at intervals on the steep sides of ihese summits ; and that of the
poet is on the edge of a little knoll ovcrlooting two descents,
and commanding a view, not only of the glowing gardens in the
dales immediately beneath, but of the wide plains, above whose
low woods of mulberry and willow, thickened into a dark mass
by festoons of vines, tall, single cypresses, and the spires of
towns, are seen in the distance, which stretches to the mouths
of the Po arid the shores of the Adriatic. The climate of these
volcanic hills is waitner, and the vintage be^ns a week sooner
than in theplains of Padua. Petrarch is laid, for he cannot be
said to bo buried, in a sarcophagus of red marbie, raised on four
pilasters on an elevated base, and preserved from an association
with meaner tombs. It stands conspicuously alone, hut will be
soon overshadowed by four lately planted laurels. Petrarch's
Fountain, for here every thing is Petrarch's, springs and espands
ilseif beneath an artificial arch, a little below the church, and
abounds plentifully, in the driest season, with that soft water
which was the ancient wealth of the Euganean hills. It would
be more attractive, were it not, in some seasons, beset with hor-
nets and wasps. No other coincidence could assimilate tlie
tombs of Petrarch and Archilochus. The revolutions of centu-
ries have spared these sequestered valleys, and the only violence
which has been offered to the ashes of Petrarch was prompted,
not by hate, hut veneration. An attempt was made lo rob the
sarcophagus of its treasure, and one of the arms was stolen by a
Florentine through a rent which is still visible. The injury is
not forgotten, but has served to identify thepoetwilh thecounby
where he was bom, hut where he would not live. A peasant hoy
of Arqui being asked who Pclrarch was, replied, " that the people
of the parsonage knew all about him, but that he only knew that
he was a Florentine."

Mr. Forsyth* was not quite correct m saying that Petrarch
never returned to Tuscany after he had once quitted it when a
boy. It appears he did pass through Florenre on his way
from Parma to Rome, and on his return m the ypar 1350, and
remained tiiere long enough to form some acquaintance witli
its most distinguished inhabitants. A riorentme gentleman,
ashamed of the aversion of the poet tor his native country, was

« RomaikB, &o. on Ilaly, p. 95, iinle, M edll.

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398 APPENDIX.

eager to point out this trivial error in onr accomplished traveller,
whom he knew and respected for an extraordinary capacity,
extensive erndition, and refined taste, joined to that engaging
simplicity of manners which has been so frequently recognised
as the surest, though it is certainly not an indispensable ttait of
superior genius.

Every footstep of Laura's lover has been anxiously traced and
recorded. The house in which he lodged is shown in Venice.
The inhabitants of Arezao, in order to decide the ancient conlro.
vevsy between their city and the neighbouring Aneisa, 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 bom. A tablet has been
raised to him at Parma, in the chapel of St. Agatha, at the
cathedral, because he was archdeacon of that society, and was
only snatched from Ms intended sepulture in their church by a
foreign death. Another tablet, with a bust, has been erected to
him at Pavia, on acoount of his having passed the autumn of
1368 in that city, with his son-in-law Brosaano. The political
condition which has for ages precluded the Italians from the cri.
ticism of the livihg, has concentrated their attention to the illus-
tration of the dead.

No. X Tasso.

"Inface of allhisfocs, the Ouacan quire i
And Boiktai, whose roih eniiy," ^c. — Stanza xxxviii.

Perhaps the couplet in which Boilean depreciates Tasso may
serve as well as any other specimen to j ustify the opinion given
of the harmony of French verse : —

" A Malherbe, 4 Racan, pref^re Theophile,
Et le clinquant dn Tasse 4 tout i'or de Virgile." — Sat. ix.

The biographer Serassi,* out of tenderness to the reputation
either of tlie Italian or the French poet, is eager to observe that
the satirist recanted or explained away this censure, and subse-
quently allowed the author of the Jerusalem to be a "genius,
sublime, vast, and happily born for the higher flights of poetry."
To this we will add, that the recantation is far from satistvictory.

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APPENDIX. 299

when we examine the whole anecdote as reported by Olivet.*
The sentence pronounced against him by Brhoursj- is recorded
only to the confiision of Iha critic, whose palinodia the Jtalian
makes no effort to discover, and would not, perhaps, accept. As
to Hie opposition which the Jerusalem encountered irom the
Croscan academy, who degraded Tasao from all compedtioij with
Ariosto, below Bojardo and Pulci, the disgrace of such opposition
most also in some measure be laid to the charge of Alfonso, and
the court of Ferrara. For Leonard Salviati, the principal and
nearly the sole origin of this attach, was, tiierecan benodoubt,^
influenced by a hope to acquire the fevoor of the House of Este :
an object which he thought attainable by eialling the reputation
of a native poet at the expense of a rival, then fi, prisoner of state.
The hopes and elForta of Salviati must serve to show the contem-
porary opinion ae to the nature of the poet's imprisonment; and
will fill up the measure of our indignation at the tyrant jiuJer-J
In fact, the antagonist of Tasso was not disappointed in tiie
reception given to his criticism ; he was called to the court of
Ferrara, where, having endeavoured to heighten bia claims to
favour, by panegyrics on the Ikmily of his sovereign,]! ^^ ^"^^ '"
turn abandoned, and expired in neglected poverty. T)ie opposi-
tion of die Cruscnns was brought to a close in six years after the
commencement of the controversy ; and if the academy owed ils
first. renown to having almost opened with such a paradox, If it
is probable that, on the other hand, the care of his reputation
alleviated ratiier than aggravated the imprisonment of the injured

. nistaire ae I'A.

: depuiB 166

8 ]uequ'i

d'Oilvel. "MiiiB,en

aulle, Tenant 4 1'l

wage qa'il a

fait de B-

m n'eal pas touj

outB CO qui

Boileauaaid.lieliadi

lot chaDged bia oi

^ La Maniire de U

enPeuser. Phile

LBlhos is for

Ta»sa, a

eet,"Detou9lssbes

uieBptliB qua I'll

qni peme lE plus nolV

1 10 speal

closes wilh Ihe Bbaui

plairajflm'entiem

pourmQiiVireil,

e," &c.

Tlio English

; reader n

d Hi, hoped, ie«t

Blve pcoor, that Tassi

norlfiBBtbanaiimo?

lions gf the IVlh Ceii

■Id," page 5,

and folio

1 Oraiioni funebri

. . . delle lodl di

Don Luigi,

d'Eale. Bee La

Vila, Ub. lil

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300 APPENDIX.

poet. The defence of his father and of himself, for bolh were
involved in. the censure of SalviaU, found employment for many
of his solitary hours, and the captive could have been but little
embarrassed to reply to accusations, vchere, amongst other delin-
quencies, he was charged with invidionsly omitting, in his com-
parison between France and Italy, to make any mention, of the
capola of St. MMiadelFioieat Florence.* The late biographer
of Ariosto seems as if willing to renew the controversy by doubt,
ing the interpretation of TaBSo's seltestimationf related in
Serassi's life of the poet. But Tiiaboschl had before laid that
rivalry at rest,^ by showing, that between Ariosto and Taaso it
is not a question of comparison, but of preference.

No. XI. — AniosTO.

" The lightning rent from Attosto's bast
The iron crown of lavrePa mimick'd leaves," — Stanza xH.

Before the remains of Arioeto were removed from the Benedic-
tine church to the library of Ferrara, his bust, which surmounted
the tomb, vras struck by lightning, and a crovra of iron laurels
meltedaway. The event has been recorded by a writer of the
last century .§ The transfer of these sacred ashes, on the 6lh of
June, 1801, was one of the most brilliant spectacles of the short-
lived Italian Republic i and to consecrate the memory of the
ceremony, the once femous fallen Inlrepidi 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 aa the Homer, not of Italy, but Forrata.|| The mother
of Ariosto was of Beggio, and the house in which he was born
is caiefuUy distinguished by a tablet with these words : " Qui
nacque Ludovico Ariosto ii ^orno 8. di Settembre dell' anno

tt Ferrara 16

im, lib. Ul. p. 381 SeB"Hi9li>riealIllii

{Op.<liBBn

lelleraalSigdo

iMilko, sull' Indole Hi nn fulail.ie eadul

K-'ftppasEioi

flala ammiratorB ed invillg ap»logiBla

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A P P_E N D 1 X. 301

1474." But the Ferratese make light of the accident by which
their poet was bom abroad, and claim him exclusively for their
own. They possess his bones, they show his arm-chair, and
his iiiltstand, and his autographs.

" Hie illius arma,

Hie eurnis fuit "

The house where he lived, the room where he died, axe desig-
nated by his own replaced memorial,* and by a recent inscrip-
tion, 'file Ferrarese are more jealons of their claims since the
animosity of Denina, arising from a cause which their apologists
mysteriously hint is not unknown to them, ventured t« degrade
flieir soil and climate b> a Bteotian incapacity for all spiritnal
producrions. A qaarto Tolnme has been called forth by the de-
traction, and this supplement to Barotti's Memoirs of ^e illus-
trious Ferrarese has been conaidered a triumphant reply to the
" Quadro Storico Stadstico dell' Alia Italia."

No. XII. — Ancient Superstitions

" For ike imt laurel-toreath which glory vieaou
Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves," — Stanaa xli.

The eagle, the sea calf, the laurel, and the white vine, were
amongst the most approved preservatives against lightning!
Jupiter chose the first, Augustus Ceesar the second, and Tibe-
rius never failed to wear a wreath of the third when tiie sky
threatened a thunder-storm."]" These superstitions may be re-
ceived without a sneer in a country where the magical proper-
ties of the haiel twig have not lost all their credit; and perhaps
the reader may not be much surprised to find that a commentator
on Suetonius has taken upon himself gravely to disprove the
imputed virtues of the crown of 'Ilberius, by mentioning that a
few years before he wrote a laurel was actually struck by light-
ning at Rome.:t:

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303 APPENDIX.

No. XIII.
"Know thai tits lightning sanetifies beluw." — Stanza xli.

The Curtian lake and tJie Ruminal fig-trea in the Fomm, hav-
ing been touched by Ughtning, were held saored, and the memo-
ry of the accident was pieserved by tiputeal, or altar resembling
the moutli of a well, with a little chapel covering the cavity sup-
posed tQ be mads by the thunderbolt. Bodies ecathed and per-
sons Btriiick dead were thought to be incorruptible ;• and a stroke
not fataf conferred perpetual dignity upon the man so distin-
guished by Heaven .f

Those killed by lightning were wrapped in a while garment,
and baried where they fell. The superstition was not confined
to the worshippers of Jupiter: the Lombards believed in the
omens fiimished by lightning; and a Christian priest confesseg
that, by a diabolical skill in interpiedng Ihundei, a seer foretold
to Agilulf, duke of Turin, an event which came to pass, and
gave him a queen and a orowu.it: There was, however, some-
thing equivocal in this sign, which the ancient inhabitants of
Rome did not always consider propitious; and as the fears are
likely to last longer than the consolations of superstition, it is
not Strang that the Romans of the age of Leo X. should have
been so much terrified at some misinterpreted storms as to re-
quire the exhortations of a scholar, who anayed all the learning
on thunder and lightning to prove the omen favourable ; begin-
ning with the flash which struck the walls of Velitite, and in-
cluding that which played upon a gate at Florence, and foretold
the pontifleate of one of its ci)Jzeca.§

No. XIV. — The Vekus of Meniois.

" TAere, loo, the goddess loves in stone." — Stanza xliK.

The view of the Venus of Medicis instantly suggests the lines

in the Seasons, and the comparison of the object witli the desotip-

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APPENDIX. 303

tion proves, not only the correctness of the portrait, but the pe-
caliar turn of thouglit, and, if tlie term may be used, the sexaal
imagination of the descriptive poet. The same coneiusion may
he deduced from another hint in the same episode of Musidoraj
for Thomson's notion of the priyileges of favoured love must
have heen either very primitive, or rather deficient in delicacy,
when he made his grateful nymph inform her discreet Damon
that in some happier moment he might perhaps be the companion
of her bath : —

" The time may come you need not fly."
The reader will recollect the anecdote told in the Life of Dr.
Johnson. Wo will not leave the Florentine gallery without a
word on the Whetter. It seems strange that tiie character of that
disputed statue should not he 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 Mareyas is seen in tolerable preser-
vation ; and the Scythian slave whetting the knife is represented
exaotiy in the same position as this celebrated masterpiece. The
slave is not naked ; hat 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 tif Julius Csesar. Winkel-
mann, illustiatir^ a bas-relief of the "same subject, follows the
opinion of Leonard Agostini, and his authority might have heen
thought conclusive, even if the resemblance did not strike the
moat careless observer.* Amongst the bronzes of the same
princely collection is still to be seen the inscribed tablet copied
and commented upon by Mr. Gibbon.f Our liistorian found
some difficulties, but did not desist from his illustration: he
might be vexed to hear that his criticism has been thrown away
on an inscription now generally recognised to be a foi^ry.

No. XV.— Maoame nE Stabl.

"In Sitnia Oroce^s holy precinda He." — Stanza liv.

This name will recall the memory, not only of those whose

tomhs have raised the Santa Croce into Uie centre of pilgrimage,

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304 APPENDIX.

file Mecca of Italy, but of her whose eloquence was poured over
the illustrious ashes, and whose voice is now as mule as those
she sung. Corinna is no more ; and with her should expire the
fear, the flattery, and the envy, which threw too dazzling or too
dark a cloud round the march of genius, and forbade the steady
gaac of disinterested criticism. We have her picture embel-
lished or distorted, as friendship or detraction has held the pen-
cil : the impartial portrait was hardly to be expected from a con-
temporary. The immediate' voice of her survivors will, it is
probable, be far from affording- a just estimate of her singular
capacity. The gallantry, the love of wonder, and the hope of
associated fame, which blnnted fhe edge of censure, must cease
to exist. — The dead have no sex; they can surprise by no new
miracles ; they can confer no privilege ; Corinna has ceased to
be a woman — she is only an author : and it may be foreseen that
many will repay themselves for former complaisance, by a seve-
rity to which the extravagance of previous praises may perhaps
give the colour of truth. The latest postsri^, for to the latest
posterity they will assuredly descend, will have to pronounce
upon her various productions ; and the longer the vista through
which they are seen, the more accurately minute will be the ob-
ject, the more certain the justice, of the decision. Sho 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 involnnlary wit,
and of easy hospitality, attracted within the friendly circles of
Coppet, should rescue from oblivion those virtues which, al-"
tliough they are. said to love the shade, are, in fact, mow fre-
qaently chilled than excited by the domestic cares of private life.
Some one should be found to portray the unaffected graces with
which she adorned those dearer relationships, the perfon
of whose duties is rather discovered amongst the interic
than seen in the outward management, of family int
■ and which/indoed, it requires the delicacy of genuine aflection
to qualify for tlie eye of an indifferent spectator. Some one
should be found, not to celebrate, but to describe, the amiable
mistress of an open mansion, the centre of a society, ever va-
ried, and always pleased, the cieator of which, divested of the
ambition and the arts of public rivalry, shone forth only to give
fresh animation to those around her. Ths mother tenderly affec-

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APPENDIX.

^ d ly b 1 d tl f d iml d dly g

edh Inblptr falldtr

1 bylh wlimh 1 hd dpt

t d t

i myf
md t h

h
ff
bl

w f
d h d

■7 yf

ted
f th L

h t tibt
lii mp

f
bl L

ra t

pi t th

No. XVI.— Alfjf.pi.
Mgelo's, MJkrVs io»«s."— Stanza liv.

Aliieri Is the great name of this ngs. The Italians, without
■waiting for the hundred years,' consider him as " a poet good in
law." — His memory is the more dear to them because he is the
bard of freedom ; and becaoae, aa such, his tragedies can
reoeive no coonienance from any of their sovereignB. They
are but very seldom, and but very few of Wiem, allowed
to be acted. It was observed by Cicero, that nowhere were
the true opinions and feelings of the Romans so clearly
shown as at the theatre.* In tlie autumn of 1816, a cele-
brated improirviaatore eihihited his talents at the Operas
house of Milan. The reading of the theses handed in for
tlie subjects of his poetry was received by a very numerous au-
dience, for the most part in silence, or with laughter; but when
the assistant, unfolding one of the papers, exciaimed. The apo-
theosis of Fidor JSfieri, the whole theatre burst into a shout, and
the appianse was continued for some moments. The lot did not
Ml on Alfieri ; and the Signer Sgricci had to poar forth his ex-
temporary commonplaces on the bombardment of Algiers. The

• The tiee expteisinn of their hon

Tilius. (he ftienrt of Anlony, presented

pey. Thej did not suffer the hriUiant

memory ttaul (he man who furnished 1

Lhem with (he enlertainnionl hnd mur-

derei lbs son of Pompej : Ihey drore

moral Beiue of n populace, BponUnsi

(he eoldiers of the triuoivin joined In

the e<ecration of tbe citizen., by shoal-

ing roand ths Ehariola of Lepldue aud

Plancua, who had proscribed Ibeli bro-

record, were it Rolhing bu( a good pi

in. [0. Veil. PatetoHll Hial. lib, ii, cap

Ijjiis. pag 78. eilit. Elzevir. 163I1. IHi

IJlb.lLc»p.l>.vii.]

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306 APPENDIX.

choice, indeed, ie not left to accident quite so much as miglit be
thought from a first view of tbe ceremony ; and the police not
only talces care to look at the papers beforehand, bat, in case of
any prudential after-thouglit, steps in to correct the blindness of
clwnce. The proposal for deifying Alfferi was received with
immediate enthusiasm, the rather because it was conjectured
fieiu would be no opportunity of carrying it into effect.

No. XVn, — Machiavklli.
" Sere MadiiavellCa earth relurn'd to whence it t^

The affectation of simplicity in sepulchral inscriptions, whlcb
so often leaves us nncertain whether the stttioture 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-
tentage, of the historian.

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-
cnted, as his life had been, for an attachment to liberty incom-
patible with the new system of despotism which succeeded the
fall of the free governments of Italy, He was pot to the torture
for being a "libertine," that is, for wishing to restore the repub-
lic of Florence ; and such are the undying efforts of tliose who
are interested in the perversion, not only of the nature of actions,
but the meaning of words, that what was once patriotism, has
by degrees come to signify debauch. We have ourselves outlived
the old meaning- of " liberality," which is now another word for
treason in one country and for infatuation in all. It seems t^i
have been a strange mistake to accuse the auflior of " The
Prince," as being a pander to tyranny ; and to think that the In-
quisition would condemn his work foi such a delinquency. The
fact is, that Machiavelli, as is usual with those against whom
no crime can be proved, was suspected of and charged with
athtism; and the fir'it and last most violent opposers of "The

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APPENDIX. 307

Prince" were both .Tusuits, one of whom persuaded the Inquisi-
tion, " benohd fosse tardo," to prohibit the treatise, and the other
quaiiSed the secretary of the Florentine republic as no better
than a fool. The father Posaevin 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 ohjeoted not to
the slavery of the doctrines, but to the supposed tendency of a
lesson which shows how distinct are the interests of a monarch
from the happiness of mankind. The Jesuits are rensstabliahed
in Italy, and the last chapter of "The Prince" may again call
forth a particular refutation from those who are employed once
more in moulding the minds of the rising; generation, so as to
receive the impressions of despotism. The chapter bears for
title, "Esortazione a liberare la Italia dai Barbari," and con-
cludes with a liheriine excitement to the future redemption of
Italy. " Non si deve adunque lasciar passare questa occasione,
acciocch^ la Italia v^ga dopo tanto tempo apparire un suo re-
dentore. Nd posso esprimere con qual amore ei fusse ricevuto
in tuttfl quelle provincie, che haiino patito per queste iUuvioni
esteme, con qual sete di vendetta, con che ostinata fede, con che
lacrime. Quali ports' se 11 seirerebenol Quali'popoli li neg-
herebbonola obbedienaal Quale Italiano li neghcrobba I'osse-

qutol AO OGNUNO PITUZA CIWBSTO BABBARO nOMINIO."*

No. XVIII.~Das

" Vhgraiefal Florence ! Dante sleeps afar.'" — Stanza Ivii,
Dante was born in Florence, in the year 12G1, He fought in
two battles, was fourteen times ambassador, and one* prior of
the republic. When the party of Charles of Anjou triumphed
over ^e Bianohi, he was absent on an embassy to Pope Boni-
face Vin., and was condemned to two years' banishment, and to
a fine of 8000 lire ; on the non-payment of winch he was fur-
ther punished hy the sequestration of all hie property. The re-
public, however, was not content with this satisfaction, for in
1773 was discovered in the archives at Florence a sentence in
which Dante is the eleventh of a list of fifteen condemned in
1303 to be burnt alive; Talis periieniens igne eomhuraUrr sic qvod

* 11 Prineliie dl NlDcnlb Machlnvelli, ftc., con la pieflizioiie t Is nMe talai^ebe

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308 APPENDIX.

mcairdvr. The pretext for this judgment wm a proof of unfeir
barter, estortions, and illicit gfuna. Bm-aclenarum {m'qvarum,
cxtorsioimm ei iUtciUmnii lucrorum,* eod with such an accusation
it is not strange that Dante should have always piotested his in-
nocence, and tiie injustice of his fellow-citizens. His appeal to
Florence was accompanied by another to flie Emperor Henry }
and the death of that soveTeign in 1313 was the signal foi a sen-
tence of irrevocable banishment. He had before lingered near
Tuscany with hopes of 11 th t 11 d to 1 h of

Italy, where Verona hdtb tfh Ig 1 and

he finally settled atR hhwl d ybt not

constant abode until hi d tl Th f al f f h V t a to
grant him a public aud tl p rt f C d N llo da

Polenta, his protector, sa d t I b th p pal use
of this event, which h pp d 13 I H w b d ("in
sacra minorum «de"l t R a, h d m tomb wl ieh

was erected by Guide t d by B m d B mb 1483,

prffitor for that republ wh hhd fedt h hra gain
restored by Cardinal C rs 1G93 d plic d by more

magnificent sepulchre, constructed in 1780 at the eipense of the
Cardinal Luigi Talent! 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 nest age paid
honours almost divine to the exile. The Florentines, having in
vain and frequently attempted to recover bis body, crowned his
image in a church, j" and bis picture is still one of the idols of
their cathedral. They struck medals, tbey raised statues to him.
The cities of Italy, not being able to dispute about his own birth,
contended for that of his great poem ; and the Florentines thought
it for their honour to prove that he had finished the seventh
canto before they drove him from his native city. Fifty-one
years after his death, they endowed a professorial chair for the
expounding of his verses, and Boccaccio was appointed to this
patriotic empioymont. The example was imitated by Bologna
and Pisa, and lie commentators, if they performed but little ser-
vice lo literature, augmented the veneration which beheld a
sacred or moral allegory in all the images of his mystic muse.
His birth and his infancy were discovered to have been distin-

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APPENDIX. 309

giiished above Ihose of ordinary men: the author of the Deca-
meron, his eariiest biographer, relates that his mother was
warned in a dream of the importance of her pregnancy: and it
was found, by others, that at ten years of age he had manifested
his precocious pasaion for that wisdom or theology, which, under
the name of Beatrice, had been mistaken for a substantial mis-
tress. When the Divine Comedy had been recognised as a
mere mortal production, and at the distance of two centuries,
when oriticiam and competition had sobered the judgment of
the Italians, Dante was seriously declared superior to Homer ;*
and though the preference appeared to some casuists "an here-
tical blasphemy worthy of the flames," the contest was vigo-
rously mainlined for nearly fifty years. In later times it was
made a question which of the Lords of Verona could boast of
having patronised him,-f- and the jealous skepticism of one
writer would not allow RaTenna the undoubted possession of
his bones. Even the critical Tiraboschi was inclined to believe
that the poet had foreseen and foretold one of the discoveries of
Galileo. — Like the great originals of other nations, bis popu-
larity has not always, maintained the same level. The last age
seemed inclined to undervalue him as a model and a study : and
Bettinelli one day rebuked his pupil Monti, for poring over the
harsh and obsolete extravagances of the Commedia. The pre-
sent generation having recovered from the Gallic idolatries of
Cesarotlj, has returned to the ancient worship, and tiie Danteg-
giare of the northern Italians is thought even indiscreet by the
more moderate Tuscans.

There is still much curious information relative to tl I f d
writings of tliis great poet, which has .not as yet beei 1! t d
even by the Italians i but the celebrated Ugo Foscoio m d t te
to supply this defect, and it is not to be regretted tha I n
tional work has been reserved for one so devoted to his unt y
and the cause of truth.

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APPENDIX.

No. XIX ^TOMB OF THE SciPiOS.

" Tyi!ce Scipio, buried by the upbraiding sAore ,■

Thy fadione, in their worse than civil war,

Proscribed," ^e. — Stanza Ivii.

The eldet Scipio Africanns, had a tomb if he was not buried

at Liternum, whither he had retired to volunlary banishmeat.

This tomb was near the aea-shore, and the story of an iuBCtiption

upon it, IngraUt Palria, having given a name to a modem lower,

is, if not tiue, an agreeable fiction. If he was not buried, lie

certainly Jived there.*

In cosi angusta e solitaria villa
Kra '1 grand' uomo che d' Africa s' appella
Perche prima col ferro al vivo aprilla.| ^

Ingratitude is generally anpposed the v e p ul a to p b
lies; and it seems to be forgotten that for ne n tan f p pu
lar inconstancy, we have a hundred examples f the fall f
courtly favourites. Beaides, a people ha flen p nted — a
monarch seldom or never. Leaving apart n ny fa 1 p fa
of this fact, a short story may show tiie diff n e b tw n e en
an aristocracy and the multitude.

Vettoi Pisani, having been defeated in 1354 at Portolongo,
and many years afterwards in the mora decisive action of Pola,
by the Genoese, was recalled by the Venetian govarmnent, and
thrown into chains. The Avvogadori proposed to behead him,
bat the supremo tribunal was content with the sentence of im-
prisonment. Whilst Pisani was suffering lliis unmerited dis-
grace, Chioaa, in the vicinity of the capital,^: was, by the as-
sistance of the Signm- of Padua, delivered into the hands of
Pietro Doria. At the intelligence of that disaster, the great bell
of St. Mark's tower tolled to arms, and the people and the sol-
diery of the galleys were summoned to the repulse of the ap-
proaching enemy; but they protested they would not move a
step, unless Pisani were liberated and placed at their head. The
great council was instantly assembled : the prisoner was called
before them, and the Boge, Andrea Contarini, informed him of
the demands of the people, and the necessities of the state,
whose only hope of safe^ was reposed in hiaefforts, and who

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APPENDIX. 311

implored him to forget the indignities he had endured in her ser-
vice. " I have auhmitted," replied the magnanimous republican,
"I have Bubmitted to your deliberations without complaint; I
have supported patiently the pains of imprisonment, for they
were inflicted at your command ; this is no time to inquire whe-
ther I deeerred them — the good of the republic may have seemed
to require it, and that which lie republic resolves is always re^
salved wisely. Behold me ready to lay down my life for the
preservation of my country." Pisani was appointed generalis-
simo, and by his exertions, in conjunction with those of Carlo
Zeno, the Venetians soon recovered the ascendancy over their

The Italian communities were no Jess unjust to tlieir citizens
tlian the Greek repnblics. Liberty, both wilh the one and the
other, seems to have been a national, not an individual object!
and, notwithstanding the boasted egualily before ihe laws, which
an ancient Greek writer* considered the great distinctive mark
between his countrymen and the barbarians, the mutual rights of
fellow-citiaens seem never to have been the principal scope of the
old democracies. The world may have not yet seen an essay
by tJie author of the Italian Republics, in which the distinction
between the liberty of former states and Ae signification al>-
tached to that word by the happier constitution of England, is
ingeoionsly developed. The Italians, however, when they had
ceased to be free, still looked back with a sigh upon those limes
of turbulence, when every citizen might rise to a share of sovereign
power, and have never been taught fully to appreciate the repose
of a monarchy. Sperone Speroni, when Francis Maria IT. Duke
of Rovere proposed the question, "Which was preferable, the
republic or the principality — the perfect and not durable, or the
less perfect and not so liable to change," replied, " That our hap-
piness is U> be measured by its quality, not by its duration ; and
that he preferred to live for one day like a man, than for a hun-
dred years like a brute, a stock, or a stone." This was thoug-hl,
and called, a magnijtcent answer, down to the last days of ItaliP.n
servitude. ■]■

la iaoBdiiat. See lh« Inst cbaptcr of Ibe Stu
iU^"&c. SeTBBBl, Vita del Tbsso, lib. ilL pas.

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APPENDIX.

No. SX. — Peteahch's Crown.

"And the crown
Which Felrarch's /aureale brow supremeli/ wore.
Upon afar and foreign soil had grown,'" — Stanza lirii.
The IJ'Iorenlines lUd not take the opportunity of Petrarclia
short visit to their city in 1350, to revoke tiie decree which con-
fiscated the property of his fether, wlio had been banished shortly
after tlie exile of Dante. His crown did not dazzle them; but
when in the next year they were in want of his assistenee in the
formation of their uniTersity, they repented of their injustice, and
Boccaccio was sent to Padua to entreat the laureate to conclude
his wanderings in the bosom of his native country, where he
might liuish his inanorlal Jlfrica, and enjoy, with his recovered
possessions, the esteem of all classes of his fellow^itizeus.
They gave him the option of the hook and the science he might
condescend to expound; they called him the glory of his country,
who was dear, and who would be dearer to them; and they
added, that if there was any thing unpleasing in their letter, he
ought to return amongst them, were it only to correct their
style.* Petrarch seemed at first to listen to the flattery and to
the entreaties of liis friend, but he did not retnm to Florence, and
preferred a pilgrimage to the tomb of Laura and the shades of
Vaucluse.

No. XXI. — Boccaccio.

Boccaccio was buried in the church of St. Michael and St.
James, at Certaldo, a small town in the Valdelsa, which was by
some supposed the place of his birth. There he passed the latter
part of his life inacourseof laborious study, which shortened his
existence ; and there might his ashes have been secure, if not of
honour at least of repose. But the "hyena bigots" of Certaldo

• "AcelnglliinnoUro.aecI* leciioancor 1' csnrlartt, a compltc I' immortal

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APPENDIX. 313

lure 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 escuae, of this ejectment was the making of a
new floor for the church ; bat the fact is, that the tombstone was
taken up and thrown aside at the bottom, of 1 b Id g Ign
ranee may share the sin with bigotry. It w Id b pal i 1 t
relate such an esception to the devotion of th I 1 an f 1
great names, could it not be accompanied bj trait re h
ably conformable to the general character f th t Th

principal person of the district, the last bra h f h h f

Medicia, afforded that protection to the mei ry t th It d

dead which her best ancestors had dispensed p II mp

rary merit. The Marchioness Lenaoni rese dth tomb t f
Boccaccio from the neglect in which it had mid
found for it an honourable elevation in her m Sh

has done more ; the house in which the poe 1 d has been as
little respected as his tojnb, and is falling to ru th h d

of one indifferent to the name of its farmer to t I ts f

two or three little chambers, and a low tower, on whioh Cosmo
II. afiixed an inscription. This house she has talten measures
to purchase, and proposes to devote to it that care and oonsi.
deration which are attached to the cradle and to tlie roof o^
genius.

This is not lie place to undertake the defence of Boccaccio ;
but the man who exhausted Ms 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 tothebosom of Italy;
— who not only invented a new style, hut founded, oi certtdnly
fixed, a new language ; who, besides the esteem of every polite
court of Europe, was thought worthy of employment by the pre-
dominant republic of his own country, and, what is more, of the
friendship of Petrarch; who lived the life of a philosopher and a
freeman, and who died in the pursuit of knowledge, — such aman
might have found more consideration than he has met with from
the priest of Certaldo, and from a En ra h

striltes off his portrait as an od mp b ti u3

writer, whose impure remains sho ild b ff d w

a record.* That English travelle un rt n y hos wh

p. 35a, edit. ad. "Of Boccaccio, the modern
is« of genius is mors odious and more con-
mpoila iilUe where [be Impure remains of a
their kindred dusi. For Ibe same reason

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APPENDIX.

o deplore the loss of a very amiable person, is beyond all
Ti ; but the mortality which did not protect Boccacio Troii)
Mr. Eustace, must not defend Mr. Eustace from the impartial
Judgment of hia auccessors. Death may canonise hie virtues, not
his errors ; and it may be modestly pronounced that he trans-
gressed, not only aa an author, but as a man, when he evolied the
shade of Boccaccio in company of that of Aretine, amidst the
Bcpulebres of Santa Crooe, merely to dismiss it with indignity.
As far as respects

"H flagello de' Principi,
II divin Pietro Atetino,"
it is of little import what censure is passed upon a coxcomb who
owes his present existence to theaboveburlesqae 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 aahes, must of itself make us doubt of
the qualihcalion 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 unsate
director on all occasions. Any perversion and injustice may be
made what is vulgarly called "a case ofconseience," and this poor
X i all that can be offered for the priest of Certaldo, or the
at! f h Classical Tour. It would have answered the pur-
pose to nflne Ihe censure to the novels of Boccaccio ; and
grati ud hat source which supplied the muse of Dryden with
h and most harmonious numbers might, perhaps, have

ted h t censure to Uie objecdonable ([ualitiea of the hun-
d d ta a At any rate, the repentance of Boccaccio might have
arrested his exhumation, and it should have been recollected and
told, that in his old age he wrote a letter entreating his friend to
discourage llie reading of the Decameron, for the sake of modesty,
and for the salte of the author, who would not have an apologist
always at hand to state irthia eieusethathe wrote it when young,
and at Hie command of his superiors.* It ia neither the licen-

Ihe ttafeller may pass nnnoliced the lomli of the mnlignanl Arellno." This
dnbioua phrase ia hardly enough lo aave the lourlsl from the suspicion of on-
other blunder respecting ibe burial-place of Areiino, nhDee lomb was In the
cliurth of SI. Lnke at Venice, and gave rise to Ihe famoiia conltoTersy of
whtchmmBnoIicala laken In Bayle. Now Ihe words of Mr. Eustace wonld
lead us to thinl: the lomb was al Florence, or at least was lobe some iviiere re-
coginsed. Whether Ihe inscription so much disputed was oser written on the

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APPENDIX. 315

a of tlie writer, nor the evil propensities of tlie reader,
which have given to tiie Decameron alone, of all the works of
Booeaiicio, a perpetual popularity. The establishment of a new
and delightful dialect conferred an iiwmorlality on the works in
which it was first fixed. The sonnets of Petraroli were, for the
same reason, fated to survive his self-admired Africa, the " fa-
vourite of tings." The invariable trails of nature and feeling
v/ish which the novels, ■as well as the verses, abound, have doubt-
less been the chief source of the foreign celebrity of both authors ;
but Boecaocio, as a man, is no more to be estimated by Ihatwork,
than Petrarch is to he r^arded in no other light ihan as the iover
of Laura. Even, however, had the father of the Tuscan prose
been known only as tbe author of the Decameron, a considerate
writer would have been cautious to pronounce a sentence irrecon-
cilable with the unerring voice of many ages and nations. An
irrevocable value has never been stamped upon any work solely
recommendeiJ by impurity.

The true source of the outcry against Boccaccio, which began
at a very early period, was the choice of his scandalous person-
ages in the cloisters as well as the courts ; but the princes only
laughed at the gallant adventures so unjustly charged upon queen
Theodelinda, whilst the priesthood cried shame upon the de-
bauches drawn from the convent and the hermitage ; and most
probahly for the opposite reason, namely, that the picture was
faithful to the life. Two of the novels are allowed to he facW
usefully turned into tales to deride the canonization of rogues and
laymen. Ser piappelletto and Marceilinus are cited with applause
even by the decent Muratori.* Thogreat Amaud,asheisquoted
in Bayle, states, that a new edition of the novels was proposed,
of which the expurgation consisted in omitting the words
"monk" and "nun," and tacking the immoralities to other names.
The literary history of Italy particularizes no such edition ; but
it was not long before the whole of Europe had hot one opinion
of the Decameron ; and the absolution of the author seems to have
been a point settled at least a hnndred years ago. " On se feroit
siffler si Ton pretendoit convaincre Boccace de n'avoir paa etc
honnetehomme, puis qu'ilafaitle Decameron." So said ono
'if the best men, and perhaps the best critic that ever lived — the

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316 APPENDIX.

veiy martyr to impartiality.* Bnt as this information, that in the
beginning of the last centaiy, one would have been hooted at for
[irGteiiding that Boccaccio was not a good man, may seem to come
from one of those enemies who are to be suspected, even when
thej 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 patriotie contempo-
rary, who thought one of the tales of this impure writer worthy a
Latin version from his own pen. "I have remarked elsewhere,"
says Petrarch, writing to Boccaceio, "that the book itself has
been wonied hy certain dogs, hut stoutly defended byyour staff
and voice. Nor was I astonished, for I have had proof of ti^e
vigoM of your mind, and I know you have fallen on that unac-
commodating, incapable race of mortals, who, whatever they
either likenot, or know not, or cannot do, are sure to reprehend in
others ; and on those occasions only put on a show of learning
gnd eloquence, but otherwise are entirely dumb."*

It is satisfactory to find that all the priesthood do not resemble
those of Certaldo, and that one of them who did not possess the
bones of Boccaccio would not lose the opportunity of raising a
cenotaph to his memory. Bevius, canon of Padua, at the begin-
ning of the sixteenth century, erected at ArquJl, opposite to the
tomb of the Laureate, a tablet, in which he associated Boc
to the equal honours of Dante and of Petrarch.

No. XXII The Mkdici.

" What is her pyramid iif precious stones?" — Stanza Ix.

Our veneration for the Medici be^ns with Cosmo, and expires
with his grandson ; that stream is pure only at the source ; and
it is in search of some memorial of the virtuous republicans of the
family, that we visit the church of St, Lorenzo at Florence. The
tawdry, glaring, unfinished chapel in thatchurch, 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, whilstlhe pavement slab, simply
inscribed to the lather of his country, reconciles us to the name

* Eclnircissemeia, &c. &c, p. 633, edit. Daale, 1741, in tbe Suppleicent to Dayle's

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APPENDIX. 317

of Mediei.* It was very natural for Coriiinaf to suppose that the
statue taised to tie Duke of Urhino in the eamlla de' rfeposiVi 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 Tascany 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 Mthfiil picture. " Notwithstanding all the sedi-
tions of Florence, and other cities of Tuscany, the horrid factions
of Guelphs and Ghibelios, Neri and Bianohi, nobles and com-
mons, they continued populous, strong, and exceeding rich; but
in the space of less than a hundred and fifty years, the peaceable
reign of the Medices is said to have destroyed nine parts in ten
of the people of that province. Amongst other things, it is re-
markable, that when Philip II. of Spain gave Sienna to the Duko
of Florence, his ambassador then at Rome sent him word, that he
had given away more than 65,000 subjects; and it is not believed
there are now 30,000 souls inhabiting that city and territory.
Pisa, Pistoia, Arezzo, Cortona, and other towns, that were then
good and populous, are in the like proportion diminished, and
Florence more than any. When that city had beenlong^ troubled
with seditions, tumults, and war, for the most part unprosperous,
they still retained such strength, that when Charles VIII. of
France, being admitted as a friend with his whole army, which
soon after conquerod the kingdom of Naples, thought to master
them, the people, taking arms, struck such a terror tnlo him, that
he was glad to depart upon such conditions as they thought iitto
impose. Machiarel reports, that in tJiat time Florence alone,
with the Val d'Arno, a small territory belonging to that city,
could, in a few hours, by the sound of a hell, bring togetlicr
135,000 well-armed men ; whereas now that city, with all the
others in the province, are brought to sueh despicable weakness,
emptiness, poverty, and basensss, that they can neither resist ^e
oppression of their own prince, nor defend him or themselves if
they were assaulted by a foreign enemy. The people are dis-
persed or destroyed, and the bestfarailiesBentto seek habitations
in Venice, Genoa, Rome, Naples, and Lucca. This is not tbi>
effect of war or pestilence : they enjoy a perfect peace, and suffer
no other plague than the government they are undor."^: From

* CfoEinus Maiiicea, Decrsto PuhliM, Piler PalrlB,

t On Gll¥e'rllme^^ chap. ii.BcM. s*vi. pag, 309, edit. 1751. Sidney is,logetbor

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318 APPENDIX.

the usurper Cosmo down to the imbecile Gaston, we look In vain
for any of those unmised cjualities which should raise a patriot to
the command of liis fellow citiaens. The grand dukes, and par-
ticularly the third Cosmo, had operated so entire a change in the
Tuscan character, that the candid Fiorentines, in excuse for
aoQie imperfections in the philanthropic system of Leopold, are
obli"cd to confess that the sovereign was the only liheral man in
his dominions. Yet that excellent prince himself had no olhei
notion of a national assembly, tlian of a body to represent the
wants and wishes, not the will, of the people.

"Jn earihguahe reel'd utihecde^i/ away." — Stanza Isiii.

"And such was their mutual animosity, so intent were they
upon the battle, that the earthquake, which overthrew in great
part many of the cides of Italy, which turn d the coo ae of rap d
streams, poured back the sea upon the rivLrs nd tore down the
very mountains, was not felt by one of the combata ts * Such
ia the description of Liry. It may be doubted whe he mode n
tactics would admit of such an abstraction

The site of the battle of Thrasiraene is rot to be m t ke
The traveller from the village under Cortom to Ca a d P an
the next stage on the way to Home, has for the first two or tliree
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. Onhis 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 atOssaja, a village which the
itineraries preterid to have been so denominated from the bonea
found there : but there have been no bonea found there, and the
battle was fought on the other aide of the hill. From Ossaja
the road be^ns to rise a little, but does not pass into the roots of
the mountains until the sixty-seventh milestone from Florence.
The ascent thence is not steep but perpetual, and continues for
twenty minutes. The lake is soon seen below on the right, with
Horghette, a round tower, close upon the water ; and the undui.

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APPENDIX. 319

lating hills partially covered with wood, amongst which the road
winds, sink by degrees into the maishea near to Ihia tower.
Lower than the road, down to the right of these woody hillocliS,
Hannibal placed his horae* in the jaws cf, or rather ahove the
pass, which was between the lake and thepresent road, and most
probably close to Borghelto, just under the lowest of the
" tmttuU,"f On a snmmit to the left, ahove the road, is an old
circular ruin, which the peasants call "the tower of Hannibal the
Carthaginian." Arrired 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 enclosed to the left, and in front, and behind, by the
Gualandxa hills, bending round in a. segment larger than a semi'
circle, and running down at each end to the lake, which obliques
to the right, and forms the chord of the mountain arc. The posi-
tion eannot he giiessed at from the plains of Oortona, nor appears
to be EO completely enclosed unless to one who is fairly within
the hills. It then, indeed, appears "a place made as it were on
purpose for a snare," focus insidiia natus, " Borghetto is then
found to stand in a narrow marshy pass close to the hill, and to
the lake, whilst there is no oliier outlet at the opposite turn of
the mountains tJiac 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 j
into the upper end of tiie plain nearer to the side of P
and on this stands a white viilagecalled Torre. Polyhius seems
to allude to this eminence as the one on which Hannibal en-
camped, and drew out hia heavy-armed Africans and Spaniards
in aconspioiioiis position.^: From this spot he despatohed hia
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 die pass behind. Flaminius came to the lake
near Borghetto at sunset ; and, without sending any spies hefore
him, marched through the pass the next morning before the day
had quits broken, so that he perceived nothing of the horse and
light troops above and about him, and saw only the heavy-armed

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320 APPENDIX.

Oartha^niana in front on the hill of Torre. The consul began
to draw out his army in tliB flat, and in tlie rncan time the horse
in ambush occupied tliepass behind him atBorghetto. Thus the
Romans were completely enclosed, having the lake on tJie right,
the main army on the hill of Torre in front, the Gualandra hills
tilled tvith the light-armed on their left ilank, and being pre-
vented from receding by the cavalry, who, the farther tliey ad-
vanced, stopped up all the oatlcCs in the rear. A fog rising
from the lake now spread itself over the army of the consul, but
the liigh lands were in the snnshiue, andall the different corps in
ambush looked toward the hill of Torre for the order of attaclt.
Hannibal gave the signal, and moved down froni his post on the
heiglit. At the same moment all his troops on the eminences
behind and in the flank of Flaminiua rushed forward as it were
with one accord into the plain. The Romans, who were forming
their array in the mist, suddenly hoard the shouts of the enemy
amongst them, on every side, and before they could fall into their
ranlcs, or draw their swords, or see by whom they were attacked,
felt at once that they were surrounded and lost.

There ate two little rivulets which run from the Gualandra into
the lake. The traveller crosses the first of these at about a mile after
he comes into the plain, and this divides the Tuscan from the
papal territories. The second, about a quarter of a mile further
on, is calleiT" 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 sceneof slaughter. The other
part of the plain is covered with thick-set olive-trees in corn
grounds, and is nowhere quite level except near the edge of the
lake. It is, indeed, most probable that the battle was fought neai
this end of the valley, for the six thoasand Romans, who, at the
beginningof the action, broke through the enemy, escaped to the
snnimit of an eminence which must have been in this quarter,
otherwise they would have had to traverse the whole plain, and
to pierce flirough the main army of Hannibal.

The Romans fought desperately for three hours ; hut tlie death
of Plaminius was the signal for a general dispersion. The Car-
thaginian horsa then burst in upon the fugitives, and the lake,
the marsh about Borghetto, but chiefly the plain of the San-
giiinetto 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

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APPENDIX. 331

Every district of Italy has its hero. Id tlie noitli some painter
is the usual genius of the place, and the foreign Julio Romano
mbro thaii divides Mantm with lier native Vir^l.* To the south
we hear of Roman names. Near Thrasimeno tradition ia still
faithful to the fame of an enemy, and Hannibal the Carthaginian
is the only ancient name remembered on the banks of tbePerugian
lake. Flaminius is unknown ; bat the postilions on that road
liave been taught to show the very spot where 11 Vonsiih Romano
wasalain. Of all who fought and fell in thfihattleofThrasimene,
the historian himself has, besides the generals and Mahacbai,
preserved indeed only a single name. You overtake the Car-
thaginian again on the same road to Rome, The antiquary, that
is, the hostler of the post-house at Spoleto, tells you that his town
xepulsad the victorious enemy, and shows you the gate still called
Porta di Annibak. It ia hardly worth while to remark liat a
French travel writer, well known by the name of the President
Dupaty, saw Thrasimene in the lake of Bolsena, which lay con-
veniently on his way from Sienna to Rome.

No. XXIV. SliTUE OF PoMPEV.

^^And thou, dread statue ! still existent in
The austerest form of naked majesty." — Stanza Ixxxvii.

The projected division of the Spada Pompey has already been
recorded by the historian of the Decline and Pall of the Roman
Empire. Mr. Gibbon found it in the memorials of Flaminius
Vacea; and it maybe added to his mention of it, that Pope
Julius III. gave the contending owners five hundred crowns for ,
the statue, and presented it to Cardinal Capo di Ferro, who had
prevented the judgment of Solomon from being executed upon
the image. In a more civilized age this statue was exposed to an
actual operation : for tiie French, who acted the Biutus of
Voltaire in the Ooliseam, resolved that their Cfesar should fall at
tlie base of that Pompey, which was supposed to have been
sprinkled with the blood of the ori^nal dictator. The nine-foot
hero was therefore removed to the arena of the amphitheatre, and,
to facilitate its transport, suifered the temporary amputation of its

g. SM. Paris, isn.

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339 APPENDIX.

Tight arm. The republican tragedians had to plead that the arm
was a restoration ; but their accusers do not believe that the inle-
grity of the statue would have protected it. The love of finding
every coincidence has discovered the true Ctesarian ichor in a stain
near the right knee; but colder criticism has rejected not only the
blood, but the portr^t, and assigned the globe of power rather to
the first of the emperors than to the last of the republican masters
of Rome. Winkeimann* is loath to allow an heroic statue of a
Roman citizen, bnt the Grimani Agrippa, a contemporary almost,
is heroic; and naked Roman iigares were only very rare, not
absolutely forbidden. The face accords much better with the
"hominem integrum et, castum et gravem,"! tlianwithany of the
busts of Augustus, and is too stern for him who was beautiful,
says Suetonius, at all periods of his life. The pretended likeness
to Alexander the Great cannot be discerned, but the traits re-
semble the medal of Pompey.^t'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 tiiat Winkeimann 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-
eovered.5 Flaminius Vacoa says ml/o una canlina, and tiiis
cantina is laiown to have been in the Vicolo de' Leutari, near
the Cancellaria; a position corresponding exactly to that of
the Janus before the basilica of Pompey's theatre, to which
Augustus transferred the statuo after the curia was either burnt
or taken down.|| Part of the Pompeian shade, die portico, ex-
isted in thebeginningof thefifteenth century, and theaWuiii was
called Satrum, So says Blond us. Atall events, so imposing ia
the stern majesty of the statue, and so memorable is the story,
that theplay of the imagination leaves no room fortheexerc'
the judgment; and the fiction, if a fiction it is, operates o
spectator with an eSect not less powerful than truth.

l.&c,
Alii'

isr'"

„.».,»..„,«.

i.,ic

.l.«t.O,J.l»,,,

Ho,t,db, Google

APPENDIX.

No. XXV.— The 1

Ancient Rome, like modern Sienna, abounded most probably
with imagea of the foster-mother of hec foander ; bat there tvera
two she-wolves, of whom history makes particular mention. One
of these, of brass in ancient work, was seen by Dionysius* at the
templeof Romulus, under the Palatine, and is nniversally believed
to be that mentioned by the Latin historian, as havingheen made
from the money collected by a fine on usurers, and as standing
under the Enmvnal figtree.j- The other was that which Cicero:^
has celebrate.d both in prose and verse, and which the historian
Dion also records as having suffered the same accident as is
alluded to by the orator.§ The question agitated by the anti-
quaries is, whether the wolf now in the Conservator's Palace is
that of Livy and Dionysius, or that of Cicero, or whether it is
neither one nor the other. The earlier writers differ as inach ap
(he moderns; Lucius Faunu3|] says, that it is the one alluded to
by both, which is impossible, and also by Vii^il, which may be.
Fulvius UrsinusTT calls it ^e wolf of Dionysius, and Marlianus**
talks of it as the one mentioned by Cicero. To him Rycquius
tremblingly assents. '(■■j" Nardini is inclined tosuppose itmaybe
one of the many wolves preserved in ancient Eome ; but of the

Que luni cum piieiJs flaminslo rulminls let
Conddll, Htque aviilsa pedum vestigia llqual.

De Conaulaiu, lib, it. (lib. t. ds Divinatrcap, ii.)
} DiDD. Hilt. lib. xixvii. p. 37. edit. Rab. Steph. 1948.
I Luc. Paani de Antlq. Uib. Rom. lib, il, cap. Tit. sp. 9nllen;re, tam.
p. SIT.
1, Ap. Nardloi, Roma Velua, I, v. c. i».
»• Matliani Utb. Ilora. Topograph, lib, ii. cop, li,
(t-liM. Bycqull de Oapil, Roman. Comni. cap. isW. pag, 250, edil. Lug

Sal. lags.

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APPENDIX.

I rather bends to the Ciceronian statue.* Montfani;oti|
itfona it aa a point without doubt,— Of the later writcis the
decisive Winhelmann:}: proclaims it aa having been found at th^
church of Saint Theodore, wheie, or near where, was the temple
of Rom^luB, and con q ntly m ' h w If of Dionysius.
His authority is Luc P n wh h nly says that it

toas placed, aoifowid F R al by the Comitium,

by which he does r se n d h hurch of Saint

Theodore. Rycqnia waa h fi mak e mistake, and

Winkelinann followed By q

Flaminius Vacca t s q d y and says he had

heard the wolf with the twins was fonridj neat the arch of
Septimias Severua. The commentator on Winhelmann 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
stenck with lightning in the capito!, makes nse of the past tense.
But, with the Abate'sleave,Nardini does notpositively assert the
statue to be that mentioned by Cicero, and, if he had, the as-
sumption would not perhaps have been so exceedingly indiscreet.
The Abate is himself obliged to own that there are marks very
like the scathing of lightning in the hinder legs of the present
wolf; and, to get rid of this, adds, that the wolf seen by Dio-
nysius might have been also struck by lightning, or otherwise
injured.

Let Ds ejcamine the subject by a reference to the words of
Cicero. The orator in two places seems to particularize the
Romulus and the Remus, especifdly the first, which hia audience
remembered to have been in the Capitol, as being struck with
lightning. In his verses he records that the twins and wolf both
fell, and that the latter left behind the marks of her feet. Cicero
does not say that the wolf was consumed : and Dion only mentions
that it fell down, without alluding, as the Abate had made him,
to the force of the bloB', or the firmness widi 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 fliat the phrase only shows that the
statue was not then standing in its former position. Winkelmann

* Nardlnl, Homo VelUB, Ub. v. cap, Iv.

t DLarlnn Italic. lom. t. p. IT4.

X Btoria della Arti, &c. lib. iu. cop. iii. a. n. note 10. Wtiiketmnmi has mside

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APPENDIX. 335

has observed that the present twins are modem; and it is equally
cleat that there are marks of gilding on the wolf, wliich might
therefore he supposed to make pnrt of the ancient group. It is
known that the sacred images of the Capitol were not destroyed
when injured hy time or accident, bntwere put into certain under-
ground depositories, called /initssa!.* It maybe Ihooght possible
Siat the wolf had been so deposited, and had been replaced in
some conspicuous situation when the Capitol was rebuilt by
Vespasian. Bycquius,withoutmentioninghia authority, tells that
it was transferred from the Comitinm 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
deeisiye proof; and that circnmstance induced Winkelmann to
believe it the wolf of Dionysius. The Capitoline wolf, however,
may have been of the same early date as that at the temple of
Romulus. Laclantius:^ asserts that in his time the Romans
worshipped a wolf; and it is known that the Lupercaliaheld out
to a very late period^ after every other observance of the ancient
superstition had totally expired. This may account for the pre-
servation of the ancient image longer than any other early
symbols of Paganism.

It may be permitted, however, to remark, that the wolf was a
Roman symbol, but that the worship of that symbol is an in-
ference drawn by the aeal of Lactantiua, The early Christian
writers are not to be trusted in the charges which they make
against the Pagans. Euscbius accused the Romans to their faces
of worshipping Simon Magos, and raising a statue to him in the
island of the Tyber. The Romans had probably never heard of
soch a person before, who came, however, to play a considerable,
s part in the church history, and has left several

* L„c. Fa

un. ibid

f See not

miiiBt

t"BQinu

li nutrl. Lu

pa hono

tlbDS est

lnls,elferrBm,a

ipaum ftilBB

et,™)n,

Sfigl

il." LuM

aDl.dt

iFalM

iRBlielone,Ub.i

pag. 101. eail. VHrir

hE WD

t, ptoslitule

IBB obsen

opinion of Uvyi

iogtaureni

lift belnj

?Dgi

ired ill I

bia wotf

BO. Rycqu

iuaisw

tnsayfi.

B llill Lai

iiamm

smai

ilionslhBwolfw

I Bdhuc ItoiDiB 3d GelasI) tROii:

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330 APPENDIX.

tokens of his aerial combat with St. Peter at Rome; notwith-
standtng that an inscription found in this very island of theTyber
showed the Simon Magns of Eosebius to be a certain indigenal
god called Semo Sangus of Fidins.*

Even when the worship of the founder of Rome had been
abandoned, it was thoaght espedient to humour the habits of the
good matrons of the city, by sending them. -with their sick infanta
to the church of Saint Theodore, as they had before carried them
to the temple of Romulus.-]- The practice is continued to this
day : and the site of the above church seems to be thereby
identified with that of the temple ; so that if the wolf had been
really found there, as Winkchnann says, there would be no doubt
of the present statue being- that seen by Dionysius. ButFaunus,
in. saying- that it was at IheFicus RuminalisbytheComitium, is
only talking ofils ancient position as recorded by Piiny; and even
if he had been remarking where it was found, would not hare
alluded to the church of Saiiit Theodore, but to a very different
place, near which it was then thought the Ficua Ruminalis had
been, and also the Coraitium ; that is, the three columns by the
church of Santa Maria Liberatrioe, at the corner of the Palatine
looking oa-the Fonira.

It is, in fact, a mere conjecture where the image was aetnally
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 he adduced for the contrary
opinion. At any rate, it is reasonably selected in the text of the
poem as one of the most interesting relics of the ancient city,t
and is certainly the figure, if not the very animal to which Vii^
alludes in his beaulifnl verses : —

" Geminos huic ubera circurn
Ludere pendentes pueros, et lambere malrem
Impavidos : iliam tereti cervice reflexam
Mulcere alternos, et corpore fingcre linguJi.J

^1<

3i. Hist lib. iLwp.iill.

,p.40.

!dn Martyr '

hod told

tlie story befbre

nina himself was obUgi

.(hialklilo.

!Hp. rii.

e i[E. (tipa, accural^

nttt

e,&c.di

Roma Modetni

BJiIolf. VennH. 1786.

.[ua,Ub. lU cap. iS, giv

CapiB

ind in the n

nol

time oi

FAn

v11i.fl31. See Dt. MLddleton,

iiil

lis Latter fri

>m Konii

B,nba inclines 1

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APPENDIX.
No. XSVI.— JuMus C^

It is possible to be a very great man and to be stiliverj inferior
to Julius Cesar, the most complete character, so Lord Baoon
thought, of all antiquity. Nature seems incapable of such extra-
ordinary combinations as composad his versatile capacity, whioh
was the wonder even of the Romans themselves. The first gene-
ral — the only triumphant politician — inferior lo none in eloquence
— comparable to any in the attainments of wisdom, in an age
made up of the greatest commanders, statesmen, orators, and
philosophers that ever appeared in the world — an author who
composed a perfect specimen of military annals in his travelling
carriage — at one time in a controversy with Cato, at another
writing a treatise onpunning.andcollecting'asetof good sayings
— fighting and making love at the same moment, and willing to
abandon both !iis empire and his mistress' for a sight of the
Fountains of the Nile. Such did Julius Czesar appear to his
contemporaries and to tiioseof 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, liis amiable qualities, as to forget the
decision of his impartial countrymen : —

No. XXVIf— EoKRiA.
" Egeria, svieet creation nf some /leart

Wkith found no mortal resiing-place so fair
Ss thine idea! hreasi." — Stanza cxv.

The respectable authority of Ftaminius Vacca would incline us
to believe in the claims of the Egerian grotto.-f He assures id

cap. «:J add wHLch was contloued in Ihn l^e*! judgmeni
lable taomtciiies, such ns kUling hous«!)reakets. Sen Sue
I. with ttae coHiinencar; of Pitiecus. p. 161.
iarie,&c ap. Nardlnl, pag. 13. lie does nolglie the inst

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338 APPENDIX.

that he saw an inscription in the pavement, stating that the
fonntain was that of Egeria, dedicated to the nymphs.' The
insoriptioii is not there at this day ; but MontfaaQon quotes two
lines* of Ovid tioni a stone in tjie Villa Giuatiniani, which he
seems to think had been bTonght from the same grotto.

This grotto and valley were formerly frequented in summer,
and particularly the first Sunday in May, hj the modem Romans,
who attached a salubrious q^viality to the fountain, which trickles
from an orifice at the holtora of the vault, and, overflowing
the little pools, creeps down the matted gnws into the brook
below. The brook is the Ovidian Almo, whose name and quali-
ties axe 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 rufiiiraof adjoin-
ing land.

There can be little donht that this long dell is the Egerian
valley of Juvenal, and the pausing-place of Umbritius, notwith-
standing the generality of hLs 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 he too considerable, unless we were to believe in
the wild conjecture of Vossius, who makes that gate travel from
its present station, where he pretends it was during the reign of
the kings, as far as the Arician grove, and then makes it recede
to its old site with the shrinking city.j- The tufo, or pumice,
which the poet prefers to marble, is the substance composing the
bank in which the grotto is sunk.

The modem topographers^: find in the grotto the statue of the
nymph, and nine niches for^the Muses ; and a late travener§ has
discovered that the cave is restored to that simplicity which the
poet regretted had been exchanged forinjudicious ornament. But
the headless statue is palpably rather a male than a nymph, and

dralus Bol

'Bgcrin est qua priebet aqoBS dea

uefiiit.'

i lapis virlotur eoacm Egeriie finite, am ajuB

iiimnllHtic.ii. 1S3,

: Echinatd, Descrizione ril Roma e dell' Agri

nail, in RoniB. 1150. They believe in Ihe gri

luexo fonte. osaendovl SHilpile le acque a pi(

idicesa."

■ ClaEBioil Tour, chap. vl. p. 317. vol. ii.

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APPENDIX. 339

has none of the attributes ascribed to it at present visiWe. The
nine Muses could hardly have stood in six niches ; and Juvenal
certainly does not allude to any indiridual eave.* Nothing can
be collected from the satiiist but that somewhere near the Porta
Capena was a spot in which it was supposed Numa held nightly
consultations widi his nymph, and where there was a grove and
a sacred Founlatn, and fanes once consecrated to the Muses ; and
that from this spot there was a descent into the valley of Egexia,
where were several artiHoial caves. It is clear that the statues
of the Muses made no part of the decoration which the satirist
thought misplaced in these caves ; for he expressly assigns other
fanes (delubra) to these divinities above the valley, and moreover
tells us that they had been ejected to make room for the Jews.
Infact, the little temple, now called that of Baeohus, was formerly
thought to belong to the Muses, and Nardinif places them in a
poplar gtove, which was in his time above the valley.

It is probable, from the inscription and position, that the cave
now shown may be one of the "artificial caverns," of which,
indeed, there is another a little way higher up the valley, under
a tuft of alder hushes : 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 hanks of tiie Thames.

Oar English Juvenal was not seduced into mistranslation by
his acquaintance with Pope : ho carefully preserves the correct

" Thence slowly winding down the vale, we view
The Egerian grofa.- oh, how unlike the true!"

The valley abounds with springs,:]: and over these springs,
which the Muses might haunt from tiieir 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 tanght to flow.

The whole of the monuments in the vicinity of the Egerian
valley have received names at will, which have been changed at
will. Venuti§ owns he can see no traces of the temples of Jove,
Saturn, Juno, Venus, and Diana, which Nardini found, or hoped
1^1 lind. The mutatoriiim of Caracalla's circus, the temple of

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SSO APPENDIX.

Honour and Virtue, the temple of Bacchus, and, above all, the
1«mple of the god Rcdiculus, aro the antiquaries' despair.

Tlie circus of Caracalla depends on a medal of that emperor
cited hy Fulvias Ureiuus, of which the rererse shows a circus,
supposed, however, by some to represent the Circus Masimus.
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
stnicture at the end of the Spina, which was probably tie chapel
of the god Census. This cell is half beneath the soil, as it must
have been in the circus itself; for Dionysiua* could not be per-
suaded to believe that this divinity was the Roman Neptune,
because his altar was under ground.

No. XXVIIL— The Roman Nemesis.

" Great Ncmsais!
Here, vihire Ihe a«cient paid tiKt homage long,"

Stanza cxsxii.

We read in Suetonius, that Augustus, from a warning received
in adream.-f counterfeited, once a year, the beggar, sittingbefore
the gate of his palace with his hand hollowed and stretched out
for charity. A statue formerly in the villa Borghese,and which
should be now at Paris, represents the emperor in that posture
of supplication. The object of this self-degradation was the
appeasement of Nemesis, the perpetual attendant on good fortune,
of whose power the Roman conquerors were also reminded by
certain symbols attached to their cars of triumph. The symbols
were the whip and the crolalu, which were discovered in the
Nemesis of ^e Vatican. The attitude of beggary made the above
statue pass for that of Belisarius: and until the criticism of
Winlielmann:): had rectified the mistake, one fiction was called

etanmeler or this cleil^. The bollaw
degradation; iinil when the dead hodj
Inttinmph by the people, the indi^ily

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APPENDIX. ?3l

in tt> support another. It was the same fear of the sudden termi-
nation of prosperity that made Amasis king of Egypt warn his
friend Polyoiates of Samos, thatthe gods loved those whose livM
were checliered with good and evil fortunes. Nemesis was sup-
posed to lie in wait particnlarly for the piudent; that is, for those
whose eautiou rendered them acjMSsible only to mere accidents ;
and her lirst altar was raised on the banks of the Phrygian
JSsepus by Adrastus, probably the prince of that name who
killed the son of Criesus by mistake. Hence the goddess was
called Adrastea.*

The Roman Nemesis was socred and augustr there was a
temple tu her in the Palatine under the name of Rhamnusia;f
so great, indeed, was the propensity of the ancients to trust to the
revolution of events, and to believe in the divinity of Fortune,
that in the same Palatine there was a temple to the Fortune of
the day.^: This is the last superstition which retains its hold over
the human heart; and, from concentrating- in one object the
credulity so natural to man, has always appeared strongest in
those unembarrassed by other articles of belief. The antiquaries
have supposed this goddess to be synonymous with Fortune and
with Fate: bnt it was in her vindictive quality that she was
worshipped under the name of Nemesis.

No. XXIX.— GLAmATons.

>'He, their sire,
Buiclier'd io maks a Roman holiday," — Stanza csli.

Gladiators were of two kinds, compelled and voluntary; and
were supplied from several conditions ; — from slaves sold for that

iientlons her, ie Lfifib, lib, tl.

Muratori, N"v. Thiisnut. itiEerlp. V^t. loin. i. (•- 89, B9. whire i
laAa und one Grc^iK inscri;i[ion In NnmCEls, and olliors to FaU

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332 APPENDIX.

purpose; from culprits ; front barbarian captives cither taken in
war, and, after being led in triumph, set apart for ttie games, oi
tiiose seized aud candemned as rebels ; also from free citizens,
some fighting for hire, (audorati,) others from a depraved ambi-
tion ; at lastevenknights and senators were exhibited, — a disgrace
of which the first tyrant was natural! j the first inventor.* In the
end, dwarfe, and even women fought ; an enormity prohibited by
Severus. Of these, the most to he pitied, undoubtedly, were the
barbarian captives; and to this species a Cliristian writer-f justly
applies the epithet "innocent," to disting'uish them from the
professional gladiators. Aurelian and Claudius supplied great
numbers of these anfortunate victims ; the one alter his triumph,
and the other on the pretext of a Tebellion.:|: No war, says
Lipsius,5 was ever so destructive to the human race as these
sports. In spile of the laws of Constantine and Constans,
gladiatorial shows survived the old established reli^on more than
seventy years; but they owed their final extinction to thecourage
of a Christian. In the year 404, on the kalends of January, they
were exhibiting the shows in the Flavian amphitheatre before the
usual immense concourse of people. Almachius, or Telemachus,
an eastern monk, who had travelled to Rome intent on his holy
purpose, rushed into the midst of the area, and endeavoured to
separate the combatants. Theprffilor Alypius,apersonincredibly
attached to these games,|{ ga.ve instant orders to the gladiators to
slay him ; and Telemachus gained the crown of martyrdom and
the title of saint, whieh surely has never either before or since
been awarded for a more noble exploit. Honorius immediately
abolished the shows, which were never afterwards revived The
atory is told by Theodoretlf and Cassiodorus,** and seems
worthy of credit notwithstanding its place in the Roman niartyr-
ology.j"!" Besides the torrents of blood which flowed at the
funerals in the amphitiieatres, the circus, the forums, and other
puhlid places, gladiators were introduced at feasts, and tore eAch

* Jnlliia Cesar, nbo rase b^the &llof ilie aristocracy, braiightFuiius Lop-
linUB and A. Calenus upon the atena.
tTerralliaii, "certe duidein el Innocenfearladiatorea inlnrluni vnniunl. el

H Hisl. EccIh. dtp. iiri. lib. v.

•* CoMiod. TrlpatlUa, 1. x. 6. il. Salurn. ib. ib.

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APPENDIX. 333

oilier to pieces amidst the supper tables, to the ^at delight and
applause of the guests. Yet Lipsius permits himself to sup-
pose the loss of courage, and the evident degeneracy of mankind,
to be nearly connected with the abolilion of these bloody spec-
tacles.

" Here, wliere ffte Botaan miHinn's ilmne or praise
Was dealh or life, the playlMngs of a crowd." — Stanza cxlii.

When one gladiator wounded anollier, heshouted,"hehas 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 foiiglit well, the people saved him ; if
otherwise, or as they happened to be inclined, they turned down
their thumbs, and he was slain. They were occasionally so
savage that fliey were impatient if a combat lasted longer than
ordinary without wounds or death. The emperor's presence ge-
nerally saved the vfinquished ; and it is recorded as an instance
of Caracalla'e ferocity, that he sent those who supplicated him
for life, in a speotaole, at Nioomedia, to ask the people ; in other
words, handed them over to' be slain. A similar ceremony is
observed at the Spanish buU-flghts. The magistrate presides;
and after the horsemen apd piccadores have fought the bull, the
matadors steps forward and bows to him for permission to kill the
animal. If the hull has done his duty by killing two or three
horses, or a man, which last is rare, the people interfere with
shouts, the ladies wave their handkerchiefs, and the animal is
saved. The wounds and death of the horses are accompanied
with the loudest acclamations, and many*gesturt'S of delight,
especially from the female portion of the audienu5, including
those of the gentlest blood. Every thing depends on habit. The
author of Childe Harold, the author of this note, and one or two
other Englishmen, who have cerfcdnly in other days borne the
sight of a pitched battle, were, during the summer of 1809, in the
governor's bos atthegreat amphitheatre of Santa Maria, opposite
to Cadiz. The death of one or two horses completely satisfied
their curiosity. A gentleman present, observing them shudder

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334 APPENDIX.

and look pole, noticed that unusual reception of so delightful a
sport to some young ladies, who stared and smiled, and continued
their applauses as another horse fell bleeding to the ground.
One bull killed three horses off his ownlioms. He was saved hy
acclamalions, which were redoubled when it was known he be-
longed .to a priest.

Art Englishman,whocanbemuchpleased with seeing two men
beat themselves to pieces, cannotbeartolook at a hors& galloping
round an arena with his bowels trailing on the ground, and turns
from the spectacle and the spectators with horror and disgust

No. XXXL— The Alban Hjll.

"Jiidafar
l^e Tiber viinds, and the broad wean laves
The Latian coast, ^e. ^c. Stanza clssiv.

The whole declivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalled beauty,
and from the convent on the highest point, which has succeeded
to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the prospect embraces all the
objects alluded to in the cited stanza ; the Mediterranean ; the
whole scene of the latter half of the ^neid, and the coast from
beyond the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circaiuni and
the Cape of Terracina.

The site of Cicero's villa may be supposed eitiieratthe Grotto
Ferrata, or at the Tusculum of Prince Lucien Bonaparte.

The former was thought some years ago the actual site, as may
be seen from Myddleton's Life of Cicero. At present Jthaslost
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-honse. The other rilla, called Rufinella, isoa
the summit of the hill above Fcascati, and many rich remains of
Tusculum have been found there, besides seventy-two statues of
different merit and preservation, and seven busts.

From the same eminence areseen the Sabine hills, embosomed
in which lies the long valley of Ruslica. There are several cir-
cumstances whicli tend to establish the identity of this valley
with the "OsdWof Horace; and it seems possible that tiie
mosaic pavement which thepeasants uncover by throwing up the

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APPENDIX. 335

earth of a vineyard may belong' to his villa. Rustica is pro-
nounced short, not according to our stress upon — "Usliceecu-
Janfta." — Itis more rational to Ibink that we are wrong, than that
tlie inhabitants of this secluded valley liave chaHged their tone
in this word. The addition of the consonant prefixed is no-
thing; yet it is necessary to be aware that Rnatioa may beamodern
name which the peasants may have caught from the antiquaries,
, The villa, oi the mosaic, is in the vineyard on a knoll covered
with chestnut trees. A stream runs down the valley ; and
although it is not true, as said in the guide books, tliat this stream
is called Licema, 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. Liceoza contains 700 inhabitants.
On a peak a little way beyond is Civitella, contwning 300. On
the hanks of the Anio, a little before you turn up into Valle
Bustica to the left, about an hour from the villa, is a town called
Vicovaro, another favourable coincidence with the Faria 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 hil! the rivulet Lieenza flows, and is almost absorbed in a
wide sandy bed before it reaches flie Anio. Nodiingcanhemore
fortunate for the lines of the poet, whether in a metaphorical or

" Me quotiens reficit gelidus Digentia rivas,
Quera Mandela bibit rugosus frigore pagus.
The stream is clear high up the valley, but before it reaches the
hill of Bardela looks green and yellow, like a sulphur rivulet.

Rocca Giovane, a ruined village in the hills, half an hour's
walk from the vineyard where the pavement is shown, does seem
to be the site of the fane of Vacuna, and an inscription found
there tells that this temple of the Sabine Victory was repaired by
Vespasian. With these helps, and a posidon corresponding
exactly to every thing which the poet has told us of his retreat,
we may feel tolerably secure of our site.

The hill which should be Lucretilis is called Campanile, and
by following up the rivulet to the pretended Bandusia, you come
to the roots of the higher mountain Gennaro. Singularly enough,
the only spotof ploughed land in the whole valley is on the knoll
where this Bandusia rises.

"... . tn frigus amabile

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336 APPENDIX.

The peasants show another spring near the mosaic pavement
■which tiiey call " Oradina," and which flows down the hills into
a tank, or mill-dam, and thence trickles over into tlie Dijjentla.
]3ut we must not hope

"To trace the Moses upwards to their spring,"
by exploring- the windings of the romantic valley in search jftha,
Bandosian foantdn. It seems strange that any one should have
tlionght Bandusia a Crantain of the Digentia — Horace has not
let drop a word of it ; and this immortal spring has in fact been
discovered in possession of the holders of many good things in
Italy, the monks. It was attached to the church of St. Gervais
and Protais near Venusia, where it was most likely to hefound.*
We shall not be so lucky as a late traveller in finding tJie oeca^
atonal pine still pendant on the poetic villa. There is not a pine
in the whole valley, but there are two cypfesses, which he evi-
dently took, or mistook, for the Wee in the ode.f The truth is,
that tiie pine ia now, as it was in the days of Virgil, a garden
tree, and it was not at all likely to be found in the craggy accli-
vities of the valley of Rusdca. Horace probably had oneoflhem
in flie orchard close above his farm, immediately overshadowing
his villa, not on the rocky heights at some distance from his
abode. The tourist may have easily supposed himself to have
seen this pine figured in the above cypresses ; for the orange and
lemon trees which throw such a bloom over his description of
the royal gardens at Naples, unless they have been since dis-
placed, were assuredly only acacias and otlier common garden
shrubs.^

No. XXXII. — Eustace's Classical Toub.

The extreme disappointment experienced by choosing the
Classical Tourist as a guide in Italy must be allowed to find vent
in a few observations, which, it is asserted without fear of contra-

t«BM«o

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APPENDIX. 337

diction, will be confirmed by everyone who has selected the
same conductor throvigli the same country. This author ia in
fact one of the most inaccurate, unsatisfactory writers that have
in our times attained a temporary tcpntation, and is very seldom
to he truBted even when he speaks of objects which he must be
presumed to have seen. His errors, from the simple esaggera-
don to the downright misstatement, are so frequent as to induce
a suspicion that he had either never visited the spots described,
or had trusted to tiie fidelity of former writers. Indeed, the
Classical Tour has every characteristic of a mere compilation of
former notices, strung together upon a very slender thread of per-
sonal observation, and swelled out by those decorations which are
so easily supplied by a systematic adoption of all the common-
places of praise, applied to every thing, and therefore signifying
nothing.

The stylo which one person Ihints cloggy and cumbrous, and
unsuitable, may be to the taste of others, and such may expe-
rience some salutary excitement in ploughing through the periods
of tlie Classical Tour. It must be saad,howeyer,that polish and
weight are apt to beget an expectation of value. It is amon^t
the pains of the damned to toil up a climas with a huge round

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 recommendatory either in an author or his productions,
is very conspicuous throughout the Classical Tour. But these
generous qualities are tiie foliage of such a performance, and may
be spread about it so prominently and profusely, as to cmbairaBs
those who wish to see and find Uie fruit at hand. The unction
of the divine, and the eshortations of the moralist, may have made
this work aomeUiing 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 enticing method of instruction
conveyed by the perpetual introduction of the same Gallic Hekt
to roe! and bluster before tiie rising generation, and terrify it into
decency by the display of all tho excesses of the revolution. An
animosity against atheists and regicides in general, and French-
men specifically, may be honourable, and may be useful as a
record; but that antidote should either be administered in any
work rather than a tour, or, at least, should be served up apart,
and not so mixed with the whole mass of information and reflec

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338 APPENDIX.

lion, as to give a bittetness to every page : for who would chooso
to have the antipathies of any man, however just, for hia travel-
ling companions % A tourist, nnlesa he aspires to the credit of
propliecy, is not answerable for the changes whiuh may take place
in the country wiiich he describes; bat his reodermay reryiairiy
esteem all his political portraits and deductions as bo much waste
piper, the moment they cease to assist, and more particularly if
they obstruct, his actual survey.

Neither encomium nor accusation of any government, or
gDvernors, is meant to be here offered ; but it is stated as an
incontrovertible fact, that tlie change operated, either by the
address of the late imperial system, or by the disappointment of
every expectation by titose who have aucoeeded to ^e Italian
thrones, has been so oonajderable, and so apparent, as not only
to put Mr, Eustace's antigallican philippics entirely out of date,
but even to throw some suspicion upon the competency and
candour of the author himself. A remarkable example may be
found in the instance of Bologna, over whose papal attachments,
and consec[aent desolation, the tourist pours forth such strains o£
condolence and reven m de d by the borrowed trumpet
of Mr. Burke. Now B n a a h noment, and has been
for some years, notori us am n he tates of Italy for its at-
tachment IJ) revolutionary pnn p and was almost the only
city which made any d m n ns n avour of the unfortunala

Murat. This change my w ha e been made since Mr.

Eustace visited this uotry bu e raveller whom he has
thrilled with horror at the projected stripping of the copper from
the cupola of St. Peter's, must be much relieved to find that sa-
crilege out of the power of the French, or any otiier 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 antieipata their decision.
As it is, those who stand in the relation of posterity to Mr.
Eustace may bo permitted to appeal from contemporary praises,

•"What, then, will be ths aalonlshmenl, or ralher horror, of my reader.

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APPENDIX. 339

and are perrmps moie like); to be just in proportion as the caase
of love and hatred are the farther removed. This appea! had, in
Bome measure,beenmadebefore the above Temarks were written;
foroneoftheraostrespeetableofthe Florentine publishers, who had
been persuaded by the repeated inquiries of those on their journey
southwards, to reprint a cheap editi.Qnof the Classical Tour, was,
by the concurring advice of returning travellers, induced to
abandon his design, although he had already arranged his types
and paper, and had struek off one or two of the first sheets.

The writer of these noteswouldwish to part (like Mr. Gibbon)
on good terras with the Pope and tlie Cardinals, but he does not
think it necessary to extend the same discreet silence to their
humble partisans.

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